Song of the Day - Iron & Wine

Maybe it's the rainy weather...but this is right up my alley this week.

Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron & Wine

Song of the Day - English Beat

Pretty sure I've gotten nothing done today. Pretty sure I don't care.

"Save it for Later" is definitely the theme of the day. Ha.

PANIC PANIC PANIC!

"I don't eat that" - Paris Hilton, regarding swine flu

"Bracing for the Worst" was the headline of the Examiner today, paired with a picture of people in surgical face masks. I admit I kind of rolled my eyes when I saw it.

This whole swine flu mania is kind of bugging me. And when I say "mania," I'm referring to the fear-mongering media and their love for instilling a sense of panic in the general public. A general public that is already afraid of everything, including anyone with the name Hussein, plastic water bottles and Mexicans. Oh, and don't get us started on our Black president (whose middle name also happens to be Hussein - a rather unfortunate coincidence).

The whole sky-is-falling mentality almost got me for about half a second until I realized what any semi-rational person would, which is that tens of thousands of people die from flu-related causes every year, and the only reason people are freaking out right now is because there is no vaccine for this particular strain of flu. It's not easily controlled in that respect, which can be understandably a little unnerving. But flu vaccines are overrated anyway, in my opinion. At least for me - vaccines generally don't work at all for me. I end up getting sick anyway - and probably more sick than I would have had I simply contracted the flu without getting a vaccine in the first place.

Swine flu doesn't scare me. People who panic scare me. People who freak out and slaughter tens of thousands of pigs when there hasn't even been a single case of swine flu reported in their country scare me.

I don't doubt swine flu can be more dangerous for some than others, just like any form of the flu can be. Toddlers, elderly people and those with sensitive immune systems should likely take extra precaution and avoid public places. We get it. Mass hysteria, however, is probably not the best solution to the problem, people.

Me? I'm trying to appreciate the humor in a rather twisted, disturbing situation, and I thank God for some of the more rational people on the planet who can laugh at this with me:


Oh, and I've already got my eye on this season's hottest masks to hit Mexico City. When the time comes to truly panic, at least I'll still be able to demonstrate my keen sense of fashion: Stylin' Face Masks

Song(s) of the Day

Thoroughly, completely, whole-heartedly today's song. Yes - yes, indeed it is:



Complete sidenote: I love this site I was just introduced to (thanks, Josh) designed specifically for music junkies (see: yours truly). In fact, I love it so much that you get two more delicious little treats to nibble on today.

So chew away:



And this one's for Mariana:

Song(s) of the Day

So you get two songs today because I was too cranky yesterday to do anything beyond what I was required to in order to maintain my currently employed status.

This first one I'm pretty sure was on the Grey's Anatomy soundtrack, and if not, it should be. A montage of close-up shots of sentimental saps gazing wistfully out of windows at the rain would seem quite appropriately paired with this song. All mocking aside though, the truth is I love this girl's voice. That, and I AM one of those sentimental saps who gazes wistfully out of windows at the rain.
And this is just classic. And if I had a soundtrack to my life, I'm quite sure this would be on it:

Song of the Day - Friendly Fires

My disdain for Tuesdays makes sense now

It's official - Tuesdays suck. Click here to find out why.

For Ben

Beautiful song by an old friend who understands what it is to have an undying passion for all the goodness of the wild music world, while fighting valiantly against the ugliness that inherently goes with it. So happy to see you achieving your dreams, darling. You are authentic to the core.



(Thanks, Josh. Brilliant choice.)

Sorta kinda obsessed

Saw these guys with White Lies over my birthday weekend, which was crazy in all the best possible ways. I have no brain power to expound on the topic and intend on slipping into a coma shortly after wrapping up this post, but I wanted to assure you I am in fact still among the living and doing very well.

Now put yer dancin shoes on:

Never is a promise

You'll never see
The courage I know
Its colors' richness won't
Appear within your view
I'll never glow
The way that you glow
Your presence dominates
The judgements made on you
But as the scenery grows
I see in different lights
The shades and shadows
Undulate in my perception
My feelings swell and stretch
I see from greater heights
I understand what I am still
Too proud to mention
To you

You'll say you understand
But you don't understand
You'll say you'd never
Give up seeing eye to eye
But never is a promise
And you can't afford to lie

You'll never touch
These things that I hold
The skin of my emotions
Lies beneath my own
You'll never feel
The heat of this soul
My fever burns me deeper
Than I've ever shown
To you

You'll say
Don't fear your dreams
It's easier than it seems
You'll say you'd never
Let me fall from hopes so high
But never is a promise
And you can't afford to lie

You'll never live
The life that I live
I'll never live the life
That wakes me in the night
You'll never hear
The message I give
Youy'll say it looks as though
I might give up this fight

But as the scenery grows
I see in different lights
The shades and shadows
Undulate in my perception
My feelings swell and stretch
I see from greater heights
I realise what I am now
Too smart to mention
To you

You'll say you understand
You'll never understand
I'll say I'll never wake up
Knowing how or why
I don't know what
To believe in
You won't know who I am
You'll say I need appeasing
When I start to cry
But never is a promise
And I'll never need a lie

"Never is a Promise" - Fiona Apple

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

by e.e. cummings (ma boo)

Karma Repair Kit

Karma Repair Kit:
Items 1-4
by Richard Brautigan

1. Get enough food to eat,
and eat it.

2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,
and sleep there.

3. Reduce intellectual and emotional noise
until you arrive at the silence of yourself,
and listen to it.

4.

About today

If I could go back to three years ago today, I can't say I would have done it any differently. I would have washed my hair, applied my lipstick and adorned my neck with my mother's pearls all over again.

There are plenty of things I would have done differently, but being there - in that room, with you, when neither of us could find the right words to say - isn't likely one of them. I can say this because at that moment, my heart was actually - for once - completely open and vulnerable and in the most hopeful of places - and there is nothing more beautiful than that.

If there's one thing I miss, it's that foolish, hopeless optimism that led me to that very place, where love is not yet acquainted with the harshness of reality and the endless imperfections of humanness.

Cover me

Yummy covers mix from yet another music-sharing site that will probably disappear in a month simply because I'm about to sign up for it.



If you're interested, you can visit said site here.

O how I love thee

I. Can't. Fucking. Wait.

Coming April 14th

This Charming Man revisited

I'm a huge fan of covers - and I don't mean the kind that are essentially the original versions being recycled and redistributed with new packaging. I love when artists get creative with good songs, particularly classics like this, and make them different and original without destroying the essence that made them brilliant in the first place.
On that note, one of my favorite songs by The Smiths, with a Stars spin on it:

Black Cab

I love this on so many levels.

A) It's The Cold War Kids
B) Performing in a black cab
C) With a London backdrop.

Nuff said.

I was actually introduced to this a while back, but revisited it today because it makes me all content-like.



For more deliciousness for your ears and eyes to feast on, visit all the Black Cab Sessions here.

What my computer would sound like if it sang to me

Seriously? They couldn't find someone else to sing this song? Someone with a decent voice that they didn't have to digitalize to the point of eradicating any trace of humanness from it? Maybe my hopes of stardom aren't in vain - I just need to sleep with Rihanna, apparently. (WARNING: Music snob rant ahead)

I get so aggravated by these artists who have no apparent talent besides being marginally good looking and exceptionally well connected (See: Paris Hilton). I know nothing about this guy beyond the whole Rihanna debacle and now this song, which I heard in Barracuda last night and was drunk enough to Shazam. This really isn't a bad song for having been written in less than an hour - dare I say it's even catchy, if you ignore the fact that he sounds like he's receiving electric shock under water and the inane lyrics were apparently composed by fifth graders. (Did he really just say "Double your pleasure, double your fun"??)

All this being said, I actually kind of like this damn song and it's earned a reluctant place in my "Songs I Wish I Could Hate" file. Right alongside this one:
God, I want to hate her so much - but I simply can't. I love her.

OMFG I just found this kid - now that Chris Brown has outed himself as a low-life woman beater, let's get this kid to stand in for him. No digital enhancements on that voice, baby!



His gaze is so penetrating and oddly seductive in this creepy, prepubescent way - it actually makes me a little uncomfortable to watch it, and I end up blushing and looking away before it's over.

How can you not love these

Some images of our new president and family on Inauguration Day:

A new day

"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek." - President Barack Obama



Buy the poster here and give it to your favorite Bush supporter.

My new favorite thing of the week

Seriously - I'm a little too much a sap for this today. It's hard to pretend you're concentrating on work when either a)you've got a ridiculous grin spread across your face, or b)you're fighting back tears and your whole face looks like it might just combust upon itself at any moment.


Bloc Party, 'This Modern Love' - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

For the entire collection of impromptu acoustic sessions that will blow your mind if you have any taste in music whatsoever, go here.

Thank you to Alex for this.xo

On the topic of change

I think it’s human nature to want to hope for the best.

We want to believe things will get better on their own. That’s why we stay in that job we don’t particularly like, or hang on to that dysfunctional relationship that is draining us of our life source. If only we hold out long enough, eventually things have got to get better. Right?

Change scares some people. In fact, I suspect it scares most people. Sometimes even if every fiber of your being is screaming for you to get out of your current situation, the alternative – the unknown – is disconcerting enough for you to justify doing nothing differently. Disturbing the status quo means you could be setting yourself up for a potentially worse situation than the one you’re already in.

Change doesn’t happen overnight. Once you’ve made that first step towards change, you might think you made a mistake and doubt your decision. You might have to make a few missteps before you make the right one that’s going to truly make you happier. But at least you’re making an attempt to better your situation, and eventually you’ll see your efforts pay off.

Life has a way of strolling right in and having its way with you if you let it. I’ve been Life’s bitch on more than one occasion, but I’ve never taken it lying down. I‘m going to take moment to pat my own back for all the changes I’ve made in my own life, despite how incredibly painful and difficult they’ve been. I tend to beat myself up more than I congratulate myself, so this is one of those rare instances when I’m doing the latter. Way to go, Mands.

On that same note, I’m incredibly proud of our country and the direction we’re taking to improve our situation. It took us a long time to get to this point where we decided we’re ready for a change in direction, but we’ve arrived at that place now and we’re finally saying, “We deserve better.”

There are a lot of people who aren’t pleased with the changes we’re facing, to put it mildly. They would rather stick with the abusive husband who’s been bloodying their face for years. Who is this guy with the funny name who’s shaking things up with all of his crazy ideals? We’re more comfortable with the good old boys who have been robbing us blind and fucking things up for years, thank you very much.

We’re going to be just fine – you, me, all of us are going to be just fine. We’re doing exactly what we should be doing to improve our situation, which is to not settle for the way things are. The world is watching us; let’s show them how it’s done.

All hail President Barack Obama!

Happy Almost-Inauguration Day!

On Inauguration Eve, I thought this would be appropriate to post:


SNAP!

If that's a bit too much of a downer, here's a reminder of what we're getting in place of that guy:



And how did I never see this during the election? The fact that The National are featured on this video makes me love President Obama just that much more more - not that he likely had anything to do with it, but it's his people. Clearly, his people are also MY people if they can appreciate The National. (You all should know my theory on The National and how there really are only two types of people in this world: those who love The National, and those who don't. I tend to avoid the latter whenever possible.)

I just shed a tear on the inside

God, this gets me. If this doesn't get you, then I'm sorry - but you have no soul.

Behold! The National - "About Today"

Weight of the World

This Editors' song actually manages to penetrate that dense layer of crusty jadedness on my old, embittered heart. I had this on my "Bonnie & Clyde" mix on Mixwit (R.I.P.), and now I assimilate it with the recklessly romantic affair those two had while they were trying to stick it to the rest of the world. I'm oddly fascinated by them and the whole tragedy of their love for each other. Every time I hear "Weight of the World" now, I can't help but get all whimsical and romantic with mental images of tommy guns, car chases, and their bloodied bodies collapsed on top of each other inside their bullet-riddled Ford V-8. *Sigh*

Happy Not-Fucking-2008!

I can't think of a better way to kick off the new year than to have these hot bitches demonstrate for us how to walk it out:

Best of '08

In no particular order:

1) Sarah Palin Barack Obama
2) Tina Fey as Sarah Palin
3) Glasvegas

4) Dlisted.com
5) This kid:

6) “Return to London” trip
7) Amsterdam
8) AMA Reunion in San Fran
9) California Supreme Court repeal of ban on gay marriage (only to be overturned a few months later by Prop H8, but hey - baby steps)
10) Rielly Blair Sorenson

Au revoir 2008

First and foremost: In the wake of Mixwit's untimely demise, this is the latest discovery on my quest to enjoy free music:

Fresh Start

So, moving on - I'm back from a trip to Salt Lake, having enjoyed four days of gazing out a window from the security of my parents' home as the Valley was blasted by snow. It's been years since I had a white Christmas, and I certainly appreciated it to the fullest, just as I also appreciated getting off the plane at SFO and immediately ditching my heavy down jacket. The sentiment I have toward snow and proper winter weather is much like that which I have toward children: I'm able to enjoy both on a short-term basis, and then when I'm done - I'm done, thank you very much.

That being said, if I could have fit my youngest niece into my luggage and smuggled her home with me without the concern of smothering her or inciting kidnapping charges, I would have. Bold statement coming from someone like me, but it is the truth. I wonder how many people are born as naturally addictive and lovable as she was.

I'm looking forward to the coming year. More specifically, I'm looking forward to telling 2008 to GET THE FUCK OUT. I do believe Jasmine and I declared early on that this year's motto would be "I HATE 2008," and as the year is coming to a close, this is still very much the case. It was certainly THE most challenging and difficult year of my life. With all its challenges, though, my life is still very blessed, and spending the holidays with my incredible family was yet another reminder.

So - here's to gratitude, personal velocity, love and loss and all the many beautiful tragedies that make up our lives! Happy New Year!

First Day of My Life

Remind Me

Cheers!

Happy 75th Anniversary of the Repeal of Prohibition!

The Secret of Happiness is....

With the recent pub crawl and Thanksgiving madness (and yes, 'madness' is the most appropriate word), Madame Booze has been rather busy with reinstating her title. Today she finds herself in an all-too-familiar place of once again nursing her delicate head in the midst of a rather hideous hangover. (Btw - I think we might rename this blog: "The Story of Madame Booze and Me", and the header quote will be: "I am schizophrenic and so am I.")

Company holiday party tonight, which means no rest for the wicked. Apparently, if history is destined to repeat itself, at least one person will throw up all over himself, and another will be found passed out on the restroom floor. Perhaps Mr. Booze (no relation) will even break a glass or two by 'cheersing' a bit aggressively, and maybe a top exec will make a few sleazy remarks regarding the size of a certain employee's breasts. Oh, the joy of getting trashed with people you actually have to face every day! Hopefully we will come nowhere near a microphone so Madame Booze won't be given the chance to sing 80's new wave songs much too loudly and in a British accent....

Madame Booze makes a comeback

"And she was doing so well for a while there..."

Well, I am back. The black hole I fell into has spit me out again.

First and foremost, there is a pub crawl tomorrow evening hosted by none other than my alter-ego, Madame Booze. Madame has been sporadically off the bottle as of late, and amidst threats by the alcohol gods to revoke her title on these grounds, she has stepped forth to be the first woman in the running for a position on the Non TOK-sponsored Pub Crawl Committee. I heard a rumor that the committee members eat babies, or at least the Chairman (Master Bates) does (lightly toasted, with ketchup even), but I choose to find these things out for myself.

The pub crawl should most certainly be messy for some, debaucherous for others. I swore some time ago that I would never drink with my co-workers again (for the record, I think this pledge lasted all of a week). If I can show my face in the office Monday morning without having to do any damage control (an all-too-common practice for me following work events), then we'll consider it a good night.

I'd like to revisit the pre-established Tips for Surviving a Pub Crawl, just as a refresher.

And I'm curious as to why I always schedule a hair appointment the morning following a pub crawl. My stylist knows me in no other condition than when I'm sleep-deprived and reeking of alcohol. Oh, what he must think....

Save the Date - April 11, 2009

Costume Shopping

Wasn't Halloween once meant to be scary? Ghosts and ghouls and blood-sucking vampires, right?

Apparently Playboy has bought out the Halloween costume industry. Or so I was lead to believe as I was perusing the racks at the giant Halloween superstore on Market Street tonight, and feeling rather...prudish....

So let's see; I can be a Slutty Devil, Slutty French Maid, Slutty Nurse, Slutty Schoolgirl or....a nun. I guess this is what I get for waiting to the last minute.

"Excuse me, does this outfit come with the implants? No? Damn."

I could go as something hideous and bloody, but who wants to be THAT girl at the party, surrounded by pretty little half-naked bunny rabbits and kitty cats, and blatantly disregarded by every man in the room?

In the fitting rooms, the woman in the next stall over was wailing about how she wouldn't be able to eat the night she wears her pirate costume, which was really just the eye patch and not much else.

I found a fabulous Cleopatra wig, but the outfit to go with it was more or less a tiny strip of fabric that would just barely cover my girl parts, with slits down the sides of the pants for my ass cheeks to peek out and say hello to the world. The sales girl handed this get-up to me with a straight face, even after I'd told her I would want something I could wear to work. Maybe I should have specified what I meant by "work."

Finally I managed to find the least slutty, and yet still at least vaguely feminine, costume possible - save the nun's robe. I paid a small fortune for it then fled the store, leaving behind a gaggle of girls who were moaning over the impossibility of losing ten pounds from their thighs and having it injected into their breasts by Friday.

We, the People, of New California

Oldie but goodie....

Best of Craigslist:

Dear Red States...

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us.

In case you aren't aware, that includes Hawaii,Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get Elliot Spitzer. You get Ken Lay.

We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms.

Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They have kids they're apparently willing to send to their deaths for no purpose, and they don't care if you don't show pictures of their children's caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq, and hope that the WMDs turn up, but we're not willing to spend our resources in Bush's Quagmire.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 percent of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state dinners) 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools, plus Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia.

We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent that Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent of you crazy b*****ds believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

By the way, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,
Blue States

keeping tabs

Well, good ole Wyoming and Utah are predictable as ever. It's looking promising overall, though....

Election Update

Stay tuned....

work in progress

The new design of this here blog of mine is still a work in progress. I'm aware that the links along the top are all buggered - that's because I ripped this layout off of somebody else - except the heading, that's MINE MINE MINE - and I'm not design-savvy enough to know how to fix it yet. That, and I simply can't be arsed right now.

I realize I have been somewhat MIA recently on account of being here, there and everywhere, not to mention very wasted busy for most of the last three weeks. I'll post about London and Amsterdam and other such mayhem soon (censored version, of course).

In the meantime, enjoy this amusing distraction from the presidential election insanity and dream of happier days gone by (more specifically, the 80's):

God Bless Tina Fey

Redheads and Hooligans

You had me at "The National."

Quote of the Day

This is why I'm concerned for my country:

"A lot of men have fought and died for my right to not give a shit about politics."

-direct from the mouth of my co-worker

I can't wait for the debate

“I have to admit, though, he’s a great debater, and he looks pretty doggone confident, like he’s sure he’s going to win,’’ Ms. Palin, 44, said of Mr. Biden, 65. “But then again, this is the same Senator Biden who said the other day that University of Delaware would trounce the Ohio State Buckeyes. Wrong!”

- New York Times, Sept. 29, 2008

Welcome home to Crazyland

I'm back on U.S. soil again, where anybody - and I mean anybody - can run for vice-president, even this kooky bird:


Watch CBS Videos Online

VOTE OBAMA

Thoughts for the Week

1. London
2. London
3. London
4. Work London
5. London
6. London

...you might say I have somewhat of a one-track mind these days....

sadly, this is not a joke

This is the breaking news headline that I was greeted with on Yahoo this morning, mixed in amongst other top headlining stories about Maasai warrior hairdressers in Kenya and algae-dyed polar bears in Japan:

Eyes turn to Sarah Palin's glasses from Japanese designer Kazuo Kawasaki

May I please take a moment to remind the headless masses that this is a woman who may become the next VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES (and yes, this means she would also be next in line to be president when Grandpa McCain kicks the bucket) and we're discussing her eyeglasses?? Who fucking cares where she got her glasses?! WHO THE HELL IS THIS WOMAN?? This is a woman whose existence went relatively unnoticed by the rest of the country until she supported the proposal to build a $398 million bridge to an island of 50 people and an airport, aka a "bridge to nowhere" (she later rejected the proposal after the state of Alaska was ridiculed for being full of morons).

She's the governor of a state nobody wants to live in anyway, she probably couldn't locate Iran on a map, and she's not talking to the media (although she did get rejected by Oprah - go O!), so apparently the best they can come up with is what kind of a fashion statement she's making. The media in this country infuriates me to no end.

So, anyway - Did you all see what Cindy McCain was wearing to the RNC? Ghastly!

New and Less So Mix

This is my new favorite thing and you can expect to see more of it coming your way....

if you can't cry, laugh

oh my head

I woke up this morning with this feeling of gripping dread. Maybe it was because it was 5am, and it's become painfully clear that even on the weekends, after days of perpetual sleep deprivation, it's still impossible for me to get a full night of restful sleep (note: my definition of "restful" is something between 8-10 hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep - an apparently impossible feat). When my internal alarm clock doesn't go off on its own, there's always my fail-safe back-up - the nutjob upstairs who has remarkably succeeded in being both the smallest and loudest person on the planet. I think someone may need to explain to her that closing a door does not require thrusting your entire body weight against it. Also, do the front steps NEED to be sprayed with a hose every single morning at 6am? Really?

Maybe this sense of dread this morning came because as I blinked my eyes open, I initially thought it was Monday, which would mean my two days of pretending responsibility does not exist has officially ended and it's back to turbo mode, which feels a bit like falling through the air with a steel anvil strapped to your back.

Maybe it's also that I'm admittedly more than a little troubled by the direction my country is headed in, and if I really overthink it, my planet, for that matter. It's enough to make me - ME! - contemplate praying, just because I think we can use all the help we can get. (The prayer would start out something like this: "Hi, God? Remember me? It's Amanda. Can we just let bygones be bygones and say for a minute that I have a legitimate favor to ask...?") Honestly, I think if you aren't at least a little terrified, you're not paying attention. I'm holding my breath for the next 8 weeks or so, and just hoping for the best. I don't know what else to do but hope, really. My own father, classic conservative that he's always been, suggested the other day that I join the Obama campaign. That's gotta tell ya somethin.

Maybe it's just a combination of all this, along with the unmentionables, which fall into the category of "Stuff I Don't Write About in My Blog", i.e. specifics about messy topics like romantic relationships, exes, etc. If the fate of the world isn't scary enough, then all I have to do is dig into the unmentionables bag, and I'll find all sorts of goodies to set me well on my way to Crazyville.

These are the dark alleyways my brain takes me down when it's torturing me, which is often, and inevitable at wee small hours of the morning.

I think I'll work on making a mix for my darling Kirk, who is here visiting now and is still, after 8 years of knowing him, one of my favorite reminders that all is not lost and life is still good.

Vote Obama 08 for the love of God and the rest of you Non-Americans who can't vote, PRAY (you can use my sample intro to a prayer above as a template).

moving poetry

Quote of the Day

Saw this on a T-shirt today:

"SARCASM: It beats killing people"

Rockin Beantown

Being booked for the 6 a.m. flight to Boston was beyond my control. So was the fact that I hadn't made it to bed until 2 a.m. the night prior. As was the additional fact that I slept through my alarm for the first half an hour that it went off. It's not my fault that I lack that biological trigger that propels one swiftly from sleep mode into wake mode; my transition into the land of waking is an excruciatingly gradual process, which the snooze button was actually designed to accommodate. I know people who bound out of bed in the morning, click their heels and do a little jig, then burst into song as they are greeted by bluebirds at their window with the sunlight pouring in. I am not one of those people - in fact, I very much try not to loathe those people. My room, aka "The Cave", gets no natural light, which means I could quite possibly sleep straight through the day without even realizing that daylight had come and gone. I do not sing or dance or smile first thing in the morning. For the first hour or so that I am awake, you're lucky if I will look you in the eye or say anything to you at all, and even then, you're likely to get little more than an unintelligible grumble of sorts.

Imagine then, if you will, my state of being this one early morning after something like three hours of sleep when I arrived sans coffee at the airport at such an ungodly hour that even the birds were like, "Seriously?" My roommate had insisted that we needn't be to the airport more than an hour in advance of take-off, and because his theory worked so well in my favor as it allowed me to oversleep that much longer, I went along with it, despite some lingering reservations I had. I may be chronically late for some things, but flights have never been on that list, right up there with movies at the cinema. I will go early and sit through the thousands of previews just to ensure that I get the seat I want. Likewise, I will generally arrive early to the airport just to avoid the quiet panic that sets in when being told I'm too late to check my bags, and I have to take the next flight, which is two hours from now and packed full, so basically, I'm fucked.

"Um, no, I have to get on this flight."

"The flight is boarding as we speak, and you can't check your bag."

If there's one way to wake me up that does not involve a caffeinated beverage or a gun, it's telling me I'm about to miss my flight to my first work conference ever. I went into instant 'go' mode and in the middle of the airport, I threw open my bags, shoving this and that here and there, emptying all liquids with which I could build a bomb, and at one point, sitting on my suitcase in order to get the damn thing to zip closed. I managed to consolidate my three bags into two, and miraculously breezed through security, which is slightly unnerving because I later discovered all the gels and liquids and sharp objects still left in my bag with which I could have caused all sorts of mayhem but had gone undetected on the security screens.

I was literally running down the concourse to the gate in my knee-high boots that are in fact not made for walking, let alone running, and I got to be that person who is last onto the plane after everyone is all settled in and already contemplating their drink orders. All eyes up front to the jackass who's delaying our departure.

I located my seat (conveniently at the back of the plane), and as the plane was taxiing onto the runaway, I had a private laugh with myself, in a mix of utter disbelief and relief that I had actually made it onto my plane, bags and all.

For most of the four days I spent in Boston, the city consisted of little more than the Hyatt Regency hotel, where the conference was being held. I was obligated to flash smiles and pleasantries for a multitude of new people, most of whom I had little to nothing in common with, beyond the fact that we happened to be sharing the same breathing space. The days consisted of business talk and formalities, while the evening consisted of booze, booze and more booze. The conference attendees in general were spouses and parents who clearly didn't get out much, at least not since their Sigma Chi or Kappa Kappa Delta days, so they were letting it all hang loose as this was more or less a vacation for them. Our firm, being arguably the youngest and hippest of them all, despite our affiliation with retirement planning, kept up the fast pace and made our presence well known, particularly on the night scene. For two and a half days this went on, and I essentially went along in a sleep-deprived daze, juggling my professional mask with the party one, and managing to sneak away to my room now and then to do some work and catch a few minutes of sleep.



One night, while riding in a cab sandwiched between two guys whose names I couldn't remember, I declared that it was my goal of the trip to have a Boston boy "talk Boston" to me. Talk Boston? they asked. Yeah, like when Casey Affleck says in Good Will Hunting, "My boy's wicked smaht."

One of the guys proceeded to disagree with me that it was actually Ben Affleck who said that line, and a full-fledged debate ensued, which carried on for the rest of the night and surely annoyed everyone around us. My opponent, who was very clearly wrong, foolishly bet me $50. He then managed to rope in someone else who was even more foolish and declared that she would bet her house that it was Ben.

Here are the results, my friends (wait 'til the end):



Indeed, I rest my case. I never got my $50 or the house, though. Bitches.


Andy and I managed to make some cool friends from the conference though, and that last night in Beantown we ditched the hicks from the Red states who were looking for a face-to-the-pavement kind of evening, and went off on our own to hit every variety of bar imaginable for a true sample of Boston nightlife. We wined and dined in Little Italy, rubbed shoulders with the blue blazer boys at Liberty Hotel while they were on dates with Buffy and Cricket, visited the frat boys over at Whiskey's and crunched some bared sandal toes with the spikes of our high heels, then stalked Andy's doorman at Whiskey Pete's - who was ultimately straight and quite content with his girlfriend, which meant all of us were simply S.O.L., so we just danced the night away instead.

The last day in Boston, after the tedium of the conference had come to a close and everyone scattered like ants, a few of us went on somewhat of a speed tour of the city, devoting some time to traumatizing the Christian Scientists and dancing in public fountains.



Before Boston and I were able to get very well acquainted, however, it was off to the airport (an hour and a half early, this time).

As it usually goes for me, my trip home couldn't simply be normal, and my flight was overbooked by 60 people (still not quite sure how that happens), so I got bumped to a later flight. I gave my most pitiful, doe-eyed expression to the lady behind the counter, and said, "I need to be spoiled. Can you tell?" She happened to agree and set me up with a first class ticket and a voucher for a free flight. Victory!

I sat under a solitary light in the darkness of first class, while everyone around me slept, and I read my book and sipped my English tea, feeling rather content with things. I never did find the Boston boy to talk Boston to me, but I'll be back.

Check this out

As someone who believes the art of making the perfect mixed tape is highly underrated, naturally I can appreciate this immensely.

"The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don't wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules. Anyway... I've started to make a tape... in my head... for Laura. Full of stuff she likes. Full of stuff that make her happy. For the first time I can sort of see how that is done." - Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

Thoughts for the Week

1. I turned to my friend the other night - I believe I was in the midst of constructing luminescent jewelry in an Irish pub - and I said, "For the record, I love my life." My friend hadn't questioned this in any way - I think I just needed to hear myself say it out loud. He smiled and said, "I'm glad - you should."
2. We're meant to go through various stages of self-reinvention. That's why God invented hair dye.
3. If the Republicans win the Presidency, I'm headed back to England. Just ask my friend, Karl - he might actually refuse to have anything to do with me otherwise. He still hasn't gotten over Election 2004 - but then, who really has?
4. Every time somebody says, "McCain for President!" a little baby panda dies. Remember that.

How to survive a pub crawl

We have another non work-sanctioned pub crawl tomorrow night (oh dear, my liver), which means I should be sleeping now to rest up for a late night - but we all know that's not happening (see previous post), so I thought I'd compile some notes in preparation for tomorrow night's hedonism.

Tips for surviving a pub crawl:

1. Eat first.
2. Establish the "buddy" system, i.e., "you hold my hair back for me while I puke, and I'll hold yours."
3. Never have more than one drink at one location (2-for-1 at Badlands to kick off the night would be considered a terrible idea).
4. No shots without a chaser.
5. For the love of all that is holy, do NOT say at any point during the night, "I'm not even drunk," because someone will hand you a Long Island Iced Tea and you will drink it. And thus, the night for you will end.
6. No cameras. Unless YOU own it and control the rights to all images captured. Do NOT pose for pictures taken by anyone else.
7. Don't even try to meet up with anyone or wait for them. Because while you wait, you'll need a drink at all times, and you will inevitably break the one-drink-per-venue rule because people are flakes and who knows how long you could be waiting.
8. Somehow along the drunken trail, have some pizza. Grease helps to soak up booze, thus prolonging the evening.
9. NO RED WINE - you will get emotional or sleepy. In either scenario, the fun will end.
10. End the night with some dancing to work off the potential for hangover.
11. Deny everything tomorrow.

I am Amanda's one firing synapse

I'm currently conducting a study on sleep deprivation, and the idea is to go on as little sleep as possible before I just collapse in mid-stride like one of those Sims characters who's been awake for too long. Pretty soon, I'll be in the middle of fixing breakfast then I'll just pass out on the kitchen floor and no one will be able to wake me until I'm back in the green on the Energy meter. And yes, I am a bit of a computer geek - if I haven't made that abundantly clear by now.

A recap on my Boston trip is soon to come, but not just now - not while I have one firing synapse working overtime.

"With insomnia, nothing is real.
Everything is far away. Everything
is a copy of a copy of a copy."
- Fight Club (a flick I need to watch again soon, as it's been awhile)

And just because I went to a viewing of this last night and I'm still laughing, here's an episode of Yacht Rock:

Thought for the Week

It felt great to come home to San Francisco tonight.

Hangin with Wendy

So I've been in Boston for two days now, and so far, the height of my excitement has been paying a visit to Wendy's. "That's just plain sad," you say. Well, you clearly have never had french fries, soggy with grease, dipped in the smooth chocolatey goodness of a Frosty. That there is a lil bit o' heaven, my friends. San Franciscans, being all healthy and shit, have apparently banned Wendy's from the city or something, as there are none. What is the world coming to!

Having just gorged myself on fries and ice cream, I'm now off to dinner where I will be that girl who just pushes lettuce around on her plate with a fork and bitches about how fat she feels all night.

Hard Knox life

Brunch at Hard Knox Cafe this morning transported about 15 west coast snobs to the Deep South, complete with aluminum walls, Telemundo and our server, E.T. ("Extra Tooth").

We didn't quite know what to make of the menu at first; spare ribs, ox tail and grits were among our many options ("Where are the mimosas?? And the blueberry pancakes?"). We considered ordering the intriguing-sounding ox tail, then with further discussion of it likely being delivered to the restaurant in a cooler of ice, freshly chopped off the ass of a poor southern ox, it lost any semblance of appeal to us, so we opted instead for the spare ribs as a starter. Our young mustached waitress with the protruding extra tooth (aka E.T.) grew weary of our snooty inquisitiveness about the source of their meat, and proceeded to all but entirely ignore us from that point forward. We begged for water, then dared to request straws as well, and eventually they spared us some cornbread muffins to chew on, but only because Bryan had begun to lick the walls.

While the patrons at every table around us were being served their meals - including other members of our party who were sitting at separate tables - we were being restricted to meager rations of cornbread and water (Bryan had started sucking on the butter tablets at this point). We'd begun fighting over the last crumbs of cornbread, snarling and gnashing our teeth like wild animals. We gazed longingly at the plates of food on nearby tables and begged shamelessly for french fry donations just to keep ourselves from wasting away.

Needless to say, half an hour later, we still had no mimosas - the key ingredient to any Sunday brunch. If only we'd been drunk off mimosas, we might have forgotten food altogether. However, our stomachs were grumbling and our collective blood alcohol content was entirely too low for our liking. Our busboy had a fascination with delivering things to us in phases (more specifically in threes, even the straws), almost as a sort of cruel tease. First came the empty wine glasses, which sat in front of us, empty, for a good five minutes before our personal mini champagne bottles with their plastic caps arrived. We got to stare at those wistfully while the staff stood back and contemplated the orange juice that would complete our mimosas. Eventually we said fuck it and declared "Cheers!" before tearing off the plastic caps and drinking straight from the bottles. The orange juice arrived at long last in three mugs (for five people), each mug with its own straw, which meant siphoning the oj from the mugs and splashing it into our wine glasses for build-your-own mimosas, one teaspoon at a time. My mimosa ended up being approximately one part orange juice, nine parts champagne.

The spare ribs finally came, and we started eating them with forks and knives like true queens, then succumbed to the impatience that generally comes with starvation and resorted to ripping them apart with our teeth like savages. Our breakfast plates arrived to a round of applause and sheer jubilation; we proceeded to all but lick them clean. Bryan was even chewing the cheese off the ting of his fork.

After having eaten everything but the table itself, we sank back against our seats, feeling fat, happy and satisfactorily tipsy off our build-your-own mimosas, and declared to the world our undying love for the Hard Knox Cafe. Maybe that's all a part of their ploy - take the wise-cracking cynics and starve them to the point where you could serve them a plate of cardboard and they will tell you it's the best thing they've ever tasted. Well, it worked; we love that place.

Happy Birthday Madonna baby

No artist had greater influence on my childhood than this woman.

Rock on sista

mesmerized

this is wicked.

in search of inspiration

Here are some photos from today's walk through the Mission and Noe Valley. I've never seen such a city oozing with so much artistic inspiration. I love this city.

I'll get all of them up on flickr eventually, but this will give you a taste.

life in a movie montage

I've had two major love affairs in my life - one turned out to be a major car accident, the other a big fucking train wreck. And then, in between, there have been some rather unpleasant fender-benders and missed opportunities. I think it's safe to say I might be a bit jaded; however, despite this well-known fact, I still love to be in love. Because falling in love is the fun part, and if I can relive that feeling a thousand times over, it won't be enough.

I will see a man on the street and instantly devise in my sick little mind some elaborate story about him that is probably nine tenths untrue, but I'll convince myself of his amazingness and pretend to know everything about him. When you love to be in love, the daily routine becomes speckled with chance encounters and flirtatious opportunities that bring a little rush to your otherwise ordinary day. In the three minutes it takes that sexy coffee barista with the gooey brown eyes to pump the vanilla, brew the espresso, and steam the milk to create a foamy cup of deliciousness (read into that all you will, sickos), I have already traveled through a whole movie montage in my mind of the passionate love affair I could have with him, consisting of every sappy cliche imaginable - from kissing in neon-laced streets, to playing and splashing in the surf at the beach. I take comfort in the fact that I’m still capable of daydreaming and romanticizing because it means the romantic inside me hasn’t completely shriveled up and died yet, despite having taken some repeated heavy blows to the gut recently.

I'm so grateful to have been in love in my life and truly know what it feels like - and here I don't mean random, superficial "love" with strangers on the streets, as fun and girlish as that is, but I mean the kind where you actually know the person well enough to appreciate them for being perfectly imperfect. There is nothing that will make you feel more alive than to absolutely adore someone for just being a human - crazy, imperfect and all. Same goes for the excruciating pain of a broken heart. I have never felt more alive than when my heart was splayed out on the floor and completely trampled on.

It helps while I'm missing someone terribly to think of the way it made me feel when I once felt so blissfully in love with him, and I can appreciate having that experience. A simple song can trigger a memory of soaring down the street in Ziggy (my old Civic), windows down, singing at the top of my lungs because I was so disgustingly in love. We bitch - or at least I do - about being tormented by our memories, but I do think that sometimes memories can help us through as well. And the sweet memory of what it feels like to be so insanely happy and enamoured of someone is enough for me - for now.

heartsick crazy talk

I just finished talking to my mom and my heart fractured a little as we talked about our family friend who has recently been diagnosed with cancer and may not be with us for too much longer. She's just the sweetest person, and she's so amazingly upbeat about it all - despite all she's going through. Every day she takes a pill that costs $1000 - and yes, I mean the pills are $1000 EACH. Imagine if you dropped one down the sink drain - for $1000 a pill, you'd be breaking out the tools and tearing that bitch apart. Our dear, sweet friend is popping $1000 pills daily and taking chemo and getting poked and prodded and put in and out of the hospital - and despite the nightmare of it all, she's being such an amazing soldier - just further testament to what an incredible person she is. My heart is so broken for her and her sweet family.

Talking about all that was making me just really miss my family and want to be closer to them. I mentioned to Mom - very hesitatingly, mind you - that Mark and John and I had been discussing over dinner the other night that there is a chance we all could end up in - gulp - Salt Lake again someday. Her response: "Ya - HOOOOOOOO!!!" I think she'd be cool with it.

It could be just my rapidly progressing insanity combined with this perpetual state of sleep deprivation I'm in, but at the moment I actually kinda believe it. It wouldn't be for years from now - seriously, I just moved and am not looking to start fresh yet again so soon - but could be in the long term plan. It did kind of get to me when a couple of weeks ago the boys and my parents were all in SLC with Dennis and his whole crazy brood, and I was the only one not there. Poor Mom got to deal with me blubbering on the phone to her, but that's nothing new.

Anyway, just feeling extremely grateful to have a family I not only love, but actually kinda like, too - and I feel like I'm missing opportunities to enjoy them more, particularly Dennis's kids who are just so amazing. I haven't even met Gracie yet, and she'll be turning one in a couple of months.

Two of my fantabulous nieces who can't help but be natural badasses:



I do love SF at this stage of my life - not really feeling like home yet, but we're getting used to each other, and it's been a perfect healing place for me. I got a view of the city from across the bay today and it took my breath away. I mean, seriously, it's ridiculous how picturesque this city is. I wouldn't be opposed to spending maybe 4-5 years here then possibly moving on at that point, and SLC is just a thought. When you discount all the psycho-mormons, it's actually not a bad place. If there's one thing I've learned though, it's that you can't really plan for anything too far in advance. I suppose you never know what life is going to bring; anything could happen.

Like Mom said on the phone tonight: "What is life, anyway? It's a damn mystery, that's what it is."

I really like her.

Thoughts for the Week

1. Hell hath no fury like that of a diva who doesn't get her way, particularly when that diva is my brother-in-law. He has proven that I have much to learn in the ways of tantrum-throwing. Likewise for a certain diva-esque co-worker/friend of mine, known best as Master Bates. When I informed Master Bates a couple of weeks ago that I would not be having a drink with him as I was giving Madame Booze a break (and by "break", I meant abstaining from alcohol for more than 24 hours), suddenly the earth began to tremble and I saw angry little gremlins dancing in his eyes. His face turned a deep shade of furious and his features contracted into this piercing glare that could have shattered glass. At that point I would have shot heroin if he'd asked me to, simply to spare myself from his wrath.

As for the aforementioned brother-in-law, he still refuses to speak to me directly and will only screech at me through text messages - something to the effect of "fuck you and the horse you rode in on" - all because I didn't meet him for happy hour last night. His tactics are working, too, because my guilt trip is enormous, and I am officially convinced I am the lowest life form on the planet. You win, bitches. I will never defy you again.

2. New favorite person: Chuck the Italian with the bottle-dyed red hair (which makes him a bit like a wanna-be-Irish Mario Canton); his ankle-biting dog, Satan's Little Helper, whose reputation precedes him; his famous cat, aka The Fiercest Cat in the World, with its E! True Hollywood story; and the beast of a Durango that kills pedestrians for fun. Cue Niecy Nash impression: OOOOHHHHHHHH!!! You made my night. Heart hug! Love, Miss Castro.

3. Quote of the week: "Don't carry stuff. That's why we have straight men."

4. Being back in the dating world again, I'm reminded that there are definitely good dates and bad dates. You forget how good the good dates can be until suddenly you forget you're on a date in the first place and the last thing you want is for it to end. On the other hand, you don't know just how bad a bad one can be until it's all you can do to keep from excusing yourself to the ladies' room to drown yourself in the toilet. Yes, the bad dates certainly make you appreciate the good ones.

5. San Francisco is one big small town. It's just an island full of people you think you'll never see again, and in some cases wish you wouldn't, but inevitably do, i.e., that anorexic lady with the grapefruit kneecaps and toothpicks for legs, whose bones you can hear grinding together as she walks; the homeless con man with the elaborate sandwiches-for-the-homeless scheme to get you to follow him to a parking garage where he will likely kill you and eat you; and every guy you've ever made an ass of yourself in front of. (Talking hypothetically here.)

6. You may think your life's a hot mess, then you look at people around you and see that you're not the only one with issues - everybody's struggling in one way or another. We're all living the same life - we just have different stories attached. You're never the only one.

7. We love you, Susan.

into a land of fantasy i wandered

I visited the Chihuly exhibition at the de Young museum yesterday and had an orgasm of the eyes.

Click here and enjoy

coffee elitists and me

I randomly decided the other day that instead of hitting my usual Starbucks locale for my daily caffeine fix, I would pop in to a locally owned coffee shop just a few blocks from my house. It's the kind of place where regular patrons congregate each morning to wax political over their cappuccinos as their dogs throw their own early morning doggie party on the sidewalk. I stepped over a yellow lab sprawled across the doorway and tried to pretend I come here all the time too, because after all this is my 'hood - shocking as it may be considering I'm female AND straight.

Fielding glares from some rather territorial-looking regulars, I walked up to the counter where a barista who looked like he hadn't smiled in weeks gave me a quick look-up-and-down, as one might any tourist in the wrong part of town. I instinctively spouted off my coffee order, which to my horror came out as: "Grande vanilla latte, please."

The shrieking of the milk steamer immediately stopped, the emo music that was playing in the background fell silent, all politically-soused conversation stopped midstream, and the dogs ceased their yapping and turned to look - I think I actually heard a Chihuahua let out a tiny gasp.

I felt like somebody who had wandered into a vegan restaurant and ordered a hamburger. Not only was I fully exposed as a tourist, but an ignorant one at that. Like the tourists in London who, try as they may to blend, will attempt to pronounce "Leicester Square" and butcher the hell out it - at which point there’s simply no saving themselves from inevitable ridicule.

I wanted to explain that I've been frequenting the Starbucks across the street from work for about four months - primarily for the convenience factor of it, mind you - which is why I've fallen a brainwashed victim to their trendy little euro-chic lingo, like "grande" and "venti". But really, I do support the locally owned shops in my community, and I'm against corporate monopolization of the market, and I swear to God I don't shop at Wal-Mart, and I support free trade and all that, really, I do.

Then I think, why do I have to be apologetic? Starbucks started on the ground level just like you elitist snobs, and just because they're now taking over the planet like the plague doesn't mean I can't enjoy their coffee and spare myself the discomfort of walking that extra half-block in heels to buy a latte that's going to cost as much but taste half as good, does it?? It's 8am and I'm cranky and I know I'm over-thinking this but please, I just want my fucking coffee, sans the guilt trip for being a part of the problem and not the solution.

The barista then actually cracked what in some cultures may have been considered a smile and said, "Sixteen-ounce vanilla latte, coming up."

The music started up again, and I let out a breath. When that latte finally came out ( what - are you growing the vanilla beans?), I promptly got the hell out of there, with the "Starbucks Whore" tattoo on my forehead blazing. The Chihuahua called out after me, "Die yuppie scum!" Or it may have been “Take me with you!” I’m not too sure. I don't actually speak Chihuahuan.