Stressed because of the holidays? This post is for you!

I don't get unduly stressed this time of year. My family a few years ago started doing a formalized gift exchange, so primarily we're responsible for one person, plus the kids of the family can usually expect something from everyone. This year, my brother Max was my assigned receiver. I thought a long time about what to get him, and realized that the one thing that he always wants is food, so I made a gigantic batch of his favorite cookies (60 alfajores) and gave it to him last week. After all, the other thing he particularly hates is waiting to open a present, a decidedly Peralta characteristic. There have been a couple of years of late where my mother would wrap empty boxes to put under the tree to represent all the gifts we didn't feel like waiting until Christmas to open. But enough about me, I want to give a hand to all those people who need ideas for gifts.

• Threadless, which I have linked to before, is a great place to search for a t-shirt gift. Plus, they're having a $10 sale through tomorrow. Get on it!
• Heifers.org is a site I found a few years ago. Because you know what the great thing about charity as a gift is? You are truly helping someone who needs it. Plus, it's the gift that can't be returned or exchanged, and nobody can complain about it without sounding like a louse, muahahahahaha! This one I love, because you can tell everyone you bought a family a water buffalo for Christmas.
• Charity Navigator follows up on the above, but you can scan through lists of charities and see whether they're spending the money right and make sure the donations aren't just sitting in some lunatic's pocket.
• Payback... well, maybe it's not right for the holiday spirit, but perhaps you know somebody you can't stand who is for some unknown reason on your gift list. Well, maybe a nice dead fish would do wonders. At least it would make you feel good. And they probably would ask you never to give them anything again.
• Lobster Anywhere lets you send live shellfish to someone you actually like. They don't necessarily have to eat it, I guess they could keep it as a pet if they have a nice tank.
• Petfinder, oh, how you make me want to adopt a dog! Planning on getting someone a new friend? Avoid the breeder, check out this site. Scan through tons of listings of local animals in shelter and rescues, and go out and get 'em.
• Thinkgeek, of course. Seriously, who's blog are you reading, anyway? It's a great site filled with unique gifts. They have a caffeine section. You all have at least one person in your life who could appreciate that.
• The Brick Testament actually has a couple of gifts that are actually appropriate for all ages. The rest of the website is filled with graphic scenes of sex and violence from the Bible, illustrated with... Legos.

So, get cracking! Even using the gift of the internet, you have to buy stuff, like, today if you don't want to pay extra for shipping and you want it to arrive before Christmas morning. Or just relax and tell the recipient it will get there when it gets there, which is what I would do.

Random final thought: I, personally, would love to give this to anyone who, as they put it, empathizes with Moses' fury at the inability of people to follow even the simplest of commands. Moses Smash!

Teacher? Why not!

I've been spending some quality time with family in El Paso since Sunday evening. It was an impromptu kind of event, spurred by the introduction of a gorgeous silver Corvette into the Peralta clan, woohoo! One of my brothers flew to Dallas to pick up his new toy, and asked if I wanted to drive back with him to see my nieces and break in the car at the same time. Hell, yeah.

So that in itself was a fun start. Now, this particular brother has 3 daughters, of the ages 4, 5, and 10 - the eldest is my goddaughter. They are a hoot to be with, and more than a match for my energy levels. Add to the equation their surly 14+ year cat Zoe (a boy) and a random 94 lb stray golden retriever that was picked up over the weekend that is approximately 3 years old and has been christened Harley (also a boy) and you've got a recipe for a great break from the ordinary.

In the last few days, I have done the following:

• Walked a dog with my nieces in tow through a nice neighborhood.
• Talked about the business of medicine with my brother.
• Been offered a job if things don't pan out back in Dallas.
• Played with Barbies.
• Kissed booboos better.
• Talked with my sister-in-law and her brother.
• Talked about life in general with my brother.
• Played violin with my niece and her instructor.
• Attended a 5th grade lunch and P.E. session, where my skills were commended by the classmates of my niece and I was deemed "freaking cool".
• Attended preschool (splitting time between 2 different classes) where I did story time, assisted with snacks, gift wrapping and was deemed "really nice".
• Driven my brother's cars (not the Corvette, I can't drive stick).
• Read a book with a cat sleeping on my chest.

Is that all? No. There's more where that came from. On the preschool story, that leads back to the title of this entry. The teachers assumed for the whole day that I was a teacher back in Dallas because of my skill at wrangling children. When I told them what I did for a living, they were shocked. Why? They told me that most women doctors that came to the school were pretty stuffy, and none wore sneakers. Weird.

Well, tomorrow I return home. However, this has been a good reminder of why I need to come out here more often. With luck, the next visit will happen sooner rather than later.

SILENTK

As I was driving to Arlington earlier today to hang out with my parents, I noticed a Mississippi plate ahead of me with a vanity plate.

"SILENTK"

It got me to thinking, what kind of person would choose to parade through life and multiple states declaring an affiliation with this particular phonetic conundrum? An English teacher? A spelling bee champion whose success was directly related to their knowledge of it's existence in some obscure word? Perhaps a band name for a troupe of Icelandic mimes? Who knows.

Answering the prayers of the people

I learned that this song is called "Apache" and is a remix done by the Sugarhill Gang. But more importantly, it inspired a ridiculous dance that I feel needs to be brought back.

Loving the guitar, a one-sided affair

I recently learned that the name of a style of guitar playing that I've heard in the past and wondered at is called air tapping. That's it, I don't know anything else about it. But you know, it's lovely. I found this guy the other day, and I've been listening to it a couple of times a day and just watching how he does this. Wow. This guy accomplishes more in 3 minutes as far as making the world beautiful than I have in 26 years. I get teary eyed watching him. And he's not even the best? Damn, sometimes it's good being human.

The Carlton Dance

I admit, this had faded into the darkest recesses of my mind until Amy reminded me of it a few weeks ago. I finally got around to looking online.


The man has some smooth moves.

Ok, this is funny

Roaming through AOL today, I came across the following link. Watch it through, it takes a bit to warm up. Hilarious, especially if you're a fan of Grey's Anatomy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkRBqDwLpn4

Hungry in Dallas

Thanksgiving week has passed by, leaving behind tight pants and leftovers. My holiday was spent in Louisiana, where I feasted with the Bond family, kept erratic hours, and learned how to shoot a pistol (albeit the one I practiced with shot plastic BBs, to keep bloodshed to a minimum). If any Bonds are reading this, thanks again! I had a lot of fun.

However, sitting here in Dallas, an all too common predicament has arisen which is made worse by memories of delicious dinners, both recent and further in the past. I am hungry.

So why don't I just go get some food? Well, I've been thinking about that for the past 3 hours. I'm hoping I make a decision soon, sometime before I resort to eating sugar straight from the jar to keep from passing out.

Happiness

Overall, it's been a good week for me so far. And you know what made it even better? Well, lots of things, actually. But what I'm thinking of right now is Bubba's Fried Chicken. Yummy. After almost a week following my disappointing attempt to acquire it for dinner, Sunday it all came to fruition.

Random Link: And I finally got to see Regina Spektor live. And she was as weirdly delightful as expected.

I don't snow what you're talking about

Ok, I love this guy's videos. Completely random, pretty damn funny. Enjoy, and I highly recommend you look at some of his other available works.

Rules for Life by Celia Cruz

Anyone who talks to me long enough will eventually learn, at least in passing, that I love Celia Cruz. She was a wonderful songstress and quite a character; I still lament that I never had a chance to hear her perform live.

Her songs, besides being great fun to listen and dance to, also had advice for living life with gusto and ignoring naysayers and critics who speak out of spite. Her lyrics are fun to listen to, and even more fun to translate into English. Sometimes, though, I don't understand her slang terms.

She also loved sugar, with her catchphrase being, "Azucar!" Damn, she was cool. She died in 2003, and over 400,000 people came to pay their respects.

Hay Que Empezar Otra Vez or, in English, We Need to Try Again, translates into something like the following.

We need to try again,
what's done is done.
If you are weeping, suffering because of a love that abandoned you,
likely it's because God is clearing the way for something better.
The person who says they give up because life is cruel,
perhaps it's because they don't understand the great value of friendship.

The people who always envy, and criticize without cause,
they need to wake up or they will end up very alone.
And he who makes empty promises to rise up in the world,
he needs to learn that he doesn't fool anyone and will sink himself in lies.

Living in a foul mood gets you nowhere, change that scowling face.
Don't believe that money buys you happiness,
too many have everything and end up alone.

Live your life fully, we don't know when we'll go.
Smile, show the world your joy, or we'll need to get a surgery to fix that face of yours.
Don't let a situation bother you, smile and walk away.
Don't vex yourself over nothing.

Watch this video long enough, and you will see people doing the trademark Peralta dance move, "One hand on stomach, one in air." The song she's singing is great, because near the end, they basically tell a list of people that suck to get the hell out. Fuera!

I want to go dancing, now...

Divided between two worlds

The day had dragged since it began. Countless errands and minor tasks were dutifully ignored in favor of reading another compilation of Neil Gaiman short stories and a few rounds of sudoku. However, a bowl of Kashi cereal can only go so far. An omelette? Perhaps, except impossible secondary to a distressing lack of cheese. Eventually, I would have to leave the apartment and find some food.

"Eventually" translated into several hours later, when even that questionable chocolate pudding (it should probably be thrown out... later) started to look appetizing. Walking downstairs to my car, I began to muse over the possibilities for dinner. A burger and soup at the Angry Dog? Tasty, but not right now. Perhaps a green lamb curry? Nah, still annoyed that someone stole my phone the last time I had it. Sushi? Too expensive, I'm too hungry right now (there's always a tendency to order more than I can actually eat). Fried oysters? No. Fried chicken? Hmmm. Bubba's isn't too far, and they have delicious rolls as well.

I love good fried chicken. The delightful batter that you crunch through, the juicy flesh beneath. The wonderful aroma, the ever present mashed potatoes and gravy piled alongside. The decision made, I hopped into my beloved blue hatchback and drove toward my destination. Or at least tried to. Where the hell did all these cars come from, and why are they in my way? Even all my non-highway options were overrun by morons. The hunger was making it even worse. Screw this. I turned around and began to head to the south, toward one of the many hispanic enclaves located here in Dallas, and towards pollo asado.

Pollo asado. Exact recipes vary, but usually the bird is marinated in either vinegar or lime juice combined with cumin, chile powders, etc. The chicken is then cooked on a grill, sometimes rotisseried. Ah, delicious. Somewhat healthful, too. No deep oil bath, no batter, just crispy skin embracing the scrumptious morsels within, accompanied with some warm corn tortillas, salsa selected with your heat tolerance in mind, and maybe some beans and rice. Even better, no traffic.

The Swear Jar

What business wouldn't benefit from one of these?

Mind link

I read this guy's comic everyday, and often I find a scene illustrated that has played out in my own head on many an occasion. Seriously. This exact scene occurred two weeks ago, minus the ipod. Either he's my twin, or this is a more common paranoia then I had ever imagined. Or maybe we're both just really big dorks, that could be it, too.

Godzilla vs. Tyrannosaurus

Ordinarily, I'm a pretty happy-go-lucky kind of girl. Sometimes it takes some effort to keep smiling, but usually it's a pretty honest reflection of my state of mind. When I do get mad, it tends to be expressed in a highly annoying passive aggressive manner. Most of the time.

This particular entry, however, is about the other times I get mad. The times that scare people. After all, it's Halloween, right?

Let me reflect back on my mother. She's an adorable lady who has been passionate in her moods for as long as I can remember. Whether she's sad, happy, mad, my mom does it to the umpteenth degree. Do you remember that scene in The Shining with Jack Nicholson axing through the door? My brother Mel and I lived through a similar scene growing up, except it was a really thick yardstick instead of an axe. I can't remember what we did, but mom didn't like it, and she liked it even less when we locked ourselves into my bedroom. Lucky for us, that particular room had a back exit, and we fled the scene and hid in the barn until our brothers calmed her down. There are also stories involving tennis rackets, lamps, and other objects being wielded as blunt weapons.

As I got older, I became much more skilled at calming her down. Humor is the best thing, but you have to nip things quickly before they really start to escalate. Usually, I just have to scream in a fake Japanese accent "Go-ji-ra is coming! Aaaieee!" and she'll start laughing.

I can be just as outwardly insane in my rage. Luckily for almost everyone, about the only place where it can be witnessed with some frequency is at my parent's house. Usually, it involves my mother. Some fairly innocuous incident will set us both off, and suddenly our wrath is shaking the neighborhood to it's foundations. Children start to cry. Dogs start to howl. Threats are issued, we disown each other, we curse the very ground we stand on.

But, hey, you can only go so long. The following (translated from the original Spanish) is the usual outcome of these mighty duels of irrational rage.

"Wait... do you have any [delicious Peruvian food] left?"
"Hmmm... yeah, I put some in the freezer. Oh, and I have [decadent dessert]."
"[Decadent dessert]! Why didn't you tell me earlier? Let's eat!"

So, thank my mom. Without her, I'd probably have to subject someone else to these fits.

Well, enough of that. Chicken pot pie awaits.

More on Madrid

Hmm... where to begin... well, no real order to any of the following.

Madrid has some of the coolest and most unsafe playgrounds imaginable. Alex and I made it a point to run around and try out anything that looked particularly hazardous for the sheer joy of it. This resulted in minor injuries and nausea on a few occasions. I'm sure we were also the source of confusion and concern for many children and their parents. We also climbed a few trees and engaged in unintentional trespassing and leaping over a locked gate or two. We're rebels that way.

People panhandle aggressively in Madrid. My favorite incident involved a lady who asked us for some wine. We were just leaving a food festival and were drinking some wine which we agreed was not of the highest calibre. Rather than toss it, we gave it to her. Alex expressed some remorse, but I think we did a good thing.

Spaniards have a thing for ham. There is a chain of restaurants known as the Museum of Ham. Good sandwiches, from what I understand.

While in Madrid, I had lots of good food, and quite varied, everything from paella to falafel, suckling pig to vegetarian risotto (so good!).

There are a lot of national holidays in Spain. Nothing is open on holidays except restaurants. This made things like shopping for souvenirs annoying. As such, the only person who got any goodies is my mom. Hey, but I'll share stories!

Dog crap is everywhere. Watch your step.

I got to engage in some cultural enrichment during my trip, which included seeing an absolutely stunning flamenco show, wandering around museums (I got to see the Guernica in real life!), and admiring beautiful buildings (although I admit that I have little sophistication in my appreciation of architecture). I waved at several cathedrals, so I feel that I stretched out my Catholicism a bit. I also saw a freaky scary movie called El Orfanato, which I plan to watch again when it hits the states. Creepy little kids in masks are perfect for Halloween!

I did one day trip to Segovia (the place of the suckling pig, or cochinillo), and admired ancient Roman aqueducts and an awesome castle. Very nice people, too. I spent a good amount of time chatting with a storeowner and her father about the USA and looking over National Geographic maps.

People were chatty. Or maybe it's just that I forced conversations upon people. Hmmm... I think that it's probably somewhere in between.

We danced through the streets, sang on the subways, and overall had a really good time. Alex had joked that there was no couch at his apartment, and that we would split his folding chair. What a kidder! Well, kind of. There really wasn't a sleeping worthy couch, so we split his twin bed. Hey, the nights were cold, so it worked out great. We also had to keep an eye out for "psycho guy", one of the other people living there. I don't think anyone knows what his name is, but he appeared to be nocturnal and communicated (at least with me) by making hand motions and shushing. I think he also had poor aim when using the toilet. Everyone else was pretty cool.

I thought it was kind of funny, but when I went to the flea market, there were a bunch of bootleg Threadless shirts all over the place. I actually didn't buy a single bootleg item. I was tempted by some of the movies, but somehow didn't get anything. Oh, well.

In answer to a question, the Castillian accent wasn't as prominent as I'd expected. Sure, it was there, but I think there are so many non-Madridians in the city that it's kind of buried amid all the different types of Spanish. I still feel that Argentineans have the weirdest speech patterns for being a pure Spanish language.

Delays are inevitable

Hmmm... I've really been slacking off on the blog front. I suppose I should do something about that.

In the meantime, a bit of classical music.

More Madrid

You know, this trip is going to provide possible flashback anecdotes for a long time into the future. I mean, I can barely recall everything I want to talk about right now, but I know that I will have moments of lucidity that will strike.

Anyhow, had a great start today. Alex and I trucked over to a fruit market kind of a place that also had some great pastries and cheeses. We stocked up and wandered over to a nearby park for a delightful breakfast. We feasted on olives, baguettes, clementines, figs, cherimoyas, chocolate, manchego cheese, croissants... oh my lord, so good! Seriously, there is some great food here. Yesterday, for example, we wandered through one of 8-10 festivals going on in the city, sampling different foods wherever we went to and stocking up on chocolates (honey, olive oil, coffee, and orange). The day before, we had purchased honey in the comb which was a absolutely fantastic: we were like orgasmic bears on the streets of Madrid, covered in sticky delight. We finished the rest yesterday with chocolate... oh, God.

Continuing with the bear synonym... we climbed trees after breakfast and then used the bark on others to satisfy our itchy backs. If I could be an animal, it would be a bear.

It might surprise some to know that we haven't really been out partying, per se. I mean, we fully intended to yesterday, but somehow, once we made it back home to change, we ended up crawling under the covers for a quick nap and woke up at 11 AM. Tonight, though, we'll be having some fun, and tomorrow we're getting up early-ish to go to El Rastro, a huge flea market with countless bootleg articles. Yay!

Halo from Madrid

Well, today has been a full day and highly enjoyable, and tomorrow promises more of the same. After all, this is sunny Madrid!

I am hurting right now. Madrid is 6 hours ahead of my regular Dallas time, and here it's currently 23:06 (which makes back home... 17:06). I have been up and running since (Dallas time) 0600 of 10/10/2007 with only a small bit of sleep during the flight from Miami to Madrid.

Now, quick note on the flight. I had a window seat with only one other person who could be in my little section. She moved to another seat shortly before take off to sit next to her family (someone missed the flight). "Excellent!" thought I, "I will get to enjoy kicking back, couch style!" And I did! For the 1st hour and a half of the flight, I was lounging back, doing sudoku, thoroughly enjoying myself. However, this was short lived. There were these two elderly people flanking a middle aged guy, all quite cramped. The younger guy asked if I would mind if he took the seat to give the other people more room. Damn it! You know I said yes.

Anyhow, arrived in Spain at 9 am local time (3 am Dallas), went through immigration, and met up with my good friend Alejandro, who got to work really late because he came to get me safely settled in. Love him!

So, I've ridden buses all around Madrid today, had some excellent food, done some shopping, and am now exhausted. I will post pictures soon, and post more trip info.

Nature films

When I was little, my brothers used to poke fun at me and occasionally called me nature girl. I would spend hours harassing insects and spiders, chasing rabbits around our property (and occasionally catching them - I was fast when I was little), bringing dead rodents into house to show to Mom (who never appreciated this), and reading books on wildlife. At one point, I wanted to be either a forest ranger, or a vet. However, severe asthma attacks when exposed to animals or the outdoors for extended periods shut down those ambitions. Nevertheless, I still like to pretend I'm outdoorsy. On that note, I present a nature film that I found a while back which I find fascinating.



(I promise that I will eventually conclude the stories started in past blogs, really!)

Dashing and daring

Do you remember the Gummy Bears? I do. And this made me happy.

Bears that bounce?

It's a mad world

It's late. Can't sleep. Currently listening to low key music and trying to settle down so sleep will come. In the meantime, well, the internet is always there.

The big Texas-OU game came and went this weekend, with a loss for Texas. Friday night, there was a gaggle of fans from both sides invading the West End outside my apartment. Firework booms caught my interest, and when I went outside I walked into bedlam. Somehow I've managed to live here for going on 3 years and had managed to remain ignorant that this is a yearly event.

As I idly flowed with the crowd, people-watching and enjoying being a passive observer, my arm was gently grasped by a petite blonde. "Excuse me," said she as she handed me a piece of paper, "have you been saved?"

I never know what to say when random strangers come up to me and start questioning my Christianity. I'm a confirmed Catholic. My understanding of my own religion is murky most of time at best, and I have never really understood what people mean by being "saved". My suspicion is that I probably don't fall into the "safe" category as outlined by many bodies of worship. But you know what? When I'm out wandering, minding my own business in a crowd of excited football fans in the middle of night, the last thing I really want to do is engage in a theological debate with some random stranger who will probably walk away from any prolonged interaction with me with the impression that I'm a heretic destined to burn in the pits of hell.

So, I did what I usually do in situations where I really don't know what else to do and I'm trying to avoid being completely rude. I told the truth where I could and BS-ed the rest.

"Yup."
"You've accepted Christ into your heart." (Possible air of
disbelief)
"A long time ago."
"How long ago?"
"Hmmmm... probably when I was 5."
"5? Really?"
"Yup. Anyhow, good luck with everything. Have a nice
night." (Broke away from her and walked away.)

To be fair, I think I was 4 or 5 when I can first remember my introduction to religion. It's when I started to emulate my mother's actions (crossing myself when we passed graveyards, started a journey, heard bad news, etc.) and I learned several prayers. I loved the prayers; they were like music the way my mother said them. To this day, I don't know the traditional Catholic prayers in English, just Spanish - it just feels better that way. We never really went to church. It was just never a big deal.

I think I'm going to stop. This is getting too involved, and I'm starting to yawn. Good night.

Addendum to Day 2

Holy crap, I had completely forgotten about the place we danced! Did I dance?

...

I don't remember. I remember wandering on my own vaguely wondering where the rest of the team was. I'm pretty sure I was approached by a large man, although I don't remember whether his intentions were good or ill, and how exactly I extricated myself from him. I remember seeing familiar faces on the dance floor and feeling like I was a hundred miles away.

I think I might have danced then.

I don't remember how exactly we got back home, although... did I for a bit try to convince everyone it would be a nice night to walk? Did we take a cab?

Not much of a video, but it's the song that matters.

Chicago: The Experience Day 2

Friday
-------

One of many things that I am grateful for is my innate hangover resistance index (HRI). While I have a low threshold to alcohol (3 beers in an hour is enough to make me worthless), I will persist in my drinking long after, only to awaken in 6 hours perky and happy. My HRI has failed me but... twice? Chicago was not one of those times. I awoke refreshed and ready to take on the town. Ian was kind enough to pick up a toothbrush from a nearby 7-11, since I managed to leave mine in Dallas

After gussying ourselves up, the three of us took to the streets for some shopping and food. Yes, most definitely we needed food. Food in the form of some pretty kick ass cornbread and rotisserie chicken sandwiches. What was the name of the place? I forget.

Clothes shopping at H&M came next. Now, while I think I'm a fairly well rounded individual generally (kind of), I have a major failing, an Achilles heel, so to say. I have no fashion sense at all. My main clothing criteria is that it not expose anything I don't want exposed and that it be comfy. This includes lots of things, from some perfectly acceptable jeans and shirts to monstrous sweatshirts (men's XXL) that I bought because it fit both above criteria and it was blue fleece. Bright blue fleece. It matched my car. Really. I love that thing. It doubles as a tarp in times of need.

Needless to say, I can't shop very effectively. But I have the good fortune of having friends who are not afraid to say "No. Absolutely not." One friend in particular. You know who you are. Any really nice things I own (that fit) are probably because of her excellent eye. As it was, I was not destined to find anything at H&M, but I made up for it on Saturday.

Hrmmm... I think that afterward we went back to the hotel to nap. We watched Gracie, which was fun. Also, I had 2 separate conversations with JB on two separate phones, and both times was mistaken for somebody else. The long and short of it being, the remaining members of the Chicago posse made their way down from Wisconsin, and we rolled as only truly awesome people can.

My sense of direction is excellent. Really. As long as I have the sun, stars, or a compass I can usually find my way around. Of course, no one believed me after my directions got us lost and wandering the streets of Chicago for a while. On the bright side, the architecture is quite lovely. On the questionable side, we found a tequila bar. I'm pretty sure we had dinner somewhere before... Ah, that's right, at the Rock Bottom Brewery, good beer. I fell on the stairs twice there, and that was before the tequila shots. I blame my shoes, which also caused some massive blisters. At any rate, another alcohol induced black out followed not long afterwards.

Chicago: The Experience

I'd mentioned before that September was a memorable month. Chicago... wow. That was freaking fantastic!

Thursday
-------

My flight in from DFW was interesting. I am somewhat, how do you say, loquacious? Verbose? Yeah... I have trouble shutting the trap at times. Usually on flights, though, I can focus on a puzzle or a book and leave my seat mates in peace. However, I was seated next to an older gentleman named Ray. A brief, polite introduction took place, our general places in the world established, and then I asked if he was familiar with Chicago. Ah, fateful question. He grew up there. He lived there for a long time, and now lived a few short hours away in a small Wisconsin town. He had much to say. I had much to answer. Our conversation was overheard by people sitting over 5 rows away. There's a good chance some people were not pleased.

Now, frugality occasionally strikes me in peculiar ways. For instance, rather than paying for a map (they were all too big, anyway...) I printed out maps of the areas where I anticipated the majority of our time would be spent and labeled out important locales. My new friend Ray added a bunch of items, most of which we were unable to partake in. These maps were helpful throughout the remainder of our Chicago excursions. At least, I think they were.

Anyway, after grabbing our bags, we hopped over to the subway to cart us over to downtown, which was, oh, a bit less than hour what with all the stops along the way. This was a new experience for me. When subjected to new experiences, I tend to act stupidly giddy, much like a sugared up toddler or young border collie. Again, probably not very endearing to anyone in the near vicinity. I tried to focus on sudoku; it helped a bit.

Once in downtown Chicago (and really, throughout the entire subway ride) I consulted my maps to make sure we were heading in the right direction. The hotel was not 3 blocks away. Oops. We arrived at the Amalfi to find Ian reclining upon one of the lobby seats. We promptly scoped out our room, and then walked over to Gino's East for some genuine Chicago deep dish to celebrate Ian's birthday.

Wow. That stuff was really good. The restaurant itself was pretty spiff, although there was a brief moment walking up that Amy and I looked at each other as it seemed that the place was closed. Thank heaven, no. Graffiti everywhere, and surprisingly spacious. There was a distressing lack of Bud Light, but Blue Moon was brought out in pitchers with the welcome addition of oranges (didn't even have to ask, God bless this town). We feasted like kings.

Afterwards... well, we went to a bar. We met some friendly types named Joe and... Tom? Something. Tequila was provided. My memory began to fail around this time. There was dancing afoot, and I was out on the floor. And suddenly, I was shirtless. In a bar. In Chicago. There are pictures out there. Damn. What would you do, or say? "Can I have my shirt back?" Scream? Make a scene? Please. I rocked out there. I danced, I shimmied. And eventually got my shirt back.

The three of us eventually made it back, and I had my head hanging out of the cab, in a manner reminiscent of a dog. Hey, it was a beautiful night, there was a nice breeze, and the moon was hanging like a lantern over Lake Michigan! Why shouldn't I enjoy it? Yeah!

Back in the hotel, well, I was under the influence. I sang off key, loudly. I giggled like a maniac. And I eventually fell asleep. Thus concluded the first day.

On a serious note

Ok, I'm going to write a very personal entry. If you want something lighthearted, I advise you either skip down to earlier entries or check again in a few hours, when I intend to blog about happier thoughts.

--------------------------------------

I really enjoyed my trip to Chicago. What I did not enjoy in the least was the fact that I got really, really out of control. I'm not talking about the drinking. I'm talking about the fact that I was ungodly rude to some really great people who deserved much better. If you're still reading this, don't give me any outs, there's not an excuse. I put my best friend into the position of either intervening or letting me act like an ass, and that's not fair. What's worse, it's something I've done before, too many times to count.

I've got issues. A lot of us do, but where I have continuously failed is by inaction. I don't take action to spare the people around me, which is selfish and bitchy and passive aggressive. I end up looking sad and apologizing. This isn't new. It's completely ineffective and worthless.

I'm going back to therapy. I've got anger problems, self esteem issues, lack of self worth, and I'm manipulative. There are some things that I can address on my own, but there's a lot of stuff I need some outside input on. My therapist is pretty cool, and I'll get to see her next week.

This isn't a self pity post, because, actually, right now I feel okay, great even. I went for a long walk/run, I'm about to grab a bite to eat, and maybe karaoke later. But I've spent a good amount of time today thinking about what went wrong, and I think that I should listen to the good instincts and good advice I've been ignoring for several months now.

Smart little kids make me smile

Seriously, is there anything cuter than a smart little kid having fun? This video made me happy.

Don't let September leave you behind

This past month has been highly entertaining. I will, at some point, finish recounting the events of September 1 and 2. I haven't even touched on my visit to Atlanta. What's even better, I'm mere days away from my first trip to Chicago. Ah, Chicago. Home of really good food, from what I understand. Also home of the Threadless retail store, which makes me feel warm and happy. And even better, this trip will be in the company of some of the coolest people I know, most of whom make up the small readership of this blog. Coincidence? I think not. I anticipate some good eating, and likely some drunken conversations. I predict a lot of laughs and a few good stories. I foresee a new T-shirt in my future.

I have a notoriously bad and somewhat selective memory. However, this month will probably remain fresh for a long time to come. At least, it should.

Shedding some dead weight

After about 2.5 years, today seemed like a good day to get a haircut. I liked my stylist, a bubbly towheaded girl named Jessica. She started out the encounter by asking me about my preferences regarding length, hair products, etc.

She was aghast as she realized that there were no styling products or hair dryers in my possession, and no plans to acquire them for the future. Throughout the encounter, she kept muttering "I would go insane..." To her credit, I'm quite satisfied with her work. It's shorter than it was, she didn't put any weird gels or creams into it, and it's long enough to tie up when necessary.

Of Hobbits and Orangutans, part I

My weekend was fantastic, the result of a strange and wonderful set of random events occuring in the world and a unique set of people that somehow were all in Dallas at the right time.

Let me start with 2 people:

• Alex is one of my oldest friends. A tall, lanky, red-haired fellow who has roots in Argentina, speaks excellent Spanish, and has penned many a hilarious/insightful/bizarre writing in his day. Somehow manages to survive on a diet missing crucial components such as eggs and cheese. Has traveled throughout the world, has fascinating friends (myself included), is quite bright, and will likely be a billionaire someday. Quite the Simpson's fan. An excellent tree climber and hiker extraordinaire.
• Kevin is also among my oldest friends. Sandy haired, lean, with surprisingly long arms for his height. Eschews shoes whenever possible, and is a fount of energy. Difficult to keep him in stasis for longer than a few minutes. Can tackle most physical obstacles with astonishing ease, and clever enough to solve intellectual puzzles as well. Oftentimes difficult to locate given his penchant for disappearing into the wilderness in search of adventure, and a distressing habit of losing his cell phone in rivers, streams, and oceans.

Now for a few interesting natural events.

• The Aurigid meteor shower was predicted to peak shortly before 0637 CST on September 1st here in our part of the country. This particular shower is apparently unpredictable in exact timing and intensity, but has been known to produce blue-green fireballs in the past.
• Some crazy Texas spiders decided to put together a 200 yard long communal web in Lake Tawakoni Park in East Texas (about 45 minutes from Dallas). Not completely unique, but weird and unexpected enough to draw visitors from all over the place and start intellectual squabbles online. Neat!

I'd already been excited about the meteor shower a couple of weeks ago, but little did I know that my friend Alex was going to be coming through Dallas this weekend, and he digs stargazing as well, kick ass! I had also been trying without success to find someone who wasn't arachnophobic to drive out to the lake, and suddenly here he was. I was invited to dine on Friday night at a vegetarian restaurant known as the Cosmic Cafe with a group of his friends (and some of their friends, I met a bunch of cool new people in the last few days, I tell ya) and Kevin was present and accounted for among the number. Excellent. This could only get better.

My friend, Sikandar the Pure

Okay, on a much better note, just spoke to one of my oldest friends on the phone, and he's coming through Dallas next weekend. At last, someone else who gets excited about random astronomical phenomena!

Seriously, this guy is one of the coolest people I know. He is an excellent writer, and has a quirky sense of humor. As an example, check out this short article. I would have paid good money to be there, my friend.

About the only negative thing about him that comes to mind is that he is a vegan. And, come on, that's not even negative, it's just dismaying to my omnivorous instincts.

Nothing but trouble

Disclaimer: The following blog should probably not be read by anyone. I mean, it's entirely whiny and moronic. Here, I'll give you a link to something that will make you happier than reading this: Rubber bands. Innocuous tools of war.

What, still here? Your loss, I tried to warn you.
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Talking never got me anywhere except into trouble. Perhaps an extreme statement, but it certainly feels like the truth when I consider the holes I’ve dug for myself secondary to thoughtless conversations throughout my life. Perhaps being a deaf/mute would have been better for the people around me.

Perhaps my singing is some kind of saving grace. While not exceptional, and perhaps because of that, it seems to make people happy. I don’t know.

At any rate, I digress. This is an exercise in exploring a crucial failure in my character. To my credit, I am eager to perform tasks and favors for my friends, but come on. A paid go-fer can do the same thing, and probably better. I have a complete inability to address things that count without making every issue come back to me (i.e. “It’s my fault”). Sure, even if it’s true, who the hell cares?

Why is it my fault, then? That’s the clincher. Did I not pay attention? Did I say something stupid when I knew better? Did I ignore obvious signs of distress? Did I fail to listen? Why the hell can’t I get to the point where I can actually prevent the “fault” from occurring? I just sit there like a sack of beans with that sad face that says “Boohoo, I suck.” Take, for example, the opening of this rant. “Boohoo, I suck.” Who gives a shit?

How do you gain true empathy? I do a reasonably good job at work, right? I talk to people about life and death on a daily basis without coming off as a heartless bitch, mainly because I’m not a heartless bitch, and I am able to gain trust and confidence from families.

Maybe that’s it. I can be convincing for a few days or hours, but it’s not real. Which means that I'm a hyprocrite. Great. Just what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Random Link: May you live in interesting times.

Caffeinated visions

I feel strange. I can feel my heart beating in my chest and blood coursing through my hands. My field of vision is pulsing. I feel very alone, and edgy. I think I've had too much caffeine.

This sucks. So, let's move on to something else. This blog will be written in pseudo-stream of consciousness mode, so forgive random leaps as they manifest themselves.

I used to write a lot more than I do now, both for work and play. At my best, words just flow, and I'm barely aware where they're coming from. At those times, I feel more like an instrument being wielded by somebody else, and it's effortless.

I like words, particularly unloved, rarely used words. Not necessarily obscure, mind you, but some of them sound archaic when used in most modern day conversations. Marvelous, for example. I try to use it a few times a month.

Growing up, it was hard to get me away from any book that I started. Intense battles occasionally occured because of this... well, more like my brothers would hide them to make me mad, and I would cry until they either gave it up willingly, or got smacked by my parents and returned it by force. My youngest brother and I would come to physical blows on occasion, in which case we'd both be smacked and we would retire to our rooms to sulk and lick our wounds, planning revenge. This would usually last about 5 minutes, and then he would offer me dibs on his GI Joes and return my book, and peace would reign.

That's all.

Oreos, ice cream, and a date with destiny

Every so often, I forget who I am. Not in a senile demented way, no, but in the navel gazing, "Who am I?" kind of way. To be fair, I'm kind of flighty. Most of the time, my thought processes don't go very deep, more like, "There are serious problems that need to be addressed and... hey, is that a painted bunting?! Quick, I need binoculars!" Food distracts me, too. This makes it hard for me to be really introspective most of the time, although not impossible. So, I decided that I was going to come up with one really, indisputably true statement about myself today. I spent a lot of time thinking. And I found a truth that no one who knows me can deny.

I really like milkshakes.

I didn't say it was going to be earth shattering, did I? Seriously, I have some other defining traits that I don't think anyone can argue with, but I figure I'll start with this.

Milkshakes are wonderful, like a cold, sweet time warp to a time when my brother Mel and I would pull out vanilla ice cream, Hershey's chocolate syrup, spill milk everywhere (those gallon things are heavy) and combine it all in our blender. An absolute delight.

In more recent years, I have tried different flavors, combinations, and even added alcohol to certain concoctions. Currently, my favorite blend is from a place called Twisted Root here in Dallas. They make their ice cream fresh everyday, and they make a killer cookies and cream shake... drooling just thinking about it, truthfully.

So, reader, if you want to drag me out somewhere, a milkshake is effective bait. Karaoke works really well, too. That's another true statement about me: I really like singing, be it at a karaoke bar, in the shower, at work, while driving, etc. Soon, I'll be a bit more serious, just can't seem to manage anything of the sort at the moment.

American Gods and Suicide

Ok. I don't plan on making mild intoxication a prerequisite for my blogging, and to be fair, I've only had a couple of Harps tonight. When I got home I stared at my bottle of rum for a bit, but I'm not willing to drink that shit straight. Hmmm. The first couple of lines don't make a lot of sense, but I'll let them play.

In the last couple of weeks I picked up a couple of books from Half Price, namely American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho. Now, Gaiman I have had some passing familiarity with since I was 15 and one of my friends from TAMS loaned me a copy of Death: The High Cost of Living. I've been on a nodding in passing basis with the guy (figuratively speaking) at best since then. I'll admit, I was looking for Stardust, to no avail, but I dimly recollected that the book that was available was reputed to be interesting at the very least. So, I read.

I'll say it first, I wish I had sat down and plowed through it in one sitting. As it was, I spent a few days snatching a chapter here and there while at work, home, and play. It brought to mind a time when I was younger and always carried a purse (not of high fashion, as I recall I had a smiley face purse I was fond of for months) for the sole purpose of having a place to stow a couple of books. It's interesting, the concept being that the world is full of gods that have lost their power and importance over the course of years. Several comments are made that America is not a fertile ground for most gods, and they end up becoming taxi drivers, con artists, ladies of the night, etc. I think I will reread it in the near future when I have easy access to Google for a good portion of the time, as there were several references that tickled areas of memory without producing a solid answer of who some of the characters were or what they initially stood for. I think it would make the book even more memorable. Putting it bluntly, I enjoyed it. I spent a great deal of time wondering what the hell was going to happen, and eventually the story widened and an "Aha!" moment struck. I look forward to getting my greedy mitts on some of his other tales.

As for Veronika... So far, so good. The most crazed person in the asylum seems to be the doctor, perhaps not too surprising considering that the author spent a good portion of 3 years in such a locale at the pressing of his family. I wonder how the tale will unfold.

I'll admit, this is a far cry from what I actually wanted to write about. Sometimes, though, it's better to think before you type. Or not. Maybe it's better to be a little crazy.

Random Link: I'm hoping for fireballs of the non-lethal variety to see.

Undeserved rewards

It's 3 am, and a Grand Slam Breakfast (to go) from Denny's has just vanished down my gullet. It is merely the culinary punctuation to the end of a completely undeserved respite from reality. Shall I try to elucidate? I'll try, but I'm pretty damn drunk right now - you may not appreciate this, reader, but I'm having extreme difficulties in my keyboarding ability at the moment, requiring many backspaces and deletes that are most uncharacteristic of my usual ability...

Anyhow, I received a text page at about 9 pm-ish? Not sure, can't think straight, but it was from a friend who requested my presence at a get-together tonight. Why the hell not? I replied in the affirmative, and I'm glad for it.

The night was spent consuming beer (no shots, kudos for me! ) and dancing. Granted, I had originally planned to read about multiple myeloma. Do I wish to change anything? No way in hell. Will keep this short, I reek of smoke, and I'm having difficulty keeping the screen in focus. Attempted to do my customary sudoku a few minutes ago, and broke down into uncontrollable snickering. I'm still not sure why I found humor in grids and numbers, but perhaps that's ok.

Listen, friends, to my tale of woe

This story, like so many in my life, ends in disappointment.

Saturday, as noted previously, was initiated with a prolonged wait in a line of hopeful singers. I was present within that under-caffeinated throng, and staggered away after many hours with a bracelet guaranteeing me a chance to be an American Idol.

Let me digress for a moment. Does anyone truly idolize a random stranger who happens to sing rather well? Don't get me wrong, some of these people appear to have some talent, and I believe talent deserves some respect when accompanied by hard work and initiative. But worship them? I dunno...

Anyway, Sunday night found me in the company of friends at a fine and festive feast of filling fantastic fare. Delightful. Afterward, we had retired en masse to the home of one of our party to imbibe an excellent bottle of wine, the name of said wine escaping me at the moment. At approximately 10ish, my cell phone rang. Who should it be but my parents, with the most unpleasant news. My niece, who was the primary driver in my participation of this contest (as well as being my one allowed entourage member for the following day), had suffered an eye injury. I'm still fuzzy on the exact mechanism of the injury, but she managed to inflict a minor corneal laceration. I really hate the idea of eye injuries; it makes me feel queasy and freaked out.

Long story short? My participation in American Idol came to an abrupt end. I didn't even get to meet Simon! I was hoping to make it far enough to receive some snarky comment about my voice or persona from the man himself, and I was totally planning to sing All My Little Words by Magnetic Fields. It would have been sweet.

To make everyone feel better, choose to believe something my friend Alicia commented on. Perhaps this was a celestial intervention, because I'm just so damn good that obviously I was going to advance all the way to #1, resulting in the abandonment of my chosen career and taking away someones chance at greatness. Definitely.

Napoleonic legal systems

Do you ever feel like no one gives you the benefit of the doubt?

Yeah, me too. Seriously annoying, I gotta say.

Random Link: Peruse the collection, good stuff.

Playing to the crowd

There are a lot of things that I can think of that would cause embarassment. Some I've actually experienced, and some are merely the products of thinking too much about this subject.

1. Skinny dipping in a presumed isolated area, and finding out it isn't.
2. Laughing so hard that you start to snort in public.
3. Finding out 2 hours after dinner that you've had part of it stuck in your teeth.
4. Doing a horrible rendition of a famous song in an elevator, only to have it open to a large crowd of people who heard a good portion of it.
5. Trying out for American Idol.

Ah, there's so many more. And what am I doing this weekend? That's right, #5.

Let me go back a couple of years, when my niece/goddaughter asked me if I would try out for AI. I laughed and said, "Sure, if they ever come to Dallas."

Damn it.

So, the AI machine is currently here, waiting to chew up thousands of dreams of young fools. And there I am with them at 5 AM on a Saturday, when all I really want is a cup of coffee. The whole experience of registration day felt remarkably like a slaughterhouse, complete with a chute full of vacant eyed hapless creatures awaiting the doom that would befall them. After 3 hours of shuffling, I was outfitted with a paper wristband with strict instructions not to remove it and return by 5 AM on Monday for the actual audition.

So, looking on the bright side, my attending likes American Idol and is giving me Monday off because she thinks this is hilarious. The down side is that my day would probably be a lot shorter at work. Also, I don't know what to sing. I'm debating something far off the beaten path, maybe something by Magnetic Fields, Cat Stevens, Liz Phair, or maybe even Joan Baez. Ultimately it won't make too much difference, as I expect a rapid elimination. I'll let you know how it goes come Monday.

Christopher Walken, the Musical

I saw Hairspray tonight, and man, it was fun. I've not seen it in any other incarnation, so don't ask me if it's better/worse than anything in the past, but it stood on its own well. It also reminded me of something very, very important.

Christopher Walken is frickin' fantastic.

Many of you may have seen him dancing in the Fatboy Slim video for Weapon of Choice, and if you haven't, well, by golly, what are you waiting for? Apparently, he used to dance on Broadway, too. However, the first time I remember seeing Christopher Walken, he was... Puss In Boots! How cool is that? It was on the Disney channel, that I remember. I had supposed it was lost to the abyss where obscure movies go, but Google came to my rescue.

Firstly, for immediate gratification, the treasure vault known as YouTube had a few clips strung together.

Isn't it deliciously bad? The blonde kid is Sean Connery's son, if I remember correctly. Anyhow, great memories. However, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be great if this was available on DVD?" Well, apparently, it is. I am totally buying this within the next 24 hours!

Man, I feel so happy now.

Bawdy times at Half-Price

After waking up at 6ish this AM, I was faced with either trying to sleep until a more reasonable hour (like noon) or arise, so I went with the latter. I made a few attempts at being productive, and then gave that up for lost and went out for food and amusement.

After a stirring meal of chicken and dressing at a much loved cafe, I meandered over to that haven of literature that is known as Half Price Books. The one in Dallas I like to go to is enormous, a veritable warehouse of obscure books, records, magazines, and movies, plus they have a coffee shop. It's the kind of place you could wander around in for a few hours and emerge with either an armful of books or just read them in any random corner of the store with a cup of joe for company. I actually made a couple of purchases today, but I wanted to talk about what I didn't buy.

There is an area dedicated to music, covering musical history, theory, performance, etc. Stacks of songbooks and sheet music are found in this section, and while idly scanning through their selection I came across The Dirty Song Book. Interesting, I thought. Would anyone with a sense of fun be able to resist a quick perusal? I didn't think so.

The author of the book gave his reason for its existence as being frustrated that nobody wants to acknowledge in print that dirty songs are out there. You sing them at pubs, at summer camp, during cattle roundups, and while on shore leave, and yet no one has made an anthology of these classics? Unacceptable. This book is his gift to society.

I'll admit, I don't really know any dirty songs right off hand. The closest thing I can think of is something about "Comet, it makes you want to vomit", not really anything bawdy, you know? Flipping through the pages of this book was an educational experience. I'm already regretting leaving it in the store, if only because I don't think some people will believe that it exists. However, I have found evidence of it online, so it makes me feel a bit better. Also found online is a website that has an extensive collection of field recordings and lyrics to dirty songs.

So, all in all a good day so far.

Random link: Because sometimes our inner geek needs caffeine

I love a rainy night

Dallas has been getting more than it's fair share of rain recently. It's kind of like how my parents described living in the rain forest of Peru - one second, it's sunny, the monkeys and birds are making a racket in the trees, not a cloud in sight, then BAM! A clap of thunder, and a cloudburst soaks everything. Every afternoon. As if God turned on the sprinklers. An hour later, everything is sunny again, but much more damp. This is pretty much what we've been seeing down here, minus the monkeys.

Someone drew a depiction of what we can expect the region to evolve into if this becomes an ongoing pattern, and I will share it with you.

The original drawing was found posted on pegasusnews with an accompanying article. Mainly, this whole post was an excuse to post a drawing that I thought was funny. That is all. I'm going to bed now.

Table for one

I truly, truly hate eating alone, enough that I will often forego a meal if I can't find company, instead lying on my couch and staring at the ceiling fan. I'm told this is unhealthy. However, is it not true that a dish of herbs eaten in the company of friends is greater than a mighty banquet eaten alone? I think it is. It's not just the food, it's the conversation, the time spent ruminating on the course of the day, observing the people and activities around you and being able to split a dessert with coffee so you don't feel guilty.

When compared to that, a solitary meal seems pointless. It makes me feel heartsick. Reading makes it a bit better, so sometimes I'll go to a coffee shop with book in hand to sip and munch. It would still be improved by a friend sitting across the table doing the same.

My arrival to Dallas a few years ago was spurred by an unusual set of circumstances which I will elaborate on some other time. It's been a period where I've both made new friends and solidified friendships from the past. Alcohol was introduced to my palate. My wardrobe has been upgraded from the t-shirts and tapered leg jeans that have been in my closet since 1995. It's been a great ride. However, let me reflect back on one particular incident from August of 2005.

Amy knows how to throw a great party. That's just one of many things that make her a spectacular person. This particular party was one of the first that I remember, as well as being the first where a considerable portion was lost to an alcohol induced blackout. Thankfully, I had my digital camera with me, and other alcohol affected folks were gracious enough to record the antics of the crowd long after I was reduced to a giggling mess on the floor. But this isn't just about being a tumbrel, this is about the beginning of a friendship.

Ian and Amy have been friends long before my arrival to Dallas. I'd met him a time or two at other social events, and we'd had friendly chats, but that was the extent of it. This party marked a turning point. We were both trashed.

There we are, with a couple of other highly affected friends, in Amy's house. Good times!

The next morning, I woke up on the floor of the bedroom covered by a quilt. Someone was next to me. We both turned and looked at each other. "Gigi?" "Ian?" Then we went back to sleep for a few more minutes. Eventually we got up to breakfast with Amy and another straggler. And you know what? He hates eating alone, too.

So, besides the fact that I miss hearing his impressions of people, singing Liz Phair, Natalie Merchant, and Joan Baez loudly in the car, gritting our teeth when Dallas-ites are seated next to us, and wondering why people are so frustratingly dumb in general, I miss my dinner buddy.

September seems a long way down the road, but it'll get here soon enough. When it does, I'll be starved, let's get some food.

Enthusiastic and entertaining

Exuberant, exhilarating, exciting, ecstatic, ebullient, eager... that's a lot of positive "E" words. Interesting.

Moving on, everyone loves candy. Maybe you don't eat as much as you used to. Maybe you're a liar and claim you don't really dig sweets. Whatever, it's a fact that within all of us is a kid on Halloween with a full sack of candy, ready to gorge until we're sick, or the kid on Easter Sunday who just ate a box of Peeps, a couple of chocolate rabbits, and a sack of pastel M&Ms. We just learn to tame him/her a bit as we grow up. Or not.

I love sugar. Plain, in coffee, in baked goods, in packaged products, in soda, etc. I'm going to be a sad girl when my pancreas expires and I finally develop diabetes. It's hard to say what my favorites are, honestly, although Reese's Pieces are definitely high on the list. However, I remember when I was little, and Lik-M-Aid was my poison of choice when I wanted pure, unadulterated sugary pleasure, Pixy Stix be damned.

This delightful substance is likely known to you, my reader. A packet of a colored powdery substance with some flavoring tossed in, accompanied by what appeared to be a piece of chalk. Thrown together, it was the childhood equivalent of cocaine and a rolled up $100 bill. Not from personal experience, mind you, but we've all seen the movies. That stuff was good. All three packets would disappear in a matter of minutes, leaving me in a tremulous, maniacal sugar high. My youngest brother was another addict, and we would come to blows if my parents were foolish enough to make us share. How does one share 3 packets with 2 people? Ridiculous. Granted, my brother would win easily, unless I started crying, in which case he'd get smacked and it would be mine. No, I didn't fight fair, but who cares? It was mine.

In recent years, I've noticed it's harder to find this stuff. It still exists, but it's not as pervasive as I recall. That's probably good, seeing what it could reduce me to when I was younger. However, I have found a supplier online, and the temptation is growing everyday...

Random Link: Pathology Rocks! Maybe I should reconsider my specialty...

Dawning remembrance

I just remembered, I'm going to blog about Lik-M-Aid. But not until later, because I just blogged. Like, 5 minutes ago. And I'm supposed to be working. But it's gonna be great when I do. Yeah. Totally.

...

Peace out.

Tag, you're it!

Okay, sometimes I appreciate graffiti.

I'm not talking about the crude "Yo momma's fat, f*** you" stuff you find on bathroom walls. I mean the stuff that looks like it would have taken someone hours to do, and makes you wonder why the hell they don't put it on a canvas and try to make a career of art. Or the whimsical characters that pop up in unexpected places. One of my favorite examples is located just south of I-30 on the access road that runs between Sylvan and Beckley (in case you want to find it).

Originally, there was a small army of rather harmless appearing green goblin-like creatures, all shapes and sizes, some with a little fang jutting out. Those little guys always brightened my day, I dunno why. Recently, there has been some metamorphosis underway... some of those goblins are now white, more rabbit-like, and one of them is stating that it loves Dallas. The sheer size of the whole piece would be hard to capture on canvas, and nowhere else would it get the kind of exposure to the masses as it gets while people are trapped in rush hour with time to actually look around at the scenery.

Now, I know. Graffiti sucks up lots of money and defaces property. I'm not saying that people should endorse it. I just wish that, if it's going to exist, that it takes on this form.

Now, a personal graffiti story. Kind of.

When I was in 7th grade, I sat next to the wall by a corkboard during history class. I forget his name, but Coach X taught the course. I recall he was obsessed with JFK, and was beginning to show signs of male pattern baldness. He also spoke in a monotone. During a monologue where I was particularly bored, I began to look at a bare patch on the corkboard, and noted initials here and there, and a couple of small doodles. One random scratching looked kind of like the ears of a horse.

Now, I liked (and still do!) drawing horses. I'm a girl. It's my thing. The coach was writing something on the board, so I picked up my pen and began to form the shape of a finely formed head (Arabian-esque). Lovely. I began to get into this thing, and where initially I had only intended to complete a portrait, I thought to myself, "I've still got room for the rest of this guy, why not?" In my own little world, I began to engross myself in delineating a prancing steed, complete with flowing mane and tail. A masterpiece.

Perhaps I should have been clued in by the ominous silence around me, but no. I didn't see the shadow across my desk, either. It wasn't until the class erupted into giggling that I glanced up and into the doleful eyes of the coach. Severe mortification for me, I tell ya. I mean, I was a complete teacher's pet, and I broke into a cold sweat thinking "Crap, I'm gonna get detention, it's going to ruin my perfect record, I'll never get into college!"

The coach, to his credit, was a pretty decent guy. "Peralta, you done defacing school property?" "Yes, sir, I believe I am." "Good. Don't let me catch you doing it again." "Agreed, sir."

I'm pretty sure he made me do extra laps later, but it didn't kill me, and I probably needed the exercise anyway.

There was something else I was going to blog about, but it escapes me... 'til next time.

Random Link: Funny T-shirts? Hell, yeah!

Fun times with mathematics

Many of you are probably curious what -G^2 means. No? Well, not gonna stop me.

The latter part of what would have been my high school years were spent at a place known as TAMS, basically an excuse for me to live on a college campus when I was 15 amid people a lot smarter than I am. At TAMS, there were (and continue to be) people who were freaky good at and/or obsessed with math. People who would come up with equations with hidden jokes that would make other math-heads laugh hysterically, leaving me with a rather blank expression. People who did calculus for fun. Strange, sick people. I spent a lot of time climbing trees and blowing bubbles. How did I wind up there? God only knows.

Anyhow, this brings up Tim. Tim was a math guy. He had glasses of such potency that they magnified his eyes to twice their natural size, and he was not known for his social panache. He was often an ass. However, he was really good at Risk, and Risk is a game that I enjoyed spending countless hours on, usually defending Peru with a tenacity bordering on insanity. There was actually a term called "the Peru grudge" applied to this behavior among the TAMS Risk playing set, inspired by this. Many life-changing conversations would occur during these matches, or at least very strange ones.

The exact details of this particular conversation have been lost, but it went along these lines:

T: "You know that your name's an equation, right?"
G: "What?"
T: "Gigi. It can be broken down quite simply."
G: "You're talking crazy. Also, you know I suck at math."
T: "It's simple. You recall that i = square root of -1 (the imaginary number)?"
G: "Uhh... yeah."
T: "Putting it together, (G*G)(i*i) = -G^2"
G: "Hmm. You're right. And if I say that G = the gravitational constant, my name, numerically, would come out to be -44.528929 X 10^-11."
T: "Exactly. Want to go into binary?"
G: "No. My head's already hurting enough."

Thus, the origin of a numerical phenomenon, or at least a quirky online handle.

Random Link: A tale of friendship, explosions, and a murderous mini-lop bunny

Azucar!

I admit, I have never been skinny dipping. Not even as a kid. I'm pretty self conscious, and the idea of stripping down to my birthday suit anywhere there might be even the most remote possibility that someone might see freaks me out. I hated gym for that reason.

Now, this doesn't mean that I've missed impromptu swimming sessions in my life. It just means that, instead of having dry clothes to look forward to afterward, I slog around creating puddles everywhere. I love swimming in the cloth.

Summers at my parent's house usually include the hated chore of cleaning windows, and it gets very, very hot around here. By the time I'm done, I usually sprint toward the deep end of the pool and jump in, sweaty clothes and all. It annoys my mom, but most times she'll leap in for a while, accompanied by a banshee scream that I'm sure the neighbors enjoy. Ah, summer days...

Random Link: I love The Law

Manatees and mermaids

While driving aimlessly around Dallas the other day, I found myself a witness of a small natural drama. It occurred at a stoplight, and the players were a bird and a cat.

The hunter... an attractive creature, ghostly with bluish gray stripes on the tail and face. Thin, likely feral. It approached the bird (a female grackle) as it ambled along, pausing intermittently to snatch crickets, seemingly oblivious. The cat broke into a sprint, but not before the bird's mate called out a warning from a small cedar elm standing alongside. Life for the bird, an empty stomach for the cat.

The light turned green, and I was obliged to move or else anger the line of cars that trailed behind.

So what's so special about that? Cats kill birds everyday, birds escape everyday. But pensiveness struck, and I wondered who had the better day, the cat who succeeds or the bird that escapes? Is it worse to be a cat that starved or a bird that was killed? Every story has two sides, after all.

I'm still not sure which side I would take.

MST3K, how I miss you

Okay, one more post today. This is pretty damn funny. Watch the whole thing, as I personally enjoy the commentary as various "Don't"s begin to flood the screen. There's a whole series of these old propaganda films on YouTube, check it out when life is getting you down. The hygiene one is great!

Curse you, Phil Collins

Curses. I arrived home to find the dreaded "Your Rent Is Late And Now You Will Die!" note that my friendly office staff slipped in the door. Hate it when that happens.

But, moving on. I was thinking today about a character from a book I always liked, A Separate Peace. There was a boy named Phineas, and one of the many cool things about him was the way he ran and walked. His movement was described as flowing, an uninterrupted flow of natural energy that was impossible to emulate. I loved that. I wanted to move like Phineas. I wanted people to look at me and say, "Wow! She flows."

Instead, I prance.

I have tried to deny this fact. My arguments, however, are worthless. Prancing is not my normal mode of locomotion, but it becomes apparent when I go out for a walk with one of my friends, Amy. Now, she isn't that much taller than I am, but I periodically have to jog a few steps to keep up with her. My legs are not long.

During one of these bouts of spasmodic walk/jogging, the word "prancing" was first thrown out at me. I haughtily replied that she must be referring to the fact that I point my toes a bit funny, but that otherwise I was very much jogging, thank you. However, as I paid closer attention, I realized, shit, she's right.

I'm not sure if there is a real definition to prance that fits what I do, but it probably can't be described any other way. I invite anyone who is curious to come down to Dallas for a demonstration of prancing.

Random Link: Silly walks? You betcha!

Because I'm jolly, like the rancher

I don't know what songs should be playing in the soundtrack of my life.

I don't know what my favorite dessert is.

I'm not really sure who I am.

I can't remember important dates that matter to my family or friends.

I usually fail to understand what people are talking about, even when I'm trying to listen.

I haven't talked to one of my brothers in about 4 months.

There comes a time to change. Perhaps that time needs to come sooner rather than later.

Fame on YouTube

So, I like anime.

You know, those Japanese cartoons that can be pretty cool, pretty weird? I used to be nearly obsessed with it. Granted, I never dressed up as my favorite character (admittedly, I considered it...), but I did once carve a pumpkin with the face of this cool little demon-cat from a show I liked. Bless those children who said, "Hey, it's Kirara!" They got extra candy.

On my computer, I have a lot of anime songs. About 3.7 gb worth, if you'd like to know. Some of it is exceptionally good, stuff that you can appreciate even if you hate cartoons. Others... well, even I recognize it's crap, but I can't bear to get rid of it. Let's not even talk about the mountains of CD-Rs I've filled with free anime off the web.

At my geekiest, I was part of a fansub group with the title of Editor/Timer. Basically, fansub groups get digital rips of the latest shows from Japan, whip up subtitles and distribute them for free online. Yes, the legality is questionable at best, but I was pretty damn good. Our translater was fast and loose with her grammar and spelling, and it was up to me to render it into a readable state and make sure the text popped up at the right time. Those were good times, back in medical school when I'm pretty sure I should have been learning something about the Kreb Cycle or anatomy, and instead was a covert Internet pirate who was also really good at foosball.

I am a hack pianist. My mother appreciates me, but it's a good thing I never strove to be a musician professionally. Pretty sure I'd be working a street corner somewhere by this point to make ends meet.

Let me unite these seemingly unrelated topics. I transcribed a few songs from shows that I liked into piano sheet music a few years ago, released them to the web, and walked away. Imagine my surprise when, while randomly searching youtube, I ran into this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfPm1cBgde8 and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0Qsn652Xuc

Two versions, both using my sheet music as a starting point. I believe that makes me immortal in the online sense, as surely it's only a matter of time before this picks up into a viral video phenomenon. The first one is nice enough to credit me in her description, too. I feel famous, and I didn't even have to kill anyone important.

Random Link: I think there's enough up there for everyone.

Survival skills in action

There was a time in my life where the idea of walking off into the woods and living off the fat of the land was what I plotted every night. My library has an eclectic assortment of books, and there's a fair segment that deal with survival skills that were collected during that particular era. Theoretically, I could be dropped off in an isolated forest with only the clothes on my back and walk away not only unscathed, but with some killer new duds and an arsenal of primitive weaponry. Awesome.

In reality, I can barely start a fire with a full can of lighter fluid, bone dry wood and a lighter. I've never actually killed and then eaten my prey, although I have shot those little bastard English sparrows with a BB gun. I'm a fair shot with a bow and arrow, but somehow I have my doubts that I could produce a laminated recurve bow with a full set of professionally fletched aluminum arrows in the back woods with sheer tenacity.

Now, I am good at making the "rodent in distress" call. I proved this a few days ago in my parking garage, and the tale is as follows:

Walking out of my car and toward the elevators of my building, a small scurrying figure caught my eye. I silently slid behind a nearby concrete support and watched. There. A young rat, exploring the wheels of a 1999 Infinity G35, oblivious to the possible dangers lurking a scant 8 feet away. As it turned it's attention to its whiskers, I stealthily approached, using cars for cover until I was within 5 feet. Carefully, I moistened the back of my hand and pushed my lips to it and, essentially, kissed it noisily, allowing air to flow through my front teeth. Perfect.

The object of my pursuit leapt into the air, sheer terror in its beady eyes. Frantic, it tried to find it's distressed compatriot, at which point I stepped away from the SUV where I had been concealed. This being too much for the murine to deal with, it dashed away.

Now, had this been a survival situation, I would have totally had rat stew. It wouldn't have stood a chance against my superior intellect and skills, highlighting my rightful place as a superpredator/omnivore. Owned.

Random Link: You rock, math/science teachers.

My plumbing is everyone's concern

There are certain items that cause consternation and embarassment by the simple act of their purchase. Condoms, for example. Even if you're an ultrasound technician and have an excellent reason to be buying the 100 count value pack, it will ignite unwanted commentary or stares from your fellow shopgoers. Hemorrhoid creme - I understand it works wonders on bags under your eyes, but be assured that, regardless, the sales clerk will be watching your derriere as you walk away and wonder.

There are others, of course. My tale revolves around a relatively innocuous item, the common household plunger.

I came home and discovered that my toilet lacked it's characteristic "oomph." Normally, this would be handled with minimum fuss by a phone call to the front office, but it is Memorial Day weekend. I'm sure someone would answer a distress call, but it seemed like overkill to ruin someone's Sunday, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.

5 minutes later, and I'm searching the CVS pharmacy downstairs for a plunger. Ah, there it was, the standard wooden handle/plain rubber savior of drains. I tested several, looking for one with the correct balance required for the upcoming task. As I made my choice, I heard the first comment: "Ooh, having problems?" A swift backwards glance showed a gentleman with a tube of toothpaste, shaking his head knowingly. I nodded, smiled, and began to make my way to the counter. 2nd comment from 2nd casual observer: "Need some help with your plumbing?" A pleasant decline of proffered services from myself. Almost to the counter, 3rd comment, 3rd guy: "Gave it more than it could handle, huh?" At this point, I began to feel heat rising to my cheeks, and I told a ridiculous partial lie "My brother's visiting, happens everytime." The first part is completely false, although he does cause problems in the bathroom on a regular basis. Yes, the pressure was getting to me.

Finally, the counter. I hand over my purchase, and the sales clerk raises his eyebrows at it. I swiftly swipe my card and wait for him to hand it back to me. He returns it, stating "Afraid I don't have a bag big enough for a plunger." Snickering from behind me. I grab it, and run.

Next time, I'm looking on Amazon.com.

Random link of the day: Nerd Type Quiz, my result below.

What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Literature Nerd Does sitting by a nice cozy fire, with a cup of hot tea/chocolate, and a book you can read for hours even when your eyes grow red and dry and you look sort of scary sitting there with your insomniac appearance? Then you fit this category perfectly! You love the power of the written word and it's eloquence; and you may like to read/write poetry or novels. You contribute to the smart people of today's society, however you can probably be overly-critical of works. It's okay. I understand.
Science/Math Nerd
Gamer/Computer Nerd
Anime Nerd
Social Nerd
Musician
Drama Nerd
Artistic Nerd
What Be Your Nerd Type?

Evolution of a reckless driver

On a near weekly basis, commentary is offered to me regarding the manner in which I drive. Usually, this commentary runs along the lines of "You are insane." This is unfair. Yes, unsecured passengers can occasionally be found careening from one side of the car to the other on sharp turns. Yes, the speedometer is rarely measuring less than 70 mph. Yes, other cars eat my dust at stoplights. But let's be reasonable! I don't weave through traffic, I don't drive faster than I can see, and I keep my eyes on the road. Most of the time.

When I first started driving, my general feeling was that I was being given a license to kill and I refused to drive anywhere that might involve me having to deal with other cars, stoplights, and pedestrians. In other words, my parents and brothers drove me most places for a very long time. It wasn't until I turned 17 that I reluctantly began to undergo my father's precision driving training in earnest - after all, it's very uncool (and unfair) to have your mom drive you to college to early morning classes. I logged somewhere in the realm of 300 miles in the parking lot at the clinic where he worked in a Ford Ranger. Thrilling.

At the end of that training, I emerged a highly paranoid driver who rarely went closer than 2 miles below the posted speed limit. Accelerating from a stop felt like the car was stuck in hot tar. A stoplight ahead? Better slow down starting from 1/2 a mile away. Yes, I was a "Granny Driver." I never listened to the radio, for fear that it would distract me from the task of driving. Friends could look at my car, but not ride in it. I took pride in the excellent mileage I produced by my smooth starts and stops.

Then, medical school... I began to commute from Arlington to Fort Worth every single day. Driving 55 mph while everyone else was whizzing by at a comfortable 70 mph caused envy. My foot began to grow heavier. I was driving 65 mph. I was breaking the law, and it felt good. But things didn't stop there. I met D. Lang, a lanky fellow who I will need to delineate sometime. D. Lang made fun of my driving. He enjoyed sharp turns for the fun of it. I began to see the possibilities of what I could achieve in my car, and I have been traveling that road since. Thank God.

Return to the Internet

It's been a long time since my last visible incursion into the vast realm of the Internet. Already self consciousness is seeping in and I wonder what, exactly, I'm trying to prove. However, seeing that quiet introspection hasn't really done too many wonders for me, I'll resort to thoughtless rambling and ignore everything else.