I'm (soooo not) chill like that.

Well, Lil Ms. "It's all about the threshold!" sure as hell did not want to go running today. I slowly put on my workout clothes around mid-morning, before realizing I felt exhausted, at which point I fell asleep on top of my bed covers for a couple hours. I guess I didn't get my night's worth last night. (There was something about me saying to MB this morning, "How many more times are you planning on letting your alarm go off?" He chuckled and guiltily responded that he'd accidentally set it too early. Solution? Just let it keep going off a bunch more times! Thanks, love!)

I fell into a deep sleep during my nap and had a dream that was too twisted even for this blog. Good lord, my somnolent mind is a dark, avant garde place. Let's just say, it had humans who morphed into distorted puppet versions of themselves when experiencing strong emotional reactions, there was this fire drill, but I was stuck in a room covered in blood and trying to eat a pizza I'd microwaved, without getting biohazard materials in my mouth, and there were all kinds of zoo animals... The loveliest part of the dream was when I scaled a couple trees just by grabbing branches and willing myself to float upward. (That is a nice feeling to dream about - I've had floating and flying dreams before.) I wish my brain was this creative in waking hours; maybe then I could write decent fiction.

I couldn't run yesterday, because my left knee was still aching, so I made up for it with a power walk. When I did leave the apartment today, I felt so...heavy. Ugh. I was definitely not in as good a place as I was two days ago. But I took the same challenging trail for the first (hilly) half, and mixed it up with intermittent running and walking. Since there was plenty of daylight, after running by the north border, I took the opportunity to explore a bunch of the dirt/gravel trails in the park, so in the future I won't have to run on the road.

(I rather like the oldish neighborhoods on the north side of the park, the Spanish-influenced architecture, with boxy Volvos and Mercedes from the 1980s in the driveways, the cats sitting on the porch steps and in the windows. And the palm trees. Ah, SoCal.)

On my way to the trails, I passed the golf course, and then I passed the disc golf course. I'd never actually seen people playing disc golf before; it appears to strip away both the athleticism of playing Frisbee, and the precision of playing golf.

There are larger, clearer trails, and then there are several winding, secluded, smaller trails. I made the mistake of meandering down one of the latter today, and while ducking and dodging thorny bushes and low-hanging trees, I experienced the eerie feeling of a main character in a Coen Bros film about meet some banal, grisly end. Rather than see the creepy path to the end, I turned tail and climbed back toward the main trail. Hey...alls I'm sayin' is that I came across a couple dudes, separately, who didn't appear to be exercising. So I don't think those little trails are for me.

Toward the end of the trail hike, I was walking along, narrating this blog post in my head, and listening to a Pandora station, when suddenly I heard someone behind me. Well, I don't know what I heard, or - I think maybe I didn't even hear him until he said "Excuse me" - but either way, a certain reaction starting from the bottom of my stomach traveled upward toward my throat, and my brain KNEW before I made a sound that this was the most harmless man who could have possibly have run right up behind me, but it was too late, because the sound had already reached my lips, and I TOTALLY couldn't stop myself from screaming at the poor guy while Lady Gaga emoted into my ears, her urgent need to ride a disco stick.

Yes, screamed. Complete with my hand over my mouth, widened eyes, raised brows. Ugh.

I felt SO STUPID.

In the future, I will not be listening to my ear phones on a trail where I can't hear the sound of feet pounding behind me.

Soon after this, I was honing in on Plaza de Balboa, the area with the big fountain that looks so alluring at the end of a run. (I'd truly jump into that sucker if I didn't have to endure strange looks from passersby all the way home.) Angry at Lady Gaga for causing me to scream like an idiot at people clearly not intending to attack me, I changed the station to "Digable Planets."

This is partly because of last night when the Tide commercial which features "Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat)" came on TV, I started singing "I'm cool like that, I'm cool like that..." and MB said to me "Do you know who does that song?" I didn't.
"Um...A Tribe Called Quest?"
"No"
"Uh, the group I always mix up with A Tribe Called Quest?"
"Nooo"
"Who does it?" But then my boyfriend, who was more into The Notorious B.I.G. than The Roots in high school, never answered me. So now I think he was playin' me. (Ya hear that, MB? I am skeptical of your purported knowledge of Digable Planets!) (And I love you.)

So obvs I looked it up today on YouTube. Early 90s hip hop - chill, poetic, and lacking in big boobed bikini-clad throwaway scenery. Refreshing. Love the video - unfortunately the embedding has been disabled, so ya gotta go here to watch it. I love that chick in the group, too, and her pixie hair. I love the dreds on the dudes. I love how everybody is completely dressed.

Sort of makes me miss the early 90s, but more so, it makes me miss that I wasn't older during the early 90s, which makes as much sense as wishing I was cool in the early 90s, when in reality, I was NEVER cool, until...

...never.

Incidentally, A Tribe Called Quest plays on the Digable Planets Pandora station.

on why I effing rule

Here's my running route today. The blue line marks 6.65 mi, and I ran at least 5 miles of the whole thing. So...I effing rule.

(The route starts at 6th Ave, traveling north up to Upas St, south on Pershing Dr, then west and south toward my starting point at 6th Ave. It's about a third of a mile to my home from there, so total travel distance is about 7 mi.)

Trail deets: There were a couple instances when I was a little disoriented, because I didn't have a map with me (or my iPhone), and I had to stop running to get my bearings. There are several steep (seriously STEEP) hills throughout the trail, and I ran up most of them, but a couple times I had to catch my breath by walking at the top. The trail was quite challenging, not just because of the hills, but because the surface varied; much of the trail consisted of dirt/gravel paths, and I had to watch my foot placement in some areas that were dicey. There tends to be varmint/snake holes all over in desert areas.

My body: Having slacked off with running for the better part of four months, I feel super thrilled and impressed with my body for enduring the run. So often when I run, I'm afraid to stop, and lose momentum, but after I passed a certain threshold, I found I could stop when needed, and pick right back up at the same pace, when needed. Not that I'm revealing anything shocking - people who run know this - but really it's all about passing that threshold, the first part of the run when it really hurts. Of course, near the end when I got to Plaza de Balboa (where the San Diego Museum of Art is labeled on the map), my stupid left knee started aching - a lot. Stupid knee.

Ran on it anyway. (Yeah, I know, Stupid Amanda. Whatevs.)

Tomorrow I think I'll take a walk around the park to identify more off-the-roads trails I couldn't find tonight during the run. I don't particularly like running against traffic, and part of my route today included road running (when the makeshift dirt trail in the other side of the guard rail became inhospitable).

And finally, music! Yesterday when I went running, I took my iPhone and listened to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs Pandara station (which - is AWESOME), however, it's kind of annoying to wait when you need to skip a song (because for running, one generally wants something faster-paced, so I needed to skip over Radiohead et al), plus Pandora only gives you six skips/hour (fascists). So today I just brought my iPod Nano - although I do need to get some new music... Keeping in mind I was gone for 1.5 hrs, and part of this was occasional walking, and backtracking to make sure I was on the right path, here's the running playlist :

Suga Suga - Baby Bash
Y Control - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
American Boy - Estelle
Umbrella - Rihanna
Hey Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken - Camera Obscura
Let's Get Out Of This Country - Camera Obscura
Live Your Life - T.I.
Waiting Room - Fugazi
4 Minutes - Madonna
Give It 2 Me - Madonna
Incredible - Madonna
Boyz - M.I.A.
Paper Plans - M.I.A.
Rock That Body - Black Eyed Peas
Meet Me Halfway - Black Eyed Peas
I Gotta Feeling - Black Eyed Peas
Imma Be - Black Eyed Peas
They - Jem
Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

The Google map is a little tedious for tracking, so I went on Facebook and asked my friends for their recommendations for online tracking/mapping. But I'll save the results of that for a later post.

Why do the research when people who know are willing to point out suggestions? Social networking effing rules.

Like me.

plans of action

I'm feeling better, if anyone discovering several new posts in a row couldn't tell. It felt good to hash out all the things that have been making me feel like s**t, a couple posts ago. I was still a little droopsy during the day on Tuesday, even during a shopping errand to Target (it's bad when Target can't make me happy), but I think I finally hit my upper limit of wallowing tonight.

So I decided to get off the couch and go walking/running in Balboa Park.

I impressed Marty a few weeks ago when we went running, by keeping up with him until the last block (and running A LOT harder than I would have run alone), when he gained a few yards that were impossible for me to close.

But since I haven't stuck to a regular exercise routine for a few months, I didn't want to put too much physical pressure on my body until I build up the muscle around my knees again. That said, I still ran at least half the distance along the border of the park, then down El Prado to Plaza de Balboa, and back out, before turning toward home (downtown).

Where I rewarded myself with a lime Whole Fruits popsicle and a dip in the pool/hot tub.

For dinner I whipped up more goat cheese and parmesan sauce with shiitake mushrooms and thinly sliced onions, to toss with some leftover vermicelli. Then I had a couple glasses of Asti with raspberries. Yummy yum yum.

Later I looked up a bunch of running trails for Balboa Park online, and was pleased to discover several options mapped out, with the mileage listed for each. It sounds silly, but knowing one is meeting a set mileage goal helps with motivation, and I want to run everyday.

A portion of these efforts are due to my determination to melt off the aforementioned five mystery pounds that have been p***ing me off for the last couple months. (I don't care if I'm not actually fat in my present state. I want my favorite jeans to fit, dammit.) Mowing down a bunch of pasta doesn't sound that healthy, but the portion was not over-filling, and the sauce was made with goat cheese, yes, but also skim milk. My lunch was light in calories. Also, I ate a banana. Eating more fruit is involved in this latest scheme, along with cutting out meat (except for fish), and drinking less alcohol (tonight, or any night notwithstanding - it's about moderation). Realistically, I'll probably always occasionally eat meat, but I want to make that a rare occurence. As for alcohol, I guess I need to start buying boxed wine so I don't feel obligated to "finish the bottle!" (Do they have Asti in a box?)

Part of me fears I'll jinx the plans by talking about them here, but a more powerful part of me doesn't want to waste all the time I spent typing this by not publishing this entry.

Besides, publishing blog posts makes me feel encouraged and happy, both things that help with life in general. Accomplishing tasks begats more accomplished tasks. There are several drafted posts I've been trying to finish, including descriptions of my trip to Mpls, Rebecca's visit to San Diego, and a looong post all about vampires which I am considering breaking up into two posts.

And let us not forget my upcoming Explanation As To Why Sarah Palin's Existence As A "Political Voice" In This Country Is Offensive To Me As A Citizen, And Especially, As A Woman. I've been meaning to blog about that forever. Considering her book goes on the shelves today, maybe now is a good time to start working on that.

A mad hatter, a norfolk pine, a weiner dog in a snuggie, and 28 menstruating women walk into a bar...

These are the emergency instructions that were stuck in the seat pocket on my Sun Country flight to Minneapolis last month.

They inspired me to start taking photos with my iPhone of random instances of ridiculousness that I see in the world, and share them with the blog-reading public.

You're welcome!

So, there is a Mad Hatter possibly endorsing Sun Country, in the image to the left? Why else would he be demonstrating the proper way to rush out of a plane exit without one's briefcase? Ran-dom.

I guess he could be just a dude wearing a purple tuxedo and top hat on a plane. Demonstrating that one ought to not leave their top hat on the plane, in an emergency situation.

Also, note the ballerina above, demonstrating a correct brace position.

In full pink ballerina regalia.

At Target today I discovered that there is a sanitary napkin that evidently could be utilized for...

Infinity.

(Which means one box is good for 28 menstuating women? What a deal!)

Always Infinity.

(Redundant much?)

Here we have a 6-foot "Norfolk Pine" tree for $50. Pictured next to a 6-foot "Canadian Fir" tree for $25.

Half the price.

I know I do this a lot, but I'm gonna need to clear my throat for this.

*ahem*

THEY ARE BOTH FAKE TREES!

Yes, the "Norfolk Pine" is lighted [sic]. In other words, you don't have to buy a $4.49 string of lights at Target for the "Norfolk Pine."

But really. They are the same tree.

I think the whole "Norfolk Pine" and "Canadian Fir" thing is really what's driving me a little nuts. They should be labeled "6' fake tree" and "6' fake tree with lights."


Consumerism and marketing, you tricky bastards!

And finally, at Ralph's last week:

I think the box snarks for itself.

I just thought of the best invention.

Okay, I can stand neither "Dancing With The Stars" nor "So You Think You Can Dance" (I know, I know, everybody loves those shows...) so I've been sitting in front of the computer with a PBS show, "The Story of India," on TV, and occasionally having some nerdy "I love Geography!" moments mixed with "OMG I need to go to INDIA" moments. Then I watched the show for a bit while fantasizing about all the photographs I would take during my looooong trip to India one day.

Then I thought to myself, there would be no way to write down what everything is with the amount of pictures I would be snapping.

Then I thought to myself: OMG. DIGITAL CAMERAS NEED TO HAVE VOICE RECOGNITION.

Then I wrote a post here about how someone needs to invent that.

Then for good measure, I searched for that on the internet before posting.

Ahem...someone has already invented that.

And my Olympus Fe-340, which I've owner for a year and a half, has the option.

This is what I get for not being a big "manual-reader." (Learning about stuff is fun!)

Although in my defence, in my invention, the words would have been embedded in the digital file, along with the date and time, the camera make and model, etc. ...Maybe not possible.

Anyway, my camera saves the recording as a WAV file, separate from the JPG file; at least the possibility of recording a place name is there.

So - awesome!

Perhaps I need to read all the other stuff in that manual. Maybe there are future inventions that have already been invented, to be discovered.

so I need to complain once in a while. sue me.

My boyfriend has been gone a lot lately. I sort of feel like we keep getting screwed by duty days scheduled on holidays and weekends, in addition to regular underway time.

Example: He had a duty day on Monday (meaning I didn't see him from Sunday night until Tuesday when he came home from work - for just a blip of time, read on). Then they had a week-long underway scheduled to begin on Wednesday. Only because they were leaving so early in the morning, everyone had to stay Tuesday night on the ship. AND they scheduled a meeting for 6 pm - 7 pm that night. So in reality I saw MB when he came home for an hour in the afternoon, then another hour for dinner, and that's it, since Sunday night. (The Sunday night before last.)

He will be home Wednesday night, but I just got an email from him tonight, in which he half-mentions that he has another fucking duty day on Friday. Which sort of makes me want to cry.

Christmas and New Years are coming up, and he has to choose which week to take off from work - the one in which he will have off Christmas, or New Years. And I think with our plans (okay, my plans), it will probably be New Years, but then he's risking being scheduled to work on Christmas (it would possibly be a duty day) and I can't stand the thought of spending the entirety of Christmas day and night alone in this apartment. (Yes, totally selfish, at least *I* wouldn't be working etc I KNOW.)

This is what I signed up for - it's not like I didn't think there would be times like these. And THEY WILL BE OVER SOON. So I don't know why I'm letting it get to me like this...since I moved out here in August, I've handled the alone-nights just fine. But lately they just seem to suck more.

Although this complaint is real (Ah, and a real nice complaint to have right after being all "Happy Veterans Day!" My timing is so awesomely impeccable, I'm sorry about that, patriotic readers I may be alienating at this moment!), I have a suspicion that I actually feel sad about these things: Being far away from friends. Feeling frustrated with my lack of ease around new people and flabbergasted as to how to possibly make a connection with people other than the crew that knew me in college. Not being on my own anymore. Feeling lost about what to do career-wise. Feeling lost about what to do career-wise at age THIRTY. Not being able to get a cat. (I know, dumb, but whatev. I love cats.) Feeling unmotivated to blog (not because I don't have ideas - I have tons of ideas, all the time - tons of ideas, and weirdly strickening ADD).

Gaining five mystery pounds. Not being able to comfortably fit into the adorable expensive jeans I bought last year when I thought my days of being more "curvaceous" than I wanted to be were over. (groan.) All the paperwork I hauled in two crates from my last apartment when I moved, that I STILL haven't sorted/tossed/filed. All the photographs I still haven't organized... All the working out I haven't done, all the art museums I haven't been to...and the fact that I can hardly believe it's already the middle of November.

Realizing that the majority of these downers were present before my move, and that moving didn't make any of them dissipate. (Not that I thought it would, serious!)

I have (and have had, for many years) a terrible habit of letting romantic drama distract me from the real problems in my life that need solving. MB is not a real problem. (The opposite.) MB being gone for the few more times he will actually have to be gone while on this tour is not a real problem. But it makes me sad anyway, and gives me license to feel droopy about everything else.

Please excuse this momentary lack of exhuberance on the blog, this self-indulgent forway into unmitigated boofreakinghoo-ing.

Sometimes I just need to complain, Internets.

Happy Veterans Day, Y'all!

I experienced a slightly unsettling sensation when I went to the archives to retrieve a post from last year's Veterans Day...

I think I was a better blogger a year ago.

(No, I am not writing that for reassurance - promise!)

(Please do not reassure me.)

I just think it's good to remember how to be terse and pointful. (Hmm, pointful...that's a word...)

Anyway, aside from that, I really like what I wrote last year about Veterans Day. For peeps who weren't around this blog last year, please read it here. The service provided by veterans for US citizens and our freedom is invaluable, and it makes me feel proud to state that my brother is a veteran and my boyfriend(/future husband?!) will be a veteran one day.

So, thanks y'all!

Also, here is some cynicism.

please check back in tomorrow

I want to

BLOG,

but my

brain

is in the

READING

zone.

blogging boyfriend

So last night MB and I were sitting around drinking wine and doing random things on the laptop in the livingroom, when he surprised the hell out of me by asking me how to start a blog. Trying to conceal the extent to which I was delighted, I guided him through setting up his own blog on Blogger. He didn't need me to tell him how to do it, but he prefers other people set up all his attempts at electronic socializing. (He is so above making the effort - people come to him.) I don't think he's ever set up his own email address. I know his friend Adam set one up for him, and I'm the one who set up his gmail/Blogger profile.

Then he needed a write a blog post. But he wanted photos. In the effort of adding photos - at his request - I attempted a tutorial in doing so by uploading them directly in Blogger and also by copying the HMTL from Flickr, but he mostly loudly exclaimed how complicated and overwhelming and HTMWHAT? it all was, so I have a suspicion that any of his blogging efforts that require photos in the future will involve me.

I added photos, and then he wrote a post. We went to Facebook, where he wrote a status update that sounded like spam, so Facebook required word verification ("Check out my new blog"). Then we went back to his blog, and lo and behold, he had a comment!

*much excitement*

"YEEEEEEEEEEEE HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWW U BOYS GONNA GO TO REDUCK'S LATER FOR SOME OF THAT FINE CHILI AND WHISKY?READ THIS:ALERTA!La estafa automotriz mas grande en el territorio Mexicano…Para MAS informacion pinche:http://[redacted]/Gracias"

Amanda: Marty, that is comment spam.
Marty: No Way. It totally fits the pictures I posted. "YOU BOYS GONNA GO TO REDUCK'S LATER FOR SOME OF THAT FINE CHILI AND WHISKY!!!"
Amanda: He put his blog address in the comment. Spam.
Marty: I don't think so, A-M.
Amanda: *points to face* This is skepticism.

I explained the trickiness of comment spammers, and even pointed to a post on another blog which describes how a comment of my own had been manipulated to make it appear as if I had a blog dedicated to the task of giving women orgasms. He still didn't believe me.

We go back to Facebook. Marty "liked" his own status.

I posted a comment on his status ("OMG. Awesome blog!") and then commented on his blog post. MB then replied to the comments on his first blog post, only to be subsequently tricked later when he went to back to the blog and said "Three comments?! Oh...that third comment was mine." Ah, how I know the feeling.

Then he wanted to know how many people had been to his blog. So I put a Site Meter on his blog, and we soon had the pleasure of counting five visits from his Facebook profile. We went back to the blog. Five visits, but no more comments. Hmph.

How shall I say? Um, WELCOME TO MY WORLD.

But he did discover that he had a new Follower, from a blog which appears to be written by another Newell High School alum. Fun, fun.

We finally went to bed after verfiying there were no more comments to be had, but not without the pleasure of discovering one of his Facebook friends, Nicole, had poked fun of him for Liking his own Facebook status.

MB = hubris.

So this morning I went to his blog and Facebook and found that a few more people commented both on the status and on his blog entry, and Becky, who is a friend to both of us, is now Following MB, but NOT ME! (Come on, Becky, where are ya?) And his blog entry, which took about two minutes for him to write, had a total of six comments.

Which is slighty obnoxious, considering the last few blog entries that I wrote, Memeopolis readers, were posts that I personally found to be funny and well-written (I know when a post of mine ain't as funny or well-written), and yet they are also posts THAT RECEIVED ZERO COMMENTS (with one exception, thank you, H!).

He does have the "brand new blog" thing going for him, however. I don't ever try to guilt (via the blog anyway) people who read this blog into commenting (before today, if you believe I am guilting you now), but keep in mind, when I write something, and nobody has anything to say about it, I think "Oh my god, was this really super shitty, and I just don't know it?" Even my BF MB agrees: he thinks my boring entries are the ones that get comments.

I don't understand you, blogosphere.

(Maybe this blog should be about giving women orgasms.)

I therefore welcome this new opportunity of somehow capitalizing on the popularity of my signifcant other.

music, celebrities, food, news, but mostly film

So, in addition to whatever I've been blogging about lately, here are some other things that have been going on!

Music.

I'm obsessed with this song. "Strangers," by St. Vincent. It's so hypnotic. I will literally listen to it over and over and over. This is the acoustic version:



The other person in my life has been giving me shit for my habit of listening to the same music repeatedly. He has a point. I'm really not sick of Camera Obscura yet. And I keep listening to the Black Eyed Peas album in the car...and even though I thought I could trick him by making a playlist of my favorite miscellaneous songs and listening to that over and over, he seems to have caught on (it didn't help that the mix included Camera Obscura and Black Eyed Peas).

Film.

On one of the days during his last 5-day underway, I went to the Hillcrest Landmark theatre to see New York, I Love You, a collection of short films about NYC, each film completed by a different director. The project would sound interesting to me anyway, but I've seen (and actually own the DVD for) the film's predecessor, by the same producers, "Paris, je t'aime." In the Paris version, each film represents a different arrondissement. (Particular favorites are the segments completed by Sylvain Chomet "Tour Eiffel", Gurinder Chadha "Quais de Seine", Alexander Payne "14e arrondissement", and Tom Tykwer "Faubourg Saint-Denis".)

Reviews were mediocre, but I liked New York, I Love You, (although, not "DVD-purchase" liked it). Still, it's funny to read the reviews, because the films that some writers describe as contrived, others will write as charming. I think people in general just don't enjoy vignettes. My favorite, was the very first film, "Chaim In The Mood For Love" (There's a clip on IMDB), and none of the reviewers seemed to like that one. But I'm biased; I've always found Hasidic Judaism to be facinating.

Celebrities.

I started talking about celebrities, but then I just ended up ranting in the previous post.

Food.

In the middle of watching The Godfather today, I grew extremely ravenous for pasta with marinara, red wine and chocolate fudge cake. I didn't feel like making dinner myself, so off I swept to Ralph's, where I luckily found some Cheesecake Factory chocolate fudge cake, Italian meatballs (already cooked and made with ground turkey), and Newman's Own marinara sauce (I like Newman's Own - particularly their bean/corn salsa, Light Caesar dressing and Honey Mustard dressing). I had some vermicelli at home to heat up, and in the meantime I put marinara and meatballs in a pot on the stove for 20 minutes. *Groan* It SO hit the spot. With some Napa cabernet? OMG, yes. And the cake is deelish. I swear the top tastes like brownie, the frosting is satisfyingly fudgey, and there are two scoops whipped cream in the container, which I at first passed off as nasty preservative-filled, fake flavor-enhanced whipped cream, but which I pleasantly discovered to be actual, natural fresh-tasting WHIPPED cream.

Yum.

Film. II.

Folks are always debating as to which Godfather is the better movie: I or II? And it's difficult, because they're both captivating, brilliant films. (And filled with hot men. Robert Duvall, James Caan and Robert DeNiro when they were young? HAAAWWWWT.) Perhaps I would be leaning toward II if I'd just watched II, but I did not just watch II. I watched I. And I'm feeling that I is the superior story. My reason: It's the ultimate "sell your soul to the devil" story for Michael Corleone. It's difficult for me to tear myself away at any one point, because I know some genius scene is next. The horse head in the bed. (Awe-some.) The way Tom's voice breaks when he has to tell the Don that "They got Sonny at the causeway." (Even better than Brando's givemeanOscarish "See what they did to my boy!") My favorite part is the hospital scene, the tense moment when Michael and the nurse roll his father to another room and the way Enzo the baker's hands shake as he tries to light a cigarette after aiding Michael in avoiding another hit on Vito.

News.

I'm sort of in love with this woman. Check out the video 'neath the graphs. (Via) It's about how people shouldn't be automatically screaming "Terrorist!" anytime a person of Middle Eastern descent commits a crime - even devastating, shocking crimes, like the Fort Hood shooting.

As pointed out in the blog I linked, this clip makes it maddeningly obvious that news networks are sorely in need a few non-asshat pundits to balance out the crazy.

Also, I blame you, Fort Hood Islamic terrorism conspiracists, for putting me on the same side as Dr. Phil. (How dare you?)

Film. III.

Okay, during this whole post, I was treated to Sister Act on TV, and I have to say, without any embarrassment, I LOVE Sister Act. It's so funny and winsome (and it spawned a sequel which has the best name for a sequel ever: Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit). A convent revitalizing their scary neighborhood through the power of doo-wop? LOVE.IT. My favorite are the old, white nuns in glasses. Oh, love the bar scene, too. Where some bikerish dude says "If this turns into a Nun Bar, I'm outta here."

So sue me. I'm a sucker for 60s girl groups. I always loved the last scene best - where the choir performs "I Will Follow Him" - um, FOR THE POPE. (THE Pope.) But, I think the first doo-wop performance in the film is the best - where they first begin to lure in ruffians from the street, to turn them to the ways of God, through choir music! (ADORE Maggie Smith's evolution of facial expressions in this.)



Tonight.



Sexy Saturday night at home. Blogging.

And that's all I got for now.

xoxo.

Things That I Don't Want To Know About Celebrities

So, I've recently discovered a new list of Things That I Don't Want To Know About Celebrities. For the most part, I like to think that they're all Euro-centric ELITIST Pinko Commies - LIKE ME. (Please pick up on my sarcasm.) But occasionally I absorb information to the contrary, which will make me feel disillusioned about a certain celebrity. It used to be merely discovering that someone is a Republican. Then the fear became that I would discover that their Republicanism translated to actual Neo-Con-ism. But ideological wars of a new nature have been ravaging my formerly happy-go-lucky movie ticket money-spending habits.

There's psycho anti-semitic ultra-Orthodox "Catholic" Mel Gibson - who BTW now has a new child with his girlfriend, who BTW is 14 years younger than he, and OHDIDIMENTION he is still married to his estranged wife? Yeah, so forgive me if I objected in anyway to being proselytized to, by watching The Passion.

Then came the Scientologists.

*shudder*

I feel incredibly disappointed when I discover that some celebrity has ascribed to the "belief" of Scientology. It completely buys into the notion that celebrities are entitled, self-worshipping, ignorati. People who have disappointed me by buying into the Scientology: Beck, Jason Lee, Greta Van Susteren (WTF?).

But the new list? The new list is worse. Because it consists of RAPE APOLOGISTS. In other words, asshole celebrities compelled to stand up for admitted rapist Roman Polanski. It's completely disgusting, and it's there's so many of them, I just DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

Like YOU, Natalie Portman. I can ignore your annoying righteous veganism. But seriously. HE RAPED A GIRL. RAPED. Ugh. HOW IS THAT OKAY?!

(I am singling her out, because in general I love her work, and she really, really disappoints me with this. In fact, she's the other character in the "New York, I Love You" vignette, which was my favorite, and she directed another vignette for the project.)

I think they just want to believe that this person they admire - that he couldn't be as bad rape sounds. But the thing is, rape is one of the most horrible things you can do a person. And you don't have to be a "bad person" to do it. "Regular" people can, AND DO, rape other people. You don't have to be mentally unsound, you don't have to be abused as a child, you just have to ignore the protestations (or passed-out-ness) of another person, in the effort of your own sexual gratification. That's all.

Sorry, you idiot, jerk celebrities (who give Liberals and Feminists a bad name) - I love Rosemary's Baby, too! Doesn't mean Polanski didn't rape a girl!

real simple happiness would be easier with photographs

So, it's been [counts to self] a little over three months of sinful cohabitation, and for the most part, things have been good. When I first arrived in San Diego, I was somewhat of an emotional mess, but now I feel much, much better. And it's quite a relief to know that my relationship isn't something that just looks good on paper.

But there are things a person simply cannot anticipate they will experience before they enter the relationship.

(I was going to say "move in together," instead of "enter a relationship," which would have been also true, but MOST people don't start a relationship the same day they move in with each other...and therefore most people, via the act of participating in a relationship, if they have not yet moved in together, will still have an idea of things to anticipate, and in fact are no longer anticipating such things, but experiencing them day-to-day.)

For example, the delicate ping ponging of a mutual desire to make the other happy paired with individual needs (and aversions).

Tonight I needed to buy parmesan cheese and tarragon at the grocery store, and I wanted to stop by a bookstore to get a specific career book, and a certain cookbook.

("Particular" means I knew the title. "Certain" means I wanted either a Mediterranean or vegetarian cookbook with photographs, and I didn't want it to be a generic cookbook produced by the bargain book dept of a publishing house, but I also didn't want it to be created by a celebrity chef, because if I didn't buy a celebrity cookbook because I was following the advice of a person who loved *their* celebrity cookbook, then it would make me feel like a celebrity-worshipper/consumerist tool, and finally, I have a problem with perceiving all of the Betty Crocker-type Americana cookbooks as "not conducive to losing five stubborn mystery pounds.")

But I was leaving home too late, and I thought MB might be home soon, and perhaps he would like to go with me?

Which is a lie, because he never wants to go anywhere immediately after work, and that is understandable, but sometimes I just get sick of being with only myself and I want him around.

He came, though! I was happy.

Only, he did not wish to go where I wanted to go, because there was (supposedly) rush hour traffic in that direction (of which I remain skeptical, despite the congestedness of the exit), so we had to go downtown, and trying to park a car downtown gives me hives and makes me cry. But then I thought of Horton Plaza, the vertical mall with the parking garage and parking validation, and he was thrilled to be able to cater to my wishes while avoiding rush hour traffic.

Then I remembered the only bookstore in Horton is the B. Dalton. And I hate B. Dalton. I wanted their mega-mommy version, Barnes & Nobles, or a Borders.

(Nope, no consumerist tools here!)

I just needed a large selection to ensure that what I wanted was there.

(Smallish mall bookstores always remind me of this episode of Designing Women, when the ladies go to a mall bookstore, and against a wall of stuffed animals, Dixie Carter sneers to the cashier in that deep-voiced, Southern sexy kind of way, "Excuse me...does this store carry any Lit-Er-A-Ture?")

Ah, the delicate pinging and ponging of emotions! He wanted to me to find what I was looking for, so that I would be happy despite the fact that we hadn't gone to the location I desired. I wanted to find what I was looking for, so that he wouldn't feel bad about not going to said desired location.

The career book was not there, and none of the cookbooks looked promising. (Admittedly, my cookbook requirements comprise a tall order.) But all was not lost. I finally found some Real Simple recipe cards that look good; I am aquainted with Real Simple, it is an entity, and not a celebrity chef. And it contains large colorful photographs. If I ran the world, all cookbooks - and menus - would have photographs.

MB found a Chuck Klosterman book; I will so be reading that.

(Are there women writing irreverent essays about the world and society, as viewed through the scope of pop culture? Will someone please tell me about them?)

So, even though I didn't find what I was looking for specifically, he deliveredeth me unto a bookstore, as promised, where I found another thing that I like a lot, but even if I wouldn't have found that, I realized that it was too late in the evening to feel any wish to try another bookstore, and seriously life is too short to be pissed about stupid crap like "difficulty in finding street parking next to a mammoth-sized chain bookstore" and "not getting a career book the instant I demand one." Thus, the delicate balance of happiness was maintained.

Gimme a t-e-a-m-w-o-r-k!

We came home and I made delicious vermicelli with goat cheese sauce, chicken, and steamed asparagus for dinner.

(I just looked up "pasta" on Wikipedia, because I knew we had the noodles that are thinner than spaghetti, but "vermicelli" was on the tip of my tongue, and staying there rather than traveling out through my fingers. Only, unfortunately I now know that the word "vermicelli" means "little worms," which totally squigs me out. "Little worms?" Why would you do that, 15th-century celebrity chef Martino da Como?)

(Celebrity chefs = the devil.)

Given our success on the task of providing day-to-day happiness for each other, we've decided we're ready to confront the challenge of creating and nourishing New Life.

We're growing a bonsai tree.

Baby steps, people.

I don't know how to dress in California.

It was fine coming to California in the summertime, when shorts and tank tops in Minnesota July merely translated to shorts and tanks tops in California August. But Autumn, or rather, a lack of Autumn, is seriously messing with my head. Dressing has gotten so much harder. I scan my closet eyeing sweaters, turtlenecks and BLACK, before thinking to myself "Crap, it's 70 degrees F outside...I guesssssss this jean skirt. Again."

*sigh*

I don't very often mention it on this blog, because I don't want this to be an "Oooh, my boyfriend is sooo awesome" blog, but my boyfriend is actually very nice to me. Last Sunday morning I randomly stated that I couldn't eat breakfast without a mimosa, and within five minutes MB was out the door, on the way to store to get champagne. (There may have been a need for beer involved as well - but STILL.) And when he got home, he prepared one and brought it to me while I was still in bed.

(Hmm. I am sounding very decadent all of a sudden.)

(Truth be told, I was working on the laptop in bed. WELL, reading the internet "working.")

Last night he came home from work with supplies for replenishing the liquor cabinet with things I like (vodka and asti) and a pint of delicious Dreyer's Butterfinger Maxx Ice Cream. Just to make me happy.

(I am aware that alcohol is figuring prominently here. *Ahem.*)

And tonight, when he would have been happy with the leftover pasta hot dish in the refrigerator, but I couldn't think of anything but sushi (want! sushi!), he walked with me down to the Gaslamp District for sushi at RA Sushi Bar, so I could stuff myself with spicy tuna and spicy yellowtail rolls.

So, nice, yeah?

It really is walking down to the Gaslamp, too, because we have to walk up a large, steep hill to get back home. On the way back to the apartment after dinner, I lamented the following:

Amanda: I'm so tiiiiirrrred.... *stumbles along, clutches MB's arm*
Marty: You are? Well, I guess you are running low on sleep.
Amanda: And I HIKED UP A MOUNTAIN. The tallest one in San Diego.
Marty: Oh really, and how tall is that?
Amanda: Uh huh. All one thousand five hundred and ninety one feet of it.



I really did hike up a mountain. Cowles Mountain, and it is the highest point in San Diego, so although the summit rests a breath, a huff and a puff less than 2000 feet above sea level, it offers a panoramic view of the entire surrounding area of valleys just below, mountains stretching to Mexico, and the Pacific Ocean to the west. The morning hike followed by lunch was an excuse to socialize with other SOs of MB's coworkers, Emily and Mallory.

It was actually too foggy at sea (and smoggy on land?) to see the ocean today. Emily, who lives nearby, has hiked the mountain on a clearer day when this view is possible.



Above, Emily and Mallory. And dude in lotus position.

(I know it's wrong for me to ridicule people who are striving toward inner peace and all, so I guess that's why God gave us inner monologues, so in my head I could say to him "Dude, you are SUCH A CLICHE right now. Srly.")

Emily brought her black labrador retriever, an almost 2-yr old puppy named Bella. I cheekily asked her if she named Bella after the Twilight heroine, and she said "Actually, no. I don't think anyone has ever asked me that!"

Yes, well I am quite talented.

(And Bella was so sweet and fun, that "black lab" has now been added to my list of possible canine companions for when we move to Monterey.)

The hike was great. The sunshine made everything lovely (except for the fog smog). The panoramic view was amazing. We chattered up and down the mountain, and then had lunch at San Diego Brewing Company on Mission Gorge Rd. I had a California cobb salad.



Above, the Cowles Mountain summit, with some antennae thingys, and the interstate in the distance.

As the sun is *clearly* blazing, there's not much mystery as to what I could possibly be wearing, right? I mean, anything other a cotton t-shirt/tank top and shorts - well, that would be Crazy Blog, yes?

(Crazy Blog instead of Crazy Talk!!! I'm talented AND a cut-up.)

Yes, that would be Crazy Blog.

Hence: Crazy Amanda.



For the record, I left my thick navy hoodie in the car. And at least I didn't make the hike in heels.

(Hiking in heels - it's happened before.)

What was I thinking when I wearily dressed that morning, at the ass crack of 9:15? Oh, something like this: "It is cool this morning. It is November. Hiking. Pine trees. Crisp air. Shade. Hiking will need sweatshirt."

AYFKM?! Pine trees? I swear I had a visual of pine trees. AND I failed to recall that the temperature rises about 10 degrees past the hills that separate the bay and downtown from the valley. BECAUSE IT'S THE DESERT.

Suffice it to say, there are no trees on Cowles Mountain.

And I don't know how to dress for Autumn in California.

But at least I have a very nice boyfriend.

a happy birthday photo essay for Samantha

This is a Happy Birthday Photo Essay for my best friend, Samantha. We've been friends for 18 years.

It is very difficult to find/scan/edit/upload/paste code from 18 years worth of photos - and then to be brief about it? Impossible!

Deal with it.

(Please don't mind the sass up there, Interwebs! My roommate is constantly saying "Deal with it" to me, and I'm afraid I've adopted the phrase myself. He *likes it* when I say it to him.)

SO, this is about Samantha's 31st birthday. She is 6 months and 3 days older than me.

Samantha and I were not friends when we first met in 7th grade. I specifically remember saying to her near the beginning of the year "I'll be your best friend!" in exchange for some favor, and she replied "I already have a best friend." She did - Kelly. But I figured if I hung in there long enough, Samantha would come around. (I knew we were supposed to be friends.) So by the end of the year, we were a little bit friendly, and by the beginning of 8th grade, we had a best friend trifecta going with Charity.

(It helped that Kelly had moved at the end of 7th grade.)

(Of course, when Charity left after 10th grade, I got Samantha to myself.)

(Not that we wanted to Charity to leave! Just sayin'!)

She was my Driver's Ed partner in 8th grade (South Dakota kids use to get their driver's licenses at age 14). The foremost note-folding expert in the 9th grade. With Charity we constantly quoted random SNL sketches to each other, and I remember the Halloween night that we had a sleepover, Christian Slater(!) was hosting SNL, it was quite the event. The dancing in the kitchen is from that night.

I am only posting a mouth-open photo of this candid from the sophomore year Christmas dance because I CANNOT SEARCH THROUGH ANYMORE PHOTOS. And it's kind of funny.

Ahhh, jeans and t-shirts! You were so good to me from age 12 through age 16.

Sometimes Samantha and I would be the only ones jumping around on the dance floor during our cafeteria-hosted school dances. One time she got the kid who was deejaying to play the tape for "Short D**k Man" (Okay, it was probably the radio edit "Short Short Man") and the song actually played for a minute before chaperone Mr. Ollila clued in to the lyrics and ambled over to the music station to have them stop the tape, the cowboy hat on his head floating just beneath the low ceiling.

Geologists have discovered dinosaur fossils on her family's ranch land, located in NW South Dakota, which fueled her interest in our History Day project about this during junior year. We placed first at the regional level, partly for reasons that caused us to not place at all at the state level in April (different judges preferring different methods of presentation), but hey, at least we got to go to Pierre for the day and dress as twinsies!

The first and last days of senior year, above and below, respectively.

Yes, flannel shirts WERE still cool in South Dakota in 1996, thankyouforyourkindinquiry.

She played a large role in influencing me to go to college in Minnesota. I was happy to be settled a relatively comfortable 70 mi NW of her dorm at the U of M; it made me feel like I wasn't all alone, like a I had a "base" in MN. We visited as much as we could, a couple times a semester, every year.

(The puppy dog is Macy; she was a 17th birthday present for Samantha, from our dog Keisha's litter of 8 puppies.)

(I have stories for ALL of these photos...*sigh*)

After college graduation in 2001, we moved in together for a year. We survived 22-year old poverty, two males roommates in succession, and many, many passive aggressive whiteboard messages.

Hee...I told her to do that with the leaves.

Oh, and we lived in a beautiful part of Uptown Mpls. On East Lake Calhoun Pkwy. ON THE LAKE. (The lake was across the street.) We were incredibly lucky in location, and incredibly unlucky in landlordship, as that particular landlord qualifies as a Bastard from Hell.

(I still fantasize about putting a brick through his window, and I'm pretty sure he's the only person in the entire world, debt collectors and Glenn Beck included, who I HATE.)

*breathing*

(But really, that's another blog entry, if I even feel like drumming up the venom one day.)

After she moved out, we hung out on movie dates and scrapbook dates, training date walks, brunches, dinners, and of course dancing.

(We've gone on training walks because she raises money and walks for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk, since 2005. She had to take a break last year, but she's back to fundraising for next year's Walk!)

And then there are the parties and birthdays.

And Madonna! And Mexico!

Have I mentioned that 18 years is a lot of photos?

We left major relationships at the same time a year and a half ago (hers being a *little* more major than mine), and got to be roommates again, this time with no passive aggressive notes OR whiteboards at all. It was fortuitous to have her close to me, especially when we each had so much grief to vent, and probably the most empathetic of all of our friends as roommates, in each other.

She has always been a wonderful friend, but I don't think that I realized how wonderful, since that time when we lived together again. Once she brought me chocolate fudge cake when I had to miss girlfriend brunch, thanks to a rare attack of paralyzing cramps.

For my 29th birthday, she planned a surprise spa day for me, with all of the brunch girlfriends.


When I decided to leave Minnesota, my home for 12 years, she organized the creation of an entire scrapbook - about me. With each of the best friends that I have making a couple pages. I was so blown away, I didn't know how to react, and then I was worried that she thought I didn't love it. And I definitely love it, and I felt, once again, so lucky to be friends with the women who made it, and with Samantha.

I showed it to my family during my stay in WY. When my brother saw it, he said "You're gonna have to make some good friends in California."

Which I think meant "Good luck finding friends as great as these in California."

And the thing is, I hope I do make some good friends here.

But I'm never going to find another Samantha!

So, I already said it earlier today, but since this is the official happy birthday photo essay blog post, I gotta say it again:

Happy Birthday, Samantha :)

I need to get a job.

This morning MB left for another day at work in which his ship will actually be "underway" for one day (at sea) - which means he will be home tomorrow evening after work. We were lucky to not have any of these underway days when I first came to San Diego, in August or September, but the ship ended up scheduling several underways for the rest of the year, starting in October. For me it means extra nights alone, in addition to the duty days.

I don't have any issue with underways in general. In fact, a lack of time spent underway is a bad thing for a ship, because (at an elementary level) the job of the ship is to be at sea during a deployment; it is generally considered advantageous for all sailors to know how to perform at-sea functions prior to a deployment. Yes?

But when I awoke this morning, I was laying in bed thinking about this latest underway, and how these occasions highlight how much better it would be for my brain and general happiness if I had a job.

I crave structure.
Left to my own devices, I'm terribly self-indulgent and procrastinatey. At worst, a lack of structure turns me into a cloudy haze of dreamy, sloppy, randomness. When MB is home, at least my afternoons and evenings fall into a routine (buy groceries, clean kitchen, wash dishes, make dinner). The week before last, he was gone for five days (Mon - Fri) and my life fell into an unpredictable pattern of eating, "reading the internet," following whatever whim, sleeping whenever. Oh yeah - and not cleaning or cooking. Total bachelor stuff.

(On the positive side, "reading the internet" is inspiring and informative, and much of the time is also spent practising writing. I haven't been posting everyday in the last couple of months, but lately I've been feeling happier about the quality of the writing.)

Contrarily however, following indulgement after indulgement does not make me feel happy. It makes me feel foggy, and out-of-touch with people. Eating and sleeping during the hours when most people sleep and eat is good for you. Getting outside and exercising is good for you. Cleaning your house and cooking - good for you. Etc.

"So what do you do all day?"
So, what do you DO all day? What IS IT that you do all day? So, WHAT do you do all day? So what do you do ALL DAY?

I am sooo sick of this question. Seriously.

WHAT DO YOU DO, IN YOUR FREE TIME? Do you surf the web? Do you go for walks? Do you go shopping? Do you read? Do you go to the gym? Do you clean? Do you cook? Do you scrapbook? Do you BLOG?

It's different coming from friends. I talked about this with Desiree when I was in MN in a couple weeks ago. She is my friend, and therefore her curiosity is genuine and natural. Exactly how am I spending my days? Am I happy? Am I pursuing activities that my friends know would be good for me, because they care about me?

But with meeting new people, it just feels judgey. I understand that it's possible that simply because I am uncomfortable with the situation, I can perceive negative intentions from other people, whether they intend to sound condescending.

On the other hand, WHAT YOU DO is a question steeped in emotional baggage, even for those employed, and particularly with people who are doing things because they need to have a job, not because they are fulfilling some passionate life-long dream. It's the first thing people ask when they meet you, that One Question they will use to sum up your personality and determine your success in the world, and therefore their interest in you, and your worth to them as an acquaintance/friend.

I haven't been able to answer this question without watching the eyes of the asker glaze over as I list my various activities. FOR THIS REASON ALONE, it's worth it to get a job.

We need more money.
We have been fortunate to be able to afford to live on just one income during this time. But we're not rich.

And there are a lot of expensive things I want. Most of them require a passport.

I need more social interaction.
And to make friends with people who are like me.

It will boost my confidence.
As far as reveling in one's self-worth goes, I don't recommend embracing unemployment, moving away from one's friends and gaining five mystery pounds that won't go away all at the same time.

(Seriously, WTF is with those five mystery pounds?! ....DUDE. I wonder if this happened when I turned 30?!!!!!!!!!!)

(Is my metabolism finally slowing down? *considers this while blood drains from face*)

I know what I have to do to feel better about myself. I know what's involved. I know that if I consistently exercise, it will help. I know that I will feel happier if I develop a plan about what to do next to attain a future new career, and just PLUNGE into completing those steps. I know if I incorporate more fruits and vegetables into my diet, my body will like me more again.

(I swear this isn't all about FMPs.)

And I know that if I do something I like this time, I'll be able to talk about it without the eye glazing, which quite frankly happened even when I did have a job.

People assume that people who don't work, don't have any ideas about life.
What can people who are not employed HAVE to talk about?! They're unemployed!

And that is just so stupid. I've never had more Ideas About Life. I have so much time to read and think about issues I haven't contemplated since I was required to contemplate, in college. If you just want to have a conversation, and I've disappointed you by stating I'm not working right now, ask me about movies, or books, or feminism, or recipes, or blogging! I have LOTS of things to say about those subjects. Our *efforts at conversation* are not completely lost! I promise!
_______________________________________________

Simple, huh?

structure + being able to say what I do + money + social interaction + confidence +(?) angsty Amanda rant = happier brain

Now to look into that future career of traveling, photo-journaling, teaching English as a second language, social work, working in exclusively puppies and kitties animal shelters, being a professional student, and thelistgoeson...