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Need some help getting rubble cleared out of your back garden? Call an archaeologist! They're good at digging.
I have a new fansite. Since I haven't gotten around to linking my main site to it, here's the URL: geocities.com/bluthbananas. It's about my favorite new show, Arrested Development, but is still in its infancy.
Oh happy weekend!
I just wanted to say that I love OutKast's latest album The Love Below/Speakerboxxx. It's made me completely re-evaluate my (until now non-existent) relationship with hip-hop. Is that supposed to be hyphenated? ~sigh~ I'm so white.
While I'm writing about stuff I like, The Inimitable Jeeves by PG Wodehouse is pretty fun so far. No surprise there. And now I like Philip Pullman. His book "Clockwork" is amazing! That guy knows how to put together a good plot. I still haven't read any of "His Dark Materials" yet, though.
And I am in love with Arrested Development. It's the best Orange County show ever!
Ok, I think I'm done now. Oh, wait, ElectroCute are fun, too!
I'm in Colorado to visit relatives for the holiday. The air is so try I feel an urge to take a bath in KYjelly.
Some silly things about me and keyboards: When I'm on the air at KUCI, I might happen to go online to find infomation to talk about. The computer keyboard sits directly in front of the sound board. Therefore, when I'm of a mind to hit a button on the computer keyboard, I might accidently reach for the sound board or vice versa. My tendancy to mix up the boards hasn't caused any major technical difficulties yet, but I'm pretty sure the day will come...
And then there are the "Cut and Paste" keys. Holding down both "Ctrl" and "C" will Copy selected information onto a computer's clipboard (it may be "Open Apple" and "C" on a Mac. I forget. It's been a while.). "Ctrl" and "V" will paste that information whereever the cursor happens to be right then. I've gotten it into my head that those two fingers that hit "Ctrl" and "C" (usually the pinky and index of my left hand) do the remembering of the information that has been copied. It's usually those same two fingers that later do the pasting as well. This generally only becomes a problem when I figure that whatever I've copied with my fingers can then be pasted using whichever keyboard those same fingers happen to be using, no matter which computer that keyboard is attached to. This definitely is not the case. Odd, that.
On a separate note: I think I've been reading too many British authors lately. Plum Wodehouse, Mil Millington, Neil Gaiman, Saki, JK Rowling. Ani speaking in her fake English accent around me (which prompts me to speak in my fake English accent) doesn't help matters any. The Simpsons visited London last night, as well. Damn this Anglo-centric culture!
Well, actually, no. It's not damnable; just makes me talk funny.
"Volcanic" is the word that keeps popping into my head these days, with all of the ash filling Southern California's atmosphere. It all reminds me of the city of Herculaneum being buried by the ash of Mt. Vesuvius' erruption. Wow! I think I may have learned something in college!
hack! cough!
I want to lie down, curl up into a little ball, and sink below the carpeting.
I took my cactus home over the weekend. It's been cloudy for the past couple of weeks, and I feared for its life. Not only is my cactus dropping far more than ever before, but it was looking, well...ashen, I suppose. I'm not sure plants can properly look ashen, but them's the breaks.
I actually did something this weekend! On Sunday Ani & her boyfriend, Noah, (who is visiting from NYC until Tuesday) attended a matinee in LA with me. The show was two plays by teenagers produced by The Blank Theatre Company. It's a program to give teenage playwrites a chance to have their work staged and performed by professionals. And I think pro writers also use the company to workshop their stuff. Danny Strong, from Buffy was in the first play. So I had to go.
The cat's depressed. My brother has 3 different part-time jobs currently (only two soon, though), and the cat misses him 'causes he's never home to spend quality time sitting on the couch watching TV with her any more. The chicken I gave her on Saturday made her puke, too. Then our parents went out of town this weekend, and I was in LA yesterday and didn't get home until 6:30p. I found her standing next to her water dish. And not moving. I'm a little worried she might try to drown herself in it while I'm at the office today.
Cats are supposed to be low-maintainence! Dogs need oodles of attention, not cats. I refuse to hire a pet-pyschologist.
"Morning" and "Warning" sound very similar; especially when I'm sleepy.
I think my stuff is what's making me unhappy. Either that, or the idea of having so much stuff. That would be difficult to tell one way or the other. I don't think its the stuff as such that's the trouble, but circumstances around the stuff. For instance, I can't just get up and take off, because I have all of this stuff that I wouldn't want to leave behind. The lovely idea of running away is about getting away from the unhappiness in my head and start anew. But with my stuff. I think I'm psychologically incapable of packing light. Pack Rat! Pack Rat!
Some claim that stuff itself makes people unhappy, in a spiritual way. "Imagine no possessions..." Y'know, how people can strive so hard to get money to get more consumer goods, but the earning of the money and the goods themselves don't make those people happy. I'm not usually so happy while earning money, but I'm usually not depressed, either. Makes me feel a bit accomplished, though. But my stuff does make me happy. That may not be psychologically healthy, but I think it's true. I like to collect. When I finally get the last piece in a set, I feel fulfilled. That stuff-sized hole in me gets filled-in. Plus, listening to music and watching movies and reading books and all is fun!
Then we go back to all of these smart people whose work I admire who claim that stuff not only doesn't make you happy, it makes you unhappy. Based on these ideas, I question the apparent happiness caused by my stuff. I feel content. Is that a good thing? Perhaps I should not feel content. Perhaps I should feel guilty for feeling content. Contentment is for the brainwashed masses of suburbia who never question the status quo and are barrelling headlong towards the inevitable fall of their cozy way of life. Right? Yep, sounds like me. I do question a bit, but I don't actually fight the system. Not really. Buying CDs used will not in fact bring the RIAA crashing down. It'll just leave me more room on my Visa for something else to purchase.
So: Is it really my stuff that makes me unhappy? OR: Is it the fact that I can't afford a place of my own in which all of my stuff will fit that makes me unhappy? OR: Have I, under the sway of anti-stuff intellectuals, decided that I'm not allowed to enjoy my stuff and therefore find less enjoyment in it?
What the hell does this have to do with anything?
Oh, yeah. General suburban cubicle slave malaise, right? Exactly!
I work as adminstrative support between two departments that are full of people who are on the phone all day. One of my tasks is to manage the headsets used in both departments. Whenever a headset is returned, such as when an employee leaves, or gets to use a brand new fancy headset, I have to clean the old headset and prepare it for use by whomever else might need it.
The whole headset cleaning operation is rather icky, what with the smell of rubbing alcohol and the general state of used telephone headsets. It's especially bad when the user wore lots of make up and/or hair product. Eww!
At some point while rubbing old concealer off with an alcohol-soaked paper towel, a small smile inevitably spreads across my face. I always get reminded of Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, in which telephone cleaners are amongst those sent to their death due to uselessness. And then the humanoid population of the planet that sent the useless people away dies of a disease transmitted via dirty telephone receivers (if memory serves).
I get paid to clean phones.
; )
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