Tuesday, August 28, 2001

So much I could potentially say,

and none of it important. Final tonight, final tomorrow morning. Then I'm done. My Other started teaching yesterday, and it went well. We had to yell at our dog, and he was sad yesterday. He tries very hard.

Tuesday, August 21, 2001

I've never felt like this before,

but just now, as I sat at the desk, chewing gum and scheduling appointments for people, I felt like Jeanine, the secretary that Annie Potts played on Ghostbusters.


I normally hate the radio, but all my tapes got stuck in the trunk of my car during the move and I never remember to dig them out before I start driving, and I'm usually late so there'd be no way I'd pull over to find them, and the tape I've been listening to is getting *really* old, so I turned to the radio for entertainment. There's a scan button that actually works (as opposed to in my last car), so every time they start to make me sit through some stupid exaggerated-voice advertisement for new windows or car insurance, I hit the scan button and find something else pleasurable to listen to. In theory. In reality, I hear a bunch of stuff that, frankly, I'm glad to only hear 2 and a half seconds of as my radio automatically flips through the dial, and get really pissed off when the song that I'd heard for the first time just before the last commercial break that caused me to commence my scan in the first place is playing 2 stations away, with about a 2 minute lag. I find it difficult to believe that out of all the songs that exist in the world today, this new cute pop song was the only one they could think to play aside from 19 other songs we've heard so many times that we don't even notice them anymore except as a slight atmospheric disturbance.

Is there anything to actually do about the fact that 3 companies own all the radio stations in America? WENS is terrible enough in one midwestern city, and now it's spreading. Do I really want to hear morons complaining about the life-threatening unpleasantness of hearing something new, then shouting with relief that they won't, in fact, be subjected to the perils of difference, and can, in fact, tune into WENS, which hasn't changed its playlist since 1992, and be lulled into the simple complacency of lite rock?

Nope. So I made myself a mixed tape and suggest that everyone else do the same, even if it's an hour of WENS. Because three months from now, the only difference will be the details of local car accidents and the way in which the meteorologists choose to be wrong about the weather that week, and maybe this way they'll be forced to sell airtime to advertisers for dirt cheap and finally go out of business. Together, we can do this.

Yeah, but we probably won't, and no doubt it'll just get worse and they'll figure out how to trace exactly what everyone listens to for how long and what they change the station to afterwards and what they were eating at the time and where and what they were driving at the time, and so on. How do you all feel about this? Have you given up yet? Are you threatening on a daily basis to move to somewhere like France, where they at least have the decency to have a good riot about people being locked in a house and filmed for however many months? Will you move to somewhere like France eventually?

Cokie Roberts is fond of arguing that people have said for years that the world's going to hell in a handbasket, but because she doesn't see any flames or a guy with red horns and a tail, we're obviously not there, so these people were all wrong. Why hasn't anyone pointed out that IT'S JUST TAKING AWHILE, that's all?

Wednesday, August 15, 2001

Last night I wrote an essay about how it's weird how nobody knows how they smell. I've had to be persistent, but I think my own brand of creativity is slowly returning to me. Last year it seemed as though I was getting stupider, because I couldn't take people figuratively - I interpreted everything as literal. And I used to be in touch with this little muse who made me design word collages and draw poorly executed pictures of things that I saw, but she went away for a while. I was afraid she was dead, or stolen by a 12-year old who actually deserved her. But no, she's back, and perhaps it was just changes in surroundings and changes in habit.

Monday, August 13, 2001

While I want nothing more than to be alone today, I'm staring at 6 straight hours of work, the last 3 of which involve inevitable direct contact with both individuals and groups. I'm really starting to loathe this job, I can't stand my class, and I feel borderline sick. Maybe I'm hungry and maybe I've got allergies that will give way to a cold when it gets sick, resulting in sinus problems year-round. Word of the day: ugh.

Sunday, August 12, 2001

If I cared more about mainstream flicks,

I'd definitely visit this site regularly.

The dog is moping around - perhaps he senses the negative vibes that are nearly flattening this apartment building, or maybe it's all the yelling and door-slamming.

Saturday, August 11, 2001

I wasn't aware that

the reason people order pizza is that they don't know how to make it themselves.

We rented and viewed The Virgin Suicides last night. It left me impressed but curious to read the book, which must surely contain more explanation of motives and character information that the movie did.

Wednesday, August 08, 2001

I'm still waiting for that driving scarf I was promised,

and our dog for the enormous gold bow tie, just like Triumph's.

My regular tutee exhausts me. You never realize how finnicky and complicated English grammar is until you have to explain it to someone who didn't happen to have learned it from before birth. You find yourself saying that something is more or less of an adjective than something else, which doesn't even make sense to you.

Tuesday, August 07, 2001

During the move,

I (in an act of careless idiocy) set my computer monitor on the back of my Other's car, whose was right next to mine, in order to be able to close my trunk. I set it there because I had about the strength of an underfed 10-year old after moving all the other crap I own up a grand total of 4 flights of stairs.

Later that night, my Other said, "do you know what these scratches are on the back of my car?" Ay.

So we took the car con scratches to Rife's Autobody, and they spent 15 minutes typing up the estimate for fixing it, which, they said, would require a new paint job and all that follows (new emblems, moving the back bumper around, paint-matching, etc.). It came to approximately $1100.

I do not have an extra $1100 lying around.

So my Other took it to Three C's Claims something-or-other, and the guy there took one look at it and sold him some Scratch-B-Gone stuff and some Turtle Wax for a whopping $6.61. It's good as new. The moral?

Thanks for listening, Bucky, I'll be here all week.

Wednesday, August 01, 2001

As promised,

here is some more informative commentary on moving.

A piece of advice: spend as many Saturdays as you can helping friends and acquaintances move (specifically hulking male (or female, if she happens to be hulking) friends and acquaintances) so that when it comes time for you to move, you have a pile of Moving Karma to fall back on. If you can't do this, you should hook up with and move in with someone who has.

If you're dealing with any company, schedule things what you figure is a little too far ahead of time, and then call and confirm at least twice in the weeks between the original phone call and the move. I'm serious.

Make friends with people who work in bookstores, or have significant others who do, because bookstores are a great source of free cardboard boxes.

Don't save the apartment cleaning for one day, and if you do, don't pack all the fans that you own. You'll need them for fumes.

Have soda, water, and beer in the new place ahead of time if possible, and have quick access to the pizza place phone number.

Expect everything to take the amount of time inversely proportional to the amount of time you expect it to take.

Clearly mark the box where you pack the remote controls. Even if you aren't a teevee-phile, you *will* watch at least a little that first night, and you *will* miss the remote controls if you can't find them.

The actual process of moving went really quickly, and the group of hulking males we had assembled was agreeable, pleasant, and efficient. Every last person involved was an Introvert. It was a dream move - except for when the caravan lost Tom on the very very last leg of the trip. He wandered back to us, though, and we all shook our heads and laughed. That's how it usually goes.