Better than fruit salad

EVERYONE BLOW YOUR TRUMPETS A LITTLE

Even though I had mentioned to everyone that my birthday was mostly going to be celebrated on Saturday whilst at Spam-a-lot*, one always expects the actual birthday, birthDATE, to be something interesting. Or, at least, you’d like it to be. You feel compelled to tell people as the date approaches. Anything people might do to you on the actual day, good or bad, you want to somehow figure your earthly anniversary into the equation. I didn’t mean to be underwhelmed by something as simple yet special as my own birthday, but lots of stuff kind of made that happen. A flop cake, Dani’s mom back in the hospital, some stressful school stuff, and a rather lame workplace recognition, comparatively. (Last year I worked for a BIRTHDAY FREAK, and we had only 4 people in the department so we were very fond of each other and close. Now I work for someone who can’t be bothered, and we have a combined department with more people, some of whom I don’t actually know, so it can’t be helped.) I’ve had worse certainly (the 20th wasn’t so good, what with a funeral the very next day) but this one was so very — bland.

Before I had a chance to go from neutral to disappointed, though, Anthony arrived to be a good birthday friend. He gave me a picture of a birthday creature on notebook paper he’d drawn at work, a filet mignon at a fancier-than-normal steakhouse, and the 3rd season of Futurama, which we began watching with a few glasses of Pinot Noir. Much better. Well played, sir.

*Overall? Quite good, worth a see. I wasn’t as geeked about it as some of the other people we went with, but I think that’s because I maintain a lot of the funniness of the original movie comes from the simplicity and honesty of those original performances, so the reworkings of those weren’t as good. However, the new additions like gay number? Fantastic.

Dream: oats, rolled and not, in a plastic baggie. Only, the lady was telling Nathan and I that people leave cocaine and ovaltine in plastic bags until they form oats. I was completely skeptical but Nathan took the bag and examined it as though he was buying it.

(So…I’m getting more cynical? sigh.)

WARNING: DESIGN SNOBBISHNESS AND IRRATIONAL AMOUNTS OF TIME SPENT REFLECTING ON IT AHEAD

They’re into this whole white thing over here which I just cannot stand. I am too much of a gypsy, too much of a sensible person to abide white.

And that’s not to say I dislike white. Remember, I used to dress in it. And I was good and fanatic about it.

But there’s something about whiteness in a living space that invokes such opulence, such tedious high-maintenance boorishness. “Southern Living” is the example there, and that pretty much says it all. (oh burn!) But really. If you buy Southern Living and have the money and or the leisure time to do this sort of thing, ho hum living room three ways, follow the interior design trends what does that say about you? These decorative pieces with no story. These houses that no one actually lives in, these canned houses that you strive to replicate in your own house. Houses that look as though they are show homes at a real estate firm, houses that you cannot walk inside for fear of soiling it with your human foot or presence.* Bold colored walls and white furniture.

I have white walls because I hang art on them and because I rent and cannot paint them. I have off white stuff here and there obviously — refrigerator and so forth, but anything that is prominently featured as white or off white either gets covered in a sturdy dark material or get stained with coffee or wine.

*Terin’s mom had a house like this. I know I’ve written about it before, but I can’t remember if it was here or here. Nothing against your mom, matey. Your house just wasn’t all that warm and inviting so much as chilly and strategic.

This is really cool to me. I like the idea of blogging as a kind of public letter forum thing, and I sort of want to orchestrate one of my friends, though I’m not sure how well it’d go over with everyone, or even who would be into it. It would of course not be here, which would be the THIRD blog I’d be maintaining, but if most of the entries were small I think I could handle it. I’d want it to be people who are far away who I have no way of seeing otherwise, so that it wouldn’t be an EXCUSE, not a SUBSTITUTION for hanging out with the local people, but instead as a kind of BRIDGE to kind of bring distant people closer. I know there are people I know who have a scant blog interest, but nothing that ever really lasts unless I haven’t been a good enough Google stalker blog sleuth. If Anthony ends up leaving my immediate sphere for school and I am not meant to follow, I’d like to do one of those. But then I’m not sure he “gets” blogging. I’m not sure if he’d be as into it as I am. Really I’m not sure why I’m as into it as I am. I just like to do it, and I’ve done it more or less consistently since 2002.

Don’t judge my silence poorly — on the contrary, stuff has been going so good that I haven’t felt the need to stop for a single moment and talk about it.

Once things slow down I’ll post-date and have some stories, but until then just know that tomorrow is my birthday and I’m wearing the loudest red jumper on earth. I don’t think I’ve ever owned an article of clothing brighter, and if you know me at all that’s saying a lot.

COMING UP…

1. DJ friend fantastic
2. Sunday, two weeks ago. (Circus, books, movie, walking, fire)
3. This weekend (dinner, Broadway, and some rain)
4. Quilting stuff and misc projects
5. New friend
6. Grace Marks and the Unexpected Insight©

SUDDENLY SHE REALIZED SHE WAS FAST BECOMING ONE OF ‘THOSE’ BLOGGERS

Remember when I was obsessed with bento lunches a while back? Yeah, I hardly do myself. Turns out it’s not the cheapest thing on earth, if you do it the all out saccharine way. That is, all the reasons I’d initially wanted to. I’d also begun to reacquaint myself with sandwiches, making them less tedious and something I actually look forward to for once. (This has always been the hardest part of the midday meal for me. I think it was mostly the bread. You get good wheaty bread (or an onion bagel!) and then suddenly a sandwich is much more than a sandwich.) So while I still pined it mostly at an arms length kind of wistfulness. Portability was still an issue, but what can you do. Then! I stumbled upon some tempting rubbermaid containers at King Soopers, along with this post that assured me that there is life beyond the Martha Stewart bento. There is the Natalie Dee* bento.

Then, I was at the dollar store tonight at saw this:

Hello. Kitty. Bento box. It’s only about 738 ml total (top portion: 450, bottom: 288), but upon looking at this chart and adjusting for activity level, perhaps it’s just right. I also have a square thing with locking wings for sandwich days, but this may begin operation Test The Lunch Options. This semester I have the luxury of being able to eat at home every single day, but sometimes that cuts it close and who am I not to be adventurous? I may or may not bore you with my findings (I mean for the love of beans…it’s my lunch), but just know that I have rekindled the obsession.

*As in, Natalie Dee is the anti-Martha Stewart. This is something she once claimed but something I cannot, at the moment, verify. Ms. Dee is the suicide girl to Ms. Stewart’s blond norm. Ms. Dee approximates, makes videos about godawaful food, and rocks the domestic world by, well, not being all that domestic.

DEAR SUBCONSCIOUS: HOLD THE PATHOS AND STICK TO THE WACKY

Am I really going to get stuck until I talk about that thing I don’t particularly want to talk about? It seems I am.

Last night I had a guilt-dream. It centered around my clan from high school that I was pretty close with despite our slow and inevitable drifting apart over the years. This is not unique. I know that most people experience this. Because as new stuff happens and you experience it with new people these new people are going to seem more relevant and real to you, so that despite all those long hours you’ve clocked in with people A, you’re going to want to hang out more with people B, because you identify with them more, because they’ve witnessed you through experience x, and they were there when thing y happened, and you stayed up with them so they wouldn’t feel all weepy about thing z. I think I’m not explaining this well enough.

Recently I went camping with one of these old friends, the one with whom I am closest. We had an incredible time, but of course there were occasionally strange silent moments, some awkward moments, that would never in a million years have occurred back when we were kickin’ it on the same frequency all the time. Really this should not shock or discourage — the fact that we were on the same frequency about 88% of the time was stellar, all things considered — but of course it was strange to see us experience the awkward.

So I dreamed of a gaggle of these people coming to visit and I basiccally ignored them and left my Mom (?) to entertain, and get them dinner (McDonald’s, as opposed to the delicious chili Anthony and I ate*). They got all passive-aggressive snide with me a little, and eventually left and I felt awful in the dream and felt indignant when I woke up.

*This tidbit was taken directly from life, as I made some KILLER CHILI last night. It was the most satisfying meal I’d had in ages, was the tastiest chili I’d ever had, and it wasn’t made with the dredges of burnt hamburger meat like it is at Wendy’s. And old high school friends: if you gave me any kind of warning at all, I would make it for you. I would. And if there wasn’t time I certainly could do better than McDonald’s. God.

What I’m getting at is all this distance and new people and lack of contact, despite pathetically easy modes through the internet such as facebook and myspace, should say nothing about actual desire or opinions of people. I am pathetically lazy when it comes to writing and have always been. When I make the occasional reach and it isn’t reciprocated I don’t get all mad and ignore you, rather I just think “meh, she’s busy too,” and go on with my life. If this offends you, maybe it’s time to get some immediate friends to occupy your time (zing! oh burn!)

I guess I bring this up because there’s been some weird petty crap going on in my immediate circle, so my desire to be social at all is basically gone. So the fact that my brain served this up to me just aggravates. Can it, brain. These days it’s a moot point. These days I prefer to stay home and make KILLER CHILI. And gee what else is there to do? Oh yeah: read novels for class, read dense segments on linguistics, read articles on Hegel’s dialectic, write a compelling paper on the baffling narration Buchi Emecheta uses in The Bride Price, build public notices for the newspaper as per the request of the Public Trustee, the city, various lawyers and whoever else needs them, continue work on the painting I started last week, come up with some stuff to share with some other design students on Tuesday (um, yeah..the professor basically said, want to come anyway? No credit but some hands on time? Of course my answer was a slobbering yes yes yes!)..and so on. That’s roughly two days work. And where’s the part where I eat? Or bathe? Or watch the netflix movies with Anthony? Sleep? Hmm.

But hey, the weekend’s coming. And I made some great chili. And I have a new bento box. And I’m sort of in illustration. AND THE WEATHER IS SO, SO GREAT what with the wind being slightly cool. And it being REALLY cool at night. Oh yes indeed. Fall doth approacheth.

I will have you know that in my house it is currently a degree or two shy of 60*F. This is not some sort of malfunction in here, nor a cause of any malaise — on the contrary, it was I who came downstairs this morning and through open all the windows and doors to let the cool come through. It is September 9th and we are beginning what I like to call Fall Rotation. This is the part where the Schizophrenic Colorado Air tries to convince itself to indeed change to fall. It makes a compelling argument to itself for a few days, and then it gets nostalgic and relapses to the hot and sunny for a few days, and so on into October. While the warm spells I could do without, we are of course therefore edging into my favorite time of year. Crisp air, rounder colors, leaf crunching and wrestling, cider, apple tarts (hopefully), air that supports my somewhat demented need to drink something warm at every single moment of the day, stuff getting made in the oven that does not doom you to a sweltering night of no sleeping. Yes my friends, my mouth has been getting less and less frowny these days for the anticipation of What Is To Come.

And what else is to come? Why, two things of note:

1. My birthday, which is happening around the same time my Mom and I are going to see Spamalot. (Spamalot is actually the exciting part)

2. The circus! Anthony managed to glimpse an ad for the circus at work one day and came to my house basically repeating must attend circus in a steely monotone until we purchased tickets. I have not attended the circus since I was in the second grade, and I’ve been looking up all kinds of information about it since yesterday and have really been unable to think about anything else.

Did you know the Powerpuff Girls are now on DVD? The entire first season? Dude. I didn’t either until I was at Target, staring at them, and then my quick trip to grab some food turned into a much more expensive yet satisfying trip. I sat in front of the TV and sketched stuff while the minimalist cartoon characters had some truly awesome adventures. It was like a time warp to 2002.

WHAT TO ADD TO OATMEAL TO MAKE IT NOT SUCK

1. Cooked apples — cut them into little chunks, cook them in a little butter in a small skillet. Sprinkle with cinnamon sugar, just cinnamon, brown sugar, or whatever you have handy that’s sweet and brown a little ways into the cooking. Start it when the water for the oatmeal is boiling.

2. Granola. You can used store-bought I guess, but I don’t know why you would since this stuff is really quite easy to do and is the king of all things oaty and crispy. I make a batch of this and keep it in a glass jar on my counter labeled GRANOLA.

3. I used to add a little wheat germ, when I had it. Mostly it was to use it up, but the stuff is really good for you and while it rounded out some underlying tastes, overall it wasn’t demanding taste-wise.

4. Some brown sugar, of course.

ONE LAST THING: WHAT DO TO

1. Grab your car keys, and your wallet.

2. Drive to a movie theater.

3. Buy a ticket for “3:10 to Yuma.”

4. Watch it.

In the workplace, turn your cellphone ringer off.

1. Especially if you are in an office with an open floor plan.
2. Especially if you are often on the PHONE and cannot answer it.
3. Especially if you never answer it, no matter what. (Why is it even on?)
4. Especially if the ringer is part of some dumb song.
5. Especially if you desire to live.

I am currently drafting a memo to this effect.

Another workplace annoyance: I get a craving for Twix at my desk. I spend a few minutes weighing options. Have I, the girl with crazy blood sugar issues, had enough protein to handle that amount of sucrose? When did I last eat? Will I be able to eat a proper meal soon? Does anything really matter anyway? Convinced, I rummage around in my various change places to find the money to cover that and a water or juice, since chocolate means instant thirst and for some reason I brought my drinking cup home to wash and never brought it back. Then I arrive at the breakroom vending machine to find: no Twix. Well, LOTS of Twix, but in front of them there is a single butterfinger crisp or some other obscure candy bar that I’ve never tried. There is enough change for both items but the dubious deliciousness of this mystery candy is not a worthwhile risk. Also, my sugar levels can only handle one candy bar. Really, half a candy bar. Or you know..ONE BAR OF TWIX. Twix allows for halfsies without the outrage of spilled caramel. Or solidified caramel, if the remainder is refrigerated. Furthermore, buying two candy bars would mean NOT buying a beverage to go with them, which is unacceptable as that would make either candy bar unenjoyable. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD can we just have a little CONSISTENCY in our CANDY MACHINE ROWS? Thank you.

WHY YES, I AM FEELING A LITTLE STRESSED AND UNLOVED LATELY, THANKS FOR ASKING

I have already discussed this in other places, but in case you are not my Google stalker: illustration has a big red-light. They listed several reasons in the chilly email I received from the dean, but it basically boiled down to “fuck off.” So not only do I still need to scrabble around and find a class to satisfy my minor, I also have all that hope I received last year dashed utterly. The issue is not from the guy willing to teach the class (who is the chair of the graphic design department,) but rather some bureaucratic red tape from higher up. The professor actually assured me he would talk to them and I have little doubt made a compelling argument on my behalf, but the powers that be were non-plussed. No guidance for the infidel non-major.

I found this out yesterday during the midst of WHITE HOT EMERGENCY at work, so suffice to say I was not a happy camper. By which I mean I was shaking with rage, almost experienced Hot Tears Of Frustration at my desk, and snarked at someone a little too harshly about the pagination errors that weren’t even his job, warranting an apology later on when I’d calmed down. Jennifer the receptionist encouraged me to speak with one of the reporters about it after I told her, but I’m not sure. Making a big stinking deal publicly* about something I kind of thought would happen anyway is not really my style, and I also don’t know if pitting The Newspaper against the biggest institution in the city (i.e., one of our biggest clients,) is in good form. But she was adamant and it is mighty tempting.

*Of course, making a big stinking deal covertly and under the cover of night is something I have been fantasizing about mightily for the last 22 hours. Arson, anyone?

DREAM, WHICH IS EVIDENTLY PREFERABLE TO CONSCIOUSNESS, THESE DAYS

I’m sitting in front of this women with a hideous face-lift. I mention that because of it, I can see up her nose perfectly. She asks if her face lift is bad in a New Yorky, defensive kind of way, and I am all sleepy and calm and say oh no it’s just really interesting. I can see the pollen in your nose rolling around. Then we cut to an EXTREME CLOSE UP of the pollen in her nose, rolling back and forth as though the grains of pollen were little boats on a sea. The pollen is kind of greyish yellow and looks like short-spined sea urchins, and the nose-flesh is pink. We continue to converse calmly while I am seeing this way. Then, back in normal vision, I blow my nose. Then she sniffs her nose. A large wad of clear snot slowly drips out of her nose and she goes “aaw.”