Supafine!

Look what I made!

Viewed on an overpass, flanked by American flags: "We Love Our Hoes"

Steak for dinner. Long conversation on the patio as the sun sets. Willie Nelson on the stereo.

Received an eloquent, researched and formatted response from Reader Josh re: corporations and the free market. You can see it on Josh's site, I believe. I have some notes, but I have yet to research and format my own eloquent response.

So much going on. Numerous parallel discussions with many people about nature, modern society, television ownership, lights, popular culture, high and low art, anti-intellectualism, consumerism, capitalism, child-rearing, travel and literature. Not coming to any new conclusions, or at least not any I can elucidate upon just yet. But it feels good to think about things, things other than "Who's going to be eliminated on American Idol tonight?"

So I came home from work last night and was confronted by an astonishing piece of art resting in my living room. Turns out Iain taught himself how to paint lifelike landscapes in oil while I was at work. Pretty damn impressive. It's strange, because I was always "the artist." Guess now I'll have to get serious on his ass.

All right. Must either investigate some Web designs or go read more of my no-TV book. Good night.

Can you do me good?

Reading "Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television," by Jerry Mander, c. 1977. I want to quote from it, but i'd just quote the whole damn thing, so go out and get it. Even Barnes and Noble carries it [but you didn't hear that from me].

Read in the park in front of the courthouse today, got my oil changed -- wanted to do it my own self, but have nowhere to do it. Damn housing complex.

Thought deep thoughts about Big Business. Shared an exchange with a reader named Josh, who put forth some pro-corporation ideas. Some good points, I'll admit. But i'm not swayed, at least not yet. Anyone else with thoughts on the matter, please chime in. Or visit Josh. I may yet post our discussion points, but I don't have my rebuttal to his claims [i didn't save the e-mail].

So there, something to look forward to.

I can sing all them songs about Texas.

Listening to Merle Haggard and painting -- today is landscapes. Iain's in on this, too.

I'll take this over COPS reruns any day.

reading
adbusters
bust
bitch
clamour
tom robbins

listening
magnetic fields
beta band
uncle tupelo
flaming lips
johnny cash

pondering
consumerism
sex
web design
real estate
rolling cigarettes

Papa was a rodeo; Mama was a rock'n'roll band.

Phew. Some notes:

I killed my TV. After visiting fish'n'carla in Indiana, have decided to make some lifestyle changes.

1. Shall no longer consume any television, with the exception of the Simpsons, and only if I mute the commercials. Difficult b/c have developed dependency on "Friends." Just had dream involving Ross Geller as result.
2. Shall no longer shop retail, esp. for clothes, esp. for clothes at the Gap. From now on, it's recycled, thrift, and homemade. Very difficult to change, as am a label-whore and clotheshorse. But looking forward to challenge.
3. Shall read intelligent magazines, not Cosmo and InStyle. Shall also try to increase consumption of books other than british fluff romances.
4. Shall lead an "authentically MB" lifestyle. No longer slave to dyeing hair, applying mascara, feeling bad that i don't look like someone else [specifically, JLH and Audrey Hepburn]. Haven't decided on the leg-shaving thing, but it's been several weeks. I may seek Iain's input ... because authentic MB still wants to be tigress to hubby. Shall cease "Be Like Kim" plan and implement "Be Like MB" plan.
5. Shall cut down on consumption of processed, boxed, bagged, and otherwise convenient foods and start cooking, dammit. Or helping Iain cook.
6. Shall resume hobbies i enjoy, i.e. sewing, painting, sketching.
7. Shall try very very hard to talk more, make some friends -- "Authentic MB" enjoys having friends, so shall try to please her by getting some.
8. Shall take pride in the fact that I support my local community by working for a community newspaper.
9. Shall no longer shop Corporate Monster Retail chains, i.e. Walgreens, CVS, etc. Shall find local butcher, baker, and candlestick maker in order to support local, family-owned and small businesses.
10. Shall attack new web magazine project with a vengeance. Not very hard, since am "geeked out" about entire endeavor. Shall struggle to maintain faith that it will succeed.

I feel very good about this. It's so much better than the "let's exercise and look hot" mode of self-improvement AND the "let's be like someone else" mode. Rock.

In other news:
Washington, D.C. is a rat's-nest, untravelable by car. Street names change, roads end unexpectedly, cop cars block the streets you need to traverse. It's ridiculous. I hate it. I have spent seven entire hours in the last two days wandering that damn place.

SARS and Smandy: My wonderful wuz Mandy came to town ... well, she came to D.C., and I went to get her. We had a terrific two days of wombie bonding. I love that girl. I was convinced I had SARS, and she convinced me otherwise. So good of her. We went to woman-church, and watched "Kicking and Screaming" [she particularly enjoyed it, as a recent English Major/graduate]. We went downtown to the Inner Harbor, and to Towson, where we were overwhelmed by "Towson Best Restaurant" [Chinese/Japanese cuisine] and the best art-supply store either one of us has ever had the pleasure of patronizing. Purchased many smart magazines, and she very graciously tolerated my smoking and swearing. All in all, a very successful visit. Miss her already.

OK. Longest post in a while, so I'll leave you all to ruminate. Much love.

i am still alive ... may not be able to post again for a while ... but am thinking constantly of everyone ... much too busy to live ...

Save me from those evil robots!

Sitting in Fish and Carla's bedroom in downtown Lafayette, Ind., checking my e-mail [i can't seem to get by long without doing that]. we are making homemade kahlua and guacamole in preparation for carla's 24th birthday bash this evening. it promises to be a good time.

Last night we got drunk and played poker. i lost about $3, iain won about $15, i think, so we're doing OK. Saw the town, met some people, hit the coffeeshop and later the bar. Good times.

Tomorrow we're off to Northwest Ohio to see my folks and have Easter ham dinner, paint some eggs, play trivial pursuit.

OK. I think darin needs help baking the cake, so i'm out.

Take a load off, Annie.

There was a little girl at work today. She was playing with a giant inflatable Donald Duck. She invited me to purchase one, offered me an invoice to sign, and accepted my "check," payment of one dollar. Later she delivered a taped-up cardboard box to my workstation. She accepted a refreshment -- a Butter Snap pretzel -- and hid out under my desk. Perhaps her boss was looking for her.

I later slammed my finger in the door which leads to the newsroom. We unlock it upon exit and relock it upon return. It's a pain, and possibly a fire hazard.

We received a package in the mail today from Fish. In a garbage-bag box were enclosed two books ["What Are People For?" and "Skinny Legs and All"], a burned Johnny Cash three-disc set, a mixed disc containing the Flaming Lips, the Beta Band and another singer, and a jar of chili sauce.

However, we did not receive a package from our wedding photographer. They are approximately two months tardy in delivering our portraits.

But such things do not matter when the lights are low, The Band is singing, and you're reading Tom Robbins. [Or alphabetizing your CD collection.]

Indeed.

Made the mistake of watching James Cameron's Strange Days. What the hell was he thinking? It was like three movies in one: a black-white race riot commentary, a look ahead at the "incredible" future [it was made in '95, looking at 2000], and a sci-fi murder-mystery techno-hijinks action flick. OK, like seven movies in one. Get some focus, man. Come on.

But at least Angela Bassett kicked a bit of ass and made up for it.

So, that one goes back to the communal pile, as does Permanent Midnight. I just couldn't get it up for a rich white guy who fucks up his life with heroin. Even though it had Ben Stiller and the bitchin' Janeane Garafalo. I dunno. Everyone seemed to put in their best, or close to their best, but -- like Leaving Las Vegas -- I think it lost something in the translation.

Almost worked my way through my movie pile. When these are done, and spring break is over, I'll move on to another method of wasting my time, I'm sure. Like trying to find some damn stretch-knit fabric that isn't seafoam green or horizontally striped. I'm looking for some with which to make my Infinite Dress. Remember the Infinite Dress? They had a late-night infomercial on it. The pattern I have is from 1976 or '77. I'm thinking I can sew it up and then wear it to Jared's wedding in August.

Sheeee-it.

OK. I majorly fucked up this blog, erased all my modifications and such, even turned it purple for a while.

I'm sorry that had to happen. However, I think all is well now.

Spent way too much time playing with the {div class=} feature of CSS on supafine the site today. Now it's just a mess of happy boxes all in a row. Ugh. But -- I'm learning, and they say that's the most important thing. Or is it "the thought that counts?" Ah, well.

Back hurts. Nicotine consumption: 21 CLass A Kamel Cigarettes. Too many. Ick. Time to get outta here.

Time to update with the all-encompassing, all-absorbing, all-important issue of ... How Much Do I Weigh Right Now?

The felicitous answer is a meager 111 pounds. Since I quit obsessing about it a week ago, I think I shed four pounds. Now that I am one pound away from my target goal, I can start drinking full-sugar cola again and quit bitching about my body image. Rock on. Hopefully this is the last I'll write of it.

"Au revoir, dickhead."

Pardon the crudity. That was the best line I could glean from the screener of Simply Irresistable, starring the indefatigable Sarah Michelle Gellar. I think the magical crab put in a better performance. It was a laugh riot, though, and who doesn't love Sean Patrick Flanery to little bits?

I take to my days of with a vengeance of laziness. Yesterday was Irresistable, then must-see TV, then a few hours untangling code for a new web site.

This morning I laid in bed in my PJs and smoked a half-dozen cigarettes while watching a screener of The Good Girl, which was so much better than the commercials made it out to be. I even forgot it was Jennifer Aniston with a fake accent [well, for a few minutes I did]. But the story hit home, for reasons I refuse to go into; suffice to say it was a long time ago.

Onward and upward. The screeners were courtesy of the art editor's extensive freebie-preview collection, laid out for the general newsroom public to take home. I have Permanent Midnight yet to watch, plus some I haven't heard of: Deterrence, Strange Days, some others. I'll get to them this weekend, I suppose, since it's crappy outside and raining. Plus I'm saving up my energy for a trip to Indiana next week to see Fish and Carla.

New addition: Jo-Jo, the idiot circus turtle, will be joining the Eastman household for the duration of spring break. It's not a puppy, so I'm not that enthused. It's also not really an idiot circus turtle, just a regular one. As long as it doesn't bite me or stink up the place, I guess s/he will have to do. My first pet. Aww.

Oh, for Holy Jesus Chrissakes.

OK. First of all: ants ants ants ants ants. Little motherfuckers have decided it's too cold outside and they wanna come live with us. You better believe I have the Raid ready, and the apartment exterminator waiting in the wings.

Next: Little sis got suspended from school. Sure, they've got heroin, crack, pot in my hometown, but catch a kid with caffeine pills [gasp!] and it's all over, Rover. Thankfully, they decided not to expel her.

After: Thinking of Grandpa, sick down in Florida, with Grandma and my brother looking after him.

Later: Woke up from a leisurely 14 hours [yes, 14 hours] of sleep this morning. Conked out right after American Idol. Suppose this is a catch-up from the four hours I got the night before ... catch-up with a vengeance.

Jacked: OK, I'm gonna spill the beans. Watch th -- fuck! Another ant! -- watch this space for details of the soon-to-be-launched web magazine a bunch of us are putting together. I'm so jazzed about this. I can't say more -- mostly 'cause there's not a hell of a lot more to say. But WooHoo!!

Okelly-dokelly, time to shower and watch the movies I ganked from work: The Good Girl and Permanent Midnight. I love Thursdays.

I got the hiccups six times today.

Another day, another coupla dollars. I'm one smooth machine when it comes to laying out in Quark.

Just popped by a site featuring a girl who likes to sew dresses from vintage patterns. I forgot I love to sew! Maybe I'll make that a weekend project. A nice vintage a-line dress and retro fabric. I'll have to check my pattern collection; I think i bought a few 50s patterns last year at an Episcopalian (?!) flea market. The knitting and crocheting hasn't been going too well. I put it down a few months ago and haven't picked it up since. Hrmph.

Use it or lose it: So ... I've been slacking on the whole exercise thing. Biiiiig surprise, huh? But the weather got crappy, and I just haven't felt like braving the cold.

All aboard: A week from tomorrow begins our spring break mini-vacation. Iain and I will take off for Pittsburgh and points west next Wednesday night, stopping in to say "Happy Birthday" to Sheila [the dreaded M.I.L.], drink a few beers with Fish and Carla, and swing back to my folks' place for a little Easter action, hopefully. I've got to be back for a 9:30 a.m. meeting in Columbia on Monday, wherein we'll have an exciting InDesign demo.

OK -- Jenny-Jen just called with stories about Hot Dave, so I gotta go.

Thank God for squeezy cheeze.

OK. Iron's heating up, got some pretzels in the belly and 5.5 hours of work on my timesheet. Tonight was not too bad, but I think I slowed The Vegan down, what with my rookieness and all. However, I predict that I will by zip-a-dee-doo-da-ing along within two weeks. [The Vegan = Towson mini-boss. She was eating tofu.]

Snow on my car when I left; it better warm up right quick, 'cause girly is sick of this weather.

Must iron my paltry work clothes. Am reminded of Scarlett O'Hara making a dress out of old curtains -- when professional push comes to shove, you iron and hope for the best.

Good enough for government work.

You haven't lived until you've karaoked with your congressman. Carrie was in D.C. this weekend for a business trip -- she works for a congressman at one of his Ohio field offices. So I got the extreme pleasure of meeting her last night at an Alexandria bowling alley [distance: 67 miles. Driving time: two hours] and later went to Rock It Grille for additional beers and karaoke.

All right, Dr. Phil is on and I can't resist the temptation. This week's work begins tonight at the Towson office, so i gots to get in gear.

Nike commercial auditions: Line forms to the left.

Summertime, and the living's easy. I did a three-mile run through Gunpowder Falls state park today.

You must understand how out-of-character this performance was.

Camera opens on Figure A. Figure A is lolling on the loveseat, cigarette in one hand, novel in the other. She's barefoot, wearing jeans, her hair in place, sleeves rolled up. She's lost inside her mind, following the travails of a made-up person. This is a habit 14 years in the making, begun when she picked up No. 7 in the Baby Sitters Club series ("Claudia and Mean Janine"). Ever since, heavy stacks of books have been a primary element of her environment, usually within arm's reach.

Figure A does not believe in exercise, in much the same way as she does not believe in the Tooth Fairy. She eats whatever she hankers for. And she miraculously maintains a weight for which most women would happily commit suicide: 110 pounds. Though she believes fat is a feminist issue, she just doesn't think about it.

Yes, she does occasionally wish she were a cup size (or three) larger. She wishes her chin were square, her cheeks angular, her stomach concave. But these are random musings, not obsessions.

Figure A believes calorie-counting is for empty-headed dieters, and weightlifting is for muscle-bound gym rats. She prefers the cerebral to the physical. Above all, she hates to break a sweat.

Switch camera to Figure B.

Her feet are pounding the packed dirt of the trail -- Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Her breath rasps out in synch with the rhythm. She smells fresh spring growth, a hint of dead animal, the sanitation station across the river, her own heat. But strangely, these are good smells, because they are outdoors smells. All she can hear is the rushing of the river and the blood in her head.

Figure B focuses on the slippery carpet of leaves before her, mud-buried rocks that could twist an ankle. She leaps across a brook -- a splash as her heel hits the edge. She keeps moving. Yellow rectangles painted on trees mark the trail. She dips her head and pumps her arms for the incline.

Her feet hit the dirt -- thud, thud -- as she navigates a bend in the path, watching for broken branches, murky puddles, wet sucking mud with deep footprints in it.

She flies past a man in crotch-high waders carrying a cooler and a rod. She is accosted by images: A shoe. A watch. A tree. A smiling woman in a pink sweater. Chandra Levy. She prays she that makes it back to her car, where she will pause to stretch, drink water, and thank God she was not abducted and killed today.

She feels only heat, stinging sweat, and the euphoria of moving.

So this is what it feels like, she thinks. This is what it feels like.

Camera fades to black.

My future as a tax cheat.

Well, hell. If the damn Ohio state government will make it this difficult to file my taxes, I'm just not going to do it.

Of course, this would not be a problem if I actually lived in Ohio.

Damn my partial residency.

Veruca claims that I am, deep down in my heart, a hippie. She claims this because I was listening to John Prine as I laid out pages.

I didn't really have an answer for her, but I guess it's true. Pacifism, liberalism, birkenstocks, an interest in folk music. However, I'm not dirty and I no longer indulge in recreational pharmaceuticals.

Bastard hippie, perhaps? Neo hippie? Hippie with a reality check?

Whatever.