Supafine!

Time to change the bookmarks!

2003-12-08T10:14:00.001-05:00

Hey, Supa Fans: I've moved!

Here's the blog: www.supamb.com/supafine/. Change your links! Throw a party! Get used to the new location!

Same Great Taste! Same Supafine Content! Same Basic Look! But also new supa features, a much more stable commenting system, and intelligent archives. Obviously things are still being ironed out, but come! look! And behold the wonder of supa em bee dot com!

Mom likes Queer Eye, too!

2003-11-27T01:11:00.000-05:00

OK. I'm at my in-laws' house, using their computer. I'm the only one awake, because I'm still operating on night-shift time, not holiday time.

Spent an uncomfortable two hours watching "Bringing Down The House" with Iain's family. And before that, it was Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. My mom-in-law laughed. I laughed. Everyone else said it was retarded.

Oh well.

Shit, I better make this short; I think the typing is waking Iain up.

Poundage imminent.

2003-11-26T14:07:00.000-05:00

OK. I'm about to jet outta here, spend some time in Pittsburgh, etc. etc. So yeah, I'll be gone. The whole weekend. Things may be hinky, but I'll return and fix them later, I promise.

Have a great Turkey Day.

Sleep is overrated, anyway.

2003-11-26T03:17:00.000-05:00

Hey, boys and girls. I've missed you.

Just a quick note to let y'all know things will be quite tumultuous at Supafine soon. I'll be gallivanting around Western P.A., eating turkeys and meeting with members of the Slimy Pebble Whitewater Team [long story, I'll tell you sometime].

I'm also dumping loads of time into the new web site. Never fear -- when the time comes, you'll know. But just get ready to make a new bookmark, OK? Nothing too tough to remember, just a wee change. I promise, you'll love it, because it's consistent, dependable and familiar. Trust me.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with these words of advice: "Shake it like a Polaroid picture." [God help Outkast if I ever lay hands on 'em, because "Hey ya" has been stuck in my head for about six straight days.]

Change is good.

2003-11-25T02:49:00.000-05:00

So much mini-turmoil in the life of Supa MB. I'll give you a few hints of the marvelous things to come:

Work. Shall be moving to the Towson office next week. Much, much closer to home. Fortunately, also full of great people. Very excited. Shall miss my current newspaper.
Web. Shall be moving to a new domain and publishing system. Much, much more bad-ass. Fortunately, also full of great Supafine content. Very excited. Shall miss ... well, nothing really.

OK. Not much turmoil at all, I admit, but damn, it is exciting!

On a repentant note: Synthetic, I want to apologize. I feel I jumped off the handle [is that the expression?] at you the other day. I still am not certain of your identity, but whatever it is, I apologize for the name-calling. [But not the rant]. I am over myself, and life can go on now.

Accidental gumshoes.

2003-11-23T18:53:00.000-05:00

Lovely visit with Dan. He documented it very well, but left out one story: The Ubiquitous Dad.

We pulled into the parking garage at the Renaissance Hotel downtown, planning to ooh and ahh at the Harbor and grab some lunch. Some guy in a Passat pulls in immediately behind us. He's got a little tyke with him, a sober two-year-old. Well, Dad Guy looks like he knows where he's going -- presumably to the stairs -- so we follow him. He keeps looking over his shoulder, and we all make a little joke about following him.

At the top of the stairs, Dan and I emerge into the bright sunlight and head down the street. Dad Guy heads the other way. We're ready to tackle Tourist Town.

A block later we realize Dad Guy is walking in front of us. The four of us pause at the light. He glances quickly at us -- two young people, one of whom is carrying an enormous camera -- and dashes across the street, tyke in tow. Can you blame him?

We shrug our shoulders at the paranoid man and head up to Pizzeria Uno for some lunch. After, Dan shoots some cool photos from the pedestrian bridge over Pratt Street [I think it's Pratt]. We cut through the mall ... where we see Paranoid Dad Guy and son.

"Strange," we say, because it's been about two hours and yet we meet again. At the door, he goes left, we go right, looping around the block so I can have a smoke and find the entrance to the garage. We find it, locate our car, unlock the doors, look up -- and there's Dad Guy! Getting into his car! With his wee son!

"Swear we're not following you, man," we say nervously. Dad Guy has forgiven us, though.

"Enjoy your visit?" He's figured out that we're not detectives. Merely tourists. We chat, we laugh, we lean on our cars and discuss the area. Reluctantly, we draw the conversation to a close. He pulls out of his space and drives off.

We, of course, followed him.

Hmmm ... guess you had to be there.

This post brought to you by: A Poetic Retelling Of An Unfortunate Incident from the album "Letting Off The Happiness" by Bright Eyes.

Ohmigod!

2003-11-19T01:27:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I haven't posted about this yet. Check yo' head, Supa.

Photodan is coming to town!! Thursday!! We gonna get our drink on and do the Tour of Baltimore.

Tour of Baltimore includes Supa MB leading Photodan to Very Important Baltimore Landmarks, such as: The Apple Store in Towson, the Wharf Rat in Fells Point, maybe more drinky at The Barn in Parkville, a little Walters Museum action, the Blacks in Wax museum, maybe even more drinky at Tully's, the Federal Hill Kodak Moment spot, and ... of course ... the Inner Harbor [fleetingly, and through a bus window].

Quite comprehensive, I assure you. I mean, obviously, I am no Mobtown expert, considering I only moved here like, last week, and never leave my apartment, and don't even live in the city. But dammit, I have my Insider's Guide and a street map.

We gonna shake this place up, yo!

Slow on the uptake

2003-11-19T01:25:00.000-05:00

Yeah. So I've already mentioned that I'm not the hippest, most with-it lass on the block. Which is why it will not surprise you that I'm only just now reading "A.H.W.O.S.G."

Well, and by "reading" I mean "stumbling through the preface."

No premature opinions yet, of course. Say, when did this come out?

*flips to title page*

...

2000!!! Am I that far behind the times!? Christ.

Inching ever closer

2003-11-18T14:38:00.000-05:00

... Mass. court rules gays entitled to wed.

Satan is my motor

2003-11-16T23:12:00.000-05:00

Dear "Synthetic":
Thank you for pointing out my tendencies to pose and strut and pretend I'm something other than a pathetic middle-class suburban married whitegirl. I appreciate it.

"The tragically hip neopunk is simply a construct, a pose, a sham."

Indeed, it is. I'm not cool. I never have been. I never, ever will be. And, as I discussed in a February 13, 2001 self-satirizing column for The BG News, I am a poseur, too.

In fact, because I said it so well back then, here's the link to the column.

So, again, I thank you. From the bottom of my sappy, happy heart,

Supa MB

p.s. I fucking hate anonymous commenters, don't you? I mean, I think I know who you are, sweetcheeks, but since I don't, I'll drive myself crazy trying to figure it out. Thanks for that, too.

Am I that old?

2003-11-15T17:03:00.000-05:00

As The Rev. Spork points out, there are people born in the 1990s who are now entering puberty.

This, of course, explains why the horrible fashion mistakes of the 1980s are making a comeback. These tykes didn't have to live through the pain and horror of neon green leggings and flat sparkly shoes with bows on them.

This explains why the previously mentioned Care Bears, as well as My Little Ponies and Dallas hair are on the upswing again.

And while I love I Love The 80s, I'm suddenly very alarmed at its popularity. Yes, it's nostalgic. But that shit's not cool! And what's up with the golden-oldies flava of Greatest Hits of the 90's CD collections?

It's an endless cycle of pop culture regurgitation. The 70s were obsessed with the 50s [see: Grease]. The 80s were obsessed with the 60s [see: the resurgence of Op Art, Pop Art and tacky color combos]. The 90s were obsessed with the 70s [see: flared pants, a renewed interest in environmentalism]. And our present decade has the unfortunate obsession with the 80s.

Awful, awful, awful. And just like I had to during the 80s, I understand that I have to patiently sit back and wait for this all to pass, so I can relive the 90s again in 10 years.

I just hope I can make it that long.

It's like living in Care Bear Land

2003-11-15T16:00:00.000-05:00

Where's Angry Ugly Monkey Girl? I'm so sick of my own sappy happy pap. Ooh, let's blather about Talking. Ooh, Relationships. Ooh, Chick Flicks.

Ugh.

No edge at all, man. None.

***

So last night was an impromptu happy hour at Tully's with some math and science faculty. Good times. And a good long convo with Jeffy, who wrote a great story for 210 West.

This morning was the Book Thing. Came away with two ginormous stacks of [free] books, everything from Introduction to Vertebrate Embryology to a teen pulp novel called Sloppy Firsts.

Oh my God, I'm boring myself.

P.S. Missing my girls and guy on North Bissell. Say hi to Sergio for me, and stay out of trouble, you crazy cats.

Put a good buzz on.

2003-11-14T03:16:00.000-05:00

Amazing how fast time flies when you're tipping a few back, comfortably reclined on your brand-new camp chairs, enjoying the evening chill with your honey.

Iain and I spent a good three and a half hours doing the Back Porch Ritual last night, discussing money, family, personalities, sex, friends, weekend plans, marriage, Life, The Universe, and everything. Lord, I can't even remember it all.

But I know it was good. I know this is getting repetitious, but I can't express enough how powerful the BPR is for a relationship. I'd recommend it to anyone. Marriage trouble? Bust out the BPR. Friend problems? BPR. Boyfriend issues? BPR. Fighting with your step-dad? BPR.

Guaranteed to cure what ails ya. No distractions, just talking. And I know beer doesn't make you cool [and listen up, yo, it's for Adults Only, OK. Don't get any ideas ... you've still got six years to go], but it does loosen up the inhibitions, paving the way for really tough/deep/unlikely conversations.

All in all, an unbeatable combination. Try it sometime.

This post brought to you by: Shanty from the album "Native State" by Cartoon.

Uh oh, part II

2003-11-14T03:01:00.000-05:00

Crap. Isn't it a really, really bad sign if you find yourself and your situation parodied in the Onion? Todd passed along a link that, disturbingly, fit me to a T: Mom Finds Out About Blog.

[And Blogger has a solution].

I find this article hilarious on two levels: One, that I just posted a "Mom, Thanks for Reading" entry. And two, that I've just undergone the mom-found-it trauma about a month or two ago.

We worked through it, though. Turns out that, with her MomRadar, she knows most of my shit anyway, without me writing it down. And she's cool with stuff, too. So I'm no longer freaking.

I presume y'all understand that this is ... how you say ... one aspect of myself. A now-slightly-censored aspect of myself. Not in a bad way, of course. But still. There might just be a few things Mom, Dad and Little Bro/Sis just don't need to know about the Supa MB.

Even though, obviously, it's all pretty much out there now.

And you know, if there's one thing Mom taught me, it's "Don't Write Anything You Don't Want Someone Else to Read."

Unfortunately, the best advice often goes unheeded. Ah, well. You live, you learn, as Alanis once said. I'm getting the hang of it.

Now I'm just waiting for The Onion to put out a "Work Finds Out About Blog" story.

Then I'll know I'm in trouble.

[Here's a shoutout to the woman who gave me life, the man who made it all possible, and the siblings without whom I never would have turned out the way I am today.]

This is why I love Margaret Cho.

2003-11-12T00:11:00.000-05:00

The way I wanted to make clothes was to remember what it feels like to put something on that fits, that feels so good, that you don't want to take it off, that in your imagination, when you see yourself happy and lovely, walking through a heavenly late morning spring mist just burning off with rays from the noon sun, armed with a picnic basket filled with runny cheeses and baguettes and chocolates, to meet your most adored lover, somewhere deep in a friendly forest, you are wearing that dress. That you will lay down in that dress, that you will be fed in that dress, that you will be kissed in that dress, that you will make love in that dress and never think once while it is happening that something might rip, you shouldn't be sitting down, there might be a bulge here or there you have to hide, that you will be free to move, eat, love. If that is 'soooo baaaaaddd' then let it be bad. I don't give a shit.

Uh-oh.

2003-11-11T23:41:00.000-05:00

Hello. My name is Supa MB, and I'm a blog-aholic.

According to Marie Claire [the source for all knowledge, of course], I have an addiction to blogging. Also, I am a compulsive e-mail checker.

You may not have guessed this, but it is true. Too, too true.

It's the reason I spend hours at a time crafting the words to portray my enormously boring life to all of my eager, passionate readers. The reason I actually spent $8.95 to forever secure the domain www.supamb.com. The long nights. The longer days. The research, the HTML code handbook, the minimalist dial-up connection.

It's all for you.

I know you're blushing; you're making sweet self-deprecating remarks, but it's all to no avail. I'm an addict, OK? I can't stop. It's what gets me through the day. I can only have experiences now that will yield good material. I take notes on my actual life. On diner napkins! In full view of everybody!

I don't think there's any hope. I have vomited my teeniest personal details for you. I have offered up every embarrassing factoid, moment, and thought that I have for you.

I learned cascading style sheets for you.

I have endured the media attention, of course. Suffered through the endless e-mails and comments. Taken to wearing sunglasses in public places, lest a photographer recognize me, capture my essence on film and sell it to the National Enquirer.

All this, I do for you. And what thanks do I get? Do I get the green? No. Do I get the lucrative book deal? No. Do I get complimentary peanuts? Only sometimes, and only with force.

Why, you may ask, do I continue this online self-flagellation? This verbal landslide of inward-directed analysis and commentary?

Mostly because I'm an abominable, self-obsessed, neurotic, needy, un-self-actualized person who would shrivel up like a dead mummy and die without writing things down.

But partly because I know at least one of you out there likes it.

Mom, thanks for reading.

Ever since honeys was wearin' Sassoon

2003-11-11T23:09:00.000-05:00

And now, the story you've all been waiting for: How I Spent My California Vacation.

In the immortal words of Jeffro: What didn't we do?! I did take notes, on a napkin at dinner somewhere, but I can't find them now, so here we go -- from memory.

Naps. MTV. Pasta and a Chocolate Hockey Puck at Sonoma Chicken Coop. Naps. Drinks at the Pig with J.H., M.M., S.U., S.P., K.W., A.B., and a guy we didn't know. Sleep. Donuts for breakfast. San Francisco. Lunch at the Cha Cha Cha on Haight. CD's at Amoeba. Dolores Park. The Mission. The Castro. Union Square. Fisherman's Wharf. Dinner at Calzone's in North Beach. Drinks and Dancing with Kara and Ari at Kell's [very momentous for mi compadre!]. Sleep. MTV. Breakfast of Ritz Crackers. Lunch at Tommy's Mexican Restaurant with Kara/Ari combo. MTV [I needed to catch up, dude]. Mojitos and poker at P.'s. Socializing in S.J. Sleep. Flight. Return.

Grocery-shopping.

Highlights: Remembering olden days and makin' new rememberies. Finding another grammar geek. Pulling out my Polaroid on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Being serenaded by a pretentious panhandler. Riding a municipal bus. Witnessing history being made at the straight bar. Touring the Merc. Meeting the people J. talks about. Seeing palm trees. Seeing the Pacific.

Danger zone: Purchasing an accessory which is the height of cool in S.F., but which will get me made fun of here. Drinking and dishing [very low tolerance, very big mouth]. Renewing my addiction to popular magazines and cable television.

Not-so-crunk: Rain and 50-degree weather.

In sum: Flipping fantastic time. Too bad Cali is 500 gazillion miles away!

Post-script: K.M., how could you! The only time I'm in S.J., and you hightail it to ... we'll just say Wheeling, W. Va. Rain check in the mail?

This post could only be brought to you by California Love from the album "The N.W.A. Legacy, Vol. 1," by 2Pac.

Wish me luck.

2003-11-05T22:15:00.000-05:00

OK. Venturing to California. No shit. Flying out at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow. I'll try not to have a heart attack.

Going to spend some quality time with my Jeffy, see the sights, maybe have a little freak-out. This is all brand-new to me ... I don't jet-set around like all y'all. Very Big Deal.

I'm packing, and catching some shut-eye before the cabbie comes at 5 fucking thirty in the A.M. I'll be thinking of you all as I clutch my armrest in a white-knuckled grip of death!

This post brought to you by: Angels From Montgomery from the album "Souvenirs" by John Prine.

P.S. Weebles, I'll miss you most of all.

Stars in her eyes

2003-11-02T23:53:00.000-05:00

Ooh! Ooh! Something very, very exciting could be happening this weekend. I'm talking awesome. I'm talking transcontinental. I'm talking ... Sheep. Mabel. Jokes. Peanuts.

Soon, soon, it will all make sense. Stay tuned.

Ewww, hon, don't touch that.

2003-11-02T22:45:00.000-05:00

This is my kind of November. Sunshine, hot weather, trips to the beach.

Warning! Dirty story ahead.
Went to the Gunpowder today, Hammerman area, with Iain, Karen, John, Matt, Brenda and Doug for a cookout. Played on the piers, tossed the football around, grilled some brats. It was fun. Beer-commercial fun. But with no beer.

As we were eating, we spied a couple down in the water, waist-deep. By the bird-shit-covered pier. They were all making out and stuff.

"Aw," we said. Isn't that cute. Young love.

Then it turned serious.

His shirt came off. And evidently, so did his trunks, because we saw way too much of his ass. Then we spied her feet sort of wrapped around his waist. Thankfully, her wet T-shirt, or whatever was passing for a dress, was still on.

They were doing it. Like, in the water. Up against the nasty dock. At three in the afternoon at a public park in full view of everybody.

"I didn't realize we were going to get dinner AND a show," said Brenda.

And she was right, it was a show. We couldn't stop watching. It was gross and funny and bizarre. Finally Karen let out a real sharp whistle, the kind you make with two fingers, and we catcalled for a minute, but nothing could deter these two lovestruck teens from gettin' it on.

"Maybe someone told him that if they do it underwater, she won't catch pregnant," said Iain.

Well, maybe she will and maybe she won't, but for God's sake, they're bound to catch something. You ever see what floats in that bay? Eeeeyick.

"I bet both their parents are at home, and they had nowhere else to do it," Doug said.

"It'd be even worse if they come up for air and they're, like, 50," someone else said.

And if I may say so, this was one marathon session. It's like they were the only two people in the world ... which I'm sure was real romantic and all -- for them.

Matt suggested we toss them a few bucks. "Hey, buddy! Here's a fivespot toward getting a room."

No response from our little exhibitionists -- at least, none we could see.

Well, we hooted and hollered just a tiny minute more, and debated running down to the shore to swipe their clothes.

Come to think of it, we may have been just as obnoxious as the two young and impatient lovers were.

Hm.

In the end, though, we just let them be. Karen reminded us that she's got a medical kit in the car, should the little horndogs sustain any injuries, such as ... splinters. Or Ebola. Which, I'm presuming, they didn't. They eventually wrapped up the show -- though no curtsies, thank goodness -- and meandered back to the sand to coo at each other and watch the water.

That, my friend, is dedication. That, my friend, is pure love. Or something.

Wading into freezing-cold dirty water to have wild public sex: It doesn't get any more serious than that. I wish them all the best. And I really, really hope they have quality health insurance.

Caution: Sentimental tacky crap

2003-11-02T00:35:00.000-05:00

This is why the Back-Porch Ritual is such a good thing: figuring out what's important.

What's your "if only?" The one thing that, if you had it, would make your life perfect?

Everyone has one, as near as I can figure. Mine, right now, probably is "If only I lived closer to my family, my life would be perfect." Two years ago, it was "If only I lived in the same town as Iain, my life would be perfect." Five years ago, it was "If only I had my own apartment/passed this class/had fifty bucks."

Trouble is, you're always going to have an "if only."

Now I've passed that class, I've got fifty bucks, I live in the same town as Iain, and life still isn't perfect.

My conclusion? Living with that "if only." Knowing it's always gonna be there, and being OK with that. If I keep the same "if only," then at least I can say, "My life is as near to perfect as it's going to get."

And it is, really. I mean, what are my troubles? I don't have enough friends in town? I only have a 12-pack of Rock, instead of the case? My feet are cold?

Please. I should be so lucky, right? Well, sometimes I forget that, and need to remind myself to suck it up. It could be worse. It has been worse [a lot worse]. And though yeah, it could be better, why does it have to be? Why not be happy -- content -- with the way it is now? Why's it always got to be bigger-better-faster-more?

We're so programmed to want the next, the latest, the best, the most. Climb that corporate ladder. Buy that SUV. Furnish that condo. Upgrade upgrade upgrade. Live beyond your means. I'm so guilty of it. Panther for the Mac just came out, and I want it so bad I can taste the plastic wrapping. I need an iPod. I'd love to have a real fucking couch, one that seats three people.

You know what? I'll live. My parents started out with milk-crate furniture and a black and white television. Come to think of it, they were still driving an explodey Ford Pinto when they were my age. And you know what? They survived. Thrived. And lived to tell the tale.

Wanting what I don't have makes me a very unhappy girl. Wishing I had more, wishing I had whatever, makes me miserable. And you know, I really don't relish feeling like shit.

So maybe this is settling. Maybe I'm a loser for not having a burning ambition. Unpatriotic for not having a driving need to be the king of the mountain. Maybe I'm shortchanging myself by being happy with what I've got, instead of needing more.

That may be so.

But to me, it's a new kind of contentment, you know? Like, an Alcoholics Anonymous kind of contentment, where you can just accept what you've got and be grateful for it. It's like my own little 12-step plan to happiness: Not Wanting Other Shit.

Let's see how this works out.

This post sanctimoniously brought to you by: What I Got from the album "Sublime" by Sublime.

Go Banana!

2003-10-31T23:16:00.000-05:00

Topics searched on eBay this evening, while under the influence and with aid from Iain ...

banana
quilt
2002 ford ranger
2-year-old male
ebay
fuckers
used toothbrush [Only used 5 times, but it still brushes teeth fine. $10 shipping]
iPod
Panther
Condom Machine: You are bidding on a Lancer's Diplomat, slightly used, double mechanism condom vending machine. It was placed on location for a short time but removed due to re-modeling at the location. Look at photos. The two slots are for 25 cents and 50 cents. It comes with key. Measures 24" high x 7" wide x 11" deep which includes the coin slots which are front vend.
pool table
Lucky Strike Vintage Metal Case
underwear
lord of the rings
my so called life
Saddam Money Iraqi UNC 100 Dinar Mint Graded : $1.75
jesus christ
glock: Full Auto AK-47,AR-15,GLOCK, RUGER 10/22,SKS $2.50
john deer quilt fabric

This post brought to you by: Sell Sell Sell from the album "Maroon" by Barenaked Ladies.

Take that, ya bastard.

2003-10-31T13:27:00.000-05:00

This is the girl power I'm talking about. Strength in numbers, righteous indignation, and hard kicks to the groin: Girls Pummel Man Who Exposed Himself.

Sexual predators, beware. There are many, many more of us than you.

Thanks for the link, Dan.

Insert Glass Wordplay Here, Part II

2003-10-31T12:21:00.000-05:00

I can't wait to see Shattered Glass when it hits Baltimore. I'm a major sucker for journalism films. Broadcast News and All the President's Men are at the top of the list, of course.

And as I've read The Fabulist, and can't really get enough of the Jayson Blair/Stephen Glass scandals, I'm all over this.

Insert Glass Wordplay Here, Part I.

I'll show you scary

2003-10-31T10:09:00.000-05:00

Bah. This Halloween stuff is for kids.

I'm not bitter or anything. I don't have a costume, I don't have plans, and I don't know anyone to have plans with, but really, I'm not bitter.

Really.

Well, yesterday was pretty good. Dave called, and we had a good chat. We always have a good chat. And Jeffy called, and Carrie called, and we all had a good chat.

And I walked to the library and got some books out. And then we had dinner. And then we tag-teamed my quilt, taking turns snipping and pressing and arranging, with me stitching. And now I have half my quilt-top done now. I think I can finish the whole thing this weekend.

But today ... christ.

Today, at about 8 a.m., some idiot jack-ass with a jackhammer was attacking the sidewalk directly outside my window. Walls shook. The sound was deafening. I got pissed. I snapped open the blinds, glared a dirty look at the dirty construction worker. Snapped the window shut. Snapped the blinds back. Stomped out of the room.

But there wasn't much I could do, except sit exasperatedly on the loveseat in the living room and pull the pillow over my head. Which I did. To no avail. My teeth were dancing with the sound of it.

So here we are. Tired. Cranky. Hungry.

Halloween morning, and nothing to wear.

This post reluctantly dragged out of bed by: Invisible Ink from the album "Lost in Space" by Aimee Mann.

Monkey Girl strikes again.

2003-10-30T01:01:00.000-05:00

I really like that as a name for my site: MonkeyGirl.com.

Anyway. I really have a lot I've been thinking about, way more than just Girl Scout Cookies and monkeys and masks and shit. I don't think I can get it all out here though. I dunno.

First: Read Ishmael again. Depressing, yet heartening. Wondering about the fate of humankind makes my troubles way less important. Also inspired, again, to make some slight changes in the way I live. Already gave up television and mass magazines; need to work on other consumerist habits, smoking habit, poor diet habit, introversion habit. Probably some other stuff, too.

Second: Reading this pregancy book. Don't laugh. It's cute and funny and I may need it someday. Thinking about babies and ... well, babies. I think I want one. I think I'd be a good mother. I think I'd look really cute as a glowing pregnant lady with a little Buddha baby and stylish maternity clothes. Don't know if anything will come of this in the next three years, but there you have it. MB, who was never going to get married and never going to have kids, who was going to bounce from paramour to paramour and live in her fabu NYC apartment as editor of the New York Times, is thinking about furthering her suburban experience and layin' a couple of eggs.

What the fuck is the world coming to?

Third: I'm the Beast From Hell today. Totally irrational, angry, bitter, depressed, moody and generally unpleasant. Can't for the life of me figure out why, but there you have it. Iain, I'm sorry I bit your head off forty-seven distinct times this evening. It's not you, it's me, and I'm crazy in the head.

Fourth: I made some more slight progress on the Fabrication [a.k.a. the quilt]. I've got a few blocks sewn together, and my seams are straight, and it's all just going together so smoothly. I may have this done in two weeks if I keep on like this.

Fifth: I decided to hate a few people from afar today. They don't really deserve any of my brainpower whatsoever, but may I remind you I'm the Beast From Hell, and the BFH can hate whomever she damn well wants to. So to these people, who shall at least remain nameless: Fuck you, man. Fuck you.

Sixth: Wow. That felt good. I should say that more often.

And this brings us pretty much up to speed. I think I'm going to stay up too late tonight, and finish off that box of cookies, and maybe curl up in my pajamas on the loveseat and watch a movie. Possibly something good/awful like Romeo + Juliet or similar. Recurrent "hibernation" feeling returning again. Who knows when next you'll hear from me.

For that matter, who cares, right? Go do something productive. I ain't got nothing new to say anyway. Bah.

This post brought to you by: Four Walls of Raiford (Undubbed Demo Version) [1991 Box Set] from the album "The Essential Lynyrd Skynyrd" by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Simian antics

2003-10-29T18:42:00.000-05:00

I am Monkey Girl! I am Monkey Girl! My legs are too short and my arms are too long. Only evidently I am not as cute as some primates.

Ugly Monkey Girl!

See ... this is what happens when you don't eat for 23 hours. Urrgghhhh ...

Oooh, scary!

2003-10-29T13:42:00.000-05:00

Sweet, dude. Thanks to the City Paper, I don't have to sweat not having a Halloween costume. I'll just use one of theirs. I think the Kendal Ehrlich mask is the most frightening ...

2003-10-28T19:17:00.000-05:00

Curse you, evil Girl Scout Cookies! Be gone! Tempt me no further!

Girl Power!

2003-10-28T13:08:00.000-05:00

Best day of October: today, because it's Girl Scout Cookie Delivery Day!

Delicious, so nutritious ... I must be careful, though, because I have six boxes of cookies underneath my desk, and I could inhale them all in less than five minutes with no problems whatsoever.

Best Part of the Month: When they change the mini-posters in the ladies-room stalls. They're always for Breast Health, courtesy of Howard County General Hospital, a member of John Hopkins Medicine, blah blah blah, but at least it's something to look at. Today was the day the posters changed from Breast Cancer Awareness Month to Breast-Healthy Attitudes. It sucks, though, because July was Breast-Healthy Attitudes, and I already have the poster memorized. It's like, cheap recycling. Can't they think of anything new to write about breasts?

For much more clever awards,see Jen's blog. It's Aveeno spelled backwards, see?

American patchwork pie

2003-10-26T22:58:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, baby. Got the mad quiltin' skillz.

There's got to be a cooler word than "quilting," anyway. Why not ... um ... hmm.

Anyway, got the mad skillz here. I'm cuttin', I'm trimmin', I'm makin' little triangle pieces. The plan is to do a bunch of little pinwheels in autumnal colors, then stitch the whole bitch together. I've got about 80 little triangles, and need only about 100 more.

This'll take, like, two years! But it's fun. Iain got all into it, plotting a quilt-top grid in Photoshop and then designing all these intricate layouts and shit. He's getting very M.C. Escher, which is way out of my league. And this begs the question: Why don't more boys get into quilting? There's all that math, first of all, fractions and adding and shit, plus the geometry. Then you've got the architectural elements, and the cold calculating. It'd be perfect for them. Or maybe just Iain, I don't know.

Anyway, it's coming along, slowly but surely. I'll keep you posted.

Speaking of fall: We played around at the Gunpowder [Falls State Park] yesterday for a few hours, tramping through the leaves and throwing rocks in the river. Terrific.

Finished reading The Hobbit, am starting on Ishmael again, by Daniel Quinn. Iain's got about 10 copies in a stack by the couch, for his science class, so I picked one up to read it again. It's been awhile.

Oh, and I shined my boots today. Woo-hoo. Big times.

Was that a home run? Oh! And my alma mater, Bowling Green, totally pounded Northern Illinois yesterday. Broadcast on ESPN 2 and everything. Score! [I don't give a rat's ass about football, but come on, this is big. For us, anyway.]

I have been denied!!

2003-10-25T14:36:00.000-04:00

Why, oh why, have I never seen Better Off Dead before? All these years, denied the opportunity to have an even bigger fatter crush on John Cusack.

So, so unfair.

Gettin' chilly: Revival of the back-porch routine last night, with an October twist. Bundled up in coats and blankets, sitting on armchairs we dragged out onto the back porch, drinking beer much more comfortably and discussing time, journalism, children, real estate, history, simple pleasures, crafts and home decor.

Conclusion: I am going to take up quilting. In fact, I may head to the fabric store right now. I'm a stitchin', bitchin' maniac. Nerd with needles. Terrible textile tyrant. Crafty lady. Domestic dame.

I could go on, but time's a-wastin'.

Somebody beat me to it.

2003-10-25T14:29:00.000-04:00

Nabbed directly from Gawker.com: "I Love Six Months Ago."

Drat drat drat.

Side note on trucker hats and farmer chic: These East-Coasters are playing Farmer Bob, what with their mesh caps and shiny tacky jackets and worn, holey jeans and boots and whatnot. Puh-leeze. Why'n't y'all go and actually visit the Midwest and take a look at the guys you're imitating. Stick your hands in some cow poop, and THEN tell me how cool you are.

Perhaps Elizabeth Spiers says it better. ...

And duh, I realize that this fad is like, so over, obviously. But being without television and Cosmo, I catch on a little slowly.

Kiss my pop culture

2003-10-23T21:28:00.000-04:00

MOVIE LOG
Italian Job: Better than expected. Had to suspend belief and lower expectations for a while, then vow not to take it seriously. After that, a fine ride.
Walking and Talking: Fantastic. By woman who brought me [Okay, okay, "us"] "Lovely and Amazing." One more reason to love Catherine Keener. Sidenote: one hard flick to track down. Resorted to nabbing a screener copy from work, but was well worth the constant eagle-eyes.

SOUND BITES
Recent acquisitions include the Kill Bill Vol. 1 soundtrack and 12 Memories, the latest by Travis. Haven't listened to the latter just yet, except for the song "Peace the F*** out," which is playing right now.

AND IN PRINT
Reading The Beauty Myth by Naomi Campbell and The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. Not quite meshing together, I realize, but need the latter to battle the depression caused by the former.

I know you care. I know you do.

In other news: Grudges dissolved, fences mended. Some, at least. Thanks for that.

Enough already! MCI is prank-calling us now. The phone rings at all hours, and there's no one on the other end. I'm waiting for the heavy breathing to kick in. Iain's taken down their number from Caller ID and has vowed to call them back and give them a piece or two of his mind. MCI, if you're reading: For the love of God, leave us alone! We don't want any! And we don't have all day to start prank-calling you back!

This post brought to you by: Forgiven from the album "Burn To Shine" by Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals.

Rest in peace, man

2003-10-23T16:07:00.000-04:00

Elliott Smith is dead. They think he killed himself.

This sucks. I hate suicide. And death.

Man.

Peekaboo! There she is!

2003-10-22T22:03:00.000-04:00

I am officially emerging from my cocoon, shedding layers of blankets and blinking as my eyes adjust to the light. I feel much better, too; I've been sleeping since Sunday, basically, fighting off the flu.

But enough about me ... har. Who am I kidding? This is all about me. So here are some highlights from the last week:

Shopping with my little sisters on Thursday. We hit Jo-Ann Fabrics in South Toledo for some quilting material for me and pillow-making cow-print fabric for Katie. Then we hit up the thrift store for t-shirts, including such classics as "Is That Your Final Antler?" [with a picture of a moose] for Kate and "We Scare Because We Care" [featuring Sully and Mike of Monsters Inc.] for Kelly. Talked Kelly out of buying the teal pleated miniskirt ... for now.
Coffee on the porch with Mom. We discussed everything under the sun over a couple of cups of Folgers and a smoke. That's what being home is all about.
Pumpkin picking! Nothing so picturesque as shopping for pumpkins under the wide Ohio sky. We patronize Moser's Farmer's Market every year, and they never disappoint.
Late nights with Dad and the genealogy books. Poor Dad is on the night shift now, but at least that puts him and me on the same schedule. He showed me some documents from the 1930's, when GrandMatt [my grampa] was just a pup, and some photos of the old homestead in Westchester, New York. Ancestral pride, yo.
Wombification [wom-buh-fuh-KAY-shun]. Some very quality time spent with my college roommate Mandy, also known as Wuz, Wombie, Ska, and a host of other adorable, yet unintelligible, nicknames. I met her steady beau, Nick, and she and I made the impromptu trek to Sandusky for Halloweekends at Cedar Point ["America's Roller Coast."]. It was mad crowded, but the hour-long waits for rides ensured that we had plenty of time to catch up.
Topsy Turvy Tuesdays and Wacky Wild Wednesdays. Work just gets more and more interesting as weeks go by. The latest installment in the saga includes ... well, lots of crazy zany stuff that I really ought not to go into right now. One word: Army.

And that pretty much brings us up to date. Oh, but with a few disclaimers: A. I hold grudges way too long, B. I worry way too much, and C. I shouldn't take myself so seriously.

OK, 'nuff said. Good night.

Oh, no, now there's evidence

2003-10-22T21:43:00.000-04:00

Lovely Dan documented my trip to Toledo from a few weeks back. He's so damn talented he even makes me look good.

Home is where the denial is

2003-10-16T23:55:00.000-04:00

Must ... close eyes ... pass out .. on couch.

After three fitful hours of sleep, I hit the road today and beelined it to my parents' house, where I curled up in the fetal position on the couch, pausing only to fend off my sister's jibes and to eat some home cookin'.

Am looking for a giant blanket to put over my head and something to stuff in my ears ... basically, it seems, am trying to recreate the entire womb experience. Nothing feels so safe and comfortable as Home -- even when there's a hanged man dangling from the tree across the street. Which there is.

I mean, he's a stuffed, fake, scare-crow type guy with a mask for a face ... at least, I think he is. I really, really hope it's a Halloween trick. It's still scary, though. He's just dangling there from his rope, lit up like Christmas by a small spotlight which illuminates him in the creeping suburban dark.

I'm talking fucking creepy.

But even with the hanged guy swaying in the breeze, I feel like I can finally turn off everything else. All the bullshit that's been going on with people from my real life, all the hassles and drama of Deadline Disaster at work Wednesday, all the depressing crap going on. I just turn it all off and turn up the volume on the dinner-table conversation:

Me: So I had this dream last night --
Kel: Hey! I read this book yesterday --
Kate: No, wait, I didn't tell you --
Me: I was talking --
Kel: Shut up! I was telling you ab--
Ry: Did you know that in the Zelda games --
Ma: SHUT UP!!
Pa: [rolls eyes]

Sigh ... just like the olden days. I miss this. When Iain and I talk, we usually let each other finish talking. I forgot what it was like to have to battle seven other people for the floor.

Anyway. Shall remain cocooned for a few more days, venturing outside only to smoke. Fully plan to sleep off my 8-hour drive, watch Star Wars Episode II with my little brother, hang out with my three sisters, shoot the shit with Mom and Dad, and feel bummed out that my other brother is still stuck in school down at Florida.

If you need me, I'll be that lump under the blanket on the couch.

Little Miss Domesticated

2003-10-15T22:19:00.000-04:00

I just had an "I Love Lucy" moment.

So I thought I'd set the water going in the washing machine, just to get a head start til I got my clothes gathered up [and a cigarette made].

I really thought I'd get back and dump the clothes in before the water got too high.

Nope. There's foam everywhere, gurgling up out of the gaping maw of the machine, threatening to spill over the top and repeat the flooded-kitchen performance of a few weeks ago.

So I just kind of squished everything in on top of the suds and fiddled with the dials til it seemed less dangerous. Hopefully I won't turn around and see a Bubble Monster lurching toward me ...

I'm such a moron.

Dreams deferred, like grapes with suntans

2003-10-13T13:30:00.000-04:00

Don't we all harbor a little vain hope that someday, somehow, someone will read what we write and say, "Damn, that person would fit in marvelously at Name Of Big Publication"?

An article in The Sun today pulled my green-eyed monster out of the closet, huffing and puffing and drinking too much coffee: Publications hire those whose talent emerges on blogs.

It's about those unbelievable people you wish you knew, who write astounding things on their blogs instead of just self-absorbed personal trivia and self-deprecating comments about ass size or nicotine habit. About those writers who actually write things which matter and who actually, lo and behold, get recognized for their skills.

Now, I've always been a slice-of-life person, a tid-bits and small-talk gal. Never a City Reporter or Big-story Breaker. That isn't my way. I can't stick to writing Important Things ... mostly because the Unimportant Things are so much more interesting.

But the fantasy of being "discovered" is such a delicious one, isn't it? Hoping that some stranger will see through the tough [or not-so-tough] veneer into the shiny reality beneath.

We've all done it. We've all had that daydream, the one where you're at the mall and the Ford Modeling Agency agent spies you at the pretzel stand and says, "We must have you!"

Kind of like the daydream where the bus you're riding crashes into a building and you're the only one who can rescue all the scared and injured people inside, and then the mayor honors you for your valor with a little medallion and forgives you all your parking tickets and waives your taxes and maybe throws in a little catered party at the Hilton for good measure.

Or was that just me?

Smug = Married?

2003-10-12T21:38:00.000-04:00

Candles are flickering. High Fidelity is rewinding. The banana bread is in the oven. The leftovers from our steak dinner are cooling in the fridge. My book is laying open on the loveseat, and my cigarette is burning in the ashtray.

I love Sundays.

This post brought to you by: You Were Right from the album "Have You Fed The Fish?" by Badly Drawn Boy

I'm hungry, let's get a taco

2003-10-11T23:41:00.000-04:00

Just got back from seeing Kill Bill Vol. 1. Now that was a fucking movie.

The ambience at the theater was less than, shall we say, amenable. Now, I don't necessarily advocate checking one's Tarantino IQ at the door, but for Chrissakes, if you're surprised that it's bloody, don't fucking be there. Especially don't fucking sit right behind me gasping, and I quote, "Whoa, Nellie, that was tough." Or saying "Ouch" every time someone gets sliced with a katano-thingie. Or murmuring that you have to go to the bathroom.

It makes it kinda hard to concentrate. In fact, in kinda makes me want to kill somebody. Does violence in movies promote violence? No. Assholes in movies promote violence.

OK. Where was I? ... Oh, yeah. Now that was a fucking movie. I have to say I was actually dreading seeing it, because my tolerance for gore is about the same as my tolerance for assholes in movie theaters.

But it was tolerable, surprisingly. I won't say that I enjoyed the spurting blood, or that I particularly relished the squishy sound effects. But taken as a whole, and with the knowledge that this film was an homage to samurai films, I have to say it was effective.

And the music! Obviously not surprised that the music was so fucking fantastic, but it's still good to witness it, you know? Nancy Sinatra's Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) sent shivers down my spine. It's not necessarily the song, it's the moment of the song and the action together.

In sum: No shocker that people think it's good. It is. Big shocker that I thought so too.

"Sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie ...

2003-10-11T02:51:00.000-04:00

But I'll never know, 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherf*cker."

Low-key day [sound familiar?]. This afternoon Iain and I surfed around for higher rates for savings accounts, and didn't find any worth switching over to. Then we decided to find out how much our vehicles would be if we traded them in. The answer? About the same as a box of popcorn.

That sucks. So our "House Fund" is transmogrifying into a "Pay Off The Damn Cars" fund. The going is slow, but they say every penny adds up.

Question: Why is it that when I borrow from the bank, they charge 20 percent interest, but when the bank borrows from me, I get .25 percent interest? Don't seem fair at all.

Anyway. Stayed in and watched movies. Iain wants to see Kill Bill Vol. 1 tomorrow, so we rented Pulp Fiction as a kind of Tarantino refresher. However, I don't particularly care for Tarantino films -- at all -- so I may sit that out. True Romance was OK, because it was a love story, and Pulp Fiction because, well, because it's Pulp Fiction. But generally: Icky. Too sanguinary, to say the least.

Also ashamed to say I rented View From The Top. Having not watched television for the last six months, I couldn't remember if it was good or bad, and it had Mike Myers, who's usually a redeeming factor. But this was barfy. Painful. Dare I say excruciating? Yes, I dare. At least they made Cleveland look like Cleveland (kinda) and not a California backlot. Small favors.

This post brought to you by: "Son Of A Preacher Man," from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, performed by Dusty Springfield.

My peeps

2003-10-10T03:44:00.000-04:00

Thought I'd 'shop up pictures of some of my friends and paste them on a page for easy access.

Son, you got a panty on your head.

2003-10-10T00:00:00.000-04:00

Pretty good day, considering. Carrie called about 11 this morning, and we chatted for a while -- she caught me up on the beau, and work stuff.

Picked my poor Birks up from the shop this afternoon. Never, ever leave Birkenstocks in a hot car. They warp in much the same way that CD cases, video cassettes and old Simon and Garfunkel tapes do. Which I always have to learn the hard way, for some reason.

Anyway, they're lime green and kind of ugly, as most Birks are, but they're my shoe-babies. I got them on sale for $40 in an orthopedic shoe store in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and I couldn't bear to see them all mangled and sad. So I brought them into the new Birk store on The Avenue in White Marsh for repairs a few weeks ago, and finally got the news that they were out of the shoe ICU and ready to return home. They're so pretty now that I want to show them off to everybody, take pictures, maybe make a little scrapbook, throw a Welcome Home party.

After that I brought Buzzy, my olive-green Chevy Nothing, to the auto-care place for some major brake work [and by major, I mean "somewhere in the neighborhood of $400 worth"]. Something involving calipers and rotors ... what do I know. I sat on their little outside porchless porch swing, reading yet another British Fluff Novel in the warm October sun and enjoying the breeze over my bare tootsies. Buzzy was in and out in about half an hour, and was sitting in front of the shop for a good twenty minutes before I decided to go back inside and find out what the hell's up.

"You looked so peaceful out there, readin' yer book, that I di'n't want to disturb you," said Mr. Mechanic as I walked in.

Sweet of him, I'm sure. Except I'd really rather not spend all my time in the side yard of an auto-care garage when I could be at home, eating Cheez-its and watching "Raising Arizona."

Rock stars: Excellent times with Stitch today; she called from Chicago this evening. Haven't talked to her since the Homecoming craziness. Anyway, for some reason we decided to get out our photo albums and do a long-distance Trip Down Memory Lane. Such good times. Such wackiness. I'm putting together a little photo page of some people, which maybe 5 people will find interesting. But it's good stuff. Tee hee!

Look out, Frodo! Part II

2003-10-09T03:30:00.000-04:00

I swear I'm going to go to bed soon. But first: Directions from Hobbiton.

I'm such a nerd.

It ain't about punk, and it ain't about the scene.

2003-10-09T00:51:00.000-04:00

Look, everyone! It's Bitchy MB, right here in our studios!

Bitchy MB says: People are stupid. People elected Ahnuld to be their governor. People allow Bush to continue to be our president. People make stupid decisions. People are rude, inconsiderate and bitchy to their friends. People are manipulative, temperamental and moronic. People are annoying, and get all up in your grill about personal shit you don't want to talk about. People get other people in trouble to cover their own asses. People never shut up.

In short, people are stupid.

Ugh.

Tell me I'm dreaming

2003-10-08T01:07:00.000-04:00

Are you there, God? It's me, MB. I'm freaking out. Please tell me Arnold Schwarzenegger isn't winning. I don't think I'd be able to go on if he is.

I'd really have to move to Canada this time. Ronald Reagan was bad enough ...

New comics

2003-10-07T01:07:00.000-04:00

Thrift-store Sofa has added a new comic: Mozart In A Suitcase.

Que Viva Jebus!

2003-10-07T00:24:00.000-04:00

Oh, dear. Everybody's on crack. Lauren wears peanut butter like it's Lancome. Homeslice smells like Romance, when he doesn't smell like a cupcake. Jemlefer snorts milk out her nose, but only if you mention a phallic appendage three times in a row. And Dani's kittycats are signing my guestbook.

Of course, I am not immune to the insanity. To wit, sharing a mini-mattress with the aformentioned Jen and letting slip an "All y'all" which sounded a whole lot like "Aw yeah."

And I quote: "You want dis pickle?"

Good thing I'm not the only one! Jebus is gonna git me for this ... and damn, if I drop this cigarette one more time, all hell's gonna break loose.

This post brought to you by: Boyz-n-The Hood from the album "Superfast" by Dynamite Hack.

Is there nicotine in Utz's Cheese Balls?

2003-10-06T23:47:00.000-04:00

Happy Yom Kippur, by the way, to all my peeps rockin' the Judaism. I'm an eighth Jewish, so I'm feeling just slightly atoney today.

The Catholic guilt helps, of course.

Break it down.

2003-10-06T23:40:00.000-04:00

Feels good to be back, strangely -- or not so strangely. I never would have thought I'd miss Maryland, but I really did while I was trying to relive my Northwest Ohio days.

Huh.

So Iain and I did our back-porch routine last night, and he helped me hash out the whole weekend. [Monogamy is Fun!]

What I Miss about Ohio

Family and friends.
Zero traffic.
Seeing for miles and miles.
Roads that are laid out in straight lines.
The simplicity.
Being a big fish in a little pond.
Knowing all the back roads, shortcuts, longcuts and everything in between.
Pollyeye's breadsticks and Easystreet's grilled cheese.
Small towns.

What I definitely Don't Miss about Ohio

That damn wind.
The seasons: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction.
Small-town minds.
The lack of anything to do besides drinking or pushing cows over.
Utter lack of topography.
The homogeneity.
Places are a little too spread out.
No Smoking anywhere. Stupid law.
Constant reminders of every mistake I've ever made.

There's some other stuff, too, of course, but I don't feel like thinking up what it is right now.

This post brought to you by: The Distance from the album "Fashion Nugget" by Cake.

Slumber Party!

2003-10-05T03:10:00.000-04:00

Hanging out at Lauren's studio apartment on the southside of Bowling Green. Four people trying not to step on each other ... we're reaching that 3:12 a.m. giggle time.

I took some notes on today's events, which included tailgating, going to the homecoming game after all, and random BG craziness:

So many white kids. So many.
Ohio fashion is firmly rooted in 1995.
Cheap keg beer is nowhere near as good as I remembered.
Somebody was able to successfully drop a literary allusion to Walter Mitty.
My first football game -- BG against Central Michigan, 23-3 -- was so boring. And cold. And boring.
Orange and brown is not attractive in any combination.
A billiards injury nearly put me out of commission for the evening ... I'm recovering, but slowly.
Drunk boys do stupid, stupid things [As we were dancing at one of the bars {which shall remain nameless, because I'm so ashamed} one drunken idiot prodded me in the bum with a beer bottle several times before his friends were able to yank him out of poking distance. And later, as I was sitting on the curb outside, another boy actually leapfrogged over my head. Fortunately, he cleared the leap. ]
My bar claustrophobia totally kicked in at Kamikaze's, so I had to start throwin' elbows. I hate that shit.

Oh, and I kind of got stranded at dinner ... but that's another story.

On the plus side, I did get to see some people from long ago and far away: Dan The Man, Quentin, Sara, Darla, Stephanie, Bob B. ... I got to meet or re-meet some of the old South College boys ... Oh!!! And I got to see Manders, a.k.a Wuz, Ska, Mandisa, Wombie, my old college roommate, in totally bizarre and freak running-into. She looks gorgeous as ever, of course, and I can't wait to see her in two more weeks.

All in all, an interesting, albeit strange, foray into days gone by. More revelations and realizations coming soon ... who has changed, them or me?

This post brought to you by the ubiquitous "P.I.M.P.," by 50 Cent, from the album ... oh, whatever the hell album that's off of. It's late.

NWO represent, y'all

2003-10-03T10:42:00.000-04:00

Damn cat. Rocky's been bitch-slapping me and scratching my arms up.

Rocky, of course, is my sister's roommate's kitten, with claws as sharp as pointy toothpicks. I'm drinking coffee [hazelnut], Em's watching something on the television, and we're just chillin' in her Rossford pad until she has to go to work.

Yesterday I hung out with Dan and did the East Toledo thing. OK, technically it was the Oregon, Ohio, thing, but that's cool. You know, Baltimore is all about its neighborhoods and charm and all that, but Toledo has a little bit of that going on, too. For example, yesterday we went to Birmingham, the old Hungarian neighborhood. And when you go to Birmingham there is only one place to eat, and that's Tony Packo's.

You got yer dogs, you got yer dumplings Paprikas, you got yer chili, yer mashed potatoes, yer strudel ... and it's so, so good.

Post-Packo's, we shot some pool and endured some of the most polar examples of Karaoke talent ever, from wailing banshees to velvety Sinatra impersonators.

Good stuff.

Do you know the way home?

2003-10-02T00:39:00.000-04:00

Leaving in a few hours for Northwest Ohio, land of my ~~birth~~ um, childhood. And young-adulthood. Going to meet up with Dan, Jen, Denise and David, among others. Going to do it up old-school: Tailgate at Homecoming, visit all the old haunts, you know the drill. Super-duper excited, because I've been homesick for the Flatlands, the cornfields, the flat accents, the corn-fed Midwestern hoes ... among whose number I count myself, in that non-ho kind of way.

And in between mad bouts of packing [you gotta have exactly the right pieces, because you never know what you'll end up doing] I found the funniest thing. It's my sixth-grade Memory Book. Think I'm a dork now? You shoulda seen me back then. But I'll just share the highlights:

Most Embarrassing Moment: "... was in gym. Once, we were playing kickball. I didn't know if it was OK to walk or what. I sort of walked/ran/jogged. It looked so stupid." [As years went by, my most embarrassing moments got a lot more embarrassing.]
In the year 2001: "... I will be cruisin' in my red car to my large home in Pennsylvania. My 2 dogs, 3 cats, 4 fish, 1 bird, 2 hamsters (and maybe a horse) will be waiting for me. So will my tall, dark husband and 2 kids, a boy and a girl, named Michael and Dawn." [Huh? What was I thinking was going to happen at age 21?]
And from my teacher: "Mary Beth, you are such a sweetie. It was enjoyable to have such an artist (even though a quiet one) in my classroom. Good Luck in Junior High!!" [Funny ... when I was waitressing at the country club and got assigned to her table, she looked right through me ... ]

Anyway. Funny stuff. I ought to get some sleep now, so's I can be up in time to make the eight-hour drive. And I'll get to do it again in a few weeks, too, when I make the same journey to spend a long weekend with the fam. Woo hoo! Quality time!

This post brought to you by: Can't Stand It from the album "Summerteeth" by Wilco.

Dawdling ...

2003-10-01T12:35:00.000-04:00

The Asbury Park Press's "Night Out" page is the only conceivable reason to live in Jersey. Hell, I'd move just so I could subscribe. D'ya think they deliver to Maryland?

Not the mama

2003-10-01T11:57:00.000-04:00

so I'm standing outside, smoking a cigarette back by the loading dock, watching the kids play at the day-care next door. One of the two-year-olds spied me through the fence. He watched me for a little while, hands slung through the chain-link. Finally he said, "Are you Danny's mom?" I shook my head. Then he yelled, "Bastard Mommy!"

Kids these days.

Miscellaneous

2003-09-29T00:43:00.000-04:00

Geezers be stylin': So I've been noticing how cool old men are nowadays. The black frame glasses, the sweater vests, those little golfer caps ...
What economy? So Denise and I tallied up our friends the other day, trying to think of some who are A.) employed, B.) employed full-time and C.) employed full-time in the field in which they received a college diploma. We came up with four people. Four!! And we know tons of people. What's up with this? Nearly everyone we know is barely scraping by. And we're talking smart people. Capable people. College-educated people with massive debt, and nobody's finding work. That's some fucked-up stuff right there.
Indescribable joy: Stop the presses! There's a BP out White Marsh way that actually carries Kamel Red Lights. I'm in heaven. I'm going to smoke myself stupid. I bought the last two packs they had.
Sesame Street was just a dream: So as much as I want to move downtown, I just don't think I have the balls for it. I'm too acclimated to two-way streets and ample parking. Let me tell you, I'm still reeling from this thought.

Update: A recount was commissioned, and it turns out I know seven people who are employed full-time in the field in which they studied: Iain, Brandi, Brandon, Vince, Jen, Jeffy and Dani.

This post brought to you by: Rockin' The Suburbs from the album "Rockin' The Suburbs" by Ben Folds.

Birthday berserkers!

2003-09-29T00:05:00.000-04:00

Great weekend. I turned 24 Friday, battled a few issues, mostly in the vein of "Wow, I didn't think I'd make it this long!"

And Iain came home from school with an armload of flowers for me, for which he wins major bonus points.

That evening we went out to dinner at Steak and Ale in Timonium. Right in our price range for a steak dinner and not crowded at all. Gorged ourselves on beef. We decided to continue the evening in Towson, drinking at the Charles Village Pub, where we made fun of all the baby college children and listened to some sort of band-type-thing. CVP, by the way, is very schizophrenic -- totally different clientele on a Friday night than on, say, a Tuesday afternoon. But we survived, at least until our cigarette supply ran out.

My birthday present was to go shopping, which is a big deal considering our grand money-saving scheme. So we bummed around Hampden Saturday morning (I'm trying very hard not to do the mall thing), got some books at Salamander's -- surprisingly decent selection compared to other used bookstores I've seen. Made me sad that Pauper's in BG went out of business. I picked up one by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, because I haven't read any by him, and The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood because it's good and I don't own it. The big plan was to buy me some threads, but I didn't find much I liked. Picked up a decent work shirt at Cloud 9, but that was it. I just can't rock the pleated corduroy miniskirt thing.

So I totally cheated today and went to the mall anyway. Still didn't find much, though. I think my ass is simply not constructed to be fit by off-the-rack clothes, making the Hunt For A Decent Pair of Freaking Pants nearly impossible. But I did score some sweaters at the Gap. Don't hate me for it ... they were on sale. That makes it OK, right?

This post brought to you by: I Don't Want To Grow Up from the album "Beautiful Maladies" by Tom Waits

It's my birthday again.

2003-09-26T03:41:00.000-04:00

I'd just like to thank Mom and Dad for getting together 24 years and nine months ago.

Two-score!

There's a string hanging from my bathrobe cuff

2003-09-25T03:04:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of total disclosure, I must say that Iain and I watched High Fidelity today for the 15th time.

John Cusack cracks my shit up: "I will now sell 5 copies of 'The Three EP's' by the Beta Band." And my personal favorite: "WHAT FUCKING IAN GUY?!"

We had reheated pizza from Pizza Shan's for dinner -- Iain bought a few on Monday to stock up for the week, since we don't usually feel like cooking on Wednesdays. How lame is that? And Pizza Shan's is a very interesting pizzeria. It appears to be Asian owned and operated. Of course, I can only say this by virtue of the fact that a) "Shan" is not, say, very Italian-sounding; b) A secret-asian man took our order and c.) A secret-asian man delivered our pizza. If this makes me a presumptuous bastard, so be it. Besides, their pies are amazing.

And my girl Hurricane Denise [a moniker she earned far before Isabel hit the streets] called. I must say, it's so good to reconnect with old college friends.

But if I censor myself, the terrorists win, right?

2003-09-25T02:56:00.000-04:00

After 2.5 minutes of contemplation, I have decided that honesty is the best policy. To know me is to love me. "Fuck" is an acceptable noun/verb/adjective/adverb. And, let's face it, my ego would starve if I didn't feed it by writing down every damned thought I have.

Just so long as y'all don't hold anything against me, we're cool.

Cuss like a sailor, drink like a Mick ...

2003-09-25T02:49:00.000-04:00

Sorry, no quotidian details of late. Trying to reconcile what I write with who may be reading. Would hate to burst bubbles of those who know me in, say, a professional, daughterly, granddaughterly, or sisterly manner.

... a belated shoutout to my pagemonkeys [thanks, Dan], my parents [I swear I'm still a good girl], my siblings [who can't access Supafine because the liberal use of the word "fuck" seems to have excited the Parental Controls] and all the people visiting my site via Tribune Company [Who are you guys, anyway?].

My only words of wisdom are [RADIO EDIT, -- ed.].

Lord. I can't believe I'm stealing rhymes from Kid Rock.

What a mess

2003-09-25T02:25:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, I wonder why Dubya is still president.

Fortunately, his approval rating is crashing. Are people actually catching on? Do we actually have a chance at escaping his clutches?

Iain and I got all het up about Cowboy President today, and we wonder: What's it going to take to get someone else in?

Greasy hair is totally in.

2003-09-24T01:25:00.000-04:00

Overslept again today. Again! I think there are little Tardy Elves living in my apartment and fucking with my alarm clock, possibly even feeding me Tylenol P.M. when I'm not looking.

Oh No! My Bed Has Crashed!

2003-09-22T02:52:00.000-04:00

Simple minds, simple pleasures: Iain and I have a new project! It's called Thrift-store Sofa, a new comic series/two-player game.

This is hours and hours of entertainment, I'm telling you. At least, for us it is.

Enter to win! Thrift-store Sofa is sponsoring a sweepstakes! You could be the lucky grand-prize winner! You could win a luxury all-expenses-paid cruise to Tahiti! Of course, you'd have to win somebody else's contest to get that prize, but our prizes are good, too.

But I wanna read stuff!

2003-09-20T17:23:00.000-04:00

Boo. Can't believe they canceled the Baltimore Book Festival. Stupid hurricane.

Bah. So we're going out to dinner with Karen and John instead. But I can't find my shoe, and we have to leave in a few minutes.

Guess I should go look for it.

I should really, really go to sleep, but ...

2003-09-20T06:30:00.000-04:00

BaltiBlogs.com. Movable-Type-powered blogs for Baltimore residents. Rock on.

It's Charm City, hon

2003-09-20T06:21:00.000-04:00

Blogging, B-more style: Crablogs.com

Recovering

2003-09-19T16:18:00.000-04:00

We're recuperating from the Wrath of Tropical Storm Isabel today.

About 11 p.m. yesterday, we set up shop on the back porch, ready for the show. Just as I was feeling especially idiotic for getting excited about My First Hurricane, Isabel delivered.

Several beers into the show, the transformer down the street took a hit, sending up rainbow-colored sparks and knocking out all our power. Every time the current tried to wriggle its way through it, a tremendous WHHRRRRM sound belted out, all the lights in all the apartments flickered, and the sky turned green.

It was better than the Fourth of July!

So Iain and I did a victory No Power dance and ran down the street to watch the sparks again. Of course, at that point we're standing in a big fat puddle directly underneath the power lines. I evidently learned nothing from Louie The Lightning Bug.

Wire-hanger stock prices rise

2003-09-19T16:02:00.000-04:00

From a New York Times op-ed piece on the completely misnamed "partial-birth abortion":

It now looks likely that in the coming weeks, President Bush will sign into law a ban on so-called partial birth abortion, thereby culminating a long campaign of deception. The measure, which has been constantly misrepresented as limited to late-term abortions, would in fact ban common abortion procedures used after the first trimester of pregnancy but well before fetal viability.

This will be a substantial blow against women's reproductive freedom, a clear contradiction of Roe v. Wade, the 1973 decision legalizing abortion. That is why the Supreme Court struck down a very similar law in Nebraska just three years ago. We can only hope this law will also be successfully challenged.[Emphasis mine].

What in the hell is this? If your goal is to stop abortions, this is the exact wrong way to go about it. Make it legal, make it safe, make it easy, make it accessible. Eliminate the bureacracy, the parental notification requirement, and the bullshit. Do these things, and late-term abortions won't be as necessary. Early-term abortions -- where the fetus is still only the size of a grain of rice -- would be easier to acquire.

And if you really, really want to stop abortions, you educate your men, women and children about sexuality, planned parenthood, reproduction, and STDs. You enfranchise the people. Give them the tools to make informed decisions about their bodies. You most certainly don't outlaw abortions and make Sex Ed an abstinence-only option.

And, additionally, this new legislation makes no provision whatsoever about the health of the mother.

I ask, again: What the hell is this?

Do something about it.

Thanks to Matt for the link.

C'mon, I can take it

2003-09-18T19:28:00.000-04:00

Jeffy called from San Jose a little while ago, to check on how we were doing in the face of the Supercane. I told him we were doing fine, just a little rain, nothing to get worked up about, blah blah blah.

He said, "Oh really? 'Cause I was just watching CNN, and that's one hell of a storm headed directly for you."

So I actually turned on the 6 o'clock news this evening, for shits and giggles. Jeff Pegues was reporting from Ocean City, getting batted about by the wind. The cameraman actually had to reach his arm around and wipe the rain off the lens with a bit of Kleenex. We had it on mute, so I don't know what Jeff was saying, but he was dancing around excitedly and pointing at things, so it must have been good. The other stations had some great "Holy shit" footage as well -- oceans of water pouring into the street, a mini-hurricane [a waterspout?] in a hotel pool, etc. And the Doppler Super-Alert Radar of Premonition showed the hurricane blotting out the northern hemisphere.

Hmm, I said. Maybe this is a little more than Just Rain. Maybe this bears paying attention to.

So Jeffy went back to working on the Readers' Recall Guide [a captain, the skipper, the millionaire and his wife, a bounty hunter, a prostitute ... ] for his paper, and Iain and I made some hasty Tropical Storm Preparedness plans.

"Pepsi?"
"Check."
"Rolling Rock?"
"Check."
"Tobacco?"
"Check."
"Milk crate lawn chairs?"
"Check."
"OK, I think we're set."

Word has it the show will start around 1:30 a.m., so we're "battening down the hatches" (i.e., making Supercane noises and generally taunting the Windy Vortex of Destruction). I wanted to drive down to the Inner Harbor and watch the water flail around, but we were, in the end, too lazy.

The power's already flickered a few times -- enough to set our clocks to flashing 12:00, very nice ambience -- but has stayed on so far. But I really, really want it to go out. If this is going to be my first hurricane, I want the whole enchilada, dude. Outages! Gusts of wind! Excitement!

Bring it on.

More addictive than porn?

2003-09-18T00:40:00.000-04:00

Our apartment has a very interesting smell right now. It's the delicious, homey smell of baked chicken combined with the vomity smell of the stanky mulch the yard rearrangers used to rearrange the landscape outside our building. We can smell the mulch because we had to open the windows and doors, because the chicken mysteriously burned, smoking up the place worse than usual, and setting off the smoke alarm, and generally causing problems.

So not only did the geniuses tear up all the trees, but they replaced them with shriveled plant matter that smells like an elementary school hallway. Lucky us.

But besides that, and the spidey I just saw crawling along the floor, it was a pretty good evening. Iain's decided he should join a band. So we popped a few beers, and he busted out the guitar and the harmonica for a little jam session. I'm trying to cajole him into doing an Open Mic night somewhere; I've just got to find the right bar. Well, and blindfold him, drug him, drive him to said bar, sit him on a chair, put his guitar in his hands and hold a gun to his head. But -- consider it done.

Oh well.

Oh! And though it doesn't have the same cachet as, say, a Snow Day, Baltimore County Public Schools called a Hurricane Day, so school's canceled tomorrow, and hence, Iain gets to sleep in and stay home. Score!

Transcontinental shout-out: So I says to Mabel, I says, "Mabel? Tell Jeffy it's just jokes. He'll understand. Damn him and his California ways."

Now you've done it: OK, I know I totally dissed the hurricane, and she's going to get all pissed and retaliate on me and strand me for days in my apartment, fending off flooding and locusts and whatever the hell a hurricane brings, but please, just let me wake up before she arrives and get some more cigarette filters, 'cause I'm going to be hurting like hell if I have to stay holed up in here chewing on loose tobacco.

I'd like to thank the Academy: Supafine is Baltimore's Best Local Online Addiction, sez The City Paper. Who knew?

Careful, now: Today's post brought to you by You're With Stupid Now from the album "You're With Stupid" by Aimee Mann.

I don't understand why I sleep all day

2003-09-17T00:06:00.000-04:00

Oh No. Hurricane Isabel is coming. Boo Hoo. I'm scared. Wah.

Since when is wind and rain cause for alarm? I mean, shah, I would be a little concerned if I lived in the Outer Banks or whatever, but come on. We're inland, dude. Chesapeake Bay, schmesapeake bay. The prediction so far -- the honest-to-god weather forecast -- calls for rain Thursday [the day Isabel is scheduled to tour Charm City] with gusts up to 30 mph. Last I heard, that ain't hurricane weather. But the weathertainers on the news, and in the news, are calling for Apocalypse conditions and screaming warnings to anybody from Florida to Canada.

People are so damned eager for the next Storm Of The Freaking Century that they'll latch on to anything, going nuts and stocking up on batteries and plywood and shit. Ridiculous. They're talking about canceling school, for chrissakes.

Granted, I was a bit surprised when we got three feet of snow last February [the last Storm of the Freaking Century] ... I was totally unprepared. But we survived being snowbound for three or four days. It's a little thing I like to call "being chill." And having many cans of soup and corn that we never eat except in weather emergencies.

I'm a firm believer in not being a wuss about the weather. A) I'm invincible and B) it's not like we're going to stop it. So there, Hurricane! Come and get me! Hah!

In other news: ... Well, there's really not any other news. Dubya said some dumb-ass stuff about the Clean Skies bill or whatever tripe it is he's trying to push through Congress, and that's about it. How come this guy sounds like a parody of himself even when it's him speaking?

This post is, of course, brought to you by "No Rain," by Blind Melon, off the album Blind Melon.

Something in my veins

2003-09-16T03:21:00.000-04:00

Three in the morning is a horrible time to be awake. Too many thoughts.

This blog is getting way too personal. Time to revert to hand-writing thoughts in my diary.
With the above noted, I just read Hey Nostradamus by Douglas Coupland and it's freaking me out.
Are you there, God? It's me, MB. What the fuck is this?
It's at three in the morning that I get really bad feelings about things.
I should quit smoking.
I'll never be on time for work if I don't go to sleep soon.
When is that magical time when you stop being a kid and start being a grownup?
Who made the crop circles?
I have my father's eyes. It's strange, seeing features on your face that you recognize from someone else.
Why is my life so easy? Why was I born in the US in 1979, and not in, say, Bosnia in 1997?
I really ought to floss more.
I think I may redesign Supafine again.
What does it all mean?
Maybe I should move to Canada.

The world is not so scary when you can write it all down. I just wish I had a thought-transcription machine. That would make everything easier. Oh, and a dream-recording machine, too. Then I could know what the hell was up with my dream last night. It involved high-school basketball, embezzlement, and electroshock therapy.

I hope tonight's dream is clearer and more upbeat.

Let's get it on

2003-09-15T00:16:00.000-04:00

Come on. We're all sensitive people.

As Carole put it on Friday, "Marvin Gaye is God, isn't he?"

Had a real blast this weekend. Had a Page Design department meeting Friday morning, and it included a delish turkey club sandwich. That sammich made my day, with all its bacon goodness. Plus we got to rehash the SND conference, and that's always fun, to get all design-psyched and shit.

After that, Iain and I headed out to Rosedale Park -- in the rain -- for the high school's annual Crab Feast. This is a Maryland thing I'm not yet accustomed to, but involves drinking large quantities of beer and getting barbaric on bucketloads of cooked arthropods. No plates, no silverware, just a mallet. People banging the shit out of these little crabs, these steamed Sebastians, and then sucking out the innards with glee.

I had a hot dog.

Anyway, we had a good time. Tom and Carole showed up, and the four of us agreed to meet at their house to continue the evening. We brought over "The Essential Johnny Cash," and had an impromptu memorial service/music-swapping fest, in memory of the Man in Black.

Of course, every good wake requires a toast, so we walked over -- in the rain! -- to Jerry's Friendly Belvedere. For those of you who are familiar with BG: Picture a blend of Howard's Club H and the Brathaus, and you'll get the gist of this bar. We headed straight to the basement, where we laid claim to one of the two pool tables and monopolized the jukebox ["Never Been to Spain," by Three Dog Night]. I had to add my graffiti to the library of information on the wall: "Westminster Pride In the Hizhouse!"(sic), "Johnny Is Gay!", "For A Good Time, Call Paul! Or His Mom! They're In The Book!" I think I wrote somethin' about Supa MB, but I don't remember.

Events got pretty fuzzy after Tom scratched on the eight ball, and Carole and I won the Boys Against Girls round.

By the end of the evening, I found myself impressing this old guy with my knowledge of "the old cowboys," Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, David Allan Coe. He evidently didn't expect a wee little girl like me to know who those old/dead farts were. But I did. We all had a good laugh.

We left sometime after that, and I do remember Iain pushing me around in an abandoned shopping cart. Fortunately, no one was injured. Next thing I know, I'm declining an offer of reheated fried chicken and crawling into bed.

So that was Friday. Good times. We don't get out much, so I treasure those evenings. Saturday was super low-key. We laid around, bein' lazy, and watched "Signs," which I never saw before and which scared the shit out of me, in a good way. And today, which is Sunday, we cleaned the house. And sorted our CDs. And burned some CDs. And re-watched the juicy parts from "Signs."

Boring! I know! But so fun!

Jesus, who put the X in my drink today? I'm so in love with everything and everybody [as evidenced by my posts below]. Sigh. I take these days when they come, though. No complaints here.

Do you believe in life after love?

2003-09-14T23:51:00.000-04:00

Do you want to find something worth saving?
The change would do me right.
I've been just waiting and hesitating
with this heart of mine

Still a mystery,
but there somethin' so easy
in how you're sweet to me.
I feel completed,
like it's something I needed
for this heart of mine
"Heart of Mine" by Peter Salett

I know, I know, enough with the lyrics. I can't help it. I made Iain watch "Keeping the Faith" yesterday because Ed Norton is too freaking adorable as a priest. Our buddy Clint's working on his second year in seminary, and he's going to be every ounce as cool and cute and helpful and God Squad as Ed Norton is in this movie.

Anyway, because Iain's such a good man he watched it with me.

I don't post a whole lot about him, and us, and marriage and all that. Mostly because what's suitable for public consumption is boring: We Went To The Grocery Store. We Read The Paper. We Cleaned The House. Et cetera.

And of course the private stuff, the inside jokes, the routines and rituals, nobody else would even get. You know how it is.

But sometimes, it's just so good, it's so happy, that I have to spill a little of that happiness out or I'll just burst.

It's true that our life is very predictable. Hardly anything new and exciting happens. We don't have drama. We don't have calamity striking all the time. We do our thing, and stay in on the weekends, and do boring old-people stuff like read books or sort our CD collections.

It's also true that I really don't want to be That Girl ... the one who's so sunshiny with love and happiness that you just want to knock her upside the head because her contentment is so annoying.

But .. I am. So knock me upside the head, already, and let's get it out of the way.

I am, as a friend described it, "ridiculously in love."

I feel the way I imagine really attractive people must feel. Or really rich people. The whole "Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful" -- I was born this way, and I can't help it, so don't make me feel guilty. Or "Hey, Mom and Dad played the right stocks in the '80s, so here we are, I can't help it, so don't make me feel guilty."

Even writing that sounds obnoxious. And I know, I know that it's not everybody's dream to find the Right Person and settle down.

But part of me does feel like I have to downplay how content I am, how happy I am with the way things worked out, because otherwise I'd just be gloating ... and no one likes a gloater.

Ridiculous, isn't it? Ah, yes. The intricacies of modern friendships and acquaintances. The intrigue of life as a 20-something ... sure is interesting.

And also, just goes to show you how paranoid I can get about things ... but we knew that. Overanalyze, that's my motto.

Anyway, consider this a kind of shout-out to Weeb-dog, The Skootch-meister, King of the Mixed Tape, Champion of the Hamburger Helper, Watcher of Girly Movies and Defender Against The Scary Bad Guys.

I couldn't have hoped for a better first year.

Poor Jakob Dylan

2003-09-14T22:30:00.000-04:00

Say when you're alone
it's better 'cause nobody knows you

and when no one's your friend
it's better 'cause nobody leaves you.

Not me, man. I got friends out the ear.

Drunk friends, happy friends, silly friends, in-crisis friends, away friends, here friends, quirky friends, sane friends ... Good shit, man.

(Lifting her glass of Dr Pepper) Here's to all y'all homies. I love you guys.

Quiet

2003-09-11T00:24:00.000-04:00

Thinking about that morning two years ago. Put together a package on 210 West with some of the other writers. The artwork's mine, too.

You can read my personal 9/11 story if you want.

Today will be a quiet day. Just going to do some thinking. Some missing of people. Some thanking of Whomever for the safety of me and mine.

Ounce for ounce ...

2003-09-10T18:56:00.000-04:00

Oh, God. "Add It Up," by the Violent Femmes. I think I'm going to play it again. Love this damn song. Jesus, I can't listen to it without a cigarette. Did I mention that I miss the '90s?

Freaking fantastic day at work today -- everything worked the way it was supposed to. All deadlines met, all designs brilliant, all pages perfect. Good freaking day.

Cyclical melancholy hasn't been too bad lately ... Only a little bit of god-awful depression, and that's fading quickly. Monday was bad; I was sorely missing home, hating my job, hating Baltimore, hating Maryland, hating the East Coast, hating my apartment, feeling sad and miserable and resentful.

But I think that's past.

Still having some body image issues, but who isn't? All this Homecoming talk is making me nervous; I'd really hate to go back and see everybody and have them whisper, "Damn, what happened to her?" you know? Veruca at work asked me if everyone in my family was as "compact" as I. We were in the Testoster-room at the time, and all the page-monkey guys were trying to figure out what compact meant: short and beefy? Square? They looked me up and down and concluded I wasn't "compact," but I don't know what that means I am, then. Maybe I don't want to know.

Ugh. Definitely win the "Smallest Bosom" prize, though. Oh well.

Well, for Christ. I had a lot of deep things to ruminate about ... Oh, I remember now. Babies. Now that I've decided that I owe it to the world to procreate sometime in the next 10 years, I'm desperately afraid that I won't be able to get knocked up. And that I wasted all that latex all for nothing. Funny, huh. Now, don't freak out -- Mini-MB's are nowhere on the agenda for the foreseeable future. I just want to have the option, you know? But it would be just my luck to want to get in a family way someday and not be able to. Serve me right, for vehemently railing against having bebbies. Bah.

So am I being ridiculous? You know what would be even funnier? If I was all worried and got knocked up like, next week. Damn, I'd be pissed.

Best to leave the whole topic alone. Pull a third-grade moment and pretend babies just get dropped off by the storks and forget all about it.

P.S. Disappointed that the Barenaked Ladies' newest song is about chimpanzees.

P.P.S. Delighted that they can make even a song about chimps adorable.

I gots the remedy

2003-09-07T22:04:00.000-04:00

Q: What would entice a seasoned nightowl to start her day at 5 a.m.?
A: An invitation to the annual conference of the Society for News Design.

SND conference this weekend was pretty good. Lot of good speakers, such as Ben Bradlee, former editor of the Washington Post during such exciting times as The Pentagon Papers and Watergate. Lots of inspiring sessions. Got to see "Freedom Sings," a little music group put on by the Freedom Forum. The musicians there sang songs that were banned at one time or another, including one by the Dixie Chicks, one by Elvis, that "Louie Louie" song, other ones. One of the singers was Jason White. Very cute. Looks like Iain with glasses, kinda. Jason White wrote Tim McGraw's "Red Ragtop," which is a great song. Apparently it implies abortion, and therefore (?) pissed off a lot of people, who wanted it off the air. I guess country music -- you know, drinking, prison, guns, trains and Momma -- is only about Family Values. Huh.

Oh, and the dentist visit last Thursday yielded me high marks on oral hygiene. Score one for me. Look, Ma, no cavities!

All things to all people.

2003-09-04T21:57:00.000-04:00

What we call MB Googlisms:

mary beth is now a formally trained registered dietitian and ny state certified nutritionist
mary beth is also a food consultant to food
mary beth is available for corporate parties.
mary beth is a lovely registered anglo
mary beth is always trying to see how long she can ski before she falls
mary beth is a new and gorgeous aircraft
mary beth is responsible for overseeing quality control
mary beth is sent to the principal's office to discuss her actions
mary beth is a proven brood jennet
mary beth is my girlfriend of roughly ten months
mary beth is manager for the colville tribal planning department
mary beth is there to back us up
mary beth is a native of peoria.

I'm laughing so hard the little tears are dropping all over the place.

A Thing That Doesn't Suck.

2003-09-03T23:18:00.000-04:00

Going to the SND annual conference this weekend for work.

Things That Suck.

2003-09-03T23:00:00.000-04:00

Walking out your front door and seeing that someone has cut down all the trees in front of your apartment
Being stuck in Beltway traffic because drivers are apparently new to the idea of fog
Having to park in the Stabby Lot, the isolated gravel parking lot behind the building you work in, and stepping in a puddle as soon you get out of the car
Putting the paper to bed an hour and fifteen minutes past deadline
Realizing an hour and twenty minutes past deadline that the page you thought was color is going to be black-and-white
Having to censor yourself in front of people so they don't know what you're really thinking about them
Having to censor yourself to protect the innocent
Finishing a good novel, and then having nothing else but code manuals and The Bible to read
Rolling your own cigarettes, because the tobacco flies out all over the place, and plus it takes a damn long time when all you need, for Chrissakes, is just a toke
Feeling left out and unimportant
Feeling stupid for feeling that way
Feeling like an idiot for posting very personal feelings in such a gaping-wide public location as a globally-accessible Web site.

And the suckiest thing that sucks is having to go to the dentist tomorrow morning, especially when you've been too poor and uninsured to go for the last three years, and fearing that she's going to find fifty-hundred cavities or weapons of mass destruction in there.

Everything blows, man. Everything.

Kitsch/Stitch + Video Games = Art

2003-09-01T05:16:00.000-04:00

Caught this article about melding Lara Croft and down-home stitchery from a link on Jim's blog. It's from Game Girl Advance:

One might imagine that Lara Croft, having already expanded her franchise beyond the boundaries of the pc/console arena and onto the silver screen, might be looking for ways to expand her realm of influence and extend her reign as one of the most recognizable female icons in gaming. But artist Becky Schaefer has taken her places she might not have imagined.

Schaefer's works--needlepoint kits and framed 'found' works with subtle additions--insert this game-world icon into a wholly different universe. Though she is still toting her gun, it's unclear whether she'll really need it. Rapelling down a large sunflower plant or from a rainbow-hued hot air balloon, posing with one leg on an old wooden fence in a farm landscape, lounging with her pistols by the ocean--not the usual day's work.

By bringing Lara into the traditional hobby-world of needlecraft, more particularly kits that were popular in the 70s, which provided a 'safe' and satisfying crafting experience for a generation of women, Schaefer has created a disturbing juxtaposition between the hobbies and mental media spaces of then and now. She feels it's exactly this breaking of the frame for the viewer--the moment of discomfort at seeing Lara in this alien setting--that help her to achieve the artistic effect she seeks. -- MORE

Psycho monster killer peppers

2003-09-01T05:02:00.000-04:00

So Iain had to buy two pounds of jalapeno peppers today for a project he'll be teaching the kids on reproductive something-or-other. Seeds and whatnot. Masochist that he is, he ate part of one -- just a tiny bit, really.

A few minutes later, I gave him a peck on the lips.

A few minutes after that, after the peppers have been stored and topic of conversation changed, we're both suddenly running around the apartment screaming "It BURNS! It BURNS!" and clawing at our faces.

I don't know what kind of potent hell they been putting in jalapenos these days, but the shit's nuclear-grade.

Update: After 20 minutes or so, the burning and pain subsided, and we were able to talk normally again.

Frodo! Look out!

2003-09-01T04:06:00.000-04:00

Major Lord of the Rings marathon this weekend. We rented The Two Towers and watched it last night [and this morning] and all of the featurettes. And then, just to be sure we're caught up, we watched the extended-DVD version of The Fellowship of the Ring. I'm the biggest nerd ever. But I did decide that I want to be Eowyn when I grow up, because she kicks ass.

Needless to say, am looking forward to the extended-DVD version of The Two Towers.

Wake up, already!!

2003-08-31T02:04:00.000-04:00

I'm only sorry that it took me this long to see it: Michael Moore's Bowling for Columbine is the most inspiring, traumatic, painful and hopeful movie I've seen this year.

Spend $3.50 and rent it this weekend. Now. Log off the internet and go rent it. I'm serious. I don't care what you're doing, you need to at least watch this film.

And while you're at it, turn that damned television off, will ya? It's rotting your brain. Ours has been off for four months now, and I feel better for it.

And when you're done watching, you may get back on the internet and get your citizenship on by visiting Mike's Action Page. Making a difference in this country is not an insurmountable task. In fact, I've been contemplating running for office ... maybe the Register of Wills?

Come on. I know this sounds like a bunch of optimistic hippie liberal crap, but it isn't. It's fucking democracy, and you owe it to yourself to do something about it.

I'm serious about this. Why bitch, moan and complain about the state of the Union if I don't do something about it? I already vote [hint, hint, you non-registered people of voting age] and I turned off the misinformation box [we call it a TV]. But there's more to be done: Educating myself about my community, my new state and national issues, for a start.

And if we all band together ... if we all do something, however small, however simple ... imagine.

I'll be back with missions of my own in the coming days/weeks ... simple things, petitions, e-mailing congressmen, that we all can do. Hell, if you live in Chllicothe, Ohio, I've got a pal down there who's got political connections [hey, Carrie!].

Something, somewhere, has got to change. ...

Don't got a man? Get you some bling-bling anyway.

2003-08-30T01:25:00.000-04:00

I was flipping through Harper's Bazaar the other day at the library, and came across an ad for the "Right Hand Ring." What the hell? Hey! Diamonds aren't just for Smug Marrieds anymore, ladies! Step up and be the first to fall for this ad campaign aimed at suckering single women into buying pressed carbon!

From The Professional Jeweler:

The Diamond Promotion Service introduced its extensive marketing program for diamond right-hand rings to jewelers at the recent JCK Show-Las Vegas. The right-hand ring ad campaign, beginning this fall in consumer magazines, features the tag line "Women of the World, Raise Your Right Hand" aimed at inspiring women to take a fresh look at diamonds.

DPS is offering retailers a range of marketing material to complement and extend the consumer advertising campaign. These materials include postcards, ad slicks, acrylic sign, CD with six ad images, positioning copy line, four-color ad, Web banner, radio scripts and a newsletter story.

DPS created a diamond right-hand ring educational program for store owners/managers, which includes research and strategies to help maximize sales opportunities at the counter level and effectively train their sales associates.

Should retailers create ad campaigns featuring their own jewelry designs, they may use the "Women Of The World, Raise Your Right Hand. The Diamond Right Hand Ring" line. DPS authorized the diamond jewelry trade to use this campaign tag solely when promoting diamond right-hand rings. DPS will protect its rights to the full extent of the law.

Excerpts from the campaign: “Your left hand lives for love. The right hand lives for the moment.” "Your left hand loves candlelight. Your right hand loves the spotlight." Priceless.

Now, I'm all for empowerment, as we know. All for a lady doin' her own thang, makin' her own choices, bein' all she can be, even if those choices don't jive with what she's "supposed" to do. Hell, 22-year-olds aren't supposed to "throw their lives away" and settle down with just one man anymore ... it's too "old-fashioned" and patriarchal and limiting and all the rest. But I did it anyway [to the surprise of many] because it was what I wanted to do.

I just think it's interesting that yet another niche in the consumer market has leaped on single women and their so-called insecurities to make a little profit, all the while turning it around so that it seems like the empowered, I'm-my-own-woman thing to do. Guess it was just a matter of time.

Do you believe in magic?

2003-08-28T22:01:00.000-04:00

Phew! I did it. The Site and The Blog are up, running, and pretty much functional.

I'm jazzed. Now I can move on to other things.

Don't cry, Ewan! Does anybody else bawl like a baby at Moulin Rouge? I do. I watched it today with Iain, who had never seen it.

Yesterday we watched Rushmore, which I had never seen. It was good. Very much like The Royal Tenenbaums, which I also like. Gotta love those Wilson brothers.

Next up: new stories on 210 west.

Today's triumphant euphoria brought to you by Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots from the album "Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots" by The Flaming Lips

The light at the end of the tunnel ... may be you

2003-08-28T02:59:00.000-04:00

Nostalgia for college still going strong. Am planning a reunion, but the question is: When? AND -- if i start reminiscing about high school, somebody please slap me.

Perchance to dream: Yeah, so I overslept this morning ... making me about three hours late to work. I think that's a new MB record.

Ooops: This obsession with the supafine redesign is causing me to become lax in other areas, such as keeping up with my e-mail and posting to 210 west. But i swear, as soon as I finish this i'll be back on track.

OK, kids, that's all for now. Rest up for Labor Day.

2003-08-27T00:18:00.000-04:00

tI Love The Nineties

So I'm sitting here with my best pal Hal Sparks, and we're making a list and checking it twice.

Things I Love/Miss about the '90s. [in no particular order]
Note: These things may not actually hail from the 1990's, but tough shit, it's my list, OK?

- The Insane Clown Posse
- Hypercolor T-shirts
- My So-Called Life
- Kennedy the VJ
- Hole
- Garbage
- Grunge as a viable fashion alternative
- Soundgarden
- the return of Hush Puppies
- Pogs
- Edward Scissorhands
- Nirvana, duh
- Lilith Fair
- Cypress Hill
- "Under the Bridge" by the Chili Peppers
- The Lion King
- Slap bracelets
- Rope bracelets
- Hemp everything [or was that just me?]
- River Phoenix
- Sassy magazine
- Real baby-T's, babydoll dresses and Mary Janes
- Guns'n'Roses: "November Rain"
- Bill Clinton as president

Seems like life was pretty near perfect back then. Now everybody's either sold out, died, or dropped off the face of the earth, and my favorite trends have been co-opted and mangled. Sigh ...

2003-08-24T19:51:00.000-04:00

Changes, they are a-comin'

I'm workin on some new HTML and CSS for Supafine: The Blog, so get ready. The plan is to clean everything up, first of all, and then see how creative I can get. You can watch my progress at the test site, if you wanna, but as of right now it's just a boring generic starter template.

The Wedding Story: So Iain and I went back to Pittsburgh to see his cousin Janielle get married. The wedding was absolutely gorgeous, held outside in the fading August sunlight, candles and white tents and red dresses. Boring, though. Bad DJ. But it was pretty to look at.

Before we left for the 5-hour drive back on Friday we stopped at Red Brick Station for teachers' happy hour. A Bad Idea. I had no food in me, and three strong drinks. I was a barely-mobile wreck. Fortunately i processed most of the alcohol before we made it back to the in-laws.

Very Bad Idea. I won't do that again.

Pumpkinhead, revisited: I'm thinking the dye job doesn't look as bad as I feared. I think I'm going to leave it be.

Anyway, that's about all for now. Time to get my code on. Thanks to Raena today for some inspiration.

2003-08-22T02:23:00.000-04:00

Okay, one more thought before i pull the old "barf and faint."

It's so interesting that this nostalgia thing is not just me. I just read Jen's blog and Kristalyn's blog. Apparently, we're all feelin' it. What's up with that? Are we just that in tune? Or is it the whole "back-to-school" thing in the air making us reminisce?

What say we have a little reunion, guys?

Grab some breadsticks at Pollyeyes, have a beer at Brathaus, hassle some people on Main Street, browse through Finders, get stinking drunk at Downtown and cap the night off with some burgers at The Corner Grill.

Oh, for jesus. It's all too much right now. Lonely is not the word; maybe sad is. Two years out of college, and I want nothing more right now then to go straight back to Darrow Hall and skip class.

What am I supposed to do with this? Jen? Kris? You girls got any ideas?

Bah.

2003-08-22T02:07:00.000-04:00

tOw, my head!

Headache headache headache! Ow. What is this? Is this a blood clot? What's going on? These are becoming a little too common for my liking.

Just call me Pumpkin-head: Oh, lord. I have committed the Brunette's Mortal Sin: I overbleached my dark brown hair, resulting in charming chunks of saffron framing my face. I swore I would never do this again. Shit. I'll tell you how it happened, and then you can slap me.

OK. So the alarming number of grays popping up on my head lately finally broke my Vanity Barrier. My typical opinion is that hair color is OK if it's like, purple, but that if I ever went gray, i was going to do it gracefully. Like Lauren Hutton or somebody. But then I'm thinking, Fuck, at 23 I'm way too young to be sporting these random silver threads in ever-increasing numbers. I don't look like Lauren Hutton, I look like .. well, a lot like my mother, God love her. At which point i realize the grays are hereditary, and I need only to look at Mom's silver head [now bottle-brown] to realize my mane's dim future. Or my dad's silver head, for that matter. All salt and no pepper.

So I'm freaking about the gray. I find a coupon in the paper for L'Oreal's latest "haircolor experience." I buy it, like a sucker. This stuff is a two-step process: Dye your hair an allover color [Rich Chocolate], then use the "Illuminating Wand" [Luxe Caramel] to add "multi-tonal luminescence." All right. I'm down with that. I dye it brown, and it looks good. I add the multi-tonal whatever. Which they don't tell you is BLEACH, for the love of God. So I'm streaking away, dreaming of the subtle nuances my hair is going to have. I notice a very peculiar transformation occuring on the strands I've already illuminated: namely, that they're turning orange. But the box says For Best Results, Leave On for 15 Mins. So i leave it on for 10, like a dumbass, before i realize that it's bleach oh christ it's bleach. At which point, the damage is done.

I am now Pumpkin-head.

Iain says it looks all right. And actually, my hair bears a striking resemblance to that of a girl I taught last fall. So maybe this two-tone thing is trendy -- that's how i'm going to try to pass it off, anyway.

Push comes to shove, I'm dying it all black next weekend. Ach! Like i need this.

Latest screenings: Movie time again. The arts editor dropped off a lot of good screeners the other day, and I picked up "Grosse Pointe Blank," "Sliding Doors" [so cute] and "Rushmore," which I've never seen. And I used my $20 coupon at Suncoast today to get "Chicago" and "Moulin Rouge." Buildin' my DVD collection a wee bit at a time.

Designing women: Coworker Donna called me at home today, trying to feel out my preferences for the SND design conference happening soon. I think I might actually get to go, which is pretty cool, because A) This is an expensive conference, B) This is a very classy conference, C) I really want to go to this conference and D) Patuxent is likely going to pay for me to go. So I'm way excited.

As far as redesigning supafine goes, I've got some ideas, thanks to Dan. One of the places he pointed me to was Stop Design, which is a nice reference and inspiration.

Lawfully wedded: We've got another wedding to go to this weekend. This time, Iain's cousin is tying the knot [ahem, with the father of her baby, more power to her], so it's a total family affair. I picked up the sweetest dress at Salvation Army the other week -- black and white, Express, very swingy, very forties -- for $4. Oooh, and Iain tried on his interview suit with this spread-collar pear-green shirt, and shot the cuffs out so he looks very Brad Pitt-in-Ocean's-11. We're going to be so hot.

Where have all the cowboys gone? Man oh man. I don't know what's up with me lately, but i've been getting more little hits of melancholy. I'm screaming nostalgic for college, Ohio, friends in far places. I want to go back home, see my parents, my sibs. I want to have all my friends in town. I want to go to lame-ass college parties and drink too much cheap beer. I want to run into a dozen people I know the second I step out the door. I want Mandy to be living with me, too, cooking creamed corn and lending me her deodorant [don't ask].

I am getting used to Baltimore. I'm growing to like it. I'm getting to know people. I may even be carving a tiny niche out for myself -- I can't tell. But it still doesn't feel like home. Even though most of my friends have picked up and moved to far places [holla Jen, Kris, Jeff, Matt[s], Carrie, Tasha, my Newsers, all y'all], I still feel like i know everybody in Ohio, but barely a soul out here. The damn appalachians are splitting me off from everywhere and everyone i know and love.

These little bouts come and go, and I'm sure every transplant feels the same. But it's disheartening nonetheless.

Look at the little baby! A little note about age, and this kind of references the above freak-out about gray hair: I feel so old. Somewhere, I passed the line that totally separates me from the young. I was copping a smoke outside work the other day, and there were these high-school boys on skateboards, doing tricks in the parking lot. Once upon a time these guys would have been my buddies, and I would have been out there with them, waiting for them to finish boarding or playing hackey-sack or whatever so we could go inside and play Nintendo. Now they whiz right past me. I don't even register on the radar. I have no idea what music the kids are listening to nowadays, and that's no cliche, it's for real. My sister is in high school, and she speaks a totally different language. I have no idea what she's talking about half the time: bands i've never heard of, etc. When did this happen? What the hell? I'm only 23, but I feel 35. What am I going to feel like at 35? 50? How do I get young again? I don't know.

And interestingly enough, the ladies at work think I'm a baby. They can't believe that I wasn't even around to witness the wonder and glory that was The Seventies. They complain that I make them feel their age. They marvel that I've never seen Captain Kangaroo. They cringe when they realize they're older than my parents. And with them, i do feel like a little kid.

Funny, huh?

Okay. My headache's making me nauseated. This is so not cool. I'm going to go throw up and pass out.

[Closing song: On The Flipside from the album "The Geometrid" by Looper.]

2003-08-19T14:15:00.000-04:00

The Mummy Returns!

So yeah. I am already sick of supafine city. It's back to the way it was before, though the ancillary pages haven't been cleaned up yet.

Bear with me, OK?

2003-08-18T04:20:00.000-04:00

Supafine City!

Whoa, Nellie! So I decided I was ready for a new Supafine: The Site. I tossed all the old, code-heavy, phat-CSS pages out the window and replaced them with uber-simple sliced Photoshop pages. Everything looks OK in my IE -- hopefully it'll render OK in your browser, too.

l decided to simplify everything because A) it's easier this way -- I can make a web page in about half a second -- and B) my web site is pretty standard, non-dynamic stuff anyhow. It's the blog that changes. And the blog can't use any pictures, so it's super code-heavy and CSS heavy and I'm not ready to tackle that just yet. The web site was much more manageable.

So anyway, go look at it, tell me what you think about the wonky sizes and stuff. The recurring photo is a shot of downtown Richmond; I took it a few years ago, and it just seemed to work well.

I dunno. It's late, and I gotta bounce.

2003-08-17T23:58:00.000-04:00

I'm Idaho!

Today's pool visit earned me a tres-gauche sunburn, right on the chest. Very classy. Nose is all red, too. I'm such a novice.

So I broke the apartment today: Had the bright idea to throw our pillows in the washer. Two at a time.

Forty-five minutes later, the kitchen was flooded, and so was the hallway -- on the other side of the wall. The hallway's carpeted.

The emergency repair dude had to come over, and rip up the carpet, and set up Mr. Industrial-size Fan to blow the water out.

Tuesday the emergency repair dude has to come back and rip up the carpet pads and replace them. I'm sure he's going to scold me, too -- good thing I'll be at work.

Gah.

So we have wet pillows and billowing carpet. It's like a bad acid trip ["Am I high, or is the floor wavering?"].

It ain't even Labor Day! So Iain goes back to school tomorrow. He doesn't have to battle the Mini Monsters til next week, but still. This summer flew by awfully damn fast, and it rained nearly the whole time. You know it's bad if I'm not even cultivating my tan until mid-August ... ow. Tan, sunburn, whatever.

The taste of your lipgloss: I am admitting two small girlie indulgences today: The Sephora Catalog and a homemade french manicure. I'm sporting a rather sloppy mani and pedi, because I was talking to Jen at the time I was painting them, but they look kind of downtown-dirty cool.

If I weren't trying so damn hard to pretend to save money, I'd be stocking up on some Urban Decay and some Stila and some Philosophy and some Frederic Fekkai ... ooh, baby. Oh, who am I kidding. I can barely afford some Cover Girl.

[Today's sponsor: Hey Ladies from the album "Paul's Boutique" by Beastie Boys]

2003-08-15T23:53:00.000-04:00

tDe minimis

My groove is off. I've started this blog like five times now, and keep erasing it, because I don't have anything good to say.

Theoretically, I therefore shouldn't say anything at all -- but you know me. Loquacious.

I'll touch on some discarded topics:
1. Accidental friends: When you lose touch with someone [I'm not naming names] and you realize this person was too good to be friends with you anyway, and you wonder why it didn't happen sooner.
2. The New Traditionalist: An IM chat with my brother reveals my new "old matron" status.
Me: i bring this dessert to all the married-people functions we go to.
Brother Matt: That's quaint.
3. Beauty tips: While making said dessert, I used my hands to combine Oreos and a stick of butter, coming away with soft touchable hands -- a result of the exfoliant quality of the Oreos and the softening quality of the butter.
4. Quest for an even tan: I went to the apartment-complex pool, and suffered my own complex while wearing a bikini around all the young, fit, tanned lifeguard chicas.

See? All kind of lame, yet that's what's going on with me today.

What are ya gonna do.

[Today's blog brought to you by A magazine called sunset from the album "Enhanced EP" by wilco]

2003-08-15T12:14:00.000-04:00

titleWait for it ...
OK. Installation is nearly successful ... just about four hours to go. See, not so bad!

Question: I'm thinking of redesigning Supafine again. Good idea? Bad idea? Gots to learn my CSS-p first. Just gimme a couple days.

And maybe someday I'll figure out Adobe Illustrator, too, while I'm at it. I'm at the point where I can draw circles and squares, and very careful lines, but that's it. Might as well draw some shit on paper and scan it in.

Gar.

I think it's time to go sit out by the pool.