The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

The good news is that I made some yummy "jasmati" rice that didn't turn into white paste with crunchy bits. The bad news is that Thai peanut marinated tofu really isn't that good.
Conan O'Brien's parent company bought the company that owns the rights to "Walker, Texas Ranger" so now he has a lever behind his desk that, when pulled, plays a ten second clip from the show. I think it's my favorite bit ever. Conan will pull it two or three times and then say "That's enough, we've got a lot of stuff to do tonight and we're just wasting time," and then he'll grin and pull it again, and we get a clip of Chuck Norris in a hospital gown, talking about victims' rights to a blond woman who replies, "You look pretty good for a man whose been stung by scorpions." Instant classic.
My Angel season 2 dvd set is scratched to hell. I was about five minutes into the first episode when the screen went blank and a message in green appeared on the screen, telling me (in a strangely engrish kind of way) to examine the disc for scratches or stains. Mom is braving Best Buy today to exchange it. We'll see if those asshats give her a hard time.

Anthony, re: the musical episode of Buffy. It's brilliant. Brilliant.

But not officially until 11:53am. Then I will be 23. The cake my mom made for me split lengthwise right down the middle. Mom was not happy. "That's the worst cake I ever made," she said. "I'm so pissed." I offered to show her the picture of my ghetto birthday cake from three years ago, and then said that she could just fill the fissure with frosting. I don't care at all--I'm getting a white cake with chocolate frosting. That's all there is to it. Oh yeah, and even if it is split down the middle, it was still made with lurve. Thank you Amy and Marianne for happy birthday wishes. And happy birthday to Holly.
Off the happy birthday track, I have to tell you guys about this dream I had. It'll be short, because I had it a few days ago and I think I mostly blocked it out, and the reasons for that will be obvious in a moment. It's like every horror movie I ever saw decided to clump together and manifest as one nightmare. I was in the passenger seat of a car, with some girl driving (of course, I knew her in the dream) going down Western Ave. in Lynn, (a small fact for you current and former North Shore residents) when the sun disappeared and all the houses became decrepit and covered in filth. The people walking on the street looked kind of stiff, probably because they were dead. And there was no turning back. So there I was, stuck in the land of zombies, and freaking the hell out. Zombies are my worst nightmare, which is probably how I figured out I was dreaming, but I couldn't wake myself up. Other parts included waiting for something nasty to magically appear in the back seat of the car (which it did) and trying to get food in a convenience store in which the clerks had certain facial . . . deformities. I'm hoping that since this dream was a smorgasbord of evil I have maxed out my storage of disturbing images for at least six months. Now all that's left is my bi-annual Jurassic Park dream about dinosaurs trying to hunt me down and eat me, and I'll be done.

Tracy's barbecue was a bust, since the other two people who were going to come had to work. Of course, we always have the best time when it's just us, so we weren't too disappointed. After a lot of arguing back and forth about when we would pick them up we took her sisters to the Willows, threatened them with bodily harm a few times, and then got some Chinese and ate it while sitting on the wall by the little beach. You know what? Seagulls really like lo mein. Pineapple? Not so much. Then we searched the tide pools, or "cess pools" as Tracy likes to call them, for hermit crabs. She picked up a pretty white snail shell and gave it to me, but it smelled like rancid egg salad, so I had to give it back to the ocean. After that she ordered me to smell her hand to make sure that she hadn't gotten the stink of it on her. "Smell my hand!" I just about cracked up. So we saw one hermit crab, one eeny-meeny regular crab, about a thousand periwinkles, and one fat blond rat scurrying under the rocks near the water.
We grabbed her sisters and their friends and took them home, sat on the couch, watched the last hour of The Royal Tennenbaums, and then she took me home at about 12:30. A good time was had by all.
Then, at about 3am, I woke up with a burning pain in my stomach, which went away quickly. It was a warning sign. About ten minutes later, the robots invaded. And they brought flame-throwers. Possibly small explosives as well. I was up until 6, turning around and over, trying to find a position that would calm the robots down for a moment. When the hot and cold flashes started I felt like Gollum--"Oh, it burns us, master, it freeeezes us!" Eventually the pain stopped and I got back to sleep. I was supposed to go to the Peabody Museum with my dad today. We rescheduled for tomorrow.

Angel is over. It was a very fitting last episode, with lots of the funny and a couple heart-wrenching moments. And Wesley's dead. Along with Fred (technically) and Cordelia. Do you know of any other show that's killed off three major main characters in the last half of one season? Me neither. My favorite part was Spike at a poetry slam, liquored up, slouched on a stool, head down, eyes closed, drink and cigarette in one hand, and darkly reciting a poem (for a woman who subsequently rejected him) that got him the nickname "William the Bloody"(for his bloody awful poetry). When the audience broke out in wild applause he jumped up, suddenly bright and said, "Yeah! That was for Cecily! This next one--" and then the scene changed. I assume that none of you know what I'm talking about, except maybe Anthony and possibly Amy, and that's okay. I just really appreciate when television writers trust and respect their audiences enough to make references to things that not only happened several years ago (I think about three and half in this case) but on another show as well.
So, no more Joss Whedon shows on tv for the first time in 8 years. Whatever shall I do?

You're a Speak & Spell!! You nerd, you. Just
because you were disguised as a toy doesn't
mean you weren't educational, you sneaky
bastard.


What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Well, everyone, I'm home, so that means I will probably become complacent, perhaps even happy, which means that I will also become terribly boring and not at all inspired to surf the net and blog. But the good new is that we may be getting a new visitor soon. There's already Anthony (surprise, surprise) posting as Stalmar. Today I went on errands with Tracy as she did various and sundry things like pick up her dress from the tailor($65), pick up Jeff's boutaneer($4.83), get lunch at Bob's(err...it cost me $5.46, probably $10 something for Tracy), bought a lotta bobby pins(what do those cost?) got her hair done($125.00, plus a $5 tip borrowed from me because really, would you have been financially prepared for a $125.00 up-do?), deposited money at the bank so she wouldn't be overdrawn on her debit(another $5 also borrowed from me, which is fine because on top of knowing that she's good for it, I also know where she lives) and picked up Jeff's tuxedo (no money except the gas it took to get to the mall, praise Buddha), all in preparation for a formal for Jeff's college at the Plaza in Boston, which will, we hope, be priceless. Oh, and the tickets were $75 a piece. This party better be the bees knees.
Okay, back to the original topic. You know how I never see anyone good when I go home? Well, right after Tracy sat down to get her hair done, someone said my name. I looked up and there was Kerry McKay, a friend of mine from middle and high school that I haven't talked to for about four years. So she sat and we caught up for however long it took for Tracy to work $125.00 out of the hairdresser. I gave her my blog address, so maybe she'll drop by soon and leave a comment.

I'm home, back in the great state of Massachusetts, where, as of tomorrow, gay marriage is legal. WBCN has taken it upon themselves to provide music for all the gay weddings, playing music by gay artists or by artists who they think are gay. I'm guessing that there will be a lot of Judas Priest and Depeche Mode, with some Clay Aiken possibly thrown in.
So, it was an uneventful trip home. We bought some giant asparagus at a farmstand and I made my mom listen to Naked Baby Photos through most of Connecticut and Rhode Island. And now I'm back in the Maison du Muise. My chambre looks like a disaster area and I have neither the energy nor the desire to unpack yet. But it's not so bad that I want to sit on my bed and cry(Amy), so that's a good thing. I'll probably at least unpack my cloths tomorrow and do a load of laundry. For free.

I had my last late night at the Quogue house, although this time I stayed sober, which is probably why I was President for three games of Asshole, although I was also Asshole several times. Asshole had to chew a blood capsule from a Halloween makeup kit that the boys found in a drawer. Eventually, we all had one. The taste can only be described as cough medicine gone horribly wrong, kind of like cherry-flavored ear wax. Nate was not happy when his turn cam around. There was much fake gagging and wiping of his tongue with a towel. Good times.
I tried to change my comments today. We'll see what happens. And tomorrow--Home!!!!

Last night was our last MFA reading, with six or seven of us getting up there and reading poems and short stories. I can't remember exactly how many people read because by the end I had lost my will to live. At about 9:10, Craig got up to read the last chapter of his thesis, which is a novel about a guy who wants to kill himself. He decided to screw the ten minute rule (which was probably broken by Nicki who read right before him, but only by a few minutes) and proceeded to read for half an hour. The story is very stream of consciousness and not at all suited for reading out loud (i.e. swift changes from inner to regular dialogue, no periods to speak of, Craig's monotone voice) And every time I thought the guy was finally going to kill himself he would go off on some tangent and I wanted to stand up and yell, Monty Python-style, "Get on with it!" I was in the back of the room against the wall, so near the end I gave up and sat on the floor with my head on my chair, every now and then whispering to Tracy, "I'm dying. No, really, I'm dying." And then it ended, applause applause, and Seth got up and read only one poem, poor boy. He decided that the reading had gone on too long and took one for the team, god love him.
Then most of us (not Craig) went to Laura Selby's house and had a drink because, by god, we needed one. I was Flirty McFlirtster, staying pretty close to Jeff all night (he just came by to invite me over to the Quogue house tonight) because he's a sweetheart and really easy to talk to and I think I have a little crush on him. This other boy Peter was really flirty, too, impressed by my musical knowledge (for which I owe a great debt to Amy, re: Gross Pointe Blank soundtrack) and my toe ring. I was wearing my jean skirt and my open toe black clogs, but they hurt, so I took them off. I was comparing my feet to Jeff's, because two of his toes are webbed together, and Peter told me I had beautiful feet. Twice. I think he smoked a little too much last night. Anyway, he seems like a really intelligent guy, pretty chill, kinda cute, and he's sorry that we haven't had a chance to get to know each other yet. I am too. But he kind of has that player air to him, and I've heard some things, so we'll see.
Anyway, as you can see, four years in the nunnery and now I'm slighty boy crazy.
Oh, and speaking of boy crazy, I left Tracy sitting on the couch with George at Laura's house last night, and from what Jeff tells me, George never came home, and I didn't see Tracy this morning, although the note I left on her door was gone. Everyone at the party kept saying they make a cute couple. So hooray for Tracy!

10 bands you have been listening to a lot lately:
I have abandoned CDs at work, so this list is mainly due to my shitty launchcast radio that just kicked me off of my personal station again:
Jeff Buckley
Bjork (must buy best-of album)
Pearl Jam
Led Zeppelin
The Rolling Stones
Aimee Mann
The Verve
Counting Crows
Duke Ellington
Metallica


9 things you look forward to:
Going home
Going to visit Amy and Annie
Eating dinner
Wednesday nights at nine (Angel, for two more weeks :()
Getting my MFA
Writing a novel
Finding a boyfriend
Going to the beach
Seeing Tracy

8 things you like to wear:
Ass-kicking Aldo boots
Plover necklace
My daughter's ring
My boy's shorts from Walmart
Clogs
My big beige sweatshirt
My new bathrobe
Blue jean skirt

7 things that annoy you:
Cars that don't stop at crosswalks
Hangnails
Inconsiderate suitmates
Having no phone mail
Noisy Janitors at 7am
Noisy seagulls at 6am
Stupid boys

6 things you say most days:
Okay
What a shitty day
My back/butt hurts (office chairs, don't ask)
My room is too hot!
I don't want to go to class! (in my best four-year-old tantrum voice)
What? (to Tracy Meleca because I can never hear what she's saying)

5 things you do every day:
Eat oatmeal
Spend way too much time on the internet
Subdue my insatiable bloodlust
Complain about the cafeteria food
Drink apple and cinnamon herbal tea

4 people you want to spend more time with:
Mom
Tracy
Amy and Annie (they're a unit, dontcha know)
The boys who live in the Quoque house (also a unit)

3 movies you could watch over and over again:
The Iron Giant
Die Hard
Donnie Darko

2 of your favorite songs at the moment:
"Hyper Ballad" by Bjork
"Untitled #1" by Sigur Ros

As with Amy, I can't pick just one person to spend the rest of my life with, especially when I have such a great Mommy, and many awesome friends and relatives that I can't live without.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am done. The fiction into film paper is complete and printed out, so there is nothing to do now except pack up my room and read the 500 page book I just got in the mail from Amazon.
Funny thing--I woke up this morning to NPR on my clock radio, and they were talking about the new Blogger. Small world.

Hey, I got a hit from someone in Singapore. How weird is that? Also, someone did a search of "methane bubbles television bermuda triangle" and found me.
This new blogger? Not so sure. Seems like too much eyecandy, like, "oh, isn't this button pleasingly round," and stuff like that. We'll see. I didn't like the last change but I got used to it.

I volunteered fo the annual "Meet the Writers" book fair on campus yesterday. Basically, the authors sit at tables behind stacks of their books, talk to you about them, and hope that you'll buy one. They're mostly local authors, some self-published, and there is much shmoozing to be had. I thought I knew what shmoozing was, but yesterday afternoon's shmooz-a-thon was a wonder to behold. It took place in a bif tent on the grass in front of Chancellor's Hall. I was put in charge of food, which consisted of making sure that about ten little tables had full platters of vegetables, fruits, crackers, and tortilla chips, and making sure that the tables stayed clean. The other people took care of the open bar duties, which eventually consisted of cutting people off. Authors and rich people like their chardonnay. I must have been on my feet for six hours, and I was constantly moving. So that, coupled with the fact that I got about four hours of sleep on Thursday night, left me pretty much comatose by nine last night. But it was a good time. I got to be outside and the people who worked the bar were all people from the program that I like. And now I know why caterers are such pricks. It's a tough job.
Yesterday in class, Meg, this lovely woman in the MFA program, had a little outburst. She has a very beautiful writing style, but she tends to meander, and her stories are slightly stream-of-consciousness, which, in itself, is not a bad thing. But in a writing program where people are taught that stories have to have a point and a clear focus and whatnot, writing like hers tends to get heavy criticism. Yesterday, Nan was going on and on about how she couldn't just have one sentence about this femal character's divorce and she had to expand on that and Meg just stopped the class and said something about how all this negative criticism was messing her up and that all her characters can't be exactly how we would write them, etc. And she was cryng. And I felt really bad for her because I do think that sometimes we go a little overboard with our expectations and criticims of each other, especially Nan, because I think she brings a lot of unnecessary baggage to everything that she reads.
So we took a break, and then went on to Nicki's story. I wanted to tell Meg that she doesn't have to listen to a damn word we say. With these workshops, you take what you can use and throw the rest away. It's always good to consider the opinions of you classmates since they are outside the story and consequetly bring a different perspective to what you're doing, but in the end, you do what you think is true to your characters and your story, and if no one likes it, too bad. I just felt really sorry because she's such a sweet woman and she's so talented even though she's new to writing fiction.
Anyway, after the book fair, I checked my email and found that she wrote me a little letter that was so sweet and encouraging and just full of good things about me that I got a little misty. She's a really good person and I hope that this program doesn't discourage her.

I finally made it to the New Moon Cafe for an MFA reading and read two poems, because I'm not sure that my fiction is of the read-aloud variety. George, bless his little heart, decided to try out a Bill Hicks routine, thoroughly offending the only guy in the bar that wasn't with us when he started talking about Jesus and the Pope-ah. No one remembers the State episode when the Pope comes to the Italian restaurant and says "I'm-a da Pope-ah," do they? Didn't think so. Anyway, it was Bill Hicks, so it was funny stuff, but it was George's delivery, so it sucked. Afterward, Nate and I told him how the angry comedian thing is very passe, and then I professed my love for Mitch Hedberg and Dane Cook, and Nate was in total agreement, but not about the tightness of Dane's ass. On that he had no comment And we were also nice and told George that maybe if he used his own material, he might stand a better chance. Honestly, I thought that the guy at the end of the bar was going to punch someone, especially after Nate started baiting him, but it died down quickly, and I think the man apologized later.
I mainly hung with Jeff and George and Nate, and unintentionally made Tracy jealous of the way I flirted with George (she has a big crush on him). It's very hard not to. He's so non-threatening and not at all my type, and he reminds me of my metalhead cousins, so I just feel really comfortable around him. Nate seems like an intelligent guy, and Jeff is just a big teddybear. He makes me want to cuddle. George managed to drop his fifth pint of Guinness on the floor. The glass didn't break, but he sent a geyser of stout in the air and all over my pants. I could have gotten another day out of those pants, too.
I have discovered that bartenders are big whores (except for the new guy at the Tidewater. He's a drink nazi) Granted, I had met the bartender, Tim, at a party at the boys' house last semester, so it's not like he was a complete stranger. He was very attentive, asked me several times if I needed anything, inquired if I was driving (to which I replied that I was getting a ride with a very sober person, which I did), and gave me my last drink for free. Then he proceeded to tell me that I should come on Saturday and if I'm short on cash it's no problem. That's right, play nice, give free samples, and then make them come back for more. Yeah. I still like him.
I had a very fun evening, but I got home at 3am and woke up at 8am for work, and I have to serve drinks and possibly handle money at the book fair, but at least that's not for another four hours. I might even be semi-conscious by then.

So, yeah, umm . . . blogging. Oh, I found a lovely website with four kinds of Yeti Sports that all involve hideous amounts of penguin abuse (or "pingus" as they are called) It's very addictive.
For those of you who know Homestar Runner, I squee'd with delight when I saw that Andrew was wearing a Strongbad t-shirt. There was a Homestar reference on the last episode of Buffy, too. I think someone over at Mutant Enemy has a Homestar crush. I know I do.
The clicky-clacky heels were on her feet again last night, so as I went to bed at midnight, I prepared myself mentally to be woken up at 1:30 by Janet Jackson again. This time it was Sonia and her fiance/ex-fiance (I don't know, she says that they broke up, but I think he's over more now than he was when they were "together") talking in the suite at 2:30. They were quite hushed, except for a few times when Sonia raised her voice a bit, and judging from the way she cusses him out on the phone every day, I expected a full on shouting match at any moment. But they kept it pretty quiet. I might have been able to get back to sleep were it not for the clacky heels and the way she walked which made me think that she was headed toward the inebriated side of drunkeness. It sound like she was in a constant state of tripping without falling--big, heavy, quick footsteps, but no thud to signal that gravity indeed works. Oh, and once again, I had to pee. So I stayed in bed for about twenty minutes, waiting for them to either go into her room or leave, and eventually the fiance left, and I was able to relieve myself.

This from ABCNEWS.com by way of Demagogue:

A commission appointed by Gov. Mitt Romney has put together a blueprint for a death penalty system it claims to be as "as infallible as humanly possible."
Aides to the Republican governor said the report will form the basis of a bill to be introduced this spring that aims to bring the death penalty back to Massachusetts for the first time in 20 years. Romney was scheduled to unveil the commission's reports at a Monday news conference.

MA executed its last criminal in 1947. The death penalty in MA was abolished in 1984. I remember there was a lot of talk about bringing it back after a particularly horrible child abduction and murder a few years ago but nothing came of it. I really don't want the death penalty in my state, regardless of how "infallible" it might be.

I am a little sunburned around my facial region and bit on my chest and shoulders. I spent about five hours outside on Saturday at Springfest, eating free popcorn and cotton candy, and watching people do the sumo-wrestling suits and the jousting and the rock wall. I also bought a bunch of pretty rocks from the PAGANS club.
So last night I watched this Bermuda Triangle special on Discovery. I thought it was going to be another one of those psuedo-scientific shows about aliens and alternate dimensions, but they were actually exploring whether or not methane deposits could be responsible for the disappearances. I'd heard that methane escaping in bubbles from the sea floor could lower the density of the water so much that a ship could sink, and they did an experiment to prove that it could happen. Of course the way they did the experiment, a ship would have to be still in the water for several minutes before it sunk completely. So then they moved on to bigger and better things. What if, instead of millions of tiny bubbles, one gigantic bubble came up and popped under a boat? The Australian Navy did a test of this by exploding a torpedo far below an old battleship. The bubble it made burst directly under the ship and snapped it right in half. Other experiments they did in a tank with a model ship showed that a bubble like that could sink a ship in three seconds, which would explain the lack of distress calls for most of these disappearances.
As for planes, some other guys found out that a very small amount of methane in the atmosphere (from these bubbles) could stall out a plane engine that was used in the 40s. Anyone ever hear of Flight 19?
I don't really believe in past lives, but if they are real, I think I must have drowned in a former one. Like on a ship, or a submarine. When they showed footage of sinking ships or of boats and planes sitting on the bottom of the ocean I got really creeped out. My back got this exposed, vulnerable feeling I get when I'm being paranoid about the dark and whatnot, and I had to change the channel a few times. I don't really have a fear of drowning, but being stuck inside something that's filling up with water? That ranks right up there with my zombies-on-film issues.