Saturday, January 17
Friday, January 16
Thursday, January 15
Wednesday, January 14
Tuesday, January 13
Monday, January 12
Have I stayed too long at the fair?
Today, it was in the 30s in Boston. It felt warm to me. I walked places. With my coat open and no gloves. After the last few days, it was practically spring. Here's hoping it's cold and snowy enough tomorrow to shut down the Colts.
(And I'd been so successful at not blogging about the weather.)
posted @ 11:54 PM |
Warning: Blogging can be hazardous to your health
I'm not an anti-bacterial kind of girl. My mother always said, "You've got to eat a peck of dirt before you die." No, seriously, my mother said that. Out loud. In front of me. (She got it from her mother, who, in her defense, did grow up on a farm in Ohio.) It freaks my roommate out, but I tend to do things she disapproves of -- like not washing my vegetables before I eat them, applying the 15-second rule liberally, and calling Evan Farmer my boyfriend. (Though that last one has little to do with my point.)
Even though I firmly believe that all this anti-bacterial nonsense will lead to breeds of super-germs, I still have some of that scary hand gel that cleans your hands without washing them. And after petting a co-worker's puppy this morning, I went for it. Except I was reading my daily dose of blogs at the same time, so I didn't notice it was oozing all over the place. I ended up with far too much goo on my hands and had to anti-bacterialize my arms as well. So all my dirt-eating has been for naught. If the super-germs get me, now you know why.
posted @ 9:01 AM |
Fourscore and seven years ago...
Your host brought forth on this web site a new blog, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that everyone loves me. Okay, it hasn't even been one score, but who cares? My blog is one year old today.
It doesn't feel like a year, does it? Shut up, bitch, it does not. Now, go read some archives and relive that glory that is me.
posted @ 9:01 AM |
Player what?
June: I don't go to the movies.
Griffin: You don't? Why not?
June: Life is too short.
Finally saw The Player last night. I've liked Altman since I first seriously experienced his work with Short Cuts. He's weird in a way that I can dig. Some of the Hollywood in-jokes were a little annoying, and I've never been a big fan of either Tim Robbins or Greta Scacchi, but the movie definitely pushed my buttons to the point where one minute I wanted Griffin to be exposed and the next I wanted him to get away with it. (Plus, I watch way too many movies not to be semi-entranced by a representation of the process of making them.)
posted @ 8:36 AM |
Public service announcement
You know, I used to have friends. Friends who would e-mail me. Nothing serious, just the usual "my god, my day sucks and how much is your day sucking" kind of thing. No more. They think just because they can read about my daily minutiae here, they don't have to e-mail me directly.
Well, I am here to tell you: You do. You have to e-mail me. Now. All of you. I'm going to stop blogging until I get what I want. Okay, that's not realistic. I'm going to blog about you every day until I hear from you. Or your lawyer. Whichever comes first.
posted @ 1:21 PM |
All aboard
I had to pick my mom up at South Station last night. As my mother is deathly afraid of flying, she was taking a train back from a post-holiday family visit in Ohio. Now, South Station isn't that bad; you can park at the bus station and the exit is right off the highway. However, they've managed to mangle the exit several different ways since the last time I went, and my mother's train was delayed. For seven hours. Meaning I had to pick her up somewhere in the vicinity of midnight, drop her at her place in Lowell, and then drive my tired ass back home so I could grab five glorious hours of sleep before showing my grumpy face at work today.
When I met my mother, however, she saw my grumpiness and raised it. Not only was her train delayed seven hours, but Amtrak took everyone off the train at Albany, N.Y., and bused them to their final destinations. Now, the only thing worse than taking a train from Toledo to Boston is taking a bus from Albany to Boston. She was not pleased. And I am not pleased, because not only did I not get enough sleep, but my hair is flipping out on one side instead of curling under. I don't get up three minutes earlier in the morning to blow-dry this mess just to end up with the same results I would get if I just let it all freeze-dry on the way to work, dammit.
posted @ 9:30 AM |
Instructions
"Phillips-head screwdrivers are awkward tools and untrustworthy lovers, like the Danish."
That's all.
posted @ 10:50 AM |
A night at the theater
I went to the Somerville Theatre last night to see Kill Bill. (On a side note, I hate when places spell theater like that. It just seems pretentious.)
After taking our tickets, the usher directed us to the left and downstairs. I was bemused; I'd never been instructed to go downstairs at a theater before. On the way down, I spotted this network of lines which I thought would make a cool photo (and I had my handy new digital camera), but my friend assured me it would not turn out because it was so dark. She was wrong; I was right; god's in his heaven, etc. I love the Somerville Theatre for many reasons: Cheap tickets, great local music, and the building itself is old school. There are random owls dotting the interior, and I really wanted to take pictures of some of them, but I didn't get a chance. Maybe it's because I've only had the camera a few weeks, but I'm still a little trigger shy in public. I just couldn't shoot the weird owl sconces once other people were there.
Oh, yeah, and the movie kicked ass. I'm so glad I didn't go see something more boring, like any of the Oscar contenders. (Overheard while buying my tickets: "If you want to change your mind and see Kill Bill, I'm okay with that," the man said to the woman buying tickets for Lost in Translation.)
posted @ 9:18 AM |
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