Today in the library I was given an air assault by a serial farter. Big, trumpety wet ones, too. What is the matter with people!
I will get my apartment key next week and then I have to find willing/able movers on labor day weekend. I don't think that's going to work out, for some reason.
I am loving the heck out of Aberdeen so far. I described it in an email today as a honeymoon stage situation, where everything is new and all the articles are good and the personality quirks haven't gotten to either of us yet (except the gassiness of the library patrons. Seriously, people!) and we have yet to argue about anything. And that's kind of where I am right now.
My new place will be on the fourth floor of an older building, facing the bay. It's very cool. It's also a little bit smaller than my old space, so I'm ruminating on either getting rid of stuff or putting a bookcase in the small, narrow kitchen.
Another reason to love Aberdeen: Good electronics mojo. For the first time I don't have to get up and adjust the connection between the cable and the TV; the cable that sends the signals from the VCR, that is. Maybe it's because I put the VCR next to the TV instead of under. I have no idea. It's very nice to not have to decide if I want to get up and fix it or see if I can wait it out.
Because I have no cable, I am relying on Netflix, the DVD rental place of champions. Right now I'm watching "Rome," which is all the stuff they SHOULD tell you in seventh grade Latin classes. Actually, I'm pretty sure Florence mostly did (there's some pretty raunchy stuff (there is, where I'm at in the series, a completely gratuitous lesbian subplot, and that seems to be the way the BBC and HBO people like it) and hard-core suggested violence in the series), as you kind of can't avoid it when people like Herodotus wrote most of the history of the place and you had historic exemplars like Caligula ruling you. But it's fun to be reminded without the middle school atmosphere and grueling tests.
I still miss TV, but I'm doing okay without complete access to it, I guess.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Blogging difficulty
It's hard to blog when you don't have your own internet access. Getting to the library is a pain, but it is nothing compared to the agony I feel at not being able to check out more than three items at a time until I get a real residential address. There are books out there, people. Books that need to be read. By me.
I had my first actual story published yesterday (I don't count the Fair story because, well, everybody has to write about the fair). It was about the local gospel mission looking to raise money to fix itself up. You would not believe the amount of stuff to be stored in their building. The tour I took just made this anti-clutterbug freak out a little, to the point where the woman giving me a tour commented how overwhelmed I looked (today, at the women's facility nearby, which isn't quite as packed but also has lots of stuff in it). At any rate, I heard today that I got an ovation for the story from a local group that was getting a presentation about the mission's fundraising. Best of all, my editor/publisher was there.
I feel markedly unproductive compared to some of my coworkers, notable Steven F., who puts out copy like it was going out of style. He had three stories on the fair on his day to go and managed to crank out four or some ridiculous number today. I know I've only been there a week, but sheesh, I feel like a slug.
But I don't like to talk too much about work on my blog. It's inside baseball to you guys.
Instead, to the tragedy of forwarded mail. Apparently it takes two weeks for the Post office to collect, then, in one big bunch, forward your mail. And I have a Netflix DVD in there, so this is a money-wasting proposition for me. Especially since I won't have cable until next month. I also have a bank statement and a $50+ discrepancy between my checkbook and Quicken registers that is making me bonkers. I never have that big a discrepancy. And with all my free time I've had, what with no TV, I still can't parse where I have messed up. I am a little anal-retentive, so this is causing me a little distress. Not as much as the frozen enchiladas in green sauce I had the other night (they were much more like tamales, in my estimation, and the salt just about knocked me out), but some none the less.
I also found another NPR low-talker that enrages me. Public Radio International, anyway: Sarah Fishko. An occassional commentator for "On The Media," her low, un-enunciated to the extreme voice tends to forget that there are such things as consonents and vowels that are not pronounced as schwas. My iTunes will only turn up so loud, Sarah. You have to do some of the work here for me. I have an auditory processing learning disability, for pete's sake. It's very hard to go from the joys of enthusiastic but appropriate Bob Garfield and Brooke Gladstone to "the fish. Ko." (and yes, Meegan, I do feel an extra affection for Ann Taylor knowing that she makes her clothes in such a way that they fit me well and I can get them cheap at the Supermall).
Any more gripes? Anyone who got an email from my mom saying that I "razz"ed her about her weight should be aware that that is not totally true. I was supportive. Up to a point. People, I can only give you loving care and tender words that you poop on for so long before I start trying another tack. Negativity is the enemy of fitness, physical or mental.
Speaking of not accepting or understanding one's body and its potential, in this month's issue of Vanity Fair (sorry, no link to the story) there is a really deluded article about plastic surgery by Alex Kucinsky (sp? of the NYT). It's deluded because although it purports to be her talking about how she was such an addict to it (and hence not deluded anymore) there's this veneer of rich-white-person priviledge just oozing out of every sentence. Like it was cool to go for weekly microdermabrasion and laser treatments, but getting fat sucked out of her butt was really transgressive or not part and parcel of the same ridiculous, expensive trap of the Beauty Myth of the fountain of youth. And then she moans how she had to work from home for a couple of days after an (illegal!) injection of Restylane made her lip swell up. See, without "Reno 911" I end up buying magazines that disturb me (don't even get me started on "Real Simple." That is the apogee of American consumer faux-minimalism cognitive dissonance, and for a teensy example, it has a recipe for a "rustic peach tart" that includes a frozen pie crust!! This is supposed to be about the good life, food porn! Why the pre-made pie crust? And I'm not even going into why they offer up $500 "storage solution" bookshelves when they're allegedly promoting a simple lifestyle). I need cable. I need Jon Stewart and Louis Black. I need little, plucky Veronica Mars. I need those crazy Cylons. TV makes so much more sense than magazines, you have to be the stupidest snob ever to read magazines and ditch the TV.
Where was I going with this? Oh, I was trying to be positive.
Went to a sandwich shop in a year-round farmer's market today. I can get fresh-baked pies for $10 with farm-grown rhubarb, strawberries and other NW berries. I cannot be positive enough about carbs. Luscious, sweet carbs.
Also, the Hoquiam library is a gorgeous old building courtesy of Andrew Carnegie, tiny Scots-born robber baron. It is packed with Elton Bennet screens, and artist I really dig who hails from Hoquiam.
At any rate, more pics and grumbles (and maybe some nice things to say) later.
I had my first actual story published yesterday (I don't count the Fair story because, well, everybody has to write about the fair). It was about the local gospel mission looking to raise money to fix itself up. You would not believe the amount of stuff to be stored in their building. The tour I took just made this anti-clutterbug freak out a little, to the point where the woman giving me a tour commented how overwhelmed I looked (today, at the women's facility nearby, which isn't quite as packed but also has lots of stuff in it). At any rate, I heard today that I got an ovation for the story from a local group that was getting a presentation about the mission's fundraising. Best of all, my editor/publisher was there.
I feel markedly unproductive compared to some of my coworkers, notable Steven F., who puts out copy like it was going out of style. He had three stories on the fair on his day to go and managed to crank out four or some ridiculous number today. I know I've only been there a week, but sheesh, I feel like a slug.
But I don't like to talk too much about work on my blog. It's inside baseball to you guys.
Instead, to the tragedy of forwarded mail. Apparently it takes two weeks for the Post office to collect, then, in one big bunch, forward your mail. And I have a Netflix DVD in there, so this is a money-wasting proposition for me. Especially since I won't have cable until next month. I also have a bank statement and a $50+ discrepancy between my checkbook and Quicken registers that is making me bonkers. I never have that big a discrepancy. And with all my free time I've had, what with no TV, I still can't parse where I have messed up. I am a little anal-retentive, so this is causing me a little distress. Not as much as the frozen enchiladas in green sauce I had the other night (they were much more like tamales, in my estimation, and the salt just about knocked me out), but some none the less.
I also found another NPR low-talker that enrages me. Public Radio International, anyway: Sarah Fishko. An occassional commentator for "On The Media," her low, un-enunciated to the extreme voice tends to forget that there are such things as consonents and vowels that are not pronounced as schwas. My iTunes will only turn up so loud, Sarah. You have to do some of the work here for me. I have an auditory processing learning disability, for pete's sake. It's very hard to go from the joys of enthusiastic but appropriate Bob Garfield and Brooke Gladstone to "the fish. Ko." (and yes, Meegan, I do feel an extra affection for Ann Taylor knowing that she makes her clothes in such a way that they fit me well and I can get them cheap at the Supermall).
Any more gripes? Anyone who got an email from my mom saying that I "razz"ed her about her weight should be aware that that is not totally true. I was supportive. Up to a point. People, I can only give you loving care and tender words that you poop on for so long before I start trying another tack. Negativity is the enemy of fitness, physical or mental.
Speaking of not accepting or understanding one's body and its potential, in this month's issue of Vanity Fair (sorry, no link to the story) there is a really deluded article about plastic surgery by Alex Kucinsky (sp? of the NYT). It's deluded because although it purports to be her talking about how she was such an addict to it (and hence not deluded anymore) there's this veneer of rich-white-person priviledge just oozing out of every sentence. Like it was cool to go for weekly microdermabrasion and laser treatments, but getting fat sucked out of her butt was really transgressive or not part and parcel of the same ridiculous, expensive trap of the Beauty Myth of the fountain of youth. And then she moans how she had to work from home for a couple of days after an (illegal!) injection of Restylane made her lip swell up. See, without "Reno 911" I end up buying magazines that disturb me (don't even get me started on "Real Simple." That is the apogee of American consumer faux-minimalism cognitive dissonance, and for a teensy example, it has a recipe for a "rustic peach tart" that includes a frozen pie crust!! This is supposed to be about the good life, food porn! Why the pre-made pie crust? And I'm not even going into why they offer up $500 "storage solution" bookshelves when they're allegedly promoting a simple lifestyle). I need cable. I need Jon Stewart and Louis Black. I need little, plucky Veronica Mars. I need those crazy Cylons. TV makes so much more sense than magazines, you have to be the stupidest snob ever to read magazines and ditch the TV.
Where was I going with this? Oh, I was trying to be positive.
Went to a sandwich shop in a year-round farmer's market today. I can get fresh-baked pies for $10 with farm-grown rhubarb, strawberries and other NW berries. I cannot be positive enough about carbs. Luscious, sweet carbs.
Also, the Hoquiam library is a gorgeous old building courtesy of Andrew Carnegie, tiny Scots-born robber baron. It is packed with Elton Bennet screens, and artist I really dig who hails from Hoquiam.
At any rate, more pics and grumbles (and maybe some nice things to say) later.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Aberdeen, OMG
So things are different here. I'm sitting in the library, using the WiFi, minding my own business, and some joker burps. Big, long, rowdy burping. Twice. Now he's farting. Oh the humanity.
The library isn't quite the promised land of quick hold gets that the Andrews-Strpinis family promised. I am 82nd in line for "Fiasco," and I can't quite seem to get holds on anything else. One hold at a time? Software bug? I don't know.
In other weirdness news, I washed a load in Michael's house's washer (where I'm staying until my apt. is ready to be moved into) and found a pair of panties from the previous owner.
This town has some openess issues.
And Tacoma was so nice when I left it. My landlord didn't prorate me for the week I stayed there this month, and didn't even bother to do a walkthrough. When I told her I couldn't get the scunge off the stove inserts, she waved it off and told me not to worry about it. Sigh. That makes three topics I'm too biased to write fairly about: the YMCA, Les Schwab tires (a Northwest chain, they lent me a tire when I bought chains in LaGrande, Ore. on my trip up and the guy who helped me put them on (without the $10 they usually charge to put chains on for a customer) noticed they were about to go) and any property owned by John Peranzi.
So there you go.
The library isn't quite the promised land of quick hold gets that the Andrews-Strpinis family promised. I am 82nd in line for "Fiasco," and I can't quite seem to get holds on anything else. One hold at a time? Software bug? I don't know.
In other weirdness news, I washed a load in Michael's house's washer (where I'm staying until my apt. is ready to be moved into) and found a pair of panties from the previous owner.
This town has some openess issues.
And Tacoma was so nice when I left it. My landlord didn't prorate me for the week I stayed there this month, and didn't even bother to do a walkthrough. When I told her I couldn't get the scunge off the stove inserts, she waved it off and told me not to worry about it. Sigh. That makes three topics I'm too biased to write fairly about: the YMCA, Les Schwab tires (a Northwest chain, they lent me a tire when I bought chains in LaGrande, Ore. on my trip up and the guy who helped me put them on (without the $10 they usually charge to put chains on for a customer) noticed they were about to go) and any property owned by John Peranzi.
So there you go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)