Monday, August 31, 2009
This is just one of the many strange "isms" that make up my unusually idiosyncratic personality. I like to think all - or at least most - of these things endear others to me. Do you feel endeared? I sure hope so.
Twenty-five minutes left of August, and my dear husband, who has been asleep since September was two-and-a-half hours away, has no interest in seeing it off. But I choose to believe that he, too, would be endeared to me if he knew I could not fall asleep till I'd soaked up every last second of the fleeting present. It's a wonder I sleep at all.
Friday, June 19, 2009
While folding laundry at work today, I decided to see what was happening in the Twitterverse. To my amazement, there, in burgundy print on my homepage, was my golden opportunity:
PDX! I'm talking about #Leverage on @TheSquare tonight at 7. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle. - @WilW
Why, he may as well have been talking directly to me! I knew what I had to do.
Despite the ever-increasing downpour covering the area, I asked Lisa to drop me off at the MAX, rather than at my nice, warm house. I rode into Pioneer Courthouse Square and sat patiently on the soggy, brick steps, hoping to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, fifteen anxiety-ridden minutes later, he appeared. I would be lying if I said I didn't sit gaping for a moment, unsure of whether I should even approach this royal figure of geekhood. But I did it.
And I fangirled. Hard. There was nothing I could do. I wanted to say something cool or witty, but the only words I could muster - my shoulders shrugged up to my ears in bashfulness - were, "You were my very first crush as a little kid -- mind if I get a picture?"
Well, crap. I might as well have capped it off with, "Lolz." *sigh*
But he was gracious, and most likely well-accustomed to awkward geek worship. The nerd corps assembled to pay homage to the living shrine that is Wil Wheaton were certainly nothing to scoff at on an evening in which the threat of thunderstorms and funnel clouds loomed menacingly over PDX.
This is why there is no other subculture I'd rather be a part of than the geek subculture. It's a happy subculture, built off of a mutual love for something, rather than a mutual disdain. It is a subculture in which our grand poobah is a fairly average 30-something blogger/actor who can roam the streets in relative anonymity, save for the gamers, Trekkies, and web gurus who beg him for a twitpic and a review of the latest RPG. And this somewhat incidental celebrity is more than willing to oblige his fans, as are many of the other geek icons.
I will wave my nerd banner high, my friends! And, while I'm at it, I shall watch an episode of Star Trek on Netflix. Make it so.
Watch me take pics of and otherwise ogle Wil on the air in this vid from KGW.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Back to the whole inane public transportation conversations thing, though. The other day I was downright disturbed by some of the talk that I was hearing. I mean, this isn't entirely uncommon. It seems that 90% of the time when I board the 52 bus, some gaggle of teenage girls is discussing their varied pregnancy issues and sharing such valuable tips on high school motherhood as, "After your second trimester you should only smoke pot like, once a week." Yes, disturbing. This particular trip, though, I had the misfortune of overhearing some very flippant discussion of some extremely troubling body image issues.
Two girls were sitting behind me talking about hair, makeup, and the usual teenage hangups. Vapid, but not out of the ordinary. But then they started talking about some music video they had seen recently on MTV (I know. I was as shocked as you were to hear that MTV still plays music videos). One of them says, in completely seriousness, "I want to get skinny enough so that my hip bones stick out like the girl in that video." The other, rather than assuring this beautiful young woman that she doesn't need to do that, merely nods in agreement. Okay, this just turned ugly.
I wanted to put down my book and yell at them. Being so skinny that your bones protrude is not attractive! It's dangerous! Dear God! It's not like these girls were overweight by any stretch of the imagination. It's that Lindsay Lohan syndrome. She looked her best with a curvy figure in Mean Girls. When she went for that whole Kate Moss heroine chic thing, it was just plain gross. The kind of guys who are attracted to that are not the kind of guys that I like to picture 16 year old girls wasting their time on.
I was blessed - and I thank both of my parents for this - with a fairly high measure of self-confidence. This doesn't mean that I don't struggle with body image. I'm a girl. At any given moment, I could probably list five things that bug me about my own appearance. However, those things have never caused me to actually change myself. And I've been HAPPY. I haven't suffered because I refused to starve myself onto the pages of a magazine. Guys have found me attractive, I've made a good number of friends, I've gotten leadership positions at school, I've had internships and jobs in the real world, etc. I just wish that I could get it through these kind of girls' heads that suffering to be attractive has never been and is never going to be worth it. Sure, it's cliche to say, "Be yourself," but if more people would get out there and do it, the world be a much easier place to live.
Friday, May 15, 2009
I am, however, a lean, mean, tweeting machine. While I thought that I would hate Twitter, I've gone beyond tolerating it to downright embracing it. I'm as surprised as you are, assuming you were even remotely surprised.
Anywho, I'm just thinking that maybe it's social media - not social networking - that gets me going. Also, Star Trek.
I was going to leave it at that, but I don't think I can. Have you seen it? Because, if you haven't, your life is only at a fraction of the satisfaction level it could be at right now. I'll give it to you that I've got the bias of having been a minor Trekkie my whole life. It's not just loyalty to the franchise, though. I mean, we all know J.J. Abrams knows how to make a good buck. Seriously. Raise your hand if you've been strapped to your sofa every Wednesday for the past several years for a certain island adventure - and I'm not talking reruns of Gilligan's Island on TV Land. Star Trek is just another example of J.J. knocking one out of the park. I laughed, I cried, I got really super nervous and chewed my thumb nail down to a bloody stub. Trust me, it's freakin' awesome. Next stop: Star Trek in IMAX with Kyo on Thursday.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I fully intended to update much sooner, but it has been quite a bit busier than usual this past week. My normally mundane life here in Beaverton got thrown for a bit of a loop when my childhood friend Sarah came to Oregon for a couple days. Sarah runs a popular website called Pop17, and was here as an Intel Insider testing out their ish and doing the duties of a social media guru. She invited me to tag along on these outings, including a presentation at Intel on their new MyWiFi technology, a Tweetup at the Green Dragon Pub, an evening at a decidedly un-Portland bar (think Sutra in Costa Mesa), and a self-guided tour through the Wieden & Kennedy building (meaning we wandered around aimlessly until someone finally questioned why we were there) after her radio interview on W+K radio. As it turns out, this very building was where the Nike catch phrase, "Just do it," was coined. Also, the advertising for Coraline was done by this agency, so I got to see some sweet posters and contemplate snatching them right off the wall. I didn't, of course.
On Friday nite, we watched Mean Girls and stayed up chatting about old friends, new friends, and theology. Not only was the conversation pleasant; it was also nice to hang out with someone who didn't laugh at me, but instead got excited when I changed the channel to Star Trek: The Next Generation after the movie ended.
Saturday, Emil, Andy , and I dropped Sarah off at the airport, then headed to Yreka, CA so that Em could get a fix-it ticket taken care of. It was a long drive for a signature, but we made it count. We ate at Heaven on Earth, which is probably one of my favorite restaurants ever and truly lives up to its name; we spent ten minutes in a casino simply to say that we'd done it and to take pictures. Turns out you're not supposed to take pictures in the casino. Guess they don't want to risk letting out the secret that casinos are actually filled with depressed, old people wasting their retirements compulsively pressing "spin" on a flashing screen while sitting in a stagnant cloud of cigarette smoke. This is not what it looked like on The O.C.
Anyway, we spent most of the trip singing at the top of our lungs to Disney songs, 90's contemporary Christian hits, one-hit-wonders, and other such classics. It was beautiful.
Sunday, I babysat all day before heading out to see Gran Torino with my road trip compatriots. I loved it. I bawled.... but I always bawl. It's kind of my thing when it comes to watching movies. I know that most of the supporting actors in the movie were crap, but I still don't see why it wasn't nominated for an Oscar. I thought it trumped Slumdog, no contest.
Now, I'm finally slowing down for a minute. I have a day off tomorrow and I plan to sleep for as long as my body will let me. Goodnight, moon.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I used to blog here, once upon a time. *sigh* Such levels of suckitude1 are only attainable by those sincerely devoted to the pursuit of sucking. And the lazy. Okay, mostly the lazy. But I mean it this time: I'm gonna do better. If I don't blog at least once a week, I give you, the reader, the right to give me a swift flick to my abnormally small ears. And by you, I mean, anyone but Emily. The last thing I need is an ear bombardment while I'm trying to get my snooze on. Heaven forbid she should interrupt me while I dream about Liam Neeson.
Not THAT kind of dream. Sickos.
I just spilled Gatorade all over my pillow sham. Let that be a lesson to you all - don't drink and blog.
I just watched Five Minutes of Heaven, speaking of Liam (totally on a first name basis). It was incredible. I know I'm biased on multiple fronts with this one - namely the fact that it stars Liam Neeson & James Nesbitt and that it revolves around the Troubles in Northern Ireland - but it's legit no matter who you are.
I've also recently watched Doubt and Slumdog Millionaire. Doubt was phenomenal. Not the most exciting or fast-paced film out there, but the acting is out of this world. See it. Slumdog, on the other hand, was just alright. I was expecting to love it, but I was also expecting a pretty different movie. Everyone made it out to be some sort of heartwarming, feel-good, family film. Um... yeah. Still Danny Boyle. Depressing as hell. It had a similar affect on me to reading The Kite Runner. Not a good one. But I did love the Bollywood dance scene in the credits. All movies should end like that. Whoever survives gets to bust a move.
1. The word "suckitude" was stolen from Anthony Bourdain, who referred to himself as the "epicenter of suckitude" on an episode of his Travel Channel show, No Reservations.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I have never withheld a thought from myself. Just about anything that has eaten away at me for more than a fleeting moment can be found within the pages of one notebook or another. And yet, I have always had a nagging fear of becoming some sort of Anne Frank in the event of some unfortunate demise. I can only imagine that if she knew that her infatuation with Peter Schiff had become common knowledge throughout the entire literate world, she would be a touch mortified. Of course, knowing her poignant story has touched millions might curb her embarrassment. But what have I got to redeem me? I haven't a heroic bone in my body, but have had plenty of less than heroic thoughts. The last thing I want is for people to remember me for my Saves The Day-esque poetry detailing my disdain for my ex-boyfriend in 2003; or for imaginative hypotheticals on how I might someday capture the heart of some unrequited crush whom I have long since forgotten or moved on from.
A week or so ago, I decided that I would begin methodically destroying all of these damning artifacts. Lord knows I can't even bear to read them, so there's no reason I should be keeping them around for others to someday cringe, or worse, laugh at. Still, it's harder than it seems. My dearest Chelsea and I made an agreement when we were sixteen or seventeen that, should one of us shed this mortal coil before our time, the other would destroy the humiliating ramblings left behind. We called it "burning the cabinet," because all such records of Chelsea's were kept in a cabinet in her bedroom. A part of me thinks, well, maybe I should just keep it all and let Chels burn the cabinet. But the other part of me thinks that it could be time to burn it myself and finally move on with my life. I don't know what comfort I find in holding on so tightly to the past, but it's about time to let it go.
So, in the words of Matt Keeslar in my current favorite episode of Dollhouse, shoulder to the wheel; which I think is like "nose to the grindstone," which I think means I'm gonna go get some s**t done.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Here's an excerpt from this article describing exactly what went down:
Robyn F. turned to face Brown and he punched her in the left eye with his right hand. He then drove away in the vehicle and continued to punch her in the face with his right hand while steering the vehicle with his left hand. The assault caused Robyn F.'s mouth to fill with blood and blood to splatter all over her clothing and the interior of the vehicle.
Brown looked at Robyn F. and stated, 'I'm going to beat the s--t out of you when we get home! You wait and see!' "
The detective said she then used her cell phone to call her personal assistant ... who did not answer.
Robyn F. pretended to talk to her and stated, 'I'm on my way home. Make sure the police are there when I get there.'
After Robyn F. faked the call, Brown looked at her and stated, 'You just did the stupidest thing ever! Now I'm really going to kill you!'
That's not even including the biting, the choking, the multiple headlocks, etc. that were all a part of this incident which started because she confronted him about a text message from an ex. Good God. Who goes back to this?
Well, the Anderson Cooper blog answered this question for me with this article: Why Rihanna would go back to Chris Brown.
Read it. Come to terms with it. Be sickened by it. This is what happens in the cycle of domestic abuse. Maybe the publicity and public outrage surrounding this incident might serve as a wake-up call to women who keep going back, or to friends and neighbors who sit by and watch thinking it's none of their business.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I mean, I don't know exactly what my muse is. It's not any particular person or place or thing, though there certainly are people, places, and things that I find inspiring. My muse just seems to be something a little more intangible than all that. I don't know. Could be a feeling. Could be an allergy. Could be a few too many late nights spent reading until either my eyes give out or my current reading material runs out of pages. All of these are possible. I don't need to pinpoint my muse, so long as I take advantage of it when it comes bustling into my life without warning.
I'm not sure, by the way, if this muse of mine does the whole blogging thing. But should I be able to press it toward prolificness (which, despite what my spellcheck is telling me, is actually a word) in the online arena, I will be sure to focus that energy on this ol' blog of mine. I have all but retired most of my others.
On the subject of reading into the wee hours of the night (if by, "on the subject of," I mean, "in reference to a passing comment I made in my first paragraph), I attempted to read a few pages of Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book the other nite, and instead ended up reading about 200 of them, effectively finishing the book I'd intended to make last for a week or two. It was magnificent. I laughed out loud, I sobbed into my pillow, I wrote a review on Facebook and promptly Twittered it (Really, Firefox? You recognize "Twittered" but not "prolificness?") to share my amazement. Needless to say, I highly recommend this book. I will not deny that I am biased by my complete addiction to all things Neil Gaiman, but I really do think that this goes beyond the simple bounds of fangirling (also in the Firefox dictionary). It's a touching story that is, at all times, bittersweet. I just might read it again in the near future. However, at the moment, Kurt Vonnegut's Timequake is beckoning me from the pile of clutter next to my bed. It would be rude of me not to respond to its call.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Moving on from my apology - which is becoming habit at this point due to my frequent blog neglect - I'd like to talk about a movie I watched the other day thanks to good ol' Netflix. The movie is called The Woodsman. I've been meaning to see it for years now, but finally got around to moving it to the top of the queue and making an afternoon of it. The film centers around a man named Walter (played by Kevin Bacon) who has recently been released from jail after 12 years behind bars for child molestation. Upon gaining his freedom, Walter does his best to turn his life around. As is to be expected, though, his past eventually catches up to him and people begin treating him like the scum of the Earth.
Now, don't get me wrong. I believe that child molestation is pretty close to the top of the list of the most deplorable acts any human being could possibly engage in. However, the key words here are "human being." As unpopular as the statement may be, I'm going to throw this out there: Sex offenders are human beings. They're human beings who sin and make mistakes just like the rest of us. Yes, their sins have much further reaching consequences than, say, my penchant for gossip or your occasional little, white lie. But sin is sin, and one of the most important means of pulling yourself out of that kind of rut is the support of others. This movie really challenged my thinking about the way that we view/treat pedophiles. They represent the one group of people that we feel absolutely no guilt about calling "animals" and other such degrading terms. It's true that sex offenders are often the most difficult criminals to rehabilitate, but are we introspective enough as a society to look at ourselves and realize how easy we make it for them to fail?
Reading the Oregonian online yesterday, I read an article about a man who killed a little girl. Here are some of the comments (click image to read):Reading this just a few days after watching the movie, these comments, which lump all child molesters into the same category as this murderer, didn't sit well with me. I'm not saying that we oughta welcome child molesters into our homes as babysitters or make them substitute teachers in our elementary schools. I'm just wondering if chasing them out of our towns, alienating them in the workplace, and making them feel subhuman is really the best way to lead them out of their sin. Isn't it possible that when the rest of the world has turned against them, the first place they're going to run is into the non-judgmental arms of a child?
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Trying a little something different today and vlogging. It probably won't become a habit, but then again, it might. We shall see. I'm afraid that photobooth cut me off at the end. Some ridiculous two minute limit. Psh. But don't worry. You didn't miss much. The epiphany regarding my keyboard functions was pretty much the apex of the vlog. It was all downhill from there.
Monday, February 9, 2009
I'm becoming more and more of a blog slacker all the time. Considering the fact that I give Kyo such a hard time for neglecting his, I'm beginning to feel a bit hypocritical. Again, I shall attempt a comeback. And again, no promises -- not that I'm assuming anyone is waiting with bated breath for my return to the blogosphere. But on the off chance that your breath was, in fact, bated, here I am.
That said, life is more or less rolling along as always. Working, sleeping, watching Friday Night Lights and my weekly installments of prime time soaps (Gossip Girl & 90210). Emil & I had the use of a car this weekend and decided to change up our predictable routines. We painted the town of Beaverton on Saturday, then headed to Multnomah Falls and into the city on Sunday. Even got to drive through a sweet cemetery nearby. It was a stellar couple days.
Today while playing a game with the kids, I witnessed the funniest conversation between Katie and an imaginary police officer (also Katie) who was looking to arrest me for breaking a dog (Nikki) out of the pound. While JoJo, Nikki, & I hid in the closet, this was what I heard/saw through the slats of the door:
Katie Policeman (in deep voice): I'm looking for a tall girl with black skin and black hair. Have you seen her?
Regular Katie: Uh... no, no one like that here.
Katie Policeman: Her name is CoRri the Babysitter.
Regular Katie: Oh, yes, well, I'm afraid she died last week. Hit by a blimp.
I nearly wet myself. Katie is the funniest six-year-old on the planet.
Now it's off to put away some laundry before my date with Alex Trebek. Adieu.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Bally's has become overrun by New Year's resolvers. Upon arriving at my oft nigh-empty gym tonite, there were no treadmills, ellipticals, bikes, or even stair climbers available upon which to work on my fitness. It's absurd. I realize that in a month or two it'll be back to normal, but I certainly do not feel that I am getting my $18 a month worth at the moment. Of course, I should be glad that people are attempting to curb the widespread obesity problem in America. I should be happy for these people that they are decreasing their chance of heart problems and diabetes. But I'm selfish. I want my elliptical back.
Katie was impressed enough by tuna melt making skills that today she told me that I'm going to be an excellent mother. I hope that my own children will be as easy to please as Katie.
Upon arriving at their house today, Chris explained to me that Katie was learning about Martin Luther King, Jr., and that she and her classmates had a hard time understanding why people would make fun of others and treat others badly because of the color of their skin. He said that he almost didn't want to explain it because it was just so awesome that they couldn't even fathom the concept of racism. That made me smile. I mean, I'm not in denial or anything. I know that racism still exists and probably always will, but to see the pockets of it getting smaller and smaller is a pretty incredible thing to witness.
I'm currently reading the book Thunderstruck by Erik Larson. He's the fella who wrote Devil in the White City, which, if you have not read, I'm judging you for. It's amazing. Read it. Especially if you're a history nerd. Anyway, this one ties together the stories of a murderer named Hawley Harvey Crippen and the inventor Guiglielmo Marconi. So far, it's fantastic. No one does non-fiction like Erik Larson... except maybe Capote, but I'm not sure that quite counts. This book is a delightful change after attempting to read Jon Krakauer's Under the Banner of Heaven. Only Krakauer can take a subject that I'm completely fascinated by - to the point of obsession - and make it unreadable.
Emil, Brian, and I are going to California for Coop's wedding in three days. I love being spontaneous. I feel alive.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Vacation has come to an end. It was a brilliant one, to be sure. I really can't complain of its ending, since it felt like I had more time than I actually did. Maybe it's the fact that I'm used to short spurts of a day or two here and there when I'll see Kyo that made it seem like I had a month with him this time, but whatever created that illusion, I'm grateful for it. It was a good time.
I saw several friends. I saw nine of my dad's ten siblings. I saw two of my four siblings. I saw my former RA staff. I saw more food than any girl could ever hope to eat, but did my darndest to attempt it.
On Monday, Kyo took me to the Blue Bayou at Disneyland. I've wanted to go there for the past five years. It lived up to my expectations. They even gave me a little candy doubloon. Now that's service.
As I've mentioned before, Kyo is an excellent amateur nurse, and once again his skills were put to the test when a migraine kicked the crap out of me on Saturday. I don't think there is a more attentive man on the face of this earth than Kyo Edmoundson. If I hadn't been in so much pain I was about to smother myself with my own pillow, I would certainly have been beaming with pride at my super awesome man. Air points.
It was wonderful to see the kiddies again today. They warm my heart. I showed them pictures of Gaucho and Kyo and Disneyland. They swooned at all three. "He looks pretty handsome to me," Katie says - in reference to Kyo, not the dog. The cuteness of those three little ones just never ceases.