walkingshadow: anne taintor. it's not easy being easy. (the highest branch on the apple tree)
when last i managed to update about life in general, [livejournal.com profile] gjstruthseeker was on her way into town: and she got here! and she stayed for a few days, during which we stayed up until five a.m. and knocked out all the SGA we hadn't seen together (excepting, still, "grace under pressure" and "the tower") plus various sad and bizarre and adorable items from the CVs of david hewlett and joe flanigan (in re: canadian cinema: o.O . . . O.o) and for the millionth time she tried to get me to articulate what it is i love about lt. col. john sheppard; she did not emerge victorious. more on that much later. *waves hand*

family came into town after that, my two cousins with their families, and we had tea for my dad's birthday last sunday with what felt and sounded like fourteen small children bouncing around the house, but was in reality only six. cake and coffee is delicious, but not sustenance, so i crashed after all the company except cousin m. had left, while we were getting down chanukkah decorations and setting up our menorahs (we have seven or eight, most handmade, and in our house everyone present gets to light one). good times! averted the small crisis with hydration and some protein, and then we got down to the serious business of scarfing down sweet-potato latkes and playing dreidel for pistachio nuts.

special to [livejournal.com profile] isilya: i have not forgotten about recipes for you! curried sweet-potato latkes are at the top of the list.

i had a dentist appointment on monday (or maybe tuesday? something). the receptionist called the day before to remind me, which was a damn good thing, as i'd had no clue. unfortunately i must have misheard her over the phone, because i showed up an hour early to what turned out *not* to be a 9:50 appointment after all. *facepalm* however! this wasn't even close to as bad as the two—two!—times i showed up an hour early to my wretched 8:30 a.m. anthro of religion class. so i ended up sitting with my book (always bring a book to doctor's appointments) in the bagel shop at the other end of the plaza and had a bagel and coffee (good bagels; lousy waitstaff) before, you know, a dental cleaning. so awesome. everything looks good, still cavity-free, blah blah blah have you ever considered bleaching your teethcakes.

randomly: the dog had some kind of skin irritation on his back, which the vet duly shaved and treated him for, and then they put him in one of those lampshade collars for the next two weeks so he couldn't worry at the patch. he's pathetic in it: he keeps knocking into things and trying to fit through small spaces, and i know i shouldn't think it's ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS, but i DO.

in general this past week was characterized by the successive lighting of more and more candles, the playing of several games of dreidel (note: dreidel is an amazingly boring game), and the eating of more and more delicious fried food. chanukkah says, "they tried to kill us, they didn't succeed, let's eat!" and "fried food: it's not just delicious, IT'S THE LAW." with various company (including cousin m., my visiting cousin l. and her two daughters, and [livejournal.com profile] malelia_honu) in attendance on different nights, there have been three different kinds of latkes, salmon fritters, southwestern eggrolls, and—for the coup de grace this afternoon—sufganiyot, aka doughnuts with powdered sugar. and now we are putting away the electric wok and never speaking of this again until next year. after thanksgiving, the cookie-making FRENZY my mother got caught up in making gifts for colleagues, my father's birthday, and the holiday that oil built, we're calling uncle. it's going to be all whole grains, big green salads, and steamed things for us for a while. also i'm going to whip out my map and compass and try to find my way back to a regular routine at the gym. *scans horizon*

last night we had cheese and crackers and shrimp cocktail, and three of us (my mother, cousin m., and i) polished off two bottles of champagne. if it's true that whatever you're doing at midnight determines what you're going to be doing for the rest of the year, i was frantically posting last-minute john sheppard recs to [livejournal.com profile] rec50 with a three-glass buzz on; i don't know if that bodes well or ill.

SPEAKING of [livejournal.com profile] rec50, my john sheppard recs are all done, and you can find my table with links to all 46 of them here (or check out the john sheppard tag at the community here). i'm signed on for rodney for round two. things that make me cry are web pages with no self-referential url, authors who go by two or more names, and smart quotes. also fake lj-cuts (see: the part where i like to click on the link to a page, not its cut-tag, meaning i'm clicking on the WRONG THING if your lj-cut is really external) and target="_blank"—because i'm perfectly capable of opening a link in a new tab myself, kthx.

there have been, like, fourteen million stories posted on the internets, and i have fifty pages of holiday-challenge fic recs saved for sorting through later, encompassing yuletide, [livejournal.com profile] sga_santa, [livejournal.com profile] undermistletoe, [livejournal.com profile] shackinup_sesa, jingle bells, batman smells, [livejournal.com profile] ds_seekritsanta, DWNOGA, and [livejournal.com profile] go_exchange. the only yuletide fic i've read so far is istanbul (not constantinople), a singin' in the rain story which i recommend here without reservation. it's don and cosmo on the vaudeville circuit, and it's perfect! so well-tuned to the times and to them.

[livejournal.com profile] gjstruthseeker was at home for a while, then up in lakeland securing housing to go with her shiny new job, but she's here again now. she came in for the tail end of brunch at cousin m.'s today (featuring bagels and lox, blintzes, and MIMOSAS). right now she's sleeping on my bed and has been since ten p.m., when she said she wasn't falling asleep, she wasn't—maybe she would take a nap. *pets her deluded little head*
walkingshadow: anne taintor. it's not easy being easy. (we're in a road movie to berlin)
hey, remember thanksgiving? i don't know if everyone else's attention span is contracting like a puddle on a sunny day, but mine sure is! already thanksgiving has faded into the fuzzy past; it could have been years ago. but we had thanksgiving, thanksgiving was lovely. and by "thanksgiving" i mean the extended holiday weekend remix stretching from tuesday night to sunday night. during which time there were eight family members in town, plus [livejournal.com profile] gjstruthseeker who i hadn't seen in AGES; and we used all the bedding in the house putting everyone up, and we ate, seriously, SO MUCH FOOD. do you want to know what we ate? oh my god, if you care, i will tell you:

in which we did nothing for six days but eat and cook and then eat what we'd cooked and sometimes ate what other people had cooked for us )

in the odd moments when we weren't eating we were being entertained by my two and a half year old nephew (extremely vocal, extremely energetic, extremely bossy, so cute); catching up with each other; reading—we firmly believe that the family that reads together stays together. at one point there were five or six of us spread out in the living room with our respective books; i managed to finish the man who mistook his wife for a hat, but much more on that later.

on friday we saw the ice harvest )

[livejournal.com profile] gjstruthseeker and i managed to watch most of season one stargate: atlantis, but there is much, MUCH more on that to come. we were up until five a.m. on saturday night but we still had to skip a couple of episodes and we didn't make it to "the siege," part II; though i did make sure we saw "trinity" before she left on sunday morning. we had some technical difficulties and some platform incompatabilities which means she'd downloaded "the hive" but couldn't transfer it to me by hook or crook; it's hopefully in the mail. i have a folder of episode reactions and spoiler-ridden fic on my desktop, and i created another one last night labeled post-EPIPHANY *cries*. i love everyone and their cut tags. you are all beautiful.

between thanksgiving and tai chi i'm two weeks behind on house; i did see grey's anatomy on sunday ) where can i get a grey's anatomy icon or three?
walkingshadow: anne taintor. it's not easy being easy. (godspeed all the bakers at dawn)
as of this morning, the three-day cone for tropical storm gamma predicted south-florida landfall on tuesday, november 22—a date familiar to us as the time by which FPL had guaranteed 100% power restoration in the wake of hurricane wilma. ha ha! FPL, by the way, has been green-lighted to pass on the expense of their repair and restoration process (the largest in its 80-odd-year history) to its customers. a rate increase of over 20% was approved—though they'd asked for less. my mother remarked that obviously the teacher's union has been doing it wrong all this time—all this time they've been asking for a living wage, when they could have demanded six figures and gotten seven. carl hiaasen's column in last week's miami herald was appropriately cynical about the entire situation:

When will we be ready for the next one? Never )

however! as of this afternoon, the (immediate) threat to south florida has been determined to be greatly diminished, and the storm should pass well south of us. that'll certainly be nice for all the planes that want to land at our airports this week, depositing friends and family for thanksgiving.

thanksgiving events at my house consist of the atlanta contingent of the family (eight strong this year) coming in, and lots and lots and lots of food. my mother's been tweaking menus for weeks and baking all day. for three or four meals spread over five days, the following baked goods are planned: sour cream chocolate chip cookies (the family's favorite1); chunky peanut, chocolate, and cinnamon cookies (courtesy martha stewart, a new recipe this year); chocolate butter cookies (maybe); cranberry whole-grain muffins (to hopefully replace our lackluster traditional cranberry muffins); pumpkin pie (you could have thanksgiving without pumpkin pie, but you could also nail a sign to your door declaring MUTINIES WELCOME HERE! see also: turkey, stuffing); pumpkin cake with cranberries; apple cake from the catskills; new england cranberry duff; and three kinds of seasonal bread that's suspiciously cake-like: pumpkin-orange bread; apricot-orange bread; and pumpkin-maple bread. it's pumpkin, cranberry, and orange season! does it show? i had my first orange of the season today.

also today i went over to cousin m.'s for another four episodes of boomtown, sushi delivered to our door for dinner, ice cream for dessert, and kittens scampering around being cute and really, really soft. the show is still fantastic and incredibly complex, and i am even less surprised that it died. i called former-roommate-s. on the way over to get a quick-and-dirty life update, and it turns out she'd watched boomtown when it was running and had been very, very sorry when it ended. it's exactly the kind of show she would love, too.

and i finished kitchen confidential just now, which. wow. the man certainly has an ego on him. my mother read it a while back, and her comment was that she didn't think she would like him—and i'm certain i wouldn't, but i don't have to. he's off-the-charts arrogant and an incredible asshole, which he tells you about, though the pride he takes in it is really just a re-affirmation of the ego. it's okay though, because i don't have to meet the man, or work for him—i'm just reading his book, the book he wrote about the life he lives and the food he loves, and he loves that life and that food. i love reading about that the same way i love watching jacques pepin cook or carpenters build a house. to watch a master perform his craft or teach his subject is always a mechiah—a pleasure, a satisfaction. [livejournal.com profile] zeplum has instructed me to check out a cook's tour next, which i have requested.

1. they're not my favorite; they're a little cakey for me. this is almost sacrilegious to say in my house (though they're more likely to respond with MORE FOR US OMFG), but it's not that i don't love them, because i DO. i'm like johnny depp in chocolat: i'm in heaven, i'm undone—but it's not my favorite.
walkingshadow: anne taintor. it's not easy being easy. (Default)
Dear livejournal, how are you? I'm all caught up on the posted goings-on in your lives, but it has been ten days since my own last posting. There's this sense that one can say anything on livejournal, unburden oneself and confess oneself, without repercussions or Hail Marys or anyone even frowning at you like you should know better and they're not mad, just disappointed. If you've got your antennae up and your filters right, you even find people who'll applaud you for it, whatever it is. My entries tend more to the quotidian minutiae of the last book I read and what I had for lunch, but I miss my minutiae if I don't write about it. If nothing happened last Thursday—and around here, some days absolutely nothing happens—is it really so essential to document the fact? Why does it feel essential?

Anyway. To start from the present moment and work my way backward—no. To start from ten days ago and work my way forward to the present moment:

Did yoga on Thursday with [livejournal.com profile] malelia_honu and her mom; the instructor is going on a month-long vacation and we'll be having substitutes starting next week. Class was over at 8:30 and we got out of the parking garage a little before 9:00, at which time it was POURING and lightning and thundering and RAINING REALLY HARD. I did not drive home. Instead Mal and I retreated to her place where we ordered in Italian food and watched Zoolander with a break in the middle for the food and Without a Trace. By midnight the movie was over, Mal was falling asleep, and the rain had almost stopped.


The weather stayed clear enough on Friday for my mother and me to take my grandmother to the cemetary for my grandfather's yartzheit; it was technically June 14th, but as my mother said, we're more about the spirit of the law than the letter. The day before had been a very busy day for my grandmother, grocery shopping and maybe a trip to the bank, and she was very quiet and tired today. We took her home soon and my mother took me out to lunch. Over huge salads at Chili's I explained yet again that the problem re: choosing a career isn't finding something I like, it's finding something I like to do. I like everything. In naming the top five classes I'd taken at UF, I came up with Social Psychology, History of Urban America, Intro to Linguistics, Biological Anthropology, and, um. Hmm. I really liked calculus. I thought very hard about taking Calc III for fun, but never did. I never took any hard sciences, so I couldn't say whether or not I would have liked them. I feel cheated of my science education, going back to high school at least. My biology teacher was fabulous, but I didn't take anything away from chemistry or physics.

Anyway. I dropped my mother at home to make a cake and drove around collecting my contact lenses from the optometrist and my prescription from Walgreens. I got home in time to start reading [livejournal.com profile] kaneko's Intersections and get halfway through before we left for dinner at cousin M.'s. More people who watch a lot of television and don't have much else to talk about. I realize of course that many of the people on my friendslist watch a lot of television and a lot of their posting content is about just that, but the level of engagement on which they tend to watch is incomparable to my dinner companions'. I guess I wouldn't care what we were talking about as long as it were interesting, that it went beyond what their TiVo queues held.

I watched SG:A vids tonight and here's what I learned:

cut for length, but I'm welcoming any conversation about characterization, canon, and general SG:A chatter )

Still to come: a rambling and incoherent discussion of giftedness in my favorite fictional characters.

I watched the trailer for Serenity again and am very excited about September. I don't know how much crossover there is between the fandoms, but I'm guessing everybody already knows David Krumholtz is in the movie, right? Playing a character called "Mr. Universe"?


Saturday was one of those days when nothing happened. I watched tennis; I did nothing; I did nothing; I read fic online; I fetched take-out with my mother for dinner; I started Fermat's Enigma, a history of the solving of his Last Theorem. I'm up to the twentieth century.


Tennis coverage started at noon on Sunday. I slouched around the house after that until my parents go out to dinner and I watched the last disk of Dead Like Me; in more when-my-fandoms-collide news, Kaylee of Firefly was the goth girl in Episode 114, "Rest In Peace".

Then I found SG-1 fic by [livejournal.com profile] paian omg. I have started reading SG-1 fic. But, come on! This was inevitable, right? Right? Guys? Half the authors I know and love write in SG-1 and a handful of the reccers I trust the most have been reccing SG-1 for months and years, but I'm taking suggestions.

The dog came in just when the thunder and rain started in the small hours, leaning close for me to scratch his ears and belly and croon at him that the big noise couldn't hurt him before he laid down on my foot to sleep.


I went to bed in the small hours of Monday morning (so small they were almost big again) and tried to get up three hours after going to bed for shopping with my mother, as planned, but though I have a very clear recollection of setting my alarm for nine a.m., I have no memory of turning it off again. My mom came in at a quarter to ten to get me up, told me not to rush, take my time, etc. I set tennis to tape and we hit the Pembroke Mall. We came home exhausted five or six hours later and stopped at Publix on the way home for essentials (mostly fruit); we made dinner and I watched the tennis I'd taped and was very, very tired.


My last dentist visit was in 2002. On Tuesday both the hygienist and the dentist chewed me out for getting lost for three years, and then grudgingly proceeded to tell me my teeth look great. I think they almost would have loved to find half a dozen cavities, just so they could say "see? See?! This is what happens!" Except nothing happened: three years and no decay. I've never had a cavity. I brush thoroughly, I floss nightly, and he said if I keep doing what I'm doing I'll have my teeth until I'm a hundred and twenty. They both said I should think about having my teeth bleached. I'm thinking about it.

I came home jubilant only to find my mother had been crying but was too upset to talk about it, just that "[we? I?] have to move." She said telling me why would just make her cry more, and she had errands to run. This is a bad thing to do to me! I have an extremely vivid imagination. I am paranoid. My first thought was financial disaster. My second was personal/medical disaster. My third was divorce. Common sense started kicking in soon after, as I remembered that if any of those things were true, *moving* would be the least of all difficulties; and my dad had absolutely no idea what was going on, hadn't even known my mother was upset before she left; he did say she had talked to her school principal before she left, maybe she'd heard bad news? Should he call back and see? And I was like, don't call anybody, Mom will tell us when she's ready, etc. I worked out that it's likely she'll have to move classrooms within the school. This will be a total bitch. It's something like the fifth move in as many years and she was pretty invested in this room already, had unpacked things and set them up, and moving will be a bitch—but it'll get done. There's a lot to be said for the worst-case scenario.

I watched taped tennis! and then went to the 5:00 yoga, with Jason as instuctor this time: he was cool, he led class just like Tim at UF had. He gave us the option of doing a backbend instead of a bridge, which, whoo, should have helped my brain, according to this article. I'd gotten back the results of my bloodwork from last week: I am an extremely healthy human being; I need to eat more fish. My triglycerides are 67, my HDL cholesterol is 78 (total: 130) though my LDL is only 39 and that could be higher. Iron is fine, blood sugar is fine; as I remarked to my father, imagine if I were actually still working out five days a week.

We had an excellent dinner when I got back, a sort of alternative picnic: split-pea burgers a la Alton Brown, homemade baked sweet potato chips, corn salad, salad salad. We watched House, Detox )As I mentioned the other day in [livejournal.com profile] isilya's journal, it's laughable what these doctors do. Are they the only five doctors in the hospital? Okay, plus Cuddy, the token administrator. Are there no nurses? No lab technicians? The ducklings do EVERYTHING. They draw blood, they run scans, they perform autopsies and brain surgery. What is the head of Oncology doing up in Diagnostics all the time? In what universe would he draw blood himself? Whatever. I am entertained.


On Wednesday my mother and I made a heroic effort at all-day shopping at Sawgrass and were immensely successful. We worked our way through five stores (with a break for a delicious lunch at the Cheesecake Factory) and found shoes and shirts and skirts before losing the will to live. We brought home sandwiches for dinner but were still too full from lunch to eat them. I'd gotten about seventy pages into The Tipping Point before my parents and I went to see Batman: I was disappointed. My mistake was in listening to so many positive critical and personal reviews and getting my hopes up. Hope is fatal. No spoilers here, but—it dragged. The plot was no worse than any other superhero movie I've seen, but considering how much there should have been going on, it all felt too thin and insubstantial. I've never liked Chrisitan Bale and, though I'd heard very good things about him here, I still don't like Christian Bale. He's unattractive, and he can't juggle his teeth and his lines in his mouth at the same time. I wasn't impressed with either his acting or his presence in the role. I liked Katie Holmes better than I liked him. And this is me flagging down the Cillian Murphy bandwagon and clambering aboard. I'm genetically disposed—or contractually obligated, or something—to find Cillian Murphy very attractive, as he has dark hair and light eyes, PLUS high, sharp cheekbones and a great mouth. And he's so wee! Is he not wee?

I'd taped the tennis that aired this morning, but I was so tired by the time the Wimbledon update was over at midnight and I already knew Roddick had won his match, so I went to sleep instead. Shocking, I know.


I met S. for lunch at Sweet Tomatoes on Thursday—a working lunch that included a study session for the dreaded GRE. I love math; I just don't remember much of it. Still uncertain as to how knowing low-frequency vocabulary words out of context and without benefit of a dictionary will make me a better graduate student. Please advise.

The yoga instructor this time focused largely on breathing and energies, chanting to begin and end. Sanskrit still sounds very much like Hebrew; she tried to tell someone after class that Sanskrit was the first language, from which all other languages come, and that babies call their mothers "ma" in all languages because of the inherent vibrations that all objects sent out, which we all intuitively pick up on and know, even babies know, when they don't know the words. Um. Yes. Or, you know. No. But the class was good.

Instead of going home right afterward I sat with Mal in Dunkin' Donuts for an hour or two, drinking coffee and eating donuts and singing along with the music, the same music that was playing last time we were in here, and the tape started repeating within the hour. I dealt the first three games and turned over the Queen of Hearts all three times. The odds of that are 1 in 140,608. I also kicked ass in the game, but that'll all even out next time. It always does.

That night I finished The Tipping Point and found it fascinating. Aside from being fascinating in its own right, with the case studies and the examination of Paul Revere's sociability, it was like a walk down Social Psych memory lane. One of his first endnotes referenced Granovetter's "Threshold Models of Collective Behavior" and I had to smack my forehead for not anticipating that one. The Granovetter threshold! is the number of people who have to do something before you'll do it too. For some people, this number is zero: they are the people who go first. Then everyone in the crowd whose threshold is one follows; say there were ten of them: then everyone whose threshold is between two and ten follows them, etc., and soon everyone rushes the field after the game, or starts looting the store, or buying a cellphone, or whatever. There have to be enough people whose threshold is low enough (and some other restrictions may apply) or you've just got one guy rushing the field and getting picked off by security.


As of Friday, my parents have been married for thirty-two years. We all went to lunch at a Chinese restaurant in downtown Hollywood and to dinner at a French restaurant on Las Olas Boulevard. I recycled their anniversary card from last year (I was in England at the time and forgot to send it off) and gave them a tiny DVD player for use in the kitchen (installed in thirty seconds or less; it took longer to make room for it in the cabinet) and Field of Dreams. May they use them in good health.


My toes hurt from having separators in for most of the day. I've manicured and pedicured and painted, for fun but also for the wedding tomorrow. I'm going to a wedding tomorrow; it's completely bizarre. We were invited, by phone, about two weeks ago; it's cousins on my father's side whom I have never met. My mother and I are strongly of the opinion that we either 1) were entirely forgotten until now or 2) are third-tier guests; neither is particularly flattering. I was all "have fun! I'll be over here, not at this wedding!" but my dad appealed to me with I would really like for you to be there, so I'm going. I won't know anyone at all, but maybe the food will be good?

I was up early this morning, intentionally, for Breakfast at Wimbledon! My mother made scones and I made tea, and I ate strawberries but drank no champagne—I thought it a bit much for 9 a.m. First Roddick and Johannson had to finish their semifinal match, rained out from yesterday: it's going to be Roddick and Federer in the final tomorrow morning, unsurprisingly. Today it was Venus Williams over Lindsay Davenport in three dramatic sets. She had to come back from match-point down to win—the last time a woman had done that in the finals at Wimbledon was 1935.


ETA: Didn't manage to get this posted last night. My mom poked her head in my room at five after nine (and lucky that she did; an alarm is all well and good, but one can snooze indefinitely) and I roused myself for Breakfast at Wimbledon, Day Two: all about Roger Federer in straight sets over Roddick. Straight as an arrow, such a clean match, something like 48 winners and 11 unforced errors, no double faults—just beautiful tennis. It was great to watch, because the man is an absolute rock through two weeks and seven matches, giving absolutely nothing away, until his last serve went unreturned for an ace, and he threw up his hands in victory, then fell on the ground and burst into tears. Really, he was smiling and obviously elated, he hugged Roddick when he came around to his side of the net, and shook the chair umpire's hand, and sat in his chair and sobbed into his towel. His third straight Wimbledon championship and he's never really been tested. It's not a rivalry if only one of you ever wins.

I keep wandering around the house blurting out, "tell me again why I'm going to this wedding?" Damned if I know. I'd bring a book if I could. At least my nails are pretty.

walkingshadow: anne taintor. it's not easy being easy. (Default)
Ah, weekend. Not that we differentiate around here.

On Saturday I did wake up in the morning but I did not go to the gym: I lazed in bed for a couple of hours more, and then the rains came. Cousin M. and I did go on an outing to Aventura in the afternoon: Howl's Moving Castle at 5:10, browsing and buying shirts and shorts for my father for Father's Day, and dinner at the Italian restaurant outside the mall. I had a dish I think we can re-create (we have the technology): pennette with spinach, pinenuts, and sundried tomatoes—all the fine things in life!—in a little olive oil with huge slices of garlic just for fun.

Today was Father's Day and we'd talked last night about all of us going down to the beach for breakfast and then picking up produce at the organic market behind the Hollywood Beach Hotel, but then my dad said why don't you guys go, and I'll sleep in. It's hot out there, my friends. Today was one of many summer days to come when sweat and sunscreen slide across my face and the back of my neck all day, no matter how often I dry off in the air conditioning. The ocean's still pretty. Breakfast was still good. And I can't complain about the company. My mom and I won for Best Presentation with the wicker basket we brought to the organic market. We felt so European and story-bookish, going out with a basket over our arm—our collective arm—to do the marketing. You know who I think of when I think of marketing? Not business majors, but William Henry Harrison. William Henry Harrison was inaugurated on March 4, 1841, at which time he gave an hour-and-forty-five-minute speech (full of Greek rhetoric and Roman references) during a snowstorm while hatless and coatless (this was before Kennedy, but after hats). And in the days after his inauguration, he liked to do the White House marketing. This is the story my high school American history teacher told us, anyway. You know, I just can't picture Richard Nixon walking out of the Residence with a basket over his arm and leading his Secret Service detail to the local greengrocer's. William Henry Harrison was the guy who took ill and died thirty days after taking office.

We dropped off the produce at home, wished my father a Happy Father's Day, and took ourselves off to Publix for the weekly shopping, including more produce and hurricane supplies. 'Tis the season. I spent the entire day tired and sweaty and dizzy sometimes, when I stood up too fast. I figured as I was getting up from putting groceries away in the refrigerator and the kitchen tilted that this would be a good time to eat lunch. Nothing much else happened all day. My mother and I watched some Alton Brown that cousin M. kindly tapes for us, and then we made dinner for my dad. After dinner, as part of my Father's Day present (a general attempt to be perfectly civil and more generous), I watched Seabiscuit with my dad. My heart was warmed.

So tired! Was up before eight-thirty this morning (my mom and I planned to leave by nine since storms were expected early in the afternoon) and had to walk the dog first-thing (still in pajamas, with my sunglasses stuck on my face) as my dad was sleeping in. I meant to squeeze in a nap between the cooking shows and cooking dinner, but the timeline squeezed me out in return. I am no match for its elasticity. Tomorrow I have an appointment with the dermatologist, and after that I am determined to sign up at the Y for regular gym access. I love [livejournal.com profile] malelia_honu's fitness center and fully intend to take advantage of all the yoga classes I can for the rest of the month, but it takes a full half hour to drive there and back, and it's not just the time I'm losing but the gas and the money the gas costs. The result is I don't end up working out at all, and that's not going to work. Tomorrow has a plan. Tonight I'm going to fold my laundry, look at today's crossword, and take myself off to bed.
walkingshadow: anne taintor. it's not easy being easy. (the future freaks me out)
I lost the weekend somehow. It was not spent in an alcoholic stupor, I know that much, but suffice it to say nothing happened that was worth posting about. I'll never have that weekend back again. The trouble with life is pacing. Who was it who said time is what keeps everything from happening at once? Because he was wrong. Time moves at its own speed and it doesn't keep tabs on events—those like to spread out unevenly through the fourth dimension. They dogpile, crashing one into the other like a bad day on the highway, backing traffic up for miles while the road ahead stretches clear and barren, miles of unrelieved straightaway inducing hypnosis.

There was a flurry of activity yesterday when I made, broke, and re-scheduled last-minute plans to fly to Atlanta to see Rufus Wainwright in concert and visit with [livejournal.com profile] silentfire and my siblings. If you're between the ages of 18 and 22 you can fly stand-by on AirTran for $59 per segment ($79 for "long-hauls") plus another ten bucks or so in fees, which is and would have been fantastic! Except that the weekends are inadvisable for attempting stand-by; and I would have stayed over until next Monday or Tuesday, but this Sunday is Father's Day and I should be here. It's my dad's first Father's Day without his father. In which case I would have come back Thursday, but it seemed like an awful lot of time spent waiting uncertainly in airports flanking a pretty short visit. And I could have tried flying back Friday or Saturday—because hey, there might be a spot!—but I'm paranoid: I have vivid visions of myself sitting in the airport all day and in the end still not getting on a flight. I've reluctantly taken the pragmatic view and planned a visit for next week (or so?) when I can stay a week complete and not worry about anything. [livejournal.com profile] silentfire, I don't know if you've gotten my voicemails re: all of the tedious above, but I'm sorry about the failing at life thing, and give my love to Rufus Wainwright?

While I didn't do a load of laundry and head to the airport this morning, I did set my alarm as though I were going to do just that, so I found myself awake and breakfasted at nine a.m. A nap never materialized. I did get taken out to lunch by my dad at one or one-thirty (after I'd spent most of the morning and early afternoon methodically (read: alphabetically by author, and I'm up to "D") re-reading the SG:A fic on my harddrive. Lunch was a surprisingly delicious wrap at Waffleworks—of all places—but I could have done without the lunchtime conversation, whose topic was: So What Are You Going To Do With The Next Year and/or The Rest of Your Life? Let Us Brainstorm In Search of an Answer! My dad remains firm in his conviction that I should become a constitutional lawyer; or, barring that, an editor. Of something. It doesn't matter what, but I have editorial skills, you see? It was awful. Because he does want to help, he only wants to help, but I tend to go fetal and non-responsive when I start thinking about careers. He had me trapped in the booth with my really good wrap on the table in front of me though, so I had to grit my teeth and hostile-witness my way through it. I have never felt more like a sullen teenager. Plus the fact that my dad and I are radically different personality types and that he doesn't quite know what would or would not appeal to me in terms of things I would be happy and fulfilled by doing every day for a given large number of days. He's a salesman and he likes people: meeting people, talking to people, being around people. I don't. He asked if I'd ever taken any aptitude tests, and I said yes, I have: it turns out I like everything, except people.* This is not exactly helpful.

I know I am not built for the service industries. In addition to but apart from that, I don't like the idea of working in a service industry. I'd much rather be in the actual process of creating or producing something** rather than form part of the necessary but non-specific network surrounding it. I know also that wherever I end up I won't have a time card and be forced to clock in and out. It's too close to bells ringing to announce class changes, monitored for punctuality for its own sake and not for how much work ever gets done. I am not cut out for nine-to-five. Give me what you need done, tell me when it needs to be completed, and I will do it. I'm fairly sure that I'm not destined for time cards anyway. But I think of working in an office like I did last summer, and part of it is appealing, because it's a culture, with rituals and common experiences: daily commutes (of whatever duration), elevators, clocking in first thing in the morning, desks and coworkers, the lunch hour, the refrigerator in the break room, counting down until it's time to go home—but it's only appealing in an anthropological, or even role-playing kind of way, acting at office work. In practice it would sap my will to live. My dad is able to picture very few jobs that don't involve an office.

I learned at least one thing from our little chat: my statute of limitations. I'd wondered what the cap was for having no direction in life, and it turns out it's right about . . . now. They're still in the supportive stage—merely worried, not impatient—but my dad did joke today about wondering where they'd gone wrong with my brother and me. They may tell you, repeatedly, to take all the time you need, but I've been waiting. It's like an all-you-can-eat! buffet of indecision and some of us brought bigger appetites than anyone anticipated. The proprietors first grow nervous, then indignant; it all ends with icy smiles and polite requests to never come back again.

* When asked to rank these four items: people, facts, things, and ideas, it's a close call between the last three (usually I put it down as ideas, facts, things, but it changes if I stare at it too long) but people is waaaay down at the bottom of the list. There might only be four items, but it's in tenth place. I've probably got some low-grade social-anxiety going, but barring any professional diagnoses, people make me tired.

** Anything—be it a fact, a thing, or an idea.

God, that's all boring. After lunch we drove down the street to the library, who'd called this morning to tell me they had two (TWO) books waiting for me, and before I picked them up at the check-out desk, I browsed for another three. We got back to the house a little before four, in just enough time for me to change my clothes and get back in the car to head up to Ft. Lauderdale for yoga with [livejournal.com profile] malelia_honu. I definitely work up a sweat. My legs shake when it's time to leave. Something to duly note: one can be too flexible. I'll have to take care not to hyper-flex my back.

For dinner my mother made the most fantastic soup ever omg, recipe courtesy Alton Brown. you can even find the recipe for Curried Split Pea Soup behind this very cut tag ) Did I mention it was FANTASTIC? After dinner we watched N.C.I.S. (my dad and I guessed most of the major plot twists) and House: I enjoyed it, I still love him, there were many interesting decisions and reveals, but basically I don't have much to say.

I have appointments to make tomorrow, bills to pay, books to read, and the gym to go to. I was up early this morning, did an hour of yoga, and have had no nap. It is way past my bedtime. I shall take my crossword puzzles with me.

March 2011

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