At Least Their Priorities Are in Order.

Miranda: One word: Hubble.

Charlotte: Oh my God! Hubble! It is! It is so Hubble!

Miranda: OK. Robert Redford is madly in love with Barbra Streisand.

Carrie: Katie.

Charlotte: Katie!

Miranda: But he can't be with her because she's too complicated. She has wild, curly hair.

Carrie: Hello, curly!

Miranda: So he leaves her and marries this simple girl...with straight hair.

Carrie: Ladies, I am having an epiphany. The world is made up of two types of women: the simple girls and the Katie girls. I'm a Katie girl, and where are our drinks?

06-30-2005 9:02 PM - comments (0)

Photo Update.

I posted two new sets to my Flickr account for your enjoyment. The first is from my last week at the Journals and the terrific going-away party my friends threw for me at Blueberry Hill/Halo Bar the Saturday after my last official day.

The second consists of only two photos. One is of my darling cat, who has singlehandedly redefined the concept that felines like enclosed spaces and suitcases. The second is the result of said cat's Satanistic powers. I'll explain: Elliott has a long and rich history of knocking over his water bowl. After years of mopping my floor daily and after many failed experiments with increasingly heavy bowls, we (well, Michael) created a foolproof solution: we purchased a tile to lay upon an existing tile in the floor and Velcroed the bowl to the tile.

Elliott was stumped. He continued to place hairband after hairband in the new and improved water bowl, but he was now wholly unable to knock it over. This obviously has created some unwanted tension between us, and the frequency with which his eyes get big and black and he pounces on us has increased tenfold.

One morning last week, I awoke to see what may have been the most mysterious inhuman creation since Stonehenge. The food dish and the fishbone rubber placemat it normally sits on alongside the water bowl were now on top of the water bowl, obscuring it from view. I rubbed my eyes and quickly drank a can of Diet Pepsi in case my tiredness was causing me to see things. I looked back over, and the ghastly creation was still there.

"Sweet Jesus," I whispered to no one in particular.

I woke Michael up, and we tried to figure out how the hell Elliott had accomplished this evil feat. A person could have grabbed the rubber placemat with both hands (making great use of his opposable thumbs, mind you) and dragged it up and over the water bowl. However, I doubt I could do this without spilling the food or the bowl itself. Elliott would have had to sat to the right of the water bowl, extended his paws over the water bowl and to the food dish, and dragged it over the water bowl, all without thumbs and all without spilling anything.

Now let's assume for a second that this wasn't really that hard for a cat to achieve. The next logical question would, of course, be, "Why would a cat do something like this to begin with?" I believe I have the answer: Elliott is filled with a constant burning rage because we took away his one joy in life -- knocking over his water bowl. For some time, he has been devising a way to outsmart us. So he perfected a magic trick that gave us the appearance that his water bowl no longer existed. If his bowl no longer existed, we'd have to get him a new one, and he wrongfully assumed we'd provide him one that wouldn't be adhered to the floor.

If you can forgive him this one lapse in logic, it was a fairly ingenious plan. He gets that from me, of course.

06-27-2005 10:31 AM - comments (1)

OK, Sure. In Defense of the Lazy, Sorta Smart Girl.

It's kind of like, if the way I treat this blog is the way I'll treat my kids, maybe I should stick with a cat and some Diet Pepsi.

Remember in mid-2001, when I'd post upwards of three times a day? Those were the days.

And when I do post something meaningful, I delete it afterwards, a result of guilt, fear, regret, ah, who knows?

I miss the way it feels to sit in front of my computer and write. Really write, with a brandy snifter* on my right and good indie rock in the background. People tell me constantly about their hobbies, their interests, their passions, and it's not their fault, but I usually find those things contrived. Like they learned a new skill just to learn it, just to say they know how to do this one distinctive thing. Partly, I feel insecure about their astonishing number of hobbies. Here's why, in a list. (I'm quite adept at lists.)

1. I have played the piano (four years) and clarinet (three years). That was back in the '80s and very early '90s. I am not musical.

2. I do not sing.

3. I do not dance. Not jazz, tap, swing, ballet. Yeah, no. However, this becomes patently untrue whenever "Feel Good Inc." comes on the radio or Roy G. Biv, my iPod.

4. I do not know how to do anything handy. I'm resourceful, but there's no knitting, sewing, crocheting, hammering, drilling, upholstering, scrapbooking, painting or shoe cobblering here. (Though there is a fair amount of cherry cobblering, which has its moments.)

5. I hate working out. I run now, about three times a week, and about two miles each time. That's it. I played softball in elementary and middle school and again recreationally last summer, where my batting average was somewhere between .050 and .075, which is to say much, much worse than most MLB pitchers, and when you talk batting average, you kinda want to hold yourself to a higher standard than that. I played tennis in high school, and when my last season ended, I was awarded "Most Improved." I had a gorgeous backhand, and that was it.

6. I don't really provide any of you anything useful. No punditry here, though I give it the old college try every quarter with a blistering little piece of hyperbole to keep myself sharp. I don't take thousands of photos to post of my super-exciting weekend, because, you guessed it, my weekend didn't involve anything super-exciting (at least nothing I could or would take a photo of). I don't link to sites you've never heard of but are glad you do now. In essence, this website is useless. And so am I, inasmuch as I can offer you nothing extraordinary and nothing that involves practice practice practice attempt attempt attempt success continued success moving on to new thing to practice. (For the record, and to my credit, there are also no weekly epiphanies of the single-girl-all-alone-in-the-big-city variety here. We're all better for it, too, because my epiphanies tend toward the "Wind chill factor? I thought it was windshield factor!" end of the spectrum.)

So maybe this post should be titled, "In Defense of the Lazy Smart Girl." Because despite my mindblowing amounts of inactivity, I think I'm doing just fine. I read, I watch TV, I follow the news, I tell jokes, I try to improve myself in very small ways that no one would dare admit to finding interesting.

What will be interesting is if I can move past this admission of inertia, allow everyone else their hobby-filled lives without begrudging them a great deal, and focus on the thing that, as much as the brandy in the snifter, makes me come alive.

Even if I have nothing to show for it.

*More accurately, Straub's whiskey. But hey, I went from Kentucky Deluxe to Kentucky Tavern to Schnuck's to Dierberg's to Straub's in a paltry three years. 2006: Trader Joe's brand.

06-22-2005 3:23 PM - comments (6)

Where the Buffalo (and Bud Light) Roam.

Last night, I went to the opening dinner of a conference for work, held at Grant's Farm. It's a wildlife reserve owned and operated by Anheuser-Busch, and we saw zebras, elk, baby goats and sheep, ducks, geese, peacocks, camels, deer, buffalo, Texas longhorns and a 9-foot ostrich. It's a really nice place, and was especially so during last night's mild weather. It makes me wonder what else I've been missing in St. Louis.

06-13-2005 7:32 AM - comments (1)

Probably Not in the Engagement Card Section of Hallmark.

I want to say how happy I am for the newly engaged Kristin and Justin, whose relationship has been very similar to my own with Michael, only about a year ahead. I've spent only a little bit of time with them as a couple, but it was enough for me to see how truly made for each other they were. Compared to other couples who date a year or so and who barely know each other -- and even compared to some couples who have dated for a few years and who still don't really have that intangible thing that will keep them together -- they have an honest, meaningful, fun relationship that can and will weather anything.

I know men who think buying flowers for their significant others makes them good boyfriends. The girls think they're lucky because they get red roses on Valentine's Day and a paltry handful of empty symbolic gestures the rest of the year. These relationships have the basics: the necessary attraction, the obligatory nightly phone calls, scheduled sex, cliched cutesy nicknames. But the basics aren't enough; these people cheat on their significant others without giving it a second thought, and those who don't take them for granted in truly astonishing ways.

What has always driven me crazy is that these cliched, superficial, mediocre relationships -- based on little more than convenience -- are what society/the media/my former employer tout as the gold standard. Oh, he sent you red roses! That's so unique. How could he have known you like roses? He must know you so well. Better snatch him up before you hit 30! (Because we all know you're nothing unless you marry before 30 and have at least a 1.5-carat rock on your finger.) Oh, he proposed to you in some gaudy, larger-than-life way! How romantic and personal. He must really love you to do something that ridiculous. And your wedding day will be the best day of your life, because, obviously, this one little day is the highlight of everyone's lives. (Suck on that, happy, well-adjusted single people!) You're so much better than the couples who make each other laugh until they cry and who make mix tapes for each other and who are there when the other is at their lowest. Those people have no flowers, no overt gestures of affection in front of other people, no timetable to adhere to, no need to give in to societal expectations about something that was never meant to be public. How...sad for them. It's just so weird that they're not like everyone else. Now show me that ring again and remind me why you're settling.

These are people who believe they want and deserve the well-trodden path of marriage and the oft-quoted 2.4 kids. And those marriages -- 50 percent, to be exact -- will fall apart, not because of irreconcilable differences, but because they aren't honest, they aren't faithful and they aren't meaningful.

But when I see a couple like Justin and Kristin, I know that's there's another 50 percent out there who took the time to get to know each other. They fell in love with everything about each other, and what they didn't love at first, they learned along the way to appreciate. They figured out relationships aren't always glued together with petals from long-stemmed roses the guy bought as an afterthought during a beer run at Schnucks. This 50 percent get each other, flowers or not, which is something worth fighting for, whether you're single or not.

So to my Kansas City-area friends, I wish you a lifetime of happiness. I won't wish you luck, because with a relationship like the one you've got, you don't need it.

Oh, and try to have the wedding in Chicago, because I've been dying to go back for a visit.


06-10-2005 2:54 PM - comments (1)

No More Nole, At Least.

I can't believe Janice Dickinson is leaving America's Next Top Model. She was one of my favorite things about the show and (for me, anyway) redeemed the concept of reality TV. And to replace (all apologies, succeed*) her with Twiggy of all people is just a travesty. How about Kate Moss? How about Naomi Naomi "Crazy Like a Fox" Campbell? Now that would be interesting.

*This is one of the dumbest grammar rules ever.

06-09-2005 7:30 AM - comments (1)

Where All the Women Are...Teenage Vixens?

Woody Harrelson, Kevin Kline, John C. Reilly, Maya Rudolph, Meryl Streep and, dear Lord, Lindsay Lohan will be starring in the 2006, Robert Altman-directed "A Prairie Home Companion," based on the public radio show of the same name and one of the many truly guilty pleasures I reluctantly admit to.

This, of course, is just one more indication the apocalypse is coming in 2006.

06-06-2005 5:05 PM - comments (3)

I'm Just Following Orders.

Thanks for the blopic (um, blog and topic put together? It's better than blobject, people), Justin.

Total volume of music files on my computer:
10.18 GB on my main hard drive, a few more on my second

Last CD I bought was ...
"Bleed Like Me" by Garbage and "The Massacre" by 50 Cent. That was almost two months ago. But I buy most of my music on iTunes now, so CD-buying is an infrequent occurence. I plan on picking up the new Coldplay soon. I'm not sure if I am really that into Coldplay or just really into the memories they dredge up when I listen to them.

Song playing right now:
"First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes. And it makes me think of the person who made me listen to it because he swears it's going to be the first song at our wedding.

Five songs I listen to a lot these days:
• "Hate it or Love It" by 50 Cent. Obsessed.
• "Bad Boyfriend" by Garbage
• "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers
• "Like Eating Glass" by Bloc Party
• "Only" by nine inch nails

06-02-2005 6:31 PM - comments (0)

Inspiration Subsides.

Last night, I had a dream that Michael and I started a group of petroleum and gas magazines. And the name I came up with? Oily Rags. Seriously. Probably my best dream brainstorming session ever.

And later in the dream, we were attacked by crows, Michael became a practicing Buddhist and I was henceforth known as the Zen Master.


06-01-2005 7:40 AM - comments (0)