Goofy Gifts

I was surprised to find myself actually sad to leave my parents' house after Christmas this year. I guess I love them or something.

My hometown friend topped me for worst holiday gifts ever. Her mother gave her not just underwear, but a special over-size underwire Christmas bra. Her husband received a bag of sugar-free peanut butter cups (no, he is not diabetic). And I suppose the happy couple will spend many blissful hours sharing these beauties.


As goofy as these gifts are, my friend and I are so damned lucky I can't even begin to wrap my brain around it. Yes, I'm thinking about the tsunami, and what I can do. I suppose all of these relief organizations are worthy.

Original Post Removed

Shortly after I agreed to the demand that I remove the original content of this post, I couldn't help thinking of the epilogue of Fog of War, when Errol Morris questioned former Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara about his reluctance to discuss infinitely more important matters than the weekend behavior of unnamed people. Morris asked if it was a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.

McNamara said, "Yeah. And I'd rather be damned if I don't."

January 4, 2005

Beef and Cheesed: Part 1 of My visit to MA

Adorable and fascinating statements from my nephews, Thing 1, age: 6 and Thing 2, age: almost 3.

Thing 1: (while playing with the game cube) I have 41 seconds left. 41 seconds is a long time.

Thing 1: Want to hear a mean rhyme for fake santas?
You stink.
You smell like beef and cheese!
Ashy: Stink doesn't rhyme with beef and cheese.
Thing 1: Yeah, but beef rhymes with cheese.

Ashy: Thing 2 is 2 and 10 months...
Thing 1: Just say he's 3.

Thing 2: I have a girlfriend...he's Sonic. (that's Sonic the hedgehog of videogame fame)
Thing 2: 'S cool.
Thing 2: (when I took his picture) You cheesed me!

Thing 2 is difficult to quote. He only talks in complete sentences when he is sleepy or giving commands. Most of the time, he was so excited, nearly everything he said was an exclaimation. He referred to the Christmas tree as "the Christmas." He kissed my hands. He kissed my feet. He caressed my cheeks and said "so cute!" And when the guest children poured into the basement, he wrapped himself around my leg and declared, "My Ashyknees!" He also punched me in the boob, but I'll let that go. Thing 2 is a happy boy, but from what I gather, he has frequent dreams in which werewolf/dogs lick and eat him.

Getting Paid

Oh My God! A freelance assignment has come.

Someone has offered to pay me to write again. I feel my face glow. I'm like a teenager at my first rock concert (make that the second one. My friend's troubled sister had a run in with some freaked out guy, so we had to leave the first one early and that sucked.) All I have to do is slog through some relatively esoteric history book, interview the author then swirl it all into a diverting article for the educated masses.

Whoo hoo!

Also, I must improve my grammar, but I won't worry about it so much as to block myself creatively. Oh joy!

I want grammar you can hang a coat on, baby!

Peas Take Oldenberg

It's finals time and the geeks will be geeks, especially under pressure. Don't worry, folks. It'll all come off just like the jello rainbow did.

Details:
what they said
their banner
their spanner

Squirrel

The best thing I have done in the video lab this weekend is to let the squirrel out. A squirrel had wondered into the building and was freaking out the architecture students in the studio rooms.

I am very depressed about my video project. No, I won't write at length about it, like the time I wrote 500 plus word about how I didn't want to clean my apartment. Still, I must say I've got a big problem here and it's been bothering me for weeks. I couldn't figure out how to approach the stapler, so I'm trying to do this other thing about "visualising career success" and so far I think it suckes. Every hour or so, I change my mind and decide to do something else. If I can accept one idea and stick with it, pretend that the idea doesn't suck, just maintain that fantasy long enough to finish the project.

Most of all, I must remember that this is not the ultimate test of my worth as a human being. My performance in this project is not necessarily another sign that I am a failure. It does not mean that I am inherently incapable of successfully completing a creative project.

Screw it, I'm going back to the stapler idea. I'll call in sick and do staplers tomorrow. That's it.

Rashy

Greetings from the other side of my elbow.

Don't Do Anything Rash

I'll be blunt. I have a rash. Perhaps 2 kinds of rash.

I killed at least an hour on the phone trying to make an appointment with my general practitioner to get some help. Finally, after the usual absurdities, I got an appointment in February.

Rather than spend 2 more months with the itch, I am willing to consider advice from the general public. I will also try WebMd.

Long ago, when I was uninsured, I would get free medical advice from my neighborhood independent pharmacist. One was located on the cusp of Mpls/St. Paul, the other on the cusp of Prospect Park and Crown Heights.

Also, who wants to see pictures of my rash? It's on my arm.

Cereal Suckers, What Happened to the Flipbooks

On Saturday, my journalist friend LL and I ate at the much-hyped all cereal restaurant, Cereality. I must admit, the PB+B combo was quite tasty with soy milk, but both LL and I had trouble swallowing the fact that we were paying over 3 bucks each for a serving of cold breakfast cereal. Plus, we were sitting at a counter in the window, and I know people were looking at us thinking "suckers!"

I suckered LL into looking at a cut of my birth documentary. Since he just moved to the city from Jersey, I thought I'd show him the ICA. As usual, I didn't' really get the art in the main gallery and on the ramp. However, we both enjoyed the Ant Farm retrospective on the second floor. I asked LL if he had a favorite artist. Right now, my favorite is Walton Ford, but I didn't tell LL, because who the hell is that?

LL said some very useful things about my 2 student paper clips and journalism in general. Then he went away.

The next day, I thought some more about my final documentary project, then removed the perished items from my refrigerator. Melba and I planned to attend the 3rd Annual Flipbook Festival at 1026 space, but it wasn't there. I suspect that the fine folks at 1026 space mixed up the number 5, as in December 5th, with the number 3, as in December 3rd. So we saw Kinsey instead, which was pretty good. Laura Linney was adorable as Mrs. Kinsey.

Ups Yours

Earlier this week, I came home to find a delivery attempt notice stuck to my front door. Great. My public radio pledge tchotchki was in some kind of limbo. I could only hope that someone would be there to answer the door when the people in brown returned.

This morning, since no package or updated notice had arrived, I went to the ups website to track my package. Its status: delivered and signed for by someone with Germanic last name. Some foreigner is enjoying my This American Life paint-by-numbers set! When I called ups, they could only tell me the signer's address. So now it's knock on some stranger's door or kiss my thank you gift good-bye.

That's better than travelling to the ups office. Urban Ups offices are invariably located in desolate post-instudistrial wastelands with no access to public transportation.

Replacement Editors

What could be more humbling than sitting next to some nineteen year old kid while she edits your writing? Yes. Sitting next to two such kids.

Last night, the regular general assignment editor of the student newspaper was away, so this guy from the design department was filling in. That meant another kid was filling in for him, and so on. Imagine the frightening embalance of student skills.

Meanwhile, two kids in the corner were working themselves into a froth over Roland Barthe and other critics. Get a room!

Just as the replacement guy was ready to attack my third paragraph, some small disaster in the design department called him away. The replacement editor was replaced by a frail, pallid creature with a voice like a fun size Mia Farrow. She proceded to undo every change that the first guy had made.

I tried to hide my frustration. I really did, but eventually she sensed it.

It took me a while to get used to the inverted pyramid style, she chirped.

I suppose all this will be worth it when I have enough clips to show to a grown-up editor.