November 17, 2003

November 17, 2003 - 4:07 p.m.

Two things my brain cannot let go today: the German word Vorspeisen - which means appetizers, of all things - and the Crowded House song It's Only Natural. Not even that good a song, though Woodface does have its moments.

Today we started getting RSVPs for the office holiday reception. It's one of my jobs to set up all these activities, be they internal or for other people. I was tempted to use this for the invite text:
Not sure if you'll be employed here next year?
Come to the Holiday Reception and find out!

I'm still recovering from today's inauguration of the Idiot Governor. From now on, I have to cover my head with a wet paper bag every time someone identifies me as a Californian. Thanks a LOT, non-voters!

November 17, 2003 - 11:01 a.m.

Green curry soup recipe is up at the Muse!

November 17, 2003 - 9:39 a.m.

It's official: after a speedy inventory of my Crap Room (formerly titled Craft Room, but let's get serious), I'm going to try and get through the holidays without purchasing anything. Yep, bold statement for a hard-core shopper, but jeebus, there are a lot of unfinished projects in there. Dye jobs, knitting, sewing, painting, reframing...you name it. Even boy stuff. So no purchasing; every time I get the urge to run to Cost Plus, instead I'm required to pick up that velvet scarf and dye it for Miss Beek's gift, or polish up the frame on Daddy's doggie pictures.

It was a strange, strange weekend. Saturday night I tried to pull a bunch of friends together to play dice and drink. Talk about bad timing. Dante and her man broke up, so she was depressed. Whoolie's show sucks intense baboon butt, so she was annoyed and down. Beek was being anti-social. Infighting. Backbiting. You name it - all the crap that comes with too many women in one place at one time. So about 12:30 I went dancing with one of Scratcher's guy friends at a local club. Much better. Fantastic local dj who remixes the Grease soundtrack with Outkast; so many people that fire codes were shrieking. I joined a bunch of other chicklets by taking off my sweater to fight the heat. Dancing in a bra and low-rise jeans is underrated, folks. I slept so long that night that the NFL was well into its second game by the time the lids had re-opened. Lovely.

Sunday was devoted to cooking (I'll post a recipe for the curry soup over at the Muse later today) and mouse-hunting. I'd like to go on record that those snappy-snap mousetraps suck my big toe. I spent an hour trying to set and place two. The first one fwapped two millimetres from my fingers the instant I tried to put it down; the second lasted an hour. Sigh. The sticky ones seem cruel to me - the critter living under my kitchen sink should not have to chew off its own foot to get free from my heinousness - but I can't let it live there and chew through the wiring, either. Again, homeownership is for 'tards. Tonight I'll have to pull out more peanut butter and try again. Who needs fingertips?

To finish off the weird weekend, Scratcher and I spent two hours watching Polish television from the 80s. If you've seen any of Kieslowski's films (most people have seen White or Blue), you'll want to rent Decalogue. Ten hours, each hour based on a Commandment. Wow. We made it through the first two. They are so beautiful and so fucking depressing. But utterly, utterly on target. Sex afterwards felt almost necessary, the way it does after the death of someone you love.

From the links to left, you'll see that I'm listening to more Joe Henry. Please, please find some of this man's music. I'm in love. He's Madonna's brother-in-law (poor lad), but the music is pure. The album "Trampoline" has officially entered the Pantheon of Quality.

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