Made Up Holidays & Narrow Escapes

photo by quinn.anya

Sweetest Day is bullshit. I just wanna say that right off the bat. A Consumerist conspiracy perpetrated by the Master Florists Association, Hallmark, & Hershey... Godiva and the National Fancy Helium Balloon Association (Filled & Unfilled brethren welcome) were there too. At the table. The diabolical table of "we don't think people spend enough money on our crap... how can we guilt the average American into blowing more cash on proving their love?" table. Of doom.

Apparently this bogus day where frightened-looking men toddle into florist shops, grocery store flower refrigerators, candy aisles, jewelry stores featuring short-term credit applications, and cheesy balloon stands in malls was Saturday. I didn't notice.

I was supposed to get together with a friend of mine that night. I bailed. Now I'm glad I did.

Ladies, have you ever noticed that so often you can be friends with a guy for ages and it seems like he's just such a dear friend and everything is happy and wonderful... right up until your boyfriend throws you over to pursue a law degree and skips town to Europe. (Which is the best place to skip town to, IMNSHO.) Then suddenly you're a walking, talking, cooking, physically appealing side of beef seemingly destined to be claimed for their own. (Do you have flag?) Because of course as Proposer #2, whilst declining my extended company so eloquently implied, I won't be happy until I've found that "special someone." At which time apparently I will begin residing in LaLaLand. Which is right next to Ubangy. And Neverneverland. They share a common border.

It's funny how a day like Sweetest Day or Valentine's Day can take such a hold of fear over men. (And gay couples? Is Phil mad at Steve if Steve forgets to bring home the rainbow carnations Phil lovingly admired in the arts district florist window? Is Tanya mad at Jan if there's no trail of rose petals leading her up to the bedroom?) Are other women/gay men really angry if their "significant other" forgets? I'd be waaaay more pissed if say, one of my entanglements forgot my birthday. (But you all know how I feel about my birthday. Best. Day. EVAR.) It's such crap. If you love someone you show them every day, as much as possible in a million small ways. Flowers and candy and sparkly things -while nice - are really quite irrelevant to the whole "love" thing. But maybe that's just me.

NOW. That being said, some horrible pink bear thing was just delivered to a co-worker of mine from some man in honor of Sweetest Day. And I can't help thinking... I can't remember the last time I got flowers. Truly, I can't. Candy's origins are parental. As for sparkly things... well I'm a farging crow and I scare up that sort of thing for myself. (Heh.) But flowers... odd symbol though they are... here, have something that'll be dead in two days. Fewer if you forget to add their embalming packet. But look! Fleetingly pretty! Just like you! Anyway, I'm kind of jealous. Which is totally stupid. I'm sure it'll be just as fleeting as that silly bear's existence.

Seems Like Such a Small Thing...

...and yet, it could not be more annoying. Like a toothache.

I posit that silk underwear are not all they're cracked up to be. In fact, they're turning out to be rather uncomfortable. Elastic-squished lady-parts is for teh no.

Just in case anyone was wondering.

Ursula K. Le Guin is Kind of an Ass

Last night I attended a session on Intellectual Property Rights at Barcamp Milwaukee, imagine my amusement when I visited BoingBoing and found this story as the lead piece. Misquoting, mis-crediting, and out-of-contexting aside I am more than a little horrified by Ms. Le Guin's reaction to the situation. This open letter is posted on her site, which I read with no small amount of surprise and disdain.

Of course, I might feel differently if I had ever been presented with the same situation but I think as long as I was properly credited I wouldn't really care and would only address the contextual mistakes in my own way. Ms. Le Guin's use of the asshats at the SFWA presents an ethical problem to me. As a writer, I would never make use of an organization which has made such grave mis-steps in their handling of digital copyright.

Don't get me wrong. I love Ursula K. Le Guin. I love the Earthsea series. I do not love her reaction to this situation. I do, in fact, think she's being an asshole. She apparently "remains upset" at Cory Doctrow. Which smacks to me of a cranky old lady looking for "gravy." Maybe she'd chill out if Doctrow sent her a check?

Any Volunteers?

Dude, seriously - for like, the last week or two my shoulders have felt stitched together with barbed wire. I need a backrub so badly I am almost to the point of being willing to pay for it?!?!

In other news, I am now a Gawker commenter. Which may well turn out to be bad for productivity :D *sheepish*

In other, other new I am currently embroiled in a battle of wits with another department at work. Even though I'm wittier I think I'm still losing. (Which may well be the source of the dire need for a backrub.)

And in other, other, other news I can't wait for the MIFF Volunteer Appreciation party @ MOCT on Thursday. The bastids still haven't posted the pics from the festival to their site. Which sucks because I have a bet running that I'm in at least 5.

Finally, any Milwaukee-area Geek readers (Are there any? Hmmm, I wonder...) Should check out barcampmilwaukee2 - looks pretty interesting and like it'll be a boatload o' fun. If you've the time, check it out.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder?

Or forgetful.

Yes, yes I am quoting Disney's Robin Hood. Maid Marion to be exact. The title question is posed by the Mother Hen character. And the line above is Marion's response. Rather fitting right now, I guess.

My sister and I used to be able to watch that movie over and over again laying on the floor in front of the entertainment center (with it's VCR with the remote you had to plug in) me operating the face controls with my toes. Much to my parent's chagrin.

Well, I'm all grown up now. I have my own VCR, which largely collects dust but I definitely don't operate it with my toes. I've learned a lot of hard lessons over the years and some of them have only recently galvanized in my mind.

That left unfulfilled the starved mind does you no favors.

That being a grown up comes down to one very simple concept that my stupid ex-fiance told me years ago, but I didn't listen: Seeing what needs to be done... and doing it.

When given the chance to prove it, you'll generally find that not only are you waaaay smarter than you thought you were but you're even smarter in the eyes of the people who gave you the chance to prove it in the first place.

Simple concepts, all three... but oh, so easily overlooked. So easily ignored. So easily skimmed over out of laziness or fear.

I got the full-time version of the job I harangued over when I started this blog at the end of August. I am be-salaried and be-awesomely-benefitted. I have a metric TON of projects that I'm working on and I've also been invited to join a planning council for the local Young Professionals group.

I had another go-around with the boy from this spring. Which lead to disappointment and a sadness I am still working through. Yet another round with, "but I really liked him and thought that he liked me and then he had to go and ruin it."

But I've rebounded with not one, not two, but 4 new crushes. I won't name names but one works for the film festival, one works for a local arts organization, one is a little too close to home for comfort (like... in my building) and one works on my floor. The beauty of all of them is that they're all just out of reach. All it would take would be a chance meeting with one or any of them so I live deliciously on the edge. Being very careful not to get too close, lest I spoil the illusion that they're the kind of people I might like.

So that's life from the fast lane. Passing you on the left hand side, waving, singing along to the music only I can hear.

*cough*

I'm still alive, I have not died, nothing much exciting has happened... I've just been busy. Except... I got the job when it went full-time so I am now be-salaried and be-benefitted. YaY!

I will return this weekend (or sooner, depending) with an exciting blog post.

Stay Tuned!

Bachelorette Living, avec Cat

Last week Gawker posted about a Julia Allison blog-entry about "Singlefiers." Those clearly-girl items that enjoy a home as part of the decor only when you're single and live alone.

Piles of magazines everywhere, comprised of tons of pretentious ones that are clearly untouched and then severely thumbed-through Vogues and Luckys

Well, while there are definitely piles of reading material everywhere, (e.g. a whole basket full to the brim with some totally untouched Economists which is odd because I really like that magazine but never get around to reading it lately for some reason, a whole mess of untouched NY Magazines) the biggest offenders are both piles of books which are about 7 deep in the pile on the coffee table atm and the monster piles of New York Times newspapers. The reason for this is that Tim and I go to a coffee shop in the Third Ward every Sunday morning, the express purpose of which is *supposed* to be to drink coffee and read the paper. I think the only time in recent memory I've been allowed to actually sit and read has been the Sunday when Tim was absorbed by the Deathly Hallows. Generally what happens is that Tim picks up a couple of sections which he does not really read, instead he sits and chats at me while I struggle to continuously relocate where I left off in a given article. After a couple of hours I give up and we go to lunch. With regard to the pile... there can sometimes accumulate 2 months of those things. They have a spot between the couch and the chair. For some reason, I find it incredibly difficult to throw them away until they are quite old.

Overflowing shoe rack and nothing in the fridge

The former... totally. In the reader comments on Gawker there were bonus points doled out if your shoe rack hung over a door. Does it count if it's the inside of your closet door? And then also a regular shoe rack on the floor of your closet? And then a pile inside your closet? And then random pairs scattered about your apartment? Like say, 4 pair by the couch and 3 pair by the chair, and a pair of sneakers by the door?

As for the latter... uhm, no. In my fridge are the spoils of the farmer's market (broccoli, squash blossoms, corn, orange cherry tomatoes, 3 poblano peppers, tomatillos, a giant bowl of french filet beans, fresh eggs, rainbow chard, chives, sage), a bunch of stuff (most especially onions and halved lemons) in various stages of consumption in zip-lock baggies, a few deli containers from Beans n' Barley, a couple of bottles of mineral water, an un-opened bottle of white wine, 3 "company" beers, containers of strawberries and raspberries, a huge container of non-fat plain yogurt, one-quarter each of a watermelon and a cantaloupe, a couple of leftover containers with remnants of last week's meals, there is also the produce which has also spilled out onto the dining room table (giant bowl of orange and yellow tomatoes, a couple of enormous golden zucchinis (yes, that's right, I know what I wrote), a leftover patty pan and an heirloom tomato, and bowl containing an assortment of fuji apples, nectarines, peaches, and bananas. Also making an appearance is the biscotti jar full of flour that I've been too lazy to find a home for in the over-stuffed cabinet.

Scented candles

They're not scented... except the one in the bathroom ;) but there is definitely a candle presence in my apartment. Most of them were gifts. My mother has a fetish for this store called Winkie's in Whitefish Bay and every Christmas and St. Nick's (yes, my mother still gives us St. Nick's gifts) she gives us stuff like foo-foo writing tablets, little bags of honey sticks, tea mugs with little ceramic tea strainers (very cute, very useful) and such. For Easter we always seem to get candles shaped like little bunches of daffodils. So those are about.

Slovenly heaps of little-used makeups in the bathroom

My slovenly heaps of much-used makeups have found a new home on the bureau in my living room. I've recently been waging a war with my pissoir (poor maintenance guys have been here four or five times this year - I have, in fact, been putting off calling them for a new problem because there seems something conspicuous about a single girl constantly calling for a broken toilet, don't ask me why I think that because I don't know) and months ago when I came home to a little Sea of Galilee (which is not so much a sea as a very large freshwater lake) on my bathroom floor my makeups were found adrift in their cute little makeups bag (which was the real victim of the floods... it bled and isn't pretty anymore) so, much like many Katrina victims, they have yet to return to their home and instead have found themselves all spread apart on display for all (the people who never see the inside of my apartment) to see my girlie makeup secrets.

Stuffed animals in the bed

Oh... uhm... NO. Once upon a time in college I was the proud owner of a Paddington bear, an "everything" bear (which was given to me by the creepy older guy who kept semi-successfully trying to date me the summer before I left for college), and my childhood companion "Sugar." But I haven't kept stuffed animals in a loooooooong time. Having lived with several boyfriends, eventually the herd got thinned into extinction. I do have a small stuffed bunny who lives on the shelf under my nightstand, but he never comes near the bed.

Cat hair on the furniture

Kinda busted... I don't think it's so much the furniture as the hair that I never seem to be able to remove from the living room rug and tumbleweeds which used to be a combination of giant twining balls of my own long hair when I had it and Rowan's.

Cat smell

God, I hope not. Ew.

Cabinets full of mugs featuring the likeness of lady who looks like those hypertrophically-limbed Daily Candy illustrations, bearing the legend "I Love Shopping" or whatnot

Nope. What I do have is a "Michigan" mug and a hideous ginormous wine glass painted with the extremely colorful image of a lady with shopping bags which was a gift from a co-worker, and pint glasses bearing the name of their various giftors.

Anything pink

Wrong again. While I am a devotee, I do not consider pink a decorating element. Aside from the dream kitchen in my head featuring 50's style-appliances in the aforementioned shade which will hopefully never come to bear in reality.

Ornamental pillows

Guilty. Two on the couch. But they're olive green velvet and comfy as hell - especially since the arms of my couch are decidedly high.

Unedited bookshelves, esp. if they include He's Just Not That Into You or anything along those lines

Well, I do have a non-prominent copy of The Dictionary of Failed Relationships on the shelves. But that book is funny as hell.

Nair

Ew. No. Piles of worn out razor heads on the edge of the tub, tho.

Anything lite or diet around. Cases of Diet Coke. Weight Watchers 'Just 2 Points' bars

Wrong again. Unless you count the non-fat plain yogurt.

Inspirational or thinspirational things on the fridge

My favorite magnet on my fridge is the picture of the girl in the obviously ill-fitting 50's pointed bra which says, "when bad bras happen to good girls," which is meant to remind me of the importance of decent foundation garments after a stint in a crap one which mis-shaped the girls horrifically last summer.

Framed posters

Yes, of course. Some of us can't afford real art and are certainly not going to be making any herself as evidenced by the GIANT unfinished collage piece which has lived for like, 6 years behind the bureau at various residences. Reader comments make reference to Klimt's The Kiss being an offending item and I must admit to ownership of a small framed and matted copy in my bedroom along with the feather art pieces I lifted from a drawer at the cottage one summer. What? They were wrapped in paper towels and rubber-banded. In my book, that makes them fair game.

Handbag tree

Try a collection of them on the closet door handle and a pile of them on the chair in the living room. Does my handled farmer's market basket that lives on the dining room chair in the living room count as well?

As always, the Gawker reader comments are the best on the subject. My favorite being one by PIKACHUMCHEIDEGGER:

"By the bed a turquoise saucer, heaped with tarry clots of the poppy's blood, to kill the black dreams of a vacant womb.

Also, those high-fiber Wasa crackers from Sweden."

All in all I don't think my apartment all that terrifying. The biggest un-mentioned offenders being the piles of clothing on the chair in the living room, the pile of nail-maintenance paraphernalia next to the pile of books on the coffee table, the innumerable pots of Burt's Bees moisturizers lying all over the place, the coats on the dining room chair, the two bottles of red wine on the in-between counter between the kitchen and dining room (a good bottle and a bottle of $3 Chuck), the innumerable empty bottles of mineral water awaiting their fate as porch ashtrays under the sink, the little galvanized steel mini-bucket thingies from World Market filled with tampons and the oblong one containing q-tips, also in the bathroom a small pile of free moisturizer samples and a foo-foo box o' matches, early in the week the towel bar can be seen with its drying-underwear population, and the hook for hanging clothing from the always-open bedroom door that is full to bursting with work clothes, belts, and scarves - which have migrated for lack of room down to the door handle. Both sides.