31 August 2002

[Good Riddens]

I just heard on the news that students from the school I used to work at got "ghetto" after a football game last night. After the varsity team was beat 6 to 3, some irate fans decided to hurl rocks at the opposing team's buses at an intersection a few blocks away from the football field. How petty is that? I'm so glad I'm far from that place.

31 August 2002

[Emerson Owns Me . . .]

Really, he does. I printed out all the Emerson essays and poems I need to study for my exam in November. I'm glad they were all on the Internet; my Heath anthology of American lit is unbearable in so many ways. The tiny typeface, bible-paper-thin pages, and the "how can a book so small weigh so much" poundage make the studying experience quite dreadful. Now I have all my Emerson together -- printed out and 3-hole punched -- in a binder. It's much easier to swallow this way. Unfortunately, I had to hand over sixty bucks today for books: 40 to Barnes & Nobles; twenty to Amazon. I'm not pleased. But it had to be done: I can't be expected to pass this beast of an exam without *at least* purchasing all the primary texts. The secondary texts are a different story altogether. As much I just love to read criticism, I'm not forking over the cash to buy, yet another, critic's reading of Hamlet or Invisible Man. I'm still waiting for my shirt from T-shirt hell.

23 August 2002

[Non-Carbonated]

So my phone rings this morning, before nine to be inexact. And when the phone rings that early, there's either a crisis or death in my family, a callback for an interview, or the Cincinnati Enquirer (or any salesperson for that matter). Folks know that during the Fall, Winter, Spring months that I go to work in the wee hours of the morning and that during the summer, I'm either sleeping in or hungover while the sun rises. So my phone rings this morning, close to nine, but I'll say eight thirty for dramatic purposes, though there are none, really. I stumble over to my caller id; it's my grandmother. My mom's mom. She doesn't leave a message on my voice mail, and I assume she's just calling about my mom, whose on vacation with my father in North Carolina -- whether I'd heard from her, when she's going to be back, et cetera, et alia, et nauseum. She doesn't leave a message. I go back to bed to awake an hour later, swig some soda, and de-sweat myself in the shower (The nights here are terrible. Having no AC in my apartment, I wake up drenched). Grandma calls again. To make a long story a wee bit shorter (please excuse me long-winded-ness), my grandpa -- my dad's dad -- had a heart attack and is in the hospital; my dad is unreachable. He and my mom were staying in one place for part of the vacation, but left for a beach yesterday -- with no definite destination or hotel in sight. So, of course, I'm supposed to take care of it all; I'm supposed to use my psychic powers and track them down. I'm kidding, but I felt like -- and it happens quite often in my family -- I had to be the crutch for everyone elses' issues. Don't get me wrong. I'm saddened by this. But I can't be "called into action" unarmed. All afternoon at work, I'm semi-nervous. Nervous at what will be waiting on my voice mail when I get home. There was nothing significant, however, only my grandmother calling again, saying she got the name of the hospital wrong. So I took note like a good grandchild. After heading out for a while to eat and go downtown, I came home, thinking "I ought to be at home, just in case . . .[something]." Within 15 minutes, my phone rings. A call from North Carolina. I don't pick up. I don't want to be the bearer of shitty news. Or maybe, the call was bad news. Maybe my mom called my grandmother . . . and well, things were worse. Mom leaves a message about watering her plants if there's no rain tonight, as forecasted. I sit down and start to feel guilty: I have to call back. Armed with bad news and long-distance number, I call. I feel so much better. Now, there is nothing on my shoulders. I was able to deliver the info about my grandfather to my mom, but while doing so, I reminded her to buy me a shot glass from North Carolina to add to my collection AND I told her about my loan consolidation. Dad, from what I overheard, took the news fine. My grandfather is old and frail. Things like this happen. But they aren't supposed to ruin a vacation. And I hope it didn't. I hope my dad calls his mother -- which he will -- but I hope they don't rush home and ruin the next two days over this. I hate to sound insensitive, but like my mom said when I apologized for being the bearer of bad news "It's not your fault," and it isn't my fault. I'd rather not be put in precarious positions such as these. But I am glad she called. Now I can drink a beer with less worry on my mind.

22 August 2002

[Michael Jackon: Keeps on Breeding]

Today has been pretty keen. Work flew by -- probably because I actually worked. I thought the traffic jam I hit on I-75 was going to steal the gem from my donut, but 'twas a mere obstacle as the afternoon was filled with the best Chinese food, excellent loan rates, and good coffee. I've been wanting to consolidate my student loans for about a month or so, as rates upon consolidating are quite low -- four percent. Great Lakes contacted me today via snail mail. It seems they went ahead and consolidated my loans for me (if I agreed to it, that is). The new interest rate is ridiculously low -- three point one nine fucking percent. How could I not agree to that? So I called, jumped on the bandwagon, and wondered "what I will I do with all the cash I save?" I have the shitty economy to thank for dropping my loan rate from eight percent to under four and for keeping some money in my pocket.

21 August 2002

[Carnauba Wax and Polyethylene Glycol]

I played hooky today: ditched work and walked the mall. Tom and I ate lunch around 1:30 -- which is odd as we rarely eat before 6pm -- and trekked up to Tri-county after that. Being out in day light (not for commuting purposes) was weird, but refreshing. Sitting in front of a computer, pecking away all day sickens me. By the end of the day, the thought of checking my e-mail or working on my web projects turns my belly. I'd rather watch some silly movie with boobs and beer; speaking of which, I watched Van Wilder tonight and about hurled at one or two of the scenes. Very bad stuff. Kills the brain cells, ya know. I think watching a completely brain-numbing flick with two instances of premature ejaculation and a sex starved foreign exchange student -- let's not forget a well-hung dog -- is good for the soul, even for the semi-intelligent folks who (claim to) immerse themselves in artsy, fartsy shit 24/7. I think I'm going to pop-in Fight Club or Snatch. Currently I'm sporting a new pair of painfully ugly, retro style shoes, which I adore to no end AND a paper cut on my left ring finger. Tres' annoying. My cat keeps head-butting my left elbow. Either she wants to be petted or she's trying to hit my funny bone -- my punishment for petting doggies today during my afternoon excursion. I so want a dog, or two. But, getting a bigger home would be first.

21 August 2002

[won't clog pores or cause breakouts]

I had the best chinese food tonight. And the fact that I still have leftovers, after having seconds a little while ago, makes me giddy.

19 August 2002

[Ease Your Way With Sour Cream, Beer, and a Sponge]

We really needed the rain. For once it's cool in the back room of my apartment. The back of my neck isn't sweating, and my cats aren't lying around in a pathetic state with their tongues hanging out. Another weekend has blitzed by; another work week is calling. I think I'm going to try to wake up at a decent hour tomorrow -- before 10am perhaps -- and get to work a little early. Either I'll get in an extra hour of mindless keyboard pecking or I'll leave an hour early. Last night, armed with a beer in my belly and a sponge soaked in Orange Clean in my hand, I cleaned the fridge, which was lookin' pretty fucking foul. I even removed the crisper, cleaned it, and cleaned under it -- the surface of the fridge floor was covered in something with the consistency and color of molassas. Very gross indeed. But all is well. The kitchen floor is still glowing. And the stovetop is still reasonably clean. I need to buy some vacuum bags soon. My cats have been shedding a lot lately. I think I'll amuse myself with a game of hearts, then head to bed.

19 August 2002

[Brrrr]

I'm thankful for air conditioning and all, but there is something wrong with wearing long pants and a sweatshirt IN AUGUST and still freezing while at work. This is ridiculous. How can they expect me to type when my hands are blue?

17 August 2002

[Damn]

I just worked up a huge sweat while cleaning the kitchen floor. The back of my neck was all slimy. Ew. Though I still wouldn't want to eat off it, the scratched-up linoleum is looking pretty nice. If truly motivated, I would have moved the garbage bin, cat box, cat bowls, and kitchen table. But wiping around them worked fine as far as I'm concerned. I have an itchin' to go out tonight and be crazy. But perhaps I'll just rent a movie and stay for a while and head down to the Cavern around ten or eleven to get a beer or three. My motivation to study just got dumped down the tub drain along with the dirty mixture of orange clean and hot water. I'm to pooped to do anything cerebral.

17 August 2002

[stick a fork in me aka my cookies are enabled, are yours?]

Another typical saturday. After sleeping until well past noon, I showered, poked around on my computer, dressed, and ran some miscellaneous errands -- depositing my paycheck, getting coffee. Hopefully, this evening, I can get some work done around here. November is creeping up on me, and I need to get my reading for the MA comprehensive exam under control. I still need four books that are on the reading list: Arnold's Empedocles on Etna which is far too expensive for my budget -- new or used; Samuel Beckett's Endgame which is about ten bucks at Amazon.com; Milroy's Authority in Language; and Bonvillan's Language, Culture, Communication. The last two books sound like snoozers, as most language and linguistic texts are.

13 August 2002

[Browser War?]

I know most folks on the Internet use Explorer, but I'm very anal retentive about making website works with (nearly) every (relatively new) browser. I'm having a rollover issue with Netscape 6.2. I'm designing a dot com website, with rollover navigational buttons -- not a big deal, simple shit -- and these buttons work FINE in Netscape 4.75 (smooth as butta); however, they're -- for lack of a better term -- quirky in Netscape 6.2. They FUNCTION, but look like shit in the process. Should I avoid this issue and go on with life, and assume that Netscape 6.2 -- though embracing a:hover -- shuns rollover graphics? I hate being browser biased. I've tried many rollover scripts, and the one I ganked from Dreamweaver 3.0 has never let me down, until now, that is. Just how many folks use Netscape 6.2?

10 August 2002

[I Never Win Anything]

For some strange reason late last night while slightly buzzed from my stale beer, I decided to visit SKYY Vodka's website and sign up for the daily poster giveaway. I've done it a couple times before in the past, but never won. Well, this morning -- or more accurately, this afternoon (I'm rarly awake in the morning) -- I received a bit-o-happy news in my mailbox: Congratulations Amanda B*****, You are the lucky winner in today's Free SKYY Poster Giveaway. The poster you have selected, "Bollocks" will be shipped to your address at: *** ********, Apt. #* Cincinnati, OH 452** Please allow up to 6 weeks for delivery. Cheers, SKYY Vodka www.SKYY.com Now, to find wall-space for my new poster.

10 August 2002

[Note to Self]

The longer the beer is in the fridge, the quicker I get buzzed. It's some sort of punishment. As if the beer wants to be consumed, quickly and painlessly as soon as it reaches my refrigerator's shelf. The red dog is staring at me, mad, as if it wasn't good enough to be cracked open on day one. Seriously, though, a six pack of beer rarely lasts a day on the shelf; I generally drink it within 24 hours. But, about three weeks ago -- I remember like it was yesterday, yes, "lasagna night" -- I bought a six pack of red dog, and completely forgot about it. And after unearthing it two nights ago, as it was camoflaged under a pizza box, I decided to crack open a bottle, only to discover that it tasted mildly shitty. So here I am, drinking beer number three out of the six pack (I had one last night with dinner) and sporting a nice buzz, the type of buzz which generally creeps up on me after three or four beers. Need to get sugar cubes for Absinthe.

10 August 2002

[La Fée Verte]

I think it's funny that I'm broke until next friday, but I still managed to spend three bucks on a cup of overpriced coffee. I'd been craving a big fat latte with a squirt of caramel all fucking week. And now that I've satisfied that need, I feel almost enlightened. I find it all too strange that when I want something -- I mean really want something -- I'm not happy until I get it. My homemade coffee just wasn't cutting it. And now I'm wired. Now If my wired ass could just find the motivation to run to the store and by some sugar cubes; I'd like to finish that bottle of Absinthe in my pantry. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I'll drink a few beers and watch Conan.

06 August 2002

[Vibrating Sex Toy in Her Luggage]

My arms have finally recuperated from my saturday firearms excursion. And I'm actually thinking that what I called "good, clean white trash fun" really was a good time. Hell, it's cheaper than drinking and packs a pretty good adrenaline rush. Now I could only get targets of some of those kids who pissed me off. Perhaps I shouldn't say such a thing. This will definitely be a private entry, just because of that comment. It seems as if my ties with my old high school job aren't completely broken. Last year I created a website for a Senior English teacher; she's going to pay me to maintain it for her next year. After she mentioned it to me tuesday -- I went to a "lunch thing" at a former coworker's home where I saw (almost) everyone in my old department -- my former boss mentioned something about there being enough money in the budget to pay me to create and maintain a site for the entire department. So, yeah, I'm happy about this extra job -- on top of teaching at UC this fall and continuing the site projects I have going on right now -- but having this tie to a high school puts me in such an odd position. I can't be myself. When I worked on the college level, I never had to wear a mask. No one cared about my tattoos or my tendency to dress slightly odd. I never thought twice about running into students at clubs or whatnot. Granted I "cleaned up" a bit for students, but my coworkers all knew me fairly well. But at the high school I worked at, things were so different. If I even mentioned anything remotely obscure or "wrong," eyes rolled. I understand, really I do. On the high school level, educators are supposed to role models. But does that mean we have to sacrifice our individuality? If any of my high school coworkers knew I had my nipples pierced, they'd shit a fucking prick. Hell, if they knew what some of my past "non resume" jobs were, they would have never hired me. When I worked at UC, I wore a fucking 10 gage septum ring and still had all the respect I deserved. ho hum In other news, I finally got around to putting together resumes and letters today for various teaching positions at different UC campuses. This weekend, I'm vowing to study for my comps.

03 August 2002

[Dr. Authorization Required]

This has been a busy week. I started a big web design project, which will be unveiled in the near future, once issues are resolved and more photos are taken. Actually, I'm tossing around two web projects, but they're related, sorta. This morning, I went rifle shooting with my dad and my brother's friend who just got home from Afghanistan. My shoulder is killing me, and I thought my right wrist was a goner for a minute, after I shot my first handgun - I had shot shotguns before, but no small firearms. If this neighborhood gets any scarier, I might have to purchase one, though, despite the fact that I'd rather get a big dog. All in all, good, clean, white trash fun.