And on that note...
Showing posts with label crazypants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazypants. Show all posts
06 January 2010
26 September 2008
V. Important.
Thanks to Bex for this one. I think it's important enough to repeat here. Why aren't we seeing these clips, these images of Iraq in mainstream media? I have no doubt it would make a difference in the polls.
F.
04 September 2008
30 June 2008
Diabolique Biologique
After a hard year of nothing good, a year that came after another two filled with nothing good (save a few notable exceptions), I saw and said good bye to my Dad today. One year to the day since his calling the police on the love of my life, since telling great ghastly, life-altering lies to "the authorities," to a lawyer, to his wife, to me, to everyone, we met at a cafe, I said my peace (my many pieces, perhaps), and bid him farewell.
His morning message said "Hi, Amber, it's your Bio Dad..." which is a very weird thing to say. He followed this up with the fact that he would be in town for the rest of the day and the following morning (though he had already been here for nearly a week) and did I want to get together for a cup of tea? Which also struck me as a weird thing to say. The entire message = very weird. It's saved on my phone, if you care to listen. I value your opinion.
I'm not really sure why I decided to see him in the end. But I found myself on the phone, returning the stilted message, agreeing to meet if he could make in the next hour. Ten minutes later, Chai in hand, there we are sitting across from each other as if we had anything else in common but the mysterious coding that produced this particular nose, fair skin and graying strawberry hair.
Essentially I told him that I wasn't interested in investing in our relationship any longer, that I regret the amount of time and energy I'd put in over the course of my life (from early childhood on up to a year ago) trying to bridge the giant gaps between the two of us, as well as between me and his wife. I reiterated something I'd said last year, that I was glad to have at least seen behind the curtain and to know who they both were and what they were capable of (not just how they treated me or Joosh, but their employees, other family, friends, John Q. Public of their clientel), though I wish the lesson could have been shorter and less drawn out. I am dense, or naive, too hopeful and benefit-of-the-doubt-y, or probably all of the above. I said that while I wish things would have worked out differently, overall I am exceedingly happy to have stepped off the "Scott and Jeanne Showboat." Life is good on this side of the shitstorm-filled river.
In a nutshell, he disagreed with my perspective, told me that he has "deep and connected relationships with lots of people" and would like to have one with me. However, survey says: not possible. And I told him as such.
One moment that will live forever in my memory of this meeting is when I said that some people - Joosh, for example - only have one parent, and it's up to that one parent to be somewhat selfless in order to provide everything for their children, raise them up as best they can, etc. So here I am, with a whole bevy of parental units, the majority of whom end up being shockingly narcissistic, self-centered, not at all focused on their children, and what are the statistical odds of that happening? His reaction? Nope, not denial. He totally laughed, and then smirked in this strange shoulder-shrugging, "what can you do?" sort of agreement. Christ. Just like the time he offered up "Well she knew who I was when she married me, what did she think was going to change with a ring?" when I asked why he was such a cheater (blatant, blatant, cheater), as if it was matter of poor judgment on his wife's part, rather than a fuckface flaw of his.
So yeah. What can I say? Just what I said to him, which is that he's my father, I'll always love him for that reason, but that I'm removing myself from the dysfunction junction that is the life he leads and leaving the inadequate and unhealthy relationship dynamic until further notice. I know they say that blood is thicker than water, and you can choose your friends, but you can't choose family, and yadda yadda yadda, but with respect to the institution of familyhood, I am opting to disagree. Life is too damn short to spend in on this kind of treadmill.
His morning message said "Hi, Amber, it's your Bio Dad..." which is a very weird thing to say. He followed this up with the fact that he would be in town for the rest of the day and the following morning (though he had already been here for nearly a week) and did I want to get together for a cup of tea? Which also struck me as a weird thing to say. The entire message = very weird. It's saved on my phone, if you care to listen. I value your opinion.
I'm not really sure why I decided to see him in the end. But I found myself on the phone, returning the stilted message, agreeing to meet if he could make in the next hour. Ten minutes later, Chai in hand, there we are sitting across from each other as if we had anything else in common but the mysterious coding that produced this particular nose, fair skin and graying strawberry hair.
Essentially I told him that I wasn't interested in investing in our relationship any longer, that I regret the amount of time and energy I'd put in over the course of my life (from early childhood on up to a year ago) trying to bridge the giant gaps between the two of us, as well as between me and his wife. I reiterated something I'd said last year, that I was glad to have at least seen behind the curtain and to know who they both were and what they were capable of (not just how they treated me or Joosh, but their employees, other family, friends, John Q. Public of their clientel), though I wish the lesson could have been shorter and less drawn out. I am dense, or naive, too hopeful and benefit-of-the-doubt-y, or probably all of the above. I said that while I wish things would have worked out differently, overall I am exceedingly happy to have stepped off the "Scott and Jeanne Showboat." Life is good on this side of the shitstorm-filled river.
In a nutshell, he disagreed with my perspective, told me that he has "deep and connected relationships with lots of people" and would like to have one with me. However, survey says: not possible. And I told him as such.
One moment that will live forever in my memory of this meeting is when I said that some people - Joosh, for example - only have one parent, and it's up to that one parent to be somewhat selfless in order to provide everything for their children, raise them up as best they can, etc. So here I am, with a whole bevy of parental units, the majority of whom end up being shockingly narcissistic, self-centered, not at all focused on their children, and what are the statistical odds of that happening? His reaction? Nope, not denial. He totally laughed, and then smirked in this strange shoulder-shrugging, "what can you do?" sort of agreement. Christ. Just like the time he offered up "Well she knew who I was when she married me, what did she think was going to change with a ring?" when I asked why he was such a cheater (blatant, blatant, cheater), as if it was matter of poor judgment on his wife's part, rather than a fuckface flaw of his.
So yeah. What can I say? Just what I said to him, which is that he's my father, I'll always love him for that reason, but that I'm removing myself from the dysfunction junction that is the life he leads and leaving the inadequate and unhealthy relationship dynamic until further notice. I know they say that blood is thicker than water, and you can choose your friends, but you can't choose family, and yadda yadda yadda, but with respect to the institution of familyhood, I am opting to disagree. Life is too damn short to spend in on this kind of treadmill.
24 May 2008
No Longer In Danger Of Becoming A Friendless Joyless Luckless Misanthropic Shut-In.
My first two years or so in Portland, I knew exactly six people. Two of these were the dear dear Watsons, friends made years and years ago when we were young (babies, all of us) and childless (them) and extremely proficient drinkers (mostly me).
Another two knowns were my hapless co-workers at the ridiculous excuse for a company owned and operated by my coo-coo-for-cocoa-puffs Dad and Step-mom.
And two of the six, of course, were my family-business-owning folks. Who promptly decided to MOVE TO MEXICO three months after I got here (the myriad problems this eventually brushed up against most certainly contributed to the fact that I continued to know only the same few people for months and months and months after they moved away... but I digress). So soon it was down to just four people.
I worked a lot while employed at the parental units' company. On the weekends, Joosh and I would run around town and have fun as only the two of us can, but never in any kind of branching-out-and-meeting others sort of way. Often I would get drinks with my poor tortured co-workers, Happy Hour bitchfests, running, jumping, diving into sorrow-drowning cocktails after work. But as much as I love these women (more than a year after leaving Crazy, Inc. I still adore them), they are a generation and/or two ahead of me. Our lives are very different and so more often than not it was less socializing, per se, and more bitterly complaining about the encroaching insanity at the office. Other than that, until the Watson's moved here, in fact, the most out-of-work socializing I managed was with periodic out-of-town visitors!
In short, the moral of the intro story here: Not exactly an instant social butterfly in my adopted home state.
Until now, that is...
Not only did I meet incredible people in my writing class last Quarter, I've managed to force about 60% of them into continuing to be my friends and associates by starting a writing group and demanding that they gather to read and listen to me, um, I mean to each other every other week. So far so good.
In addition, one of the lovely ladies I met in the class started what she calls "Nerdy Ladies Board Game Night" and involves a rotating group of about 30 gals who gather five and ten at a time at a local pub on Sundays and Wednesdays to play board games. Last week we played The Game of Life - Simpsons version - and as in the real deal, I was excellent at making money but more exceptional still at losing it. I did manage to get away with only having one child, where another gal had to get a second car to tote around her giant clan, but she actually ended up having a pile of a million and a half bucks in spite of all the college and orthodontia and whatnot, so maybe there is something to the whole "have a litter" mentality. But this is beside the point! The point is, I met new people! I ventured out! I socialized! It was amazing.
And so. Between these intellectually stimulating pursuits and the myriad people I'm meeting at the Wellness Center (free massage, free acupuncture, free chiro, free! free! free!) and in the strange world of business networking* I am clearly on my way to being the absolute Belle of the P-town Ball. Appallingly, I don't have the wardrobe for it, I'm afraid to admit. And since Wellness Centers pay well in free treatments but not necessarily in greenbacks, well, I'm rather poorly equiped to span the bridge between student-y/bordering-on-slovenly casz and creatively proffesionally artfully well put together. Well put together has never been my strong suit. This is my only complaint in all the newfound goodness, and therefore I am not actually complaining. That would be ridiculous.
*I don't even know how to describe this weird phenom called networking - there are networking groups of 10, 30 (100!) who get together every other week and, like network, and then once a month a bunch of these smaller networking groups gather together in one giant room to network with each other and though it all seems absurd, tons of work is passed around and met about and contracted and completed and paid for or traded. I have already been contacted by two potential new clients, and I've only been to one networking event, not even as part of a group (cause ps - they cost money to join!). Oh strange and unusual new world I've stumbled upon. I know people have been so-called-networking for years and years - wasn't it like the power word of the late 80's? - but that it still goes on, and that it is not just a code word for getting shitfaced drunk with peers and writing it off, I don't know, I am a little mystified.
Another two knowns were my hapless co-workers at the ridiculous excuse for a company owned and operated by my coo-coo-for-cocoa-puffs Dad and Step-mom.
And two of the six, of course, were my family-business-owning folks. Who promptly decided to MOVE TO MEXICO three months after I got here (the myriad problems this eventually brushed up against most certainly contributed to the fact that I continued to know only the same few people for months and months and months after they moved away... but I digress). So soon it was down to just four people.
I worked a lot while employed at the parental units' company. On the weekends, Joosh and I would run around town and have fun as only the two of us can, but never in any kind of branching-out-and-meeting others sort of way. Often I would get drinks with my poor tortured co-workers, Happy Hour bitchfests, running, jumping, diving into sorrow-drowning cocktails after work. But as much as I love these women (more than a year after leaving Crazy, Inc. I still adore them), they are a generation and/or two ahead of me. Our lives are very different and so more often than not it was less socializing, per se, and more bitterly complaining about the encroaching insanity at the office. Other than that, until the Watson's moved here, in fact, the most out-of-work socializing I managed was with periodic out-of-town visitors!
In short, the moral of the intro story here: Not exactly an instant social butterfly in my adopted home state.
Until now, that is...
Not only did I meet incredible people in my writing class last Quarter, I've managed to force about 60% of them into continuing to be my friends and associates by starting a writing group and demanding that they gather to read and listen to me, um, I mean to each other every other week. So far so good.
In addition, one of the lovely ladies I met in the class started what she calls "Nerdy Ladies Board Game Night" and involves a rotating group of about 30 gals who gather five and ten at a time at a local pub on Sundays and Wednesdays to play board games. Last week we played The Game of Life - Simpsons version - and as in the real deal, I was excellent at making money but more exceptional still at losing it. I did manage to get away with only having one child, where another gal had to get a second car to tote around her giant clan, but she actually ended up having a pile of a million and a half bucks in spite of all the college and orthodontia and whatnot, so maybe there is something to the whole "have a litter" mentality. But this is beside the point! The point is, I met new people! I ventured out! I socialized! It was amazing.
And so. Between these intellectually stimulating pursuits and the myriad people I'm meeting at the Wellness Center (free massage, free acupuncture, free chiro, free! free! free!) and in the strange world of business networking* I am clearly on my way to being the absolute Belle of the P-town Ball. Appallingly, I don't have the wardrobe for it, I'm afraid to admit. And since Wellness Centers pay well in free treatments but not necessarily in greenbacks, well, I'm rather poorly equiped to span the bridge between student-y/bordering-on-slovenly casz and creatively proffesionally artfully well put together. Well put together has never been my strong suit. This is my only complaint in all the newfound goodness, and therefore I am not actually complaining. That would be ridiculous.
*I don't even know how to describe this weird phenom called networking - there are networking groups of 10, 30 (100!) who get together every other week and, like network, and then once a month a bunch of these smaller networking groups gather together in one giant room to network with each other and though it all seems absurd, tons of work is passed around and met about and contracted and completed and paid for or traded. I have already been contacted by two potential new clients, and I've only been to one networking event, not even as part of a group (cause ps - they cost money to join!). Oh strange and unusual new world I've stumbled upon. I know people have been so-called-networking for years and years - wasn't it like the power word of the late 80's? - but that it still goes on, and that it is not just a code word for getting shitfaced drunk with peers and writing it off, I don't know, I am a little mystified.
23 March 2008
I Ride My Bike, I Roller Skate, Don't Drive No Car.
Please imagine a wee spotty Anthony Michael Hall singing to Molly Ringwald in the passenger seat of the front half of an old American car in a typical High School shop class garage as you read the following: "Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh, you say it's your birthday, duh nuh nuh nuh, it's my birthday too, yeah!"
It's my birthday! Or it was my birthday, several days ago now. (Thursday, according to the belated email I received from my Stepmother on Friday that said "Yesterday went by in a minute, and I'm only now sending you my birthday wishes" but truly, it was Wednesday). It was terrific, thank you.
The darling man who spoils me rotten at every gifty opportunity purchased a fantabulous bicycle for me. It's called "The Amsterdam" (from Electra), and yes I feel totally Euro riding it around. It has a sweet not-too-shrill bell and a light that generates power from the turning of the front wheel (which my grandfather says adds a twenty pound drag equivalent, but I am inclined not to believe him because this is the 21st Century and I am confident that the technology of such things has improved since the last time he had anything similar on his bicycle in the 1980s). The chain is enclosed, as are the gears, so no grease or catching of my skirts on moving parts (because when have you ever known me to wear pants, except overalls once or twice while fishing or carving pumpkins ten years ago?). All I need to complete the oh-so-EU package is some kind of saddle bag on the rear and maybe a wicker basket for the front.
The darling man who spoils me rotten at every gifty opportunity purchased a fantabulous bicycle for me. It's called "The Amsterdam" (from Electra), and yes I feel totally Euro riding it around. It has a sweet not-too-shrill bell and a light that generates power from the turning of the front wheel (which my grandfather says adds a twenty pound drag equivalent, but I am inclined not to believe him because this is the 21st Century and I am confident that the technology of such things has improved since the last time he had anything similar on his bicycle in the 1980s). The chain is enclosed, as are the gears, so no grease or catching of my skirts on moving parts (because when have you ever known me to wear pants, except overalls once or twice while fishing or carving pumpkins ten years ago?). All I need to complete the oh-so-EU package is some kind of saddle bag on the rear and maybe a wicker basket for the front.
The aforementioned darling, taking the shiny new toy down from the crusty old bike rack that lay neglected on the porch all winter and seems to have served as a nice shelter for several insect and arachnid families.
Wheeeee, biking! I am especially thrilled that my shoes match the bike. I totally planned that. And the fact that I look like I just woke up, put on a velour jogger over my nightgown and hopped carefree onto my stylin new ride? Completely intentional as well.
Earlier in the morning we went to breakfast, and I tried my hand at food porn photography:
Not quite what I was hoping for. (It might have been helpful if I had remembered to take photos before digging in - smeared red pepper coulis is probably not attractive in any light, I would think).
Not quite what I was hoping for. (It might have been helpful if I had remembered to take photos before digging in - smeared red pepper coulis is probably not attractive in any light, I would think).Went for a swing around the hood. Nice day for it. Didn't fall off or kill myself: It's like riding a bike.
Napped. Chatted on the phone. Wrote in my journal. Read tarot cards. Chatted with Joosh. Hunted online for reviews of the city's best Carrot Cake - really just wanted the cream cheese frosting, and Portland's infinitely discriminating Foodies helped a sister out by continually reviewing different options based on their components, cake and frosting, instead of just whole enchilada. Awesome.
Headed out to "A Piece Of Cake" which was well-reviewed, conveniently close to the Watson's and claimed to be voted "Best Cake In Portland." Which is maybe not the whole truth, as it turns out. It was mighty fine, don't get me wrong, especially for the vegan and gluten-free options we sampled (yes, yes, I'm turning into THAT person, whatever) but I don't know that I would say best in the city. In fact, having satisfied the chocolate itch but not the Carrot Cake need, the next day I bought slices of Vegan Carrot Cake and Vegan Wheat Free Oatmeal Cake from New Seasons and both were amazing, much more satisfying than the carrot option from the night before. Maybe my error was in purchasing Cupcake cake, instead of Slices of Cake cake.
Anyway, went to Sushi at the old favorite. The kids did very well and the food was huge, fresh, delicious and cheap, as per usual (the best part though was the fact that Sarah and Jakob threw us into the parties-of-six-or-more category that can leave a cell number and wait somewhere warm to be called back to a ready table, instead of freezing our collective buns off outside with the rest of the shnooks - since the Watson's live so close, we kicked it at the house and then hightailed it over apres phone call).
Then back to the house for statements like "Ugh, I'm so full" and Jakob's cute attempts to stall bedtime, and a little bit of baby snuggle time for me.
The object(s) of my affection (the one in pink, with the round head, and the one in black, also with a round head, though the one in blue bearing a slight resemblance to Ben Affleck is no chopped liver and does tell a wicked story).
Can I just take a minute to say: Baby snuggles are the best best best. Followed by cupcakes. (Which were totally good, don't let my curmudgeonly withholding of the "Best In Portland" moniker deter you. The only thing that should deter you is the scary "Amby's-Kitty-Cat-Pee-Grandma" style decor of the interior of the shop... dusty old 1950's aprons, weird ceramic antique-ish tea sets, boxes and boxes and SHOEBOXES of random single cards for all occasions, including some in Spanish and Russian. I wish I'd taken photos. Oh wait, you can see a small one right here, but it really only scratches the quaint surface).
The object(s) of my affection (the one in pink, with the round head, and the one in black, also with a round head, though the one in blue bearing a slight resemblance to Ben Affleck is no chopped liver and does tell a wicked story).Can I just take a minute to say: Baby snuggles are the best best best. Followed by cupcakes. (Which were totally good, don't let my curmudgeonly withholding of the "Best In Portland" moniker deter you. The only thing that should deter you is the scary "Amby's-Kitty-Cat-Pee-Grandma" style decor of the interior of the shop... dusty old 1950's aprons, weird ceramic antique-ish tea sets, boxes and boxes and SHOEBOXES of random single cards for all occasions, including some in Spanish and Russian. I wish I'd taken photos. Oh wait, you can see a small one right here, but it really only scratches the quaint surface).
More bad food photos for you. Chocolate Cherry, Carrot, Lemon White Chocolate Chiffon, Chocolate Caramel and Chocolate with Vanilla Frosting. Three of these vegan & wheat free, if I'm not mistaken, but I can't remember which three.We divided each in quarters and went to town, but were bested by 3 and 4 quarters each. I'm told that the next day Jakob said "I'm going to have one of Amber's cups!" which is especially cute since I didn't think he had even spotted them the night before. Smooth operator, and cute to boot.
The piece de resistance of my entire birthday, however, was this:
I keep opening that sucker up and giggling. Eventually it will probably stop making me laugh and start making me feel heinously old since that movie came out TWENTY-FOUR YEARS AGO. But for the moment I am still blissed out on birthday goodness, so who cares, years are just numbers and blah blah blah. And I loves me some Jake Ryan always and forever... even if I am now old enough to be a cougar to his high-school hotness (the only thing about this that doesn't send me screaming to the botox clinic is that the actor was at least 25 at the time of filming, and while maybe not totally kosher, that's still better matched with 32 than 18 will ever be - too bad I keep getting older while Jake is frozen in cinematic time). Sigh.
10 February 2008
Irony.
Amy Winehouse wins Grammy for "Rehab."
I'm sure you've heard the song, right? With the chorus that goes something along the lines of "They tried to make me go to Rehab, and I said no, no, no."
She's the UK's own Britney of the moment, except instead of an "inbred swamp thing," she's a nice Jewish girl from London with the voice of a soulful black lady, a WASPy eating disorder and a ghetto-worthy drug problem to boot. And the reason she couldn't attend the Grammy's in person was in part because she was denied the Visa she applied for FROM REHAB.
Art, life, life, art. Bravo, to both of you. No no, take a bow.
22 August 2007
Out of the closet.
I've been outed. In my haste, late last night, I forgot to switch my Google login info before posting a comment on the Watsonian blog. Bexy, the eagle-eyed future lawyer, of course spotted my odd moniker immediately and, well, now the pressure is on. I thought I might get away with skulking around the whole thing a bit more, but no. I am unveiled.
It's true that I've been saying "Maybe I should throw up a blog" for, what... at least four months now, I think. And it was back in Berkeley (ought three, as I recall) that I registered my first site with the intention of writing/posting something - anything - up on the bare white background. But again, no. Didn't happen. I was bested by the intimidating "Coming Soon" which taunted me, mockingly marring the nothingness. That particular domain expired by the time I'd been in Ventura several months and really didn't have much to say that didn't involve my nutball family relations or untellable gossip about old friends and former co-workers (CBTL5, I'm looking at you!).
But with Bextravagant taking the plunge, my interest was renewed, and my natural laziness toward invested creative endeavors started to abate. Plus I live in a pretty kick-ass town, so perhaps, just maybe, I thought, there would be a few more interesting things to write about than the non-stop back-brain chatter of my so-called "rich inner life" and the tragedy of near-Shakespearean proportions that had been unfolding in my work and personal life since my naive naive naive attempt to work with my crazypants family (PDX contingent).
The clincher, really, has been getting to keep tabs on what Bex was up to without our (now infamous in my household) marathon phone calls*. The daily treat of her various newsy finds and the diligent progress posts about the literal and figurative road to law school has been so terrific, while stalking Preggers through her Beancubation period was such a treat, and that's not to mention the periodic updates from friends and friends-of-friends further afield. All of this together in the tiny, webbed, blogosphere, that it seemed like such a perfect and totally modern way (jesus, I sound like I'm 80 years old) to keep in sort-of touch, share all the random good/weird/bad/fun/completely ridiculous/possibly very boring stuff and create a medium for some community connection without e-mail bombing 25 people or having the same conversations over and over (and over and over and over), or having to create a really ugly, assultive-music-and-nasty-wall-paper MySpace page.
So I finally did it, a few nights ago, while avoiding editing some text for a client's web site. (I accomplish so much of the Non-Vital when I am procrastinating the Immediately-Needed, it's truly amazing).
And now here I am. No matter how you slice it, I am definitely late to the Blogger-ing party, but that is typical with me and all things ever considered to be interesting or cutting edge. We'll see how it goes.
*Not that I don't enjoy our 2 hour and 44 minute "chats," but they are hard to commit to in the middle of work (or school) weeks and of course, weekend schedules are such that all of a sudden it's Monday, and I've talked to my Grandma twice and my mom at least once, but somehow didn't follow through on outbound dialing of the intended 510/805/now-480 call.
Same goes for you, Three-One-Oh Jojo, but with the miracle that is IM during work hours (where were you, sweet chat software, in 1998, when I sat for 8 hours every day with nothing to do but email friends absurd quizzes at their similarly boring, brand new, I-can't-believe-I-went-to-college-for-this-shiit job and wait impatiently for the replies to try and alleviate my growing sense of oppressive doom), I feel like it's less infrequent to be able to check in with you for a status report. Too bad you don't have a blog, too. Though it occurs to me that you probably couldn't have a blog, what with all the Hollywood secrets you have been sworn to never reveal. Shame, really.
It's true that I've been saying "Maybe I should throw up a blog" for, what... at least four months now, I think. And it was back in Berkeley (ought three, as I recall) that I registered my first site with the intention of writing/posting something - anything - up on the bare white background. But again, no. Didn't happen. I was bested by the intimidating "Coming Soon" which taunted me, mockingly marring the nothingness. That particular domain expired by the time I'd been in Ventura several months and really didn't have much to say that didn't involve my nutball family relations or untellable gossip about old friends and former co-workers (CBTL5, I'm looking at you!).
But with Bextravagant taking the plunge, my interest was renewed, and my natural laziness toward invested creative endeavors started to abate. Plus I live in a pretty kick-ass town, so perhaps, just maybe, I thought, there would be a few more interesting things to write about than the non-stop back-brain chatter of my so-called "rich inner life" and the tragedy of near-Shakespearean proportions that had been unfolding in my work and personal life since my naive naive naive attempt to work with my crazypants family (PDX contingent).
The clincher, really, has been getting to keep tabs on what Bex was up to without our (now infamous in my household) marathon phone calls*. The daily treat of her various newsy finds and the diligent progress posts about the literal and figurative road to law school has been so terrific, while stalking Preggers through her Beancubation period was such a treat, and that's not to mention the periodic updates from friends and friends-of-friends further afield. All of this together in the tiny, webbed, blogosphere, that it seemed like such a perfect and totally modern way (jesus, I sound like I'm 80 years old) to keep in sort-of touch, share all the random good/weird/bad/fun/completely ridiculous/possibly very boring stuff and create a medium for some community connection without e-mail bombing 25 people or having the same conversations over and over (and over and over and over), or having to create a really ugly, assultive-music-and-nasty-wall-paper MySpace page.
So I finally did it, a few nights ago, while avoiding editing some text for a client's web site. (I accomplish so much of the Non-Vital when I am procrastinating the Immediately-Needed, it's truly amazing).
And now here I am. No matter how you slice it, I am definitely late to the Blogger-ing party, but that is typical with me and all things ever considered to be interesting or cutting edge. We'll see how it goes.
*Not that I don't enjoy our 2 hour and 44 minute "chats," but they are hard to commit to in the middle of work (or school) weeks and of course, weekend schedules are such that all of a sudden it's Monday, and I've talked to my Grandma twice and my mom at least once, but somehow didn't follow through on outbound dialing of the intended 510/805/now-480 call.
Same goes for you, Three-One-Oh Jojo, but with the miracle that is IM during work hours (where were you, sweet chat software, in 1998, when I sat for 8 hours every day with nothing to do but email friends absurd quizzes at their similarly boring, brand new, I-can't-believe-I-went-to-college-for-this-shiit job and wait impatiently for the replies to try and alleviate my growing sense of oppressive doom), I feel like it's less infrequent to be able to check in with you for a status report. Too bad you don't have a blog, too. Though it occurs to me that you probably couldn't have a blog, what with all the Hollywood secrets you have been sworn to never reveal. Shame, really.
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