all i'm saying is one of us might need a little nap

okay. i'm not making any sort of judgment right here with this. let's make that clear.

so there's a guy. his name is adam gehrke. back in the old college days, he was the king of KUPS, 90.1 The Sound. now he is adam the traffic report guy on the radio and on Q13 morning news. he is very good at it.

in addition to being good at what he does, adam has a website. please peruse his modeling shots.

no judgment.


i never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters

okay. while i do not condone violence as a solution to our problems (even though i think a well-timed kick to leslie moonves' head might help the UPN and CBS line-ups) i really have to say that catholic schoolgirls unleashing their inner demons on a sexual predator is the greatest thing that has happened in a long-ass time. the only thing that could have made that better would be if they had pelted him with rotten fruit as well.

happy halloween

now leave me alone.


this song is called the CIA: our maligned little brother

i saw the new jane campion film in the cut the other night and i have to say, i was pretty well disappointed. the first disappointment came with the realization that nicole kidman would no longer play the female lead, but rather meg fucking ryan in her "in case you didn't see when a man loves a woman i can sort of act in a dramatic role" role. there's been a lot of re-bop about the film, as the international version, apparently, is extremely sexually explicit. the oral sex scenes have been cut for the american release (but rent the dvd if you want to see america's ex-sweetheart get eaten out), so they scraped by with an r-rating. meg ryan's breasts, as far as i can tell, are about the only legitimate reason to see the film. the direction and camerawork were, i will admit, very well done. nicely dark and cramped. i liked it. the acting was so-so (with a nice turn by kevin bacon, which is weird because i usually hate him and i thought he did a great job in this as well as mystic river). i only bought meg ryan as being capable of pseudo-sexual-perversity because she cheated on poor ex-anorexic/awesome dude dennis quaid with that fat kiwi russell crowe. oh, is it just me or is my ex-boyfriend mark ruffalo getting fatter, skankier and more vincent d'onofrio-like with every passing minute?

as i was saying: the movie was disappointing. jane campion has some moves, but the story was pretty lackluster and unimaginative. oh, and for all of its artistic integrity bullshit, it somehow failed to evade the acrid stench of soft-core pornography.

remind me to cut off your balls later

so this morning, i'm going to work. on the corner of 6th and pike, i stop and wait for the little walky dude to light up so i can cross. i look up and the traffic light has turned yellow, there are no cars coming, so i step out into the crosswalk. i get four steps in and the light changes, the walky dude comes up, all clear. i get to the sidewalk and then, a siren bleeps. a really mean voice yells, "miss, come over here." i look around. a motorcycle cop has just pulled my pedestrian ass over to the curb. i am, for a second, mortified. for about three seconds. when i realize that he is about to chastise me for sort-of-jaywalking, it all becomes borderline-hilarious. "why did you jaywalk right in front of me?" i think about it for a milisecond. "because i didn't see you?" he looks at me, well i'm assuming he was looking at me from behind those shiny cop sunglasses (which he was wearing in total absence of glare-producing sunlight, i'd like to point out), and uses his respect my authoritay voice: "well, that's a $47 dollar citation. wait for the light next time." then he tools off on his copper-cycle.

i start laughing. everyone who witnessed the interaction begins laughing as well. this guy in a suit who looks uncannily like a young john travolta walks up to me and says something like that was so funny, blah blah, i'm glad you didn't get a ticket... we walk down the block and i look at the guy and i say, "do i know you from somewhere? you went to UPS didn't you?" and he did. weirdly enough. his name is brendan or brandon and he was in my environmental science class with eriks (plural). i don't remember if i thought it then, but man, this brendon/brandon guy is hot. makes me want to watch stayin' alive.

you know what i want to do now?



take it down a notch, charlemagne

due to the whole stress fracture thing, i've had to make some short-term concessions. those pointy shoes with kitten heels i love so much: replaced with plain jane flats. also--i've had to dial back on the physical exertion, which, at first glance, doesn't appear to be much of a problem seeing as how i don't so much do the exercise thing. don't do it. no running, no pilates, no gym, nothing. i don't like it. i will pay for it later, i'm sure, but doubtless i will be able to counter that with an eating disorder of some kind. so i figure, comfy shoes, no exercise, i'm home free. then i remembered that i walk to and from work every goddamn day, and i don't work down the street, it takes me a good 20-25 minutes both ways, all up- or down-hill. i tried to walk the first day and ended up calling a cab because i couldn't walk anymore and was nowhere near a bus stop. i have been thus relegated to catching the 3 or the 4 from the stop near my building, which sucks because i don't like being a slave to a schedule other than my own. if i'm late walking out the door, i can just walk faster and get to work on time (and by "on time," i mean "still late, but not as late as i could have been"), but if i'm late for the bus, i have to wait 15 more minutes and i can't exactly ask the driver to speed to make up for lost time.

actually, maybe i'll try that once.

so this bus thread had a point and that point was: i'm at the bus stop this morning, right? it's just me, standing in the little awning. it's a bit chilly, but not windy and not rainy. crisp. i appreciated it. then a woman walks up and stands right outside the awning. we stood there silently and waited for the bus. then another woman, accompanied by a man approached and they joined the bus stop party. good times. then this guy walks up and stands under the awning, three feet away from me. and he starts yelling, in that hoarse, throaty growl that street preachers always seem to have. he yelled the following non-stop for the 6 more minutes until the bus arrived: "you want him to live! he killed fifty people and you want him to live! he's gonna get out and rape more kids and cut their heads off! you white devils! the white devils want him to live! look at all the blue eyed white devils they'll be smashing heads..." and so on and so forth, world without end.

i got a little uncomfortable when he got to the "white devils" part of the tirade, mostly because racism makes me uncomfortable, but also because it was at that point that i realized that i was the only white person there and he was looking, maybe not at me, he had crazy eyes, but definitely in my direction the whole time. and on top of that, i was curious--i mean the guy was pretty much certifiable and all, but if some serial killer/child rapist is getting out of prison or walking the streets, i want to know about it, dammit. i could have asked, i suppose, but he also could have wigged out and slashed the white devil's throat. being crazy and all.

AND cute AND fuzzy!!!

okay--so the glitch with the comments has been fixed. well, not really fixed, just avoided, really. apparently, there is some bug that messes things up when there is an apostrophe in the title. i don't know why this is true, i didn't ask. so i will now be using backslashes instead of apostrophes in the titles, okay? okay.


they/ll never catch me, man, cause i/m fucking innocent

i just received the following e-mail:

-----Original Message-----
From: Data Security
Sent: Tuesday, October 28, 2003 12:50 PM
Subject: Password Protection

Data Security Password Protection Auditing has flagged your Systems Access password.All passwords should consist of 6 or more characters with at least one number and at least one uppercase letter. Your level of security requires that you use a more secure password. We suggest that you modify it in the near future.

Thank You,

Data Security

to which i can only repond in my angry voice: eat this shit, yo. my password can be my goddamn birthday if i want it to be, which it's not, so shut it, data security! can't this one area of my life be untouched by the man? just gimme this one...

is this it?

why all the rhubarb over the fucking strokes? i heard their new album, and you know what? it sounds exactly like their first album, only without that one song that i liked.


the fall/s gonna kill you

[cue thus spake zarathustra]

bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum

bum...bum...BUM BUM!!!!

i have completed all three (yes, three) of my halloween costumes. worship me.

the first is incindental. kylee and i decided that we don't want to dress up for work, even though costumes are required (yes, required) for our pot luck--so we're going to switch clothes and be each other. i'm not sure how i'm going to feel squeezed into her blue cult gywneths and james perse off-shoulder top, but i can be cosmo-trendy for one day.

the second, and based strictly on the absurdity factor, the best, is the PSU cheerleader outfit i found at the value village. picture it: me. ahe. a cheerleader. oh, it's funny. last year, when i was little red ridinghood, nobody wanted to take my cookies because they suspected they were poisoned. if i can't pull off nice, i certainly won't be able to pull off perky.

and third, and based strictly on the awesomeness factor, the best, is my group costume for the saturday night party: my friend avi is going to be max fischer and i shall be margaret yang. this would have been too esoteric for work, but i'm assuming that a bunch of effete assholes from SAM should dig it okay.

my only reservation with the margaret yang costume is that yet another room full of people will that that i'm fucking asian, which i am definitely not. dammit. every time someone calls me asian, all i can think is, "have you ever *seen* an asian person? i hate you."

lies, damn lies and statistics

just so you know, there is no rhyme or reason to my entry titles. it's whatever quote happened to pop into my head at the time, simple as that. if there happens to be some connection to the text of the post, it's purely coincedental.

murdered by pirates is good...

you know, i think something happened to me when i moved to seattle. i'm not quite sure when exactly or why or how, but i actually care about what i wear and what my hair looks like. when i was in school, i wore baggy jeans from old navy and sweatshirts and this blue pair of A/F cargos that i loved to death. i left the house with wet hair and only used chapstick on my lips and i didn't care! susan told heather that i used to be her "tomboy hero." now i'm all paper denim and cloth this and lancome juicy tubes that and mini skirts and flower pins and short hair and hipster glasses--what the fuck happened to me? was it too many episodes of will and grace? which magazing sent me over the edge? was it jane or nylon? was it seeing all of those seven jeans paraded around in seattle bars? what? since when do i use kiehl's blue herbal astringent? since when do i go to an aveda salon and use "product" and blow dry and straighten and texturize my hair? since when do i lust after 800 dollar marc jacobs handbags and dior stilettos? since when do i own pointy-toe shoes?

i was in tacoma this weekend for hillary's birthday and we went to the old spaghetti factory. hillary, keith, marshall, jene, jade, jenn, heather and i sat down together and i spent the rest of the evening being appalled by what other people in the restaurant were wearing. due to my recent denim obsession, i've developed a habit of looking at the stitching on people's butts to see who made their pants. in seattle, i usually see a billion sevens, some gap, some pdc, a few earl maybe a joe's jean. at the tacoma OSF, it was gap, old navy and lane bryant. this did not bother me--those jeans are fine, but i did find the lack of designer denim a little odd. then i saw the girl in a cropped tank top with a vest. oh my god. i saw bleached blondes with porn star make-up. i saw members only jackets and capri jeans. i saw 24 year old women in high-waisted mom pants. i saw orange shirts with silhouettes of naked women and wife-beaters under plaid jackets. fifteen year old girls in pancake makeup, black shoes with brown belts, looney toons sweatshirts, black jeans and 33 pairs of white sneakers.

i judged. i judged like crazy. these people freaked me out. i felt like i was visiting my parents in reno and the point to this is that 3 years ago, i *never* would have judged like that. the clothing trends of the clientele at the old spaghetti factory in tacoma would never, ever have given me a moment's pause. except for the girl in the cropped tank top and vest. that was just weird.


bite the big one, junior

so, i've officially switched over here from over there. i am happy with the change and i would like you to be as well. i find this new location easier to update as well as more visually appealing. i am, however, still working with the colors and the post layout...i'm need to work on spacing. let me know if you have suggestions, but keep in mind that the orange on blue will never leave. what never? no never!

i pasted the most recent entries from the old site here, just so i didn't feel so weird about not having posts.

in numbers too big to be ignored

i'm of the non-religious vein, if you must know. i guess. i suppose i don't really fit in any of those molds, really--i just don't really care either way. i don't know if there is/are (a) higher power(s) and i don't much feel like wasting my limited mental capacities debating an unresolvable issue.

that said, there's been a bit of a rhubarb over this mel gibson flick The Passion. it is, apparently, an ambitious (the dialogue is in various ancient languages: hebrew, aramaic, latin) and yet traditional (faithful to the new testament gospels) production that may or may not also be broadly anti-semetic. i haven't seen the film, so i can't and won't judge, but i will say this: if there is a god, mr. gibson--he wants you to shelve this movie. the other day, jim cavaziel, the actor playing jesus, and the assistant director of the film were struck by lightning during filming. they are both alive and recovering well. this is not the first, but the second time that the AD has been struck by lightning while on set. now, i'm not really up on god and violence and all that, but maybe someone else can tell me: is it still considered 'smiting' if the person doesn't die?


i'm taking the cure so i can be quiet

in other news: elliot smith died yesterday. and by "died," i mean "apparently committed suicide by way of a knife to the chest." this makes me sad as i felt that he was gifted. i am, however, not surprised, and all of this wailing and "what a shock" on mtv2 is so irritating. was anybody actually *surprised* that elliot fucking smith killed himself? i was surprised that he hadn't done it earlier, frankly. have you ever listened to any of his songs? i guarantee you, you slip in his s/t (the cover art for which appears to show people jumping from buildings) and i guarantee you will feel like killing yourself. now imagine how fucked up you have to be to write that sort of shadowy despair?

and also, why is it that i've yet to read an article that mentions his total smack-head-edness?



family of geniuses

heeeeee. witness this exchange between my sister and myself. we had very high sat scores, for serious.

Lissa: I think I want to be the Wonder Twins for Halloween. I can be whichever one turns into the animal and then carry around a bucket of water.

Ahe: that's hilarious. which one turns into water? it's zan, right?

Lissa: Is Zan the boy?

Ahe: yes? i'm not sure. wait, is it zan and jayna or zayna and jan?

Lisa: I don't know. Which one would the girl be?

Ahe: Jan. or Jayna.

Lissa: I think "Zayna" is a girl's name.

Ahe: and "jan" is a boy's name?

Lissa: Jan Michael Vincent is a boy.

Ahe: okay, first off, his name is "jan-michael," not "jan" and second, shut up.

Lissa: Okay, well, the girl turns into the animals, right? And the boy turns into water?

Ahe: i thought the girl turns into water.

Lissa: you thought styrofoam was edible.

Ahe: I WAS THREE!!!!! ... here , hold, on, I'll look it up. Here: http://www.supermanhomepage.com/images/superfriends/wonder-twins1.jpg
It's jayna (girl) and zan (boy). and you're right--the boy turns into water.

Lissa: You are the best. You know what would be great, a Jayna in the shape of an elephant & Zan in the shape of a bucket of water. Then I could spray people all day.


i ate-d the purple berries!

as previously discussed, i likes the girl magazines, the fashion rags, if you will. the writers bandy about such phrases as "cult products" or "underground items" to make you think that certain products are hip and indie and only used by people in the know, when what they really mean is that the label or brand is up-and-coming, ridiculously over-priced and difficult to find because their sales bases are currently small and/or regional. there's a certain prestige to owning something that is scarce or hard-to-find...i'm not sure why, but there is. i know people who will go to canada to purchase lush products...and it's fucking like soap and bubble bath, what the fuck? there are people willing to TRAVEL to get their hands on such cult favourites, it's bizarre.

i, on the other hand, am a bit too lazy for such endeavors, but when i noticed that good old barney's carried items from the duwop line, i found myself incapable of resisting the urge to spend 15 bucks on a thimble-full of "cult product" lip venom. i read like a year ago that christina ricci swears by it, and really, you can't go wrong with christina ricci (unless vincent gallo is involved, but that's another story altogether). it's supposed to tingle and make your lips fuller and redder, and it does, it really does. i looked as if i'd been making out for an hour and then ate some greasy chicken. it accomplishes this apparently, by burning the shit out of your lips. this stuff is like cinammon-flavor acid; it BURNS. and i kinda like it. sure, for a few seconds, you think the skin on your lips is going to peel off, but it doesn't and then it sizzles softly. i wouldn't suggest putting it on and then sharing a drink with someone, though. it could prove an unpleasant surprise.

monkey see, monkey KILL

meanwhile, back at the ranch:

i've been watching this tarzan show on the WB. not because i had a real interest in it, but because your friend and mine, scott g. miller is working for the show, which is super exciting. so i watch the first episode and get totally psyched because skinner from the x-files is on the show and that fucking rocks. i love that guy so much...oh, and he's BAD and bad mitch pileggi is awesome. the lead female, jane is doing a good job, i guess. i like her, she's pretty, she doesn't seem like a flighty WB woman. i know that i've seen her on something else, but i don't know what. by the second episode, i still haven't figured out where i've seen her before and it's starting to bother me, but i'm not motivated enough find out her name and google her. so, yesterday, i'm on the phone with my sister and she says, oh, by the way...dad said that some girl you went to school with is on some tv show...and all the pieces fall together and i'm like, oh holy shit! that's sarah callies! jane is sarah callies, that is so fucked up! i look it up, and it's true: the woman who plays jane on the WB's tarzan is sarah callies, a girl with whom i went to high school. you'll notice in her bio that she went to an "exclusive private school..." what bullcrap. all you needed was money, legacy or high than average intelligence. but regardless, how weird is that? she was two years ahead of me, so she was the super-cool musical theatre genius, of course. that girl could really sing. oh, and, the reason why i didn't recognize her is that she was a blonde in high school. yeah. not so much any more.

so it's weird. people i know in high school: on national tv, writing for findlaw.com, 2 playing for national league baseball teams, 4 on broadway, a couple are models, at least 3 have been published, oh, and i went to school with amanda schull, the girl from that ballet movie center stage. it seems that people who knew me 8 years ago are destined for greatness.

stick with me kids, you won't regret it.


abjection is above all ambiguity

i wasn't going to update today, being all in a tizzy about finishing up this little blurby mcgee for the big boss man. i wasn't gonna. thought to myself, "nothing will stop me from bringing the funny. must concentrate on silly dinner speech." the severity of this particular issue trumps that thought. you see, i read the girl magazines. i pick up cosmo, jane, allure, glamour, nylon, paper, marie-claire, british glamour, french marie-claire and lucky (oh lucky, my holy grail of magazines...how i worship at your capitalistic altar) every month in addition to bust, bitch, mojo, premiere, the economist, time, APM, empire, no depression, atlantic monthly, utne, filmmaker, mcsweeney's, and martha stewart living. oh holy shit i read a lot of magazines. i actually have to take out stacks once a month; i must literally take two trips to the bin.

okay, my point being: i read the fashiony girlie rags. i know what's all hip and shit, at least in NYC and LA. doesn't mean i wear high heels with pointy toes...i mean, really. why would i do that? mmm, how about i can't feel my toes? that sounds good! right. so i know that minis, especially pleated minis are all in this year. in for summer! in for fall! in for winter, yay! when it gets cold...pair with opaque tights for a mod look. so, i figure, my butt's smaller than it used to be and i've got 8 feet of legs...why not? i've been doing that, the mini thing. not every day, but at least once a week i wear a pleated mini, tights and flat shoes and a chunky sweater so as not to look like a whore. did that today. my skirt is red. i like it. it's short. i have tights on, but you can see my red underwear through them. so, i go outside, expecting seattle rain. i get HURRICANE FORCE WIND, sweet jesus. my hair is all in my face, getting stuck in my lip gloss, which of course i'm wearing because cosmo loves lancome juicy tubes! then, as i'm crossing the street in front of four lanes of traffic...guess whose skirt flies right up? guess whose skirt flies up and she's only got one hand to keep it down so oncoming traffic, passers-by and the homeless guys across the street all get a nice old view of her ass and undies?

that'd be me, bob.

i hate my life.


and it/s greatly to his credit

at last, at long last: the pill for men. well, it's not actually a pill. some australian researchers have released a study on a newly developed form of male birth control that consists of progestin and testosterone injections. injections, you say? injections. it's an every three months thing, which renders the belonephobia excuse practically null. this has the potential to be really fucking cool.

you'll notice i say "potential." first of all, according to this article, this is a first study and there will be many more over many years before the final drug will be available. if this stuff hits the market in 5 years, i'll be 28. i'm assuming it won't get into popular rotation for a couple of years later. i'm hoping that by the time i hit 30, i won't be sleeping around as much, and, as such, will have less to worry about in the pregnancy boat. also, it's not that i don't trust men to be responsible about birth control--i know how important it is, especially to guys my age. i was recently at a party at susan's house in tacoma (ah, sweet tacoma) and dan, will, karl and some other guy whose name i don't know all agreed that their greatest fear is getting a girl pregnant, which says a lot, considering that my greatest fear is death by fire. in fact, my top ten greatest fears involve death or harm of self or loved ones. pregnancy ranks fairly low for me...i think it would be in the 20's...somewhere after "poverty," but before "baldness."

so, yeah, i get it. boys don't want to get girls pregnant unintentionally. but even so, in my experience, boys play it fast and loose with condoms if they're not concerned with std's and most fellas assume that girls are on some form of birth control, which is a pretty ridiculous assumption. i'm not on the pill and not because i "don't believe in taking hormones" as seems to be so in style these days, but because i'm lazy and would rather use condoms...and i think i can say the same is true for guys, except not only are they lazy, but they would rather *not* use condoms. also, guys lie a lot. i'd like to be clear on this: i'm only talking in my experience here, okay? when i say "guys," or "men," i mean "guys or men that i know or have dated or have heard stuff about from other girls." when you add up the lazy and the not wanting to use condoms thing, what i imagine is a future where guys can be lazy and not wear condoms, but lull women into a false sense of security by lying and telling us they're on the man-pill.

so basically, when i said that "it's not that i don't trust men to be responsible about birth control," what i meant is "i don't trust men to be responsible about birth control."



we're having some screwy server issues around here, so EVERYTHING is all slow and dumb and i'm getting cranky as a result. i've gotten a couple pop-up messages telling us that WMT03 is low on space and we have to delete stuff and whatnot, and i was like, dudes...isn't it your job to make sure we have ENOUGH space? i mean, it's not like we're cluttering the place up with downloaded music and pornography or anything. databases take up a lot of fucking space, man.

this is, of course, all made better by the fact that monday is a holiday. woo-hoo! i'm going to do the day off dance, okay. it's much like the sushiland dance, only with less butt movement. oh, and the day off dance must be done while seated.

in other news, me and the west wing are pretty much officially through. this is especially sad as a) this has been a four year relationship and b) this has never happened to me before. i have never abandoned a show mid-series, at least not on purpose. i've been unable to catch some episodes here or there, but i've always made it up during repeats or had someone tape it for me or as a last resort, lived off of the re-caps at Television Without Pity. But to just stop watching? To purposefully watch another show at the same time and make no effort to even switch over during the commercials? it's the tv viewer's equivalent of going down to the store for a pack of cigarettes and never coming back...