... to “make peace with my work life.”
... to “make peace with my work life.”
I always assumed he meant the human race, but perhaps he meant his ethnicity? Which character said it? Damned leaky memory.
Cliff notes … must find … cliff notes …
... but the contents of my purse are now organized into sassy little containers – a mix of Hello Kitty, Red Tango, and (cheapy) chinoiserie.
She’s lurvely. She doesn’t have a name yet – she’s definitely Mediterranean, but I’m not sure if she’s Italian, Spanish, or possibly Portuguese.
She’s sitting next to my desk at home, which is in the southeast corner of the building and has windows on two walls, so she’ll get plenty of morning sun.
Happily, after some investigatory chewing, Sasha got bored of her and is leaving her alone. Only a couple of leaves are punctured.
Memorial Day’s over, but I can’t sleep. I was listening to Thomas Dolby’s One of Our Submarines, which he played in concert a couple of weeks ago. In his family’s house growing up, there was a picture of an uncle he never knew. All he knew was he was a submariner who died in the war.
For most of the song, he projected images on the screen of a sonar sweep, and clips from a black-and-white war movie, of a submarine under attack. On the last verse, he superimposed a live ghosted image of himself over footage of a school of fish – as he danced, the fish darted, eerily seeming to move with him.
Then, a shot of flotsam floating to the surface. At the song’s end, the picture of his uncle in uniform – young, smiling, and long dead.
And then, because I wasn’t feeling sufficiently maudlin, I listened to Jean Redpath’s Hallowe’en, about a man grieving his friend who died in the war, looking across the water where the friend was lost -
The war in France across the wave,The wee lechts burn on elke grave;And you and me there lows he seen (?)Ye’ll maybe hae your Hallowe’en,Yon whar you’re lyin’ wi’ the wave.
And then I realized, because I’ve long since lost the liner notes, I don’t even know if it’s about WW I or II.
My apartment has a funky layout – 2 bedrooms, but small living area. Not conducive to having people over.
I’ve thought of making the 2nd bedroom into a dining area, but it seems sort of kluge-y.
It’s hard to motivate to clean, organize, and decorate, because I spend most weekends at my boyfriend’s. And I’ve moved so much in the past, it doesn’t seem worth the effort to really think about how to make this place wonderful.
When I did my bar application in 1998, I found I’d lived 22 places in the preceding ten years. (Including college dorms, etc. I moved a lot for law school internships.) And I’ve lived … five? places since then. Nothing seems permanent, except the futon frame I’ve had for ten years, and my one really nice piece of furniture, my dining room table and chairs.
This apartment doesn’t have a paper-towel holder by the sink, and I’ve thought of asking the landlord if he minds if I put one up, but then I think, what’s the point? If my boyfriend and I continue along our current path, we’ll move in together – another move.
I’m tired. :(
... to “get published.”
At least I’m pounding out the words in writing group.
I cannot believe my 15th college reunion is next week. How did this happen?? It seems portentous, the 15th reunion. I’m 35. Time to make some decisions and rake my life into shape, or at least neat Zen swirls.
I’m further marking my advanced age by going to a show with Blondie and the Cars the following day. Woohoo!
Does “bombing with reckless disregard for the safety of civilians” count?
Edit: Disregard second link, the copy has changed significantly from the original since I first posted the link. Infuriating.
Of course, now that I have Repo Man on the brain, I have that Michelle Shocked song in my head, “Come A Long Way” :
Now you tow it to the repo man’s front doorAnd you give him these keys, I don’t need ‘em no moreYou tow it to the repo man’s front door,And you give him these keys, I don’t need them no more.
Come a long way, I’ve come a long wayI’ve gone 500 miles todayI’ve come a long way, come a long wayAnd never even left L.A.
Would be nice to tow a decommissioned nuke to the U.N. and toss ‘em the keys to the trailer, ‘cause we don’t need it no more.
It looks like the otter is thinking, “Shit, the kid was on my stomach five minutes ago … where did I leave it?”
... ‘cause I just got a raise and promotion. :D And I basically really like what I do. And I don’t think I could hack the insecurity of freelancing.
... we’re in complete control of our moods, so I won’t impose that standard, or feel ashamed if I’m unhappy. Kinda defeats the purpose.
But I’ve noticed that I’m happier when I force myself to stop dwelling on something that’s bothering me (when I’m merely ruminating, not problem-solving) and think about something else instead.
Woohoo! I did about 4 hours worth of work on this on the weekend. Nine pages (typed) of quotes, grouped by topic.
I think I won’t have enough quotes by June 3, though, which is my father’s birthday and the occasion for which I am making the book. So I’m going to intersperse the quotes with pictures.
I think I will also make a LiveJournal blog to house the quotes.
... for some reason, I think about the neutron bomb. And that makes me think of Repo Man and the crazy old scientist with one glasses lens missing, expounding blissfully on the N-bomb to Emilio Estevez in a dazed, nutty voice:
J. Frank Parnell: Ever been to Utah? Ra-di-a-tion. Yes, indeed. You hear the most outrageous lies about it. Half-baked goggle-box do-gooders telling everybody it’s bad for you. Pernicious nonsense. Everybody could stand a hundred chest X-rays a year. They ought to have them, too. When they canceled the project it almost did me in. One day my mind was full to bursting. The next day – nothing. Swept away. But I’ll show them. I had a lobotomy in the end.
Otto: Lobotomy? Isn’t that for loonies?
Parnell: Not at all. Friend of mine had one. Designer of the neutron bomb. You ever hear of the neutron bomb? Destroys people – leaves buildings standing. Fits in a suitcase. It’s so small, no one knows it’s there until – BLAMMO. Eyes melt, skin explodes, everybody dead. So immoral, working on the thing can drive you mad. That’s what happened to this friend of mine. So he had a lobotomy. Now he’s well again.
I tried to find a video or audio clip because it’s so funny, but can’t find one.
Per the official site, the Repo Man Collectors Edition DVD restores some deleted scenes pertaining to the bomb – with commentary between director Alex Cox and the actual inventor of the neutron bomb, Sam Cohen. Amazon doesn’t list Sam Cohen in the commentaries though. Hmm.
I’ve already been there, but it would be nice to go back.
Coasts I’d like to start with: (1) Portugal (2) Ireland (3) U.K. (4) Japan (5) Nova Scotia/Newfoundland
Travel is expensive, though, and my sweetie doesn’t prioritize it. I don’t know how much of this I’ll get to see. :/
I like it. Solid car, decent legroom even in back. Haven’t had any mechanical problems thus far. Average mileage: 38-40 mpg. Only drawback is crappy acceleration, so you have to plan your merges, but I’m used to that from my old Toyota Corolla.
It was a practical/enlightened purchase, though, not a crush. I still don’t sense much personality from it. If I could afford it, I’d get it a zippy paint job.
Some say they’re goin’ to a place called Glory
And I ain’t saying it ain’t a fact.
But I’ve heard that I’m on the road to Purgatory
And I don’t like the sound of that.
Well, I believe in love and I live my life accordingly.
But I choose to let the mystery be.
... I heard (read) Bill Clinton say it:
We’re all going home, and I want to be ready.