Nerd alert: I hate that they're playing the National Anthem in G. It is not in G. It is in either A flat or B flat (see? I'm flexible) and absolutely no other key, ever. Thank you.

Good thing we stayed up past 1am for no reason last night, because Charlie Rose came on and he was talking to Penelope Cruz and Spanish director Isabel Coixet about a new movie called Elegy.

Isabel Coixet is totally my doppelganger, plus 20 years of course (I read somewhere today that she was born in 1960). Man. I am totally going to be a funky, quirky 48-year-old.



The glasses she had on last night were purple, just like my glasses, not pink like the ones above. But still. Awesome. This is just further cementing my ultimate goal of growing old to look like Anjelica Huston in The Life Aquatic.



However,

1. I will never be 5'11", and
2. I will never talk to Jeff Goldblum, if I can help it. He seems dangerously weird. But,
3. My hair lady wants to dye my blonde highlights turquoise next month. I'm pretty excited.

Sunday afternoons on the Metro in downtown DC are not a lot of fun, especially if you're located somewhere around the Smithsonian stop, which is where actual tourists and "it's a nice hot summer day, let's pretend we're tourists in our own town" folks alike may be headed. But I had to attend a rehearsal around Eastern Market, so I wheeled the second largest instrument I own down to the Metro and lugged it onto a tourist-clogged train, expecting to make people angry by taking up extra room.

Well, this was not so -- lugging a cello on a crowded rush hour train is an inconvenience, I have learned through experience, but apparently on a weekend train, it's a conversation starter. Not even necessarily for conversations with ME so much as everyone else's individual conversations. Usually it's the young kids with their families who would pipe up first. "What's THAT?" "Is that a gui-TAR?" And more often than not, the parents know what it is and do a nice job of explaining, "It's a cello. It's sort of like a big violin." I accept that more than I would "Yes, that's a guitar" or "No, that's a bass." People often start talking about people they know who play musical instruments, as though we were a rare commodity (are we?). "Oh, Aunt Becky plays cello." (this was my favorite yesterday, because some dude in that family responded, "Wait, who's Aunt Becky?" haha.) As I was getting off the train, the grandmother of a multi-generational family (I think it was the Aunt Becky family) said "Such a tiny thing, lugging that great big cello." I paused for a few moments, turned around, and said, in my not-so-tiny voice, "Thank you!" More often than not they don't really acknowledge me at all, they just start talking about music or instruments. Some really preppy couple around my age a few weeks ago started talking about a friend who played piano when I got on the train. Hey, that's an instrument too. If I get people talking about music, or even if I just help add to their regular conversation fodder, I'm pleased. The last thing I want is for people to run out of things to say to each other, even on the Metro.

I guess sometimes folks actually talk to me, too. I met a really nice, cool couple the other weekend and we had a 20-minute, non-awkward conversation as we rode out to the Virginia burbs. We didn't exchange information or anything, but you know, I already have more friends than I know what to do with, and I guess one of the more interesting things in life is the short interactions you have with people you know you'll probably never see again. Yes, yes, I know. How many thousand indie films have been made exploring this topic? (Amelie II: The Quirkening)

Sorry for not updating very often. Oh also I worked from home today because I had mosquito bites on my FACE that were very embarrassing but have gone down now to the point that they just look like regular bad zits. Ha. Okay, that's all that's worth sharing, right?

I was recently asked by a wonderful friend who blogs more than me -- whose blog I would link to but I'm not entirely sure it's still public or whether she has interest in me doing such a thing -- why I haven't customized my blog. It's funny because I don't think of this as a blog, but of course a Livejournal is totally a blog. And I know how to make websites look pretty, so maybe this is something I should do. I dunno. I haven't done anything administrative on LJ in a long time, editing bio and interests and shit like that. We shall see.

And now, a quote, which is what I really came here to post. I just bought a secondhand copy of one of my English professors' books, a biography of James Dickey by Henry Hart. This is is a Dickey quote that he includes in the introduction. I've shortened it by a few lines, noted with an ellipsis. At any rate, I think the quote does a fabulous job of describing many types of creative people, or even just people who are hypersensitive (oh, that would be me, and if you don't know that, you probably only know me online or only see me when I've been drinking).

I think there is a terrible danger in the over-cultivation of one's sensibilities, and that's what poets are forced to do in order to be poets. You will find that poets, almost without exception, are cast into the most abject despair over things that wouldn't bother an ordinary person at all. Living with such an exacerbating mind and sensibility gets to be something that one cannot bear any longer. In order to create poetry, you make a monster out of your own mind. . . Writers start out taking something to aid the monster, to give them the poetry. Poets use alcohol, or any other kind of stimulant, to aid and abet this process, then eventually take refuge in the alcohol to help get rid of it. But by that time the monster is so highly developed he cannot be got rid of.

--James Dickey, from a 1973 interview with Playboy

The former, but the latter last night when I was up past 1am after Jesse found this gem of a website. DC area mid-century modern blog

That's it I suppose! Oh, on Saturday night I threw a cupcake at an obnoxious group of bachelorettes who interrupted my friend's birthday party. Highlights of my life. PS: I missed.

As far as many of you know who haven't been keeping up with me in person, you probably think I am well on my way to a masters degree in library science by now. If so, you are wrong! I took two classes and quit when I got a job working at a local university that offers pretty much free tuition, but no library science program. Then music and stuff got super busy and I forgot about schooling of any kind for a year.

Well, I'm almost done with my application for the Master of Science in Information Systems and Technology program here, with a concentration in Information Systems Development. That's a lot of capital letters, folks. Fancy shit.

I can't wait to be a certified geek.

Learning to drink from a Sigg bottle is hilarious. You just put your lips together and... push and suck.

A bit over a week ago, I had a really fancy birthday dinner. Pictures here!

We made quiche last night and it was the first time ever. Fortunately I am good with the pie crusts so I made that, pressed it in, prebaked a bit (note to stupid self: wax paper smokes in the oven, buy some parchment you idiot), and whipped up some great bacon/zucchini/squash innards. I just ate a leftover piece for lunch. Grand!

Uh that's it. Lots of work, booooo.

It's almost all related to birthday shenanigans, two weeks from now.

• Fancy-pants dinner at the Inn at Little Washington.


• Tickets to see the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center for one of conductor Leonard Slatkin's final concerts, and they just happen to be doing a Shostakovich cello concerto.


• Next week, a full week before any of this nonsense, we get to go to the beach for a wedding. The beach!

Taking a quick break to post two things.

1. There is some conference happening here in DC about Israel (60th birthday party perhaps?) and my apartment is on the route where they're busing people back and forth with police escorts all day. Literally all day. I mean I haven't been home after 9am or before 6pm, but from 7:15am to 9am-ish and from 6pm to 11:45pm-ish, EVERY FIVE MINUTES OR LESS, a huge mess of tour buses sandwiched between cop cars wails by. And we have big, old windows on three sides of our apartment, directly facing the street where this is happening. Once, when somebody really important (Prime Minister Olmert, perhaps?) came by, it was more ridiculous than the presidential motorcade. How many cops are there in DC? I don't know, but they were all right outside my building when this dude went by. SUVs with tinted windows and open back hatches, presumably with dudes wielding guns just waiting for someone to fuck with them, multiple ambulances on hand "just in case..." It's a mess. Let me watch television at a reasonable volume and have a normal conversation with my husband and attempt to go to bed at a non-ungodly hour, damn you!

2. Walking out of my building and onto the sidewalk this morning, at the beginning of my 1.1-mile jaunt to work, I was walking next to a dude who might've been drunk and/or homeless, or else just dirty -- stained grey t-shirt, dirty old Levi's, general gruff look about him. Some young frat boy-looking dude in a t-shirt, shorts, flip-flops, and maybe a baseball cap walks out of a building with a woman who's gotta be his mom or SOMETHING (older, generally put together, whatever). Gruff dude says to fratty dude, "I LOVE the way you're dressed." I start laughing my ass off and look back at the gruff dude, who looks at me, shaking his head, and mutters, "Terrible." Awesome 8:45am double standard sarcasm.

Here's the whole damn thing, Mostly Late Night Music. Sorry this took me so long, I had to dig through things to find more copies of it.

01 - Arms of Morpheus
02 - Wednesday 78
03 - I Thought of This Sometime Last Night or Maybe This Morning
04 - The Song That is Not Called Amaze Me
05 - Feeblekeen
06 - No One Thinks
07 - Self Hatred
08 - Interlude
09 - Aurora
10 - Dark Secret Love
11 - Rubbery
12 - Slack (instrumental)
13 - Don't Die (Supersonique)
14 - Droove
15 - Jumbo Jet Star in E Flat
16 - Look for Me on DOG St.

Date:	2008-05-13 10:36
Subject:	How far you gonna go to get it?
Security:	Public
Mood:	sultry

Odwalla "Mango Tango" is far superior to Naked's mango juice. The label on the bottle, however, is trying to have sex with me:

SULTRY SIP

Open the bottle, then close your eyes and let your other senses take over. Inhale the exotic scent of tropical fruits. Taste a silky swirl of fragrant mangos [SIC, I would've said "mangoes" and so would've LiveJournal's spellcheck], ripe bananas [and I would've used the serial comma here] and creamy coconut blended to smooth perfection.

Sip slowly, [AND I wouldn't've have used a comma at all here] and enjoy the rich and juicy passion of Mango Tango. So sweet. . . so cool. . . so. . . Ahhh.

My dad got us a gift certificate to Cabela's, a sporting goods store, for Xmas, and we didn't use it until earlier this week. When we went on the site for the umpteenth time, finally intent on buying something, I thought maybe we should get guns. Okay, not really, but it's a hunting/fishing/camping store, so they do have those. No, what we really wanted/needed was a tent. We don't even have sleeping bags for camping... a nice lightweight backpacking tent is the first step, right? Right. Maybe. Or maybe we're backwards.

Anyway, we bought this tent and it came yesterday:



So what did we do when I got home from orchestra rehearsal? We set up the tent in our apartment, of course. And we slept in it last night.

(we're dorks)

Step 1: freak out about how busy I've been and all the crap I have going on through the end of this week

Step 2: look at Google Calendar, see that there is absolutely nothing scheduled from Sunday May 5 to Friday May 10 and in fact the same goes for most weekdays from then on (besides work, of course)

Step 3: heave happy sigh.

I just went across the street to get the cheapest, most filling lunch within a 1-block radius of my work: a 6-in. veggie and cheese from Subway, on wheat, with everything except onions. With tax, $3.29 (hence if I need to spend $1.25 on animal crackers from the office vending machine later, I won't feel quite as bad as if I'd spent $5 on grape leaves and shit from across the street which I know would leave me hungry by 3:30).

On my way to buy this disgusting sandwich, I was outside for 45 seconds. Some dude I barely saw said (not sang) to me as I passed by, "You are the sunshine of my life," in this tiny little confused/possibly drunk voice. Poor guy. What, if anything, is an appropriate response to this?

On my way back from buying this disgusting sandwich, as I rode up the elevator to go two floors (I always take the stairs down but you need an access card to go up and I'm too lazy to dig mine out), the only other person in the elevator with me was a dude who looked almost exactly like Stephen King. He stared at me and my sandwich and asked (I found this to be quite existential), "What is that?" I said, "...it's AWFUL."

The sandwich was actually pretty tasty, but probably just because I got the hot pepper stuff and jalapenos on it. Good thing I prepared my palate for that last night by consuming the spiciest green curry tofu/eggplant I've had in a long, long time. Thanks, Rabieng!

A band I used to play with sometimes (that wanted me to come on tour with them but I wasn't in a position to do so) is on the front page of jambase.com, which is a website for hippies. Click the "These United States" article and watch the video at the end. Fun times on accordion -- not drunk (well maybe a little), not messing up too badly.

I really missed this goat in a bag icon. Anyway.

The things we talk about when we're trying to fall asleep: If a male zombie gets turned into a zombie while he has a boner, does he have a permanent zomboner?

When you're a lady zombie, do you still get your period?

I mean, obviously the answer is no, because you're not technically alive. But, I mean, your clothes would already have all those bloodstains on them, so it wouldn't be an issue.

Seven days after my Red Cross debacle... enjoy.

Four days later, part of the aftermath of the Red Cross saga: