Dirty laundry

One of the consequences of living in a rundown apartment, among other things, (ridiculously erratic temperatures, creaky noises, ghosts, etc.) is the fact that I get to join fellow Fort Atkinson-ites at the local laundromat.

I know what you're thinking. What a picnic!
You fools...

Fort Atkinson offers two laundromats. Although Quick Cleaners & Laundry is kept up and has an employee there cleaning and straightening all the time, the place sucks. It's farther away from my apartment, at least $0.50 more for each wash or dry, and they close at 9 PM. NO EXCEPTIONS. Last time, they kicked me out before my clothes were dry, forcing me to go to my new hot spot...

So, I started heading to Kelsi's Klothsline.

You might think that place sounds like it's in the FA hood. That's because IT IS. Nestled between the most pot-hole laden intersection in the city and the Mexican Grocery store -- this diamond in the rough offers two televisions (sans remotes) set up too high to change channels, faded inspirational posters, and, most importantly, cheaper laundry. Nevermind ensuring there's no hardened gum crusted to the dryers, or that the most INSANE INDIVIDUALS I'VE EVER SEEN hang out there.

Half the time, I'm the only person in the place. Otherwise, there's usually any number of the following: a mom, at least one younger couple, dude washing work clothes that don't get clean, and one entire family. I'm talking gramma, ma, pa and at least three juniors running around.

A couple months ago, I even had a chance encounter with a real one-armed man. I had been juggling my basket of clothes while unlocking my door as this shadow came walking through the parking lot ... but then he started toward my car. What the wha...? My heart started racing as I fumbled for my keys. He reached for the door handle and said, "Oh, I was just going to help you with your door..."

Got it! I'm fine... thanks. Thanks...whoa...

Oh, and then, there's the crazy lady that isn't really doing laundry. There are a couple of them, and they like to try and strike up conversations about how much the facility sucks. WHAT?! You're not even washing clothes. You're hanging out watching the free TV that you can't change the channel for, staying warm because it's only 25 degrees outside.

When I arrived around 8 PM last night, one woman kept talking to the TV -- loudly. She sat with a backpack and her winter coat and bright pink hat on, talking to the nervous couple, who were trying to keep to themselves. I think she was squatting there.

I showed up with my one overstuffed basket of dirty clothes -- pre-sorted -- loaded my washers, read my book, threw half the clean stuff in a dryer, grabbed the rest to hang up, and took off for home before she had a chance to linger over. Half hour later, I stopped back to pick up the rest and she still sat in the same place, talking to the TV.

I added "on-site laundry" as a necessity for my next apartment.

Dropping the ball

At the beginning of every January, my biggest concern is usually how massive my hangover headache will be, and how much Tylenol I'll actually be consuming to ring in the new year. I have slight justification, because my birthday is January 1 -- but as I get older, I realize that celebrating by mixing the trifecta of alcohols for one night is not only a terrible idea, but leaves me nothing else to look forward to. I got my practice in this weekend anyway. (Thanks MrB!)

Without further adieu, I've made a few resolutions for 2009:

Read books. Easy enough, right? Maybe... Ever since signing up for not one -- not two -- but five magazine subscriptions, I've had little to no time to catch up on what I really enjoy: Books. I've decided not to renew my NY Review of Books and New Yorker magazines, opting to spend my free time on the dozens of books I bought but haven't picked up in the last year. My goal? Finish at least one book a month, on top of my additional reading. (WI Natural Resources, Lapham's Quarterly and Time magazines.)

Participate in a marathon. Initially, I had decided to run a marathon, but because I pulled my quad back in October, I sometimes have trouble running. Even if I can't run the day of the race, I can still prepare myself for a large feat of athleticism with proper training. By training for something this big, I'll also be able to tailor my diet and work on cross-training with different equipment, including weight lifting, to stay healthy all around.

Visit another country. I left this a little broad, but my main goal is to visit Europe before the end of 2010. Now, I might leave the U.S. this coming February by taking a short cruise to the Bahamas when I go on vacation to Florida. (Apparently, you need a passport; which I have and haven't been able to use.) Otherwise, maybe India at the end of 2009, when my cousin gets married. Regardless of where I go, I want OUT.

Control my finances. Remember in college when you decided applying for a credit card would help solve all your money problems, because you could just pay it back later, when you had a real job? IT'S A LIE.

I've been plagued with controlling my spending since I became an adult. Now, it's time to budget. Mi madre graciously offered to help me, instead of paying credit card companies hundreds of dollars in finance charges, I'll make payments to her each month.

I also need to start budgeting. That means I can't just buy a new outfit at Express, or go out to eat for lunch three times in one week. I've got a set payment for my debt, as well as my car loan -- but how do I keep track of this beast? www.mint.com!

Mint.com is a free personal finance website to help track every aspect of my debt and income. I signed up a few months ago, only to watch my debt fluctuate while my stocks and retirement funds dwindled. AYE YAYE YAYE.

This weekend I took a closer look at how the site really works. After organizing and categorizing all my spending for the month of December, I could take a look at where most of my money was really going. I can track how much I'll set aside each month for my budget, including car payments, gas, groceries, other bills and extras.

I can set limits on how much I'll allow myself in each category, and get an email when I go over budget.

It's easy to set up, and I can monitor all of my accounts on one site, including my 401K, IRAs, mutual funds, credit cards, car loans, checking and savings accounts; instead of logging into each site separately.

Here's to looking up, and saving some this coming year.

Closing time

I closed up shop for the last time at my PT job yesterday.

After weeks of cutting hours and giving me only waitressing shifts, I decided it was time to hang up the towel and put in my notice. For my one last hurrah, I got to bartend -- which I enjoy doing just a little bit more than serving food. (I'm a terrible waitress.), and hadn't done since about mid-October.

While working there, I worked with and met some awesome people, made mad tips and got to know the town I live in a little better. That's all well and good, but bars and taverns have one of the highest turnover rates out of any service/retail job out there. I'll tell you why:

#1.) It's stressful. You deal with belligerent assholes on a nightly basis. You meet all kinds of drunks. Happy, sad, angry, oblivious... any emotion on the spectrum. When it's busy, you run around like a chicken with your head cut off. Stocking, shuffling, mixing drinks, spilling, yelling, breaking bottles. When you screw up an order, inebriated people are less forgiving, especially after they've waited 10 minutes for a drink.

#2.) Health risks. Steering completely clear of tobacco since August, I now find any type of smoke repulsive. My body shouldn't be subjected to 8.5 hours of secondhand smoke from not just cigarettes, but cigars. After that long of a shift, not only do your clothes smell like bar, YOU smell like bar. It seeps out of my skin 24 hours later for fuck's sake.

Live bands and loud music for hours on end make your cochlea want to explode. Tough shit if you have a headache, you won't be able to hear for the next three days anyway.

#3.) Getting hit on. OHH, you might be thinking, "How flattering!" NO. Well Rico Suave, after that shot of Jack, you suddenly question why I'm working at this shabby old bar. What do I do? Where else do I work? What's my social security number? ... I've received phone numbers on napkins, receipts, matchbooks, and leftover Styrofoam containers. I tell you I'm taken and not interested, but you continue to harass me -- even after I offer conversation segways about sports, weather or movies. This is my job buddy, not match.com.

#4.) Clientele change all the time. Now, you'll have your regulars -- Big Tom who never sits, only stands, at the bar drinking Bud Light. The Jehovah's Witness couple where the husband always orders the drinks and food for the wife. Peter, who works at the newspaper, always enters through the front door, orders only one glass of Pinot Grigio, leaves $0.60 in change and leaves out the back door...

But there are also a bunch of random people who try and get to know you -- after they've had a few. I'm awful at small talk and find it difficult to hold conversations with 40-somethings from small towns, whom I have NOTHING in common with.

#5.) Stingy assholes. This is by far worse on the waitressing end of working at a bar; some people just don't know how to tip. If you've been pleasant, served me in an efficient manner and I'm satisfied with my meal and drinks, I'll let you know. That generally means leaving at least 15, if not 20, percent of the bill for meals, and 50 cents to $1.00 for each order of drinks. Not $2.00 for a fish fry and an entire night of drinking. With you and five of your friends. Asshole.

What will I miss most? The money. Which sounds arrogant, haughty and greedy; but bartending is a tough job.

I've seen my share of bar fights, flying bats, cops, stumblers, flashers, snoozers at the bar, and some of F.A.'s finest, hammered.

All in a night's work.

Mystery meat

I'll be honest with you, I've never even tried the canned meat product SPAM.

Now, 1.3 million Hawaiians can't be wrong but to be frank, SPAM scares the crap out of me. Is something that looks like a soggy pink brick supposed to be edible?

I read an article in Time magazine last week saying sales of the pre-cooked pork shoulder concoction are up. (My favorite sentence from the article: "A Spam virgin, he blanched a bit when it plonked out of the can, all pink like a newborn mole rat." hahaha.) Apparently, some chefs have already worked with the "spiced ham" meat, and think it's light, airy texture can be used in a variety of ways. I'm not so sure.

The New York Times also featured an article on how Hormel has been producing more of the stuff over the last year. Because more and more people can't afford normal foods, they've started budgeting, and buying things like canned meat, mac and cheese, instant potatoes, and jello. Sounds kind of like my college diet, sans SPAM.


Here are a few facts about SPAM:

-- Hormel introduced SPAM during the Great Depression in the 1930s, as a substitute for real meat. Cheaper to make + cheaper to buy = wallet- and recession-friendly.

--Ingredients: Pork, ham, sugar, salt, potato starch and sodium nitrite. Gross.

--There are 12 different varieties of SPAM including Spam classic, Spam spread, Spam Oven Roasted Turkey (two different animals?!), and Spam with Cheese.

--McDonald's restaurants in Hawaii features SPAM on their menu.

--Some acronyms: "Stuff Posing As Meat," "Stuff, Pork And Ham" or "Spare Parts Animal Meat" OMNOMNOM.

-- SPAM is vacuum-sealed and does not require refrigeration. SPAM's website says it can last forever in the right conditions. I have my doubts...


Now I just have to bring myself to buy it. hmm...

Cube sweet cube

I figured everyone might want to see where the magic happens. Ahem, that means writing.

I tried as much as possible, to make my surroundings like home. I'm here at least 40 hours a week, so I mine as well spruce it up a bit.

Without further ado, I present to you: My cube.


There are a few pictures of my family, including the little cousins, and my Norwegian flag magnet :D

FYI: The motivational poster above the phone was a card my old editor gave me. It reads, "Motivation: If a pretty poster and a cute saying are all it takes to motivate you, you probably have a very easy job. The kind robots will be doing soon." hahaha. Robots can't edit.





This is what I stare at all day. Above and to the right, there's a calendar with all my deadlines. You can't really see it, but there's a map above the computer that has all the states I've traveled to.



To the right of the computer, you'll see where I store my snacks, and how I try to dress up my ridiculously large CPU. There's also a picture of Hulk, and a Post-it with a drawn coffee cup that says "HOW ABOUT A NICE CUP OF SHUT THE FUCK UP." Good morning!



Then, some archived issues of the magazines I work on.



Behind me, I started a collage of different pictures. It's a work in progress.



Then, my junk drawer. It's like the rug I sweep all the garbage under. Except, all the garbage is this crap. You'll find a bunch of napkins, loose change, candies from Halloween, a lint roller, socks, saline solution, an Altoid tin full of tacks, a couple sets of headphones, cords, and STACKER 2. (!)



And, last but not least, my toys. Chewbacca's protecting Leon (my philodendron). There's also a voodoo doll I picked up in New Orleans, the Michelin man, which I stole from the aviation magazines, and a gas tank clock from the show in Vegas last month.


Notice, too, how looking past the plant and figurines, is like looking into the abyss. Or, a tunnel you can't see the end of. Ahh... cube farms.

Foux do fa fa

Gregor reminded me today how awesome Flight of the Conchords are, by mentioning that he just watched Foux do fa fa -- my favorite FOTC video.

I'll admit, the first time I saw Bret McKenzie and Jermaine Clement trying to rap, I was a little put off -- but their absurd stories and witty songs always put me in a good mood. And make me laugh.

If you like Foux do fa fa, check out Business Time or She's so Hot.

The second season premieres on HBO Jan. 18. Fantastic.

Down to brass tacks

Making small talk is not my forte.

Once I get to know you, We might engage in thoughtful conversation -- maybe even joke around. Heck, we might even become good friends. But especially being a stronger introvert, I need to find some common ground with you, and get to know you first.

My professional career, however, involves talking to people I don't necessarily care to. So what the hell am I supposed to talk about...

The biggest conversation starter?

Weather.

Everyone sees it, and it's always different. Plus, it won't start any controversial discussions.

Some categories are naturally out of my league because I'm female (I'm not sexist, I'm frank); especially in a 40-something, male-dominated industry. Topics I usually avoid include: sports, hunting, politics and loose women.

I can sometimes discuss wine or food, but I'm no real aficionado. And, in-season, I might get by with a few comments about the Brewers or Packers -- but no lengthy discussions.

Sometimes I'll mention family -- but I don't have a husband or kids to compare stories and compete with, like every single other person. (Don't get me wrong. I DON'T WANT those stories. I'm almost 25, not 40.)

When I go to trade shows, I generally read up on whatever locale I might be headed to. This includes the local food, historical sites and keeping an ear out for interesting things happening in the news at the time. A huge topic was the Presidential election when I was in Vegas last month -- making a big exception to my previously stated rules.

It's a little easier on the phone. I worked in a call center for two years before my current job, so I learned how strike up brief conversations based on where the other person called from, like "Oh yeah, California? I hear those forest fires are getting a little wild." Or, "Wow, I heard some parts of Colorado got two feet of snow. Crazy!" But that's IT.

Now when I call a PR company, or someone to interview for a story, I try to make the introduction as quick as possible. After that, I tell them why I'm calling -- Send me a high-res image of your neat new product, or tell me about your magnificent tool box.

Roll with the punches

Yeah, I'm gonna complain. Deal with it.

After having the most exceptional weekend (:D), it becomes easier (and harder) to appreciate shitty days. Especially on a Monday.

Here's why:

*I woke up getting about half as much sleep as my body wanted. I even skipped my shower this morning to sleep in an extra 15 minutes.

*My car wouldn't start this morning. Now, I anticipated this. Friday afternoon the engine had trouble turning over, but still started up. Then, Saturday I had some trouble, but the car still got going. I had to wait until 9 this morning for Triple A to show up and give me a jump. Turns out my car battery had a bad cell.

*I dropped a Benjamin to replace said battery.

*Showed up at work around 10:30 AM -- 2.5 hours late.

*I thought I broke Gregor's monitor because it went haywire when I turned on his computer, and the screen looked like it did when your NES would take a crap and not play a game right.

*Apparently, after leaving three voicemails and two messages in one week, some organizations still don't understand the idea of returning a phone call. I need that PR now dammit.

*My chicken and bacon wrap for lunch from Subway tasted like ass. Also, Subway in general, tastes like ass.


So, I'm going to rationalize:

*I only didn't get enough sleep because of having such a great weekend.

*My car didn't die while I was in the middle of an intersection, or when it was -20 degrees outside.

*Money no matter.

*My editor kicks ass, and probably understands more than most because we work for an auto mechanic magazine.

*I did NOT break the computer.

*I got to enjoy and share 10 dozen cookies, eat Capital Grille and BW3s (!) this weekend. On top of seeing the MSO, making pancakes Saturday AND Sunday, going bowling and seeing a real life singing gnome.

I just hope Tuesday starts off a little better.

Driving my ice box

Judging by yesterday's blog, you probably think I'm content, sitting in holiday bliss with a hot cup of nog and some Manheim Steamroller on the radio.

Not so ... because it's FUCKING cold outside.

I headed out to my car around 5:30 this morning to head to the gym. I made sure to put on a hat and gloves, because I heard the temperature was dropping overnight.

I sat in my car as it warmed up. The hat and gloves were NOT enough. My fingers froze, my nose ran, my body shivered...

I looked at my car clock and thermometer. 9 degrees. NINE degrees?

Now, I can handle the mid-30s. I'll even deal with a meager 25 degrees, on occasion. But 9?

That's a single digit. I can count that number on my fingers. I thought, "There are more holy commandments than the weather is warm right now. WTF am I doing outside?"

On top of that, my windshield was completely iced over. I wasn't about to wait 15 more minutes, cutting my workout down to a measly 45. So what do I do? Crank the heat, turn on the defrost and GO.

I drove halfway there with my head ducked and aligned with the middle console, so I could peak out the center of the windshield, where the ice melted.

I made it and didn't die.

And it's only December.

Warm fuzzies

Last night I decided to get into the holiday spirit.

Since I've lived in an apartment by myself for the last couple years, I figured it's not really necessary to decorate for Christmas with the idea, "Who's really going to see this and appreciate it?"

NONSENSE. I figured I'll have a few visitors; plus, passersby can check out my decorations from the street. And, I'll get my own warm fuzzies when I come home.

Thanksgiving weekend, my mom packed up a box with a small fake tree already set up with lights, some ornaments, and a few other decorations. On top of that, I had some window clings and a wooden nativity set from my grandma.

I went to work and an hour later: Voila!

I still like to get into the kid spirit and get excited when I see Christmas trees lit up in windows, poinsettias at stores and garland wrapped around light posts down the main street of any small town.

It's also the only time of year where I'll really tolerate snow, and even get butterflies when a fresh coat covers the ground while kids are walking to school, or I head out to get some holiday shopping done.

In the next couple weeks, I'll start buying presents, and I think the decorating helped get me into the spirit.

Achoo!

This last weekend I went home to visit my family and friends over Thanksgiving.

Wednesday night Michelle and I picked up a variety six-pack of microbrews (BTW, try Breckenridge Amber Ale. Amazing.) and headed over to our friend, Amanda's, apartment to catch up and watch the Obama interview with Barbara Wa-wa.

Amanda takes care of two cats: Milly and Marty. Both are adorable, and have their own unique personalities. I knew my boundaries though -- because I had a cat in high school. After going away to college, every time I'd come home to visit, my eyes started watering and my head would get congested. The onset of becoming allergic to cats.

So at Amanda's, I kept my distance. I played with Marty for a little while, but gave up because after about a half hour, I noticed a tickle in the back of my throat and my eyes started itching. Enough of that.

Another hour went by and my immune system was in full-fledged attack mode. I started sneezing. My nose ran. My eyes watered. Part of it must've been the fact that there were two felines.

I hate taking medication, so I declined when Amanda offered.

Then on Friday, we headed back over to the apartment before going out to the bar. We ended up staying there about two hours waiting for some friends, and the itching, watering, sneezing started again. AGGH.

It's crossed my mind to find a pet for my apartment. Because I travel so much for work, I initially thought a cat would make the most sense. They're generally more independent and seem to be able to take care of themselves. Plus, I don't have to take them out to use the bathroom, or feed them as much.

But, I'm a dog person.

Number one: The thought of having a box full of festering crap in my house doesn't really appeal to me.
Number two: Cats can be bitchy and mean.
Number three? Cats make me SICK.

Rules of the road

It's that time of year again, when drivers get into their vehicles thinking it's 72 degrees and sunny. Perfect weather for a drive.

But wait a tick -- it's snowing, windy and 20 degrees.

Let me tell you something. It isn't a great day for a drive. In fact, it's downright terrible. So stop driving like it's the middle of the summer.

Another pet peeve of mine involves drivers who don't understand the rules of the road. Just because you have your driver's license doesn't mean it's your way, or the highway. (Very pun-y.)

Here are a few reminders I think drivers should follow, particularly during inclement weather.

1. Wear a seatbelt. Personally, I don't believe people should be ticketed for this offence. You're just putting yourself in danger. But it might just save your life.

2. Don't talk on your cell phone. I'm guilty of this on occasion, although I avoid at all costs, talking or texting when it's raining or snowing. If you really have to use your phone, get in the right lane, or pull over.

3. Use your blinker when you're turning or passing someone. This is especially important when you have three or more lanes of highway to drive on. I can't read your mind, give me some visuals.

4. I SAY -- slow the fuck down. Generally, I enjoy going about 10 mph over the speed limit. Not so if the weather sucks. I'm all for defensive driving, but I can only control my own car. Don't put my life in jeopardy by driving like a maniac.

5. Do NOT tailgate. The reason I slowed down was to avoid an accident and make sure I could maintain control of my vehicle, not so you could ride my ass. You hinder my ability to drive safely by touching bumpers and making sure your pearly whites are right in my FUCKING REAR VIEW MIRROR.

6. Don't tap your brakes incessantly. I can see the traffic ahead of you. You have eight car lengths of freedom. Don't make me white-knuckled and nervous every time the car in front of you hits the brakes. First take your foot of the gas and coast. It might also help you avoid swerving all over the place.

7. The left lane is for faster moving traffic. Although it's not a law, every time I drive longer distances, I come across at least two dozen assholes who don't know how to share the road with other drivers. The left lane is a passing lane. It should be used only in the event that the car in front of you is going slower than you. In which case -- use your blinker, move over, pass and go BACK TO THE RIGHT LANE.

Black Friday

I sometimes enjoy the occasional shopping spree. This usually involves heading to Express or Banana Republic with someone else (usually Michelle) to buy clothes and spend money I don't have...

But I refuse, at all costs, to participate in shopping the day after Thanksgiving.

The last thing I want to do is wake up at 3 AM after researching three dozen ads the night before, fight crowds of elbow throwing blue hairs and race to the closest retail store for the ONE thing I've been looking for. Don't bother, someone else is looking for the same thing, and they'll get it before you.

But, I wanted to find my Auntie Bobbie the perfect gift in return for the Corelle she gave me on Thanksgiving, and thought it'd be great to get her what she's been hunting for: a Wii Fit.

They were on sale at Sam's Club for $78.84. Since my mom has the membership, she'd need to come along. This morning, we piled into the car and headed to the west siide of GB -- traffic wasn't terrible, but there were still some crowds of people. It was about 11 AM. Not too shabby.

My mom and George had tentative plans to purchase a new flatscreen TV for their living room too. Mostly so George can play Halo 3. (I think he's addicted.)

On the list: a shiny new television, Wii Fit and a Columbia fleece jacket.

When you walk into the Sam's Club, electronics stare you in the face. In particular -- TVs. We got about 20 feet into the store, and stayed there for about an hour.

Since my brother came along, he was able to check out the different options and details for each TV, letting my mom and George know which were better than others.

He'd also ask questions like the refresh rate for the screen or the signal delay.

I checked out some cameras, the laptops and found some of the fleece sweatshirts (none my size.)

Finally, they chose a 46" Samsung flatscreen -- last one on the shelf.

We wandered around the rest of the store, showing off the TV to all the other shoppers. Checked out and hauled it to the car.

On the way home, we were pulling off the highway to the house, and my mom asked, "Did anyone look for the Wii Fit for Auntie Bobbie?"

Oops.

Ms. Fix-it

The great thing about my apartment is that it was a shithole before I moved in, so the landlord doesn't really care if I renovate it. As far as she's concerned, she can charge more for the tenants after me.

Before moving in all my furniture, I ripped out the living room carpet, cleaned the wood floors and painted all the rooms (they paid for supplies) -- except, the bathroom.

It's a small bathroom to begin with.

For the past five months, I've been climbing in and out of the claw foot tub, only to stand on the 2'x 3' bathroom mat strategically placed over the rotting golf green turf carpeting. I had a plastic drawer setup to keep all my bathroom accessories/extra shampoos/etc., so whenever I went to the bathroom, I'd sit face-to-face with that thing.

I couldn't take it anymore, so this weekend I decided to re-tile the bathroom floor.

BEFORE:

I bought some peel-and-stick tile and a straight edge.

First, I put gloves on ripped out the turf carpet. (Who in the HELL puts carpet in bathrooms anyway.) I vacuumed and picked up some loose garbage under the tub, like an empty travel-size shampoo bottle (not mine), a plastic bowl that at some point must've been catching water, but had turned black (not mine), and an ancient-looking gold mirror compact with flowers on it (ALSO not mine.)

I went to work laying out the tiles, cutting around pipes, the toilet and doorway.

In all it took about four hours, start to finish.

AFTER:

Now I can go into my bathroom without socks and shoes on, AND taking a shower actually means I feel clean.

Eyes wide open

I'm taking a hint from my blog's title, and losing sleep.

For some reason, the past couple weeks at my home after the sun goes down, my once-cozy abode becomes a creepy, rattley, drafty, scare-the-shit-out-of-me apartment. Over the summer, I slept like a corpse. NOTHING could wake this. Even if I only got six hours of sleep, I was bright and refreshed in the morning.

It seems the cold weather made the ghosts in the attic start hanging out in my apartment on the second floor. Probably because I have heat now.

So last night about 8 PM, I started watching the first season, first episode of Dexter.

Halfway through the show, my heat starts to clink on... fine. But after a few minutes, the wood floorboard between my couch and the vent starts to creak every couple minutes -- like a creak when someone walks on it. This is just my mind getting a little riled up. It keeps happening. Then I start hearing it outside my apartment door, every few minutes. I know my friend/neighbor/co-worker Lisa is at her other PT job until late, so she's not home. Can't be her. What IS that.

I'm not really into paranormal crap. But when I'm by myself, sometimes my mind gets the best of me. I could probably handle that, but what's worse is someone broke into my friend Sara's apartment here in Fort last weekend. Nothing happened because her boyfriend woke up and scared the guy, so he fled.

Now, I've got to worry about real people, and fake people, err, ghosts?

Called my mom, talked for a little while. Forgot about it. Got ready for bed.

STILL hearing this creaking. It's already 11 PM.

I called the one person I knew would be up: Matthias.

Being an excellent multi-tasker, he continued playing his Left 4 Dead demo (for the duration of our conversation) while I told him what was up.
"So, what you're saying is someone is trying to rob you?" MATTHIAS WTF WOULD YOU SAY THAT I'M CALLING BECAUSE I DONT WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT. "Now I've jinxed it. You'll get robbed."

So the first part of that conversation didn't go well. But after that, we started talking about Thanksgiving, 4chan ("It's the Mos Eisley of Internet content"), water and zee Germans.

I was getting tired around 11:30, so I said I'd try to sleep. But, he'd be up till 3 AM or later if I needed to call back. Awesome.

Too much TV

Last night, I sat on my couch eating dinner when Heroes came on. Being the second episode I've ever seen (the first one was last week), I started watching and couldn't stop. Then I had questions, like, "what is this formula?" "why does Claire think she's the catalyst?" and "who the HELL are all these people?"
I knew my friend/neighbor/co-worker Lisa liked Heroes, so I ventured over across the hall and started asking her these questions. She immediately, and excitedly, dug out her Heroes Season 1 boxset, and said I had to watch.

Now I'm excited to find out what happens, and when "It's coming," and what "it" really is...

Now, that's all well and good except, my co-worker Dionne came in to work today with the first season of Dexter for me to catch up on. And, this weekend my friend Betsy insisted I take home and borrow "Freaks & Geeks." JC.

Every time I turn around, there's a new sitcom to watch... and people to provide DVDs for said sitcoms.

This has become a particular problem now that almost every single TV show ever produced is now on DVD.

Greg and I started watching the first season of Arrested Development. Now, I've seen a few episodes on TV before the canceled the show a season after winning an Emmy. (Yeah, tell me that makes fucking sense.) But we're almost through Season 1.

Anyway, I currently have borrowed, and in my possession:

-Heroes Season 1
-Dexter: The First Season
-Freaks & Geeks - the entire series
-Futurama - Season 1 & 2? (from Matthias)
-It's Always Sunny (from Michelle -- more for a recap, because they're all so good)

I also have an avid interest in watching:

-Entourage
-It's Always Sunny (Season 3)
-The Office (Season 4)
-Curb Your Enthusiasm (Season 3+)
-The Sopranos
-Spaced (The British sitcom produced by Simon Pegg)

I know there are different websites I could go to and watch each show, but #1.) My computer is the biggest POS in the entire world, and #2.) It's more difficult to get into one episode, let alone three or four in on sitting, while being less comfortable sitting in front of a computer screen, versus laying sprawled out on the couch.

People have also suggested Netflix, or renting each DVD from Blockbuster. Now, I'll support my favorite things by making the purchase (for instance musical artists, like KOL), but I'm not paying $5 to watch three episodes of Larry David be a cynical asshole.

This whole pop culture business is getting out of hand.

At least it's getting colder outside, so I'll have reason to hibernate on the couch.

Also, if someone could let me know who to contact in order to get Pete & Pete on DVD, that'd be helpful.

Am I missing any?


I promise one day I'll try to write shorter posts, but once I start -- can't stop. won't stop.

Urban sprawl

I headed home to Green Bay this past weekend (for free laundry at mi madres, and to visit Biddy in Marinette).

As I pulled off the highway from 43 N, I noticed a change in the skyline of boxed buildings around the off-ramp.

Great, more stores.

I understand the need for shopping centers, grocery stores, gas stations and restaurants, but since moving to Green Bay 12 years ago, there's been significant development, turning the once prairie-grassed, isolated suburb into a full out traffic laden, brick-built, strip-malled, pavement landscape.

And every time I go back, there's a new commercial building being built.

When we moved in, there were three buildings -- Lou's One Stop gas station, the Dorsch Ford dealership and Cliff & Ceil's ballroom -- and they were just beginning to build a Hardee's.

BEFORE:

Now, across County JJ, passed the backyard of my mom's house, cookie cutter homes dot the other side of the road. Not to mention, the following businesses in the area:

-four strip malls
-Menards
-Festival Foods (my H.S. job as a cashier)
-a rebuilt Cliff & Ceils
-TWO more gas stations
-Home Depot
-a hotel
-some Harley Davidson repair center
-two banks
-Tumbleweed, McDonalds, Jimmy Johns, Taco Johns, A&W and Subway

And the newest edition, right across the street: Stein Gardens and Gifts.

AFTER:

Do we really need eight different fast food options, three places to get gas and two DIY stores within a half-mile radius?

Wouldn't it make more sense to construct one large building (AKA a mall), with a whole bunch of stores, instead of completely destroying all of the natural land around the highway?

It was inevitable that development would happen, especially with so many people moving into the area. (It is a suburb, after all).

Not to mention the affects of locally owned stores. Mom and pop shops are completely run out by corporations who build 1 mil.-sq.-ft. facilities, undercut prices, then abandon the building. From personal experience, I saw it happen in Stevens Point as they continued building along Hwy. 10 instead of renovating and continuing to develop the downtown area.

So I say, develop and remodel what's already there, instead of continuing to spread like an epidemic.

With the increased traffic, destruction of land, and the overall loss of aesthetics to the area -- it only supports what I've been thinking recently: it makes more sense to live in a more metropolitan area.

Although you're not exactly removing your carbon footprint by living within city limits, at least you have access to mass transit, stores in close proximity, and the option to live and renovate buildings that are already there.

Build up, not out.

Flu shots

Disclaimer: I've taken some factual liberties with the plasma story, like the use of two needles. See comments afterward.

I am terrified of shots. I can't give blood. If I'm within a 10-foot radius of a needle, I suddenly become light-headed with the onset of fainting symptoms.

Well, this week, my employer is offering both the opportunity to Give Blood to help out our community AND the option of paying $10 for a flu shot.

The former is absolutely out of the question. I've developed a justified phobia to needles.

Here's why:

Back during my freshman year of college, I decided to join my roommate and a few friends at BioLife in Stevens Point to donate some of my plasma. Now, not only was I doing science a favor by giving up my precious fluids, I was also being rewarded handsomely in cash.

Initially we had to set up individual appointments for a physical. I passed but couldn't give plasma that day because, apparently, I hadn't drank any water at all that day. (You need to be hydrated in order for them to stick a needle in your arm.)

I had given blood a couple times during high school blood drives, so I was vaguely familiar with the procedure. I'd like to think it was to help out the community and give something back -- but in all honesty, I got out of at least one class for the day. Plus, you get juice and cookies.

I have perfect veins to donate, but I have the problem of becoming severely light-headed when I would give blood. (Or, get shots at the doctor.)

Move ahead two weeks for my donation appointment.

I walk in, fill out the paperwork and wait for them to call my name. As I sit down in the dental cleaning-esque chair, I hold out my right arm, ready for action. Unbeknownst to me until that point, the nurse begins prepping not one, but BOTH arms for needles.

Time out.

See, when you give plasma, they draw blood out of one arm, remove the plasma, and put your blood back in. The other arm has a saline drip to keep you hydrated.

A little apprehensive at this point, I realize I'm in trouble. I can hardly handle one needle, just taking blood out. Now, they want to take blood out, put it back in -- and THEN, introduce some other foreign shit into my arm? My mind made me physically regret this decision immediately.

Move ahead about five minutes.

I start getting light-headed, and tell the nurse. She suggests slowing the blood drawing, and upping the saline. Good idea? Bad idea.

When the saline enters your veins, it's room temperature. Think about it. It's maybe 72 degrees F on a good day. My body sits at a balmy 98.6 degrees.

It felt like death was crawling up my left arm.

Apparently it looked like it too. The nurse decided then that I was no longer eligible to give plasma. As I started to get tunnel vision, she advised me she'd be stopping, but they needed to keep the needles in my arms while they got my body back to normal, continuing the saline drip.

There were at least three people helping out when I came around. They told me my eyes rolled back in my head, and I started shaking uncontrollably.

As I recooperated lying down in a nearby room, I saw on both arms, purplish-yellow bruises beginning to form. The nurse came in to inform me that "your body rejected the needles."

WTF does that mean?!

I walked up to the counter about 20 minutes later, waiting for my much-deserved compensation.

The cashier placed her hand on the $20 bill, slid it across the counter and said, "Don't come back here again." I haven't had a needle in my arm since.

Now, shots are along those same lines. Granted, things are going in instead of being removed -- but any foreign change in my homeostasis, and my body goes nuts.

I've decided I'd rather be vomiting in a cold sweat for three days with the flu, rather than have to deal with that crap again.

The name game

I love lists, but sometimes I have trouble remembering the lists I make in my head before writing them down -- including grocery lists, things to do, people to talk to, etc.

That also means I don't remember important things, like phone numbers, birthdays or when to watch the Office. (I've been getting better at the last one.)

I'm scatterbrained in general.

Say I decide to clean my house. I'll start putting clean clothes away, only to find some shoes are in the way of me getting to my closet. I'll remember there's another pair of shoes in the living room. Better put those away too. When I get to the living room, I realize there are some DVDs strewn all over the floor. Better put them away. But one of them I borrowed from Kim at work. I'll put it on the kitchen table to be sure I grab it on the way out tomorrow... What was I doing again?

So when I was trying to list all the Christmas gifts I need to purchase in the next month, I made sure not to leave out my two little cousins... Kimberly and _____.

CRAP. What the hell was my five-year-old cousin's name? Kimberly and... Kimberly and...

Not remembering reminded me of an article I read yesterday by Woody Allen in the New Yorker: Think Hard, It'll Come Back To You.

Writing this post helped me remember. But I hope it doesn't take a 15 minute blog post to help remind me about other things, like where I put my car keys.

It's Amber.

Pack rat

Denial is the first step... and I'm pretty sure my mom is still not fessing up.

I've developed a problem due to her inability to throw anything away; which begins with buying more crap.

It all started when I mentioned to my mom and Aunt Bobbie over the summer that someone stole some of my Corelle dishes from the UWSP dorms a couple years ago. I was missing a plate and a bowl. No big deal.

(I've all but given up on paper plates and bowls -- except in the case of pizza.)

My aunt just moved to Oshkosh last summer, right by the biggest outlet mall in NE Wisconsin, which just happens to have a store exclusively devoted to selling Corelle dinnerwares, utensils, baking things and cooking business. And if you know anything about aunts, grandmas and moms, they like to go on shopping missions with the sole purpose of finding the most perfect purchase for family members, and then some.

So at my aunt's request, I sent a picture of the inept dinner set I already had, with the hopes of once again having my full line of plates and bowls.

Also as an aside, I mentioned if she found any larger bowls that could fit an entire can of soup, that'd be swell; as well as a 9x9 baking dish.

She did.

Except, when I was on the phone last night with my mom, she mentioned I could get an entire SET of baking dishes, instead of just one 9x9 baking dish, with pie pans and custard cups for $20 at Target.

I DON'T NEED PIE PANS or CUSTARD CUPS. If you've seen my apartment, you know I have a counter space that's 2 ft. by 3 ft., with one cabinet underneath for all things cooking-related. It's already full.

Now, I love cooking. I'd like to think I'm not half bad; but what am I going to do with a 10-piece set of Pyrex cookware? (It's a rhetorical question.)

I think I know what I'm getting for Christmas.

Oh my gourd

Back from my week-long hiatus, I was able to return to my normal morning routine on the way to work.

I head into the local gas station, to the cappuccino machine with my silver mug over in hopes to tame my craving of the cinnamon nutmeg goodness.

Lo and behold! They still have my favorite flavor: Pumpkin Spice. OMNOMNOM.

Now, I've just about substituted all caffeine consumption away from coffee, and switched over to teas. Not so with flavored drinks.

And it's not just the cappuccino that kicks ass.

Think about it. With the exception of maybe pumpkin gum or pumpkin jello, pumpkin flavored foods are amazing.

Pumpkins provide delicious pumpkin seeds, which can be salted, baked and consumed in large handfuls.

My aunt ("aww-nt") even makes a mean pumpkin pie, which she brings every Thanksgiving.

Pumpkin granola bars, bread, muffins, ice cream. McDonald's pumpkin shakes. Even squash, the first cousin to pumpkin, can be delicious in raviolis, or on it's own.

Thing is, seasonal flavors kick ass. And there's nothing better than a delicious cinnamon-y, harvesty pumpkin flavor in October and November.

I can't take all the credit. My editor, Brendan, first acknowledged the deliciousness that is pumpkin-flavored foods.

Next up: mint.

That means come December I'll be enjoying candy canes, grasshoppers, and peppermint teas. I also hear they're getting a Peppermint Patty cappuccino flavor.

Viva Las Vegas

I know you're all anxiously awaiting my return... but I'm out of the office this week in Las Vegas for the AAPEX/SEMA/NACE shows.

I heard Billy Mays and Danica Patrick are here. No sightings yet.

Until next week...

Here comes the sun

I was intrigued by Menace's post about near death experiences, but I thought I'd address my initial blog idea I thought of this morning instead. (Wait til next week.)

Every morning for the past month, I've been a perpetual snooze button pusher. I'm usually pretty good about getting up around 5:30 to head to the gym. Or at the very least, getting up around 6:45 to begin the normal morning routine. But I've been getting out of bed later, and later, and later. That means, instead of hitting snooze once or twice, I roll out of bed around 7:10, 7:15. I've even reset the clock to jolt me awake, again, around 7:30 AM.

I blame the dark sky.

Why in the hell would my body think it's time to wake up, if the sun ITSELF isn't even out of bed. There aren't any birds chirping to wake me up. No morning runners. No construction. Nothing. It's silent... and it's dark.


This weekend, we'll set our clocks back an hour. That means one more hour of sleep. It also means another hour of sunlight in the morning. Hopefully, that also means returning to a somewhat normal schedule.

Maybe then I'll be able to roll out of bed.

I don't want to hibernate all winter.


Did you know? Arizona and Hawaii are the only U.S. states that don't participate in daylight savings. Indiana just started turning it's clock back this year.

What's up Doc?

So I finally became a big kid. It's been high school since I actually had all of my doctor's appointments in order, on an annual basis for checkups... but now I'm completing the trifecta on my own for the first time. (And, with my own insurance!)


I went to the optometrist to update my prescription and get new contacts last month. I visited the doctor for the annual check-up earlier this week. And now, come November 20, I'll be getting X-rays and a thorough cleaning of my pearly whites.

Now I've made an appointment for a tooth cleaning. When I was younger I saw a toof specialist at least once a month, namely for the bothersome task of getting my braces tightened. Ouch is right. But since high school -- sans a toothache that required an emergency visit senior year at college -- I haven't seen a dentist.

I'm excited to say that I'm taking care of myself. Being an adult sometimes sucks. I have bills to pay, things to clean, schedules to maintain, time to exercise, eat right, free time to find, taxes to avoid, hurdles to climb, family and friends to visit, money to make (which consequently means keeping a steady job), novels to write, etc.

But just looking at one thing at a time, like this little victory, makes me feel like I'm on the right track.



Did I mention this health business gets pricey? yikes.

Damn it feels good...

...to be a gangster.

So last night, I taught myself how to tie a Windsor knot.

As part of the up-and-coming bourgeoisie, I realized I better start acting the part.

Not really. I'm almost certain I've determined my costume; now I just need to prepare. That involves being able to tie my own ties, dammit. So, I looked up some instructional "how to" videos.

I'm not a dude, but this shit was tough. Even after YouTube videos, and about three websites with different illustrations, I had trouble figuring it out.

Then, I realized I'm left-handed... and everything I try to do should be opposite.

I'm pretty sure it'll take me about 30 seconds now, with assistance from a diagram.

Soon it'll be cake.

Night terrors

Last night, I lost track of time and ended up going to bed around midnight. My neighbor/co-worker/friend, Lisa, was in Milwaukee for the night, so I was left to my own defenses as the sole occupant of the upstairs of my extremely creepy, 70-year-old house.

I probably would've been fine if I didn't know she was gone... and I slept fine all last week while she traveled. But for some reason, every noise scared the piss out of me.

I'm not sure if it's because Halloween's so close, I might syke myself out more... but I swear there was someone, or something, in my house.

I sleep with a fan on, to avoid dead noise. Plus, it's good at lulling me to sleep. I make sure all my doors are locked and windows closed. Sometimes, I even check closets if I'm feeling particularly vulnerable.

But last night I kept hearing noises. The steam-pipe vents kept clicking, and anytime a large truck went over the pothole in the front of my house, the windows shook. I even kept my bedside lamp on for a little while but the shadow of myself, kept scaring, myself.

I would let my thoughts drift off to the day, work, things to do... but they kept coming back to the fact that I was by myself in my house. With all these strange noises.

I'm not sure if I was more afraid of an actual intruder, or some supernatural creature that might attack me if I let my defenses down in slumberland.

I finally fell asleep around 1 AM, after getting up twice to turn on my lights to make sure nothing weird was going down.

That also meant hitting snooze an additional three times this morning and getting up at 7:30 AM. Oops.

Arbitrary entertainment

It's Friday, and I don't much feel like thinking... so I've provided a few links to enjoy. Happy weekend!


Carve a pumpkin
Pros: Less messy than the real thing.
Cons: No seeds to bake.

Garfield minus Garfield
Jon Arbuckle is fucking crazy.

Virtual Haircut
You need headphones for this.

Best of Craigslist
If you're bored... find out what other people are giving away, or bitching about.

Animal farm

I have inadvertently become the cat (and dog) lady. The good news is, the pets don't have to stay in my house.

At the beginning of the week, I agreed to cat-sit for my neighbor, Lisa, while she's traveling to Louisville for work. Really, it involves going into her apartment, feeding and giving water to Maybelline and petting her for approximately three minutes.

I've helped out before, and it's not tough.


But then my friend Em asked if I could let out their pug, Lil Dutchie, today. I've never met the dog, and she's just a puppy. Plus, dogs are usually a little more work -- with a wider range of potential disasters (e.g. it running away). Apparently, she's pretty well-behaved, and Em left out a leash in case.

The biggest issue? Remembering that I actually have to take care of them. So, I've put the tasks on my to-do list, added it to my Outlook calendar, and my phone. I should be good.

It reminds me that I've wanted my own dog for awhile (like a chocolate lab or a beagle.)

My family always had pets growing up, so I've been around them my whole life.

But for all practical purposes, that's not possible right now. I don't have much space, I live upstairs, and I'm at my apartment maybe an hour a day, usually after 8 PM... plus, I'm usually gone on weekends. Plus, I travel about once a month for work.

The heat is on (on the street)

(I had to watch Glenn Frey's video because this song's been in my head all day.)

I live in a house built somewhere between 1900 and 1930. I have wood floors, a farmer sink in the kitchen, a claw foot tub in the bathroom and glass windows above the doorways between rooms.

I also have steam pipe radiators for heat, and the neighbor lady has complete control of when they get turned on.

So, for the past two weeks, when temperatures have dipped well below comfort levels for any normal human beings sleeping conditions, I've been stuck with three blankets, wearing long-sleeved shirts and sweatpants to bed. I cocoon.

Granted, the single-paned windows account for a lack of insulation and obvious drafts (I don't pay for heat or electric, so NBD), but I'd at least like some control of when I can warm myself up.

Plus, it's a bitch getting out of bed in the morning once my body heat warmed up all the blankets, and I can almost see my breath when I try to get out from under the covers.

Once the initial switch is turned on (thanks neighbor lady), I have some control over how much heat comes out of those pipes... but I could probably open a window if it came to that.

List this.

Welcome to my brain's filing system. Because I have the most terrible memory in the world, and because the human brain's short-term memory only has the capacity to remember seven things at one time; I have become a connoisseur, and big fan of, lists.

If it's not a series of items in a row on one sheet of paper, having a dozen Post-It notes scattered all over my calendar or on my monitor helps me cope with the chaos that is life.

The most important of these lists is the "to do" list. On any given day, I'll compile at least two, if not six different lists to stay organized.

This might include items listed that need lists. Like my current one:

- Bills (cable, Discover card, rent, cell phone)
- Halloween costume? (Debbie Harry, 1920s ganster, Leeloo Dallas multipass)
- call muni office to VOTE
- Steve Martin letter
- check on Maybe baby (my neighbor's cat)
- start Entourage

And a work list:

- Nov. BTB
- New Prod.
- Dec. PD Driving Sales
- Nov. musts
- Oct. PTEN BASE check off

I have a "NO" list on my calendar too, of companies we've shunned from the publication I work on:

- NO SNAP-ON FOR MDN
- NO RINGERS 10/20/08
- NO MilleR ElectRic

When I go shopping, I'll compose a list of groceries to buy. This becomes a hodgepodge of different inks and penmanships, because it's continuously growing until the next store stop.

- olive oil
- oatmeal
- walnuts
- Nilla wafers
- bananas
- pizza rolls

I have a notebook by my desk dedicated to writing lists. I'll use acronyms, poor spelling and no punctuation. I've made lists of CDs to borrow, clothes to buy, movies to watch, and things to pack on trips (!).

The only problem really, is that I keep making new ones... instead of adding to the others. Maybe that's why I still can't remember anything.

Peanut butter jelly time

After a conversation about Reese's Pieces today, it got me thinking about peanut M&Ms. Now... alone, peanut M&Ms are about the best candy around. But, dip them in peanut butter -- and imagine a flavor explosion in your mouth. (That's what she said.)


Right now, I have five jars of PB, total. Two at work, and three at home. (Except, one's actually Almond Butter... ALSO fantastic.) I go through about a jar a month. Plus, it has an excellent shelf-life.

Pretty much anything with peanut butter is amazing. Personally, I'm partial to crunchy PB; along with the creaminess, there's a great texture. MMM.


So, what other crazy combinations do I enjoy?

-- About a year ago, I discovered jelly wasn't so terrible on PB sandwiches. (I didn't used to like it.) Also a staple to anyone poor enough to not buy meats and cheeses all the time.

-- For some extra texture, throw some potato chips or Doritos onto that PB&J sandwich.

-- Ever heard of Nutella? Europeans love it. It's like peanut butter, only made out of hazelnuts... try mixing them together on most anything.

-- A hybrid form of those cheese crackers you buy at gas stations, try dipping Cheese-Its into some PB.

-- Ants on a log: A favorite from when I was a little tyke; take a long stalk of celery, smother with peanut butter, add raisins, and eat.

-- PB + Nilla Wafers = delicious.

-- PB Sundae! Forget hot fudge or caramel. Throw some warmed up peanut butter on vanilla ice cream.

Or, take a spoon. Dip in peanut butter jar. Bring up heaping pile of PB. Eat. Repeat.

CD's nuts!

In the wake of lawsuits swimming around the ethics of downloading music illegally (think Napster, and the Metallica tiff), I find it odd that artist's would go out of their way to remain exclusive to one distributor -- essentially cutting off access to fans that might be interested in their work.

Exhibit A: AC/DC turns off iTunes for "Black Ice" And, not only are they refusing to offer their new album to millions of adoring fans via charged internet downloads; they've sold rights to distribute the album ONLY AT WAL-MART.

The Rolling Stones and the Police did it with albums and DVDs at Best Buy. Bob Dylan made a CD just for Victoria's Secret shoppers (In all fairness, I think his main motivation was being featured in a TV commercial next to Adriana Lima). Dave Matthews Band and Elton John recorded songs available only at Starbucks.

So if artists (or the powers that be, for said artists) limit the purchasing power of their audience, aren't they taking the risk of losing out on more fans hearing their music? And worse, not getting all their monies?

If you limit access to your music by exclusivity, you risk giving listeners the opportunity to use other means to get it, à la Napster, Kazaa or Torrent.

Some musical talent has looked for other ways to distribute their music. Radiohead started by offering their latest album, "In Rainbows," exclusively on the Internet as a download before the hard copy release date, letting listeners name their own price to download and hear it.

That's not to say I don't have some issues with downloadable music; like not having the physical evidence of it's existence. I want to be able to hold my music. Plus, buying an album supports that band. But, I'm also really good at destroying said CDs, so burned copies work just as well for my car when I don't have an axillary adapter for the iPod.

And more and more, artists profit just as much off downloads.

Bands have also started releasing songs via downloads for video games such as Rock Band and Guitar Hero, or free downloads on iTunes. I'm also a big fan of Pandora, where I've been introduced to a variety of kick ass songs and new bands.

So there might be hope for AC/DC yet. Come November, they're releasing their own version of "Rock Band" for avid players, with songs from their 1991 "Live at Donington" DVD.

But then again, that game too, will only be available at Wal-Mart.

Cube farms

I feel like I escaped from the range, and I got to roam free... but then they caught me again and stuck me back in this cel--, er, cubicle.

I went to San Diego to cover a mass transit show for another magazine at work this week.

Traveling for work can be draining. It's exhausting waking up at 6 AM, running around a trade show, setting up interviews, taking pictures and writing stories. After the show floor closes, ad reps usually want to take out their clients, and request editorial to tag along for dinner and sometimes drinks, causing me to turn in at 11 PM, midnight,1 AM... whenever you can tactfully exit or leave unnoticed. Day after day for a week.

But, there are perks too.

We stayed at the Omni Hotel in DT SD, across the street from Petco Park and the Hard Rock Hotel. I ate seafood every night. I had a $30 Middleton Rare at a real Irish pub. I got a free beer stein. I saw Ed Begley Jr. talk about riding a bus for 45 minutes.

AND, the best part -- I was out of the office.

I like the diversity at shows. You're always moving, always doing something. I sleep for three days straight when I get back, from exhaustion... but it beats the everyday monotony of sitting in an office.

Now I'm back at my desk trying to avoid having my eyes gloss over while I stare at a computer screen, sorting through 300 emails, tuning out obnoxious phone conversations and listening to soft rock radio from MUZAK.

eep... help!

Om nom nom.

While researching the origin of "NOM NOM NOM" and lolcatz today at work, I stumbled upon an interview with Cookie Monster on NPR's show, "On Air."

The host, Elizabeth Blair, asked Cookie Monster an altered Proust questionnaire. (Kind of like those surveys you pass around the office when you're bored to get to know co-workers, but by the third one you receive back, you start skimming... or just delete all together.)

So, I've provided the questions with Cookie Monster's answers, in quotes, as well as my own. Enjoy!

Adaptation from Proust questionnaire

Favorite word?
CM: "COOKIES."
ES: bagel, or pugnacious.

Least favorite word?
CM: "Out of cookies? That won't work...then pusillanimous."
ES: moist, or sinewy.

What noise do you love?
CM: "OM NOM NOM NOM."
ES: being outdoors, anywhere. Distant lawnmowers or traffic.

What noise do you hate?
CM: "Snoring. Me do not like snoring."
ES: Dentist drills.

What is your favorite curse word?
CM: "Me have favorite dirty word, just filthy word: Oscar the Grouch."
ES: Fuck. duh.

Who would you like to see on a new bank note?
CM: "Bert. (why?) Me think he look really nice there, the shape of Bert’s head would fit really nicely in the center of the bill."
ES: Michael Scott. same reason.

What profession, other than your own, would you least like to try?
CM: "Ophthalmology."
ES: Anything in a meat-packing plant. Or surgeon. bleh... blood.

If you were reincarnated as some other plant or animal, what would it be?
CM: "A snufalufagus."
ES: A unicorn. or a bird.

If heaven exists, what would God say at the Pearly Gates?
CM: "Cowabunga."
ES: Nothing... just pounds.


What about you?

Brass knuckles

My dad taught me how to crack my knuckles. Being the curious six year old kid I was, I wanted to show off... and be an adult -- so I followed suit.

To be honest, I don't know if I actually got a good snap or pop out of those fingers in adolescence.

But today, I've become so accustomed to bending and contorting my joints in different ways, that they naturally make cracking noises whenever I move.

I can bend my toes to create a burst of noise similar to popcorn kernels popping; if I extend my arms out straight, my elbows produce a resonating crack; if I shift my back, I'll get a few good internal, hollow crunches.

There's no evidence that cracking joints is detrimental to your health, but it can become a bothersome habit, if not ear-wrenching to others.

Since starting this health kick back at the beginning of September, I've already sustained from smoking, started going to cycling class three times a week, and stopped drinking coffee -- only five days, now. yikes -- in an effort to again attempt to wean myself off caffeine.

Now this is one thing I won't give up; even if it might cause long-term problems to my joints. Whether it be habit or a simple way to relieve stress, I can't stop. I love cracking my knuckles.