Friday, May 25, 2007

Guess what I'm doing this weekend:

Well hello there...

Smile, D.C.! I have my mini-tutorial from a somewhat decent photographer scribbled on various notepads so I have somewhere to begin -- because yo, this shit has got a lot of buttons -- and a tentative date to hit up sunrise tomorrow. It's also a lot lighter than I feared, though I imagine after an afternoon of shooting it's going to get a little heavy in the hands, particularly with that monster of a lens. But no fear! I will just have to bulk up. Protein shakes and the like (steak on the grill tonight?). I bought a new camera bag but it probably won't be here until next week (but gosh, it's pretty) and am, at the moment, trying to resist buying any other accessories until I learn how to use the damn thing, as oft as I am to get ahead of myself. I only ask that you not laugh at the first photos I post, and perhaps not browse through my amazing set of Flickr contacts immediately before or after you look at mine. Though, no doubt, I'll be posting only my own work to Photo of the Day soon enough, giving me all the more justification to tell the commenters to 'STFU and bask in my glorious choices for PotD!'

Thursday, May 24, 2007

stir crazy

I've been trapped in my house for the most of the week and I've just about had it. I caught this lovely respiratory infection from Slyvie, who, when told by her doctor that she had a "strep infection" didn't quite pick up the "you're also severely contagious" part, and so there I was sitting right next to her, singing karaoke and eating sushi with her, and lo, here I am, hacking up my lungs all week. It sort of hit me Tuesday but really hit Wednesday, but now I've been hanging around my house for nearly three days and am bored out of my ever-loving mind. I've watched all the tv I can watch, which isn't really that much, I watched my netflix movie, finished my book (very good, recommended, especially for bloggers, because I think we all aspire to write like this guy, though most of us didn't have to raise our little brothers or went to high school with Vince Vaughn and so lack the necessary context for such witty discourse), I've futzed around with the new camera, but since I can't really travel outside and my concentration is at unusual lows, I'm more or less waiting til the weekend to really take it out for a test drive, and I'm screwing up my bookkeeping exercises -- yes, I'm trying to teach myself bookkeeping, which is actually a lot harder than one would think, especially when your mind is muddy and you tally columns incorrectly so many times you think the book must be wrong until you finally figure out you missed an expense half-way down, thirty minutes later -- so, I think that's enough of that for now.

I really just want to go outside and talk to somebody. You'd think I've been stuck in my house for three years and not three days, but really, I can't take it, especially because I'm feeling better and will surely be going to work tomorrow (and am almost excited for it...no joke, I nearly went in at 5 pm just to GO somewhere). I could probably walk to the store or something, but I sort of feel like I need some kind of purpose or something. I don't need any groceries. My dry cleaning is done. I shouldn't be drinking, so no need for beer. My friends all made plans during work and, also, probably don't want to be hanging around me just yet, understandably. I did actually cancel dinner plans (for the second time this week) for that reason.

I did hang out in the back yard and read for awhile, which was nice. Turns out my roommates room leading to the backyard is a bigger obstacle than I hoped it would be. Good thing: she spends most of her time in her room, which is not the living room, which is where I usually am, but bad thing: she spends most of the time in her room, which means I have to disturb her if I want outside. I also discovered she leaves her radio on all day, and I wonder if that's the reason our electricity bill is still so high. She also has about 3000 coffee mugs stacked upon stacks in the cabinet, and the other day when I asked if she could please get rid of some of them because 1) I reserved a good deal of mine for this reason and 2) no two people need 3000 coffee mugs, she started getting into this logistical argument with me about where she'd put them and maybe we could move the tupperware because it's too high for her (but not for me, and I like it there) and how she didn't want to find the box where her other unused dishes were and on and on until I had to stop her and say, "Listen, it's not my problem, just get them out the fucking cabinet." Sometimes I feel the need to make a copy of her sublease, underline SUB and tack it to her door. I know, I'm a bitch, I'm also not doing this nancy-ass screwing around having two hour long "conversations" because everything has to be a compromise. We're not married, yo, move your dishes because I found the apartment first and they're in my way, is how the compromise goes.

This is one of those blog entries, among many, I sort of assume no one will read because I'm sick and bored out of my mind and that = rambling of the worst kind. And there is NOTHING for me to do. Almost nothing. I can either see what new decorating novelty they're dreaming up on HGTV or I can see how the environmental revolution started with my new book, a biography on Rachel Carson. I might have to flip a coin.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

some unanswered questions...

Heroes has certianly claimed it's own space in that very little part of my heart reserved for Really Good TV, and like Buffy, even a bad episode is better than any crap on elsewhere. But, it has to be said, that was a pretty bad episode, relatively speaking.

Did anything happen that we didn't already know was going to happen, either because it was foretold (the downfall of that particular writing device), or because you saw it coming a mile away (the brother flying him into space). Which, by the by, doesn't Peter know how to fly? Can he just not access two powers at once, especially when one is getting away from him? Why did Sylar just stand there when Hiro stabbed him? Talk about anticlimactic. Don't Japanese cubicle workers walk down the hallways and notice time jumpers with swords suddenly appear? (But: "You look badass." "Really??" -- awesome.) When the shapeshifter was knocked unconscious, why did she revert to her babe-form, rather than whatever ugly creature we've been made to assume she looks like?

The writing, I dare say, got a little sappy, too. This has happened in a few episodes, and I think I may need to go identify which writer is at fault for this, but superhero flicks work best when everything is analogized or inferred, not when it's all laid out on an emotional suffering plate (Buffy's Season Five death being one exception).

All in all, it just wasn't very...exciting. Not to mention, they wasted an entire five minutes replaying the end of last week's episode. I was mad enough that this wasn't a two hour event, but then you go whittle down precious time like that? Eh, there were just a lot of misfires here. I'm not too concerned, it was still a great ride, and I like that they gave us a teaser for next season, and even finally pulled that eclipse into the storyline. Except, now they're all fucking blind because YOU CANNOT LOOK INTO AN ECLIPSE PEOPLE. Jesus. Though I do wonder if that's going to be the reason Hiro finally loses the glasses.

Well. Til next season, when we get the fruits of the one spectacular set-up from the finale, the 'boogeyman' Molly can't track "because when I look for him....He sees me." Sweet.

Monday, May 21, 2007

On the big screen

Remember my friend Kristy wanted to use one of my Taj photos for her Save the Date card? Look what came in the mail today!

Save the Date!

Yay! This is the original. I like the antiqued look they did with it. (I get credited on the back.)

Speaking of gearing up for the wedding (oh, pun!) I made a big and ridiculously exciting purchase yesterday. More info later this week!

you'll feel better when you get a meal

In my thoroughly detailed review of the show last night, how could I have forgotten Rifle Man?? I noticed him first because he was blocking my view with his black, unbent baseball hat rim (asshole). He objectively looked like the kind of guy you have absolutely no desire to be trapped with in a packed room with precious few exits. An impression made all the more firmly when I noticed his black t-shirt, two sizes too large, with diagonal "stripes" made of rifles. Hunting rifles, AK-47s, sawed-off shotguns. Any gun larger than a six-shooter was lined up in little marching rows across his chest and back.

Mom, I just figured out what I'm getting you for your birthday!

pretty girls make graves: the end

1. They're not lying, that's one pretty band. The girls are pretty; the dudes, though, are even prettier. For reals.

2. Also: versatile. At various points, the guitarist drummed, the drummer played bass, the porcelain doll of a keyboarder played a piano-recorder and an accordion, the bassist sang lead and danced through the crowd, and the lead singer manned a whistle and clashed around (quite skillfully) on the cymbals. But it did, at every point, rock.

3. During intermission David and I pondered drug use at our respective workplaces, noting a surprising lack of coke among lawyers. When the band started a tiny, young girl next to us, in a spaghetti strap bright red dress most likely acquired for her junior year Spring Fling dance, jumped hysterically and kicked her feet so erratically we literally couldn't look away, and suddenly we realized where all the coke in the city was.

4. Dear Mousey Couple Who Stood In Front of Me: Doesn't your mom have a comfy couch, outside of my direct range of vision, you could make out on?

5. Thanks Pretty Girls Make Graves. You made me wish I'd become a fan before my last chance to see you live, but that does seem to be the trend these days.

Unrelated: Do they sell Iron Chef on DVD?

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