What a fun quiz. I could take it all day


Looks as though you've got your heart set on the
second Romana, as played by Lalla Ward! This
tempting Time Lady conceals her inhuman
cleverness behind a disarmingly enthusiastic
and girlish demeanor. She's an eclectic blonde
who loves to travel and enjoy herself, and if
you gaze too long into those summer-sky eyes,
she'll have you wrapped around her finger. Not
that you'll mind.


Which Lovely Doctor Who Companion Are You Ashamed To Admit Your Crush On?
brought to you by Quizilla

Not at all what I expected...


Why, you're ga-ga for Sarah Jane Smith, as played
by Elisabeth Sladen! Sarah is charming,
tolerant, loyal, wholesome, and quite
emotionally stable. Her courage comes and goes,
but when she bites back her fear there's not
much she won't face down.


Which Lovely Doctor Who Companion Are You Ashamed To Admit Your Crush On?
brought to you by Quizilla

I woke up this morning from a dream of being a rock star. Or actually a former rock star. But the band was getting back together. I had one of those soulful 'humina humnina' voices. And I played the guitar (which caused me no end of stress, as I didn't know how to tune it.

It was a pleasure waking up this morning to clean sheets. And differently coloured ones. I don't know why, but more often than not, I'll just wash the same ol' sheets over and over. Going into the linen closet for the spare set (the washing machine in our building is busted) was a revelation. Blue sheets. Bluuuuuue.

I like the word busted. Busted.

I need to get to my Grad School applications. What's holding me back?

Actually part of me still doesn't beleive I have my BA - I haven't gotten my grades back yet. What if I really didn't do it? THey'd have told me by now, right?


I'm wearing a red leather skirt. Feels good. Oh, yeah.

So, it occured to me that even though I often blog from work, I never talk about work in my little bloggeroo.

Hm.

So, here I am, in mine kleine cubicle, listening to two of my co-workers bicker. One of them (a pretentious pooptart) keeps misusing words. My favorite today:

"I just have certain pre-requiems when I'm going into a relationship"

That doesn't bode well for his relationships, now does it?

I'm wondering now, though - does requiem have definitions (or homonyms) I'm not aware of? Am I the poop tart here?

Oh, I doubt it.

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Biiiiiirthday, Dear Brian

Happy Birthday to you.

I've noticed in myself a general preference for reading long, chatty blog posts, combined with a tendancy to write short, terse posts in my own blog. This probably says something about my personality, but lets not go there, hmm?

I called in sick today - head cold combined with cough combined with ennui. I didn't realize it was Friday, though - I feel a bit guilty for having created a long weekend for myself. I guess as long as I'm not having fun, it's ok.

I'm thinking of
Grad School now. Here's what I'm scared of:

* failure (I'll go to school to learn, only to find that I'm unteachable)
* failure II (I'l go to school, only to find I'm irreprably lazy)
* isolation (I'll quit my job, and never talk to anyone but Brian again)
* failure III (I won't get in to the program of my choice)
* failure IV (I'll go to school, and still feel like I'm wasting my life)
* failure V (general, as yet unnamed failure)

And what do I want to get out of grad school, you ask? I dunno. I guess I just want to keep learning. Sure, I could do that on my own - but wouldn't it be great to just *focus* for a while?

I'm sorry, this isn't fun reading, is it?

I really am a big ol' square. L7.

Strange, empty day following the death of a co-worker.

Random Morning N-Train Idea:

Self-help book based around the Odyssey: life is a journey, requiring wiley-tricksterdom and falling for people who turn you into strange and frightening beasts. Also, unweaving-of-tapestries may be neccesary.

Shaw writes:
Well, what is love? To me, love is, essentially, a strong undeniable feeling that an individual holds inside of them.

While Shaw's definition is a good one, I think that one of the interestings thing about love is that it is not held within us, but rather draws us out of ourselves. As Freud (my guy) points out:

At the height of being in love the boundary between ego and object threatens to melt away. Against all the evidence of his senses, a man who is in love declares that 'I' and 'you' are one, and is prepared to behave as if it were a fact. (Civilization and its Discontents p 13).

Love, at its best, draws us out of our little ego-shell. Love for another pulls us out of ourselves, and, hopefully eventually draws us into a more universal concern for our fellows. I don't mean to be all Pollyanna Sunshine here, but its been my experience that love, as a workable lifestyle, is a constant experiment in living outside ourselves. The neccesary daily altruism lovers experience (when things are done in each other's best interest, not for one's individual needs and wants) brings about a transformation of self, so that over time a specific love for a specific person can transform into an overall general love (especially if you're Morman. Kidding).

Bleh. Blogging from work. Eating wasabi peas.

Woke with a headache from strange and frightening dreams: Brian and I waiting in a tunnel for a train that never came. Sitting in a hotel room with a living-dead cat that I knew intuitively was pregnant.

Thirsty and tired all day. Co-worker (36) in a coma following a massive stroke.

Peas making me overheated and restless. Blehs like bookedns.

The penitents in Dante's Purgatorio are movving towads eden. Their journey ends in a redemption of thier selves - spirtual and physical. Once again, they can be 'naked and unashamed.'

discuss

I'm wearing my mother's dress. Although I'm not sure who's worn it longer now, me or her. She used to wear it sometimes on Sundays when I was fairly small - maybe eight or ten (which is really young, now that I think about it: alive for only eight years? Small). And I have a picture of her wearing it sometime around '94 - '95, holding Ebony and Merlin's leashes in the yard.

Anyway, I started wearing it sometime around then - which was I guess late high school for me. I can remember going for brunch with James, wearing the dress and my glow-in-the dark John Fluevogs, which were subsequently ruined by cat vomit. But they didn't fit anyway, as much as I wanted them to.

In college, I wore it a lot. On my second or third date with G, I was wearing it when he asked me how I managed such a delightfully small waist on a steady diet of beer and tater tots. I still don't have a good answer for that; at the time I just blushed prettily (as I was wont to do).

Today, Brian and I woke early (or I woke early, and darted around the house like a hummingbird until he got up, too. Then we went of a delightfujl morning walk: we started at the dog park (where we played with a lab mix named Pansy, a pit bull named Toro, and a pony-like Great Dane named Mojo). Then we wandered down to the Castro, where we are brunch (macaroni-and-corn pancakes with blood orange mimosas), bought canvas folding chairs, and went on to Delores Park.

It wasn't until Brian started to get a migrane (ow) that we headed home. And now I'm sitting in the dark quiet apartment, reading Karen Armstrong and writing to you, and thinking about my dress, which has parrots and flowers in it, and has started to look worn at the shoulders.

I was already late, it wasn't really the bus's fault. The extra wait certainly didn't help, though.

When the bus finally arrived, there were enough of us to fill three busses. I stood, looming over a squirming toddler in his fathers lap, a man's elbo in my back and some woman squished up against my boob. The woman kept trying to make conversation with the toddler, then grinning up at me, as if to say 'aren't we great chums now that we've shared this adversity?.'

I smiled grimly, inwardly reciting a litany of complaints that, in sum, made me want to leave San Francisco, break up with Brian, and go live on an island somewhere where the only thing I'd have to do in the mornings would be to wipe the sleep from my eyes, pull a knit cap over my matted hair, and shake my fist at passing boats and seagulls.

Although, I guess I'd keep Brian, so long as he didn't keep eating all the Amaranth Flakes.

"Become who you are"

I first read Pindar in High School, after stumbling across that quotation (which the Nietzschians among you no doubt recognize) in an academic journal.

Now I really had no business reading Pindar, Academic Journals or Nietzsche in High School. I was really too young, and on some level still regarded 'becoming who I was' as the quest for the most authetic punk-rock boots. And so the quotation nagged at me, a constant reminder of things beyond my ken.

Looking back now, I can see this was a my Tragic Flaw - I really had no idea who I was - I didn't really even understand the question, or how it might be played out in any real way.

But I'm at work now, and shouldn't be blogging.

Shaw's comment on my Jesus-complex post (two down) got me thinking about belief, and Gibson's Passion, and Religion in American Society Today. In some ways I think The Passion is just great - its Medici-like gradiosity harkens back to a simpler time, when folks who had money could spend it on stupidly huge declarations of belief. Its just out there, and in some ways, that rocks.

On the other hand, there's the whole 'Jews killed Jesus, you're all going to hell for not thinking what I think' thing (which also harkens back to a simpler time, when folks in power could expend it on stupidly huge demonstrations of force) is a bit hard to stomach, and a distasteful thing to endorse. And I hate gory movies.

Do I have a point? No.

But I do wonder sometimes about my own beleifs, in religion and politics. I'm so postmodern sometimes, I'm always looking for another angle, another way of looking. Maybe that's why I love Dante so much. His universe is more limited and knowable than mine, and it is his, entirely.

Found poetry inspired by the 23rd page/fifth sentence meme. If you're freakin' tired of said meme, please do not click on the link. You have been warned.

So, after calling in sick (with every intention of spending a nice day in slack-off mode), I ended up actually being sick most of the day. Is the universe bent keeping me honest, or what?

Heh. That reminds me. When I was a kid, I could never understand why I should just try to be good. Being good had no draw for me - I wanted to be better than good: I wanted to be Jesus. I can recall my mother, or some sunday school teacher, telling me about the second coming, me trying to act all casual, asking "could Jesus be a girl this time?" as if I had no designs on Mesiiah-ship myself.

Later, when I was about eight or nine, I the coming of the apocalypse was one of my biggest fears. I've always been a slacker.

On Thursday, I posted:

Why do I get so annoyed sometimes? Is it anyone's fault but mine that folks just don't get what I'm on about?

As Shaw so kindly reminds me, even the most off-the-cuff blog entry finds an audience, and the less information said entry gives, the more likely its Rorsachification by the reader. I'm tempted to put the entry in context, but I'm never sure how much real life I want to expose to the internet world. So for now, Rorsachificate away.