“This is the new America. Our crazed sense of entitlement, our nearly rabid desire for easy access to mountains of bargain-basement junk has led to the upsurge of soulless big-box shops which has, in turn, led to a deadly sense of prefabricated, vacuous sameness wherever we go. And here’s the kicker: We think it’s good. We think it helps, brings jobs, tax money, affordable goods. We call it progress. We call it choice. It is the exact opposite.”

The San Francico Chronicle’s Mark Morford tells it like it is in Bring out yer dead — plague is already here.

Read it. And weep.

I haven’t always been smart enough to use a CMS. Well, I used to use Blogger, but before that I updated my blog manually. If you wanna see the archives, just click-click-click!
Continue reading Blog History →

This morning I slept in again. When I woke I ran a brush through my hair, grabbed my Iowa Chicks Knitting t-shirt and a pair of old jeans and put them on, and rushed out the door.

Well, not before tossing a piece of lasagna into a tupperware and grabbing a fork. I made a pan of lasagna for dinner last night and there’s not much better for a morning commute snack than pasta.

I’m babbling. The point is, I hurried. Too much to look at my ass in a mirror before leaving.

Walking into the data center (I’m at work today because Buzz is on vay-cay) I saw my reflection in the glass door and thought, ‘Huh. So that’s why people in their late 30’s look like dorks. They’re old enough to own clothes that are ten years old and still fit.’

I’m wearing Levi’s low-slung relaxed fit wide leg jeans, and I’m lucky I live in Iowa where no one will (a) see me or (b) care how much a big dork I am.

I want a pair of old-style 501’s that fit. Is there such a thing? Looking at my jeans this morning I noticed that while they’re all Levi’s, they’re all completely different styles.

I hate jeans. Especially women’s jeans. This is why I wear skirts, like, all the time.

For some reason they’ve got a big trench dug down the center of Burlington, and traffic’s funneled into one lane each direction, and there are about five million orange cones set out, and ‘USE THIS LANE’ signs with arrows and flashing lights, and there is literally tons of heavy equipment all painted orange, and it’s loud and smelly but populated by deeply tanned, shirtless road crew guys who’ll smile if you wave at them.

I decided to have take-out India Cafe buffet for lunch today, and ended up walking about eight blocks to get there and back, even though it’s only three blocks away. (No way was I going to attempt hopping over the trench in an ankle-length skirt and heeled sandals in front of backed-up semi traffic, thank you very much. My clutz gene is too expressed to take that kind of risk. Especially on the way back with the food.)

I got my lunch, paid the cute guy with the endless eyelashes and sparkling black eyes, and sauntered my circuitious route back to the office, where I sat at my desk reading blogs and eating. Of course I got some dhal on my shirt. I don’t think I’ve eaten a single thing without getting any on my clothes in the past five years. I don’t know why this is, other than God hates me and wants me to suffer. Continue reading I've got dhal makhani on my boob →

I love Google Earth and I want to have its baby.

Something I ate yesterday really, really, really did not agree with me. I don’t know if it was the Mexican or the Italian, but it hates me now whatever it was.

I’ve been in the WC all morning, and was really worried about that last five minutes of my morning commute, which ended with me dashing into my office, dumping my things on the corner of my desk, and immediately duck-walking across the hall to the unisex.

And yes, I do realize that’s more than you want to know. But this is the Internet, after all: totally uncensored, innit?

Brett worked a half-day yesterday, taking the afternoon off to spend with Jeff Blount, who is in town with his 13-year-old daughter, Soma.

They showed up in the late afternoon. Brett and Jeff went off to pick Brett’s truck up from the shop, where it got new brakes and a couple of retreads, and Soma and I sat at my computer and geeked out on our iPods.

She has a second-gen iPod mini she bought in Japan. It’s green. So cute.

Soma lives in Australia, so her accent is TO. DIE. FOR. She’s smart and adorable and pleasant and has her mom’s huge blue eyes, and I really liked hanging out with her. She and I held the couch down, snacked on veggies and ranch dip, and watched sit-coms for a few hours while the men (Bo and Toby showed up) laughed outside.

When they went on a beer run, Soma and I made them pick up a couple of pizzas, so dinner was totally awful. Gas station pizza always sucks, and I’m always slightly shocked by it. Go figure. Continue reading People! They came over! →

Save your tunes with Copy Pod: “CopyPod is a lifesaver when sending your iPod for repair, in cases of computer/hard drive crash, or just to backup up to a different drive.” Plus Buzzdoctor uses it.

I just plain old didn’t do much today.

Slept in. Ate leftover Indian food. Had some almond tea. Had rockin’ nookie with my man – the kind that makes you grin sheepishly at one another and go, “Damn, baby!” Brushed my hair. Refined my home page’s layout. Napped. Ate half a Hershey’s chocolate bar. Cleaned out my photography cabinet. Surfed. Finished one book, started another. Had a discussion with Brett about going out and getting drunk tonight, then did nothing.

And here I am, sitting on my ass in front of the goblinbox. I have got to get a life or something.

Oh, wait, maybe I do have a life: someone sent a photo message of their genitals to my cell phone today. Hah!