LaurieWrites

Today is a day saturated with media coverage of an event that - for a change - absolutely deserves it. It's a good day to drop by the New Orleans Times-Picayune page, and see what the folks still holding down the fort have to say about the whole thing.

I can't effectively put into words anything that hasn't already been said about the hurricanes, because I wasn't there and New Orleans is not my hometown, and I honestly believe that those are the people who are best suited to break it down for you. And it's the stuff that's not said that's the most important, anyway - the images of and feelings about the things that have happened to a city and a culture that can never be undone.

I do believe, however, that if any city and any community can rebound in a way that makes it more bad than good, it's New Orleans. I'd never been there pre-storm, and I was glad I got to go afterwards. I didn't know enough about it before or after, and I still don't, but I think it's a good place to spend some time and listen to stories and see what happens when lives are built below sea-level, and the ocean revolts. People can say what they will - and they do - about why people would live there in such a high-risk situation, and what goes into surviving in a place that presents risk by virtue of its existence. But the people there really didn't have a say in the geography of it all, and it's long since transcended that for them. They've been there for generations, and it is - regardless of its placement on the coastal plain - their home. It's got an unbelievable aesthetic, amazing food, for all intents and purposes its own language, and of course - it has the music.

I've been back to reading the Washington Post pretty closely lately, after a few months where I had no attention span and besides that had gotten really disillusioned with the paper. The sections I used to count on for solid news were breaking down in a sad, sad way, and it seemed to me most days like one long Style insert. But this past Sunday had a couple of articles about Katrina that I thought were worthwhile, so I find them worthy of note. The cover story, "Silence After the Storm", focused on the vast numbers of Nola residents who remained in wherever they had sought refuge after Katrina, for a variety of reasons. Most seem to be folks who cannot afford to rebuild - who didn't have flood insurance, maybe, or whose neighborhoods really did seem to disappear overnight. Others lost their jobs and found them elsewhere, or felt too unsure of what a repeat storm performance might do to their families and their homes.

I honestly don't know what I would do in this situation. When I visited in May, I stayed in the Garden District - on higher ground, literally, as well as upscale and largely untouched. I talked with residents from mere blocks away, though, who, although middle or upper middle class, had suffered losses of property and spirit. Don't let the photos fool you. It is a pervasive problem.

The Sunday paper also covered Vincent's City Club, a restaurant and bar that was a popular spot for jazz and crawfish on the east side. The owners relocated to Baton Rouge after the storm, finding each other and cobbling together their staff members as they were located and brought on board again, albeit in a new city. The story of Vincent's made me cry like tales of such tenacity and loss often do (and add the healing power of food, community and music to the mix and I definitely need extra tissues.) And I have to add that Wil Haygood, the writer, has a way with a feature. I loved this story as much as I hate the reason why it had to be written, and it made me stop for at least the hundreth time since I went to JazzFest in May, and say, "God, what a terrible, terrible thing."

Today's stories were typical, and not so bad either. So read them, and look at the pictures too, because it's important to remember that at any moment we could be in a similar situation and I think most of us would want our fellow citizens to feel for us and do what they could to help us get back on our feet.

When I was down there in May, I kept seeing a few different sayings on shirts and pins and signs.

And a couple I didn't get shots of..."Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans," (with big props to Mr. Armstrong), and of course... "Laissez les bon temps rouler encore."

I do hope so, and it does happen every night, still, down in the Quarter. I just wish for it more in the hearts of the people.

Ready for some football

So I went to trivia night tonight, and we lost, horribly. PEOPLE: it was MALARIA. Always go with the first answer, especially when it's MINE. And when it's malaria (which, by the way, IS a parasitic disease. Hello!)

Really, I didn't pull for it - and wasn't really at the top of my game tonight. However, two awesome things happened.

Awesome thing One: I answered my first ever sports trivia question right, all by myself, with two men sitting at the table, no less. "Name one of the two quarterbacks playing in the NFL whose names can be typed using only one hand (in the traditional two-handed formation, not hunting and pecking) on the QWERTY keyboard. And I'm all "BRETT FAVRE? RIGHT? BRETT...Faavvv-re? FARVE?????" And I was right! The other two were Bart Somebody and Burt Free or Ben Free or some other B names.

Look, he's all touched by it too. I'm totally watching football this year.

Awesome Thing Two: Singing my very favorite song "Stuck in the Middle With You" by Stealer's Wheel with my sister when it came over the loudspeaker on the break between questions...It was fun to know that I'd kind of stuck it in her head as a great song even though it probably isn't, but damn, it's fun. And it's kind of a metaphor for life, as well, so that works out. She feels the same way about Kenny Loggins's "I'm Alright", (which is a staple on road trips as well) as I do about this song.

"Clowns to the left of me/ jokers to the right

Here I am/ stuck in the middle with you."

Good times.

The Plutonian Paradigm

I had wondered why I was all caught up in this whole topic, even when all weekend, people kept mentioning the "Pluto thing," and going, "Uh, YEAH. I KNOW. That's so WEIRD." So I didn't feel like such a loser for caring about Pluto being voted off the interplanetary island, as it were. I mean, who even thought about it since you had to learn the planets in school? I happen to have a planet tattooed on my body, because when it came time for me to get my tramp stamp, I went with a Saturn-of-many-colors. It's the "ruling planet" of Capricorn, which is something about me that'll never change, plus my very stoned ex said "That's cool. I'll design it." Done. So everyone around me is just damned lucky that the ringed wonder was left alone, or else I'd have gone into seclusion or something, but I digress.

Yes, others were indeed thinking about the poor little guy, in the wake of the decision of a bunch of hungover members of the International Astronomical Union (check THOSE name badges) to kick its round, cold little ass to the curb (sounds not unlike my last breakup, actually.) And yes, hungover. They'd have to drink at these conferences, wouldn't they?

It could be none of us have better things to think about, or is it really that see, Pluto's new status as a "dwarf planet" is just challenging my 'categories'. I KNEW there had to be some reason or rationalization for this national malaise, (besides, say, war, or the threat of more natural disasters as we come upon two milestones of tragic events) as there are for most things. The demotion of Pluto has messed with my "living world" to the extent that I can no longer "force facts into separated pigeonholes." Thank God the Associated Press has come up with some new mnemonic suggestions to help us keep our planets pigeonholed, lest we all come completely unglued.

Normally I would ignore an article that included the phrase "paradigm shift," because I'm usually asleep and drooling on myself by the third line. But today I made an exception, strictly because this was the most intriguing piece I'd seen about the (ahem) ASTRONOMICAL catfight over the whole "Fuck you, tiny non-planet" thing.

Therefore, perhaps I should return to purchase this "Pluto" eyeshadow set from Estee Lauder, because even though it is $30, that's kind of chump change when it comes to keeping me on the continuum, which the article says is really important. And it's also a particularly fetching combo of green and brown, which pleases me as well.

I think the saddest, yet most resigned, response comes from Patricia Tombaugh, the widow of Pluto-discovered Clyde Tombaugh, who died in 1997. Clyde knew it was coming, though, she says...and reached this very Zen conclusion, which we would all do well to adopt: 'It's there. Whatever it is. It is there.' Just like that swell new Pluto eyeshadow, which I'd better pick up soon - because it'll probably cost me double next week.

Funny Stuff to Start Your Week Off Right

Working really puts a crimp in several of my favorite activities, including my flickr problem habit. Just knowing that the photobooth clusters exist is reason enough to dedicate more time I don't have to looking at pictures of people I don't know. I need money to finance these little hobbies, though, so that should help me focus. A little.

Matthew's at it again over at Defective Yeti, and like I said the other day (I at least waited a couple of days, really...) he's just a funny guy. His recent audiovisual report on the overfriendliness of bank machines was just the laugh I needed after the Emmy's tonight. No Jason Bateman? Are they kidding me? Kiefer Sutherland beating Martin Sheen? What?  The West Wing was one of the best shows ever, and although I know better than to expect anything (and really, why would I?) from a Hollywood awards show, still...Lisa Moraes from the Washington Post blogged the show, and caught some of the funnier and more compelling quotes from the sidelines (sounds like she's in California.) This is my favorite:

"Female reporter to Barry Manilow: "They say music is the soundtrack of your life. What song.. do you look back at to remind you of tonight?"

Manilow: "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel. (Answer: "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel).

Earlier, a female reporter to Jeremy Irons: "What is the best advice anyone ever gave you?"

Irons: "Soldier on."

Irons looks at female reporter who somehow looks even more vacant than usual.

Irons: "Do you understand what I mean?"

Reporter: "Not at all."

I try to stay away from Perez Hilton, because it makes me feel like I need a shower after I read it, but I have to admit that this comment about the newest Britney Spears photo made me smile:

"SE VE BONITAAA AUNQUE PARESE DE BABY DOLL SU VESTIDITO, PERO EN SI ESTA BONITA, YA LA VEO MAS SONRIENTE, ALTO TRAMA ESTA MUCHACHITA, ME GUSTA SU SOMBRERO"

He loves her cowboy hat, people! Leave her the hell alone!

And lastly, another theft from Tracey. They've taken down the Steven Seagall page that she links to in the middle (he's got a new cd out, don'tcha know) but the Armor of God pjs are just what every good little soldier should have to start out the school year, and bacon bars - well, there you have those.

In the Photobooth

I love the Mac store. It's the only place I can get my Photobooth action on. I went in today to reacquaint myself with iLife before the semester starts, and it was a bad idea. Although it was incredibly entertaining, it's going to cost me several thousand dollars to recement this whole relationship, and who has that? I need a fundraiser, stat.

Anyway, on to the pictures. The first one is going on the cover of my cd, no question :

And now, for my second favorite. OMG, I'm glowing! I'm glowing!

This one is funny, and it's subtitled, watching for the overzealous Mac Store boy to come and kick me out, 'cause it's almost closin' time. He was studiously shutting down laptops all around me, but hey, I had five whole minutes!

I love the glow effect. I need it in real life, seriously. Photobooth RULES. (they just need more effects! More! More!)

For a couple others in the series, see here.

Operation Smile

So I've come across this opportunity and I'm incredibly excited about it, but I'm almost afraid to even think about it because I'll get too freaked out that it won't happen. I'm going to go with the direct approach for a change of putting it out there in the universe with the most hopeful of attitudes, and if I'm wrong...well, so be it. I tried.

Operation Smile is seeking volunteers for people to be patient imaging technicians on medical missions, which would involve photographing children before and after cleft lip and palate repair surgeries, and editing and posting the photographs. They go all over the place. I've said before that going along on a mission would be my dream, and I never thought that it could happen because I'm not a medical professional. I even thought of becoming a child life specialist just so I could contribute, but that's never worked out. This would be a way to use my photography skills for a really good cause.

I have a repaired cleft lip and palate, by the way, and I also have no photographs of myself pre-repair. I don't know if I've written about it on here? I suppose if you check out my occasional self-portraits you may be able to tell that things are a little sideways, or you may be like the little girl who asked me once, "Did you fall on some glass?" That one was particularly sweet. Anyway, it isn't my favorite or the easiest topic, but it's been coming up a lot lately and I feel like an idiot for not addressing it. Like I'm not representing, or something, because it's me. I don't want anyone to ever feel like they can't ask me an informed question, and it's really not that dramatic of a story. There was nothing I could do about it at the start, and throughout my life, I've dealt with it the best I could. There's just...nothing you can do about it on your own. It just is. And at this point in my life I'd say that I've made a pretty good peace with it.

It's just that I just finished The Kite Runner, in which the "harelip" (BAH!) of one of the main characters was a HUGE deal, and that was a little weird. (The book is fabulous, by the way.) And a couple months ago, a woman at my sister's work contacted me because her son has a cleft lip, and she wanted to know what my experience was and was seeking some support because she was completely flipped out that this had happened to him. I mean, really freaked out. That was a weird spot to be in, because some terrible, rose-colored glasses version of me wanted to be the "cleft lip poster child" who was completely well-adjusted at all times and never had any hangups and certainly didn't snore. Lies, all lies. I couldn't tell her it was all awesome for me, and nor is it still. But I wrote to her at length, responded honestly to her questions, and told her that her son needed her to accept him or find a way to fake it until she really could, because he would have enough struggles with everything else and his mommy needed to be a solid source of support. And I told her that it was okay to feel sad, because this is no great shakes when one is planning on the usual Gerber baby, but that it could have been so much worse...that i consider myself blessed that I have all my limbs, and that I'm cancer-free, and that my brain works and I have all my senses. All things considered, with all the stuff that can go wrong, this doesn't seem so, so bad. And it seemed that I helped her, which was cool.

I found myself really shamefully caught up about looks and beauty in my response, though, because I'd seen her photo with her baby and she was just beautiful. (And her baby was too, no joke. The repairs these days are f'ing phenomenal. It's like the Wondertwins touch these babies and go, "SHAPE OF...A PERFECTLY FORMED MOUTH." and it's all done. I know that's not true, but in this case comparison is everything. The truth is that I'm way more concerned at this point about the physical/structural challenges I face as my bones, cartilage and skin age, which are getting more pressing and PLEASE don't let them have to really break and reset my JAW. GOD. As much as my family is excited about the prospect of me not being able to talk for a month, I'm not down with the prospect of PAIN. No thanks.

Then there was an incident with the woman who did my pedicure a month ago, which was very intense and oddly healing at the same time. She asked me about my cleft repairs - wanted to know who did them - when she was finishing up, and I knew immediately that she had a personal connection because why else would she have asked "who"? Turns out that her daughter has a cleft and she's a reconstructive dentist now (because she wanted to give back, which I think is rad of course.) We talked for a long time. She was beautiful, herself - originally from Iran, and gave off the air of someone who's done a LOT of yoga. I guess her daughter has had a ton of plastic work done in adulthood, which I have not, because I hate hospitals, and I'm opposed to inessential surgeries because I don't see the benefits as outweighing the risks of anesthesia. I get really, really sick, and the risks always worry me - I'd rather be alive with my crooked nose than dead, bottom line. And at this point, who am I trying to impress? I've been in relationships where real love and even real physical attraction (Wow! Check it out!) were involved, and I'm not interested in anyone who isn't interested in me. I accept imperfect forms, and we'll all end up with them anyway...besides, I'm way more concerned at this juncture with my weight than my face. Silly, maybe, but just the way I've worked it out for myself. Still, for her daughter it was important, and I don't criticize that. This is some hard shit to wade through and whatever people decide is right for them, I support (even if it is three nose jobs. Ow.) Her daughter also did the jaw-breaking thing, and she expressed surprise that I hadn't had to yet. Damn.

Anyway, so it's weird that all of this has been coming up in the past few months, because prior to that I hadn't talked about it in any significant way since...I guess about six years ago. And I've been writing about all of this for a writing assignment that I have that it's totally appropriate for, just to try to make sense of it all and why it's becoming such a major theme in my life for 2006. So when this Operation Smile opportunity arose, I thought somehow that it was maybe a result of all of this, and maybe I was supposed to be paying attention. I don't know, but I would love to go to Vietnam or Cambodia (or anywhere else they care to send me) and look into the eyes of these children...to see families transformed from unwarranted shame to pride and gratitude...to give a little back? We'll see. Wish me luck, and send me good vibes.

*It's important to note that the initial lip repair surgery is quite routine at this point and costs approximately $750. Still, it is unavailable to children all over the world.

Take the T-Bird

Last weekend was designated for fun, and now it's almost next weekend, so there's little currency or interest in retreading, but just to catch us up, and to get ready for Friday, I'll note some things that have been going on lately that are kind of...fun.

*Befriending my friends who are also too old for MySpace but do not care.

*Resurrecting a recurring, too oft-neglected, and extremely entertaining hobby of flirting with math geeks. It could work as an exhibition Olympic sport. Of course "flirting" when I do it could be considered too darkly ironic of an enterprise to be real, Love American Style flirting, so maybe it's something else, I don't know. But somehow the math and science guys, they dig it.

*Watching "Little Miss Sunshine", one of the best movies in recent memory, with one of my very best friends, and sitting down close to the front, and laughing til we choked. Choking, in this instance, can  be considered ancillary fun, in spite of the hazards. I also finally saw "The Devil Wears Prada" which I thought was just a mess of a film. And it kind of depressed me because Meryl Streep is such a great actress (and hot, too. I think she's hot. She was exceptionally classy and attractive and beautifully bitchy in this film.) but she appears in these substandard films and it turns into a bad movie with Meryl Streep as a genius at the center. I mean, sure, it's nice to have some real talent around, but when it's surrounded by just okay people, it's noticeable. Anne Hathaway, while very attractive herself, is one-dimensional, as was that dude who played her boyfriend - very nice as he is on the eyes....Anyway, no harm no foul. There were some good previews and I can't wait for some of the films that are coming up soon. 

*Continuing to satisfy my Steve Carell jones with reruns of "The Office". I'm kind of stuck on it, at this point. I'm pretty much down with anything that he's in. Plus, John Krasinski is a doll, and Rainn Wilson is psychotically beautiful. Love this show. I'm such a dork about it, I write quotes down from it.  Sad. I'd put some here but it's such a nonverbally hilarious show that the lines miss something when you just see them on the page. At least I think so, anyway.

*Posting and giggling at "I'm so bershon" photos on flickr.

*Taking photos of random things while shopping.

First, these shots from Michael's that I sent to my Beantown girls from the scene of the crime...Yes, teddy bear sweaters. What bear doesn't deserve a fine pumpkin or turkey sweater? Hell, for that matter, get both. 

And this outstanding garment will work just great for the urban poodle fashionista.

Organic Rainbow Rings, because ripoff cereal names make me laugh...likr "Fruity Os" and "Smack 'em Sugars" and "Candy Oats." Add organic to the mix and it just gets wild. 

Primp Your Daddy. Ulta frightens me every time I go inside, and yet, I return. Why? These candy "ice cream cones" should come with a blazing neon warning from the Surgeon General, or at least from someone's mom. Blockbuster candy sucks.

The maternity store was another fresh circle of hell this past weekend. My mother dragged me there to get a present for one of our gaggle of procreating friends, and I really wasn't interested, but still, there was fun to be had.

Along with some of the most unattractive clothing I've ever seen for a pregnant or any other sort of woman, Mimi Maternity stocks all kinds of tacky and useless "sideline items for the mom to be." First of all, "Preggie Pops" just sounds wrong. I don't know what's in them and I don't care, but it's supposed to get rid of morning sickness. The parent company is "Three Lollies", from whence you can also score "Queasy Pops" and "Preggie Pop Drops" as well. And then you can shoot yourself because you got a Preggie Pop from the "Wellness Spot" at Mimi Maternity.   

Lastly there is the "Tummy Tube", because MIMI MATERNITY seems to have the market cornered on corny alliteration. I couldn't believe how expensive the clothes were, for a store that seemed to stock the equivalent of merchandise from that hellhole Rave, with the addition of a yard more of fabric or maybe just some stretchy panels for your troubles. The woman working there totally didn't like the looks of me and my phone, and was oh so bershon herself about the whole enterprise of working at Mimi Maternity and "waiting on" my mother and me. I didn't care. It was a train wreck of a photo op, and therefore...still fun.

*END OF SHOPPING PHOTOS*

*Carne asada and maragaritas = fun

*Chatting with Lauren. Case in point: "I'm gonna gut this burrito and eat it like a crazed zombie."

*I'll post photos of the Sugarland show soon. That was definitely fun, and encouraging to see such real talent making it big for a change.

*Tickets for this. Yay! 

*Two words: "My Humps"

And it's the weekend all over again...Thank God.

I can't even deal with this.

I mean, GOD. You build the little house of your life on some fundamental truths, and just like that, WHAM. It's all GOOFY.

Punkin

I never updated on my weekend of fun, and I was kind of hoping to do that today, but I don't really feel like it, so instead I'll just show you a picture of my dog when he knows there's a brand new tennis ball on the table . This is usually totally not allowed - the paws on the table thing - but because I'm a sucker for him and for a good shot, I let it happen. I'm clearly weakening in my old age.

Punkinhead has gone deaf overnight, it seems, which is freaking us all out, so I feel compelled to post something that shows his...life force, as it were. When I finally must post the worst news ever about him, please pray for me, because I'm goin' down, folks. I won't be mobile, and I won't give a shit about any rainbow bridge or anything else for a while. This dog has been in my life for 11 years now. I picked him up from some lady's kitchen in Ohio when he was five weeks old, and in one way or another have never put him down, so it's tough to watch him get old and change, although that seems to be my lot these days. He's outlasted two states, a few boyfriends, maybe six or seven jobs, and a million states of mind...and he still loves me and hangs out with me when so much else has left me hanging and confused. He lets me cry into his side while I rub his ears occasionally, and when he doesn't do that, he stands by the bed or the couch or beside me on the floor on the worst days and paces worriedly until I quit. He let my other dog boss him around until her lungs gave out, and he walked through that weird time of grief and readjustment (just past 9/11, no less) to claim a space of justified alpha-doggedness. He's survived epilepsy, blood disease, colitis, a transition from the Midwest to the East Coast, a period of months where I made him dance to "Ob-La-Di-Ob-La-Da" with his sister and me everyday, and the suburbs. He is - absolutely - the most consistent thing in my life. So now that he can't really hear, and he doesn't immediately come to the door when I come through it, and I have to search the house in a panic for him only to find him passed out asleep upstairs in the folds of the comforter (a spot he loves, and where I'd much rather be, all things considered) or even in weird spaces like by the dryer, I get so anxious, every time. He wakes up, staggering, as is his way, with his face all wrinkled up from where it's been smooshed against the floor. But no matter how knocked out he's been, it usually happens that he bolts immediately for his ball, because even though he's old and deaf he still likes to play second only to how much he likes to eat, which is a lot.

Describing how I feel about him sounds kind of stupid, but it just seemed the time for a shoutout for my little man. He's been looking at me lately as if to say, "What's happening to me? Any ideas?" And although his nonverbal status makes him an outstanding source of unconditional acceptance and love, I kind of wish he could understand so I could tell him "It's just you're getting older, baby, nothing I can do, but I'll be here to get you through it and I'll throw that goddamned ball til long past the time you can catch it good." I think somehow he knows that, just from the way we've been rolling for more than a decade now. I hope so, anyway.

Render Services

One more for the "WTF Files," I swear. Life is so weird lately.

I received this email today, as I looked up from my outstanding steamed dumpling lunch (heehee, that sounds funny too! WACK, this whole story is WACK!!!!) to the ding of the subject line, "Render Services" in my inbox.

"Oh good," I thought. "Yet another person is offering to render services to me, particularly services that I really, really want and couldn't possibly live without. This is so interesting. Please allow me to click on and read this email quickly, before it goes away. It couldn't possibly be a virus."

"Greetings!

  I am Johnson Smith from London UK, I came across your profile after an effortless search for a professional photographer. We are relocating to my new house that I just buy in IL, USA, I mean I and my wife and children on August  21st 2006, but I will be celebrating my birthday on October 11th 2006, So I want your service on my birthday October 11th 2006.

My address which the birthday party will take place is below:

   
xxxxx
Towson, Maryland
21204

That is my house address that I just buy and moving from London to in USA.

The birthday party will start 12pm to 4pm, so you can arrive the same day to our house if you like, or you can arrive at our house day b4 the party, just let me know which one you wish to do, but my house have adjacent rooms which you can stay in one of them if you like to come b4 the day of party. I invited 30 friends and that is all we are expecting on the day.

So let me know your charges rate for the party including the Airfare or your transportation amount, and let me know the amount all together, so I can arrange for the payment in time and you can be able to book the day for my Birthday Party.

I?m attending a Conference here in Beijing China now so you can reach me on this mobile number +8675309 Anytime from Monday to Sunday.

Thanks."

I repeat: WTF? I removed the street address and "mobile number". And I have no idea what profile this person is speaking of. Of course I have them. You do too, so shut up. Everyone wants me to fill one out, to do anything, it seems, from buying a cd to hunting down a defenseless MAN to be my BITCH. (HAHA! Y'all were DYING for that one, weren't you? Sorry...I'm giving it one last shot at the carbon-based approach before I totally sell out, cause guess why? I like my pain straight, no chaser, no middleman. And also, I am a total idiot.) Anyway, some of my profiles mention photography, because they are RELATED TO PHOTOGRAPHY, and my general location...but to tell the truth, I have no idea what they are because I have the attention span of something that has the shortest possible attention span. But of course, since it was an "effortless search," well, it must have been that billboard I recently had placed alongside the Baltimore beltway.

I also rarely use my main e-mail for these sorts of things, because most of the mail they generate can easily languish amongst the "nervesexcellMiami" and "You may be a winner" and all that other spam crap that sits there until I hit "check all" and "delete" in that most freeing of modern-day activities. So I don't know exactly where this person broke through the third wall, but here are the answers to the questions:

*Airfare from my hood to Towson is approximately $3400, mostly because you have to rent a two-seater plane and take off from the Giant parking lot, and that gets pricey. I'd like this reimbursed upfront, in cash. Particularly after that distressing mixup yesterday with Capital One, I could really use it soon.

*And that adjacent room in IL, oh, I mean, MD, is just not going to work. Nobody puts baby in the adjacent room. Rhetorically speaking, are you drunk? You can end up in some four-star joint in Beijing (cause I'm sure that's how that went down...Sike.) and I get a half-double in Towson? What? Nobody puts baby by the fair grounds, either, for that matter. It's all about higher ground in the '06, yo. Screw that.

*I cannot "render services" for someone who capitalizes "Birthday Party." Clearly this is where our paths diverge.

*Tommy Tutone (oh my God, did he die? Let me stop this party for one, at which I'm having an IMMENSELY good time, by the way, for a sec to wonder aloud if that's true and perhaps Google it. Dude, he's totally alive, if you count working as a software engineer in southern Cali as being, well, "alive." Just kidding. And also, you can get a new- as new as the last update on this site, anyway - acoustic version of "Jenny" on a new record called "80s Hits Stripped." See how much you learn from my attention deficit breaks? See?!?) well, Tommy Tutone would like his telephone number back.

So weird. And if I have to change my e-mail again, I'm going to be such an unhappy girl.