The Gospel

I feel like I've just been to church. And I have been saved.

The New Yorker is doing a college tour and this week they were at Berkeley. Tonight they had three panelists talking about reporting on the war. It was amazing. I've never heard people nail so many things on the head the way they did. The attitude of so many people in this country is disgusting. Especially the people I live with. This past weekend has shown me that the two of those boys don't think about anyone but themselves. And Chelsea, as much as I love her -- she doesn't think about other people either. I mean she'd kill for her friends and family...but she's apathetic to the rest of the world. She complains that she can't get the classes she wants because there aren't enough sections. I tell her it's because there's not enough funding. I tell her that if she voted for the propositions to increase public school funding, or voted against Shwarzenegger, that might change. But she doesn't want to vote. She thinks the government doesn't affect her. She expects other people to look out for her.

But I digress. This is just a prime example of the ridiculous people in this country. There are less than five Arabic speakers in the FBI. And not a single native speaker. All of them took a 9 week crash course and call themselves translators. It makes me want to learn Arabic, because journalists are doing the government's job. Journalists go abroad and talk with people and learn about their situations and try to understand where they're coming from. The government sits on its ass. I can't wait to be a journalist.

Party time, excellent!

While reading Newsweek on the elliptical this morning, I had a laugh out loud moment at one of the letters to the editor.

"I am one of Sacha Baron Cohen's many victims ("Behind the Schemes, Oct. 16). Because his handlers told me he was Borat Sagdiyev, "a TV journalist from Kazakhstan," I booked him for a live studio interview on our morning news show in Jackson, Miss., thinking he was a legitimate reporter doing a documentary to be shown in his home country. I checked out his public-relations company's Web site and even met one of the publicists in person. They seemed genuine. But once the camera was on him, this man destroyed our credibility in very short order. Because of him, my boss lost faith in my abilities and second-guessed everything I did thereafter. I spiraled into depression, and before I could recover I was released from my contract early. It took me three months to find another job and now I'm thousands of dollars in debt and struggling to keep my house out of foreclosure. How upsetting that a man who leaves so much harm in his path is lauded as a comedic genius. Think of all the other people who've probably been fired because of his antics." - D. A. Arthur, Panama City, Fla.

Now come on. If you're such a bad journalist that 1. You aren't in touch with popular culture, and 2. You don't do any research on your guests, I'm sorry but...you're an idiot and you deserve to lose your job. That's like whining because you invited Wayne and Garth to your news show because you thought they were really teenage music fans who broadcast a show from their basement.

B-A-N-A-N-A-S, this shit is

Get drunker than you've ever gotten before? Check
Do it two nights in a row? Check
Walk around in the shortest shorts you've ever worn? Check
Show everyone your bra and/or tits because your shirt just won't stay on? Check
Discover gnarly wounds without any recollection of getting them? Check
See someone throw up in the middle of the street and/or pass out on a streetcorner? Check
Almost get run over by cops on horseback? Check
See all of your housemate's asses? Check
Kiss your girlfriends? Check
Dance in a cage? Check
Pound the handle? Check

Halloween 2006. Obligatory post. So much better than last year. And it's not even the 31st yet.

Does that make me crazy?

Just as I was about to begin my own memoir, "The Devil Wears Her Hair Pulled Back Too Often," I came across former journalism adviser Olaina Anderson's latest pet project. How's this for a tagline?

"I used to have a life: high school teacher, journalism adviser. Then I had a miscarriage and complications. Now I'm creating a new life--after school."

All this and more at Olaina After School. Can't wait for the movie version, but how will they ever find someone with a large enough... oh, well, you know.

Snide comments aside, I always knew she was a little crazy.

Melting down

It's a little terrifying when, all of the sudden, your future's brake lights go out and you slam right into it.

A few weeks ago I started working on my study abroad application. I scheduled a meeting with the chair of the Journalism department and quickly learned that, sorry, journalism isn't offered in Paris. SFSU Journalism is one of only 100 accredited programs in the US, and therefore to study journalism abroad I have to go to one of the countries they have specific arrangements with (Denmark, Wales, Australia). Well, okay then. She made it seem as if I was screwed, but after a few rounds of "are you sure, because the study abroad people said I could..." she finally told me that she thinks I should go and we outlined a class plan (that unfortunately involves summer school this and next summer) to make it happen.

Then she suggested graduate school. Finally, the answer I've been looking for. She told me that magazine writing, aside from being competitive, is tricky because very few magazines have a writing staff -- it's mostly done by freelance. So graduate school gives the edge. She suggest NYU. I light up because I've done the research and that was already my first pick. Columbia is good, too. Northwestern has some weird system and it very cliquey. She nixed USC -- good thing, too, cuz I'm not a fan. So how to best package myself for grad school? Great, I thought I put that behind me when I finished college applications. Anyway. Major in French, she says. They'll prefer someone who has immersed themselves in a subject. I understand, but I'm not quite ready to give up a BA in magazine journalism. Then it hits me: double major. With two classes in summer school and the two or three extra spaces in my schedule while I'm in Paris, I've got plenty of time to take the four upper division classes I need to turn my French minor into a French major. So there it is. I am a double major. After this study abroad business is squared away, I'll probably be in that office monthly. I'm hungry for advice. Plus, I'll need her as a recommendation on my grad school application. Yikes. I don't even want to know what those student loans are going to look like. And this time, unless my mom is feeling incredibly generous, I'll be on my own.

And as my luck would have it, I'm back to desperate need of a job. I found one for Fridays amazingly easily (answered the ad, called me back, interviewed and hired me all within 24 hours) but of course, I should've known it was too good to be true. Last Thursday night at 8 (while I was working out) I got a call saying that both parents had gotten telecommuting privileges on Fridays and so I was no longer needed. He called to tell me this 12 hours before I would've gone to their house. So I worked for them three times. Fucked up. I've had some interviews, it's going slowly. I have an interview for a real job on Wednesday. I can only pray at this point.

In other news, the darling baby kitten is officially testicle-free. I dropped him off at the SPCA Wednesday morning after 30 minutes of nasty traffic and him screaming in the carrier, then picked him up that evening. He was completely doped up on kitten Vicodin or what it was. My roommates still don't believe that he will be happier this way.

I'm seeing red

All things being equal, they are not.
As first world consumers, we have tremendous power. What we collectively choose to buy, or not to buy, can change the course of life and history on this planet.

A bit melodramatic, perhaps, but it's the concept behind (RED).

When you buy any of the products that support Product (RED), the parent company (Apple, GAP, American Express, and Motorola are just a few) will donate some of its profits to buy and distribute anti-retroviral medicine to people dying of AIDS in Africa.

(I've seen their stuff at the GAP and it looks pretty good.)

Check it out.

Puck, mommy is tired

I feel like I just had a baby. Utter exhaustion. After four nights of Ruben's friends going to bed at 3 and waking up at 8, plus two nights of the kitten not sleeping more than 3 hours straight...yesterday was a BAD day. I got up early, took Puck to the pet store to get his shots and such. That went well. Came back, read in the living room and he didn't cry when I left him in my room. Took a nap. Woke up from nap. Mental breakdown. I think my body assumed that the nap would be a full night's sleep, and when I woke up I basically became hysterical. I need Prozac when I'm sleep deprived. It's serious. Luckily, I should be catching up on my sleep soon. Last night I went to bed I worked that kitten out so hard that he passed out at 11 with me and didn't wake up again until 5:30. Then I basically tossed him off the bed repeatedly until he found something else to do or just went to sleep next to me. I don't remember because I put my ear plugs in. He loooooves to wrestle in the morning. He comes up and lays down under my chin like he's going to snuggle. Then he rolls sideways and starting batting and kicking my neck. Oy. At least he's getting better. The HEPA vacuum is coming in the mail soon so he'll be able to play all throughout the apartment, and I can boot him from my room if he won't let me sleep. I'm babysitting 8 hours this weekend, 12 bucks an hour, so that money will go to Puck's big toys.

On another note, Lauren and Mike came to San Francisco on Saturday and we had a grand old time. Unfortunately we were evaded by cookies made of 2 parts love, 3 parts orgasm, and 3 parts chocolate chips. Or something like that?

Here he is. . .!

What is my life?

Well, it's mostly jobs, furniture, and kitten planning.

On the job front: I'm suspending my search for a real job because I found a three week nannying gig for a family whose 3 1/2 year old daughter needs someone to watch her while she's in between her summer program and regular preschool. It's minimum wage ($8.82), but it's cool. I also found another family who was looking for a French speaking babysitter and have three evenings with them lined up for sure, more in the future. So hopefully I'll make some money in this time and then I'll look for a real job again.

And furniture. This past weekend we got TWO free, in-lovely-shape couches. One was donated by a coworker, another was found on the sidewalk and hauled to the apartment on skateboards, then up 9 flights of stairs. Silly boys. My bed is arriving tonight at approximately 10 pm. It's full, it's pillow-top, it's a year old and $50 -- it's basically magnificent. The search for sheets has been less successful, but I can deal with my twin XL flat sheet and duvet for a while. New bedding can be seen here. And this completes the ensemble. Now I'm on the lookout for a desk and a night stand. Found some great stuff on Craig's list, but the shite part about Craig's list is that many people post stuff and then don't check their email.

And thirdly, the big preparation for our baby kitten. After much careful planning (Cat trees! Premium kitten food! Vaccinations, deworming, neutering!), discussion on the Craig's list pet forum, and one major set-back (major but not disastrous, as I've learned. . .Blake (one of my roommate's) is allergic to cats. However. After much internet research (Google saves lives) I have discovered solutions. Item 1: there are many pet shampoos and washes that eliminate the allergenic cat protein. 2: a HEPA filter. 3: Kitty will live mostly in my 13x17 sqft. room (playing with this. And a helpful person on Craig's list also suggested taking kitty for walks (with this) to make sure he gets even more exercise and doesn't mind staying mostly in one room (I'll let him in the living room when I'm home). Sounds a little nutty, but I don't see why not. Cats'll do pretty much anything if you get them used to it at a young age. My kitten will be bathed and go for walks. I have always spoiled my pets, but there's only so far you can go with a hamster or a chinchilla (did you know my chinchillas, at one time, had HUGE hamster balls to run around the house -- and sometimes the backyard -- in. It's true. However the board and a hand vacuum proved to be more humane alternative). But rest assured -- I will never cook for my cat (as I've learned, there are some insane people out there who cook gourment dinners -- I'm talking beef, brown rice, and veggies type of stuff -- for their dogs) nor will the cat wear clothes or travel in a purse. Although I wouldn't mind potty training him.

So there it is. Life is coming together? Hopefully.

Remember her?

I have no comments. You'll have to see for yourself.

What does NATO Stand for?
Never A Dull Opportunity.

Sad day for me / I am Grace

Yes, my former future husband has come out of the closet. However, I'd rather see him with a man than marrying another woman, so really, everyone wins here.

P.S. - his boyfriend is hot.

Um, aren't they ALL?

So Lance Bass is gay.

I'll only be really excited when Justin comes out of the closet, too.

Oh, and um, it says in the People Magazine article that Lance "is developing an Odd Couple-inspired sitcom pilot with [Joey] Fatone in which his character will be gay."

Raise your hand if you think that's a bad idea.

K Thanks.

All the news that's fit to print

Smart people are usually informed people, and I like the idea of being at least a semi-informed individual. There's a lot of shit that goes on in the world, and I'd like to know about at least some of it in a timely manner, not a week after it happens when someone asks me if I heard about it and I stare at them like an idiot. So I decided that I'd subscribe to a newspaper to be delivered to me daily. (Delivery anything is a good thing, if you ask me. Especially Chinese food.)
The Santa Barbara News Press is terrible and lame for reasons that neither you nor I really want to hear about, so my next choice was the LA Times. I made the commitment and subscribed online. A week later, then two weeks later, I hadn't had a single paper at my door. So I call to see what's going on, and after some confusion and awful music while being on hold, the man on the other end of the line tells me they don't deliver to Goleta. You'd think that they would say that when I signed up for the paper with my 93117 zip code, but that's obviously way too difficult to program into the registration website. Silly me. So no LA Times.
Next on my list was the New York Times. They deliver everywhere, right? Well, I actually don't know, but they do deliver to Goleta. Except it was going to cost me $6 a week (Okay, $5.95). The LA Times wasn't even $3/week. So I look at the Wall Street Journal, expecting it to cost around $10. Nope. $2 a week, sir, and actually with the student discount, about $1.30/week. With the NY Times student discount, my price goes all the way down to a whopping $4.90 per week. I am less than thrilled. But I want more news than stocks, so the New York Times it is, and they tell me I'll get my first paper this Friday. We'll see.

But I'm looking forward to the weekend, because I know when I wake up late, cook myself a nice big breakfast (or more likely, have my boyfriend cook me a nice big breakfast), and sit down to eat with a fatty newspaper to read, I'll feel pretty smart. Maybe I'll even wear my glasses.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Meghann.

A Cinderella Story

I want to be this rich. From an article I'm working on:

"Ben Addoms, CEO of Quintess, is fond of telling the story of a member whose wife desired a rare pair of Manolo Blahnick shoes for their anniversary. 'She tore the page out of a magazine and gave it to him. He called around to try and find the shoes and couldn’t find them, so our concierge service called literally every outlet in the United States and found the last pair of size seven shoes. They were gift-wrapped and delivered two days before their anniversary.'”

Then again, I wouldn't mind knowing Manolo Blahnick personally so I could skip the whole personal concierge service thing.

Happy days are yours and mine?

So... married people are happier than single people, people without children are happier than parents, and people who believe in God are happier than those who don't. Are you happy now?

Adventures in alternative lifestyles

So it's looking like my mother is moving to the bay area in the fall. A headhunter emailed her a couple months ago about an infection control job at a hospital in Fremont, so she did a phone interview, and yesterday they flew her up here to interview with them. Now what will happen to Sean, you ask? Well, it's very interesting. A few months ago my mom decided she wanted to rent out our guest room to a med student or such to help pay my student loans. Well, that idea has recently been scrapped because Mohamed is moving in. After 4 years in London and finally getting a Visa to come here and take his medical equivalency exams, he's decided that it's not worth it to renew his work Visa in the UK, so he's coming to America. So he will be looking after Sean when my mom isn't there. I think she'll be flying down on the weekends, not sure yet. So she's gonna try to get a place in Montclair (near Oakland) or in the Berkeley hills, and she will be able to afford all this cuz this new job pays 15% more than what she's making now. Sooo yeah, my mom's gonna be living near me now (sort of). Very weird to think about, but at least it means she'll be taking Chelsea and me out to dinner in the city haha.

Doggy doctors and things

So we took my poor dog to the emergency room today because after days of vomiting from both ends, several x-rays and an ultrasound, they finally figured out that she had a "foreign body" stuck in her intestine and she needed surgery to get it out.
Great.
So we're waiting at the emergency hospital and my mother reminded me that when I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian. She didn't mention that I also wanted to be a ballerina, an artist, a writer, a firewoman, an environmental-save-the-earth type, an astronaut, and a teacher at the same time. While my other aspirations continued on for weeks or months or years, my dream of being a veterinarian was cut short the day we put my first dog to sleep. Her veterinarian did it. I didn't know that vets kill dogs. But they do. And I don't. So I will never be a veterinarian.

Anyway, poor fucking Tika goes under the knife tonight. They think she has floss stuck in her intestine.
I never wanted to be a dentist.

On Manners

I'm making my way through New York Magazine's Urban Etiquette Handbook, and I've got to say, some of this is relevant to us college students. And if you're a college student in New York, well then, aren't you special?

Is it ever acceptable to talk to a stranger on an elevator?
If there are six or fewer people on the elevator, no. However, if the group is larger than six, you have achieved an Elevator Humor Quorum and someone must make a remark about the elevator’s lack of size or speed in order to relieve the tension created by standing in a tiny space with six or more strangers. If another member of the group makes the remark first, Elevator Humor Solidarity obligates you to chuckle mildly.

I think we should make a college etiquette guide. I'll start:

Is it okay to mention information from the Facebook in conversation?
Rarely. While, in some circumstances, it is permissible to say "Happy Birthday" because you were reminded by Facebook, most other information should be kept to yourself for fear of looking like a stalker. Interests, activities, wall posts and photographs published on the Facebook should never be mentioned in person, especially in cases where you aren't "Friends" with the person you are talking to. If someone tells you something you already knew because you saw it on the Facebook, don't use the opportunity to display how much free time you have. Instead, react as though you are hearing the information for the first time.

An Inconvenient Truth.

Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived our their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner on another, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some priviledged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

- Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot, 1994

GO SEE IT.

I can feel Jennifer Aniston crying

Go look at the magazine and check out the picture of Brad holding her. It's intense.