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September 27, 2006
Books I Read in September
New Total: 99
Snow
by Orhan Pamuk
Publishers Weekly: A Turkish poet who spent 12 years as a political exile in Germany witnesses firsthand the clash between radical Islam and Western ideals in this enigmatically beautiful novel. Ka's reasons for visiting the small Turkish town of Kars are twofold: curiosity about the rash of suicides by young girls in the town and a hope to reconnect with "the beautiful Ipek," whom he knew as a youth. But Kars is a tangle of poverty-stricken families, Kurdish separatists, political Islamists (including Ipek's spirited sister Kadife) and Ka finds himself making compromises with all in a desperate play for his own happiness. A detached tone and some dogmatic abstractions make for tough reading, but Ka's rediscovery of God and poetry in a desolate place makes the novel's sadness profound and moving.
My Review: This book was definitely more engaging than My Name is Red (which I read during my trip to Turkey last summer), but still a challenge. There were moments when I was totally caught up in the story, and others when I just wanted it to be over. I can't tell if this is a Turkish thing, or an Orhan Pamuk thing--since I had similar feelings towards his previous work.
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Kafka on the Shore
by Haruki Murakami
Publishers Weekly: In this latest addition to the author's incomparable oeuvre, 15-year-old Kafka Tamura runs away from home, both to escape his father's oedipal prophecy and to find his long-lost mother and sister. As Kafka flees, so too does Nakata, an elderly simpleton whose quiet life has been upset by a gruesome murder. (A wonderfully endearing character, Nakata has never recovered from the effects of a mysterious World War II incident that left him unable to read or comprehend much, but did give him the power to speak with cats.) What follows is a kind of double odyssey, as Kafka and Nakata are drawn inexorably along their separate but somehow linked paths, groping to understand the roles fate has in store for them. Murakami likes to blur the boundary between the real and the surreal—we are treated to such oddities as fish raining from the sky; a forest-dwelling pair of Imperial Army soldiers who haven't aged since WWII; and a hilarious cameo by fried chicken king Colonel Sanders—but he also writes touchingly about love, loneliness and friendship. Occasionally, the writing drifts too far into metaphysical musings—mind-bending talk of parallel worlds, events occurring outside of time—and things swirl a bit at the end as the author tries, perhaps too hard, to make sense of things. But by this point, his readers, like his characters, will go just about anywhere Murakami wants them to, whether they "get" it or not.
My Review: I loved this book, and now am fighting every urge to go out and buy all of his other work. This is the first non-South American writer I've encountered who does magical realism in a way that works, and I was drawn into the web to the point where the Kafka on the Shore world seemed more real than the chair I was sitting in. Highly recommended to EVERYONE.
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Everything is Illuminated
by Jonathan Safran Foer
Amazon.com The simplest thing would be to describe Everything Is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer's accomplished debut, as a novel about the Holocaust. It is, but that really fails to do justice to the sheer ambition of this book. The main story is a grimly familiar one. A young Jewish American--who just happens to be called Jonathan Safran Foer--travels to the Ukraine in the hope of finding the woman who saved his grandfather from the Nazis. He is aided in his search by Alex Perchov, a naïve Ukrainian translator, Alex's grandfather (also called Alex), and a flatulent mongrel dog named Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. On their journey through Eastern Europe's obliterated landscape they unearth facts about the Nazi atrocities and the extent of Ukrainian complicity that have implications for Perchov as well as Safran Foer. This narrative is not, however, recounted from (the character) Jonathan Safran Foer's perspective. It is relayed through a series of letters that Alex sends to Foer. These are written in the kind of broken Russo-English normally reserved for Bond villains or Latka from Taxi. Interspersed between these letters are fragments of a novel by Safran Foer--a wonderfully imagined, almost magical realist, account of life in the shtetl before the Nazis destroyed it. These are in turn commented on by Alex, creating an additional metafictional angle to the tale.
My Review: Hmm, even days after finishing this audiobook (the narrators were GREAT), I don't know what to say about this novel. There were certainly parts I thought were interesting, engaging, dramatic, and even perhaps brilliant, but the overall effect was somewhat lacking. It was almost as if the author ran out of steam at the end of things and wasn't quite sure how to end. I'm not surprised, I can't imagine how it should have ended, but I was left wanting more.
Posted by madchen at 08:01 AM | Comments (1)September 26, 2006
Rebound
The Big Idea calls, but I wanted to jot down my initial thoughts from this weekend before returning to the overwhelming burden that the rest of my life has become. First off, let me just say that New Boy #2 was nice, but nothing to shake a stick at, if you know what I'm saying. I felt like he could easily be the guy standing behind the counter at the rental car agency. Nothing wrong with that, you understand, just not my taste.
On the other hand, New Boy #1 was an interesting find indeed. We had a lunch date (sushi) that turned into a walk around the local women's co-op, which turned into a long perusal of the nearby bookstore, which turned into coffee at the local Starbucks, which turned into dinner, which turned into miniature golf, which turned into a long backrub while watching Sports Center on my sunroom sofa. Fifteen hours later, dear reader, I was convinced that Mr. Bethesda hadn't stolen my mojo.
So what's this kid's story, you may find yourself asking. Why would Ms. Write Again Soon, who has so clearly overbooked herself for the next six weeks, deem it worthwhile to spend 15 hours in a row with this young man? Dear reader, I'm not sure--but I have a strong suspicion that it has something to do with rebound.
It's not that I don't like this guy (we shall call him Mr. Music, since he plays a musical instrument at a professional level), because I do. But I'm not sure I like him (yet) as much as this mega-long date suggests. Nonetheless, I managed to arrange a second date with him, to immediately follow my date with the aforementioned bore, NB2.
That's right, dear reader. THREE different dates with two different guys over a mere weekend. That might be a record, even for me (although I have done the two-dates-in-one-day thing before--and I've got it down to a science). For date number two, Mr. Music took me to a recital, where we heard some very good and very bad music, and I thoroughly enjoyed being on a fancy date with a guy who opens the car door both when I enter AND exit the automobile. Very classy. And he held my hand during the event itself--which is a big deal since most of my recent dating experience has been more of the "let's make out in the privacy of my apartment and then pretend that we're just buddies when I walk you to your car" variety.
So what did I do? Dear reader, I jumped him. As he lay breathlessly in the darkness, he laughed and said, "when you said you would come to the recital, this isn't exactly how I envisioned ending the evening". I laughed too, retrieved my belongings, said a casual goodnight, and returned home.
The next morning I had a very brief email from Mr. Music, saying thanks for coming to the recital, he had a good time, etc. No mention of getting together again, very cool, etc. It was EXACTLY the type of email I would send the "morning after" to a guy who I liked, but didn't want to freak out with a "thanks for last night and when are we getting married" tone. How strange, I thought, to be on the other end of the game.
Anyway, I'm not sure where this is going, but I think I might keep Mr. Music around for a bit. After all, it's nice to have a hand to hold--even for a girl like me.
Posted by madchen at 09:35 PM | Comments (1)September 22, 2006
The Drama Ends…Abruptly
If you thought that the previous three options covered the spectrum of possibilities as to why Mr. Bethesda didn't call, you were sadly mistaken. I give you:
OPTION #4 – Going back to his old girlfriend to give things another try.
Yes, gentle reader, the drama has ended. I got a call a little bit ago from Mr. Bethesda. It started off nicely, with basically an explanation of Option #2—he'd been really busy at work, a new project came up at the last minute, he was going to have to work this weekend, he was exhausted, etc., etc., ad nauseum.
So far, so good.
"and, well, some unexpected things also happened…"
At that point, I should have hung up the phone. Turns out the girlfriend (who he CLEARLY indicated was out of the picture) he broke up with a couple of weeks ago has decided to give things another try and he's "excited to see where it goes".
Bastard…he didn't appear to be pining from her absence earlier this week. And isn't it bad manners to break up with a girl before your handprint bruises have faded from her rear end? I think we can all agree it is indeed.
Posted by madchen at 08:43 PM | Comments (2)A Second Date and the Drama Ensues
After MD1 (Magical Date #1) with Mr. Bethesda on Sunday, we met up again on Monday night. He came over to my place, I cooked dinner, and we proceeded to pick up where we left off the night before. It was all quite delightful, and I have a feeling that this man might have skillz that put even Mr. FWB to shame. At the end of MD2, we compared schedules and decided that this weekend was the next opportunity to get together.
All fine and dandy, right? Well, dear reader, the course of true love n'er did run smooth. Or something like that.
The next day I gave Mr. Bethesda a quick call and got his voicemail. I left a message and went about my day, discovering in the meantime that while Mr. FWB does now officially have a girlfriend, he has permission from her to have threesomes with other people. That is one open-minded girl.
But I digress.
I didn't hear back from Mr. Bethesda on Tuesday afternoon, which was no big deal since I knew he's busy and I have my own life, you know? Not that I'm defensive or anything. That night, feeling a little precocious, I sent an innuendo-filled email (ok, there was no subtlety involved at all), thinking that it will surely elicit a response.
Nothing.
On Wednesday, I was up in NYC for the day—spending a solid 3 hours on the train up to Penn Station, standing in a taxi line for 25 minutes only to be kicked out of my cab before it even leaves the curb because the location I'm seeking is blocked off (stupid President Bush's visit to the UN General Assembly closed the area), schlepping another 25 minutes and at least a mile in 4-inch heels and a very formal business suit through the city's public transit system, only to have a 23-minute interview and be sent merrily on my way. The interview actually went great, but after struggling through the teeming masses to get there, I was a little surprised to be sent packing in less than half an hour. Unfortunately, Ms. NYC Rouge couldn't escape the office for a little rendezvous, so I slogged back to Penn Station and caught an afternoon train back to D.C. Once there (and by "there" I mean: arrived at Union Station, hopped on the metro to Bethesda, and walked the half mile back to my house), I shed my formal clothes, examined the three rather large and unappealing blisters on my feet, watched a little television, and went back into D.C. to play my first fall-league softball game. We won, of course.
And STILL NOTHING.
On Thursday, I had a completely full day planned, and between new Big Idea contracts, meeting with my Big Idea designer, and an evening networking event, I was exhausted. But not too exhausted to check my voicemail every 7 minutes to see if I had missed Mr. Bethesda's call even though I had set my ringer to *extra loud so you don't miss the call that we all know is never going to come because let's facit it you are going to be single forever and die a cold and shriveled shrew*. If you aren't familiar with that setting, it's the one past *extra loud but not quite to the point where you embarrass others by publicly flaunting your desperation*.
Getting irritated by my growing franticness (it's a word, I looked it up) at the situation, I took it upon myself to line up a series of dates for this weekend. Now, any sane person would look at my schedule for the next six weeks and STRONGLY ADVISE that I seek psychiatric help, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. So now I have a date with New Boy #1 on Saturday, and New Boy #2 on Sunday (well, we're in the final stages of planning, but it looks good…). If Mr. Bethesda calls back (and why oh why hasn't he called back when he was practically panting at the end of MD2?) there are still a few places I could squeeze him into the schedule, but if he doesn't then at least I'm not sitting around like a dope.
So now it's Friday, and I've given Mr. Bethesda one last shot: I called and left a voicemail around lunchtime. Now, at 5 p.m. that call has not been returned, and I'm ready to write him off completely. Or take him back with open arms and promise to never complain about his lack of communication again. Very Bridget Jones of me, I know.
So dear reader, now is the time for you to chime in—please choose one of the following options and note your preference in the comments:
1. Relax! Ms. Write Again Soon, you know that Mr. Bethesda has a crazy hectic schedule and it's likely that he hasn't called—not because he doesn't like you (remember the panting?)—but because he doesn't want to call unless he has time to talk. He was very explicit that he wanted to get together this weekend, and he's sure to call soon. After all, he stated several times during MD1 and MD2 that he doesn't play games and wants to avoid all the relationship drama that goes with new dating experiences.
2. Hmm, Ms. Write Again Soon, this behavior is definitely suspect. He should know that returning a girl's call is important, even if he doesn't have a lot of time to chat. On the other hand, he MAY have a good explanation, so don't write him off completely. But good for keeping your options open with NB1 and NB2!
3. Oh, Ms. Write Again Soon, can you not see the writing on the wall? This guy is Just Not That Into You. Even if he was totally enthusiastic on Monday, it's now Friday and things have obviously changed. It's best to forget him as quickly as possible. Turn your cell phone back to a normal volume and move on.
Another thought: Mr. Bethesda has proved uncannily able to find out things about me...and so it would be highly amusing if he discovered this blog and would condescend to post his opinion for all to see. Or maybe not that amusing, depending on his comments.
Posted by madchen at 05:03 PM | Comments (1)September 18, 2006
Home Again and a Surprise
I'm back from Hawaii, after a very long plane ride, and I've finally gotten my proverbial shit together. I spent the majority of today catching up on laundry, filing a pile of Big Idea paperwork, following up on a variety of emails, and--of course--reviewing the DVR'ed shows from the past week. Jess and Janie were here, both with variations of a virus that I'm just sure to catch. In their infinite graciousness, they left me with a kitchen full of pancake-making dishes, bowls, and utensils. What fun.
Things were moving along nicely until about 8 p.m. when I got a call from a boy I had briefly talked to several months ago. I don't think he ever got mentioned on this blog, mostly because he started seeing another girl rather seriously right before we were going to meet for the first time. We parted ways amicably, and lo and behold, 3 months later he's calling again.
We picked up right where we left off, and decided on an impromptu first date tonight. In a strange turn of events, he lives in Bethesda (I seem to always run with the NoVa boys) and so we were able to arrange a spur of the moment thing. Well, let me tell you that I *heart* spur of the moment things--especially since Mr. FWB called right before our meeting and I could tell he was a teensy bit put off that I was meeting a boy that wasn't him. It was quite delicious, let me tell you.
Anyway, to sum up: Mr. Bethesda is the best date I've had in a long time. He asked the right questions, had good answers to my conversation starters, had done an appropriate amount of homework on me, made his move in a confident-yet-not-sleazy way, and was overall quite delightful. Which is why it's 3 a.m. and I'm just now going to bed (alone, thank you very much, I do have some standards), even though I have to be at the new Big Idea contract location at 9 a.m. tomorrow.
Keep your fingers crossed, dear reader, but I do believe there will be a second date within 48 hours.
Posted by madchen at 02:59 AM | Comments (2)September 14, 2006
More Pictures of Hawaii
I've posted more pictures of our trip--click on the picture to see the whole album. I just realized tonight that we haven't taken any pictures since moving to the Hilton Hawaiian Village (read: resort full of rich Japanese people), probably because I've just sat by the pool and Mr. Bad Apologies has been in a conference. Since tomorrow is our last day, we'll be sure to make up for that oversight.
Posted by madchen at 02:03 AM | Comments (0)September 12, 2006
Reflections on Life at the Beach
Reflection #1
While sand may indeed be an excellent exfolient, nipples rarely need exfoliating.
Reflection #2
No matter how rigorous the sunblock application, there will always be surprising patches of red at the end of the day. For me, there are bright spots along my hairline (and especially at my temples) and a slice along the left side of my cleavage. For Mr. Bad Apologies, it's basically his whole body.
Reflection #3
It's not that there aren't attractive men at the beach. It's just that they are all with their attractive wives.
Reflection #4
I could get used to this. Oh yes.
Posted by madchen at 02:28 AM | Comments (1)September 10, 2006
Almost Paradise
The weather has been gorgeous, the ATV-ing exciting, the surf gentle, the beaches white and sandy, the company delightful. It's almost paradise. What's the problem? It's twofold:
1. Our scavenged internet suddenly disappeared on Friday night, leaving us without connection to the outside world. "But it's your vacation, " I can hear you protest, "you shouldn't need internet access at all!" Well, dear reader, you are flat wrong. Having no internet access meant we can't download the hiking maps offered through Amazing Waterfall Adventures, can't verify Big Idea meetings (I hope I'm still on for a 7:30 a.m. conference call tomorrow morning), and are otherwise inconvenienced.
2. The shark cage people refuse to call us back, thus preventing us from making an appointment to scare the living bejeezus out of ourselves. Mr. Bad Apologies chose the ATV adventure as his preferred outing and I chose the shark cage. Guess who got screwed? The third option on the table was swimming with sting rays, but frankly I find that to be more daring than the shark option.
How will we resolve these issues? (There is also the fact that teensy ants have taken over every square inch of our condo—even setting up house in my laptop so that every 17 seconds one scurries across the screen—but I've decided to prioritize this as a second-tier complaint, thus proving I can distinguish between REAL problems and minor irritants.) Well, Mr. Bad Apologies had the brilliant idea to scoot up to the roof to scam another free wireless internet signal. I can't believe we didn't think of this before. So while I’m writing this entry in the comfort of my own sofa, I will soon put on some clothes (I'm wearing a post-bathing-suit nightshirt) and see if I can make the magic happen too.
As for the sharks, we have 4 more days to find them. I just hope we're in a Plexiglas cage when it happens.
#3 -- Go Skinny-Dipping In the Ocean
The moon was full, the night snorkelers were an appropriate distance away, the surf was gentle, and we were naked.
September 09, 2006
Beached
Our first day in Hawaii started early, and we were out on the beach by 10 a.m., slathered in sunblock. Since our philosophies on tanning differ, I used SPF 30 (thumbs up on the continuous spray version) and Mr. Bad Apologies used SPF 8, much to my dismay. We traipsed across the street to our lovely, virtually private beach and contempated nude sunbathing but eventually decided against it. I can't remember why, except that there was a distinct possibility that my lily white breasts might burst into flames when brought into direct contact with the sun.
Moment of confession brought on by Mr. Bad Apologies: I have gone completely off the vegan bandwagon. In fact, 30 seconds ago I was eating beef jerkey. I don't feel one bit bad about this lapse, since I'm not doing it for any particularly "moral" reason. And it's vacation anyway, so get off my back.
Where was I? Oh yes, the spontaneous combustion of my breasts. Anyway, we decided against it for the time being--at least until a time when SPF 30 could be applied in copious amounts to nether regions usually covered by nylon swim suits.
Instead we lolled on the beach until about 1 p.m.--discussing things like our future plans, the freakish number of people with dogs on our part of the beach, and the likely number of sharks within a 1 mile radius of us (I said three, Mr. Bad Apologies said, after some thought, one thousand). We swam in the shallow water, venturing only to where we could just barely stand because water turned rocky and jagged, and occasionally poked up in unexpected boulders in unexpected places, and we didn't think it would be very sophisticated to flip out when bumping into an unknown mass and wondering if it was a shark or a rock.
We came back in for lunch, and then wandered off in separate directions to relax in the air conditioned condo. Of course, "reading" turned into a nap--mine of the two-hour variety and Mr. Bad Apologies...well, I finally woke him up at 7 p.m. It's vacation, after all and if we want to sleep away the afternoon, so be it. I decided not to worry about the Big Idea, and instead did more reading. I realized, though, that my choice is a bit ironic. I'm reading "Snow" by Orhan Parmuk and it could not be more of a non-beach read. The summary:
A Turkish poet who spent 12 years as a political exile in Germany witnesses firsthand the clash between radical Islam and Western ideals in this enigmatically beautiful novel. Ka's reasons for visiting the small Turkish town of Kars are twofold: curiosity about the rash of suicides by young girls in the town and a hope to reconnect with "the beautiful Ipek," whom he knew as a youth. But Kars is a tangle of poverty-stricken families, Kurdish separatists, political Islamists (including Ipek's spirited sister Kadife) and Ka finds himself making compromises with all in a desperate play for his own happiness.
The whole thing is set in Kars, where a snowstorm has cut off the tiny town and creates a insulated, isolating, and inspiring setting. Not exactly the chick lit that I read during my last beach adventures. But I was in the middle of it when I left, and I was afraid that putting it aside for a week would mean putting it aside forever.
So now the question is: how should we spend the rest of the night? Not exactly dressed to go out for dinner (I removed my bathing suit and threw on a t-shirt and skirt, sans underclothing--shh, don't tell Mr. Bad Apologies), we aren't equipped for dinner here. Perhaps a shower--that, at least, would remove some of the sand that has gathered in uncomfortable places.
New vacation blog entry tally, as inspired by Ms. Rather Be Travelling's challenge:
Write Again Soon: 2
Bad Apologies: .25 (I'm only giving his crappy entry 1/4 credit)
(Click on the pictures to be taken to the ever-growing Hawaii photo album...more to be added as relevant.)
Posted by madchen at 01:22 AM | Comments (0)September 08, 2006
Aloha
It's 7:30 a.m. here in Hawaii. I have just finished a lemon poppyseed muffin on the ocean-side balcony of our lovely condo, and now I'm debating my next move. Mr. Bad Apologies is still snoozing in the bedroom, and all historical evidence suggests that I have a good couple of hours until he stirs.
The weather here is gorgeous, and we're only steps from the beach. We're on the North Shore, which suggests two things: big waves and buff young people with a flair for the overly dramatic break-up scene. Well, apparently the North Shore in September has neither. The waves are quite negligible (calmer than I've seen Ocean City in the summer) and Mr. Bad Apologies and I agree: no attractive men. There have been a few attractive women, all on the arms of icky, unshowered, largely too-short-yet-still-swaggering beach bums. We're hoping that once we move over to the $250-a-night swanky hotel on Monday that there will be more of "our people". You know, those who can't surf and will live to regret that expensive dinner of butterfly shrimp, fried calimari, and ahi sashimi when the credit card bill arrives.
A word on Our Place: we're renting a condo from a lovely couple who lives here year round. He's a photographer for Surfer Magazine and she's firecracker who ordered a glass of wine while waiting for us to show up at the designated meeting spot. They've only owned the condo since June, which leads us to believe that they had little hand in the current decorating scheme. Let me put it this way, the place would have been HOT in 1988. I can't even describe it to you, dear reader, but I assure you that it's a hoot. I'll try to take some pictures so you can appreciate the pink-and-black color scheme, the lit glass accessories, and the truly atrocious "flower pillow".
But for now, I'm going to work. I have a feeling these early morning hours are going to be my only opportunity to do Big Idea stuff, and since I plan on writing part of the trip off as a business expense, I probably should make it worthwhile.
(Thanks to Mr. Bad Apologies' cell phone for the picture.)
Posted by madchen at 01:38 PM | Comments (1)September 06, 2006
Butch It Up
In no particular order, here are some important things you should know.
1. This is the 576th entry on Write Again Soon. Wow, that's a lot of blather. And here's some more!
2. I'm leaving for Hawaii on Thursday morning for a quick vacation with Mr. Bad Apologies. Being incapable of really letting go I have arranged for 6 separate Big Idea meetings to fill the time in between laying on the beach and getting massages. And of course I have hours of work lined up for me on the plane ride. And on the Monday after I return I start work at 9 a.m. with a favorite Big Idea client. No rest for the wicked, right?
3. The new season of Nip/Tuck is a dirty, dirty delight. My jaw literally hit my chest during the first 5 minutes--and the music during the rest of the episode made me want to tango my way to a plastic surgeon. How, how, HOW can smut (however brilliant) be on regular cable television? And how great were all the previews from Sony Pictures? It made me want to run to the movies and immediately see Running with Scissors and Stranger Than Fiction--but not so much with the Casino Royale, although I wouldn't kick the new Mr. Bond out of bed. As for The Pursuit of Happiness, I might cry just remembering the trailer.
4. I'm going to China!! While it will only be for 4 days in November, if all goes well I may be returning several times a year. While I've decided to forgo the exciting 2-week China adventure, it's definitely something I'm considering for next time.
Is that about it? I'm sure there's more interesting things you would be amazed and delighted to learn but I'm at a loss at the moment. And frankly, it's getting harder to think of topics to write about. Ideas are welcome, and here are some to get your started:
-- A commentary on Ms. NYC Rouge's recent lesbian extravaganza?
-- A tirade against Mr. Bastish, who STILL hasn't gotten his blog back up and running? (Never mind that it was hacked on my watch, hee hee.)
-- A side-by-side analysis of the ickiness of the respective CSI and CSI: Miami leading men (why are they both so gross?).
September 03, 2006
Four Bloggers in a Room
Four bloggers in a room—sounds like the beginning of a really bad joke right? Really, it's a recipe for felony assault. To my right is Ms. Wish to See, who has given up on her quilting project after realizing she doesn't know how to sew. To my far left is Ms. Rather Be Travelling, who has an obscenely horrific iTunes playlist going on the stereo. And to my immediate left is Mr. Bad Apologies, who might not make it through the night. Because I might have to kill him. Or at least inflict grievous bodily harm. And since we're in the wilds of the country, no one will ever find the body. [Insert evil laugh now.]
We've had a nice, freakishly spicy dinner, discussed the merits of Pandora (I love love love it), observed how Ms. Rather Be Travelling's dog looks like a smaller version of a cross between a goat and the donkey from Shrek, and mocked the fact that Mr. Bad Apologies has run out of things to say and is merely regurgitating comments from our respective blogs.
We're now supposed to be doing "productive" things. As you might guess, that isn't happening. At this very moment:
Ms. Rather Be Travelling is reading all the Google results for the phrase: "one might think that, but one would be wrong" in an effort to prove that a previous boyfriend did not invent that phrase and thus should get no credit.
Ms. Wish To See is desperately trying to explain that she wasn't claiming that Previously Mentioned Boyfriend *invented* the phrase, but merely that he was the one who brought it to the group's notice and thus should retain credit.
Mr. Bad Apologies is risking his life by forgetting to listen to the responses to his questions and then having the temerity to kick me when he feels like I'm not paying adequate attention to the general conversation (ignoring the obvious fact that I'm in the middle of my own conversation). He's noted that I should be using the Google search box at the top of the webpage, instead of the Google toolbar at the top of the window, which I prefer. He's taken my seat when I went to the bathroom. He's ridiculed my photos from Seattle, and then insisted on showing me approximately 514, 892 pictures of his boy (MOSI) on his 1"x1" cell phone screen. Ooh look, MOSI at the bus stop. Ooh, look at this one, MOSI sitting on a couch. Ooh, don't forget this one, MOSI in a hallway!!
Personally, I've given up on any hope of getting real work done (as has Ms. Wish To See, who is now playing computer mah jong) and have been reduced to blogging about these delightful people sitting on the couch. I love them...but that might be the effects of the new, much-improved iTunes playlist. We might just make it through the night.
Posted by madchen at 10:03 PM | Comments (0)Views from Seattle
I've uploaded some of the best photos from my recent camping trip in Seattle--click on the photo to see the whole album. In no particular order you will see our campsite, Mt. Baker, Baker Lake, hot springs, and the Northern Cascade Loop. Fun times!
Posted by madchen at 09:44 PM | Comments (1)September 02, 2006
Mildly Amusing
It's 2:30 a.m. and I'm finishing up some work on the computer. I need to back up the files to my external hard drive, which was disconnected when I had the laptop downstairs. Fumbling for the cord in the near pitch black of my desk, I have just attempted to plug my cat's tail into the USB port. She was not pleased.
Posted by madchen at 02:22 AM | Comments (1)
