Dept. of Inconvenience.

My hard drive died a horrible death yesterday morning, making a sound no hard drive should ever make. I woke up, tried to boot up my machine, and waited. And waited. And finally got an error message: one of the .sys files (which turned out to be a HD driver) was "damaged" and needed to be repaired with the XP setup disc. Fine, except my computer is a custom box that Devon built me for a Christmas present a year ago or so, which means that I don't have a copy of XP. My brother-in-law does, and Ian has a ghetto hacked XP disc (for instance, one can install Windows sans IE if one so chooses...), so my sister and Ian came over and we (mostly Ian) fiddled with the machine for a bit.

After several hours of inspection by Ian, my sister, and myself, we pronounced it DOA. I had feared that James, mystifyed by techmology, had accidentally given my computer the flu...but, actually, my hard drive is just dead of a hardware issue. Kaput. Oh well.

So now I'm on a backup machine; being my father's daughter (and the only one in the family besides my mom that doesn't code) I have three other working computers in the house. This is the one that my bro-in-law gave me that I was going to set up as James' school computer...for now, it will have to be the house CPU.

What this ultimately means is that I may have lost ALL of my notes for the new project for which I am writing a grant. Shit. Ian is going to perform some rudimentary forensics to attempt to recover the files, but they are very likely lost.

Again, blerg.

At least this time it's not about me.

Today I didn't leave the house because:

Climate change is irreversible.

Jobs are dying.

Arts funding is dying.*

...and I think I might have caught a cold from James' mom.


*Sorry; I'm too depressed to link anything. You can use Google. Do it yourself.

My work space.

James pointed out that the area surrounding my computer contained, at some point the other night, rice cakes, Midol, and Hennessy VSOP.

This is a fairly accurate assessment of my current mental state.

Update: for the record, it is a (nearly) full bottle of Hennessy and the rice cakes are caramel flavored.

Speaking of arts funding...

...I'm applying for a grant.

I've been a collaborator on grant proposals and non-profit business plans before, but never one for just me. And I've never written a budget all by myself before. I'm feeling a little conflicted about it.

On the one hand, I need just this kind of kick in the pants to get me rolling again, so I see this is an excellent opportunity, even if I do not get awarded.

On the other hand, if I were on a grant panel and I read my biography and resume, I'm not sure that I would think that I could be trusted with the on-average award of 6,000+ American dollars*. But that's probably the currently less-than-stellar self-esteem talking.

Blerg.

*At the moment, this seems like a legendary and unheard of sum to be in my possession. Do these people run a credit check or something? After all, I might foollishly spend it on overdue hospital bills. And it still would not be enough to cover them all.

Depts. of Awesome, Arts.

Two notes here.

First, lets play with dolls!

Second, Quincy Jones and others are lobbying (apparently Mr. Jones is "begging") for the instatement of a cabinet position for the arts. There's a petition that you can sign here.

*drags over soapbox, stands upon it*

Ahem.

Arts funding is good for the economy, period. It reflects and improves upon the fields of education and health, and the arts are the ultimate expression of any culture. The majority of other developed, first-world nations (EU, I'm lookin' in your direction...) have Ministers of Culture, etc. to advise their leaders. Therefore, it stands to reason that if we want, as a nation, to be taken seriously as having anything other than a culture of warmongering and conspicuous consumption, this is a critical post.

Art is not a luxury. It is an imperitive. In the deadliest of wars, the most oppressive of regimes, during times of the greatest peril, there is art. If we are truly a world leader, how could we ignore this very human need, perhaps the most basic non-biological imperitive we endure?

*decend, remove soapbox*

Via Slog.

PS: In other Obama news, check out the new link: Obameter! Not so shabby for your first couple days, Sir...

Mood.

This post pretty much summed up my feelings re: the Obama Administration:

Things will piss me off about Obama, I'm sure, and some things will elate me: but the baseline is changed from pissed off to happy, and that's a huge shift.

Via Slog.

"Pop".

Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes,
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I'm sure he's unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he's still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He's so unhappy, to which he replies . . .
But I don't care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I've been saving; I'm laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I've got on mine and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; 'cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop's black-framed glasses
And know he's laughing too.


By Barack Obama, age 19.

*****

Oh, but he's not really the president.

Who the hell is Barry Soetoro anyway?

Oh, well.

Via Slog, HuffPost.

Obama is beautiful world.

That was satisfying. I wish Lowery could have given the invocation as well...but, no matter. It's done. Let's all hug and get along.

In that spirit, I now present the yellow getting mellow:

Most relaxing game ever.

Wow. This has gotten about a million good reviews. And I could listen to the soundtrack for pretty much ever.

You should download it. If I had the money, I would buy the full version right now.

Enjoy the video. Check out the blog for a Wall-E solution!



Update: Take a look at the other games this guy does, too. The names alone are worth it.

Tomorrow belongs to them.

Okay, I'm a bleeding heart. Everyone should love one another. So I was on the hand-holding bandwagon of Inaugural speakers until this:



The sun on the meadow is summery warm
The stag in the forest runs free
But gathered together to greet the storm
Tomorrow belongs to me

The branch on the linden is leafy and green
The Rhine gives its gold to the sea (Gold to the sea)
But somewhere a glory awaits unseen
Tomorrow belongs to me

Now Fatherland, Fatherland, show us the sign
Your children have waited to see
The morning will come
When the world is mine
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me

The babe in his cradle is closing his eyes
The blossom embraces the bee
But soon says the whisper, arise, arise
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me

Via Huffington Post.

January is Personal Insomnia Month.

Although I find that I can't get enough sleep in December no matter what I do, as soon as it hits January (or perhaps the solstice? do I register the light change that much?) I become nearly incapable of sleep. I haven't been able to fall asleep before 4am for a few days, even when I get lots of exercise.

Speaking of which, I'm on a diet. Not just the thing where I avoid gluten and soy because I have to, but an actual count-yer-calories diet. I have gained 30+ pounds since spring. Sometime in fall I lost maybe 5 or so...but since I can't fit into most of my clothes, it is high time I did something about it!

Counting things brings out my lighter OCD tendancies anyway. James told me that I was being "manic", writing down every single thing. Whatever. He's gained weight, too, but since he's more of a gym guy, he doesn't quite get it.

I don't understand why one would need a gym in Seattle when we have all these incredibly steep hills. That's been my exercise: walking up and down the backside of Queen Anne hill, which hits aerobic and anaerobic exercise. The image above is one of the conservative grades up to QA. I live on the back side from downtown, which is really steep.

I'm a little too tired to report much else, maybe later in the day.

Drunk James and the tree.

Here's the "after" picture of the ritually-sacrificed Xmas tree.

Yeah, but still.

Not much going on today. I am too lazy or too depressed or too unfocused to upload the picture of the gloves, although I did discover the difficulty inherent in a right-hand-dominant person taking a picture of a glove that in on one's own right hand.

My insomnia seems to peak during one of two times of the year. I think we're in that time now. Twice this week I have laid down to sleep and gotten up 45 minutes or so later. Last night I got to sleep on my second try, around 4:30am.

I have been writing some during these times, though. I've barely been able to put a sentence together in the last year but I've written a few pages of dialogue and notes and such. I have a couple things gestating; it's been too full of a year to be able to process much until now.

I think that I also, for the most part, hate theater people. This might be (probably is) nasty emotional detritus left over from this spring, but still*. Mr. ARS once told me that, in his opinion, I wasn't an actor at all, but a writer. Keep in mind that he never saw me act, although he had a great deal of respect for me as a writer if not as an actor (or a person). Anyway, I have an awful fear that, ultimately, this will prove true, and I am sick with the notion that I will never perform again. However, I have been toying with the idea that, maybe, I'm a solo artist, and that's all it is. I don't play well with others**. Not that I'm an utter social maladroit. Merely a partial one.

Or I could just be in a complete funk (read: depressed) on account of the recent bout with not leaving the house, which in turn is on account of the high winds and flooding rains of the past two days. It's dark all the time.

But I did get paid! I did a nice custom order for a lady in Chicago: an over-elbow pair of fingerless gauntlets (hand-dyed, fair-trade Suri alpaca, vintage buttons and ribbon) for her 22-year-old daughter's Hanukkah and received her check and thank-you note today. She purposefully overpaid me, as well. That made me feel a hell of a lot better; apparently I am not yet completely worthless in the eyes of American capitalism!

Man, I gotta ease up on myself.


*James maintains that "yeah, but still" is the ultimate end to an unwinnable argument, the final, desperate gambit when you know you have been proved wrong but are just too contrary to admit it. It is a common phrase in our household.

**This is an awful pun. I'm sorry. Completely unintentional.

Oh, fiddlesticks.

I have no idea what some of the links on this blog go to.

Has it been so long?

Can't remember a thing.

I need some...ginkgo...or something...

Arson, gussets, and my boyfriend, the Luddite.

James and I had our first Xmas tree. Naturally, since it was our first Xmas together! Yay team us!



We got it at the Market; tiny, tiny tree! About 4 ft. tall, and we carried it home on the bus.

And, in what is sure to be an annual tradition, we burnt it after New Year's Day.

I wish that I had been less panicked when it went up because I would have loved to capture on film the twelve-foot flames that shot up when James lit a Lysol plume into the dry branches. However, panic we both did; I screamed, "Put it out! Use this!"

Fifteen minutes before the ceremonial burning commenced James had found an old fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink. I assumed that it wasn't good any more (they go bad, right?) and discounted it. But James, investigating it for the (missing, as we will discover presently) safety pin, accidentally shot the extinguisher off straight at the window. Our kitchen suddenly exploded in sweet and slightly carcinogenic-smelling white powder.

I mentioned he was drunk, yes? No?

So it was the (now confirmed) fire extinguisher that I rushed out the kitchen door to James, which he used with drunken gusto. Darby, our next-door neighbor, walked by on the street, twenty feet away.

"You guys need some help there?"

"Uh, no...we're good. We're fine."

Humans fear fire. I don't know if he and his girlfriend will come over to drink with us again.

Anticipating calamity (and rightly so), James and I had prepared a couple pots of water on the kitchen counter. We doused the remaining flames and vowed to do this stupid, not smart, very bad thing again next year. A new tradition born!

James cleaned the kitchen, too, apologizing profusely. He then told me that the same thing had happened years ago with his father (who looks and sounds like Fat Elvis), right in front of him. But with a gun.

I told him that I didn't want guns in my house. Funny, I never had a problem with them before.

So that was my Monday.

In less flammable news, today (Wednesday!) I taught myself how to knit thumb gussets! For non-sartorialists, that's the fancy term for the widening of a glove in preparation for the thumb part. It was so easy that I don't know why I never did it before. Anyway, I now can make actual fingerless gloves instead of just tubes with holes in them for your thumbs, which are dumb and don't keep you warm. For some reason when I wear "gloves" like that, it seems like 99% of the heat I lose through my hands is through my thumbs. Anyways, this first pair is blocking right now; I'll post a picture of them tomorrow as long as I remember to.

Finally, this evening (while sitting on the couch finishing the gloves) I taught James what the Refresh button on a web browser is used for.

"It's that thing with the two circling arrows*. Next to the red X, that's the Stop button. No, where the browser buttons are. Where the back arrow is. It's between the Home, the picture of the house, and the red X. Okay, you got it. Good."

I've never had to be the techie one before.

*On IE. I'm having download problems and can't get Firefox on my laptop. Probably because the laptop is so old that it predates the written language.

Had myself a merry little X-mas.

The Great Storm of 2008 has now passed, as has 2008. The snow is gone and we've emerged from our holes, blinking in the sunlight, to return to work.

Most of us.

I'm taking some time off. From working, from my day gig, which has been at the Pike Place Market since April. I've really enjoyed it, but the first day that the snow came the buses from my house stopped running I was overwhelmed by relief that I didn't have to go in.

So I never went back. I didn't burn any bridges, I have a lovely mom-like boss who is very understanding (and saw it coming), so I'm okay.

This has been a long time coming. I'm tired, I need the breathing room, and I think I finally learned this year just how bad the SAD componant of my health is. Being outside when things are getting dark, not enough light...yuck. I was coming home in tears since October. I actually really enjoyed the snow: it reflected light into our windows and made everything seem so much more cheerful. I miss it...but I don't miss the fact that the entire city stopped working for two weeks.

However, the reason that I can do this is because of my amazing partner, James. We're living together in Fremont. It's not exactly the neighborhood that we want to be in, but we both love the place itself. Neither of us has ever really been homebodies, but it's easy to enjoy our house now. I feel safe to balance my medication and get my life back together now.

Also, we're online now! So being in contact with life will be a little easier for me.

More later...now that I can!