This morning, I alternated between trying not to throw up and editing photo sets on flickr. The latter, of course, benefits YOU, as now you have all the pictures you could ever want of me looking like an ass!!

Click here, my friends!

Whew!

Gee whiz, what a tough week! There were a couple of moments where I found myself veering towards a mouse and monitor, but my willpower and self-discipline didn't fail me for a second. No sirree! Well, it's good to be back after a whole week - a whole week, I say! - without the internet! Gosh, I got so much done! Who needs the internet? Not me! Heh! Er...

*uncontrollable sobbing*

I'm not fooling anybody. BUT, the failure of my internet-withdrawal notwithstanding, I haven't POSTED in a week, so here's a rundown of what happened while I was away.

Tuesday: Watched movie with roommates. Cuddled with cat. Ate cheese puffs.
Wednesday: Don't remember
Thursday: Don't remember
Friday: Worked fourteen hours. Made thirty-six dollars after seven hours at Leona's. Killed self.
Saturday: Dozed while cuddling with cat. Talked to mom on phone. Worked at Leona's.
Sunday: Rode bike to lake in jeans. Bad idea. It was so humid that I felt like I'd gone to Magic Mountain and rode Jetstream, Log Jammer, and Tidal Wave in succession, and then stood on the BRIDGE. You know - the BRIDGE. Then: peeled off jeans, donned Leona's attire, worked at Leona's. Developed MONDO CRUSH on quirky guy who came in to order a takeout pizza. He had a hat(!) and sat doing the word search puzzle in the kids menu while he waited for his food. I think we might be soulmates.

So, the week seems blurry right now, but on the other hand, lots happened.

• On Saturday, there was a five-minute thunderstorm, and the sole clap of thunder was so loud that all the car alarms went off on my street.
  
• I kicked off Danielle Appreciation Month by going to Whole Foods and splurging on lots of great, healthy (not gimmicky-healthy, really healthy) food for the coming week.
  
• I bought a Lonely Planet guide to Chicago in my attempt to be a tourist.
  
• Classes started this week, and I am sitting in on two of them.
  
• I talked to my best friend for an hour and a half. She's moving to San Francisco this Saturday and hopefully, in nine months I will follow her. I'm so excited for her I could spit.
  
• Vague plans for the future are forming. Will elaborate when more certain.

Egad!

So I'm doing this thing that requires me to take a week off the internet. My God! Will it last? Will I crash and burn? Well, if I do, it's not like I'd admit it, so either way I'll be MIA for the next 168 hours. In the unlikely event that you need to contact me, you know where to find me: the ILL department of the Reg, or Leona's.

Three Cheers for Misanthropy

Honestly, the only reason I'm still working at Leona's is because my coworkers are so awesome and hilarious. Yesterday, I remarked to my fellow server Mariella, "I hate it when nice people are poor tippers because then I have to hate them."

She responded, "I hate it when nice people are good tippers because then I have to like them."

It was the best thing I've heard in weeks.

After riding my bike all afternoon along the Point and through Jackson Park, I have to reluctantly concede that there are some stunningly beautiful parts of Hyde Park & Woodlawn. Too bad it took me four years to discover this, and to discover some much-needed new haunts and hiding places.

Also, sometimes there's no therapy like parking by the lake shore, gazing out at the angry waves pummeling the limestone and exploding into the air, and calling your mom.

In INCOMPARABLY more important news, congratulations to Britney and her brand-new baby!

Random bits of wankery:

• I miss my dog.
  
• I looooove my cat.
  
• My sister needs to come back from Thailand. I miss my phone ringing at the most awkward and inopportune times.
  
• That said, I am really, really loving her weblog.
  
• I have always been the best person I know at concocting the most convoluted and unlikely strategems for getting what I want. Directness has never been my forte. On the other hand, such strategems often work. Ask me about it sometime.
  
• Unfortunately, such strategems often include me wowing an audience of those I want to impress with a devastatingly beautiful karaoke rendition of some song or other. Given that I am completely tone deaf, this is unlikely to happen. But I'll never stop hoping!
  
• I need more beautiful places and people in my life.
  
• Needless to say, my definition of beautiful is complex and always changing.
  
• Once I wrote out my dream future. It went something like: a beautiful house in a beautiful place, surrounded by vastness, completely safe, with lots of animals and all my favorite people close by. I would go for long walks with those I love and we would laugh at and with each other but it would be okay because we'd know how much we loved each other. We would play lots of cards and board games. I would produce creative works consistently. I would be happy, or if not happy, at least content. And all my desires would have the possibility of being fulfilled.
  
• When I think like this, I understand why man created heaven.
  
• For an old-curmudgeon-in-training, I sure do love my friends.
  
• I dreamt last night that I had a daughter and named her Cecilia, after a character in the book Atonement. I suppose it was set in the future because it didn't have the feel of a nightmare. Cecilia is a pretty name.

Can't Stop Laughing

Why am I so immature?

Autumn has arrived. The sky is a vast colorless dome, and as I rode my bike to work my face was speckled with invisible pinpricks of rain. I had made a new cd of most-loved music to listen to at work, because today I really needed to drown out my thoughts. But wouldn't you know it - the cd doesn't work, and I have nothing to do but obsess and obsess and obsess.

I think a lucrative business idea would be a TANTRUM ROOM. For adults. Soundproofed and filled with breakable objects. For a small fee you could enter, close the door, and scream and throw stuff and pound on the walls and stamp your feet and when you were done, you'd get a massage.

My Newest Boyfriend

I've always been indifferent to Elijah Wood and just about every movie he's been in. However, the past few days have found me falling deeply and profoundly in love with him, for two reasons.

1. This news item, from Contact Music UK:

ELIJAH WOOD is continually stunned by clever cyber pranksters who try to prove he is gay.

The LORD OF THE RINGS star is often caught out by websites with far from subtle names, like www.veryverygay.com, when he's surfing the Internet, but he's rarely offended.

And, unlike many stars, he isn't planning any legal action to stop the pranksters - he simply marvels at their creativity.

He says, "There's one that's called elijahwoodisveryverygay (sic), which is actually a personal favourite of mine, it's absolutely hilarious.

"It's this kind of joke website that maintains that they have proof that I am very very gay in various photographs - photographic evidence (of me) holding hands with a male."

Even fans of the Lord of The Rings trilogy want the stars of the film to be homosexual.

Wood explains, "(They) want to create moments that they didn't get to see in the film, of these characters in sexual congress.

"I was actually at a film festival once... and this fan came up with a gift... I open the gift in front of all these people that I'm talking to and it happens to be a photo from one of these websites of me and DOMINIC MONAGHAN making sweet love. If you didn't know any better, it kinda looks real.

"These people have a lot of time on their hands and my hat's off (to them) because it's very good work."
12/09/2005 02:15

2. This picture. Oh Elijah, you crazy kook.

For years, my sister has been urging me to read The Hot Zone, one of her favorite books. I've demurred, knowing myself to be weak-stomached. However, on a whim I picked it up at The Brown Elephant last Saturday, and started it tonight. My reaction to the first two chapters can be summed up in one word:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Great Day

My Chicago wanderings last Saturday reminded me of one of the best days of my first year of college. A friend and I hopped over to the Loop on the Jeffrey Express, and while on Lakeshore Drive we saw a sign showing a circle-slash over a truck, meaning, you know, no trucks. But the sign had swung upside down, so it read like "No flipped-over trucks." I wish I'd had a camera.

We went to the Harold Washington Library and I checked out a stack of children's books. It was the beginning of March, and we'd had glimmers of spring, but that day the air stung our faces and our cheeks were red and our noses ran. We walked over to see some murals and joked about how I always end up at Walgreens or Osco when I go downtown. I can't remember if we stopped at a drugstore that day. It wasn't important.

When we got back to my room, I made us dinner, as I'd gotten quite adept at cooking balanced meals with only a microwave and a hot pot. That night, it was salmon, brown rice, and broccoli. We sat eating out of rectangular tupperware containers and played Civilization III until one in the morning. I wasn't used to staying up that late at the time and I felt a sore throat coming on, so we saved the game and I went to bed. When I woke up, I was the sickest I've ever been. Not throwup sick, thank goodness, but like a thousand colds pummeling my entire body. But it was cool because I kind of like being sick as long as I'm not throwing up, especially when I have a stack of children's books to read.

I want more days like that.

Leave me alone, all of you! Just leave me alone!

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Personality Disorder:	Low
Schizoid Personality Disorder:	Low
Schizotypal Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Antisocial Personality Disorder:	Low
Borderline Personality Disorder:	Low
Histrionic Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Narcissistic Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Avoidant Personality Disorder:	Very High
Dependent Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Low
-- Take the Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Info --

Speaking of, if someone could tell me how to quit avoiding cleaning my room and typing up my course evaluations, I'd be much obliged.

So I was a complete idiot and took a nap this afternoon. Now I have a headache from clenching my teeth for four hours, I'm all gummy-brained, and I'll feel jet-lagged for the next work week. Also, right after I woke up a car zoomed down the street outside my window, blaring "Stand By Me" of all things, kicking me right into bizarro world. Am I only dreaming? Is this burning an eternal flame? Anyway.

But let's move on to bigger and better things. Namely, celebrity gossip. Anyone who knows me also knows that I'm a sucker for pop culture talk, but a common misconception is that I'm a sucker for all things fame-related. Not true! I'm actually quite particular. What I enjoy most include researching obscure little obsessions of mine whom nobody else has heard of or cares about, big glossy photographs of the good-looking in shimmering gowns and sparkly jewels, and, of course, the random bombshell PR nightmare that has the rabble whispering for weeks, the annoying squeak in the cogs of the celebrity machine, the news that fuels several months of nonsensical articles in Us Weekly and Star. That only happens every so often, of course, so usually I settle for the sort of mini-bombshell that, even if ignored by the big magazines, at least makes enough of an impact to end up an in-joke in internet communities everywhere.

My favorite examples include the unlikely pairing of Quentin Tarantino & Shar Jackson, Fergie's strange vaginal leakage (no link because I actually feel guilty about this one. Poor baby.), and Britney's, well, everything, but lately her hideous striped dress and sandals. Oh, Britney.

I think my all-time favorite random celebrity story, though, is the legend of Margaret.

Margaret is a celebrity stalker/autograph hound who has been spotted around Jessica Simpson, Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff, Eva Longaria, George Clooney, and, yes, more. Because of Margaret's ubiquitousness, Margaret has become sort of a running joke/cult-figure on livejournal and other blogs. Who the hell is Margaret? This, my friends, is Margaret:



Margaret was first discovered and named by the site Junk Feud. A list of Margaret posts and photographs soon followed, found here.

He even made #9 on AOL's hot list on August 16th! Hooray, Margaret! And finally, he's achieved the marker of fame that all aspiring celebrities long for: his very own Livejournal Community.

Despite Margaret's stupid facial expressions, stupid clothing, and stupid du-rag, I have to give him props for actually being out there, chasing his dream, rather than sitting around reading about it on a computer screen. Here's to you, Margaret! Thank you and goodnight.

Awww

My mom just called. She and my dad are watching Holes. On the Disney Channel. And they really like it.

I was feeling a little bit cagey today, so I decided to get dressed, grab some loose bills, and jump on the Red Line until I felt the rubber bands snap. I got off at Lawrence because I saw a Borders as we pulled up (I've always been like that - when exploring a new place, I'll look for something familiar, as an anchor of sorts. My first year in college, I'd sometimes go downtown just to go downtown, and I'd always end up cowering in a Walgreens, feeling drained. I've gotten better, though. Borders > Walgreens.)

Borders aside, Lawrence was boring as hell. I was talking to Burcu at the time, and she put me on with Carlos, who immediately said, "Yeah, there's nothing much around the Lawrence stop, but if you walk west for about two miles you'll reach a cool Korean neighborhood. And if you walk past that, you'll come to an Arab neighborhood. And here's a cool restaurant to try. Oh, and there's an old abandoned movie theater you should check out. Otherwise, you can get off at the next stop, walk west, and you'll get to Andersonville, which is full of Swedes and lesbians."

"Wow," I said, "you know Chicago really well."

"Yeah, I know it like the back of my hand," he replied.

Since I love lesbians, I decided to go to Andersonville. I walked along Clark Street and passed Swedish bakeries, vegetarian coffee shops, dog treat stores, and lots of benches where I sat to gather my bearings and eat some string cheese from the White Hen Pantry. True to stereotype, there were thrift stores galore, all embellished with rainbows, and I found myself scouring the bookshelves in The Brown Elephant. I bought seven books, after bitching yesterday about how stifled I am by my myriad useless possessions, books included. But I was wooed by that distinct and wonderful glee of having a stack of new reading material at my disposal.

When I got back to Hyde Park, I decided that what I needed was a good deep condition session, so I rode my bike to Osco, then Walgreens, then finally CVS looking for Aussie 3-Minute Deeeeep Conditioner, but found it nowhere, so I settled on something by Garnier that smells like peaches. I haven't blow-dried (blew dry?) yet, so a review will be forthcoming. Yeah, I know you can't wait.

My favorite moment of the night was when I was riding up Ridgewood Avenue after my luckless stop at Walgreens. There was a gathering of some sort in the street, and I heard strange but familiar noises coming from the sidewalk. As I drew closer, I saw that the street was blocked from cars, and children and parents were sitting in lawn chairs and on blankets and on tricycles, as a projector splashed The Wizard of Oz on a screen, and the Tin Man sang his longing for a heart. What a perfect movie to play for the neighborhood on a warm September night. I left with the most beautiful bittersweet feeling, a longing for so many things and nothing in particular.

I want to know Chicago like the back of my hand. I have seen so little of it so far that doesn't include Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, or Target. But I have bought myself an extra year's worth of weekends to wander and seek and find and not find. I should feel trapped in my own skin more often.

My cat loves it when I rub his head and massage his ears and scratch under his chin, but he hates it when I rub his belly or the pads of his paws. When I try to do so, in a flash his claws are out and he's clamped all twenty of them on my hand, and then I spank him and he runs out of the room and we pout for a few minutes before mutually apologizing. This always perplexed me, but the other day, I had an epiphany:

My cat

is

TICKLISH.

In other news, I'm trying to incorporate the phrase "wigged out" into my everyday vocabulary. I haven't had the chance to use it yet, but I will. Oh, I will.

Worst Pick-Up Line Ever

By a damp-faced European guy who sidled up to me when I was examining bike locks in Ace Hardware:

"You need handyman? You need handyman for fix-it?"

WHAT THE FUCK

Here are a bunch of links to threads on metafilter that are covering the disaster in New Orleans. I don't even know what to say. I am completely dumbfounded.

Mother drowns after almost a week in a nursing home. Also a lot of stuff about FEMA turning away supplies.

In the event of a terrorist attack, natural disaster or other large-scale emergency, the Department of Homeland Security will assume primary responsibility for ensuring that emergency response professionals are prepared for any situation.

Lots of ridiculousness, starting with the Red Cross being ordered to stay out of New Orleans.

Shep Smith and Geraldo Rivera flip out on Fox News.

I just talked to my friend Kerri whose family is from right outside New Orleans. Luckily, they all managed to get out, but she told me her grandmother almost didn't leave because in the past, there have been a lot of false alarms, and it just takes too much out of her to evacuate for no reason. Now her parish is so cluttered with pollution and bodies that it will never be liveable again.

I just called 911 for the first time in my life. When I got home from Target (New bike! Hooray!), the smoke alarm in the lobby was going off, which was really annoying as there was clearly not even the faint aroma of smoke in the air. Standing on my toes and stretching my arm as far up as it could go (one of the most undignified poses known to woman, especially when you've just been riding a bike for forty blocks), I managed to reach the reset button. Five minutes after I went upstairs, the beeping recommenced. A really loud, obnoxious, fuck-you-I'm-trying-to-save-your-life beeping. I reset it again. Five minutes later, same thing, five minutes later, etc, until I decided to drag a chair down to stand on so I could remove the batteries.

But when I got up close to the alarm, I found that it wasn't the smoke alarm that was going off at all - it was the CARBON MONOXIDE ALARM!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Invisible odorless gas of death!!! Immediately I started to feel sluggish and lightheaded. I darted back upstairs and opened all the windows and turned on the fan and examined my cat to see if his second eyelids were showing. AAAGGGHHH!! I thought. It could be killing me now and I wouldn't even know! So I googled "carbon monoxide alarm going off" and the resulting instructions told me in bold italized red letters, "DO NOT IGNORE IT." I was listening! So I called 911. I may be irresponsible and depressive, but I don't have a death wish.

I do have to say, though, that it took no small element of panic to get me to call for emergency backup. I like to think of myself as a self-effacing, mostly law-abiding citizen who doesn't like to make a spectacle of herself or abuse the system or, you know, draw attention to herself in basically any way at all. Ideally, some guy in a pickup would have discreetly double-parked and knocked on the door and taken care of business and left. But no.

Five minutes later, I heard sirens, and all I could think was, "please don't let that be for me."

They pulled up and four big men jumped out, two in full fireman regalia. One pulled out his carbon monoxide reader. "Zero," he said.

I went back upstairs.

When I was halfway done with this blog post, the alarm started beeping again. This time I took out the fucking batteries. If there is a fire in the building tonight I will die, but I believe that would be preferable to calling 911 again.

I think firemen just like zooming through the streets with their sirens on.

Interview with Ray Nagin, mayor of New Orleans

Just for kicks: Comparison of CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News front pages, as of noon yesterday.

Via metafilter