Thirteen (who is my friend) gives us the oldies but goodies. I'm proud to say I suggested a couple on his list. What are your favorite retro links?

I gave myself a present today, and bought Sam's book. I'd been eyeing it for a while. Exploding Dog has touched, amused, and entertained me for a long time. If you're new to Sam, have a look around. I'll let you know what I think of the book, though I suspect it will be love at first sight.

Just go. Go now.

This one is going to leave me searching for happy adjectives. Okay, here goes:

Amelie is the bouyant story of a creative young woman who decides to affect the lives of those around her, and finally her own life. The things she does will leave you wishing you were cleverer and braver. My two companions and I left the theatre wearing ridiculous grins.

I tend to look for the flaw in a film. "Well, that was good," I'll say, "except for those three awkward cuts." Yes, I'm that picky. Amelie is one of a handful of flawess films I've seen. Writing, acting, direction, cinematography, and yes even editing (my bugaboo) are perfect. The movie carries you swimmingly along to the satisfying end.

If you miss this film, we can't be friends anymore.

• I want to put my hands in the air and wave them like I care deeply.
• David Bridie's voice makes me hott.
• I'm considering a rant on consumerism, as I've been having a wonderful debate with some friends.
• I still need to reply to Mark. Mark Mark Mark. Rrr. I have guilt.
• I'm trying to arrange lunch with my sister. We haven't spent more than five minutes in one another's company since 1996.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! I've clamored for this very thing, and am beside myself to see it happen.

Thanks, Trubie for the heads-up!

Several weeks ago one of my co-workers was backing out of her office while talking to someone. As I passed by, she said "Yuuuuck!" in response to whatever was being said. Of course it sounded like she was responding to me. I got a laugh out of it, and replied: "Eeeewwww!"

Since then, every time we see one another it's: Yuck! Eeeeww!

I know it's normal for guys to call each other nasty names in an endearing fashion, but women don't generally do this, so it tickles me. Next time I get together with my chick friends, I should try calling them names like "old crack whore" and "bitch on a tricycle" and see how it goes over.

Or maybe not.

This made me very happy.

I spend too much time double-checking my sent items to make sure I didn't send an email to the wrong person.

Maybe I should stop saying things I don't want to get caught saying.

I know, I should update my blog. Thoughts passing through my mind:

• I really need to answer Mark's rant. I will, and I'll move it up when I do. Yeesh, the guy wrote an essay.
  
• Berets are goofy.
  
• I'm allergic to vanity.

Had an absolutely great time over at Kelly and John's place today. Went over early and cooked with Kel. In between dishes, we watched Beautiful Girls, which I had never seen. What sparkling writing. Natalie Portman was a giggle.

We had ham, which I smothered with cranberry sauce--something I've only recently learned to like. I'm alone in that. I now have the leftover sauce, and this makes me happy. Later, we played Scrabble, Scattergories, and laughed a lot.

And on a completely unrelated note: write in Wil Wheaton.

A new design calls for a new Greenshoes mix. Pinkhand is a mix of my favorite femmes (except one track, but isn't that always the way?). Are you in on the Greenshoes act? You know you want to. Get mixin'.

On the river there is a type of duck that dives for fish. I know not what it's called--I'm not good with my ducks. He glides, half underwater, his neck sticking up like a tiny seamonster, then he dives, and stays down so long an observer might think he'd grown tired of his little ducky life. Minutes later, he'll emerge, often an impossible distance from his submersion point.

This morning as I walked, I saw one of these uber-cool duckies. He'd just come from a successful dive, and had a silvery fish wiggling in his beak. A seagull thought this looked like easy pickings; he coasted down from a pylon heading for the duck. But our Ducky was clever. He took another dive, and by the time he came back up, he was gobbling down the last of his breakfast, foiling the thieving gull.

The seagull returned to his pylon, disappointed and looking a little annoyed. I was grinning about that duck for blocks.

I have seen Heist and I say: meh.

Everyone walked through their roles like they were getting scale. The dialogue had some self-aware one liners that were amusing. Otherwise, too bright, and too repetitive. Moments of brutality despoiled what should have been a slicker plot.

Mamet should have imagined someone smarter than himself, and asked himself: "What would he write?"

No really, I mean it.

Friday: New ring in the nose and a fantastic, giggly evening with Anna.

Saturday: Midnight Oil with Scott. The more the concert sinks in, the more I love that band.

Sunday: First phonecall from a new long-distance friend. I'm a notorious phone hater, but it was a really nice conversation with a deeply interesting person. Made my day. Also made me wish I could meet him at some little cafe and hang out. Such is always the way. Note to scientists: hurry up with the transporter technology already.

Monday: Invited to Thanksgiving at Kelly's house. I thought all my friends would be out of town, but Kel just wants to do a friend thang. This is exceedingly cool, and I'm jazzed. Also, I got a ZERO BALANCE bill from the Evil Phone Company; month two of such. It's commupance for screwing me so severely, and it's making me grin.

I've had a very good run lately. Yeah.

I am pleasantly deaf. I swear I kept the speaker-side earplug in. Really I did.

Midnight Oil proved once again that they are the premier political rock band of the last two decades.

Opening for the Oils was Bleu. I suspect Dan Cortese is moonlighting. So the guy is very cute, and has a great voice, and the first couple songs are likable. So is he--he's a little bit funny and has a modicum of charisma. Then, about three songs in, the material starts getting weaker, until finally he's singing some of the sappiest songs I've ever heard from a guy with big sideburns. And he's trying to get us to sing along. Amusing to me was how he became less cute as he became less talented. I began to notice how his denims were a little too well pressed, his glasses a little too preppy. Guess I'm an all or nothing type of gal.

The Oils came out for the last show of their North American tour. We were warned that they might go on a bit. That they did. In fact I'm probably too tired to say anything meaningful. They were tight. Peter Garrett's elastic voice was complimented beautifully by the other strong voices in the band. That kind of sweet-spot harmony is often difficult to pull off live, and they were flawless. And what is it about drummers? Rob Hirst is leap-over-the-drumkit-and-take-a-bite cute.

I'll try to say more about the music in the morning. There is a lingering emotional rant. The crowd was between 35-45. My peers. These are supposed to be the people with whom I relate. I looked into that packed room and wondered when I became so alien to people my own age. Scott was comfortable. He was appropriately dressed, fit right in, happy to be among his tribe. I felt like I was dancing in a dampening field, and in fact didn't get into the concert as much as I thought I should have. Barely broke a sweat.

Speaking of head holes, I have a new one. Unlike most piercings which are relatively painless, this hurt like a fucking bitch. As it should have, since I wanted a 14 gauge hoop and it went through scar tissue. I knew better than to expect the happy little sting. The piercer is very good though. I do wish I had noticed the circumference of the ring. It's small for my taste, and I'll have to trade up once this heals. Otherwise, I'm terribly, terribly pleased with my new metal.

'Sokay, I'm good with pain, and it only hurts once. Until you get in a bar fight and someone rips it out.

On a humorous note, on the way out of the shop there were a bunch of folks in front who of course asked Anna and I what we had done. Anna is 18, but she looks about 13. They asked if we were mother and daughter. No, Anna explained, I was a friend, and I paid for her piercing! Walking away I mumbled: "Thanks, now they think I'm your lesbian sugar mamma."

It was a fun evening and we giggled ourselves hoarse.

[He began a discussion on boxing with someone. Of course, she had Things to Say. Yes, she is always allowed to butt in.]

[he said (to another party decrying the brutality of the sport)]

As are all contact sports. Boxing is no different. There are higher serious injury statistics in football, hockey, and lacrosse than boxing. People's perceptions about boxing are somewhat skewed - Ever seen a football hall of famer? Much worse shape than boxing, mostly because you don't fight as often as you take the gridiron, as they say.

For every force, and all that.

I always find it interesting that people can be so against boxing, and so laissez faire about other contact sports, that injure far greater numbers.

[she said]

My thang: I don't really care what people do to themselves with full knowledge of the risks.

I can't say it doesn't bother me that there is a market for it. Boxing is the closest thing we have to gladiatorial games. It isn't our best side. I suspect over the next century or so the sport will evolve into something nonviolent.

[he said]

I respectfully disagree. Football is far more dangerous, as for the long lasting injuries. Than hockey. Than lacrosse. Than boxing. Just look at the insurance premiums - they know.

Personally, I prefer 1 on 1 competition, and boxing and racing (swimming/biking/running) are the height of this because they are the purest forms of direct competition.

Either way. Bad fights are terrible to watch, where as most people see the beauty of an Ali fight.

I will say this: I would really like to see pro boxing adopt head gear and move to the Olympic format. It's safer, and more about boxing - not knocking out. The objective should not be injury, rather, skill, strength, conditioning, heart.

[she said]

Are you getting me mixed up with [other person]? I didn't mention relative injury rates, and I don't doubt you. It isn't about that. When I say boxing is the closest thing we have to gladiatorial games, I'm talking about an individual competition where the goal of the game is to injure your opponent. That's what people find offensive--the idea, not the reality. In other sports, injury is collateral damage. In boxing, injury is the point. That is probably a big reason why boxing is safer--the sheer violence has never been ignored or swept under the carpet, and considerable compensation has been made.

I question my own qualification to debate the matter. The collective recoiling from violent sports is part of a feminizing of culture; the over-arching (recent) idea that what is male is bad, and what is female is good. I strongly disagree with this. I am, however, female. Society is still (of course) heavily biased toward the male. I want balance, but it's not for me to say what must be kept on the male side of that equation. To generalize, men receive a level of emotional gratification from sports that I cannot fathom. I'm reluctant to withdraw that because I find it distasteful or uncivilized. It could very well just be something I don't understand.

I don't think men and women have to share everything, or that either gender should become the other. This extends to larger society, and we can't expect every activity to be "safe" for both genders, or that we will always understand the other gender.

How's that for broadening the scope of the argument?

[he said]

[really nice things that embarrassed her]

Proof that the memory of pain fades quickly: I'm getting ready for the Blogathon gear-up. Starting early should take most of the pain out of the process. I hope. If you'd like to be involved, send a blank email to blogathon-subscribe@yahoogroups.com and get on the list. The first email just went out, so get in there.

Confession: I'm getting excited all over again. This project kicks major ass.

At lunch, the table behind me was occupied with a group of people talking about homelessness. One of the men espoused the no-sympathy attitude, deflecting each possibility with a firmly held belief. While I agreed with him in principle on a few points (I am not renowned for my compassion), his ignorance on the subject, especially in the case of mental illness, was embarrassing. His companions let the subject drop, because they knew there was no getting past his willful lack of knowledge.

I found his machismo nauseating. I gave a dollar to a homeless kid on the way back to work.

Today is Anna's 18th birthday. Tomorrow, we will head over to Black Hole Body Piercing and I will get her a labret. This is also a great excuse for me to get a ring in my nose again. Just the left or right nostril--I'm not going for the bull look.

I used to have a stud, but it caught on a towel and came out when I had a cold. If you've ever had a piercing of this sort, you know the wire is all twisty inside so it stays in place. Unfortunately, if it does come out it's hard to get back in. With a cold--impossible! So I've waited for it to heal real good-like before getting it replaced.

I will be happy to have a hole in my face again, and Anna will look lovely with her labret.

I stumbled on SixDifferentWays because a semi-regular read of mine was made Blog Babe of the Week. Yech, I thought. What sexist bullshit is this?

It isn't. It's actually quite sweet.

SDW is a quirky, funky spot. Don't miss the chairs.

The Depravity Scale - Defining Evil for the Courts is a fascinating look at the language we use to describe acts of evil, and how the separation of the act from the morality of the offender has affected our courts.

Props for the link to Mark at Kokoro

I tried again to read Affluenza. While I agree with much of the premise, the book is preachy and simplistic. It commits one cardinal sin: advocating the return to "simpler times" as if this were the panacea for all the world's ills.

We are growing up as a society, and we cannot go back to the 50s any more than we can, as individuals, go back to being twelve.

Much maligned is the secularism of society, but this is where we must go. Not for the sake of abandoning religion, but because we must reach beyond the concept of reward and punishment, and do good because it is good. Heaven and Hell must become irrelevant as we call on our own humanity for guidance. Affluenza says we've lost our souls in the pursuit of things. I completely agree, but the way to regain it is not to step backward. The things that are required of us now cannot be supplied with the lessons of the past.

One task I do take from the book: they talk about lifestyles as either material-centered or community-centered. They don't take into account an anti-materialist hermit like myself. I'm thinking they're not wrong, and there could be more community in my daily life. A shame about the whole hating people thing. I'll have to work on that.

I am home with a crappier-than-normal reaction to a flu shot. Lucky me. So the phone rings, and I have to answer it because it may well be work. That would be important. It isn't work. It's one of those people who call me "ma'am" or "Catherine" or "Ms. W********." Over the years I've experimented with different ways of dealing with phone solicitors, some of them less polite than others. A favorite idea that I've never had the balls to try is to tell them: "You have 10 seconds to convince me to stay on the line. Be entertaining. And I mean on the level of show-tunes and Bill Cosby." I figure if someone can be original, I can listen to the pitch. If you try this, let me know how it goes. In the end, I've settled on something mundane and only borderline rude. As soon as I realize what I'm dealing with, I interject: "Do I know you or owe you money?" If the answer is no, I say: "Well then I'm going to hang up now. Goodbye." Click. I added on the "owe you money" part because I suck at paying my cable bill (they can't seem to get with the e-bill thang), so they call me sometimes. I'm usually very friendly to collections people as long as they aren't obnoxious.

I know I've hyped Hoshq before, but I must do it again. While I took a break, Andrew redesigned. The result is his best work, and one of the most beautiful personal sites on the web.

In his wanderings of the Great North, Andrew snaps pictures that often grace my desktop as wallpaper. In his new design, he rotates some of these images at the top, in a striking wide view.

This Spring he'll be travelling across the ocean and far away. He'll no doubt bring back pretty gifts for all of us.

Just got back from a meeting where I had to listen to supervisory issues for an hour before I gave my 30-second update on my project.

One interesting thing:

Apparently the sex offender specialists are seeing a new category of offender: someone who has no criminal record or prior history of illegal sexual behavior, normal family background, etc., yet they get on the internet and suddenly become interested in child pornography. In most cases, there is no proof that the person ever touched anyone underage, and some considerable question as to whether they ever would. The solution is to err on the side of caution, of course. So far, there just isn't enough experience with this type of offender to know what's happening, and it's got the experts baffled.

I find this fascinating.

Dear Faithful Readers:

You know when I point you to something cool, it's generally very, very cool, right? So if I tell you where to get something pretty on the cheap, you'll believe me, right? Good. I have a treat for you.

Words of my Voice is a graphic novel by my friend JR Hughto, who you see linked over on the right. I've been getting to know Jeremy's work, and the guy stuns me. His visions always go deeper than I expect. His work is wildly beautiful. And all this praise will probably embarrass him, so I'll quit and give you the salient facts. You can buy WomV here, 200 pages of art for the exceedingly cheapo price of $8. You can download the first chapter in pdf form here if you'd like to take a longer peek than I'm about to give you. And here's that peek:

PS: Anyone who follows JR will know I just swiped part of his entry. I fully acknowledge this, and I did ask.

I haven't decided exactly what to do with MT's categories, but I did add one for insomnia. I imagine after a year it will make an interesting read--just these late night ramblings.

One of the best things about my apartment: Coke machine in the basement. Pretty cheap, too. So I sit, ruminating, sipping, listening to the livingroom-side neighbors do what they're doing. Talking, I think. Possible moving furniture. Like most of the complex, the apartment next to me is filled with cute geeks. Usually a cute geek girl and a cute geek guy. I saw the girl yesterday. She seems friendly.

I'm tempted to continue watching The Human Condition, the first of Kobayashi's WWII trilogy. It's beautiful, but damned depressing. Tatsuya Nakadai gave a helluva performance as the idealist trying to run a labor camp. I have a feeling he'll be beaten down, and I cringe to see it. I could be wrong. It's nice to be so involved in a story.

I think I will go back to it. It will get the things that are on my mind off my mind. So what if I dream of slave labor. Hmm...Slave Labor...

Feeling a tad melancholy tonight. I've made goals for myself that I have been missing, and this is frustrating. Self-loathing creeps in.

On the other hand, I have a very different attitude than I have in the past. Once, I would have given up in a tearful lump. Now I just sigh deeply and get back in the saddle. I have a deep confidence in myself that surprises me when I look at it. I'm sure it wasn't there before. I hope it sticks around.

There is no love lost between my cats. Observe:

Because of this, I have to feed them on opposite ends of the kitchen. The routine: Put the first dish down, have both cats go for it, grab the second dish and the smaller cat and put them both down at the other end of the floor. To sweeten the deal, I pet the smaller cat a little as I put her in front of her dish. The bigger cat realized this. Now when I put the other cat down, she just stands there waiting at her dish until I pet her too.

My cats: as weird as they wanna be.

It's raining this morning. Walking through the park blocks I saw that the trees had shed much of their yellow leaves, making a gorgeous ground covering.

I struggled a bit with my wallet, but finally got it out and ran my card key through the reader. Inside, I flashed my ID to...an empty chair. WTF? Where the hell was security? I walked into the building, and noticed the cafeteria was closed. Oh no, I thought. I've finally done it. There was one lone after-hours guard at the front door. I asked him the question.

Yes, it's a federal holiday.

It took me five years, but I knew eventually I would space one of these obscure suckers and come in anyway. I'm still not sure what holiday it is. Veteran's day? Oy.

So here I am at my desk, using the color printer for something wonderful, which I will talk more about later. I may do some work.

Hee, I crack me up. I'm going home.

Bleary. Numb. Listening to the hum of the computer, needled by the glow of the monitor. The neighbors did a most unkind tapdance on my head. Reminding me that I wasn't comfortable. I try for an hour. At last I wander out of the bedroom to find cats blissfully asleep, and the whole world quiet.

I check a half-dozen email accounts, hoping for something magical. A newsletter for Australian film. An eBay search. Nine pieces of spam: 1 tells me I'm a winner; 1 has a deal on life insurance; 1 will help me lose weight; 1 will help me get drugs; 5 want me to watch them have sex. Sometimes I think if I got porn spam that didn't assume I had a penis, I might go for it.

Ah, probably not.

Back to bed.

My friend (and ex-hubby) Scott reminded me that his niece Laleña turned 30 recently. 15 years ago, we took a picture of her at our wedding, when she was thinking about the fact that she was pregnant. This picture became the subject of one of my first paintings. It was one of my favorites, because the portrait captured the seriousness of her thoughts.

I let my sister hang this painting while I was on the road a few years later. She gave it away while I was gone. Admittedly, she gave it to the family of the girl, but still the whole subject brings me great bitterness.

It's one thing to let go of a painting when you're ready. I've done this. But to have it given away without permission--it reminds me again of why I don't talk to my sister much.

I asked the Eerily Accurate Magic Eight Ball (what sits on my desk, at work) if I would get laid at SXSW. The answer: WITHOUT A DOUBT. Finally. EAMEB has been very negative on this subject for a long time, so I have great confidence that it's telling the unvarnished truth.

Will you be at SXSW? Maybe we'll get lucky together! At the very least I'll be attending the Interactive Festival, and there's a high possibility I'll stay for the Film Conference as well. It depends on schedule and budget. Work is picking up the interactive portion, which I thought ran concurrently with everything else. It actually ends earlier, so it complicates things.

If you are attending, leave a comment (yeah, there's still an error. Do it anyway) or write me. We can meet up for a seminar, grab lunch, or just have sex*.

*Note: I play favorites; I am not first-come-first-served. Any rivalries I cannot resolve myself will be decided by kung-fu death match.

Yes, I'm aware there is an error in the comment script. I'm working on it. Your comment will still show up, though you'll get an error and the number of comments won't increment.

MT is not all a bed of roses.

Welcome to the new, darker frytopia. Does this signal a change in mood? Perhaps.

The 'topia is now using Movable Type. I'm still tweaking things, so don't expect everything to work quite yet.

Of all my designs, I must say I'm happiest with this one.

It feels good to be back.