"I don't remember how I felt
I never thought I'd live
To read about myself in my hometown paper
How my brave young life was forever changed
In a misty cloud of pink vapor
Darling, give me your kiss
Only understand
I am the nothing man
Around here, everybody acts the same
Around here, we all act like nothing's changed
Friday night the club meets at Al's Barbecue
The sky is still the same unbelievable blue
You can call me Joe
Buy me a drink and shake my hand
You want courage?
I'll show you courage you can understand"

I am not the same person I was two years ago. Would you be?

The Clothes in the Shivering Isles Expansion?

SO MUCH prettier than the clothes in plain Oblivion. (P.S. Don't mess with the blonde. She has a mean fireball.)

Crap! No money!

OK, so I am pissed. One of the items in my Cafepress store has apparently been selling like crazy the last two months, and I never even knew, nor did I make any money off it because I forgot to mark it up. So it hasn't been showing up on my sales, and I never bothered to run the other report that has orders on it until just now.

Damn. I missed out on maybe 20 bucks there. Oops. I just fixed the oversight and marked it up. Not super high, but enough that I make a buck or two when I sell one. I've read that the amount of the markup doesn't seem to affect popularity, statistically speaking. I want to get on that train!

Coincidentally, the title of this post is now deliciously inaccurate, since I just deposited $1,400 into my checking account. It feels good to rejoin the working world.

Almost... Friday... And Fun Times in the Kickball Beer League

Tomorrow is Friday. Not only do I get paid, I have a weekend. Having been a restaurant employee with a weird schedule for so long, I am struck with a rediscovered appreciation of the sweet sweet goodness that is Friday.

So tonight our kickball team dropped to 0-2-1. I have only been there for the two losses... but it could not be said that they were my fault, owing to the fact that I am not allowed to play in the field due to my having the world's most horrific lack of depth perception. Seriously. I can't parallel park. It comes as no surprise that when I think I'm running up to catch a pop-up ball, it's really 3 feet away. Luckily my boyfriend is the coach and he knows this. Therefore I am a permanent designated hitter.

This adult kickball thing is new. It's pretty fun so far. It's "adult" because the teams have dirty names and people run the bases with beers. Kickball takes place Thursday nights in Audubon Park, followed by free kegs and flip cup at Madigan's. If you're in da NOLA, you should think about getting a team together. It's good times. Even if you suck. I play for the Mo Bart team (we are the ones in the lime T-shirts).

But I'm missing the flip cup because of work I have to finish for tomorrow. Wahhh. Despite giving the other team an unfortunate double play because I didn't know what out it was, I could have regulated at flip cup. Oh well, next week.

Questioning My Career Choice, Spazzing Out, Wanting Time to Just Read a Book, Waiting for Friday

I am in the Depths of Despair, as you can see from my post title. No, just kidding, but I am definitely buried under so much work I have to bring it home with me and therefore have no relaxation time. And it is sucking the life out of me. I already marked all my vacations on the calendar with smilies.

I really want to just have time to write my own stuff, but I am so busy doing planning and paperwork, I can't. I KNOW this will get easier. But this week? Not a terribly uplifting week in the life of Sarah. Even my cats were mad at me-- I apparently bought them the WRONG KIND OF FOOD, and they went on a ritual fast, which caused me to refuse to buy them new food because they are spoiled brats, but then three days went by and I got nervous about their food boycott, and finally gave in and just bought them Purina. Because god forbid I give them food in different colors and shapes; it is apparently just wrong and they will boycott it until I bring them plain, brown kibble. Brats.

And despite all that, I'm not really having a terrible week, per se, it's just very hard for me to adapt to the new workload. Now I'm gonna go cry myself a river. Of beer. And go swimming in it.

BLAH.

But Scalzi's blog was entirely right, however. This did make me feel better.

Whoa, I Have Been MIA

Where have I been? Busy... working... stressed... definitely not sleeping. I am taking this entire day for myself, and not doing ANYTHING ELSE. I really need to relax.

Just saw the Bourne movie. Some reasons I like Bourne better than Bond:

1. Matt Damon is hotter than all the Bonds.

2. The portrayal of women in the movies is better.

3. Bourne doesn't need silly gadgets-- he just punches you in the face.

And now I think we're going out to grab some Mexican, and then maybe I'll game, which I've been wanting to do all day. Because it is MY DAY of relaxation... before I have to spend hours tomorrow doing homework. Blecchhhhh...

I Will Never Understand

... the tendency of my LONG-HAIRED cat to pick the hottest room in the house, sneak in, and sleep there. It's about 100 degrees outside this week, and we haven't been out in the living room for several days, and have been keeping the door firmly closed. Which means it is about 100 degrees out there too. Yet he persists in zipping through the door when I'm not looking. Then hours later, I can't find him, and I go hunting... only to find him flopped out in front of the fireplace looking totally happy, when really he ought to be dead of heat exhaustion and perhaps lack of oxygen. Does he not understand that he is a long-haired cat? Does he not understand that he can sleep in the bedroom, in his spot on top of the leather couch DIRECTLY in front of the air conditioner? He either has a temperature disorder or a death wish.

For that matter, I will never understand the tendency of my other cat to sleep in the bathtub, either.

There is no point to this post, except that it is really, really, really, really hot out this week, and just cooking Caribbean rice from the Zatarain's box is enough physical activity to make me have to take a shower. I am on my new laptop in the bedroom, since we can no longer afford to A/C more than one room in the house. It's like a little fort.

Love

Aaahhh! A Mac! Macphobia!

One of the advantages, I suppose, to having a new job in a disadvantaged, hurricane-destroyed area of the country: Chevron bought us laptops! Or rather, Chevron donated $2 million, some of which was used to buy me a brand new white (dun dun DUH) Mac laptop.

Yes, it's a Mac. Horrors.

But the training today was quite useful, and I learned how not to freak out (I have Macphobia) when I click things and all my windows fly into the corners and I can't get them back. Because now I know what key to press to make my windows come back! I picked it up fast enough to be one of the "cool kids," aka the ones the trainer yelled at for being way ahead of everyone else, especially those 10-15 years older than us who need to be instructed how to click and drag. We were already playing in iTunes and downloading inappropriate widgets. Tonight I am exploring it like I would explore any other fun little toy. I can already think of about 3 billion things I am going to do with it. Which I will not elaborate on here, because while a couple of people know what and where The Job is, I do not want to make a habit of talking about it on this blog. For obvious reasons, the main one being that I swear too much and say whatever I want and... yeah, this blog? Not a work blog.

It also came with a 1GB flashdrive, a nice backpack, and some other gadgets. (No, despite what many of us thought when we opened the box, they did not buy us iPods. It's an Apple remote.) I think I'm going to spend the evening playing.

In Detox

Seriously.

No lie.

And I got home at 1:30 last night and had to be at my first day of work at 7:45. Yeah. I need someone to take my away to a happy place where I can sleep for three days. But the wedding was fun. I'll upload some of the pictures when I wake up. If ever.

See You and Me Have a Better Time Than Most Can Dream...

North Country... redux.

OK, so my flight leaves at 6:10 PM and lands in Syracuse at 11:37. On Friday we're doing a hike in the Adirondacks, maybe some spontaneous swimming, maybe some beers. The hotel we're staying in backs up to the SLU campus. Saturday afternoon is the wedding. I am going to see some of my FAVORITE! PEOPLE! EVER! In case you haven't picked up on it, I'm really excited. I'm really excited because it's Melanie's wedding, and I haven't seen her in forever. (And I'm thinking, looking at that picture, that I very highly doubt that me being the only one in the group who is not white white white is something that time will not have changed. Haha.)

Therefore, I shall not be here this weekend! Till Sunday.

I know going back to town you went to college in for your friend's wedding is not the same as going back to college. I know you can't go home again. I know this. I guess I'm one of those people with a very strong sense of place. And this place is absolutely sacred to me. So I don't care that we're not in college anymore. I don't care about who's not there. You just cannot tell me that my flip flops on Park Street is not going to mean something. Because I won't believe you.

The Class of 2003* is going to have their party anyway. And you can't stop us.


* Oh fine, Todd. We'll let '04 play too.

Where Every Girl Had Her Own Mountain

The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago
Turned around backward so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight...
You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
The photograph reflects
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
- REM

2 days...

Can You Tell It's a St. Lawrence-Themed Weekend?

Me (listening to "Dancing in the Dark"): Would you still be able to date me if I told you this was my favorite song in the entire world?
Mike: Yes. (Rolls eyes.)
Me (five minutes later, as "Summer of '69" starts): Unless this is my favorite song in the entire world. Would you still respect me if this was my favorite song in the entire world?
Mike: ...

All That You Can't Leave Behind

Friday, May 9, 2003 (9:23 PM)

I'm done.

I wrote the 15 pager, I finished the late critical paper and dropped it off in Piskor. Half an hour ago I uploaded my final piece of work, my webpage for my soc. class. I blinked at the computer screen. Didn't know quite what to do with myself. When I went to log off, my breath actually caught.

"Log off stolcs37?"

I stared at the prompt. Is it really over? There must be something I've forgotten: a meeting, a response paper to dash off, an e-mail. It just can't be over.

But there is nothing.

I log off and stand up, slinging my red bag over my shoulder, knowing very well that I will not be back.

I walk upstairs, slowly, past my couch at the top of the stairs under the bronze plaque, my couch where I would sit and watch people walk through the revolving doors. I walk down the wall by Richardson, past the study tables, seeing reflections of myself everywhere in the picture windows that run floor to ceiling there. Past the hidden couch by the window in the back, where I would go if I wanted to hide and write, past the huge window that looks out on Herring Cole and the tree-lined walk.

I circle the second floor and head for the stairs. I sink down onto my couch and pull my knees to my chest like a little kid. Oh there are ghosts, don't let anyone tell you there aren't. But they're not the kind in the stories. I stare at the reflection of myself in the glass railing, and it's eerie, but I feel like, if I turned my head quick enough, it would be sophomore year.

But the thing is, if you want to live, you can't stay. You can't sit on a worn yellow and brown couch forever, picturing all the still-familiar faces that you will never see walk through that door again.

It's really over.

I gather my things, pull on my sweatshirt, and walk, looking around me as I go, looking everywhere. I gather, yes, that's a good word. I gather it all to me. I walk through the revolving doors.

And as I pass the library, outside on the brick sidewalk under a gorgeous purple sky, between the looming silver bleachers that have already been set up on the lawn for graduation, I glance up at the picture window and can almost see a ghost of myself.

Things To Do At SLU Next Week, aka Melanie's Wedding, aka Sketchy T's Return to the Hallowed North Country

1. Make a pilgrimage to the Hoot.
2. Spontaneously die of joy when Sykes clock tower comes into view.
3. Drink Blue.
4. Get a fat bag from Sergi's. (The fat bag has its own group on Facebook, I just found out. I particularly liked one comment: "The Sergi family was not content with the regular calzone. It was much too healthy. So, into to the deep fryer it went!") Faaaat baaaag.
5. Take a picture with Chrissy next to the random pipe on Park Street whose purpose we would always ponder when walking home drunk. "What do you do? Are you for Amish people to tie buggies to? WHAT ARE YOU?"
6. Hike an ADK peak.
7. Pee on the golf course (just kidding).
8. See if the rope swing is still there by the Little River.
9. Reminisce.
10. Hang out with all the best people.
11. Quote. Ourselves. Repeatedly.
12. Make CDs of horrible Tick Tock rap from 1999 and play them in the car.
13. Break into buildings on campus and be sketchy.
14. Be sketchy.

What else? What am I missing? I AM SO EXCITED.

For Those Too Cool To Be Seen Reading Harry Potter...

Harry Potter book disguises. Um, bad language warning. My favorite part is the "reviews" on the back covers. "The most thoroughly disenchanting novel of our time. Utterly mature and high-brow... My kids hate this book." - Chicago Tribune. The blurbs are also great. "They stole his life. He stole their tank." And, "A work of very serious literature."

Part of me warred against another part of me in posting this link. At least one of these is seriously offensive in a way I don't think is funny. But the rest of them are funny. So I am just going to pretend I didn't see the bottom one, because I choose not to start off my day on a negative ranting note.

In another funny aside, way to go, spammers. Did you really think I was going to open an e-mail from someone called Luxor Crackspy?

A Really Amazing Article About Race in SF/F

http://www.infinitematrix.net/faq/essays/noles.html

But I remember Dad saying, how come you never see anybody like that in the stories you like? And I remember answering, maybe they didn't have black people back then. He said there's always been black people. I said but black people can't be wizards and space people and they can't fight evil, so they can't be in the story. When he didn't say anything back I turned around. He was in full recline mode in his chair and he was very still, looking at me. He didn't say anything else.

A thought-provoking and, at times, sad read. Someone posted the link at Iris Network, and I was very struck by it.

Irritated

So someone changed the schedule at work LAST NIGHT and failed to call me to tell me my shifts were switched today. Which means I drove in there for nothing, which is highly inconvenient to me. And I was supposed to know about this how, exactly? Through my extraordinary psychic ability? Magic, perhaps?

Losers.

I just want a real job, where crap like this does not happen to annoy me. Or really, just to live in a cave and work via the internet, drinking coffee all day. But WE CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT.

ALSO. On the topic of annoyance. I saw my most execrable and abhorrent drama queen of an ex walk up and down Magazine Street like four times yesterday. Which can only mean that he must be taking the bar here, and I can only look forward to bumping into His Deplorableness for possibly the rest of my adult life. Because New Orleans is one of those very small big cities where everyone knows everyone. Especially in the legal community. Puke.

Why do all the people I like move?

To Leg or Not To Leg

Leggings. I thought it was a joke that leggings were back. Like it was something college kids were doing because they were being "ironic" or because they were on their way to a theme keg party. But make no mistake-- leggings are out there, along with skinny pants. And they're on the streets of your city.

Personally, I believe in the fashion rule that if you wore it the first time, you should not wear it the second time because you are Too Old. Leggings make me think of the fifth grade, when I wore them with giant baggy t-shirts, with the hem pulled to the side and stuck through one of those decorative plastic rings. And skinny pants. Why? Skinny pants make everyone look fat. I cannot get over the icked-out feeling I get when I see any kind of tapered pant, because they used to only be seen on people's fashion-challenged middle-aged mothers and we used to roll our eyes and be like, "Grooooss. The 80's are SO OVER."

Then I have all these people telling me that my body type is one of the only body types that can handle the skinny pant/legging thing and I should get in on the action. I am super resistant to this idea. But I SUPPOSE I could be persuaded to MAYBE get a tunic-y white shirt and wear it with my chunky turquoise necklace and MAYBE leggings. I SUPPOSE. It seems like super comfortable airport wear, for instance. But as I said, there is something inside me that just resists this idea. I'm not convinced.

So... leggings. Bringing sexy back? Or "that was the 80's on the phone-- they want your outfit back"?

The Potter

I pulled an all-nighter to finish Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Saturday night, and I still a bit hungover from it. I won't say anything here to spoil the book for those who haven't read it. For those who wanted a more tragic, more avant garde kind of ending, I will say that I think it's been obvious all along from the story J.K. Rowling was writing that it was going to end the way it did. There were intriguing snippets about what was going on elsewhere (where Harry wasn't) that I would have loved to know more about. If I felt the book sort of wandered in the middle, this was a reflection of Harry's being without the guidance of a wise adult and having to make the important decisions for himself. I also thought the epilogue was inadequate in that I wanted to know more about what the characters did with their lives after Hogwarts.

But really, it's hard to come up with decisive thoughts about the book. Because how it ended doesn't matter to me half as much as the fact that it is over. It feels, appropriately, like the mixed feelings you get at a graduation. We won't be waiting for Potter again.

Potterday! The Final Countdown

Some final thoughts:

* I don't think Harry is going to die.
* I think all of the Trio are going to make it.
* I would love for Neville to be the one to kill Bellatrix.
* Draco Malfoy seems like he might get redeemed, but I do not expect him to live.
* Snape isn't evil, because Dumbledore had a good reason for trusting him that he didn't tell anyone.
* But, like Malfoy, I wouldn't put money on him making it out of this mess.
* I think Dumbledore is really dead, but they may be able to communicate with him somehow, like through his portrait in the office.
* R.A.B. is Regulus Black. He is virtually the only R-B combo we've heard about. And he's had at least three throwaway references. J.K. doesn't make throwaway references. See Mrs. Figg way back in Book 1 who shows up in Book 5.
* The locket was at 12 Grimmauld Place. I bet it's one of the things Mundungus Fletcher stole when he looted the house, and Harry got mad at him for selling his stuff. Another throwaway plot point from Book 6 that was never followed up with anything. It could be a red herring, but I'm betting it's another "hey, this rat is missing a toe."
* Since it takes two people to get to the island where the locket was, I bet it was Kreacher who went with Regulus. He is sworn to the Black family and has to do what they say. I think this because Rowling apparently told the director of Movie 5 that he'd be sorry later if he cut Kreacher, so his scenes were left in. Therefore there is something he has to do in Book 7.
* There is supposedly a character who manages to do magic late in life in dire circumstances. I'm going out on a limb and saying I think it's Petunia Dursley.
* At least one Weasley will probably die.
* I hate to say it, but things aren't looking good for Hagrid either. It's one of the deaths that would have major emotional impact for Harry.
* Wormtail will turn on Voldemort.
* I think Ginny will live, because of love being a major theme.

Let's see if I'm totally off. I'm probably going to be signing off the internet soon, because I DON'T WANT TO KNOW! Happy Potterday!

We ONLY Watch Quality TV

... in this household. Therefore there must be some mistake when our shows don't get nominated for stuff.

How does The Shield consistently get no love from the Emmy Awards? Even Forrest Whitaker got no love for his unnervingly good guest role last year. Is it because it's on FX? I have totally gotten sucked into this show. None of the garbage on network TV can compare to its intensity. And the actors manage to perform at that consistently high level every episode. I've seen Grey's Anatomy and Boston Legal. That's soapy fluff, not drama! No love!

The Battlestar G didn't entirely get shafted, but the actors did. (BSG picked up nominations in writing, directing, sound, and visual effects.) Season 3 was sort of weak, but they could have at least tossed them something for shafting them last year.

I think every article I've seen mentions The Wire, BSG, and The Shield as major WTF omissions, so it's not exactly like we're crazy people clinging to our couch watching crappy shows here.

Sketchy Rejection

I know there's no point in analyzing the whys and hows of rejection letters, because you'll just drive yourself crazy for no reason. But I just got one today that I felt was sort of sketchy. I sent the story exactly three months ago, and on their site it says not to inquire about the status of your submission until three months have passed. Fine. Sure. I just got a form rejection e-mail on THE DAY three months was up. I don't know why I feel iffy about this. I shouldn't. Except that it is a little coincidental. It makes me think a) it wasn't even read, and their system is just programmed to spit out rejections at the 3-month mark, or b) it was read ages ago but a reply wasn't sent until the very last second. Which is also obnoxious because that's three whole months I could have been submitting elsewhere. Now, you could argue c) they were considering it, but I highly doubt it because of the form. Not that I expect magazines to send personal rejections. I don't. But the past two places that had a story for-freakin-ever at least sent a note.

I'm not usually the oversensitive writer-type who reads too much into her rejections. However, I don't think I'll send there again. If F&SF can respond in eight days with comments that show the story was read, smaller magazines can. And that is all I have to say about that.

I haven't been getting form rejections lately, anyhow. So yeah. NEXT.

Argh... errands

Why don't I have this mysterious packet with insurance information? Where am I supposed to get fingerprinted? What happened to the thing I already faxed, which I of course cannot locate now that I want it? Why have my test scores mysteriously vanished and why is my desk suddenly drowning in papers? And it's lucky I am awake when employers call for such information at 8:45 AM (practicing).

Ooh, but I found a lipstick I haven't seen in months.

Off running errands on da West Bank. Yay.

Real Platform 9 3/4

Because I saw it on Wikipedia and thought it was cute.

Sweetie vs. Potter Update:
In a race against time, Mike is now 57 pages into Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Well, not really a race against time when you consider that he most likely won't be getting his hands on Book 7 until Sunday night... maybe Sunday morning. Because I get it first.

I have to work on Saturday, the day the book is delivered, so it really comes down to whether I pull an all-nighter Saturday night to finish it. My informal survey of this week's mail (seriously-- DOES MAIL GET DELIVERED AFTER 8:00 PM IN ANY OTHER CITY IN THE UNITED STATES, I ASK YOU!) does not make me optimistic about the book being delivered before I have to go to work.