I'm hosting another Holiday Open House this year, and have just about 36.5 hours left before it is due to begin.
Here is a view of my apartment in its current state, from the one clean corner:
Friends who will be in attendance, please remember this image, and note that it does not look nearly as chaotic as the reality is. Then compare with how it is when you all arrive. Hopefully there will be a noticeable difference.
Not sure how I'm going to pull it all together and get enough sleep, but I do at least have the ham done.
And truly, isn't that the most important thing? I thought so.
The war against unwanted roommate Jim is not over. He was quiet for a while, but the last few nights I've been wakened in the wee hours by a rustle here, a crackle there. I thought I was going crazy, imagining things, especially since it didn't seem to be coming from the kitchen area but instead the walls against which my bed is pressed. Was he living in the walls? Creeping around under my very bed? I couldn't tell, and I still haven't seen the bastard.
And then tonight, tonight, the little fucker got bold. He decided he needed to crunch crunch crunch in broad electric light, while I was sitting there watching TV. I tracked him down to the corner by my stereo, probably hiding in or behind the box containing my old computer. Amazing. It's next to the kitchen, sure, but I can't imagine that there's any food or anything lingering around there for a small furry creature to enjoy.
At any rate, this discovery prompted me to finally move that box downstairs into storage — I should have done that months ago — and to finally order one of these — also something I should have done months ago. Traps haven't worked, poison hasn't worked, it's time to take this battle into the 21st century.
Package is due to arrive on Wednesday. I'm giving it until Christmas to prove its worth.
Of course, if this doesn't work, either, I may well just have to napalm the place and call it a day. Or maybe just ask to borrow one of my neighbors' cats: that might be saner. It's a toss-up which I'd choose at this point.
I don't usually comment on current worldly events, especially business news (since business news is sort of my job). But all the hoopla about Netflix's recently-announced price increase has me rolling my eyes and wanting to smack a bunch of people around.
Seriously. Wasn't that unlimited streaming part icing on the cake for all of us ... only two years ago? And now they're asking us to pay for that icing, on top of the price we'd initially been happy enough to apply to just DVDs.
I don't blame them for making this move. Streaming costs money: server space, bandwidth, and (I'm guessing) cutting financial deals with your internet service providers so that the bandwidth you're using for the streaming doesn't show up in your internet bill. (Though knowing ISPs, they'll probably end up charging for it, anyway.)
As for DVDs: that probably costs even more in overhead. They need to pay the rent on the mailing centers where they house the DVDs, the salaries of the people who handle and file them away, the bulk rate costs for using USPS. This service isn't free for them to deliver. Why do you expect it to continue to be practically-free for you to get?
Most people (like myself) will probably just drop down to the one part of the plan they use the most. In fact, I haven't used the DVD portion for over a year, so this price change is just prompting me to do something I should have done long ago. In the end, this is going to save me money.
What's really funny is the people I've seen crying about this price hike the most are also the ones who indiscriminately internet post about all the money they've spent in other areas of their life: the latest iJunk toys, the trips to Giants games every week, the shows watched on HBO. You have money for all of that, but you can't find room in your budget to spend an extra $6 a month on unlimited access to video entertainment?
You should be ashamed of yourself. Throwing a hissy fit over something like this just shows you up to be one of the worst examples of a narcissistic, self-entitled American with First World problems. Get over it, and either shell out the $6 or cancel your account. You don't need to make a gods-damned internet petition about it, collecting ALL CAPS comments. There are plentyof otheroptions out there.
It's been a crappy week. I was already starting to feel cruddy Monday evening after two separate verbal assaults by crazy homeless guys in the same day, and "woke up" Tuesday morning not really having slept and with the beginning of a bug.
A bug that has lingered now for three days. I'm actually starting to get bored with being trapped in my apartment, but don't really have the energy to do much more than warm up leftovers (thank heavens for Sunday cooking) and wave a Wii-mote to put on the next thing in my Netflix queue.
I've found evidence that I'm still living with a furry little roommate, despite the exterminator the landlord had over back in April to look at the place (I guess he didn't actually exterminate anything, alas). And after getting woken up by the building manager clearing weeds off my patio area, I get an email telling me that my front herb garden experiment stinks, looks messy, and needs to be cleared away because it's interfering with the weeding.
I'm starting to think this city doesn't want me any more. Well, fuck you, SF. The feeling's mutual.
In other-people-suck news: Yeah, I watched some of the Boston-Vancouver Stanley Cup Final last night. Like, the final two periods. And to be honest, I wanted Boston to win, so I'm pleased enough with the outcome. I do want to note that Vancouver, in the last 24 hours, has most definitely proved that Bostonians deserved this win far more than they did. I mean, seriously, have you seen the pictures? Is it me, or do all the Vancouver rioters look like a bunch of over-privileged douche-bag frat boys, rather than suffering fans? Get over yourselves, you look like (worse than) Americans.
In my lonely, perpetually-single state of being, I've started playing a little game with myself, whenever OkCupid sends me another "Someone Chose You!" email.
For those of you who are not doomed to the doldrums of online dating, let me explain: Remember Hot or Not? Hmm ... maybe some of you are too young for that (or spent your college years more productively, like by going to parties and getting laid and stuff). (Holy Crap, I cannot believe that site is still around. Go figure.) Well, there's something like that on OkCupid, called "QuickMatch" where you're given a person's pictures, their basic profile, but not their username, and you're asked to rate them on a scale of one to five stars. When you give that person four or five stars, they are sent an email letting them know that they've been "chosen!" but hiding the true identity of the chooser by presenting a cluster of nine pictures, one of whom is the person who gave the high rating.
The game, of course, is to try to figure out which of the nine is really the one who gave you four plus stars. For instance, here is my selection of today:
Yes, I stuck a gray oval over each of their faces. The identity of the victims must be preserved.
I've gotten pretty good at correctly guessing which of the gentlemen is my caller before I log in. (Once I do log in, I can usually tell either by the fact that the person has viewed my profile, or if I go into the Quickmatch game itself he is generally the second or third guy to come up.) It's, of course, never the one I would choose for myself. Not necessarily the creepiest-looking one, but close enough.
I guess I tend to attract a certain kind of guy. I guess. Sigh.
In other news: this Sunday I woke up at the crack of 2 a.m. — which involved getting to bed at 5 p.m. the night before — to volunteer at the opening ceremonies for the AIDS LifeCycle event. One of my coworkers set this up for a group of us to participate, and I have to admit, it was a blast. I forget how volunteering really makes you feel like part of a community. I spent the better part of four hours running around, surrounded by lots of men and women in spandex, going on my knees and giving pump jobs. (Hey, now: I was one of the people carrying around bicycle pumps for tire inflation. What did you think it was, sicko?) I still think bicyclists are crazy-assed people, but this group was wonderful and pumped and doing something extremely awesome with their crazy. I hope they have a great ride the rest of this week.
I also ended up seeing the latest X-Men flick with friend Josh, and was reminded once more of how much of a Small Town is San Francisco when I looked three people up in line and found Jeremy, whom I haven't seen since December. The movie was fun, but the company all around (seated between two Js) was better.
Oh, and I went and saw the Magna Carta on Saturday, which perhaps puts me way up at the top of the geekdom charts. But I suppose no one here's really surprised about that, are they?
Apparently, I am a month overdue with a report on Cleveland.
Oops. Sorry. Life has just been ... well, life. A lot of things have happened: I wrote a short story in 24 hours (will hear back about it by the end of the month). I got dumped. I went to Alcatraz, at night (might do a quickie blog post about that soon, since I have some pictures). I did my taxes and got my refund, half of which I promptly used to buy myself a new computer. My new computer came in pieces, so I put it together, but have not yet turned it on, mostly because I didn't yet have the Operating System. The OS (Windows 7, if you must know) came today, but instead I had to watch the Sharks make a magical comeback in game 3 of the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, so turning the new computer on will come tomorrow.
And that's just part of the adventure that has happened to me. Oh, end-of-March, most-of-April. How you have been gusty.
So yeah, Cleveland. A brief summary:
I know, I know. Couldn't resist. Though I did not see Drew Carey (or Betty White, for that matter) on the Ohio leg of my trip back east at all. Alas.
Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised — having kept my expectations low — but I really liked Cleveland. As in, I wouldn't mind going back there again, if I had someone to stay with that was a good friend. This time that friend was actually my oldest cousin, Jason. I remember back when I was a wee thing of three (or was it four?), being incredibly intimidated by my much older boy cousins (Jason has 6 years on me, I believe, and his brother Ryan has 3). But now here we are, both in our 30s, all grown up. Kind of weird, but much cooler than being shy and wistfully wishing I could play with the big kids. Because heck, now I am one of the big kids. Giant stuffed apes notwithstanding.
I drove in the Wednesday night (not a bad trip, and I think just those 8 hours of open road, with only myself were exactly what I needed to smooth my ruffled emotions), and on Thursday I took a bus downtown to visit my company's office and then head over to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Highly recommend. It's not exactly a museum you need to go to more than once (or maybe twice) in your life, but they've got a great exhibit of the history of rock and roll, with a lot of listening stations playing the classic foundations of the genre. I spent a good three hours there, and barely felt it.
Plus, it's right on the shore of Lake Erie. It's weird to be on the edge of such an expanse of water, and know it's not sea or ocean.
And really, I think that was the last real money I spent on the entire trip. Auntie Roz and Uncle Charlie, you both did something right in raising your sons: I was kept well-fed and well-entertained the entire time. There's a lot of good food to be had in Cleveland, and J's boyfriend, Gen, is a marvelous cook. Not fair at all.
The "point" of this venture into Ohio was to see the Trashcan Sinatras. I have to admit: this was the better show of the trip. We sat up close (maybe 10 feet away), the crowd had a great vibe, and the band were having fun that night.
We did a bit of exploring, especially around Ohio City and Tremont neighborhoods. Saturday before I had to head to the airport, we hit up the West Side Market.
Seriously, this is what the SF Ferry Building should be, instead of the touristy, bland, overpriced bourgeois crappy thing it is now. It's like the Farmer's Market, but every day. And better.
We picked up some fish and Gen served it up as sushi.
And then Jason and I walked off the luncheon around Tremont while Gen went to his job, before finally dumping me off at the airport.
Did Cleveland save my trip? No: it was a great trip overall, I had just forgotten that in the swirl of birthday and back issues. But it reminded me that leaving this little piece of 7x7 every once in a while is the best thing I can do to realign myself emotionally.
From time to time, I have my suspicions that there is some higher being, watching us all and making his/her presence felt.
Today, I am sure of the existence of that higher being. And I am also sure that said higher being really doesn't want me to go on my road trip.
First, it was my poor, beloved car, slowly dying and forcing me to admit that she was no longer road trip-worthy. Fortunately, my family was able to provide me with another car — my brother's — which was expected at any time to have a new stereo installed (it came without, being the cheapest thing on the lot when it was purchased). One attempt to ruin my trip thwarted.
Then, my entire family came down with the stomach flu, right in time for the weekend that my brother was supposed to get a stereo held for him by a friend installed for free. Again, that obstacle was overcome (and again with parental assistance) by the simple expedient of my going down to San Jose and getting the damn thing bought and installed myself. (Lesson learned: if you want/need anything to be ready by a certain time, never trust anyone else to get around to it. Hercules helps those who help themselves.)
But finally, tonight, as everything was falling into place — offerings of beer purchased, laundry in the process of being done, bags being packed — that higher being made one more try to keep me here in San Francisco. The metal leg of my desk chair may have won the battle between itself and my right fourth toe, really. That toe may well be broken (it hurts enough for that). But by the Belt of Orion, I am not going to cancel this trip because of a small digit of pain. I don't care if I end up limping around the entire Pacific Northwest; I'm leaving in the morning, and that's that.
So, higher being, here is a big old middle finger salute to you. You will not ruin my vacation. You will not, you will not, you will not.
I've had better days. This one involved coming straight home from work, crawling into bed, and passing out for two hours.
I may, how you say, be sick.
So now I'm sitting online, waiting for the NyQuil to take effect. And hoping it will instill some courage in me. My friend/coworker Elsie has issued me a challenge: message three guys on JDate (I finally gave in and bought a month membership, just to see what would happen) by end of day Sunday. All right. I guess that's the purpose of paying the $30 or whatever it is. But once I find someone, I realize, I have no idea what to say. I hate being the instigator. I'm old-fashioned (also, fearful of rejection), and like a man to come up to me. It shows confidence. It shows a bit of presumption (if you know me, you know I have a taste for arrogant egoists). It shows ... well, it shows I have an air about me that invites someone in.
Plus, then I don't have to think of an opening line. How do you guys do it? What can I say that doesn't sound pathetic or over-eager? Would "Hey, you seem nice, want to talk?" be enough to pique interest? Gah. This assignment is harder than I thought.
Maybe NyQuil's not strong enough. Might have to hit up the bourbon.
Let's start with the positive: I had today off via a shift switch with another coworker, so I convinced my baby nephew to visit (along with his entourage of his mother, my mother and my other sister) for the afternoon. A picture of him sleeping on my bed — innit he cute?
Now the negative: While we were lying around waiting for the entourage to gather energy enough to drive back home, I got a knock on my apartment door — a rare occurrence in this fourplex — that turned out to be my neighbor telling me that my car had been broken into over the weekend.
How lovely.
I went downstairs with my mother to check it out. It's actually almost laughable: they smashed the back triangle (that wee one behind the rear passenger's window) and reached around to unlock the door. Which probably means they at least scraped up their hands and arms a bit to reach to the far side of the main window and get at the back door lock. On top of that, the only things that they took were my CD stereo — and the CD function was broken; my old cell phone — which was completely worthlessly dead and broken; and the small coin purse I kept my bridge toll cash in since my coin drawer had been ripped out by the last person to break into my car — and the coin purse, while not broken, was definitely broke.
So, dickhead that violated the sanctity of my vehicle: was it worth it? Because frankly, there wasn't really anything of value in the car in the first place (lesson learned from the first break-in), and it really peeves me that it'll take more cash to fix that tiny back window than the entire value of everything that you took. I hope the cuts you got end up gangrenous.
