Some Notes On Food (Two Thirds Soy-Related)

1. Dear Inventor of "Soyrizo" soy chorizo: You are a mad crazy genius. Thank you. Luv, Cyn.

For those of you not down with the chorizo, it's a Mexican sausage that is spicy and greasy and delicious. Chorizo and eggs is a super-delicious traditional breakfast thing. This morning I made it with Soyrizo, and it was awesome. If someone could just make a vegetarian version of menudo (the soup, not the band), I would be the happiest veggie girl ever.

2. Did you know that Tofutti makes Better Than Cream Cheese in flavors other than plain? It's my new mission in life to find out how I can obtain some chive Better than Cream Cheese.

3. I bought peaches at the grocery store yesterday, and today I ate one and it was perfectly ripe and soft and delicious. Peaches always remind me of the summer I spent in Buffalo. Buffalo kind of sucked in general, but one morning I bought these peaches at a Farmer's Market, and they were the most incredible things I've ever put in my mouth. I would eat them over the sink, because the juice would drip down my chin and arms and get everywhere, and they were so sweet and perfect. My happiest memory of that summer is standing in my kitchen and eating those peaches.

Pictures of La Jolla

Beach, originally uploaded by pinkhairedcyn.

So, I actually left my house the other day (shock and awe!) and I also took pictures of it. You can check out my new home here on Flickr. Also, you should leave comments on my photos, because no one ever does and it makes me sad.

Small Me on DVD

While looking for school supplies at Target today, I found this DVD with a picture of a smaller version of me on the cover. I am both confused and curious, so I have added the video to my Netflix. I'll tell you when I find out if I am, in fact, a new super hero as the cover indicates. And if I am a new super hero, things are going to be very different around here.

Back to School Shopping

I went school supply shopping today. The fact that they only make wide-ruled (as opposed to college-ruled) Hello Kitty notebooks continues to be one of the greatest tragedies of our times.

Is it wrong to make my school supplies as girly as possible because I am amused by how much my pink, sparkly Hello Kitty items will stand out amongst my classmates, who will be overwhelmingly straight dudes? I mean, it's not like my school supplies wouldn't be super girly anyway, it's just extra amusing this way.

Observation

I am pretty much the opposite of a "beach person," but I think it might be impossible not to be happy when your bare feet are in the ocean.

Unless you were being eaten by a shark or something.

The Triumvirate of Cat Links

1. Stuff on my Cat.
2. Kittenwar
3. Cats in Sinks (via Heaneyland!)

You can ask me how much time I've spent looking at ridiculous pictures of cats rather than unpacking, but I would prefer not to tell you.

Best Shoes Ever

Best Shoes Ever, originally uploaded by pinkhairedcyn.

These are the shoes I wore to my cousin's wedding. My mom bought them for me, because I am going back to college and have no money and am 18 again and my mom buys my clothes. But! They are the raddest shoes ever, and I needed to share them with the internets.

Pro-Lifers Make No Sense

So, maybe I'm missing something here, but what exactly would be the problem with the morning after pill getting into the hands of teenagers? Like, what exactly would be the ill effects here? Said teenagers not getting pregnant? Cause in my book, thirteen-year-olds not getting knocked up is a good thing. Are they thinking that the teenagers are just going to go all crazy and take it for fun or something? What-the-fuck-ever, FDA.

I'm not going to have health insurance from September 1st until September 19th, due to vagaries of work and school. Which means that if Something Bad happens in those 19 days, and I want to obtain the morning after pill . . . I'm what? Just shit out of luck?

Just for the record, I would like to have all the possible tools at my disposal to make informed, responsible decisions about the shit that goes down with my uterus.

Also, making this pill more widely available is going to make the number of abortions smaller. Pro-lifers should be lobbying to have one included in everyone's prom gift-bag, along with those stupid candles-in-a-shot-glass. I seriously cannot handle the conservatives in this country: You're against gay people, you're against birth control, you're against abortion. Well, I'm sorry, but you can't be against all of those things. If you're going to be anti-abortion, then be pro-gay and pro-birth control, cause gay people and chicks on the pill are not having abortions.

Suburban

Well, kids, I'm definitely rocking the suburbs. Or at least I would be if I chose to leave my house, which today I did not. There's something about the combination of having to drive to go out exploring and my guilt about not unpacking that leaves me sitting on the sofa hitting reload on bloglines all day.

But the fact remains that while California is one giant suburb (with the possible exception of San Francisco), my house is in an extra-suburby suburb. I now live in a community with a Housing Association. In La Jolla. It's like the opposite of West Philly. I am celebrating my new suburban lifestyle by staying in the house and actually cooking meals for myself. Today for dinner I made a spinach salad with portabello mushrooms, avocado, fresh mozzarella, and baked tofu. It was delicious.

Sophie has taken to sitting next to the sliding glass door to the porch, in between the blinds and the glass. Today she discovered that outside, there are sometimes birds. Birds!

Stuff and Nonsense

The big box full of my stuff arrived today. I had no problems with ABF U-Pack on this end, so apparently it is only their Philly office that enjoys making girls cry. My stuff made it in surprisingly good shape. There are some nicks and dings, and one of the dining room chairs has a mysterious slit in its upholstery, but the dishes made it and stuff looks good so far.

Now that I've dragged all of my furniture upstairs, and my tiny room is completely full of boxes, I find myself wondering: Why do I own all of this stuff? Why did I bring it across the country with me? Why didn't I just sell everything and start over? But then I see my dining room set lit up by the overhead lamp in my new dining room, and it makes this place feel like home in a way that it didn't before.

The Ride Down

I listen to the Mountain Goats for the entire two hour drive from LA to San Diego. I have enough Goats on the iPod that I'm in no danger of exhausting my supply even if I listen to them all day. I bought a gadget that lets me play my iPod through the radio, but it demands a radio frequency with nothing on it to work, and I do not as yet know how to change the stations on my car radio. So the Goats get more and less staticky as I drive around, depending on what else is going on at 87.9 on the dial. On top of this, my speakers are pretty blown-out. I figure listening to low-fi is the obvious solution to this situation.

My cat is a decent road-trip companion. She can't fiddle with the radio due to a lack of opposable thumbs, but she doesn't complain when I sing along with the Goats, either. (Whereas at this point all of my friends are wincing just imagining me singing along with John Darnielle.)

We get to my new house around 1:30 pm. The trip is extended because I get lost in the Ultra Suburbs of my housing complex. But I get here, and I drag all of my suitcases up, and I unpack all of my stuff into piles around my furniture-less room.

Alive in S.D.

I've set the timestamps for Life in the Pink to Pacific Time to reflect my moving into my San Diego house today.

The Trader Joe's here is much bigger than the one in Philly, and it's a lot easier to bring groceries home in my car than on the bus. I have no furniture and all of my belongings are in various piles around my room. Tomorrow I'll go out exploring, I guess.

This Article Causes PUNCHING

This NY Times article fills me with RAGE. Oh no, poor men, they are no longer attracted to their wives once they see them pass a baby through their vaginas. I find myself filled with things to say about this (Like, perhaps you should have thought about how the baby would get out before you put it in there, sir), but mainly I have to say this: If you are too big a wuss to deal with the fact that sometimes there is grossness in the vagina, i.e. menstration and babies, then perhaps you do not deserve to hang out with the vagina in the first place.

I mean, SERIOUSLY. Perhaps you should grow the fuck up and realize that life is filled with things that are not designed expressly for your comfort. Your wife passed a small human being through her vagina, and you are all, "Oh, it was so gross having to watch that, I just can't find her attractive anymore"? Yeah, I bet it was a real fucking party for her, dude. I bet she wanted to get it on with you just as soon as that kid popped out of her birth canal.

Dudes, you knock a woman up, you are obligated to have sex with her for at least the next 18 months. It is The Law. I do not care if you are all, "Oh, the miracle of life is too gross for me to get my swerve on." You know who made her all puffy and gross and covered in placenta? You did. Deal with it.

From The Internets

If you need me, I will be compulsively watching this Mountain Goats video for This Year. I recommend watching it, even if you were turned off the Goats by the less accessible tMG songs I put on the California Mix. It is The Awesome.

Eight Reasons Chick Lit Authors Should Be Kicked Until They're Dead. Not on this list: Because most of their books are Not That Good.

Not on the internets (Except now it is, because I have put it there. Oh no, I have fallen into a postmodernist infinite loop and cannot get out! Someone call Dave Eggers, quick! So that I can punch him!): Sophie is getting along with my parents' dog, Hero, surprisingly well. Which is to say that mainly they ignore each other, and every so often Hero is all, "Hello cat! Would you like to be my friend?" and then Sophie hisses at her and she runs away. It is really the best of all possible worlds, considering that my small, hateful darling is involved.

I Smell Funny

All of my stuff smells different now.

This has happened to me before. I quit smoking when I broke my ankle my senior year of college. It turns out that the secret to sucessfully quitting is to be so doped up on Percoset you don't give a shit about anything, and in so much pain that you couldn't go to the store even if you wanted a smoke. Regaining my sense of smell meant that for a week or so I was utterly aware of the smell of me, sweaty and bloody and raw. I knew that it was because I wasn't smoking anymore, but I couldn't help but blame it on the accident. Much of my body had been transformed into this helpless lump of meat I dragged along with me, and it smelled wrong.

This time, it's my stuff that smells wrong. I take my clothes out of the suitcase, and they smell weird to me. It's not a detergent smell, and it's not a me smell either. I don't know how this happened. Is it that I've adjusted to California smells already? Did something bad and smelly happen to my stuff in the airplane? Did my move finally drive me insane?

I Am Alive and in LA

I am at the pink haired family home in LA. I was in LA all of five minutes before I called someone an asshole for bumping into my cat carrier (while talking on my cell phone to my dad, no less), which makes me think that while you can take the girl out of Philly, maybe you can't take the Philly out of the girl.

Sophie traveled unmedicated and without incident. There was a brief moment of concern when they made me take her out of her carrier to take her through the metal detector. I'm griping on to my freaking out, squirming cat for dear life, and the dude is like, "I can't let you through until I see your bording pass", and I'm holding my bording pass in my teeth and I'm all, "Yes, fine, whatever, CAT CARRIER NOW PLEASE." And then all these random security people are standing around all, "Oh, what a cute kitty," and I'm like, "Yes, great, CAT CARRIER NOW." But once we got to the carrier, she totally leaped into it, all, "Get me away from this craziness please." And then she was so quiet on the flight that the person sitting next to me didn't even realize I had a cat with me until I got off the plane.

Is It Too Late To Change My Mind?

I am starting to believe I might be moving. I have been working towards this for five months, giving notice at my job, finding a place to live, figuring out how to get my stuff across the country, changing my magazine subscriptions, moving all of my shit into a surprisingly small metal box. But somehow I didn't really think about it. I looked forward to leaving my jobs, and felt sad about leaving my friends, and scared about grad school, but none of it really seemed real. When I quit my job ten days ago, my life got pretty close to perfect. I had several important but not all that meaningful tasks to perform every day, with plenty of time to poke at the internet and hang out with my friends. And I love this place. I love living in Philadelphia, Department of Streets not withstanding.

Someone has sent all of my possessions across the country and booked me and the cat a flight and decided I should leave all of my friends and go to a town where I don't know anyone and enroll in a grad program that is number 13 in the country and filled with people much, much smarter than me. Who came up with this plan? I hate this plan. I hate this plan a lot. The cat hates it too; she keeps hiding behind the couch and then coming out and sitting on me to make sure I'm not going anywhere.

At the vet, when they were trying to poke at her for some reason, Sophie reached both of her paws down and wrapped them around the metal lip of the examination table and held on for dear life. There was no hissing or biting or fighting, just cat knuckles gripping as hard as they could and not letting go. That is exactly how I feel at this moment in time.

Neither Goth Nor Anarchist - Just Amazing

Jill has three cats, and for each one of them there is a story in which they are found, bedraggled and infected and half dead, and Jill takes them in and spends an absurd amount of money to get them fixed up by the vet and nurses them to health and loves them despite (or because of) the way that their youthful hardship has caused them to walk with their head a little tilted, or act slightly retarded, or go bad and become the ringleader of a Cat Gang.

Jill started working at my old company three months after I did. I had been in Philly for four months, and the only people I really knew were Phil and the bartenders at my local gay bar. My life would be completely different if I had never met Jill. I'm not sure when we realized that we were destined to be friends, but it might have been the day we were working together in a tiny little office and there were all these workmen trying to do something and they just kept saying things like, "We need to mount the boxes on the studs" and we just kept looking at each other and giggling over and over again.

Jill is the person I call when a bird flies in my house or when I need to know what bus to take. She is totally capable, and totally has her shit together. She is smart and funny and adorably dorktastic. She has listened to me whine about my stupid problems with amazing patience and incredible insight. (Although, at this point, when I say, "Uh, there's something I need to talk to you about," she just goes, "Cyn, who did you make out with this time?") I am lucky to have been able to be a bad influence on her.

Jill, my time in Philly is inseparable from my time with you. I cannot imagine this city without you in it. Which is not to say I am going to cease my demands that you get in my suitcase and come to San Diego with me. But then, I've been demanding you make out with me for practically as long as I've known you, and you've been rebuffing me for just as long, so I know my constant whining and sexual harassment doesn't mean I'm necessarily going to win this one. Thanks, by the way, for choosing to find me amusing rather than just punching me in the face. (I am actually so good at sexually harassing Jill that when I stopped doing it as much, people in my office complained. I sexually harass by popular demand!)

I love you, kid. You are part of my family.

One Art

We have reached the time in the move in which we post lesbian poetry. I repeat this poem to myself all the time, and have actually considered getting a tattoo that says, "The art of losing isn't hard to master." The only reason I haven't is that it seems so depressing out of context. Anyway, Elizabeth Bishop is much better at saying this stuff than I am, so here we go.

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

All The Noise In My Head Is This: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

All of my worldly possessions are now in a box that will shortly be on a truck on its way to California. Let's not even discuss the amount of anxiety this is currently causing me. Fortunately, my experimentation thus far has proved that I will stop grinding my teeth into neurotic little nubbins with the introduction of most of a bottle of wine into my system.

Oh God, The Moving

• Many phone calls to ABF U-Pack.
• ABF U-Pack driving out here with a tiny shipping container a fucking humongous truck, and then taking the shipping container away when they could not park said truck.
• Me, crying.
• Many calls to the Philadelphia Department of Streets.
• The Philadelphia Department of Streets assuring me that I would have a no parking zone outside my apartment on Tuesday.
• Discovery that there is not a temporary no parking zone as of 10:30 pm on Monday.
• A call to the the 18th Police Precinct in which I was transferred to at least 5 different people, some of them twice.
• The discovery that the proper paperwork has not been filed!
• An assurance that they will "try to send an officer over" to set up my no parking zone.
• Discovery that there is not a temporary no parking zone as of 8:20 am on Tuesday.
• Calling the Philadelphia Department of Streets.
• Discovery that there is not a temporary no parking zone as of 8:45 am on Tuesday.
• Calling the Philadelphia Department of Streets.
• Discovery that there is not a temporary no parking zone as of 9:15 am on Tuesday.
• Calling the Philadelphia Department of Streets.
• Discovery that there is not a temporary no parking zone as of 10 am on Tuesday.
• Calling Duane, my new bud at the Philadelphia Department of Streets.
• Calling my city councilwoman, whose line is busy.
• Calling the other phone number for my city councilwoman. It is also busy.
• Discovery that there is not a temporary no parking zone as of 10:30 am on Tuesday.
• Calling Duane.
• Calling my city councilwoman, whose line continues to be busy.
• At 11 am Greg goes out to buy coffee and bubblewrap, and on the way back discovers the policeman who has been sent to set up my no parking zone.
• The policeman has a note on which has been scribbled my address. This is all the information he has been given. But, he is very nice and is like, "Sure, I'll do whatever you want. I just have to write the information on the signs in marker."
• I have a No Parking Zone! Unfortunately, my No Parking zone is full of cars. The cars do not have PA plates, so there is no way to find the owners of the cars.
• I call ABF U-Pack and explain the situation. They are like, "Yes, you are screwed. But, you could bring all of your items to our depot, which is open 24 hours. We will give you a discount."
• I obtain a U-Haul. Hello, Self Storage place on 55th & Sansom, I love you! Even though you are sort of scary, I will marry you and have your babies if you want! Even though I had to give you my Social Security Card, one of my Credit Cards, and Greg's car registration, it was totally worth it!
• All of my items are put in the U-Haul by me, Greg, and Little Sam. I attempt not to be a shrieking harridan, but am not necessarily successful.

• Getting the items to the ABF U-Pack.
• Transferring items from U-Haul to Moving Pod.
• Heavy drinking.
• Let's not even talk about the San Diego side of things, because if it is anything like this side of things I will be making friends with my local government officials immediately.
• Have I mentioned the drinking?

For the Sophie Fans

It is possible that I should be doing more useful things than uploading pictures of my cat to Flickr right now. However, it is not very probable that I will.

Dear New York - Fuck you! Luv, Cyn

The number of ways I find this article offensive: Too many to count! I would prefer Philadelphia not to be "Brooklynized" thank you. Also, New York, you are all not all that fucking fantastic, so STEP OFF, bitches.

Corn Whiskey

Smells like death; tastes like burning. I have three-quarters of a jar left, for those who don't fear going blind.

Fun Times

Hey kids, have you met my nervous breakdown? Its name is GREEEEAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHIHATEMOVING. Which is to say that things are not going as smoothly as possible, strictly speaking. Moving my things into my moving pod has been moved from Sunday to Tuesday & Wednesday, and has become a project that involves me calling the Philadelphia Department of Streets. Actually, strictly speaking, Greg called the Philadelphia Department of Streets while I sobbed hysterically. But! Onwards and upwards, etc, and at this point in time it is looking like my possessions will most likely end up in California with me. That or I will throttle every single person who works for ABF U-Pack with my bare hands.

Also: I had a party. I took some pictures. I drank Corn Liquor and got a hat that says West Philly on it. I have more booze in my apartment than I can possibly hope to drink in the next week, but I'm always up for a challenge.

Packing

Would anyone like to come over and pack my entire life up into boxes? Because I am clearly incapable of doing it myself. And while you're at it, maybe you could also change my magazine subscriptions and my bank account and get all of my possessions into a moving unit and then on the 19th, you could just load me gently on the plane and hand me my cat.

Sophie Goes To the Vet (Surprise Ending: No Biting!)

I took Sophie to the vet today, and no one was bit. Not even me! There was a little bit of a fiasco in the beginning, what with getting her into her carrier, then catching her when she immediately escaped from her carrier, then getting her back into her carrier again and making sure it was secured in such a way that she couldn't unzip it from the inside. Then she meowed a couple of times, and settled in and was totally chill.

You know that Sartre book where for some reason the main character is trying to drown these kittens, and he has them in a basket and takes them to the river to drown them, but then he can't do it? And then he's walking around town with this basket full of kittens, and he runs into someone he knows, and he's all, "Oh, hi, I was just taking my cats out for a walk." That is how I felt, except without the drowning part or being a self-loathing gay man. But my cat carrier is the smooshy kind that just kind of looks like a duffel bag, so I think that most people on the El didn't even realize I had a cat in there, especially since Sophie was being all quiet.

Then at the vet's I was all, "Um, she might be cranky," and was totally worried she was going to bite people, but other than a little brief struggling she was totally well behaved. The vets were all like, "What a sweetie!" and I was like, "Oh, yes, that's my cat. Friend to all."

So she has a clean bill of health for now, and they did some bloodwork on her because she's an older cat, and I'll hear back about that in two weeks. Now I just have to decide whether or not to sedate her for the flight. The vet said that I probably wouldn't need to because she was so chill in her carrier, but I'm still sort of worried.

Dreams

Adam called me on Sunday to tell me about a dream that Ashley had about me. In the dream, I was annoyed with one of my friend's boyfriend. I grew Preying Mantis arms and chopped his head off, and then fucked his corpse. (Best dream about me EVER.)

The same night, Adam had a dream that he was wearing my glasses from seventh grade, but he could see through them perfectly.

The night he told me about it, I had a dream I was being chased through a forest. I was running as fast as I could. There was no path, and I had to dodge trees everywhere. And then where I thought there was ground there was a cliff, and I was falling falling falling into the forest below, the trees round and puffy and dark green far beneath me. I woke up before I hit the ground.

Internet, What Are You Doing To Me?

Oh man, y'all, I suddenly had one of those moments where I was innocently clicking about the internet, and suddenly I was looking at pictures of Kevin Federline pumping gas. What? Why? I'm sure there are things that I care less about than 1. K-Fed and 2. Cars, but I'm not sure what. And yet, thanks to the magic of the internet, there it was.

This is much like the time in college that Emily and I had to watch the video of the Fainting Goat online every morning, except way less cool.

Is It Nap Time Yet?

Hey kids, have you met my new best friend, Exhaustion? It is not so much from the packing and what-have-you, because, well, I haven't really packed very much. Instead, it's from my crazy-in-the-head disease that means I Must! Go Out! Every Night! I can't remember the last time I had a night to myself. I think maybe I wasn't busy the 19th of July, but it's also possible I was and just don't remember what I was doing. And of course, I am leaving in ten days, so there is this layer of bathos and sentimentality over everything, this "I have to leave the house and go out and party because this could be the very last time I will ever see these people" fever pitch.

Last night I went to Monica & Erin's for Erin's birthday (Happy Birthday! You are awesome!), had three mojitos, and went to sleep at 10 pm. I still have huge dark circles going on.

Hopefully I'll get some sleep now that I don't have to get up for work anymore. Lord knows I'm not going to be getting up early and packing.

Tattoo: A Decent Picture

Here is a picture of the tattoo taken by someone else with an actual camera, rather than by me with my phone.

Isn't it pretty?

New Tat!

This is a crappy cam phone photo of my new tattoo. It's on my shoulder, which is a very difficult place to take a picture of on yourself. (Talking Adam last night, I described it as, "A litte higher than anchor tattoo location.") Anyway, even though the photo sucks, that tattoo is fucking amazing and bad-ass and I love it. The shape in the middle is the state of Pennsylvania, and the banners say "Virtue Liberty Independence." (That's the Pennsylvania state motto, you know.)

I got it done at No Ka Oi and they did a totally rad job. I came in with a bunch of print outs of a sort of rough idea of what I wanted, and the guy sketched it up and made it look even better than it looked my head.

Personal Politics

I've been thinking recently of why I don't write about politics. I went to Drinking Liberally last week, where there were a lot of dudes with hotshot political blogs, and I was all, "Yes, I write about my hair & my cat & what I had for breakfast."

I think the thing is that the political is very personal for me. I don't like talking about politics because I'm too involved in the causes that I care about. Try to debate gay marriage with me, and I get all verklempt and "Why do you hate me and my friends? Why don't you want us to have the same things you have? We're good people, dammit."

Also, I get confused over which Republican has done which repugnant action. They're just too hard to tell apart.

I don't understand people who aren't political. How can it be boring when it affects our lives so much? Abortion, gay rights, war, even the freaking food pyramid is controlled by politics. But I'm too emotionally involved with all of this to be able to debate it well. I just start ranting and waving my hands around. I once cried tears of rage because my ex-boyfriend claimed he was going to vote for Nader instead of Kerry. (Or that he wasn't going to vote at all. And oh man, don't even get me started on those people who are all, "Voting is buying into the system." Yeah, and I'm sure that making huge fucking puppets is really sticking it to the man.)

So how do you debate these things without sounding, um, insane? How can I be coherent when these things matter so much to me?

Why Do I Love This Small Beastie, Again?

Me: Folding laundry that's been in a huge pile on my floor since Sunday.
Cat: Sits right in between me and the laundry.
Me: "You can sit there, cat, but biting is not encouraged."
Cat: Becomes enraged and bites me.

I Don't Want To Go!

I have the best friends ever, you guys. Last night at Movie Night, I was presented with a Going Away present with a bottle of wine, knitting notecards, a Philadelphia shot glass, sunscreen, gauze pads, first aid tape, and a gift certificate towards my tattoo!

Thanks to Sarcasmo, Peccable, TrackerNeil, Vis Major, Feanor and Poppy, Super Tarzan, Jill, Sam and Yagathai. I have no idea what I'm going to do without you guys.

Fluffy

You know how the Gap has those ads that are all, "Everyone in (random useless fashion item)"? If there was a Gap ad for my wardrobe, it would totally be "Everyone in small bits of fluff."

Music News

Dudes, corndogs.org has a Mike Watt cover of All Hands on the Bad One available for download. I cannot really express how excited I am about this song. Since I found it, I've emailed it to four people and told everyone I've met about it. Unfortunately, it appears that no one else can muster my level of enthusiasm about this. I'm listening to this song right now. It is so fucking good, people.

Also, Harry and the Potters are playing the Philly Free Library at 2:30 pm on August 12th. They're a punk band that sings songs about Harry Potter. I am so totally there. (Especially since as of the 9th, I will no longer be working for the man.)

Last Night

I once again failed in folding the giant pile of laundry on my bedroom floor. However, I suceeded in drinking a hell of a lot of beer.

Insert Your Own Box Joke Here

I sold my old desktop computer from college to one of my coworkers today, so I finally got around to grabbing a bunch of stuff off of its hard drive. This is a picture of me from my sophmore year at Oberlin. I think I was 19 at the time. I don't know why I'm sitting in a box of packing peanuts, but it looks pretty fun.

It's Funny Because I'm A Bad Person

Does anyone else think it's sort of amusing in a darkly ironic way that 15 people were injured on the "California Screamin'" ride? Hey, they're not lying about the screamin'!

Take My Life, Please

The fun part of moving is that I'm giving away a significant number of my possessions, mainly clothes and books. This is a little bit like getting to be Santa. I'm all, "Come on over to my house! Look through this huge stack of items and take whatever you want!" It's very fun to look at the stuff I'm sick and tired of get to be new and fun again to one of my friends.

However, it is kind of scary to trace the evolution of my fashion sense through the items I'm getting rid of. Why do I own so many slip dresses? Apparently I was very girly the summer that they were in.