This year, in lieu of sending out Christmas cards, I have decided to post my annual year-in-recap udpate online. If you're an optimist, you will be glad I have felled fewer trees. If you are a pessimist, you will bemoan this day of instant-gratification, always-on fad-chasing as the flash in the pan it likely is.
I choose to be an optimist, and am using the environmental angle for all its worth.
Possibly, I am feeling optimistic because of some of the things that have happened to me in the past year. If you regularly follow this blog you will know that in February, I got engaged, and in September, I got married (I hear a number of cynical, non-romantic type people even cried).
I won't chronicle that whole process for you, but I will tell you that at just over three months after the wedding, we don't seem to have any less to do. I thought that after the wedding was behind me, I would be able to focus on all of the little things that I had been neglecting, like regular correspondence and organizing the spice collection. Alas!
Immediately on our return, Michael and I took hammers and crowbars to our kitchen to start our most ambitious renovation project yet. So big, in fact, that we could not possibly go it alone. We can do a lot, but offsetting the weight-bearing load of the ceiling to cut down half of a wall, and running new gas line across the entire house were a little beyond our abilities.
So, for the past two months, we have been fighting over the most insignificant of decisions as we remodel. If you have ever remodeled, you must remember how many different colors, finishes, metals, handles, tile, paint, heights, widths, angles, creative solutions, and mistake fixes you have had to decide.
I would recommend avoiding any renovations at least until the paper anniversary.
Undaunted by all this niggling, Michael and I have come through the process, and are now emerging on the other side with a bona fide hipster pad. Part urban contemporary, part antique, part ironic kitsch, part overserious adult, our apartment has finally become our home.
Completing this process has put the finishing touches on our transformation from boyfriends to a family. The English have a saying to describe something that is steadfast and secure: "safe as houses." I can understand why.
Now, if the rest of our building would just get the message! Our building was built in 1965, and converted in 1985. Some of the residents are the original owners from that conversion, and have officially moved into the old retired lady category. The board of directors was overwhelmingly in that category, and it was quite frustrating to try to get a straight answer about some basic questions, like "why is the community manager only here during limited business hours, when everyone is at work?" and, "why is there no visitor parking, despite having the space for it?" or, "why are there so many feral cats running around outside our building?" Actually, the third one did have an answer: because one of the board members was feeding them!
Michael expressed mild interest in possibly running for a spot on the board in passing, and it was a forest fire of excitement everywhere he turned! People were coming up to him in the hallway to tell him how he should run, and there needed to be some big changes around here. In November, Michael walked into the annual board meeting, and people started pointing to their friends, and declaring, "that's Michael!" Several people who didn't speak English well asked him to write his name on their ballots since they didn't know how to spell it.
Suffice it to say, Michael is now the Vice President of the Palazzo Condominium Association, and I have taken to refering to myself as Tipper Gore. I thought that was a little more tasteful than Lynn Cheney.
Now, we are frantically packing and preparing for our honeymoon: a week in Seoul and almost two weeks in Thailand. We will be seeing friends, beaching, clubbing, palacing, artisan-districting, and hopefully showing Michael a little bit about what working in Korea would be like by visiting a couple friends who are working there now. It's the trip we've been talking about taking since we first met, but there have been myriad reasons why it was never a good time. We decided, though, that if we didn't do it for our honeymoon, we might never do it. So, it's off we go, and a good thing too. I think, after visiting my mom and stepdad in their new home in Las Vegas, we might need a little time out de-Amerify.
The last year has been one of tremendous growth for me personally, and I am so grateful for the blessings of the past year. You, dear reader, are one of those blessings. Thank you for your friendship and I look forward to seeing you and hearing from you more often in the coming year.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
My First Awkward-Marriage-Explanation-to-a-Customer-Service-Rep
I called the insurance company to add Michael's apartment to our insurance policy. This was the conversation:
Jamie: I need to add my husband's property to our existing insurance policy.
Insurance Agent: Are both names already on the account?
JB: Yes.
IA: And, who am I speaking with?
JB: This is Jamie.
IA: Let me pull up your account...OK, so you wanted to add your wife to the policy?
JB: No, my husband's property.
IA: I already have two people on the account.
JB: Yes, but there's one new property to add.
IA: So, you want to add your husband's property?
JB: Yes.
IA: Is this Michael's property?
JB: Yes.
IA: And who am I speaking with?
JB: Jamie.
IA: And, you want to add your wife to the policy?
JB: No, my husband is already on the policy.
IA: Are you a male?
JB: Yes.
IA: So, we're talking about two males?
JB: Yes.
IA:...OK, I can help you with that.
Well done! The whole process (after the initial confusion) was quite painless!
Jamie: I need to add my husband's property to our existing insurance policy.
Insurance Agent: Are both names already on the account?
JB: Yes.
IA: And, who am I speaking with?
JB: This is Jamie.
IA: Let me pull up your account...OK, so you wanted to add your wife to the policy?
JB: No, my husband's property.
IA: I already have two people on the account.
JB: Yes, but there's one new property to add.
IA: So, you want to add your husband's property?
JB: Yes.
IA: Is this Michael's property?
JB: Yes.
IA: And who am I speaking with?
JB: Jamie.
IA: And, you want to add your wife to the policy?
JB: No, my husband is already on the policy.
IA: Are you a male?
JB: Yes.
IA: So, we're talking about two males?
JB: Yes.
IA:...OK, I can help you with that.
Well done! The whole process (after the initial confusion) was quite painless!
Friday, October 14, 2005
Sharing Our Story
Jonathan Rauch, whom I met at Brookings, and who has been writing about gay marriage for quite some time (check out his excellent book here) wrote a piece about Michael's and my wedding. It's posted here.
Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish features a quote from the article here.
I have believed for some time that by sharing your story, you actually make it more real. From the response Michael and I have gotten so far, that's definitely true in our case. The love and support on our wedding day, and a new outpouring of responses from this article just keep reinforcing to us that we are part of a community and family that will support us throughout our relationship.
It's truly edifying. Thank you.
Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish features a quote from the article here.
I have believed for some time that by sharing your story, you actually make it more real. From the response Michael and I have gotten so far, that's definitely true in our case. The love and support on our wedding day, and a new outpouring of responses from this article just keep reinforcing to us that we are part of a community and family that will support us throughout our relationship.
It's truly edifying. Thank you.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Gay Wedding Wishes from President and First Lady Bush
Michael was excited to send an invitation to the President and First Lady to attend our wedding. He thought it would be helpful for them if they saw a loving, caring gay couple who had decided to bond their lives together, to care for each other, and to support each other to be their best, both for each other and for society.
Unfortunately, President and Mrs. Bush weren't able to join us for the occasion, but they did take the time to send a very thoughtful, considerate card. Below is a picture of it.
I think if they would've come to the wedding, they would have been warmly embraced by both of our families. They would've seen one of my dearest friends, Caryn, raise her glass to toast, "to Michael and Jamie, who's friends have always been my friends, and who's family has always been my family." It would've been hard for them to leave without having a great time dancing with my brother-in-law, and without tearing up a bit when I choked up saying my vows.
It would've been hard for them to be there and feel like they were watching something bad or wrong. There was too much love.
I wish they would've come, but we were glad to get their card in abstentia.
Unfortunately, President and Mrs. Bush weren't able to join us for the occasion, but they did take the time to send a very thoughtful, considerate card. Below is a picture of it.
I think if they would've come to the wedding, they would have been warmly embraced by both of our families. They would've seen one of my dearest friends, Caryn, raise her glass to toast, "to Michael and Jamie, who's friends have always been my friends, and who's family has always been my family." It would've been hard for them to leave without having a great time dancing with my brother-in-law, and without tearing up a bit when I choked up saying my vows.
It would've been hard for them to be there and feel like they were watching something bad or wrong. There was too much love.
I wish they would've come, but we were glad to get their card in abstentia.
The First Wedding Photos - with Congratulations from President and First Lady Bush
Monday, September 26, 2005
Here Come the Grooms...
Sorry I haven't posted in forever. The web is so relentless in its unending capacity to consume every idea I have in just a few short months, then leave my blog with no new postings for vast stretches of time, unveiling the sad sad truth that I really don't have that much to say.
However, this time I really do have a good excuse: I got married last weekend!
It was a whirlwind of activity, as all weddings are. But in the end, with the help of so many amazing friends and family members, everything turned out wonderfully.
And, any excuse to have a party is a good excuse!
We had the ceremony on the grounds of Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival, where we originally planned to have an outdoor ceremony. However, because of threatening weather, we moved the ceremony indoors, which ended up being so nice because it felt intimate, and everyone could hear. In the outdoor space, there was some danger of people being too spread out, and maybe not benig able to hear (plus, being blinded by the sun and all...).
The dinner was lovely, with food that was second to none. Several people said to me that it was one of the best wedding meals they've had. Thanks and huge kudos go to Adam Joseph, a good friend and amazing chef and caterer.
The Pillow really was the perfect place for a wedding, too, since it was so picturesque, and it is quiet after the end of the festival. If you're looking for a really unique location for a wedding or event, it's worth checking out.
We spent a couple of days in Vermont after the wedding, just decompressing, hiking, riding bikes, and eating huge two hour meals. It was a great time of year to be in Stowe - before the height of fall foliage, and away from the ski crowds.
All in all, a huge success. I'm still basking!
However, this time I really do have a good excuse: I got married last weekend!
It was a whirlwind of activity, as all weddings are. But in the end, with the help of so many amazing friends and family members, everything turned out wonderfully.
And, any excuse to have a party is a good excuse!
We had the ceremony on the grounds of Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival, where we originally planned to have an outdoor ceremony. However, because of threatening weather, we moved the ceremony indoors, which ended up being so nice because it felt intimate, and everyone could hear. In the outdoor space, there was some danger of people being too spread out, and maybe not benig able to hear (plus, being blinded by the sun and all...).
The dinner was lovely, with food that was second to none. Several people said to me that it was one of the best wedding meals they've had. Thanks and huge kudos go to Adam Joseph, a good friend and amazing chef and caterer.
The Pillow really was the perfect place for a wedding, too, since it was so picturesque, and it is quiet after the end of the festival. If you're looking for a really unique location for a wedding or event, it's worth checking out.
We spent a couple of days in Vermont after the wedding, just decompressing, hiking, riding bikes, and eating huge two hour meals. It was a great time of year to be in Stowe - before the height of fall foliage, and away from the ski crowds.
All in all, a huge success. I'm still basking!
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Breakfast of Champions
Some mornings, I have fun reading through Camper English's Hate Blog. It's often a nice way to start the day when you're feeling a little grumpy to begin with.
Camper and I seem like kindred spirits, albeit on opposite coasts. And Camper drinks more (a lot more) than me. Now that I think about it, Camper would probably get on well with my ex-boyfriend Ray, who is moving to San Francisco after changing his name to something much more cool sounding. Because Ray can drink all night, and somehow look fresh faced the next morning. But, I digress.
Camper wrote a book called Party Like A Rockstar Even When You're Poor as Dirt, which sounds right up my alley. He talks about how to do lots of stuff cheap, and now has a Rock Star blog that has even more tips, like how to make your own Gatorade (for real).
In that vein, I'll submit my own tip for the best way to avoid spending $3.50 for a breakfast sandwich. It's way easy.
Put down two pieces of toast.
Grease a regular bowl, then crack one egg in it, mix and microwave for 45 seconds (covered).
Slap a piece of cheese on top of the egg, and a piece of lunchmeat on that, microwave for 30 seconds.
The edges of the egg should slip right out onto the toasted bread, and you shouldn't even need to butter the bread. Cut in half and wrap in paper for a true deli breakfast experience.
This is Michael's recipe, that I've doctored up by putting bread on either side of it. Who knew you could nuke eggs so easily? Serve with coffee you brewed yourself, and save another couple of bucks.
Camper and I seem like kindred spirits, albeit on opposite coasts. And Camper drinks more (a lot more) than me. Now that I think about it, Camper would probably get on well with my ex-boyfriend Ray, who is moving to San Francisco after changing his name to something much more cool sounding. Because Ray can drink all night, and somehow look fresh faced the next morning. But, I digress.
Camper wrote a book called Party Like A Rockstar Even When You're Poor as Dirt, which sounds right up my alley. He talks about how to do lots of stuff cheap, and now has a Rock Star blog that has even more tips, like how to make your own Gatorade (for real).
In that vein, I'll submit my own tip for the best way to avoid spending $3.50 for a breakfast sandwich. It's way easy.
Put down two pieces of toast.
Grease a regular bowl, then crack one egg in it, mix and microwave for 45 seconds (covered).
Slap a piece of cheese on top of the egg, and a piece of lunchmeat on that, microwave for 30 seconds.
The edges of the egg should slip right out onto the toasted bread, and you shouldn't even need to butter the bread. Cut in half and wrap in paper for a true deli breakfast experience.
This is Michael's recipe, that I've doctored up by putting bread on either side of it. Who knew you could nuke eggs so easily? Serve with coffee you brewed yourself, and save another couple of bucks.
Friday, August 05, 2005
School's out for the summer!
Yes, it's true, last week I finished my summer class; now, three whole weeks of vacation!
The only truly distasteful part of the final exam was the unfortunate fact that two people cheated on it.
I am disappointed in my classmates, and more than a little angry about it. Talk about the most basic issue of fairness!
To make it worse, cheating on this exam probably required more work than just taking it for real; what's the upside in cheating if you have to do *more* work than you otherwise would?!
The exam was a blue book essay exam; the professor gave a series of questions out to the class in advance, saying that some of them would be on the final, and others wouldn't. Of course, these two guys just wrote their blue books in advance with the material handed out in advance, then switched their blue books out from blank ones to completed ones when the exam began.
Not terribly difficult to do, unfortunately, especially because the professor left for ONE HOUR in the middle of the testing period to go back to his house and get the teacher evaluation forms, which he had forgotten. This made one cheater so brazen that he turned in his test in just 15 minutes. I thought it was odd at the time, and even thought to myself, "How could that guy finish so fast? He was never even in class*..." before hurrying back to my own work.
*This is actually true; he probably only made it to 75% of the lectures, and we only met once a week. When he was there, he zoned through the entire thing.
What's so ridiculous is that it must've taken these guys hours upon hours to research and write up the answers to the exam questions in advance. They probably rechecked their facts a couple of times, and did altogether too much work for a final like this.
I, on the other hand, spent all of 1 hour on a Saturday reviewing my notes with a couple of people, and walked in to the exam cold. Somehow I managed to do just fine on it; if the point of cheating is to avoid the work of learning the information, then they really lost out, because they easily spent twice the amount of time that I did on it.
Over drinks afterwards, some classmates and I got pretty riled up over the whole thing, and decided to report this back to the professor. Not because we're tattletales, or teachers pets, but because I don't want someone like that in my next class in this program, and I certainly don't want them getting the same degree as me.
I mean, let's face it: the coursework for my program just really isn't *that* hard...it's stimulating, sometimes challenging, but it's not overwhelmingly difficult. There's not even any math in the degree course (as if that could be the worst thing)!
So, one of my friends reported back to the teacher, who had his own suspicions on these two "perfect" tests, and was grateful to know for sure. He said he would, "give them low grades to reflect this."
Ex-squeeze me?!?
A low grade? (Which, he told us in the first week, was a B-!!!)
Boy, for all the talk of academic integrity, honor code, and the importance of citing sources that every teacher gives you at the beginning of their class (which is further underscored by the academic integrity oath that you have to SIGN when you enroll), I am just sick that these cheaters are still going to PASS THE CLASS!
I mean, they threaten to kick you out for cheating. I am serious! In my first semester, one professor said, "we had to make two people leave the program last semester for violation of academic integrity."
I guess an expulsion-worthy violation must be more like cheating on an exam by taking a completed exam, crossing out the existing name, and WRITING YOURS IN, or something equally dubious and idiotic.
The only truly distasteful part of the final exam was the unfortunate fact that two people cheated on it.
I am disappointed in my classmates, and more than a little angry about it. Talk about the most basic issue of fairness!
To make it worse, cheating on this exam probably required more work than just taking it for real; what's the upside in cheating if you have to do *more* work than you otherwise would?!
The exam was a blue book essay exam; the professor gave a series of questions out to the class in advance, saying that some of them would be on the final, and others wouldn't. Of course, these two guys just wrote their blue books in advance with the material handed out in advance, then switched their blue books out from blank ones to completed ones when the exam began.
Not terribly difficult to do, unfortunately, especially because the professor left for ONE HOUR in the middle of the testing period to go back to his house and get the teacher evaluation forms, which he had forgotten. This made one cheater so brazen that he turned in his test in just 15 minutes. I thought it was odd at the time, and even thought to myself, "How could that guy finish so fast? He was never even in class*..." before hurrying back to my own work.
*This is actually true; he probably only made it to 75% of the lectures, and we only met once a week. When he was there, he zoned through the entire thing.
What's so ridiculous is that it must've taken these guys hours upon hours to research and write up the answers to the exam questions in advance. They probably rechecked their facts a couple of times, and did altogether too much work for a final like this.
I, on the other hand, spent all of 1 hour on a Saturday reviewing my notes with a couple of people, and walked in to the exam cold. Somehow I managed to do just fine on it; if the point of cheating is to avoid the work of learning the information, then they really lost out, because they easily spent twice the amount of time that I did on it.
Over drinks afterwards, some classmates and I got pretty riled up over the whole thing, and decided to report this back to the professor. Not because we're tattletales, or teachers pets, but because I don't want someone like that in my next class in this program, and I certainly don't want them getting the same degree as me.
I mean, let's face it: the coursework for my program just really isn't *that* hard...it's stimulating, sometimes challenging, but it's not overwhelmingly difficult. There's not even any math in the degree course (as if that could be the worst thing)!
So, one of my friends reported back to the teacher, who had his own suspicions on these two "perfect" tests, and was grateful to know for sure. He said he would, "give them low grades to reflect this."
Ex-squeeze me?!?
A low grade? (Which, he told us in the first week, was a B-!!!)
Boy, for all the talk of academic integrity, honor code, and the importance of citing sources that every teacher gives you at the beginning of their class (which is further underscored by the academic integrity oath that you have to SIGN when you enroll), I am just sick that these cheaters are still going to PASS THE CLASS!
I mean, they threaten to kick you out for cheating. I am serious! In my first semester, one professor said, "we had to make two people leave the program last semester for violation of academic integrity."
I guess an expulsion-worthy violation must be more like cheating on an exam by taking a completed exam, crossing out the existing name, and WRITING YOURS IN, or something equally dubious and idiotic.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Please Do Not Support Kolb Electric
This morning, while walking to the bus, the Kolb Electric van soaked me barreling through a gi-nornous puddle. Soaked, head to toe, on my left side, I trudged on. There was no time to go home and change. I almost caught up with said van, as it rushed through my puddle only to stop at a red light just ahead of me. Alas, the light turned before I could shake my fist angrily. I'm trying really hard to not let it get me down, but it would really help if you could promise me that you won't call them when you need an electrician.
Friday, June 17, 2005
No Such Thing as a Free Soda
Coca Cola, in a lame response to Pepsi giving away 100 million iTunes songs under their bottle caps, is giving away...more Coca Cola.
1 in 12 wins, they say.
1 in 12 doesn't sound nearly as exciting as 100 million. But, with a bit of market share, they really don't have to try quite as hard as Pepsi.
I, of course, am unswayed by the marketing ploy, and have continued to drink my solitary Diet Coke during each class period of my night class. Of course, I never win anything, despite having "played" at least 30 times.
However, I finally DID win this past Tuesday, and I was so excited I jumped up in class and exclaimed, "I won!" Right. in. the. middle. of. class. Oh, then I gave my friend a big hug, who looked at me bewilderedly.
I was excited to redeem my prize for my class last night. However, it was valid for a 1 liter bottle, and I would be damned if I was going to just get 20 oz. I stopped at 7 Eleven, and they only had 1 liter bottles of regular Coke and Sprite. So, I went with the regular and scooted off to class.
Not 20 minutes into the lecture, I had to excuse myself...bladder bursting, I hobbled from the classroom. The problem with a huge free soda is: I will drink every last drop. Even if it's not the kind of soda I like, even if it's not an approriate place, even if I wet myself.
Of course, I couldn't fall asleep after drinking that much sugar either. I tossed and turned for more than an hour after laying down.
Never again will I turn my back on Diet Coke.
1 in 12 wins, they say.
1 in 12 doesn't sound nearly as exciting as 100 million. But, with a bit of market share, they really don't have to try quite as hard as Pepsi.
I, of course, am unswayed by the marketing ploy, and have continued to drink my solitary Diet Coke during each class period of my night class. Of course, I never win anything, despite having "played" at least 30 times.
However, I finally DID win this past Tuesday, and I was so excited I jumped up in class and exclaimed, "I won!" Right. in. the. middle. of. class. Oh, then I gave my friend a big hug, who looked at me bewilderedly.
I was excited to redeem my prize for my class last night. However, it was valid for a 1 liter bottle, and I would be damned if I was going to just get 20 oz. I stopped at 7 Eleven, and they only had 1 liter bottles of regular Coke and Sprite. So, I went with the regular and scooted off to class.
Not 20 minutes into the lecture, I had to excuse myself...bladder bursting, I hobbled from the classroom. The problem with a huge free soda is: I will drink every last drop. Even if it's not the kind of soda I like, even if it's not an approriate place, even if I wet myself.
Of course, I couldn't fall asleep after drinking that much sugar either. I tossed and turned for more than an hour after laying down.
Never again will I turn my back on Diet Coke.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Why's It So Hard?
I know I shouldn't be quoting Madonna this early in the morning, but sometimes the question begs asking: why do things have to be so difficult?
Previously: I was trying to get the home computer onto the cable internet, and was getting a different story from each person I talked to. The last person I spoke with said that I should be all set, and to try to get online.
---
It only took about 10 minutes to hook up all the cables and get the CD loaded to get onto the cable system's precious internet access. You don't realize how much you do online until, suddenly, you don't have internet access. To wit: I now find movie showtimes by keying the movie name into Google. Previously, I called the theater, or even bought a newspaper just to find out what movies were showing, and when. Now, it takes all of 0.39 seconds (according to Google).
So, I am choked off from obsessively checking my email. More importantly, my Amazon storefront is stagnating because I can't get any new items listed. Most importantly, the Amazon merchandise is starting to pile up in the house, and Michael is getting sick of it. Getting the internet hooked up is rapidly becoming a make-or-break issue in the new house.
Imagine my disappointment and frustration when I couldn't get online. But, a service rep warned me that I might need to call Tech Support to give them the serial number from my modem. So, I called, hoping to finally be done with the ordeal. Alas, the tech reported that they needed to send someone out to my house. Then, she promptly 'transferred' (read: disconnected) me.
I called back to talk to customer support. After a not-unbearable hold (weirdly, they don't play hold music, so I had to keep checking my phone to make sure I was still connected...I kept telling myself that my call was very important to them, and it would be answered in the order in which it was received. This sounds even more hollow when you say it to your self...aloud), I got Nicky on the phone. She asked if she could help me.
I said, "Boy, Nicky, I sure hope so. First off, I want you to know that you are the ninth person I have spoken to in the past three days, three people were supposed to have called me back, and none have, and I was just disconnected by someone in the tech department. So, I really hope that you are the Golden Ticket and will be able to help me with my situation."
After 45 minutes, Nicky was able to get everything sussed out. Several times she put me on hold for more than 5 minutes at a time, but she was so apologetic, and just wanted to "double check everything" to make sure I wouldn't run into any more problems.
Her solution includes someone coming over to my house tomorrow morning to make sure everything is working. That's Saturday. At 7 AM. 7 on Saturday. On the one hand, Saturday at 7 is hella early. On the other hand, I'm up anyway. On the other hand, it will cut into my tag saleing time (the best deals are always in the wee hours). On the other hand, it means that ostensibly someone from the cable company has to get up at some time before 7 in order to be at my house at 7.
Oh yeah, Nicky also threw scads of discounts, waived fees, and a free month of service at me.
All in all, I am satisfied with their service (at least until someone comes tomorrow at 7 and tells me that it's still not going to work), but ambivalent. Of course, I would rather not have to spend several hours fighting with various customer service people to get 1) a straight answer and 2) the deal they SENT ME IN THE MAIL. On the other hand, the bargain hunter in me is quite happy taking an hour or so to wheedle and come out saving a hundred bucks or so.
A bag of M&Ms (plain only) if you can guess the company...no M&Ms if you guess but you already know! Perhaps, though I could scrounge up some of those wax paper peanut butter Halloween chews.
Previously: I was trying to get the home computer onto the cable internet, and was getting a different story from each person I talked to. The last person I spoke with said that I should be all set, and to try to get online.
---
It only took about 10 minutes to hook up all the cables and get the CD loaded to get onto the cable system's precious internet access. You don't realize how much you do online until, suddenly, you don't have internet access. To wit: I now find movie showtimes by keying the movie name into Google. Previously, I called the theater, or even bought a newspaper just to find out what movies were showing, and when. Now, it takes all of 0.39 seconds (according to Google).
So, I am choked off from obsessively checking my email. More importantly, my Amazon storefront is stagnating because I can't get any new items listed. Most importantly, the Amazon merchandise is starting to pile up in the house, and Michael is getting sick of it. Getting the internet hooked up is rapidly becoming a make-or-break issue in the new house.
Imagine my disappointment and frustration when I couldn't get online. But, a service rep warned me that I might need to call Tech Support to give them the serial number from my modem. So, I called, hoping to finally be done with the ordeal. Alas, the tech reported that they needed to send someone out to my house. Then, she promptly 'transferred' (read: disconnected) me.
I called back to talk to customer support. After a not-unbearable hold (weirdly, they don't play hold music, so I had to keep checking my phone to make sure I was still connected...I kept telling myself that my call was very important to them, and it would be answered in the order in which it was received. This sounds even more hollow when you say it to your self...aloud), I got Nicky on the phone. She asked if she could help me.
I said, "Boy, Nicky, I sure hope so. First off, I want you to know that you are the ninth person I have spoken to in the past three days, three people were supposed to have called me back, and none have, and I was just disconnected by someone in the tech department. So, I really hope that you are the Golden Ticket and will be able to help me with my situation."
After 45 minutes, Nicky was able to get everything sussed out. Several times she put me on hold for more than 5 minutes at a time, but she was so apologetic, and just wanted to "double check everything" to make sure I wouldn't run into any more problems.
Her solution includes someone coming over to my house tomorrow morning to make sure everything is working. That's Saturday. At 7 AM. 7 on Saturday. On the one hand, Saturday at 7 is hella early. On the other hand, I'm up anyway. On the other hand, it will cut into my tag saleing time (the best deals are always in the wee hours). On the other hand, it means that ostensibly someone from the cable company has to get up at some time before 7 in order to be at my house at 7.
Oh yeah, Nicky also threw scads of discounts, waived fees, and a free month of service at me.
All in all, I am satisfied with their service (at least until someone comes tomorrow at 7 and tells me that it's still not going to work), but ambivalent. Of course, I would rather not have to spend several hours fighting with various customer service people to get 1) a straight answer and 2) the deal they SENT ME IN THE MAIL. On the other hand, the bargain hunter in me is quite happy taking an hour or so to wheedle and come out saving a hundred bucks or so.
A bag of M&Ms (plain only) if you can guess the company...no M&Ms if you guess but you already know! Perhaps, though I could scrounge up some of those wax paper peanut butter Halloween chews.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Productivity Approaching Zero
Did you ever notice that the less things you have to do, the harder it is to get them done?
As we are nearing the end of our home preparations, the task list is dwindling. Why, then, can't I just get it all finished?
Yesterday, I attempted to make a big stab at moving things along: pick up the internet kit from the cable company, a UPS package, make a couple of returns, do some grocery shopping, get some welding epoxy for the screen door, and then some laundry and hooking up the internet.
This seems like a reasonable list of things to do between, say, 5 and 10 pm.
However, it was not to be.
Before I could drive to even the first errand, I had to put a tire on my car: last week one of the tires was low, and the donut had to go on. On Sunday, when I was having a bunch of other car repairs done (when it rains...), I had the guy look at the tire. Both of us thought it looked fine. So, we filled it back up, and left it in the trunk to see if it would leak out. The good news is that it held air. But, that meant I had to put the regular tire back on...still in my work clothes, in 88 degree humidity.
Then, it was off to the cable company. All I had to do was pick up a CD with the installation program...after this visit, I would rather stand on one leg covered in honey waiting for fire ants to find me than go back. Apparently, EVERYTHING I had been told by the several previous customer service agents was, in reality, the exact opposite of the truth. 100% made up. So, I had to go 12 rounds with the poor guy in front of me, only to leave without internet access. (Side note: on calling back today, I was told that there is no reason I should've had any problem, and that somehow, miraculously, everything is all set now. In the last 12 hours, everything that was preventing me from getting online has resolved itself. An update later, after I get home and can check to see whether I can get online or not.)
Then, I had to scramble to UPS to pick up a package. Since our new building only has someone working at the desk from 10 AM - 1 PM every second Thursday of the month, there's no one to leave packages with. I called ahead, they said my package was waiting for me to embrace it and carry it home. I was so excited! I still get a rush getting mail. So you can understand why, after waiting an hour and fifteen minutes, I was a tad dismayed that my package was nowhere to be found.
I mean nowhere. They claimed it was "somewhere in the building," and perhaps it was in a locked area that they couldn't get to. Everyone was very nice, but I don't go to the package store so someone will be nice to me. I GO TO GET MY PACKAGES!
At this point, it was 9 pm, and I had gotten exactly nothing accomplished.
With a profound weariness and aches that ground my bones, I trudged to the grocery store, thinking that at least I could get something done.
Please, take my advise on this one: don't let the grocery store be the highlight of your day. You start thinking about how, if you can't get anything else done right, at least you can make a nice cheesecake. So, you end up buying all these ingredients to make a cheesecake, and now you're trying to figure out when you will have two hours that you know you'll be in the house to leave the oven on, and you realize that you have NO time to make freaking cheesecake! You can barely heat up a TV dinner when you get home. Just when do you expect to make cheesecake? From scratch?!
Also, shopping hungry, as we all know, is a terrible idea. You end up with fruit-bomb drinkable yogurt...and not just one or two, but a whole case of them. Because they were such a great deal: only thrice the price of regular yogurt.
And, tonight my class starts; it's nice to know that everything in my life is perfectly in order, so I can relax and focus on filling my mind with complex and esoteric theories about why the Chinese are good at business.
As we are nearing the end of our home preparations, the task list is dwindling. Why, then, can't I just get it all finished?
Yesterday, I attempted to make a big stab at moving things along: pick up the internet kit from the cable company, a UPS package, make a couple of returns, do some grocery shopping, get some welding epoxy for the screen door, and then some laundry and hooking up the internet.
This seems like a reasonable list of things to do between, say, 5 and 10 pm.
However, it was not to be.
Before I could drive to even the first errand, I had to put a tire on my car: last week one of the tires was low, and the donut had to go on. On Sunday, when I was having a bunch of other car repairs done (when it rains...), I had the guy look at the tire. Both of us thought it looked fine. So, we filled it back up, and left it in the trunk to see if it would leak out. The good news is that it held air. But, that meant I had to put the regular tire back on...still in my work clothes, in 88 degree humidity.
Then, it was off to the cable company. All I had to do was pick up a CD with the installation program...after this visit, I would rather stand on one leg covered in honey waiting for fire ants to find me than go back. Apparently, EVERYTHING I had been told by the several previous customer service agents was, in reality, the exact opposite of the truth. 100% made up. So, I had to go 12 rounds with the poor guy in front of me, only to leave without internet access. (Side note: on calling back today, I was told that there is no reason I should've had any problem, and that somehow, miraculously, everything is all set now. In the last 12 hours, everything that was preventing me from getting online has resolved itself. An update later, after I get home and can check to see whether I can get online or not.)
Then, I had to scramble to UPS to pick up a package. Since our new building only has someone working at the desk from 10 AM - 1 PM every second Thursday of the month, there's no one to leave packages with. I called ahead, they said my package was waiting for me to embrace it and carry it home. I was so excited! I still get a rush getting mail. So you can understand why, after waiting an hour and fifteen minutes, I was a tad dismayed that my package was nowhere to be found.
I mean nowhere. They claimed it was "somewhere in the building," and perhaps it was in a locked area that they couldn't get to. Everyone was very nice, but I don't go to the package store so someone will be nice to me. I GO TO GET MY PACKAGES!
At this point, it was 9 pm, and I had gotten exactly nothing accomplished.
With a profound weariness and aches that ground my bones, I trudged to the grocery store, thinking that at least I could get something done.
Please, take my advise on this one: don't let the grocery store be the highlight of your day. You start thinking about how, if you can't get anything else done right, at least you can make a nice cheesecake. So, you end up buying all these ingredients to make a cheesecake, and now you're trying to figure out when you will have two hours that you know you'll be in the house to leave the oven on, and you realize that you have NO time to make freaking cheesecake! You can barely heat up a TV dinner when you get home. Just when do you expect to make cheesecake? From scratch?!
Also, shopping hungry, as we all know, is a terrible idea. You end up with fruit-bomb drinkable yogurt...and not just one or two, but a whole case of them. Because they were such a great deal: only thrice the price of regular yogurt.
And, tonight my class starts; it's nice to know that everything in my life is perfectly in order, so I can relax and focus on filling my mind with complex and esoteric theories about why the Chinese are good at business.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Summer School Starts Tomorrow.
Just having spent most of yesterday basking in the sun, I am less-than-thrilled that summer classes start tomorrow.
Summer school is just a blight on humanity.
Time to get a-edumacated.
Summer school is just a blight on humanity.
Time to get a-edumacated.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Wrinkles.
On Sunday, I found a wrinkle in my face and freaked out. I am too young to be getting wrinkles! I mean, this was a deep wrinkle that was quite obvious even from several feet away. I had a bit of a quarter-life crisis.
Several hours later, the wrinkle was gone. Turns out I just squished my face when I slept.
I used to try to scrunch my face to get a more weathered look so people would take me more seriously. Not anymore! The new moisturizing regime started last night!
I will be ready for wrinkles when I am 35. Does that seem reasonable?
Several hours later, the wrinkle was gone. Turns out I just squished my face when I slept.
I used to try to scrunch my face to get a more weathered look so people would take me more seriously. Not anymore! The new moisturizing regime started last night!
I will be ready for wrinkles when I am 35. Does that seem reasonable?
Sorry for the hiatus.
Michael and I closed on our new apartment on Friday! It s a huge project (typical, no?), and that coupled with midterms, and now finals, has kept me away from the computer. Now, we're painting, then we'll be moving, painting some more, organizing, and getting the new house set up. We have BIG plans for the kitchen! If I can figure out how, I'll post some before, during, and after pictures.
In the meantime, entertain yourself with random musings from someone else's life by clicking on the "Next Blog" link at the top right of this page. Thanks for all your notes of concern about where I've been.
In the meantime, entertain yourself with random musings from someone else's life by clicking on the "Next Blog" link at the top right of this page. Thanks for all your notes of concern about where I've been.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Hair.
I am very particular about my hair. So, it was with some trepidation that I moved down to Washington, knowing that I would have to leave behind my amazing stylist, whom it took forever to find, and who was quite reasonably priced to boot (as much as I'm particular, I'm also thrifty, which will win out every time).
The Washington salon scene is really out of control. Even ridiculously bad haircuts cost way too much, and you can't even afford a serious hair cut at a place that doesn't smell like it also cuts dog hair during the slow times. And, some places don't let you add the tip to your credit card. They only accept cash tips. Hey, I'm sorry you have to report your tip to the IRS. I can make your life easier by not tipping at all.
So, after a number of disappointments, I decided to take some drastic action: I ordered a nice set of clippers for about the cost of two haircuts, and decided to take matters into my own hands.
Or, actually, Michael's hands. Because, let's be honest: no one can cut their own hair.
So, we gave it a shot. Trepidacious at first, as the locks flew, we became emboldened. And, the result was quite satisfying. For the past several months, we've been cutting each other's hair and it's been going alright.
But, two weeks ago, I attempted what no one should dare: I was impatient, and tried to do it myself. With my head down, things seemed to be going pretty well. The hair was coming off, I felt the customary abandon and liberty that comes with doing things for yourself, like fixing a leaking faucet or figuring out how to rewire a light socket: I was not helpless! I was empowered to control my own destiny!
Then, I looked in the mirror: The hair of Matt Lauer, in his cancer patient 'do, was sitting on top of my head! I had ranked on my scalp too hard, and sliced down my poor follicles to stubble. It was a wasteland from the eyes on up.
Well, on half my head anyway. I tried to experiment with styling, combing, product, but in the end, I had to cut it all off. Then, I mourned the loss of my sightly coiffure. I prefer to think of my new 'do as more Justin Timberlake-esque . However, I'm happy to report that I lack the odd hairline that Justin exhibits here. Or the disgusting veins apparent here. Please notice how his old haircut was strikingly similar to my old haircut. However, we can all be grateful that my hair never looked like this.
I remain at the fashion vangard. Albeit, sometimes unwittingly.
The Washington salon scene is really out of control. Even ridiculously bad haircuts cost way too much, and you can't even afford a serious hair cut at a place that doesn't smell like it also cuts dog hair during the slow times. And, some places don't let you add the tip to your credit card. They only accept cash tips. Hey, I'm sorry you have to report your tip to the IRS. I can make your life easier by not tipping at all.
So, after a number of disappointments, I decided to take some drastic action: I ordered a nice set of clippers for about the cost of two haircuts, and decided to take matters into my own hands.
Or, actually, Michael's hands. Because, let's be honest: no one can cut their own hair.
So, we gave it a shot. Trepidacious at first, as the locks flew, we became emboldened. And, the result was quite satisfying. For the past several months, we've been cutting each other's hair and it's been going alright.
But, two weeks ago, I attempted what no one should dare: I was impatient, and tried to do it myself. With my head down, things seemed to be going pretty well. The hair was coming off, I felt the customary abandon and liberty that comes with doing things for yourself, like fixing a leaking faucet or figuring out how to rewire a light socket: I was not helpless! I was empowered to control my own destiny!
Then, I looked in the mirror: The hair of Matt Lauer, in his cancer patient 'do, was sitting on top of my head! I had ranked on my scalp too hard, and sliced down my poor follicles to stubble. It was a wasteland from the eyes on up.
Well, on half my head anyway. I tried to experiment with styling, combing, product, but in the end, I had to cut it all off. Then, I mourned the loss of my sightly coiffure. I prefer to think of my new 'do as more Justin Timberlake-esque . However, I'm happy to report that I lack the odd hairline that Justin exhibits here. Or the disgusting veins apparent here. Please notice how his old haircut was strikingly similar to my old haircut. However, we can all be grateful that my hair never looked like this.
I remain at the fashion vangard. Albeit, sometimes unwittingly.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Homeless No More
Sorry for the lack of recent postings. Hopefully you'll just me just a bit of slack, as I have done more in the past two weeks than in all of 2004. I felt like my 2004 Christmas year-in-review was a bit boring, but rest assured that I will be back in form for this year's letter, what with all of these life-changing events on the heels of one another.
The bad news, since the last posting, is that the sellers of that third floor condo in the Palazzo decided not to sell after all. Something about one of the owners possibly losing their job, then not being able to qualify for a new mortgage. I was really sad for the rest of the week. I had mentally started decorating, thinking about placement of our random assortment of furniture, and actually looking at home design websites for paint colors. I knew that I shouldn't be doing it: you just can't count your chickens, can you? But, I couldn't stop myself. I felt like everything was going our way, all the pieces were falling into place, and that we were just destined to have that place. Alas.
The following weekend, there was absolutely nothing for us to look at. Seriously, there was not one single residence in our area, in our price range, that was two bedrooms. Even the terrible place with fluorescent green walls and a random extra hallway leading to a bathroom with no ventilation on the ground floor had sold. I was really disheartened, and started thinking that maybe we'd have to move out of our neighborhood or something drastic.
On Monday morning, our realtor Warren sent me one lonely new listing for a place that was too expensive, too small and too far away. How depressing.
At about 10:30 that morning, I took a little break from the computer, and glanced at the listings. Much to my surprise, there was a new listing! In the Palazzo - the same building that we had put the offer in on the other place! And it was the same size unit! And it was cheaper! And it was on the top floor!
My heart was thumping in my chest. For about 15 seconds, I circled my mouse across the screen as I tried to get myself to think and act. Then, I sprang into action. I called the realtor, who pulled up the listing, and agreed that it was perfect. He had a closing after work, so that was no good. I said that it had to be lunch time then, because we had to put in an offer today before something happened to it. Warren said he would see us there, and would bring all the paperwork with him. I hung up with him, called Michael and told him the situation. Said goodbye, and all of us scrambled to get over to the building to see the place, and sign the offer.
We convened, traipsed through the house for all of 90 seconds, hastily signed the paperwork, and dashed back to our regular lives. Then, throughout the rest of the work day, little dribs and drabs of information kept coming back to me:
1:00 pm: We are the first offer
3:30 pm: There is another offer, so we will have to submit the escalation clause.
4:15 pm: They will review all the offers they have tonight and make a decision.
I had a lecture at The Kennedy Center at 6:30, the same time that they were slated to review the contracts. The Concert Hall has no cell phone reception, so as soon as the lecture ended, my phone started whirring, flashing, and beeping, telling me that I had voicemails and text messages from Michael and Warren. Then I had to get on the elevator...no service again. Finally, I got Michael on the phone. "What's going on?" I asked breathlessly. Michael replied, "I think I just bought us a house."
We had the highest escalation clause, but another seller agreed to waive the appraisal, which we couldn't do because we needed the financing. The sellers called back and said that if we'd kick in a few thousand extra, they would let us have our appraisal. Michael kept his cool well, even if he was freaking on the inside, and made the call: we would beat their offer.
Michael had to scramble into the city to collect me from the lecture, and we dashed back to Warren's house, where he was getting the revised paperwork faxed to him. Over very stiff drinks, we signed our lives away for our first home together. It was a hell of a day.
Since then, we have been working double time to get everything in order for the impending move: T-minus six weeks. That means painting, cleaning and doing some small repairs on my apartment so it can be rented out on April 1. Fortunately, that was the main priority this weekend, and the space is all ready to go. Next, starting to pack our things so they can be moved to the new building, cleaning and prepping Michael's house for rental, finding tenants for his house, finalizing the mortgage paperwork, closing, prepping, cleaning and maybe even painting the new house.
Plus, I signed up for summer school. Just to keep things interesting.
The bad news, since the last posting, is that the sellers of that third floor condo in the Palazzo decided not to sell after all. Something about one of the owners possibly losing their job, then not being able to qualify for a new mortgage. I was really sad for the rest of the week. I had mentally started decorating, thinking about placement of our random assortment of furniture, and actually looking at home design websites for paint colors. I knew that I shouldn't be doing it: you just can't count your chickens, can you? But, I couldn't stop myself. I felt like everything was going our way, all the pieces were falling into place, and that we were just destined to have that place. Alas.
The following weekend, there was absolutely nothing for us to look at. Seriously, there was not one single residence in our area, in our price range, that was two bedrooms. Even the terrible place with fluorescent green walls and a random extra hallway leading to a bathroom with no ventilation on the ground floor had sold. I was really disheartened, and started thinking that maybe we'd have to move out of our neighborhood or something drastic.
On Monday morning, our realtor Warren sent me one lonely new listing for a place that was too expensive, too small and too far away. How depressing.
At about 10:30 that morning, I took a little break from the computer, and glanced at the listings. Much to my surprise, there was a new listing! In the Palazzo - the same building that we had put the offer in on the other place! And it was the same size unit! And it was cheaper! And it was on the top floor!
My heart was thumping in my chest. For about 15 seconds, I circled my mouse across the screen as I tried to get myself to think and act. Then, I sprang into action. I called the realtor, who pulled up the listing, and agreed that it was perfect. He had a closing after work, so that was no good. I said that it had to be lunch time then, because we had to put in an offer today before something happened to it. Warren said he would see us there, and would bring all the paperwork with him. I hung up with him, called Michael and told him the situation. Said goodbye, and all of us scrambled to get over to the building to see the place, and sign the offer.
We convened, traipsed through the house for all of 90 seconds, hastily signed the paperwork, and dashed back to our regular lives. Then, throughout the rest of the work day, little dribs and drabs of information kept coming back to me:
1:00 pm: We are the first offer
3:30 pm: There is another offer, so we will have to submit the escalation clause.
4:15 pm: They will review all the offers they have tonight and make a decision.
I had a lecture at The Kennedy Center at 6:30, the same time that they were slated to review the contracts. The Concert Hall has no cell phone reception, so as soon as the lecture ended, my phone started whirring, flashing, and beeping, telling me that I had voicemails and text messages from Michael and Warren. Then I had to get on the elevator...no service again. Finally, I got Michael on the phone. "What's going on?" I asked breathlessly. Michael replied, "I think I just bought us a house."
We had the highest escalation clause, but another seller agreed to waive the appraisal, which we couldn't do because we needed the financing. The sellers called back and said that if we'd kick in a few thousand extra, they would let us have our appraisal. Michael kept his cool well, even if he was freaking on the inside, and made the call: we would beat their offer.
Michael had to scramble into the city to collect me from the lecture, and we dashed back to Warren's house, where he was getting the revised paperwork faxed to him. Over very stiff drinks, we signed our lives away for our first home together. It was a hell of a day.
Since then, we have been working double time to get everything in order for the impending move: T-minus six weeks. That means painting, cleaning and doing some small repairs on my apartment so it can be rented out on April 1. Fortunately, that was the main priority this weekend, and the space is all ready to go. Next, starting to pack our things so they can be moved to the new building, cleaning and prepping Michael's house for rental, finding tenants for his house, finalizing the mortgage paperwork, closing, prepping, cleaning and maybe even painting the new house.
Plus, I signed up for summer school. Just to keep things interesting.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Perhaps I Am Too Busy, the Posting in Which Michael is Very Patient With Me
My life has been crazy, as Michael and I just put an offer in on a new condo last night (among the myriad of other activities in 2005...more later)...the realtor was running late, and a bunch of people were traipsing in and out of the house buying things that we had posted on craigslist. When we finished signing the paperwork for the offer, I realized I lost the cashier's check for $5,000 (!!!!!) that was supposed to be the deposit (and which I just brought home scant hours earlier), and we spent a glorious evening tearing apart my house, which was already in a total state of disarray. We talked through all the suddenly-sketchy faces we had seen that evening...why did the woman buying my bed give me a hug before she left? Was it to give me a pat down and swipe the check?!
We also had dinner plans with Dennis, a friend and former colleague from Jacob's Pillow, for which we were ridiculously late, and had to call to keep postponing. It was probably not the most enjoyable dinner for Dennis, who had by this time been driving for eight hours from Massachusetts. Every five minutes the conversation steered back to how I was such an idiot and now we are completely broke because I lost this check. Thankfully, he was very gracious and sipped away at his martini while we blathered on.
Due to certain distractions (e.g. NOW WE ARE BROKE, THANKS A LOT, JAMIE), Michael was not very impressed with the restaurant, which we were trying for the first time. I said his judgement just might be a bit compromised because he was distracted and woeing our existence, and wondering if he had made a big mistake by agreeing to marry me, the numbskull who loses or has stolen huge sums of money in my own house. However, alter on in the evening, after some digestion, I wonder if he wasn't right...'nuff said.
We went home with trepidation, preparing ourselves for a night of painstakingly slow and methodical searching through random piles and boxes for the missing check. I said a quick prayer, asking that God would let us find the check easily, and thanking Him for bringing this opportunity into our lives to put an offer on this house. I asked Him to let me know if moving in together, and starting our lives together was really a good idea. I asked Him if this was a reminder that things will not always go smoothly, there will be terrible things that happen to us, but was this a reminder that we will get through things together with each other and with Him? I really hoped so...
The first place I wanted to check when we got home was the recycling. I wanted to get the kitchen out of the way, and there really weren't many papers in the bag. Lo and behold, there was the check! Ensconsed in the bank envelope, perfectly fine, and sitting at the bottom of the bag. I had recycled our check! The Lord works in mysterious ways. This morning Michael is dropping it off (we made a rule that I could no longer come in contact with the check), and we are both thankful that I don't have a shredder.
We also had dinner plans with Dennis, a friend and former colleague from Jacob's Pillow, for which we were ridiculously late, and had to call to keep postponing. It was probably not the most enjoyable dinner for Dennis, who had by this time been driving for eight hours from Massachusetts. Every five minutes the conversation steered back to how I was such an idiot and now we are completely broke because I lost this check. Thankfully, he was very gracious and sipped away at his martini while we blathered on.
Due to certain distractions (e.g. NOW WE ARE BROKE, THANKS A LOT, JAMIE), Michael was not very impressed with the restaurant, which we were trying for the first time. I said his judgement just might be a bit compromised because he was distracted and woeing our existence, and wondering if he had made a big mistake by agreeing to marry me, the numbskull who loses or has stolen huge sums of money in my own house. However, alter on in the evening, after some digestion, I wonder if he wasn't right...'nuff said.
We went home with trepidation, preparing ourselves for a night of painstakingly slow and methodical searching through random piles and boxes for the missing check. I said a quick prayer, asking that God would let us find the check easily, and thanking Him for bringing this opportunity into our lives to put an offer on this house. I asked Him to let me know if moving in together, and starting our lives together was really a good idea. I asked Him if this was a reminder that things will not always go smoothly, there will be terrible things that happen to us, but was this a reminder that we will get through things together with each other and with Him? I really hoped so...
The first place I wanted to check when we got home was the recycling. I wanted to get the kitchen out of the way, and there really weren't many papers in the bag. Lo and behold, there was the check! Ensconsed in the bank envelope, perfectly fine, and sitting at the bottom of the bag. I had recycled our check! The Lord works in mysterious ways. This morning Michael is dropping it off (we made a rule that I could no longer come in contact with the check), and we are both thankful that I don't have a shredder.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Your Thoughts on Podcasting
As covered in Wired more and more each day (their latest magazine has a large section on new radio phenomena if this is interesting to you), podcasting is gaining in popularity, which means that now next to no one listens to them.
This push-button radioing seems to do for sound what blogs are doing for words...which makes me interested in them right off the bat. If you have never heard of podcasting, it's where you record yourself, then make the recording available as a download for people to put on their ipods and listen to instead of NPR on their way to work.
Also, you may remember that I have more than a passing interest in radio as a medium for communication, fomented by my exposure to Northeast Public Radio, WAMC while living in Massachusetts. WAMC is so many things that contemporary radio is not, most importantly, part of the community. They spend inordinate amounts of time and energy producing amazing local shows that are broadcast throughout upstate New York and western Massachusetts, and licensed out to other public radio stations.
While working at Jacob's Pillow, my long commute allowed me to get to know their on-air personalities and find out about all sorts of random things I never knew I had an interest in, like local politics, or unheard-of books. My friend Jocelyn and I often talked about how we should start an advise show, where people could call in and we would tell them what to do. Obviously, we are naturally bossy, but more importantly, we're always right. Even when we disagree with each other. All of this adds up to great radio. After all, that's what great radio is all about! Conflict!
Of course, we didn't start a show, but we did get some great advise from my very dear friend, the radio and arts guru Philip Szporer, and we formulated much of what would go into making our show a huge success, at least in the middle of nowhere (hey, you've gotta start somewhere).
Which brings me back to podcasting: I have an interest in the medium, it's technologically interesting, and I am thinking of trying my hand at it. But, will anyone listen?! This is where you come in. Please post your comments at the end of this post, and let me know if you think I should go ahead and give podcasting a shot. Thanks for your advise.
This push-button radioing seems to do for sound what blogs are doing for words...which makes me interested in them right off the bat. If you have never heard of podcasting, it's where you record yourself, then make the recording available as a download for people to put on their ipods and listen to instead of NPR on their way to work.
Also, you may remember that I have more than a passing interest in radio as a medium for communication, fomented by my exposure to Northeast Public Radio, WAMC while living in Massachusetts. WAMC is so many things that contemporary radio is not, most importantly, part of the community. They spend inordinate amounts of time and energy producing amazing local shows that are broadcast throughout upstate New York and western Massachusetts, and licensed out to other public radio stations.
While working at Jacob's Pillow, my long commute allowed me to get to know their on-air personalities and find out about all sorts of random things I never knew I had an interest in, like local politics, or unheard-of books. My friend Jocelyn and I often talked about how we should start an advise show, where people could call in and we would tell them what to do. Obviously, we are naturally bossy, but more importantly, we're always right. Even when we disagree with each other. All of this adds up to great radio. After all, that's what great radio is all about! Conflict!
Of course, we didn't start a show, but we did get some great advise from my very dear friend, the radio and arts guru Philip Szporer, and we formulated much of what would go into making our show a huge success, at least in the middle of nowhere (hey, you've gotta start somewhere).
Which brings me back to podcasting: I have an interest in the medium, it's technologically interesting, and I am thinking of trying my hand at it. But, will anyone listen?! This is where you come in. Please post your comments at the end of this post, and let me know if you think I should go ahead and give podcasting a shot. Thanks for your advise.
Friday, February 18, 2005
"Converting" Dreams to Reality
My friend Mark's blog, Tales of the Sissy, has a post about owning a convertible that will be important for me read every once in a while. He has dreamed of having a convertible since he was a little kid.
Some people are just this way.
If you have never taken a ride in a convertible, you are really missing an experience. In college, my roommate Amy had a convertible 1970-something VW Cabriolet, and I had no car, so we did everything in that tin can. Hauling groceries was a nightmare, because of the tiny back seat, the wind was always biting cold when the top was down, except in August, when you just wanted to turn the A/C on, your hair was always a crumpled Halloween fright, often with smashed bugs in it, and did I mention that the top leaked? When it rained, she would line the floor with plastic bags, and when it snowed, a fine layer of ice would form inside the cab along the edge of the top.
It was hardly a "Pink Moon" time.
Amy grew to hate that car. It's four gear manual transmission was awful on long drives (and all drives in Wisconsin were long). Anything above 60, and you had to shout to be heard through the engine and wind noise. The trunk was laughable...you couldn't even fit a dead possum into it (see how I worked that in!?).
And I was stuck with this crap-ass vehicle by virtue of the fact that I had zero transport, so I had to be grateful to get a ride (for the record, I was grateful...there were just some really low moments).
All of which is to say that I'm none to excited about convertibles. They seem like more trouble than they're worth, and would be the guy who would never take the extra thirty seconds to put the top down, so the whole experience would be wasted on me.
Michael, however, is much like Mark: obsessed with getting a convertible. I'm not sure that Michael has pinned up a centerfold in his cubicle yet, but he definitely lusts after the youthful exuberance of messy hair. He was just getting to the point where he was getting excited about being able to actually get his dream car in the next year, when...we got engaged. As we started talking about how we would pay for it all, his hopes of getting a new car were dashed. It was the first negative thing he said about the whole idea of getting married.
He's really been a trooper: privately mourning the postponement of this milestone, while publicly putting up a good front. But, I know that it's still important to him.
So, I know that I should look over Mark's posting about the joy of convertibles, so that I can stay excited about Michael getting one, so he can stay excited about getting one, so we can make sure that it stays a priority in the grand scheme of things, because what's important to him is important to me, and it's important for us to be on the same page about these things, right?
That's what building a relationship is all about.
Some people are just this way.
If you have never taken a ride in a convertible, you are really missing an experience. In college, my roommate Amy had a convertible 1970-something VW Cabriolet, and I had no car, so we did everything in that tin can. Hauling groceries was a nightmare, because of the tiny back seat, the wind was always biting cold when the top was down, except in August, when you just wanted to turn the A/C on, your hair was always a crumpled Halloween fright, often with smashed bugs in it, and did I mention that the top leaked? When it rained, she would line the floor with plastic bags, and when it snowed, a fine layer of ice would form inside the cab along the edge of the top.
It was hardly a "Pink Moon" time.
Amy grew to hate that car. It's four gear manual transmission was awful on long drives (and all drives in Wisconsin were long). Anything above 60, and you had to shout to be heard through the engine and wind noise. The trunk was laughable...you couldn't even fit a dead possum into it (see how I worked that in!?).
And I was stuck with this crap-ass vehicle by virtue of the fact that I had zero transport, so I had to be grateful to get a ride (for the record, I was grateful...there were just some really low moments).
All of which is to say that I'm none to excited about convertibles. They seem like more trouble than they're worth, and would be the guy who would never take the extra thirty seconds to put the top down, so the whole experience would be wasted on me.
Michael, however, is much like Mark: obsessed with getting a convertible. I'm not sure that Michael has pinned up a centerfold in his cubicle yet, but he definitely lusts after the youthful exuberance of messy hair. He was just getting to the point where he was getting excited about being able to actually get his dream car in the next year, when...we got engaged. As we started talking about how we would pay for it all, his hopes of getting a new car were dashed. It was the first negative thing he said about the whole idea of getting married.
He's really been a trooper: privately mourning the postponement of this milestone, while publicly putting up a good front. But, I know that it's still important to him.
So, I know that I should look over Mark's posting about the joy of convertibles, so that I can stay excited about Michael getting one, so he can stay excited about getting one, so we can make sure that it stays a priority in the grand scheme of things, because what's important to him is important to me, and it's important for us to be on the same page about these things, right?
That's what building a relationship is all about.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Engaged, With Nary a Resource...
This past Valentine's weekend, I told Michael to keep his schedule clear, and that I was going to take him on a trip.
I stole him away to the Berkshires in western Massachusetts, where I used to live before I moved to Washington. We snowshoed in the morning, warmed up with some lunch, then headed up to the Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival grounds to snowshoe on their nature trails and woods.
Jacob's Pillow is the oldest continuous dance festival in the U.S., a huge 10-week international explosion of the best in dance, and where I spent several years as an intern, seasonal staff member, and full-time staffer. The work there is of the highest quality, and the people that work and visit there among the finest I have met anywhere. It's an old farm that was converted to a dance retreat in the 1930's. The original farm house dates from the 1790's, and many of the other buildings were built by the dancers themselves between rehearsals.
I brought Michael to the Inside/Out stage, an outdoor amphitheater where we used to look at the stars on clear nights. We clomped up the steps in our snowshoes, and looked out over the rolling hills. There was a gentle snowfall, and under the clear gray light of the afternoon, I started my loosely prepared speech. About six words in, I broke down crying, and had to take a minute to compose myself. My winter cap felt too tight. I couldn't see Michael clearly through the tears and tried, unsuccessfully, to blink them away. I wanted to rush to the end, but made myself breathe and asked him to marry me. He said yes.
I had deliberated for some time beforehand about what to give him when I proposed. An engagement ring isn't apropriate...men don't wear them. But, I wanted to give him something to commemorate the moment, and so he knew I had given the decision the appropriate heft and contemplation. So, I elicited the help of some close friends and family, scoured the internet, and talked to other gay couples, all to no avail. There is not one resource about gay marriage that addresses the emotional and spiritual needs of the couple getting married! There's plently of Q&As about the legality of said marraiges (in short, iffy), diatribes against said marriages, and lots of news articles rehashing the same information over and over. But, no one has recognized that gay weddings are going to keep happening, so we had better come up with some infrastructure to deal with them.
However, the good news about not having any resources was that I had to look to our own relationship, and the traditions that we've created, for inspiration. The first time we met, as we were leaving each other's company, and without knowing when we would see each other again, I gave him a small compass from my car. I wanted to give him something so he would know that I was serious and so that he would remember me. It was the only thing I could find, so I handed it to him saying that he could use it to find his way back to me.
So, as an engagement gift, I had a pocket compass engraved for him that reads, "May we always find our way together." He said later that the proposal was just what he expected, except the compass. That one surprised him.
Now, we find ourselves muddling through the idea of having a wedding that seems quite traditional to us, but even to some family and friends is a difficult idea to understand. There are some questions that people have right off the bat that temper the joy that we expected to hear when telling people. It's understandable, I guess, and we are trying to be very understanding in answering people's questions and helping them to be comfortable with the idea of 'us'.
I stole him away to the Berkshires in western Massachusetts, where I used to live before I moved to Washington. We snowshoed in the morning, warmed up with some lunch, then headed up to the Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival grounds to snowshoe on their nature trails and woods.
Jacob's Pillow is the oldest continuous dance festival in the U.S., a huge 10-week international explosion of the best in dance, and where I spent several years as an intern, seasonal staff member, and full-time staffer. The work there is of the highest quality, and the people that work and visit there among the finest I have met anywhere. It's an old farm that was converted to a dance retreat in the 1930's. The original farm house dates from the 1790's, and many of the other buildings were built by the dancers themselves between rehearsals.
I brought Michael to the Inside/Out stage, an outdoor amphitheater where we used to look at the stars on clear nights. We clomped up the steps in our snowshoes, and looked out over the rolling hills. There was a gentle snowfall, and under the clear gray light of the afternoon, I started my loosely prepared speech. About six words in, I broke down crying, and had to take a minute to compose myself. My winter cap felt too tight. I couldn't see Michael clearly through the tears and tried, unsuccessfully, to blink them away. I wanted to rush to the end, but made myself breathe and asked him to marry me. He said yes.
I had deliberated for some time beforehand about what to give him when I proposed. An engagement ring isn't apropriate...men don't wear them. But, I wanted to give him something to commemorate the moment, and so he knew I had given the decision the appropriate heft and contemplation. So, I elicited the help of some close friends and family, scoured the internet, and talked to other gay couples, all to no avail. There is not one resource about gay marriage that addresses the emotional and spiritual needs of the couple getting married! There's plently of Q&As about the legality of said marraiges (in short, iffy), diatribes against said marriages, and lots of news articles rehashing the same information over and over. But, no one has recognized that gay weddings are going to keep happening, so we had better come up with some infrastructure to deal with them.
However, the good news about not having any resources was that I had to look to our own relationship, and the traditions that we've created, for inspiration. The first time we met, as we were leaving each other's company, and without knowing when we would see each other again, I gave him a small compass from my car. I wanted to give him something so he would know that I was serious and so that he would remember me. It was the only thing I could find, so I handed it to him saying that he could use it to find his way back to me.
So, as an engagement gift, I had a pocket compass engraved for him that reads, "May we always find our way together." He said later that the proposal was just what he expected, except the compass. That one surprised him.
Now, we find ourselves muddling through the idea of having a wedding that seems quite traditional to us, but even to some family and friends is a difficult idea to understand. There are some questions that people have right off the bat that temper the joy that we expected to hear when telling people. It's understandable, I guess, and we are trying to be very understanding in answering people's questions and helping them to be comfortable with the idea of 'us'.
Monday, February 07, 2005
The Joy of the Library
I have to take a moment to give a shout out to all the libraries in the house.
I've been an avid fan of libraries for quite some time, but I have to single out the Arlington County Library as being second to none. I get my low- and high-culture fixes from them, totally for free, and I can reserve everything online.
Except multi-disc sets, like the whole first season of The West Wing or The Sopranos. You can only manually reserve the title as a whole, and the online system
doesn't distinguish the first disc in the series from the fourth.
So, you run into problems like seeing the first disc, reserving the second, and getting the third. Now you have a quandry: do you watch the third disc knowing that you'll have no clue as to what the continuing story lines are? Or do you return it and wait for the second one (which is, of course, checked out by someone who has yet to watch disc 1)?
The only way around this dilemma is to have the librarian place the holds themselves, where they can specify which disc in the series you're interested in. Of course, the librarians are quite harried and don't exactly have time to hold your hand as you try to catch up on the past four seasons of Alias. Can you blame them?
Also, I don't understand their 'only 3 DVDs at a time' rule, especially when no such rule exists for VHS. For a while, it made sense because they had quite a small collection of DVDs (but even thn they were getting duplicate stock of the same titles on both VHS and DVD). Now, though, they have an entire rack of DVDs at the branch that I go to, and bunches more at other branches. Their DVD collection is growing quite rapidly, and they keep claiming they're going to remove the restriction. Perhaps it's reasonable to expect someone to watch 3 or less DVDs per week, but I've never been known as emminently reasonable in the entertainment department.
I've been an avid fan of libraries for quite some time, but I have to single out the Arlington County Library as being second to none. I get my low- and high-culture fixes from them, totally for free, and I can reserve everything online.
Except multi-disc sets, like the whole first season of The West Wing or The Sopranos. You can only manually reserve the title as a whole, and the online system
doesn't distinguish the first disc in the series from the fourth.
So, you run into problems like seeing the first disc, reserving the second, and getting the third. Now you have a quandry: do you watch the third disc knowing that you'll have no clue as to what the continuing story lines are? Or do you return it and wait for the second one (which is, of course, checked out by someone who has yet to watch disc 1)?
The only way around this dilemma is to have the librarian place the holds themselves, where they can specify which disc in the series you're interested in. Of course, the librarians are quite harried and don't exactly have time to hold your hand as you try to catch up on the past four seasons of Alias. Can you blame them?
Also, I don't understand their 'only 3 DVDs at a time' rule, especially when no such rule exists for VHS. For a while, it made sense because they had quite a small collection of DVDs (but even thn they were getting duplicate stock of the same titles on both VHS and DVD). Now, though, they have an entire rack of DVDs at the branch that I go to, and bunches more at other branches. Their DVD collection is growing quite rapidly, and they keep claiming they're going to remove the restriction. Perhaps it's reasonable to expect someone to watch 3 or less DVDs per week, but I've never been known as emminently reasonable in the entertainment department.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Birth Tax
From Harry Reid's State of the Union rebuttal:
"Too many of the president's economic policies have left Americans and American companies struggling. And after we worked so hard to eliminate the deficit, his policies have added trillions to the debt - in effect, a 'birth tax' of $36,000 on every child that is born."
I think this is a great coinage of a term...this is one of the things that the democrats should work on doing more of: encapsulating the essence of a conversation in a way that has resonance for regular people. Republicans have done it time and again (most recently with the term, 'private accounts'), and it has proved quite effective in skewing debate. Talking about a 'birth tax' is just the kind of political tit for tat we need to see!
"Too many of the president's economic policies have left Americans and American companies struggling. And after we worked so hard to eliminate the deficit, his policies have added trillions to the debt - in effect, a 'birth tax' of $36,000 on every child that is born."
I think this is a great coinage of a term...this is one of the things that the democrats should work on doing more of: encapsulating the essence of a conversation in a way that has resonance for regular people. Republicans have done it time and again (most recently with the term, 'private accounts'), and it has proved quite effective in skewing debate. Talking about a 'birth tax' is just the kind of political tit for tat we need to see!
Friday, January 28, 2005
Protesting
Lisa wrote in a comment wondering if I saw any inauguration protesters.
Alas, I made it a point to stay home, and as far away as possible from all inauguration proceedings as possible. Perhaps you may think I have missed a part of the history of our great nation. Ah! but you forget: it was colder than a dead possum out there (Margaret seems to think that this is not a southern euphemism, but I am doing my best to change that).
Further, the crowds started streaming in early in the morning, so if you wanted to actually see any part of the parade, you would have to stand outside from 9:30 am to 3:00 pm when it passed you by.
Then, when Bush approached your part of the route, he would quickly hop in his car and roll up the windows so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with the protestors.
Also, the security was tighter than a dead possum being squished by a boa constrictor (you must admit, it would be tight). Protestors weren't allowed to carry anything dangerous, like signs with tall sticks (this is true!). Apparently, they weren't even pleasant people to be around, cursing up a storm and generally making themselves and all things left-y look terrible to people that didn't like them to begin with.
Alas, I made it a point to stay home, and as far away as possible from all inauguration proceedings as possible. Perhaps you may think I have missed a part of the history of our great nation. Ah! but you forget: it was colder than a dead possum out there (Margaret seems to think that this is not a southern euphemism, but I am doing my best to change that).
Further, the crowds started streaming in early in the morning, so if you wanted to actually see any part of the parade, you would have to stand outside from 9:30 am to 3:00 pm when it passed you by.
Then, when Bush approached your part of the route, he would quickly hop in his car and roll up the windows so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with the protestors.
Also, the security was tighter than a dead possum being squished by a boa constrictor (you must admit, it would be tight). Protestors weren't allowed to carry anything dangerous, like signs with tall sticks (this is true!). Apparently, they weren't even pleasant people to be around, cursing up a storm and generally making themselves and all things left-y look terrible to people that didn't like them to begin with.
Jamie Goes To School
I started back to school this week, with a fresh lunch pail, and my name bus number pinned on my jacket.
Yes, it's true. I am a grad student.
Perhaps the most annoying thing about college, especially in the first week, is the one student you find in each class who simply cannot bear to have your time together go by without hearing their own nasal voice drone on about some topic only tangentially related to the lecture at hand, because they are such a giving person that they just know that the whole class would benefit from their slight tidbit of useless knowledge, often gleaned from a dubious internet source, or the ever-reliable, "something I read somewhere."
Oftentimes, they have no particular point to make, but just want everyone to hear them and know that they are smart. In fact, they need for you to think that they are smart. Their entire existence depends on the people that they don't even know finding them intelligent. What kind of self-esteem is that?
Perhaps with the plethora of handouts we received at orientation, something from the campus counseling center should have been included, with an ominous title, like, "If You Think You Don't Need Counseling, This Flyer Is For You!"
So, I've made it through the first week of classes, and now have aproximately 9,000 pages to read over the weekend. They certainly don't suffer the fool.
But, it's rather exciting to be a student again. Soon you will see me at 3 a.m. at the IHOP ashing into my half-eaten pancakes and typing away furiously on a paper because, "I do my best work under pressure." It's terribly romantic to put myself in the same league as the students who started the French Revolution and others at the cultural zeitgeist. Discounts at the movies and major attractions certainly don't hurt either.
Yes, it's true. I am a grad student.
Perhaps the most annoying thing about college, especially in the first week, is the one student you find in each class who simply cannot bear to have your time together go by without hearing their own nasal voice drone on about some topic only tangentially related to the lecture at hand, because they are such a giving person that they just know that the whole class would benefit from their slight tidbit of useless knowledge, often gleaned from a dubious internet source, or the ever-reliable, "something I read somewhere."
Oftentimes, they have no particular point to make, but just want everyone to hear them and know that they are smart. In fact, they need for you to think that they are smart. Their entire existence depends on the people that they don't even know finding them intelligent. What kind of self-esteem is that?
Perhaps with the plethora of handouts we received at orientation, something from the campus counseling center should have been included, with an ominous title, like, "If You Think You Don't Need Counseling, This Flyer Is For You!"
So, I've made it through the first week of classes, and now have aproximately 9,000 pages to read over the weekend. They certainly don't suffer the fool.
But, it's rather exciting to be a student again. Soon you will see me at 3 a.m. at the IHOP ashing into my half-eaten pancakes and typing away furiously on a paper because, "I do my best work under pressure." It's terribly romantic to put myself in the same league as the students who started the French Revolution and others at the cultural zeitgeist. Discounts at the movies and major attractions certainly don't hurt either.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
The Snow Is Attacking!
Washington DC, psychologically speaking, is not in the Mid-Atlantic.
It’s as southern as grits and dead possum (that’s a southern thing, right?)
This is evidenced by the fact that right now, as we speak, it’s snowing in DC (total accumulation: a quarter of an inch). This means:
-schools close
-liberal leave is in effect at most employers
-commutes take twice as long (avg.)
-SUVs crash through fences to smash into commuter trains (this happened last winter)
If this were Massachusetts or Wisconsin, no one would even notice this weather. In Washington, though, it’s the only topic of conversation. Since it started snowing at 10:30 this morning, it’s the lead story on the Washington Post website.
The lead story!
The fact that DC gets snowed on, though, just makes it like most of the rest of the country (despite what Fox dramas would have us believe…damn you, The O.C.!). The public’s response, however, is what makes Washington southern. Only in the south would winter precipitation (sometimes called “wintry mix” here, which I refuse to say…it was difficult enough just to write it here) cause the populace to ransack the groceries, hauling carts full of Charmin and Evian home, as if this were a great nor’easter, and we might not be able to dig out for several weeks.
The total accumulation is expected to be one to two inches.
More maddeningly, this happens several times each winter. Yet, local governments refuse to buy the snowplows needed to deal with the (inevitable) weather and have the control to run them 24 hours a day. Instead, they rent them by the hour from private businesses, who get to decide how long to run.
And there is the crux of the southern mindset: in the face of overwhelming northern evidence (consistent annual snowfall), the public continues to pretend that the snow will never come, instead of ramping up the infrastructure to deal with it (like they do in the north).
However, Michael says if it keeps snowing, we get chili for dinner!
It’s as southern as grits and dead possum (that’s a southern thing, right?)
This is evidenced by the fact that right now, as we speak, it’s snowing in DC (total accumulation: a quarter of an inch). This means:
-schools close
-liberal leave is in effect at most employers
-commutes take twice as long (avg.)
-SUVs crash through fences to smash into commuter trains (this happened last winter)
If this were Massachusetts or Wisconsin, no one would even notice this weather. In Washington, though, it’s the only topic of conversation. Since it started snowing at 10:30 this morning, it’s the lead story on the Washington Post website.
The lead story!
The fact that DC gets snowed on, though, just makes it like most of the rest of the country (despite what Fox dramas would have us believe…damn you, The O.C.!). The public’s response, however, is what makes Washington southern. Only in the south would winter precipitation (sometimes called “wintry mix” here, which I refuse to say…it was difficult enough just to write it here) cause the populace to ransack the groceries, hauling carts full of Charmin and Evian home, as if this were a great nor’easter, and we might not be able to dig out for several weeks.
The total accumulation is expected to be one to two inches.
More maddeningly, this happens several times each winter. Yet, local governments refuse to buy the snowplows needed to deal with the (inevitable) weather and have the control to run them 24 hours a day. Instead, they rent them by the hour from private businesses, who get to decide how long to run.
And there is the crux of the southern mindset: in the face of overwhelming northern evidence (consistent annual snowfall), the public continues to pretend that the snow will never come, instead of ramping up the infrastructure to deal with it (like they do in the north).
However, Michael says if it keeps snowing, we get chili for dinner!
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Someone Thinks I Sound Hot
Thank you to the anonymous commentor to my last posting. Please remember that as of today, exactly three people know that I have a blog. One of those people doesn't have the address. So, I have a pretty good idea of who you are.
This brings up the whole concept of anonimity on the internet. While it's possbile to lie, and undoubtedly some people do, the vast majority of my experience has been that when people are anonymous they are more honest. Sometimes it takes an extreme tone, but overall, it seems that the web is enables people to speak more directly.
The interesting part, of course, is that this happens even when the poster is obviously not anonymous. For example, people are quite honest in their blogs, even when their identities are known or knowable. Check here, here, or here (for an overview) for exapmles of people being fired form their real life jobs for blogging online.
I know I'm not covering new territory, as this has been covered elsewhere in more (and better) detail. My point, though, is that the aura of anonimity 'helps' people speak their mind in ways they wouldn't otherwise.
Personally, I try to always speak my mind. Hopefully as this blog evolves, the content will be the same as if we sat down and had us a nice long chat. Except, of course, that I'm talking a lot, and you're mostly just listening. Eventually, you'll probably tune me out.
This, however, would also mimic reality.
This brings up the whole concept of anonimity on the internet. While it's possbile to lie, and undoubtedly some people do, the vast majority of my experience has been that when people are anonymous they are more honest. Sometimes it takes an extreme tone, but overall, it seems that the web is enables people to speak more directly.
The interesting part, of course, is that this happens even when the poster is obviously not anonymous. For example, people are quite honest in their blogs, even when their identities are known or knowable. Check here, here, or here (for an overview) for exapmles of people being fired form their real life jobs for blogging online.
I know I'm not covering new territory, as this has been covered elsewhere in more (and better) detail. My point, though, is that the aura of anonimity 'helps' people speak their mind in ways they wouldn't otherwise.
Personally, I try to always speak my mind. Hopefully as this blog evolves, the content will be the same as if we sat down and had us a nice long chat. Except, of course, that I'm talking a lot, and you're mostly just listening. Eventually, you'll probably tune me out.
This, however, would also mimic reality.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Inauguration Day Fast Approaching
I live near Washington, so with the impending inauguration of our newly reelected president, the city is a-twitter with bustling security officers, mirrors on long handles, and bleachers as far as the eye can see.
A recent tidbit from the Washington Post is that, unlike every other previous predisent, Bush isn't going to pay for his own ceremony, even though it's the most expensive in history (the story is here). Supposedly, the DC city government has enough money in their homeland security appropriation. But, how are they supposed to deal with real improvements in the city's security when unplanned expenses like this pop up?
More pertinent to my own life is that I put my apartment up for rent over the inauguration on craigslist, and so far have only received one response. It was from a Washington Post staff writer who's doing a story on people who are renting out their houses for the inauguration! Is this how the Post gets its leads? Trolling the random classifieds on craigslist? The problem, of course, is that the people who don't have anyone staying in their houses have ads up, and those that have already rented their homes will have deleted their postings...so this staff writer is doomed to interview people who hope to rent their places, but have thusfar been unsuccessful. Doesn't sound like a very interesting article, does it?
A recent tidbit from the Washington Post is that, unlike every other previous predisent, Bush isn't going to pay for his own ceremony, even though it's the most expensive in history (the story is here). Supposedly, the DC city government has enough money in their homeland security appropriation. But, how are they supposed to deal with real improvements in the city's security when unplanned expenses like this pop up?
More pertinent to my own life is that I put my apartment up for rent over the inauguration on craigslist, and so far have only received one response. It was from a Washington Post staff writer who's doing a story on people who are renting out their houses for the inauguration! Is this how the Post gets its leads? Trolling the random classifieds on craigslist? The problem, of course, is that the people who don't have anyone staying in their houses have ads up, and those that have already rented their homes will have deleted their postings...so this staff writer is doomed to interview people who hope to rent their places, but have thusfar been unsuccessful. Doesn't sound like a very interesting article, does it?
The World According to Jamie
This blog is not going to be an attempt to convince you that I'm cool. Just so you know that right up front.
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