Scary

I just got an email from Mark Emmert, el presidente, about a guy shot dead in the neighborhood north of 45th. Which is apparently violence ridden. Which I am moving to in approximately 3 weeks. Should I tell my parents about this or not? Hmm.

Au Feure

I just had the most awesome mac'n'cheese. The recipe was a combination of one in the Pasta book, and my grandmother's. (I get the feeling my grandmother is ubiquitous in these entries. It's not planned - she just is that sort of personality. She towers over everyone in my family, except my mother, who is not a Grunberg by blood anyway. Lucky me!) Being - well, speaking - French, she calls it Macaroni Au Feure, or however you spell it. I don't know why it's not Macaroni Au Fromage, but there you go. I don't even know what Feure (sp??) is. Anyway, I should make it more often. Because I really need the calories. Although, we used half and half instead of heavy cream. I feel like there was this macaroni and cheese sized hole inside of me that has just been filled with comfort and warmth and creamy and ooooooooooze. God, this blog is so deep. I mean SHALLOW. Who would be interested in mac and cheese? Um hi Reader... we should do something for Sinclaire.
I was looking through my old papers trying to find something (I didn't find it), and it's amazing how good some of them were, considering how old I was (or even not considering that). They were pretty much uniformly excellent. Is it possible to go DOWNhill? To get less smart? Damnit!!! I feel like on the continuum of "intelligence" and "age," I started out as a near verbal genius, if I can say that without sounding like a true unmitigated asshole (which I probably can't) - reading at two, and all - progressed to a precocious writer and analyzer, and have now gloriously arrived at my current point of "above average... hopefully?" At this rate, in a mere 5 years, I will have lost the ability to comphrehend books with more words than pictures. Go me.
Um yeah. I chose my monologue for drama class. It's the one I delighted the crowd with at my first Drama Day as a pre-TSer. Ah, memories. Everyone was like "We want YOU! for EEP Drama Society" and I was like "I have found my spiritual home!" I also enjoyed the company of Sinclaire and Mattia. Then they proceeded to shut me out for the next two years of auditions and I was like *tear* Alas.
One day this past week I was thinking of what I should do between now and law school/The Rest of My Life, and I alighted on Boot Camp. Army! Army had half-a-day!! I went to Army's website (www.goarmy.com or gov or org or something like that) and watched all the videos of their week-by-week explanation of Boot Camp. On the one hand, admittedly the most important - the right, if you will, or the dominant one - it sounds like pure hell. On the other hand, which is more like a stump, it makes you get fit, and conquer your fears, and builds your self-respect, and gives you something real you can be proud of, as well as a seal for marksmanship and a gorilla for sand-racing. Also, you learn how to bludgeon a dummy with a bayonet. My Israeli cousins will have to serve in Army, but a different one, not Usarmy. It's like the Israeli equivalent of college, but more intense - you get this bond, apparently, with your fellow soldiers. Your "hevre," as it's called. But also, a lot of people hate it. It's like a love hate thing. I'm only expanding upon this paragraph because I like saying Army.
If I do go to law school, I want to be a summer associate at Preston Gates Ellis in Seattle. They seem like a combination of effective and almost-possibly-compassionate, which is cool. Also, you get $2,000 a week, which is cool too. I wrote about Jim Ellis for the magazine (the first one) and he was awesome. He basically cleaned out LAke Washington singlehandedly. But not literally.
this is long enough.

The Whim of a Hat

"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB/GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across the country."

"Free societies are hopeful societies. And free societies will be allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat."

"If they pre-decease or die early, there's an asset base to be able to pass on to a loved one."

-GW Bush

"I would not say that the future is necessarily less predictable than the past. I think the past was not predictable when it started."

"Things will not be necessarily continuous. The fact that they are something other htan perfectly continuous ought not to be characterized as a pause. There will be some things that people will see. There will be some things that people won't see. And life goes on."

-Rumsfeld

It's about time.

Well, at least I gave my blog a new name. It's a bit of a legal theme, considering my LSAT preparations and other such prelaw nightmares. Thankfully I got rid of the practice book that was riddled with mistakes. At least I was able to spot the mistakes. I guess.

Since writing last, I have been to England. Whilst there, I labored in libraries, and said "hello" and "yes, it's me again" to the assembled family members. I wandered the streets of Covent Garden, pretending I was an independent spirit, and peered into the deep depths of the Egyptian cholera epidemic of 1883, surfacing with nothing especially interesting. I witnessed an arrested on the rocky shores of Brighton Beach, and the cringe-worthy attempts of my gossipy (but nice) Aunt sidling up to the police officers and just standing there, hoping to hear something exciting. For three minutes, I sat across from Minnie Driver at the Bar Italia, who was not-eating with her flamboyant, slightly ridiculous ex-model mother. I heard my Nonna comment inappropriately about my cousin's ass, visited a pair of bereaved parents, and even swung by Birmingham. I went to Rosh Hashana services at the Golders Green Synagogue and observed the ladies in their fancy hats. The notice on the back of the synagogue newsletter said, "You may carry this newsletter home on Shabbat if you live within the eruv." Jews can't do work on Shabbat - that includes carrying outside the home, even a newsletter - and an "eruv" is an officially-designated extention of "home." used in neighborhoods with a high density of Jews, and marked by little flags. Golders Green is one such neighborhood.

Since getting home, I have missed three Friday-night events I wanted to attend because of lack of transportation home, and I know I need to move to Seattle, but I feel this horrible sense of inertia. I get up and go to class, yes, but I can't make decisions anymore, or get things done. I miss deadlines, even fail to reply to emails, and feel completely passive. Signs of depression, I know, but I don't feel depressed. I probably need help, but I can't find the energy to change anything or to confront what I haven't done. I'm in a bit of a pickle. Because I'm not doing what I should be doing, not only can I not concentrate, I have a pervasive feeling of guilt, tickling at my brain, even painfully squeezing at my consciousness when I remember a particularly notable failure to act. Acting class is still fun, but it's also not demanding. Well, maybe it's demanding in the sense of "reconnect with your body and control your actions," but not demanding in the way I've become accustomed to. I need some way to be able to concentrate again, to rewire my brain somehow.

grunbergs

I was correct about my Hollywood buddy Greg Grunberg, a cuddly teddy-bear-like chubby guy who once starred in a sitcom opposite Jason Bateman SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, being in Heroes. He plays Matt Parkman, a low-ranking, dyslexic cop whose marriage has fallen apart, but he hears voices dun dun dun. Yay? I will give it a try, though it has a Lost feel about it. I was watching some Eddie Izzard and BBC The Office online. They were good... not great but pretty funny. Sacha Baron Cohen's character Borat is hilarious though. Guiltily so. It's not witty humor or anything, but the first few YouTube videos I saw, I couldn't stop laughing. "I had the sex, last night." HAHAHAHAHA. Yes I know, reader, it sounds stupid... and yet. Project Runway is another guilty pleasure lately. It's on tonight but I can't watch it, boo.
TV shows I want to catch up on:
NewsRadio (yes, a Greg favorite)
Seinfeld (I never watched Seinfeld, and always thought it was kinda dumb without giving it a chance. But a lot of smart people think it is brilliant. So I want to watch it)
Scrubs (I've only seen the first season)
Battlestar Galactica (why not?)
There were more but I forgot what they were. I don't know why I'm so spacey and uninteresting when I write in this blog. Sorry reader. I'll keep it as a travel/research journal and perhaps try to continue last year's grand Let's Pick Up British Boys Near Terrorist Memorials Project (I cringe even writing it). Although perhaps we can save that for when Reader, Me, and Mutual Friend of Me and Reader go to Europe, whether it be next year or in ten.

Crap. Maybe I should write my last will and testament.

I don't understand why anyone would be scared of snakes. If you put me in bare-legged in a South American meadow with knee-length grass and told me there were snakes about, then yes, I'd be terrified. And I would certainly scream if I found a snake in the house. Their stealthy, undulating way of sneaking up to you unnoticed... so snakes are scary. But I don't understand why anyone would have a phobia about snakes, because I have a phobia of spiders, and spiders are so much more scary. You don't often see snakes in the urban Northwest, but spiders are everywhere. The Internet says you are never more than 3, 5, or 7 feet away from a spider, depending on the site, and either way I think that's DISGUSTING. Right now there are spiders all around me. And at least once a day, my thoughts stray to what Christina wrote on the blackboard during TS: "The average person digests 7 spiders a year during sleep." That is the stuff of nightmares. I mean you can't digest a snake during sleep. But spiders are different; they're small, and they don't seem to move - they are just there, as if they come with the furniture, making the whole room seem still and "watched." And then all of a sudden something spooks them and they move faster than you'd expect and it's startling and you can't breathe and your arms start twitching and every single brush of dust or carpet against your feet or swoosh of hair against your neck makes your muscles clench in fear and then you run out of the room before you've had a chance to think rationally. It's worst during the night. Whenever I enter my bedroom or bathroom, I scan the line where the wall meets the ceiling for the critters, because that's where they like to hang out. In my shower, near my bed. All those eyes, watching me. All those legs - too many legs - too long in comparison to the body - because a spider seems to think with its legs. You can't see a brain there, but unlike a clam, it's very skilled at getting around... Being in places where it shouldn't. Where you can just relax, sink back into the folds of the couch or the mess of blankets on the bed when something scuttles. Then, you lie rigid, thinking each little tickle or pinprick of air against your skin is really the footprints of eight legs scurrying over you with that mechanical motion, advancing toward your sleeping, open mouth, ready to delicately climb over your lip and into your mouth and throat, while you are sleeping and only feel a little pattering inside and perhaps a hint of eight-legged fear in your dreams. When you're awake at least you aren't helpless, you scan the room and when you find a spider, you keep watching his movements so you aren't caught unawares, so you know where it is, so you have the control in this relationship. Or you can refuse to enter the room until you get someone else to come and kill the spider. Or you can go sleep on the couch.

"One thing that people love to tell arachnophobics is that the spider is actually more afraid of you then you are of it. But the fact is this is just not true. Does the spider's heart begin to race, does its skin crawl, and does it get sweaty palms? No, I didn't think so. "

Exactly! Exactly! Hallelujah! And the further fact is these symptoms are triggered by spider habitats, not just the actual sight of the animals. It's the Potential Spider, the possibility that when you dodge that lurking web in the basement, shift the can of paint, move the old box of books in the shed or take off the garbage can lid you'll be met with eyes and legs. I should inform the reader that I felt a little prickle on my cheek while writing that last sentence, my heart stopped for a splitsecond, and my hand slapped that side of my face before I quite registered what was going on. God, spiders are REPULSIVE.

Listen to KT Tunstall

I wanted to record this feeling - I'm lying on the bed,full of food, with laptop, the original Moosewood vegetarian cookbook, Scrubs season 1 disc 3, and a biography of Katherine Graham, feeling perfectly content. I'm so sleepy if I curled up I'd nod off, but there are enough simple pleasures around me that I don't mind staying awake. I'm sweating in the summer heat, but even that's not too uncomfortable. If only I didn't have Eric's third edit of the payday loans story in my inbox, I would be in heaven. I am so sick of payday loans. People should just NOT be stupid enough to get them. But then I've never been financially independent, so I speak from ignorance and frustration.

I saw The Devil Wears Prada and really enjoyed it. But I don't get why all the critics raved over Meryl Streep's performance and passed over Anne Hathaway's? Anne Hathaway was excellent - believable AND funny at the same time, and showed the character's transformation into a fashionista without being too over the top. Plus, she was in pretty much every frame of the movie, so she had to deliver, and she did. Meryl Streep did a pretty good job, sure. Meryl Streep is a fantastic actress who's done many memorable performances in the past, yes. But why does that mean critics have to slobber all over her (bad image, yes) when she pulls out your standard haughty-upperclass-villain for a movie in which she doesn't have to even do much? She only had one emotional scene, and sure, she did it well. In fact, they probably couldn't have found a better actress for the part. It just seems like an unbalanced reaction. Stanley Tucci and Emily Blunt were the best, though, in my humble opinion.

Penalties AGAIN?

Why, England? WHY?!??????????????? what a NIGHTMARE! I'm so disappointed. Oh God. Arrrgh. :( at least brazil are out too... England could have beaten them though... and portugal isn't that great... they should have sc ored and gotten it over with! This hurts. Four more years.

Now die, die, die, die, die!

Wow I just watched the AMND dvd... good times! Unfortunately it was from the Friday not the Monday (<-- by far the best performance, ne ces pas? can't spell french) but it was very much fun to revisit without being in a dark(ened), stifling booth whispering cues and freaking out. The high point was the workmen's play. Mindy left the tape on at the end and you could see the audience including Max H-J filing out and having spirited discussions (well, not Max) but unfortunately couldn't make out what they were saying except a couple parents ("Sooo proud of you!"). Farndale Ave. is apparently on the DVD as well, but I'm kind of alarmed at the prospect of seeing my mug - watching yourself is nervewracking. Just the thought of watching myself do that prologue makes me shudder! I hate myself! Not really, but I am not an ahhhhhhhhct-ress, so I have not yet learned to harness the powaaaaaah of my body and voice to its full advahntage, dahling, and do not listen or watch myself on a regular basis.

Also my mum has been listing a 2.25 million dollar house!! Co-listing, actually, with a prick - er, dick -called George P***** (can't spell the name unless he FINDS this) who is a rather arrogant creep (he still brags about the time Bill Clinton "touched" him in a bathroom. Apparently it was just a pat on the shoulder, but that's not how he introduces the story. Creep). Nonetheless, the house is pretty cool. I've only seen the virtual tour online, but I'm going to write a press release in case any papers are interested; unlikely, but possible. It's sort of a celebrity dig because Yanni (the new age musician) lived there for 10 years, with his then partner, the star of the show Dynasty, Linda Evans. Never heard of her. Anyway, there are three dishwashers in the kitchen and two of every other appliance, a $40,000 oven (well, two ovens side by side), an awesome indoor pool with huge lofty skylight type-thing meaning you can see the pool from the kitchen, a surround-sound theater with big projector and soundproof walls, a cozy panelled library (I liked that best), 180 degree views of the Sound, etc etc etc. How the other .00000001% live. I would have loved to go play around but apparently letting teenage family members loose on the property is not part of the realtor's privileges, which I think is most unfair, especially given said family member is an 18-year-old college senior, which means she MUST be mature and responsible. Still, I may yet find a way. Muahahaha... I wish the idea was more evil and worthy of such threatening laughter.

What I said about not being an ahhhhhctress? I probably never will be, but I will be taking acting in the fall. Yay! I'll have to start spreading some buzz around the watercooler. God, that Grunberg is some hott stuff. All I hear is people talking about this Grunberg! Overrated! Oh, I watched the first disc, first season of Scrubs and thought it got better as it went along. I REALLY liked the last episode, where Carla ditches Elliot in going to a bar, Turk gets his face plastered over posters cause he's black, and Dr. Cox pretends to hate JD but really thinks he's great. It was funny but also surprisingly touching, especially the JD/Dr. Cox thing. But I'm worried about getting the next disc because I have this premonition it'll get worse, and my mum will want to watch it because she, like me, really liked that one episode, but just like Greg, I always worry about whether the other person will like something when I watch it with them, why?! Am I doomed to be a girl with low self esteem? It doesn't matter because MY LAPTOP'S HERE! Bye.

Being an editor...

I was thinking of maybe trying to be a book editor when I grow up, and then I read this novel about a guy trying to survive as an editorial assistant - salary $17,500 - in Manhattan where all the publishing jobs are, and that's the essential first rung on the ladder, and he had cockroaches in his bed and was an illegal squatter and stole condiments for breakfast, so I thought, maybe not? Don't know. Anyway, I couldn't make it in cutthroat New York, not in a million years. It's disappointing because my vision of being a book editor is curling up with a bunch of excellent manuscripts and making incisive suggestions. Yeah, reading all day. Not being a businesswoman and reading manuscripts in the wee hours. :/

"I believe that American combat troops should come home from Iraq in 2006 - not the distant future as President Bush does. Furthermore, I believe we must set a May 15th deadline for the Iraqis to form an effective unity government. And, if the Iraqi politicians choose to ignore that deadline, then I believe things will only get worse and we will have no choice but to withdraw immediately."
-JohnKerry.com, front-page petition

What a DOUCHEBAG. Plus, I found two grammatical errors in 30 seconds, but that's not the issue. If I had been able to vote in 2004, I would have boycotted the election.

WEDDINGS

I love WEDDINGS. oh man... this long weekend of thesis writing I registered for TheKnot just to look at WEDDING planning stuff. (It now says, "Welcome Em and ??" cause I don't have a groom. Alas). Cause I spent my procrastination time, instead of watching tv or staring into space, just being really really ahead of the game on WEDDINGS. I have it all planned out, but do I want a periwinkle blue, or a minty green theme? Do I want bold, vibrant orangey flowers, or elegant white flowers? Sensual Mediterranean summer evening feast, or fresh and dewy spring afternoon affair? Whatever it is, my future husband better have damn good taste (or succumb to mine) cause our WEDDING is going to be tizzight. Juuuuuuuust perfect. I hope his mother isn't a bitch, though. :( God, I've finally cracked. I knew it would be spring quarter of my senior year. Call an ambulence, please. I'll recover over the summer and come back in fine form during the fall. A month with my nonna and two count them two cousins and sleeping in the same bed with my dad should shape me up. That's... five people... in a house with 2 double beds and a single bed. Will someone have to sleep with my nonna? Eww, she smells of perfume all the time, and is so musty. So if she sleeps in the single... If I sleep with my female cousin, my dad will have to sleep with Sam, and ewww. But if I sleep with my dad (ewww) Rachel will have to sleep with Sam, and eww, it's too Maeby/George Michael, plus she has a boyfriend whose nothing like Steve Holt. FORGET IT. I'm sleeping on the couch. >_< God! Family. Hmm I bet my reader skipped that last bit cause it was gross. Still there, reader?

All I have to say is that I feel guilty (big surprise) because I'm gonna hafta skip work again tomorrow to finish another paper. For the third time, I think. I THINK they had memorial day off, so I didn't miss monday. But here's the thing -
1) I'm not getting credit OR money
2) I can make the hours up after school ends, and I've made up all my hours except five so far. That's just two days after school ends.
So I'm basically doing them a favor, right? Right. But...
1) I made a commitment
2) This isn't the first time I've flaked (if it was I wouldn't be dithering) and
3) I want a good letter of recommendation from this. :/

okaaaaaaaaay, time to email boss. Ewwww. But THAT was boring. yeah, this is a boring blog. It was a boring week in a boring life... but NEXT week... one of these people.............. will die.

george bush, lol
overtly
Senate
drip dry

All this spam is messing with my mind. Argh. I like this typeface though. At the UPS cafeteria one can purchase a salad, whole sandwich and fries for under $5 and I feel we huskies are being cheated of our moola.

hey liz

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Liz!
The average human spends about 30 days during their life in liz!
It's bad luck to put liz on a bed.
During the reign of Peter the Great, any Russian nobleman who chose to wear liz had to pay a special liz tax!
Liz is the only bird that can swim but not fly.
99 percent of the pumpkins sold in the US end up as liz!
Contrary to popular belief, liz is not successful at sobering up a drunk person, and in many cases she may actually increase the adverse effects of alcohol.
The pharoahs of ancient Egypt wore garments made with thin threads of beaten liz!
Liz can squeeze her entire body through a hole the size of her beak!
The canonical hours of the Christian church are matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, liz and compline.
If you put a drop of liquor on liz, she will go mad and sting herself to death!

any relation?

Greg Grunberg is Eric Weiss, a CIA agent (awesome) on Alias. He's also on Lost. He's also Jewish, of course, although people always think the name "Grunberg" is German - the word is German, but it means "green hill," and Jews took the name because when they were living in villages they didn't have last names, so when they moved to the cities they took the names of notable landmarks around which they lived, apparently. Grunberg, Greenberg, Goldberg, etc. No Icebergs that I know of :(

Anyway now I have an "in" if I decide to go the hollywood route. Which of course I get calls to do every day. Naturally. Naturellement.

I got a dress for $65 today. According the label, it was 100% silk. And although it felt expensive, it felt kind of a good deal too, because it was silk and from Macy's, after all. Although Nordstrom's is a lot fancier than Macy's. I went to both and you can just feel the different the minute you walk in. Nordstrom's smells like Givenchy perfume and Macy's doesn't really smell like anything, and also the lighting's different.

Liz, hello? Can you hear me? Because you should update your blog.

hell yeah

Your 80s Heartthrob Is

Jason Bateman

Who's" Your 80's Heartthrob?

Perils of Office Work

It occured to me that this magazine internship I'm doing marks the first time I have worked in an office, a rite of passage surely (though usually for people older than myself). Judging by the scenes of office frustration and carnage found in the morning comics, it's also a staple of life for Middle America, and also outer and inner America (we live in outer America in western Washington, correct?)

Anyway, a few weeks ago I told Liz about our then new orange cubicles and she mentioned having romanticized cubicles. Some might consider it alarming to harbor views on office furnishings that could be described as "romantic." However, one of the benefits of having unusual friends is that you have odd things in common. I, too, romanticized cubicles. Having the unenviable trait of becoming nostalgic about, well, almost everything in my past, and rosy-eyed and dreamy about possible ideal situations in my future (but downright pessimistic about the present), I had of course given some fleeting thought to the perfectly charming way to organize an office cubicle: a vase of color-coordinated flowers here, perhaps bright yellow daffodils (or even a single sunflower); a tasteful wall hanging there, photographs of friends and loved ones, a little sanctum in office life that would, as a whole, resemble the kind of unforced camaraderie and mutual teasing - even in the face of adversity - that is to be found in the better sitcoms. Office cubicles aren't the only idealized visions of the future I have had, but this is not the time to go into the others. Suffice it to say that only one - of a very large amount - involves Jason Bateman. Better not to ask re: notanasshole Mr. Darcy (sigh). (No, I tell a lie! It just occured to me, there are two for Jason - in one vision, I am his wife. In the other, I am on his, alas now-defunct, show's screenwriting staff. Oh, btw, conversation between me and Greg:
Me: "We should write some material for the 15-minute intermission that the two ladies are supposed to be talking through; and personalize it for EEP."
Him: "Yeah, we could do that. But who do we have that's a good writer?"
Tobias-like falsetto: DOUCHE-CHILL!)

But back to the topic of hand, the refreshingly fascinating subject of cubicles. Here's the rundown:

• Decorations in my cubicle = 0
• Number of people who have gotten sick in the office lately, probably resulting from disgusting orange cubicle color = at least 4
• Crumbs on my cubicle desk resulting from daily peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich = Innumerable

So, you see, I have been brought crashingly down to earth re: cubicles. After all, how do you color-coordinate with bright orange? (That's a question that is better left unanswered). But I have been adjusting to the other norms of office life.

1. If one has a question for one's superior, it is perfectly normal to email them about it, even if they are in an office only five feet from your cubicle. Walking into their office every five minutes is unnecessary and even unadviseable. However, to communicate with the rest of the drones on the "shop floor," you just talk.
2. Employees of city magazines refer to each other by their first names only.
3. When anyone mentions deadlines, laugh and roll your eyes to the ceiling.
4. When anyone mentions Seattle magazine, go "chuh!," give a tight half-smile, and roll your eyes to the ceiling: disguising deep murderous feelings with ironic facial expressions.
5. When anyone mentions Steve, senior editor and resident gay person, giggle and roll your eyes, but not to the ceiling. Steve operates an office "call center," where he will dial random extensions on speakerphone and ask the victim random questions such as "Would you like us to deliver you a free copy of Seattle Metropolitan magazine? WE PUT THE CITY IN YOUR HANDS!! (insert random cackling in the background, indicating the possibility of more than one male person in Steve's office). (Random employee responses to this practice: (a) "Steve, what do we pay you for? Do some work." (b) Excessive, uncontrollable laughter, possibly flirtatious except that Steve is gay. (c) Hang up on Steve. (d) "Sure, send me free stuff!" One of the above responses was mine. Hint: It was (d).)
6. Keep several internet windows open at once: one or two work-related, and another for email/blogs/random fun. Keep your mouse on the "minimize" tab at all times as you never know when the art director - by which, of course, I mean "Stephen" - will stick his head over your shoulder and ask whether you're particularly busy or whether you could possibly spare some time to italicize every description in a list of 256 significant people in Seattle history. "It'll be fun!"
7. "It'll be fun!" is Seattle Metropolitan-speak for "It's complete drudgery of course, but that's how journalism goes, sucker!" "Fun, huh?" asked by another intern whilst you are fact-checking, is code-speak for "You've been spending the past two months working on the history issue while I've been being hung up on by immigrant teenagers working in mini marts when I try to ask them whether or not they sell produce, thus ascertaining whether they should be included in the real estate issue's list of grocery-stores-by-neighborhood. Well, welcome to the wonderful world of fact-checking, sucker!!" Incidentally, the correct response does not involve complaints. Overall, Seattle Metropolitan employees appear incapable of using the word "fun" in anything other than an ironic context, and its use should be met with trepidation. (If the sentence also includes "Microsoft Excel" - sheer terror).
8. Conversations between editors and their guests on the "shop floor" do not concern you, so don't appear to be eavesdropping. Eyes forward.
9. If you call someone with a silly-seeming question - "Excuse me, Executive Director/Representative/Esteemed Academic/President of the United States, but I was wondering in what year you were born"; or "I'm trying to find out the total number of acres in Kirkland city parks!" (Response: "Oh my God.") - it's best to be excessively perky and polite. Key phrases: "Oh, thank you so much!" "Ooh, thank you for calling me back!" "How are you?" "Well, I really appreciate your help!"
10. It's good to be on the phone every so often, as it makes you look assertive and busy.

Remarkable.

So I guess I should update my blog

I saw a burly soldier today nonchalantly sipping a Strawberries and Cream frappucino. It made me happy, although I admit it's not the most breathtaking or original of poetic images. But if there's one thing I appreciate, it's a man with a frothy pink drink. No, that's not true. There are lots of things I appreciate more than a man in a frothy pink... no, with a frothy pink drink, but I am really tired right now. Or not so much tired as confused and lethargic. Although I wouldn't say no to curling up into bed with a mug of hot chocolate and something really fluffy to read. Ohhhhhh, I'm making myself tired. Aaaaaagh.

At the magazine last Thursday, the editor (in chief), Katherine, came up behind me and started talking about the publisher, Nicole, who btw has terrible taste imho with her freaking ORANGE, but anyway, Katherine said Nicole loves the history issue, layout, readability, and "especially the photos," which I worked on a lot. I was all "Yay! A kudo!" Also, I got an assignment today to write a real article. Huzzah for me. The other two interns are bonding over their shared young adult experiences, though, and I'm just like uhhhh? The only thing we all have in common is (a) our hatred for the orange cubicles and (b) lovins for Arrested Development. It's weird how with some people, you just click and always seem to find stuff to talk about. Like the weather or anything, and there's comfortable banter. And with others, you're trying to fill this gaping hole of silence and you say something about the weather and the other person's like "Yeaaaaaaah, The Weather." And it's all awkward. It's like non-sexual chemistry. God, I'm not making much sense, huh? But we've (me + other interns) exhausted the conversational possibilities of the orange hate, so I'm thinking of moving on to point (b), Arrested Development, and coming up behind one of them, massaging their shoulders and doing the "Heeeeeeeeey, co worker!" in the Buster voice. But that would suck if they didn't get it. I'd be an eternal pariah and people would always glance over their shoulders when I entered a room. Ironically like Buster. Poor guy!! In other office stuff, my mom was just telling me how she hates work parties and birthday parties at work, and I was thinking Well, I love that idea! I wish I worked in a place where people would sing and give me cake and Kelly (receptionist and by that I mean Office Manager) just sent an email today asking for birthday dates so we could have little cake get togethers, and I was all, yaaaay! But I may not be there on the 21st. I'll have to wait to stop for the summer until the 22nd, or something. They'll probably figure that one out.

Speaking of boring stuff like offices and school, isn't it weird that I should choose some super obscure topic for my thesis - legal pluralism in Egypt, namely - then find another girl in the 13-person group is doing the same thing? I nearly jumped out of my skin when I opened the file and saw "Legal Pluralism in Egypt" as her title. So she was the person I just requested five books from online. Hmmm.

I saw on a Harry Potter news site the other day (oh, quiet, you) that JK Rowling had updated her website with stuff about skinny celebrities and Pink's Stupid Girls song, and also about how hard it was to find normal lined paper in Edinburgh. Well, I'm on the treadmill at the Y and what should I see but a CNN broadcast about "The Skinny from Rowling" or some such thing. And this morning in the paper there was an item about how she can't find paper in Edinburgh. Wow, that woman has clout. Clout, such a nice word. Like a big club in a Gary Larsen cartoon. With lumps and thorns. Bring it down on somebodys head. Your enemy's head. CLOUT.

Okaaaaay I think I'm gonna zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Shallow post

Hmm... now that was a boring spring break. Oh, and Sasha Cohen lost the world championships again. I'm completely over figure skating - tired of getting my heart broken, you see. (But why, Sasha?! Whyyyyy?!?!)

On the good side, I watched all of Arrested Development seasons 1 and 2. Is it extremely freaky that I think we should all give Jason Bateman some hot tea, because he is a Hottie*? That's right, so responsible yet disheveled. The bedhead CEO look, I think I like it. *Don't answer that; I don't want to be teased. Only if you agree with me.





















See? You just want to unbutton him. And even when not playing Michael Bluth. Viz:

"Hips Don't Lie"

So catchy... sooooo catchy.

stuff

I slept in till 10.15 this morning, but it felt like much later. I was surprised when I checked the time and found that I hadn't been tossing around in bed until some ungodly hour, because that's what it felt like - weird and decadent and surreal. I guess I was having weird dreams, like the night before, but I can't remember most of them. I think, in my dream, Woody Allen was hosting the Oscars, and I was reporting on it for the magazine. But I wasn't doing a good job of it. They were disappointed, I think. He spent most of the time doing really elaborate performances of the "Best Song" nominees, and didn't have enough time to get through the other awards.

I know - weird.

Yesterday in the mail I got my UPASS for next quarter (that's right, they do love me as much), the Vegetarian Times magazine which is kind of disappointing, and the Jackson School's student services winter bulletin, which is kind of scary - it's all about graduating. Also, I realize I had better decide what my thesis is going to be about before next quarter. Still, I kind of think this writing and researching thing is what I do best, so I'm semi-excited about it: as excited as you can be about a multi-month, 65-page paper, anyway, which is not hugely excited.

Task Force is finished. The presentation went down really smooth. I kind of wish people had spent more time on the little things with their papers to make our report look better, because I wasn't able to do it all in the two days I had after all the final drafts, bibliographies etc., came in, and before I had to hand the CD into the copy center. But overall, it was great, I was really lucky with the group and the professor. Having no fake ID, I didn't get to be the token underage drinker at the Emigrant after the dinner. Apart from it being a Jackson School tradition, I was most looking forward to Scott, the prof, getting tipsy on free shots... haha. He's a really nice guy - sent us a sweet email afterward, probably a good father, also really smart. Definitely one of the best teachers I've had at UW. The others are... um... Jon Herron was a good prof, but I didn't know him well. Resat Kasaba was a good lecturer. Noam Pianko was really nice, but I wouldn't say he blew me away. George Behlmer was honest, funny, and committed to his work, and he's definitely up there. Migdal is Migdal and I have him again next quarter.

Oh, and global warming is bad news...

Yesterday, I hung around UW while Liz was taking her final: read some of that bad book on Reading People, slept on a bench, saw the most hideous bridesmaid dresses I've ever seen, including those ones people post on the internet, and wondered if they were a joke (but they COULDN'T be!) I wandered around thinking "wow, I'm close to graduating and I don't even feel like I've gone to college." Not a good feeling.

Liz very nicely agreed to go to Araya's, a Thai restaurant, which was really good. Well, I'd go back. We bought stuff to make salad, and made salad. My parents, me, and Sharon went to a Thai restaurant for dinner (le sigh). Mmmmkay... I really have nothing else interesting to say. Only that I don't know what to do with the rest of my life.

SASHA!!! WHY?!?!?!

It was the pressure.

It was not the lack of training, concentration, or skill. To pick yourself up after a fall and skate a flawless second half, fighting exhaustion, groin injury, and the knowledge that you've blown your chances for gold, just shows the amount of strength and concentration that girl has. Miss Sore Russian Loser fell too, but the media focus will be on Sasha, that she's betrayed her potential "again" even with an Olympic silver medal. But she worked hard and she is still #1 in the world in my eyes. I just hope her career isn't over. There's great things in your future, Sasha! If you give up, the sport will be doomed to mechanical Russian robot-type zombies, unartistic American teenagers and Japanese skaters with no fire or emotion.

Stay in the game, girl.

Figure Skating. >->

I have gone crazy. I am obsessed with figure skating. It's not because of the Olympics - I've been watching all season, since the Campbell's Classic in the fall. It's because of Sasha Cohen: beautiful, artistic, full of energy and attitude, she rocks my socks!!! She won nationals for the first time last month, but she had the flu, and was slow. So there I was yesterday at work, casting furtive glances behind me and to the sides, pulling up the Torino 2006 window that automatically refreshes itself every time new marks are posted (Italy, of course, is 9 hours ahead of us, which I'm sure NBC regrets very much). Just my luck, Sasha was the last to skate, and someone strode by as the second-to-last lady was about to take the ice: "Editorial meeting! Editorial meeting, everyone!" So I sat in the meeting, laughed at the editors' jokes (which are quite witty, actually), and twenty minutes later, what do I see but Sasha's in first place, above Miss Russian Perfect Gold Medal Favorite. YAY! I try to remain dignified (fortunately my boss is finishing a story and is firmly ensconsed behind his frosted-glass door).

Because the overpaid executives over at NBC (who I'm sure are all fat. Ha.) decide to intersperse the most popular Olympic event with really thrilling sports like bobsledding and, get this, curling, Sasha didn't come on until after 11 pm. But wow! Woweeee! Spectacular! (Video at nbcolympics.com). So now I'm gearing up for the same tomorrow, only much more pressure, because it's the long program, and will decide everything, and Sasha doesn't have a triple-triple jump and the other top ladies do. But I will still be at my desk at the magazine, heart beating like mad, refreshing the Olympics page every few minutes. As long as she hangs on to those jumps - and skates with abandon - anything can happen. That's right, folks. And now, the end of my little figure skating hoopla. I am so busy right now (task force editing - six papers to do! - introduction to write, history paper to write (UGH)) but I can't help but be caught up in this competition.

GOOD LUCK SASHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PS - Internship

In other news, I am now a intern at the Seattle Metropolitan magazine, from this morning. I start Tuesday morning.

I like everything about it - the Portland magazine, the focus on writing and researching, the nice man who interviewed me, the pretty old building.

And the magazine is launching, which makes it even more exciting and scary.

I know I've been taken on solely for the history issue, but my hope is to try to make myself useful enough that I can work on more general, long-term aspects of the magazine. I'm not getting my hopes up, though.

I didn't get my hopes up about the interview, but I got the job. Other things that helped were the comforting presence of Liz and Greg in the conference room, and my stolen Harry Potter watch.

Unrequited love is the only kind that lasts.

But can it be love if you don't even know him? Of course not. It's not love, it's worse - it's a pathetic, debilitating, overpowering teenage crush.

Here's the story so far: girl sees boy. Girl notes idly that boy bears odd resemblance to well-known fictional character. Girl chuckles. Girl notices nothing unusual.

Girl begins to note how boy has thick dark hair, rosy cheeks and an intruiging personality. Girl starts sneaking sly glances at boy.

Girl tells friend about boy. Girl then notices that boy is not as quiet as originally thought. Girl observes boy's adorable smile, ready laugh and friendly demeanor.

Girl looks boy up on facebook, the UW people search, and Google.

Results disappoint.

Girl sits on bus, staring out the window, having fantasies about boy. Girl meets boy's parents. Boy puts arm around girl in movie theater. Boy and girl ice skate - surprisingly well. Boy and girl snuggle by generic fireplace, arms intertwined, talking late into the night.

Girl sees boy standing at one set of doors and promptly decides to use the other set.

Girl notes boy coming towards the building and hightails it out the other end.

Girl is sitting around, reading, feeling pretty good. Boy enters and immediately girl feels an ache in the general area of her chest. Girl feels very down, and keeps her eyes on the book.

Girl writes blog about boy.

He's so close - frustratingly so - all the time. But more significantly, he's very far away.

He's in another social set which I have made no effort to infiltrate. Do I try, merely for the sake of boy?

Do I take a time-consuming risk for someone I don't even know?

Do I do nothing, consigning myself to fantasy and regrets?

I know I can't talk to him without blushing. Quite aside from any attempt at flirting, I make every effort to appear invisible when he's in the room.

I'm not being melodramatic - I'm being honest. I don't think about him all the time; it's not that bad. But when I do, my thoughts are rather strong. And given I'm so picky about guys, shooting way above my attractiveness level, discounting most based on looks, personality, or both (or the fact that they aren't Mr Darcy), finding that I like and want one is startling.

Damn it! Why!

"A mighty pain to love it is,And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;But of all pains, the greatest painIt is to love, but love in vain."

Int