sockdrawer of my id

STILL ALIVE!!!!!!!!!

2006-03-30T11:57:00.000-08:00

Howdy, my long-lost pals.

So, how do I explain my abandonment of all my (nonexistant) fans out there in blogdom? Well, I don't. I don't have to justify myself to you bastards. Just kidding. I've just been insanely busy this semester. Averaging about four hours of sleep a night is not exactly conducive to engrossing online witticism.

The good news? I got the internship I've been lusting after. It's as a cook at this upscale restaurant that two of my instructors used to work at. So congratulate my soon-t0-be minimum wage ass.

I get to find an apartment. In the next five weeks. Finally, my own place! (And yet another facet to my poverty. But soo worth it.) So the line forms here, fellas!

Thats the abridged version, folks. Work and school, school, school. OH, and also nursing myself through falling in love with a married man. (Rest assured that nothing's actually happened. I do have scruples.) I'm just shamelessly self-destructive, is all. I do occasionally have fantasies of connecting with some funny, cute, smart, kind man who's actually available, but those moments are fleeting.

any advice from the formerly love-lorn? I could use some.

Till next time, my lovelies.

hypersensitivity... Yep, i'm a genius.

2005-12-12T15:10:00.000-08:00

Once again the world cowers before the awesome might of my spelling abilities. Or, at least, the twelve-year-old kid who just asked me how to spell it cowers before the awesome might of my spelling abilities. Which I'll take. I'm not proud. (Painfully obvious, I know.)

Last week was my birthday. I'm now 25. Officially a quarter of a century old. Everyone's been asking me how it feels to be 25. Well, after they ask me how old I am and then say "Are you serious?!" in a mildly offensive manner. I'm one of those people in that odd blessing/curse situation of looking much younger than I am. Most people think I'm 19. You'd think my bile-laced view of the world would somehow render me older than my years, but apparently acerbic cynicism and trust issues are a great preservative. (Try some today, ladies!)

I can't complain too much, though. I'm certainly much happier than I've been for the past several birthdays. Everyone is simply agog at the amount of effort I'm pumping into my studies. I can say with all certainty I've found my comfy little niche.

Anyhow, back to being 25. Feels a lot like 24, only more so. Yep. Moving on....

I faced down the dreaded individual black-box last week in my intro to cookery class and emerged, uh, less than victorious. For all of you poor, ignorant, non-cooky types out there, a black-box consists of getting a tray of surprise ingredients from which you must produce a soup and an entree in 3 hours. Yeah, 3 hours sounds like a long time, doesn't it?

My tray included a small pork loin, asparagus, broccoli and potatoes. Not too bad. I came up with a menu lickety-split. Behold, my gastronomic masterpiece:

Pureed Broccoli Soup with Garlic and Olive Oil
Mustard-Fennel Roasted Pork loin with Port-Red Current Sauce (aka Cumberland Pan Sauce)
Chive and Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes
Sauteed Asparagus with Orange Butter

Sounds tasty, right? All went well with the soup, I presented it on time and got great scores on it. (Scoring includes marks for taste, presentation, portioning, quality of work, and, uh.. some other thing.) After that, things started to unravel. Despite all my careful mise en place ('things in place'.. Learn it. Live it. Love it.) I got behind and found myself scrambling to plate everything. Not to mention I'd looked at the wrong list and thought my presentation time was 15 minutes later than it actually was.

And then, my sauce happened. Right, so you take varying amounts of port wine, orange juice, lemon juice and red currant jelly in a pan and reduce. Then you thicken with corn starch. Simple enough. Except when I added the corn starch it turned this toxic, Dr. Seuss-ish shade of green. I'm not kidding, this crap looked like Nyquil. Without time to start over, I had no choice but to serve my bile, uh, I mean sauce, and take the consequences. It actually didn't taste too terrible, it was a little to sweet and kind of bland. By this time I was 25 minutes over my scheduled presentation time.

It was only later, as I drove home wreathed in a cloud of despair and self-pity, that I realized what went wrong. I added baking soda instead of corn starch. Freakin' baking soda.
Yes, I started the day ready to kick ass and take names, and ended with adventures in chemistry. as my dad would say, J for genius.

So that was my great triumph. Somewhat disappointing. Don't feel too sorry for me, since I'm still getting a B in the class. And, as everyone tells me, I will never again confuse baking soda and corn starch.

Finals are over and I've ended my first semester well, with a tentative A and two B's. Not too shabby. I had hoped to end with a 4.0 GPA, but I'll take it. I'm considering this a dress rehearsal, and next semester I shall really bring the house down.

I also got a new job, and have put notice in at the library. I'll be working with the head of purchasing at the culinary institute, which I'm looking forward to. The library hasn't been bad. It beats the heck out of, say, mining coal or turning tricks, but it's pretty tedious stuff. And this new job will be chock full of useful experience for my future career. Fare thee well, library.

Now I can relax and enjoy my holiday break. Sleep has been a favorite pastime since Friday. Ahh... glorious sleep. I will never understand morning people.

A Happy Holiday to you all.

2005-10-31T15:42:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween to you all. I am currently sitting behind the circulation desk at work wearing a black cape and witches hat. And being particularly non-productive (or is it unproductive? For some reason me and the words ain't so goodly these days.). Oh well. Everyone deserves a little slack-a-thon every once in awhile, right? (Notice that my witchy superpowers include the ability to justify laziness to myself.)

On tonight's Mystery Halloween Library Theatre: The Case of the Wayward Panties:

the reference librarian has just found a pair of black underwear on the floor in front of my desk. Since I had no idea they were there, apparently they belong to a very absent-minded ninja.

Hmm... about that great big update I promised. It's sitting prudishly on my computer refusing to give up the funny. So I won't torture you all with my tedious 'Dear Diaries'. Needless to say, I've been pretty busy with school. Which I don't actually mind. This is the first time I can remember starting the year and not counting the weeks until the end of the semester. I'm going to be kind of sad when it's over, since I really like the people in my lab class.

So what have I been doing in my state of academic bliss? Well, working my tail off, (actually reading my textbooks!) staying after class to put in extra time in the kitchen, thus ingratiating myself to my instructors forever. (You can call me Captain Keen). Oh, and developing a shamefully school-girlish crush on one of my teachers. This seems exceedingly ridiculous in a 24-year-old. What is it with me and older men who teach me things? (Please control your gag reflex, by older I mean 35 or so.) The other day he spent about 45 minutes after class asking me about my internship plans and giving me advice about the industry based on his own experiences. How amazing is that? I'll move on before this really deteriorates into out-and-out hero worship. It's just cool to have a mentor, is all I'm saying.

That's about the whole ball of wax, unless you count me indulging in the Alfred Hitchcock marathon that's been on Turner Classic Movies the past week. Caught most of my favorites. In my opinion, the best Hitchcock movies are as follows (and they all have Cary Grant in them. Coincidence? I think not.):

1. To Catch a Thief Hilarious. Cary Grant is a retired cat burglar who gets drawn back into the game with a mysterious femme fatale, played by Grace Kelly.

2. Notorious. Cary Grant as a government agent sent to persuade a traitor's daughter (Ingrid Bergman) to go undercover. Ineivitable love affair and danger ensues.

3. North by Northwest Cary Grant is a millionaire playboy drawn against his will into a government investigation. Along the way he is seduced and betrayed by Eva Marie Saint.

There you go. Three brilliant who-dunnits to fill your next idle weekend.

Oh, and I had an awesome time at my best friend's wedding reception this weekend. Costume ball + great food + open bar= fun for Lisa. Isn't it funny how much easier dancing gets the more you drink? We ended the night on the dance floor, completely pissed, pledging our eternal devotion to eachother between old Violent Femmes songs. My friends and I get rather sentimental when drunk. So if any of you end up indulging in a gin and ginger with me some evening, don't be surprised to leave with a bolstered sense of self-esteem, or the vague inkling that I might be lookin' to sink your battleship. (I just made that up. Today's game has been to come up with progressively more ridiculous euphemisms for sex. I'm quite proud of that one.)

Take it easy

2005-10-04T15:38:00.000-07:00

Alrighty, I'll just rattle off something quick while I'm on break. Just a brief preview of the extravaganza to come. A lick of the lolly, you might say.

Culinary school is amazing. Yep, you read that right. AMAZING!!! Admittedly, I walked in the first day with that terribly helpful, bowel-knotting terror you (or most often, I) get whenever I know I'm in way over my head and am destined to fuck up. Thus proving once and for all that I am completely without talents of any kind and might as well ready myself for a lifetime of fast food while my brilliant, more accomplished friends happily start rewarding careers. (Yeah, sometimes I really need to just eat a twinkie and stop thinking so much.) I promise, the inside of my head doesn't always resemble a Munch painting.

Anyhow, to make a less-than-skillfully-woven tale short, I've gotten into the swing of things and am now basking in the warm glow of being right where I'm supposed to be at this particular moment. I have wonderful, enthusiastic classmates and an incredible teacher. So everything's sound as the proverbial pound. And certain ambitions I've harbored for a few years are becoming more and more plausible by the week. Is there a word for when everything you've wanted for a long time suddenly becomes tangible again? There should be.

That's all for now. Just thought I'd rain a little joy down on everyone. Hope all your dreams are coming true as well. (Jesus, get off now, ya sappy schmuck.)

2005-09-20T16:45:00.000-07:00

Something characteristically long-winded and self-centered coming soon, I promise. Will post as soon as I can hop off that crazy academic merry-go-round for a second. (Have spent past few weeks confronting the inevitable fact that my usual study method of 'wait until the last minute and crank it out the night before' isn't going to cut the mustard (no pun intended) in culinary school. How depressing when you actually have to work at it.) Your heartfelt sympathy would be most welcome.

Random Factoid #2:

Did you know the human eyeball is 3.5% salt?

2005-08-12T12:29:00.000-07:00

I had rather a bizarre moment during an outing last weekend. I was at an art festival with Deb in Suttons Bay. Arguably the most gorgeous place in Michigan, it sits on the northwestern shore of the lower peninsula. It’s one of those slightly yuppy, extremely white, semi-seasonal towns where the population triples in the summertime. Despite the WASP infestation, I love the place. It’s worth going there simply because the drive is so beautiful. Tracy and I have decided that someday, when we’re 40-something, we, and anyone else who’s game for the hippie-commune life, will invest all our savings in a large, bay-side estate there and start a goat farm. We’ll get by selling organic cheese, Tracy’s paintings, and my delicious jams and jellies. Maybe I’ll start a small printing company and sell my books if I can’t find anyone else to publish them. We’ll buy a sailboat and name it ‘The Sea Pickle’ in honor of our friend Stephanie...... What? Oh! Sorry, I was daydreaming there. Back to the point.

Bizarre moment: Well, I was in line for the bathroom at this festival, and there was this little girl in front of me; she’s maybe 10 or 11 or... something. How the hell should I know? She was a human of the childish persuasion. Anyway, she makes some comment about how hot it is, and I concede that, yes, indeedy, it sure was hot out. She then says that if I’m interested, her brother will be by shortly selling bottled water for charity. "Okay, thanks.", say I.. Then, she turns to me and says, "I just want to let you know that God loves you." This completely dumbfounds me, and I can only manage a weak, "Why, thank you." That’s all I could think of. But then I felt like an asshole, because she looked slightly crestfallen that I wasn’t falling all over myself in gratitude for her concern for my immortal soul. Well, at least I resisted my first impulse to put on my best French Resistance accent and mutter "God is the biggest bitch of them all." So that’s got to count for something, right?

Now, my question is: does the fact that I found this whole exchange profoundly creepy make me a horrible person? I mean, it all seemed quite innocent at first, but the more I thought about it, I realized that someone had so heavily indoctrinated this child that she’s out working a used-car-salesman routine for Jesus. You know, she starts in with the small, seemingly benign chitchat, and just when your guard is down, she swoops in with the full-on dog-and-pony show. Or, maybe she’s just a sincere little kid who wants to spread the warm, fuzzy euphoria of blind, unquestioning faith and my rampant paranoia is reaching pharmaceutically-treatable proportions. It’s six in one hand and half a dozen in the other, as my mom would say.

This weekend I’ll be making the four hour drive to Detroit for my best friends bachelorette party. I have certain misgivings about the whole ritual, but she’s pretty awesome, so I can’t imagine it’ll be anything too cheesy. I hope. At least there’ll be free liquor.

Well, an event like this begets certain preparations, so I thought I would share my newly-acquired wisdom in case any of you find yourselves in the same situation.

Lisa’s Simple, 5-Step Shopping Guide for your Best Friends Bachelorette Party

1. Receive phone call from mutual friend/organizer of said party to confirm that you will be attending. After a firm ‘aye’, she informs you that everyone is to wear a black shirt and bring an unusual pair of women’s underwear for the game portion of the evening. Slightly disconcerted, you resolve that the second anyone brings out a goat and/or wooden paddle, you’re splitsville. Well, provided this occurs after the bar-hopping boozathon leg of this shindig.

2. Take third sudafed of the day as part of your losing battle against the allergies that have been kicking your ass all week. Nose running, eyes streaming, and brain feeling as if it’s made of cotton balls, you make the hour drive to the mall to procure some wacky underpants.

3. After dragging your histamine-ravaged carcass into the department store, you decide you might as well see if you can find a snazzy new black shirt to wear on Saturday, in the hopes of quelling your irrational, insecure certainty that you will be the least attractive girl there.

4. Not finding anything on the sale rack that coincides with your apparently archaic idea of ‘sale’, you decide that you’ll French it up and get the most seductive, screen siren-red lip color you can find to wear with the simple black button-down in your closet. You aimlessly wander around the cosmetic counters for a while, mostly to indulge your sick delight in driving sales women crazy, until you see a few likely candidates. The Lancome lady helps you find one to try, and bam!, you’re Grace Kelly. Well, not quite, but it looks pretty good and it’s a long-lasting formula that should soldier on through the obscene number of martinis you intend to drink this weekend. You make your purchase, shelling out 25 bucks, and ignore the strange sensation that your colon has just been violated..

5.Self-esteem newly reinforced, you mosey on into the lingerie department. Every so often you stop mid-browse to sneak a surreptitious glance at your new lipstick in a mirror. It’s growing on you, and you decide that maybe you’ll do a whole Gwen Stefani, 40's glamour-puss with punk-rock flavor look for this party. While toying with the idea of bleaching your hair platinum, you zero in on an absurd pair of yellow mesh underwear with florescent orange lace trim and hot pink, green, and orange polka dots. These look like something a transvestite clown would wear. Perfect. You gratefully snatch them up and then realize that you get to carry said ‘perfect’ underwear across the entire store to the checkout counter. You start to ball them up in your fist, scurrying through the gauntlet of middle-aged yuppies that have inexplicably populated the store while you weren’t paying attention. But then, suddenly, you realize, "Hey! You have kick-ass red lipstick on! You are invincible! Fuck them all and their bourgeois decadence!" You walk on with head held high, schizophrenic knickers swinging from your arm. You while away 20 minutes in the checkout line, then speed home in time to throw a roast in the oven and take a nap.

Obviously, this particular method works best for those, like me, who have a long list of weird, yet endearing neuroses. I'll let you know how the rest of the weekend pans out. ( I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats.)

2005-08-01T17:09:00.000-07:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TRACY!!!!!!!!

Hope you have lots of fun with your little nerdily-nerd library friends on the mean streets of Lexington. Maybe you'll scare up a tractor pull or something. As the dad-man always says, "Don't call me from jail."

I look forward to many more years of your sage wisdom. ("I remember when frankfurters were just a nickel....")

Love you!

2005-07-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

"If con is the opposite of pro, then congress is the opposite of progress. Is this true, or did we blow your fuckin' mind?

-America: the Book

My friends and I have this sort-of game we play where, if we hear a funny, random phrase, we’ll say "That’s the name of our band", or "That’ll be the name of our first CD." (Yeah, it’s not exactly Dorothy Parker and the Algonquin round table, but it amuses us. Which, as I’m sure you can tell, is incredibly difficult.) Anyway, based on a couple of things I heard on tv the other night, I think I’ve come up with the ultimate band name:

Captain Salty and the Bodacious Ta-Ta’s.

Can’t you just see that on a t-shirt? We were kicking around ideas for what our first album would be called, but we didn’t really come up with anything suitable (Over-the-Shoulder-Boulder-Holder was put forth but deemed too ‘college radio’.). So I put it to you good people (all two of you). Wow me with your brilliant suggestions.

People need to watch more M. Night Shyamalan movies. ‘The Village’ was on cable the other night and I liked it even more the second time. I love movies where you discover more and more every time you see them, it feels a bit like decoding a cryptograph. Subtlety is a dying art in Hollywood and this enigmatic visionary has single-handedly revived the psychological thriller (Sheesh, which one do I sound like more? Ebert or Roper? Sometimes I fear my writing consists of hackneyed soundbites.). I always find that suspense and tension is more scintillating than the cookie-cutter, in-your-face axe-murderer gore that the industry seems to be cranking out these days. I love how Shyamalan uses conventions like light and color to plant subconscious red flags to signal the underlying mystery of his films. And even though, by now, I know there’ll be a twist at the end and I’m expecting it, it never fails to throw me for a loop.

He also has a real appreciation for what a well-composed score can do for a film. He’s not content to throw the latest TRL chart-toppers in and be done with it. ‘The Village’ has the most chilling, beautiful score I’ve heard in a long time. I’m probably a little biased, since the featured violinist is the outrageously gifted Hilary Hahn, at whose alter I worship most fervently. It’s mind-boggling how a musician the same age as me can have an intuitive ability that outshines other violinists twice her age. The accuracy of intonation and emotion with which she plays is truly that of a natural genius. I can only think to describe it as a haunting purity that breaks my heart. (Not a little bit because she raises the bar to a height that I will never achieve, but I still feel grateful for having witnessed it. But I suppose any musician has felt a little bit jealous of people who have the kind of skill they only dream of possessing.). But, I digress. To make a long story short, go watch ‘Unbreakable’, ‘Signs’ and ‘The Village’ (I’m assuming you’ve all seen ‘The Sixth Sense’ If not, well, what the hell? Go nuts and get that too.) . You’ll thank me.

And while you’re about it, go buy a Damien Rice CD. I’ve been listening to "O" nonstop.

2005-07-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

I finished reading 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince' and feel like adding my opinion to the millions upon millions floating around the ether. Hmmm... I still like them. And I know I'll buy the next one when it comes out, because I want to know how it ends just as badly as everyone else. But these last two are, quite frankly, depressing as hell. I know you have to have conflict and misfortune to make a compelling story, but sweet sassy-molassy!. If I want to dive into the dark, seething underbelly of human nature, I'll read L.A. Confidential. I don't know about the rest of you, but to me Harry Potter has always been a nice escape when dealing with day-to-day mundanity and the obstinate stupidity of your average person becomes a bore. (Not that I walk around in a constant state of self-superior lamentation for the rest of humanity, it's just that every so often other people really drive me round the twist.) Anyway, I used to count these books among my favorite guilty pleasures. Now, they just bum me out. Oh, well. After all, it is J.K. Rowlings' world, and we are but guests there. She can do what she wants, I'm still in awe of the kind of creative epiphany that would produce such a whimsical, detailed universe. (Wow, that turned into a much longer diatribe than I had intended.) What did you think?

Not much else going on, so I'll just leave you all with a random factoid:

Did you know that the DMZ between North and South Korea has become a natural sanctuary for many endangered species? The lack of human habitation has caused many birds, insects, fish and other animals to flourish, and several of the species there can no longer be found in either North or South Korea.

There, never say I didn't teach ya nothin'.

Later, Lisa

2005-07-13T16:42:00.000-07:00

Found myself in one of those broody, introspective moods today and took a solitary stroll in the rain (Because every once in awhile a gal feels the need to bend a cliche to its breaking point). Not to sound dramatic, but there is something strangely meliorative about walking down a country road with mud caking your shoes and great, fat droplets pitter-pattering against your jacket, soaking your face and plastering strands of hair to your forehead. The woods are so green this time of year and the smell is incredible (Yeah, yeah. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, blah, blah.. Moving on from the train wreck that is me trying to wax poetic.) . Don’t want to delve too deeply into just what it was I felt the compulsion to mull over so thoroughly. (For a change. God, this blogging thing has really turned me into a psychic whore. Why do I do this? Normally the idea of this degree of disclosure to strangers would make me physically ill.) I know part of my malaise is finding out that a wonderful, sweet old lady I’ve known, well, ever since I can remember, has died. I hadn’t actually seen her for a couple of years, and the majority of my memories of her consist of playing board games at parties, but she was a treasured part of my childhood and I am, quite simply, sad that she's gone. And it never fails that one death always makes you think of other people you’ve lost and I found myself missing my grandmother terribly. So, needless to say, I’ve not been a lot of fun this week. There. That’s enough of that. I’m going to go eat a Twinkie and lighten up. Promise I’ll be more chipper next time.

2005-07-11T13:14:00.000-07:00

I know I've been an update maniac lately, but I was just reading back through some stuff (on the off-chance that it had mysteriously changed without my knowing it. Not at all because I am never so entertained as when I'm reading things I wrote about myself.) and felt the need to make a charmingly self-depricating observation. With the recent abundance of such spicy interjections as 'woo-hoo!', 'yee-haw!', and, jesus help me, 'yippee!', my blog is beginning to resemble a batman comic book. Rest assured that I am aware of the problem and am taking steps. I figure a number of short sessions in a cellar tied to a chair being repeatedly smacked in the face with a thesaurus may be just the thing. I'm off to take my medicine. Be about your business.

2005-07-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

Behold the mighty art that I have wrought. Trial run for my friends Josh and Jens wedding cake. I give you vanilla cake filled with raspberry curd, frosted with italian meringue lemon curd buttercream. Can I get a hell yeah?

2005-06-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

New developments abound this week. My dear friend Deb has procurred permanent employment (Thanks in no small part to me. Is there no end to my vanity?) not far from where I live. Great news for me, not so wonderful for her, since I live in the middle of nowhere. Deb is a city girl at heart. She has fun when she visits, but I suspect that she hears that banjo riff from Deliverance every time she steps out of her car. So I'm sure it'll take some getting used to. At any rate, I'll be thrilled to have a friend up here that isn't having children or getting married. I'm hoping I'll feel less like a mutant. Or we'll be mutants together, and no one will be allowed to join our mutant shenanigans. We'll hop and skip through the countryside in all our single, unattached glory. I'm thinking of having t-shirts made.

Also, I found out I've been accepted to the culinary institute up here. Which, seeing as how it's owned by the local (cringe) community college, means that I have a pulse and walk upright. So yea for me. (I'm kidding. Really, I'm quite grateful for the opportunity. Plus, from what I know so far, I should be able to jump right into the culinary program this fall. And then, dare I say it, only 2 years and I'll be able to get a real job. Woo-hoo! As Deb would say, "One day I'll be a real boy!")

And my hypocrisy has reached new dizzying heights, as I've been commissioned to make cakes for two weddings. While I resent this antiquated mating ritual as the last gasp of a puritanical moral structure, apparently I have no qualms about making money from it. Yep, if it's the choice between cash or principles, we know which one Lisa picks! Aw, fuck it. It's fun to decorate cakes. Maybe I'll stop eating meat to compensate. Or maybe I won't wear fur. Which would be easier, since I can't afford it anyway. Hmm...yes..... it's the perfect plan... (It's times like these I wish I had a diabolical mustache to tweak.)

I've also taken up knitting. Which I'm sure will be rewarding and enjoyable once it stops being mind-numbingly frustrating.

And I just may have the beginnings of my crime novel, as inspiration unexpectedly struck late last night. I don't mind admitting I'm incredibly relieved, since I'd been wrestling with a bit of a dry spell lately. I blame the recent heat wave. Really, who can write a coherent plot outline when it's 90 degrees outside? I mean, besides all those writers that live in places like Spain and Portugal. And Florida. And Brazil. And Fiji. Yeah. If you need me I'll be huddled in a corner, clutching my delusions.

2005-05-24T13:08:00.000-07:00

Well, I seem to have recovered from the impromptu pity party I decided to throw myself last week. I spent the weekend reading and watching my favorite uplifting movies, and by the time 'Garden State' was through, I was my old self again. Emerging unscathed from the depths of despair, I had resolved to accomplish two things by the end of the summer:

1. Zach Braff shall be mine. (Sorry. Shameless, adolescent cliche there, but I couldn't resist. I am but only human.)

2. I'm going to make an honest start on that murder mystery I've always wanted to write. So I'll be spending some time consorting with James Ellroy and Caleb Carr for inspiration. If anyone has any other recommendations, I would be obliged. As long as it's not Patricia Cornwall. Yeah, yeah, I know everyone says she's a genius, but with the exception of her Jack the Ripper book, she's never really been my cup of tea.

Summer has finally descended up here, and there's something about warm, sunny days that always makes me want to read the books I read as a kid. And you know what that means. Yep, toaday's list. I haven't put the author down because I can't remember all of them, but if you really want to know, just ask and I'll look it up for you.

My Favorite Books As a Kid

Wait Till Helen Comes. My favorite ghost story when I was little. It's actually still a little creepy to me now, so I really like reading it on a rainy day.
The Facts and Fictions of Mina Pratt. I probably always liked this because it's about a girl who plays in a string ensemble, and I play the violin. But it's also really well written and touching. It's great when you want something uplifting.
The Little House Books. I always read 'Farmer Boy' in the summer, but I love the rest of them, too. I guess it just depends on what I feel like. I've never really been all that nuts about 'The first Four Years', so I haven't read it nearly as often as the others.
The Trixie Belden Series. They're kind of like Hardy Boys meets Nancy Drew. Very campy and a little sacharine, but also flat-out entertaining. The only bad part is that they're out of print and kind of hard to find. Which is also the cool part, since there're well over 30 of them and I've only managed to get a hold of 10, so I'm always scouring second-hand bookstores for them. I found a website that sells them really cheap, but somehow that feels like cheating and I'm not sure if it would be as satisfying.
Nancy Drew Mysteries. I'm talking the originals from the early '60s, not those horrible 'updated' ones that came out in the '80s. I'm not sure why I like them so much, since they're so completely unrealistic, not to mention chock full of classism and racist stereotyping (for some reason all the black people in them are domestic servants and talk like the maid from 'Gone With The Wind'), but when you get past that they're really entertaining. Really, who wouldn't want to zip around the countryside in a little coupe thwarting criminals, all the while being pursued by a dashing coed and looking fabulous to boot?

2005-05-04T13:12:00.000-07:00

Yet another school year has ended and I am, predictably, no closer to graduating than I was last fall. Here's what I learned this year: enrolling in the best culinary school in the state means you will spend yet another year taking crap general classes while you give yourself an ulcer trying to get into the actual program. Which you will ultimately fail to do because they only offer one section of the prerequisite class once a year, and because fate spends most of its time making rude gestures at you, you are not one of the chosen 30 to get in. But, hey! At least I got to spend 8 thrilling months living in Detroit! (Somebody kill me, please.) Anyhow, this is about the time that I say fuck it, and transfer to another school. Doesn't have quite the prestige, but at least I'll be able to graduate this decade. Besides, this other school is in a much nicer area. (i.e., free of crackhouses.)

So it's back up to the great North for the summer. And another crisis has been averted, as I've found a job at the local library, which is nice, since I'm currently about as broke as broke gets. Which sucks, because in the next 6 months I'll have had the oppurtunity to go to both Instanbul and Hawaii. For weddings, unfortunately. (if, between my dislike for both children and weddings I sound like a hateful bitch, keep in mind that I worked in a bridal shop for 2 years, which pretty much sucks all the mystique and romance out of it. If I'm never in the same room as white taffeta again, it'll be too soon. On other hand, as further testament to my genius, I was damn good at it. Watching me say "Wow, ivory looks great on you!" with sincerity would make Glenn Close hand in her SAG card. ) Anyhow, I'll be cooling my heels at home for the next few months, so the big challenge is how to entertain myself while not at work. My sister, who usually serves as my tu-tued, tricycle riding bear is still away at grad school, so it appears I'm actually going to have to apply myself to one of the many hobbies I've started over the years. Ironically, while disliking small children, I have the attention span of your average toddler.

So, kids, the moral of todays story is that everyone has to leave lots of diverting comments on my blog for the rest of the summer. I would be ever so grateful.

2005-04-30T11:56:00.000-07:00

Me: "I'm not so smart, sometimes."

My friend Deb: "That's not true. It's just that English isn't your first language."

The above intelligent exchange took place a few weeks ago while Deb and I were driving home late from a concert. In our defense, we were both under the influence of sleep deprivation. Sadly, though, I believe we spent the next 15 minutes giggling uncontrollably about it.

I was reading an article about dreams the other day and was surprised to learn that supposedly only 5 percent of people dream in color. This really blew my mind, because I can't recall ever having a dream that wasn't in color. I told my sister about it, and she says that she always dreams in color, too. Now, I'm no math whiz, but shouldn't that be very statistically unlikely? I think someone's figures must be off. What about all of you? ( I say that like more than three people read this.)

At any rate, that got me thinking about the wackiest dreams I can remember. Which inspired todays list.

The Most Vivid Dreams I've Ever Had

The Vampire One. (Truly, I have a knack for catchy titles.) This is hands down the freakiest nightmare I've ever had. So, I'm in this huge old house with my family. In the dream this is our home, and vampires seem to be attacking. We've boarded up all the windows and locked all the doors, but they're still getting in through what seems to be an old elevator shaft. The weird thing is, when they come in they're in the form of big wolves. And I seem to be the only one who can fight them. So, I'm just going along dispatching these great snarling beasts like I've been doing it my entire life. And what is my weapon of choice? An exacto-knife. Yep. Every time one of them lunges at me, I manage to slash them in the throat with a stupid one-inch crafting tool. I guess the only thing that makes this dream scary instead of ridiculous is that I remember how terrified and hopped up on adrenaline I was in it. And I could practically feel the knife sinking in. And the blood spilling over across my arms. (wow, I really sound like I've been listening to too much Marilyn Manson.) Well, all in all, it was a lot like that movie 'The Brotherhood of the Wolf', but without the weird sexual undercurrent. Or at least I hope without the weird sexual undercurrent. I have enough problems as it is. Please, all armchair psychology welcome.
The Backpack One. This one is completely stupid and fantastical. I had this way back in high school, and I've always remembered it because it's so silly. It starts out with me driving to school like I always did, but instead of a car, I'm driving my backpack to school. I'm literally sitting on my backpack, steering it by the straps, zipping along about two feet above the ground. And it didn't strike me as the least bit odd to be scootering along on a bookbag when everyone else was riding in a car. That's pretty much it. Probably not very interesting, but I've always thought it was funny. I can remember going to school the next day and telling all my friends about it and they teased me mercilessly for the next month.

Uhhh.... that's all I can think of right now. I occurs to me that this is the lamest list ever, but there you go. I've been serving you steak dinners all month, you'll just have to be satisfied with a turkey club this time. Besides, I'm not your dancing monkey.

2005-04-29T12:23:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the temptation to hang myself with my shoelaces has passed sufficiently that I might be able to talk about President Bush's energy speech. (I GIVE YOU COAL! THE FUEL OF THE FUTURE!) Sweet Jesus. When are we going to stop kidding ourselves? We are never going to be self-sufficient until we get a handle on our energy consumption. I'm so tired of hearing every asshole with a Hummer bitch about gas prices. Why don't you try buying a vehicle that's more fuel-efficient than a space-shuttle, you self-indulgent suburbanite WASP. What do you need four wheel drive for, anyway? Is the trek to soccer practice getting that treacherous? Just because you can afford something doesn't necessarily mean you need it. Why not take that extra twenty grand you're spending on some ridiculous status symbol and take the family on a vacation? Maybe expose the kids to something beyond the small circle of consumption and waste that they're used to and show them how the rest of the world lives. Maybe then the next generation will grow up with some sense of social responsibility.

Here's an interesting little brain-teaser my sister told me the other day:

'A man and his sister are at their fathers funeral. The man sees a strange woman and goes over to her. They talk for several minutes and then part ways. A week later, the man kills his sister.'

Think of the likeliest explanation for this scenario. Got it? Now go on....

This isn't actually a riddle with a specific answer. This exercise was one of several used in a study of prison inmates. Researchers developed a list of questions in the hopes of using the responses to develop a definitive profile of the criminal mind. Strangely, this is the only question that received consistent answers. Almost all convicted murderers gave the following response:

"Obviously, the woman was a distant family friend. The man found her attractive and wanted to see her again. He then killed his sister in order to have another funeral where they would meet."

Creepy, huh? Some unsettling insight into the criminal psyche. By the way, if you thought of the same answer, I regret to inform you that you are a psychopath.

2005-04-12T18:58:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome to the shamelessly self-indulgent exercise in catharsis that is my blog. Among what will undoubtedly be indispensible insight into the state of society at large, you can expect to find precious and poigniant observations on various subjects that, for the sake of simplicity, I will call 'things that irritate me.'

Above, for those of you who are wondering, is a quote from my favorite short story. I suggest you all read it. It would be hard to articulate precisely why I like it so much as it is unlike anything else I've read and it wouldn't make any sense until you read it in any case. So you'll have to take my word for it. (Besides, don't you trust me by now?)

Okay, let's begin.

There seems to be this worrying trend among younger generations today, or more particularly my friends and family, to have children. This is by all means their prerogative, but it does tend to put me in a bit of a pickle. I have little tolerance for children. I know, what with me being a girl and all, that this is a shocking betrayal of my gender (or so my mother tells me. frequently.), but there you go. I suppose my habit of hailing them with an awkward "Greetings, small human!" and then eyeing them suspiciously from across the room doesn't help matters, but there you go. They also have a tendency to be inexplicably sticky. It is harder to fake enthusiasm for children than for a painful dental procedure. And those tiresome, accusing looks my mother keeps shooting me while she's holding my cousins (who is only 2 months older than I am, I might add) second baby are tempting me to declare that I'm a lesbian, if only to give her something new to despair over.

Okay, I've decided at each update to add a short list at the end. It will be a list that will rank the top however-many-I-feel-like-thinking-up of various things. How will I decide what the topic is, you ask? Well, dear reader, it will be whatever strikes me at the moment. Yep. I'm just that wild and unpredictable. So cast aside your inhibitions and hop on board the crazy train.

The Top 5 Most Depressing Movies That You Need To See

Sometimes in April. A startlelingly realistic portrayal of the civil war in Rwanda. And a harsh and unforgiving (yet justified) indictment of the U.S. for our complete failure to do anything about the unapologetic slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people. Bottom line: heartbreaking and poigniant. This had me in tears. And it takes more than a wobbly solo number from a Disney flick to do that.
Veronica Guerin. This was one of those movies that hit me like a ton of bricks. It tells the story of a journalist who single-handedly takes on the Irish heroin industry. And wins. At an incredibly high cost. Based on a true story, the violence in this is pretty raw. Not one for the kiddies by any means. But well worth the emotional roller coaster.
Road to Perdition. Tom Hanks in all of his sans-Meg-Ryan glory. The tale of a Chicago mob enforcer caught in the middle of a power struggle, who then goes on the run. Paul Newmann puts in another incredible performance which deserved the best supporting actor nomination.
The Pianist. Okay, I admit that, initially, I refused to see this movie as part of my ongoing 'fuck you' to those on the Oscar Academy. (The cow-towed simpletons.) But when I caught it late one night on showtime I had to concede that it's a pretty damn good flick. Adrien Brody gave an incredibly touching performance as a Jewish musician struggling to stay alive in nazi-occupied Poland during World War II. The film was also beautifully shot. Watch it and you'll understand why Roman Polanski is regarded as one of the great directors.
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. No, this is not just for martial arts geeks. It's a passionate love story disguised as an action movie. It's an intricate tale about love, revenge, duty, honor and regret. The performances are all top-notch and the cinematography is breathtaking. Yes, it's in Japanese. It won't kill you to read subtitles. Whatever you do, DO NOT watch the dubbed version. So much is lost when it's converted from a beautiful language to cheesy, slightly off-time dubbing. (Okay. My sister has just informed me that this film is in Mandarin Chinese. I think my commitment to thorough research only adds to the validity of my views.)

There you have it. The first installment in my simple program to enrich your life. And based solely on my opinion. Hmmm......

Until next time, Lisa