Gut busting and procrastinating to the deep end

Returned from dinner to open my computer and find myself completely unmotivated. Started dinking around on the web, obsessively relogging into a site that is apparently down tonight. Annoying. Now I am intent on getting logged in, so I am distracted. And for what? Nothing except to know how many schmucks have viewed my profile today.

I have a 40 page rough draft I received comments on from the organization I intern for. I have no motivation to go through them and accept changes. What a drag. I am worried that the further I get into correcting the comments, the more and more problems there will be with the paper in their eyes. I am worried about finding notes like the following:

"This needs to be revised. Completely."
"Where is the data to support this point?"
"Please call Susie asap to discuss this section"
"Yes, we will need to discuss the relevancy of this point"

The prospect of coming across a statement such as this makes me really unmotivated to keep on with the edits. But I have to, because it is due to my advisors on Friday, COB.

On the sunnier side of the mountain, today I received more assurances that I will be going to Thailand this summer again. I can't say I am looking forward to preparing for the trip. Getting ready for it last year was absolute hell. I hadn't slept for 48 hours, it was 2:15 am, and I still hadn't packed for the month long journey overseas..and I had to leave the house for the airport at 9:30am. I have a feeling this series of events will be recreated come late May.

Just when you thought you could throw out the Zithromax

About a year ago I got a prescription for Zithromax as a precaution when I took a month long trip to Thailand last summer. Pfizer makes this antibiotic. Basically, it's a last resort if you happen to get some kind of bacterial (diahrrea) infection in the developing world. You don't want to take it unless you're going to die. That's what the pharmacist told me, anyway. It may be that using it is thought to lessen your resistance later on. I never used the prescription and it's been sitting in my cupboard for about 9 months.

A friend of mine left for Thailand a few days ago. Out of the goodness of my heart, I willed away my pills to him. Basically, I figured they'd go to waste if he didn't take them.

So today I hear some exciting news. The gist of it is that I shouldn't have thrown out the pills. I may be going back to Thailand this summer! The details have yet to be worked out and I will give a fuller report next week. Until then, I am really hoping Dan doesn't manage to get a bad case of the runs and use up my Zithromax. I may need it, afterall.

We come to brawl and drink light beer...

Ever heard of Fight Night?

Someone I just met is going and there is a possibility I could get in on the action.

I know Oakland is kind of rough, but this whole event looks like the responsibility of a group that usually flies under my radar, namely Oakland's white, disenfranchised blue-collared contingent. Sure, there are some colored faces visible in the crowd, but it's eerie resemblance to WWF makes me think this event is the official territory of the don't-fuck-with-me white homey crowd.

The event takes place in West Oakland, in some warehouse. God knows, you may not come back alive.

Concert picks - Spring and beyond

March 31: Two Gallants, Bimbo's 365 Club, SF
April 10: Eef Barzelay (of Clem Snide), Cafe Du Nord, SF
April 21: Pinback, Bimbo's 365 Club
April 28: Mates of State, Viva Voce, GAMH
April 28: Amadou & Mariam, Bimbo's 365 Club, SF
May 2,3: Sleater-Kinney, GAMH, SF
May 8: Destroyer, Cafe du Nord, SF
May 12: Jason Molina (of Magnolia Elec. Co.), GAMH, SF
May 23: Architecture in Helinski, GAMH, SF
June 13: The Walkmen, GAMH, SF
June 19: The Walkmen, La Zona Rosa, Austin (AUSTIN!!), TX (TEXAS!!!)
June 24: SiSe, Bimbo's 365 Club, SF

Mediating a turf war from Clinic B

I've about had enough of doctors. I deal with doctors and the associated staff that goes with them way too much in my life. I don't like clinics and I dislike hospitals even more. These people thrive these aforementioned places. Therefore, the collision of world views is always likely when I show up for my appointments.

I have a medical condition which requires me to tell the doctor everytime I have an appointment (once every 3 months or so) the inane details of my everyday eating and exercising habits. It's such a damn bore. And ususally the end result of this parroting of information is exactly the same:

"Well, from what you told me, I can't really see a pattern in your eating and exercise that explains some of the problems you've been having..."

Ah, yes, just as I suspected. Nada zilch. I just spent 5 minutes telling him when and what I've eaten for breakfast since last Sunday (yogurt, yogurt, fruit, cottage cheese, bran cereal....so exciting and mysterious!) and he cannot solve the mysteries of my physical ailments. Hmm, I'm so NOT surprised! The next appointment I should just mix it up for kicks and relate the following list of breakfast food items:

Pork chop with country gravy. Buttered white toast - 8 pieces.
A few ropes of licorice. It's easy to carry in my pocket on the way to school.
A Wendy's Frosty - chocolate soft serve in a cup. What size? There is only one size, doc!
3 eggs sunny side up, tabasco, and a hefty portion of cheese grits. Did I forget the sausage links?
Trix cereal combined with Fiber One. I pay attention to my fiber intake religiously.

This would probably bring delight to Doc's eyes. I can see it now. He'd actually have something to tell me that makes sense. However, things as they presently are, he has a hard time telling me my dietary choices need drastic changes.

Doc always thinks he has the silver bullet. It's ridiculous:

"Oh, so how much red meat do you eat?"
"I eat red meat once a month. The only other meats I eat are fish and chicken, never fried."
"Hmm. Because red meat isn't good to eat for someone like yourself."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I don't eat it."

Last month he referred me to go to see Doc 2 at UCSF. I took the referral and made the appointment. Doc 2 and his medical fellow reviewed my situation and proposed some medication changes. I take their advice seriously because they work in a specialty clinic and people like me are the only people they deal with every day. Doc 2 is easy going, communicative, unoppressive, and isn't looking for silver bullets. I implement medication changes immediately. Situation improves slightly.

I went back to first Doc for a followup today and he tells me that Doc 2's suggestions aren't going to do anything for me, and what's more, may make things worse! He seems pretty smitten. I spend about 30 minutes trying to justify Doc 2's reasonings for the medication changes. Doc doesn't seem to be convinced. Doc suggests more lab tests, ones that require me to fast for 12-15 hours and get a intra-muscular injection that releases some kind of catalyst agent into my blood. Wow, that sounds FUN. Sign me up!

This is Berkeley. I really should invest some time finding some naturopathic doctor to buffer the wrath of Doc I must endure. He'd probably have something to say about it, though.

Tales from the Berkeley Bowl

This week has been a "tales of" week. Today's entry could have been written a thousand times over. All people that live in Berkeley manage to get over to the Berkeley Bowl once ever so often and they always encounter some kind of situation they want to post on the internet about. It's like a universal norm. What life all boils down to is annoying conversations we overhear while shopping at the Berkeley Bowl.

For all of you know-nots out there, I guess I should tell you what the Berkeley Bowl is. It's a supermarket where most of Berkeley ends up at least once a month. The place is way overcrowded, but they have an amazing produce section, really cute male checkout clerks, good bin food selections, as well as semi-decent prices. It's cheaper in most cases than Safeway even. BB is a blessing.

However, it's also a curse. The downsides? Lines, even on a Monday at 10:40 am. Annoying rich hippy Berkeleyans talking about whatever is yanking their chain while you wait in line. Anything you buy in bulk must be weighed and labeled by the bin food clerks, who usually act like your 1/4 pound of dried apricots is such a waste of their damn time. Too narrow of aisles. Curmudgeonly seniors in the produce section who use their cart like it's a battleram. Soup-sample abusers. The litany could continue. But we go. And we keep coming back.

Here is a sample of a conversation overheard today while in line. Subjects: Mother and daughter. Daughter is about 23. I am guessing she went to Cal and now lives here and works...at some bakery coop (Cheeseboard, perhaps, if she is so lucky). Mother appears to be treating her daughter to a load of groceries, perhaps because daughter is not using college degree toward her interest in collecting higher wages. Daughter is annoying and is likely an only child.

Daughter: Well, work is so demanding. We have to be there at 3:30 am and I have to work the primary oven. Do you know how hot those ovens get? They get really hot!!! Mom, you have no idea. Anyway, Robert got burned by the oven the other day. I told him not to get too close, but of course he did not listen to me and got burned!

Mother: Dear, we should start unloading now.

Daughter: Oh, yeah. So Robert is going to be working on butter pastry this week and I am on scones. Do you know how bad for you scones are? Mom, they are not healthy. Anyone who eats those all the time should just eat a muffin, because that's basically what a scone is. There's just not a lot of knowledge about what people put in their bodies. Sometimes people just don't even take time to look at their terrible habits, it's unbelievable!

Mother: Why don't you help with the bagging...

Daughter: Right. The coop is so stressful. People just have no idea what we go through. Customers are so demanding! You'd think they'd appreciate our help and would try to be patient, but no. All they want is more free samples. We only can give out so many free samples! If it were up to me, there would be no free samples. Everyone knows we make the best stuff. They don't need to keep sampling it day in and day out!

Mother: Yes, people are really one-sided sometimes, I agree.

Tales from Slim's

Saturday night, March 25, was a wild, heart-stopping, sweat-inducing, all around crazy and chaotic night at Slim's at 11th and Folsom.



Playing was Gogol Bordello, possibly the nation's most whacked out, pumped up, and thrashing Russian gypsy-folk-punk band.

My sister, 31, and brother, 37, accompanied me to the show. The opening band, Kulture Shock, was kind of like Gogol Bordello "Light", although their geographical base roots are centered more around Bosnia-Herzegovina and Serbia. Basically they shared similar Slavic origins and musical styles as GB.

GB took stage around 11:00 pm and for the next 2 hours proceeded to exhaust and induce more sweat, crowd surfing/diving and all types of related behavior than I have ever considered humanly possible. It truly was a monumental performance. The lead singer must have burned through about 4000 calories during the whole ordeal. I would have guessed he was on some kind of amphetamine...that, or the guy is wired like no one's business. He's the guy with the wild eyes in the photo.

Tales from the Laundromat on Claremont

Monday evening I took me a trip to the laudromat. First time I've been to one of those places in a good 5-6 years. Perhaps more than that, I can't recall. My most vivid laundromat experiences took place in London on Muswell Hill. The lady I lived with didn't let us use her washer because the water supposedly cost a fortune. They live like they're still in the Blitz over there - conserving water like the end of the world is coming and eating too much canned food and Marmite. Anyway...

So I get to the corner laudromat around 730. The occasion was a special visit - I had to wash the futon cover. My roommate's boxer sleeps on it. Needless to say, it was not fit for a human to sleep on it, even with a sheet between person and couch surface.

I enter, see that there are 3 commercial sized washers, and head towards those. I was the only person in the place, aside from the manager who was using a shop vac to clean out the dryers. The dryers looked like they'd survived some hard times. Their motley coloring (a peppy array of spring green, orange, and yellow) was chipped and the metal dented in as though they'd gone through some beatings for swallowed quarters. Heck, these things probably were built in the days of dime-run dryers. I digress.

While new at this, I knew what to do. Get change. Get proper soap (usually require powder, which you buy out of the old school vending machine). Put coins in, select cycle...you know the drill. As for the soap out of the vending machine, I had a wide selection of choices: Cheer, Tide, OxyClean, and something called ShineBrite. I threw some quarters in the Tide slot and attempted to make a transaction. Then I hear some garbled sqwuaking over the high pitched droll of the shop vac behind me and several dryer units:

Manager: "Cheer! You hear me?? Cheer, young lady, is all's we got today!"
Me: "Oh, I didn't know. Thanks."

So I purchase the Cheer and start my cycle. The less than inspiring surroundings of the laudromat and the presence of its curmudgeonly manager led me to the store across the street. They have a psuedo-coffee shop inside the store where I could work on my laptop. More importantly, I was picking up some latent wireless signal and was able to check my e-mail.

After 25 minutes, I return to the laudromat to put the couch cover in the dryer. However, the washer is empty. And one dryer is going. The manager is leaning up against it, sort of glaring at me, and eyeing the television that sits overhead the door entrance on a platform. He was watching some game show called "Deal or No Deal!"

Me: "Hey, so is that my load?"
Manager: "I put it in here because it's gettin' late young lady."
Me: "Ah. Well, thanks, how much do I owe you?"

The manager points over my shoulder. I turn around and see a piece of paper posted on a makeshift bulletin board:

The Management Wishes To Inform You That Although We Are Raising The Washer Costs 50 cents Due To Energy Price Increases, the Dryers Remain FREE!

"Okay, then."

I proceed to watch "Deal or No Deal!" with the manager for about 25 minutes. He really liked that show. He kept muttering things under his breath when the contestents made stupid decisions and chose the wrong briefcases.

I learn a lot about patience and the world when I am not at school.



Portland fixture


Waiting on the bus

Song of Thursday's toil

I'll Keep It With Mine, Nico

St. Paddy's wailing tunes

I am currently publicizing the great sounds of Sleater-Kinney, a resident band of Portland, Oregon (although they are from WA state...Portland is cooler than Olympia logging country).

Here is a freebie:

Get up, Sleater-Kinney

Here are some more freebies: click here, dopey! Happy wailing!

Bud Light at school, Friday, 2:15pm

I brought beer to school with me today. I should have brought two cans instead of just one. Bud Light isn't such a terrible beer for when you are writing a paper. Correction: before you start writing a paper. I should have rethought that sequence.

I brought some PBRs to school and left them in the little student fridge a few weeks ago. They were rightly pilfered, however. I do hope they provided some kind of delight to a fellow colleague here at Wurster Hall.

I went to a bar last night, the Ruby Room at 14th and Madison down in Oak-land. My friends are all getting jobs. One of them has a job in L.A. and he said he officially is suffering from senioritis. I cannot wait to possibly go visit Tom down in God's Country. My summer plans are a void. I am deciding between 1) doing nothing 2) doing mostly nothing and a little something to earn some money 3) signing myself over to the city of XY or Z to work in their planning office despite the fact that I am supposed to be thinking I am a landscape architect.

I really need to work on my PR, so my spotty entries may become even more spotty.

With regard to March Madness: Hoya Saxa! I am a Hoya/Bulldog thingie, so I figure I should mention their win today. Despite the fact I have no clue about this tournament. It looks fun, though, if I did follow sports.

Better than Google maps?

Check this out.

Here's to me. Now what does it mean?

I just received word a few days ago that I got admitted into the master of landscape architecture program at Berkeley. Good thing, since I only applied to one program. Otherwise, I'd be hitting the pavement like all my classmates this May to look for work.

Yes, this means three years more of grad school. Yes, it will likely drive me to borderline mental insanity and physical breakdown. Yes, it is a terrible financial decision. No, I haven't throught through EVERY detail of this plan. However, I have the rest of my life to work. Why not learn for a few more years and then face reality? Plus, I am likely to learn some amazing things that I will hopefully be PSYCHED to use in my career, which is presently a few more years beyond my reach.

Rainy season

Geez, I think our rainy season here in the East Bay has arrived full force, intent to make up for the drought of December and January. It is POURING. It sounds like someone is taking a pressure washer to my roof. My downspouts are downright overtaxed and I cannot at all comprehend going to school tomorrow.

I'd love to stay home. Unfortunately, I have a group meeting at 11am to discuss our brainstorm site plans for Manteo, North Carolina. I'd love to stay home, get some exercise, come home and have tomato soup, take a four hour nap, and then wake up and work on my PR until bed time. That would be a great day. Unfortunately, this is how the day will break down:

2:15am - 7:15am Sleep
7:15am - 7:45am Listen to radio alarm go off. Listen to rain. Decide that morning exercise is overrated
7:45am - 8:12am Doze off and have some dream about missing a deadline
8:13am Wake up in cold sweat, hear persistant downpour, use bathroom
8:19am - 9:00am Listen to roommate getting ready while I listen to Morning Edition.
9:15am - 10:30am I rise! I shower. I'm going to be late to school.
10:30am - 11:00am Miss bus. Trudge to school in rain. Get soaked. Curse 51 bus line repeatedly on way to school.
11:04am - 11:15am Change clothes at school.
11:30am - 12:30pm Group meeting.
Etc....

My days are like this over and over. It's like Groundhog Day, but in this case I have work due all the time and endless group projects. Also, unlike in Groundhog Day, there is no time for leisurely dining or recreation. Likewise, there are no oversize rodents. Wait, that's not true. There are raccoons. However, the rain has made them become rather dormant. I believe they are hibernating underneath the house, nice and dry, and contently plump from all the cat food they've been stealing off our porch.

A Hundred Miles Off...

The Walkmen have released their June U.S. tour dates! Here is a small selection of the more *choice* tour gigs. There are many more, but I didn't want to repeat what does not need repeating. Check them out on myspace if you want to find your city.

May 25 2006, 9:30 Club, Washington D.C.
Jun 8 2006, Berbati's Pan, Portland, OR
Jun 12 & 13 2006, Great American Music Hall San Francisco, CA

Baton boys

I joined UCB's sports and gymnasium facility this past weekend. The place is a giant mess, full of body conscious undergrads, meat head frat boys, and mousy other types. But there is a pretty strong older contingent, too. I've been trying to get a feel for the place over the last few days. The first day I did the bike on the ground floor. Second day I took to the stair machine on the mezzanine. The mezzanine is a nice place because it isn't as crowded, there aren't mirrors all over the walls, and as a patron you have a good view down to the action below.

The view from the mezzanine includes what can be seen going on in the raquetball courts. There are about 10 raquetball courts along the ground floor. Because raquetball is kind of a washed up sport (although I predict hipsters will begin playing, carrying their mini raquets under their arms alongside their satchel full of knitting needles and i-pod devices), the facility management has started to adapt the space for new uses. They have a spinning class in one. Another court is the "stretching room". The rest are sort of left open, either for people to play a variety of raquet sports or otherwise. They probably do yoga in them, too.

On the stair machine yesterday I was overseeing activity in one of the vacant raquetball courts. Inside, two grown men, one a hefty 6'3 and about 215 pounds, the other smaller, about 5'11 and 160, were in there twirling batons. Yes, you read that right. Batons. Like those cheerleader batons. And doing it ever so expertly. It became immediately obvious that the taller one was the better (shall I say accomplished) twirler. He was twirling the baton around all parts of his enourmous frame. Around his neck, wrists, shoulders, keens, head, etc. The smaller of the two guys was there to learn from the tall twirling giant. He was ok, but compared to the tall guy, he sucked. I was particularly astonished when the tall guy threw his baton way up high and did a series of those exaggerated aerial cartwheels, landing just in time and in just the right position to catch hold of the baton as it spun downwards and begin manipulating it around his massive neck.



I was on that stairclimber for 45 minutes, and they were twirling the entire time. The giant must have had some kind of experience in the cheerleading or team spirit circles. The baton was like an extension of his body. In much the same way that a guitar is an extension of an accomplished musicians, his baton completed him, and fully. Seeing this guy walk down the street, I would have guessed he was a dopey frat boy.

I was just thinking that if had this gym been anywhere else in the country (namely, not the Bay Area), those two guys would have probably gotten some threats from gangs of overfed, muscle headed gym rats. You know, the kind that spend 2-3 hours in the weight room and like to visit the water fountain in groups of three or four. If you are still confused, these are the same people that like to stare at young nubile females running on the treadmill or doing the hip hop class in the gym next door. Anyway, these two baton boys got exactly ZERO attention from people, other than myself. In the Bay Area, male baton twirling is probably just as ubiquitous as roadbiking, yoga, or wheat grass juice fasts.

I guess I should give dopey looking frat boys a little more leeway. They might be good with a baton for all I know. Makes for good entertainment anyway.

Promotion!

Dear Ms. E:

You might be pleasantly surprised that XXXXXXXXX XXXXX has vouched for your good character and nominated you to become a Maker's Mark Ambassador. I'm going to take it on faith that she wasn't pulling my leg.

Our Ambassadors are all part of a special inner circle of Maker's Mark enthusiasts. They share a common interest in our bourbon, and we do everything we can to nurture that interest. No wonder these folks end up having a knowledge of Maker's Mark - and bourbon in general - which few can match. From what we hear, it sounds like you just might be the kind of person we're looking for. So I'd like to invite you to become one of our Ambassadors!

For your loyal service, we'll reward you with special privileges, such as:

Engraving your name on a new barrel of Maker's Mark
Special treatment when you visit us at the distillery
A private Ambassadors-only web site (we call it the Embassy)
The opportunity to purchase exclusive Maker's Mark merchandise
Advance notice of limited release Maker's Mark bottles
And much more

All we ask is that you introduce Maker's Mark to friends and associates you feel will appreciate our handmade quality.

All the best,

Bill Samuels, Jr..
President
Maker's Mark

Thanks for the $522.78

I did my taxes tonight.

You may have asked, "Why the rush, Miss E? You have until mid-April for all this nonsense!" Actually, I was prompted by the notice of the priorty deadline for student financial aid that was TODAY. I will be a good student and get that completed over the weekend. But first things first: You have to have your federal taxes done and filed before you can complete the student financial aid stuff.

The feds will pay me back $522.78 and the Commonwealth of CA will hand over $114.83. This is the grand total of $642.61. Good golly. I could buy something nice with that. But I won't most likely. It will go to buy my ass groceries and other expendables not worth mentioning here.

Be good and diligent and get your taxes done today. The faster you do them, the faster you get your money, and the less the government earns in interest on holding your tax dollars. Here's to all you tax payers out there, may your refunds be larger than $642.61.

Look at where I've been. Where have YOU been?

Three in one day

That's it. I've been initiated. Three in one day. One slipped under my radar, two within my realm of consciousness.

Behold, I am a Californian who has felt the sweet Earth shake under my feet, demonstrating that we are but prey to the uncertain geology beneath us.

Like most Californians, without earthquake insurance I take the ultimate risk of losing everything...well....I don't have very much at this point in my life - but I'd loose enough to cause some hardship, that is for certain. I actually stand to lose mainly sentimental keepsakes. If this house goes down in the big one, digging through the rubble will be difficult, and I don't know if I could even do it considering there will be broken sewage pipes and that kind of thing around. What's worse, seeing that Berkeley has a legion of seasoned looters within its ranks, I face some pretty stiff competition in recovering my valuables. A few examples of my booty: my father's wedding band from his marriage to my mother, some other jewelry, some artwork, Fleagle the Beagle (I got it in 1981!) and my favorite clothes and accessories. Oh, I forgot about all my school books and readers. Those are very important and HIGHLY desired by the looters. I'll be looking for those readers as a first priority, actually..they will be good fuel for my campfire I'll need to keep going for the many weeks between the time the quake hits and President Bush wakes up and sends some Federales to dig us out.

My roommate and I have been talking since October that we need to get our survival/emergency supplies and evacuation plan together. We have a plan - if cell phones don't work, we plan to meet at Sather Tower as soon as possible. We then will use the bathrooms at Wurster Hall (the building was retrofitted a couple of years ago and is unlikely to suffer much damage) and head south to Bateman Street to assess damage to our forsaken home and secure supplies and things we will need to make it through til the repairmen/rescue people show up. That could be a long time, so I am going to propose we buy $100 of water, $25 of batteries, another flashlight, several bundles of candles and matches, and a lot of canned chili. Chili is filling and you don't have to eat it hot, although eating it warmed is preferable. We could live off a few cans for a week. Sure, we'd drop some weight, but we can stand to lose a few.

If (and when) we run out of chili, our default plan is to pack up our remaining survival supplies and head off to the Oakland hills and join the rest of Berkeley's privileged squatters. It will kind of be like Burning Man we imagine, but there will not be any posers. We will live off the rabbits and rats, and supplement our supplies by looting the homes of rick Oakland hill-dwellers that have been diminished to paltry piles of rubble.

Unfortunately, our survival supply run must wait til Saturday after my hair appointment at Barbarella, so I hope the BO (Big One) doesn't hit until at least 6pm on Saturday the 4th of March.