A Site of Beef by Ann-S-Thesia
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10/29/2000 - 11/04/2000
11/05/2000 - 11/11/2000
11/12/2000 - 11/18/2000
11/19/2000 - 11/25/2000
11/26/2000 - 12/02/2000
12/03/2000 - 12/09/2000
12/10/2000 - 12/16/2000
12/17/2000 - 12/23/2000
12/24/2000 - 12/30/2000
12/31/2000 - 01/06/2001
01/07/2001 - 01/13/2001
01/14/2001 - 01/20/2001
01/21/2001 - 01/27/2001
01/28/2001 - 02/03/2001
02/04/2001 - 02/10/2001
02/11/2001 - 02/17/2001
02/18/2001 - 02/24/2001
02/25/2001 - 03/03/2001
03/04/2001 - 03/10/2001
03/11/2001 - 03/17/2001
03/18/2001 - 03/24/2001
03/25/2001 - 03/31/2001
04/01/2001 - 04/07/2001
04/08/2001 - 04/14/2001
04/15/2001 - 04/21/2001
04/22/2001 - 04/28/2001
04/29/2001 - 05/05/2001
05/06/2001 - 05/12/2001
05/13/2001 - 05/19/2001
05/20/2001 - 05/26/2001
05/27/2001 - 06/02/2001
06/03/2001 - 06/09/2001
06/10/2001 - 06/16/2001
06/17/2001 - 06/23/2001
06/24/2001 - 06/30/2001
07/01/2001 - 07/07/2001
07/08/2001 - 07/14/2001
07/15/2001 - 07/21/2001
07/22/2001 - 07/28/2001
07/29/2001 - 08/04/2001
08/05/2001 - 08/11/2001
08/12/2001 - 08/18/2001
08/19/2001 - 08/25/2001
08/26/2001 - 09/01/2001
09/02/2001 - 09/08/2001
09/09/2001 - 09/15/2001
09/16/2001 - 09/22/2001
09/23/2001 - 09/29/2001
09/30/2001 - 10/06/2001
10/14/2001 - 10/20/2001
10/21/2001 - 10/27/2001
10/28/2001 - 11/03/2001
11/04/2001 - 11/10/2001
11/11/2001 - 11/17/2001
11/18/2001 - 11/24/2001
11/25/2001 - 12/01/2001
12/02/2001 - 12/08/2001
12/09/2001 - 12/15/2001
12/16/2001 - 12/22/2001
Saturday, March 17, 2001
I think the nicest responses to this blog (*and* the majority of responses, for that matter) are from people not in the US. You know who you are. :-) Sometimes I feel very alienated from my own country. I've always had this desire to become an expatriated American like Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders, or Bonni. I like this *land*. I think the incredible diversity of geography in this country makes it an amazing and wonderful place to live. I love travelling in this country...there are still so many places I've never seen like the south...I'm mostly a Northern girl having lived and travelled across Northern climes, but I love the desert southwest too. Someday I'd like to afford the ability to travel oveseas, but can't see it as a possibility right now. I do have problems with this government, which I won't get into (I'll leave the obvious issues to your imagination...I think you can grasp where I'm coming from with the overall tone of this blog), however I think there is something very fundamentally wrong about the attitude of many Americans, which may stem from trickle down Reaganomics, or it may stem from a sort of social Darwinism (how ironic). It's sort of "everyone be damned except me...look out for #1...I'll leave everyone in my wake...pull yourself up by your own bootstraps...tough crap if you don't have bootstraps." Anyway, I am usually impressed when I hear about various policies either in the EU or Australia, and perhaps my being able to relate to that mindset makes my blog more accessible to people not from the US. Sometimes I wonder what my life would've been like if my grandparents and great-grandparents hadn't immigrated, but then, that would mean I wouldn't be "me" if you know what I mean. A very strange concept to comprehend.
As if we weren't going through enough crap as it is, as if we weren't in enough debt fixing cars and student loans as it is...the city's come to remove lead pipes, at a cost to the resident, of course. Stan removed all the internal lead in the house when he redid the plumbing earlier in the 90s, but there's still lead on our property exterior to our house. Evidentally we're responsible for removing that, and the city will remove it for us at a charge. Can't get out of it, it's a city-wide program.
This means more debt (the city will pay for half of the expense, up to $1,000, so if we incur a $5,000 expense we have to come up with the $4,000), noise during the day so it'll be
Maybe it'll be a mercy killing if they blow up our house with me in it like they did the one on the west side last year, the dumbasses. Yes, the city blew up a house on the west side, a classic case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. Leveled it to the ground. Fortunately no one was at home. I hope they didn't have pets. All in the mission of removing lead pipes. Give me a break. Lead pipes are the least of my worries. Has anyone ever proved someone died from lead in the pipes? Drivers using cell phones (braincancersticks), that's become a major and immediate worry lately. I could care less if they nuke their brains...that's their concern. My concern is that they don't run over me or plow into my car when they're not paying attention while holding their braincancerstick and gabbing away. But is anyone doing anything about that? No...except for one lone councilman or someone in politics from Milwaukee (forgot his title). He's introducing a bill in either Milwaukee or entire Wisconsin to make it illegal to use a hand-held cellphone while operating a vehicle. I wish we'd follow the lead of Ohio who has already made this illegal, I believe.
Oh, I'm so glad I'm not alone in my feeling. Amber feels the same way about March as I do. It's depressing as heck. I can't remember a March in recent memory where I haven't been depressed. Yesterday I just cried for hours. I remember I used to like Spring. It meant the end of school. I hated fall because it meant the start of school. But as I grow older it's been quite the opposite. I've loved the Fall (except last Fall was crappy) and the weather seems the best in Wisconsin in the Fall. Colorado Falls weren't that great because we'd always get a snowstorm in September or something, killing all the flowers. In Wisconsin we'd have flowers still blooming in December many years...except this one because it was unusually cold. I usually don't start to pick up until May, when I can usually flip-off the demons of March with a recharged punk-ass attitude.
BTW...has anyone else noticed that the time stamp on Blogger posts are different than the time it actually is posted? It's like 11 minutes earlier.
Heh...I just realized my referring to the painting as 'small' two posts ago was misleading. It's 4x3 feet. More like medium-sized. My large paintings I can't even carry. Thank goodness for Stan.
Two different dreams, similar: First dream Stan and I were at some strange gathering at a quite large house in the country that still had fairly primitive plumbing, because when I went to the bathroom, it was like the toilet was an outhouse toilet. It was all carpeted and plush and painted just like a regular bathroom (well, my bathrooms aren't carpeted...they're tile...yes, we may be poor but we have taste...I hate carpeted bathrooms), but it was very bizarre. The toilet was next to the shower, which was sort of raised higher than the rest of the bathroom, but it was like the room was settling and everything was sort of sloping. I opened up the toilet seat and to my disgust, I could see...lots of stuff. It was gross. So I flushed it (flushing an outhouse toilet?) and it sort of sputtered and splattered my legs....groooooossssssssss. I forget what exactly happened after that, but I remember someone showing me some pictures and in it is a picture of myself and a guy I used to know in college and when I worked at Kinko's in Ft. Collins, and through a circle of art friends....you know, someone you couldn't escape. IRL he was a Mime (yeah, I know...Mime...) and after Stan and I moved to Madison, we heard he died in the mid 90s in a scuba diving accident on his wedding holiday (Help me! What are those things called?!? Stan and I never took one, it's early--I'm not totally awake, and my auto-thesaurus isn't on). Anyway, back to the dream...I was looking at the picture of him and me, and I had mime makeup on too, but it looked more like Susan Sarandon's makeup job during the Floor Show sequence in the movie "Rocky Horror Picture Show." Heh heh. Next dream: Stan and I were visiting Lamya and Russ in Boulder and I noticed they had different art on their walls since the last time I visited. I can't remember much about what we did there, but then later that evening just Stan and I went to a very stark, Euro-looking sophisticated cafe in Boulder that had internet access at every chair. I wished I had my iBook with me so that I could access it, but they did have some sort of laptops or something that people could use instead. I had to plug it in though, and it was the strangest port I'd ever seen...sort of like a weird SCSI port, but it worked. Then it was like the laptop was more like a weird digital book with actual pages that turned like a menu...you know how menus in cheap restaurants are laminated...this was laminated...it was like I was reading a manual on Mac OS 8.6 (which I don't have, BTW). Then Stan had to use the bathroom, but it was like there wasn't a bathroom in the building, so he had to go next door to this strange church with ugly green trim where he used the bathroom in the basement. This was supposed to be taking place in downtown Boulder, but the little white church with ugly green trim made it look so countrified...it was weird. When Stan came back, I remember the cafe looked different...it wasn't so darkly lit, and we were sitting at a chair by a window. It was getting later in the afternoon and the sun was getting lower in the sky. There was snow on the ground. We could see the church from our table. Stan told me he wasn't feeling good at all and that he thinks he broke a rib working on the toilet last night (IRL our toilet tank in the downstairs bathroom was having problems and he's spent all his free time the past few days fixing its innards and it's still not done...probably why I had these dreams). I asked him if he needed me to drive home. He looked at me like that was a good idea, but I could feel my contacts sticking in my eyes, and I told him that I would need to take my contacts out soon, and then I won't be able to drive.
Friday, March 16, 2001
I lost a painting. Yup. It's gone. Looked all over the house and in the garage. Nowhere. I checked my inventory list of work at Chris's gallery in Mishicot. Not there. I am sure I've picked up everything from shows that I've had in the last year or so that was supposed to be picked up. The only thing I can think of is that it's at the gift shop at the Anderson Art Center in Kenosha, but why didn't I pick it up a year ago when the juried show I was in at the time ended? I know I collected the large painting I had in the show...it's right on my wall right now as I type this. Maybe I was so intent on getting the large one I overlooked or forgot I also had the small one there. And why hasn't anyone called me to pick it up...usually they rotate their inventory for every show. I am baffled and quite upset. I didn't even have a chance to take a slide of it. This cannot be happening. I am going there on Sunday for another opening that I should supposedly have at least one piece in, another "all women" show. I'll ask them then, but I'm dreading the response..."Our records show you've picked up everything."
I just hate this time of year...everything goes wrong. Not that everything didn't go wrong last fall, but this time of year I always feel much bluer about it.
I used to ask my mom when I was young, "Why do you stay with Dad?" My dad was and is not the easiest person in the world to get along with. She would tell me, "Well, he doesn't drink (Drinking as in the catch-word popular meaning of it...a little brandy or wine around the holidays doesn't count) or smoke or gamble or stay out all night or chase other women." I used to think that there was still a lot of room for improvement in someone who had those qualities, yet lacked the basic values of "nice person" or "tactfulness" or "generosity." I made up my mind that I didn't care if I met someone who drank or smoked, (chasing other women was out of the question) but they'd have to be nice and tactful and generous. I was not going to follow the path that so many other women follow...that of marrying someone like their dad. When I met Stan some of our best times we had were getting drunk before or at the end of a semester. And now Stan only now drinks extremely minimally...a little gin or vermouth or vodka to keep him warm when shovelling the show...maybe a beer when we're watching a good movie (it doesn't hurt his sinuses like it once did), but only very rarely and it's usually to finish off the stash that our neighbor doles out to people in the neighborhood when he gets paid in beer for a housepainting job. Once in a while Stan will bum a cigarette off of Tim. At one time he bought a pipe and tobacco, but didn't care for it much. Stan's definitely not a "pipe smoking man"...I think one needs excessive facial hair and a portlier build to pull that off. But he's not what one would call a smoker, and can't stand to be around the other smokers at his job. Gambling? Oh, that's laughable. Again, the last person in the world to gamble, although we do make little bets amongst ourselves, like "That store was on the east side of town." "No, it was on the west." "Bet?" I usually win when it's about a person or something in entertainment, Stan usually wins when it's about a thing or location. To call Stan a nice person would be to call the universe large. He has more tact than I and frequently helps me phrase letters and emails appropriately, although I must admit I'm a downright diplomat compared to many I've encountered. And although we need to be very frugal, Stan still is very generous, not with money but with his affection and time, like with helping me with art exhibits and doing housework because I need to work so many more hours as a freelance artist/designer for very small rewards.
Stan is my best friend...we relate like people, not like a man and a woman. I could never relate much to "girl talk" when women gathered for lunch or over the proverbial water cooler to discuss men problems. Leave me out of that, please. Their complaints either made me think: "I'd never have gotten involved with a man like that to begin with...what made you so naive?" or "Aren't you being rather picky about him leaving his socks on the floor? I mean socks on the floor...big deal...world's going to end? Get over it." No, the "girls" and I never had much to talk about, which is one of the reasons I can't stand working for an employer where women are the predominant part of the labor force.
It was very hard getting along with girls when I was young, and I suspect it was because they were raised by mothers who were the water cooler women. Either they were the abused kind that were shocked and upset when their good-for-nothing cheating husbands (who were oh-so-studley when they first met) had an affair on them, or they were the prissy June Cleaver from Lysol Hell...angry when their well-meaning henpecked husbands slipped up and forgot to put their dirty underwear in the hamper. How could I survive in a world with other women like that where a husband was certainly not a best friend, but simply a commodity? Neither my mom nor I are like that, and despite his flaws, my dad was and is my mom's best friend too.
I went through school thinking, "If I can't get along with my girlfriends, how on earth am I going to find a BOYfriend?" I thought I would be doomed to a life of spinsterhood. But on the contrary...it was so easy. Even my male friends (not romantic friends) were infinitely easier to get along with (well, I can think of one exception, but he doesn't count, really). Even when Stan and I had a rocky time at the beginning of our relationship, there was something very honest and loyal about the both of us that we could see beyond those little problems. A valentine of a vagina with a cupid's arrow through it may have turned off June Cleaver Lysol right away, but I knew it was just Stan's sense of humour and I laughed at it and gave him a valentine of my photocopied hand in "the bird" position. Or maybe I gave him the bird valentine first. It doesn't matter. That was our "rocky time."
So in a way, I did marry someone *similar* to my father. He doesn't "drink" and he doesn't "smoke," so to speak, and he doesn't gamble or stay out all night or chase other women. I knew better from day one never to get involved with anyone who had any tendency to be abusive. I knew better than to get involved with someone obsessed with money to stroke his ego with. I knew better than to get involved with someone who would act on penile impulses. I knew I should get involved with someone with a similar sense of humour, irony and satire to mine, someone who loves music and art and animals and road trips, someone who can converse, and someone who's not obsessed with sports, although a man who watches football all Sunday would hardly be a thing to complain about, as long as the housework managed to get done somehow.
Last night I was lying in bed, going over the events of the day in my mind, disturbed at the outcome of certain recent and very distant situations. I was disturbed that some people can be such overt showoffs, bragging about their huge financial wealth, or their latest acquisition at the expense of those less fortunate. Are they intentionally trying to make others feel ashamed or small or hurt? Do they not care, or are they just tactless? I thought of certain people who were once in my life who were like that, and others who were just plain self-centered and unsympathetic to the plights of others, dwelling only on their own self-inflicted problems. And then I thought...they're sleeping alone.
Dream: I was holding a black and white photograph from a newspaper that I think that Bill sent me that was from an article about the new forthcoming Biota CD. The picture was of Bill, and...(get this) Alanis Morrisette! I have no clue...none whatsoever. OK, yes, the new CD will feature a female vocalist on some tracks (Stan and I have a promo copy of the music that Bill gave us back in 1999), but I believe she is British and she sounds nothing like Alanis Morrisette. And why Alanis Morrisette? Why her? Beats me...I don't even care for her music. Just simply bizarre beyond words. Anyway, back to the dream: The picture showed her and Bill, and they were lounging on a thick pile rug in a cozy living room setting, like at a ski lounge suite or something. Not to mention it made this dreamer just a liiiiiiitle bit jealous. Heh heh, but we won't get into that, now, will we? Yes, I thought we were over that, weren't we?
And in more dreams: I remember that we (Stan, me...Tim maybe...some other people) were in the parking lot of Mac Galaxy, although IRL I don't know where their new location is since they moved. In the dream they were in a big warehouse, but they moved their store outside in the cold and it was like a little lemonade stand. I felt bad that they couldn't afford to keep a real roof over their business. Then I remember that in the parking lot we were standing by parking stalls, watching cars pull in. Stan was having some problems with one of the cars that we had there...I remember getting in and out of a utility truck like a mail truck or ice cream truck or something. Lots of snow. Hard to remember specifics.
Thursday, March 15, 2001
Oh, what a great idea, Kitty! Except it'll be so hard to decide which dreams to submit to him. His style is very "San Francisco Cartoon"...very R. Crumb and well done.
BTW, those pictures with you and the partial cast of "My Three Sons were a hoot and too cute! But where's the one with you and Marshall Dillon? ;)
As I was in the shower this AM I just had the sensation of impending doom, i.e., either getting totally rejected from the Artful Women exhibit which I entered last weekend, or receiving my student loan bill in the mail. I was right. I received my student loan bill in the mail. What psychic timing. In the good news, I got all three pieces accepted to Artful Women. (yes, both the bill and the notification came in the mail today...I'm so psychic) I can't recall getting all three pieces in before, at least not in recent history. This will be the last year it will be at the nice big old house on the west side. In the future it will be at the University Hospital gallery. I don't know if I like that as much. Too sterile. Too...University.
I'm realizing I'm going to need to add a custom dictionary to this blog since I use a lot of my own lingo that only I or a few of my very closest friends understand, like "Disney Witch," "Penisman" and "Bootcake." (I mean those are some words for my dictionary...those are not my closests friends...except Bootcake, but he doesn't speak human.)
A certain Boston Terrier-related website which shall go nameless that Plato links to has a notice up on its links page to send in links of your Boston's page. So when Plato got his DawgBlawg he wrote them a very sweet letter telling them that he was a Boston Terrier with his own blog, and if they wouldn't mind putting a link to him. You know how people like to anthropomorphise their animals, at least I assumed this was a common thing to do and would myself enjoy getting a letter from a fellow dog-lover that is written by the dog and not the lover. No response. I waited a month or more. The site's webmaster is in the same state as I am, ironically, so I thought, "well, I guess being that they're Wisconsin natives they don't have much of a sense of humor"...similar to what I've experienced from most other Wisconsin natives, Tim and only a few others excluded. I don't consider myself a "Wisconsin Native." Although I was born here, I only lived here a year after that and didn't move here again until I was 28 after having lived all over the rest of the country. Stan and I were discussing this just last night that people in Wisconsin are polite, but they're not friendly nor have a sense of humour, in contrast to people in Colorado who are not polite, but they're friendly and have a sense of humour. Yet I digress. Giving them the benefit of the doubt of possibly not having received my first letter, or that perhaps they were vacationing in Florida, or that perhaps they were just a tad freaked out that a dog would actually write to them, I decided a month or more later to write them myself, as a human, telling about my dog's site and if they could link him on their page. I immediately got a respone back..."sure, send us the link!" I sent them Plato's link. Now it's been over a month again, and nothing. No response, no link on their page. Well. What can I say?
A long time ago in a journal far, far, away, I wrote about my "Olive Green Period." An olive green period is when you're stuck in a rut and you simply cannot get beyond it no matter how hard you try. You know you're better than the rut, and you know you belong in other stratas and levels, but for whatever reason, you're stuck there with no way out. It originated when I was in 5th grade using those SRA reading lab things (remember those?), the self-directed reading tests that you corrected yourself so you could advance through the various color-coded levels (yeah, right...whoever thought of THAT? Kids are honest grading themselves, aren't they?). As you can guess, I was stuck in the olive green level. I simply could not pass the test or those stories. I know I wasn't stupid...just for some reason the stories got me stuck. So I had no choice. I cheated. I forgot how, but I did. I never cheated before, but I did this just to get out of olive green...I always hated that color anyway. After I advanced to the next level, which was like a dark, pthalocyanine green, I quickly advanced to the next color-coded level and so on through other colors WITHOUT CHEATING. It was as if the olive green level was just too stupid for me to pass. I couldn't pass it because it was geared toward less vocabularily or reading comprehension advanced kids.
So I guess that is the problem with Plato's Dawg Blawg. After having gotten listed the other day at the Better Dog Food.com Web Ring, where he's "blogging with the big dogs," I know it's not because his site sucked....those sites listed are all EXCELLENT. (And his mom is quite thrilled that he got listed there!) In fact, and I'm not saying this to brag or anything, but honestly, I know his site outdoes all the other site designs of the other Boston Terriers that are listed at the Boston Terrier site that shall go nameless that I wrote to the other month that this very long kvetch is about. I'm not trying to disparage those sites...the sites' owners are probably not artists or designers, but simply dog lovers who wanted to make a little page for their beloved. Nothing wrong with that. But why should their sites be listed and mine/Plato's not? Doesn't it seem a little discriminatory? It is almost like they are discriminating against me because Plato's site is good, and it doesn't have tiresome whizzing animated email gifs or obnoxious sentimental midis or all the other baggage that screams "homepage at Geocities Petsburgh."
Or could it be that it's because we're not breeders or showers? (In more ways than one) We don't go into his long lineage of Bostons and his family tree of AKC championships? Is it because he's been "snipped?"
Feh. I shouldn't complain. He's blogging with the big dogs now. And what's most important is that I KNOW his site is good, regardless of whether in its goodness it manages to offend, or at least baffle, someone without a sense of humour.
I know I had more dreams, but I can only remember these: I was talking to some big dorky American guy who was explaining about his childhood when he was a pretty little dark-haired Spanish girl with long curls. He was showing videos of it. He had a lot of nasal surgery for some reason...supposedly all the surgery turned him into an American male. Also, there was another male who was Tim's doppelganger. It looked like Tim, but it wasn't. Tim was speaking to him, but I don't know if Tim noticed that he was a dead ringer for himself. It was kinda bizarre...two Tims.
Speaking of Tim, it appears that he may lose his recently acquired teaching assistant position at West High due to financial cutbacks, and because he was the last hired, well, you know. They need to cut about nine positions all together in the Special Ed department (you would think that's where they need the extra TAs, you know? Smart kids like me didn't even like TAs and wanted them to leave me alone, but I definitely think Special Ed needs all the help they can get, and Tim is a saint for wanting to work with them, even though the ex-Catholic in him would hate it that I said that ;-) ) It all makes me so sick...cut back the vital workers, keep the fat at the top.
It is this never ending vicious circle of trying to better ones life, trying to get ahead, taking the right steps that society says is necessary to get ahead, but we really have no control of our own destiny...Penisman does. Penisman controls the world.
Whoever thinks that we control our own destiny is delusional. Yes, we can take certain steps that *should* produce a positive outcome, but it isn't up to us in the end, is it? It's up to someone else. Someone else always plays the final hand, and, that someone else can always have a card up his sleeve, too.
Stan and I tried to better our lives and get out of the rut of dumb jobs by going to graduate school, only to find that Penisman controls the art department, and only gives teaching assistantships (which is the key to getting a teaching position at a college level) to those who do safe, traditional art (not traditional art as in landscapes and still lifes necessarily, but traditional as in "academic/university-looking" art) and to those who could afford the luxury of hobnobbing with the professors after hours. Those with jobs in the community like ourselves need not apply. Lots of experience exhibiting? Lots of experience outside of college actively promoting your work and partaking in co-op galleries? Excellent grades in undergrad school and currently in grad school? Committed? Hard worker? Prolific in your studio? Exploring new medias and pushing the boundries of your art? So what? That doesn't count. Safe, non-controversial and the artistically timid, please apply. So after over $80,000 in debt from student loans in hopes of bettering ourselves, we're still stuck with dumb jobs. Stan's dumb job actually pays fairly well for what it is (cooking), but when you have to pay over $500 in student loans a month (which the other people he works with spend on their car payments and their kids and their child support and their vacations and their drinking habits and entertaining and gambling...higher education is a far cry from any of their minds) it's very hard to survive. Who ever said "chase your dreams and success will follow" was a spoiled, delusional Disney Witch who was probably married to a Penisman, safe, knowing that if they don't succeed, they always have a safetynet.
I guess it's back to working at Savers for Tim.
Wednesday, March 14, 2001
What the heck?...I just had a major paradigm shift in my brain in a daydream state. For some odd reason the T-Rex song, Telegram Sam, (covered by Bauhaus, the version of which I'm a bit more familiar with, old goth that I am) just popped into my head out of the blue, and for some other odd reason, the words, "Telegram Sam, you're my main man" came out as "Silicon Sam, you're my main man." What the heck?!?!
In other news:
I can't remember much of my dream, but here goes: Someone emailed me accusing me of hacking into their site because I was visiting their site (like as if...I can't even install a freaking cgi script, let alone hack). Also think I dreamt about large dogs, but can't remember much.
It warmed up here enough very slowly over a period of weeks so now the snowdrops are coming out of the ice and snow in the backyard. But we're supposed to get a huge snowstorm here today. I'm so sick of this very long winter.
Tuesday, March 13, 2001
Tonight I bought...
holographic glitter nail polish.
Just like the good old days.
Man, I am still shaking from overwriting my blog template with another blog template (don't ask). Fortunately, I had a template that was pretty identical, save for a few adjustments, that I keep on hand at a blogger testing ground of sorts. I would have been devastated if I had to redo the whole thing, or, take my blog offline. Also fortunately most of my blog content is in server side include files, so the only thing I overwrote was the template which consisted mostly of just a skeletal outline.
Those of you with multiple domains or at least multiple directories can probably relate to uploading the wrong index.html file to the wrong spot. D'oh!!!!!
Um...is this thing on? I just deleted my entire blog template. Then I blogged about the ordeal. Then blogger didn't post it and completely lost it. Ah, just fergit it.
Very screwed up, involved dream. I think Stan and I were watching some movie starring Nicholas Cage, but it was sort of like he was "in" the dream, not just on screen. Then it sort of morphed into a strange Seinfeld show (and I even watched Seinfeld last night...damn, there goes that theory) that was taking place on the set of the Mary Tyler Moore show in the news station. I remember that Elaine had some boyfriend and they came into the newsroom after lunch, and they were sipping wine out of these mini glasses and talking about some "miniature lunch" they ate that was some fancy cuisine. Then the dream morphed into this really weird thing...like I was standing outside of my house in front and looking at our neighbors Jeff and Karen's house, and on the front of their lawn was a series of steps (both our houses are on an incline) going up their house. The steps were made of marble, like headstone material, and on the tops of the steps were weird photographic or holographic images of Seinfeld characters. Then Stan and I were walking around in a multi-level building, supposedly the same building where Elaine and her boyfriend ate the mini lunch. I remember I specifically ate some weird icing off some pastry. Then we found restrooms and I told Stan I needed to use it. I saw as Stan walked into the Men's restroom that our cat Caligula was in there. I went into the Women's restroom and it looked like the Women's restroom at the Boerner Botanical Gardens in Milwaukee. There was a woman in there wearing a Kelly green dress, sitting at a booth. I thought it strange. I go into a stall and can hear Stan in the other room talking to Caligula going, "coochie coochie coochie bootcake bootcake" (Bootcake is our nickname for Caligula). I'm a bit embarrassed and wondered what the weird woman sitting at the booth would think. But what was even stranger is as I was starting to unzip my pants, she walked in on me! I start pushing the door closed and telling her I'm using the stall, but she says, "It's OK, I just need to get something." I push harder, but she pushes the door harder than I can, and I end up being crushed between the door and one side of the stall, so I yell at her, "You *u@k%n@ #i%c#! I actually yell that out in real life, waking up myself and Stan. I think I heard Stan snicker. Later that morning, Stan asks me, "Did you know you were yelling in your sleep?" Oh really? Good thing it was cold and the windows weren't open...I'd have hated our neighborhood to hear my sailor mouth.
Monday, March 12, 2001
Now you can Search Eyeblog! Cool, huh?
Sunday, March 11, 2001
I am adding new Artmatic galleries to Eyebalm. Unlike the previous one that uses Artmatic/Photoshop hybrid work, these consist of pure Artmatic-created images. So far I've got the Flora gallery done, and will add more as time permits. (The images are done...just need to do the administrative html coding part...the "not fun" part.)
Dream: Stan had harvested a bunch of bugs in a jar that we were going to feed to the newts. The newt aquarium also contained lizards like small geckos and anoles, so I had to be careful when I opened the door on top so that the reptiles wouldn't escape. The jar of bugs contained green hornworm caterpillars. I opened it, trying to extract the bugs from it and simultaneously trying to open the cage door at the same time, but one of the green hornworm caterpillars got out and was crawling around the top of the table really fast. Then, the caterpillar morphed into a green anole, and crawled really fast behind the cage and onto the wall. The room I was in looked nothing like our empty bedroom where we presently have the newts; it looked more like the old kitchen in the crappy apartment we had on Mulberry Street in Fort Collins, except that the old refrigerator was where the stove was in the dream. There were a bunch of papers on the wall like calendars and such, and I couldn't find the anole. Then I turned the light on in the room and spotted him on the wires and coils behind the refrigerator. I had no idea how I'd get him out.
Copyright 1996-2001 Ann Stretton. All Rights Reserved. No part of this web log may be copied or reproduced, however text may be quoted if a link is given in return. Permission is not given under any circumstances to use any of the graphics or art on this site, however If you ask first, I may grant permission at my discretion. Please check the link above to my Ann-S-Thesia site for web graphics if that is what you need.