The weather at the beach today was delicious.
Also, there were three boys nearby me on the sand, probably around 20 years old, who buried each other in the sand, one by one. Two of them buried the one friend, then he got out of the sand, another guy laid down, they buried him, then he got up and they buried the last guy. Then the first guy who was buried laid down again and was buried in sand a second time, alongside guy #3 who was still lying there, buried in sand.
I loved that they were playing the way 12 year old boys might, but they were so much older. One thing I really appreciate among the male gender when I come across it is a healthy degree of hanging onto boyhood playfulness.
Note: This is different from a man who is taking his sweet time in embracing adulthood responsibilities in order to, you know, mature.
When I see boys around the age of eight who haven't become self-conscious about what other boys or girls think of them, it really touches my heart. Because so often guys enter this phase of acting like Joe Cool, and so often they never leave that phase. Plus a lot of people in general get to the adult stage of life and rarely act like a kid when the time is appropriate to do so.
I grew up in a playful family--who remains playful--and so if nothing else, being silly really goes back to my roots and what I know to be natural. I'm comfortable with being silly. On occasion I have urges to literally frolic. If someone is too stiff, it aggravates me.
So when I see guys around the age of 20 burying each other in the sand without hesitation, it makes me cheer inside. Bravo, boys. Keep it up. And thanks for the entertainment today.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Friday is heeeere
If you asked me if I spent my Friday evening watching "Hot in Cleveland," the Celine Dion documentary, dancing to Rapper's Delight (twice), and drinking Coors Light,
well I would have to say, yes, yes I did do those things.
well I would have to say, yes, yes I did do those things.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Technical difficulties won't stop me
So I decided to look up information about Craig Ferguson tickets tonight and discovered they are super easy to get. I set up an account, chose my show, and shabam! Tickets!
That's not the story I'm here to tell, though.
There was a caveat:
That's not the story I'm here to tell, though.
There was a caveat:
There was one of those e-ticket screens, you know, like you get when signing in for a flight (I just wrote "plane ride," thought of the other term--"flight"--then deleted "plane ride." I sound like a 5-year-old: Plane ride!) and then you can print your boarding pass.
Well I'm at home, and I don't have a printer here. My landlords might, come to think of it, but oh well. No worries. Because I have the situation under control.
I sent the following message (edited to disguise my confirmation number, should one of you try to nab my free Craig tickets) to the help department through one of those "Contact us" forms.
Yeah that's what they're called, the "Help Department." Shut up, I've had a long day/week/month/couple of months. Anyway, here's the message in all its Luddite, ridiculous glory:
"Hi,
I just registered for 2 tickets to a Craig Ferguson show. The tickets are available, but I didn't realize I would have to print them. My computer is not hooked up to a printer. Is there a way I can access the ticket print-off page again (for example, tomorrow at work, where there is a printer)?
I see there's a QR code on there, but I don't have a smart phone--seriously. I realize this probably sounds like a joke, not having a printer or a smart phone. :)
Anyway, here's what I think is the confirmation number: #xxxxx
Help me see CraigyFerg, please!
Thanks,
Well I'm at home, and I don't have a printer here. My landlords might, come to think of it, but oh well. No worries. Because I have the situation under control.
I sent the following message (edited to disguise my confirmation number, should one of you try to nab my free Craig tickets) to the help department through one of those "Contact us" forms.
Yeah that's what they're called, the "Help Department." Shut up, I've had a long day/week/month/couple of months. Anyway, here's the message in all its Luddite, ridiculous glory:
"Hi,
I just registered for 2 tickets to a Craig Ferguson show. The tickets are available, but I didn't realize I would have to print them. My computer is not hooked up to a printer. Is there a way I can access the ticket print-off page again (for example, tomorrow at work, where there is a printer)?
I see there's a QR code on there, but I don't have a smart phone--seriously. I realize this probably sounds like a joke, not having a printer or a smart phone. :)
Anyway, here's what I think is the confirmation number: #xxxxx
Help me see CraigyFerg, please!
Thanks,
Bailey"
This is for real. If you requested this contact form through a records request, the only thing that would differ is the confirmation number and perhaps the font choice of the records request people.
After sending the above message, I 1)realized I could copy and paste the page with the e-ticket to a Word document and email it to myself to print later. Then as I composed an email to myself, to which I would attach the Word document, I, by nature of habit, I guess*, pasted the ticket information again into the body of the email and 2)realized that such was an option in place of bothering to attach the Word document to the email at all.
Finally, I 3)Went ahead and attached the document to the email anyway. For good measure.
I have got my ass covered on this, I tell ya. Hey, Ray Romano is a guest, I wanna see that guy, not to mention Craigy himself. And hopefully Secretariat!!
I thought about sending a second message to the ticket people at the Help Department to say, "Oh I figured it out, I copied and pasted, and I'll print it later," but decided against it.
Oh boy, I'm a mess.
You might think that one of these days I'll catch up to the 21st century, but I've gotta be honest with you: I'm not planning on it. I'm quite happy here in 1996.
I also learned something this evening, which is important for all of us, I think, to know and understand. From the producers of Craig's show, please read this carefully (emphasis mine): "The audience is asked not to bring any items to the show for the purpose of giving them to Craig Ferguson, Geoff Peterson, other characters or guests of the show."
Now I'm not sure Secretariat counts as a "character." I would like to count him (her?) an animal, rather. So I'm debating whether I should bring a salt lick or a nice crunchy apple for my equine friend. It might prevent me from getting inside. Perhaps an apple is the better choice, as I could always pass it off as my own snack.
*I do a lot of copying and pasting**, what can I say.
**Not to be confused with plagiarism, which I do not support nor participate in.
This is for real. If you requested this contact form through a records request, the only thing that would differ is the confirmation number and perhaps the font choice of the records request people.
After sending the above message, I 1)realized I could copy and paste the page with the e-ticket to a Word document and email it to myself to print later. Then as I composed an email to myself, to which I would attach the Word document, I, by nature of habit, I guess*, pasted the ticket information again into the body of the email and 2)realized that such was an option in place of bothering to attach the Word document to the email at all.
Finally, I 3)Went ahead and attached the document to the email anyway. For good measure.
I have got my ass covered on this, I tell ya. Hey, Ray Romano is a guest, I wanna see that guy, not to mention Craigy himself. And hopefully Secretariat!!
I thought about sending a second message to the ticket people at the Help Department to say, "Oh I figured it out, I copied and pasted, and I'll print it later," but decided against it.
Oh boy, I'm a mess.
You might think that one of these days I'll catch up to the 21st century, but I've gotta be honest with you: I'm not planning on it. I'm quite happy here in 1996.
I also learned something this evening, which is important for all of us, I think, to know and understand. From the producers of Craig's show, please read this carefully (emphasis mine): "The audience is asked not to bring any items to the show for the purpose of giving them to Craig Ferguson, Geoff Peterson, other characters or guests of the show."
Now I'm not sure Secretariat counts as a "character." I would like to count him (her?) an animal, rather. So I'm debating whether I should bring a salt lick or a nice crunchy apple for my equine friend. It might prevent me from getting inside. Perhaps an apple is the better choice, as I could always pass it off as my own snack.
*I do a lot of copying and pasting**, what can I say.
**Not to be confused with plagiarism, which I do not support nor participate in.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Look at me, I figured out how to post a Goodreads review on my blog
Truth and Beauty by Ann PatchettMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Great writing. I was glued to this book.
View all my reviews
Friday, June 15, 2012
Hard to look away
Cordelia and I said we weren't going to watch the man walk across Niagara Falls on a cable wire.
Oh we watched it.
Congratulations, Nik Wallenda!
Oh we watched it.
Congratulations, Nik Wallenda!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Pelagic form
Since moving West I have had moments of feeling homesick, yet with the understanding that I don't want to turn around and run back to where I came from. Not that I never want to set foot outside of California again, mind you. That was not supposed to sound like I never want to see people in the Midwest who I love again. I feel like this is where I want to be right now, and the homesickness is maybe more a symptom of adjustment than actual homesickness. And maybe an easier thing to feel than just straight-up stress, which there is plenty of to go around at the moment.
I miss my cat more than I'm letting myself think about. I was in the break room at work the other day and doing something at the counter--drying a coffee mug, prepping my coffee, maybe pouring a glass of V8 (yes, really; I drink it voluntarily with few regrets)--and I thought about how Dibby used to rub against my legs and cry at me impatiently when I used to do dishes or prepare meals. He'd often give up and lie on a plastic bag--plastic bags are his other love in life, after me--to wait for me. Still nearby, crying less often.
This memory of a series of memories of Dibbs led me to tell myself to think about something else, quick. It will just crush me if I think about him too much. He is normally just so much a part of my life, it's not like leaving behind my photo albums for a few months, which I did also leave behind.
Dibbs would greet me at the door, snuggle beside me on the love seat, knead the blankets in my bed and purr, finding a spot to settle next to me as I read. Right now there is no one who asks me for little pebbles of grossly-scented nutrition several times a day. So I just try not to think about him for very long periods of time. He is in good hands, albeit near other felines, I will be reunited with him eventually, and if I were in love with a man back East I'm sure it would be so much harder to be apart from him than from my little booger baby kitty. So I'm counting my blessings and hoping he's coping on his end.
Meanwhile the birds are taking care of me.
I am of the camp that finds most animals to resemble other animals, meaning birds resemble cats resemble lizards resemble dogs. I can see the differences, obviously--beak, paws, scales. But their facial expressions, their ways of looking at us humans: all have the same effect on me.
My dad automatically says "Duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck" (very quickly, each "duck" one right after the other) every time he sees a duck. I've taken to the same habit. It's an impulse, I can hardly help it. And when I see a bird, a squirrel, a four-legged buddy of any kind I find myself saying hello. "Hi, buddy!" Try and spend one day with me in which we spend at least some time outside and I bet you will hear these words from my mouth, directed at one not of our species.
On Saturday I was at the beach--duh--and witnessed some tamale theft. Actually I missed the theft itself, but saw the remains and witnessed the resulting hubbub.
The thief got away. Because he could fly.
That tamale was gone and there was nothing the original owners could do about it because the seagull had it so they might as well laugh, which they did.
They did put their food in a bag after that, however--a plastic shopping bag--and later abandoned their towel to go play in the water.
While they were away I watched a gull (the same one?) come and examine the bag. And grab the handle with its beak. Look at it curiously. Peck near the base. Make a bird call--calling his friends? Grab the handle again. Peck the bag again. Repeat.
Some other gulls came nearby, and the gull flapped his wings toward them and squawked at them, like a surly teenager who wants attention but wants to be left alone at the same time.
I was surprised by the flapping and the squawking, as I had assumed they were a team, or family, because they looked alike. Of course they look alike to us, as I imagine all of us look alike to them, but I'm sure they can tell the difference between each other the same way I can tell my brothers from each other. For all I know Joe--or Jane--Gull had no idea who these other crazy birds were who were trying to crash his--or her--party picnic. Maybe he was trying to organize the masses in order to effectively break into the bag and was aggravated by their inability to focus and attack before the picnickers returned to their booty.
I thought about this concept of automatically assuming they were together while maybe they were strangers to each other in fact.
One of the (human) picnickers eventually walked back and noticed the bird(s). He had been annoyed with the birds earlier, and I don't think he was too thrilled with them the second time around.
His loss. I enjoyed watching their head movements, their pecking, their bickering and flapping quite very much. And I'm comforted to know there will be birds waiting for me on the beach every weekend, to abate my missing of my beloved Dibbsy Bear. By standing in for him, in pelagic form.
I miss my cat more than I'm letting myself think about. I was in the break room at work the other day and doing something at the counter--drying a coffee mug, prepping my coffee, maybe pouring a glass of V8 (yes, really; I drink it voluntarily with few regrets)--and I thought about how Dibby used to rub against my legs and cry at me impatiently when I used to do dishes or prepare meals. He'd often give up and lie on a plastic bag--plastic bags are his other love in life, after me--to wait for me. Still nearby, crying less often.
This memory of a series of memories of Dibbs led me to tell myself to think about something else, quick. It will just crush me if I think about him too much. He is normally just so much a part of my life, it's not like leaving behind my photo albums for a few months, which I did also leave behind.
Dibbs would greet me at the door, snuggle beside me on the love seat, knead the blankets in my bed and purr, finding a spot to settle next to me as I read. Right now there is no one who asks me for little pebbles of grossly-scented nutrition several times a day. So I just try not to think about him for very long periods of time. He is in good hands, albeit near other felines, I will be reunited with him eventually, and if I were in love with a man back East I'm sure it would be so much harder to be apart from him than from my little booger baby kitty. So I'm counting my blessings and hoping he's coping on his end.
Meanwhile the birds are taking care of me.
I am of the camp that finds most animals to resemble other animals, meaning birds resemble cats resemble lizards resemble dogs. I can see the differences, obviously--beak, paws, scales. But their facial expressions, their ways of looking at us humans: all have the same effect on me.
My dad automatically says "Duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck" (very quickly, each "duck" one right after the other) every time he sees a duck. I've taken to the same habit. It's an impulse, I can hardly help it. And when I see a bird, a squirrel, a four-legged buddy of any kind I find myself saying hello. "Hi, buddy!" Try and spend one day with me in which we spend at least some time outside and I bet you will hear these words from my mouth, directed at one not of our species.
On Saturday I was at the beach--duh--and witnessed some tamale theft. Actually I missed the theft itself, but saw the remains and witnessed the resulting hubbub.
The thief got away. Because he could fly.
That tamale was gone and there was nothing the original owners could do about it because the seagull had it so they might as well laugh, which they did.
They did put their food in a bag after that, however--a plastic shopping bag--and later abandoned their towel to go play in the water.
While they were away I watched a gull (the same one?) come and examine the bag. And grab the handle with its beak. Look at it curiously. Peck near the base. Make a bird call--calling his friends? Grab the handle again. Peck the bag again. Repeat.
Some other gulls came nearby, and the gull flapped his wings toward them and squawked at them, like a surly teenager who wants attention but wants to be left alone at the same time.
I was surprised by the flapping and the squawking, as I had assumed they were a team, or family, because they looked alike. Of course they look alike to us, as I imagine all of us look alike to them, but I'm sure they can tell the difference between each other the same way I can tell my brothers from each other. For all I know Joe--or Jane--Gull had no idea who these other crazy birds were who were trying to crash his--or her--party picnic. Maybe he was trying to organize the masses in order to effectively break into the bag and was aggravated by their inability to focus and attack before the picnickers returned to their booty.
I thought about this concept of automatically assuming they were together while maybe they were strangers to each other in fact.
One of the (human) picnickers eventually walked back and noticed the bird(s). He had been annoyed with the birds earlier, and I don't think he was too thrilled with them the second time around.
His loss. I enjoyed watching their head movements, their pecking, their bickering and flapping quite very much. And I'm comforted to know there will be birds waiting for me on the beach every weekend, to abate my missing of my beloved Dibbsy Bear. By standing in for him, in pelagic form.
Monday, June 11, 2012
"Moogee"--as my dad likes to say
Looking for new tunes, friends?
Some peeps I've found in my short time (so far) here in LaLa Land:
Alex Rhodes
&
Minus Ned
Might I say that I enjoy the fact that Minus Ned offers their album in compact disc form, for the old school among us. Thanks, guys. ;)
Not to say that I won't listen to Rhodes' music because there isn't a compact disc option, mind you. Her voice is so beautiful.
Some peeps I've found in my short time (so far) here in LaLa Land:
Alex Rhodes
&
Minus Ned
Might I say that I enjoy the fact that Minus Ned offers their album in compact disc form, for the old school among us. Thanks, guys. ;)
Not to say that I won't listen to Rhodes' music because there isn't a compact disc option, mind you. Her voice is so beautiful.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
"Oh the wait was so worth it"
I remember when "The Remedy" came out, I liked it to a certain extent. I remember I came home from college for Christmas break and when Patrick drove me home from the airport, it came on the radio and we talked about how we liked it. What I mostly value from it is the lyric, "I won't worry my life away."
But in general I haven't been a big Jason Mraz fan.
"I'm Yours" is so annoying to me. I think I might have liked it briefly when it first came out and then quickly changed my mind.
I have a mixed CD that my friend Caleb gave me and I used to skip to the songs I particularly liked. There was one song on there that I skipped over and then for some reason I didn't once this spring and thought, "What is this song?!" because it was so good. I was so surprised to find that it was a Jason Mraz song, because it didn't fit the style I usually associate him with. It's called "A Beautiful Mess." Honestly, it was those first notes on the guitar that made me think it would be annoying. I still don't enjoy the little plinky string of notes, but I overlook it because I love the rest.
Earlier today I heard a song on the radio that was so notable that I wrote down some of the lyrics. I looked it up this evening and sure enough: Jason. "I Won't Give Up." Here are both of them, for your enjoyment:
But in general I haven't been a big Jason Mraz fan.
"I'm Yours" is so annoying to me. I think I might have liked it briefly when it first came out and then quickly changed my mind.
I have a mixed CD that my friend Caleb gave me and I used to skip to the songs I particularly liked. There was one song on there that I skipped over and then for some reason I didn't once this spring and thought, "What is this song?!" because it was so good. I was so surprised to find that it was a Jason Mraz song, because it didn't fit the style I usually associate him with. It's called "A Beautiful Mess." Honestly, it was those first notes on the guitar that made me think it would be annoying. I still don't enjoy the little plinky string of notes, but I overlook it because I love the rest.
Earlier today I heard a song on the radio that was so notable that I wrote down some of the lyrics. I looked it up this evening and sure enough: Jason. "I Won't Give Up." Here are both of them, for your enjoyment:
Monday, June 4, 2012
l'Ete
I think this might be a primarily television-free summer for me.
I think I'm okay* with that.
*AP style calls for writing "OK" instead of "okay," but in my own writing that isn't going in a journalism publication, I use "okay," okay? Because "OK" looks like someone is really annoyed. An example:
"OK! All right, already!" [Teamed with teenage (or 27-year-old) eye roll]
See what I'm saying? I knew you would.
I think I'm okay* with that.
*AP style calls for writing "OK" instead of "okay," but in my own writing that isn't going in a journalism publication, I use "okay," okay? Because "OK" looks like someone is really annoyed. An example:
"OK! All right, already!" [Teamed with teenage (or 27-year-old) eye roll]
See what I'm saying? I knew you would.
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