well-dressed foolish ideas

Ever spend loads of time with someone and at one point end up thinking...

Is it that they don't want to talk to me or is it that they don't have anything to say to me?
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This morning I woke up, ready for the day, at 9.30. I didn't think there was any chance of going back to sleep, but I persisted. I laid there for at least 45 more minutes staring at the walls. And then I woke up at about 11.30 wondering if I was alone in my flat or not. I couldn't figure it out, but I was sure that someone had stolen my mini fritts. Some dream extra took my mini fritts. I hope he isn't a recurring extra. That was mean. And damned if the first thing I did when I wandered out of my bedroom was check the mini fritts cabinet. It's important to have snacks. I still have snacks. Until I get hungry.

I couldn't remember much about my morning, not even so much about being awake for a while. I thought everything was shaded in a nice lilac. It was just my duvet. Apparently, one-eyed Kirsten isn't as perceptive as two-eyed Kirsten. And depth perception isn't easy while constantly winking.

I still haven't voted. I'm afraid that with my depth perception being compromised I might check the wrong boxes. This would be bad.

It's gotta be time for some kind of entertainment now. West Wing, 24 or Alias, here I come!
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In the past day I have finally gotten season 4 of the west wing in the mail, and season 3 of 24 in the mail. I've also gotten my absentee ballot. I like the mailman.

When I've filled in my voting ballot, which will take me all of about 30 seconds, I will commence with couch time. And couch time is always good time.
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I met a really nice doctor lady today. She gave me stuff to deal with the eyeache that turned into puffy-eye. She gave me... eye stuff. That has to go into my eye. And I ... I'm not good with eye stuff. It took me a half hour to actually get the stuff in my eye.

And now. Now I'll prepare to put in another dose of stuff into my eye. I have another 11 hours to prepare. And it will take just that long.
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How is it possible that I am awakened by weird phone calls at half past one in the morning? I don't understand this at all. I'm completely creeped out. Oh fuck it. Here's some laundry not dipped in dye. Sorry ahead of time, but it had to be done.

This guy has a girlfriend, for maybe 10 more minutes since he can't fucking decide whether or not he wants one. So why the hell does he go out to a bar, get drunk, come home and call me at half past one in the morning? To tell me.... He wants to talk to me? Yeah, ohhkay buddy. I'll get right fucking on that. Because I've been interested in talking to him for over a year. No. Really. I have(n't). Let me tell you how excited I am at the prospect of having any discussion with this guy.

NOT. AT. ALL.

I'm more excited about the prospect of having teeth pulled out of my mouth without any numbing drugs - which isn't really a prospect at all, damnit!

Why in hell is this guy being creepy and acting creepy towards me? I made it absolutely clear that there would be no chance, none, not in the slightest bit, that I would ever accept, appreciate, want, or respond in kind to his creepy "I dig you" behavior. CUT IT OUT, Creepy-guy-WITH-GIRLFRIEND! I could ignore the behavior, after immediately making it clear that I would have nothing to do with him, but after tonight's phone call, I'm aggravated and to be honest, I DON'T NEED THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW.
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I wanted to post a link a long time ago to a t-shirt that I must buy. I just had a look through my archives looking for the link and didn't find it, so I figured it was about time.

Please click this.

That is all.
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A UK university is sponsoring and funding a duplication of what is known in psychology research as The Zimbardo Prison Experiment, which was conducted at Stanford University in 1971. And BBC is right there, with cameras. The show is called "The Experiment" and I find it scary that the experiment is being executed in such a completely and horribly unethical way.

God I hate TV. Why won't I stop watching it?
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I've been swallowed by a mutant and spit back out. So I'm currently bundled up on my couch staring at the TV with a blank expression on my face and wondering how long it will take for me to fall asleep. I should have already learned better by now, but I'm watching another bbc prime program. About animals. I'm so not cheered up. But I've found a new love for rhinoceros'. They're cute. And fast. And weigh a whole damn lot. White rhinos have poor eyesight though, so if you run across one in the wild, keep a decent distance and don't make a sound. If you're far enough away so that they can't see you, this is a good thing. But they can run nearly 50 kilometers per hour. So find yourself an escape route. And don't make a sound.

The end of the program has explained how to capture an African Elephant. First, you need a tranq gun. Without that, please abandon any hope of capturing an elephant. Get your hands on some tranq darts and fill them with meds 1.000 times more potent than morphine. If you have any questions, please consult some veterinarians or pharmacist. One dart should keep an elephant sleeping for one hour. Rent yourself a helicopter and a sharp shooter, put them together. Find a herd of elephants from the air, have your sharp shooter tranq the elephant and then wait a while. Again, should you have any questions, consult some vet.

And now. Now, I will sleep.
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I'm all about the love for the noise makers today. Distractions and excuses for focusing are perfect on Monday mornings. And I say mornings because I'm not quite awake yet. Even with all the banging, whirring, pounding, slamming, breaking, screeching, drilling, and hammering going on.

I want to find the incessant honking truck driver and kiss him like he's never been kissed before. And find him a hooker so he can get laid and lay off the fucking horn already! I have so much love for this one man that I can't possibly imagine my life without having had him in it, briefly as it might have been. Those 30 minutes of honking - they made my day.

I love the phone call caller. The one that let's my co-worker's phone ring 15 times. I would pick up the phone, but to be honest, stopping the phone call caller from letting the phone ring incessantly would pretty much ruin my day. It's also tough to locate the phone. I think someone might have cast invisibility on it. But I love it.

I love that phone and the phone call caller.

I love the drill and the driller.

I love the missing wall and the sledge hammerer.

I love the trucker and the truck honking honker.


In other news, I totally want this:

Now Available!
Pat's New Book
"Where the Right Went Wrong" Autographed!

That's right folks! Pat Buchanan wrote a book, and the generous bastard will send the thing to you - auto-fucking-graphed. It doesn't get any better than this, guys. I promise you.
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I'm uneasy. I'm worried. I'm nervous. I'm unhappy. I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm insecure. I'm anxious.

My eye aches when I blink. My stomach does flips every 5 minutes or so. My head aches in a very dull way. I'm constantly cold. There's a reverberating pain in my lower back. I can't sleep very well when I'm really tired. I sleep long and well when I'm not at all tired.

I have antibiotics prescribed by the doctor. I didn't have any blood drawn or any tests run. But I have drugs.

I haven't taken them because I don't subscribe to the philosophy of pills curing everything. And I don't know if I really need antibiotics, or if they'd even help.
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It's my brother's birthday today. Everyone, join me in singing happy birthday to the old lug, eh?

Happy Birthday, E!
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No matter my intentions, I inevitably forget to bring my ipod with me when I leave my flat. It's as if the gods of karma don't want me to enjoy a musical morning or a musical commute to work, or a musical anything for that matter. I've found that the ipod earphones sometimes deter people from talking to me, however, karma has the opposite effect and for some reason everyone wanted to talk to me yesterday on public transportation and today... they just couldn't get enough of me. That's how popular I am.

I have an eyeache. What does one take for an eyeache?
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BBC prime is fast becoming a dangerous channel for me to watch on weekends. Not long ago it was the SAS program. Today, it's all about nature. Animals. Mating calls and rituals and picky-as-fuck females.

Apparently there's a bird in the rainforest that chooses a mate by the decoration he puts outside his den, or nest or whatever. The more colorful and nicely organized and pleasing to the (bird's) eye, the more likely that male bird will get a fuck. And apparently the females get to choose from a lotta male front door steps. So if a male bird's not such a stellar interior or exterior designer, he's never gonna get any, poor chap.

And worse yet, there's a bird in Cuba that makes 80 male birds dance and sing for her so she can choose the best. Oddly, the male birds start young and practice - for years - with a buddy. So the female chooses one pair of potential mates and then one of them. Since the practicing takes so long to get the routine down properly, the males that get really good are also really old and can die during or straight after their performance.

Human males have it so much better. Imagine a couple of 80 year olds doin a jig to get a lay from a 25 year old.

Someone should take the TV away from me. But if it's you, remember that I am quite content to sit and watch someone else's (usually fake) life than think about my own right now. I suppose a program about virus infected seals isn't really as uplifting as I'd hoped the animal show would be.
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Where's the nearest information desk for life? I'd like to know which line to stand in that will lead me to the proper place. I believe it's called "You're a complete bitch - Hell" however, I may be mistaken in the actual wording. What with these bad days sailing by, I'm fast becoming everyone's favorite person to damn to hell. I can take the voyage ala handbasket, train, plane, automobile or maybe, if I get off my lazy ass, walk. I'm open for other invitations on the method, should you have any ideas - please don't hold back.

I'm certain that the Bitch Hell is the branch which is reserved for people like Ilse Koch, Bloody Mary, Martha Stewart... Me. Regardless of the fact that I'm not famous, I'm certain all of us would get along swimmingly in Bitch Hell. I would be able to learn so much from each of them. It would be like going back to university, only this time for immediately applicable and useful knowledge. And what kind of voyage to Hell would be complete without a lesson from the locals?
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Yesterday, I got an email from a friend of mine. There were pictures included. They made me sad.

Then I got an email from my mother. It scared the shit out of me. I was having a bad day.

Today, nothing drastically scary or sad has happened, but it seems the bad day has morphed into days.

I'm being manipulated and I don't like it. I'm being used and I don't like it. And I'm confused, upset, angry, unhappy, scared, and sad.
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A weight, perhaps the equal of the landmass of Texas, slid off my back today. Another one, perhaps the equal of the landmass of Florida, slid off my shoulders today. And since I didn't pay the gravity bill because I'm such a nitwit when it comes to paying bills by paper (how fucking ancient is that?), I'm afraid I might just float right into outer space. If I take my camera, I'll be sure to take some Earth from Above photos, albeit I'd have to start saying something like Earth from Space after a while. I'll take a scarf, the be-all end-all of winter garments, as the wind up there in the outer bits of the atmosphere can be a bit chilly, or so I've heard. I'm sure postcards can be sent down to the planet, so watch out for falling debris, unless they get burned up in the re-entry. (Sorry ahead of time for that, if it happens.)

I never wanted to be an astronaut, but damned if I'll complain about it now.


Enter obscurity.

as if the beginning space flight wasn't obscure enough...

Texas and Florida. Very significant. I try to make it a policy around here to not really talk too much about (my) political opinion. So this will stick very closely to mostly known fact. Bear with me.

Texas is a widely known Republican hotbed. There's not really much contest when it comes to presidential elections there. There's not really a choice to be made. It's inevitable. It just must happen one way. It just has to be done. There's one road outta that place and it's with the Republicans in a 4x4 truck with a gun rack, a driver named Billy Joe, and an insane supply of chewing tobacco and Budweiser beer. The King of Beers, indeed. (Surely, I jest.)

Florida is largely considered a swing state, which can go either Democrat or Republican. It's up in the air. It's hard to guess. It's not always a given (unless your brother is the governor...) how the race will go. There's a chance for the Dems. There's a chance for Republicans. There's a fork in the road. Two diverging roads.

Like Texas, I did what was inevitable. I got around to finally making a choice that wasn't really a choice after all. There was only one thing to be done, one road to follow. I just wanted to take a rest on the side of the road before picking up my walking stick again and strolling along the shoulder of the highway, from where I can eye 4x4 trucks, chewing tobacco canisters, gun racks and Billy Joe from a distance.

Florida had me in a bind, and I couldn't decide which way to go, but I spent a long time toiling and made a decision. I'll take the road less traveled. Now, like Florida a few years ago, I'm going to have to stick with what the polls (supposedly) say, and come time for the Supreme Court to back up my choices for not going back on what I decided, I've got the wherewithal to know I have the back up that I need and the comfort of knowing it's not because of my dad or his boss for 8 years that there's back up. It's just there.




And to those of you that might be confused as hell, I apologize, but this laundry had to be dipped in politics, as it's the dirtiest water I could find, before I could hang it out to dry. I don't intend to drag anyone through the dirt, or mud for that matter, and I will continue to be so mind-bogglingly obscure when I have an inkling that my rinse water is molasses colored. Self preservation methods... I just can't shake 'em.
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They say a picture is worth a thousand words. These 100 photographs that changed the world are worth more than that. Link stolen from Mighty Girl

Please check LIFE's site as well, as there are a few more there. There's a few more, but not from this particular book, at life.com.


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Shiver me timbers!

Aaarrrr!

Advice on how to talk like a pirate...

auf Deutsch.
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So, yesterday, when I got out of bed it was like a miracle. I was healthy! Past tense is important here. Inspired by a friend who just can't get enough lately, I went shoe shopping. I really did need another pair of boots. I searched high and low for another pair of scary boots, but I couldn't justify the idea of squeezing my little bitty toes into the pointiest of pointy shoes. So I compromised and just got sort of pointy boots.

That took care of the first 15 minutes of my day after I ventured into the outside world. And then, it began. The ear popping. It hasn't stopped, and we're talking 24 hours later. I foresee a trip to the doctor. Somebody hold me. Those people are scary.

When I ventured out into the world yesterday, I debated whether or not I should take my laptop with me. I finally decided that I could go buy some boots, have a quick lunch and then go back and get my laptop before going grocery shopping. As luck would have it, the plan was nowhere near representative of reality. And here I am, with my laptop where I left it, and me nowhere near it, pining for it while sitting at my crusty old desktop. I'm going through withdrawals. The prospect of Tom Yum soup consoles me, however.

On the upside, Sudeki is pretty fun. I spent a number of hours yesterday distracting myself from the fact that my laptop was inaccessible by playing. I was interrupted a number of times by sneezes and coughing fits, but I tried to black most of that out of my memory. It mostly worked. I still don't understand why it is that one of the major characters has to wear a g-string. While I'm not terribly disturbed by the idea of a game character wearing a g-string, I'm a little disturbed that there's nothing covering it and, usually, all you ever see of these characters are their backsides. thankyouverymuch. And, wait for it... the g-string is an upgraded armor outfit.

I should really stop those soapbox rants. It's not like it really kills the game. It's just a pointless discussion to be having with myself, seeing as I agree with myself.

I'm hoping to be able to finish a few games before I get my copy of Fable because after Fable is Halo 2. And who needs the distraction of any other game when there's Halo 2? Certainly, not yours truly.

Thankfully, the weekends bring quiet and peace in my flat. The house somehow stops making noise. The fact that construction workers don't have to work on the weekends is awesome. Couple that with the fact that children stay at home on the weekends, and the fact that I have neither construction workers nor children living with me and you can paint me a happy camper.

I shall have an espresso machine right quick. All is right with the world. I can even deal with the persistent and seemingly ever-present ear popping.

Wow. How bad do I need some coffee?
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Damn, I forgot to mention that I'm taking a head count of the kindergarten kids so I can buy them all gifts. And if I could find those construction guys, they'd get one, too. Because I'm that nice.

Thanks for the link Markus.
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Now, I don't mean to complain, complain, complain, considering the fever is gone and I am now only battling with being able to breathe and see straight. This is a good thing. However, the bad thing is....

I live in a world of neverending noise.

I'll get back to that. The other day, in my fever ridden haze, I watched a BBC program about SAS training, or rather, would some civilian off the street be able to make it into the SAS kind of program. The episode I watched was about halfway through their torture - a total of 10 days - and the volunteers, if we can call them that, were put through a training exercise in escaping from being a POW in teams of 4 people. They were given rules, like "Don't use the main road. And for the love of all that is sacred, don't talk to anyone. Should you get caught, you can only tell the interrogators 6 pieces of information. Those pieces of information are: Name, age, town of residence, blood type, next of kin, and profession." Inevitably, you saw this coming, they were all caught. And of course, there was one team that not only used the main road, but, wait for it... talked to people.

So, once a team was caught, they were blindfolded and their pockets were emptied, but considering they were only carrying a map, this wasn't so psychologically bad. What probably really hit them was the fact that they spent most of the time laying on the ground, their faces in the dirt and their hands clasped behind their head. Once the SAS guys running the exercise were pleased with their lying in the dirt skills, they took them to a warehouse where they made the volunteers stand, sit or pose in odd, difficult to hold positions. For twenty minutes at a time. This was the "wait here for the next interrogator" room. The worst part of the warehouse, where they were posing for at least two hours, was the fact that there was a stereo in the room blaring white noise. This has to be the most disconcerting thing in the world. To be blindfolded, positioned in a really uncomfortable pose, cold, wet (it was raining), and scared shitless - well that's all really bad. Complete and total disorientation. But really the neverending white noise blaring in their ears, echoing in the warehouse. That had to be the most incredibly disturbing thing to have to go through.

At the end of the program, the team that broke the rules about going on the main road and talking to people were excused from the program, even though two of them didn't crack under the interrogation. There were only 4 people that didn't crack under the interrogation, only giving out the 6 pieces of information. It was interesting, but enough of that.

My world of neverending noise isn't exactly white noise, but it compares pretty well. Today, I have decided that people should stop breeding. Or failing that, stop bringing offspring to the kindergarten in my house. They have been screaming for nearly 2 hours straight. I wish I had lungs like that.

And then there's the basketball team that lives above me. In reality, the upstairs neighbor is just a thirtysomething couple with a penchant for moving their furniture on a daily basis. Since I'm usually not here during the day, I can't say with all certainty that they only reserve the moving stuff for midnight, but today, I can say that they not only move stuff, but their pet elephant, whatever his name is, is FUCKING LOUD.

Add a little more white noise from construction guys - somewhere - and I'm going utterly batty. I swear to god, I went and looked for the construction guys. They aren't anywhere to be found. They don't exist except to make noise. I looked everywhere. I'm not hallucinating either. I don't have proof of that yet, but if necessary, I think I could manage.

I decided to go hang out in my kitchen, since that's the quietest and darkest room in my flat, just to see if all the noise would go away. Since I'm back on the couch now, you can safely assume there is no respite for me.
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Bathroom cleaning substances are like poison. They give you fevers and sore throats and sneeze fits, and sometimes, just sometimes, near-fainting spells. Or it could have been getting out of bed too fast. I like to blame the cleaning supplies though. It's so much more glamorous.

So far today I have accomplished precisely not much at all. I have sent three emails today, I have watched really horribly bad bbc prime sitcoms and drama series episodes totaling nearly 5 hours of my day (woe is me), I have eaten precisely three pieces of bread yet consumed about 3 liters of liquids in my 6 waking hours, I have thought about reading a book or working on a crossword, I have thought about watching a film, and I have slept the sleep of the dead. But the sleep of the dead with a fever lasts only about an hour or two at a time.

And now I sit on my couch unabashedly hoping against hope.
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Nothing says healing quite like scrubbing a bathtub. That was the event of my night. It came upon me like a flash flood. No warning, no inkling of what was to come. And it all started with some basil in my teeth from my impromptu cooking session for dinner. Amazing how easy it is to clear your head while exerting far too much energy just to make the tub sparkle.

I should either be committed or someone needs to point me to another tub that requires scrubbing bubbles and the attention of one of those cleaning pads.

Let the healing begin.
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I wanted to touch base again, to let anyone know that may be interested, how my open letters were received. Lindt, sadly has not replied. I'll take that as a sign that they're in the process of developing a new way to package their chocolate bars. And they're willing to put in the time and research necessary to make the requested changes.

The annoyance, well, that problem's been solved and common courtesy rules the lands, yet again.

I think I can safely say that open letters result in successful correspondence.
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German. Keyboard. Oida.

This was a weekend of weird films. First and foremost, please remember one thing. I do not, have not ever, will likely not ever, like horror films. I'm a big, fat weenie. So, what I am about to say should not come as a surprise. I had very vivid and colorful dreams after Suspiria. I was afraid that would happen, and it did. I hate when I'm right. The movie, however, was not as bad as I was expecting. And let it be noted here and now that I didn't jump, screech, become startled or otherwise highly agitated during the entire film, unlike my companions. And they're (freaks!) horror fans. But I like them just the same, even with their jumpy behavior. Which was more scary than the movie. So, no startlement here. (Yes, that is a word.) Aside from the "guts will now be eaten" scene where I turned away and whimpered. And the "she will die now" scene. And then there was the "she can't possibly live through the beating she's going to get because the music is slightly more indicative of the plot than the dialogue so I can guess what's coming" part.

Suspiria - totally 70's. The brightly colored part of the 70's. A lot less frighteningly bloody than I had anticipated. This made me happy. I wasn't happy enough to convince me that horror films are great. So I'll stick with being afraid of them, since I'm oh-so-good at that. I've had a lot of practice, see. And why change a good thing?

It was disturbingly bright. And disturbingly cheesy at some points. And oh, the feathered hair. Who thought it would be a good idea to make feathered hair go out of style? I mean, really. And the plot was one of those weird, you'll never guess how this will end because it's so fucking bizarre, kinds. All in all: bizarro. But colorful.

Last night, I went to see Blueberry. I didn't know there were psychedelic western movies made. I liked it. It wasn't as colorful as Suspiria, but what with my dreams after the 70's horror flick, I was pretty okay with the western motif. Juliette Lewis was in it, to my surprise. And Eddie Izzard, funny man. It was subdued, somehow elegant, and I daresay I liked it. Twice. If you live in Vienna, it's too late for you to catch it in the theater, as last night was the last showing in town, but I think it hasn't been out in the states yet. Go see it. I command thee.

There's so no reason for me to bring this up, but I just can't resist. What in the hell is the deal with the non-outfits that girl characters get in video games? Seriously. I'm not fucking around. Why can't chicks wear at least FULL bikini bottoms to cover the other half of their ass? You know, I really don't have much room to complain, considering the outfits at least cover their cracks, thankyouverymuch. I was waylaid with movies this weekend, otherwise I would give you a full account of how much I still like Pokemon Colosseum.

I hope I have technicolor dreams again tonight. Without the mass killings, though.
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I said I'd go see a movie. Somebody hold me.

I only agreed on the conditions that I can hide behind someone. Throughout the entire film. And hence, not really see any of it.

Reviews to come.
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In the midst of my rather pathetic self wallowing night, I've just learned that one of my friends from high school passed away last weekend.

I spent New Year's with him and got to catch up with him after about a year. I learned that his cancer wasn't advancing and he was doing well. He had lost too much weight but his doctors were happy that he was ever so slowly putting some back on. He was incredibly happy, with his life, his friends, his family and his long-time girlfriend. I hadn't seen him smile or heard him laugh as much as he did that night in years.

From half a world away, he will be missed.
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