Wednesday, March 31, 2004


Now for today's embarrassing moment:

I'm in the process of replacing the VHS holdings of our sister-school in China with DVDs. I Googled the title "Dim Sum" (full title "Dim Sum: A little bit of heart"--cute film about generational clashes in a Chinese-American family) and happily clicked on "Dim Sum Chinese DVD/Video" only to have an ENORMOUS porn video site load onto my office computer's not-small monitor. Which faces out. And can be viewed by whomever walks past. Crap.

Now that's more like it

After a month-long hiatus, which I am certain was enacted because the show was dangerously close to going off the rails (and may have jumped the shark anyway), 24 made its triumphant return into my life last night. It was as if the producers had heard my various critiques of the season thus far--last night they stuck with what was interesting: the virus, Michelle/Tony, and Jack. They kept run-ins with Palmer and Sherri to a minimum (except for one excellent scene where it looked like Dennis Haysbert was going to reduce Penny Johnson Gerald to a crimson stain on the wall ("Is very bad...drink Jo-bu's rum!"), Chloe's whiney self was totally absent (woo!), and they relegated Spawn to sitting at a desk and occasionally talking on the phone. In particular I love how badass they have made Michelle's character, finally getting her out of the office and letting her go medieval on the freaked out hotel patrons.

The show in general had a lot of ground to recover--they had really strayed from discernible plots and had tried to throw in things to shock us that in fact no one gave two craps about (i.e. Chase being somebody's baby daddy). In a sense they apologized for the lapse and the time lag by promising 9 new episodes in a row, with some fairly enticing previews. I won't consider it 100% fixed for another episode or 2, but this was a definite step in the right direction.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004


I think this is great. And I don't even like basketball.

"Anne was a rolling stone...wherever she laid her hat was her home...."

As most of you know, I have spent the last month moving. I had leases on 2 apartments for the month of March, which on the one hand was not financially fabulous but logistically made my life much easier, as I just schlepped a carload of stuff between the places as I had time. Super shout out to BD, my Hidalgo (see March 16th post), who as usual held up like a champ for all the back and forth. His trunk is still stuffed with things that I'm either taking to store at my mom's or going to try and sell. He puts up with so much from me. That's my dawg!

And now, at long last, the move is done. A huge, monstrous, heartfelt, and "I couldn't have done it without you" THANK YOU to Kristin, Marv, Des, and especially Bryan who provided the necessary transportation to haul my big furniture hither and yon. We loaded, drove, and unloaded in under an hour. That is some skill, my friends. Last night put the nail in the coffin of the gypsy ways, as I did the final walk-through and turned over the keys to the winter house to my c-razy ex-landlord. Peace out [expletive deleted].

So far I've met two neighbors--Damian and Paul--and have heard someone's pet bird twittering, as well as a cat? scrambling at break-neck speed across the upstairs tenant's hard wood floors. Seriously, it sounds like this animal is running from "I will NOT testify in public" Condi herself. Yeah. You know the pix I mean.

I'm sure many stories will be forthcoming about all the ha'nens chez moi. Stay tuned.

Shout out to the Aries of the Doss family!!

A very, very happy birthday to my mom (age undisclosed ;) ) and my brother Steven (45) who are both celebrating their birthdays today.

One shared birthday in the past Steve "called" Mom to wish her happy happy from his C-141 somewhere above Egypt, cruising along the Nile. I just remember she kept having to say "OVER" at the end of every sentence. I think this year he'll just use his cell phone though.

Much love to them both.

Monday, March 29, 2004

Which classic novel do you belong in?

My results, according to this estimable site. I'd have to say, it's spot on for me:

I believe you belong in Pride and Prejudice; a
world of satire and true love. A world where
everything is crystal clear to the reader, and
yet where new things seem to be happening all
the time. You belong in a world where your
free-thought puts you above the silly masses,
and where bright eyes and intelligence are
enough to attract the arrogant
millionaire/prejudiced young man of your

Which Classic Novel do You Belong In?
brought to you by Quizilla

It's the little things

Out of curiosity I went the DC Metro's website to compare fares and travel times now that my route has changed. Without getting into detail, I can get to work one of two ways--a longer train ride and shorter walk, or vice versa. You would think that for health and financial reasons I would default to the latter, but there are times when DC's weather (read: summer sauna) profoundly discourages outdoor activity of ANY kind.

I discovered, though, that by stretching my legs and taking the long walk/short ride option, I would save $72 a year! That may not sound like a lot, but for me its a month's worth of TV, internet, and Netflix. Amazing how a few cents each day stacks up in the long run.

Brought to you by the "Things Interesting Only to Anne" fund.

Sunday, March 28, 2004

"Off we go, into the wild blue yonder...."

NASA, at it's finest, is the shit. Stuff like this thrills me no end.

The article likens this to the Wright Brothers' first flight, and references Chuck Yeager's October 1947 Mach 1 jaunt, but I'm afraid that this sort of technological (or at least aeronautical) achievement doesn't galvanize the populace like those events did. We are immersed (in the States at least) in such a technology-rich lifestyle that I think we've in general become blase about break-throughs like this. Look at how quickly we stopped paying attention to information from the Mars landers. All that the average American concentrates on these days relative to NASA is how much money its costing us, or where it factors in political machinations. Without a foe (i.e., USSR) to spur us on to achieve, and dream, and, yes, spend, we seem so complacent about having vision. About discovery for discovery's sake. Kinda sad.

Friday, March 26, 2004

Hug your librarian

There are many advantages to working in a library. I hesitate to name them all here for fear of throwing you all headlong into fits of depression when you stack my li'bary life up against your...probably much more lucrative job. Crap. Where was I?

Oh yes! You will wish you were me when you hear that have I used my extensive connections to nab a copy of Against All Enemies, Richard Clarke's much touted, frequently referenced, but apparently not yet much read book. Maybe now I'll know what all the laughing during his testimony Wednesday was about. Because this whole Iraq war thing is so very funny.


Here it is, guys and dolls, the latest installment:

6. It took me many years to know the word athletic applied to me.

7. When I was little, I used to get into some trouble for not doing my chores…notoriously lazy about helping around the house. Oh and I also got busted once for stealing a little travel-sized container of aspirin from the Little Creek Navy Exchange.

8. If I could serve in a high-ranking post in government, I would be Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution. Or SecDef. Or maybe just someone's secretary?

9. When I was in fifth grade, I used to daydream about Truly? Being skinny and cute—popular, accepted. But also being a paleontologist, living in California, marrying my crush, John.

10. If I wear/wore perfume, I choose Issey Miyake (cost not an issue).

The ridiculous and the sublime

I have a couple of links to offer this morning.

First, my nod to the ridiculous, and by that I mean GWB and his unflagging campaign to rob me of what little money I make as it is. (link courtesy of Des...thank'ee girl!)

Next, what really brings me here today: the sublime joy that is 80s cartoons, in particular, G.I. Joe. Initially my buddy John hooked me up with this link, which I sent to a small clique of fellow Joephiles. But Sandy, internet super sleuth that he is, dug deeper and found this extensive set of dubbed G.I. Joe public service announcements. God bless you both.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

There's a reason I'm not nostalgic for high school

I was recounting a story for Kristin last night and realized that it was ideal blog material. It’s like something out of a bad 80s movie, it’s grown way beyond its original scope or importance, and it’s a perfect anecdote to summarize the vagaries and karmic misfortune of my love life. I’m only using last initials—to protect people from what, I don’t really know; it’s a fairly harmless tale—but if you’re a member of the HHS Class of 1994, you know who you are.

Once upon a time there was a boy named Ryan M. I first met him when we were in the same 7th grade homeroom class (shout out to Mr. Pattison). I liked Ryan immediately. I realize now that he fit my “type” (while simultaneously looking like a pubescent Harrison Ford), but he also was just a good guy—smart, witty, kind, and not prone to the dickhead maneuvers so common among teenage boys. The flame of my crush on him burned especially bright that year, and then slowed to a simmer in years to come. While I liked and dated other guys in high school, Ryan was always sort of there in the background…someone to keep track of, chat with before classes, and generally root for as we slogged through ages 14-18.

I pick 18 as a cutoff because that’s the last time I saw Ryan. The night of our high school graduation, in fact. We headed off to different universities and I haven’t spoken to or seen him since. I have, however, thought of him occasionally in the intervening years, to the point where if I ran into an old high school friend who might know of his whereabouts, I asked about him. Non-stalker, “Oh, hey, any idea how Ryan’s doing?” kind of thing.

Years pass. It’s now 2002 and my best friend from home, Corinna F., comes to DC for a visit. Late one night (after much frivolity at the Evening Star café. Whiskey sours—you do the math) we come back to my house and get to talking about Old Times. At which point I bring up people I’ve lost track of and would like to catch up with. Ryan is mentioned, and we get the brilliant idea to Google him. Which I do, and come up with a work email address. WHICH I THEN WRITE TO. I mentioned the whiskey sours, right? Anyway, I never get an answer and figure he either isn’t at that address anymore or doesn’t want to talk to me. More years pass.

Well, a year and a half. This time it’s me who’s visiting Corinna. I’m in the Oakland airport, just having checked in for my flight (shout out to Jet Blue—effing awesome airline), and I hear “ANNE DOSS!” I turn, and it’s Sam H. yet another HHS alum, who crazily enough had also been out visiting old hometown friends that same weekend. Amazingly we were booked on the same flight home, and took the opportunity to catch up. In the course of that convo I discover that Sam and Ryan became great friends after high school (having been only acquaintances, friend-of-a-friend types in school), do all kinds of fun social things together, and that, in short, Ryan is alive and well, and living not too far from where we grew up. Excellent! Good to know. Tell him I said hello. (PS, in the interests of full disclosure I should mention that I did tell Sam about the crush I had had on Ryan, in an offhand “Oh my gosh I used to love that guy in 7th grade” way. It was FIFTEEN years ago. I thought I could safely mention it without repercussions. Silly me.)

Flash forward to last week. I now need to introduce just one more character: Naila A. ALSO an HHS alum, she lives in the same small city that Ryan does. Naila is also a very good, old friend of Corinna’s. So much so that at some point in the past Corinna said something about me, and Ryan, and the long-ago crush. And me running into Sam. And the fact that Sam and Ryan are now friends. Everybody with me so far? So Naila, living in the same place as Ryan and brimming with knowledge that I know and was at some point in the past twitterpated with Ryan, runs into said fella at a St. Patrick’s Day shindig. They chat briefly (drunkenly, btw. It was St. Patty’s! To be expected, of course). In searching for topics of conversation, Naila asks Ryan if he remembers Corinna. Yes, he does, how is she? And did he know that Corinna and Anne are good friends? Yes, he guesses he did. And did he know that ANNE DOSS IS TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH HIM? What…the….F***?!?!?? Where did that come from?

The best part though, is not that I was characterized as being on a decades-long search for him. The best part was his response: “Yeah, I have her email. I should write her.” Oh, holy Jesus. 1. Where did he get my email address?? Did the long ago Drunken Email of ’02 get through to him after all? Or did Sam maybe pass on my cyber digits? 2. “I should write her” is the email equivalent of “We should get together.” Oft stated, never done. If he is in possession of said address, and hasn’t used it thus far, I’m thinking that’s it’s own answer right there. 3. They were drunk. He may remember none of this (Please, Jeebus, at the very least let him forget “She’s trying to get in touch with you.”)

So, bottom line is, once I loved a boy. When I was 12. Two or three times in the intervening 16 years I’ve asked mutual acquaintances about him. This has metastasized into those three people conveying a general impression to Ryan that I am stalking him. No wonder he hasn’t used my email address. Would you if Anne Doss was trying to get in touch with you?

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Why do I feel like we're the Redcoats and they're the Colonials?

OK, this is a big excerpt, but I thought it was worth reprinting here (courtesy and copyright of Aviation Week & Space Technology March 22, 2004, Vol. 160, No. 12 p. 23):

UNPREDICTABLE. Most U.S. soldiers and commanders are not prepared to fight modern insurgent groups, according to recent analyses by military academics. "The visualization of authority [and insurgent organizations] by military professionals is a hierarchical pyramid," said a former professor at the U.S. Naval Academy [me: BEAT ARMY]. "When they have to go after a system that operates like [a swarm of] lightning bugs, it's hard for them to grasp the model." Analysts also note the rise of special operations phases of the Iraq conflict. The autonomy of special forces has historically been resented by regulars whose careers can be ruined by a single mistake. Such risk-averse groups may not be innovative and adaptive enough to destroy organizations like al Qaeda, whose adherents operate autonomously--well trained, technologically astute and indoctrinated with religious zeal. Cells or individuals are given a general mission and then released with very few links to a central organization. Each builds a local organization to fit the situation, reacts to changing circumstances, uses available weapons and attacks targets of opportunity. Such tactics are hard to profile and predict. The model is being compared, within academic circles, to that of Jesuits, who are picked for intelligence, rigorously trained and then sent out to operate with little central direction.

Food for thought.

"Sad woman, take it slow and it comes together fine...."

Steve is my personal DJ Skribble, and today we are spinning the tasty GNR Greatest Hits. It's very simply produced and packaged, no remastering, no hours-long jam sessions (which suits me), probably because of all the disputes revolving around the release of this album in the first place. Either way, it's a nice uncomplicated trip down memory lane. I know its true for us all, but I am awash in thoughts of where I was and what I was doing when these songs were in their heyday. Staggering to think how far I've come in some ways.

You'll have to excuse me...."Paradise City" just spooled up and I am inspired to jam.

Popcorn, peanuts, mojitos!!!

Apparently in Venezuela baseball tops soccer as a national pastime, and at the games fans sip sangria instead of bourgeois cerveza. Where do I sign up?

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Ready all....

The one money thing going on that I forgot to mention was the imminent start of the 2004 rowing season. I had a meeting with my team last night and it finally brought home to me the fact that, weather permitting, I'll be on the water by this time next week. SO HAPPY. I am so ready for spring, for the outdoors, for an ending to one of the greyest winters I've had in my life. Here's to the reemergence of the Brickhouse Stroke.

Poor, poor pitiful me

I don't have a lot to add to BlogSport today because I'm in a bit of a moving-induced fog. I've been running full bore for a month now, either physically exhausting myself by slowly moving things from the winter house to the summer house, or mentally exhausting myself by worrying over things like setting up utilities, space issues, and money. I'm very good at the latter, by the way. Professional Worrier.

I keep trying to think of interesting or funny things to contribute to the general blog universe, and so far have a big donut hole. I will tell you, though, that I spilled almost half of a full bottle of Downy fabric softener this morning in my attempt to multitask while butt-tired. I also spent 2+ hours at a used bookstore yesterday trying to sell back things that I didn't want and hadn't managed to offload on Bottom line on that was the money and trade value weren't worth the time or the drive out to Soulless Centreville. I did however stumble upon the miracle that is Lysol Antibacterial Kitchen cleaner. I was worrying over getting massive black streaks left by futon, bedframes, pictures, etc. off of the walls so that I didn't sacrifice my security deposit to repainting costs, and LAKC became my weapon of choice in this fight. And yes, that should conjure pictures in your mind of me bopping around the summer house a la Christopher Walken, cleaning and soft-shoeing to the dope beats of Fatboy Slim.

More stream-of-consciousness later. Maybe.

Ew. And hahahahahahaa

From Steve:

"Sandra Bernhard was seen in public last night wearing this t-shirt:

The Only Bush I Trust Is My Own"

Amen, sister.

Sunday, March 21, 2004

RIP athlete

Brian Maxwell, inventor of the Power Bar and champion marathoner died yesterday at the age of 51, of a heart attack. Between him and Dr. Atkins it makes you wonder, YET AGAIN, which way is up with dieting, exercise, nutritional studies, etc. Like how every five years things flip-flop: I have no idea of the current healthfulness of beef, caffeine, fats, salt, eggs, or butter, because studies change the answer more often than Madonna changes personas. Make up your minds already.

Have you noticed, too, that all too often the health professionals that you see are in terrible shape?! How many pudgy nurses or smoking doctors have you come across in your life? More than a few, I'd wager. Physicians, heal thyselves.

I want to be one of those people you read about living to the ripe old age of 96 on a diet of whatever-the-hell-I-want a whiskey with dinner. Mmmm...whiskey dinner. ;)

Saturday, March 20, 2004

This title's for you


Not for the squeamish

I'm not sure that this story would make it into US papers with the photos included. We don't like gore in our reporting. Just in our entertainment.

Also, I love how the most up-to-date information on polling in Taiwan is obtained from bookies. Formal polling is illegal for 10 days before an election and so odds are being divined through underground gambling circles. There must be some way to work something similar into a "Sopranos" episode, don't ya think?

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille. And my introduction to Viggo.

Apparently they're filming a movie downstairs in the building where I work. It's spring break (I work at a graduate school) and so totally empty and quiet--perfect time for a wee Hollywood invasion. Well, I say Hollywood but there's been nothing particularly glamorous or high-budget about this endeavor, so chances are we're actually going to show up in some film school project, Project Greenlight reject, or as the B-camera footage in the latest WB offering. My head swims with the possibilities.

Friday, March 19, 2004

Gypsies, tramps and thieves

I feel somewhat like the first in that list with my constant nomad ways this month. Half of my stuff is in the winter home and half in the summer. Today that ratio will switch over more to 1/4 and 3/4, but its odd to sort through my stuff and try to figure out what I'll most likely need for the next 10 days. Suffice it to say that I'll be busy today, but I leave you with the first installment of the Friday Five.

Backstory: Steve emailed me several times on his day off earlier this week with suggestions and links for the blog. He referred to it as "blogging vicariously". I think of it more as Svengali Blogism. Anyway, one of the things he sent was a "30 things about me" list that strayed from the conventional "My middle name is ...." and "Colgate or Crest?" format. I thought I'd divvy it up and answer 5 each week so that the 4 people who read this site (and already know me pretty darn well) can reinforce their knowledge. For the test. Which will be grueling. Take notes. PS, I'm starting with five easy ones, so trust that they'll get more elucidating and interesting as time goes on. Here we go:

1. Sometimes I am pretty sure I must have I lived in: Australia in another life.

2. Something I tolerate in others, but not in myself: messiness, clutter, my-house-is-a-sty. Absolutely not chez moi, but I could give a crap at your house.

3. My someday wedding will NOT be in Las Vegas.

4. Product I swear by to maintain skin: Merle Norman's Miracol.

5. If I could donate $100,000, I would give it to The Leukemia/Lymphoma Society.

Thursday, March 18, 2004

Elevator Etiquette

I just returned from a trip on the elevator, where I rode from the basement all the way up to the top floor (a whopping 6 flights. Hush up. DC has construction limits, as evidenced by our comely skyline.) Nevertheless, that was enough time for a fellow rider to do everything wrong as far as how to conduct oneself on a lift. Now, I work in a place with a lot of foreigners, so I'm willing to give some room on the possibility that he lacked the American sense of personal space. But this little dude went too far. Friendly would be one thing. This? Was just invasive.

While waiting for the elevator, he stood way too close to me. What's more, it wasn't a side-by-side close, it was a "I can tell that you're staring at me because the toes of your shoes are facing me in perpendicular fashion" closeness. After the unnecessary closeness-while-waiting, we both stepped onto the elevator. At this point I was compelled to make eye contact, again receiving the distinct impression that his eyes were going to bore holes into me. Once on the car (just 2 of us, for a good 40+ square feet of space) he stood way over on my side of the car, AGAIN facing me. Thank God that it was only a 6-flight ride, or else he might have worked up the cojones to speak. As it was we ascended in uncomfortable silence, him staring, me ignoring.

I Googled "elevator etiquette" and came up with this.

To which I would add: GET UP OUTTA MY SPACE!

Ashcroft wrote job announcements while convalescing

The language in help wanted ads is getting a bit high-handed, don't ya think? From a recent USAJobs vacancy announcement:

"Who May Apply: All U. S. citizens and Nationals with allegiance to the United States. "

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

I'm an ABC Warrior. Yeah, that's right. BRING IT.


I say we get in the Caddy and go for a drive. I need to work on my average. I've only seen 60% of the US of A.

I waaaant it!

Mmmmm. Horsepower.

Thanks to Bry for the link!

Nickname Meme

Sent to me by Steve who is enjoying a post-birthday day off (b**tard), it's linked through several sites, but I got it here.

If you call me Dollface, Baby Angel, or Competent Spice, you are Kristin.
If you call me Sunshine, you are my mother.
If you called me Anners, Anne-foo-fan, or Twerp, you were my dad.
If you call me Anna Banana, you are my co-worker Steve.
If you call me Fooberries or Foo, you are my brother Steve.
If you call me Annie, you are lucky I let you. This is my least fave, carefully bestowed. You are my dad, Chris, Mr. Warner, Nathan, and Sonny.
If you call me AnnaRamaLamaDingDong, you are Kathy.
If you call me La Fille Blanche, you are Vroom Vroom.
If you call me Red, you are Marv.
If you call me Annetelope, you are Matt.
If you call me MOS, you are Sandy.
If you call me Girl, you are Des, Erinn, Vroom Vroom, or Kristin.
If you call me Miss Anne, you are Erin.
If you call me Annie D, you are Suzi.
If you call me Chica, you are Bryan.
If you call me DOSS, you are Adam.
If you call me Annabelle, you are Sally.
If you call me annedoss, you are a sorority sister.
If you call me ADD, you are Tanya. Well, you're just about everyone at some point.
If you call me Dizzoss, you are Corinna.
If you call me Boss with a D, you are Shannon.
If you call me Auntie Anne, you are Shelby or Samantha.
If you call me Gum Girl, you are Billy.

DC's Finest

FINALLY this morning I saw an instance of a cop being at the right place, at the right time. I was about to cross the street at 17th and M when, ahead of me, a car came roaring through the intersection making a left and very, very nearly hit a woman who was in the crosswalk, crossing *with* the light, totally in possession of the right of way. Really, the only thing that saved her was that she saw him and jumped back, but I could tell from the way her jacket pooched in that she definitely came into contact with the front panel of that car. Clearly carrying the luck of the Irish, that one (even though she was Asian, but whatever).

Silver lining? Who should be making that same left turn just after the Sedan Of Death?! A DCPD patrol car. WOOT! Guy had his lights on, sped up, and cut off the SOD in a split second, and I kid you not, the whole intersection of pedestrians (and we're talking about a huge intersection here--each road being 4+ lanes in a busy part of DC's business district) STOPPED AND CHEERED. I guess I'm not the only one who likes watching a-hole drivers get busted.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

Here, let us help you

It seems to me that gays, lesbians, bi-sexuals and transgendered people don't need to work all that hard to convince the world that gay marriage is alright. Straight crazies are doing a perfectly good job, unassisted, of showing just how "unspoiled" and "true" we have kept the covenant of marriage. Between Mormons and Britney Spears, I think the case is all sewn up, don't you? (link via Blurbomat).

Happy Birthday TV!!

A very happy 35th to Steve, co-worker extraordinaire. Finally, finally he can run for President, and it goes without saying that he has my vote! :)

BD is my Hidalgo

So, despite the setback of missing opening weekend because I was in New Orleans (I know, I'm questioning my priorities too), I finally went to see Hidalgo last night with Susie and Pam. ViggoMyHusband lived up to my expectations (of course!) but the movie, put out by Disney, definitely had its schmaltzy moments. I will say, the footage of North Africa is breathtaking, as are all the horses and riding scenes.

I realized as I was watching it that I'm a sucker for a good horseback riding movie--and I don't mean track riding, like "Seabiscuit." I'm more a fan of open range, horse-and-man-are-one-character stuff. To this day I will hold still for "The Man from Snowy River" and I get a bit misty over Lieutenant Dunbar's relationship with Cisco in "Dances with Wolves." What was that I said about schmaltzy? I know, I know.

Monday, March 15, 2004


He reminds me of a beefed-up Chris Pontius.

The story of guilty feet that got no rhythm

WHY didn't someone tell this story sooner?!?!

Have you been waiting 10 years for this?

Guns N'Roses Greatest Hits album, on sale today. (takes a sec to load, but it's worth it)

Son of a....

In my joy at having a newAlias episode to watch, I totally forgot about the Fleetwood Mac documentary on VH1 last night. FM, you may ask? I like their music well enough (at least the stuff when both Lindsay and Stevie participate) but I was most interested in seeing grey-haired hipsters bicker with each other. And any time spent watching Stevie Nicks is well spent. She's always vaguely unhitched, that one. Steve informed me that it was good, but that fewer-than-expected sparks flew. I'm sure it will be re-aired ad nauseum in the coming weeks though. Go, VH1 programming.

Speaking of least they're making up for only showing 2 new episodes in 3 months (GRRR) with some GOOD new eps. The Sark/Lauren Vaughn/Syd counterpoint could grow old quickly, but they're sticking with shoot-'em-up action, lerv undercurrents, and showing me plenty of Marshall, Weiss, and Sark. Plus last night's bomb cameo from Ricky Gervais. You're almost forgiven, JJ.

Wow. Sometimes The Man is on my side?!

I was just on the phone canceling my DirecTV service (excellent customer service from them, btw...I truly will miss being a customer of theirs) because the building that I'm moving into later this month told me that I could not have a dish of any kind on the property. To be fair, the landlord was very nice about it, and I think if I had really pushed he might have met me halfway. But, I don't want to start out my life there with an adversarial tone, and as it turns out I'm getting a PHAT deal from ComCast through their dish buyback program.

But I digress.

My point is that I was told by the DTV rep that it is ILLEGAL for anyone to prohibit me, you, whomever, from having dish TV service. She directed me to this site to substantiate the claim. I think I might fall under the small grouping of those who would be SOL, as I don't have an "exclusive use area" and *would* need to use the roof or building exterior. But still. Good to know, my friends. Information is power and all that....

Saturday, March 13, 2004

I spent the better part of the day packing boxes, loading my car, driving to my new apartment, unloading my car and unpacking boxes. My back thanks me for this.

Awhile back Kristin wisely pointed out that, each time you move, EVERY SINGLE THING YOU OWN passes through your hands. That's exhausting to think about. I've tried so hard for the past several years to avoid accumulating all the random flotsam and jetsam that it seems all too easy to store and let clutter my space. Mainly I do this because I move once every year, or if I'm lucky, once every two years (see 3/8 post about ants-in-pants and making up for missing military moves). I like the organization part of moving--unpacking and arranging all my things in a new place--but the logistics of a move itself are a pain in the ass. Major life alterations like this always give a rough time too (albeit temporarily). Did I pick the right place? Is it safe? Will I have cool neighbors? Will all my stuff fit? I always experience some moment of butterflies and/or sadness....excitement for the new things I'll learn and experience and nostalgia for the routine/people/places I'm leaving behind. This is also the first time in my life that I will be living totally alone. My space, my stuff, my responsibility. Again, cool/scary. But considering that I'm almost 28, it's probably about time that I put on my Big Girl Pants, don't you think? Mmmm hmm. Me too.

Oh, and did I mention I'm only moving about 5 miles away? Yeah. Perhaps I have overdramatized.... But still. Work with me here. ;)

Friday, March 12, 2004

I found this while reading about the latest developments in Spain. It's pretty sound advice for all of us. So much craziness everywhere these days. I especially love this advice:

Try to balance the news you read. If you read a bad story then try and read a happy one before you go to bed.

One of the best things about the wedding last weekend was the discussions that I had with the various Kiwis there (the groom, and thus many of his guests, are from New Zealand). Clearly they harbored (IMO) skewed impressions of "American" ways of life and thinking, and it didn't shock me at all to see that Bush has tainted our reputation the world over. Fortunately they (the Kiwis) all put their views to me in the form of questions, as in "So, what do you think about UN approval for international peacekeeping initiatives?" rather than the declarative "All you Americans backed unilateral invasion of Iraq!" etc. I felt I acquitted myself well, especially considering how late in the evening and many-Hurricane-fueled my discussions were.

One of the best exchanges was about our current state of space exploration (or lack's a matter of opinion). Too bad the wedding wasn't this weekend. I could have used all the Hubble-related developments from this week as evidence of the need to leaven practical exigencies of day-to-day life with the vision required to bring us discoveries and inspiration like this.

Thanks to Suzi for sending this hilarious "article" from The Onion.

Happy 44th Kathy!!

Just wanted to take a minute to wish a wonderful birthday to my eldest sister. She is, bar none, one of the coolest humans on the planet: a stellar wife, mother, friend, and businesswoman. Kit Cat, can I be you when I grow up?? Love you!

Starting the day off right

For the second day in a row I ran into Kristin, the K-digg, on the Yellow line. This has happened quite a bit in the year that I've been living on 22nd street, and is one of the things I'll truly miss when I move later this month. Hopefully we'll still see each other at MetroCenter from time to time. Nothing like starting your day w/ a chat and a smile from your fave girl.

In other news, they kicked Colby off of Survivor ! I find in this show that I make clothespin votes about in, there is no one that I LOVE and so I pinch my nose and choose from among those that are left. And so Colby had risen to the top of my All Stars rankings. Doesn't hurt that he was lovely to look at either. Alas, no more. They better dump Jerri and Ethan's broke asses soon, or Houston may have a problem.

Bottom line? No show compares to the one, the only BEST REALITY SHOW ON TV.

Thursday, March 11, 2004

I noticed in checking out books to a student that today is the 6-week mark until my birthday!! I'm getting to the age though where that is a bittersweet realization. My "it's your own personal holiday" side is beginning to conflict with the "damn, girl. you old!" side. Meh.

Ain't technology grand?

"Gamma Phi Beta welcomes you here...."

Steve came into my office first thing, and I admired his fetching chocolate-colored dress shirt and tan corduroys. I followed this up by telling him that he was wearing my sorority colors. Which led to me explaining why on earth any organization--especially a sorority--would pick brown and brown as their hues of choice. What shocked me most was not that I found it fitting to tell him, but that I remembered *in detail* why our colors are what they are. The Four Founders would be so proud.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Not sure why this is, but for the past 3 days I've been dancing constantly at my desk. And in my car. I have some serious shake-your-watoosie vibes going on (except its mostly shake-your-shoulders b/c my watoosie is ensconced in some seat or other).

At work this is a source, I'm sure, of some hilarious bystanding. The reason being, in my office I sit facing into a corner (insert your own Blair Witch/dunce joke here) and so people who walk by see my back, but I don't necessarily see them or know that they're there. So I jam away contentedly, and they laugh their asses off.

Similarly, the car dancing has reached epic proportions. I put Van Halen 5150 in the CD changer last night, and on my way to dinner I was out of control. "Best of Both Worlds" practically ran me off the road as I sang along, rocked out, and negotiated steering and shifting simultaneously. Oh yeah, baby. MAD skillz. 'Cause really? Nothing beats driving as fast as my awesome 1992 Camry will tolerate (shout out to my BD!), singing and dancing all the while.

Talk about buying votes....

I saw a banner ad just now flashing the ability to join the Academy of Country Music--one of the perks of which is voting privileges for their upcoming award show. Now, is it just me or does it seem somehow odd and wrong that just anyone could pay (if you clicked on the link you'll notice we're talking chump change here--either $15 or $60, depending on your level of membership) and then have a voice in this organization? Ostensibly groups like this, AMPAS, the Hollywood Foreign Press, the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, etc. choose their members (or solicit members) because they have a particular connection to the industry/subject in question. It's one thing to be a fan, belong to a fan club, or even vote via the internet or over the phone in "Viewer's Choice"-esque polls. But to be a card-carrying member of the ACM? Talk about hard up for the dollahz, yo.

Don't get me wrong, I love me some country music (SheDaisy and Keith Urban have been delighting me all morning no less) but this kinda gimmick doesn't help the industry's image among the general populace as hillbilly yokels sans class (or avec klass, if you'd rather). C'mon guys. Don't handicap your fans any more than we already are.

Oh happy day!!

I was just informed by Steve (fave coworker and source for all things UK) that I will, in fact, continue to have BBC America when I switch from DirecTV to ComCast later this month. Hallelujah!! The level of joy that I felt when I found that out is perhaps unhealthy and embarrassing, but I give a crap. I feel serious lerv for Monarch of the Glen and as TV is my boyfriend, I am glad that he of all men is not letting me down. (happy sigh)

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

Can't beat this deal....

In my ongoing efforts to stop hemorraging money, I've found a couple of good cheap-eats situations. I availed myself of one just now, namely a cup of soup at Cosi (X and O to some). A good-sized cup of hearty soups like chicken noodle, lentil, chili, and broccoli cheese, along with a WHOLE sheaf of sandwich bread (for those of you who may not yet know, Cosi makes sandwiches on this yummy flat bread kissed with a wee bit of butter and salt...decadent!). The final tally, with tax? $3.62. WORD.

As part of my continuing Anglophilia, listening to this.

My favorite is the Black Eyed Peas song that repeatedly says "Shut up, just shut up, shut up." Who told them they could use my 24/7 internal monologue?!

I'm also watching this. Until I have to relinquish my DirecTV on the 22nd. Sniff.

Monday, March 08, 2004

In my short time of surfing the musings and missives of others, I've learned not to bitch about work too much (namely from dooce), but may I go so far as to say it's 8:03 pm EST and I'm still at work staring down another 57 minutes of torture. The main reason it chafes is that I was in New Orleans all weekend, and I don't think it will shock anyone to hear that I didn't get the Surgeon General-recommended 8-10 hours sleep while there. I did, however, get the recommended 8-10 Whiskey Sours. And a heaping dash of Hurricanes. Within a few hours. I'm sorry, Mr. Liver. So sorry.

This is completely for a lark and may go the way of many other attempts at journals in my life. Namely, I stick to it for a week, a few weeks, maybe the pinnacle of attentiveness--A WHOLE MONTH--and then flake, or get bored. I have ADD in the non-teenage, non-spastic way. But there's a reason I've never had a job for more than 2 years without getting SERIOUS ants in pants. Maybe its to make up for all those years I didn't get to move from place to place with my military family. Damn them.