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Archive for October, 2006

Visuals

So, I finally got some of my photos digitized. The fuzziness has convinced me to go ahead and get the digital camera — the cheap one. I’ll get the high performance one later.

Enjoy these snippets of my life. Happy Halloween to all the ghouls and demons out there… I’m risking leaving the candy bowl out until about 7:30 when I get home from dance. Hopefully there won’t be a riot over a bowl full of Dubble Bubble, Take 5s and mini boxes of Nerds… Oh yeah, depending on the browser, the following layout might seem wonkish. I post in Mozilla and it has strange effects….

Pics of the thundering herd skate session:

Pics of a recent tailgate with the master’s kids:

Pics of the same master’s kids at a Halloween Party. Aren’t they goofy?

And finally, pics of the 4th of July outing in downtown Lawrenceville. We’re upscale like that…

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I’m sure it makes me cynical but I just love Despair, Inc. Here’s a standard motivational poster one might see hanging in an office:

And here’s the “de”-motivational counterpart:

Sometimes these things are the only way I stay sane. If you think barely keeping a tap on my emotions “sane”that is …

My friend from work might dress as Buster from Arrested Development for Halloween. That just makes me happy man.

Have a Freaky Friday.

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El Pesimista sent this to me last year and, because I’m attending an early Halloween Party tonight, I thought I’d share the funny. Retrocrush’s Worst Halloween Costumes of all time. Dead hilarious. (Commentary can be slightly offensive…Mom…)

Oh yeah, and thanks to my dance compatriots for the compliments. I can’t even tell you how good it made me feel…

And JB came through with one of my favorite songs in the whole wide world. It’s funny how easy it is to attitude leap and land on the floor when this song is playing.

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Alright, so I never had any intention of using this forum as my personal diary and hopefully I’ll cut it out. But after I write about this because it’s been on my mind…

Two young men I met recently gently informed me that I tend to batter people over the head with my personality, specifically my need to prove to people how smart I am. I felt pretty cruddy about this for a few days — not because they told me (they weren’t snarky about it and I asked) — but because I had this horrible, sickening twist in the belly thinking I was like one of those people that you can’t wait to be away from.

But here’s the thing, like Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything (Lloyd, Lloyd, all null and void — Bob I can hear you laughing), I talk when I’m nervous. And why do Lloyd and I do this?

Boredom people.

The particular instance I believe they were referring to had me martyring myself on the cross of fringe social behavior (well, not really fringe. I wasn’t like hanging from the ceiling or anything. Just engaging in a bit of prodding and poking to get reactions). It had little to nothing to do with some pathological need to prove my genius (heh, heh); it just so happens that mental acuity was the game at hand — quite literally — and so it was how the shake-up manifested itself. What I mean to say is that “proper” conduct and social niceties bore the ever lovin’ spit out of me. I think that’s why I’ve always liked Jane Austen and whoever wrote Gosford Park. They are so adept at pointing out the insidiousness and silliness of social convention. And so, I shake it up if I can, even if it means becoming a pariah in the process. In the moment (especially after a few beers…) I search for a way out of a situation I feel suffocating by causing a mini-riot, which is a lot safer than say, shooting up heroin or being overtly promiscuous to name a few extreme examples of how other people deal with this need to rebel. Some people hate me for it. And some love me. And so be it. Amen.

At first, I thought this tendency was in direct contrast to my hatred of the drama that I posted about the other day. But really, it’s not so much about the drama. It’s about stepping out of the “supposed to.” I was actually secretly hoping someone would chuck a lamp at me or something. Let’s get this party started ya’ll!

As I get older, I realize that little earthquakes are the safest way to rebel. Rumble, rumble. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile a conservative nature with the unmitigated need to rebel against the everyday. I’m certain there’s a way to do it and I just haven’t thought of it yet. But I will because, didn’t I tell you, I’m a genius…

And, while irrelevant to the topic at hand, this just cracked me up:

(from Cute Overload)

[Blood-curdling scream]

With a turtle name like “Wesley”, you pretty much HAVE to go with a macho costume on Halloween. I bet all the turtle ladies in the tank are like—”OMG, who’s the hottie?” and whipping out their little Turtle Sidekicks to text him.

Reegahdless, Wesley has snapped up Best Turtle Costume on the Planet Ever as far as I’m concerned. Also, I think his nose has a hole in it. Just sayin’.

Scary

Gravel snorts to sender-inner Jennfer H., and toitle owners Craig and Melanie :^)

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Art and food

Image courtesy of the Somber one (that’s his Jedi name…). I believe he has a variant of this hanging at his desk. Given my propensity to attract the drama, I needed the reminder, and I thought I’d share. You can check out some of his other work here. Disturbing? yes. Heartbreaking? yes. That’s the thing about my friend: he makes you think, and sometimes it’s a bit uncomfortable. But always with the best intentions.

So here’s the thing about Emeril’s in Atlanta: it rocks. After my troubles with my former freelancing publication, I had serious doubts that the sour taste would leave my mouth. Good wine and ridiculous food helps with that.

The publication that picked me up sent me down the road to old Emeril’s at Phipp’s Plaza where I ate lunch with a lovely, and very cool, PR lady named Meg. I had pork loin and gumbo and BBQ shrimp and sorbet and pecan pie and banana creme pie and Italian cheese and two kinds of wine… . And it was all complimentary. I rolled my way out the door where the valet brought my car around (!) and made some pretty good contacts. I have several business cards now and I just want to call these folks just to chat. They were that cool. While the menu can be kinda pricey, I would highly recommend the place for a special night out. It just had that real cool vibe about it. And they have a wine tower that holds 10,000 bottles of wine. I mean, come on…

When the story runs, I’ll make sure to post about it so you can see the photos. Thanks God for opening up that door while the echo of the one slamming shut still rung in my ears.

It’s Friday and you ain’t got s#*t to do. (I’m trying to quit cursing…)

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Doomed to repeat it

you know what sucks? trying really, really hard to do the right thing and having it backfire. trusting people to watch your back and having them screw you. having those who know and love you then remind you that getting screwed is your own responsibility because you have this unbelievable tendency to confide too much in people too soon. I swear I’m still only 16 sometimes…

in better news, I was creating a masterpeice of organizational theory last night while Rachel Ray’s Tasty Travels was playing ambiently in the background (huge, HUGE, Food Network fan am I), and the topic was the best BBQ in the country and I’ll be damned if she didn’t go to Fat Matt’s in Atlanta, where the college friends and I (it’s old home week apparently) spent a killer night listening to sexy blues and feasting on ridiculous amounts of BBQ and beer. It just took me back to see old Fat Matt’s. *sigh*

UPDATE: I had some maudlin Peter Murphy here but I think I’m more interested in this song because it’s what my dance teacher JB choreographed our last lyrical combination to (holy dangling participle…). I like it. I have a pretty big contusion on the ol’ knee as a result of some sloppy hip-hoppin’ on my part and, wouldn’t you know, the lyrical combo the next day was all over the floor. on our knees. But I busted it out and so this song resonates for me. No greater bonding tool than some good old fashioned pain…

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Laws of attraction

As I was sitting under a tree Saturday listening to the sounds of football nearby, my friend Bob called out of nowhere and chastised me for not living in the DC area where she, her husband and their little bit Sophie live. I reminded Robin (Bob) that my grandfather was from downtown DC (Anacostia. Very scary now; lovely in ancient black and white photos I’ve purloined from my mother), and that my maternal grandparents home is in Maryland on the Potomac. So wielding the beauty of the area over me does no good — I know from my youth.

But it did get me thinking — I could live there. Apparently every last one of my college friends has somehow ended up in the area. Bob, Jen, Jiggy, Kurt… why this convergence of crazies has occurred I do not know.

I’m just thinkin’ is all. No decisions yet.

Congrats Lizzie D on the cool new baby Gibran. Thank God. I do worry about the next generation and I find the anxiety lessens when my friends reproduce. I’m sure he’ll be brilliant, opinionated and a fantastic soccer player.

Now I have to find a “reception cake” shaped like a bulldog or I ruin my brother’s wedding. The pressure…

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