Funny what sticks with you. I remember the hallway in the school where my 9th grade programming class was and how to get there from the lunch room, and I can vividly recall the face of the horrible pasty freckled boy who tormented me there, day after day, for two whole semesters — a misery only slightly alleviated when a very kind and shy and helpful boy, whose name was Bijoy and who had a twin brother I'd never met and whose English needed work, joined the class and was placed in the seat on the other side of me — and I remember that our final project was to design an onscreen fireworks display in PASCAL, but the best I can do with regard to the teacher is to say that I'm more than halfway certain she was a woman.

I'm still at work. It's been a long day. Every Thursday is a long day, but today has been especially long after four hours' sleep (having decided to arrive two hours late to work, because I didn't think two hours' sleep would do it), separating me from five grueling, whiney hours of John and me struggling to stay awake and get ourselves safely back to Atlanta from Tallahassee, where we spend about 24 hours on account of Njicki's  wedding. We wouldn't have missed that. So be it.

On Sunday John and I went kayaking — again, because the first time, with Jenny, the Saturday before, we found out we quite like it — and overdid it by a good bit. We did not use enough sunscreen. By the time we realized we needed to turn around, we were already painfully burnt. And we had another two hours to row just to get back where we started. We were in very bad shape.

The day before that, the two of us, at Jenny's insistence, went downtown to audition for Million Dollar Password. (In case anyone is excited that they've brought back Password, don't be. It's really Pyramid. They're just calling it Password, because... I don't know why. At all.) That amounted to six hours spent moving from hotel meeting room to hotel meeting room, making small talk with strangers and being occasionally reminded of the dangling carrot of Regis Philben, which, no, wasn't enough to get me through the day, but I do like word games, and I was so curious to see it through and find out exactly what people go through to get on talk shows. There was a short written test (Bird; waddles; tuxedo?), a couple hours of Password screenings (Neil Patrick Harris stole the show, and I didn't see it coming), and in the end, the big finale of screen testing and interviews. I saw John's audition from start to finish. I am shocked that he hasn't heard from anyone about it. He was a model game show contestant, plus ten. I, of course, was stunned into talking gibberish, mostly by the unexpected awkwardness of addressing a man who was in the room with me, while looking at a camera and pretending that was him instead. Wtf. But it was fun.

That was Saturday, and Saturday night is also when we had a nice dinner at home with John's mother's Honduran friend/charge, Andrea, who's 16 and was visiting for a youth conference in DC. She's lovely. She's so nice, I had a great big piece of tres leches so as not to hurt her feelings. And for what it's worth, which is more than nothing, it was the best wet milky-cake I've ever had.

Last Wednesday I went to a lindy hop class that turned out to be a charleston class, and for which enrollment was less than healthy, and turned out to be me and three gentlemen. It worked out. It's a four-week course; I missed the second class, but the instructor promised to catch me up. We shall see.

The weekend before was largely squandered in front of the new Wii that John gave me for my birthday, which is anything but a waste of time. Jenny was still in town (she came for a week, encompassing my birthday and the jewelry show I got us into), and on Saturday, we all went kayaking. I suppose I've already covered that. We didn't get sunburns. We only went out for two hours. I was a little scared about kayaks, and Jenny swore that pedal boats were really fun, so we tried that first. She was mistaken. We traded up for kayaks.

Later that evening the three of us met Duck at Johnnie' MacCracken's and that was nice. Not much of a story there. More drunk, friendly middle-aged hillbillies than I'm used to seeing in one place. Great rockabilly band, though. So. Hand in hand, I guess.

MacCracken's was planned to make up for Wednesday, the evening of my actual birthday, when the only plan I tried to make was to go there and have a nice dinner and drinks with friends, but it all got sort of shanghaid and we wound up going to a Q&A with Rainn Wilson instead. Nice guy. Well, not nice. I mean, not not nice. Funny and matter-of-fact. His new movie is pretty cute. I didn't find the chat part too moving, maybe because I didn't have any good questions and, as it turned out, neither did anybody else. I don't know when, but I think I may have accidentally overcome any natural propensity I may have had for getting starstruck, because I love his work and we were sitting about three feet apart and in the end, all I took away was that Rainn Wilson has shockingly nice hands. Look out for that if you ever meet him. I'm not kidding.

I don't think I've ever really noticed anybody's hands before, so it's a good thing I sat down to write this.

Tuesday night, John, Jenny and I went to Sweet Devil Moon for cheap tapas. The plan was to spend a gift certificate I've been holding on to since early December, but it wasn't to be. The food was cheap anyway and so was the beer, so it hardly mattered, and it was great fun, discussing every tiny dish as it came out, and sharing them amongst ourselves.

I have no recollection of the weekend before. I know it rained; I know we had planned on doing something but the weather forbad it, but I can't recall what we did instead. Better start making more of these updates.

Yes, yes, I hear you cry. They're just too fascinating to miss.

Yesterday was Njicki's wedding to Mike. It was simple and lovely, and I hope they're going to be very happy together.

In Pennsylvania.

Like a couple of crazy people.

I'm keeping House on Fire. As time goes on, I'll give related names to any satellite operations I begin from now on, to underscore the positive meaning of the expression. And I'm adding on a jewelry project. So! introducing...

I think Speckblog.net can use some promoting. I donated a handful of handmade items to Krissy to raffle off to raise money for multiple sclerosis. And do you know what happened? Nothing.

http://www.speckblog.net/2008/06/05/is-too-much/

If you click that link, you will get to read about how Krissy has reduced the price for raffle tickets. $2. If you can donate $2 to MS today (via PayPal, generally), then one thing will happen for sure — I will be spared the humiliation of my first ever "sale" of jewelry amounting to "no thanks, not worth $2." And then a second thing might happen (probably will), which is that you will get to have the thing being raffled off, and you will have paid only $2, which would barely cover the shipping to get it to you, but I'll take care of the shipping, and your whole $2 will go to medical research, and you will have a thing. A cool thing. I swear, it's a pretty cool thing.

See what you can do. I'd be appreciative.

Hooray, I have magically lost five pounds since last Wednesday! Now to retrace my steps and demystify the weight loss process.

Wednesday, I did half an hour of cardio on the little machines — including THE DRAGON MACHINE! It's a new stationary bike they have at the gym that has moving handlebars that control a video game where you collect coins and catch dragons. I shit you not. It's TOTALLY FUN. And the dragons like to hang out at the top of big hills, so it's a very hard game. See, because it's much harder to pedal up a hill.

Um, then what did I eat? We went to Publix after the gym, of course, so whatever we had, we cooked it and that's good. Or I think John's dad was already cooking it when we got in. I remember it involved a Wedge o' Lettuce and yellow rice. Pork chops, maybe. Then Thursday... it must have been Mediterranean Grill for lunch, which is fine, and then I probably snacked on leftover Greek and came home and had cereal for dinner. That sounds right.

Friday I'm sure I went out for lunch, and John and I had JUSTIX for dinner. It's a stupid name, but it's this place by his office where all the food is served ON A STICK with a bunch of dipping sauces. It's really fun. I had pork, chicken, and portabello mushroom on a stick. John had chicken, beef and salmon on a stick. We had ALL THE SAUCES. And some rice and... oh, sweet potato fries. Is that healthy? I doubt it, but it could've been worse. Also we went to the movies.

Saturday we had California Pizza Kitchen for lunch. I had five pieces of pizza. That is too many. We skipped dinner because of the late pizza. I felt sorta rotten about that when John's dad made a frozen pizza for himself. We saw another movie.

Sunday. Oh, Sunday was Dogwood! I had some cereal for breakfast, and at the festival I had a corn dog and a frozen banana, and then dinner... was... eh? I dunno. We walked around a lot. And did some stairs, since we took the train. For the last time. It's clean and lovely and safe. And late. ALWAYS LATE. It added about three hours to our day over simply driving to the festival. And the train station, while in a different place, is almost as far away as the place we were going anyhow.

Train adventure: failed.

Monday and Tuesday are a total blank. Wednesday I made salmon with an orange balsamic reduction (I've never reduced before... it always sounded like too much trouble... but man was that delicious) and green beans with almonds and spinach couscous. Yesterday I had Thai for lunch and leftover Wednesday-dinner for dinner. All week I have either had some cereal or cottage cheese with fruit for breakfast. And today I went to Zumba. I hope that five pounds wasn't entirely sweat.

God, I hope nobody's reading this. I just want a record of stuff because I realized how much I forget that happens in a week. So I'm starting with a whole week of recollecting food and noteworthy physical movement. That doesn't make it good reading... it just seems like such a weird thing to private-lock. I've got nothing to hide!

Anyway, John, Jenny and I will dine on catfish stew and cauliflower this evening, then wake up very early and drive to Augusta for the 2008 Masters Tournament. So. More on that later. (Probably on Flickr, if I'm honest.)

They gave Diana and me about 10 samples each of Volume XL at the festival on Sunday. I was pretty stoked about it. I had read how ridiculous lip plumper is and how it totally hurts and makes you look like a walking bee sting. I think I was feeling the same impulse back in 2000 when I bought that bag of El Sabroso from the Mexican grocer. Bad-Candy had gone on at such length about what a horrible experience El Sabroso is, and I couldn't have been more pleased to find out for myself that that was true. That's what I was hoping for with the lip plumper.

Here's a commercial I just found for it, to catch us up:




Now, had I seen the commercial beforehand, I might not have bothered trying the stuff. It looks like a feeble lie. In order to show that the girl's lips are 30% bigger, they made the picture of her face 30% bigger. Now, I'm no lip doctor, but I know a thing or two about the Adobe Creative Suite. I don't believe a word of it.

Anyway, I didn't see the commercial, so I tried it yesterday morning before work — at the risk of showing up at the office all swollen and sad — but with a sense of adventure, braced for pain and regret. I'll be honest, I was also looking forward to seeing what I might look like with lips on. My lips are very narrow. I don't mind. They fit on my face just right in the allotted area. But I expected some kind of results, no matter how hideous, because the sample card actually has two "KISS HERE" boxes, one for "right after application" and one for "two minutes later," so you can SEEEEEEE the difference. There was also a warning on the back of the card about the "seductive tingle" I was going to feel. Yes! That's obviously code for "unbearable pain and stinging!"

So on it went, and I took a picture, in my half-asleep state and nigh-boundless wisdom, in the downstairs bathroom with my phone:
 

Then I waited. Where was my seductive tingle? It was kind of cooling, like my Neutrogena lip gloss, which is supposed to make you feel good, not like you're being swarmed by angry insects, so I was a little confused. I didn't see any change after two minutes so I waited five. I took the second picture in the car on the way to work:



I tried to replicate the original expression to see if it matched up. But the lighting is different. It nearly creates the illusion of a change. Don't be fooled.



In my opinion, the photos are too different and you can't tell anything, but I went to the trouble of taking them so I'm showing you them and you can make your own decisions. Also, holy hell, am I cross-eyed?

One thing's for sure — I'm never taking a picture of ANYTHING in he downstairs bathroom again, ever, ever. Not even the toilet. The lighting might make it feel bad about itself.

ALSO, my mom got me a Garmin and it came yesterday and it is SO COOL. I am using it to get to places that I already know how to get to because that is how cool it is.

Also, Little Hermann, Office Plant #2 of 3, is an English Ivy and he was beginning to droop. So this morning I went into the kitchen and collected some plastic knives and stuck them in his dirt so he can get some exercise. I made him stay up with paper clips. I am looking forward to finding out if this counts as a trellis.

A company I work with has hounded me for a customer testimonial, and I ignored them. Then they phoned me specifically to ask if they could talk to me and maybe build a testimonial out of that. They asked me simple questions and I gave them simple answers, nothing too glowing — they're a fine company, but I'm not sure I want to be responsible for anyone else's decision — just the straightforward facts of what we use their service for. They emailed me what they had written down so I could approve it. I dragged my feet green-lighting it, because I felt so weird about my name and my newspaper's name being on "testimonials" for this company, but we do use them for a lot of things and they haven't let us down. And also they started calling to ask when I was going to email them  back. So I told them okay. Now I'm kind of holding my breath all the time waiting for whatever e-mail or press release or whatever they send out with it first. I can't predict whether people here will tease me about it or be glad that the newspaper's name is involved in something. If it were anyone else, I'd tease them, for sure. But any publicity is good publicity.

I've never given a customer testimonial before. I've also never been quoted on behalf of my company.

Weird feeling.

I made this one with a matching ring, but then realized that I only had silver hardware for the ring, so they are no longer "matching." They are, instead, "two."

My mom was here for a week and now she isn't! It was really fun. I wish she would come back. Could someone please buy the house I grew up in so my mom and granny can come live up here and we can hang out all the time?

I'm serious!

You'd like it. It's a great house and it has The Best pool and it's in a prime location with great landscaping on an acre and a quarter in a quiet neighborhood with no HOA fees and a huge deck and a big porch and a carport and a really nice outbuilding with electricity and (I think) running water. It has a living room and a family room and a big laundry room and a separate dining room, and it's all very open and airy, and there's a pocket door between the end of the house with all that stuff and the end with the three bedrooms and the two bathrooms. The bedrooms are huge and the bathrooms are nice and it has four walk-in closets and a gigantic coat closet and a gigantic linen closet and a whole room full of pantries and other storage, and also a big attic. Plus the outbuilding has its own separate attic, too. SERIOUSLY. BUY THIS HOUSE.

x

It's disgusting, obviously, but I have NO IDEA what it is. We found a whole crate of them in Harry's. On DISPLAY.

Does anyone know this food? Is it delicious? Don't worry — we didn't buy any!

I came back Wednesday. The weekend was a curious balance of family cheer, warm nostalgia and occasional periods of profound sadness. Of course that's what it was. That, whether I realized it beforehand or not, was what I was going down there for. But funeral-wise, Zizzy-wise, the whole thing left me with the shaky feeling that I didn't know my friend at all. There was a baptism photo in a slideshow — ostensibly of the most important moments in her life — and the sermon given by the chosen pastor was all about Yesus and how Zizzy will be okay from now on because (and only because) she became a born-again Christian. Her father, a man whom, in the end, I elected not to introduce myself to, spoke about her involvement in the church and church groups.

Now, I knew she was hanging out with people from the church. I knew that because she said so. She told me when she arrived in Saipan that her stepmother was coercing her into attending services, without regard or respect for the fact that Zizzy considered herself to be Jewish. Later, after the stepmother had relinquished whatever control she must have had, it seemed as though Zizzy had formed relationships with people in the church and continued attending socially, because she enjoyed it. She must have believed, at least a little, because apparently she delivered a sermon in that church herself. Now I don't know if I'll ever be sure whether she was baptised because it was the thing to do, or because she was pushed to do it, or because she decided she wanted to be a Christian. The thing is, I don't think it matters now. I just don't know why they had to talk about it so much at her funeral.

I know it makes people feel better. There's always religion in a funeral, always always, no matter what. Regardless of what happens (or doesn't happen) between now and then, there will probably be lots of religion at my funeral. It's for the living, of course, and it makes everyone feel okay that this person they loved is in the hands of Yesus (oh — the pastor was Cuban) and that they, when the time comes, probably will be too. It's reassuring. For people. I guess. But does it outweigh the unkindness of dwelling upon a daughter's born-again salvation before her Catholic father and Jewish mother? Seriously?

It struck me as insensitive, that's all.

And anyway, maybe I'm just wrong. Maybe it was really important to her and she would have wanted her funeral to be a way to deliver the word of God to the people close to her. Again... something I'm not going to know, ever.

Brian and Billy both gave speeches that spoke to the Zizzy I knew... stubborn, sarcastic, and living by her own little clock, but clever and sweet and really quick (when she wanted to be). And loving. She didn't let on if she could help it — she wasn't one to say so — but if it ever came down to it, you knew she'd never let anything happen to you.

She was so stoic most of the time that I used to forget how vulnerable she was until something went wrong. It hurt to watch whenever anything came crashing down around her. It's always hardest to see the strongest people brought to their knees. And when people treated her badly, and she really had the right to be angry forever, she usually wasn't. She forgave people who had hurt her before I was finished fuming on her behalf. I don't know how she did it, but she knew how to let things go, for all intents and purposes, and move forward. And she knew how to apologize and really mean it. She knew a lot of things. And she never walked around bragging about all the things she knew. But she absolutely did give anybody hell who didn't know them.

She could be relentless and once she grabbed hold of something that made her laugh, whether it was at the expense of someone else or not, it stayed on the tip of her tongue for hours... sometimes years. Once, when we were 13, Kristen accidentally typed "it abot you student loan" on my computer, and Zizzy repeated it so many times for so many weeks that I think I had it printed on a t-shirt for her. She wasn't laughing at Kristen or calling her stupid... it was never hurtful, although it could have been.

Zizzy usually made sure her jokes were just funny and not mean. She had a mean streak, no question, but it didn't extend to stuff like that. If she really believed you were stupid, she was kind enough to wait until you left the room, and then laugh at you for hours. Or bring up the stupid thing you did every time someone mentioned your name thereafter, as long as you weren't there to hear it. Zizzy was funny and she had a good memory but she was also a good diplomat. She knew who not to say things in front of. There were plenty of people who could tell she wasn't crazy about them, I'm sure, but she never gave them any means to know for sure, or any reason to dislike her in return. Thinking of it now, that must be infuriating for people.

But when it came to people she did like, everybody loved Zizzy right back. She was reserved and laughed privately and made people doubt themselves, made them a little self-conscious, but she didn't alienate anybody. On the contrary, when the opportunity arose, it was a universally-appreciated pleasure to be in on whatever she was giggling about. In school, even in college, I was amazed at the sheer variety of friends she made. I describe so many of her friends as completely unlike Zizzy in a million ways, and maybe that should include me, but she related to just about everybody. Maybe she had to do that, because if she'd waited around to befriend someone just like her, she'd have been the loneliest person in the world. I wish there were more people like Zizzy. I don't expect to find any.

Anyway, it's been a long grieving process and it keeps getting longer. It's a strange thing to adjust to the absence of someone who already wasn't there — she was on the other side of the world and as much as I wish now that we'd stayed in closer contact, we barely spoke more than every month or two — and now I feel a bit like I've got to figure out who she really was for the last four years before I can fully mourn her passing. I don't see any way that can happen. So I miss the Zizzy I knew, and I'll always wonder about the one I didn't. I hope they're both happy somewhere, with or without Yesus.

In a combination of seemingly-incompatible but (individually) very predictable circumstances, I am both more and less productive this week. I blame displacement activity and light depression, respectively. But while the two seem like they might cancel each other out and maybe strike a balance indiscernible from everyday life, that isn't how it's evening out. Instead, I'm getting a LOT of work done on just two or three things, and am totally disinterested in everything else in the world. It's a curious feeling, like being another version of myself from a parallel universe...one where user tracking, gluing things together, and clearing out the Tivo are absolutely paramount.

Dear Zizzy,
I miss you, but I have an unshakable feeling you're having too much fun to miss me. I hope so. It's hard to find the right words. I don't want it to come out sounding like I think you weren't good at life, because that's not it at all. Maybe what I mean is that you were too good at life. Or for it. I've never been able to pinpoint that. It didn't quite make sense before, but it's finally starting to. So I hope they've got a really good job for you to do where you are. I bet you're terrific at it. You're always too good at everything.

Keep in touch.

Love,
K

When I was a little girl my mother periodically bought me pretty diaries with little keys in what I must assume was the vague hope that I would pick up journaling and improve my life. When I was a teenager, Cathy, a generation and a half ahead of me and easily one of the coolest friends I've ever had, assured me that not keeping a daily journal of the mundane minutiae of my daily life would be a regret that would haunt me for eternity, because the little things that shape your life are exactly the things you never remember. In college I started this LiveJournal and for about a year and a half it was really something to me — my friends and I used it to inform each other en masse of what we were up to at all times, so I was specific when I wrote here, and when I look back now I'm glad I was.

And after these three brilliant, wise and trustworthy women (my mother, my friend Cathy and myself) all advised me and proved, to the full extent that it is possible to prove such a thing, that the only right thing is to keep a journal.

And I haven't.

I think it's human nature to be self-destructive.

I will catch up now on the broader points. I don't remember what I've already covered because that's how infrequently these updates are made. It's shameful but I have to forgive myself if I'm ever going to be able to move on, so let's pick up the pieces.

I broke two nails today. My nails are already very very short, so when they're broken they're ridiculous and they feel weird. I don't remember how I did the first one in but the second one was on the door handle at Borders. John and I were going in to look at home decorating books, because he's been entrusted to select paint colors for his new office. We didn't find much. For pretty intuitive reasons, tips on office decor are few and far between.

John's started his brand-new job! It's terrific. I can't say much because only fools talk about jobs on the internet. Fools who want to get fired and want their boyfriends to get fired from their very fancy, very grown-up new Creative Director positions. I am not a fool of that nature.

I still love my job. I will offer even less detail here than I provided about John's job. This is how it must be. Which is a shame, because I'm leaving out some mighty fine details.

Tomorrow night will be trivia night. It will either be my first successful attempt at getting Work People out for after-work fun, or Team Me, John and Rachael, dealing as much trivia pain as our six fists can manage.

Two weeks and three days ago, out of indignance sparked by an encounter with a local craft group, I took up resin jewelry. It's all very experimental. I'm beginning to understand what the resin does, and now I'm shifting into the phase where I figure out what to do with all the little resin objects d'whatever. It's really fun, but I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with all these necklaces when I'm finished. It would be different if I were learning to knit. The Army always wants blankets.

They never want necklaces.

Way before I ever got annoyed enough to actually buy myself the resin and actually learn to use it, Jenny took up actual jewelry making, with metal and kilns and everything. I am hopelessly impressed but I don't expect I'll ever be inspired to follow in her footsteps. I need simpler crafts with low material costs and a very quick payoff. I learned that in art school.

Next week John is going on a business trip (!) and when he gets back we're both flying to West Palm for the weekend. We may see Jenny whilst we're there. It's her birthday soon.

I guess that's all the news for now. Oh, except I got back...

Shit. John asked me to look at something and now I've returned and I have no idea what I was about to say I got back.

Oh, hang on, I know. I got back in touch with a girl from school (not college, but second through 12th grades) who lives up here. I met up with her and some of her friends last week. It was fun. She's probably moving to California in May.

The visits from Tallahassee friends have trickled to a halt as I knew they would after a couple of months. It sucks, but I can ask only so much, since so few are willing to come and visit at all, and I no longer feel comfortable making the trip down there by car. I don't want to talk about how Tootsie is doing. I may be talking about a hunk of metal, but I still don't handle it well.

Oh yeah, and Grandma broke her wrist last week. I'm told she's doing just fine, considering. It was a very strange gmailchat message to get in the morning before I left for work. I suppose I should just be grateful nobody told me until after everything was sorted out and there was nothing to get upset about. Her cast comes off in about five weeks.

John got the Cosby Show for Christmas so we've been watching it a lot. It's an easy show to take for granted. I'm enjoying it. I hope I get to watch some of the shows I got for Christmas soon, though. We did watch all of the first season of Dexter that John got me. It was pretty good. But I never seem to watch TV alone and John doesn't like to watch Welcome Back, Kotter so it just sort of sits there, abandoned, wondering why SeaQuest gets watched (god no, not by me) in the same house where it goes neglected for weeks on end. Now I feel guilty. I should send it a card.

Jason, who shares my office at work, got his apartment burgled over the weekend. The details surrounding the tragedy are a little bit suspect, but no matter how it happened, it completely sucks. As I feared I would, I think I've missed the period in my life where I'm attracted to living in the city. I think I wasted my urban years in a college town, living in little rented houses. I was (and am) better off, obviously, but I may never again have the opportunity to live between paychecks and own nothing worth a burglar's time. That in itself is almost a shame.

All caught up now, are we? No?

Over the weekend, John and I went to a "Home and Garden Show." It was a lot like a food show, except instead of delicious tidbits on toothpicks, everyone hands you pamphlets on gutters. The swag was inferior to your average trade show (we got a light bulb and an oven mitt) but all in all we had a good time (and the oven mitt had a built-in magnet!).

The weekend before, we went on our first geocaching adventure. It was very difficult but I liked it. I would do it again, absolutely. But I doubt I would do it enough to belong to any sort of community about it. Sorry, geocaching.

For Valentine's day, John and I both happened to give each other gifts that involved preparing food together. And he gave me beautiful flowers. They are still alive. I took off a little piece of baby's breath and embedded it in resin. Maybe it will last forever and ever and ever.

I've noticed that when I go shopping around Atlanta, my comfort level fluctuates wildly with each new store. In some, I feel out of place due to my meager spending limit; in others, I feel out of place because of my limited sense of adventure when it comes to fashion. I'm pretty sure this is all coming from my own insecurity and not from any reaction I'm getting from people around me, but it's probably best to blame them anyway. Assholes.

I didn't mean that.

I probably just need to get out and do more stuff. Things always turn out really well whenever I do.

I grow weary of this journal entry.
 

I just heard someone in another office pick up the phone and say, "Hello, is this John Johnson Peener?" He then proceeded to carry on a conversation — it's still going on! — about real estate. It's all very specific talk... as though there really WERE a John Johnson Peener on the phone!

Hey, you know here? Where I am right now? You know this place?

Well!

Guess where it's snowing?

Gwan, guess.

It is only got up to 35 degrees today as usual same, and the power at work keeps going out, because we have breaking circuits, because there were so many space heaters plugged in everyone's offices, the people has a eventually turn them all off, because the computers keep turning off and the printer and everything could not run online. It is called it's cold in the building because, we only have breaks(?) and Georgia called Atlanta [...].

[This one I'm not going to correct, for two reasons: 1. it made me laugh to read it and 2. I can't figure out what it was I was actually trying to say anymore anyway.]

I'm sending this message from Jott because I'm stuck in traffic and it sucks, but it's really cold here. I didn't think it was suppose to get this cold. This morning I woke up, it was 20 degrees and it felt like 9 and that is too cold for the south. I thought that it wasn't supposed to get that cold til you gone up to like Washington DC or something. I mean, that was just the morning though. It only got up to 35 degrees today. The

[This message was transcribed using Jott. It's my first day... talking slow is hard, but I'll get the hang of it. For the record, I said it wasn't supposed to get that cold "until you got up to, like, Washington, D.C."]

Everybody else did it.

Go to the Wikipedia home page and click random article. That is your band's name.
Click random article again; that is your album name.
Click random article 15 more times; those are the tracks on your album.

Band: X-expression
Album: The News-Press

1. Miss Universe 1985
2. Township High School District
3. Two-level Game Theory
4. Ross Verba
5. James Remar
6. Pompeii
7. DCMA Collective
8. The Suppliants
9. Bathos
10. Stuart Bradley
11. Chris Violette
12. Manhattan Project (Disambiguation)
13. Wormleybury
14. Heroes or Ghosts
15. USS Crusader

All pretty unremarkable, except I cannot imagine why any band of mine would allow a rock masterpiece like Wormleybury to rot in the middle of an album.

I hope Jonathan Coulton does this meme and then actually goes and records the album... that is my Christmas wish. Or if he is too busy to do the meme he can use mine. Then I could hear Wormleybury.

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