r o b o t m i n i o n

Feeling Babe Paley

Despite restraining myself to two Grolschs at the party we went to last night (hi, Asa), I woke up hacking up a lung between 2 and 4 am last night. I have no idea how I managed to get out of bed at 8 this morning to go golfing.

I really dig being on the golf course, if for no other reason than to pretend that I am a wealthy, young socialite in the 1950's. I know that barely makes sense, but that's totally how I feel. I think I might've learned some new stuff that will come in handy next weekend when we go to the Memorial Tournament. And I get bonus points for having an excuse to wear my vintage Lacoste. What more could a girl ask for?

Not the Best Way to get a Four-Day Weekend

So Thursday night, my throat started hurting a little, but I went to bed and hoped for the best. Who gets sick in late May?

That'd be me. Yesterday morning I did feel better and that lasted until about 2:30 when I was helping out a colleague in their office and started to feel like I was talking through a blanket that was wrapped around my head. I somehow managed to get my haircut (looks good, I'd post a picture, but I refuse to post a picture taken while sick) and go to the grocery store before I totally collapsed. I thought I was going to pass out from the exertion of putting orange juice into the cart at Giant Eagle.

I went to bed utterly exhausted at 10:30, and slept until 9:30 this morning.

I have taken enough Echinacea to choke a horse. I am determined that I am not going to be sick for my three (now four) day weekend.

Haircut Angst Alert: Elevated

I have a haircut appointment at 4:30 this afternoon and I am thinking about doing some mild changes to the haircut I have known and loved for the past seven years.

Last time I got a hiarcut, I added some layers. This time I may go in for longish bangs.

Bangs. Bangs! The bane of my elementary existance. Some sort of estrogen force field (my mother) persisted in me having bangs from the time I was born (with a full head of hair) until I was in the 5th grade and could manage to run a comb and a rubberband through my own thick, thick hair. Little girls were apparently meant to wear bangs. There were no other options. I can remember getting them trimmed by my grandmother, sitting on her kitchen table with a piece of scotch tape across my hair, so that she would cut a perfecly straight line.

These bangs will be long and flippy. Shorter than they are now, but defiantly in my eyes. The better to plot and plan evil with, don't you know.

Radio Silence

I can't write about what's going on now, and thats why I haven't been posting here. I'm working to change the situation. In the mean time, I'll go back and fill in the blanks with book reviews. At some point in the near future, I'll fill in this blank as well.

This week, on a very special "The OC"

Tonight's OC was merely "meh." Very disapointing, because it was two hours of new episodes.

This week has been a grab-bag of non-stop drama, and I'm feeling very Mary J Blige about all of it. A lot of it has to do with work, and the stress of work bleeding over into areas that the stress of work is not supposed to go anywhere near for fear that my large hunky boyfriend will kick its ass. That's a metaphor. You can't kick stress's ass, stress's ass is way to scrawny.

Things are looking up though. In the immortal words of Mary J., No. More. Drama. For the love of Pete.

The Baroque Cycle

Last night, I finally finished The Baroque Cycle by Neal Stephenson. The series was a very satisfying read, but the last book was a little anti-climactic after the first two.

My very first semester in college, I took a weird little Honors course on Picaresque literature throughout history. I think it was one of the rare college courses where I probably read every single line of every single book. Some of the work and subsequant movies we were required to gather and watch once a week have stayed wioth me and become a sort of cultural touchstone. The movie version of Gunter Grass's The Tin Drum and Warren Beatty in Altman's McCabe and Mrs. Miller. Thomas Mann's The Confessions of Felix Krull. These I can remember so much more vividly than most of what I'm supposed to be turning into my thesis literature review.

The picaresque Jack Shaftoe/Eliza portions of the book then were so much more obvious fun than the rest. I didn't really notice that until the last book either. Its just in the last book, there's so much Trial of the Pyx/Issac Newton action that everytime Jack or Eliza show up, the book seemed to go that. much. faster.

Now I feel like I have to go back and re-read Cryptonomicon. I can only remember bits and pieces of it, but I remember it being very good when I read it about four years ago. I hope that the Baroque Cycle doesn't fade that quickly.