(cross-posted at my blog)

So as previously noted, I am unemployed, going on three weeks now. In an effort to keep myself busy, I’ve painted two entire rooms, as well as attempting to assume all cleaning duties around the house (an endeavor the Special Lady Friend has informed me that, in no uncertain terms, I am terrible at.)

Also, I stopped shaving immediately after losing my job, the better to show solidarity with my millions of brothers in the Great Hirsute Unemployed Brotherhood:

These days, the hirsute pursuit has evolved into a full-blown, full-grown trend. According to the marketing research company The NPD Group, sales of electric shavers and men’s facial trimmers have dipped 12 percent just in the last year while beard-related activities are, well, bristling.

Beard Team USA, a division of the World Beard and Moustache Championships, boasts 36 chapters in the U.S. alone, many in urban hotspots such as Los Angeles, Dallas, St. Louis and New York. There are beard contests and beard blogs, mustache movies and facial hair fundraisers.

(snip)

Why the sudden growth spurt? The blustery weather — and brutal job market — are certainly part of it. But Paul Roof, assistant professor of sociology at Charleston Southern University in South Carolina, says there are other issues at play.

“For some it’s a trend, but for others it’s a way of life and simply self-expression,” he says. “At the heart of the revival, I think, is the ‘reclaiming of masculinity.’ Beards are a direct backlash against metrosexuality and the feminization of modern man. But beards are also the only accessory route that men have — the only way men can change their looks.”

You hear us, Mr. President? We’re hairy, we’re angry, and our ranks grew by 598,000 last month. It’s like Fight Club, only instead of beating the shit out of people and blowing stuff up, we’re blowing away your societal preconceptions with our rockin’ facial hair. Our beards demand to be heard! Our beards demand satisfaction!

Now, speaking for myself, after two weeks of unrestrained growth, my appearance began to scare young children, so I trimmed the beard back to a very stylish “Evil Genius” appearance:

(Above: Kneel before Zod!)

Nevertheless, I still maintain ultimate respect for those of my Facial Hair Brothers who choose to rock the full on Caveman look.

No doubt you, the new mustache or beard owner, have many questions concerning the awesome power your facial hair holds. Luckily, through the magic of the Interweb Tubes, I’ve discovered a series of training videos to help you find your way. You’re welcome.

This wasn’t the worst year for me, but it has certainly been a year where I didn’t keep the only resolution I ever make: next year better than the last one, and there are all kinds of reasons for that, some in my control some not so much.

I’ve been considering ignoring every ‘best of album’ list that didn’t include Jesu’s Conqueror, but that just feels petty even for me. So I just add that album on to whatever list I see, and all feels right with the world. Other albums I’ve really dug on have been Bloc Party’s Weekend in the City (there’s a vein of unhappiness, or dissatisfaction in that record that speaks to me this year), Iron & Wine’s The Shepherd’s Dog and Machine Head’s The Blackening. Pelican’s new record was…strangely unfulfilling. They made a pop album (or what must be one for them) and now hopefully they’ll take those lessons to the next record. I felt a similar letdown with High On Fire’s new record, but perhaps this is because Blessed Black Wings set such a high bar-could any band top that?

Letdown might be a good word for how I look at 2007 just in overview.

Good things: seeing Jesu, Isis and Sunn O))) at various points during the year. Sunn O))) is like nothing I’ve seen and not many people are going to love it, but I did.

My Dad had quadruple bypass surgery a couple weeks ago. He’s currently recovering in a laz-e-boy at home. Home is in Henderson Nevada, a place he hates (and I also despise) but he’s been lucky to have people who can go visit and help him recover. He told me yesterday on the phone that it’s been quite an experience. I suggested that next time he read a book. He chuckled.

There has been various forms of depression plaguing either me or people close to me all fucking year. It’s been grueling. Sometimes there are reasons, events I could point to and say: I feel unhappy because of this. These reasons have included relationship freakouts, work lameness, internet drama (this was the first time I’d ever been threatened physically by strangers online), people close to me being sick or ‘downsized’ from work, and panda bears. Goddamn panda bears.

But there have also been times of malaise that just…exist. They cannot be explained, they just show up like emotionally radioactive orange clouds and I just have to wait for them to pass. It’s not been pleasant or fun, but I will say that there are some really great people around me to help cheer or console me.

2007 was the year ‘I don’t recall’ became a national catchphrase and apparently a valid excuse for being an utter fuckup. I cannot believe that the same evil genius who authored the “it’s ok for us to torture people” document (and that paper was evil at its finest) was suddenly struck with memory loss. His punishment: nothing.
Well, ok, he lost his job. Or ‘retired’, whatever. That’s not punishment, not in the; you fucked up and now you must atone for that, sense.

I am sure that I don’t have to exhaustively review the cowardice, lawbreaking, and general malfeasance of the US Gov’t and corporations that joined them-Halliburton, Blackwater, telecoms by the handful, for readers here. We’re all a pretty well informed bunch, but all that crap builds up and goes on the list of why 2007 can fuck off. Oh sure, Google’s fighting the good fight-but for how much longer?

And let’s not even get started on how badly the Democrats have shat on our collective hopes that things will be-or even could be- fixed. Truly an abhorrent year when it comes to US politics.

I had another friend who was struck with rectal cancer. When I moved to Portland and knew no one and had no idea where to go or look for anything, from doctors to bars, she helped guide me to interesting or useful places. She’s also recovered, but let’s just remember: rectal cancer. It’s the buzzkill of cancers, if anything is.

I spent a good portion of my year talking to someone who wasn’t even there to listen. This is how it goes, sometimes. A little madness now and again can sustain you. I’ve turned that around, so now I’m talking to myself. The audience might be the same, but the words are different now. Hopefully, that gets my mind around the bend, and into 2008 for improvements.

There were some awful, awful movies this year, and for some reason I’ve thrown myself at them. Pirates of the Caribbean 3 is one of the worst films I’ve seen in a long, long time. It felt like a mudball of plot and acting being thrown against a canvas of insane special effects, and you got to watch whatever stuck. It wasn’t fun, and starting doing things that made the previous movies seem like documentaries in their believability.
And Transformers. Dear god. I’m actually glad there’s going to be a sequel, because I’m hoping that it will follow the videogame sequel syndrome and improve as more get made. Given how slipshod and poorly done the first one was, it’s hard to imagine it being even worse. But a big ol’ middle finger to both Spielberg and Bay, for getting me to see a movie that I would never have set foot in if not for something I loved as a kid. Next time, make the movie about giant robots blowing shit up about giant robots blowing shit up, instead of the humans. Then when it comes time to do the giant robots blowing shit up sequence, hire someone to do it right, instead of making the incoherent mess of a climax that was the first film.

The powers that be have also fucked Spider Man up, as far as I’m concerned. Not the films, the comics. Being married, having a secret identity; these were good things I thought. They helped make Spidey stand out (not that one of the biggest icons in America and maybe the world needs much help) but no, someone else would rather see Spider Man even more hopeless than he usually is.
And fuckin’ kill off Aunt May, already. She’s old, and frail and it would’ve been a great chance to move the character forward, and maybe bring another character up to the forefront.

The best example of how to keep a story going that I can think off offhand has been Daredevil. Bendis ended his tale at it’s logical conclusion, and there was no reset button; instead they brought in Ed Brubaker to come in and write the story from there. Perfect! Sure, he’s returning the character to what he once had, but at least there’s a new story going on about how that works, instead of the usual deus ex machina that comic books so frequently use.

Since I moved in August, I’ve made 2 really shitty beers. 3rd time was the charm, thankfully-but it was an IPA that turned out like a brown ale. I hate it when things go wrong, and I don’t know why. In all 3 cases, I don’t understand what I’m doing that’s causing my beer to either not be hopped, or flat out taste like bar-b-que sauce. Something is wrong; hopefully I’ll get some advice on how to fix this, and soon. With the cost of beer ever rising, I can’t afford to fuck up.

Basically, a lot of the things I hoped would happen or work out this year didn’t, and sometimes it was me and sometimes it was everything else, but I’m truly ready for this year to end. It will in approximately 12 hours and yeah, I know it’s an arbitrary thing; everything about 2007 will bleed into 2008 because that’s the way it goes.

I’d still like for things to turn around a bit for me. And anyone, really, who’s had a crappy year; I am aware I’m not the only one. Cheers. I’ll catch you with a beer on the other side.

OK…it is time to retire some really BAD sayings!  Please feel free to add on.

“You had me at BLANK“  (Hello, Goodbye, Chocolate Cake, Butt Plug)

-I am so tired of this stupid saying! Let it go!!! PLEASE!!!

I just had an interaction with someone where they spelled ‘fun’, phun.

Someone has gotten so fucked up lazy that now it’s better to spell a 3 letter word with 4? I think I have to invent a new swear word for how stupid that is.

I really want humanity to die out now.

Between the big blockbuster movie and the last book, I’m on Harry Potter overload. To be fair, I don’t like the guy–he’s average and boring, but by virtue of his un-asked-for gifts, not nearly the anti-hero that is, say, Holden Caulfield–nor do I feel like I’m paying particular attention to the Potter phenomenon, which goes to show the breadth with which this latest marketing blitz has been launched. I simply can’t escape Harry and his companions in trouble.

I could easily ignore the hype by pushing it to the far recesses of my brain. But here’s what really gets my goat: the way that J.K. Rowling and her Scholastic thug posse attempt to control absolutely every aspect of the new book’s release. Two cases in point:

1. TechCrunch points out that the new HP book leaked is available on the internet on illegal filesharing networks. Scholastic’s lawyers send a takedown notice to TechCrunch . . . even though TechCrunch is merely reporting the fact that the book leaked (in the form of crappy photos!) and is not hosting the book itself.
2. J.K. Rowling gets pissed off that the New York Times reviewed the book two days before its release, and a Scholastic spokeswoman likens the review to the Boston Tea Party, implying American impudence, and articulating an international rift where there likely isn’t one.

I understand the desire to keep spoilers under wraps, but we’ve been dealing with this problem since the dawn of publishing and movie-making, and we do reasonably well with a system of avoidance (avoiding revealing reviews) and trust (trusting our friends not to tell us how it ends). Furthermore, neither Scholastic nor Rowling cannot reasonably think that a photographed–not scanned, remember–copy of the book is an adequate substitute for the book itself, and thus will cost her money. Anyone crazy enough to download the thing and actually read it is likely to buy the book, buy the DVDs, buy all the horizontal merchandise, dress up as Ron for Halloween, and give Rowling his firstborn upon request. The rest of us could care less.

I, for one, am continuing my Harry Potter boycott of several years, which thus far has been driven by disinterest, a desire to read other things, and the fact that the first few books failed to sufficiently brand my brain.

I read.  As much as I can.  Not necessarily impressive challenging works, but I like to escape.  I just recently reread all my favorite Kurt Vonnegut books and wanted to dig him up from his freshly laid grave and give him a big hug. 

Anyway, I noticed Douglas Coupland had a new book out called Jpod.  Coupland is most notable for Generation X (which I haven’t read) and his Microserfs (which I loved and even cried at the end, can you believe that?).  In Microserfs he basically wrote a fictional book that looked at the lives of the dotcommers.  Definitely recommend it. 

BUT…this book, Jpod, is about gamers of today.  It’s absurd.   He takes a fun simple topic and throws in completely outlandish story lines that are hardly swallowable.  Is that a word?  Here is my biggest complaint.  Coupland inserts himself into the novel.  What do I mean by that, you ask?  Exactly what I said.  He has made his characters talk about him and interact with him.  You can tell he tries to be clever by making the characters despise him and think of him as a jackass, but in the end it’s so disgustingly self-indulgent that I almost can’t get through the book.  I asked Kables his thoughts on it and was happy to see we felt similarly.   

The sad thing is, if I had ever become a writer I could totally see myself doing the same thinking that the self-deprecation would be endearing.  I am glad to have witnessed someone else making that mistake and now I will avoid it like the plague.  Just like I may avoid any future books by Coupland.

That said, I was extremely happy to sit in The Whiskey Bar reading Jpod.  At least I could sit there feeling self-righteous about my disgust in between delicious sips of my Maker’s Mark Manhattan on the rocks.  Sip sip, that fucker Coupland, who does he think he is, slurp slurp, mmm…manhattan…next page….

Cross post from my blog.

Several weeks ago I diligently called my dental office:
Me: Hi, I need to make an appointment. Do you have anything on Friday?

Receptionist: No. We don’t work Fridays.

Me: Oh…ok, what’s your last appointment of the day?

Receptionist: 3:15.

Me: That’s your LAST appointment? Huh…OK, I’ll need to take work off. What do you have this Thursday?

Receptionist: I can’t schedule in June yet because I don’t have my calender.

Me: Uh…it’s May 29th and you don’t have your calender for JUNE? That’s only in a few days.

Receptionist: I know. It’s my higher-ups. They haven’t given me my June calender so I can’t schedule you. Sorry.

Me: OH…I guess I’ll call back.

So, I called back in a week and got an appointment for 3:15 on Thursday. I arrived fifteen minutes early and decided to sit in my car, in the parking lot, and read a book. At 3:08 the receptionist opened the door and hollered, “Mara?!”

I was so startled I dropped the apple I had been eating (to get my teeth sqeaky clean). “Yeah?!” I yelled out my car window.

“They’re waiting for you!” She yelled looking exasperated.

“My appointment isn’t until 3:15,” I replied, noticing my clock read 3:08.

“No, it’s 3,” She said and went back inside.

I packed up my things and exited my car, pausing to look at my day planner: Dentist 3:15 (Leave work at 3). I felt annoyed. I sat down in the dentist chair and mentioned to the Hygienist that I had been told 3:15. “No one is mad at you,” the hygienist claimed, which I found to be a total lie. This woman was the most passive aggressive dental hygienist I’ve ever met. When she asked me if I wanted fluoride and I said no she said, “Well, you know, you were inquiring what you could do to avoid cavities, next time you get a chance, just swish a flouride based mouth wash around.” I decided to opt for the fluoride. My actual dentist isn’t bad, even though he pronounces my name “Mare-uh” which I HATE but haven’t bothered to correct him because, you know, I only see him every six months. It’s not like I see him every day. After he did his work (patched a little cavity and gave me a seal on a receding gum line), the hygienist plowed through my mouth like a woman who wanted to leave for the day.

After I diligently swished my flouride, the receptionist informed me she had a bunch of paperwork for me to fill out, “This is why we like to have people in a few minutes early.”

“Hey,” I said, wanting to lay it out, “My appointment was scheduled for 3:15.”

The receptionist lowered her voice, “I know, but the hygentist saw you sitting in your car and said, ’she’s just sitting in the parking lot eating an apple!’ so I said I would get you. When we say 3:15 we actually want you in the dentist’s chair at that exact time.”

“I did not know that,” I replied, making a mental note to never bother with this dental office again. “That’s good to know.”

“Are you leaving soon?” The hygientist asked. “You’re parked behind my car.”

So, dear readers: any Seattle/Renton dental recommendations? I feel like I’ve gone the random route before (read: conveniently located near home or work) and now I want to raise my standards. Word of mouth should be leading me to someone better, a little more flexible, without a hygienist who wants me out of the chair ASAP.

Here’s what happens when you leave yard work to your awesome Ivy-league-educated “the-man”-fightin’ socialist neighbors:

Here’s what happens when a “‘privileged’ kid from the burbs who must not, by his ambition and tolerance of capitalism, understand the plight of the working man” gets fed up.

The grass was two feet in places. I hacked it with a push mower. My hands are blistered and my back hurts from the hour and a half of work. I left the clippings for another day.

Did I have to do this? No. I was told by the landlords that the backyard is their’s, and that if they want to let me use it, fine. But frankly, we were becoming an embarassment. The cigarette butts that litter their porch and the walkway don’t help . . .

The previous tenants would have never been so disrespectful of their home. Maybe because we were never fed with silver spoons? The irony absolutely kills me.

(My apologies to Fuz. I’m sure New Haven is lovely in the summertime.)

And that’s the best part of having cancer — getting to spring it on people. I found out in February that I have cervical cancer — carcinoma in situ — which means, basically, that I have cancer but it hasn’t broken out of my cervix yet. I tried to hang on to the fact that what I have is not truly classified as frank cancer because it hasn’t invaded the surrounding structures, but my doc assured me that the cells appear cancerous under a scope. I gots the cancer, even if it is only in one of my reproductive organs. So, I go to have the better part of my cervix removed next Wednesday.

It would be a fair assessment to say that I am kind of devestated about this because I’d really like more children. And while having carcinoma in situ doesn’t preclude fertility or successful pregnancy, the procedure that I have to have done to get rid of it will negatively impact my ability to maintain a pregnancy, were I to release a mature egg that became magically, magically fertilized and then mysteriously implanted itself into my endometrium.

So, girls! Don’t be a prodigal daughter — get your pap on and get it on once every calendar year! I missed one annual exam (2006) and let me offer you my most resolute assurances — I wish I hadn’t. I’ve had “abnormal” paps before and even had to have some biopsies, but I never expected to have carcinoma in situ at 26. The crazy thing is that I tested negative for HPV — the prom queen of carcinogens. Sure, lots of things can predispose one to cervical cancer, but in my demographic, I think HPV is assumed with that diagnosis. My doctor said that, in all likelihood, my prediliction for the tobacco had something to do with the change in the cells. This, of course, came as a huge surprise, since I had no idea smoking was bad for you. </deadpan>

So, there that is. I have cancer but I won’t have it in a week or so because, with any luck, I’m going to have it all removed on Wednesday.

Kisses!

Last week I put my digital camera up on eBay. I wanted to sell it so I could get a little camera to take with my to New York later this month. My camera is fine, but I find I use it a lot less than I used to, mostly because I can’t just carry it around with me (my school bag maxes out my shoulder strength). I figure with a subcompact, I can always pocket the thing, and pull it out and inconspicously snap awesomeness. (BTW, I want to get a Canon SD900.)

The camera sold for $305 after some furious bidding, a figure I was thrilled with. I noticed, though, that the buyer had an Australian postal code, even though I stipulated that I would sell only to U.S. buyers. Still, I figured if he wanted to pay the extra shipping, I guess I would send it. So I emailed him to confirm the address. He wrote back with this:

Hello Seller,
Am pleased to be the winner of this item and this item,is a birthday present to my grandson who live in west africa….and i know you only ship within US…..It is because am presently in AUSTRAILIAN for a businees trip and i wont be back until next two weeks…..So i will be offering you US$120 for the shipping to west africa…. ( Via First Class USPS GLOBAL EXPRESS MAIL or DHL)..As i have pay you { Via Paypal the Fast, easy, secure payment online. }… here is the shipping address….

NAME : David Ayideji
ADDRES :#39 Oba Akinyele oluyole industrial estate ring road
CITY : Ibadan
STATE : Oyo
ZIP CODE : 23402
COUNTRY : Nigeria.
My Regards,

Sure enough, an email from PayPal showed up for $125 over the asking price.

Except it wasn’t from PayPal. It only APPEARED to be from PayPal. Instead it was from another address:

service @paypal.com (paypalpaymentslink@emailaccount.com). (Check the screenshot of the email.)

Pretty slick, huh? The guy wanted me to think that he sent me money, and that it would be released to me once he had a tracking number. Of course, I smelled fraud like it was a big pile of monkey turds on a hot Los Angeles day, and immediately reported it to eBay. Apparently this guy was trying it with others on eBay, too, and he was summarily booted. eBay wants me to contact the cops, though I’m not sure what they could (or would) do.

So I wasn’t naive enough to bite. Thank Jeebus. Still, now if the second place guy doesn’t want the camera, I have relist the thing and go through this all over again.  Sucky.

Anyone want to buy a camera?