Jenny: In 100 Easy Lessons.

I finally finished my 100 Things About Me list... (see January 7 - yeah, it took me that long). It's down on the sidebar under STILL. Or if you're lazy, it's right here.

In some ways, having a list of characteristics and quirks about oneself is slightly strange and whispers of narcissism. But you know me, I never miss an opportunity to blather on about myself.

Here's "A Survey of Blogs and Bloggers" for those of you like myself who just can't resist telling strangers how you feel about the world in survey form.

Enjoy.

The painters never leave. They're always out there, rattling their ladders, shouting back orders. One day I'll walk through my living room without seeing a man's paint-splattered face framed by the window. One day....

I tire of the sight of this.

Something must be done.

But what?

(Hand to chin, in thought)

(Long pause)

(Still pausing)

Nope. No idea.

(A penguin enters stage left, stumbling and clutching a bottle of Cuervo Gold)

"Damnit! Flush a kish kitty kish mmmmm... But I'm, buuuuuut... Uhh, what? Hi! (Delirious laughter)"

(Penguin falls on face and goes silent)

Well then.

When I pulled the bandage off my shoulder to inspect the hole in my arm, I didn't expect to see that the bandage adhesive had caused more trauma in being pulled off than the pinhole puncture wound had. I'd show you, but I'm too lazy to get up and get my camera.

Nevertheless, I'm pleased to announce that I am now vaccinated against quite a number of nasty little bugs.

I expected the health department to be run somewhat like the DMV, slow and angry. But I arrived at 8:40 this morning and was shot up and patted along with a couple of "Have a good day, sweetie"s before 8:55. Fast service with a smile... Wouldn't it be wonderful if the health department showed the DMV how to run things? Ahhh... to dream.

Visitor Search String Extravaganza!

Nearly every day, approximately one fifth of my visitors stumble in here drunkenly and demand guitar tabs for Josh Ritter and Azure Ray. For these people, the site will truly live up to its name. I have no guitar tabs to offer. Do forgive me.

However, for those looking for something akin to musical enlightenment in the form of Josh Ritter guitar chords, I present the following link: The Josh Ritter Chord Archive.

On the other hand, those seeking guitar tabs for Azure Ray will be completely disappointed. As nearly as I can tell, such a thing does not yet exist. Give up your search now and use the saved time to take up more prosperous hobbies, such as bass fishing, underwater basket weaving, or attempting to pluck out the tabs for yourself. Such is life.

Update:
As of October 9, 2003, this site looks like your best bet for Azure Ray guitar tabs. Just givin' it to the people...

Just past the sleepy village of Nelson, when the blue of the Colorado River finally peeks through hills, you'll come upon a valley inhabited by these lovely things. You might call them penis statues. I do, anyway.

I thought I should share... so here you go. Enjoy.

For Mother Nature done right, check out Heather Firth's Earth Erotica.

For those waiting in anxious suspense (Jenny harbors delusions of importance)...

I got the job.
And I didn't even have to recite the lameass answers I had devised for "standard interview questions."

Now I'm afraid of something altogether different: not knowing what the hell I'm doing. Yippee!

Well at least peeing in a cup for the drug test wasn't too stressful. That's a plus.

With my job interview looming a mere 1 hour and 48 minutes away, I'm already nauseous. My head is reeling with impossible answers to any and every question I may be asked...

"Do you consider yourself proficient in goat herding? Do you enjoy leading people, and if you don't, may we whip you until you do? What are your faults, and don't lie - we can already see you have MANY?"

In a way, it almost feels like I'm back in school again, clutching presentation notes on Hamlet's true motives in Act II. Yeah... just like school... where my mouth would turn to cotton, my hands would shake uncontrollably, and my stomach would perform such a somersault act as to be mistaken for a circus stomach.

Obligatory nervous scream: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHH!

This Creed lawsuit is hilarious.

In a way, it reminds me of obese people who sue McDonalds for making them overweight. If you're going to listen to awful music, you're going to end up at an awful concert sooner or later. It's your own fault for spending nearly sixty dollars (!) on Creed, for God's sake.

Either way, seeing Creed get sued for being crap just warms my heart...

Ever experience one of those moments where you feel like you're Alice looking through the glass at a world just the same - only slightly off?

Meet Jenny the Great.

Name Me: Jenny Her: Jenny	Location Me: Vegas Her: Vegas
Mammal of Choice Me: Cat Her: Cat	Age: Me: Nearing 23 Her: 23
'Morality' Control and Smoking Stance Me: Pro-choice, nonsmoker Her: Pro-choice, nonsmoker	Music Me: Good music Her: Country

Aww.. so close. I almost had a clone...

Damn. I am so INCREDIBLY bored. Obviously.

Time to play Name The Person With A Job Interview tomorrow!

{Jeopardy theme}

Yes, you are correct! It's that quivering mess of girl they call me. You win a cookie!

Now I suppose I have to find a way to live up to my exaggerated application claims of being "more than equipped to handle a communication-intensive job." Unfortunately, I already proved that wrong by stumbling over simple greetings when I called to just set up the interview...

I'm screwed.

So, you've been wondering... What exactly happens when a pool is covered with a sun blanket for three days in 75 degree weather sans chlorine?

Well, I respond, something a little like this...

Refreshing.

I was shot in the throat this morning.

That's why I woke up, anyway.
I enjoy a good nightmare as much as the next person, but I hate it when they involve guns. I found myself in Northtown (North Las Vegas, AKA Scary Ass Part Of The Vegas Valley), and everyone had guns. There were people driving down the street, shooting people on the sidewalks. There were people in the park ducking and rolling behind bushes. And I found myself in the middle of it all beside an ice cream truck with a wounded driver and only Tony and a stoic North Las Vegas policeman for help.

As a silver pickup truck made a second pass at us with a handgun slung out the passenger window, I ducked to the ground. I caught a bullet to the throat that felt like a heavyweight jab to the jugular. And I thought, in the split second before things went dark and I opened my eyes, "Wow, that sucked."

I honestly hope that when I die in my waking life that I can think of something more profound in the second before I pass.

Needless to say, I woke in a foul mood, and the day has yet to improve.
I mean, really, when your day starts with getting shot in the throat, how good can you expect it to be?

At this point, the word boredom no longer adequately describes what I'm feeling.

It's gotten so bad that I've been driven to searching for random keywords or hunting out personal webpages that mention my favorite bands. I honestly don't know what else to do. The words inside me shrivel and die the moment they ripen. I'm sitting among the ruins of a once-potential.

I'm sad, and I'm bored, and I'm alone...

Life is chance. I'm waiting for my moment. The instant the dice roll to a stop. But it seems I've been waiting for ages, and the dice just keep on tumbling.

Shakespeare Of The Day:

"Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."

- William Shakespeare
As You Like It - Act II, Scene I -

Reason #26 Why I Love PBS:
American Experience: Seabiscuit

I'd never heard the name before. And I think that when I first saw the trailer for the upcoming movie about his story, I thought to myself, "Uhhh, yeah... okay." Leave it to PBS to fill me in on one of the greatest uplifting comeback stories of all time. ...Yeah, I was crying by the end of it... No point in denying it.

Absolutely inspiring.
And now, I can't wait for the movie to come out.

To quote the great philosopher: PBS kicks ass.

Today, I'm supposed to go out to a couple of places and apply for a job.
I'm scared to death.

Is that normal?

Who am I kidding? I've never been one to do anything normal. Being horrified of asking for an application and being scrutinized by employers should be keeping in step with the trend. If I remember correctly, I've filled out a total of four job applications in my entire life. The one job I have had, I was hired for on the spot - no interview jitters to contend with, no second-guessing my self-selling.

I can't handle this, really.
I don't mind working (I know some people have a perception otherwise of my feeling on the matter), but the process of actually acquiring work is terrifying and gut-wrenching and just plain scary.

Anyone out there know anyone who needs to hire someone with excellent customer service skills but doesn't feel like going through the rigamarole of the hiring process? I'm your girl.

(Nervous sigh.)

Last night I dreamt a concoction of imagery and plot that would beat out any generic Hollywood horror movie. Its complexity and detail is just too much for me to go into at this hour, so let's just say it was entertaining...

...And needless to say, I woke up this morning a little less than refreshed.

An New Scientist interview with Joe Griffin, sleep specialist, suddenly sees very relevant as I prepare to slide off to the sheets once more:

"But how is dream sleep responsible for depression?

My findings show that ordinarily dream sleep does a great housekeeping job for us. Each night it brings down our autonomic arousal level. Dreams are metaphorical translations of those waking introspections - emotionally arousing feelings and thoughts - that we don't act upon while we are awake. Once aroused, our brain has to complete that cycle of arousal and, if we don't complete it in the external world, we do so in our dream sleep. The patterns of arousal are metaphorically acted out and thereby deactivated. But depressed people do so much worrying and feel so stuck that the ruminations cause an overload of dreaming which uses up a lot of energy in the brain. Which is why they wake up exhausted, unable to focus their mind outwards and motivate themselves.

This is a departure from the accepted view, isn't it?

Yes, it is. We filmed hundreds of cases and you can see time and time again that when they start talking about depression, they talk about waking up tired, low and emotional, how they have difficulty getting off to sleep. And when it is explained to them how they are doing this to themselves, the explanation alone helps - and then the therapy is to help them begin to stop the negative ruminations."

Time to get my depressed ass off to bed for another wild night of anti-rest. Sleep tight, party people.

The view from our new balcony:



Sure as hell beats the freeway.

We were waving at passing cars.
That was our first mistake.

The night before we left Henderson for good, Jenni, Tony, and I discovered yet another good reason to be getting out of that soulless dump. As we waited patiently at a downtown Henderson stoplight on our way to pick up some grub, we decided we may as well amuse ourselves and see if we could get an oncoming police unit to wave back at us (yes, we're easily amused). As the light turns green and the car begins to crawl forward, we realize we're being honked at. In my rear view mirror, I can see a trio of N*Sync rejects in a Honda Civic mouthing angry grunts like a tribe of coked up baboons.

"What's with that?" I ask, nodding my head back to indicate the box of agitated high school sophomores behind us.

"I don't know," Tony responds in rushed voice, "but they're following us. Pull in here and just keep going."

He motioned to a bank parking lot, and as I turned into the amply darkened area to make a U-turn, the Civic boys stayed within a close bumper-licking distance.

Now, I've never been in a "car chase" and frankly, I get worked up at the thought of someone being mad enough at me to warrant something like that, so as you can imagine, I hurled worried questions about like a person caught up in bank robbery.

"What's going on?"
"Why are they doing this?"
"What should I do??"

Tony directed my driving into more public surroundings as Jenni clutched at the backs of our seats and made pointed color commentary. Within seconds we hit a dead end. Red light. The Civic gang pulls up next to us, and nearly immediately, as if he had rehearsed it with a full-length mirror in his garage, the driver emerges with arms forward and brow furrowed with intimidation. Before I turned my head to face the light and pretend that nothing was happening, I read the words in his frothing mouth, "Who you wavin' at? Huh? Huh?" Brilliant this one, to be sure. Tony held his silent phone to his ear, convincingly engaging in an urgent call. Before the Henderson youth reached my car (he'd been moving forward slowly, impeded by his slouched stance of irrational anger), the light turned green. My little Geo fled the scene as fast as it could go.

It's not much, I know. But you have to hate a town that harbors stupidity and blind hostility of that caliber.
God damn, Henderson sucks ass.

So thank God we're finally back in Boulder....
(Exaggerated sigh of relief aaaaaand thumbs up.)

We were handed the keys today.
Do we know what that means, boys and girls?

That's right. Jenny's going to be without her computer for a few days.

I'll survive. Don't worry about me. Computer deprivation is something I have some experience with.
Moving desks and couches and boxes, on the other hand...

Let's just put it this way: if you don't hear from me in five days, know that I've probably been crushed in an unfortunate futon accident. You'll have to scavenge what you can of this site and move on. It's for the best.

Thanks to Slow Wave I now know the nuances of Spain's entrance requirements.

Hearing people recount their dreams is usually only interesting 25% of the time. (And yes, I know I blather on about mine every now and then... your point?) Seeing other people's dreams in comic strip form, though, well that's just about as fresh as a dripping head of lettuce.

By which I mean quite fresh.

.explodingdog moment of the week.

Moving day approaches, and I have little to tell you. A sighing, warm cat sleeps upon my lap, and the clock is slinking quietly past two a.m. The apartment's cold silence seems to suggest that it may know of the impending betrayal, while upstairs, our neighbor has left their laundry door open to the forces of nature once again. The wind is giving it yet another good thrashing. And I'm beginning to wonder, are they still alive up there? We've barely been here at all this week, and it wouldn't be hard to pose the same question about us. In fact, I do, at times. But, after all, a comfortable routine is a well worn sweater that waits for you on raining Sundays and quiet nights. There are other things in your closet, sure, but nothing quite fits like that old, familiar sweater...

Moving day approaches. We'll see what happens.

They're practically screaming at me to let them close.

"You do know that it's only 1:15, don't you?" I ask.

They don't care. For some ungodly reason, my eyes have gone on strike tonight. They've tossed in the towel and long ago called it quits. The only reason I can see to type this is due to some last minute bargaining.

"Alright, we'll go to sleep before 2AM if I can have just a few minutes of aimless wandering. Deal?"

And it was done. So here I am, prepared for once to sleep before two.
It's just not natural.

How To Get Out Of A Speeding Ticket

This morsel comes to us via Jenni. Let us all praise her and give thanks.
Okay, enough of that.

The jury's still out though on whether this would get you out of the ticket or just get you shipped off in a nice new white jacket.

Woman: Is there a problem, officer?

Officer: Yes, ma'am, you were speeding.

Woman: I was?

Officer: May I see your license please?

Woman: I'd give it to you but I don't have one.

Officer: You don't have a driver's license?

Woman: I lost it for drunk driving.

Officer: I see. May I have your vehicle registration papers, please?

Woman: I can't do that.

Officer: Why not?

Woman: Because this is a stolen car.

Officer: You stole this car?

Woman: Yes. We had an argument, I lost my temper, and I killed him and took his car. The body is in the trunk.

The officer looked steadily at the woman and then reached in and took the car keys. He slowly backed away to his car to call for back-up.

Within minutes two more police cars pulled up, one in front of the woman's car and one behind. A senior officer stopped to confer with the first officer, and then slowly approached the car, his gun drawn.

Officer 2: Ma'am, please step out of your vehicle.

The woman got out of the car.

Woman: Is there a problem, officer?

Officer 2: Patrolman Harris told me you stole this car and murdered the owner.

Woman: What? Murdered who?

Officer 2: Open the trunk of your car, please.

The woman opened the trunk. It was empty.

Officer 2: Did you steal this car, ma'am?

Woman: No, this is my car. Here's the registration.

The officer looked confused.

Officer 2: Patrolman Harris said you don't have a driving license?

The woman opened her purse, pulled her license from her wallet and handed it to the officer. He seemed quite puzzled.

Woman: What's this all about, officer?

Officer 2: Patrolman Harris told me you were driving without a license in a stolen vehicle, and that you admitted to murdering the owner.

Woman: Hah! I bet the lying bastard told you I was speeding, too.

"I learned something today..."

God, South Park is brilliant.
Guess you can add that to my ever-lengthening list of tolerable TV.

Tonight's 100th episode summed up just about the most realistic stance on the war that I've heard yet.
You know... Sometimes I think that South Park is the only place left to which a person can turn to find a little sanity in this crazy, mixed-up world of ours. And then I realize that I'm talking about South Park, and I am at once saddened and amused.

:)

In general, I think

TV is the tool of Satan.

But not in the Southern Baptist kind of way.
I just think it wastes time and brain cells.

But I will admit that I do make exceptions to the rule. In fact, there are a few shows I watch with a steadfast loyalty, planting myself before the glowing box at the predetermined time every single week.

The Endurable Three

- 24 -
After watching the first season, I learned the price of having fingernail biting as a nervous habit. This season has been no different. This is one stressful show, but I come back to it every week because of its attention to detail, believable character development, and captivating plot lines.

- Ed -
Loveable. If I had to describe this show at all (a task it appears I have forced upon myself), I'd call it loveable. No matter how you feel about the whole 'will they or won't they' romantic plot line, you have to admit that Ed's characters are amazingly well-written. Carol is one of the best characters on television. She's conflicted; she's flawed; she's selfish; she's real. I wouldn't go as far as calling Ed a show with any crazy amount of depth, but the literary allusions that litter its scripts and the consistently funny writing certainly doesn't hurt.

- That 70's Show -
Yeah, that's right. The only sitcom I look forward to watching. It's just damn funny, even after five seasons. And I'm probably the only one who thinks this, but I see a little of Donna and Eric in me and Tony... Yeah, I'm definitely the only one who thinks that.

Runners Up and Fallen Winners:

- Firefly -
God damnit.
This may have been my favorite show of all time. And it didn't even make it through its first season. Yet DVD collections of the episodes and memorabilia from the set have been selling on eBay for consistently high prices. Sometimes I truly believe that Fox executives have asses for heads. (Rage building... building... subsiding... calm...) The standard to which I hold nearly every minute of television I watch is that of good writing. Without good writers a show just isn't worth watching (See also: Abysmal seasons of Saturday Night Live, The Simpsons). Firefly had relatable characters with believable conflicts and HIGHlarious dialogue. Firefly was also the only science fiction view of the future that I actually felt had a chance at credibility. To Joss Whedon and his cast and crew, I forever tip my hat and wish the best.

- The X-Files (Seasons 1 - 7.5 and 9.1) -
And by that, I mean, seasons 1 through 6 were just damn good groundbreaking television with brain-teasing cinematography and special effects and that ever present Mulder/Scully tense chemistry. By season seven, with the old conspiracy swept away and the writers grabbing at metaphysical straws for a new direction, the show offered up only half a season's worth of loveliness. And it didn't get better again until the very end of season nine. In any case, it was my favorite show for quite some time and deservingly, too. Much like how people try to forget how Elvis became a washed-out, bloat of a man and only focus on the early goodness (in their opinion - I personally hate Elvis, but for purposes of analogy... Oh shut up, Jenny), I try to remember only the hours upon hours of mind-bending wonderosity that was the X-Files in its prime.

- Mystery Science Theater 3000 -
All that you need to know about the venerable institution that is MST3K you can learn from its theme song:

In the not-too-distant future--
Next Sunday A.D.--
There was a guy named Joel,
Not too different from you or me.
He worked at Gizmonic Institute,
Just another face in a red jumpsuit.
He did a good job cleaning up the place,
But his bosses didn't like him So they shot him into space.
We'll send him cheesy movies,
The worst we can find (la-la-la).
He'll have to sit and watch them all,
And we'll monitor his mind (la-la-la).
Now keep in mind Joel can't control
Where the movies begin or end (la-la-la)
Because he used those special parts
To make his robot friends.
Robot Roll Call: (Let's go!)
Cambot! (Pan left!)
Gypsy! (Hi, girl!)
Tom Servo! (What a cool guy!)
Croooow! (What a wisecracker!)
If you're wondering how he eats and breathes
And other science facts (la la la),
Then repeat to yourself, "It's just a show, I should really just relax
For Mystery Science Theater 3000!"

And hilarity ensues.

And in the interest of wrapping up this long-winded, space-filler of a post, the remainder of my suggestions come to you in simple list form. View them and repeat as needed for reversal of dreaded BTD (Bad TV Disease).

What's My Line? (Old school style, now found on the Game Show Network's Black And White Overnight)
And anyone who knows the show should get a kick out of this rare transcript

Every installment of PBS' 'House' series: 1900 House, Frontier House, Manor House... Experiments in historical recreation... BADass...

Surprise By Design, House Hunters, Designers' Challenge, etc. etc. etc...

Aaaaaand... scene.
(Curtsey and fade out)

Top 5 reasons why Jenny should be awarded a shiny new 2003 Honda Civic Hybrid:

1. My lovely Geo Prizm has served me well and has been payed off for some time now, but the time has come for Jenny to join the rest of the world in enjoying the benefits of 21st century car manufacturing. Like snazzy gauges and console cup holders. Mmmmm.... cup holders....

2. Current gas price in Southern Nevada: $1.99
HCH gas mileage: 48/47mpg
Any questions?

3. Per the above illustration (courtesy FuelEconomy.gov), the HCH's improved gas efficiency would save us more than $400 at the current gas price.

4. ...And what does Honda's Payment Estimator so nicely estimate the payments would be on this well-deserved treat? Why, just under $400! And that brings us to just about even. New car, no extra cost, how could we lose?

5. Lastly but not leastly, the sense of sheer intellectual and moral superiority I would enjoy as my sexy little hybrid zips past some Goliath gas-guzzling Ford Excursion. Ahhh, how lovely...

Okay. I've made my case. New car for Jenny? Yes yes?

(sigh)

Luckily for my father, who's occasionally questioned, "What does 'baited breath' even mean?," and anyone else who's ever pondered the mess that is the English language, there are sites like Wordorigins.org.

On the big list of cryptically familiar phrases, you can find answers to nagging questions like:

Who was Murphy, anyway, and why does he have his own law?
Why do older brothers always want to talk about your uncle when they have you in a headlock?
Where the fuck did the most flexible word in the English language come from?

But that's just to name a well-rounded three. For more, check out Wordorigin.org's Big List.

Oh, and... Unfortunately, "none of your beeswax," one of my favorites from the days of tetherball and hopscotch, has no more illustrious origin than the simple misspeech of a six year-old.

And I had such high hopes.

His eyes flooded with blackness again, as if the wave of it has retreated and returned from a sea of dark thought during his silent pause.

"You believe in Fate. Let it take you."

I retorted with an opening scoff. "Well, I'd rather not let Fate get a chance to kill me in a firey plane crash. If I never get on, Fate can't do anything about it."

This small-framed cat of a man leaned back against the red vinyl bench, searching Heaven with his eyes and exhaling softly.
"And if you never get on," he repeated assuredly, "Fate can never do anything for you."

I dropped my eyes to a floor I didn't see, to pretend to consider that maybe I was just being a cowardly chickenshit. But he sat forward and attacked my introspection before I could appear too thoughtful.

"I'll take you to the gate. I'll be there for you when you leave."

He placed a tree branch hand on my knee, and his eyes were swirling with an impenetrable blackness.

And I felt assured. And I knew I would go.

...and cut.

You've learned an invaluable life lesson, children.
Never trust the person at the keyboard.

Words are lies.

Do you feel cleansed?

In any case, I feel compelled in my late return to update you on all the twists and tangos my life has taken in the past 7+ days. Let's begin.







Yeah.
In truth, my life has been chugging down the same old rail that we found it upon before my departure. Somewhat. The slight changes are for another time and place to discover. For now, let it suffice (and you will, because you've learned that you have to) that I am filled with more boredom than any single person should ever bear. So much so that I ache for moving day's radical upheaval of all my belongings to a new place. To have a purpose, even that of moving countless cardboard boxes, to have a reason...