Bummer

I almost never talk politics in real life, and I even more rarely do on MySpace. But...

Following threats to our staff of a very serious nature, and some ill informed reports from certain corners of the British media that could directly lead to the harm of some of our staff, Liveleak.com has been left with no other choice but to remove Fitna from our servers.
This is a sad day for freedom of speech on the net but we have to place the safety and well being of our staff above all else. We would like to thank the thousands of people, from all backgrounds and religions, who gave us their support. They realised LiveLeak.com is a vehicle for many opinions and not just for the support of one.
Perhaps there is still hope that this situation may produce a discussion that could benefit and educate all of us as to how we can accept one anothers culture.
We stood for what we believe in, the ability to be heard, but in the end the price was too high.

That’s from LiveLeak.com. You can read more about "Fitna" and the controversial Dutch short film here.

I’m not sure what I think of the content of the film, and I haven’t seen it... but I am a bit bummed that even in today’s age of communication that legal speech can be shut down almost entirely through death threats.

Step one: Ikea

First, a bit of a prelude. I run hot and cold when it comes to my blog... anyone who has been reading it for a while knows I go through spots where I take a week or two before I have the energy and incentive to write about anything. Part of the reason I blog, ironically enough, is to get more discipline as a writer. Of course, that makes sense when I feel like writing, but the rest of the time I ignore that reason and do whatever else I have going on (generally, it involves talking to someone about how I’m JUST about to start cleaning my apartment). So, in the interests of discipline (aka fighting boredom (well, fighting MY boredom... maybe causing it for anyone who reads this))... here we go.

Saturday I’d planned on trying out for an adult baseball league, but the tryouts were at 9:00. AM. Oops. Nope. After kicking around LQA and my apartment with a friend much of the day, I decided to ACTUALLY take a step towards organizing my apartment. The plan for my "immaculate" apartment (no sarcasm from the commentator that ascribed that adjective, I’m sure) was/is rather simple:

1. Get a new bookshelf or two
2. Organize the 50 or so books that are currently scattered in the northeast corner of my living room and place them in aforementioned new bookshelf
3. Clean newly (partially) uncluttered living room
4. Move existing bookshelf to bedroom
5. Organize the 25 or so books that are currently scattered throughout my bedroom as well as the 250 pounds or so of clothes hanging from every corner and projecting surface in said bedroom
6. Clean newly (entirely) uncluttered bedroom
7. Go through the dozen large boxes in my living room, throwing stuff away, sorting through the books, and figuring out what (if anything) should go into storage

See how easy my life is? And how exciting?

In any case, I had looked at Target for book shelves on Friday, but I resolved to go to Ikea over the weekend.

Saturday evening was the time. I bid adieu to my cats, hopped in the car, drove about 1.75 miles per hour down Mercer on the way to the freeway and eventually made it to Ikea.

This was only my third visit. I’d been once in my former life and then once a little over two years ago right after I got my own place.

In the mean time, I’ve read articles about managing retail space, and I’ve worked on environments where the user experience is really a guided one... so maybe I just saw the store differently this time around, but. Man. It was weird.

For those of you who have been there: I’m sorry if I bore you with my detailing of it. For those of you who haven’t been there: I’m sorry if I bore you with everything else.

I wanted a bookshelf, right? Well, there’s no "bookshelf" section. There is something called the "Marketplace". There are self-service warehouse shelves. There are arrows on the ground to make sure you’re going the correct direction through the maze. There are lots of people who don’t speak English who walk about a third of the speed that I’d like to while taking up the entire width of the walkway.

Not to say that this is necessarily bad. Well, except the signage.

There are signs telling you NOT to get a cart because there will be an opportunity to get one before entering the Marketplace. But I saw no carts (and am still not sure what the hell the Marketplace is). There are signs promising 50 cent hot dogs (unrelated to the rapper, unfortunately) that are sold next to some other part of the store that I either never saw or was unaware that I’d entered and exited.

I wanted a couple of hot dogs. But not enough to double back with all the stuff that I’d accumulated, looking for the part of the store that I didn’t even know the name of.

(Yes, I could have asked for help. Theoretically.)

I did manage to accumulate lots of stuff. A candle. Some cat scratching box things. 16 hangers. And a plastic bag. They sell plastic bags for a nickel, and when the one I bought split right down the middle? I was too cheap to buy another one. Which is ridiculous, given I spent almost $300 at the store, and having the hangers and other stuff I bought spilling out of the bag was almost as annoying as the hot dog sign taunting me with the promise of cheap weiners.

Fortunately, in spite of the oddities of Ikea I was able to procure a pair of bookshelves and I was able to assemble them with little difficulty (their stuff IS easy to put together (I’ve only bled severely once while assembling any Ikea furniture)).

Of course, after completing step one I decided to take a break the rest of the weekend. Exciting step two (which will take about 20 minutes, when I just freaking DO it) will have to wait.

Dramedy

Thanks to everyone who messaged or talked to me about my last blog. It was a bit over the top. Even now, I think most of what I said is right, but I’m not in the middle of a late night alcohol- and sleep-deprived- induced fog like I was then.

I’m fine. Both in the "damn, girl you so fine" sense and in the more abstract sense.

I will try to be a happier blog monkey in the future.

1:22 AM

On April 28, 2006, I left my Capitol Hill apartment. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew that I had to stop playing WoW and I had to meet new people. I had few friends in Seattle. I was alone. I needed to change things, even if it was uncomfortable, even if I had no idea what I was doing, and even if I had no idea what I wanted to change to.

After that April night, I made a similar walk a couple dozen times over a three or four month period... I would walk down Pine from Capitol Hill, through Belltown and end up in Lower Queen Anne.

After a while I started driving. After a while I knew people. I eventually moved to LQA and I have what I think are the beginning of friendships.

I’m not currently sober. I’ve been drinking for much of the last seven hours. Blogging while unsober is stupid, and I know that even in my alcohol-addled brain. But fuck it.

Tonight I made the Capitol Hill to LQA trek. I had a nice evening and spent quality time with friends. I decided to walk back, and in the hour that it took me I started to think.

I started to think about trust. I am a pretty naive person, and I’m willing to share the idiosyncracies of my life with people that I consider my friends... today (yesterday) my faith in people was seriously shaken. I learned that at least one person who I considered my friend was telling others their opinions of my feelings on other people.

Listen, I talk shit about people sometimes. I try not to, but I also try not to have many secrets, and sometimes my secrets being unhidden expose other people. The insight that I learned today/yesterday, though, is that some people are incapable of understanding what is truly personal and private. As a result I am resolved to be much more reserved with at least my current batch of friends.

I started to think about love. At my wedding, my brother/best man gave a speech where he stated that many in the family had doubts as to my capacity to love. I know he might have been kidding, but even as I sat at the table of honor next to my future ex-bride, I knew he might have been right. I’m not sure I’m capable of loving anyone outside of my family. I hope I can. I’m just not sure.

I started to think about significance. One of the most depressing moments of my life was when I told a female friend (for whom I had more-than-friendly feelings) that nothing we did mattered. She became a bit upset, and she stated that the things I’d done for her mattered, and that the friendship she felt for me mattered. I was sad that I didn’t really buy it at the time. Some months later she decided to date someone else and I couldn’t let go of how I felt about her. We dont’ talk now. And, as much as it pains me to admit, it probable doesn’t matter.

I started thinking about the future. Given that trust, friendship and significance are all less real than I had thought they were two years ago... does it matter?

It took me about an hour to walk home. I thought of all these things and more. I only skimmed the depths of my thoughts in this blog. I know I’m drunk. Is it less reflective of my feelings? I’m not sure any of it matters anyway. I still have to show up for work. I still have to go to class. I still have to live, cross my fingers, and hope for the best.

A boxful of dramedy (or: a pencil in every orifice)

I don't know if this sort of treatment was ever actually applied to an individual, but for some reason I have it stuck in my head as part of my basic understanding of the world: if you want to cure someone of his predilection for cigars, lock him in a closet with a box full and don't let him out until he smokes them all.

(1: I know this is opening the door for gay jokes... but I can't let that stop me. 2: When I was in first grade I got into trouble for sticking pencils up my nostrils as a joke during class, and I was told, "You can stay in the next recess and stick pencils up your nose..." Of course, I actually DID stick pencils up my nose for most of the appointed time, and I didn't consider it much of a punishment.)

I'm not a huge enemy of drama. Maybe it's because I lived what was essentially a placid life for so much of my adult existence. Maybe it's because I've lucked out with good health for my family... that my parents aren't divorced... that I've only had two cats raped by homeless people... maybe I just really haven't experienced drama. So when people say they "hate drama" or "need to be drama-free" I sometimes can't relate. In fact, I'd say I kinda like drama sometimes.

Drama can be the special sauce. It can be the nice cigar after dinner.

So back to the cigar treatment (insert: Bill Clinton joke (insert: insert joke))... last night MIGHT have been the "locked in an enclosed space with a box of cigars" moment for me and drama.

I won't get into specifics, but I had about four touchdowns pulsing in my brain and I was trying to keep a handle on a situation that was melting down in the bar all around me. I had to pretend like I dropped a glass that a friend threw. I had my pinky bit to the point where blood was almost drawn. I gave a friend directions to another bar and told her to call if she had problems and then I was so distracted by other things that I didn't answer EITHER time she called.

Oops.

It was almost too much. Almost. I might have just looked at it as an opportunity of advanced of pencil-nostriling, though... I need to mull it some more.

Come and knock on my door...

Who doesn't love Three's Company? Really. If you can't appreciate the show, you can at least savor the contribution it's made to popular culture. I'm not talking about DeWitt's haircut (which is actually starting to look suspiciously close to my hair style currently).

What I speak of is the cataclysmic misunderstanding. One misinterpreted word, or one unseen gesture, or one malapropism from Suzanne Somers is enough to launch Mr. and Mrs. Roper into a 22 minute tizzy, or Don Knotts into innumerable eye-bulging conversations with Tripper about this and/or that.

I joke a lot about this sort of misunderstanding... but I've rarely experienced it. Until recently. Allow me to present the same conversation from two angles. One is from mine, and one is from Morpheus.

Background: Morpheus and I were hanging out in Lower Queen Anne at the end of the night. It was about 2 AM. I was totally sober because of the odd (if not unpleasant) night I'd had. Morpheus was not sober, and neither was Dundee, a buddy whose girlfriend is a friend of mine. Dundee happened to be staggering down the sidewalk, working his way towards his gf's place, when this occurred. Note the difference between how I saw it and how Morpheus (and probably Dundee) saw it.

Dundee: I know these faces!
Me: What up, man?
Morpheus: Hey!
Dundee: Where were you guys tonight? I actually sang a song and I was looking for you...
Me: What did you sing?
Dundee: Some INXS.
Me: Nice.
Dundee: So where were you guys?
Me: I was on a date.
Dundee: Ah... how did it go?
Me: Pretty well *shrug* It was fun.
Dundee: (giving us each a manly shoulder squeeze) I hope you guys had fun tonight. I'll catch you later.
Morpheus: Bye.
Me: Later!

OK. So that seemed routine, right? Nothing untoward?

Immediately... immediately Morpheus politely asked me not to look at him when telling people I was on a date. Hah! Here's how HE might have heard the conversation:

Dundee: I know these faces!
Me: What up, man?
Morpheus: Hay-ay!
Dundee: Where were you guys tonight? I actually sang a song and I was looking for you...
Me: What did you sing?
Dundee: Some INXS.
Me: Nice.
Dundee: So where were you guys?
Me: (looking at Morpheus) On a date.
Dundee: Ah ("these guys are gay? Woah")... how did it go?
Morpheus: (Why the fuck was Ed O looking at me and implying we went on a date? Do I say something to correct the record?)
Me: Pretty well *shrug* It was fun.
Dundee: (giving us each a manly shoulder squeeze) I hope you guys had fun tonight ("I can't wait to tell the folks back home that I met a couple real-life gays here in the States!"). I'll catch you later.
Morpheus: Bye.
Me: Later!

Maybe Morpheus was projecting. Or maybe Dundee already thought we were gay. I love Dundee (in a platonic, isn't-his-accent-making-me-so-jealous, kind of way) and hope that, should he think Morpheus and I are together, at least he thinks we're a cute couple.