Moon River, wiiiiider than a mile. . .

I'm crossing you in style some daaaaaaay. . .

My friends are all class. Well, one in particular.

INTERNATIONAL DAY OF LEAH!!!!!!

So I think I work pretty hard. I busted my hump all weekend, writing papers, reading case studies, conducting analyses, and researching business theory. And just for kicks, I picked up my OTHER sister from the airport, washed the dog, cleaned off the back porch, and did my taxes. I did a lot of stuff, and I still have a lot of stuff to do in the near future and a lot of people to do that stuff with--which I am cool with, it just means that I have to keep organised and focused and make sure I get everything done when I need it done.

So this morning I check my email, and there's one from Leah entitled: "feeling overlooked." Which refers to the fact that when I blogged about being busy I FAILED TO MENTION that, in addition, my sister Leah will be visiting in early May. So. Here goes.

MY SISTER LEAH WILL BE VISITING IN EARLY MAY AND I AM JUST WETTING MY PANTALOOOOOONS IN ANTICIPATORY EXCITEMENT JUST THINKING ABOUT IT. REALLY! I JUST WET MY PANTS! WET THEM STRAIGHT THROUGH!!!

As an visual ode to the occasion, I have created a collage of Leah, a veritable Leah melange of goodness. Behold:

LEAH!!! LEAH!!! LEAH!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!

Okay, that's quite enough of that. To bring us back down, here is a picture of Leah when she realised that the rock she had been leaning against was covered in chalk:



I love that one. See ya soon, Sis. Mwah!

Post titles? We don't need no stinking post titles!

The tension has been palatable. From the brownstones to townhomes to the farmhouses and palatial estates all over this great land of ours, one question has been on the people's minds: and it is: here it comes:

Will. Eleanor. Ever. Post. Again?

I know, I know, it's been rough. Every day checking the blog in ever-decreasing degrees of hope, wishing, PRAYING, that it would be the day that El would update.

Well, today is that day.

What have I got to say for myself? Let's see if I can nutshell it. I turn 30 in 9 days, the same day of the resurrection of Christ (oh that crazy Christ! but seriously, the competition is so fierce this year), but BEFORE then: my sister comes into town, then my parents, and then I get a piece of my cervix taken out. The latter for which they prescribed me exactly two valiums. That I am guarding like a crack addict.

Other than that, I've got a fuck-busy weekend coming up and I've been hungover at work the last two days in a row. AWESOME!!! I'm sitting here right now plotting the lies I could concoct to be able to leave early.

So, to conclude: you didn't miss much.

And, scene.

Amazing skies are here again!

Hurrah!

The seeds are oh-so-carefully being sown for Summer's arrival in the ATL!

It's getting darker later, resulting in impressive sky displays that I am taking crappy pictures of using my cameraphone on the way home from work. To wit:

Pretty sure this one was from last night:

Amazing cloud patterns from last week:
This was Monday night:
Last night, again, but I liked the blurriness:
Uh, okay, maybe I went a little overboard last night. But look at the reflection of the sun on the clouds!!

I loves me some Mother Nature! Rejoice!

Oh dear sweet Lord.

So two nights ago, I noticed a bit of a whiff of something not-so-pleasant smelling in my kitchen. Thinking maybe I didn't properly rinse something down the drain, I put some bleach in the sinks and didn't think too much more about it.

Well, last night I get home and the whiff is now definitely a stink. And it ain't good. I can't determine a point of origin, so I rebleach the sinks and throughly clean out the kitchen bin thinking that I'm covering both places that a STRONG PONG! would come from.

And then now. Today. Wednesday. I'm talking to a couple of colleagues at the office when I am inexplicably struck with the mind-blowing relevation that I microwaved cauliflower on Sunday. AND COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT IT.

It's been in there for three fucking days. Stewing. Rotting. Growing. Part of me wants to race home right now and deal with it and part of me never wants to go home again.

Can you imagine the unholy stench that is going to hit me when I open that door?

I'm scared.

I'm awesome!!!

Remember when I overexerted my quads in a bodysculpting class last year and I had to use the handicap stall for like a week? No? Well, take a stroooooll down memory lane if you like!

Anyway, this weekend I went for two brisk walks with Lu and while nowhere near the level of intensity from last year's fiasco, my legs are kind of sore today. Like when I have been sitting for a while and get up to go somewhere, I have to concentrate on walking normally. It feels a bit like I am an underoiled tinman and my legs are going clackety clack. Not from running, mind you, but from walking. WALKING. Two brisk walks, one Saturday and one Sunday.

In my defense, however, my neighbourhood is rather hilly. In spots.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't

I present to you a slightly dark picture of my beautiful and lovely sister Claire from last year's ACL Fest. This is for comparative purposes (see below)

Okay, so this post is either going to really piss off my sister or really crack her up. Went to a party last month and I met the friend of a friend of mine. And I could not get over how much she looked like my sister. That is, if my sister was a cross-dressing tranny. Now that I've dropped that bomb, let me just say that this woman was very nice and pleasant and it is not her fault that God also gave her a penis. Okay, she doesn't have a penis. But she is rather mannish. AND she looks like my sister. If my sister was a cross-dressing tranny. I took this picture of her and YOU CANNOT DENY THE SIMILARITIES!!!

See? Granted, my sister is much prettier and less, ahem, uh rode hard and put away wet, but you see where I am coming from. Don't you? And yes, I do feel like a total asshole for bashing this delightful woman who had no idea that I was going to take her picture in order to compare her to my sister if my sister had XY chromosomes. And a big hairy dick. Feel free to barrage me with hate comments, I defiantly stand by my story.

Lollapafuckyeah

I also scored a major coup today by getting Lollapalooza 06 festival tix for $45 each!!! Yay!!! August in Chicago with a skillion other people. And my sister. Yay!!

crap crap and more crap

Here is my new bed. It's all firm yet fluffy and wonderful. Although I did almost give myself a coronary streeeeeeetching the sheets over the box spring. I'm not doing that anymore. I got a bedskirt. Also my fantastiricacal pink 600TC are on it now. They rule, but they are pretty slippery. I was trying to read in bed the other night in a half-supine position and I couldn't get any traction with my feet. So, anyway, the bed:
So the other week, Tony D calls me on a Wednesday and is like what are you doing tonight? And I said going to my shit-useless-lame-as-fuck-marketing-class and he said oh well I guess I will just throw away this sweet motherfreaking ticket to the Stones show that was just given to me and I said what time shall I meet you? The show was great, even better than the October one--they played some really great songs that I don't think they play a lot live. It was awesome. So yes, I have now seen the Stones twice in less than 6 months and both times for FREE. Although the first time I did have to sell a little part of my soul. Anyway, here is Mick playing a little song on the piano:
Alrighty. Next up is the most adorable baby I know, Parker Elizabeth. This is Ali's baby that is coming up on a year old in the next couple weeks. She is also being christened--soon to be a good Catholic baby and not going to hell. What I like best about Parker is that she is extremely friendly and sociable and laughs a lot and is a very happy baby. Plus one time she fell asleep on my chest and my ovaries yearned. Simply yearned. Miss P:

Peace Accord

Contrary to K's vote of confidence, I think we have a victory on all sides. Lu had definitely poked around the reinforced area the next day, but overall things looked pretty secure. The next morning, I delivered the coup de grace: when getting ready for work, I was in the bathroom with the ex-door and I noticed that Lu was obviously nervous and guilty-looking when lurking nearby. Inspiration struck: I took the bag of door shreds intended for the rubbish pick-up and spread them over the fence area. Last night: untouched. Plus I am keeping her happy with lots of attention and positive reinforcement. Plus I am going to have a dog walker come on Tuesday and Wednesdays, hopefully starting next week.

Plus I will beat her into an oblivion if she doesn't quit pulling this shit.

This means war.

I'm at war with my dog. I fear it will be a fight to the death.

Advantage me: larger brain, opposable thumbs
Advantage Tallulah: at home all day alone, massive separation anxiety complex

War was initiated by Lu last week and was raging for three days before I was even aware of it. Then found note in mailbox left by neighbor that she had been running around the neighborhood via large escape hole under the fence. Which she would then CRAWL BACK UNDER to be home like nothing happened when I got home at night.

My response was admittedly weak, but it was dark and cold and I was exhausted: stuck bag of firewood into hole.

Tallulah promptly responded the next day by digging new hole next to original one and losing her collar somewhere.

First round: Tallulah, definitely.

I planned on staying home pretty much all weekend, but had to attend an engagement party Saturday night. Since I hadn't fixed the holes yet, I put Lu in the guest bathroom for a few hours. I lovingly placed one of her dog beds, a chewie, and some water for her comfort. Tallulah retaliated by EATING THE ENTIRE BACK OF THE DOOR. I came home to a large pile of sawdust at the base of the door. I open the door to find five times more sawdust and the water tipped over, so the room is an intoxicating blend of wet wood and panicked dog. I spend next hour cleaning up crap and Lu sleeps in basement. She tries to get me back chewing up some newspaper, but it doesn't faze me.

Second round: Tallulah, with the door and all. But my anger is brewing.

Sunday I set about repairing the hole and devising some way to win the war once and for all. In the bottom of the holes I placed a layer of firewood logs stacked side-by-side. Then a layer of metal netting staked down, topped with a lot of top soil all tamped down in it. Lastly, a shit load of black pepper all over the place. Hopefully she will get a snootful of pepper in her face and become afraid of the site. If she makes it to the netting, I'm hoping this will mystify her to the point of surrender. And there's no way she can move the logs.

Third round: God I hope me. Because otherwise shit is going to go down.

Can she just dig elsewhere along the fence line? Perhaps. But she has always dug here, so maybe my obvious attempts to keep her in the yard will translate to some kind of reassurance of love in her tiny dog brain. And besides, she doesn't really want to get out, she just wants attention.

Tonight: Judgement Day.

Strooooolling down meeeeemory lane

I was just sitting here in my office when a memory struck me from my college years. One of my best friends at the time, Cat Wall, had a dream/nightmare about an impending date. In reality, Cat met some guy at a frat party who went to UT. He invited her to his own fraternity party the next weekend and she accepted. Towards the end of the night, she asked him what fraternity he was in, and he replied the music fraternity. Throughout the week leading up to the date, Cat became more progressively stressed out about the date to the point that she had a dream about it.

In the dream, she brings me and another friend of ours as buffers to the party, which is actually more like a prom. Everyone is in formal dress and--as she imagined a music fraternity party to be--the party sucks. Everyone is lame and nerdy and we are having a terrible time. At the end of the dream, we retreat to a corner of the ballroom to sit at a large, tableclothed round table. To our surprise, another friend of ours, Kevin, is already sitting there, bowtie loosened, feet on the table, and smoking a cigarette. We all turn to look at him: Kevin looks around the room at the other partygoers, takes a deep drag on his cigarette, and proclaims, "Classic dorks." End of the dream.

That's really the post. A memory about someone else's dream. But in real life Cat did indeed drag both of us to the party and it did indeed suck. Differences included that it was at somebody's lakehouse versus a ballroom, attire was casual, and Cat and I beat two of the frat guys in a pool game, whereupon the ENTIRE FRATERNITY serenaded us in nineteen-part harmony.

The woot of all genius.

So a while ago, a random friend told me about woot.com . In a nutshell, this site sells one item per day for a set price. When that item is gone, you have to wait until midnight eastern time for a new item to post (the exception being the occasional but ever-exciting woot-off in which multiple products may be for sale in a subsequent fashion one day).

Needless to say, I am fascinated. I have yet to actually purchase a woot offering, and they tend to favour the technical/computery side of things, but the accompanying commentary and product description is always worth the visit. To wit: today's offering? A bag of random crap. For $1. And they sold out. IN FOUR MINUTES. God I hope you are reading this blog TODAY so you can read the product info. If not, here are some highlights:

Crap is a many-splendored thing. If crap be the food of love, crap on. It is better to have crapped and lost than never to have crapped at all. Crap, lift us up where we belong.

Yes, crap is in the air once again, so we're sending this randomly crappy, bag-shaped valentine to all the people we really love. If you don't manage to get one, it's because we're sulking over something you've done to upset us. Try to guess what it was!

and:

THE HOLY CRAP COMMANDMENTS v2.0:
I. Thou shalt expect nothing beyond one bag of some kind and your chosen quantity of crappy items (which should be THREE).
II. Thou shalt not whine and complain when some people's crap turns out to be nicer than yours.
III. Thou shalt take a moment to consider whether you might be better off just not buying this crap.
IV. Thou shalt not order just one crap and blame it on anything but your own inattention.
V. To paraphrase Stephen Stills, shalt thou not get the crap you want, want the crap you get.

Warranty: you wish

Features:
1 (one) bag
Some (some) crap

To quote woot.com, God bless the internet.

Le Porc Rose!

Continuing on in the grand tradition of thing-that-happened-over-two-months-ago, I present to you camera pics I took of Claire's and my adventure on Macy's Pink Pig ride last November. We actually bought "reserved" tickets, meaning we didn't have to stand in line with the rest of the riff-raff and we got free commemorative badges! Despite the ride being billed as "for children of all ages," it was decidedly not. Claire and I were the only ones over eight and we quickly discovered that we needed to sit in one car. Each.

Here is a pic of Claire having fake fun. Note child in wonder behind her.

Another picture of Claire next to the stationary car for scale purposes.
The overwhelming sign that greeted us upon entrance into THE PINK PIG TENT.
For kicks, they had the original pink pig car on display. A couple of things about this: a) it was not pink. ???? b) it was microscopic, easily half the size of the hip, new pink pig car. And enclosed! How did the kiddies of the 50's do it??? I'll tell you: no growth hormones and preservatives in everything they ate, that's how.
Afterwards, we bought a wooden pink pig train Christmas tree ornament.

Museum Shizz

I hate my job and I hate everyone who works here. Lame lame lame.

But instead of focusing on that, here are some camera pics from THANKSGIVING WEEKEND. I teem on the cutting edge of current news. Fuck off.

Okay, this is a shot of the High's Ten Marilyns. I have to say, now owning one, not impressed. Quality of colour reproduction frankly sketchy on some of them, and their version of mine had a frayed corner. A frayed corner! I mean, really, what is the art world coming to? Disgraceful. Moving on.

This was a nice pair of black and white suspended lips. As you can see. Can't remember the artist. But I like it.
Very large installment of pears and peaches on the new High veranda. There was a big sign saying do not fucking touch this you asshole. I was thinking, well no shit, but then I remembered that there are plenty of assholes who would do that because it looks all cartoony and it's not in a frame on a wall. I might add that this astounding relevation is coming from the person who hand-planted The Nightwatch and set off alarms when she was seven. At least when I fuck with art I pick the good shit.
Taken on the skywalk connecting the old and new wings. For a piece of shit camera phone, I think this is a pretty damn good picture, catching both my shadow near. . . . and far. Near. . . . and far. Near. . . . . . . . . . . . . . and far.
That's it from the High. You may now resume your normal activities.

I see. . . a basement! In the Alamo!

Will I ever post again with any semblance of regularity? Can I recreate the magic? Is the blog MEANT TO BE???

I cannot answer these questions now. The future is uncertain. All I can handle right now are recap bullets, mere soupcons of information. Bon appetit.

• Hols in Malta were great: click here for photo album
• Work is soul-sucking and not fun
• School is fairly intense and panning out to be a challenging semester
• I need a new mattress VERY badly
• I do not have gonorrhea or chlamydia (Did I have look up both those words to spell them correctly? Yes.)

That's all for now. Wipe your chin, you're dribbling.

Up yours, Screw Job!!!

I have to give a shout-out to my boy Andrew Duerson for the post title. We had a massive fake email fight about four years ago and he won by sending the above sentiment repeated about 9,000 times on the screen. Good times. Perhaps the only person who loved Jerry Orbach/Lenny more than I did. Anyway. On to the post!

What's this? What's this below? Some kind of map, eh? Well, let's see what's on it. . . ah, the lovely country of Malta, the veritable jewel of the Mediterranean! Where I will be spending the next two weeks! Merry Christmas, SUCKERS!

Amidst the hissing sounds of your jealous seething, I must bid you adieu. I'm off for the QCC*2 tomorrow; by this time Thursday, I will be sitting in the Milan airport waiting for my connection. But then AFTER that, I will be in Malta with my family. Drinking and fighting. I can't wait. Best of the hols to you and yours. See you soon, mwah!

love, el.

*why, the Quin Christmas Convention, of course

I'm a bad person!

Because I don't blog enough! For my two readers. But on a bright note, I just finished my first semester of grad school last night! Will feel weird to have my Mondays and Thursdays back. . . until next semester kicks in.

Other than that, things are pretty la la la lame. My excitement for the weekend basically boils down to picking up the second Warhol (that actually will be pretty cool) from the framer's and getting my hair cut. This is what is has come down to, how dismally pathetic my life has become lately: I am excited about getting. my. hair. cut.

For those of you are interested, keeping the length but putting in lots of long layers. For those not interested, eat a dick.

That was the trademark phrase of a high school friend of mine. Fellow by the name of Eric Smith. No idea what he is doing now. Hopefully not, um, eating a dick.

Well, this post has rapidly degenerated.

One more and then I'm done. For the day.

I am crampy. Crampety cramp cramp of the Highland McCrampingtons crampy. I am in fact using my cramps as an excuse to bog off the gym tonight. And instead go to a pre-trivia drinking session. And drink those cramps awaaaaay!

Back off, cramps! I'm druuuuunk!

Posting MAAAAAAANIA!!!

I know, I know, I can't believe it either. Pictures too!

Long story short, I bought a Warhol. A friend of mine had a line on a really good deal on a series of Marilyn silkscreens and I got one. So did Claire. They're being framed now and we're going to look at them on Saturday. This is the first piece of real art I have ever owned. It's like an investment and shit! Anyway, this first pic is mine:

Bad angle, but you get the idea: blue background, orange hair, pinky/purpley face with a silver sheen on the shadow bits. It's being framed white on white oh so museum nouveau!

This is Claire's:

Classic silver on silver, looks really neat. It's going to be black matte on black frame oh so stylish. Maybe too stylish. Hmm, maybe I will start a family feud and claim Claire's Marilyn for my own! She'll never know what hit her. Until she reads this blog entry.

Anyway, these are the only two Marilyns in the series with metallic silver paint. And we have both of them! It's all just too exciting for words.