I sometimes worry that my experience of life will ultimately be characterized by this continuous oscillation between two polarized states: stress and unpleasantness, and boredom and despair.  No happy mediums.   No self-actualization.  No sustained satisfaction.

I don’t know.  Last week I was unhappy because I could barely get a breath in edgewise, and then I spent the entire weekend sitting on my ass, alternately feeling sorry for and annoyed at myself.  And now I can’t stop fantasizing about dropping everything and heading for Seattle, which I certainly cannot afford right to do right now.  Not to mention that going alone would probably not be terribly fun.  But this is my brain’s natural defense against undue existential worry: I think about staring up at pretty buildings in a city where no one knows who I am.      

I really want the answer to be pills,  but unfortunately you have to talk to people in order to convince them to give you pills, and I’d really rather not expose myself to that kind of humiliation. 

Coincidence: I spend half of the month quasi ripping off Chuck Klosterman, only to find out yesterday that he has a new book out.  It feels more mature and less self-indulgent than his earlier stuff, but the parallels and conclusions he tries to draw out of popular culture are still stretching it to the point of bullshit 90% of the time.  

You still have to appreciate what he’s doing, though:  that staunch dedication to reconsidering what everyone else has long ago accepted as given is refreshing, and he’s sincere enough about the idea behind each of his theories (even if he’s not terribly sincere about supporting them with credible evidence) that it resists the expected devolution into schtick.  If he were as thorough with his arguments as he is with his skepticism, he would be an excellent cultural commentator.  But I can’t really blame him; I’m more or less the same way.  As proof of this, you need merely notice that I haven’t provided a single example from the text to support any of my opinions about it. 

I’ve plowed through this book awfully quickly, and winter break is fast upon us, so I need some book reccomendations.  Anything engrossing enough to keep me occupied on a 5 hour plane ride is especially encouraged.  Any non-biographic non-fiction is especially not.

The last week at Mills Manor has been hectic.  Thanksgiving was great, but I had to get up at 5:30 to open at work on Friday, and was therefore unable to see Holiday Company off to the airport*.  But they made it out just fine, and I staggered home, exhausted, around 6 P.M.  I had to open again at work the next day, so I popped a Melatonin and sat down to bust out my nightly post while I was waiting for it to kick in. 

The next thing I remember is glancing at the clock across the room, which now read 8:25 A.M.  Lesson learned:  Melatonin causes black outs when you’ve been averaging about 6 hours of sleep for the past 5 nights.

That’s my excuse for Friday night.  For last night, though…I’ve got nothing.  The inertia of defeat, maybe?  I don’t know.

So I’m thinking I’m going to try to make up for it by posting the first two days of December.  Not that I have anything super exciting to talk about.

*I always think it’s kind of silly that we color code the trains in this city until I have to give someone directions to the airport.  “Get on the YELLOW one, and then get on the RED one.  DON’T get off until it stops moving for good.”  Couldn’t be simpler or more fool-proof.  A four-year old could handle those instructions.

Happy Thanksgiving.

We made Tofurkey, squash, and stuffing.  What about you guys?

We’re going drinking!

At a bar in my neighborhood!  Which never happens, because none of my friends live in my neighborhood! So drinking is always this big event that must be planned ahead for, and takes place exclusively downtown.  And without the spontaneity and knowledge that I can easily stagger home, it loses a good bit of its charm. 

But not tonight!  Tonight, I have people who have asked me — on the spur of the moment, no less! — to go imbibe at an establishment that is five blocks from my home.  To which I have never been.   Because going alone would be depressing. 

Anyway.  That is what I am thankful for this year.

So I guess I lied.

This evening has ended up being more hectic than expected.  So instead of walking you through a bunch of crap from the last three days that is interesting only to me, I’m just going to post another country music song. 

Found this while I was digging up “And Still”.  It is by turns ridiculous and great.  The whole idea of reimagining this song as a tough-love gal-pal talk, instead of two lovers’ monologues doesn’t quite work.  It just comes across as silly and forced.  And could the costumes be any more quintessentially 90s?

But let’s not kid ourselves here: whatever excuse of a song was needed to make this perfect union happen is completely justifiable. 

On My Own

 

Ugh.  Bad day.  I’d talk about it, but I’ve got to get up early to open at work tommorrow. 

Tommorrow!  Tommorrow, I will actually have some time to talk about stuff.  As soon as I can just get through opening the store.

Let’s all take some time to give thanks for the naive people in our lives this holiday.

Signs that your holiday guests SUSPECT NOTHING.

Guest #1. “Do you think I should take a Klonopin tonight?  I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sleep otherwise –”

Guest #2. “Nah.  Just take one of my Xanax.  I’ve got so many of them, anyway.  I don’t know what I’m gonna do with all of these.” 

Beat.

Andrew. [Gesturing wildly] “OH HOLY SHIT, IT APPEARS THAT THERE IS A SQUIRREL.  I THINK THE MOST PRUDENT COURSE OF ACTION IS FOR YOU BOTH TO LOOK OVER IN THE DIRECTION IN WHICH I AM NOW EMPHATICALLY POINTING.”

Um.

Yeah, I have nothing to say.  Guests are here.  Guests like Ethiopian food and going to bed early, so I’m thinking we’re going to have a pretty good time. 

How are you guys?

Laundry.

That is what I am doing tonight instead of writing a better post. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  Oh, no.  But we had someone pull a no-call/no-show at work, which meant I had to come in early to work an 11-hour shift, and my supposedly “estranged” dentist called last night to remind me that I had a cleaning this morning at nine. 

So what should have gotten taken care of before I went to work this morning gets left until now, when I should already be in bed, so I can get up early and go to work tommorrow.  And then take the train to the airport to pick up Thanksgiving guests, who will surely be appalled at all of the laundry that will surely still be piled up on the bed.

So, in conclusion: FUCK.

So I’m having company staying over the entire week of Thanksgiving, right?  I am also working every day, and finishing two group projects for school that week.  I have known this since early September, but of course the true magnitude of it did not hit me (squarely in the solar plexus) until yesterday evening.  First, I panicked.  Then, I zealously Magic Erased every non-wooden surface in the apartment.  Now, I am trying to figure out some sort of itinerary to keep my far-too-trusting guests occupied and enjoying themselves.  And not noticing that I somehow do not have a toilet paper holder after living in this apartment for 2 and half years.  (My attitude about housewares is similar to my attitude about love: if the right one is out there, we will happen upon each other in a moment of glorious serendipity.  Until that moment, I remain resolutely stoic about having to place the toilet paper next to the toothpaste on the edge of the sink.) 

Everyone who reads this has either lived in or visited Portland before, so help me out: what are the things you enjoy/have enjoyed doing in Portland/Western Oregon most?  Any stores that are especially cool for visitors?   Restaurants you recommend?  I’m already thinking Farm Cafe’s a pretty good bet.  What about day trips?  Naturally, the Gorge and the Coast already have spots on the itinerary.  Does anyone have a favorite bar? 

Also, what are y’all fixing for Thanksgiving?  I need ideas.  I’m going to be the only vegan in attendance, so omnivorous dish ideas are certainly welcome – but I’m a terrible cook, so complicated dishes are not.    

Here’s some Steely Dan to cleanse all that sappy residue that the Countdown has surely left on your palates.  Nobody’s a sentimentalist when Donald Fagen’s singing.

Congratulations!  This is Your Haitian Divorce.