Argh…
I am overwhelmed… so much stuff to get rid of, so much stuff to pack, the move is next weekend… I know that by the 4th of May it will be all over one way or the other (for instance, there may be news stories of a four-alarm fire in a certain apartment complex in a certain northern Orlando suburb — kidding! I think…) but I am still overwhelmed.
Argh…
People wonder why the Kennedy assassination has been traditionally treated with such hysteria that even so-called prestigious, scholarly institutions have been corrupted by the conspiracy theory industry, so that reasoned study of the actual facts of the case is now nearly impossible. But I don’t. Here’s the conclusion I have come to about “Kennedyitis” and the people who suffer it:
First, Kennedy was “different” — he was considered young and good-looking, unlike the rest of the crusty old men that had held office before him. (Personally, I think he looked like Mr. Ed, and I find the Boston accent to be beyond grating. But apparently in the early 60s that high-haired, shiny-toothed look was the sine qua non of male beauty, at least for a politician.) He also had a cute, young, fashionable wife. Previous president’s wives were, well, let’s say they were “motherly” in appearance, not the sort of females found in fashion spreads. And more important than any of these was television — Kennedy was the first widely televised president. Of course from time to time other presidents had their mugs on the little black and white screens, and there were also newsreels in the theater, but Kennedy was right there in everyone’s living room, all the time, flashing those teeth. He also made good speech, saying all the right things about prosperity and brotherhood and impressing the foreigners, but that wouldn’t have meant much if he also hadn’t been perceived as young and sexy (Marilyn Monroe got involved with him for God’s sake). There might have been other presidents who were actually young and attractive (though I can’t bring any to mind — Thomas Jefferson? No, he was old when he got elected, wasn’t he…) but they didn’t have television to implant their features and personality on the nation.
One more factor is the first set of Baby Boomers was coming of age. Kennedy was “their” president, so of course his assassination was the Most Important Event Ever, it shattered the universe, it couldn’t have been a lone gunman with a bee in his bonnet, the evil forces the New Youth already sensed were arrayed against them (Mom and Dad! The Warmongering no-dancing, no-drinking, no-fun oldsters! A.k.a. “the Mob,” “right-wingers,” and capitalists — which purveyors of Beatles records and mini skirts of course were not) had to have done it, just to rain on their parade.
I’ll get around to reviewing all the crap* I’ve been watching on dvd and tv (no, not too much of that — just the essentials!) — in the meantime, I really must ask the question: are you a Rocky Horror virgin?
Aaand… update: lucky!
One more: aw… sweet!
*Okay, just some of it. Most of it isn’t worth thinking about, much less writing about, even in as inconsequential a blog as this.
I believe I did mention that I did a faceplant into the tarmac at my first day on my new job. Well, I really did a number on myself — the next day I ached from right knee all the way up my side, and I swear I sprained the muscles and/or ligaments that hold up my right boob. I was moaning and groaning and bitching all day Thursday and Friday; they must like me at the new place otherwise I don’t know why they kept me. Anyway, after eating about fifteen pounds of ibuprofen over the past few days I think I am better. But then I had to do laundry today. Which meant, since I returned the rental washer/dryer, a trip to the laundromat. (The one in the complex is too small and there is never a free machine.) Which meant enduring not only crying brats and a television set on the Lifetime channel, but I strained my healing boob-muscle. Because I am too lazy to do my laundry in a timely manner. I had better break that habit, since where I am moving to I won’t have any washer/dryer hookups in my own place, I’ll have to use the complex’s laundromat or do what I did today. Ouch. The one drawback to the new place. Oh, and I still haven’t packed, and still haven’t gotten rid of all the stuff I wanted to sell/drag to the dumpster. Anyone know where I can rent a blowtorch?
I don’t watch MSNBC or NBC nor any other news channels or talk shows or any of those WE GOTZ BAD REPUGS OMGWTFBBQ “exposé” shows but I just read this smackdown offered up by Karl Rove to the lead dude on one of those shows and I must say Rove PWNZ. No really, there isn’t anything left but a No More Years! coffee mug lying on the floor and a few shreds of mangled cloth waving in the breeze from the broken windows.
(Via.)
Finally, my cable’s back. I had a “sorry we missed you” flyer on my doorknob with a note stating that they’d done work outside. Hah, I knew it.
Okay, first the good news: today was the first day of my new full-time job and so far I love it — it’s at a little flight school and plane rental place. I’m a customer service dispatch sort of person. It’s a lot to take in but I think I can handle it, based on what I have already learned to do, and everyone seems real pleased with me.
Now the bad news:
It started yesterday. I decided to quit the Walmart job, because I missed a couple of days due to one of my sinus things and they got kind of weird about it. I decided it wasn’t something I could handle along with learning a new job. So I’ve earned about one and a half days pay from that, which isn’t much. That wasn’t the bad news, though… that came after I got back from dropping a document off at my friend’s house. I left my apartment around 2pm, and got home around 7 (of course I had to stay and chat and admire the new dog, etc.). When I got home I found out that none of my cable connections work. It isn’t the equipment — there is no signal coming in at all. I spent a futile hour on the phone with the cable company, and discovered that they can’t have a technician there until Saturday, unless I was willing to miss some time on my new job. I am not. Therefore I set up an appointment for Saturday. I went to bed, hoping that whatever problem this may be might resolve itself by the next day. But it wasn’t on this morning when I got up.
Anyway, I went off to work, and had a fine time, except for tripping over one of the cables holding down the planes and doing a face-plant into the tarmac. What really galls is I saw the cables, stepped over the first one, told myself to watch out for more of those, and as I was thinking those words caught my foot under the next one. I applied Advil and ice to my person and went on with my day, my coworkers assuring me that they all have tripped over the cables at one time or another.
Then I get home, to find that there is still no cable. No tv or internet. I spent another half hour on the phone with the tech trying to get a signal through. Nothing was getting through — not even attaching the cable directly to the tv (and the tv is one of those digital ready tvs). I wrangled and argued with the phone tech and finally got him to send someone over tomorrow to look at the outside box, because the last time I had connection problems (a couple of months ago), some of the neighborhood creeps had pried open the cable box and cut wires. I asked if anyone else from my apartment complex had called in a complaint and they said no, something I find hard to believe. If they can’t find a problem outside then I will have to wait until Saturday for someone to come by when I am there so they can get into my apartment. This does not please me because among other things I was looking forward to seeing the first episode of Season 4 of Doctor Who on the SciFi channel Friday night. Not only that. I had to drive all the way to Panera Bread and plug in the elderly laptop, and when I crawled under the table to plug the thing in (because the plugs are on the baseboard under the seat) I banged my bruised and scraped knee on the hardwood floors they have here, and the Panera is crowded and just now someone’s brat just had a screaming fit. Also the table is sticky and I had to put paper towels down under the laptop, which I am hoping does not set them on fire.
Anyway, here I am at Panera with a sore knee and a sore boob, trying to catch up with my email. Until cable is back posts will be few and far between, I’m afraid. I’ll try to find somewhere else with free wireless tomorrow where I don’t have to buy a pastry and tea so I won’t feel guilty. (Don’t argue. I will feel guilty.) I better have cable tomorrow when I get home, or I will raise hell.
Update: I almost forgot — the other thing I found out when I got home today is my cat had pooped on my bed again. Right in the middle. This would be the younger cat — the old one is too sensible to shit where she sleeps. The younger cat is not happy that I am leaving the apartment all day. I’m not happy that I have to take my comforter and sheets to the washing laundromat, and have to turn over the futon again — me with my sore muscles. Anyone want a small orange foot rug?
There is a comment to this post about the pretensions of intellectuals versus the actual intentions of artists, in this case a photographer, that brings up a side issue: do men and women photograph different things? Anyway, here is the quote:
Give a boy a camera and he’ll shoot photos of girls. Give a girl a camera, and she’ll shoot photos of herself.
Well, that’s that whole “Venus’ mirror” thing, and maybe it’s true of most women. (By the way, the photographer that is the subject of the post took photos of herself in various retro-sexy poses — which aren’t bad at all, I like the “domesticated sex kitten” and the “ice-cold sophisticate” best; you’d think I’d prefer the librarian, but I don’t, maybe it’s because she’s blond and I prefer brunettes — like me!) But I’ve known women photographers and none of them seemed to be particularly into themselves — a friend I had in Miami preferred to take pictures of rock musicians at concerts, her cats, and annoyingly — as I hate to have my picture taken — me. She did a few self-portraits but was never happy with them, as far as I can recall. I did know women who liked to have their picture taken, but I wasn’t one of them. My own amateur efforts have been mainly focused on nature — trees and so on — my cats, city streetscapes — things like that. In fact, I tend to avoid taking pictures of people whenever possible. If they are strangers I can’t help feeling it’s kind of rude, for one thing. As for me taking pictures of myself, I’ve no serious interest in it, and as I said, I hate having pictures of myself taken. It’s not that I think I’m ugly, I just have no interest in posing and preening and standing still, etc. Of course, when I get around to renewing my passport I guess I’ll just have to bite the bullet.
(Via Violins and Starships.)
Ugh, I think I’ve come down with some sort of sinus thing. That’s bad, because yesterday I felt so rocky that I called in sick to Walmart. I was supposed to be there from 10am to 7pm. No way the way I felt. Today was my day off — tomorrow I have to go in at 7am and be there until 4pm. If I feel the way I feel today, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. And I don’t want to take any medication right yet because I’m going to go to the clinic to take the drug test for my new full time job, which starts Thursday. Not that I think over the counter cold meds will effect the test (no, I don’t have any pseudoephedrine), but better safe than sorry. I had planned to be there early but obviously that didn’t work out, even though I went to bed early and even set the alarm. Oh well. Must get moving.
Okay, I got turned down for the one-bedroom on special, but I was able to find a studio apartment in my same town, but on the other side of I-4 (so I won’t have to cross that stupid traffic every morning and evening on the way to and from work — anyone who lives in the Orlando area will know what I mean by the intersection of 436 and I-4), and I’ll be paying almost $200 less per month for rent. It’s also big enough to fit my bed without looking ridiculous, and it has a screened-in porch, which will be a boon for both me and the cats.
Okay, now to get busy making money. My credit being lousy I still have to come up with an extra month’s rent along with the deposit and first month, but they’re holding back on the pet fee as long as I get that in in May. I can’t wait to move.