Somehow, I don't think this is going to help me get a job in my major field.
p.s. Thanks, Katie! THATIE.
12/28/2007
YES. Yes yes yes yes yes yes YES.
Oh yes.
Somehow, I don't think this is going to help me get a job in my major field.
p.s. Thanks, Katie! THATIE.
Somehow, I don't think this is going to help me get a job in my major field.
p.s. Thanks, Katie! THATIE.
12/25/2007
At Home & More Food Memories
Late Christmas Eve.
The tree lights are set to alternate between flicker, spastic, and no-I-will-not-stop-for-directions. The fire's almost burnt out. We're all sitting in our living room, and my parents are reading books while my dogs sleep and the cat (who isn't lost) snores. Renaissance Christmas music echoes around the room. (Not my choice, I put on The Best of the Smoky Robinson & The Miracles' Christmas Songs and my next album choice of John Denver & The Muppets got vetoed. So what if I played the tape on repeat the first 18 Christmas seasons of my life and it can't hold a tune now? It's the nostalgia that counts.)
My life could not be more boring. But at least I'm not in Los Angeles! NorCal totally kicks butt.
We had a Christmas Eve dinner/family gathering earlier tonight over at my mom's stepsister's house, meaning I had to endure an hour of "Oh, Julia! I haven't seen you since you were this big!!" and trying to come up with yet another witty way of saying, "Nope, I guess it's been awhile... who are you again?" until I had enough wine so that it just came naturally to me. My step-aunt has six kids, all of whom are grown and have kids, and almost everyone was there which brought the total number for the evening to near about four million, half of whom continued to spend a good portion of the evening marvelling at the fact that, no, I was not the same height as I was when I was seven. I felt ridiculously over-dressed as I wasn't wearing jeans, and spent most of my time trying to stick next to my mom and the white wine, hoping I wouldn't have to talk to the masses of step-cousins my age I've never met about things like cars and and laying down carpet in trailers and Timbaland and Hollister clothing and other subjects I know nothing and care nothing about.
Still, the sticky toffee pudding I made for the evening went down well and everyone was lovely and friendly, so I shouldn't complain.
I always find being at home incredibly boring, even though I am in fact in one of my favorite places in the world. Once I get out into Oakland and San Francisco and even small downtown Alameda or hang out with friends it's awesome; I suppose it's just being stuck in my house with few options that drags things down. I love this place, but none of my high school friends are around here and the college friends I have up here I see all the time at rugby. Which, in a way, brings me to the second part of my post... more food memories.
Saturday my parents and I went to see The Hard Nut (imagine if The Nutcracker was turned into a 1960s comic book and then back into a ballet -- brilliant) and afterwards went to the House of Chicken and Waffles in Downtown Oakland. When my two pieces of Southern-style fried chicken, biscuit, and grits arrived, I realized I hadn't had fried chicken or southern cookin' of any kind since I left Baltimore -- about 2 1/2 years ago. It was a delicious and emotional experience. I felt sorry for the waiter who had to clean up the pile of snotty napkins I left behind.
All my griping aside, tomorrow is Christmas and I'm not in Los Angeles, so things are pretty good. Traffic isn't too bad (then again I don't have anywhere to go at rush hour), I can get places on my bike without fearing for my life, and I live reasonably close to a few BART stations.
Merry Crimbo, all. x
The tree lights are set to alternate between flicker, spastic, and no-I-will-not-stop-for-directions. The fire's almost burnt out. We're all sitting in our living room, and my parents are reading books while my dogs sleep and the cat (who isn't lost) snores. Renaissance Christmas music echoes around the room. (Not my choice, I put on The Best of the Smoky Robinson & The Miracles' Christmas Songs and my next album choice of John Denver & The Muppets got vetoed. So what if I played the tape on repeat the first 18 Christmas seasons of my life and it can't hold a tune now? It's the nostalgia that counts.)
My life could not be more boring. But at least I'm not in Los Angeles! NorCal totally kicks butt.
We had a Christmas Eve dinner/family gathering earlier tonight over at my mom's stepsister's house, meaning I had to endure an hour of "Oh, Julia! I haven't seen you since you were this big!!" and trying to come up with yet another witty way of saying, "Nope, I guess it's been awhile... who are you again?" until I had enough wine so that it just came naturally to me. My step-aunt has six kids, all of whom are grown and have kids, and almost everyone was there which brought the total number for the evening to near about four million, half of whom continued to spend a good portion of the evening marvelling at the fact that, no, I was not the same height as I was when I was seven. I felt ridiculously over-dressed as I wasn't wearing jeans, and spent most of my time trying to stick next to my mom and the white wine, hoping I wouldn't have to talk to the masses of step-cousins my age I've never met about things like cars and and laying down carpet in trailers and Timbaland and Hollister clothing and other subjects I know nothing and care nothing about.
Still, the sticky toffee pudding I made for the evening went down well and everyone was lovely and friendly, so I shouldn't complain.
I always find being at home incredibly boring, even though I am in fact in one of my favorite places in the world. Once I get out into Oakland and San Francisco and even small downtown Alameda or hang out with friends it's awesome; I suppose it's just being stuck in my house with few options that drags things down. I love this place, but none of my high school friends are around here and the college friends I have up here I see all the time at rugby. Which, in a way, brings me to the second part of my post... more food memories.
Saturday my parents and I went to see The Hard Nut (imagine if The Nutcracker was turned into a 1960s comic book and then back into a ballet -- brilliant) and afterwards went to the House of Chicken and Waffles in Downtown Oakland. When my two pieces of Southern-style fried chicken, biscuit, and grits arrived, I realized I hadn't had fried chicken or southern cookin' of any kind since I left Baltimore -- about 2 1/2 years ago. It was a delicious and emotional experience. I felt sorry for the waiter who had to clean up the pile of snotty napkins I left behind.
All my griping aside, tomorrow is Christmas and I'm not in Los Angeles, so things are pretty good. Traffic isn't too bad (then again I don't have anywhere to go at rush hour), I can get places on my bike without fearing for my life, and I live reasonably close to a few BART stations.
Merry Crimbo, all. x
12/15/2007
The Wisdom of Laura and I (or Me and Me)
Excerpt from last night:
Laura: Are you drinking tonight?
Me: No, I feel like I'm getting a cold.
Laura: Oh, did you know alcohol cures colds? It also helps you lose weight.
Me: Yeah, I heard that too. It also makes you smarter and prettier and funnier and sexier and more desirable...
Laura: Yes, as long as the alcohol is in the hands of the people you're with.
Which then lead to the formulation of our L.M.L.T.Y. self-help seminar: "Love More Liquor, Treat Yourself"! The idea came from the wonderful hypothesis -- nay, scientific likelihood -- that alcohol helps you lose weight. What started as a sarcastic comment Laura made to some friends on the way to Vegas has now turned into our (soon to be) wildly popular inspirational power point presentation! The basics are these: alcohol is empty calories, but this is often misinterpreted. Empty calories must be filled, and do so by filling up with full calories already in your system. For example, if you have 100 calories from dinner and you drink 100 empty calories in alcohol, the empty calories get filled up with the full calories, giving you a total of only 100 calories, instead of 200 like you thought! Amazing! With Laura's and my blonde charm and impeccable credentials (cognitive science, marine biology majors, my glasses) we'll be charging $50 a head in no time.
Oh, and LMLTY actually originally stood for "Let Me Lie To You". But I like the Love More Liquor version. Sigh, it's so good and I'd love to do a series of spoofs like these but I'm afraid people would actually take us seriously and we'd end up getting sued for other people's stupidity when really, all we want to do is make sorority girls fat.
In the bloggingly Los-Angeles-traffic-experience update, I spent two hours yesterday driving a 16 mile round trip journey. Between 2 and 4pm on a Friday. Average 8 mph. Wow. For the sake of equality, I drove there on the freeway and back on surface streets. (At least I had lovely company for the trip!)
I'll leave you with this:
Laura: I understand why some people don't like Christmas carols but... why don't people like Christmas carols???
Laura: Are you drinking tonight?
Me: No, I feel like I'm getting a cold.
Laura: Oh, did you know alcohol cures colds? It also helps you lose weight.
Me: Yeah, I heard that too. It also makes you smarter and prettier and funnier and sexier and more desirable...
Laura: Yes, as long as the alcohol is in the hands of the people you're with.
Which then lead to the formulation of our L.M.L.T.Y. self-help seminar: "Love More Liquor, Treat Yourself"! The idea came from the wonderful hypothesis -- nay, scientific likelihood -- that alcohol helps you lose weight. What started as a sarcastic comment Laura made to some friends on the way to Vegas has now turned into our (soon to be) wildly popular inspirational power point presentation! The basics are these: alcohol is empty calories, but this is often misinterpreted. Empty calories must be filled, and do so by filling up with full calories already in your system. For example, if you have 100 calories from dinner and you drink 100 empty calories in alcohol, the empty calories get filled up with the full calories, giving you a total of only 100 calories, instead of 200 like you thought! Amazing! With Laura's and my blonde charm and impeccable credentials (cognitive science, marine biology majors, my glasses) we'll be charging $50 a head in no time.
Oh, and LMLTY actually originally stood for "Let Me Lie To You". But I like the Love More Liquor version. Sigh, it's so good and I'd love to do a series of spoofs like these but I'm afraid people would actually take us seriously and we'd end up getting sued for other people's stupidity when really, all we want to do is make sorority girls fat.
In the bloggingly Los-Angeles-traffic-experience update, I spent two hours yesterday driving a 16 mile round trip journey. Between 2 and 4pm on a Friday. Average 8 mph. Wow. For the sake of equality, I drove there on the freeway and back on surface streets. (At least I had lovely company for the trip!)
I'll leave you with this:
Laura: I understand why some people don't like Christmas carols but... why don't people like Christmas carols???
12/12/2007
The (Food) Stuff(s) of Memory
I'm sitting here putting off some studying by eating the packet of Smoky Bacon Crisps Katie sent me and listening to the Edinburgh Club Mix Steph made me. When I close my eyes I feel like I'm in a totally different world. So maybe I am licking the inside of the bag -- I miss savory crisps.
It's funny how strongly smell and taste are tied to memory. Katie and others from Edinburgh were kind enough to indulge my request to send me brown sauce (in exchange for candy corn) and sent me a full bottle along with some other particularly British food-y treats: a massive Kit-Kat, fruit pastilles (which I'm still unsure of how to pronounce -- "pas-tills" or "pasteels"?), and the aforementioned Smoky Bacon Crisps. Don't knock them till you've tried 'em. Upon receiving the box I opened it, read the enclosed cards, and then sat in one place smelling the HP Sauce for about 20 minutes. Fantastic. Even now when I just flip open the lid and smell it (like now, since I've finished the crisps and licked the package clean) I get this internal feeling of being somewhere else. Lovely.
I can't think of any other food smell related memories off the top of my head, but I think these British ones strike me so strongly because they're both distinctive and isolated with regards to most of my life experiences. Until the squeezy 425g bottle of browny goodness arrived, I found it nearly impossible to describe brown sauce to Americans. It's fairly impossible. And it doesn't help any that it's widely know as 'brown sauce' instead of HP sauce. Still. I made Sticky Toffee Pudding a couple of weeks ago in a similar attempt to recapture my Scottish culinary experiences, but it wasn't quite the same, probably due to error in my own cooking abilities and the fact that I didn't actually eat sticky toffee pudding all that often.
It's fashionable to knock British cuisine, but I miss it. Mark once told me the first thing he always ate upon making it home to Glasgow was a bacon roll. I could KILL for a bacon roll about now. I've even got the brown sauce to go on it. Mmmmm....
Gahh, my fingers still smell like the smoky bacon crisps! You must excuse me, I've got to sit very still and smell my hands for awhile -- can't waste the essence on my keyboard...
It's funny how strongly smell and taste are tied to memory. Katie and others from Edinburgh were kind enough to indulge my request to send me brown sauce (in exchange for candy corn) and sent me a full bottle along with some other particularly British food-y treats: a massive Kit-Kat, fruit pastilles (which I'm still unsure of how to pronounce -- "pas-tills" or "pasteels"?), and the aforementioned Smoky Bacon Crisps. Don't knock them till you've tried 'em. Upon receiving the box I opened it, read the enclosed cards, and then sat in one place smelling the HP Sauce for about 20 minutes. Fantastic. Even now when I just flip open the lid and smell it (like now, since I've finished the crisps and licked the package clean) I get this internal feeling of being somewhere else. Lovely.
I can't think of any other food smell related memories off the top of my head, but I think these British ones strike me so strongly because they're both distinctive and isolated with regards to most of my life experiences. Until the squeezy 425g bottle of browny goodness arrived, I found it nearly impossible to describe brown sauce to Americans. It's fairly impossible. And it doesn't help any that it's widely know as 'brown sauce' instead of HP sauce. Still. I made Sticky Toffee Pudding a couple of weeks ago in a similar attempt to recapture my Scottish culinary experiences, but it wasn't quite the same, probably due to error in my own cooking abilities and the fact that I didn't actually eat sticky toffee pudding all that often.
It's fashionable to knock British cuisine, but I miss it. Mark once told me the first thing he always ate upon making it home to Glasgow was a bacon roll. I could KILL for a bacon roll about now. I've even got the brown sauce to go on it. Mmmmm....
Gahh, my fingers still smell like the smoky bacon crisps! You must excuse me, I've got to sit very still and smell my hands for awhile -- can't waste the essence on my keyboard...
12/07/2007
Priorities
1. Get out of Los Angeles.
Steps to be undertaken to achieve Priority #1
1. Dream.
2. Quit wasting time writing pointless blogs.
3. Graduate.
4. Start a band.
5. Trips to other locations until permanent relocation possible.
6. Get an awesome job working for The BBC in London/Britain.
Steps currently in progress:
#1, 5, (3)
Steps to be undertaken to achieve Priority #1
1. Dream.
2. Quit wasting time writing pointless blogs.
3. Graduate.
4. Start a band.
5. Trips to other locations until permanent relocation possible.
6. Get an awesome job working for The BBC in London/Britain.
Steps currently in progress:
#1, 5, (3)
12/03/2007
'Tis the season
...For surrealism.
Happy Chrismannawanzukkah and all the rest.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, 
Julia sent to me...
Julia sent to me...Twelve shoes reading
Eleven stencils writing
Ten cartoons a-creating
Nine animals bowling
Eight sunsets a-kissing
Seven breaks a-sight-seeing
Six photobooths a-drawing
Five blu-u-u-ue jeans
Four spinning records
Three helping others
Two my friends
...and a mamba in an astrology.
Happy Chrismannawanzukkah and all the rest.
12/01/2007
(Late) St. Andrew's Day and The Weather Strikes Back: Part Deux
Ok, so there was no Parte Une -- I imagined writing it several weeks ago when it rained for the first time since I've been back in LA. But it rained again yesterday, so I decided it was time for Part Deux. Yes, it has only rained twice in Los Angeles since September. What a depressing town.
However, the rain was right on schedule for St. Andrew's Day, a day to celebrate Scotland. By myself. In the rain and in my own head. I'll get to a recap of my day in a minute but let's just say it culminated in me, drunk, in a friend's kitchen, serving up sticky toffee pudding to my team of ruggers around midnight. I can hardly think of a better way to mark the occasion, (excepting for the lack of pubs in LA).
Hm, so now that I think of it, yesterday didn't have that much of a story to tell. I had class, then spent the afternoon frantically cooking up a double batch of sticky toffee pudding for the rugby team and script for my radio show, interspersed with a planning meeting about our rugby tour this spring (Hong Kong, here we come! We only need.... about $34,000. Ouch.). After that was Rookie Night for the rugby team which (for legal reasons) I can only tell you involved a lot of group activities, lots of fun, and culminated in the revelation of Rookie-Vet assignments (Hi, Andi!).
And speaking of "legal reasons"... there are too many prohibitive ones in America. Almost every fundraising idea I had for Hong Kong (ones that worked well in Edinburgh) was found to be fraught with too many legal liabilities or prohibited by silly regulations from UCLA, UCLA club sports, etc. Bah. Rules are made to be broken, laws are open to interpretation. This is what I've learned from rugby.
At any rate, where all this leaves me is huddled inside against the cold Los Angeles winter (oooh, long sleeve shirt AND a sweater? NO!) with my never-ending cups of tea (wahey, Tetley's British Blend!) and a seemingly never-ending list of things to accomplish very soon. As in, before finals. As in, in addition to finals. Ouch, my valley-girl-vocab muscle is hurting. Time to head over to FreeRice.com and improve that vocabulary. Grammar, however, shall still be set loose to the wind and creativity cut off and distributed amongst the poor.
Oh, sorry, did I mention my radio show earlier? WELL, let me tell you about it! Or, actually, in the context of today's episode, which was quite interesting, I felt. I have 2 hours on the radio, so what do I do? I cook! Well, you cook, actually, and I talk you through it, all whilst playing some sweet tunes. As I said earlier, today's recipe was Sticky Toffee Pudding (much of which is left over and delights my roomates), and in honor of the recipe and post-St. Andrew's Day hangovers and twisted-ceilidh-ankles worldwide I devoted my whole slot to purely Scottish bands. And lo, it was awesome. It's all so perfectly offset by a book I was recently given, Sound Bites by Alex Kapranos, which is about eating all over the world while on tour with -- with? -- as Franz Ferdinand. Magnificent. It makes me want to write and travel and play in a rockband and do little else with my life. Then again, if it means I'm going to be broke until I get my break at thirty... hello university degree?
Speaking of which, I've swung back around from any screw-Marine-Bio-I'm-switching-to-Anthro feelings I've had in the interest of getting out of school ASAP. It's all for a worthy cause -- being done with class faster. Mmm, can't wait to hit that several month skid of entry-level job searching while desperately wanting and yet being unable to move away from home! I can hardly wait -- I can almost smell the desperation. Whoopdie-effing-do.
Hope you've enjoyed my unusually long rambling tonight -- I was browsing through my old Scots-Julia blog from last year and felt the need to portray my life as exciting, interesting, thoughtful, literate or at least verbose.
However, the rain was right on schedule for St. Andrew's Day, a day to celebrate Scotland. By myself. In the rain and in my own head. I'll get to a recap of my day in a minute but let's just say it culminated in me, drunk, in a friend's kitchen, serving up sticky toffee pudding to my team of ruggers around midnight. I can hardly think of a better way to mark the occasion, (excepting for the lack of pubs in LA).
Hm, so now that I think of it, yesterday didn't have that much of a story to tell. I had class, then spent the afternoon frantically cooking up a double batch of sticky toffee pudding for the rugby team and script for my radio show, interspersed with a planning meeting about our rugby tour this spring (Hong Kong, here we come! We only need.... about $34,000. Ouch.). After that was Rookie Night for the rugby team which (for legal reasons) I can only tell you involved a lot of group activities, lots of fun, and culminated in the revelation of Rookie-Vet assignments (Hi, Andi!).
And speaking of "legal reasons"... there are too many prohibitive ones in America. Almost every fundraising idea I had for Hong Kong (ones that worked well in Edinburgh) was found to be fraught with too many legal liabilities or prohibited by silly regulations from UCLA, UCLA club sports, etc. Bah. Rules are made to be broken, laws are open to interpretation. This is what I've learned from rugby.
At any rate, where all this leaves me is huddled inside against the cold Los Angeles winter (oooh, long sleeve shirt AND a sweater? NO!) with my never-ending cups of tea (wahey, Tetley's British Blend!) and a seemingly never-ending list of things to accomplish very soon. As in, before finals. As in, in addition to finals. Ouch, my valley-girl-vocab muscle is hurting. Time to head over to FreeRice.com and improve that vocabulary. Grammar, however, shall still be set loose to the wind and creativity cut off and distributed amongst the poor.
Oh, sorry, did I mention my radio show earlier? WELL, let me tell you about it! Or, actually, in the context of today's episode, which was quite interesting, I felt. I have 2 hours on the radio, so what do I do? I cook! Well, you cook, actually, and I talk you through it, all whilst playing some sweet tunes. As I said earlier, today's recipe was Sticky Toffee Pudding (much of which is left over and delights my roomates), and in honor of the recipe and post-St. Andrew's Day hangovers and twisted-ceilidh-ankles worldwide I devoted my whole slot to purely Scottish bands. And lo, it was awesome. It's all so perfectly offset by a book I was recently given, Sound Bites by Alex Kapranos, which is about eating all over the world while on tour with -- with? -- as Franz Ferdinand. Magnificent. It makes me want to write and travel and play in a rockband and do little else with my life. Then again, if it means I'm going to be broke until I get my break at thirty... hello university degree?
Speaking of which, I've swung back around from any screw-Marine-Bio-I'm-switching-to-Anthro feelings I've had in the interest of getting out of school ASAP. It's all for a worthy cause -- being done with class faster. Mmm, can't wait to hit that several month skid of entry-level job searching while desperately wanting and yet being unable to move away from home! I can hardly wait -- I can almost smell the desperation. Whoopdie-effing-do.
Hope you've enjoyed my unusually long rambling tonight -- I was browsing through my old Scots-Julia blog from last year and felt the need to portray my life as exciting, interesting, thoughtful, literate or at least verbose.
11/30/2007
If I Can't Change The World...
... then why can't I just move to the part of it I like?
I miss Britain.
I miss Britain.
11/26/2007
Insane, Membrane, etc.
Some days I think the world must have gone insane. Just slipped across that thin, thin line sometime in the night whilst I was sleeping. In the morning I get up, turn on my computer, make a cup of tea, and sit down to the headlines on the BBC. Here's what tipped me off today: A British schoolteacher has been arrested in Sudan accused of insulting Islam's Prophet, after she allowed her pupils to name a teddy bear Muhammad. Seriously. You can't make this stuff up. Sad, but hilarious in a way at the same time.
With other headlines, I'm convinced there's still some sanity left, but it's only just starting to organize itself in the face of greater neglect: India's 'pink' vigilante women; They wear pink saris,... go after corrupt officials and boorish men, and brandish sticks and axes when the push comes to shove.
Although Trent Lott did announce his resignation today, which is brilliant. Of course, there's got to be some controversy about it, but check out Seattle's The Stranger's blog where they slog it out. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with women in pink saris.
Comedy and tragedy are so closely linked, as John Cleese once pointed out, and some days it rings more true than others.
Case in point:
From one of my favorites, The Perry Bible Fellowship.
With other headlines, I'm convinced there's still some sanity left, but it's only just starting to organize itself in the face of greater neglect: India's 'pink' vigilante women; They wear pink saris,... go after corrupt officials and boorish men, and brandish sticks and axes when the push comes to shove.
Although Trent Lott did announce his resignation today, which is brilliant. Of course, there's got to be some controversy about it, but check out Seattle's The Stranger's blog where they slog it out. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with women in pink saris.
Comedy and tragedy are so closely linked, as John Cleese once pointed out, and some days it rings more true than others.
Case in point:
From one of my favorites, The Perry Bible Fellowship.
11/21/2007
Gutted
It's about quarter to 7 on the night before Thanksgiving and I'm missing out on one of my favorite bands, Maximo Park, at the Wiltern. They're opening for Travis and go on at 8. Everybody in LA is going everywhere. There's no way I would make it the 8-odd miles over hill and dale and surface streets to The Wiltern with enough time to see even half their set. Add to that $37.50 (plus convenience charges) for a ticket and parking and it's (monetarily) really not worth my while. If I was a Travis fan.... maybe. But I'm not. I am gutted. Le sigh.
Damn you, poor planning of laundry and false optimism about the traffic in LA!!! According to reports, nothing is moving, in any direction, anywhere. I thought, 'Well, doors are at 7 and the show's at 8, so if I leave about 7.30 I'll be fine!' Count in losing track of time folding my socks and suddenly it's 7.35. Doubts set in. I hem and haw for 5 minutes. 7.40 -- this is doing me no good. I check google maps for a time/distance estimate and traffic updates. "7.7 mi – about 21 mins, up to 30 mins in traffic" does me no good. It's too late -- no one can save me now. 7.45 and I capitulate.
Defeat is mine and victory is yours, once again, you cruel, cruel car-clogged asphalts of Los Angeles.
However, with this post I've turned inaction to action, so I feel at least 10% productive. I'll have to make the trek across town later anyway to pick up old-high-school-friend Britney who's coming up to NorCal with me for Thanksgiving. However, we leave at 5.15am tomorrow morning so there won't be anyone on the streets at that time!!! Ha HAH! Take THAT, city of angels!
Oh... oh, damn. I've given our brilliant plan away. Now I'll have to pray to the Parking Fairy to at least make our time in gridlock bearable.
Damn you, poor planning of laundry and false optimism about the traffic in LA!!! According to reports, nothing is moving, in any direction, anywhere. I thought, 'Well, doors are at 7 and the show's at 8, so if I leave about 7.30 I'll be fine!' Count in losing track of time folding my socks and suddenly it's 7.35. Doubts set in. I hem and haw for 5 minutes. 7.40 -- this is doing me no good. I check google maps for a time/distance estimate and traffic updates. "7.7 mi – about 21 mins, up to 30 mins in traffic" does me no good. It's too late -- no one can save me now. 7.45 and I capitulate.
Defeat is mine and victory is yours, once again, you cruel, cruel car-clogged asphalts of Los Angeles.
However, with this post I've turned inaction to action, so I feel at least 10% productive. I'll have to make the trek across town later anyway to pick up old-high-school-friend Britney who's coming up to NorCal with me for Thanksgiving. However, we leave at 5.15am tomorrow morning so there won't be anyone on the streets at that time!!! Ha HAH! Take THAT, city of angels!
Oh... oh, damn. I've given our brilliant plan away. Now I'll have to pray to the Parking Fairy to at least make our time in gridlock bearable.
11/14/2007
Touched by the hand
So, walking back from class today, I wasn't even out of the building when I get stopped by a shy little Asian guy who asks how I am and what happened to my arm, pointing to my sling. I said I'm ok, I just tore a muscle on my collarbone playing rugby. He then mumbled something about being asked to do a project for ministry or something about people who are injured... and asked if he could pray for me. Just before this I was hoping that he wasn't going to come out with something out of a bad movie like, "I've watched you walk down this hall every Wednesday... will you go out with me?"
"Ummmm okay, sure..." I said, not much relieved. He asked if he could put his hand on my shoulder -- "That'd be a little weird." So he didn't, and instead held his left hand out like he was halfway through a high-five and started asking god to heal me and my terrible injury on my collarbone. I stood there looking bewildered while lots of people walked by, looking similarly bewildered. When he finished he asked if I had felt anything (other than awkward and uncomfortable, I assumed). I said no, sorry, wished him a nice day left the building as fast as I could.
I should've told him to pray for the people of Darfur. They could use it a hell of a lot more than I do - I've got vicodin.
Stupid American religiousism-nesstastica. And hooray for painkillers.
"Ummmm okay, sure..." I said, not much relieved. He asked if he could put his hand on my shoulder -- "That'd be a little weird." So he didn't, and instead held his left hand out like he was halfway through a high-five and started asking god to heal me and my terrible injury on my collarbone. I stood there looking bewildered while lots of people walked by, looking similarly bewildered. When he finished he asked if I had felt anything (other than awkward and uncomfortable, I assumed). I said no, sorry, wished him a nice day left the building as fast as I could.
I should've told him to pray for the people of Darfur. They could use it a hell of a lot more than I do - I've got vicodin.
Stupid American religiousism-nesstastica. And hooray for painkillers.
10/31/2007
Ironic
I was just about to pop on here and explain my passion for Marine Biology when I get an e-mail with details about an internship studying sharks in South Africa I enquired about.
Anyway, this just about sums up everything I think about my major:
From the July 25th drawing of Dirt Farm, published in Baltimore's own CityPaper (Represent). Perhaps I should not include this if I decide to apply for the program.
Anyway, this just about sums up everything I think about my major:
From the July 25th drawing of Dirt Farm, published in Baltimore's own CityPaper (Represent). Perhaps I should not include this if I decide to apply for the program.
10/30/2007
IT's not easy being blind
I can't really see what I'm writing.I've rewsigned myself to an afternoon of eating and listening to the radio, after having my pupils dialated at my eye apointment this afternoon. Thank goodness I know the macros on my computer well enough to et around without seeing any of th ekeys. I'm sure the typing errors I make and don't notice during this post will be a osurce of ammusement (and shame) later.
Forgettting to bring sunglasses was a folly, and I fled home from the clinic with my hand shading my eyes like a clebrity convict and the dorky plastic throw-away sunglasses in my pocket, entertaining ideas of stealing and now I've paused writing for so long I've forgotten what I put and I can't read it. It's like being very very drunk with amazing motor skills.
I've had to put on the radio as I can't read my iTunes. I planned on running errands and chilling in a coffee shop and catching up on reading this afternoon. Oh no. Well, like I said (have I? can't remember) it gives me an excuse to spend my time eating and listening to the radio.. Yes, even though I'm not on Fresh Air anymore, I'll still link to them.
Speaking of radio, I've ordered new uber-indie-nerd glasses for my next/new pair. Yes, I'm ditching the oval wire frames I've had since high school, and with pleasure. But I think I'll have to re-cut my bangs to go with the new glasses. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it -- which'll be in a week. I'm excited.
Ok, this post is hopeless and so I shall abandon it.
Forgettting to bring sunglasses was a folly, and I fled home from the clinic with my hand shading my eyes like a clebrity convict and the dorky plastic throw-away sunglasses in my pocket, entertaining ideas of stealing and now I've paused writing for so long I've forgotten what I put and I can't read it. It's like being very very drunk with amazing motor skills.
I've had to put on the radio as I can't read my iTunes. I planned on running errands and chilling in a coffee shop and catching up on reading this afternoon. Oh no. Well, like I said (have I? can't remember) it gives me an excuse to spend my time eating and listening to the radio.. Yes, even though I'm not on Fresh Air anymore, I'll still link to them.
Speaking of radio, I've ordered new uber-indie-nerd glasses for my next/new pair. Yes, I'm ditching the oval wire frames I've had since high school, and with pleasure. But I think I'll have to re-cut my bangs to go with the new glasses. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it -- which'll be in a week. I'm excited.
Ok, this post is hopeless and so I shall abandon it.
10/25/2007
Untitled
What a busy three days I've had since arriving back in LA. Monday was midterm (Physics mania) and Prom Dress Rugby (photos to follow), Tuesday was catching up and rugby practice, and today was class-o-rama and working in the evening for my cousin Kathy (caterer extraordinaire).
Ready for the mad, one-breath recap? Go: passed the midterm with (probably) the highest physics score I've ever gotten (82%); nearly dehydrated to death in the Prom Dress Rugby midday heat (but looked GREAT doing it); Tuesday = reading and errands (booooring); worked at a stylish little office-warming party over in Studio City/Burbank (fun and good food, but who the hell are SoapBox Productions?).
On the way back from Studio City, Laura (who worked with me) and I witnessed a dogged little woman with her shopping cart, making her way across Ventura Boulevard. Sitting at the red light, I was busy admiring her determination at pushing her little carriage across all 8 lanes of traffic when I realized she was crossing against the light. Eight lanes, against traffic, crazy Los Angeles drivers, at night. Read it again and understand the odds. As we panicked for her safety, Laura and I wondered if she was a few crayons short or actually realized what she was doing. One car screeched to a halt, barely, and maneuvered around her while a few more stopped in a less dramatic fashion. Holding out her left hand out like Yoda to the stopped cars, we understood: she knew exactly what she was doing. "Ahh, crazy lady, where are you going?! Why are you in such a rush? Fatburger will still be on the corner when you get there!" we cried in concern.
She made it to the corner and turned right just as our light went green. Sadly, I could not zip fast enough to catch a glimpse of this intrepid rebel before she was too far down the sidewalk. "Stop running away with your shopping cart! You are too fast!" Go, speed racer.
Apart from that, I've been re-enjoying the "More Cowbell" Sketch and some fun new blogs.
Ready for the mad, one-breath recap? Go: passed the midterm with (probably) the highest physics score I've ever gotten (82%); nearly dehydrated to death in the Prom Dress Rugby midday heat (but looked GREAT doing it); Tuesday = reading and errands (booooring); worked at a stylish little office-warming party over in Studio City/Burbank (fun and good food, but who the hell are SoapBox Productions?).
On the way back from Studio City, Laura (who worked with me) and I witnessed a dogged little woman with her shopping cart, making her way across Ventura Boulevard. Sitting at the red light, I was busy admiring her determination at pushing her little carriage across all 8 lanes of traffic when I realized she was crossing against the light. Eight lanes, against traffic, crazy Los Angeles drivers, at night. Read it again and understand the odds. As we panicked for her safety, Laura and I wondered if she was a few crayons short or actually realized what she was doing. One car screeched to a halt, barely, and maneuvered around her while a few more stopped in a less dramatic fashion. Holding out her left hand out like Yoda to the stopped cars, we understood: she knew exactly what she was doing. "Ahh, crazy lady, where are you going?! Why are you in such a rush? Fatburger will still be on the corner when you get there!" we cried in concern.
She made it to the corner and turned right just as our light went green. Sadly, I could not zip fast enough to catch a glimpse of this intrepid rebel before she was too far down the sidewalk. "Stop running away with your shopping cart! You are too fast!" Go, speed racer.
Apart from that, I've been re-enjoying the "More Cowbell" Sketch and some fun new blogs.
10/21/2007
Long Busy Weekend of Exhaustion
3 Cities, 3 days.
Friday: Depart Los Angeles early afternoon and escapade northwards towards Santa Cruz. Destination: Stephanie's. Mission: miss Scotland in the company of someone else missing Scotland. Successful.
Saturday morning I left SC for home and a full agenda. Arriving 10:30ish, my mom and I planned for a quick turnaround to go watch the rugby world cup final in a pub in San Francisco. We set off on BART and arrived just about ten minutes after kick off at a pub near the financial district. Informed by a huffy barmaid at the door that the place was full and there was no way we were going to get in, we were told to try a couple of other pubs in town, namely The Abbey. Ten dollars later we arrived at The Abbey and mom held the cab while I checked to see if there was space inside. There was, but there was also a $20 cover charge. Screw that! Back into the taxi and off to our second option which, by this point (almost 40 minutes into the match), would be our last option. Arriving at The Kezar we were informed that it too was full and that we'd best try The Abbey. "Yeah, but they're charging 20 bucks to get in," I told the Irish doorman, looking over his shoulder to the televisions inside. He responded with, "Well it's $20 to get in here too, but we're full so I'm sorry but you'll have to stand back from the door." I scoffed, spun on my heel, and marched down the block with my mom struggling to keep up. Until I realized I was going the wrong way. We doubled back and I gave the stupid Irishman my best indifferent cold shoulder as we passed. I mean, I love rugby, but I have my principles. And England lost, anyway. We ended up going for a couple of drinks and some nachos in the Haight instead.
Back home for dinner and then back into the city for Interpol, one of my favorite bands whom I had never seen before. Opening were Liars, who I found far less than interesting, but nonetheless effectively filled the gap. Fearing our headliners might pull a 'diva stromp' (as I've heard they've been known to do) mother and I braced ourselves with beer, but no need - Interpol took the stage in a timely and stylish fashion. And, lo, it was good. It was great. I've been a massive fan ever since 'Turn on the Bright Lights' came out while I was in high school and seeing them for the first time was pretty much like heaven on earth. No, that's corny. It was like ten thousand birthday cakes at once. In my face. Delicious and overwhelming. I must also take the opportunity to agree with a friend of a friend's comment about singer Paul Banks: "I want to sex his voice!" Thank you, Sara, couldn't put it better myself. I'm not going to dawdle into a full on gig review; I'll just say that they pretty much played every single song of theirs that I love.
Aaaand Sunday, the home stretch of the weekend at home. Intentions told me to get up early and accomplish something, but I resisted and took my sweet time getting away, finally leaving home at 3ish and Norcal around 6. My three hour pause was a lovely visit with an old high school friend who I hadn't seen in years. She's a fashion designer and off to Italy and New York and all sorts of amazing places... and it was wonderful to see her.
So now I'm back and I have a Physics midterm and Prom Dress Rugby tomorrow. Alriiiiiiiight! Pictures to follow.
Friday: Depart Los Angeles early afternoon and escapade northwards towards Santa Cruz. Destination: Stephanie's. Mission: miss Scotland in the company of someone else missing Scotland. Successful.
Saturday morning I left SC for home and a full agenda. Arriving 10:30ish, my mom and I planned for a quick turnaround to go watch the rugby world cup final in a pub in San Francisco. We set off on BART and arrived just about ten minutes after kick off at a pub near the financial district. Informed by a huffy barmaid at the door that the place was full and there was no way we were going to get in, we were told to try a couple of other pubs in town, namely The Abbey. Ten dollars later we arrived at The Abbey and mom held the cab while I checked to see if there was space inside. There was, but there was also a $20 cover charge. Screw that! Back into the taxi and off to our second option which, by this point (almost 40 minutes into the match), would be our last option. Arriving at The Kezar we were informed that it too was full and that we'd best try The Abbey. "Yeah, but they're charging 20 bucks to get in," I told the Irish doorman, looking over his shoulder to the televisions inside. He responded with, "Well it's $20 to get in here too, but we're full so I'm sorry but you'll have to stand back from the door." I scoffed, spun on my heel, and marched down the block with my mom struggling to keep up. Until I realized I was going the wrong way. We doubled back and I gave the stupid Irishman my best indifferent cold shoulder as we passed. I mean, I love rugby, but I have my principles. And England lost, anyway. We ended up going for a couple of drinks and some nachos in the Haight instead.
Back home for dinner and then back into the city for Interpol, one of my favorite bands whom I had never seen before. Opening were Liars, who I found far less than interesting, but nonetheless effectively filled the gap. Fearing our headliners might pull a 'diva stromp' (as I've heard they've been known to do) mother and I braced ourselves with beer, but no need - Interpol took the stage in a timely and stylish fashion. And, lo, it was good. It was great. I've been a massive fan ever since 'Turn on the Bright Lights' came out while I was in high school and seeing them for the first time was pretty much like heaven on earth. No, that's corny. It was like ten thousand birthday cakes at once. In my face. Delicious and overwhelming. I must also take the opportunity to agree with a friend of a friend's comment about singer Paul Banks: "I want to sex his voice!" Thank you, Sara, couldn't put it better myself. I'm not going to dawdle into a full on gig review; I'll just say that they pretty much played every single song of theirs that I love.
Aaaand Sunday, the home stretch of the weekend at home. Intentions told me to get up early and accomplish something, but I resisted and took my sweet time getting away, finally leaving home at 3ish and Norcal around 6. My three hour pause was a lovely visit with an old high school friend who I hadn't seen in years. She's a fashion designer and off to Italy and New York and all sorts of amazing places... and it was wonderful to see her.
So now I'm back and I have a Physics midterm and Prom Dress Rugby tomorrow. Alriiiiiiiight! Pictures to follow.
10/18/2007
"You Shouldn't Rely On Other People For Your Happiness."
What the fuck? So what are you supposed to rely on for your happiness? Your classes? Your major? This consumer culture around us? It's a lot easier to make that sort of pronouncement when you have a career and significant other (although lord knows those can be far flung indicators of happiness).
Life is about loving. Not 'loving life' in that corny Hallmark way, but loving the people around you and them loving you back. All we've really got is each other, bundled together on spinning mass of rock, hurtling through space and time.
I hate UCLA. I hate Los Angeles. I hate living in America. I thought I had more to say on this topic, but I don't really. Best leave it then; brevity is the essence of... oh never mind.
(The quote is what my mom said to me on my 21st Birthday.)
Life is about loving. Not 'loving life' in that corny Hallmark way, but loving the people around you and them loving you back. All we've really got is each other, bundled together on spinning mass of rock, hurtling through space and time.
I hate UCLA. I hate Los Angeles. I hate living in America. I thought I had more to say on this topic, but I don't really. Best leave it then; brevity is the essence of... oh never mind.
(The quote is what my mom said to me on my 21st Birthday.)
10/16/2007
Sha-La-La-La-La-La Land
Er, yes. Ought to be reading. Ought to be studying. Ought to be doing any number of more productive things. But that's just no fun, now is it?
I went to the Los Angeles Zoo today for an assignment for my Primate Behavior class. It's the second time I've ever been there, and it struck me the same as last time: adequate, for both animal and visitor. I did, however, achieve my mission for the day: arrive, finish the assignment, and leave before traffic started. Check. How sad is that? Every excursion from my house in my car revolves around avoiding traffic. Though if you knew LA traffic you'd do the same -- it runs from 6am-10am and from 3pm-7pm. Not a very big window there for ya.
In other news I've been devoting all my time to rugby here. Sunday practice, Monday weights, Tuesday practice, Wednesday weights, Thursday practice... You get the picture. But this coming Monday (the 29th) is our excellent event, Prom Dress Rugby! Confused?
It does what it says on the tin: rugby in a prom dress. I haven't assembled my outfit yet, but I'm off on a quest Thursday for a real stunner of a dress. The poofier the better -- I want the 'floating/no feet' look. And after that, a roll of duct tape to reapply my dress during halftime.
And in OTHER rugby news I am extremely excited about the upcoming World Cup Final on Saturday between England and South Africa. That and I'm obsessed with Johnny Wilkinson, though I don't entirely know why. I called him a "wickedly talented prat" in a previous post when England beat Scotland in the 6 Nations... just a touch of jealousy? Just a touch. This also comes amidst a comment by my coach here to practice my catching since I'll 'never be kicking in a game.' I felt like the stereotypical little kid in an inspirational sports movie: "C'mon coach, gimme a chance!" Just have to prove some things on the field, I guess.
Anyway, back to Johnny Wilkinson.
That's better. Just screams Great Gatsby, doesn't it? Oh I miss British fashion so.
In closing, I leave you with the wise words of Billy Bragg (enjoy the lack of context):
"I saw two shooting stars last night
I wished on them, but they were only satellites
It's wrong to wish on space hardware..."
I can already feel that this year is going to revolve around rugby...
Fin.
I went to the Los Angeles Zoo today for an assignment for my Primate Behavior class. It's the second time I've ever been there, and it struck me the same as last time: adequate, for both animal and visitor. I did, however, achieve my mission for the day: arrive, finish the assignment, and leave before traffic started. Check. How sad is that? Every excursion from my house in my car revolves around avoiding traffic. Though if you knew LA traffic you'd do the same -- it runs from 6am-10am and from 3pm-7pm. Not a very big window there for ya.
In other news I've been devoting all my time to rugby here. Sunday practice, Monday weights, Tuesday practice, Wednesday weights, Thursday practice... You get the picture. But this coming Monday (the 29th) is our excellent event, Prom Dress Rugby! Confused?
It does what it says on the tin: rugby in a prom dress. I haven't assembled my outfit yet, but I'm off on a quest Thursday for a real stunner of a dress. The poofier the better -- I want the 'floating/no feet' look. And after that, a roll of duct tape to reapply my dress during halftime.
And in OTHER rugby news I am extremely excited about the upcoming World Cup Final on Saturday between England and South Africa. That and I'm obsessed with Johnny Wilkinson, though I don't entirely know why. I called him a "wickedly talented prat" in a previous post when England beat Scotland in the 6 Nations... just a touch of jealousy? Just a touch. This also comes amidst a comment by my coach here to practice my catching since I'll 'never be kicking in a game.' I felt like the stereotypical little kid in an inspirational sports movie: "C'mon coach, gimme a chance!" Just have to prove some things on the field, I guess.
Anyway, back to Johnny Wilkinson.
That's better. Just screams Great Gatsby, doesn't it? Oh I miss British fashion so.
In closing, I leave you with the wise words of Billy Bragg (enjoy the lack of context):
"I saw two shooting stars last night
I wished on them, but they were only satellites
It's wrong to wish on space hardware..."
I can already feel that this year is going to revolve around rugby...
Fin.
10/14/2007
Numero Uno
Well, after reading back through my wildy successful blog from last year, Julia Goes to Scotland (thank you, thank you, I know...), I've decided to give it another crack, this time chronicling my various adventures battling the city of Los Angeles. I shall be spewing my wit, wisdom, and deeds on this here ye olde webpage. Because that's what the world needs, yet another person's opinions blathering about on the 'net, right?
I'm listening to "The Drugs Don't Work" by The Verve at the moment. Fitting, it seems, given the setting. No amount of drugs could ever make me love this city. (If you can call it a city, that is.)
I'll get to the reasons for my deep-rooted hatred of Angeltown in a later post, but first I'll explain a few of the basics for you so you're not TOTALLY lost when I post, even though chances are you know me. If you don't... how did you get here, you perv? Kidding. Sort of.
Yes, so... I face my fourth year university at UCLA, having spent the last one abroad at Edinburgh University. In the midst of my major-identity crisis (Marine Biology?! Anthropology?! Whatever-ology?!) I do pretty much the same stuff I've always done in college: radio and rugby.
Join me as I hate on LA, get reaccustomed to being (and acting as) an American, suffer through my education, get amazing rugby bruises, and basically make a tit of myself on internet radio. It'll be a fun journey, I think. Too bad for you I like to write, otherwise you might not have to suffer through this. I apologize in advance.
And now for something completely different:
You have no soul if you don't at least crack a smile at this.
I'm listening to "The Drugs Don't Work" by The Verve at the moment. Fitting, it seems, given the setting. No amount of drugs could ever make me love this city. (If you can call it a city, that is.)
I'll get to the reasons for my deep-rooted hatred of Angeltown in a later post, but first I'll explain a few of the basics for you so you're not TOTALLY lost when I post, even though chances are you know me. If you don't... how did you get here, you perv? Kidding. Sort of.
Yes, so... I face my fourth year university at UCLA, having spent the last one abroad at Edinburgh University. In the midst of my major-identity crisis (Marine Biology?! Anthropology?! Whatever-ology?!) I do pretty much the same stuff I've always done in college: radio and rugby.
Join me as I hate on LA, get reaccustomed to being (and acting as) an American, suffer through my education, get amazing rugby bruises, and basically make a tit of myself on internet radio. It'll be a fun journey, I think. Too bad for you I like to write, otherwise you might not have to suffer through this. I apologize in advance.
And now for something completely different:
You have no soul if you don't at least crack a smile at this.
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