Nothing Like the Sun (except for the yellow parts)

Happy Halloween, folks. My costume this year is my spooky pair of pupils. I got my pupils dilated at my ophthalmologist's office today. I've never had it done before and I have to admit, it's fairly uncomfortable after a little while. The drops sting for only a second, so that's not the bad part. The part where he shines bright lights in my eyes made me flinch alot, but, luckily, that was over quickly. The uncomfortable part is the weird headache that lingers. Also, it's been over four hours and I still want to wear sunglasses. Everything is verrrrry bright! Oh, and yes, that's my dilated right pupil in the photo. The yellow stuff around my eye is not there on purpose. It's from the yellow eyedrops he put in after the dilating drops. I took this picture as I left his office. I think maybe my pupils weren't fully dilated yet, or else they were beginning to calm down. At one point, they were HUGE. I was fascinated.

This is not my most stellar post. If you want interesting, go read Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I look forward to reading Brave New World Revisited soon.

My eyes feel funny.

Poor, Poor, Pitiful He

More densely-packed than an embittered, mean-spirited faux-pundit with no internal governor, here are my playlists from the last TWO shows!

Log for first half of October 19th, 2006 show

Log for second half of October 19th, 2006 show



Log for first half of October 26th, 2006 show

Log for second half of October 26th, 2006 show


At this point, I feel sorry for Rush Limbaugh. He is simply pitiful.

Strut and Fret

I just finished reading "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley. Astonishingly, it was written in 1932. I'm astonished because of how creepily accurate much of it is. It's startlingly prophetic and I began to feel guilty about many of the conveniences that I enjoy.

A large part of the book focuses on the idea that a happy, calm population is a productive one. People are, essentially, medicated and conditioned into a dull, smiling complacency. A fictional feel-good drug called Soma takes all of the edge off of any taxing or startling experience, while a constant diet of scented air, radio, television, and "feelies" (movies that proffer not only a visual and aural experience, but also tactile and olfactory ones), keeps them distracted from their own thoughts. People are encouraged never to be alone. Think about how our current, modern lives work and this book could touch a nerve.

The book (and, of course, the title) also makes several references to Shakespeare's writings. I was delighted to recognize many of them, as I didn't realize I remembered that much from my college Shakespeare courses. "How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,that has such people in't!" I might write more on this later, time allowing.


I'm currently working on a project involving hundreds of slides from Israel in 1967, just after, I believe, the six-day war. Israel had conquered the West Bank, Gaza Strip, Sinai Peninsula, and Golan Heights. Tourists were just being allowed back in the country when my clients took their trip and shot amazing photos of everything. It's a remarkable look into the recent past of Israel. However, looking at shots of a model of Solomon's Temple brings home the ridiculousness of calling 100-year-old buildings in Philadelphia "historic."


UPDATE: I'll post playlists from my last few shows later today. I've been working through the blog and fixing the links. I think everything will be tip-top by next week.

Something Sad Is Happening to my Blog

Hey y'all. My image host site is wigging out temporarily. I hope it's temporary, anyway. Currently, many images are invisible and links to my playlists proffer the FORBIDDEN! YOU DON'T HAVE PERMISSION BLAH BLAH BLAH palaver that we all have seen before. I'm trying to figure it out. Worse comes to worse, I spend this Sunday transferring images.

Wah,
Sarah

Party Etiquette

1. Clap happily while the birthday boy blows out his candles. (That's me in the middle there, clapping.)








2. When the birthday boy finishes with the candles, scratch your lip with your thumb, BUT MAKE SURE IT LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE PICKING YOUR NOSE.





3. Obsessively blog about it and post a detail of you in the nosepick picture, THEREBY PROVING THAT YOU WERE NOT PICKING YOUR NOSE.














4. Smile! You're in a picture with your friend Matt. That's swell.








5. Loosen up, Girly. Take off your glasses.










6. Pet the doggy that belongs to the owner of the loft where the party is being held.








7. Pet him more! DO IT! Really get down there and pet him. Ignore everything else, including the funny awesome haha that is going on right in front of you. Social graces, be damned. The petting of this dog is important. Don't disappoint me, Sarah. (You can clickyclicky on the photos if you'd like to see them in their original size. Or you could have popcorn and talk on the phone, instead. I would.)

Items

Item #1
I wore my new jeans yesterday and liked them quite a bit, though they are too long and must be hemmed. I hope that the tailor can do a cool hem so that they don't look like bad, 1980s, Jordache sale-jeans that my poor mother would have had to hem for me in 5th grade. Also, the reason that these jeans are too long is that I bought the LONG size. The regular is always a bit too short. Get off my back about it.

Item #2
I wore my underwear in-side-out yesterday and blamed the annoying, rustling label at the base of my spine on my new jeans' label. New Jeans, I am very sorry. Underwear, get your act together.

Item #3
My friend Robin had nasal passage surgery. She had a deviated septum and they cleared her right up. She had a very petite and adorable nose before and they did not change its appearance at all, as she did not need rhinoplasty. She just needed her nasal cavities bored out with a pneumatic drill. Still, though, some of her co-workers joke with her and say she has "plastic surgery nose." This hurts her feelings. Her nose, AS I JUST SAID, is adorable and not smearfacey or weird in appearance, like plastic surgery noses can be. (I'm so sorry, but we are all looking at you, Talented 1980s Icon Who Wears One Glove.) I don't know how to make this any more clear for you: Robin did not have plastic surgery. Besides, if she were going to have plastic surgery, she'd have wings added to her scapulae or something cool like that.

Item #4
I am really looking forward to this week's radio show. I'm hoping that a new CD I bought of The Soft Drugs will arrive in time.

Hey There, Tiger

I missed yesterday's show, which makes me a little sad. Big Mama had some business to attend to, though, and I alerted the station, etc. Still, if any listeners were counting on delicious, smart pop music to get them through the morning, they probably felt abandoned. Forgive me, folks.


Let's be honest, though. You know as well as I do that all I would have played is Paddy Roberts. Ah, the fifties. (You know I'm kidding, right?)

This weekend I get to do a bit of travel again. I'll be heading up to New York at some point and hope to catch up with a few friends. If you need anything, let me know.

Ah, and there's a bit of good news. It turns out that only the mirror part of my poor, misbegotten car's side mirror was damaged, not the entire housing. For a mere $79.43, I can have it repaired. Eat THAT, Philly!

P.S. Ah, radio show...

Giving in to Gizoogle

Dear Readers,
I know you want to and you know you want to. Just give in. *Sigh*

Click here for Gizoogle's version of "Sit Ubu, Sit. Good Blog." Read down a few posts to get the gist of it.

Sincerely,
Big Baller, Shot Caller

Philadelphia, I Implore You

Nay, I beg you, Philly.

Cut me a break.



















My poor car.







































Play nice, Philadelphia. I am not moving.

Girl, Interrupted

Faster than you can sprint down the stupid hallway because you were in the stupid bathroom when the stupid CD player started to skip on the stupid first song of the stupid day, here are yesterday's playlists.

Log for first half of Rocktober 5th, 2006 show

Log for second half of Rocktober 5th, 2006 show



Man, there is NOTHING that will make you feel more helpless than just having begun to urinate when your CD player decides it can't handle a CD. That CD player, of course, is allll the way down the hallway, about a city block away, in the air studio. You can hear what's going out over the air in the bathrooms, though. Isn't that nice? Sure it is. RIGHT UP UNTIL YOU HAVE TO SIT THERE, URINATING, AS YOUR SONG SKIPS ITSELF TO DEATH. It is so irritating. I can imagine that if I were driving to work and heard that CD skipping for the solid 60 or 70 seconds that it did before I could get to it, I'd just turn the station. And then I'd laugh. With disdain. Because I'd be mocking that sadsack DJ who was trying to use the rest room while her CD fell apart. She's such a chump.

In other news, I saw planes landing a few times as I drove to work this week. Neato! I was at the apex of the bridge and looked to the left to see big airliners landing with little puffs of smoke squeaking out from under their wheels.

That reminds me of a story. In high school, I got to drive my father's super fly awesome 1982 Toyota Corolla-Tercel. (Yes, it was called both, because it was the first Corolla-body Toyota to have front-wheel-drive [normally, only the Tercels had that].) I loved that car and got to drive it frequently, so I really considered it my car. My father had given my brother and me The Speech, though. The Speech let us know that accidents were NOT ALLOWED and that we could NOT AFFORD to have our auto insurance RATES HIKED. He was VERY SERIOUS about this.

One day, I pulled into a parking space and verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry gently tapped another car. I was startled, but not too concerned, as even I, an inexperienced driver, could tell that it was a minor tap that could have caused no damage. I reparked, got out of the car, and walked around to check the other car as a just-in-case maneuver. It looked like a plane had landed on it. It was smashed. I looked, incredulous, at my own car, expecting to see nothing but a wheel on the passenger side. It was perfectly unflawed. How was this possible? In lieu of solving the riddle, I chose to cry hysterically.

I went into school, hiccoughed my way into the principal's office, and explained what I'd done. To add insult to the other car's injury, it had no parking permit, which the high school required. So, not only had I damaged a student's car, but I was now ALSO getting him or her into trouble for parking without a permit. Nice going, Sarah. You're on the easy street to popularity now, eh kid?

It turns out that the car belonged to a sweet girl named Brenda, with whom I'd been fairly friendly since grade school. She was called to the office and saw my red, puckered, tear-stained, fist of a face and I sputteringly explained to her that I'd hit her car. We walked out with a nice, soothing woman from the school office. As we approached Brenda's mangled car, Brenda cheerfully asked, "where did you hit it?"

I stared. "Huh? Well, right THERE. Right where - well, THERE." (It pretty much looked like THIS, but to me, it looked more like THIS.) I couldn't believe she wasn't hysterical. Again, I just stared. Brenda spoke: "Sarah, my brother wrecked this car like, last week, on the guard rail. If you hit it at all, you hit it where he'd already destroyed it. No problem. Everything's fine." Who doesn't love Brenda? NO ONE. *Hearts for Eyes*

Don't Act a Fool

I saw the new Michel Gondry movie, The Science of Sleep this past weekend. I liked it plenty, but can't really say it was what I'd hoped for. Ah, forget that. I'm glad I saw it. It left more questions asked than answered, but I'm okay with that.

Before the film began, the requisite messages of etiquette flashed on the screen. "Please abstain from using cellphones or pagers during the film," blah blah blah. Of course, all of the messages come down to common sense and really imply, "Don't be a jerk. You've got other people around you and you're not any more important than they are. Pipe down and let everyone get his money's worth." My friend Ryan put it succinctly: "Don't act a fool." I hope theaters eventually adopt this phrase in lieu of the current palaver regarding cellphones, crying babies, talking loudly, and generally causing a ruckus at the movies.

One interesting part of the film involved the protagonist dreaming that he had enormous hands. Gondry used the big hands in the Foo Fighters video for "Everlong," as well. Nice callback, Michel (pictured on the right). My favorite part of that video is towards the end when the drummer sits up in bed. The surrounding blankets fall away to reveal his drum set and he goes from sleep to playing in an instant. It's cut so well. When he first sits up and begins drumming, his cymbals and high-hats are missing, but in the next shot, they're there. It's barely noticeable. Mama likes.


So far, the beginning of October seems to be about recovering from the end of September. It's been a rough few weeks and I feel discouraged and burdened. However, I'm a bounce-back kind of gal and there are many moments in even the most stressful day when I notice that I feel quite good and hopeful. Today, I'm anxious about how much I want to do, but, again, I am hopeful that I can achieve my goals. Heck, I've already knocked out some of that pesky list, so that's a start.

Let's keep the stream-of-consciousness rolling here and I'll tell you about Grace Coufal. I think that's how her name was spelled. Mrs. Coufal lived across the street from my grandparents on Daly Avenue in Missoula, Montana. I used to visit there every summer until I was around 15, I guess. I loved Missoula and, sometimes, on a summer evening, just for a second, the east coast can smell a bit like Montana to me.

Mrs. Coufal was well into her eighties when I knew her and invited me over at least once during each visit to my grandparents. We made cookies together. She chose almond cookies and they often ended up looking sort of like the picture here to the left. They were nowhere near my favorite kind, but I really enjoyed spending time with her. She was one of those old women who had everything tidy and in place. She was permanently kind and amused. She had thick, wavy, grey hair that she wore short, but it managed to look old-worldish to me. She might have been rather tall and I know she was slim. I can't remember if she'd ever married or had children, but she was alone when I knew her. You could do a lot worse for yourself than being Grace Coufal, let me tell you. I admired her.

Sometimes I think I should go back to Missoula for a vacation and bother the people living in my grandparents' old home until they let me tour through the place. That house was the single most entertaining piece of architecture a child could visit, for two special reasons: 1. Laundry chutes. 2. Secret Door in the back of two, adjacent closets. COME ON, PEOPLE. YOU CANNOT BEAT THESE.

I'll blab more about the secret door in a bit. For now, I'll publish this little post and get back to work.

SECRET DOOR, PEOPLE!