Taking the left turn

Visiting Albuquerque always makes me feel old. I’m surrounded by pictures of a far more fresh-faced (big-haired, full-eyebrowed) version of myself when I stay at my parents' house, and it reminds me exactly how long it has been since I lived here.

I would move back to ABQ in a second if I had the chance, but Jim would never go for it. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the charms of this city. His main gripe is the lack of skiing opportunities, but I also think the landscape is a bit desolate for his taste. Too many shades of tan and beige, and not enough green. Well, except the chili of course. Which rocks.

I’m not looking forward to the drive back to Colorado. It’s only 7 hours, but dealing with two furry passengers is more difficult when I’m traveling solo. How can two fifteen-pound dogs be so wily and demanding? In an attempt to soften the blow of the road trip, I loaded up my iPod with new music before I left and made sure I had the latest broadcasts of "This American Life." But still. There are a few insanely boring stretches that seem to drag on forever no matter how delightful the soundtrack. I can’t help but wonder "Who the hell lives here, and why?" Luckily I have something new to look forward to on the return trip: my sister-in-law provided me with the new Wilco CD, and I can’t wait to check it out. I’m such a sucker for Jeff Tweedy.

I'm also looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and eating a reasonable amount of food instead of endlessly stuffing my pie hole with all manner of unhealthy deliciousness. I have a difficult time curtailing my consumption when I am on vacation, and then I hate myself afterwards for my complete lack of self-control.

Get a job

Well, my unemployment experiment is officially over. On Wednesday I had a second interview at the architecture firm where Jim works, and received an offer later that day. It’s odd to think we’ll be coworkers. But I actually don’t think we’ll see each other much aside from staff meetings, which should be interesting. Jim has already warned me he uses these gatherings as a forum for his smart-ass comments, so I will have to find a way to curtail my embarrassment. I am all for jackassery, but I prefer smaller venues. I would never willingly attract attention in a setting with more than 10 people or so, and Jim’s comments will undoubtedly mean I’ll be GETTING attention, whether I want it or not. People will be looking to me for a reaction, right? Urgh.

Anywho, my first day will be either June 1st or 4th, depending on whether it matters if I start on a Monday. That means I should have time to wrap up the insane amount of freelance work I have committed to. Don’t get me wrong, the extra money IS fabulous, especially since I took a buyout at my previous job that means I’ll be getting paychecks from that company through the end of June. But I won’t have much time to laze about the house, eating bon bons and carrying on extensive one-sided conversations with the dogs.

At the very least I thought unemployment would allow me to accomplish a few things like polishing off Infinite Jest once and for all (that damn book will be the death of me), or maybe getting my office organized. But neither thing has happened. I probably need to manage my time better, be more disciplined and whatnot. Man-up and get some shiznit done. Nose to the grindstone. Serious of purpose.

But at the moment I’m in New Mexico, visiting my family and not doing a single productive thing other than eating as much green chili as possible and carefully monitoring Banjo's behavior (he's very sneaksies and tricksies when he's out of his element). When I return to Colorado I’ll need to give some thought as to what I want to accomplish in the next month. Sounds like it’s time for a little obsessive-compulsive list making! My specialty.

Baa baa poodle sheep, have you any wool?

This is one of the most ridiculous news items I have seen in ages: Thousands of people have been 'fleeced' into buying neatly coiffured lambs they thought were poodles.

Exactly how did this happen? I mean, even if you've never seen a poodle you've certainly seen a dog. Dogs have distinctive characteristics like...oh, I don't know...PAWS instead of HOOVES.

I love that the tip-off was not the fact that that the animal had EYES ON THE SIDE OF ITS HEAD and HOOVES (did I mention the HOOVES?), but that the "dog" wouldn't bark or eat dog food.

Of zombies and psychos

We saw "Grindhouse" last weekend, and I thought Robert Rodriguez's flick "Planet Terror" was awesome. It was everything a zombie flick should be. And Rose McGowan was great. I'm surprised she isn't a bigger name at the box office—she's definitely talented. Though it is a bit hard to get past the dalliance she had with Marilyn Manson a few years back. Because, come on. That guy is so ICK. How does he score such hot babes? I will never understand. His music is lame and the whole get-up is a complete clown show. And believe me, I'm not immune to the powers of weird schtick. I think Rob Zombie is fabulous.

But I digress . . .

Jim finds my love of movies like "Grindhouse", "Kill Bill", and "Sin City" totally baffling because there are other categories of gore and horror I can't stomach. War movies? Forget it. They totally freak me out. I get insanely upset, start crying, etc. It's because I know not only COULD such violent scenarios occur, they HAVE and will CONTINUE to occur. The thought is so depressing I can't stand it. I practically melted into a puddle of despair during "Saving Private Ryan" (which I HAD to see because it was getting so much press and was so great and blah blah blah).

I also avoid films like "Saw", "Seven", etc. There are some exceptions—"Silence of the Lambs" comes to mind. And don't get me wrong, it scared the bejesus out of me. But it was a well made film, and that fact somehow helped me cope with the residual psychological trauma. Plus, Jim and I have gotten SO much mileage out of the "it puts the lotion on its skin" line.

Basically, it's like this. Gore and freakiness that COULD potentially happen (as in a war movie or a torture flick)? Bad. Fictional, over-the-top gore and freakiness? Bearable, and sometimes even great. For example, I realize that a "Halloween" scenario is far-fetched at best, but it COULD happen. And that freaks me right the hell out. I mean, how much would it suck to be chased around a house by a freaky-mask-wearing madman? The consequences of viewing such films is Not Worth It to me. I will stay awake for hours afterwards, plotting my escape from the crazy who is undoubtedly trying to break into our house THISVERYMINUTE and kill us in a horrible way. Should I try to hit him with the bedside lamp? Should we lock ourselves in the bathroom and then jump out the window? We'd better take a couple blankets with us so we can somehow lower the dogs to the ground from the 2nd floor before we jump. Yeah, that's a good idea. And on. And on.

But "Kill Bill"? Or "Sin City"? Or even the "Grindhouse" flicks? Sure they are gory, but the gore is stylized. And they're not SCARY, per se. I don't lie in bed at night and worry that someone with a samurai sword and a saucy attitude is going to track me down so she can chop off my noggin, or that zombies are going to jump out of my closet and start eating my brains.

Anyway, I guess I'll admit that my tastes are a bit contradictory. Just call me an enigma wrapped in a riddle, sealed with kiss from a mysterious stranger.

Bullet dodged

Just got a call from Maggie and Banjo's vet, and apparently their lab results were normal. Such a relief.

I whipped up a few haikus in honor of the good news.

Suspicious dog food
A hasty trip to the vet
Whew! They are OK

Hey Royal Canin
Reconsider your contents
Tainted rice gluten

Don't mess with our dogs
We will karate chop you
Or call our lawyer

Monsters

I found this illustration when I was cleaning out my files yesterday, and thought it was kind of cute. I'm pretty sure I created it a couple of years ago.

Name game

When my parents were deciding what to name me, they briefly considered Jennifer and Jenny before finally settling on Jena. My mom (an elementary school teacher at the time) decided that Jennifer was too long. She always felt sorry for kids with lengthy monikers because it took them forever to learn how to write their names. And I can see her point. I mean, if my name had been Savannah, I can imagine becoming discouraged right around the first "n". And that's just a little over half-way. It's no wonder that kindergarten is the time when Jonathans transform into Jons, etc.

The problem with "Jenny" didn't have anything to do with length. My parents both grew up in farming communities, and they were worried that kids might tease me because—get this—a jenny is a female donkey. I always thought this reasoning was hilarious, given the fact that I grew up in Albuquerque without a donkey in sight. The odds of some kid hee-hawing in my general direction were slim to none, because the other kids would have undoubtedly been like " . . . the hell?". And THEN who would have looked like a jackass?

Anyway, I'm happy my parents settled on Jena. Although I do get called "Gina" an awful lot, I still like the name. It's a little unusual but not too wacky. Fitting.

Would you like fries with that?

This is awesome: fast food advertising vs. reality.
Deeeeelish!

Royal scare

When we stopped by Petsmart yesterday to pick up another bag of (insanely expensive) prescription food for the dogs, we were greeted by a sign on the shelf informing us that their chow of choice, Royal Canin Canine Early Cardiac EC 22, has been recalled. Out of all the prescription food on the shelf, it was the only product that had been pulled. I would be surprised by this stroke of bad luck if it weren't for the fact that over the past few years it's seemed like everything that COULD go wrong, has. Especially concerning Maggie, the extremely precious and tragically fragile French Bulldog.

The vet told us not to get TOO freaked out because the recall was done as a precaution—no dogs have actually turned up sick as a result of eating the food. But of course I'm still a bit worried. I mean, Maggie is already a train wreck. The dog takes FIVE prescription medications, for crying out loud—the poor thing was born with a target on her head. Anyway, Jim is going to drop off both dogs tomorrow AM for blood work, which is luckily being covered by Royal Canin (as it should be, in my opinion).

In the meantime, Maggie continues to grunt and snort in her usual manner and Banjo is, as always, a bundle of joyful energy. So I have a fair amount of hope that they'll escape this recent crisis unscathed. Fingers crossed.

The Best Museum Ever

Here's a bit of advice: if you're ever in San Francisco, hustle on over to the Musee Mecanique in Fisherman's Wharf. Yeah, I know the Wharf is an infamous tourist trap (I did my best to avoid the area when I lived in SF), but trust me—it's worth wading through the gobs of people to check this place out. It's FABULOUS. It doesn't just house tons of wacky fortune telling machines (Zoltar or biorhythms, anyone?) and weird games involving executions (among other bizarre scenarios). It also contains relics like Pong and Millipede. That's right people, Pong. And coin-operated games about opium? Come on!



These crappy pictures I took with our digital camera are enough to inspire me to put a digital SLR high on my list of "wants", but you'll get the general idea. I was afraid Jim was going to pull something trying to beat the arm wrestling machine. He didn't see the stern warning until he'd nearly lost an appendage.

God Bless You, Kurt Vonnegut

I was very sad to hear the news about Kurt Vonnegut's death. He was such a fabulous writer—the kind of stuff that punches you right in the gut. Not to mention the razor-sharp wit. I discovered his books my sophomore year in high school and spent the better part of one semester gradually making my way through the Vonnegut section in our twee, underfunded library. Breakfast of Champions, Player Piano, Slapstick . . . I loved them all. Anyway, I think it's pretty strange that his death was the result of injuries he suffered during a fall. I remember reading that he and his sister LOVED to watch people fall down; they thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. So the fact that he died as a result of falling seems . . . is ironic the word? People tend to throw that term around willy-nilly (and often incorrectly) so I always hesitate to use it. Maybe it's safer to say it's an odd way to go for someone how found such humor in trips and spills. I decided to re-read Slaughterhouse 5 in memory of Mr. Vonnegut. So it goes.