Now that I think about it, prisons are normally full of people. Maybe Pinky and I were kidnapped and they were just trying to fool us into thinking we were in prison. If that guard was the only person there, we totally could have escaped.

7 fat years, 7 lean years

Last night I had two dreams. In the first one, I was in prison with Pinky, and there was a prison guard. Those were the only people in the dream. The guard wouldn't tell me why I was in prison, he just kept giving me a guilt talk along these lines: "Oh, I think you know why you're here. I bet your family's worried about you. But you can't call them. Because you're in prison. Now you stay in this room full of bunk beds and think about what you've done."

In the second dream, Matt bought a cell phone. He didn't sign up for a plan or anything, he just bought the phone. I was angry because we were supposed to sign up for one of those share-minutes plans and get rebates on the phones, but there he went buying a phone for no good reason, when he can't even use it.

The night before last I had a dream in which I was trying to adopt a kid, but there was also an old lady that wanted to adopt the same kid. So a bus full of people including me and the kid went over to the old lady's house. It turned out she didn't have a house, she lived under a bridge. Then all the people went over to my house, which was some sort of twentysomething condo where I lived with Matt. The kid picked me and we lived happily ever after, and then my mom asked me what happened to that necklace I used to have (which is actually a necklace that doesn't exist in real life).

emphasize naked computing

I should ask Matt how it feels to be on an elite squad.

my red hot car

My parents want to trade cars with me. They've been leasing a Neon for a year, and they want me to buy it and give them my (older) car for my brother to drive. Thing is, what I really want is a Toyota Prius. I won't be able to buy one this year or, unless I get a fellowship, next year, but trading up now means it'll be longer before I can trade up again. My car is 8 years old. It's really a question of whether it will last until I can afford the car I really want. It's probably smarter to get the year-old car now, rather than try to hang on to the old one long enough to replace it with sparkly new technology. It's not as fulfilling, though.

I have a problem: because of the distance between the TV and the couch, looking at the TV for long periods of time isn't comfortable with my glasses on or off. I get headaches. But right now I've already got a headache, and I want to go home and play Final Fantasy until it goes away. The problem is that if I play Final Fantasy, it will never go away.

late bloomer

There's a scene in Middlesex, which I'm reading this week, about how a boy figures out the workings of orgasms, but his sister doesn't. She's used to being close to him and doing everything together, and she feels frustrated and left out because this is one thing they can't share. It takes her another ten years to figure it out.

I've been thinking about this, because sometimes I feel retroactively left out. Apparently some people discover the secrets of masturbating when they're still children. I didn't even know that sex was supposed to feel good (and that was why people did it) until high school, and then it took me another couple of years to put that into practice.

Here's what I think: sex ed tells boys what their penises are for. Sex ed doesn't even tell girls they have clitorises. That's got to be part of it. I'd blame it all on that, except some of the early adopters I've encountered were girls. Chalk it up to me not being the investigative type, I guess.

adventures II

I finally tracked down that wayward check. The office lady who gave it to me was unfriendly - she mumbled in a loud room and then got snippy when I didn't understand what she wanted - but she also told me who would fix my address. Happy ever after.

Now I'm only a month away from owning this. Yow!

Also: everyone on this campus who does office work is a woman. There are no men. I think that's how it is everywhere. Why? Clerical work isn't strenuous, it's full time, it must pay decently. You even get a computer. If I was a dude, I would be all over this. What are all the guys doing?

adventures in officemagicland

This morning I went downstairs and asked our department's payroll office-lady where my paycheck could possibly have got to. I explained that last time direct deposit broke, payroll had mistakenly sent some other materials of mine to my previous job, and I feared that that had been the case this week as well. I knew that direct deposit had failed to work for some graduate students. She asked, "Don't you have direct deposit?" Yes, I do. But it hasn't done its thing. Also there's no check in my mailbox, and could she please look up where they sent it? "Well, it looks like they sent it to the administrative office of the place you used to work." But where is that? They've restructured since then. Also, can she change my payroll information so this stopps happening? I don't have permission in the computer. "I don't know how to do that in the new system." No 'I'll figure it out,' no 'sorry,' just she doesn't know how.

I call Old Job's office, and some of them remember me. They tell me where their paychecks go these days, and I walk over there. An office-lady asks me my name, and says, "You're not on my list." Of course I'm not on your list, I don't work for this department. "What department do you work in? Why don't you go over there?" Because my office address is wrong in the payroll computer, and whenever direct deposit breaks they send my stuff to you. "Have you checked with your bank?" Yes. My bank knows how to use its computers. Finally she understands what I want and asks me my name again. She looks in a box which does not contain my paycheck. "Oh, I must have forwarded it back to the business office. It might not be there yet, though, because of the holiday."

I go back to my desk and call the business office. They do not understand why I am calling, so I explain three more times. Then: "No, it's not here. Have you checked with your department?" It was forwarded to you. It's probably still in campus mail. I'll call back tomorrow. "Oh, then you should probably call back tomorrow."

What bothers me is not so much having to run around doing the administration's job, it's the excuse they repeatedly gave for not knowing what to do: "We have new software. We don't know how to use it. It's the same software that was new three months ago and caused you to get paid a month late and your student loan check misdirected. Yeah, we still don't know how to use it. No, we're not really apologizing for that." For some reason, office ladies don't care if students get paid. P. thinks this is because they think "those kids can pay for college, what do they need a paycheck for?" The truth is, I can't pay for college, and I never could. I had scholarships and loans for undergrad, and now I get free tuition, but this is my only job, and my parents don't pay for me at all anymore. If I don't get paid to do it, that's all there is. They would probably get agitated if their paycheck turned up missing, but it never will - they work in payroll.

It came out magical

I'm listening to "Out From Blown Speakers," and whenever I hear it I feel like I've been let in on a secret.

I'd Help Dean, But He's All the Way Over There

P. just left for a Dean Weekend in Iowa. Now, the truth is: P. wanted company and asked me to come, and I like Dean, but I didn't come along. Why? I just want to stay home. It's nice here. I don't have to sleep in a sleeping bag and eat cold sandwiches when I could be sleeping in a bed and eating hot, delicious rice-and-vegetables. But here's something, Dean: when you need me here in Illinois, I'll be around.

I finished writing my first-ever conference paper today, which pretty much makes me a real live scientist. P. thinks I need to write an article that goes in an actual journal, and the 2004 Proceedings of So-and-So don't cut it. I think that an article will make me more scientific, but the damage has already been done. You be the judge.

I had a clever idea for a salad, of the kind that can be eaten with pita bread. We'll see how it goes.

not playing now, but playing previously: The Delgados - "Accused of Stealing"

Doom House

I am pretty convinced that I'm allergic to something in my house. It's probably mold, and it's probably in the basement. I'm afraid I'm going to get sick repeatedly until mid-March and not be any good for anything. Imagine it: snot lurking around every corner, just waiting for me to let my guard down.

np: Os Mutantes - "A Minha Menina"

bring 'em on

Some of these ads are so good I almost cried.

Hey, what's Festivus?

Merry Christmas and New Year and everything, everybody. This is the second winter vacation in a row we've spent at Matt's house, and I'm starting to miss some of the Michigan-specific things I'm used to. My mom came to Chicago for the weekend, and she had to bring me some nuts & oranges so I wouldn't be lonely. And apparently Matt thinks bubble lights are dumb; if he thinks that then he is definitely not with it.

Matt got a pretty nasty cold and fell asleep around 9 pm on NYE - I ended up skipping one of the parties we'd planned (where I would only know two people) and going to the second one by myself. It was more fun than that last bit makes it sound. We played games until our attention spans got too short, which didn't take too long. Then everyone got all hedonistic. People were there that I haven't seen all year, I drank three different kinds of champagne, and at 5:30 everyone went to sleep (me under the kitchen table). After breakfast some kuk sool friends and I did some grappling. I gave a few people a ride home, picked up Matt, and we had dinner with A. (and a different A. at whose house she was staying). I wasn't back at Matt's house (not counting a short shirt-changing stop) until 9 pm or so. I think he felt a little left out. That's what he gets for hanging out with germs.

You'd think today I'd be tired, but I just want to go out again. I'll see what I can do.

np: The Angels of Light - Kosinski