Month: January 2001

Just got back from vitamin shopping. The One-a-Day Calcium Supplement recommended “serving” is two-a-day. Better yet, the side of the bottle said, “Two One-a-Day Calcium supplements offer 1,000 mg of Osteoporosis-fighting calcium. For pregnant women three One-a-Day Calcium supplements offer 1,500 mg of Osteoporosis-fighting calcium.” Because, as you know, pregnancy does render one incapable of doing simple arithmetic.

8 p.m.

Philosophical note to self (and you too, since you’re here):

People who are good to know are also sometimes hard to know. If you want sparky friends in your life, you have to accept all of their eccentricities–not just the cute ones. The things you have to work for are usually better anyway.

7:28 p.m.

I just had my first feature article published. Super sweet.

9:31 p.m.

I like Caterina because she reminds me of a quirky girlfriend I had in highschool named Heather. People thought Heather was weird and pretentious, but she was actually just genuinely surprised when the guy next to her in Driver’s Ed didn’t know what contumacious meant. So, in honor of the girls who don’t dumb themselves down for public consumption, I present these Caterina moments.

12.31.00

My cousin Andrea sent me something: a man
named William Miller surveyed people who were dying. In his
research, he discovered most of them would basically do three things
differently if they had the chance to live their lives over:

1) They’d take more risks,

2) They’d assert themselves more, and

3) They’d have a lot more self-discipline.

3:35 p.m.

1.01.01

Cooking, cleaning, thinking, taking baths, going for walks are things I
hardly have time for anymore, or don’t remember to do. Funny how
these things used to be the stuff of life, but have been replaced by
driving on freeways, conference calls, showers, chinese food delivery
and answering email. Like we want as little contact with our lives as
possible.

8:55 p.m.

1.02.01

Jouke told me that “patatipatata” is French for “yadda yadda yadda.”

2:24 a.m.

12:55 p.m.

Found a post on, Small Japanese Notebook that struck me as a concise description of being 16:

“i suddenly don’t like my friends. or a good majority of them.”

5:14 p.m.

I was on the Haight awhile back and overheard a conversation between three men. Two of them had been fighting and one asked the third man his opinion:
“I don’t know Jim, you were servin Tommy with some pretty aggressive tones.”

3:34 p.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Friend from college writes, filling me in on the friends he saw over Christmas break.

Excerpt:

…And I swear my friend Mike
smoked about fourteen acres of hash down in Brazil.
Like I don’t know if he’s got a complete sentence in
him anymore. But 99 percent of my friends are tops. Including
Mike, who may well be able to read without moving
his lips by April.

10:40 a.m.

My friend Katy is 5’2″, beautiful, and blessed with a tangle of curly black hair. I spent New Year’s Eve with her, and every ten minutes or so a new guy noticed her:

“Awwww, I like ’em petite!”

“Ooo. I’ve had wet dreams about that hair.”

“Hello there, little girl. Wanna sit on my lap?”

Like she was going to saunter up, plop down on his lap, and wrap her legs around him. “Oh, Romeo. Don’t be so coy. (Insert bubbling laughter.)” Glah! By the end of the night I felt like my brain needed a shower, and none of it was even directed at me.

2:32 p.m.

My friend Sam is leaving San Francisco, and he made some good points in his farewell note. Another one bites the dust:

WHEREAS, despite the greatly-exaggerated demise of the New Economy,
housing prices in San Francisco are still the second-highest in the world,
and

WHEREAS the Bay Area is swimming in cultural events which are all
within driving distance, but which lack parking anywhere within the same zip
code, and

WHEREAS we spend over two hours commuting each day, and

WHEREAS we and two cats would like to move in together and have a
front porch for something under $1000 a month, and

WHEREAS it might be nice to purchase a house within the next five
years without a Tokyo-style mortgage, and

WE THE UNDERSIGNED (to wit, my girlfriend and I) do hereby declare:

YEA, VERILY, we are getting the Duck out of fodge.

12:07 a.m.

Oooh Virtual Bubble Wrap. Such satisfying pop-like sounds. Must move hand away from mouse to wipe moronic drool from chin.

10:27 a.m.

Jesus Dress Up is an online paper-doll of Jesus on the cross. Ever so tasteful. (Thank you Mr. Justin.)

1:25 p.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Characters: Me and a friend-of-a-friend, who I’d never met outside of email.

Subject: I had just figured out that our common friend was trying to set us up.

Excerpt:

Me: Amy is, of course, trying to set us up. I didn’t
realize that until now, but it’s become apparent. To make this more comfortable all
around, let’s mutually agree that it would never work
between us. We’re just different people. Besides, with
my hideous deformity and your overbearing mother, we’d
only be punishing ourselves.

Him: Wow, a pre-meeting rejection! How progressive and efficient of you. You’re
really going to be kicking yourself when you find out I’m the sole heir to
the substantial Huggies fortune. Not that you’re a shallow gold-digger, of
course, I just find that everyone can always use more diapers.

Me: I try to be cutting edge when it comes to rejection.
Can’t get behind the technology, or suddenly your
apartment is filled with belching morons, grabbing at
their crotches and eating all your Klondike Bars.

10:49 a.m.

Nearly all of Jeff Druzba’s posts are interesting. Then again, he hasn’t been at this too long:

“Morning radio DJ’s are the processed cheese of people. Every Monday it’s the same, “Oh ya hate
to get outta bed this mornin’ but ya grab yer cup-a-joe and start the week off right.” Then, every
Wednesday they’re out there with “It’s hump day” and “Here’s hoping the week is almost over.” And,
every Friday, you’ve got your “TGIF baby, let’s part-ay!”

When I was at a younger awkward age, I used to hear them say “hump day” on the radio and I thought
it was some kind of adult joke I didn’t get. I knew that humping was what the big dog up the street did
to your leg if you dared enter his tethered neck radius and it seemed odd to me that they would talk
about something like that on the radio. The usage of “hump” meaning “middle” is not so obvious.”

9:27 a.m.