Yvette's Inner Geek Blog

More cleaning and doing shit around the house today. The pressure is on because my former host parents and little host sister from Norway are coming to visit us in a month. Even though our house has gradually improved in the nearly two years that we’ve been here, both in terms of clutter and home improvements, there’s a still a lot that’s potentially embarrasing to show our international visitors.

We still don’t have our skylights replaced nor the roof around them fixed. The general contractor we’re dealing with now has been slooooow to keep in touch… but that’s still a huge improvement over the people who would never call us back. I wouldn’t put money on having new skylights before my Norwegians arrive, but I have a secret burning hope that they will be. Chilly winter weather is also a factor, which brings me to my next topic…

My main task today was sorting through various piles and boxes of clothes to give to charity. I diligently recorded each item so that we can claim them as a deduction on 2008 taxes. Nevermind that most of the clothes in the bags and boxes should have been donated to charity in 2003 or eariler… including one sweatshirt of unknown origin that I wish I had known I’d had for the Cheesy Christmas Sweater Day at work. Check it out:

My favorite part is that it’s a cheesy knitted pattern that is puffy screen printed onto a standard sweatshirt. Also, it serves a double purpose as delightful holiday apparel and a souvenir from Charleston, SC. Why, Lord, why? Also, why is it in a box of my old clothes?

I honestly don’t remember where this sweatshirt came from. Nor do I remember wearing it, though I guess it wouldn’t have been totally out of fashion in the early nineties in the podunk town where I grew up. And it’s been washed a couple times at least. Here’s a closeup of the puffy printing over the actual weave of the sweatshirt:

I went to Charleston once with my family when I was in high school, but I’m pretty sure it was springtime. It’s likely that this gem of high fashion was given to me as a gift… maybe from a parent who traveled to Charleston on business? In any case, it’s now buried in a bag destined for the thrift store. 

Though I’m mildly tempted to pull it out so that I have something to wear at this December’s Cheesy Sweater Day. Meh. I’d rather pare down my closet at this point. Besides, I still have a few sweatshirts from high school plays that I can’t bear to part with yet–I mean, they have my name on the back and are the ultimate proof that my sixth grade dream (to be in high school plays and musicals) came true.

So tomorrow I’ll drop everything off and be done. Clothing I’ll probably never wear again will become clothing I will officially never wear again. I hope that my mystery Christmas sweater finds a good home with someone who genuinely likes it or with someone who purchases it as a purposefully Cheesy Sweater. Or maybe it will end up with someone who loves it because it reminds them of Charleston, SC.

Last night I had a headache and fell asleep at 8:30. I slept soundly until about 5am, and then on and off again for a few hours. I woke up feeling like I had been in bed too long–because I had–but obviously my body was trying to tell me to get some damned sleep. Naturally, I had to give up an evening of playing Super Mario Galaxy to get that damned sleep. I’ve forgiven myself.

Today has been a get-stuff-done day. I cleaned up my office, filed or trashed more papers from the Stacks of the Unknown, and hung a few things on the walls. I also succumbed to Facebook, which I have been trying to avoid for several months despite friend requests from my friends and younger cousins. My sister pointed out, with an unbearably good point, that maintaining this blog is just as bad/good as Facebook would be for me as far as privacy and staying in touch with friends could be. It’s just that I don’t want to spend all my time on Facebook writing on walls or giving them innuendo-filled pokes. At work last week, I read an article that claims people between the ages of 18-25 would prefer to spend 15 minutes social networking (i.e. using Facebook or MySpace) over reading, watching television, listening to the radio or talking on the phone (note that nothing was said about texting).

Maybe part of my issue results from being old (28 is ancient if you ask the Millenials, I guess). I mean, cell phones were not something that people really had when I was in college. My first year in college, I had email… that I had to access through dial-up on my 75mHz pizza box PC. I actually placed my first order on Amazon.com for textbooks using that horrendously slow connection and computer. Crazy, I say!

So I will add you as my friend on Facebook if you want (if I know you, that is), but don’t expect me to start throwing snowballs or fish-slapping anytime soon.  I have Super Mario Galaxy to play tonight!

It’s not that late, but I’ve already gone to bed and tossed and turned enough to make me give up and just get back up. Phoebe is keeping me company by sleeping in her basket next to me.

I needed music. In order not to wake my sleeping hubby in the room across the hall, I pulled down my old headphones and plugged them in to my computer speakers. They’re nice noise-cancelling headphones that I borrowed from my parents’ house when I went to college and never gave back. The leatherette that covers the padding is flaking off, so I don’t feel like my parents would really want them back at this point.

It’s refreshing to blare a little Ben Folds Five directly into my brain without having external noise. I’ve been using the standard earbuds that came with my iPod at work (I don’t listen loud enough to really block out much office noise) and when I listen at home, I just use my regular speakers. These old, flaky headphones really make me feel the music up close, without other distraction (even white noise distraction of an early morning sleeping house).

It wasn’t so long ago that I would put a CD in my stereo, lie down on the floor and lose myself for an hour while listening to music through these headphones. In my bedroom at my parents’ house, in various dorm rooms and college apartments, in the living room of my first apartment with Ben. I think more often than not, I came closer to finding myself while losing myself to the music. 

So tonight, this rare headphone experience is just the kind of magical calming treatment I need to help me settle down and maybe get some sleep.  I’m tired, but I know that my eyes need to feel heavier before I try lying down in bed again. Maybe I’ll just sit back and listen to music until the crap that’s causing my late night anxiety goes away.

And maybe I’ll listen to music through these magical headphones more often. 

Evel Knievel died on Friday from a one-two punch combo of diabetes and pulmonary fibrosis. His death was not related to on-the-job hazards like jumping on his motorcycle over 13 buses in London or 14 Greyhound buses at King’s Island in Cincinnati. (Therefore, crocodile hunter Steve Irwin wins the medal for horrible and yet not that surprising death due to on-the-job hazards.)

I wasn’t even alive during his heyday in the mid-seventies, but he was definitely an icon whose legacy carried over into my eighties childhood and beyond. I vaguely remember an elementary school presentation on safety with a "bad example" guy named Evel Knievel who rode a scooter around the cafeteria/gymnasium and crashed to prove a safety point. I don’t remember him jumping over any buses, though. What a lametard.

This AP article provides a eulogizing summary of the real E.K.’s life, and includes this quote from a television executive who was attacked by and had both of his arms shattered by Mr. Knievel:

"He was a true daredevil, but he basically was not a good human being."

Wow. I try not to care too much about what every single person on the planet thinks of me. But you can put "she was basically not a good human being" on my list of things that I hope aren’t said about me while I’m alive or anytime after.

I wonder how the AP reporter(s) who captured that quote from Sheldon Saltman reacted when he said it. Did they nod with knowing approval? Did their jaws drop with astonishment? Did they whine, "No he wasn’t, he was my hero!"

Interestingly, many similar articles don’t include that particular quote.  Maybe because stating that he was not a good human being only hours or days after his death is just. not. cool. At least wait until his family has given him a 21-engine-rev salute, dude.

The windows are open in our house this evening because it was a really nice, somewhat warm and sunny day. I can hear the local high school football game announcer because we only live a half mile away from the field.  

I’ve never seen the show "Friday Night Lights," which is apparently about football. The last football game I attended was in the fall of my first year at Miami University when I was in the marching band. In fact, the only other football games I attended were while I was in the high school marching band. Okay, there were also a few early attempts at socialization while I was in middle school that took place at Friday night high school football games.

I don’t watch football on TV, I don’t play football video games, and I’ve never had the experience or the urge to toss the ol’ pigskin around while growing up–even though I was somewhat of a tomboy.  And even though I love quirky and eccentric consumer goods, I never wanted a free football phone with a paid subscription to Sports Illustrated. Would it surprise you to discover that I still don’t understand how the game works? Even though I’ve attended two or three Superbowl parties and even dated two different guys in high school who were on the football team?

(One dumped me as soon as he discovered that I wasn’t going to put out. I didn’t feel bad at all because he wrote me a break-up note and was clearly not even of average intelligence. The other was actually a Varsity soccer player whose only role on the team was Kicker. We were in the same circle of friends and I went to prom with him… then he graduated and we parted as friends.) 

So hearing the sounds drift into my house this evening evokes different memories for me. When I hear the band play "Let’s Go Team" I smile and think about sitting with the other baritone and trombone players on the top bleacher in the band’s reserved section.

When I hear the announcer getting excited about some play, and the roar of applause follows, I think of laughing with my fellow band geeks and half-assedly playing a song or two and not caring at all about what’s happening on the field. When I hear the local band playing what must be their halftime show, I remember how incredible it felt to march in step in my crisp and scratchy white and red uniform with polished white Dinkles shoes; to stop in the middle of the field, tilt my silver marching baritone up in the air so it glittered in the bright lights; to place my lips on the suddenly freezing mouthpiece and blare my horn as mightily as I was able. It didn’t matter if I played the wrong notes here or there because it was a big band and I was there to have fun.

And then, after halftime, my band went back to the bleachers to play second fiddle to the "real" stars… the athletes.  I bet none of the football players ever had a right pinky muscle built up like I did from holding that heavy hunk of an instrument, though! I also had a killer upper lip muscle.

I need to get my scanner back from Ben so I can start including more photos. The one I’d like to include here is a dorky-cute posed picture of me in my marching band uniform with my instrument. Well, the school’s instrument. There are occasions where I really miss playing low brass. I wasn’t ever a great player because I didn’t practice very much, but I was tolerably good. Huh. I really didn’t think I’d spend the evening reminiscing about high school.

Maybe I’m feeling chatty because of the cool music I’m listening to: the Life Aquatic soundtrack, with David Bowie songs translated into Portuguese and sung by Seu Jorge. I had a really crappy morning, but at least it’s ending well. 

Happy Friday! I think I’m coming down with a cold.

I have a daily Dilbert tear-off calendar at work, and I pass them around the office almost every day. Every day it occurs to me that Scott Adams is a genius of the corporate world. I don’t even work in an extremely corprate environment – I mean, I can wear jeans and my black t-shirt with a big yellow Star Wars logo on it if I want. I love many of my co-workers, but there are a couple who drive me batty on occasion or all the time.

I recently learned about Scott’s problem speaking (Spasmodic Dysphonia) and the ironic fact that Dilbert is never drawn with a mouth. Then I did a quick search and came up with a post on his blog last October that, if you haven’t read, I would recommend: here. For those of you who listen to NPR, it’s the same condition that Diane Rehm has. In fact, when I first tuned in to the Diane Rehm Show when I discovered streaming radio, I thought she must have been as old as Mama Jazz from the local NPR station in Oxford, Ohio… who, incidentally, I presumed to be a large black woman (given her extensive Jazz knowledge and gravely, drawled speech). I was totally wrong. Mama Jazz is a little old white woman who’s been on the show for over 20 years and just turned 75.

Just goes to show that perceptions of Radio voices can be totally wrong.  Speaking of NPR, if you didn’t already know, the weekly This American Life broadcast was recently made available as a free podcast.  W00t, for sure!

I’ve been hunched over at one of my two desks–home and work–for seemingly forever. Sure, it’s easy to sit up straight for a little while, but once you’ve misbehaved and your neck and shoulders start to ache, it can only go downhill until you rest more, exercise and stretch more. 

Great, it’s only Tuesday. I doubt this whole neckache thing is going to get better before Friday with all the time I have to put in at the computer. Grrr.

When I was a teenager sitting in front of my parents’ awesome Mac Quadra, I never imagined that I would complain about getting too much computer time. Of course back then, it was Crystal Quest or bust.  God, I miss that game.

Great, I just did a search to find that link for Crystal Quest and discovered that you can download it for the Xbox 360 (informational link). We have only the first Xbox.

The Mac Quadra is actually sitting in my basement and is still functional as far I know… but I can’t seem to find the keyboard, mouse, or power cables. There is a floppy disk somewhere with Crystal Quest on it, too. 

Not that I should be doing anything right now but writing a novel, relaxing my tense muscles and practicing my fanfare trumpet and wooden recorder for a Medieval music demo at a local school tomorrow evening (my fellow SCAdians will also be playing).

Heh, feeling a little more geeky after writing this post.