Shut It!

Dear Neighbor Man:
Even though you smile at me sometimes in the morning and raise your hand in greeting, we are not friends. And our mutual love of our back porches is beginning to be problematic. I don't even know if you've noticed that I'm out here. Why? Because I'm sitting here quietly working on my laptop, a couple of candles burning, a cat - generally unobtrusive.

Could you take a tip from me and shut up?! Seriously, there's only three of you on the porch so you don't need to shout. Or if you do need to shout, it's only because you've got the classic rock turned up so loud you can't hear one another. Although from what I can tell, all three of you are absolute nitwits and not worth hearing anyway. And I don't mean to be unkind, but that woman you're with has a truly wretched laugh. I can't stand it. And she seems to think you and your other companion are exceedingly funny.

I really, really love my porch, so I can understand why you also love your porch - especially in this weather when it's so lovely to be outside and have the windows open. But I do not, I repeat DO NOT, need to hear Steve Miller Band's "Jet Airliner" at 2:30 this Sunday morning like I did last. Judging from the way you're just getting started over there with your shouting and your odious laughing and that ugly band of green lights you've got running around the railing, I'm not hopeful. But I just thought I'd ask. Maybe I should shout so you can hear me.

THANKS!
Ash

Strangers Collide

It's just after 2 a.m. I'd been sitting up reading, curled up under a throw on the couch, enjoying the cool breeze from the open window. Just before 2, a sudden sound split the silence - the unmistakable sound of crumpling metal, swerving tires, grappling breaks and shattering glass. The noise rent the air so abruptly that I started into the upright position and was at the window by the time silence descended again.

I couldn't see anything, but I knew it had to be close. And then there were the shouts of voices and the sudden peal of sirens filled the air. They seemed to be coming from all directions - from the north end of town and the south and from its very belly down by the river. Police cars, firetrucks and ambulances descended on the intersection.

And then there was the sickening quiet with the blue and red lights kicking an eerie strobe against the windows of the bank building. Even from a block away, I could hear the crunch of glass under the passing traffic; the discordant voices on the radios.

I can't actually see what happened. Can't see the cars or the passengers. I don't know who was loaded into the ambulance that just pulled away. I don't know what's left for the tow trucks angling across Third Street. In just under fifteen minutes, the street has fallen quiet again...a few passing cars, distant voices, the low whistle of a train. And yet, it's another one of those moments where I'm up here, peering out the window over the limb of the tree outside, and they, whoever they are, are down there, sharing the same strange moment. Two powerful bodies in motion and then. Stopped. For one breathless instant.

Post Script: As I was rereading this to post, I heard a scream and looked over my shoulder out the window in time to see one car rear-end another as they sped through the intersection. One turned in front of the other, the later careened into the side of the first, and so it begins again. How unbelievably eerie.

Drive Time

When I get off work, it's not unusual for me to walk out the door, unhinge my cell phone and start chatting with someone. I'm prone to jawing all the way home from work, up the stairs, into the apartment and through changing clothes, pausing only to greet Kudzu. But then I discovered the MLK Parkway, a bypass leading from downtown to the road the leads to the beach, and things got quiet.

These days, I don't make as many calls from the car. I carefully guard the time I have from the minute I close the door until I get home. The old route home involved a million stop lights and nondescript suburban roadside concrete block buildings and neon signs and fast food drive-thrus. But the new route is peaceful, curving out over the tributaries and marshes formed by the fingers of the river. Over the rim of the overpass you can see skinny trees clad in ash-white bark and hung with streamers of Spanish moss. Water pushes lazily against the marsh grass and muddy banks. And two abandoned railroad trestles cross from one marshy bank to the other, old and crumbling but somehow still charming. In the distance chalk-white puffs rise up from the smoke stacks of the manufacturing plant on the outskirts of downtown.

Nowadays, I can sense the day getting shorter, moving toward daylight savings time and early darkness. But today, the afternoon was golden and crisp and the windows were rolled down and the new John Mayer CD was playing "Stop This Train" and it was perfect. I moved over to the slow lane, went 5 under the limit and let myself absorb the solitude and isolation. People were passing me going 10 above the limit, and I felt a little sorry for them, in a hurry to get nowhere and missing everything.

As I came into town, the light was flashing off the new pharmaceutical building at the edge of town, making it shimmer like hundreds of mirrors. Then I came down the rise onto Third Street and looked at the line of steeples from the old courthouse to the Presbyterian church atop the next hill and I was home. And to add to it all, it's Friday.

Habits of Strangers

The past few times I've been to the library, there's been an older black man sitting at the same table right between the H and K rows. He wears a gray felt fedora-type hat and a khaki coat. Every time I see him, he has a newspaper - but not the hometown newspaper. I can just tell from the layout of the front page. He has a notepad in front of him and he seems to be copying from the newspaper into the notepad. Slowly, painstakingly copying. There is something about him that makes me want to ask what he's doing, ask if I can help him. But I never do, and then he sticks with me as I walk home, cutting through the sculpture garden and up to the sidewalk on Third.

Today at Barnes & Noble, I stood in the romance section reading the back of a thick paperback. A group of people walked past me, but I didn't even look up. As they came back past, the guy pointed to the cover of one of the books featuring a rugged barechested cowboys. In an unmistakably gay voice he said, "Do you think there are pictures in this? If so, let's buy it right now." I laughed at him, and as they passed, he smiled at me. It reminded me of that old geometry principle that two lines only ever intersect in one point. This was a point of intersection. I didn't even get a good look at his face. But it happened - that moment where we were part of the same point of existence and then it was over.

Paris in Boots

The Go Fug girls do a great job catching celebs and red carpet walkers and even relative unknowns doing very bad things with fashion. Most of the time, I feel like they fully explore everything that could possibly be said about an outfit. But this one...this Paris Hilton monstrosity...deserved further analysis. And I actually laughed out loud when I saw those (f)ugg boots. The matching sweatsuit with ...is that an applique on the thigh? AND on the tank top? And don't even try to tell me you were on your way to work out because you are obviously without a bra, and the girls need support if you're going to hit the treadmill. And those boots. Those boots are terrifying.

Sometimes I think the people who get fugged are trying to be avant garde. But I wouldn't even wear this to Wal-Mart. And that's saying something.

Happy 100th!

Hurrah! It's the 100th post!

Unfortunately, when I clicked on "new post," there was no confetti or flashing lights or promises of money for my achievement. But that's okay. You, kind readers, are reward enough. Sniff. Sniff.

Welcome to the D.A.

Way Up in the Hills of Georgia

I opened up the windows tonight since I noticed a good crisp in the air when I got home from work. Something about the air and the crickets chirping made me think of my Alma Mater, the ol' B.C. I'm headed back there the first weekend in October for Mountain Day. What, praytell, is Mountain Day you ask? I'm glad you did.

Mountain Day is our college homecoming and it takes place, well, on the mountain that is part of the 26,000-acre campus. It's been going on for the better part of a century, celebrating the founder's birthday. In a tradition known as The Grand March, students line up according to year. Underclassmen girls wear pink, boys blue. Senior girls wear blue, boys white. And they march down the mountain single file and throw pennies (one for each year of their age) into a basket. Then they come down two by two - and where girls outnumber boys 2 to 1, you're lucky if you get a boy before your junior year. And then there's four by four and so on until you march 16-abreast down the mountain with arms raised and sing the alma mater. Sound bizarre? It is. But hey, we didn't have a football team. Initially they celebrated with barrels of lemonade and cakes. I prefer a bucket o' chicken from the KFC.

I've been going to this shindig since I was in the sixth grade since my sister was a freshman. And did I mention B.C. is where my dad went to high school? So it's a bit of a family tradition. Every year since I've graduated, I waffle about whether or not to go. But then I think of the leaves turning on the mountain and I realize that autumn doesn't really start until Mountain Day. Any of my fellow alumni planning on attending? If so, I'll see you there. But, P.S., this blog does not exist to my parents or siblings, so shhhhhh. By the way, the title of the post comes from the first line of the Alma Mater. And, yeah, I'm a total dork. I know it by heart.

It's All You Can Eat

Grab your fork and your plate - it's all you can eat at the pop culture buffet. This week's episode of Studio 60 didn't disappoint with it's quick wit and inclusion of a cache of pop culture references from The Drudge Report to The White Stripes. And a musical number that touched on blow, corporate America's control of the media and evangelical Christianity. Come on and get you some.

Having My Say

I don't usually talk about politics. It's a subject that gets lumped in the list with religion, overly emphatic life advice and the merit of pop music that one should avoid in polite conversation. But tonight I took a call from a very nice lady at the National Gallup Poll who wanted to know my opinions on a few things...President Bush, the war in Iraq, the state of the economy and terrorist attacks. And then she asked me to be part of the Gallup panel and consent to being polled on various subjects from time to time. I agreed. Not because I think I'm so smart. Or because I think I'm right. But because I have an opinion. And while some people in this country might not want me to express it if it isn't the same one they hold, that's one political stance I'll take outright. However little or much the Gallup poll impacts how leaders think and act, it makes me feel like I'm doing my part to be a voice that maybe isn't getting heard right now. And so I will cast in my two cents.

Housekeeping!

True to my promise, I did attend to some important housekeeping duties today. The EPA will be able to postpone their visit due to the fact that I accomplished the following this evening:

* Changed the shower curtain
* Scrubbed down the tub, toilet & sink
* Changed the sheets
* Washed the dishes
* Sorted through a pile of mail
* Set up online billpay (I know I'm way behind the rest of the world)
* Folded and hung clothes (no small task)
* Threw away a pair of shoes (gasp!) that admittedly is falling apart
* Put aside in (growing) Goodwill pile shirt and pants that obviously no longer fit me and never ever will again
* Lit candles to create lovely ambience and good smells in my freshly cleaned house

Aren't you impressed??

Mayer-holism

It's happening again. It happened shortly after Heaver Things came out back in '03. And now it's happening again. I'm Ashley and I have a John Mayer addiction. I seem to only be able to listen to Continuum repeatedly, and with baby steps, have included other albums, going all the way back to the B-side Inside Wants Out. For a few weeks, possibly more, I will be disinterested in listening to anything other than John Mayer. I can remember Kim being so tired of listening to Heavier Things (until I wore her down and made her like it! Bwah hahaha!). I'm just like that little Zoloft rock. I become withdrawn and antisocial unless I'm allowed my daily dose of Mayer. Unfortunately, the closest his tour is coming in the next few months is to Atlanta (Chastain Amphitheatre, baby!) but I'll be in Saint Louis.

Oh, and check out his blog (linked to the right) if you're so inclined. It's pretty funny. T., I think you'd enjoy his recent entry about avoiding zombies. I'm trying not to be too jealous that even John Mayer has a book deal these days. That's right. Simon & Schuster. The Pioneer. Due out by Christmas. Not sure what I think about that.

But I have come to the conclusion that I'm kind of digging the longer locks - just one of those side effects of being a Mayer-holic, I guess.

Once Upon a Time

I stumbled across an old PSA from the 80s the other day featuring the lovable O.G. Readmore. This literate cat admonished us kids to pick up a book during Saturday morning cartoons. And I did read as a kid - and was usually one of the first to meet all the requirements of Book-It or the library summer reading program.


My tendency to want to read has waxed and waned through college and grad school when it became a chore. But before that, I read voraciously, sometimes reading 100 books during the summer. Of late, I've picked up the habit again and have wanted to do nothing but read the past couple of weekends. I just finished up a trilogy of books - although admittedly I accidentally read the third one first. After a hiatus from reading, I'd forgotten what it was like to get so lost in a book that you forget where you are. That the peal of siren or the ring of the phone can jar you back to reality and you find yourself surprised that you're not in the Colorado territory circa 1880.

And I'd forgotten how sad it can sometimes be to finish a good book like that - the disappointment of bidding adieu to all the characters in the neat little world that you've inhabited for some hours. I always thought that the end of The Princess Bride characterized that well. Fred Savage looking at Peter Falk and asking "Can we read it again tomorrow, Grandpa?" I'd love to read again tomorrow. But as I told J., I'll be knee-deep in my own filth if I don't clean this house.

By Google

With Sitemeter, you can keep a check on how many folks are visiting your blog, how they got here and how long they stayed. For those of you a bit paranoid about Blog Brother, never fear. It doesn't give your lattitude and longitude. Just the city.

As for the getting here, most of my readers are recognizable by city or referring link. For example, I'm guessing Nik is making up the bulk of my Australian readership at the moment. I get traffic from others in the little ring o' blogs linked up to the right. But the occasional Google search that dumps people to my blog sometimes cracks me up. Readers have found their way to the k.j. by googling the following:

* Vanessa Manillo
* Strange but True
* John Mayer Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
* Why you gotta be so mean to me
* Pussycat Dolls are Men

and my favorite: Here are my boobs. Bet they were disappointed.

On Hats

I suggested to Mendacious the other day that she attempt to bring hats back. This isn't what I had in mind, New York Fashion Week. Hey, Mendacious, you were worried your hat was too big. Ha.

Skinny Is As Skinny Does

Dear Dame Fashion:
I see that you have conspired with your vile henchmen to bring back another fashion trend that most of us would rather you hadn't. While I quite enjoy the new Gap commercial with Audrey Hepburn lauding the skinny pants, slick marketing isn't going to make the skinny pants any more palatable. Or wearable for the vast majority of women. Especially those hoping that the moniker "skinny" is a description of the pants' effect and not their required shape. You see the skinny pants go hand in hand (or legs in pants, if you will) with a skinny body. But I don't have a skinny body. I have a set of hips. And some junk in the trunk. So even though you'll be swaddling all the unrealistically skinny mannequins with skinny pants from here to Calcutta, I'm going to pass. I don't enjoy looking like an ice cream cone. I'd rather eat one. Which is why me and the skinny pants just aren't going to work out. See you next season.

XO,
Ash

In My Grill

I had to go to the dentist today. I know some people really hate - dread even - going to the dentist. Especially if you're like Kim and it seems to only lead to pain and misery. But I don't mind the dentist all that much and figure it's best to preserve the teeth that Mama and Daddy spent a lot of money straightening out. The only thing I don't like is the reminder to floss.

I don't know why, but I cannot regularly floss my teeth. It's not the I don't have floss. Or that I don't know how to floss. Or really even that I can't remember to floss. It's just that I don't like it. I don't like to floss. I know I should. And because I'm such a mint-aholic bad-breath freak, one would think that I would worry about unsightly food particles. I was taught to do it - both my parents are avid flossers. But me? I'm a flossing failure. Thinking about it makes me feel tired.

But even at 27, the hygienist will gently (or not so gently) lecture me on the importance of flossing. I know already! I know! Isn't it enough that I brush twice daily? I'm just at a loss when it comes to floss. So how 'bout y'all? Fellow floss failures or floss fanatics?

All is Lost: The Mac is Dead

For those of you who have been kind enough to worry over the state of my eMac, I am sorry to inform you that the Mac is dead. The Angel of CyberDeath called this morning to say he had issued an official DNR on my hard drive and pronounced it unrecoverable. Which means we all have to recreate our time input for the entire month of September(!) and that I've lost all email and documents created between end of May and now. A moment of silence please. Cue the bugle.

My Return to Network Television

They sometimes make fun of me at the office because I often say that the network channels don't exist to me. I can't think of the last show I watched consistently on one of the major networks. (Confession: I didn't watch "The West Wing" until the last season after catching up on reruns during Bravo's Marathon Mondays.) But I'm back!


Studio 60 on the Sunset strip is smart and funny. Great cast. Great writing. And a version of Timothy Busfield that looks strangely like Kevin Costner. Killer opening scene with the kind of monologue I wish I had written. Bradley Whitford as witty and clever and strangely attractive as ever and Matthew Perry with a stellar performance as not Chandler. Steven Weber (of "Wings" fame!) as the calculating show creator. First episode closed with "Under Pressure." Need I say more? WATCH IT!

Sad Mac: An Update

Carlton, the Apple Superhero, called today to say that he's been working on my Mac all day. Unfortunately the hard drive is physically so locked up, he's been unable to connect to the computer and attempt data recovery. He's ordering a new hard drive and continuing efforts to resucitate the comatose eMac. More tomorrow...on As the Hard Drive Turns.

Continuum: A Review

John Mayer's third studio album takes a different turn from his debut smash Room for Squares and its follow-up Heavier Things. The first single "Waiting for the World to Change", which also kicks off the disc, feels like the obvious radio edit put in place to give the pop stations something to play. It's a good song, but the rest of the album unfolds with songs that sound like someone getting back to his roots.

It's got a mellow cool sound with a bluesy edge. Songs like "Gravity" and "In Repair" hearken to a Hendrix-riff while others like "The Heart of Life" and "Stop This Train" go toward a folksy grassroots rock acoustic. "Dancing in a Burning Room" shows off Mayer's talent with lyrics. And "Dreaming With a Broken Heart" has real soul and sadness and a great musical climax. It took me a few listens to get into the sound of Continuum, but now I can't stop listening. Mayer doesn't disappoint. The album makes me think of

* Nursing a cold beer on a Friday afternoon

* That first cool crisp of autumn and woodsmoke

* Streetlights on a wet road

* Sitting at a bar with good friends

* Riding in the car with the windows down and really feeling the music you're listening to

* A great first date and the day you accept a breakup

* A cold street and a warm coat

* The soundtrack to a really smart, satisfying movie

But don't take my word for it.

P.S. Before any of you hardcore music enthusiasts blast me, I am not a qualified music critic. I just like to play one on my blog.

Porch Scene

So, I've been bragging on the porch. Since I enjoyed it so much again this weekend, I thought I'd show it off a little. My digital camera isn't the best, but you get the idea. Y'all pull up a chair and stay awhile.

Y'all Help Me Out Now

Please, kind readers, help me bring Bradley Whitford back to television. I've been a little distresssed since The West Wing wrapped last year. I mean, I know Josh Lyman and Donna Moss are in some alternate TV universe making cute little political babies. But, I need my Bradley Whitford. He's unconventionally handsome - or maybe just so quirky that he's really attractive. Tune in to Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip tomorrow night at 10 on NBC. Also in store - Amanda Peet's first non-topless role in years.

FutureSex/LoveSounds: A Review

So the other day when I went to purchase the new John Mayer CD, I noticed that the new Justin Timberlake CD was on sale for $9.99. And since I had already shown him my boobs, I figured I should at least buy his CD. I already knew I liked "Sexy Back," but I was surprised by my response to the rest of the CD. You should also purchase this CD if you...

...are the kind of person who thinks that other people don't enjoy their time in the car enough.

...are not embarassed by letting your bass thump a little and succumbing to the urge to do a bit of behind-the-wheel dancing.

...enjoy a good dance mix while cleaning the house (i.e. like to shake your booty while swishing out the toilet).

...sometimes dance around your house like it's American Bandstand when no one is home.

...during said private dance parties, you think, "I am a REALLY good dancer."

...have ever (also during said private dance parties) danced on one or more pieces of furniture in your house.

...think Justin Timberlake is hot.

Seriously, y'all. This album's pretty good. I give it two boobs up.

Sad Mac

For those of you who are PC/Windows users, you can't possibly know the fear inspired by the appearance of the Sad Mac. The Sad Mac is the agent of ultimate destruction in the Mac universe - the CyberAngel of Death, if you will. And today at work, the Sad Mac descended on my computer in the form of a blank gray screen. Despite attempts to revive from the startup disk, the Sad Mac persisted in the form of a red error message that the Mac Pro told me indicated a hard drive problem.

Unfortunately, our backup system has been down since we've been in the new office. Meaning I've potentially lost everything since May. The Mac Pro told me that data recovery was "ify" but I overnighted my little eMac to him anyway. It was all too reminicent of the Sex & the City episode where Carrie's Mac crashes and the tech guy says, "You saw the Sad Mac? That's bad." And, like me, she had no backup. But unlike me, she had great Manolo Blahnik shoes to ease her pain.

Make It MINE

I just went to Bravo's Project Runway site to get a picture of Kayne so I could post a little post to say farewell to this season's best queen. That ribbon was heinous, but I still loved him in all his flamboyant glory. Instead, I found the Tim Gunn bobblehead. HOW MUCH do I need this for my desk at work?

Math is Fun

I discovered this site when it was listed as a Blog of Note. It's called Indexed and it's little mathematical charts and graphs that depict funny truths. Now, I'm not a mathematician - in fact I probably wouldn't have passed any of my high school math classes without having sat in front of the very smart Josh Phillips. But this is the kind of math I can get behind.

Days Gone By

Today I met with a man who was born & raised at the beach. He's a historian by hobby, and he has been collecting historic photographs from family, friends and other locals for a long time and assembling them into a historic photo essay of sorts. He's about 80, white-haired, brown-skinned. He was waiting for me to arrive, standing on the porch that faced the main thoroughfare of the island. He invited me to sit in a rocking chair on his back porch and chat for a bit before we took a look at the photos I was hoping to use for an ad series. We sat looking out on the waterway on a perfect afternoon - breezy, 83 degrees, zero humidity. He told me a little bit about his childhood and how the house he grew up in caught fire in '74 and took his father and he rebuilt in '78, retired in '85 and how his wife had just died two years ago so it's just him and his cat named Schooner.

When we looked at his photos together, he talked about each of them as a man who is profoundly devoted to place. He described riding the trolleys from downtown to the beach, stopping at Station 1 at the beach to get a soda and watching nickleodeons at the downtown theater. He remembers when no cars traveled over the main bridge. When the 200-room hotel burned to the ground in the 50s, he stood across the channel on the mainland and watched as bits broke off and caught the whole north side of the island on fire.

It was fascinating to know another part of this place that I know in my own way. To see for an afternoon how he has grown old as the island has grown up and developed around him in his little waterway-facing cottage. As I drove over the bridge, I thought about my history with the place. And something about the air and the light and the time of year reminded me of when Kim, Hoang-Anh & I drove out to see the sunrise in the early months of our first year of grad school. Those are some of the first pictures I took when I got here. And I couldn't help feeling as nostalgic as the old man for the memory of the way it was.

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

I had a dream last night that I went to a Justin Timberlake concert topless. I've never been to a Justin Timberlake concert. And I've never been to a concert topless. I was trying to keep covered, but whoever I was with (who was a friend but a vague nonspecific dream friend) was like, "Don't cover up. He's looking at you! We'll be able to get backstage!"

But I'm still trying to cover up and Justin Timberlake comes over to us and is all, "Whoah! Whoah! I gotta see this! Lemme see!" And so I showed him my boobs. And he invited us to go backstage. He was very nice. I quickly relaxed about being topless. As though it was okay with me if it was okay with Justin Timberlake.

HOW WEIRD is that?? But hilarious. Definitely hilarious. Especially that moment where I just held out my arms and was like, "Here are my boobs, Justin Timberlake."

The Good Stuff

After a somewhat scary experience converting to Blogger Beta, I decided to embrace its new qualities. I'm not as daring as Kim, who gave The Unwilling Adult a blog-lift. But I did go through and tag all my posts so that if you likey one you can find the others like it. I realized going through that I had a lot of complaints on the blog. So in an effort to give you something uplifting in lieu of the traditional negative fare, I give you the following list of good things about the weekend:

* New haircut (that I still like today) * Two books read * Much quality time spent with Kudzu (who very much enjoyed having his belly rubbed) * Finished Season 5 of Sex & the City * Did not eat out once but cleaned out some leftovers and saved money * Had a delicious red apple after dinner * Watched less TV this weekend than I can remember in a long time * Had lovely walk to church and back this morning * Enjoyed back porch reading once again * Felt kindly toward neighbor who was also on his back porch and playing classic rock loudly * Wished Mom & Dad happy 39th wedding anniversary * Talked to the parents-to-be about baby books * Vowed to have better attitude about work than in recent days * Laughed out loud at least twice while reading * Took a nap

Stacks & the City

Today I decided to walk down to the library to pick up a few books. I love being in a library, walking up and down the rows of books, checking their spines and admiring cover artwork. The smell of pages. The comforting silence. Today was no different, and I only wished I'd given myself more time instead of having to head to the desk 30 minutes before closing time.

On the way home, I was thinking about the city. I complain about it from time to time, but on days like today, I realize how much I like it. It was one of those days that's still summer but trying to be autumn. I can't wait for the cold breeze to start blowing up from the river. And just this morning, I was talking to Crazy J. about how many lovely porches there are in the city. Cobblestone streets. Church spires. An admirable skyline. I love seeing the columns on City Hall and the clock tower of the old courthouase as I cross Third Street.

Inspired by all that, I sat on my back porch this afternoon in one of the rockers and read a book from cover to cover. I left the door open so Kudzu could come out and chew on some of the vines that creep up the wrought iron. At particular moments, the huge air conditioner that cools the county building across the street would slow to a stop and the traffic noise would quiet and I could hear the breeze and the leaves rustling and, later in the evening, the crickets. And all in all, it was a fabulous Saturday.

Who Could Ask for Anything More?

Today, another visit to my hairstylist, Crazy J. I know, I know. I complained about the length of my hair after my last cut, so one might wonder why I'm going back six weeks later. But I wanted it to grow out a little before Jenn's wedding, and I knew if I just let it go until right before the wedding, it would be ratty mess. Besides, what better way to start your Saturday than with a hilarious gay man who tells you how fabulous you are? I mentioned the wedding, and he said he was going to do a little showing off so that whoever did my hair for the wedding would be impressed with his "technique." I love that my trim took an hour and a half and that he insisted that today was a day for rock star style. I'm convinced that it's impossible to leave his chair without feeling like I should be headed for Vogue. So I say again, who could ask for anything more?

List of Items Preventing Weight Loss

* Remaining 26 Starbursts on the coffee table

* Vase filled with Dove Milk Chocolate squares (also on the coffe table)

* The couch

* Two unopened cans of Pringles (Regular & Salt & Vinegar)

* Sort of stale Chex Mix that I plan to crisp in the oven

* Pint of Haagen Daz Strawberry Ice Cream in the freezer

* Cable TV

* Almost-finished bag of Tostitos Scoops

* Buy-one-get-one-free Nestle Quik Chocolate & Strawberry Milk

* 17 beers leftover from this weekend

* Bag of Snack Size Oreos

* 2 unopened bags of cookies that I forgot to offer guests this weekend (Fudge Stripes and Chips Ahoy!)

* Seemingly unlimited supply of Hershey's Miniatures at the office

* Sam's-size container of Atomic Fireballs in the conference room

* Kudzu (who sets a very bad example of general laziness)

Will hereby commit to taking at least one walk this weekend (not including walk from couch to bathroom or couch to fridge). Otherwise will have to start buying elastic-waist pants so that I will stop outgrowing sizes at current pace.

We Need to Talk About Your TPS Reports

For the last three days, I've been stuck in our conference room from 9 to 5 in software training. I'm not absolutely sure, but I think that we might now be on the road to TPS reports. After watching what this system can do, I'm almost certain that it's going to become the Office Big Brother. Responsibility for micromanaging will now be transferred to this nebulous internet portal that can report on each employee's individual productivity and profitability, both of which may now be directly tied to our bonuses and raises. Not that I think it's that outrageous to base raises and such on performance. It's just that this is another excuse for the blinders to be put on and focus put entirely on two little numbers generated by a computer system rather than people. I'm not going to quit my job. But I'm thinking that I just might not go back.

Who's With Me?

Potter fans, is this what you thought Tonks would look like? This is one of the first casting choices made in the Potter films that I think is totally off base. She looks much older than I pictured Tonks. And the hair..is...somehow wrong.
P.S. In a recent statement to the press, Pope Benedict XVI's senior exorcist announced that Harry Potter is the "signature of the king of darkness." Is this really the only thing the Vatican has to worry about right now?

Why You Gotta Be So Mean to Me?

Dear U.S. Air:
I know all you airlines have fallen upon hard times lately. Could be due to the outrageous price of flights. I'm just sayin'.

But since you're keeping up with the gas prices, you might like to keep up with technology, too. I mean, I'm not the world's most tech-saavy person, and I'm using Mozilla Firefox, so maybe you should upgrade your site to be friendly with it. When I was trying to book flights to my friend Jenn's wedding, I got to that page where all my flights were showing and I was inputting names for the tickets. This all sounds very simple to you, I'm sure, but as I'm flying out of a small airport into an airport that doesn't have any of the carriers that are flying out of said small airport, figuring out the connecting flights and when would be enough time to arrive (because, you know, there's always a chance that one of your airline pilots will oversleep or leave his pilot's license in his other pants and delay the flight), I'm thinking I might need to get another degree before I can book this flight. But there I was. Departing and return flights all ready to book. And it wouldn't let me select seats for the flights.

Now, for some people, this would be okay. But I don't like people. Especially people I don't know. I live in fear of those people who choose to ignore the indulgent copy of In Style that I purchased at the airport kiosk and proceed to tell me about their trip to visit their grandchildren. An airplane is just one of those places that all my humanity goes out the window. I don't care. I don't want to talk to you. We are not friends. And by the way, I'd like to sit with my boyfriend instead of Grandma Moses.

Luckily, my boyfriend is much smarter than I am and offered his laptop and the use of Internet Explorer, which, apparently, is a-okay with you. I finally completed my itenerary, seating chart, credit card information, my mother's maiden name, my first address, the first word spoken by my great grandmother's uncle's wife, ecetera, ad infinitum. So I really appreciate that after all that, I have to accept the terms of a carry-on bag no larger than 15" x 9" x 11". Awesome. I have purses that are bigger than this. I can hardly wait until we meet again.

Ciao,
Ash

On the Placement of Ohio

I'm wondering who I might petition about the placement of the state of Ohio. I know some Ohioans enjoy the proximity to Canada, but, if it were closer to, say, North Carolina, there would be the allure of the beach and the mountains. Everybody loves the beach and the mountains. And, as evidenced by the past weekend, some very important things are being prevented by the distance between these two states. For example:

* There is less modge-podging going on. And frankly, the world needs more thinly spread glue over pictures of Mr. Big and Dwight Schrute cut out of magazines.

* Improptu live concerts of "Me & Bobby McGee" and "Rockin' the Suburbs" are at an all time low.

* Krispy Kreme consumption is limited to late night, end-of-trip runs.

* The discovery of the wine cubes available at Target might have been prolonged even further.

* Less money is put into the North Carolina economy during shopping trips that involve buying accessories and clothes "just because" and I might never have purchased that great green tunic shirt.

* Not as many people know the joy of Old Time Pottery - where you can purchase a small bamboo rug, four drinking glasses, a hamburger flipper, two 6 x 8 pieces of art and a kitchen timer shaped like a chicken all for the bargain price of $18.75.

* Opportunities for great films such as "Justin Recounts a Bar Fight" and "Tom & Dave Talk Anchorman" go unrealized every day.

In conclusion, if I had a million dollars, I'd move Ohio.

Break Out the Cigars!

IT'S A BOY! Justin is, at this very moment, planning to plow under their backyard and build a baseball diamond. And I'm already thinking about all the things that my little nephew needs - first on the list is the sterling silver frog musicbox in the Kingoff's Jewlers window that I've been dying to buy since I found out they were pregnant. I'm SO EXCITED! Ten fingers and ten toes have all been accounted for by the proud papa-to-be. I'm awaiting the ultrasound photos now. Hurrah for my nephew!!

P.S. I know this is a cigar label, but it was so cute, I just couldn't resist.

More Mayer!

I've been dying for some new music from an artist I really love. And while I've been complaining about the new Killers album being delayed until October, little Johnny Mayer's been putting together another solo album. I feel a little shamefaced that I didn't know about this coming up until today. But all the better. No waiting involved. It drops next Tuesday. Check out the video for the first single "Waiting for the World to Change".

Continuum by John Mayer
1. Waiting On The World To Change
2. I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)
3. Belief
4. Gravity
5. The Heart Of Life
6. Vultures
7. Stop This Train
8. Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
9. Bold As Love
10. Dreaming With A Broken Heart
11. In Repair
12. I'm Gonna Find Another You

Sprout Vote

Just a quick update. We have two votes for boy and one vote for girl. Two votes for either. I'll hear something tomorrow morning. I'm going to throw my vote in the ring. I think it's a girl. I don't really care one way or the other. As I said, I can spoil both equally. Justin called and asked me if he needed to wait to call me after work or if it would be okay to call me during work. Silly boy. I'm taking my phone into staff meeting!

Dear Departed Ernesto:

A final word to you Ernesto. I know we had our differences, and at one point, I even said we couldn't be friends. I'm sorry about that. You know, it's been a bad week, and I know that's no excuse to behave badly, but you have to admit that you were threatening some pretty impolite behavior.

In the end, though, it's T-minus two hours til Kim Shable's arrival, and you've left behind some beautiful, refreshingly cool, early fallish weather. So, Ernesto, please consider this the olive branch. Let's kiss and make up. I hate to think you're somewhere out in the Atlantic feeling badly about yourself.

Love,
Ash