Don't I Already Have This CD?

Dear Sarah,
I have loved you for many, many (okay - let's not get carried away here, but I'm getting old, you know) years. And I have to say that I felt this teenage-girl thrill of excitement when I saw the video for "U Want Me 2." That was after I got over the pang of annoyance that your song title appears to be a text message of some sort. But it was new material!!!

I eagerly looked up the details on your new album...only to discover that it was a greatest hits album. I'm not trying to take away your right to a greatest hits...but...well, I'm a bit disappointed. Maybe it's because your last new album was Wintersong, and it was Christmas music, and it was beautiful, but not music you listen to every day in your car. And before that was Afterglow, which was lovely, but that was four years ago and even though you released two different versions of the live tour...that doesn't count.

Because Afterglow was preceded by an insanely long break after Mirrorball - which, quite frankly, was a live greatest hits album -- before Afterglow Live was a live greatest hits album. And somewhere in there, you rereleased Rarities B-Sides & Other Stuff, which I bought at a bootleg price in downtown A-town when I was in high school. Let us not forget the two remix albums. Oh, and that fake Sarah McLachlan album from Target that made me think that it would be covers of your favorite songs only to find out it was like "Sarah made you a mixed tape."

I guess my point is that you put out Touch and then Solace and Fumbling Towards Ecstasy in the first five years of your career. And the next fifteen brought just two albums of new material. Two! Since 1994, you have put out TWO new albums. I mean...two new albums since the first W was in the White House, and now all I get is a greatest hits album? After three different kinds of live albums and two remixers. I mean, if I'd even bought one of your live albums and one of your originals, I'd have like an 80 percent chance of having everything that's on your "new" album. I hate to tell you, Sarah, but there's some fuzzy math in there. And honestly, did you sit down and say, "Let's put 'Hold On' on one more album. I'm going for a record here."

I want to hang in there with you - we've been through a lot. But u want me 2 buy this new album when all I get is a text message? I dnt thnk so.

Less-than-three,
Ash

Wisdom - Observed, Overheard, Noted

* Observed...a prominent billboard along the road I travel to Atlanta reads "JESUS" in large top-to-bottom black letters on a field of black. Only last week did I notice the other side of the billboard readable from the opposite direction (in the same large black letters): "COMING SOON!"

* Overheard..."He who uses the crystal ball always eats glass."

* Noted...Between E. Clayton and Washington Streets, a brick wall. In no particular order, some bricks have the word "RESIST" painted in white.

The -ings of the Last Week

* Getting my hair cut - my favorite thing - which involved talking to my stylist about the line dancing craze of the early 90s

* Attending the farewell show of The Rockstar's band at the 40 Watt. He's moving to Barcelona to pursue his music. And I am sad.

* Putting together a photo book of San Francisco on Shutterfly. It's so awesome, I can't stop looking at it.

* Meeting up with my dear Jenny Ray and her husband Nick for drinks on Friday night. She got to see the aforementioned red shoes, and we caught up on all sorts of things - like hugs!

* Winning my first account for the firm on Thursday. Hooray!

* Enjoying lunches with my parents while Dad spent the rest of the week at home recovering.

* Missing Dillon. I didn't get to see him Father's Day weekend in all the hospital madness.

* Catching up on blogs.

* Sorting through old photos - Jenn, I found some oldies, but goodies. Like your college graduation party?

* Taking many, many photographs to complete the photo game. 20 photos down and six to go.

* Shopping too much - I am enacting a moratorium on new clothing purchases.

* Thinking. A lot. About life and love and the pursuit of happiness.

* Gaining perspective on the here and now.

Third Time's a Charm

The first time, I panic. And cry. Kim comes down from her apartment on 6th and keeps me company until the police come. I lament my lost Indigo Girls and the CD player that leaves a gaping hole in the dash front.

The second time, I am annoyed. The water meter cover through the window that destroys the console and causes like $1,500 worth of damage to the car is worse than some of the wrecks I've had. I am comforted only by the poetic justice of knowing that the perps made off with two bags of garbage from my trunk.

The third time, I wonder what the universe is trying to tell me. What is it, I wonder, that I've done to end up sitting in my car again amidst shattered glass waiting for the five-o.

On my way to the car today, I call Kim and I get her voicemail and I say, "Hey, man. I just left the office and I'm getting in the car and...oh...my car's been broken into. There's glass everywhere. I gotta call the cops. I'll call you back." This might surpass the strangeness of the time I told her I was having an allergic reaction and would have to call her back.

I stand out on the sidewalk after calling 911 to wait for the patrol unit headed my way. I call Mom. She's with Anna, who's giving out the scholarship in Ronnie's memory at the local high school. She wants to send Dad home immediately. I say no.

It's hot. My boss comes out and stands with me until the policeman arrives. He's stocky, military haircut, tattoo under his left sleeve. I run through the scenario - I've done this before - and tell him nothing's been taken. The perp didn't even get in the car; all doors were still locked.

The cop asks me, "Angry boyfriend?" I laugh, rather loudly. And then I realized he's serious. "Um, no."

"Anyone else?" I know he has to ask these questions; I mean, that's his job. But the laughableness of it.

"No," I say. "I can't think of anyone who..." Would hurt me? That sounds so Lifetime. Who would do this to me? Total victim. Very 90210. "...who would...be mad at me...like this." Okay, so that totally doesn't make sense, but it was the best I had.

I had a list of things I was going to do when I got home to help Mom around the house. Instead, I fashioned a window out of Saran Wrap and masking tape and cleaned roughly five pounds of glass shards out of my car.

If this was six months ago, I'd no doubt be rather hysterical over the attack on my car. But after a moment in which I said something really maudlin to my mom (thank God the phone cut out), I realized when I called her back that this is small. In the grand scheme of things, it's a few thousand shards of glass.

Beer Goggles

Walking downtown for a lunch-time errand.

Pass three guys working a beer distribution route.

I keep walking, but I can feel the eyes. Instead of being outraged or annoyed, this thought pops into my head:

"Yeah, that's right. There's a swing on that back porch."

Multiple Choice

Today while walking to a meeting downtown, I spotted a license plate on a slightly older model pickup truck that read: IDOSKN. I do skin?

This person is
A) A dermatologist
B) A taxidermist
C) A tattoo artist
D) A porn star
E) All of the above

Prom Night

I didn't go to my senior prom. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, but no one asked me. Don't feel too sorry for me though - Anna took pity on me and took me and Niki and Heather to Six Flags instead. All the same, I must admit that I was rather excited when I heard the work retreat would include an 80s prom. I mean...the opportunity to recapture a missing piece of my youth plus the greatness of the 80s? And it did not disappoint.

And so I do not disappoint you, dear readers, I give you this photo of me in action. The PROOF stamp obscures some of the greatness of my outfit from your view, but I believe you get the idea. I would like you to know the following: my mother made this dress; Anna wore it to her senior prom; no items were purchased; these are Anna's earrings and mine and Anna's jewelry salvaged from around the house; I am wearing a banana clip and false eyelashes; there is a bow WITH a rosette on my dress; the shoulder pads extended roughly two inches beyond my shoulders. Other highlights of the evening included:

* My immediate boss sporting a Top Gun flight suit

* A coworker's husband dressed as John Cusak from Say Anything, complete with a boombox that played "In Your Eyes" which he climbed on stage at one point to play - yes, aloft, over his head, Cusak-style

* My Big Boss sporting a mullet wig, black suit and gold bow tie

* An A-Town 80s cover band that rocked it

* An ATL coworker's spot-on dance performance to "Billie Jean" in his killer white Member's Only jacket

* A half-drunken group sing-along to "Total Eclipse of the Heart"

* The Violinist's unbelievably mad skills on the dance floor

* The Rock Star relenting after many drinks to hit the floor for a couple of songs

* The prom king graphic designer who was the spitting image of The Cure's Robert Smith

* Me, not having The Panic at the disco

Nostalgiaism

Today I went to a meeting with a local organization that advocates for and preserves historic buildings in ATown. The office is located in a renovated fire station, a corner block brick building with the firepole still in the far corner, massive glass-globe chandeliers, and the pale green fireman's lockers lining one wall. As soon as I entered the building, I was accosted by nostalgia. The smell of an old building - aged wood, old paint, and history (it smells, I swear). And when I reached the top of the stairs, I was almost speechless at the tall arched windows whose frames were painted almost the very same pale blue-grey shade as the ones at Grace Street.

The whole time I was there, I couldn't help noticing how suddenly I felt at home. Like I wanted to spend the whole afternoon there. I belong in an old, rickety building. I need the splintering wood and the creaking boards and the drafts and the echoes and the ghosts. I left feeling a little bit renewed, like I'd had some sort of spiritual transfusion.

And then I had a fairly good day at work, which included a brief meeting with my boss about several projects I have been working on that needed his input, one being an interview with an intern candidate. "She's got enthusiasm," I said. Like you, he responded. "Me? Are you serious?" Yeah, he said. I hear that banter going on down the hall. And I laugh and say yes.

But later, I'm thinking about banter, and I'm thinking about sitting at my old desk at my old job with my old coworkers. I'm thinking about shouting ideas to my boss next door. I'm thinking about eavesdropping and answering everyone's questions. I'm thinking about fake arguments with STGD about when he's going to get a job done. I'm thinking about raucous lunchtime chats and late afternoon staff meetings and brainstorms where everything goes downhill quick but you can't stop laughing. And I think, That's banter.

Right now -just right now - all the good is rushing into the sad and the past is haunting the present and my heart is creaking against the memories. And I am lonely and struck down with nostalgiaism.

Dirty Film Boys

Almost from the first moment I started The New Job, I thought of the guys that work in the office across the common area from us as the Dirty Film Boys. Right in line with the oddness of ATown, I think they make short films and indie documentaries and maybe make commercials to pay the bills.

Their hours are irregular - sometimes they are there when I arrive in the morning at 8:30, but more often than not, they come in somewhere between 11 and 1. When they aren't there, I notice the place on the white door where they've pushed it open, a big brownish stain from dirty hands. And when they are there, I notice the stale sweaty smell that seems to linger in the common area. I attribute it to them, although, that might not be fair, since the common area isn't air conditioned and we have been experiencing a heat wave. Whatever the case, they take the fall for the pervasive locker room odor.

And then there's the interior of their office. Shelves line the right wall, spewing all sorts of cords and equipment. Weird props - like the mannequin head that looks out from the first desk along the wall, which is painted this ridiculously vibrant apple green. Sometimes I see the guys in there in their giant video-gaming chairs looking at the huge monitors and shouting incoherent commands to each other. And sometimes I meet one of them coming out of the men's as I go into the ladies' - I seem to be on the same pee schedule as the one who could easily be a stand-in for Vincent D'Onofrio. I think about introducing myself, but that's an awkward place to shout hello, so mostly I just smile benignly at him on my way to the WC.

So far, I kind of love the Dirty Film Boys and their mysterious sweaty office with its mannequin, whom I've name Elsa (even though it has no hair and is not clearly female). Perhaps they will become greater players in the drama of my life - or maybe they'll just continue to be the extras across the hall.

A Series of Miscellany

Rediscovered
* 99x Morning Show
* Random songs - Bush's "Machinehead", The Cranberries' "Linger", Live's "Selling the Drama"
* How much I love driving alone to work in the morning
* Can go to Weaver D's any time I want (The Goofball said he'd go with me)

Noticed
* A very cute drawing in the graphic designer's sketchbook of -- and labeled as -- "bee"
* Friends -- real friends -- and how important they are to me right now
* Details of new commute - the morning sky from the top of the Atl. Hwy. by Peking
* How nice everyone is to me at the office - like the creative director who just "wanted to chat" with me today while I was in the Big City

Embarrassed
* Inability to communicate properly with one of The Owner's of the Company due to my nervousness and his intense pauses which seem to prompt me to say, "I'm excited to be here" eighteen times
* Calling the Big City office today when I got lost on the streets of downtown Hotlanta (thanks to Eva, I at least made it to Peachtree Street)
* Failure to connect senses of humor with any of the men in the office - do only women find me funny?

Only in ATown
* Going to happy hour tomorrow with coworkers preceding our viewing of a documentary about gypsies at the new art house theatre
* Plans for lunch downtown Friday to take in the opening game weekend Dawgs madness
* Next company outing to see coworker who is lead singer of a band

Feeling
* Sad
* Hopeful
* Ready for bed

Fashion Smashion

Dear Men of the A-Town:
Please stop wearing mirrored sunglasses with those little straps. Especially offensive is wearing them indoors around your neck and turned to the back. Oh, and stop with the dress pants/no socks and loafer combo.

Love,
Dame Fashion

Weird Six

I've been tapped by Kim to reveal some of my innate weirdness to the world. Narrowing down to six was the tough part:

1. I have an overwhelming fear that the world will run out of electricity. Sometimes when I drive at night and see all the lights on in an office building or think about all the electric signs, I feel panicked. When I had a washer/dryer and dishwasher in my first apartment, I couldn't run them at the same time without needing to leave the apartment. I can't sleep if I can hear the air or heat clicking on and off, so I'll turn the air up and the heat down to the point that it only comes on periodically.

2. I've noticed lately a few habits about numbers. I have to pump gas on the fives. It has to be $16.65 instead of $16.62. And the volume on the TV or radio has to be an even number.

3. When my sister got married five years ago, I had my first and only manicure. Before that, I wore my fingernails very, very long. The manicurist cut them pretty short, and since then, I've been unable to stand long fingernails. I had to cut my nails before I left for Salt Lake City, because I knew if they got too long on the trip, I would chew them off just to keep them short.

4. I have an undergraduate and graduate degree. Neither the college nor the university I went to had a football team. Conversely, I grew up a stone's throw from Athens, Georgia, a town obsessed with its UGA dawgs. But I have never been to a UGA football game.

5. I am obsessed with my handwriting. Perhaps it's something to do with being lefthanded, which typically makes for terrible penmanship. But I practiced and practiced and practiced until I had neat handwriting. If I start to write a note to myself on a post-it, and it looks messy, I'll throw it away and start over again.

6. I am an inherently messy person. At my house, I throw clothes and shoes around without care, leave dishes in the sink, and let the bathroom go straight past EPA standards. In a hotel, I am meticulously neat. Fastidious even. I will fold my clothes, put items back in the suitcase after use and hang up the towels in the bathroom. Perhaps I need to pretend I live in a hotel.

I'm double-tapping, but I'd love to see weirdness from Pen & M, Tom, Andi, Niki, and The Growler.

Homeward Bound

A rolling stone gathers no moss, so in an effort to keep my person as free from green fuzzy things as my fridge now is, I'm rolling out of town once again tomorrow. For once, I'm looking forward to a long, solitary drive. Maybe somewhere down that long stretch of highway, I'll get back in touch with my mental hum. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be driving down the main street of my hometown and thinking about having dinner at the place of my choice in Athens. If I'm lucky, we can conclude the evening with a milkshake from The Grill - ain't nothing better.

And while Saturday's shower for Sprout means I have to get up at an ungodly early hour in order to make the drive into Atlanta, I'm so delighted to be bestowing my frog on Eva & Justin, that I'm not complaining. Not to mention I've been promised a trip to DSW and Off Broadway. I can't help the happy flutters I get from anticipating going somewhere whose name stands for Discount Shoe Warehouse. If I don't feel myself after the drive, I'm pretty sure I'll recover my senses by slipping on some Stuart Weitzmans and BCBGs.