Go Ducks!

So I see that Oregon made it to the Elite Eight of the NCAA tournament (notice how I sound all like I know what I'm talking about). Not that I have been able to watch any of the games, because (a) me and sports on TV don't mix, but more importantly (b) the network affiliates out here are not aware that there is a whole nuther part of the country beyond the Mississippi River, so they never broadcast any of those games. They probably think that Oregon is one of them Canadian thingamajigs, or maybe just one of those U.S. protectorates, like Guam. So anyway, even though I am not normally much a sports fan, being forced to put up with a bunch of east coast sports snobs makes me happy that our Northwest boys are representing.

In cat news today, the BF is taking Easy to the vet because of her chronic constipation. Oh, the lovely, lovely charms of elderly cats. I, of course, am working, much as I work just about EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, so will not be in attendance. He's no doubt looking forward to the visit with as much anticipation as one looks forward to one's own visit to the butt doctor, but what can you do. My "job" (which consists mainly of babysitting the printer and copy machine and listlessly surfing the web) sucks all of my time and my life and my will to create anything meaningful. I had a moment of clarity on the subway this morning, wherein I suddenly realized that I only have a finite amount of time on this planet, and yet every moment I spend in this city in this hateful job is completely wasted.

Yeah, so I'm pretty cheerful today. Although still glad that Oregon won last night.

Senile dysfunction

A few things.

1) It seems that my 14-year-old cat is going senile in her golden years. Is this even possible? There doesn't seem to be any other explanation for her behavior, though--I mean, she's not banging into walls or anything, but what used to be her funny little foibles and quirks have lately turned into full-blown neuroses. For example, she's always been picky about her water dish - she does NOT like stray objects in her water while she's drinking, and this includes cat hairs, dust mites, and itty bitty bits of food (I guess I can't blame her there; it is kind of disgusting to have floaties in your water) - and will splash the water repeatedly with her paw in order to expel the offending debris. She has done this since I adopted her as a kitten, and it's just been one of her odd little things. However, since her kidney disease diagnosis she's gone off the deep end with the splashing splashing splashing SPLASHING. It's gotten to the point where we'll set a completely cleansed and newly filled bowl of water in front of her and she won't even so much as sniff it before the splashing commences. We wake up in the middle of the night to her splashing. We can't walk into the kitchen without wading through a pond of her splashed water, and we've had to change socks more than once because we forgot that, oh yes, our cat has gone insane and splashes water water EVERYWHERE! Of course, her brain is too small to realize that sticking her grubby, furry, dirt-and-litter-covered paw into the water only makes things worse for herself, and I often find a disgusting cement-like substance churning in the bottom of her dish from the various sand and dirt grains she's transported into her Sea of Tranquility.

Another example of her sudden-senility onset: ever since I lived in an apartment in Vancouver that housed a particularly large, cavernous, dusty-and-dark-corned closet where incidentally her cat food was kept, she has chosen one closet in my apartment with which to become obsessed, I guess in the hope that suddenly one day that same closet with the shadowy expanses of investigatory bliss will suddenly open unto her. In my current apartment, her closet of choice is the laundry closet in the bathroom where the washer and dryer are. There is nothing else in this closet except a broom, because there is no room in there for anything else. She knows this, and she has been shown the washer and the dryer many times and found them lacking in interesting features. Yet her obsession with getting a peek inside that closet continues unabated. That sort of behavior I have taken for granted as semi-normal, because she is silly and old and apparently her memory is hazy. But what used to be occasional begging for the magical closet door to be opened whenever BF or I were in the bathroom has turned into a sudden lunge for the bathroom anytime one of us stands up or moves in any direction that MIGHT indicate a visit to that hallowed ground, and she now spends much of her free time sitting in the bathroom staring at the closed closet door.

Should I start calling nursing homes?

2) Anyway. I have decided that Girl Scout cookies should be declared illegal, because 1) they are fattening and are contributing to the obesity epidemic of the nation, and 2) they are laced with crack or a crack-like substance. How else to explain how a calm, rational person can sit down with a box of Girl Scout cookies and think to oneself, "OK, I am going to have two reasonably-sized cookies and then close up the box and put them in the cupboard and not even contemplate eating any more until tomorrow," and then suddenly find oneself thirty minutes later in a fat-induced stupor at the kitchen table staring at an empty box of cookies, with smears of chocolate in one's hair and on one's clothing.

I'm not saying this happened to me, I'm just saying - those cookies ain't right.

My home and native land

I want to marry British Columbia.

California's OK, too. (But only in a strictly platonic sense.)

Sorry, haters

I apologize for my lackadaisical updating as of late, but don't worry, you haven't missed much. I had planned to go into a diatribe about the weather here, but I can't muster the strength anymore. I have surrendered to the will of the mid-atlantic climate. Which sucks. [In case you're wondering though - after the last snowfall we had about five days of warmer, mild weather; on Thursday the high was in the mid-70s, then the temp plummeted by 40 degrees Thursday evening, and it snowed/sleeted again much of the day yesterday.]

What else? I've started watching the Up series - 7 Up, 7 plus 7, 21 Up, etc. - a British documentary series that follows the lives of kids in different socioeconomic classes and catches up with them every seven years. The most recent installment, which I haven't gotten to yet, is 49 Up. I highly recommend watching the films, not so much because any of them are great documentaries in and of themselves, but because it's fascinating to see how the individuals mature and change over time. But then I'm an inveterate eavesdropper, nosey-rosey, and voyeur, so there you go. One of the more interesting facets of the series I've noticed is that as seven-year-olds, there is an obvious distinction between the upper and lower class kids, as far as vocabulary, articulateness (is that a word? whatever it is, it's obviously something I lack), and comfort in front of the camera. However, by the time the kids are 14 those distinctions have for the most part been obliterated and by 21, many of the lower class kids have become in some ways if not more articulate, then at least more self-aware than the upper class ones. And they definitely seem happier. Also, the kids from the lower classes become insulted whenever it's hinted that the upper class kids in the documentary may have had more opportunities - they are very proud of their lives and seem quite content with the way they've turned out so far. I'm really looking forward to seeing how their lives progress and am secretly rooting for certain ones to succeed and others to be taken down a peg or two.

Lastly, BF and I went to Charlottesville, Virginia, last weekend just for the hell of it. It was fun if uneventful. We walked around the University of Virginia campus, which was beautiful and made me wonder why I didn't go to school there, and also visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home. Oh, and we drank a lot and ate a bunch of food. Good times.

Then today I bought two boxes of Girl Scout cookies even though I knew I shouldn't. But I did anyway. And they were good.

Um, didn't we just talk about this?

I give up. Winter and I are no longer on speaking terms. But you can tell Winter for me that he can shove his snow right up his icy cold butt.

P.S.S. to Winter

OK, now you're just being creepy. I thought I made myself clear last week when I said I didn't want to see you anymore. But today I get up, and whose ugly face do I spot out the window? YOURS. I see you hanging around everywhere I go, and it's just really starting to bug me. Am I gonna have to file a restraining order? Geez, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY.

And don't even think about snowing tomorrow. I am so totally serious. Because that would just be crazy insane. Do you hear what I'm saying? Insane.

Not much going on, really

Some detritus:

1) Lately I've been feeling like starting public brawls. Mostly I get this feeling in situations dealing with the subway. For instance, when someone cuts in front of me at the turnstile, my first instinct is to punch them in the throat.* Is that wrong?

2) I've been so bored during work this past week that I've started reading all of Dooce's archives, beginning with the first post. I'll probably finish them tomorrow at work. Tomorrow being Sunday. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

3) Aforementioned boredom has gotten me depressed about my life again. For awhile I was feeling OK, since I was just happy to be away from the Job From Hell, but now I'm itching to do something with my life once again. Of course, we've already established that there are no libraries in this city that will hire me as a librarian, and if they will hire me, there is something very very wrong with them.

4) My legs have started hurting in all the same old places again, and my shin splints are worse than ever. I need a leg transplant. And today I just received a $74.50 bill from my doctor. Yeah, I got your money right here, buddy.

5) The weather warmed up this week, and all the snow from last Sunday has melted. I remain prayerful, in my atheistic way, that winter does not rear its ugly head once again. Living in the South-that-doesn't-know-it's-the-South has made me even more of a wimp than I had previously been.

*So far I've been successfully stifling this instinct. Who knows how long it will take me to snap, though.

Snow: that is so, like, two weeks ago

Views from my window, Sunday, Feb. 25

Note to Winter:

OK, I know we had a thing there for a while, and it was all hot and heavy and I really thought I was in love for a second. But, you know, that was a few weeks ago, and now it's just like you're here all the time, and you're just getting way too intense for me. I need my space. So basically what I'm saying is that I think we need to start seeing other seasons. I'm just not that into you anymore.

So, like, bye, m-kay?

P.S. And you can stop with the snow. That is so not impressing anyone.

My week in a nutshell: Sudafed and unemployment

You know what is excellent? Only having to work 3 days in one week, especially if you only had to work 4 days the week before. Last week of course was the snowy icy week, and this week I had a cold, so I took a day off, even though I felt immensely guilty about it and yet joyous at the same time. What finally persuaded me to stay home was the fact that I rarely have the opportunity to take a sick day when I'm actually not feeling well, either because I'm trying to save my sick leave for something else (like a vacation--shhhh!), or because with our vast staff of four, there's usually not enough desk coverage for another person to be gone. So I decided that since I actually had the leave to spare and enough people were around that day for me not to be missed, I may as well go ahead and live it up at home.

And what did I do with all my free yet sinus-congested time? Well, I made a semi-weekly trip to CVS, I browsed somewhat foggily through a bookstore (it's hard to focus when the right side of your head feels as though it may pop like a tick at any moment), and I made my famous cold-curing (not really) chocolate-oatmeal cookies.

Yes, I've had an exciting week!

So I finished reading Bait and Switch by Barbara Ehrenreich. Reading it made me feel both vindicated in my own anger and depression in the face of my one-year plus job search which, while currently in hibernation, has never really ceased, and also it made me feel like going on a shooting spree. What Ehrenreich really struck to the heart of was this mantra in the white-collar work force that every individual is responsible for their own bad luck and misfortune. They are told constantly by everyone in power that if they aren't finding jobs it's not because the economy is bad or that companies are consistently outsourcing their jobs; it's because there's something wrong with them. Something about them makes them inferior human beings. And you know what? I totally bought into that mindset. I thought, and still a little bit do think, that some intangible thing about me makes me unemployable, even though I have a decent education, a decent employment history, and good recommendations.

Ehrenreich also dismissed as ludicrous pretty much everything my library management professor held dear, and which I secretly mocked even as I was held in thrall by his tyranny: Myers-Briggs personality tests, "elevator" speeches, faceless and humorless managers who have no soul. I wish I could be her friend.

In summary--good book, but not especially uplifting. About the only thing you can take from it is that if you have the misfortune to be unemployed in this economy, you're fucked.

Also, I see from the lack of response to last week's challenge that either no one read the blog, which is entirely possible, or you all hate me. Fine. Whatever.

Reverse psychology never works

At some point in my online ramblings yesterday I ran across this Valentine's Day list challenge on the Washington Post's Celebritology blog. Basically it asks readers to list their perfect Valentine's Day dates, but the dates have to be fictional characters. Somehow this inspired me to think of a list of whom I would consider a perfect Valentine if I were a member of the opposite sex or the opposite sexual orientation. I think maybe what got me on this line of thinking was the fact that almost everyone who submitted a list to the blog was a straight female.

*I should just add that I am once again at work on a Saturday morning. I really need to find another job.*

List of (Real) People I Think I Would Find Attractive if I Were a Straight Male or Gay Female, All Other Things Being Equal

1. Tina Fey. She's cute, funny, and acerbic, plus she always wears those naughty so- geeky-they're-cool glasses, which I hear men find really hot.

2. Cate Blanchett. Effortlessly beautiful, but with talent and personality. She's the Colin Firth of women - hot but completely unattainable. [Aside: Have you heard about the Ralph Fiennes scandal? So tragic. I liked him so much. Too bad he turned out to be scum.]

3. Kate Winslet. So British and pretty and charming but normal-seeming. My own BF does not see her appeal, which I simply do not understand.

4. Salma Hayek. I threw her in there just because pretty much all men seem to want her in a purely sexual way.

5. Audrey Tautou. A) She's French. B) She's cute, petite, perky, quirky in a Winona-Ryder kinda way, and C) She's French.

I defy you all to make a similar list and post it in the comments. Post at your own peril! BWAHAHAHAHA!

Now I don't have a good post title

The original title of this post was going to be either "Bridge to Terabithia...NOT!" or "Bridge to TeraBITCHia," and was going to involve my vociferous objections to the movie adaptation of the beloved children's novel by Katherine Patterson. I was going to go into this rage-a-thon because from what I can tell from the trailers, it looks like the movie-makers completely ruined what is supposed to be a wrenching emotional story of friendship and loss, instead turning it into a CGI fantasy wonderland of kittens and elves, completely bypassing the nuance of Patterson's gentle yet sorrowful tale. I was going to say how this is such a moving piece of literature, how even when re-reading the book as an adult I cried like a baby at the tragic ending, and how objectionable it is that Hollywood would take such a work of art, turn it into bubblegum and lollipops, and throw it at children as rollicking family fun.

Anyway, that theme has been abandoned, since I just scanned an article on EW.com in which David Patterson, one of the writers and producers of the movie and also Katherine Patterson's son, upon whose experiences the book is based, talks about how closely the movie follows the book and how they ramped up the fantasy stuff because it was mostly left to the imagination in the novel, but that just won't really work with a movie. So I guess I don't need to go into a rant. However, I do object to Disney heavily promoting the movie as carefree fantasy romp. How are kids and parents who haven't read the book going to feel when suddenly bludgeoned with the tragic ending in a darkened theatre full of strangers? Shouldn't parents be forewarned this is a sad movie where, sorry for the spoiler, bad things happen to innocent people?

Oh well, I'm not a parent so whatever. I think this is one I'll skip, though.

Suh-weet!

The DC area has been covered in snow and ice for the past two days, which means that I have not had to work for two days in a row. Yes! Have I told you lately how much I love winter? This comes at a particularly good time for me, since I was scheduled to work six days this week, and only three of those days will be left when I return to work tomorrow (it looks doubtful the weather will hold, or not hold, as the case may be, until then). But I'm just grateful for the bounty I have thus far received. The only bad thing about all this snow and ice is that it is cold and I have no boots. I come from a land where snow and ice are minimal, and where everyone drives anyway so it's not an issue. Thus, I own no boots. I have many times contemplated buying boots during winter weather periods such as the one I'm currently experiencing, but the snow and ice make it difficult to go shopping, and by the time the snow and ice have cleared I no longer care about buying boots. But really, the boots must be purchased at some point. I realize this now.

Anyway, that's about the only thing going on in my life: snow, ice, and contemplation of boot-shopping.

Cat update: She seems fine. I guess I got all maudlin and drippy for no reason. She stills pees an awful lot and is a bit skinnier than I would prefer, but she's energetic and has a healthy appetite.

Leg update: My knees seem better for the most part, but my hip/pelvis thingy still aches, and curiously, I still have shin splints, which I had assumed would be the easiest pain to cure and the quickest to go away. Bah! Stupid elderly body. Oh, and I seemed to have inexplicably developed tennis elbow, which is odd, since I have never played tennis in my life. I don't even own a racket.

Well, since I can think of nothing else to say, Happy Valentine's Day!

Notes on a birthday

1. You know you're getting old when three drinks spaced evenly throughout the night and accompanied by copious amounts of food put you down for the count for the entire next day. The BF took me to a swanky restaurant in DC Thursday evening, where we rubbed elbows with a lot of old white men in business suits, some of whom may or may not have been congressmen. I'm pretty sure the couple at the table next to us were having an adulterous affair, as I kept hearing the woman refer to "your wife"--example:"Your wife doesn't pay attention to you." Not that it's any of my business, I'm just saying.

2. Apparently at swanky restaurants, an air of bewilderment can be mistinterpreted as an air of snooty disdain, for future reference. The BF and I went to have drinks in the bar while we waited for a table, and the BF felt it was incumbant upon him to order a whiskey so as to appear manly. When the bartender set the cocktail glass filled almost to the top on the bar, BF hesistated, eyeing the glass and thinking to himself, "Holy shit, that's a lotta whiskey." The bartender, however, interpreted this look to mean, "You call that a fucking whiskey, man!" and hastily filled the glass completely to the brim.

3. I only tripped over, and thus unplugged, one lamp during the course of the evening, thus appearing only minorly foolish.

4. I am now Queen of the Land of Hypocrisy. You know how a couple posts back I said I would never own an iPod? Yeah, well, I lied. The BF's parents generously bought me an iPod Nano for my birthday, in hot pink no less. I plan to fully enjoy the fruits of The Man, once I figure out how to put music on it.

5. My dentist is one month older than me. This alarms me a little. I would like my dentist to have some years of experience and malpractice insurance under his belt, not say things to me like, "Don't worry, 30 is the new 20!" By the way, it turns out that I didn't really break my tooth off, it was just my crown that fell off. It only seemed as though my tooth had broken because there is only a tiny shell of a tooth left after the root canal. Still, I feel like I need more calcium in my diet.

Thanks to everyone for sending along birthday wishes - my friends rock!

Tomorrow I'm 30. hurray.

I'm feeling like a ginormous tard (turd?), for the above-stated reason, among others. For one, it appears that my hastily dashed-off and really quite stupid post on Mr. Rochester, which of course I didn't expect anyone to read because I wasn't aware anyone actually read my blog, has been linked to and read by people unbeknownst to myself. Yikes. Why must I always make a giant ass of myself in a public forum? On the other hand, at least people are finally leaving comments.

In other news, to celebrate my third decade of being I am going to: go to my cycling class, meet my co-workers for lunch, go to work, come home, and go out to dinner with the BF. The other option was to lie in bed all day eating chocolates, which is suddenly seeming like the better choice. Then again, nothing says I'M THIRTY like doing the same damn thing you do every day of your life. Ah, routine.

Me and my dental adventures (aka my dentures)

Well. Get this. You know that tooth in which I had that hideously painful root canal? I broke it last night eating a cookie. Not only did I just break it, I broke it clean off at the gumline, meaning there is now very little tooth left in its place. Naturally this happened Friday evening, so I won't know what this means regarding the large hole in my mouth until Monday morning at the very earliest, and I have to say that I'm a little perturbed. I broke another tooth back in September, so this is becoming an alarming pattern for me. I'm afraid that soon I will have no more teeth left, and at the grisly old age of 30 will have to go get fitted for dentures. Pass me the polygrip.

Now, I know you all hate memes and lists and wish I would die, but I'm depressed about my dental situation today (Aside: apparently the dentist and I are now on a first-name basis, because whenever he calls me, which he has done twice, he introduces himself by his first name, like I'm supposed to know who "Pasquale" is off the top of my head). And since I'm depressed, I thought I might do a teeny-weeny little meme to make myself feel better. Also, I'm at work today, a Saturday, and I have nothing better to do. Read or not, as you wish.

My All Time Favorite Things (from TheOhReally.com)

1. Song: The Queen of Night Aria from the Magic Flute. I'm not trying to be all uppity here, it's just the prettiest song I can think of, and whenever I hear it I want to start singing, too (but I don't since I cannot sing at all, even songs that are within my range, which is about two notes.)

2. TV Show: The Simpsons.

3. Donut flavor: Maple bars.

4. Poem: That one about the rose and the limousine that everyone has to read in high school. Obviously I wouldn't know a good poem if it hit me in the face.

5. Unsubstantiated rumor that is so totally made up: Apparently I suck at gossip, because I can think of nothing.

6. Day of the week: Friday. I wish I could be all indie and say something like Tuesday, but really, the obvious choice here is Friday. Friday is all about anticipation for the weekend; Saturday and Sunday are all about spending 75% of your time doing housework and going grocery shopping, and all those other things you didn't have time to do during the week, and not doing any of the things you looked forward to on Friday night.

7. Place to vomit: Inside the toilet, naturally. I've tried the sink and it didn't work out so well.

8. Movie: This is well-covered territory and I will probably contradict myself here, but: Pride and Prejudice, 1996 version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle.

9. Writing Instrument: A purple-colored Pilot fine-tip roller ball pen.

10. Beatles album: Having never heard an entire Beatles album, nor having any special affinity towards the Beatles, I will skip this one.

11. Lunch: Ledo's pizza. It works for dinner too. Ledo's is a chain out here that sells extremely greasy yet exquisite pizza with a divine marina sauce, and it is cut into little squares. (The pizza, not the sauce.)

12. Pastry: I enjoy creamcheese Danishes.

13. Smiths Album: I like Morrissey, he's an OK guy, but I don't know that I've ever listened to an entire Smiths Album. Pass.

14. Nonalcoholic beverages: OK, Coke is my go-to beverage. However, sometimes I just really appreciate a good Dr. Pepper. You know what I mean?

15. Alcoholic beverage: I know I've answered this one before, and my answer has probably changed. Right now it's White Russians. There's this Irish pub right by my apartment that makes them with what I assume is either cream or half-n-half. In other words, they are delicious.

16. Magazine: Long-time subscriber of Entertainment Weekly. I've tried going without it, and I just can't. It's like crack to me.

17. Concert: I have not gone to very many concerts. I'm not a musical person. However, I do occasionally listen to and enjoy the odd ditty. So far my favorite concerts have been the Sarah McLachlan concert I went to in Vancouver, and the Decemberists one here in DC. Yes, I actually had occasion to enjoy myself in DC! Who knew.

18. Blog: Right now it would The Oh Really and Anything Said, probably because the banter is witty and the people who write them are women around my age in the same profession. Diversity and new points of view are dumb.

OK, I'm gonna stop here. This thing goes on forever.

Mr. Rochester: A Treatise

So I guess there are some disparaging remarks going around regarding the casting of Masterpiece Theatre's production of Jane Eyre (OK, one blog that I read contained some remarks). They generally stem from the fact that the actor who was cast in the role of Mr. Rochester happens to be both somewhat young and somewhat sexy. I happened to watch this production on PBS, and let me just say this: I LIKE SEXY. So you can all go soak your heads. And I say that with some amount of knowledge of other casting decisions regarding Mr. Rochester, having seen at least three different interpretations of Jane Eyre on film.

OK. Let me first lay out the problem for those of you who may not understand. The character of Mr. Rochester in Charlotte Bronte's novel Jane Eyre is dark, brooding, dangerous, kinda weird and wild-looking, and extremely passionate. I always got the impression that he was very masculine and muscular and rugged, in a time period when perhaps slightly more effeminate men were in fashion. At certain points, Bronte describes him as being ugly, and I guess some casting directors take this as an imperative to cast unattractive people in the role, but I have to disagree. The actor in that role has to make himself as attractive to the audience as he is to Jane. This is hard to do if you're not somewhat handsome. People can do it, don't get me wrong, it's just difficult. So let's compare the most recent Mr. Rochester to others before him, and see how he stacks up in the gosh-i'd-like-to-mack-on-him department.

I'll start off with Ciaran Hinds. Let me tell you, Ciaran Hinds, while making an intriguing Julius Caesar in Rome, is no Mr. Rochester. He's OLD. You cannot imagine yourself kissing him unless you are over fifty (for the men in the audience, if there are any: imagining yourself kissing Mr. Rochester is very important to the believability of the character). Mr. Rochester is supposed to be older than Jane by maybe 20 years or so, which means he should be around 40. Unless I'm gravely mistaken, Ciaran Hinds is somewhat older than that in his particular production of Jane Eyre, and it is palpably uncomfortable to watch him kiss a dewey 20-year-old. I think the feeling I'm looking for here is: YUCK.

Another option is William Hurt. Now, while he seems to be more in the age range for the character, I'm sorry, but he's William Hurt. He is not Mr. Rochester. For one thing, Mr. Rochester is supposed to be dark-haired, and William Hurt is not. Also, he's just not passionate enough. He's mopey and subdued. Away with you, William Hurt (but I still like you, because you were the perfect Macon Leary in The Accidental Tourist; in fact, maybe you were a little too perfect, because now I can't picture you as anyone else).

This brings us to our third Mr. Rochester--Orson Welles, pre-grotesque obesity. He is the only other acceptable Mr. Rochester, all dark and dangerous, and might I add, very very sexy. The only bad part of this film is Joan Fontaine, who is quite obviously too pretty and Hollywood to play plain Jane, but other than that major flaw, it's a good flick. I might say that Welles is a little too polished for the role of Mr. Rochester, but then it's been awhile since I've seen it. I do remember that every time they panned in on him he was swathed in mysterious shadow.

Toby Stephens, in the most recent production of which I now speak, is younger than all of the above actors and, with the possible exception of Orson Welles, is also hotter. I think this is fine. I don't see the problem here. Anything that makes me think, "Man, that Jane Eyre sure is lucky!" is perfectly acceptable to me, and in fact is to be striven for. I mean, yes, I agree that you don't want some Brad Pitt (who by the way is kind of a girly man, if you know what I'm saying) playing the role of Mr. Rochester. You want someone with a little grit to him, someone who could take another guy in a fight. I think Toby Stephens (pictured here) is bang-on for the role. He's somewhat wrinkled and world-weary; he's obviously seen his share of troubles, and really, he's not all that young. And yet you can also look at him, and say, "Damn! Give me some of THAT!"

Is all I'm saying.

Um, almost free?

The title of this post was going to be "Free at last, free at last!" In reference to my having finished, after two whole months of slogging through it, Bleak House. Alas, I still have about 30 pages left to go as of today. I'm happy that I reread it, though - the movie was excellent, but you miss out on all the little Dickensian details. So anyway, I'm almost finished with it, and I'm eager to get on to my next book which I already started reading on the plane back from Seattle. It's The Love of a Good Woman by Alice Munro. I wish I could be friends with Alice Munro, although apparently she's in her seventies. Seems like a cool lady, though.

The BF and I (I could start calling him the fie-ancy, but why ruin a good thing?) saw Pan's Labyrinth over the weekend and I really enjoyed it. The allegory is not exactly hard to figure out (have you noticed how many movies/TV shows these days have torture scenes?) but that's OK. It was one of the first movies I've seen in a while where I came out of the theatre genuinely happy about my movie-going experience; i.e. good overall film that absorbed me; characters that I cared about; an interesting story that was sad and scary but not overwhelmingly so; poignant but believable ending. In short: it was good.

We also saw Notes on a Scandal last week, which, while also very entertaining, was kind of like The Queen: good in a "so what?" kinda way. Basically if you see it, you see it to watch Cate Blanchett and Judy Dench act really well, and that's about it.

So about the Oscars, am I the only one who is a) almost so bored with the nominations as to not even want to watch the damn thing, and b) completely mystified about the presence of Little Miss Sunshine on the Best Pictures list and about Abigail Breslin's nomination for Best Supporting Actress? For one thing, LMS was not that good a movie. I would rate it slightly above the Chevy Chase/National Lampoon pictures in the "road trip"/"wacky family" genre of films. I think the voters must be getting tired and lazy--it's like they're squinting their eyes and mumbling as they fill out their ballots, "OK, now what movies did I see this year? Oh yeah, there was that Little Miss Sunshine thing...yeah, that was OK. I'll just put down everyone's name who was in that, rather than spend time watching quality films."

I'm not even going to list out my Oscar predictions since the winners are pretty much completely obvious and, like the hypocrite that I am, I haven't seen most of them anyway.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have...a big pile of crap

First, the good news, which 99.9% of you already know about because I emailed you about it yesterday: the BF and I are engaged. It happened in Seattle, it was a complete surprise (to me), yadda yadda yadda. No ring, no dates set, no locations picked out. If we don't get married in someone's back yard with a potluck reception, as is my hick family's tradition, it will be a miracle. My mother, you will all be heartened to know, screamed for a full ten minutes with relief and joy when I told her the news. Which makes sense, since you would probably have the same reaction if you truly believed this turn of events would deliver your wayward child from frying in an eternity of hellfire. I'm-a comin', Jesus!

Anyhoo. The bad news. Well, it looks like my dear little fuzzyhead is in the early stages of kidney disease. But all is not bleak--apparently if we change her food and give her special (read: expensive) new food if could keep her going for awhile longer. It's been a wake-up call for me, though, because I've never really experienced the decline/death of a loved one. The only people I've ever really known who have died during my life are my paternal grandparents, though I never knew them well, and was relatively young when they passed away. I've even escaped the up-close deaths of my childhood pets - we had to give away my dog when we moved to Oregon, and my parents gave away my first cat, an outdoorsy fellow, when they sold their house and moved to Arizona. Both of those pets have since expired, but I haven't had to see them suffer or find them dead, and in both cases I only heard about it later, and years after I'd had them as my own pets. The only remaining friend from my youth is Easy, and I will be a broken hollow shell of a human when she finally does go, at least for a while. But she's still hearty, and here's hoping she's got some life in her yet.

Oh yeah. The conference. Eh. It was kinda dull - ALA Midwinter is mainly for committee meetings, and when you're not on a committee the whole thing is kinda pointless. I went to some discussion groups which were mostly not interesting, but I did give out a few business cards and engage in copious small talk, so I guess maybe I got a little of my network on. But now I'm stoked--OK, maybe that's too strong of a word--interested in going to ALA Annual, which wouldn't you know it, takes place right here in good ol' DC this summer. Anyone who wants to attend is invited to stay with me, provided I still have an apartment. Unless you get paid by your work to stay someplace nice, in which case I will be staying with you.

Swing low, sweet chariot

So I took my cat in to the vet today, and had about $640 of lab work done on her. She's been losing weight lately, not eating as much, and seems to pee a lot more than she used to. Also, she's 14 now, and I knew that this moment would be coming soon. I had just hoped she'd have at least two or three more healthy years in her. And she may yet - the lab tests don't come back until Thursday at the earliest, and the vet couldn't even say what he suspected at this point since she's old and the list of possible maladies is long.

All of which has me pondering mortality and the value of life. As I have perhaps foolishly made public on this blog from day one, I am poor. The $640 for the lab tests made me freak out a little, though I know my cat is worth every penny, and now I'm wondering how much more I am willing to shell out to keep the little fuzzhead going for what could be a only very short time in any case. I mean, 14 for a cat is, according to all the charts I saw at the vet's today, about 75 in human years. She might have a little bit left in the gas tank, but the red needle is on it's way to empty, no doubt about it.

So a part of me says: you can't afford any major procedures. She's a cat. A much beloved, cared-for and undoubtedly overly spoiled cat, but a cat just the same, and it would be silly to spend thousands of dollars keeping her alive, if indeed she is ill and needs treatment. On the other hand. I adore her about as much as most people adore members of their own family, possibly more. She is my family. And I would spend whatever it took to keep a family member alive, even if I knew it would only be for a short while, right?

And yet. There are government programs set up, Medicaid and Medicare and whatever, especially for people who can't afford medical treatment. There is medical insurance, and tax deductions and various other means of obtaining funds and reimbursements for people who are sick. But nothing exists to help out those who need to pay for treatment of a sick animal. And by the way, how telling is it that the doctor who told me all of these tests would be needed never bothered to mention how much it would cost? It doesn't help matters that the median income where I live is about $90k. I feel ashamed every time I have to ask a doctor or dentist how much a procedure will cost, because health consequences be damned, the price will determine whether or not I can have it done.

So am I going to look like an asshole if I ask how much it will cost to fix my sick kitty? Probably. God, I hate living here. And I hate having to make this choice, even if it is a bit premature. Should I be allowed to even own a pet, if I can't afford any and all expenses it may incur throughout the course of its life? I don't know. I do know that I love my kitty so much that writing this post has caused me to cry at work, and I don't think I should have to miss out on that kind of love and that kind of companionship just because I'm poor.

Westward-ho!

In case I missed letting some of you Seattle/Northwest peeps know that I'm gonna be in town next weekend, consider yourself warned. I'll be going to the ALA Mid-Winter Meeting, which is sure to be entertaining and informative, or at least better than staying here and doing nothing. I'm supposed to be networking and stuff while I'm out there so that maybe I have half a chance of getting a job when I move back, but I can never really seem to muster the energy for the schmoozing. Nevertheless, I just spent $18 getting ugly and non-official-looking business cards printed, so maybe I should at least pretend to wheel-and-deal.

Anyway. The other night I was at work and bored, a rare occurence, and so I took the opportunity to read my blog archives. Some things I've noticed: I used to write a lot more about books I was reading and movies I had seen, but maybe that was because I used to post a lot more often and needed something to write about. Also, (I)(use)(way)(too)(many)(parentheses). (I guess I'm fond of the parenthetical statement.) And wow, have I really gone off the deapend since about August or September with the memes. Sorry about that - they are the lazy man's method of blogging and I realize this. Plus, they're really ultra-fucking-boring.

I didn't really have a point to make there, I was just saying. Here's something you will all enjoy: LEG UPDATE! Well, not much is new, unfortunately. It still hurts. But I feel that perhaps my knees are slightly better, although my hip/pelvis (I have an inflamed joint where my hip and pelvis meet) is still sore and it looks like it will be sore for the rest of my life, since I don't like either of the two options I have been presented with: 1) taking steroid medication - oh good, I get to gain weight and have worse acne than I am already blessed with! or 2) get a cortizone shot. No thanks, I'll just live with the pain. As my good friend and supermodel roommate once said, "Sometimes you have to suffer for fashion." Indeed.

Also, I don't like my doctor so I don't think I'm gonna go there anymore, and besides, it's too expensive and I can't afford it. So, bring the pain!