Finally!!

I can't get enough of this right now--particularly the ridiculously wonderful track "Hell Yes." Even better, looks like there's a remix album in the works. All I can say is, welcome back, The Beck That I Love. I've suffered through the last three departures. They may have been someone else's cup of tea, but not mine.

Last weekend I drove to Nashville and all I wanted on the way was a party album. I brought along a few CD's, including the newly purchased Guero. It made my day.

Nastyville (or NashVegas, pick you favorite obnoxious nickname) was awesome, by the way. Many coffee shops, hiking trails and lots of good food, although the ratio of normal people to inane, spoiled college students is unusually large. Remember, I'm around college students all day so my theshold is already high.

Still, a great time.

Barney-land

Update on the percussion class overhead: this week, the focus is xylophone. You'd be surprised how clearly the xylophone's notes carry from the second floor. It's like they're shooting in through the vents. As with the drums, our xylophone players are beginners, which means lots of scales up and down, up and down. Plink-plink-plink.

It kind of feels like I'm working on the set for Barney. I can almost feel him standing behind my chair, bobbing and smiling as I type out meeting notes, pull web stats, talk servers and strategy on conference calls. Plink. Plink.

Well, I'm taking off Thursday and Friday, so whatever.

Fish-scale purses

One current fashion accessory that I really don't like is those purses with the big metallic bangles on them. (Google tells me they're called "hobo purses." The things you can learn on the interweb!)

They started popping up around here over the summer (and if you're saying that's so two years ago, remember I live in the South, where New York's fashion from two years ago is all the rage).

They remind me of two things:
(1) Dionne Warwick's hair circa 1988 (didn't she have lots of sparkly corn rows for a while?).

(2) The dresses that were The Rage at my senior prom in 1991. All the girls thought they looked like mermaids, but they just looked like scaly fish.

My mother instilled in me this rule: sparkly = formal/evening wear. She's really appalled by the current trends toward gold flip-flops and glitter t-shirts. I think the occasional hippie skirt with a few sequins is harmless enough at noon, but come on with the disco-ball purses!

Baby aspirin

Baby aspirin. You might say that's the color of my kitchen, except like I said sometimes it's corally-pink, sometimes closer to orange. Some might think it's a terrible association, but I have fond memories of baby aspirin. It tasted so good! That and the bubble-gum flavored, milky penicillin syrup. If you were a kid in the 70s, you know what I'm talking about.

A couple of years ago, I tried a Grand Marnier creme brulee in a restaurant, and it tasted exactly like baby aspirin. Not really a good flavor for a sophisticated dessert.

Wallpaper, begone!

The English tea-house wallpaper is all gone, and now my kitchen is a peachy-coral kind of color. It all turned out very well. At the risk of sounding like an ad for hair dye, the color has great dimension to it--in the shadows it's rosy pink, but in direct light it's almost orange. It keeps me guessing, and isn't that what life's all about?

So I spent yesterday cleaning the kitchen top to bottom. It was cleaner than it'd ever been in my few short months in the house. Then I immediately set about cooking, so now it's a little less clean. Oh well. My only complaint is that my feet are still tired from standing so long, and I pulled a muscle in my back, probably carrying the microwave hither and yon.

I rearranged the appliances for better counter space. I think it's working, but in my morning fog it was disconcerting to not have the coffee maker in the customary spot.

So, it'll be a short week b/c I'm taking off Friday. I might go wild and ask off for Thursday, too. The college will just be emerging from its Fall Break slumber, so I could probably slip away without getting too many frantic calls.

Whitest people in the world

Had a lovely, busy weekend. Yesterday, went to a birthday brunch for a friend at a rather posh bistro-style restaurant. They serve a damn good brunch at an incredibly reasonable price. I hadn't realized it was such a happening place to see and be seen, though. There was the local filmmaker whose recent movie about pimps and ho's has made him a rising demi-star. There was the owner of a tech firm, and a professor I recognized from work.

Our party of twelve dispersed around 1:30 and I had some time to kill, so I went to the Williams-Sonoma outlet to look for a belated birthday present for the honoree. What can I say, I only found out about brunch last Thursday, and I just ran out of time. I was cruising the isles when I ran into the birthday girl and her husband. Then I noticed the professor and his friends from the restaurant also were in the store. Then we ran into another couple who'd eaten with us. Oh, and when we went next door to Pottery Barn, we ran into yet another couple from brunch.

It reminds me of the Seinfeld when Elaine is dating the guy who may or may not be black. It turns out he thinks she's Hispanic. When they discover they're just a couple of white people, he says well, do you want to go to the Gap?

Things you forget about fall

When you have a painfully long summer like the one we're finally ending (maybe, since it's not unheard of to have a temp of 75 or 80 through December), you forget what the other seasons are like. Hell, it's hard to even imagine they exist.

Yesterday, a north wind started blowing about mid-day. We're not talking hurricane, not the 12-hour battering din of Katrina and Rita. This was just a steady, confident breeze announcing the change of seasons sure as a page turning in a book.

Around here, wind is rare in the summertime. After a while, you forget there's even a possibility of anything but a sudden storm tearing through. I was surprised to open my blinds this morning and see the breeze was still combing through the trees, making that rustling sound that is one of my strongest memories of autumn. When I think of fall days from childhood, that sound drowns out any other voices. There's just the wind and the smell, and me in my wool uniform having an afterschool snack.

Dilbert goes to college

In one of the more Dilbertesque moments in my recent memory, I was asked today during a meeting by a well-meaning but clueless colleague (in booming, corporate voice):

"What is the scope and timeline for your project?"

To which I responded in the patented Shorttina monotone:

"Very, very big and very, very long."

My boss, who is so good to me, must have sensed that I was on the cusp of being on the verge of tears because he ran with the weak joke and added,

"And it's a lot of work and more expensive than you want to know."

It wouldn't be so bad. The estimated deadline is about five months away, but the brunt of work can't be done, really, until the last couple of months. Really, it's all too frightening right now to consider in great detail. It turns out that moving a web site is a lot of work. Who would have guessed?

But the meeting was redeemed by a discussion of unusual bequests by college benefactors. I suggested I might leave the college my rock collection, to augment a former administrator's honorary rock garden. Someone else said he'd like to leave the college millions, restricted for the purchase of monkey grass.

Doing my part to support the economy

Major shopping weekend. Yes, friends, I have entered the 21st century by buying a combo DVD/VCR to replace my VCR (been watching DVD's on my iBook). Nevermind that my TV is a 13-inch analog or whatever, and I won't be buying a digital TV until I'm forced to in 2007 or whenever. I plugged the machine in and immediately thought yes, this was worth not having the hassel of extra wires and remotes. I'm a 2-remote-max kind of woman.

Also had a "school clothes" shopping spree. I guess that's fitting b/c I work at a/my school and often refer to going to work as "going to school." During this two-day spree, I bought two pairs of shoes, two pairs of jeans, a pair of work pants, a work/dressy skirt, a jacket (which will be returned because it doesn't fit right) and another skirt that is surely the closest thing to a Catholic school uniform that I've seen since I graduated from Catholic school. I've had some other contenders, but the combination of grayness and pleatedness in this new skirt is unmatched.

What is it with wanting to return to the uniform? All I can figure is now I get to do what I always wanted to in high school--reinterpret it as I see fit. If I want to wear my uniform with combat boots or fishnets or a black leather jacket, or even "barbaric earrings," as my principal, Mrs. Swicker, called them, there's no one around to tell me I can't or give me a detention.

And that's one of the joys of being an adult. I can look ridiculous if I want to.