Rants Archives, 2: March 30 - May 1,
2002
Start at the bottom, work your way up! (Hit your Back Arrow to return to Rants)
Wednesday,
May 1, 2002:
Hey, so who says there's a set schedule to this? And I hope to God no
one expects me to really be topical or political or anything all the time.
I'm still in denial about the whole we-love-Bush thing. Uh, say, guys? The
last time I checked - and I don't mean to be a wise-ass or anything - he
went to China dressed like Steven Segal and expected us, as a nation, to
keep a straight face. I mean, sure, yeah, he kept the nation together in
a time of difficulty, yadda yadda, but I'm pretty sure an answering machine
could have kept us together on 9/11. If terrorists attack you, you pretty
much are automatically Going To Band Together Because That's What Good Decent
'Mericans Do, by golly. We didn't need a guy getting lost in an airplane
to do that for us. So yeah - go back to chopping down the Alaskan wilderness
and drilling for oil and all those things that I loved about you, George
- you're fantabulistic!
So that was me, not being political. *cough*
So now, my time is free to ponder the truly important things, such
as (1) the adorable teeny tiny nearly-3-week-old kitten which Mike and Kerrigan
have been caring for (and yes, I'm considering adopting it, but we'll have
to see about that....) and (2) My kicky summer hairdo! Votes are being
accepted. Would you like to vote on my next haircut? (Friday, 5/3/02, at
noon, so vote quickly!) Here's the choices: Something short and sassy, a-la
Tina Fey (I was leaning towards this one, until I noticed that little flippy-action
she's got going there), or perhaps a medium-length version of Diane Farr
(you may know her as Jan on Denis Leary's "The Job")? I had even considered
something kind of Run Lola Run-ish, but I know me, and I know I'd want to
brush it into submission daily. Or maybe something in between? Help me,
Rick!
Send your votes to: ME, you dope. OH and feel free to rave about how
cute the kitten is, too, while you're there. ACT NOW - The haircut approaches
on May 3rd!
AND THE LATEST: Martine will be moving into Mr. Maples' old apartment
once he takes possession of the previously written-of palatial manor.
Lucky girl! I am currently indebted to Mr. Maples' girlfriend, Monique,
for introducing me to a wonderful childrens' book which I am finding hard
to believe is really just for kids, Robert C. O'Brien's The Silver Crown.
It is dark, bittersweet, full of fantasy, sadness and magic in modern times.
If you do not run out and buy it and read it....well, I am sorry for you.
Thanks, Monique, for such a wonderful treat.
Oh, yeah, and Neal McDonough (pictured somewhere below, under 3/30 entry)
is STILL hot. He is currently featured on my laptop wallpaper. Just in
case you were wondering.
Okay, it's late, I'm tired, and I KNOW you've all got jobs to go to
tomorrow. So get to sleep/work/school. And just say no to Bush.
Monday, April 15, 2002:
So at Friday Night at Chez Maples
the other night (the first of Daylight Savings, might I add; roomie Mari and I
both thought it was REALLY ODD to be arriving when it was still light outside),
Mr. Maples had photographs of his Future Homestead up on the Triple Computer (for
those of you who don’t know already, Mr. M. hosts my server, so BOW DOWN
BEFORE HIS MAGNIFICENT POWER AND PAY HOMAGE before he disconnects me, or what
is it? horks my website. (Yes, Mr. M., I know that only applies to e-mail and
is wrong, wrong, wrong. It was a joke, already.)
ANYWAY, he’s buying the house next door to his current apartment. Correction:
he’s buying the PALATIAL MANOR next door to Chez Maples, and while Friday
Nights may consist of Cheez Whiz on Triscuits and Thunderbird wine for a while,
can I just say:
I call the Sun Room with Hot Tub!
No, really! Dibs! I need it so’s I can write the Great American Novel in
there with my laptop. Mr. M. said didn’t I know that the Great American
Novel could only be written under circumstances of great deprivation and suffering
(i.e., cold winters and hunger, cheap wine and bad vodka *shudder*)? I mentioned
all this to Steve (currently basking in the glow of his website – or BLOG
(see below) - Happy Fun Pundit , being linked by InstaPundit and getting like,
900 hits in one day), who suggested this problem could be remedied by turning
the jets off in the hot tub. "That’s a kind of deprivation," he offered.
A man with a solution!
So here’s what I am envisioning: Friday Nights at the Future Maples Manor,
after Kevin and Jones have evicted the Current Rude Tenants Who Almost Ran Them
Down in the Street – A friendly gathering in one of the many common rooms
(perhaps the dart room downstairs?), full of mirth and goodwill and witty repartee
(no one’s had much to drink yet, give it time!). Hell, it’s a sort
of East Bay Algonquin Round Table, only without the Algonquin or the round table.
(Can I be Dorothy Parker, only without the alcoholism and tragic love life? Huh,
can I?)
Anyway, cut to an hour or two later, and everyone kind of wanders off to sort
of create artistic masterpieces in different parts of the house. Chris, Ben and
Jared are working on a project involving sea shanties; shhh, it’s a secret!
Mike will be playing games with Mara and Martine (who will be passing out the
cosmos I hope!), and Jay will be conked out on the sofa even though there’s
a perfectly good guest room awaiting his arrival. Jesse, Kevin, Kerrigan, Zabed
and Mari are hard at work in the artist’s studio, Monique is writing songs
in the conservatory, and me? I’m writing useless crap like this somewhere,
perhaps hiding behind a potted fern, or hey, maybe soaking in the hot tub. But
most likely on the back patio.
Hey, I can envision, can’t I?
Steve, of course, will be busily blogging, like the blogger he is, and running
off to rub elbows with the famous Pundits.
And that, folks, is all I have to say about that on this fine and glorious, uh.
. . Monday.
Monday, April 8, 2002:
Things
seem to have gone rather topsy-turvy in the Cantwell-Goodwin household of late,
thus explaining (I hope) the silence on my end. I always hated those super-serious/whiney
personal online diaries (which I just found out today are web logs, or "blogs"
- thanks Steve!! I have joined the blogging community, I suppose, kicking and
screaming into the night), so rather than bore you with the details of it all,
let's just say my kitty Hobbes of 14 years has shuffled off this mortal coil and
gone to greener pastures, as of last Tuesday. A photo page is in the works, of
the Three Stages of Hobbes: Kitten/Teen, Young Adult, and Chubby Senior. All agree,
he was a good boy. Well, more on that later! Well, what else....OH! Went to POW!
A Cartoon Bar at 6th and Mission in S.F. on Saturday for Ms. Laurenn McCubbin's
promotion of her comic book, "XXXLive Nude Girls", and the fabulous Hi-Horse Comics
as well. Jon-O was spinning records, Ryann and Gehan were decked out to the nines,
and Amy Bunny Girl looked swell-tabulous in her shirt of many safety pins. The
hostess took many photographs, which perhaps (or perhaps not) will be posted on
the Penny Dreadful Press site; if you've been checking my links page, you'll know
I've linked their site. If you haven't been checking my Links page, then you're
a sinner and will be sent to Hell for all eternity! I went to New Wave City after
POW!, but tired early and came home; good thing too, because roomie and Mr. Maples
were locked out on the front porch, having returned early from Vegas. But ya know,
that's just lucky, I guess. I let them in, we had beer and sent Mr. Maples home.
Did I mention on Friday I showed my niece around Mills College (congratulations,
Karen Finlay, for winning the Writers Contest in TWO CATEGORIES!!), then went
to S.F. to go shopping? It was hectic, but you know, fun, in that I-hate-going-to-S.F.-but-I-dig-my-niece
kind of way. I realized I generally don't leave my house on Fridays for a reason:
it sucks! I also have NO SENSE OF DIRECTION because then I couldn't find Party
Sushi to meet the Friday crowd. Whatever. Finally found it, then got home for
movies at my house: "Withnail & I": "Followed by yet another reminiscence
about Oxford and sensitive crimes in a punt with a chap named Norman." How much
do I love that movie? *sigh* "LIAR! You've got anti-freeze!"
Saturday, March 30, 2002:
Uh,
sorry about that unsightly pause in production. It seems that Mr. Maples, who
provides my server, had a nasty run-in with PacBell's DSL program, and, well,
wackiness ensued. On top of that, he had many fish frying and the server remained
a low item on the priority totem pole. Steve is telling me that HappyFunPundit
is getting its own server and he'd be happy to provide me with a slot over there,
and at first, being the loyal gal I am, I said, Oh no, I couldn't. Then he said
stuff about e-mail and dial-up and blah-blah-blah and maybe SOMEday soon this
would all be happening. So do you hear that, Maples? You, yes, you (or your
server, anyway) can be replaced! (He thinks: one less website to administer...grumble,
grumble, ungrateful....)....
Server wars. I love 'em. So, what have I been doing the past two months? Ummmm,
not much. I saw a few good films, one of which was "Series 7: The Contenders",
a reality-TV styled film in which the contestants have to kill each other. I
especially liked the promo shots; very "Real World"-style. I also saw a 1999
film by British director Antonia Bird, "Ravenous". It's a nifty little period
piece about cannibalism. 'Nuff said? But hey, it's got Guy Pearce, Robert Carlyle,
and this guy:

*sigh*
Neal McDonough. My hero. Hey, get off my back, I've got more ex-boyfriends than
I can count and no prospects for a date in the near future. I can look, can't
I? As for politics, I didn't even vote this time around. My ennui has sunk to
a new level. The politicians will just do whatever the hell they want to anyway;
everyone is suddenly in love with Bush, which makes me think perhaps we are
living in the Bizarro universe. It seems just yesterday he was a walking joke.
He still is, only now it's repressed. Okay, well, that's my brief check-in.
Oh, and I'm looking for editorial assistant jobs. Got any? I write purty durned
good.