Dissociative Fugue.

I've been thinking about drawing a comic strip starring Jupiter. It would maybe help if I could draw or was witty. But, you know.



I got a letter from AMANDA! today, I'm waiting to read it until the codeine's gone.

Which should be around a quarter to seven.



I got galleried in some guys Flickr gallery for this picture:

The story of this picture is that it was taken at the Fox Theater when Austin and I went to Atlanta to go see the Smashing Pumpkins. We both had the same camera, and found that it was really amazing when you took a picture of some lights and then spun your camera around real crazy-like. Yeah, it's been done. But who cares? I like the picture.

Then I looked at the date that I took this....and it was in 2007.

Damn.

I was all set to cook like crazy this week, now that I'm feeling better, but grocery money became doctor money real frackin' fast.

I have, however, begun an earnest endeavor to make fingerless gloves that convert to mittens. Ambitious? Why, thank you.

Where The Wild Things Aren't.

taken at the Other Place, Burlington, VT.

I had this surly little post all done up in my head. Really. I've been socked in my antfarm apartment for the past five days with what's either a really, really nasty cold or the flu (which is a sad thing for me to admit, because in ten years of medical assisting, never have I ever once come down with the stinking flu). Thursday, in fact, when it started, I even scored a free movie pass from a patient who owns Essex Cinemas on the very opening weekend of Where the Wild Things Are, a movie that I genuinely was ready to wade through the Radiohead-and-Urban-Outfitters-had-sex-with-each-other crowd that was sure to be there. And NERRP. Could barely even make it up the stairs by the time I got home. Foiled.

Adding to my misery: No heat in the apartment until Monday, and it's getting cold here, folks.

Needless to say, I spent the next several days watching The Godfather trilogy on VHS (oh, did I not tell you? My TV won't connect to my DVD player) over and over and over again and have crazy fever dreams. Yes, I even watched Part III. No, I am not proud of this.

I swiped some tapes while I was at home. Babe. Rushmore. Standard fare. I would rather not talk about being at home at the moment, save to say that one doesn't watch The Godfather trilogy for four days solid and not learn a little something about family.

That, children, is not what this post is about. No, not by a long shot. I woke up this morning, and it was pretty much like last morning. Angry animal trying to claw its way out of my chest. Fever scorching damn something out of my body. Every step I took hurt even my hair. And I have a boatload to do for school. My dog might be getting sick. And all of a sudden, there's a knock at my door.

There was a package with a card taped to the front, from my homies at the old office. That's right. The place I used to work. And it was full, filled up, with stuff - Easy Mac, PopTarts, yarn!, gummi eyeballs, brain-shaped icecube trays, peanut-butter filled pretzels. And just this coincidence alone was enough to make me smile, but then....the heat came on.

Listen - I have mulled over this "family" nuisance since things fell apart. But from Celena sending me that care package without thinking twice; to Will getting takeout for me from a thousand miles away while I'm in the throes of something fierce; to Amanda and Allen who let me share their stage and continue to enchant me with all they're doing; to the unlikely posse at the OP who send me drunk text messages to casually let me know that they miss a lady being around and causing trouble; to Aaron whose worrying almost matches my own; always to my other-half, my brother; and to my mother, who, while she vexes me to no end with her strange assertions and needless alarmism, actually gives a damn about what the hell I'm doing with myself up here. I have a wonderful family. I have an amazing, wonderful, family.

And yeah, New England in the autumn? They weren't lying to you. It is divine. I said to Thomas one evening a few weeks ago as we sat outside on the corner of Pearl and N. Winooski that I was worried the good weather was coming to an end, and that I felt I should soak up the goodness before the inevitable iron curtain descends. "Nah," he said, flipping his cigarette dismissively. "There's a lot more than this. A lot more ahead."

Sincerest apologies for the sick-rant. Bear Country will return with lasers set on stunning sometime next week.

Why Am I Such A Mis...fit?

image via popvssoda.com

There's a girl in the program I'm in from Japan. She has been in America for about a year, but never south of Philadelphia. The other day, she asked me: "What's the difference between the South and the North?" I wracked my brain for about thirty seconds before I decided it wasn't worth the time and effort, but something bugged me about that question, as it has bugged thousands upon thousands of people before me. What is it that perpetuates this relationship, where we just cannot seem to stop being irritated by one another? It's like two kids sitting in the backseat of a car on a long trip. "He's looking at me." "He touched me first."

Here's something that's insanely hard for me to stomach: the nasal northern /a/ (also written as ä).

Before anyone says anything: I know. Okay? I know. The southern version is probably just as grating to listen to. The southern guttural /a/ tends to sound like someone trying to induce vomiting. And I've gotten flak more than a few times for my "accent," which fifty per cent of the time, people say isn't that bad anyway (I think when people find out I'm from Tennessee, they start wanting to hear the accent more than anything - or maybe I'm kidding myself here). But, seriously. Here is a real and true conversation I heard out at a store the other day:

WOMAN 1: Oh, look at these! You know, my mother-in-law likes cardinals!

WOMAN 2: What?

W1: My mother-in-law likes cardinals!

W2: Oh, cards?

W1: What?

W2: Did you say 'cards' or 'cardinals'?

W1: Cardinals

W2: Well, you could get her some cards with cardinals on them!

You can hear it in your head, can't you? Let's take a look at this for a minute, from a phonologic standpoint. Do you see how many times they used that damn sound within that little bit of conversation? Let me help you out:

WOMAN 1: Oh, look at these! You know, my mother-in-law likes cardinals!
WOMAN 2: What?
W1: My mother-in-law likes cardinals!
W2: Oh, cards?
W1: What?
W2: Did you say 'cards' or 'cardinals'?
W1: Cardinals
W2: Well, why don't you get your mother-in-law some cards with cardinals on them!

Thirteen times. I didn't think I'd have a hard time with accents up here - in fact, I really didn't expect there to be too much of one. People in Vermont, especially in Burlington, are from all over the place - New York, Boston, Canada - not to mention that I've spent a good deal of time with you guys from the Midwest, with your "come with"s and your "soda"s, and it never really bothered me. But now, I don't know if it's because I can't get out or what, but Jesus.

I've even heard my accent change slightly, especially in words like "talk" or "walk." Even my /a/ is moving slightly north of the Mason-Dixon line. Not my /aɪ/s though. Those - like most of my diphthongs - are still, thankfully, Southern. Most people here think it's cute anyway. In a town full of people from all over the world, they think the Southern accent is cute.

Maybe one day I'll be able to talk about this stuff with some sort of sociolinguistic knowledge, but until then I'll just go ahead and put my hand in a coffee grinder.

I'm a Butthead.

So I was a total butthead and didn't get my piece to the Halloween show on time. I feel like a jerk. Sorry, Bran.

If it makes him feel better, I haven't had time to do anything lately. Between new job, school, changes in the schedule, stupid professors, and Jupiter getting sick for those couple of days...I just don't know.

My brain hurts. My neck hurts.

My computer's still not back from when Best Buy kidnapped it. I'm thinking of calling the police.

Here's something more than a little distressing: PUMPKIN SHORTAGE. Is this just canned pumpkin or what, people? Because pretty soon, I am going to be craving some turkey-pumpkin chili. I must have the gourd.

I'm going to do a series of x-posts from the old LJ account, just so I can have a continuum. But right now...I'm going to go home and make a big pot of potato soup.

Oh my, things have been busy.

I'm switching my garb from LiveJournal to this thing. LiveJournal is dead to me. Dead.

Water, water everywhere - and those damn boards did shrink...

Hm.

I was going to make this big post about the stuff I'm working on for the PoMoNoBo Halloween Art Show, and about school and the first week and all that stuff....but then I started listening to Iris DeMent, and now I just want to throw up and die.

An arm's just an arm 'til it's wrapped 'round a shoulder
Boots side-by-side, they go stepping out together;
A note's just a note 'til you wake from your slumber,
And dare to discover the new melody.

Oh, sweet is the melody so hard to come by;
It's so hard to make every note run just right.
You lay down the hours, and leave not one trace,
But a tune for the dancing is there in its place.

G-Damn It.

When It Goes Away.

The day I left Tennessee, Knoxville proved to be a place that should immediately be nuked and started from scratch. I haven't heard too many good things from there lately, and my optimism that the people I love who still live there can pull out of the mire they've created is starting to wane, and quickly.

I spent the evening yesterday sharing a beer with a raging ketamine addict. Before you judge the wisdom of such an action, as I have already judged it thoroughly myself, it was pretty funny. Kind of like a Dostoevsky novel.

Other things, other things. I had my first ever trip to a laundromat. It was not very exciting. The leafy-green spendin money dwindles and dwindles. I may get a job at Williams-Sonoma, which will complete my whiteness. I no longer have a garden. Jupiter is not happy here, and the jury's still out with me. Although I will say that the loneliness I feel - the loneliness that I have - is forcing me into a more than a few intensely introspective moments, in which I have to wonder: what am I doing here? Why am I talking to this ketamine addict? And why, in the wake of my departure, and in all my teary goodbyes and my wonderful friends whom I miss deeply, do I feel rendered so unlovable myself?

Tomatoes aren't even in up here yet. Some guy down the street has a bucket of romas growing, and they're not even pink. Hard little green knots still. It is a culture shock.

My birthday is Wednesday.

Mehitabel Moves Out.

Hey Laaadiiiess,
originally uploaded by The Rat Bat.

This is Mehitabel. She was the first pet of my own that I got when I moved out of the dorms and into my first apartment. When we got her, she had half a tail and a gimp foot from where it had gotten strangulated by un-shed skin.

The foot and the tail both grew back, and today, she got a new home.

Goodbye and Godspeed, you salty old wench, you.

Trick S'mores.

I watched "Cook Yourself Thin" on LifeTime a couple of times, and have been thinking up tricky ways to get people to eat healthier! Here's a quick recipe for those smart-ass kids that are always wanting S'mores! Shut up, kids, it's time for you to learn a lesson in NUTRITION!

I call these F'MORES! because they're Fake s'MORES, and when you give one to those mewling little brat kids, not one of them will ever ask you F'MORE!

1) Get a Wasa whole-grain flatbread. There is fiber!
2) Put on the "chocolate"! (tricky secret #1: it's BEANS!)
3) Add the "marshmallow"! (tricky secret #2: it's CHEESE!!!!!!!!)
4) Put that shit in the microwave, smash it all together, and ENJOY A F'MORE!


Alright, you got me. I'm poor, I had leftover beans and a whole lot of nothing else in the cupboards. I made some quick refried beans and did this up for a quick and sad little lunch one day.

Wasa flatbreads, though, I need to sing the praises of for a moment - they're relatively cheap, they've got bookoo good nutrition in them, and they are tasty with so, so many delicious things. Hummus, yes. I made BLT Wasa with turkey bacon and homegrown German Queens hijacked from my parents garden - so good. A little tomato sauce, cheese and toppings = quick pizza.

Truly, the Wasa flatbread is my new pep-pep.

Apartmented.

Pearl Street at Dusk in the Snow,
originally uploaded by found_drama.

I am the proud tenant of 9 Greene, one of the more bizarre apartments I have ever seen. There's a grett big kitchen, tiny l'il ol' living room...but the party...the real party...is in the loft.

Oh, you'll just have to see it.

And Jupiter will definitely have to start doing drills to be able to hoof it up them stairs. Or if not, maybe we can rig up some sort of dumbwaiter-type thing.

Now all this is starting to come together.

So if you're perusing blogs in the blog-o-sphere, and you happen upon this blog, consider it a message in a bottle! The Rat Bat is coming to Vermont, and would love love LOVE to meet you!

Press On Me, We Are Restless Things.

I am in the midst of a cooking frenzy.

Having got rid of the kitten what was boarding in my spare room yesterday (Jenna named it Odell), I find myself bored. It's amazing the gap a tiny little kitten can leave in your life when it's gone. Now what will I have to tend to?!
I'll tell you - oat bread.

I already fucked up a pan of granola bars, because if you know me, you know I hate burnt stuff with a passion. The bottoms of these are burnt. Harumph harumph harumph. I might still eat them, purely out of pride. Next up to fuck up - oat bread. Wish me luck.
On the docket for dinner, in honor of Will's giving his life away to surgery rotation tomorrow - long-life udon noodles (with chicken, not tofu - sue me). I don't have sesame oil, but I really want to try out this recipe, and I have a ginger root I need to put to use. If I like it, I'll post the recipe. If I don't, pretend you never saw this.

Movie Lineup for tonight: United 93. Don't think about it too much, it's a little sick.

All the while, I should be 1) cleaning my house, 2) finishing my Peace Corps application, 3) finishing Joe Rice's packet to mail, 4) updating the Etsy site (yes, these are all important), 5) mailing my now delinquent electric bill, 6) LOOKING FOR DAMN PLACE TO LIVE in Vermont!....the list goes on and on.

My smug sense of superiority has really gotten out of control in the past few days since I found out my ex-fiance crapped his pants while they were on tour with the band, then told my sister "I guess I should call her." Don't do me any favors, deuce-dropper. Run away, and complete the transition to being your maladapted and delusional father. The deep-pocketed Squeeka will be there to save you! And, if not, I'm sure you'll figure out a stupid way to save yourself , and hopefully that way will not involve leaving a gob in your gabardines again. Take care, moran. Gahhhh.

(But still, it's a strange gap that such a small thing can make in your life.)

On a Roll.

Well, I've been a busy little bat the past few weeks.


First and foremost, I'm moving to Vermont. Yes, this is true facts. I got accepted to the Applied Lingustics program at St. Michael's College. So I'm looking for places to live in the Burlington area that will take me and my dog in AND that doesn't cost an arm and a leg and the other leg (other arm deposit). I want to live in Winooski, as it is dirtier and much less intimidating than Burlington (i.e., I feel like I could eat a PopTart in the light of day and not be put to a slow, hard death for eating non-local).



OR MAYBE...it won't just be me and my dog....

BUM BUM BUMMMMM

This kitten has been staying with me for the past couple of days, giving my guest room worms and ear mites. It has its first doctor's appointment today. It is very tiny. All these things are true. ALSO, it doesn't have a name, which I've stopped telling people, because of the multiple onslaughts of stupid cat names. "Name it Butterbean." "Name it Electro-Cat." "Name it Peaches 'n Cream."

NO.

All this work has made me tired. Tired, tired, tired. I want a new project. I've been crocheting market bags in anticipation of going to the farmer's market every week to get my groceries (another way Burlington is trying to make me feel like a yokel), but that's not really curbing my project urge. I think I'm going to try crazy quilting. I've amassed quite a bit of scrap fabric, and it couldn't possibly hurt to try, even though I am shit at sewing and even worse at being patient. Maybe it'll make me better at both!

What a precious thought.

Mostly I've been cooking, trying out recipes. I'll have to post some of the successful ones here. One day.

Mother's Day Snark

I simply cannot stomach PostSecret on Mother's Day. My god. We all have secrets about our moms - GET REAL, TURKEYS.

Bring back the real secrets, and I'll be fine.

I'm in the process of making mala beads for my mother for the other half of her mother's day present. I tried one thing, but it looks like shit, so it's time to do something else now. I'll blog about it when it doesn't look like shit.

In other news, my stupid dream of being an off-off-off-off Broadway star has reared its ugly head again. Go figure.

Breaking Point

You guys.

I just listened to a bunch of Daniel Roop's poetry (thanks Amanda).

And I've got a lot of shit to say.

I may have to set aside some time to have an emotional blowout.

Here, think about this while I'm working.

Extolling The Virtues of White VInegar

Guys, seriously. What can't vinegar do?

I stopped by my sister's apartment the other day to check on a cat she was taking care of while someone was out of town. She has a real small apartment, tiny even. Her bedroom and living room are the same room. Anyway, the cat had been barfing, which cats seem to have a pleasant penchant for, so I promised to go check on it. I noticed in the kitchen that her dishes, I swear to God, had spot welded together in the sink. And. It. Stank.

So I thought, hey, I'm a nice guy, I'ma do these dishes. And about midway through doing the dishes I had thought of at least five things I would have used white vinegar for in her apartment. And if you will indulge me, I will list those things right now:
1) Small bowl of vinegar on coffee table to take out cat barf smellz
2) Cup of vinegar in warm water and mop yr floor. And if you want it to smell okay, you could drip in some peppermint extract or vanilla extract or (more expensive) essential oil if you got it
3) Vinegar and water in a spray bottle and spray some shit down, forget Windex.
4) Pour some o dat vinegar down the drain, you turkey!

Okay, maybe not five. But four things, and she had Windex, she had air freshener, she had all these things that she didn't have to spend money on! Coulda bought a gallon jug of white vinegar!

Here is someone who found 1001 Uses for Vinegar!

And Borax!

And Baking Soda!

Because I honestly feel that if you have those three things, you can clean anything. I used salt to scour her sink, because she had no baking soda.

I would really love to send her some sort of tips list for things to have around that are absolute necessities of a household and at the same time are incredibly cheap and multifunctional. Can anyone help me out with this?

MEGASTUPID

I just spent the weekend with my brother and Adem in Greensboro, NC. It's a nice college town, and it's nice to go someplace with actual places to go hang out, sit in the beer garden and have some sort of food. And it was a gorgeous weekend. But when I got back....

My garden has gone MEGASTUPID!

Alright, well the bluebells are wild in my backyard. But the guy who mows the lawns left them, and I choose to believe that it's because that everyone has some sort of sense of aesthetics, such that they would leave a bluebell alone and NOT weedeat them for God's sake.

Along that same line, I thought a lot about hollow people this weekend, and about some advice I got from a guy I used to know, the same guy that unknowingly created my online moniker: "Sometimes, you think a person is mysterious, and you dig and dig, and open boxes and go on hunts, and then you find out - really - there's nothing there after all."

I think I've done well sifting these people out of my life so far. I would much rather be around people who would let the bluebells grow.

Egg Droup Soup - the Proud Fighter of Chinese Take-Out

Alright, I like egg drop soup. I used to make fun of people for eating it, because, I'll admit, it looks like snot. It feels like snot. It's snotty. And every time I get it from Wok and Hibachi, there is some kind of mysterious corn in the bottom. But I love it, I do, and I wanted to figure out the best way to make it. So what did I do?

Allrecipes.com, baby.

Why would I not go to a well-respected cookbook and just get the recipe out of there? Because I can easily go to a place like allrecipes.com, and all of a sudden, my recipe hasn't just been tested a hundred times, it's been tested three thousand times, by people with all sorts of tastes! Don't like spicy? First time was gross? Tried it again? Next time was better!? Or maybe someone preferred it the first way? You choose! The voice of the unwashed masses is rising up against the Draconian ways of the Cook Book, and I for one love it.

Basically, my point is this: cookbooks are only good for church fundraisers. You might as well, though, take recipes that you've tried a thousand times among your family and friends and start a cookbook of your own. My grandmother did this for me for Christmas, and I've used it more than nearly anything else in my house.

Now, for the egg drop soup. This is the basic recipe I drew from:
http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Restaurant-Style-Egg-Drop-Soup/Detail.aspx

Which is good. It's fine. I didn't add chives, because chives don't add anything to me. Instead, I opted for shallots, AND (just because it's like home to me) some kernels of corn to sink to the bottom. Is this going in my personal cookbook? Well, just have a gander and then YOU TELL ME.

So now I present to you, my fans, a photograph which has currently become my "most viewed" picture on my Flickr stream. BEHOLD:
Hot and Sour soup, though. That's fucked up.

Reason #273

Don't mess with crafters.

Gotta Catch Em All.

Tell me this isn't the coolest thing.

Extolling the Virtues of Film and the Forgotten

A lot of people ask me: hey, Kari, you have nice cameras. Why are you pointing that piece of crap at me?

Oh, I am so glad you asked.

I do love my dig-it-all cameras. I do. I love the instant gratification of being able to see the effects of shutter speed changes, aperture changes, white-balance changes. Ooo. Gives me chills just thinking about it. So yeah, I really do love my digital friends, but...


Come on. This is nice. The color. The softness of the grain. The whole kaboodle just screams "lazy hot day at the fair with non-alcoholic beverages" to me. This was taken with an Ansco 1065 that someone very thoughtfully sent to me. My Ansco 1100 was stolen during the Great Robbery of 2008, in which most of my old, loved, crap cameras were taken. Lots of people chipped in to help me rebuild my obsessive collection of shitty cameras.


This was taken by my dear, departed Yashica MF-2.

A very kind and wonderful man from Florida thoughtfully sent me a care package of some old cameras he was giving away. The Ansco 1065 was among them. The funny part is, the robber probably didn't get away with more than ten bucks worth of cameras unless you count the...


Nikon N6006. Ughhhhh but we won't talk about that for now. Makes me have diarrhea just thinking about it.

The thing about shitty cameras is this: they're all the same and yet so different. They all pretty much need bright light, but what they do with that light is just fascinating. All the bends and smears and leaks. Depending on how the camera was used, you could really have some nice effects on your hands. And while I prefer 35mm cameras, I have a couple of Kodak Instamatics that only take 126 cartridges, which I guess I can modify to take 35mm film. But I also have Polaroid Land Cams and Kodak Disc-Cams and you JUST CAN'T FIND FILM FOR THAT SHIT ANYMORE. It drives me nuts.

The irony here is that I'm not a big fan of LOMO or toy cameras, like Holgas, Dianas, et cetera. They're okay. I had a Holga. It was fun. But for some reason, these crappy cameras that you can go out and find at any thrift store or flea market have this ineffable air of Americana to them. And the find - ahh, the thrill of finding a new old crappy camera! You don't know what it's going to do or how it's going to act until you get the roll processed. Magical. Truly.

If you don't believe me, go to Flickr's Trashcams group and look at the pictures people take with these things. It's wonderful.

Alright, that's enough of that.

DIY Laundry Detergent

For this I used
1/2 c. Borax
1/2 c. washing soda
1 bar Ivory soap or maybe 1/2 bar Octagon Soap
essential oils

I grated the bar of soap (at the time I had Ivory, but now I have Octagon soap which according to this person will not only clean your filthy clothes, but will also break any spells that happen to be on you at the time! Swift!) with my food processor. Then, all I did was switch out the blades to blend the Borax and Washing Soda together. Yes, it's that simple.

Most people, even I, thought that this would either a) eat holes through my clothes or b) eat holes through my skin. It did neither. In fact, the wash came out just as soft as a goddamn lamb. Keeping in mind the acid/base yin and yang of laundry is a plus too. Lots of people add vinegar to the rinse cycle to balance out the alkaline of the detergent, but I really don't want to mess with the timing of this. Maybe I'll dabble in homemade fabric softeners (which are acidic) later.

The only problem is that even though I used Ivory (which has a caustically soothing smell) AND essential oils (sweet orange), the load of laundry I did didn't really come out smelling like a whole hell of a lot. I guess I'm the kind of person that needs the scent to validate the cleanliness. Next time I'll add more smell.

So, was it worth it? HELL YES, as far as I'm concerned. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to find washing soda anywhere, but it was at my grocery store, and it was CHEAP. If you can't find it, I suppose you could substitute baking soda or OxiClean. Borax is also CHEAP, but I had it around anyway, because I use that shit for everything. Seriously. And Ivory soap? CHEAP CHEAP CHEAP. I found it for a dollar per three pack. Take a lesson from the Joker: be a person of simple tastes.

It's not about money. It's about sending a message.

Testing Part Two

I'm redoing this site completely to make it more better.

Stand by.