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.