Retail: The Show Must Go On

There are many things happening in my life that I could be sharing with all of you, but because they are all happening, I don't have time.

Working...too...much....

Dealing with cranky-bah-humbug-holiday-hating customers.

And also with men who have NO IDEA what they are supposed to be buying and therefore need A LOT of help as well as everything wrapped. It's extremely amusing listening to them try to describe their girlfriend/wife/daughter/sister/mother's size. "My girlfriend is about 5'8", and she's thin, but not emaciated thin, you know.....She's very leggy."

OK, how about a pretty silk slip with lace edges? Here's the small, do you think she looks like a small?

"Maybe a medium...she can exchange it, right?"

Also, something I never thought about when I took this job is how often I have to model things for men. I tried on a robe the other day so this guy could get an idea of the size. I've also had to stop wearing necklaces for the time being because I'm constantly slipping one on for a look. Sometimes I'll be helping someone else when I'll hear either Deirdre or Annette say my name. I look over to see them standing with a man staring intently at my body, and I know that they've just asked, "Is she about Julia's size? Because then you should go with the small."

It does hurt a bit when I'm asked, "What size would you wear?" and I say "small" and they come back with, "Really? Oh well then, my wife/girlfriend will definitely take the small. Does it come in extra small?"

Thanks.

Anyway, this isn't why I came on here. There will be time for this later, when I have time.

I really just wanted to post this video which I finished weeks ago and never shared with anyone.

This is about the death of Superman. Basically, he died, Luthor stole some genetic material and cloned himself a morally skewed Superman, and then the real Superman came back to life sporting a mullet and a new black costume to take him down. Enjoy.

(Oh, and it starts out quiet, so you might have to turn up your sound.)

Technical Difficulties

I just published a post but every time I look at it the font is doing something weird. I think I've fixed it for now, but if it looks weird, now you know why.

Halloween (sans pictures)

OK, I still don't have the pictures from Halloween, but I wrote this AGES ago (OK, maybe it was only two weeks ago, but it FEELS like ages) and I'm just going to post it, pictures or no pictures.

So here it is:

This is supposed to be my Halloween story, but I do not yet have the accompanying pictures. However, I may have them by the end of the day (note: I did not get them at the end of the day), in which case, this could still be my Halloween story. So let's get the story part out of the way.

I mentioned on my Facebook page (I know, it's shocking. I actually updated my status. It only happens every three or four months, so I kind of doubt that anyone actually saw it since I've trained them not to look at my page. WHICH IS EXACTLY HOW I WANT IT. As soon as people think I might actually be a part of an online community, they start expecting me to do things like answer them in a timely manner when they leave me a message.) that I was considering my costume options. On the one hand, I bought that dress that looks very Star Trek. Not only that, but the dress is from Otto, and I always like wearing Otto clothes when I'm working. "Working" being a fairly loose term for what I was doing on Saturday since a great part of my job involved handing out candy to the throngs of children. However, though the dress is very reminiscent of Star Trek, it is not entirely accurate. For one thing it's black and gray when it ought to be black and red or blue or gold. For another thing....no, wait, that's the only thing. Other than that it looks almost exactly like a Starfleet uniform. (The spell-check does NOT recognize "Starfleet". I'm shocked.) And it looks even more like a Starfleet uniform when I wear my communicator pin which my mother bought me from Geeks-R-Us.

Option 2 was to wear a red shirt with black trousers. I even considered doing some fancy make-up effects to make me appear dead, since we all know that is the fate of Red Shirts. (Or do we all know that? Have I nerded all of you up enough? The rule is, if three of the main cast are beaming down to the planet with Ensign Ricky, who is wearing a red shirt, you can bet that Ensign Ricky will be dead before the first commercial break. This 'proves' that the situation is very serious and the main characters are in danger. Except we know they aren't because, hello, they'll be back on next week.) Although, that's not actually true in The Next Generation because Captain Picard wears red, and he certainly hasn't died yet. Neither has Smug Git. (I love Will Riker, I really do, but he can be a bit of a smug git sometimes, so I've taken to calling him that. I say it fondly, though.) Therefore, this costume choice would be more accurate to classic Trek, but then my communicator is Next Gen, so again, we have a bit of a pickle. (Not really, I just like saying "pickle".)

I went with option 1. I figured most of Park Slope wouldn't really know the difference, and I would look nice and maybe even sell the dress. (I did actually have two girls about my age who complimented me and asked if I had made the outfit myself. "No," I replied, "What kind of dork do you think I am? I bought it here." I showed it to them, they oohed and ahhed, and mused that maybe they could buy it and dress as Trekkers for Halloween. I then had to explain that the communicator did not come with the dress. That I was, in fact, the kind of dork they thought, and no, they could not borrow the pin.) Oh, I forgot to mention that in addition to the communicator pin, I had my pips (little gold circles which display your rank) which I made by sticking two gold earrings through the neck of the dress. They looked amazingly accurate, and I checked online to see what rank that would make me just in case anyone asked (which they didn't, but I told them anyway, at every opportunity). Lieutenant Poyer, at your service.

I must admit that I did try the communicator out. "Lieutenant Poyer to Captain Picard," I said, tapping the pin once. No one answered. Sigh.

Many people recognized that I was a Star Trek Character, but only two recognized that there was something not quite right about my outfit.

"What does gray represent? I don't remember that specialty. Red is for command, blue for science and gold for tactical, so what is gray for?" This was asked by an middle-aged man who was trick-or-treating with a large group of adults and children.

I smiled. "Yeah, it's not entirely accurate, but I did the best with what I had."
I only saw one other Trekker in costume, and (surprisingly) it was another woman. She had an official costume, though, not something cobbled together. I happened to be surrounded by children when she came up, but I did hear someone say, "But she's from Next Generation," and looked up in time to see the fellow Trekker standing with her husband (I'm assuming) and a few others all looking intently at me. I smiled and waved, then was forced to concentrate on the jostling children. I swear, the more candy they get, the more desperate they are.
All in all, it was a fun day. Several people said, "Live long and prosper" to which I replied, "Actually, that's from the original Star Trek series with Spock, whereas I am from Star Trek The Next Generation." I'm kidding. I didn't say that. What kind of nerd do you think I am? I just laughed and smiled and did the hand gesture back at them (the Star Trek hand gesture, not the rude one).

I did, however, correct Deirdre who saw my outfit and said, "The Force is with you."

"No, Deirdre," I said. "That's Star WARS. I'm from Star TREK."

"There's a difference?" she asked.

FACEPALM

The Fan

Arrgh. This was supposed to be a post about Halloween, but I don't have the pictures yet. And it's really not worth it without the pictures.

So, instead, I have another monologue for you. I wrote this last night (or, rather, this morning) at about 4:30am, because I couldn't sleep. I was lying in bed thinking about the first monologue I wrote and how I might end it (and actually came up with something that might work) when I was suddenly struck by another idea. Knowing that I would never get to sleep until I got this ridiculousness out of my head, I finally threw off the covers, switched on the light, opened my computer and started typing. I was going to post it immediately after I finished, but I decided to try sleep first. Anyway, this is what came out. Let me know what you think.


The Fan
(Woman, slightly crazy, speaks very quickly especially when she gets excited.)

(Approaching with caution) Um, hi. Hey man, sorry to bother you, I just had to come over here. I. Fucking. LOVE you man! You are my favorite actor of ALL TIME!
Seriously. I have followed your career from the beginning. Every movie you have ever made is solid gold.
No. (Suddenly turns very serious, almost homicidally so.)
Do not be modest.
Be proud.
Be proud of the work you have done. It is ART.

Like that early film you did, where you were killed halfway through by the aliens or whatever. It was a small role, I know, but you made me believe in those aliens…or whatever.

And then you were in that thing with that girl, you know, Whatshername, she’s on that show now… anyway, at first you liked each other then you hated each other but then you realized you loved each other. I mean, sure, it was a chick flick and it was funny and everything, but when it came right down to it, it was just about two people, you know. Connecting. Then not connecting. Then connecting again.

OH! And then, your Big Break. Two words: SUMMER BLOCKBUSTER. (squeals with excitement) You know, where you played that cop or FBI agent or something. And you didn’t really play by the rules, you were kind of rogue and you had to stop that guy from killing those people oh my GOD, that was awesome! I mean the special effects were…and all those explosions…but it still made you think, you know?

Oh, and congratulations! You just won that award for that thing about the minority kid who was troubled, and you became like a mentor and helped his team win that game but you were troubled too and it turns out the kid really taught you a lesson, and not the other way around. Yeah, that was great. Really gets you. Right here.

Anyway, could you sign this for me? (Holds out paper) Thank you, I really appreciate it. (calling after him as he’s walking away) Love your work. Think your great. (Watches him walk out of sight, then looks down at the paper)

Ohhhhh…that’s who that was.



Feedback? Does it need a little more filling out, or does it go on too long? Keep in mind the manic pace at which it will be delivered. Does the ending work? Once again, it's difficult just to read it because tone and speed are so crucial to the performance, but hopefully you get the idea.

Have to go to work now,
Jules

Don't Blame Me...

This is the post you feared. I did warn you though, and then I left a very long gap for you to decide whether or not to continue reading my sporadic posts. So whatever happens next is out of my hands.

I present to you "Blame It On the Crew of the Enterprise" my first video using clips from ST:TNG.

A little background:
I wanted my first video to be a serious and dramatic look at the dynamic between Data and his evil brother Lore. To that end, I began shopping for the perfect piece of music which could showcase their turbulent and rather complicated relationship. Something that would speak to the fact that Data is, essentially, an orphan and the only android in the whole of the universe, until he discovers Lore, the prototype that came before Data and was dismantled because he was deemed a failure. Because he's EVIL. If that doesn't make for nice dramatic tension, I don't know what does.

Anyway, I couldn't find what I was looking for exactly, but decided to start work with a song that was almost right. It was going OK, I suppose, but in the meantime I was listening to this song on my iPod and kept thinking it would make a hilarious video.

"But no!" I protested, "I want my first ST vid to be SERIOUS!"

Still, the song persisted. Reluctantly, I sat down and started work.

It ended up being the most difficult video I've made yet (and took about a month) , but I think it turned out really well.

So here they are: the crew of the Enterprise.

*A note on the song,
It's by Mika who, when looking up information about him, is noted for having been influenced by everyone from Elton John to ABBA to Rufus Wainwright to musical theatre. In other words, it's weird. Just go with it.

Blame It On the Crew of the Enterprise

In which I digress...

I was just at the grocery store where I purchased some figs. For one thing, I thought I remembered that figs usually ripen in fall, so I thought I should grab them now while they're good. For another, I remembered that children's book, The Sweetest Fig about the guy who eats these figs which make his dreams come true, but then his dog eats the fig and they end up switching places so the dog could exact his revenge on the cruel master. And that's how it ends. Overall, kind of a creepy and potentially traumatic children's book. Not unlike The Brave Little Toaster. Has anyone seen that movie? IT'S FRIGHTENING. No wonder I turned out so weird. I watched that thing a hundred times. It was my favorite movie for a while, and it's SERIOUSLY intense. It may also explain my propensity for connecting with inanimate objects. Friends find it strange that my computer has a name (Blake Williams Poyer) and that I often speak to and sometimes stroke Blake when she's having trouble performing certain tasks. I just found one of the creepier clips from BLT. HA! "BLT" isn't that funny? I didn't even realize, I was just being lazy. Anyway, check it out.



See what I mean? Who wouldn't be traumatized? Apparently a lot of the founders of Pixar worked on BLT. No wonder I loved it.

But I was talking about figs. I can't recall ever having eaten a fig before. Fig Newton, yes, but not a fig.

Does anyone remember those Fig Newton commercials where somebody bites into a cookie and the loudness of the crunch ruins their day, so they have a Fig Newton instead. Ah yes, Fig Newton, for those discreet cookie eaters. Because heaven forbid you might make a noise while snacking, never mind what it tastes like. And for the record, I've never really cared for Fig Newtons. It's a polite cookie. The sort of thing you eat when offered at a party, but don't offer to take any home with you.

Figs, on the other hand, are quite good. I ate one while I was blogging just now. And they're small. A nice pre-dinner snack.

Wow, this whole post has been complete tosh, hasn't it?

Meh.

See you next time, dear readers.

Jules

PS- I got some great ideas on my monologue from Elizabeth (apparently she's the only one willing to be honest) and I will update with a newer, better version soon. Also, it will have a real ending. Ta ta!

I need help.

Blog readers UNITE! I need your help.
In a strange fever, in which my fingers began flying over the keyboard of their own accord, I have just written a monologue.
I think I mentioned that The Actor's Project uses only original material. This means you either get a monologue that was written by the director or one of the other members or you can write one yourself. Awesome. My showcase is in about three weeks, and after that, we start the whole process over again with new monologues for the next showcase. I would like to bring in this one, but I don't know how to finish it. Or if it's even any good. That's where you come in.

Keep in mind that I have just written this very quickly without a lot of editing. Also, try to imagine it in my crazy voice because I think it probably won't read as funny as it would be performed.

And if you have an idea for an ending, don't hesitate to give a shout.

I know I can count on you, dear readers. Goodnight.

Nerd
By Julia Poyer

So, I look like a fairly normal girl right? Even an attractive one, you might say. I’m just throwing that out there. Not fishing for compliments. What you don’t see, is that I have another side to me. One that’s become very…unhealthy. And I need to talk about it. And if you can’t talk about it to a support group, then who CAN you talk about it to? Right? Right.

So, here goes: Hi, my name is Julia. And I’m a nerd.

It’s been going on for a while, you know. (Laughs) A while. Who am I kidding? It’s been my whole damn life. I guess it started with Star Wars. And really, that wasn’t so bad. I mean everyone liked Star Wars. It was just an action film set in space what’s not to love?!

Now we’re talking about the Original Three not the travesties which came out later. Just wanna be clear.

Anyway, at first, it was fine, even kind of cool to like Star Wars. And then I started wearing my hair in Leia buns to school. That’s when they laughed at me. Oh yes. But even their laughter could not stop me.

Next, it was comic books. And I’m not just talking one or two. I’m talking STACKS of comic books. I have filled my parents garage with BOXES and BOXES of comic books. AND NO! I CAN’T JUST THROW THEM AWAY BECAUSE THEY MIGHT BE COLLECTIBLES SOMEDAY!

I’m sorry.

Finally, there was Star Trek. Star Trek the Original Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager. I could go on all day. (Very serious) No really, you’ve got to stop me now because I could literally go on all day.

It’s started to affect my personal life. I was dating this guy. We were pretty serious, I mean, he was nerd too. And then, one night, he asked me. He asked me The Question: Who’s better Kirk or Picard?

I said I didn’t know how to choose. It’s like saying who do you love more, your father or your husband? I mean, you grew up with your father. You’ve loved him your whole life and sure he can be a little hokey sometimes, and his special effects are a bit cardboard-on-a-string but you love him anyway. And then your husband, who you haven’t known for as long but whom you’ve grown to love just as much.

My boyfriend said I was stalling, and that he needed an answer.

“Picard” I said. (Defiant) And I’d say it again. Because that Shakespeare-quoting bald man lives right here. (touches chest)

My boyfriend moved out the next day.

I need help.

Blog posts may be dangerous to you health.

Heaven help you. I have just downloaded several episodes of Star Trek: TNG, and they now occupy a folder next to the Justice League episodes in Windows Movie Maker.

Run.

Run now, and run fast.

And far.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I'm already thinking about music selections...

OK, well I don't have music yet. But I have ideas, and you know how dangerous THOSE are.

And now I really ought to be asleep, so I'll leave the explanation of why I haven't been writing for another day. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just pretend these hiatuses...hiati...hiat - erm, what IS the plural for 'hiatus'? - don't exist.

Goodnight.

Jules

I've Got Your Quirky Right Here, Buddy!

I see no one else is clawing their way into the guest blog arena. So you'll just have to deal with me and my nonsensical ramblings. I present to you a post I wrote in my notebook a while back and forgot to type up.

The incredibly nerdy just happened. (And, because I actually wrote this several weeks ago, you should ignore the 'just happened' part. Or go with it. Whatever you choose.)

OK, you know that I'm involved with a company called The Actor's Project or TAP, and that I perform in showcases with them, the purpose being to invite agents and casting directors to come see me and say, "Oooh. I want THAT one!" Or do you? Did I mention this? OK, well, now you know.

I've already performed in one showcase (I should mention these showcases are made up of original comedic monologues written by other members or the artistic director) and I'm currently rehearsing for another.

My previous monologue came fairly easily for me, but the new one was giving me a bit of trouble. Don't worry, I'm getting to the so-nerdy-you'll-laugh-at-me part.

Anyway. Every time I've done this monologue the director has told me that I need to go further, be more quirky.

What could possibly be more quirky than me, you ask?

Well, I was working on it and working on it and at the same time, watching a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Well, not at the EXACT same time, 'cause that would be distracting and no wonder I wasn't getting anywhere with it.

No, the two were not occurring simultaneously, just around the same time.

So, as I said, I was working on it, trying to make it quirkier, when I suddenly thought, 'Why don't I try doing it as though I am Data from Star Trek?'

I removed the contractions (which for some reason made it instantly 30% funnier), and made my speech more precise. It also changed the emotion underneath. The essence of the monologue is about getting people to like her and be her friend. For Data this is also very important because he reveres humans and yearns to be more like them. Suddenly, my need in the monologue had a whole deeper level to it.

The next time I performed it for the director he said it was perfect. "Don't change a thing."

The moral of the story: Forget what your parents said; watching ever increasing quantities of science fiction is NOT a waste of time.

Goodnight and sweet dreams,
Jules

PS-Thanks Mom and Dad for never saying that to me.

Sleep Is For the Weak

AAARRGH! I can't sleep. This is not good. Particularly not-good because I couldn't sleep last night either. I only got about 5 hours. Maybe. That's being generous.

I was sure I'd be passed out by now, but I've just lain in bed for 50 minutes with my brain going a mile a minute. My brain can be extremely loud when it is going-to-bed time.

Pause for tangent: Sometimes, particularly when I am working, I will think something not-so-nice about a person, (Hey, it happens, at least I don't say it out loud), anyway, often when I do this, I say loudly (in my head) "Julia Shaun Poyer! That was way harsh! Phasers on stun, dude." Does anyone else do this? (Not the 'phasers' part, I'm sure. That's something I started saying after watching a lot of Star Trek. See, I often shout at the screen, particularly when the characters are being stupid or the guest star is being mean.

Pause to further note that the regular characters are seldom mean to each other unless they are under some form of mind control, which is nice because that means they are all upstanding moral role models, but it also means that the guest characters are often rather abusive because they have to provide the conflict, and I find myself shouting things like, "Oh no she did NOT!" and "DooOOODE (which translates as 'Dude' only it is said with emphasis on the second 'ooo' sound, turning it into a two syllabel word)! Set phasers to STUN, man!"

I actually talk a lot during the shows. Not just to shout, but also occasionally to mock.

Let me further pause (and I realize that button is probably going to stick now because I have pushed it one time too many) to say that I mock because I love.

An example: Worf the Klingon will be standing in the background looking at some flashing lights (as he does in every episode. For that matter, so do a lot of the characters. Why is it so important to stand around looking at flashing lights and pushing buttons at random on a starship? I see that if I ever want to travel into space, I will have to learn these important skills. Furthermore, what the hell is a level one diagnostic, and why are they ALWAYS RUNNING ONE WHENEVER SOMETHING GOES SCREWY? CLEARLY IT DIDN'T HELP THE FIRST SIX BILLION TIMES YOU'VE TRIED IT, WHAT DO YOU THINK IT WILL DO THIS TIME?)

ahem

Are you following this stream of concsiousness at all? No? Excellent.

What was I saying? Right, Worf. Both times I have typed his name I have typed Work and then had to correct it. My brain is unhinged, continue reading at your peril.

Worf (yes, I just did it again) will appear on the screen looking concernedly at his flashing lights and look up to say, "Captain, there appears to be a Romulan D'deridex class warship/Klingon Bird-of-Prey/Ferengi Marauder/unknown alien threat approaching. Suggest we go to red alert." I will then say, (in a fair imitation of Worf's voice) "Captain, my hair is looking particularly nancy-boy today. Suggest we break out the gel." Also, no one listens to Worf. I feel bad for the guy, really. Jean-Luc will ask everyone for their suggestions on what to do about that episode's problem, and Worf will invariably say, "I don't trust him/her/it," or "It looks dangerous, Captain. I suggest we shoot first and ask questions later."

"Well now, Mr. Worf," Jean-Luc will say with a smile, "Let's give him/her/it the benefit of the doubt, shall we? Sure we've seen evidence that she/he/it is a murderous, deceitful and dangerous being, but maybe it/he/she just needs to hug it out." Or, "Yes it seems like a very dangerous situation, we must send at least four of the main cast down there to check it out. Don't send any red shirts, just in case, but definitely send Wesley because none of the fans like him."

Pause: I like Wesley. There, I said it. The truth is out. I like Wesley Crusher. And now that they've sent him off to Starfleet Academy, I actually miss him. For one thing, he was really fun to mock.

There is a wealth of Star Trek information on Wikipedia. Am I surprised? No, not really. But I find it amusing that all the pages for Star Trek mythology have little boxes at the top which say, "Please verify this information and give us our respectability back." I have news for you, Wikipedia. YOU NEVER HAD ANY!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

Am I tired yet? No. Wasn't there a subject I was pursuing way back at the start of this madness?

Eh, who cares. I also often say, "Oh, Jean-Luc. Hug?" And "Aww, Data, I heart you." And "Oh, Will Riker, rein in the smug, would you?"

It should, therefore, come as no surprise that I bought a dress from my store the other day.

Wait, let me explain in an order that is recognizable by the space-time continuum.

We got these new t-shirts in for fall. They're cute with some interesting seaming in the body, but nothing too special. Then, a regular customer came in, saw the shirt and said, "That's really cute. I don't know why, but it looks very Star Trek to me." Suddenly, it looked very Star Trek to me too, and in that instance I wanted it. Fortunately for me, I tried it on and it didn't look very good.

Fast forward to a few days ago when we get a new dress in. If the t-shirt sort of reminds one of ST, this dress positively shouts ST. I'm not kidding, I'll have to post a picture. I tried it on, and it looked good. I bought it.

Now, before you get all judge-y and start calling the Funny Farm, let me point out that I get a 50% discount (and this was already one of the least expensive dresses in the whole store) and that I've been looking for more dresses that I can wear in the fall/winter. It has a turtleneck, and I can wear it with my black boots. And it looks good on me. The fact that it looks very much like a Star Trek uniform is really just an added bonus. I'm going to find some little round pins to put in the neck to display my rank. I'm kidding about that part. Probably.

Must sleep. alksjdfpoialwe;fjl;a saifla ;ilwjali hgakzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Guest Blog: F. Radcliffe AKA My Sister

The following is a guest post from my sister. Enjoy!

EWWWWW.*

Having just prepared and eaten a tasty repast, I was ready to settle back down to work. I decided to pop in an episode of The Outer Limits since my work is so boring. But guess who ate right through the video cable even though I got a brand-new entertainment center to stop this kind of shenanigan? That's right: my youngest cat Parker, henceforth to be known (at least for the duration of the afternoon), as The Little Shit.

So I went into my room and got a new cable and came back out to the living room and moved the entertainment center and put in the new cable and put the entertainment center back and turned everything on and sat back down in front of my laptop.

I opened Kensington, my long-suffering laptop, to discover a bug upon his keyboard. Sort of a little grub thing, amber in color and about a centimeter long. I called The Little Shit to come eat it and reached for my Swiss Army knife to lift it onto the floor. When I turned around again, it was to the sight of the bug's wee bottom disappearing under one of the keys.

So I used the knife to lever the keys partway up without snapping them out of the keyboard, to see where the bug had gone. It was under the "P." I snapped the P all the way out of the keyboard and saw that the bug was firmly wedged underneath a little scissor-lift-type mechanism that gives the keys their bounce. And that there was bug goo on said mechanism, because when I had levered the key up from the bottom edge, of course the upper edge went down, right SQUISH! on the bug.

But it wasn't dead. Oh, no. It was alive enough to wriggle itself firmly under the mechanism where no knife edge could reach it.

Now, I should explain that it is very hot in my apartment. Despite the fact that I've had the air conditioner running since yesterday, the thermometer's needle is so far to the right there aren't any more numbers for it to play with. And my thermometer goes to seventy-five, so it's got to be at least eighty and--I'm just guessing here--roughly 9000% humidity.

So I'm getting pretty exasperated at this point at the heat and at The Little Shit and at the fact that my computer has a literal bug in it, and I decide to bring out the big guns. I plug in the vacuum and aim the hose at the keyboard.

This is when my circuit overloads.

Now, I'm afraid that if I leave the bug out of my sight long enough to go down and flip the fuse box, it will burrow under some other key and I will never find it again and it will die an ignoble and sticky death* and then get roasted some day when Kensington has been running for like five hours and is nice and hot and then I will smell dead bug toast.

I do not, on the whole, desire to smell dead bug toast.

So I drag Kensington and the vacuum into the next room and plug it into a socket that still works and try to vacuum the bug out. But it must be bag-changing time, because the hose not only fails to suck up the bug, it actually SPITS OUT A DIFFERENT BUG onto my keyboard. I suck bug #2 back up right quick and put the hose away.

At this point it's pretty clear that bug #1 is d-a-i-d dead. So I give up and accept that I'm a murderer, and go downstairs to flip the switch on the fuse box. On the way I smell that my downstairs neighbors are cooking something delicious and that makes me hate them a little because how come they get to eat delicious-smelling food all the time that makes me feel at once hungry, and bad about my own salami-based lunch, and hot because of that whole convection thing? Bah!

And also, I pause to check my mail, which contains only a very large bill. Apparently it is not chewing gum that hinders my ability to walk, it is trying to open an envelope, because my foot swings out in a wild trajectory, lands on the hem of my BRAND NEW REALLY ADORABLE SKIRT (the purchase of which, incidentally, brings my skirt-owning total to two) and rips a gaping hole in it. Great. See, clearly this is why I shouldn't own skirts. Or vacuums. Or laptops. Or TVs. Or--and this one is important--cats.

So when I come back the air conditioner is back on although there is no discernible drop in temperature. I put the vacuum away and take Kensington into the bathroom, where by a cunning triple deployment of moisturizing stick, tweezers, and Q-tip I am able to scrape maybe a third of the bug out from under the P.

I decide that now that the bug is dead and there is nothing I can do about the dead bug toast, I might as well pop the P key back in place and go ahead and type upon it for all it's worth--surely the bug can't get any more squished, or dead, than it already is.

After I do this, I realize that I don't ever use that P key.

A couple of years ago, The Little Shit fed Kensington some lemonade** and ever since then, I've used a wireless Bluetooth keyboard. So I should have just let that stupid little bug hide under the keys to his little buggy heart's content.

The Moral of the Story Is: Well, actually, I don't know what the moral of the story is. Like the fable of the Cop and the Flaming Squirrel, every step seemed right at the time. When one is sitting down to brainstorm ways to get a bug out from under one's keyboard, one is generally too focused on that specific problem to ask whether one really needs to get said bug out of one's keyboard. So I suppose the moral is, Always ask yourself whether you really ought to do that thing you're about to do.


*A phrase I stole from my friend, Kate. She used it to refer to a plum getting squished in the grocery bag.

**And by "lemonade," I might mean "beer."

*This post rated TV-MA for language.

See? That was fun! Anyone else want to give it a shot?

CAPS LOCK JULIE

I've started a new story. Don't think I didn't hear that collective groan. "Why, Julia?" you say, "Why are you telling us about YET ANOTHER story that you will NEVER FINISH?"

"No," you continue, holding up a hand, "I don't want to hear about it. You will only tease me and never let me read it."

I'm sorry, I have to interrupt your protestations to tell you that I am at work and I just looked out the window for a bit of inspiration and I saw a girl walking with her boyfriend across the (very busy) street and she is NOT WEARING SHOES. I hate to use a newfangled expression, but the only thing I can think of to describe how I'm feeling is: WTF. PUT SOME SHOES ON YOU NUTCASE! THIS IS NYC, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S DOWN THERE. RATS HAVE PROBABLY POOPED ON THAT PAVEMENT.

Whew. She's gone. I feel better now.

Where was I? Oh right, I was telling you how you feel about my starting a new story. Don't you love when I do that? You have NO CONTROL. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ahem.

The caps key is getting quite a workout today.

Hmm, that reminds me of another post that I have partially finished in the little notebook I carry with me everywhere I go. It was about guest blogs. I wanted to offer my readers a chance to write a post of their own! Now, I know that some of you already have places to ramble incoherently just as I do (actually, you people tend to ramble much more coherently than I...) but for those of you who don't, I offer the use of my blog. Do you have something on your mind that you'd like to get off your chest? (If so, you are probably confused about anatomy. Why not blog about it and let us share in your confusion!) Perhaps Elizabeth would like to share her bookmark story? It would go nicely with my bra strap story. No pressure. I'm just putting it out there.

I am now severely off-topic. That's the problem with not thinking things through before I start writing. YOU NEED A PLAN JULIA!

It's a sci-fi story (surprise!) but humorous. Not at all serious science fiction. It's about a rather cowardly bunch of space-cargo-moving-sometimes-illegal-smugglers-sometimes-legal-shippers-sort-of. Confused? As am I. They're like UPS, but in space. And sometimes on the wrong side of the LAW. "The LAW will judge YEW!" *Snork*

It's from first-person perspective. How do I know this? That's just how it appeared in my head. I 'heard' the main character's voice speaking to me quite clearly. She's a mechanic.

We call him the Alien because, well, he's an alien. Also, no one can pronounce his actual name. If you were to write it it might look something like this: Hurmnrkk. Saying it involves a great deal of teeth grinding and gargling with broken glass. In other words, I wouldn't recommend it. We also call him Granite for his stony appearance and demeanor. And sometimes Chatterbox for the way he never says a word. Seriously, I think I've only heard him speak a handful of times in my whole four years on board. Most of those were "no", "yes", "perhaps", and "please". Generally, he just sort of looks at you and grunts. A lot of the security guys are the same way, but that's because they have more muscles than brains. Somehow, I don't think that's the case with ol' Granite Face. His race is known for their intelligence. How the hell he ended up with this motley crew, I have no idea. I started to ask him once, but he just blinked at me.

That could probably use a bit of editing, but I just wanted to give you a snippet because I'm mean.

Deal with it.

JULIA OUT.

I Coulda Been a Sprinter

I went for a jog the other night ten days ago. (This post is severely delayed because my mother was visiting, and I just don't do things like finish typing up my blog posts while she's here. There are more important things to do, like go shopping, and to the Natural History Museum, and the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, and play Bananagrams. I will now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.) Why? It's hard to say.

"Classified?"
"No, just difficult to pronounce."

Sorry for the tangent. That's one of my favorite quotes from Stargate SG1, another nerd show with the word 'star' in the title with which I have been obsessed. Where was I? Jogging, right.

I have, perhaps, mentioned that Saturdays leave me a bit tasted, chewed, swallowed, and vomited-back-up feeling.

That was a little graphic, sorry.

In other words, it is the longest stretch of time in which I have to pretend that I am a nice, normal young woman who likes being around people. This is, of course, a complete sham. Except the 'woman' part. I won't classify myself as 'young' because I'm too cynical.

Wow, the tangents are zooming left, right, front, and back. Watch out, they travel at high velocity and could be dangerous if you get too cose.

Right, back on track.

For some reason, I was feeling less masticated than usual. As I was walking home, plugged into my iPod as usual (it cuts down on people-interaction, and makes me feel like my life has a soundtrack,) when a particularly groove-worthy song came on. Suddenly I thought, "I feel like going for a run."

Then, "But I should really run in the morning because they say that's better for your metabolism."

"Who is this 'they' of which you speak? And why would 'they' want to squash my running urge?"

"True, I most likely will not feel like running tomorrow morning. I should just do it now, while I'm in the mood."

"Right. Now, the trick is to stay in the mood long enough for it to happen. That means no getting comfortable, just drop off your stuff, change as quickly as possible and head back out before you can convince yourself that you'd really rather have a bit of dinner and Star Trek.'

By this time, I was at my door. I dropped everything, changed at Warp 7, and was back out before my Laziness could catch up to me.

I didn't want to go around the whole park because it was evening, and that would take too long. So, instead, I ran next to the park for a ways, then dived into it and wound up following another girl who had apparently had the same conversation in her head.

The great thing about running where other people can see you is that they act as a motivator. For some reason, my pride gets all bent out of shape if I have to walk for a while to catch my breath when other people are around. This keeps me running for longer stretches of time and forces me to recognize that no, I'm not going to die if I keep it up for another block. And another. And another.

Some people get more and more motivated as they exercise, but for me there always comes a point at which I've really had enough. I struggled home, stripped down, showered, then sat myself down and relaxed for the rest of the evening. About 2 hours later I felt really good, the endorphins doing their job I guess. Where were you when I was running? I asked them ruefully. They just shrugged and smiled and said, "See, exercise does make you feel good!"

Grumble.

Yeah, until the following day when I rolled out of bed and made a sound like "HyGAAAAYAHooooooh". And for several days after that, too.

Sigh.

This is the problem with sporadic running. Oh well. Better than nothing, I guess. But I actually really like the sensation of running. I love going really fast down a hill and feeling like I might just lift into the air before I reach the bottom. It's the endurance I don't do so well with. I should have been a sprinter. Another missed calling in life.

Angry Babble

I had a post in mind, but I'm too angry now to focus on it. How can I be having a perfectly nice day one moment, only to have it bombed into oblivion by a rude customer the next? And I am certain that this girl will not give it another moment's thought, while her comments will ring in my ears for at least another hour. It's not fair!

I'd tell you about it, but I won't do it justice.

OK, I'll tell you a little of it.

She was rude from the moment she walked in, but let's skip that and move right to the part where she's breezing through our sale items and then has the gall to ask "So, when are these going to be cheap? I mean, this t-shirt is still $40, I could get something cheaper at American Apparel."

I think I have talked about 3 dot t-shirts on this blog before. Specifically, about how they are made entirely in the USA with USA materials. American Apparel (despite the name) is made in China, for $2, which is why they can mark them down to $5 and still be making a profit. Once we mark things down past 50%, we are taking a loss.

I wanted to say, "Then why don't you go shop at American Apparel?" but all I could do was stutter, and say, "Uh, I'm not sure."

"OK," she said, "I'll come back when they're less," and walked out.

"OK, thank you," I called after her in my sweetest voice. I like to take the high road whenever I can.

Why? Why does she think that sort of behavior is acceptable? Why can't she just say 'thank you' and walk out? That's what I do when I go into a store that I cannot afford. A few weeks ago, I went into a new second-hand shop that had opened near Otto. Everything was vintage, and there was a whole wall of shoes. I said 'hello' and smiled at the salesgirl, then picked up a pair of cute shoes. They were $400. I put them down very carefully, took one last eye-sweep of the store, said 'thank you' and walked out. They were Manola Blahnicks or whatever (you know, that famous shoe thingy, I'm not great with brand names...) and so I knew they must have been expensive, still, I thought $400 was a little much for used shoes. But did I say that to the salesgirl? No.

We often have people ask when things will go on sale, and, while I would never ask that question, I don't mind other people asking, so long as they do so politely. And I will answer them honestly.

A few weeks ago, a girl was buying a bathing suit, and she asked, "Now, are these going to be on sale in a week?" Annette admitted that they were planning on putting them on sale the very next week, and offered to give her a discount. The girl was happy with her discount, and went on her merry way. See what being nice will get you? (It should be noted that she was a very sweet girl, who would have bought the suit anyway. But this way, everyone leaves happy.) And believe me, I love making a customer happy. Especially one who is nice to me.

On Monday, a woman who is a regular customer came in. She was distraught because her dog had just passed away, and she was trying to take her mind off it. She asked to see a bag that she had been looking at for a while. It was one of our more expensive bags, and she said she had been hesitating because of the price. I happened to be alone, but I felt confident that Annette and Deirdre would approve the next words to come out of my mouth. "You could have it for 20% off," I told her. The week previous, we had made all handbags 20% off for a special neighborhood event. This woman had missed the event, but I knew her well enough to know her first name, so I figured we could let it slide. Besides, her dog just died. She was grateful, and asked if we could hold it, and let her pay it off a little at a time. I told her we would be happy to, and that she could take as long as she wanted, still certain that A and D would agree with me.

And when Deirdre returned the next day? "Oh sure, that's not a problem. Of course she can have it for 20% off!"

"I knew that's what you would say," I replied with a smile.

Tears will also get you pretty far in my book. Rudeness, however, will get you nowhere. It won't even get you past the cover.

I understand not being able to afford certain things, which is why I believe in peppering my wardrobe with a few nice, expensive items, while the majority is made up of less expensive stuff from places like Target. It is a necessary balance for those of us who have to look professional, but don't have a lot of income.

OK, I've ranted myself into silence. I need to go eat dinner now before I faint (all that righteous anger burns calories).

Sorry, I'll try for a more upbeat post next time. Something more in the amusing-anecdote vein than the angry-babble.

Young Geek Philosopher (No, that's not a typo...)

OK, I will attempt to be eloquent on very little sleep.

I recently watched an episode from Star Trek: The Next Generation entitled The Measure of a Man. It revolved around my favorite character, Data, who I believe I have mentioned before as being an android. What I may not have mentioned is that he is an android who greatly admires and wishes to emulate human beings. He is not programmed to feel emotions, and yet there have been several instances which might be cited to show that he is capable of feeling something.

So far I have seen him attempt to learn the basics of humor, become obsessed with the stories of Sherlock Holmes, and grieve for the loss of a friend. In that last instance, he made a rather astute observation regarding funerals. He told Captain Picard that he thought a funeral was supposed to be about the person who had died, and yet he found his thoughts preoccupied with himself, and how empty his life would be without her. He asked if he had missed the point, but Picard assured him that he hadn't missed it at all.

In The Measure of a Man, a Starfleet scientist named Maddox (an expert in cybernetics, and someone who has studied Data in particular) wishes to dismantle Data in an attempt to understand and replicate the means by which he was created. Backstory: Data was found on an abandoned planet by a team of Starfleet officers. He knows that he was created by Dr. Soong, a man who theorized and created the positronic brain (which was first conceived of by Isaac Asimov). (Hmm, should I assume you know who he is? I do, but then I'm a sci-fi nut. Suffice it to say, Asimov wrote science fiction.) He chose to enter Starfleet academy and become an officer in honor of those who found and rescued him.

This does have a point, I promise.

Anyway, Data decides he doesn't really want to be dismantled because he doesn't have faith that they will be able to correctly re-mantle him. (I know it's not a word, deal with it.) Maddox obtains transfer papers which require Data to leave the Enterprise and work directly under his command. Data decides to resign. And here's where things get sticky. Maddox proposes that Data is not able to resign because he is not an individual, he is property.

I think he put it like this: "Would you allow the Enterprise computer to resign?"

Picard appeals to the woman who is judging the case, but she rules that "Data is a toaster," and must therefore do as he's told. I, at this point, began throwing things at the screen and calling her some not-very-nice names. A toaster indeed! What nerve!

Picard agreed with me, and began putting together a formal trial to determine Data's rights.

And in it, he must prove that Data is a sentient being.

He asks Maddox "What are the characteristics of a sentient being?" and Maddox replies they are "intelligence, self-awareness, and consciousness". He then asks Maddox to prove that he, Picard, is a sentient being.

Can you prove that you are a sentient being? I'm not sure there are words. We are sentient because we know that we are. But that is not proof. Try proving to someone that you have your own individual thoughts. I think, therefore I am, right?

In the end, the judge relents. She says that the real issue they have been 'dancing around' is: does Data have a soul. "I don't know that he has. I don't know that I have. But I'm not going to stand in the way of him finding out for himself." (Keep in mind that I'm doing this from memory, so it's paraphrased.)

Prove that you have a soul.

If you can, then show me how. I don't think the importance of who we are can be explained in words such as 'soul' or 'consciousness'. It is felt, deep down in our bones. We just know that we exist. That we are.

This is the very heart of what I love about science fiction. It's not about the aliens or the explosions or the cool technology (although, it's all of this, as well) it's what the stories reveal about the human condition. What are we? What is our future? What are our limits? Our possibilities? These are the questions that all science fiction attempts to answer. It is philosophy and fantasy all wrapped up in one adventure-filled package.

Some science fiction plot lines explore ethical concerns analogous to the concerns of advocates of animal rights. In an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, "The Measure of a Man," Data, a sentient android, takes legal action to prove that he has the same rights as a human being. In the Star Trek: Voyager episode "Author, Author" the Doctor, a holographic program by nature, fights for his rights as a sentient lifeform. The film Artificial Intelligence: A.I. considers a machine in the form of a small boy which has been given the ability to feel human emotions, including the capacity to suffer. In these examples, sentience plays the same role as it does in the philosophy of animal rights.

Another thing I like about science fiction: the stories can also serve as analogies to issues we face in the here and now.

In the episode, Picard has a conversation with Guinan (the bartender in the ship's lounge, played by Whoopi Goldberg as a semi-regular character) about how the trial is going. At that moment, he feels that he is about to lose, and Guinan begins talking to him about Maddox's proposal to replicate Data, and the issue of 'disposable people' came up. And with that, comes the issue of slavery. I found the clip on youtube, so you can watch it instead of me trying to explain.

Skip to about 4 minutes in. It's short, I promise. Whoops, I just saw it can't be embedded, so you'll have to go to youtube. Watch it here.

Once you stop laughing at Guinan's ridiculous hat, you have to admit, it's interesting. Erm, the scene, not her hat. (Although I find that very interesting as well, just in a different way.)

And as computers become more and more advanced, this is perhaps not too far from issues we'll face in the future. Heck there are already debates on when life becomes Life. Is this all that different?

Science Fiction: not just for Geeks, it's also for Philosophers.

I like to think I'm both.

Patchwork Red-neckery

This was supposed to be a post composed of all those little things that I think of during the day which, by themselves, don't really make up a full post, but which I have been collecting in hopes of making a sort of patchwork post. That is, of course, assuming that ANY of my posts (or sentences, for that matter) are at all coherent.

There's just one itsy-bitsy problem with that plan: I don't normally write these random witticisms down, and therefore do not remember any of them. I realized this today after having thought one of my random thoughts, which prompted me to also think, 'Hey, I should add that to my Random Post (working title)," and then forgetting it later in the day. How was the tense in that sentence? All over the place? Yeah, I thought so. Sigh. It's a Saturday, and I always feel a bit run over on Saturdays.

One might wonder why I am always so concerned about my grammar and spelling. Perhaps it is because so many of my generation are NOT AT ALL concerned about such things, and go around sounding like complete idiots or insufferable twits.

It should be noted, that this concern only spreads as far as I allow it. I have a very specific 'voice,' and I try to write the way I speak. This can result in fragmented sentences as well as very long, rambling ones (for examples, read this blog). I feel that I can get away with this in a blog because it is very much like a diary. Except public. In a way, it's like reality tv...weird. I attempt to represent myself honestly. This is also why I utilize the full range of my vocabulary. Or try to anyway. Erudite. Discombobulated. Quixotic.

My goodness. Did you know that there is a website called Urban Dictionary where people post their own made up words? I just searched recombobulate (because surely if you can dis, you ought to be able to re, and also I think I've heard my sister use it in a sentence...) and it came up on this website. There's also recurt, red-neckery, and redonkculous. And that's just the R's.

Hmm, this post is turning into a patchwork anyway. Yay! Mission accomplished!

Bored now. I'm going to go watch Star Trek. Which reminds me of the other post I wanted to - erm - post. Yes, it's about Star Trek, but only as a means of expressing my reasons for loving sci-fi in general. It's a very serious post though, and I'm not sure I'm up to it because, believe it or not (but do, because I'm not lying), it actually requires a bit of research.

Ooooooh! How wet is your whistle now?

Facepalm.

Sometimes I just shouldn't let my fingers near a keyboard.

Grinding a French Deadhead

Oh Sweet Heavenly Bean
or, An Ode to Coffee

Stimulate me, oh stimulate me Mighty Caffeine,
Your texture, creamy
Your complexion, dark
Your temperature, hot - all the way down -
Woods and Adventure, you invoke Wild Dreams and Sleepless Nights
I drown in your warm embrace,
Thy name is Coffee, and I yield to thee.


So, I got my French Press.

And a grinder.

And a pound of coffee called "Deadhead".

Ahhh, tranquility.

It was a different woman in the shop this time, and I think she must be the owner, because a song came on and she said, "Oops, hold on one minute, this is my son's music, I just want to skip this song."

She was also very knowledgeable in the coffee department. She asked me how many cups I drink, and whether I often had company, and how dark do I like my coffee, etc. And, armed with my answers, she proceeded to set me up with my ideal coffee friends. She was adorable, and very happy that I was spending money in her little local shop. She also had a slight Scottish accent. I particularly noticed it when she said, "It has a nice little whir to it," when talking about the grinder.

Adorable.

I held off on the Flake and Crunchie, figuring I would have another chance when I came back to replenish my bean supply.

Mmmm

I even got crack for the occasion. (For those of you who don't know, crack is what I call the liquid Coffee Mate. It's like crack in that it is horribly addicting, and makes you feel oh-so-good. Don't do crack, though, kids. Real crack, that is. It's no good. There was a time when I was putting crack (Coffee Mate) in my oatmeal. Now THAT is dangerously good. Like buttered poptarts. Mmmm, I haven't had a buttered poptart in years....)

(Insert segue to new topic here)

I SURRENDER! I'll watch the show already!

HA! YES! I have converted someone!

Wait.

You don't count, you're already a nerd.

Oh well, at least I'll have someone to talk to about my passion. And really, THANK GOODNESS I have you, because otherwise I would go mad.

That's all for now folks, see you next time!

Jules

A Park Slope Flake

I am beginning to feel like a true resident of my new neighborhood. Today (and by 'today' I mean yesterday because I'm not going to post this until tomorr-...erm...Tuesday), I got up early (and by 'early' I mean 10 am, which is rather early when you consider I went to bed at 3 am) went down to a diner near my place to eat breakfast (and by 'breakfast' I mean lunch, because it was nearly noon by the time I left since I had spent a great deal of the morning writing blog posts) and have a cup of coffee (and by 'a cup' I actually mean 3 cups. And by '3 cups' I really mean 4.) After that I went down to the bank to deposit some cash (and by 'some cash' I mean a whole lotta cash because I have just worked 12 days in a row) and then to the post office for flat-rate boxes with which to send very belated birthday gifts which have been sitting in my apartment staring at me expectantly and somewhat exasperatedly. By which I mean precisely what I said. I think the gifts are planning a revolt if I do not send them to their intended recipients right quick. By which I mean, I'm sorry I haven't sent them yet, Mom/Elizabeth. I am a bad daughter/sister.

I headed back up the hill to my apartment (carefully avoiding the comic book shop because I am ashamed to show my face there until I can afford to buy all the comics I have missed these past two months) and came upon a little shop which seemed to sell coffee and tea and the accoutrements which go with these two delightful beverages. I waffled for a bit just outside the shop, then went in. The smell of coffee awoke a primal force in my brain as my eyes were greeted with several bags of coffee beans just out there in the open, waiting to be plucked up, ground down, and transformed into that divine liquid I crave night and day. Not only that, there were also several French presses for sale, something I have considered for some time. And coffee grinders. And then my eyes fell on two large glass jars, one of which held several Cadbury Flakes and the other Crunchie bars. Paroxysms of delight!

I bought a Flake (and for those of you who have never tried either of these fantastic treats, I pity you) because it was all I could handle at the moment, and went away thinking about what size French Press I should get, and whether or not I really needed a grinder. Fresh ground coffee is delightful, but I'm not sure I NEED it...who am I kidding? Of course I NEED it!

And, I'll be supporting a local business and not Target, which is where I was thinking I would have to go for a French Press.

What a true Park Slopian I am!

Now, I am going to post this tomorrow (Tuesday) because I do not want to overburden you with posts. Hopefully I will have more adventures Tuesday (today, from your perspective), which is my first official day off since July 15.

I think I'll save the Flake for later. By which I mean I am going to eat it now.

Welcome New Reader (and future reader!)

You do have ultimate veto power though...you could just never accept any friend requests.

You may have a point, oh wise one. But then what is the point of being on Facebook at all? Surprisingly, I'm kind of a wuss when it comes to turning down friend requests. I'm also curious, and we all know what that did to Catwoman. (Please, did you really think I wasn't going to embrace my nerdishness after having declared it impossible for me to write posts without it? Deal with it.)

Anyway, I have to wonder why, after all this time, these boys seem to think they STILL want to date me. Aren't they over me yet? Keep in mind that these are boys I was nice to and friends with, who then developed major complexes over me (or thought they did). I'm not really sure I want to encourage that sort of behavior again.

This is all sounding massively egotistical. Remember that I said these are guys I DIDN'T date, and therefore don't realize they aren't missing anything. I'm just a what-if to them.

Ahh, the power of what-if. We all indulge in it. I know I do on a regular basis. But too much dwelling in the past and the what-might-have-been can be dangerous. Why can we not live in the here and now? Accept our fates, and move on. It seems a part of human nature to always be wondering, even when things have turned out exactly the way you hoped. (Which they never do.)

Also, I'm in need of a new bra...can you help me?

*Snork* Yes, indeed I can. Schedule an appointment with my secretary, and I'll see if I can fit you in.

Oh how I laugh.

On a serious note, HI KARI! I forgot to reply to your previous comment, which is why I am devoting so much time to you now. Also, I hear from Jenna that congratulations are in order.

CONGRATULATIONS!

I wish you a safe delivery for a healthy, beautiful baby.


Oooh, I've just popped over to Kari's blog and I see that she is expecting at the end of August.

Yay Kari! I am thrilled for you!

Now I feel all warm and fuzzy, and cannot possibly continue in my normal cynical blogging way. I shall have to leave you 'till another day.

Later,
Jules

This post is rated TV-MA for mature content.

A woman came into the store a few days ago (I happened to be working alone because the girls were in Florida) with a strange problem. She told me she had bought a bra in our store (she pulled down the front of her dress to show me the bra in question) and she loved it, but she couldn't understand how to adjust the straps.

"Do you pull forward or backward? I can't seem to get them tighter," she explained. She pulled down more of her dress and turned around so that I could access the offending straps. With a smile, I adjusted them for her saying, "You pull the plastic piece forward."

"Oh," she said, pulling her dress back into place. "Thank you."

Before you ask, this is not a newfangled type of bra. The straps are exactly the same as you would find on any other. OK, fine. Perhaps she has never worn a bra before despite the fact that she is very clearly older than I am. Hey, we get a lot of granola-munching hippies in Park Slope, it could happen. What I find harder to believe is that she couldn't ask a girlfriend/sister/mother/female yoga instructor, but instead had to come all the way back to the store where she bought the confounding device and ask me, a complete stranger. And if all else fails, don't you think she could have figured out that if she pushes the plastic bit one direction and it makes the straps looser, logically, pushing it in the other direction would make it tighter?

Of course, I do this all day long. Well, ok, generally I adjust the straps BEFORE the bra is bought, but still... I spend a great deal of time fitting bras. Sometimes the buyer is shy, which I understand, and will only let me see them when they have the bra on and want to be certain it fits correctly. Others are...umm...how do I put this delicately?...less than shy. Like the woman who never once closed the fitting room curtain while she tried one bra after another, and would not let me leave her side for more than a second, whether I wanted to see her naked bosom or not.

The weird thing is: I really don't care. Maybe the first time I was a little shocked, but after two years, it just doesn't faze me.

Which is why I thought nothing of it when a woman came in and asked me to adjust her bra straps in the middle of the store.

Am I jaded? Living in NYC can dull the sharp edge of shock and awe, I just didn't expect it to happen quite so soon. Can anything still surprise me?

And then I saw this. Watch it at your own risk, the song will get stuck in your head for days. But it's funny as hell. Not that Hell is all that funny...



As to my calling Riker "beard guy", I could have said "smug git" but I wasn't sure you would know to whom I was referring. Oh, I kid, Riker's not that bad. But he looks considerably more like a smug git with that beard than without.

This post has gone to a very nerdy place. I swear, I always start with the best of intentions, but pretty soon it's comic books this, and Star Trek that. It's true what they say, "You can take the nerd out of the blog, but then you don't get any posts."

Once again, I digress. There was so much I wanted to say, and I've wasted it on twaddle!

I was going to welcome Jenna back (Welcome back Jenna!), and tell her about going back to New Orleans, and how surreal it felt because it at first appeared to have been mostly untouched, but the harder I looked, the more I found that it was deeply scarred. Or maybe I'm the one who's changed...who can say? I was also going to talk about a recent Facebook debacle. I wrote a great deal of it in an e-mail to my mother whose only response was "Oh, Jules..." Which is, perhaps, why I am discouraged. Also, I really don't know who reads this blog. NOTHING IS SAFE ANYMORE!

Oh, this just sounds worse all the time, I should explain before you think I did something heinous.

The problem with joining Facebook is that certain, erm, people can find you. Specifically, ex-boyfriends and ex-wanna-be-boyfriends. The latter have proven a little more resourceful and perseverent (is that a word, or did I just make something up?). Perhaps because they never got the chance to, er, sample the actual product, and therefore don't understand they ain't missin' much.

Now I've gone to a dirty place, and I really didn't mean to. Believe me, I tried several different phrases all of which were worse than "sample the actual product" so let me again clear this up and tell you that by "sample" I mean "date."

I should really quit while I'm (relatively) ahead before this post goes any further awry.

Better luck next time.

Jules

The Life Forms Song

I could have done my laundry last Tuesday when it was sunny and I wasn't working. But that would have been easy. Me no likey 'easy'. So, instead, I did it today when it was pouring rain and I worked from 12-7.

Which means I was up at 7 am this morning, just to be sure I had enough time. It turns out I had plenty of time, but I don't like getting ready for work in a rush, so I was glad I took the precaution.

Anyway, I guess this means I'm really moved in, because I have now done my laundry at my new laundromat. It took a while to find a suitable laundromat, there seem to be a wealth of places which will do your laundry for you, but I'm rather anal about doing my own laundry. I don't know why, but I am very specific about what can be washed with what, and how things are to be dried. It's as though my clothes are actually representatives from several different countries which don't particularly get along, and must therefore be carefully divided and kept separate during negotiations.

Hmm. I've been watching too much Star Trek.

Yes, it has happened: I have become the Ultimate Nerd.

I am now making my was through Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm not even through season 1, and I'm already obsessed.

Now I remember why I didn't let myself watch an episode sooner. I knew this would happen, and that it would cost me a great deal of time and money. Ah well, I couldn't resist the growing tide forever, it was bound to sweep me up.

Which brings me to something I would like to share with you. I absolutely must share it with someone, and what good is a blog but for sharing things with people I love?

It's only 36 seconds long, so just watch it, even if you are currently rolling your eyes at me. Strike that. Finish rolling your eyes, then watch it.

A few points first: I haven't even reached the episode from which this little snippet is taken, I just happened to find it on youtube and have watched it about a dozen times. I have laughed every time. Also, I love Data. He is far and away my favorite character. He is an android who cannot feel emotion, so, yeah. My affection for emotionally-stunted men continues unbroken. This one doesn't have pointy ears though.

Okay, roll tape!




Tee hee! Doesn't it make you smile? Even chuckle? The best part is Riker's (beard-guy) reaction.

That's all for now. Have a lovely evening!

Jules

New Orleans

New Orleans in pictures:



The second day there, I went out shopping. It was around 10 am and sunny when I stepped into a store. When I stepped back out, the sky had opened up, and it was pouring. Luckily, it only lasted about 15 minutes. But after the downpour, the temperature and humidity skyrocketed.




Above: Jackson Square and the famous St. Louis Cathedral.


Below: Between Jackson Square and the cathedral is a courtyard where local artists sell their art. Also, near the evening, this place fills up with palm readers, psychics, tarot readers, etc.










Joan of Arc









This is Pirates Alley, about which many myths and legends have been told. For instance, that dueling ghosts appear there late at night or in the early morning fog.


Apparently the ghosts don't appear when the alley is full of tourists. I can't say I blame them.




This is Napoleon House which is believed to have been intended for Napoleon himself, should he escape exile, as a refuge. However, he died without ever having set foot in it.









Rob Gorman escorts his daughter, Kathleen, down the aisle.


At the reception, Kathleen is glowing!


The happy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Westfall, share the first dance.

Connected

Oh sweet Internet. How I've missed you.

I finally have Internet in my new apartment. Yay! Do the dance of joy!

Of course, this means I have no excuse for not blogging. Or e-mailing. Or looking at Facebook. Hmmm, maybe I should rethink this...

At the very least, I shouldn't be announcing that I'm online again.

Truth be told, I was able to steal a signal from one or several of my neighbors, so I haven't really been as cut off as I pretend. But I tried not to stay online too long that way, because I felt bad for hacking someone else's signal. But now I'm paying for it, so I can stay connected 24 hours a day. Again, perhaps I have made a fatal error...

They actually had to send someone out here to get my internet up and running. His name was Curtis and he was very nice. First he came up to my apartment to see what was what, then he went outside to trace the wire from my phone jack. Like a little detective, he was. He was gone for a long while, and as I sat waiting, I hoped that this meant it was something he could fix, and was doing so. It was. He told me that it had been so long since someone had used a DSL line in this place, that another technician had pilfered my line for another customer.

"It's more common than you might think," he said, and I had this image of a technician walking past my line nonchalantly, a whistle on his lips as he yanked out the cord and strolled over to wherever he needed it.

Regardless, it's working now. And I couldn't be more thrilled!

Farewell for now, dear readers. Next up will be pictures from my trip to New Orleans!

Jules

3 Double Buffaloes

I have been packing and cleaning a bit of my room each night for the past few nights. I can't really give you a specific part of my room because I sort of drift from one area to the next, assuming it will all eventually land in some box or suitcase or something. Forget trying to organize it. It's not like packing up a house where you write "kitchen" or "master bedroom" on the side with a sharpie. All my boxes just say "room" on the side.

Anyway, I was going through some notebooks I found on a shelf, trying to decide if they really needed to be kept or not, and I found a page where I had written down the steps of a tap dance I learned at AMDA. I wish I could scan it and put the actual page up so you could see it, but you'll have to take my word for it that the writing is sloppy and frantic.

Here's what it says:

4 single
4 double
4 triple
4 double-triples
4 double hops - 2 triples between

Repeat with pick-up/standard

Stomp-->Buffalo
triple pick up
brush hop
3 double buffaloes
flap shuffle step flap shuffle step flap flap shuffle step flap step stomp

And directly below this I wrote:

DEATH

...as though that were the final step of the dance.

I laughed so hard when I read this, I nearly peed myself.

'Night,
Jules

NCBSCE Day

OK, now I'm worried. I went to the comic book store yesterday after work, and it as closed. And as I approached it, I remembered that I had done the same thing a week ago and had gone away thinking they must close early on Mondays, or perhaps it was some sort of holiday like, National Comic Book Shop Closes Early Day or something. Oh well, I thought to myself, shrugging my shoulders. I'll try again some other day. And then I promptly forgot that this entire event took place. Until I did it again.

This time, as the memory of the previous failure burst forth into my startled brain, I became concerned. What if they don't close early on Mondays, what if they just...closed.

Guilt.

No, don't be silly, Julia. Just because you missed 2 Wednesdays in a row, does not mean that they were forced to go under. You didn't buy THAT many books a week.

Determined not to forget, I rushed home and got on the computer. According to their website, they are open 7 days a week. However, there are no hours listed. I tried calling the number, thinking their answering machine would list the hours they were open just as Otto does. But I was greeted by a robotic voice merely informing that the humanoids I was attempting to contact were not present. I know they're not present, you moron! I was just there! I want to know if they've been forced out of business by this stupid economy.

I shall have to investigate further, and report back. Tomorrow. They HAVE to be open on Wednesdays because that's new comic book day. And they just remodeled, so they must have been doing well. Right?

OK, I'm not going to worry about it.

Being forced to watch yourself on screen should be considered illegal torture. Erm. Well, actually, ANY form of torture should be illegal, but as we Americans are learning, that is sadly not always the case. Now I'm all depressed and I feel shallow for comparing something so stupid to torture when there are people out there who are going through real pain.

I shouldn't blog when I've been drinking.

Here's the story:

I went to my acting class today (that would be Acting With the Camera, just in case you forgot) and watched the scene I had done last week. It was awful. And I know I say that, and you will all think it couldn't possibly have been that bad, but it was. Even Rachel said that she was watching it, thinking, "That's not Julia." She said it was like I wasn't even in my body. For some reason I got up there and I went through the motions of the scene, but I wasn't there. The last take I did was better, a little looser, but still not great. I was completely blocked. I'm still not even certain I can fully explain why that happened.

The problem with film is that it is so subtle, you don't really need to do a lot of work. You just have to be yourself in the role you are playing. I tried to tell Rachel that I wasn't anything like the role, so it was hard, but she said that wasn't true. That I was, in fact, perfect for the role. All I had to do was be me. But I can't do that. I'm afraid that just being me isn't enough. I'm afraid I'm not enough. And that's what's holding me back. Me.

It seems like such a little thing that I should be over in a second, but the truth is that we all spend our lives fighting with ourselves. The only person standing in our way is us. That's not the most elegant way of saying it, but it's a truth. Maybe even THE truth.

Well, the end of the story is that Rachel took me to get a drink, and we talked and I feel better, but I know that there is still a long road ahead.

Gosh. Sorry to turn so serious on you. I'm going to hang with my roomies now, but I'll keep you posted.

Later,
Jules

Soap Operas with Superpowers

I haven't been to the comic book shop in 2 weeks.

I KNOW!

And it's not because there aren't things I want to be reading. In fact, they just launched a new Batman and Robin title in which Batman is played by former Robin Dick Grayson and Robin is played by the illegitimate son of Bruce Wayne and (sometime) villain Talia, Damien.

So, basically, comics are like printed soap operas with superpowers.

Hmm, I was making a joke, but that actually isn't a bad analogy. Soap operas run for years with essentially the same cast of characters, and they must constantly find new ways to mess up those characters in interesting and world-ending ways.

Except, soap operas have bad acting, and that's pretty much taken out of the equation when it comes to comic books so you still get the great character-driven plot-lines, but without the cheesy line readings and the "I've just smelled something unpleasant" dramatic close-ups.

This was not at all what I wanted to write about today. I actually wasn't planning on writing much of anything because I really have nothing to report. I packed one suitcase last night that I plan to wheel over to my new apartment, but other than that, I don't really have anything interesting to tell you.

Oh, well, I did watch 5 episodes of Heroes season 3 last night. This was while I was packing. Here's the thing about that: season 3 is nowhere near as good as season 1, but not quite as bad as season 2, and they have this annoying habit of cliffhangers which make you want to know more. And it's hard, because there are a lot of things that disappoint you, but every once in a while, something brilliant happens that is just enough to make you hope.

I was talking with my sister about it, and found that her observations were absolutely correct:
"I find that while I'm watching season 3 it just makes me nostalgic for season 1."

Yeah.

But, as Becky would say, "Aww, Sylar...eeeeep," (in a deeply sympathetic voice).

Yes, Zachary Quinto is perhaps the only reason to keep watching.

Funny how he's the best thing about Star Trek too.

Hmmmm....coincidence? I think NOT!

Later dudes,
Jules