And I don't know about you, but I think the yahtzeen girls are about a hundred times more attractive than the pneumatically-enhanced supermodels they're showcasing there. At least they don't look vapid.

Which reminds me of the time when I decided that I really, really wanted to stand on top of my desk. It was weird. I got the idea in my head and I just could not shake it. I actually was on my knees on top of the desk, getting ready to pull myself up, when I realized how ridiculous it would look if someone walked by and saw me standing there on top of my desk. I'd get a lecture if the wrong person (i.e., my supervisor) walked by and saw it. And there is nothing like a lecture from my supervisor. He has a special "concerned" expression and tone of voice that he uses when giving a lecture. It's obnoxiously fatherly. I guess it's an improvement over my old supervisor, whose preferred means of communication was phlegmy grunts and a lot of barked-out commands.

And someday, I will get around to writing my response to this week's Damn List. Someday, someday, someday...

(Aside: One weekend when I was visiting Ray in Michigan, we decided to order a pizza. Neither of us was willing to pick up the telephone and call. I felt relieved that I was not the only person with this problem, though it could be very difficult if I ever do settle down with him. Can you see the two of us trying to negotiate who's going to call the doctor to make an appointment for our child? We'd probably end up flipping a coin or drawing numbers out of a hat just to see who would be stuck doing it. Then the person forced to make the call would delay it as long as possible, and the kid wouldn't be sick any more by the time one of us got around to calling.)

Anyway, I was sitting in my office yesterday afternoon, doing some page layouts, when my boss came in and told me that I had to make a phone call. I panicked. I went in to my co-worker Pete's office and begged him for advice. Pete has an MBA, I figure he should be able to do business stuff like use the phone. He told me to make a list of the things I needed to say during the phone call and just do it. I made the list, and it sat there on my desk staring at me for the better part of yesterday afternoon.

I finally decided to put off making the phone call until this morning. I figured I could call before 9 AM and get voice mail instead of talking to a real person. I finally got myself ready to pick up the phone at around 9, and the person I was calling answered right away. It went smoothly, once again making me wonder why I have such a weird irrational fear of talking to people on the phone.

When I finished the call, I went in to Pete's office, declaring joyously, "I did business!" Pete joked that I would come to work on Monday morning in a three-piece suit with a briefcase. I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet, but if I'm forced to continue to be a liason with translation companies, it won't be long. Now if I could only work on my lousy AIM skills...

It seems that Bowden is living in Evanston, which isn't very far away at all. He's working at a used CD store. Hopefully, everything will work out and I'll get to see him this weekend. It's been almost five years since I last saw him, though I doubt he's changed a bit. He was a great friend and a very talented writer, and I'm glad that we've found him.

Now I'd like to find Kevin Mulford. Last I knew, he was living in the Tampa area. Every email address I've found for him has been outdated. It's disappointing, because I find an email address that I know *has* to be his, and I email him and the email bounces back to me. Someday I'll find him...I want to know what he's been doing with his life.

Get well soon, Ray.

This is the one where Nanette takes everything and puts it into one big long mess of a blog entry.

According to this, I am so not an indie rock girl. I violate 3, 5, 12, 13, 15, 25, and 28 pretty darned regularly, and 18 just wounds me. Never wear a skirt? I'd have to get rid of about half my wardrobe, then! The boy rules were cute, but that boy with the 70s hair in the sidebar just makes me cringe. Uh, whoever gives people the idea that that hairstyle is attractive needs to stop. Now. (Links pilfered from Kempa, who took several years off my age by calling me "a college student" a few days ago.)

Paul talks about Bozo. I used to watch Bozo every stinkin' morning when I was in grade school. I knew it was time to go when the Grand Prize Game was over. I sent in my name every year hoping that someone would pull it from that huge drum full of entries and I would win a new bike. I remember when a couple of my classmates were lucky enough to score tickets to the Bozo Show. They sat up near the back and made faces when the camera pointed at them.

Kristin links to this, where you can put voodoo curses on your enemies. Useful.

From Kickbright: The truth about emo.

Tom from Blue Lines on gender and fiction. He's been really prolific lately, making up for the rest of you lazy bums who haven't been updating because it's summer, wah wah wah. Sophie started a forum topic on the subject, go post.

GBV! September 21! Metro! Yes! Tickets on sale Saturday, 18+. That means it's a late show. They're in Kalamazoo with the Promise Ring on Friday night. Let me know if you know where they're playing on Saturday night or if you're interested in roadtripping from Chicago to Kalamazoo with Matt and I. I have two empty seats in my car, otherwise we can caravan.

That's all for now.

I wrote a huge response to this on Monday, but the connection died before I could post it. I lost the whole thing, which made me angry because I had spent a good twenty minutes on it. I'll recreate it and rewrite it and post it later this afternoon.

I also feel compelled to offer some advice to Allan, who wrote this column in the most recent issue of Delusions of Adequacy: stop dating girls who get all hyped up over Oprah's Book Club and paparback romances, and you will realize that women don't always choose their reading material on the basis of their gender. Allan, unless you're one of those guys who reads those "male action adventure" books, your choice of reading material probably isn't all that different from the choices made by a woman. That "entirely different language" stuff that he talks about smacks of that stupid "men are from Mars, women are from Venus" shit that was so popular a couple of years ago. I think the reason that it bothers me so much is that I am so not girly in a lot of ways. I've never been a part of that whole girls' night out, going to the bathroom in packs, whining about your boyfriend (or lack thereof), giggling about having your period thing. I'm not mannish by a long shot--I like clothes and shoes and makeup the color pink and all sorts of other stereotypically feminine things--but I tend to reject the whole female bonding thing. And I wouldn't touch a romance novel with a ten-foot pole.

Fans of Brent D., rejoice: he's reviewing music again over at Stop Smiling. Non-fans of Brent D., you may also rejoice, for now you have something new to pick on. This past weekend, I found out that an acquaintance of mine lives in the apartment below Brent's, which means that I can go take pictures of his building and sell them to Indieshite for...uh...100 pounds.

Roxane's goodbye party was Saturday night. Despite my best intentions, I took no pictures. I even had my handy Polaroid Joycam with me. Unfortunately, it got hidden under a guitar in the living room during the first five minutes of the party, and as the night progressed I was too drunk to find it. The night degenerated quickly. I bought two enormous bottles of sparkling wine and a bunch of cheap plastic wine glasses. I started the evening sipping the sparkling wine demurely from a plastic champagne flute. Then I cracked the base of the glass, then I started gulping out of the glass, then I cracked the top of the glass, then I decided (based on an earlier suggestion) that it was a pretty good idea--and funny too--to just drink the sparkling wine out of the huge bottle. This huge bottle ended up in the alley between Roxane's garage and her neighbor's garage, along with a broken plate that Colin managed to step on. You know you're drunk when you sit down in a filthy alley and then your most sensible friend (in my case, Matt) comes by and said "you know, there's probably bugs and rats and filth back there" and you just don't care because it seems right to be sitting in the damn alley.

So yeah, it was quite the party. And I woke up the next day thankfully hangover-free. Poor Roxane was a mess, and so was her apartment. I'm going to miss her. She's my only female friend in Chicago, and even though I really didn't see her that often it was nice to occasionally escape the sausage party that is my circle of friends. Not that I mind being a girl among boys. I don't. I haven't had a "girls night out" in years and it's mostly because I don't know enough girls to justify having a special night out.

I went to the Chicago air show yesterday. I was expecting to be bored with it, but it was a lot of fun. I ended up with a little bit of a sunburn on the back of my neck, though. And I went CD shopping. Picked up the new Shellac, Olivia Tremor Control, and some other stuff that I haven't listened to yet.