What Condition My Condition Was In

It is my opinion that Kenny Rogers wakes up in the morning. Has a pee. Dons a robe. Gets the paper. French presses the coffee. Has a seat at the kitchen table. And takes a moment to thank Ethan and Joel Coen for allowing him to be significant.

The fact is, it's a symbiotic relationship. The Dude and the song, the song and the dude. There are several of those living in what still is the proudest moment of 1998 besides my graduation from high school...the release of The Big Lebowski. Since that day, language would never be the same. Nor would living room accents. For we all know that a rug is not worthy if it doesn't tie the room together, don't we. It's not a question.

But really, the movie isn't about The Dude. Of course it IS, but we all know it isn't. The shining beacons of perfection do not lie in the milk mustached, Eagles-hating, anti-hero. Oh no. It's Walter.

I fucking love the character of Walter.

It is my true belief that nobody can get John Goodman to act but the Coen brothers. This is based on several examples that I am too inebriated to mention here, but you all know what I am talking about. Barton Fink, Oh Brother and The Big Lebowski are all excellent. And they are all excellent because of John Goodman (John Turturro not withstanding). But John Goodman, without the Coen brothers, well, let's not go there. In these instances, well there's no one better. And I'm reminded of it every time I refuse to roll on shomer shabbas, leave without finishing my coffee or follow a statement with "am I wrong?".

Maybe you can tell that we just drank heavily went to see it in the theater. Well maybe you can't. But this isn't 'Nam, Smokey. This is bowling, and there are rules.

President Kara - Day 1

I've finally found the solution to what to do with Guantanamo.

The easiest part will be casting the chick, I'm sure.



There, problem solved.

Next.

The economy? Ok...stay tuned.

Put A Lid On It. Yes, I had to go there.

There are two stalls in the women's bathroom. I always take the bigger (or 'handicapped') stall. Always. I like the extra room. If I feel the urge to flail before or after buttoning up my business, I want the option, you know?

So two separate times in the last month or so I've gone into MY stall in the afternoon to find the seat up. Not the lid, there is no lid...the toilet seat.

If I went in at 9:00 AM and found this, I wouldn't even question it. It just means I'm the first to visit since the cleaning lady the night before. But it was well beyond that point. There are enough women on the floor that a mid-afternoon raised-lid situation should never occur.

Here's the thing. We do have a transgendered woman on the our floor. But I don't think it's her. I think she's made the commitment to BE a woman, you know? I don't think she'd go there. Or if she did, she'd cover her tracks, so to speak.

So who?

And why?

Why?

Both times, I've walked it and just...not known what to think and/or say. Much like when I see things like this:
Urban Outfitters is trying to sell these by calling them Silence and Noise Harem Pants.

Who?

Why?

I Hated The Inaugural Poem. Hated It.

I am filled with things to say. But I'm not going to say all of them because I must go out for celebratory drinksing. Yes, it's a word.

First, I loved today despite a horrible half hour between 8:00 and 8:30 am. And I didn't even have any candy. Or baked goods. Wait, I had some coffeecake. But it was low fat.

Second, how much I loved today keeps crashing hard against the fact that this country is heartbreaking at the moment. Example: Every day for 5 years I've walked by a architectural firm called Sienna. It's about a block from my building and takes up the entire ground floor of this high rise. All along the windows there are always models of every type of structure imaginable, some for living, some for playing, some for...I don't know what. I love walking by that firm. I love the little buildings. I love envying people who get to imagine and create for a living.

Monday I walked by and all the cubicles were empty. They looked ransacked. Most of the models were gone except for some sad little half broken ones. The place had closed after something like 45 years. It broke my heart. I'm filled with wary optimism for the immediate future of this country. But I'm trying to brace for the possibility of disappointment as well.

Third, I fucking hate tights. This morning, a half hour of my life was eaten up by 3 pairs of tights. The first pair were new. Just got them for Christmas. They were kind of a crochet sort of white type of thing. Really cute. But I went to put them on and they wouldn't go all the way up my legs. They stopped mid-thigh and began cutting off my circulation. I checked the box and they were my size, but my god...they didn't stretch at all! You know what tights look like when they come out of the box, like sticks. So if they don't stretch...you can only wear them if you're Amy Winehouse. Thankfully I am not. But boo, there goes a cute pair of tights to the Waif.

The second pair were hastily purchased on New Years Eve for $8 to go with a blue outfit when I ripped a hole in my last white pair (timeline seems off, but just ignore it). So I'd gotten one good wear out of them. And as I pulled them on, my left thumb went right through. My nails aren't even that long, damnit!

So then I go digging through my skivvies drawer and pull out grey ones. They didn't match a blue outfit, but I didn't have any more time to care. So that's what I'm wearing now. They're bunching around my ankles like a granny. I don't get it. They have ONE function. To stay on my fucking legs and keep them warm and shaved-looking. Why is it so hard to find a pair in every desired color to do just that? Why? And I've tried them all...cheap, spendy, designer, etc. I've gone for thigh high and knee high and chin high. It's easiest just to use a garter, but they don't often make tights for them...just nylons (which are NOT the same thing).

Well this turned in to quite a rant.

I have more that I'm pissed about but like I said...it's a day of celebration so I'll shut my yap long enough to get a couple cocktails in it.

I love you all.

Really.

Even the ones who I don't love. Right now, I love you too.

Kara out.

I'm Like a Jungle Cat

I'm on a condo hunt! Sadly this does not involve getting to use a rifle. I thought it did and showed up appropriately attired in jungle cammo. But it turned out ok, because some people wear jungle cammo just to be stylish. In the agent's eyes, I am now one of those people.

I was going to continue with this sad joke and tell you all about my plans to stuff the condo and mount it on my wall as a prize once I caught it. But it was all WAY funnier in my head.

Anyway, I'm proud of myself for moving on to what I consider to be the last rite of passage into adulthood. Property ownership. Some might say that would actually be getting married or having a baby. Well those people need to shut it, because that's not the case and they really shouldn't be going around giving out false information like they're Bill Frist.

Is that name too 'four years ago' to be funny? You're all my test audience today.

So I'm using the craptastic economy for my own gain. And I'm alright with that. Finally the 'clamor to Oregon' rate has dropped and the dwellings are becoming affordable to the natives again. It happened just before I started construction on the Keep the Foreigners Out wall. I'm looking at YOU, California. Oh boo, I'm being statist again.

But anyway, yeah...things are finally starting to even out and/or drop and I'm thinking perhaps my days in a basement apartment (however cute and un-basementy it is) are numbered. Who knows, maybe I'll buy a place where I can find out what the weather's like BEFORE I open the front door fully dressed. The possibilities are endless.

We start hunting this weekend. I got a special whistle that mimics the condo mating call and Brendan's gonna bring a big ol' net. We might need some rope to tie it to the top of the car too, now that I think about it.

Can I Get a 'Woot'? It's Not a Request.

I'm starting to think Blogger blows goats. My images from the old posts keep disappearing. And I know they're not defecting, because Condi's Hair is a happy homeland that no image would ever want to leave.

Don't anyone raise an eyebrow at me or I'll have you locked up.

Anyway, who's got opinions on Wordpress and the like?

Mexico was lovely, thanks for asking.

In other news, my boyfriend, formerly known as my roommate the Missus, currently known as Brendan, got interviewed over the interwebs last night. The interviewer is web comic artiste Erika Moen and he is interviewed about his podcast among other things on her weekly interwebs show. Brendan has a whole interwebs life that I'm just now beginning to wrap my head around. With the exception of my half-assed blog and the occasional facebook/myspace page update, my life and the relationships in it have mainly functioned without benefit of Al Gore's inventive genius. Brendan has friends all over the world that he has been systematically meeting and then doing creative/artsy projects with for longer than I've known how to use Outlook. Yes, there are feelings of inadequacy on my part as a result. You've often been stuck reading about my frustration at the lack of a creative outlet...but then I meet someone like Brendan or Erika and I am ashamed of my laziness.

Then I get over it, pop a cap off a Pabst and settle in for some Girls Next Door. We make our own demons.

Anyway, snippets and bits of the interview are here:

The Erika Moen Show

Erika's web comic Dar is here.

Brendan's Children's Hour of Knowledge podcast is here.

Brendan's 101-word a day story blog Anacrusis is here.

Brendan's regular blog Not Falling Down is here.


If only linking things burned calories.

I'm gonna get my mediocrity a snack.

Just Wait.

I'll validate knocking back several extra margaritas by pretending they're in honor of you all. See you in a about a week.