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Monday, Mar. 28, 2005 / 6:32 p.m. ~'Til Norm Chomsky Unceremoniously Upchucked, It Was an Excellent Day (entry with photos)~ Our first Monday with half staff, flags flying at half staff, if we had a staff, or a flag, but after Layoffs, Phase I, it was quiet. And nice. And I was online all day, exchanging comments with a LiveJournal friend, via email notification, and I checked email almost as often as my home program does it for me, which is every five minutes for those keeping score, so not quite as often, but often. It was fun. Like carrying on a conversation all day, but not really. And the record store posted their photos of the fans meeting Moby at the little 'meet and greet', and I yanked mine off the site, and I post it for posterity now, and because wow, it turned out well. I still feel bad that I approached Mo not just to get my book and CD signed, but to tell him about his journal archives needing a redesign. I can't help it, I can be a geek, and I know he can too, so I hope he's cool that I didn't just gush, like I should have. I also figured, well, I met him before, and I'm not into the groupie thing, no, I like Mo for who he is, and I read about who he is in his journal, one of my very first online journal crushes. I still crush, big time, so I wanted him to know I've been reading for four years, and well, it's important that I, or he, or anyone can go back in time and read what he wrote on, say, September 11th, 2001, just for an example. As it stands now, it would be very difficult to find that entry. It was constructive criticism, I felt I had to say something. Me, the little activist, the armchair activist, the upstart, the, well, keep going on your own if you must. Hence, the photo of me telling him, getting my point across:  He is listening in this picture, he is, he is signing, he is tired, he's been traveling, he's been up all day, he doesn't know me at all, he doesn't remember that he met me before and we hung out in that steamy parking lot late at night in the hot humid summer after his show, but he is listening to me. How can he possibly remember any of the people he meets? This is the money shot, this is when he reached to put his arm around me, but then was so hesitant and shy, and I felt regret that I wasn't as sweet as he is, and wondered if I could look and smile at the camera, and all those people standing there watching the Mo and me sit at this little candlelit table:  It's hard to get up and leave after that. I said what had been eating at me, and then the flash went off and his signature and drawings were on my book and CD, and then it was time to go, but it's hard to walk away. Alas, it was nice to get the email about these photos appearing online, today, and I exchanged some email with the record store owner, thanking him mostly, telling him I know someone he knows, another LiveJournal person, and just chatting a bit, and then looking at the pics again, and goofing around online, and doing very little work. And covering the front reception desk for an hour at lunch time, since our receptionist was laid off (after ten years of service), and reading whilst doing so. The switchboard was dead. I dove into Waiting For My Cats to Die, and I LOVE this book so far, I LOVE it, I wanted to sit and read it all day. The memoir is my favorite genre anyway, I am all about the memoirs, which might be why I enjoy the online journaling so much, and reading the online journals, but hers is so funny, and so candid, and so funny, did I say funny?, and I find myself wanting to quote everything she says, I just want to call someone up and say, "Hey, let me read you this part, you've got to hear this", because she sounds so much like me, and I like her, and I can relate, I can simply relate. The age thing hits hard after forty, and maybe a bit before, but it's hard not to think about it, and with her it was dying, death, but with me it's just ageing, and the physical aspects, which is why it was so great to see Diane Keaton in "Something's Gotta Give" yesterday, a woman older than fortysomething, a woman fiftysomething exposing her body, and having sex, and falling in love, and unabashedly, unashamedly being exactly who she is and nothing more and nothing less, and desired by two men, one older, one much younger! (Keanu Reaves is so HOT in this movie, and I love the way he falls for Diane Keaton) I think this movie will be my theme movie from now on. This will be my movie. And this will be my book, this Stacy Horn book I am loving right away. I must thank the two people who recommended it to me, one of you here, and you know who you are. Thank you. So, the book, the slow day speeded up by the invigorating and stimulating interaction via LiveJournal comments, the book, the wonderful book amidst the horrible cold rainy cloudy gray windy weather, and then the photos, and me with Moby, imagine that!, and then a whole case of canned cat food from Pet Smart, and a new cat bed (in which Gladys sits as I write - maybe because I coated it with some premium catnip?, yeah, she seems wasted already), and everything was good until Norm Chomsky finished Gladys Kravitz' food, and then she did that thing wherein she burps and it sounds really gross and then all her food comes up rather violently, and leaves a big stain on the rug no matter what I do. I resolve to buy some Resolve carpet cleaner. The ads on TV show it removing generations old ink from a carpet, maybe it will work on Norm puke? And, speaking of ads, I like to be turned on to new products via the television advertising, and as such, I glanced at the frozen food case when I was at Publix on my lunch break, and saw the Bertholli (do I spell it right?, nah, can't be right) saute mix, so I bought and I shall try. Yum, looks good, Italian sausage and pasta, etc. Good day. Shopping at lunch, Pet Smart after work, interaction that was pleasant and stimulating, and Moby photos, did I mention the Moby photos? The record store's web site has a whole plethora of them posted! It's fabulous. Now? Food, "24" in a bit, if I can stomach it. Lately I tend to fall asleep during it, once I get past all the torture scenes, sitting up (I think I'm tired on Monday nights), and the plot is losing me, and is it me or is it just not very good anymore?, or... a new "Bachelor", and this guy is cute, chin dimple and all. Mmmmmmm... I hate to abandon my torture soap opera, but I just might. I love the reality/romance shows. And what ever happened to "Temptation Island" anyway? That show was SO sleazy and fun. So, right, the day, it's been really good. Even the puking didn't faze me too much. Poor Norm is clinging to me now. She's all sickly, I suppose. And someone threw up a hairball on the pansies throw blanket on the sofa, the one the girls have been sleeping on for a few weeks now, so that's yanked for washing. Ah well, new bed, maybe Norman will sleep there too, if Gladys ever leaves it. Is this the most boring ordinary entry ever? No angst! Whee! Cost of the War in Iraq
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