The Obvious It would appear that, in my absence, I forgot that I could write for the internet. So to clarify for anyone who may not follow me elsewhere around the internet, I'm still alive and kicking, sort of.

The Burnout

It should come as a surprise to none (though it was something of a surprise to me) that all I want to do when I get home every day is just sit outside on the private patio space I don't have with a glass of wine or a margarita I do have and just watch the world go by. Mine has been spinning fast enough at this point that several vacations are definitely in order.

The Lost Sheep

The only problem is that, in the flurry of boards and comprehensive exams, it seems I forgot how to relax. I spent more than two months literally planning out my days and weeks to the hours and minutes of wakefulness in order to squeeze in work, homework, hours for my externship, and studying for my comprehensive exams and the national Praxis exam. The days blurred together and I wasn't sure they would ever end, and yet, next thing I knew, the big day had arrived and boom--seven hours later--it was all over.

The Opposite

On occasions when I used to find myself procrastinating, I now find myself being productive. On occasions when I used to find myself being creative, or giving voice to my thoughts, I now find myself being introspective, wanting to take a moment to think things through. Where once I felt reserved, I now feel confident, and vice versa. In short, this is a turning point in my life I never quite anticipated. I worked hard and always kept my eye on this time, and yet, now that it is here, I realize that there is much I still have to figure out.

The Questions

Am I ready for this change? Absolutely. I have much to look forward to, many questions to ask myself, and so much still to learn. Life, it seems, is only just beginning.

Photo Credit: Me! With my camera phone!

It's been over a month since I posted anything here. Hello, unplanned hiatus. I can't promise to post more soon at this point, as I have my comprehensive exams for grad school next month and, for all intents and purposes, I'm freaking out like some twelve-year-old girl who just saw Leonardo Di Caprio. Wait. Robert Pattinson? I told you I'm out of touch with reality. But. I got a new phone: the Droid Eris. And WordPress just released an Android app so hi! I'm typing. This from my phone. Because I can.

And hey look! A cat! Say hello to Figero, Le Kitty Extraordinaire. He's the resident house cat and likes to get all cute and then snub you. Which is to say, he's awesome.

"Your oldest brother is married now, right?" Those seven words were the start of a conversation I never imagined I would have: one that involved a nearly 30 year old woman hitting on me.

"I used to have this life plan, see, and it's not gone at all like I thought it would, you know? If your brother wasn't married, I would so be--hey, old are you? You look great!"

It took a good few minutes of conversation before I really figured out the subtext of it all. I would deliver a witty line about the mystery alcohol in the punch I was drinking, and she would parry with a lament about how she wanted a man. A Jewish man. Preferably someone who looked like my eldest brother. I would retort that I thought the Montessori schooling philosophy discouraged things like tying one's own shoes, and she would reply that when she was behind the wheel of the classroom, her students could graduate high school by the time they had finished eighth grade. And also that it would be great to have a man in her life so she could talk to her students about her Jewish husband.

The ties of the tiny Albuquerque Jewish community truly bind. Jews love to teach their children that, when they're grown up, we need to marry nice Jewish girls. I used to wonder about that, and tried to picture myself marrying one my fellow classmates of the same age. Of the ten or so girls, none of them seemed like marriage material, never mind that I had no idea what qualified one as such. But really, how can you possibly want to marry someone you'd known since you were three years old and who already irritated you enough as it was?

I never considered the possibility of someone older (or younger) ever wanting to make me their suitable Jewish husband. But my innocent Jewish youth was shattered last Friday, at a graduation party for my girl-in-law, when a woman I'd seen three days a week for ten years starting when I was around three feet tall struck up a conversation that required an instant refill of Fruity Graduation Alchie Punch.

"I really admire how you've accomplished so much. I love that in a man."

I had no idea that my brother tying the knot last summer would suddenly make me such a hot commodity, especially to one so forward. The cheese tray materialized before me. Grateful for a distraction, I grabbed a handful of crackers and pawed a few slices of cheese from it. Any hopes of turning her off by stuffing my face, however, quickly vanished.

"I can't believe how much you look like your brother."

Forever betrayed by the strength of my family's genes. I switched gears and tried turning up the camp. Holding one of the crackers, I delicately placed a slice of sharp cheddar atop it. I brought it slowly to my mouth and took the daintiest of nibbles. "Exquisite!" I meowed. "You know, I think a nice light touch of garnish, maybe sour cream and chives, would really make this divine."

"Oh hah hah, now that I think about it, I nearly even called you his name when I saw you."

She wasn't even looking at me. I braved a look at her face, and it was as I feared: a chuppa, the traditional Jewish wedding canopy, stared back at me. I could see right through her skull, into her brain, and saw that her occipital lobe was clearly blocking the image of my limp wrists and neon watermelon-colored shirt.

So much for subtlety.

"That's so funny that all the girls at school thought you were gay."

So much for bluntness. And good listening skills.

She followed me around. The resident pet rat, while it repulsed her, could not keep her from me. Other people, mercifully, called my name.

"I would love to get in touch and chat more."

Not unexpected. "Of course," I replied silkily, before taking the rat with me to safer mingling grounds.

She may reflect later that she forgot to ask for my phone number, or an email address.

Breaking hearts. Something Pat Benatar and I have in common.

Like any good queen, I've been keeping up fairly religiously with Glee. I mostly enjoy it, despite never buying into that whole 'high school is the best time of your life' bullshit (not that the show does, either; I've just had too many conversations with people who think back to high school with decidedly too much fondness). Without question, my favorite character is Sue Sylvester, even if some of her antics are over the top enough that sometimes it's difficult to maintain my willing suspension of disbelief. It's obvious that Glee is doing its damndest to be all-inclusive, as evidenced by the diversity of its characters. There's some who are African American, some who are Asian, some who are Latino, and some who are white. The show goes further, however, incorporating even more diverse people: the girl who stutters, the guy who's paraplegic, and the token gay guy. But, oh, what's this? We have some problems!

1. Tina, the girl who stutters? She's faking it.
2. The actress who plays her? She doesn't stutter.
3. Artie, the guy in the wheelchair? He's played by someone doesn't need a wheelchair.

The only thing they got right here was that Kurt, the token gay, is played by a gay actor. (Of course, Hollywood has a double standard here, too. Critics will likely assume that Chris Colfer is merely 'being himself' on screen. Just like, you know, all straight actors play themselves when they're on camera¹.)

Last week, Glee brought on even more variety: a full Deaf choir. It was obvious that they wanted it to be really, incredibly heart-wrenching, and the cast even sapped it up with downcast gazes and uncomfortable shifting in their seats. I was thrilled that they used actual Deaf actors for it, and through the small world that is the Deaf community, I even know a few of them within two Kevin Bacon-style degrees. However, once the scene had played out, I was more disappointed than touched.

There was signing! And real Deaf people! And yet, I am not sold on the whole 'emotional' thing. The entire scene turned out to be more oppressive than empowering, honestly. I would never tell someone how they should or should not communicate, but I question the choice of utilizing such a hearing presentation when so many proud Deaf people are acting. Deaf people do not need hearing people to make music; their culture, their language has a music and a power all its own, and it saddens me that what could have been a national showcase of creativity and talent was spent half-heartedly signing a song that will probably make most hearing people watching it think it's about wishing they could hear.

The whole presentation, from the dapper red suits to the literal, unpracticed interpretation of the song's lyrics, makes it seem as if the Deaf students should earn props for their Glee club based only on pity. Where was the vibrancy? Why did the McKinley students have to join in and provide the harmonies to the song? Why did the Deaf performers merely stand in place for the duration of their performance?

I ask these questions not to criticize, nor to suggest that Deaf and hard of hearing performers should not sing or speak, if they so choose. I only ask these questions because here was a chance to showcase not only one's Deafness, but one's creativity and talents. Deaf theater is amazing, and I've been fortunate enough to know many incredibly talented Deaf actors, dancers, and performers. There are Deaf cheerleading troupes, Deaf dance troupes, and Deaf theater productions. I know Deaf people who are even in all-Deaf rock bands. A year and a half ago I got to see Rathskellar, a Deaf dance troupe that has toured the world.

It would have been amazing to see a solidly Deaf take on what a glee club/show choir can be. What it comes down to is that while I liked the inclusion of the Deaf glee club, and I liked the song, and I even liked their performance... I didn't love it. I saw heaps of potential for their show and a chance to really be wowed, as I have been on many occasions, but I still can't help but feel like it could have been so much more than it was.

Next time, I want to hear thumping bass beats and see impeccable choreography. I want to see a performance from Deaf artists that makes hearing people unable to move because they're so enthralled, instead of trying to be "inspirational" by rushing to share the stage. I want to see them stomping onstage, hands flying through the air, faces flushed with adrenaline. I want the only thought in people's heads to be "OMG DID THEY REALLY JUST DO THAT?! I WISH I COULD DO THAT!" In short, I want them to knock my fucking socks off. I trust that, next time, they will.

¹That was sarcastic. There are, however, notable exceptions that fall outside that sarcasm: Adam Sandler, Owen Wilson, Ben Stiller, and of course, Jennifer Aniston Rachel.

Some people would take one look at today, see the partly cloudy seventy-five degree weather outside, and jump for joy at the opportunity to spend the day outside because they have the entire day off. I am not such a person, but not for the reasons you might think. You see, I really am that person, but the problem is that when it comes to being outside right now, at this very moment in time, my options are not good. This semester, Wednesdays for me entail fourteen hours of non-stop work. It starts off with an internship that lasts for over six hours, and then I work for eight hours as soon as that is done. So when I found out I'd have the day off, I took the opportunity to not go anywhere because I didn't fucking have to.

When I got off work last night, I dragged my flat ass, tired from that day's fourteen hours of joy (same deal as Wednesdays), home to collapse. Normally, I walk in the door, drop everything where I stand, and if I'm lucky I'll make it to the couch. Last night, however, I nearly collapsed before I even reached the door. And not from exhaustion.

I live in a guest house, which means that I make my home in someone else's back yard. It's nice and all, and you'd think that having that back yard space would be a bonus. It is, generally, only there's the problem of forever having people walk by your window and operating loud machinery at ungodly hours of the morning. But only if your landlord happens to be a contractor. Which, as it happens, mine is.

About twice a year, my landlord decides to go green. Not 'green' in the let's protect the environment sense, but rather 'green' in the let's try to grow some green grass sense. So he orders what I can only assume to be, judging by the smell, two semi-truck loads full of manure. And then he plops all that shit all over the yard.

So to put this in perspective here: whose kitchen window overlooks a grassy part of the yard? Mine. Whose main windows are open all the time and are literally only a few feet from large areas of grass? Mine. So who got home last night and almost passed out from the fumes? That would be me.

The whole loathsome smell thing aside, I simply cannot figure out why the man does this. The logic of it escapes me. When I first got glasses, I was talking to my oldest brother at some point about how much better I was able to see. He decided to try them on, and he lasted for all of five seconds before he yanked them off, handed them back, and said "Dang, Phil, I don't know how you can see through those things." Such a comment might have made sense had I removed my actual eyeballs and let him try those on, sure, but these were just glasses.

My landlord, evidently, uses the same such logic regarding his grass. He has a dog, a Border Collie who can run twenty miles per hour in his sleep, and whose antics in the backyard tear up the grass like it was tissue paper. It seems obvious, at least to me, that trying to achieve perfect grass is a waste of time and money. Not to mention a waste of all that waste he dumped all up in the yard.

When he asks me why the electricity bill was so much higher even though it's been cooler out and "haven't you been keeping your windows open why are you running the air conditioner?!" I'll offer two words in response: COW SHIT.

Please forgive the poor quality of the pictures. I took them with my phone camera because, well, I was kind of too lazy to use my regular camera. Plus I didn't exactly plan this, and the only reason I had taken the pictures was to have a visual reference when I was shopping. I've never done a post like this before. It's totally self-indulgent, and with that in mind, I'm completely okay with that. You've been warned. Perhaps it was the effects of the drag show and Halloween, or just from being tired all the time, or something, but last weekend I got all fired up and decided to undertake a small project to fix my bedroom up a bit. Because I live in a house that I think may have been built in the seventies (an odd time during which houses were built with lots and lots of paneled wood), or thereabouts, it's got a number of odd features.

One such oddity is what I've come to call a vanity, despite the presence of a window there. It's strange, I know. The problem is that, as my schedule becomes increasingly hectic during the semester, this one spot of my room literally mimics the state of my life. To put it lightly, it was a train wreck.

The window sported the same awful, hideous, unforgivably yellow beige drapes that the two main windows to this place used to sport (which I ousted in favor of blinds sometime last year). Notice also that they did not close completely, either.

I found some nice white drapes to replace these. They were about thirteen inches too long, so I used some safety pins and did a little homestyle hemming, and the result is this. Note quite perfect, but certainly close enough for me. Not bad for my first time, eh?

Finally, I put together two sets of wire shelving units to add additional storage space. I was afraid that they might not work with the room, but it turns out they fit right in, and they nearly triple the amount of flat storage place I have right there. It's easy to keep everything organized, and I don't have to cringe and pretend I can't see every time I go near that part of the room.

I'm very pleased with the outcome, and thrilled that I achieved exactly what I wanted with less than $75. I priced custom shelving, which while nice, I could not get below $120 even with the most generous of offers. Larger shelving was available that would have fit, though a single unit of such shelving runs at least $70, even on sale. My route, while it did take a bit more searching to find exactly what I wanted and what would fit, was much more budget friendly and it has surpassed my expectations. Next up: tackling and simplifying the rest of the room. Little by little, I'm getting there.

October 30, 2009. The day I unleashed my inner drag queen. Replete with a dress designed just for me, a fully stuffed chest, a bouncy hairdo, fabulous make-up, and four-inch heels. In other words, it was me at my fiercest. And oh, what a time it was, as clearly evidenced here by this glamorous shot before the show in the green room. Fierce!

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep. I can only assume that that's the sound of an unplanned almost one-month hiatus on this website. The amount of shit flowing through my brain¹ has been staggering, really, and I've had every reason to want to write every day. Only I've been devoid of any energy to really do so, and I have a thing about always wanting to be at the top of my game when I write.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

Much of my writing energy at this time is being consumed by grad school. This bothers me less than I imagined it would, actually, except for the fact that the topics about which I've had to write don't exactly have top billing for me. Still, at least I am writing, and kicking ass at it, yo.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

My little brother and his girlfriend are visiting for the weekend, and so far we've managed to tear it up quite a bit out here.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

A little over a year ago, I bought a watch because I was told I needed one for my clinical therapy time. I went to Target and bought a $40 watch that was on clearance for $17 or so. I had no intention of wearing it save for the four hours a week of therapy time, so I begged the poor Target employee to set it for me. She was sweet enough to do so, or else I was belligerent enough that she was begrudgingly humoring me. Since then, the only function I've figured out how to use is the stopwatch, and its usefulness is overshadowed by how much effort it requires for me to get it to work.

Needless to say, the watch spends half the year at the correct time and the rest of the year at the correct time for my neighboring time zone. I tried to read the manual once, but its tiny print, not to mention it's sixteen tiny pages, made me give up after all of five seconds.

About two months ago, I heard the beep-beeping of a tiny alarm, and for the life of me could not figure out what it was. It was 7 o'clock in the morning, and what I was doing awake at that hour escapes me. The beeping stopped after thirty seconds and I forgot about it until the next morning at precisely the same time. I keep the watch in my bag, and perhaps my stoic gait one day caused it to bump a little button here and there, and consequently set the alarm function.

The alarm goes off daily at 7am, and short of throwing the watch into a pool or giving it to someone who wasn't asking for a watch, per se, I have no idea how to turn the damn thing off. So it serves, forevermore at this time, as a daily reminder that yet another day has passed and there is so much that I still have yet to do.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

¹That's right, I've been listening to Ben Folds again.

My friend Dusty and I went to the local animal shelter the other day. It all started with a rousing debate of "Which Are Cooler: Rats or Bunnies"; afterward, we decided we needed to go see us some bunnies. They were cute and all, but they it's not like they were social, smart, and trainable. No doubt Dusty thought he'd won the debate, but considering the bunnies' only cool points were that they were super soft and they could hop, the fact remains that it was I who won! Plus, Dusty is not the one writing this. I am! And I say that it was me who won! After a while we wandered over to the outdoor area, where there were dogs galore! And suddenly, all those dogs had two gay men walking from kennel to kennel, fawning over them and petting their paws and telling them how cute they were and how much we wished we could just take them all home right now. Amidst the barrage of gay affection, there was suddenly a sound that stopped us cold¹. It sounded like someone crying, perhaps for help? We decided to investigate, and that's when we met this guy:

Yes, the culprit of the crying was this goat. A veritable bounty of cuteness, sideways pupils and all. He calmed down as soon as we arrived on the scene, which leads me to believe that that was his intention from the start: to steal our attention away from all the dogs and reel us in with that tractor beam-like bray of his.

Which further settles the score for my case: even the goat was more social than the bunnies. It's decided: I win.

¹You know it had to be loud to overcome all the high-pitched gay voices we were emitting. I mean, really.

We all know, on one level or other, that sometimes we buy really, really disgusting things at the grocery store. We like to pretend like it's not so bad, though, since it tastes marginally okay, and sometimes that beats taking the time to make things ourselves. I'm the first to admit this; given my typical hectic schedule due to my status as a full-time graduate student and part-time employee, it's not always possible to make everything I eat. And, let's face it, the stress and pressure of life leads to the consumption of things that help deal with such things: I'm speaking mostly of cookies here. They're glorious, and I am hereby making a declaration: I never again want to eat a store-bought cookie. Not even the ones from the grocery's so-called bakery.

It occurred to me today that if I don't have the time to make something, there's a good chance I shouldn't then bother eating it at all. What helped me come to this conclusion? Why, the listed ingredients of some soft (and suspiciously chewy) chocolate chip cookies from a local Vons grocery store:

Bleached enriched flour (wheat flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin and folic acid), sugar, semisweet chocolate (sugar, chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, dextrose, soy lecithin, vanilla, milk), margarine (palm oil, water, salt, vegetable monoglycerides, natural butter flavor, citric acid, vitamin A palmitate and beta carob (color), milk), vegetable oil (palm), eggs, high fructose corn syrup, molasses, water, baking soda, salt, natural and artificial flavor, sodium acid pyrophosphate. **Contains: wheat, eggs, soy, and milk.**

One interpretation of that list of ingredients is that to eat something composed of all such items would not be unlike ingesting one of those free plastic frisbees real estate companies used to offer ironically¹ to potential home-buyers.

What I'm getting at here is that for Labor Day, I was invited to spend the day with a good friend of mine in Long Beach. He'd just move there, so I tried to think up a good gift to bring as a house-warming gift. I had gone to IKEA on Saturday, but of course every such shopping excursion to that store ends up involving me walking out with some piece of furniture clutched in my arms; in this case I exited the premises with some organizational cabinet shelves that I simply could not live without. I shop for myself there, bitches, and even if you only want a gift card there, I'll probably use said gift card for myself and get you a gift card to someplace that doesn't make me drool quite so much.

I decided that, since it was Labor Day, some food would be in order, and hey, chocolate chip cookies are always a good addition to a barbecue. So I dragged myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 8:45-10:00² and, once I was done with all that grooming nonsense, I started baking. (In case you're wondering about my timeliness here, I started baking around 10:45.)

The night before, I'd gone to the grocery to get some last-minute supplies. While there, I picked up the aforementioned store-bought cookies; I figured I would do a taste-test sort of experiment, a Cookie Championship to determine whose cookies were more savory.

My cookies contained the following:

Organic flour, organic brown sugar, organic granulated sugar, butter (from cows that do not ingest growth hormones), vanilla extract, salt, baking soda, eggs, and semi-sweet chocolate chips.

And here's what they looked like:

Verdict: my nine-ingredient cookies beat the pants off of Vons's nearly thirty-ingredient cookies. They looked more delicious, tasted more delicious, and best of all, they didn't bounce off the floor when I dropped them.

Were they a hit? Well, I made nearly four dozen cookies and walked away with a couple of plates that didn't even have any crumbs left to show what once had graced them. I'd say that's a mission accomplished.

¹There's nothing really ironic about that. Which, I suppose, is kind of the point. ²I require at minimum one hour to actually go from being 'asleep' to 'awake.' In that time, I pound the snooze on my alarm repeatedly, then proceed to brush my teeth with my eyes closed. If I'm particularly energetic, I may even squeeze a shower in during that time-frame, but it's just as likely that that will happen during the next hour block.

Check out this time-lapse video the folks at CrunchGear. pointed me to of the Station Fire. As it happens, this fire is the largest in the history of Los Angeles county. Keep in mind that the fire started on August 26 (last Wednesday), and this video was posted on August 31. That means five days was condensed into the 66 seconds below:

And while yes, I know this time of year is fire season, because the extreme dry weather and the extreme heat make the conditions just right, I can't help but get really pissed off when I find out that, hey, what do you know, turns out this fire was arson and is also a pending homicide investigation. No seriously, it is.

1. Move to Los Angeles.2. Enjoy it completely until fire season starts in August. 3. Breathe fumes and smoke and ash for a few days. 4. Wonder aloud at a party what starts some of these fires. 5. Go to bed that night and get a song about not starting a fire stuck in your head somehow, amidst your dreams. 6. Wake up singing said song. 7. Curse whoever wrote those wretched lyrics. 8. Pose the following question to yourself: Why the fuck was fire used as a metaphor for a song about pop culture? 9. Notice that, when applied to an actual fire, We Didn't Start the Fire is pretty depressing. 10. Damn you for this, Billy Joel, damn you!

There's a good chance that this post will cause my partner to roll his eyes, cover his face with his hands, and then click close tab. It's no secret that I'm a huge nerd, and despite being in a field practically devoid of gadgets, I still manage to spend a whole lot of time thinking about them. I'm a blogger, it's a given. A few weeks back, I got it into my head that hey, wouldn't it be fun to add a techie element to this blog. I have learned so much just from blogging and crawling the internet, so what better way to give a little back? It's stunning how little I know, in the grand scheme of things, but I thought why not share what I do know, and what I have learned? I learn more all the time, so it will be a great place to bring all that together.

So I introduce this, a whenever-I-like-it (I'm hoping weekly but I make no promises) post about something tech-related. It could be software I like to use, gadgets I enjoy, or websites I find useful. Just to offer fair warning, I use Apple computers, so a good deal of this content will be geared toward Mac products and software. That said, whenever possible, I will mention things that are Windows- or other operating-system-based, in the spirit of making information useful to whoever wants to find it useful.

And finally, a huge thanks to Jamie for listening to my ideas and for helping make sure I didn't blind you with my special little graphic here (see below). Thanks, Jamie! And now, let's begin...

Since it's my first week back at school, let's kick it off with a fantastic little study tool I use. It's a simple little flashcard program that's intuitive and makes learning a quick, easy task. The program, appropriately called Genius, is free and runs on any Mac, both PPC and Intel, running any version of OS X as well as Mac OS Classic. You can find Genius here.

I would recommend Genius for anything you need to memorize. It is exclusively designed as flashcard memory, and has a study function that reviews items for you a few at a time, and as you master items, it adds new items accordingly. Your answers are scored and you can even write in keywords during study sessions for Genius to recognize and score as correct even if you don't repeat items strictly verbatim. If you establish preferences manually, you can select exact, case sensitive, or lexical similarity.

The only drawback to Genius is that its format is fixed. You have to expand the size of the window in order to view lengthier questions and answers in the editing pane, and the study panel style is sometimes difficult to read. But your information is there, the set-up is good, and at $0 cost, these are par for the course. Genius a great ticket for any college student, and will improve your grades without even touching your wallet.

My Afternoon Inner Monologue While Napping on the Couch For Something Like Two Hours. Or

The Most Unproductive Nap Ever

Or

An Inordinate Amount of Dialogue Considering This Is A Slumbering Monologue

I think I’ll close my eyes. Yes, yes! Excellent idea. Oooh, I’m drifitng to sleep. With my glasses on.

(30 minutes later.)

Hey, I’ve been asleep. With my glasses on. Well take them off dammit!

(Glasses are removed. Sleep recommences. 30 more minutes pass.)

How long have been asleep? I don’t know but I’m so sleepy I can’t open my eyes.What time is it? How should I know? I can’t open my eyes.

(An hour later.)

Wait, have I been asleep? Duh. I can’t seem to open my eyes. Yes I can. Try. I just did again. Nothing. Well maybe I’m just dreaming about all this. Maybe I’m just dreaming that I can’t open my eyes. What a fucking useless dream. Tell me about it. But I still can’t! Yes but even though I’m conscious of this, I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Right? And then I’ll just fall asleep and then have the same stupid dream again. Arrrrrrrgggghhhhhh.

(And then I woke up.)

Twitter. The social networking site that everyone either loves to hate, hates to love, hates to hate, or loves to love. The site that is frequently lauded for being lame for reasons as uncreative as it's just boring to I don't care what you're doing every minute of every day, both of which are tired reasoning and are only said anymore because someone else said it first. So where am I going with this? Right here: Twitter has made me a better graduate student. Grad school, no matter what field of study, is an intense process, and chances are you will be doing a lot of writing. I have noted before that writing this website has considerably improved my writing skills, especially in terms of essays, arguments, and even research papers. What, then, has Twitter done for me?

I'm studying Speech-Language Pathology, and one of the challenges of this field is learning to write reports. The field is incredibly dynamic, and can involve working with people of any age in settings from schools to therapy centers to hospitals. Report writing, unlike other forms of exposition, needs to be concise by nature. Narratives are great, but once you get out there and have a hefty caseload, your reading time is limited. This is where Twitter comes in.

Over the summer, I discovered that I had the ability to write a lot of information into very few sentences, thus making my reports clear, direct, and, according to my supervisor, something other hospital employees could definitely appreciate. Granted, it's taken me about a year to understand what clinical writing is all about, but Twitter has had a huge impact on how I write.

The key, naturally, is to avoid "text speak." One of my biggest pet peeves, be it when texting or when using Twitter, is when I see people type things like b4 u used 2 b cool but now u r dumb. It's like nails on a chalkboard for me, and instead of getting information across faster or more effectively, it serves only to make me judge you. The challenge of Twitter is to get across some form of information, story, idea, or what have you, in only 140 characters.

Twitter: useful in more ways than even I ever thought it would be. And just remember, if you're one of those people who's going to come up to me and tell me how silly you think Twitter is, I'll have only one thing to say to you: b4 u used 2 b cool but now u r dumb.

Today is the much-awaited 20-Something Bloggers Video Blog day! The theme is "What does 20SB mean to you?" A fitting theme, indeed, and considering I've made some amazing friends through them, I thought the least I could do was participate. Here's the part that's easy to believe: I did this video in one take. I only allowed myself the one take because otherwise I never would have gotten to this part right here. If I had even once reviewed it before uploading it to my computer, there's a strong possibility that I would be huddled in a corner, crying, eating ice cream right out of the container. Luckily, I don't have any ice cream.

In all seriousness, the 20SB network has brought much joy to my life. I've met amazing people, read the stories of amazing writers, made wonderful new friends across the globe (even going so far as to drive to Las Vegas to meet 25 of them all at the same time!), and just generally found a wonderful place on the internet to hang out.

I owe more to other people for this video than myself. Specifically, the folks providing the soundtrack. The intro track is courtesy of Tek Support, who I got to see perform over the weekend and he totally blew my mind. The track is called "Robot Apocalypse." The closing track is by pop electronic duo Air, and is called "Napalm Love."

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the next one minute and forty-five seconds of crazy. Hopefully this shows up in your reader, but if not, click here to view it on the web page.

20sb Vlog Day August 2009: Rocky Time Warp edition from Phil on Vimeo.

Oh, and because this is a Director's Cut, after all, here's a special feature: Behold, the amazing towering tri-pod for my camera! Why yes! those are two large books beneath a ream of paper beneath my MacBook beneath a magazine beneath four novels, why?

I will be there. Nico will be there. But more importantly, will YOU be there?

Confrontation has never been one of my strong suits. I've long been a good listener first and a good conversationalist second. My landlord, on the other hand, has an affinity for considering himself a blow-hard know-it-all and at 60 years old is never going to feel differently. Our relationship can only be described as 'cordial'; I pay him a huge chunk of change to live on his property and in return, I get a cool place to live. To stay in his good graces, I usually find I have to give up one hour per month and listen to him rant and rave about politics and money. As I was having my internet installed Wednesday, I also got to hear him spout on about computers and he started drilling me about why I decided to ditch the internet he pays for in favor of my now super-fast cable. I replied that I needed speedier, more reliable internet, and that the DSL was slowing me down.

Landlord: How much RAM do you have on your computer? Phil: Why? Landlord: Well that would explain why your computer isn't loading the internet well. I have two gigabytes on my computer and it runs fine. Phil: ... Landlord: I'm telling you, that's what it is. Phil: RAM is hardware in your computer that allows all your software to run, and can allow you to run more than one program at once. It has nothing to do with your internet connection. Landlord: Well. Maybe. I'll have to look into it. Phil: Trust me, I could have 500 gigs of RAM and that wouldn't make this shitty DSL any faster. Landlord: We'll see.

The best part of all this? The look on the guy's face when my nerdiness shined and totally owned his masculinity. That was nice for a change.

Hey, remember how much I complained about having no internet access the other day? How the DSL completely went out and, once it was fixed, it still worked slower than dial-up? Yeah, I decided to change that. On Monday, I got it into my head that since school starts in two weeks, and since one of my classes is completely online, it might be wise to free myself from the free-because-my-landlord-paid-for-it internet and drop some change for my own cable internet. You know, that actually worked. Cut to today, the day I was told to be waiting at home between the hours of 1 and 5 in the afternoon. Just for the record, Time Warner (and other cable companies who might be listening), a four hour window is a murderous amount of time to demand a person be done. I had so much to do, and every time I started to go about doing it, I'd stop myself and say, "But what if the cable guy shows up?" Past experience has taught me that no one shows until at least the last half hour, but that does nothing to stop such lame behavior.

The cable guy showed up at precisely 4:40 pm, a mere five minutes before I was about to call the company and scream obscenities into the phone at the recorded voice on the other end of the line. Because my humble abode already had cable, I had assumed that the guy would show up, test it out, flip a switch, give me a modem, and be on his way. I had no idea that I was in store for a four-hour ordeal that involved pulling everything out and then putting in completely new wires. Only to find, naturally, that the length of wire we had did not even reach all the way back to my house. So, three more technicians and a full spool of cable wire later, and I was in business.

After nearly four hours of waiting, then another four hours of watching the cable guys and making sure that Dylan, the ever-curious dog who loses his shit whenever new people show up on the scene, didn't terrorize any of the poor cable guys.

Seriously, by the time it was all over, I had to jump into the car and leave the house because I just couldn't take it anymore. The most I could do on my computer was to turn it on, click a few pages, then pee my pants because the pages! They were loading so fast!

And now I'm back home and typing this and I literally cannot believe that this is happening to me. Videos are loading in mere seconds' time instead of a couple of hours, I'm not constantly getting disconnected from my email, and in the space of the thirty or so minutes I've been using my computer, I've been so productive! Who knew that when your internet works, and it works super fast, you can actually get done everything you need to do in a timely fashion. It's like that chunk of change to pay for it every month really pays for itself.

(Also, I typed this post in less than ten minutes. In TextEdit. Which isn't even connected to the internet. But that doesn't matter because my internet is moving so quickly that apparently so also must my typing fingers. Holyshitmyheadexplodedit'stimetogotobed.)

That is all.

It might be wise to preface this post by saying that it's a doozy. It's long, it's a huge rant, and it's nerdy. For that I blame a considerable amount of frustration, as well as an affinity to reading a lot of tech-related blogs lately. You've been warned. Technology doesn't seem to be working in my favor at the moment. In addition to my aforementioned shitty internet connection, I've pretty much declared war on my cell phone. I remember when I got my LG Voyager last July that Jenn asked if I would do a review of the thing. I said sure, but never ended up writing it, in part because I didn't know how to do a review at the time, and also in part because I suspected that a better review would be done after a solid amount of time spent with said phone. I made that second reason up, but who could blame me since I've now had the thing for over a year?

A year ago, my review would have gone something like this: The LG Voyager is a lot like my previous phone, the original LG "The V", but with cheaper quality plastic, a touch screen, and a higher-resolution camera. It's otherwise unremarkable.

And today, my review goes something like this: The Voyager is an okay phone whose MSRP is inflated well beyond its actual worth. It is mediocre in every possible way, and the only reason to really use it is for its qwerty keyboard, which is actually quite comfortable for typing. It has a number of known bugs that never seem to be remedied, including--but not limited to--powering off when clicking 'send' on a text message, powering off for no apparent reason, an unresponsive touch screen, a responsive touch screen that clicks in places a centimeter or four away from where your finger actually touches the screen, and for repeatedly pocket dialing and not logging the calls in the phone's memory. For all the hype initially surrounding this phone, it's a profound disappointment.

What has become an even more profound disappointment for me is Verizon. Up to now, I've been content with their service because my phone gets reception just about everywhere. My initial reason for using Verizon was that my whole family used them as well, so it only made sense to use the same network.

I've never been terribly impressed by their customer service, however, and I'm not a huge fan of their phone software, which only ever ends up making the interface look uglier with each subsequent change. However, I'm still under contract with them and also, unfortunately at this point, like that I get such strong service everywhere I go.

I've made no secret about my desire to get an iPhone, and despite all the current drama surrounding them, I still want one. Of course, if there's anyone I like less than Verizon right now, it's AT&T. The feelings I harbor against AT&T are a combination of both their current lousy reputation for having actually fewer bars in more places as well as their history of being a giant blood-sucking monopoly. Then again, considering currently do business with the largest cell phone company in the country, perhaps that last point is moot.

I went to the Verizon store today to voice my complaints regarding my phone, and while the guy behind the counter was checking everything out, I was informed that if I shelled out $50.00, I could get the exact same phone I have as a replacement (thanks to it being more than a year old now and despite my point that the problems I've had with my phone are not unheard of), which I quickly shot down by noting that paying money only to eventually end up having the same problems a few months down the line wasn't exactly an ideal solution. I also learned that I could extend my contract for another two years and "upgrade" to a new phone for $20.00, a notion I also shot down because I've become really suspicious of contracts at this point and hate being forced to do business with only one company.

During this exchange, I decided I'd inform the representative that what I really want is an iPhone, and had the man heard if Verizon would be carrying it come 2010. He proceeded to talk about the much-rumored Apple Tablet, and also expounded on why Verizon hadn't initially snagged the iPhone for its own line. He gave me the following reasons:

• Apple refused to let Verizon put their own label on the phone
• Apple uses its own iTunes, so Verizon's own music download center would see a loss in profits
• Verizon wasn't keen on the data plan proposed by Apple
• Verizon didn't like that troubleshooting could only be done at the Apple store, and not at any Verizon store locations

The only thing I could think was, WOW, what a huge, huge, mistake for Verizon. The fact that the iPhone does not have AT&T's symbol on it has done nothing to lessen the sheer volume of sales on the device. Also, I've been a Verizon customer for more than three years now (amazingly, I've only been a cell phone user for that long) and I have never once, and never will, download any music from Verizon. Why? Because I download songs to my computer (via iTUnes and Amazon) and I don't need separate copies for my phone. And frankly, I don't even use my phone for an mp3 player in part because it really isn't that great a phone to do so and also in part because it doesn't have a standard headphone jack. Also, I believe that all data plans should be a flat rate for unlimited usage, an aspect I'm sure Verizon completely disagrees with me on.

In sum, I'm currently of the opinion that all cell phones should be open to any carrier of choice. Second, all cell phones should be free of contracts, which would serve to increase competition, demand consistently better service, and reduce the outrageous cost of the devices. I wouldn't mind paying full price for a device if it meant I got to use it how I saw fit instead of being forced to use it the way a carrier wants me to. Here's hoping!

As the notorious Nico often says so succinctly, we live in the future! And every time he says it, be it while we're instant messaging, emailing, blogging/commenting, or chatting it up at a party, I always nod my head in solemn agreement. He knows about these things much better than I. Or rather, he's got a much better grasp on this point, as it's his spiel, not my own. The last 48 hours have really brought to life how right Nico is about us living in the future, however. His point has long been that regardless of how we perceived the future to be in the past, the reality of our lives is very much the future of our pasts, and in ways we likely haven't even thought much about.

As I've so eloquently noted already, my home internet connection has been out for the better part of two days. It's been spotty for the last several weeks, but these last two days it's been a nightmare, allowing me actual access for maybe ten minutes out of every hour or so. This is a problem for me, as much of what I do requires the use of an internet connection.

So what have I been unable to accomplish as a result of virtually no internet connection? Let's see.

• Sending important documents over email for my clinic.
• Reading the news.
• Writing on any one of my plethora of websites.
• Paying bills.
• Checking email.
• Working on setting up my new Etsy shop. (coming soon...)

It's funny to think about it. I've gone paperless on virtually all my bills, and was proud that it was a means of going green. But just as paper bills are only possible if there are trees to make the paper, so too is paperless billing only possible with a reliable internet connection. The point is, who knew that what we so long considered to be paperwork might one day not be actual paperwork at all? There's no other response to that than... we live in the future.

This blog post is being typed at a local Coffee Bean, where a nice, sturdy, reliable, fast, and free wireless internet connection has allowed me to get all my work done and more. Who knew that it would be possible to go order a drink, plop down at a table, and work on your laptop to your heart's content? That settles it, I think; we really do live in the future.

For the uninitiated, Twitter is full of little programmed bots that crawl through all the data on there for keywords. Then they start following you, making you look more popular than you really are and hoping that you'll be lame enough to follow them back. Take my little rant tonight against my home internet connection, for instance. I got really pissed off and turned to Twitter to vent my frustration.

(Take note, Verzion. I may not mind your cell phone service, but your DSL frequently makes me shout obsenties like fuck shit I fucking hate this fucking shitty DSL.)

Then the little bots discover that I typed "Verizon" into my angry diatribe twiatribe, and suddenly ca-ching! I have a new follower, in the form of a probably-not-actually-Verizon and also probably-a-scammer account.

Oh, the joys of Twitter.

Better late than never! It's just me, crashing the virtual wedding shower arranged by the fabulous Erin. Don't worry, I was invited. It wouldn't be a proper wedding shower without the token gay man in attendance, right? Right. The internet is a fascinating place, and it occurred to me some time ago that it was even an amazing way to meet people. When I met Renee about a year and a half ago, I knew I'd met someone special. We started out exchanging comments on the 20 Something Bloggers network, graduated to reading each other's blogs, then to gchatting and emailing, and finally to meeting in person at an incredible blogger meet-up in Las Vegas. See?

I'm convinced we hit it off so well because we have so much in common. Her love of theater, politics, feminism, and sense of humor resonated well with me. I fell in love with her wit and her uncanny observations of the world around us. She made me think, she made me laugh, and most of all, she became my friend.

I've been quite open about my struggles to make sense of my own life through this website, and a quick look at my archives shows that I've come leaps and bounds from where I started. I've made no secret, at times, of aspects of my family and their less-than-ideal take on who I am. (They're coming along, but it takes a great deal of training, and training, of course, takes time.) My oldest brother got married a month ago, and I was naturally very excited for him. Though we talk more now than we did for a while there, my family and me, there are some things that remain off the proverbial discussion topics menu, as it were.

I know that time will work its magic, and with any luck, before long, my own family will start to work their way towards more open support. Until that time, I have friends. They're the people I choose to surround myself with, to get to know, and to share in this thing we call life. This, dear readers, is where Renee comes in.

When I decided to head to Las Vegas to meet twenty-five complete strangers I'd only ever interacted with over the internet, I had an idea that meeting Renee would be amazing. Nothing prepared me, however, for just how amazing it would be. I'm not just talking about how she and I ended up singing and dancing to "All That Jazz" by the Bellagio water fountain, though that was epic, to be sure.

The very first night I met her, we starting chatting and catching up like old friends. I congratulated her again and marveled about how soon she was getting married and how quickly the time had flown by to this point. I'm kinda paraphrasing here, but bear with me.

Phil: I remember reading about your engagement and now look where we are! Renee: I know! I'm so excited! But I also feel so bad. Phil: What? Why?! Renee: I feel guilty being excited to get married because others don't have the right to get married.

I was floored the moment she said this, and so moved. Renee, you are a wonderful soul, and I am so lucky to have you as a friend. And believe me, I am thrilled for you and literally can't wait to see the pictures of your wedding, to read the stories that are yet to come, and to see you in person again so I can congratulate you and give you an enormous hug.

Congratulations, sweetie!

(In case the Beau is reading this, stop scrolling here. This is only for all us girls at the shower, for the picture below may make others gasp in shock, slap me on the back, and say "Phil, you hound!" Okay, here it is.)

Three weeks seems like more time than it actually is. It's just enough time to get comfortable and steal you away from remembering to remember every single second, and yet not enough time to really savor what you've suddenly gotten so comfortable with. It's just enough time to make you realize that letting your feelings take you away is the best decision you've ever made, and yet not enough time to savor every one of those feelings to the last drop. It's at once too much time and not even close to enough time. It's enough to make you want time to hurry up to see what great things are in store for you, and to also slow down so you can maximize every moment. It's enough time because it has to be enough time, but it reminds you that no amount of time will ever be enough.

But still, the one thought that remains is that the day I am most looking forward to is the day I never have to do this again.

You know, when it actually happened. But it was hugely nerdy and appropriate at the time, and I was far too preoccupied last week to get around to posting it. Luckily, nerd humor is so stale that letting it sit for a week isn't of much consequence.

Plus, I'm almost certain that I alienated at least two-thirds of my facebook friends, so there's that.