It's sunny. It's warm. What the heck is this? You'd think it was early June in a temperate climate zone, or something.
Oh, wait. It is. I'd almost forgotten.
(The Yale marching band's cheer when the sun comes out: "Sun god, sun god, Ra Ra Ra!")
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Monday, June 9, 2003
Medical directive of the day
From the book I'm working on (a guide to intravenous medications): "Resuscitate as necessary." Um, yes, I should hope so.
("Doctor, the patient needs to be resuscitated. What should we do?" "Let me check...okay, the book says 'resuscitate as necessary.'" "Never mind, too late...")
("Doctor, the patient needs to be resuscitated. What should we do?" "Let me check...okay, the book says 'resuscitate as necessary.'" "Never mind, too late...")
Worst. Editing job. Ever.
I've got an enormous manuscript from a publisher—over 1,100 pages, physical paper pages—which have already been marked up by their copyeditor. What do they want me to do? Go through and highlight the changes, and mark the pages with a Post-It flag. I don't see why they can't just make the changes that are already written down without me highlighting them. (Or have us make the changes, for that matter.) I think it's stupid, my boss thinks it's stupid, my manager thinks it's stupid, but the customer is always right, and all that. So I'm going through page by page and highlighting and flagging. I've used up one highlighter and about ten Post-It flag dispensers; I went out to Staples at lunch to buy more. They're almost $8 for a pack of four; I spent $60.49 on the frickin' things. (My boss is paying me back, of course.) Earth to publisher: It's called electronic publishing. You use computers. And even if you don't, can you honestly not figure out how to make a correction unless it's written down and highlighted and has a Post-It flag sticking out of the page? Yeesh...
Sunday, June 8, 2003
Various things on TV
To my shame, I must admit that I have been watching E!'s Nearly Famous series about Vegas showgirls. It's kind of refreshing, actually; because quite frankly, actual Vegas showgirls are not particularly attractive. They've got decent bodies, of course, but nothing spectacular; and they're rather facially scary. Especially with all that makeup. (Particularly this one, who looks like the offspring of Chelsea Clinton and Elizabeth Berkley.) And they could all use either a natural hair color or a recent dye job. And they can't even dance that well. I no longer feel quite so inferior.
Also, "Austin Powers" on TBS; somewhat oddly edited for TV. You can say "randy" but not "horny," and you can say "Alotta Fagina" but not "Swedish-made penis enlarger." (They sort of elided the "made" to cover the "penis" syllables and turned it into "Swedish-maaaade enlarger.") It's certainly darned funny, and less disgusting and puerile than the two sequels.
And then, Michael York in a much different role: "Cabaret" on TCM last night. Kick-ass movie. What's Joel Grey done since then? It's pretty hard for a man to have a movie career after he's appeared in lipstick, at least if that's his first noticeable movie role (see Tim Curry). (If you're already clearly established as very much straight, thank you, you can get away with it; see "Some Like It Hot," "Tootsie," etc.) I don't know if it was intentional, but Liza Minnelli did a dead-on portrayal of someone in a high mania. Impulsive, self-destructive, high-energy, oversexed. (Been there, done that, got medicated...)
Made me wonder: There's depression, where you're just depressed; there's bipolar disorder/manic depression, when you're manic and depressed; is there a third option, where you're just manic? I suppose if there is, it's not treated as a disease, because, hey, you're feeling terrific and you don't think there's a single problem with you. And everyone else thinks you're charismatic and energetic and fun to be around. Well, until you act like a total asshole to them; but there's always someone new to think you're terrific. If anyone tries to tell you there's something wrong with you, you blow it, and them, off. And eventually you die young and leave a beautiful corpse, I guess. I don't think there are many old, untreated manics around.
Also, "Austin Powers" on TBS; somewhat oddly edited for TV. You can say "randy" but not "horny," and you can say "Alotta Fagina" but not "Swedish-made penis enlarger." (They sort of elided the "made" to cover the "penis" syllables and turned it into "Swedish-maaaade enlarger.") It's certainly darned funny, and less disgusting and puerile than the two sequels.
And then, Michael York in a much different role: "Cabaret" on TCM last night. Kick-ass movie. What's Joel Grey done since then? It's pretty hard for a man to have a movie career after he's appeared in lipstick, at least if that's his first noticeable movie role (see Tim Curry). (If you're already clearly established as very much straight, thank you, you can get away with it; see "Some Like It Hot," "Tootsie," etc.) I don't know if it was intentional, but Liza Minnelli did a dead-on portrayal of someone in a high mania. Impulsive, self-destructive, high-energy, oversexed. (Been there, done that, got medicated...)
Made me wonder: There's depression, where you're just depressed; there's bipolar disorder/manic depression, when you're manic and depressed; is there a third option, where you're just manic? I suppose if there is, it's not treated as a disease, because, hey, you're feeling terrific and you don't think there's a single problem with you. And everyone else thinks you're charismatic and energetic and fun to be around. Well, until you act like a total asshole to them; but there's always someone new to think you're terrific. If anyone tries to tell you there's something wrong with you, you blow it, and them, off. And eventually you die young and leave a beautiful corpse, I guess. I don't think there are many old, untreated manics around.
Depressing weather
It's not just everyone's imagination: of the 23 weekends this year, 18 of them have had precipitation. (In the northeast, at least.) And I don't think the other five were any too sunny, either.
Feh.
If I wanted constant dank gray weather, I'd move to London. At least there I could go to the British Museum in my spare time.
Feh.
If I wanted constant dank gray weather, I'd move to London. At least there I could go to the British Museum in my spare time.
Friday, June 6, 2003
A bit of self-promotion
Today's my birthday; I'm 28. I'm not having any getting-older crisis moments; I think those will come at 29 and 30. 28 just sort of...is. We did the official family celebration of my birthday last weekend in Delaware at my parents' house; tonight J.'s going to make dinner, and he bought strawberries and champagne. (Mmmmm...) My birthday's always involved strawberries; they're at the peak of the season right now, at least in this climate. My parents used to have a garden with a big strawberry patch—something like 100 feet long by 8 feet wide—and some of my fondest childhood memories are of being outside picking berries and eating them while they were still hot from the sun. (Mmmmm, again.) They only have a small garden now, and all I have are a few pots of unsuccessful tomato plants in my tiny concrete back "yard." Oh well; even the storebought berries are sweet, though never sweeter than the ones in my mind.
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