Checking in

Blart. I'm kind of depressed. Don't want to write much. Also my office is cold; which I like better than it being hot, but it's so cold the nerves in my hands are dull and my fingers are stiff, which doesn't help my manual dexterity and keyboarding ability.



Just won the first eBay auction I've bid on since last winter (when I got some swan feathers for J.'s calligraphy; it's hard to find those anywhere but eBay). Must. Not. Get. Addicted. But, um, I really wanted it! And it has nothing to do with being depressed, really...well, okay, maybe. But that's better than if it was because I was manic. (When I'm depressed, I don't keep buying things; during my one full-fledged adulthood mania, I got myself $10,000 in debt in three months. Ack.)



I think I'll go to South St. on my lunch break and try to find a purveyor of magazines that isn't out of TV Guides (tried to buy one Saturday at the supermarket, but they didn't have this week's issue; and yesterday the convenience store across the street was sold out of them). And maybe a trashy gossipy magazine, like the Star, which Whitters of Polyester Bride recently wrote a sort of combined paean to/pan of, The not-so-noble printed word. Yeah, actually, I think I need that. Celebrity breakups and diets and fashion and bad plastic surgery, with lots of colorful pictures, and very short paragraphs: intravenous pop culture, please.

Hello, my name is...wait, it's around here somewhere

Yeah, it's a Monday. Viz.: I had to fill out a health insurance waiver form for my boss (I'm getting coverage through J.'s employer; for some reason no one can pinpoint, the university library where he works falls under the auspices of the university hospital's healthcare-workers union, and they get good stuff). Anyway, it had a one-letter-per-box thing for your name—last, first, M.I.—which I immediately started filling out with my first name first. Realized I'd screwed up, asked if I could have another form; my boss said "Just write your last name over it." So I did—with my maiden name, which I haven't used on official paperwork for over two years. Me: "Oh, crap, I forgot my name. Now can I have another form?" My boss: Big sigh, gives me the last form in the office. I filled it in right this time, then handed it back and said "Take this away before I can screw it up again."



Yeah. Monday. I don't think my weekend lasted as long as advertised; can I exchange it for another one or get my Saturday refunded? And can I start using the new one right now?

Deep in the heart of Texas

Multiple choice: In Dallas County, Texas—the red state to end all red states, the cornerstone and centerpiece of Bush Country—the voters elected a sheriff who is:

1. a Democrat
2. female
3. Hispanic
4. openly gay
5. all of the above

And the answer is (e)—yes, really. Lupe Valdez is also the first woman, first Hispanic, and first openly-gay sheriff elected in that county. And no, her Republican opponent wasn't caught three days before the election in a meth lab in the basement of a crack house engaging in a menage à trois with an underage hooker and a Great Dane, or anything less hyperbolic along those lines. A majority of the voters just thought Valdez would do a better job. Well, dang. Perhaps all is not lost after all.



Update: I was so excited I forgot the link. It's from PlanetOut.com, where the writers were apparently also so excited they couldn't figure out what to do with the headline: they probably didn't know which "first" to use, so they just wound up with Lesbian becomes first Dallas sheriff (which implies that there weren't any sheriffs in Dallas County before, but even the copyeditor in me will give them a bit of leeway because the story's so cool).

Labels

At the Chef's Market lunch buffet: a tray labeled "COLLARED GREENS." I can hear the police chief's press conference now: "Yep, those greens thought they were gettin' away from us, but we nabbed 'em and brought 'em down to the lockup."



(They're collard greens, of course, that down-South down-home favorite; and no, it's not a huge misspelling, but it provides more entertainment than other one-letter add/drop/changes would: colard, kollard, collerd—what's the fun in those?)

Due deliberation

News item: Still no verdict in the Scott Peterson trial, as the jury begins their third day of deliberations.



J.: The jury is deadlocked between "guilty" and "guilty as hell."

So anyway...

Now that it's safe to watch TV again, I was channel-surfing (because, while there's no campaign crap on TV anymore, there's nothing else on, either) and came across a hunting show on OLN (which is one of my programmed "favorite channels" because they sometimes have bull riding, which I'm embarrassingly addicted to). There was a map of Africa with a little animated plane flying over it, and the guide/host was talking about how he'd always wanted to hunt in Tanzania, and then you saw him riding across the savannah in a Jeep with herds of antelope in the distance and a giraffe in the shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro and Masai herdsmen driving their cattle to the waterhole, and he stopped and got out his guns and set up his blinds, and got ready to shoot...really small birds. Sand grouse, about the same size, shape, and color as your basic mourning dove—tiny little birds. I think this may be the first recorded example of under-kill.



(I mean, if you're going all the way to Africa with a TV crew, you may as well shoot something big. Or at least something that looks different than a bird you could accidentally hit with your bicycle without crossing state lines.)

Perspective

• I haven't been happy with the result of any presidential election since Clinton in 1992 (when I wasn't old enough to vote), and I became permanently disenchanted with him after "don't ask, don't tell" in July 1993.
• I've never voted for a presidential candidate who won: Dole in 1996, Nader in 2000 (long story), Kerry in 2004.
• It takes up to a year to become a Canadian citizen, and another three years to become a full citizen, and by then it'll be time for the next U.S. presidential election anyway. (Information via that CNN story everyone's linking to, "No Canada safe haven for Democrats.")
• Also Canada is cold.

I've been trying to think of a spiffy wrap-up line, but I can't. Anyway, post-election letdown isn't exactly new to me; I've been there here, I've done that this, and I guess there's no reason I can't do it again. And again. And again. (Repeat as necessary.) And now, back to my regularly scheduled, typically cynical, unexciting but easily amused, all-around-smartass life.