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January 26th, 2009
10:05 am
Happy birthday, 언니!
Longer message to wing its way to you via email. Just wanted to say that I love you as much as I have every day in your life so far (starting from my existence, of course).
And will, every day this next year of your life, and every year thereafter.
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February 18th, 2008
09:20 pm
Okay, moving back to Movable Type now, even though the current set of templates are far from fully functional. At least when I post something new, the entry about the half-marathon isn't re-posted. (For the record, I did not run three of them.)
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February 3rd, 2008
07:12 pm - Super Bowl
The Giants? Really? Wild card and all?
(There is a younger sibling part of me that exults.)
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January 6th, 2008
09:42 pm - The local curb & other stories
My Movable Type templates have some issue which is keeping me from publishing my usual blog. Since my job currently consists of debugging similar templates, I'm going to hold off on tackling this.
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There is a Budweiser truck parked right outside my apartment, on my thoroughly residential street (all apartment complexes with families). It's been there the entire weekend.
Why couldn't it be good beer, at least?
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After a two-hour wait at my doctor's office, I finally received my last Gardasil shot. (There's a six-month interval between the first and last shots.) During these two hours, I desperately laid my hands upon all the reading material in the waiting area, only to read an article in that day's local paper about how Gardasil was so painful it caused a higher number of teenage girls to faint than usual. (It did mention that perhaps teenage girls are just fainting-prone.) Granted, fainting < cervical cancer, but really, what if that had been the day of my first shot?
(I'm not bothered at all by needles, nor did I find the shot all that painful, but the three nurses who administered it to me all remarked on how unusual this was. "My daughter cried," one told me. "Oh, how old is she?" I asked, imagining a little girl. [It's recommended for girls from 9 to 26.] "Twenty," said she.)
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Giving a mere ten bucks to my semi-local library's "Friends" association snags me a 10% discount at the local independent bookstore, where I already get 9% off as a frequent buyer. As though the library hasn't saved me enough money by letting me read books for free.
However, my library is undergoing renovation in a few weeks that will close it for an entire month. I'm already mourning.
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Season 4 of The Wire is excellence. I love its grittiness, the way it exposes my socioeconomic assumptions and arrogance; the gradual development of the characters -- not just the cops, like most crime shows, but the street folks as well; the refusal to spit out neatly episodic chunks in favor of a more realistic, grand arc; how unflinching its plot is. (From what I've glimpsed of most popular shows, they go for cheap thrills and then backstep to meander down a different melodramatic path.)
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I wish there'd been more thunder with this weekend's rainstorms.
Failing that, I was glad at least of a brief dry interval where I was permitted to scurry across the open courtyard to the laundry room and achieve clean clothing.
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