seriously—hours

And that's all you got?



It's time to give up or go back to school. (Ooh, or teach!)

also, At what point to you give up on maintaining stale friendships? and what causes unattended (I guess, static) friendships to finally qualify as stale?

"when we met the world was right"

Do they count as found objects if you were also the one who lost them?

"cheer up, sad girl, you're pretty"

I've decided to become a connoisseur. Just, in general. Some winning combinations so far:

• Muscat and (really) bleu cheese.



• Milk and honey, warm, poured over Irish porridge with frozen blackberries (or added to a glass of whiskey).



• Musty spring mornings and this fancy bed linen I've actually had for years but just completely forgot about until last week.



• (bizarrely) Ex-flames and new ones; or, evidence/artistic production of ex-flames and new ones (or of new flames and ex-ones); or (suddenly) ex-flames (or evidence/artistic production of ex-flames) and /sisters/ (or, their pretty faces/soon-to-be career/romantic aspirations)...

obviously, too much Bravo

Before my annual fit of "I hate it, just cut it all off", I thought I'd actually try to learn to use a hair dryer (and maybe, even, a brush).

vocabulary help

So, yeah, I have a slang dictionary (and an internet connection), but this seemed like more fun.

I just ran across the phrase "banana skin". And, more specifically, the sentence, "So much so, in fact, that even two of the greatest choreographers ever - first Balanchine, then MacMillan - had a go, and found it something of a banana skin." And I /really/ want to know what that means (and, mostly, so I can start using it all the time).



Any clues?

symptoms

hyper-sensitivity
increased (bizarre; specific) cravings
obviously forced enthusiasm
general apathy, lethargy, exhaustion

also,

extremely realistic dreams—like, the kind where I forget to have a conversation because I'm pretty sure I had it last night.

and also,

getting caught up in literal meanings of words to the detriment of sentences—"Do you have views?" well, I can see the backyard from here...

(well, and a sore throat, achey muscles, jet lag...)

[I worry sometimes]

I bow out of taking compliments, but, occasionally, take /as/ compliments things that probably weren't, showing me to be much more pompous than I give myself credit for.

But the real secret is (and I think the story goes: "But, when I said I'd come I really meant it, so I wasn't /lying/") an instant of bravado doesn't mean I don't spend a lifetime reconsidering. Also: because I have a hard time taking compliments, I guess I have a hard time giving them out, too.

Two things I've said in the past few days that (not thirty seconds later) I /really/ wished I could take back:

1. "...that could be arranged..."
2. "Yeah—I expected you to be about fifty and fat."

last night

Played a (pretty darn successful) show at a bar with a possum. Lost my pants, keys, and cell phone. Met a very nice guy (and, somehow, gushed about my "thing for dumpy older Jewish men" (—hopefully some of that was in the recreation dream hours later)).


image courtesy of Tyson

Now I've decided that deliveries of chicken soup are about the same level of friendship test as rides to the airport.

I think I'm slipping

Does anyone remember the chocolate milk? (Or the sugar-free-Vanilla Italian sodas?) I think it's about to be Strawberry Pop Tarts.

Oh, right, and this is happening again, but this time here, and with these guys. Come if you dare.

failure to photosynthesize

At a Chinese restaurant once my grandmother (trying to get my sister to be cute) said, "Boo ... What are little girls made of?" Boo looked at her, completely uninterested. "Snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails, right?" continued grandma. Boo just looked at her. "And what are little girls made of?" [pause] (says Boo:) "Meat."

Lest anyone remain skeptical, today it was medically verified that I am, in fact, allergic to the sun. I will now accept gifts of parasols (and maybe some zinc oxide in unsightly shades of neon).

duhn duh duh da, duhn duh duh da...

Today I am flying

(so you will be entertained by the folks who entertain me...).

Have I mentioned Cindy's blog? Or, perhaps, this fucking genius video.

Also, you have a date for Friday night (and one for Saturday afternoon)...

(suggestions encouraged)

well, dress me up in milk and honey, feed me aloe vera gel

I'm allergic to the sun.
I'm scared of small fish.

(If I never hear the words 'I'll ask you to' again...)

baby, I'm coming home.

---

This weekend I plan to:

• fall in love over beer


• croon into whiskey


• cry about it all at the movies in the rain
  (with a rum-spiked cherry Icee)

oh my god I love it

when you suddenly figure out where a word comes from, and, somehow, get a little closer to its (I want to say 'literal') meaning. Especially when it should have been obvious all along. I mean, think about it: "setee". Genius.

good morning to you

chutzpah shot through with a spear-hunting gun
(and then yanked back up again ... right?)

chickens!

pick-up tip for the evening:
When you're trying to clear the air after the (too fast, too soon) outburst of "I've never met a girl like you!", the knee-jerk "Well, I mean, there are tons of girls like you out there..." never actually has the desired effect.

just, going back to that golden rule for a second...

Isn't it kind of sad to think that we never really learn to relate to other people, we just gravitate towards the ones that our own psychological projection doesn't clash with so violently?



(no metaphor intended—just a flying fish)

as if my life needed help sounding overwritten

Depart San Diego: 4-1-07
Arrive Honolulu: 4-13-07

or

Depart San Diego: April Fool's Day
Arrive Honolulu: Friday the 13th

but, I'm totally serious

I think I need for everyone I know to start collecting (and, then, sending to me) menus from diners, burger joints, teriyaki huts, etc. (take-out and otherwise).

send me an e-mail, if you need my mailing address.

Thank you for your time and consideraton.

(finally)

theory

I think there must be an interesting correlation between how much people need your help, and how nice they are. Because it seems like it's not an inverse proportion, or a linear relationship at all, but something more like a parabola that crosses one axis or another (though, only when you're actually working together, I suppose...). Because it seems like, if the first person could get along just fine, and the second one is helping out, they're both really nice. But if the second one starts kinda dragging, though they're trying to help, the first person's not so nice, and the second one is even nicer (to a point, of course). On the other hand, if the first person starts to realize they couldn't really get it done without the second person, doesn't it seem like (in a rapid turnabout) they get a little less nice? And I don't think it's resentment (until you get further down the track, at least), but there's this kind of anxiety that comes into play...

I was going to write this in a blog post, and then I realized it was basically addressed to you

and then I thought, well, but I was going to write it in a blog post...

I just listened to this song. And, you know how sometimes mix tapes really feel like they were written for a purpose (i.e. to get a point across)? And then, sometimes, they really feel like they were made to demonstrate something, rather than kinda half-heartedly saying it? (And, of course, sometimes they just feel cobbled together.) And then, if you're really lucky, you get that feeling like, "well, am I the speaker, or the addressee here?" (And then, sometimes, you know the response will be "it doesn't matter—they're both the same to me.") And then, I guess, if you're really special, you get this (new to me) kind of "Yeah—that's what I would have said."

I know I've talked about this before, but it's kind of gross how much I let my life cater to a sense of narrative development. (And, actually, one of the best lines I've ever heard was "I feel like I have a pretty good sense of narrative, and ours has been interrupted").

But I listened to this song, and I suddenly felt about my life the way you often feel in a movie, when you just (after some completely improbable series of events) say, "well, yeah—I mean, he /had/ to go on a four thousand mile journey filled with werewolves and man-eating venus flytraps before coming back to the girl who was right next door—obviously" (kinda the same way you go, "Yeah—and—key change!").

all of this thought out, by the way, while slaving (in five-foot sea swells) over

warm pork and fennel salad with white wine dressing

let's play

guess what Katie was doing yesterday?

three kinds of people

I think I may actually have found one of those character-defining connundrums.

If you were set to be stuck on a boat for another, say, five days, and you were, in all likelihood, going to run out of coffee, what would you do about it? Would you a) try to stop drinking coffee for a few days, in hopes that you could then make it through the last few as though nothing had happened; b) figure out just how much you have, divide that by the number of days left (only an estimate, mind you) and ration the remaining; c) just forget it—drink what's left exactly as you would if there were no shortage, and deal with the consequences later. ?



coffee left: /maybe/ a quarter of a pound (but, the good stuff)
coffee drinkers: 2.5
conflicting theories about how to deal with the situation: 4
days to Hawaii: 5+

"who wants to shoot the shit [out of some stuff]?"

I think today is officially the first time I've noticed my disclosure lights peaking a little. I'm pretty sure it's the first time I've heard the words "Don't send that anywhere", and close to the first time I've offerred an apology to a (nearly) complete stranger for having offerred up too much information over e-mail.

So, remembering that my life is more interesting offerred in coy little anecdotes, I will, today, write little and write early.

click here if you'd like to know more about my secret internet experiences (or, more importantly, if you want to find out where you'll be on the evening of April 21st).

click here (and send me something interesting), and you may just get back richer, fuller details.

Also, how pretentious do you have to be to be tempted to say to someone, "That word you keep using—I really don't think it means what you think it means."?



that's about half, right?

I don't know why the colors are so much better in person

And I wonder what it says that the most romantic thing I've read in ages is turning out to be /The Care and Feeding of the Offshore Crew/ by Lin and Larry Pardey. Seriously. I spent all afternoon (when I wasn't cooking, or fighting with software) playing my ukulele, reading about baking bread aboard a 26-ft sailboat (no engine, no fridge). I love that one of the things they're sure to tell you is where the best wine is (though, 'best' seems to be just "not rough") and which chandlers get the cheapest rates on duty-free liquor.

I think I could spend the rest of my life sailing around the world, writing books about which bilge it's ok to store cantaloupe in, worrying about things like the safest place to buy cheese in Cairo. (Why do I get the feeling I'd be sleeping alone, and not just because we'd have to trade watches?)

things I forgot

charger for iPod speakers
more coffee
How To Build a Web Site book
an actual meal plan

things I should get (if coming back)

hot milk frother (for Rip)
more coffee
mom's telephoto
blank postcards

things I remembered, but haven't touched

several (thick) books I keep meaning to read, when there's time...
1 bottle tawny port
1 bottle single-malt scotch

surprise gifts

(or, The Code
or, Narrative Advantage to You!, Blog Readers)

I had a talk with the captain and the first mate a few hours before shoving off, about this strange (obnoxious, not very seaworthy) ceramic mug that had appeared in the cabinet. The first mate said it was ridiculous—that it'd fall over and break the first time someone used it. The captain said it was his—that he couldn't stand drinking out of stainless steel.

I went to the marine supply store a little later to pick up some last minute plates and tupperware and such. Next to all the plastic mugs with rubber rings around the bottom, I saw a (kind of silly, but still nice) wide-bottomed, ceramic mug, with "CAPTAIN" printed on it (under the image of an anchor, or something). I brought it home and hid it in the cupboard.

The owner has been using it ever since.

(morning)

(everywhere)

day 2.5/3

There was this one weird day in Math class in ninth grade when we were asked (I think they were demonstrating the connections between logic, math, and computer programming) to write out, in plain English, directions for drawing a standard tree diagram (you know—with each angle ninety degrees, and branches filling the page...). I'm not sure why ((or, I might just be subconsciously covering up what a goody-goody I was), but I think I had math sixth period, and then seventh period free, but I wasn't going to be in class the next day, or something), but I finished the problem within a few minutes, and went back to turn it in.

He was teaching in the same classroom that next period, and I'm sure it wasn't just a regular math class (I think this teacher was some kind of incommunicative genius, so they gave him the dumb (or, young) kids who didn't know anything anyway, and then on to the upperclassmen who were studying theoretical something-or-other already as juniors). Either he didn't quite believe me, and wanted to prove a point, or he was already trying to show me off (I never could tell with teachers, actually), but whatever the reason, instead of saying thank you and nodding when I knocked on the door with my homework, he invited me in, introduced me to the class, and asked them all to take out paper and pencils while he quizzed me about the problem.

"I don't know—it just seemed simple. Like, something I do all the time already" (said the girl who had, at least six years before, devised a complicated scheme to cheat Choose Your Own Adventure books (and had, for at least three years, been writing them in other people's math books, during class)). "Uh huh" (that must have been skepticism, right?), "and all that backtracking? and making sure you start from the same point again? That didn't add a little complexity?"

I wanted to explain to him that it wasn't simple, as in, lacking complexity, it was simple, as in, all laid out in front of me—like a jigsaw puzzle that had already been put together, or a jumble of multi-colored wires, but with a detailed diagram, and carefully considered color-coding.

I read my instructions (a single, handwritten page), and all the drawings came out perfectly (except one that was upside-down, but, actually, perfectly acceptable). I think I inadvertently crowned myself disciple of the geeks that day.

But I've been doing that for the last few days, in my head, with every conversation I've had in recent memory. Particularly the ones that ended abruptly (or, electronically). But this time, casually and calmly. (I don't have to draw out the ocean metaphors, do I?)

meals:

• breakfast—eggs, potatoes, sausage


• lunch—Greek salad


• dinner—Ted and Chris' chicken Dominic's stir-fry,
  lacking hot pepper, ginger, cilantro, bok choy and zucchini, but still (apparently) "too spicy"


• dessert—Vanilla Itailan sodas, Billy Budd, and popcorn

turned S to avoid weather

but, can't you be my LA?

Spent the last few days (between naps) reading two books that are both vaguely (poetically?) about LA (or, Los Angeles), and with (after four rotations of an iPod shuffle that does not, at present, contain the song) "California" stuck in my head.

And the city (or, at least, the coast around it) is still on the nav screen, though it hasn't been in sight for hundreds of miles, if it ever was.

And I can't get through anything I have to say about it (or, think about it, for that matter). And I can't decide if I even want to get over it (or, through it?). And I'm kind of wondering about it now the same way I'm wondering whether I'll ever stop being told when and where to sit by the nine-foot sea swells, or threatened with de-knee-capitation by flying cookie pans.

Maybe it's time for the ukulele.
(Anyone care to send me tabs?)

lat: 31"50.5'N
lon: 121"17.5'W

Ship's log - 15:00 hours

Overnight winds variable 10-15 kts,
increasing to 15-20 kts around 5AM.

"want a bag full of line?"

occupational hazards:

1. Anxious clients.


2. Bosses with clear ideas, not so clear communication of ideas.


3. Necessary hyper-organization, planning, improvisational skills.


Oh, and


4. falling overboard


5. being eaten by sharks...