"delirious picking of bedclothes, as in a fever"

Today was so-worth waking up for. I had my doubts, every time the alarm went off.

This day keeps getting better and better. Granted, my standards are low, but even so it's been pretty damn good.

The Blaze

I regret my choice this morning of not spending the extra two seconds that it takes to put my headphones in my bag. Now I'm stuck listening to 104.1, The Blaze, a radio station the secretary prefers. The station's most redeeming quality, if you enjoy the song Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down, is that it is played at least twice during the work day. It, however, is a song I do not like to hear once in a working day, much less a working week, month, or even year. What did I save by not picking up my headphones? I can't really say, but I have eight hours in which I'll pay for it.

Findings

I woke up and saw this written on my chalkboard. Of course, I immediately assumed someone had broken into my apartment while I was asleep to write "i bin phar-een," then I remembered Karen had been over last night.

I lost part of my christmas money. After looking everywhere for it, table, night stand, book shelf, bathroom, kitchen, there it is, in my wallet.

I do not like egg-nog, no matter what is added to it.

To make my day, just say hi to me. Bikeshop boy + Music store = Me smiling the whole walk home.

I have huge girl-crushes on these girls. "I get more sexual attention from men, as a messenger, then when I was a stripper."

Listening

Can this playlist get any better?
Why, yes. Yes it can.

Doing Things, Instead of Doing Other Things

Dear Ben,

I don't have clearly articulated reasons for switching my blog from Blogger. They've been good to me and I'm not irritated with any aspect of the service. It's easy to use, yes, it's just, it's just...clunky, or I should say, clunkier then other blog hosting sites I've come across. In my initial investigation of WordPress, I got the impression that things were organized more efficiently. While I know I have the freedom to organize things how I want with Blogger, it's just why go to the trouble when you can start out organized? To me it seems like the PC/Macintosh split. Both computers do essentially the same things, then why not go for the aesthetics as well? So a weak point concluded, is that I like the basic organization and designs of other blog host(er)s better then Blogger's. Okay, so I am irritated with the spell checking function, why doesn't it know the word blog? Wouldn't a blogging application add that as a word? Maybe I should just learn how to spell on my own.

Bests,

Ellen

P.S. I haven't played around with WordPress much, but I'll probably check it out a lot more in the next few weeks since graduate school applications are due in January and I need a diversion. Tonight, after a nap and a cup of coffee, I'm still up at 2:00 a.m. and I have even attempted doing anything toward the applications, but I added a picture to my header! Statement of intent? Nope. Portfolio? No way. Writing sample? Check my blog!

Dear Blogger,

I'm thinking about changing to WordPress.

Love,

Ellen

Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Story

"I didn't know your boyfriend played air-guitar. You should have told me, I play air-drums."

My "boyfriend" was the real-life embodiment of the Uncle Arthur bedtime story of the greedy child getting his due. As the bedtime story goes, big brother always wants the biggest and best, and in this case, pastry. But when his greed plays out and he pokes his fork in for his first wonderful bite, the turnover is air-filled and deflates, teaching him a very important lesson about selfishness and taking the best for himself. In my case, it was an auditorium seat closer to the stage, rather then a flaky dessert.

Karen had bought two tickets to see U2 in Omaha and asked me to go with her. She didn't ask me to pay her back, but did say that she wanted the better of the two seats. When we got to the arena I made a production of sitting in the seat closer to the stage, both affording equally good views. And then my armrest-mate sat down. Upon sitting he turned to me and generously offered, to me, the green olive floating at the bottom of his beer cup. Being the largest green olive I've ever seen and having never seen an olive in a beer, I gagged back my thanks. He introduced himself as either Rob, or Randy and then tried to engage me in a conversation about how U2 is the greatest band ever. I had to admit that I wasn't that familiar with the group and was just along for the ride. His astonishment prompted him to turn to me throughout the rest of the concert and reinforce his opinion with whatever song was being played at the time. All the while, on my other side, Karen kept up a running commentary about Randy and his wife, "Oh, they're swingers, they're totally swingers. You're going home with them tonight...I can drive home by myself, don't worry..." Another olive offer and he was so toasted he could hardly climb over the back of the seats for more beer, a process that required him to hand me his spit cup, something I didn't recognize until I was holding it. The opener was Kenye West and during U2's encore applause I was again engaged in a conversation about how good Kenye's performance was. I agreed with him, but in reality I had turned away before I could add my opinion, the beer-spit in my eye was just too much, the lesson on greediness, well learned.

"A Group of Hard Drinking Girls, Comfortable With Their Nudity"

"The meaning of 'Barbie' went beyond an expressed antipathy; actual physical violence and torture towards the doll was repeatedly reported, quite gleefully, across age, school and gender," she said.

Well, duh. That's what the doll's made for, right? I shaved my Barbie's leg down to the hard-plastic mechanics of her bendable knee. And yes, quite gleefully.

Coach

So I thought a child-molester situation was playing out next to me here at The Mill. I thought it was a high school coach taking out two of his students...two young boys. But turns out, coach is a college professor and the kids are in college. The American boy looks like he's, oh, thirteen, the other is from Brazil and looks a little older, but no where near college-aged. Their conversation isn't that interesting, but I'm compelled to listen in. And they're blocking my view out the window, that's annoying me.

Hi! I'm Ellen, and I Have ADD!

To distract myself from writing my final this weekend I checked out the book, Driven To Distraction. My professor had recommended it to me since I seem to suffer from being highly distractable and unable to "perform up to my potential." She told me she had read it before she started cognitive therapy, and that she also has ADHD. I can see the similarities between us, a quick glance around her office reveals books and papers piled everywhere, change scattered under her desk, building models tilting dangerously off the bookshelf. Yes, I'm a self diagnosed ADD sufferer. This is both a relief and a major drawback in my life. A relief because now I understand why I can't follow through with my ideas giving me hope that one day I will be able to finish things. The drawback is that I don't think my insurance will pay for the meds.

Saturday afternoon I was over at Karen's and a show ranking the top 100 SNL clips of all time was on. They had some with Richard Pryor and I sat trying to remember when he died. I thought he had died from AIDS, maybe, I couldn't really remember. I went home and to put off writing my final, I read the news. Richard Pryor Dies, Saturday. I guess I have a weird cosmic connection to Richard Pryor.

Saturday night was supposed to be spent writing the final, but a phone call from Scott distracted me from finishing that up. We saw Capote and the deal was if I bought his ticket I was allowed to hold his hand during the movie, but only with my gloves on. The reason I had offered to buy his ticket was because I didn't feel like walking to the ATM and then threw in the hand holding to make him uncomfortable, though I don't know if it worked. Before the movie we got curly-fries. The service was horrible and it took forever before we got them. Walking out of Arby's Scott said we were ten minutes early. I had looked at his watch and thought we were ten minutes late.

"It starts at 7:30, right?"
"Nope, 7:10."
"I guess we are ten minutes late, how did you know that?"
"I looked at your watch...but upside down, I had to guess."
"The analog part?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's broken anyway."

I guess I also have a weird cosmic connection to the broken analog part of Scott's watch.

This morning, I caught myself repeating, I have ADD. I have ADD. I have ADD. As I walked into work this morning. It's my new identity or mantra and, either way, not much is getting done. My antidote? I Pump My Fist and Say, I CAN DO MANY THINGS!

The Best Picture Ever

"You Were A Landscape In My Dream"

The Parameter Is Incorrect

Before leaving on the incredibly-out-of-the-way trip to Minneapolis I wished something interesting would happen to me once I got back. The wish came true, not after I got back, but almost immediately upon leaving Lincoln. The drive from Lincoln to Davenport was fine, the main highlight was stopping for gas and while in the restroom realizing that an effective place to hang a menu is in front of a toilet. If I had walked into the convenience store with cash I would have certainly walked out with a cup of ice cream or a chicken fried stake plus sides of coleslaw and french fries.

I found Misty and Brian's house without much trouble, though a note to all google map users, when the directions say "bear left on Northwest Blvrd." that's not going to be a merging situation, but a turn that requires stopping at a stop sign, more in the fashion of what I've always called a "turn."

The master plan of this trip outlined that Ceri and I would meet at Misty's (former roommate of mine) and then wake up early to get to Ceri's appointments in Minneapolis Thursday morning. Returning to Davenport on Friday for a nice weekend with Misty and Brian. But since the first appointment had been moved from 1:00, to 11:30, Ceri thought that leaving Davenport Wednesday night was a good idea. In retrospect, the idea could be argued as either brilliant or utter madness because not 20 minutes into our drive it started to snow. Between the time I said, "look, it's snowing." and the resulting speculations on it, the wind had picked up and I was having a hard time seeing (white-out!), steering (icy!), and not freaking out (I hate driving in general!). We left Davenport at about ten at night and didn't get to Minneapolis until six Thursday morning. My only observation was that I thought we were going to die and I was surprised we made it. Ceri's, "I didn't think we would die, but I thought we were going to spin into the ditch." Right, spin into the ditch and freeze to death.

Anyway, I had made appointments with the Landscape Architecture department so I'd have something to do while Ceri was busy with her appointments. I didn't actually know the University of Minnesota had a landscape architecture degree, but turns out, I was pleasantly surprised. I liked it. I liked the people there, and the level of work the students were producing. I hated the cold and never, have I had so many conversations with people I've just met that centered around the miracle of long underwear. That was Friday afternoon Ceri decided that she would like to drive to Misty and Brian's that night, but we didn't leave Minneapolis until five-ish. And not 20 minutes into the drive it started to snow. NOT. AGAIN. I kept saying, "I've never felt so out of control.I've. Never. Felt. So. Out. Of. Control" Partly, because I couldn't see out of the windshield and every time we stopped for gas I forgot to buy windshield washer fluid.

We got into Davenport at 1:30 a.m. and everything from there on out was wonderful. Ceri skipped out on Saturday afternoon, so it was just Misty, Brian, and I left to tear up the town Saturday night. We went to Brian's school, Palmer, and that's where the skeletons were at. Aside from that, Brian (three times I've typed Brain, instead of Brian...make that four) drove us around Davenport, which is pretty much my favorite thing to do, though no one believes me when I say that.

It's Thursday, a week since the whole trip took place and I can't really remember all the witty things I was going to write about...Since Minnesota seems so achievable, I'm going to be busier then I've been in a long time trying to get applications filled out and everything sent in or, in other words, no blogging. I have nothing ready by way of supplemental materials; statement of intent, portfolio, writing sample?, my GRE scores might not be valid anymore, and then there's the whole Christmas thing in the middle of the month.

Oh, and I'll post pictures of the trip later.

Road to NoWhere

More to come on the Minneapolis trip, but Ceri and I came dangerously close to looking like this...