Like the song. Kind of. The one that goes, "You say it's your birthday! Well it's my birthday too!" You know the one I'm talking about. Anyway, that's what the heading refers too, for all you illiterates.
I'm 28 today and so far only ONE of my friends has called to wish me a happy birthday (thank you, Christie B.). Jason, who lives in Seattle, mentioned my birthday on the phone last week, so that counts. But the others, who I've now sworn to forsake, are in the dog house.
I only have 7 minutes left here, on the library computer (which keeps taking up MY time to tell me I should log out because my time has almost expired). So let me just tell you that I've had a good birthday, inspite of those who've forgotten me. Stoker gave me the music-gift that keeps on giving, an XM satellite radio receiver and a subscription. Possibly the best gift one could give the obsessive music-lover. And my parents gave me some money, which will probably be spent on more music, despite my gross need for new clothes and shoes.
Also, Stoker made dinner for me yesterday (he's working ALL day today. The life of the poor intern). And he made brownies because we're not big cake fans. It's been a good birthday. Now back to the job hunt.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Nashville: We Have Arrived
I made a special trip to the library, just to do a new post. We still don't have the internet at our apartment, and I don't know when we'll ever have it again. Maybe when I get a job, because, yes, I'm looking for a job. Again. It seems like all I've done in the past 2 years is look for jobs. Moved to Salt Lake from Logan. Looked for a job. Moved to Mesa from Salt Lake. Looked for a job. Moved to Nashville from Mesa. Looked for a job.
And while some view the job search as a beautiful new opportunity to recreate themself and re-evaluate who they are and what they want to do with life, I see it as painful. A tormenting look at my life, a realization that I'm not where I want to be, not even close. The biggest problem with it is that I don't even know where I want to be. I can't decide.
Recently I read an article in the liberally biased and egocentric New Yorker about Bill Gates and his mission to change world health. It was good, aside from the heaping spoonfuls of guilt they dumped on Americans (crap like, "Americans don't care about dying African children," as if I have the resources to take care of Africa, as well as myself and my family and my neighbors and the poor Americans who approach me in parking lots looking for money because they don't have any teeth and whatnot. And "Governments should pay for public health care." As if every citizen's health is in the government sector, and not one's own responsibility. Well, don't get me started. Anyway). What I got from the article in spite of the stupid blame-game, is that Bill Gates does what he wants. He's ambitious. He's a go-getter, like my brother-in-law, Jason (who made this adorable web page about my nephew, Jackson) and like Stoker -- who's been a veritable slave driver this week about me getting a job (no, is that politically incorrect? He's been helping me and doing a good job at it. I just like to joke).
Bill and his wife don't waste time, it seems. They do constructive stuff with their free time. Unlike me, who plays Xbox instead of writing the book I'm not destined to finish for at least ten years. Xbox, a fun, exciting time-waster, created by Microsoft, Bill Gates' behemoth company whose tentacles reach into every part of my life. It's true, I'm writing that book on Microsoft Word, believe it or not.
So in short, I say, damn Bill Gates, you're everything I am not.
I'm just saying that for drama.
So, Nashville. Yeah. The day we were supposed to pack our moving containers in Mesa, it rained. All day. No rain for 143 days, and on the 143rd day, it rained. And then, once we got here on Thursday, March 16th, it didn't rain. All weekend we had nice, balmy weather. We slept on air mattresses in our sleeping bags and had no furniture, or pans to cook with because I was accidentally stupid and packed them all. Then, on Monday, the day they were supposed to bring our containers (we did that whole ABF thing) so we could finally have pots and pans and a bed and a couch and most importantly, entertainment -- it rained. Poured. And ABF said there were safety issues and couldn't bring us our containers until the rain let up. Oh Murphy, you do tease me.
But yes, we have our furniture now and it's like we never went without it, or suffered at all. And finally our Xbox is restored to us so we can waste our time in fantasy lands, accomplishing nothing of value. Today I think I'll buy a new game, with the few dollars we have to last us until I get a job.
And hey, I LOVE Nashville. Our deck overlooks some grass and a small forest. The other day there were plump, gray squirrels running across the lawn and folicking with the birds. It's quiet and cozy. It's like a dream.
And while some view the job search as a beautiful new opportunity to recreate themself and re-evaluate who they are and what they want to do with life, I see it as painful. A tormenting look at my life, a realization that I'm not where I want to be, not even close. The biggest problem with it is that I don't even know where I want to be. I can't decide.
Recently I read an article in the liberally biased and egocentric New Yorker about Bill Gates and his mission to change world health. It was good, aside from the heaping spoonfuls of guilt they dumped on Americans (crap like, "Americans don't care about dying African children," as if I have the resources to take care of Africa, as well as myself and my family and my neighbors and the poor Americans who approach me in parking lots looking for money because they don't have any teeth and whatnot. And "Governments should pay for public health care." As if every citizen's health is in the government sector, and not one's own responsibility. Well, don't get me started. Anyway). What I got from the article in spite of the stupid blame-game, is that Bill Gates does what he wants. He's ambitious. He's a go-getter, like my brother-in-law, Jason (who made this adorable web page about my nephew, Jackson) and like Stoker -- who's been a veritable slave driver this week about me getting a job (no, is that politically incorrect? He's been helping me and doing a good job at it. I just like to joke).
Bill and his wife don't waste time, it seems. They do constructive stuff with their free time. Unlike me, who plays Xbox instead of writing the book I'm not destined to finish for at least ten years. Xbox, a fun, exciting time-waster, created by Microsoft, Bill Gates' behemoth company whose tentacles reach into every part of my life. It's true, I'm writing that book on Microsoft Word, believe it or not.
So in short, I say, damn Bill Gates, you're everything I am not.
I'm just saying that for drama.
So, Nashville. Yeah. The day we were supposed to pack our moving containers in Mesa, it rained. All day. No rain for 143 days, and on the 143rd day, it rained. And then, once we got here on Thursday, March 16th, it didn't rain. All weekend we had nice, balmy weather. We slept on air mattresses in our sleeping bags and had no furniture, or pans to cook with because I was accidentally stupid and packed them all. Then, on Monday, the day they were supposed to bring our containers (we did that whole ABF thing) so we could finally have pots and pans and a bed and a couch and most importantly, entertainment -- it rained. Poured. And ABF said there were safety issues and couldn't bring us our containers until the rain let up. Oh Murphy, you do tease me.
But yes, we have our furniture now and it's like we never went without it, or suffered at all. And finally our Xbox is restored to us so we can waste our time in fantasy lands, accomplishing nothing of value. Today I think I'll buy a new game, with the few dollars we have to last us until I get a job.
And hey, I LOVE Nashville. Our deck overlooks some grass and a small forest. The other day there were plump, gray squirrels running across the lawn and folicking with the birds. It's quiet and cozy. It's like a dream.
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