I'm so pretty!

Misadventures in the kitchen, part 1,000,000,000

2009-10-29T11:52:00.000-07:00

So my weekend project was to break out ye olde crock pot and try out a curry butternut squash soup. Step one was washing out the crock pot, which has been in my basement since I moved in (my kitchen is roughly the size of a postage-stamp). Well, I forgot about the laundry detergent that mysteriously spilled on top of it many months ago (hi, I'm gross) and had since congealed, settling in the middle of the lid, which I'd placed upside down on top of the pot itself. In the intervening months, a small cave cricket unwittingly wandered into the mass of goo and died. Mmmm.

So I go upstairs, wincing all the way, and get to work, first setting the lid aside (too icky, not yet prepared) and tackle the easier task of cleaning out the crock pot itself, which only had a small amount in it. As detergent does, though, it was very sudsy and slick. And, I might add, smelled just delightful. (Truly! Tide Lavender, a lovely scent, even after months in a crock pot!) So I wash and wash and it's seeming to rinse a bit but not to my satisfaction. So I decide to get all 11th grade chemistry on its ass and decide to rinse with vinegar to cut the slick feel. All I have is balsamic vinegar. I use it anyway. It works! The pot is now squeaky clean. I rewash with dish soap to get off the vinegar and it is all set to go.

Now for the lid. I wipe out as much of the goo (cricket and all) as possible with paper towels. Then I set to work just as I did with the crock pot, being sure to use the balsamic vinegar followed with dish soap. Success. Or so I think. I look again at the lid (which is clear glass) and see that there are some suspicious bubbles lurking under the handle. Continued rinsing only leads to more slickness and the bubbles are still there, multiplying the longer I rinse. I get a screw driver to remove the handle so I can rinse things out proper. (Quite the handy homemaker, I think, patting myself on the back.) The screw, however, is made of pewter or something, so my screwdrivers (yep, I tried two different ones) only served to mangle the screw and loosen it not even one little bit. So I leave it alone, tell myself I'll deal with it later and commence to the peeling of the squash. (You may know the pain it is to peel a butternut squash.)

So, two squashes, two apples and an onion later, all peeled and chopped, all while sitting on the couch in front of the TV with a large cutting board and big bowl for scraps (again the kitchen, she is tiny). I prepare the broth and spices and pour it over the chopped goodness and, tired, put the lid on the top of the crock pot without so much as a perfunctory final rinse. It'll be fine, I tell myself.

At this point in the process--all contents in the crock pot set on cook, dishes done--I had completed watching "Will You Kill for Me?: Charles Manson and the Manson Family" and was powerless to stop watching "Jonestown Revealed" which began right after the macabre Manson special (I joked to myself: What's on after this? Waco? And it was!). Anyway, cults are fascinating from the safety of your living room, aren't they? Or are remnants of laundry detergent slowly being released from the lid's condensation, leaching into your curry butternut squash soup as you watch 909 Jonestown residents being forced to drink laced Kool Aid? Are you your own Jim Jones, brought down by stupidity rather than mania? I couldn't help but wonder. Then I brushed it off, I was just tired. Things get a little doomsday when I am tired and watching horrific things on television.

I awoke early to turn off the crock pot, the contents now softened and simmering on low. I mashed up the squash and apples and decide to have a morning mug. Not bad. The first sip is okay as is the second. By the third sip, the nutmeg and cloves have made themselves known by being delicious also making your mouth kinda numb they way they do. Yum! I have yet to blend the soup, though, so it's not an even puree. (I thought using a blender at 6 am would be uncool.) So, though a little chunky in a way that doesn't work for any soup involving squash, the flavor is, I believe, pretty good.

But, on the metro, I start to feel a little weird. Not bad, per se, but just kind of cleaned out from throat to stomach, oddly sanitized. You know, like detergent does. Yipes! I remind myself that I am still very, very tired (up late cooking and up early eating) and that Jonestown really was a very scary thing to watch, particularly after Manson, and maybe I am carried away? Should I eat something else? Should I NOT eat something else, lest the poison use the new food to be more absorbed in my system??* But I should calm down. I am just carried away, all caught up in tiredness and cults, right?

Right, according to Nancy, the friendly woman at the Poison Control Center who assured me that I was probably just fine. That, unless I had some real, immediate symptoms including an incredibly painful throat and inability to swallow, then I should have nothing to worry about and can continue to enjoy the batch of soup. I was nonplussed. She kindly offered, "You could have something else, though. Maybe a bug?"

I doubt she meant the cave cricket.

[Props to this lovely gal for the recipe.]

*a rudimentary understanding of science truly is worse than no understanding at all

Our salve (salvation?)

2008-11-05T06:27:00.000-08:00

I had a headache yesterday from about 5 pm until I went to sleep after 1 am. I couldn't do a thing at work--aside from look at cnn.com hoping vainly for updates that were far too early to come. That and listen to Yes We Can over and over again. And talk to coworkers about the evening's probable, hopeful outcome.

But here's the thing: I was in a great mood. I was excited until I was tired. For weeks I'd imagined how the evening would play out: with (oh please oh please) a victory giving way to me finally allowing myself to acknowledge the too-good-to-be-true happiness that had been welling up with each promising poll. And imagining that happiness, that this is too good to be true but it is nonetheless. And my shoulders would relax and I would stop holding my breath.

It turns out, though, that watching the win was a slow, hard-earned process. Was Virginia going to disappoint, were the polls wrong? ALL the polls? And so we watched and waited and my shoulders were up by my ears and my head felt fuzzy and pounded. California came not as a surprise but a relief all the same. And a leap toward 270. And then we got it. And Virginia was the one to put us over the top. Our henceforth purple Commonwealth. God bless.

And my head was still fuzzy and instead of the cathartic weight being lifted, pulling the smile from ear to ear, the much anticipated wash of relief didn't come. Another weight, the weight of transformational reality settled around, trying to get into my head, my heart. And as we watched Lewis and Jackson the tears found their way out and the truth sort of got in, but it's still not in, not all the way.

But I don't mind. I look forward to the full realization. Because, guess what, people? This news is good. I kept thinking last night about other galvanizing events, things that brought people out of their homes and caused them to share raw emotion and the list of events was bad, bad, bad. Watching our first African-American US President last night, welcoming our first Black First Family, what crossed my mind is our nation is sharing this historic event. We are participants and witnesses, not victims. Because this: our coming-together was not to share a tragedy. This was not a terrorist attack, this was not a natural disaster that pulled a city from our map, this was not some crazy killer staining Blacksburg and taking all those innocent kids' lives. No. This, this event that had us all tuned in, all watching was happy and positive and good. Truly good.

And maybe realizations like that don't come like simple happiness, a perfunctory drop of the shoulders. They come through a slideshow of what we've seen and what we see may be different. It comes as promise. It comes as a salve.

He did not say, "If you're not with us, you're against us." He said, "I'm your president, too."

And all I kept thinking was it's such a shame this good news isn't good for everyone. I hope and believe that, in time, for most people, it will be. Because he's our president. The whole country's. And we all have a lot of work to do.

Feeling much love, much humility and indeed much gratitude.

Love to all,
Star

I voted! I voted!

2008-11-04T09:07:00.000-08:00

Armed with my (California) driver's license, voter registration form, voter registration card, mail to my current (sister's) address in Virginia from the following: bank, credit card company, health insurance, pay stub from VA employer and retirement account company. I was DETERMINED to get to vote.

Armed with my wad of I-live-and-pay-taxes-in-this-commonwealth evidence, I stepped up to the booth. She was like, "Your voter card alone is sufficient." "Oh, okay, here you go," fumbling to remove the card from its envelope and purse in one hand, wad in the other, with my new voter permit pass in between two fingers I was directed around the check in station into the actual voting room. Nary a line to be found. The beauty of showing up at 9:45.

It was very exciting choosing Obama-Biden, and Warner and Moran. And voting to maintain our parks. And getting the sticker. And the free cup of coffee from Starbucks because of the sticker.

I love that we can choose our leaders. Especially when the leaders I choose become the leaders. Yes We Can!

I'll be doing cheerleading jumps in my office if any of you need me.

Hope you're voting is as easy and fun.

Kisses,
Star

Please vote

2008-10-02T08:29:00.000-07:00

The voter site that always reminds me of those old Madonna PSAs

Obama's Voter Registration Site

Virginia State Board of Elections

NOTE: You CANNOT fully register online in Virginia (I just learned this painfully near the deadline), so if you think you have time, you don't. You have to MAIL in your reg form with proof of residence and they have to receive it (postmark?) by Monday (THIS Monday).

Do it, people.

Kisses,
Now-in-Virginia-Details-to-Come Starpower

Funny girl

2008-08-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

Suie's older daughter, the two year old, wanted yellow underwear. It occurred to Suie: Do they make girl's underwear in yellow? Because all I've seen is pink, purple and Dora.

Some people are soooo into themselves

2008-05-09T11:56:00.000-07:00

Being a Friday afternoon and just now enjoying delicious leftover fried sampler goodies from IHOP, I find it necessary to let you know about my positive effect on those around me. Not only are they enjoying the new shade o'brown my lips have been sporting, the green and brown shadow combo on my eyelids has been a bit of a hit as well. Add my new silver hoop earrings and I am a vision. A vision, I say.

Going through security this morning (everyone with the most top secret clearances like Secret Agent Starpower here must), I placed a box of my belongings on the belt to go through the x-ray machine, noticed the box tipped over as it went in, and proceeded to catwalk-walk through the metal detector. Alarms did not go off. But the security lady did, "Who puts water in something electric?!" Seeing liquid dripping on my things I conceded, "Sorry, I forgot that was in there. There wasn't much."

I did in fact forget that I had a mug with about .00005 ml of water in it for the jade samplings I have been trying to get to root. Oops. She continued, "WHO PUTS WATER IN SOMETHING ELECTRIC?! SOMEONE PUT WATER IN SOMETHING ELECTRIC. OH MY GOSH, WHAT A MESS..."

I didn't hear the rest. I gathered my belongings and sauntered away, wondering what all the fuss was about. Maybe she's the one with PMS around here.

A question about my menses

2008-05-08T11:30:00.000-07:00

So is ten days before your period still in the window to call it PMS? It is, right? Because that's why, at 11:30 am--a totally respectable time for lunch--I opted for Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and that gummy delight, Dots, in addition to a large decaf flooded with fake creamer. I am eschewing a lunch invitation in favor of staying here and loading up on sugar and fake.

What gives? It must be PMS. I also feel really bitchy, if that helps convince you. It doesn't? No? You want a piece o'this? (And by this, I DON'T mean my candy. STAY AWAY FROM MY CANDY!)

Grrr. Here's hoping this is me for the next ten days.

In brighter news, I have been wearing a brown lipstick lately that has been meeting rave reviews--not all from the mirror, either.

Also, I went to a new yoga place last night and ended up doing not 90 minutes of asanas, but 90 minutes of chanting in Sanskrit. I'm not sure, but I think I am a Hare Krishna follower now. Maybe it's like "Beetlejuice" and the number of times I say the name determines something significant. If so, I either am guaranteed to end up in Nirvana or Hare Krishna will not be heard from for quite some time. If it's the latter, apologies.

Off to eat more and glare at passers-by.

Kisses (or at least not punches),
Starsour

You Better Get to Livin'...

2008-04-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

...like Dolly Parton (aka DOLLY! PARTON!) and me will be on August 3rd at the Greek Theater.

She is, obviously, the main act, but I will making a bit of a cameo on the back stage at the top back of the ampitheater. My act? Singing along and crying tears of joy and yelling my love for our greatest living singer. It will be a sight--especially if I get my new boobs by then.

Small and perky is nice and all but I think I'm ready for some real floatation devices and back pain. Huzzah!

Confessional

2008-04-18T13:58:00.000-07:00

I love my life here in Los Angeles. I have great friends, great weather, great roommate, great job, the most fabulous little pickles ever and access to the world's greatest yoga teachers. It's... great. What's not great is geography. It's soooooo far from my family and sitting here doing nothing (but dating many many Peter Pans (yes, there is more than one! But they all live in LA...)) is not making me famous for anything. No one's even offered to be my agent. Gah.

I'll be here for some more time, I know (so put away your hopes for now, family), but talking to a friend in VA earlier today made me miss my old home a lot. I mean, I miss home every time I talk to my family, especially Miss Avery's phone gurgles, but talking to a friend I haven't actually spoken to for some years now brought back a rush of memories. Memories I'd like to still be making.

And yet.

Every morning I step into flip flops and open the door to beautiful dog-walking weather. I have a book club with my smart, funny, socially-aware-but-not-self-righteous friends. I volunteer with teens I love every other Friday. I have different areas of my life (personal, spiritual, professional) where I know different people and sometimes cross paths with them in other areas of my life.

In short, my life is here, in California.

I have moved plenty of times in my life. But--Angola and Olympia, WA (two month stints apiece) aside--this is the furthest I have gone and already the second longest-time I have lived anywhere since high school. I have lived here more than two times longer than I lived in New York and almost as long as I spent in beloved beloved Blacksburg. The arithmetic of it all must be fascinating for you and I know it's tidbits such as this that keep you coming back for more and more.

But it is stuff I think about, some weak quanitification of the meaning of place.

Perhaps it's age, but I can't just up and relocate the life on a whim. I used to. I remember looking out at the George Washington Bridge spanning the Hudson one late Fall late night in 1999 and deciding that I'd trade NYC for DC and family and relationship. That January I moved as flippantly decided...and spent three years painfully missing New York.

I was happy for the closer proximity to family to be sure (and the relationship) but I missed another true love, New York, and felt more at home there every time I went to visit than I did in the city I actually lived. Would that happen to me if I left here? Would I look down at every 95 and humid day or out at snowy streets with a sense of dread and long for 68 and sunny? Would I do this everyday? Because I have tried skipping the dog walking duties a day here and there and the dizzles just aren't down with holding it that long. Wussies.

But am I down with growing deeper roots in a city all the way at the other side of this very large country from my family and many of my friends? (Insert Carrie Bradshaw voice...) I couldn't help but wonder, when it comes to moving and love, which moves you more?

Well?

Talk to me, folks. Starpower needs a guiding light.

Starpower home.

2008-03-10T12:24:00.000-07:00

There really is a place for a gal like me. Sigh. Will report next week on how the Cousin Lovers and other acts were. And the barbeque, provided it's chickens.

Men are better! Women are stupid! Just ask her...

2008-03-05T14:06:00.000-08:00

As a woman who is also a feminist--and believe you me these two things are not one in the same--I am getting pretty angry (get it? angry feminist?), anyway, I am actually getting weary of women writing articles that are patently anti-woman.

This article calls us silly, stupid, inferior, and like children in bigger bodies.

Where on Earth did this attack come from? What prompted this woman to write this "we suck, here's why" nonsense? Are some of us that freaked out that one of us may actually become the next President? A snippet: Women's foolishness is usually harmless. But it can be so . . . embarrassing. Take Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's campaign.

Wow. I'm all Barack, all the time, but if he were to not pull off the nomination, I'd be perfectly happy for Hillary to be our nominee. I went to a rally for her and left feeling more confident that she'd work for Americans' best interests and not only fulfilling her own aspirations (even if she and Bill remind me a bit too much of these two and their win! win! win! no matter what! attitudes). All the same, to call Senator Clinton's campaign foolish or embarassing based on the fact that she's a woman is disrespectful (not to mention sexist). To do so in an article about how dumb all women are and using a presidential candidate as a prime example is just wrong.

To call women as a whole a bunch of stupid, silly people while citing men's superiority in feats such as driving cars and not watching Oprah is something that a woman being published should be allowed to do. Because a woman should be entitled to express her malformed opinions based on ridiculously selective evidence and randomly-attached thoughts just like a any man should. For Ann Coulter, a Bill O'Reilly. It's all ignorance.

But what's this Charlotte Allen so bunged up about? Why the anti-woman? She mocks women's support of Obama as well, so it's not simply an anti-Clinton piece. I'm sure of the message: we're semi-useless outside of the home, I get it, but I'm not sure about the motivation. This Q & A with her does little to clarify, beyond saying it was all just for fun.

What's more baffling is that it's in The Washington Post, a publication I thought was above gratuitous pot-stirring.

I don't get it. I'm dumb. I better go bake cookies.

Color me busted...

2008-02-19T12:11:00.000-08:00

...but you probably are too.

From Mos Def to recycling to standing still at concerts to expensive sandwiches, I am indeed very, very white.

Music is my favorite waitress

2008-01-23T16:22:00.000-08:00

Happy 2008!

This year, I resolve to be more present. Not present here necessarily in that I may not post more often, but I'll try. What I will continue to do, however, is to never burden this here joint with blah blah about why I haven't blogged nor will I remark that, gee, it's been a while since I've written here...

Why? Because that's irritating. Just blog. Gah.

And with that:

Starpower here would like to update on some fab new music recently acquired, some even obtained the old-fashioned go-to-the-store-and-pay-money-for-a-physical-CD way:

Who: Bob Dylan, Live 1964

Why: Well, aside from speaking for itself why, it has the song "If You Gotta Go Go Now (Or Else You Gotta Stay All Night)" which I have never heard Bob Dylan sing. Only this guy Joe from college with acoustic guitar. In fact I oft-requested of Joe to play that particular tune, not because I wanted him to serenade me with that particular sentiment (though it is super sweet. I mean, swooooooon), but it's just a great song and the lighter side of gettin some isn't celebrated often enough.

Anyway, over the years, I have tried to find this song on any of Dylan's records and, short of applying myself and looking in iTunes (which I may even have done), have always come up short. The closest I got was once in 1995 when I was in someone's apartment who had Dylan's box set. Sure enough, the song was on there. I rejoiced. And then found every other disc in the set but the one containing the song. Then I felt stymied. Until now.

Results: Fantastic. Double disc of some heavy lyrics but often surprisingly silly chatter from Bob Dylan, 23. Some accompaniment by a lady folkie who was also a big deal at the time but I won't mention her b/c I don't want to ruin the surprise. I will say that it's not Joni Mitchell. And that Joni's better. But, anyway, super great buy. I recommend it, esp if you can listen in close range to the volume control on account of that harmonica gets really f'ing loud. Stupid acoustics of the stupid venue. Nonetheless, it kicks ass and should be bought and enjoyed by all of you. It's Dylan. Respect.

Buyer's Remorse?: Hells no.

Who: Kris Kristofferson's Best Hits (or something)

Why: $7 at Best Buy whilst Christmas shopping, presumably for others.

Results: Much like paying $7 for Me & Bobby McGee on iTunes since there's not too much on there that's awesome otherwise. But a song about a hangover and street corner and, I think, rain. Anyway, he's got a manly voice and M&BM is really fantastic and the other songs, through road trips and a love of slowish, folkish country, are probably tunes I can grow to love.

Buyer's Remorse?: Buyer feels more like she could have lived without adding to the silly/ironic portion of her collection, but also feels like $7 is a pretty fab bargain. In short, time will tell.

Who: Gym Class Heroes

Why: On a compilation from a friend. I told her I really dug the songs. She burned me their album Cruel As...

Results: Slight disappointment that they're the ones who sing that tune with the Supertramp track in the background, but otherwise super dig it. Even the Supertramp-y one would be good if it didn't fully contradict itself--a thing a detail/consistency-monger like myself has little patience for. Type A Communication Style aside, great CD. Besides who doesn't feel a little bit cooler listening to hip hop? Even if it is hip hop made safe for alterna-types.

Buyer's Remorse?: Totally. I hate free kick-ass music. Ugh.

Who: Say Hi (aka?/formerly? Say Hi (To Your Mom))

Why: Because they were so good live.

Results: Finally listening to it after seeing them so many months ago. As in, removed the packaging to lend to my Gym Class Heroes-burning friend. We met up last night, I got the music back I'd lent her and am now checking it out and still loving it very much. More grown-up and ambient than you'd expect from such a snarky band name. Layered and musical and vocals just a teensy bit beneath the music. A great voice all the same. The album is called The Wishes and the Glitch and track 6 (Magic Beans and Truth Machines) is especially catchy. Check it out.

Buyer's Remorse?: No, particularly because I think Anila gave me the $10 at the show to buy it. Which reminds me, I owe her $10. Bummer.

Who: The Velvet Teen

Why: Because I was so psycho in love with their song The Prize Fighter off one of two fantastically great compilations an old intern made for me. (Said compilation was the seed for many many purchases.)

Results: Went to Amoeba, bought three of their CDs (two LPs, one EP), liked them a teensy bit less than The Prize Fighter which is simpler musically than a lot of their other stuff I got. Nonetheless, went to see them live and really wanted to love them. Saw Say Hi there and ended up loving them instead. It's all a journey, people. A long wondrous journey.

Buyer's Remorse?: Eh, not really. The beauty of used music is it's cheap. They deserve more of a listen, all of these Velvet Teens. When my heart's a little more open to their songs sounding less like that one song. Still, if I could recommend an iTune The Prize Fighter would be it.

Who: Stars

Why: Great songs: Celebration Guns, Tonight and Your Ex-Lover is Dead, all three from Intern Extraordinaire

Results: Made a fortuitous purchasing error, which led to me buying not Stars song sung by Stars, but Stars songs sung by Stars friends. Record name, aptly: Do You Trust Your Friends? And, indeed, they were right to. Really great stuff on there and a whole slew of new bands to check out.

Buyer's Remorse?: Nyet.

Other bands from Intern Extraodinaire (and the songs that made me love them). In alphabetical order, because I'm fancy and you're worth it:

American Football (sadly defunct, after one album) - I'll See When We're Both Not So Emotional (big big ups to this one)

Athlete - Chances, Forest Fire (newest album is great, which these may not be on)

Bloc Party (which I've avoided on account of hating the name) - Waiting for the 7:18

Minus the Bear - Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Wherehouse (still need to look into them more)

BEST RANDOM FIND AWARD

This is a special category (versus the others, which are uncategorized) reserved for the daring sound-unheard purchase. This one goes to Blue Mountain, used from Amoeba and sounds like Wilco's kick ass uncle who got the sound down before Wilco's other uncle, Uncle Tupelo, took all the credit and then gave way to Wilco. Can't recall the name of the record but the pic is of a front porch of a more-country-than-Britney-country farmhouse with people in flannels and a big black dog. Which, now that I think of it, may, in fact be the name of the album after all: Black Dog. Maybe? Anyway, do it, Doug. You won't regret it. Unless you hate guitar and cigarette-throaty crooning about whiskey and rain. But, come on, who don't love that?

It's a safe bet I'll blog about music at some point in the future. It's a safer bet that I love each and every one of you fine, fine folks. Awww.

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies, Starpower-Style

2007-12-18T14:13:00.000-08:00

So my yearly kitchen experimentaion turned out marginally better than last year's foray. Maybe? You decide (you know, by reading, I wouldn't make you actually taste my creations)...

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies (well, allegedly, anyway).

The very day you were probably enjoying High Tea with undoubtedly fantastic scones, I was in my kitchen trying to master the simple cookie. Being a non-baker, I had none of the ingredients so the adventure began at the store. I thought dark chocolate chips would be a fun antioxidant-enhanced treat so I planned to get those. That is, until I read the package and got scared off by their potentially less-meltable-than-semi-sweet nature. So I went with the organic semi-sweet instead. Excited by the "organic" I decided to go as organic as possible. So I did:

organic brown sugar
sugar in the raw
cage-free brown eggs
and, owing to a wheat gluten semi-intolerance, oat flour instead of all-purpose (I mean, they're oatmeal cookies, right? Why not go full-throttle, I figured. You know, really oat it up.)

Who needs rules, people? Who needs recipes? My cookies were going to be great. So I get home with all of my ostensibly socially-responsible groceries and set to work.

And then I realized I didn't have enough butter. Now the grocery store is all the way across the street from me. It was a cold day--mid-60s--windy and gray. Going all the way back to the store was clearly out of the question. Being ingenious, I decided to augment with oil. I was only about a tablespoon short of butter, so what's a little oil to help go the distance? I turned to my oil options and grabbed the Safflower. I noticed the bottle had, at best, about a 1/2 teaspoon in it. That would not do. So, I went with the other option: Olive.

Yep, olive oil. In cookies.

Cookies that flattened so much through baking that they all baked together, showing very very little pan underneath. It was one huge cookie STUCK to the pan (hint: do not believe the directions when they instruct you to not grease the pan).

While chiseling the first batch off of the pan (and oh there was so much dough still in the bowl for more batches), I was able to eat a bit of extremely crunchy "cookie."

The verdict?

Well, 'substantial' comes to mind. Not light and airy, these. A second term came to mind as I continued chewing (read: crunching): 'fried-like.' Yep, how one can bake something that's meant to be a dessert that comes out tasting more like a chocolate-infused fried entree is beyond me. Or, apparently, not at all beyond me.

It wasn't all for naught: after eating one of the more intact cookies just before yoga, I was stuffed.

Hmm, think I could pass these off as some new energy bar?

I should probably write more and link less. BUT...

2007-10-11T15:24:00.000-07:00

I find this awesomely hilarious and fantastically wonderful. What do you think? Please, I must know...

(Props to this guy for posting it.)

They were all "But you'll ruin our pretty diamond pattern!"

2007-09-17T18:16:00.000-07:00

So I just took one on my own. I'd like to point out that I look tanner ALL than those dudes.

But their make up is prettier. And their hair.

Those really are some pretty, pretty men.

And, let's face it, I know pretty.

Starpower hearts a slacker

2007-09-17T17:50:00.000-07:00

This may have been around forever, but I am in love with this streaming radio site. Check out the indie station. Or whatever you want. I don't give a care. But they do. They'll play you bands you like on request and then will play you bands like the bands you like. It's so very "If you like Giorgio, then you'll LOVE Secret Passions!" Except all the bands are legit and not weird generic made up bands. Unless you pick that station, then I guess it is. But no worries. No judgment. We're all friends here.

Arcade Fire just came on. I will be seeing them live this Thursday (woo-hoo!). And somehow, this site KNEW. Creepy. But really awesome creepy.

I'm glad we had this talk.

I always KNEW I was like The Dalai Lama

2007-08-23T18:16:00.000-07:00

This test is to politically-interesting awesomeness what I, apparently, am to zen-ness. That is: totally.

Props to the good folks there for pointing out that Stalin and Gandhi just weren't so dang different after all.

Or maybe that's me seeing the Oneness of everything.

Namaste, people.

Still drawing like an eight year old

2007-08-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

I am in a computer training this week. All week. It is closer to my house and the hours of the training each day are long enough that it counts as a full day but are still significantly shorter than my usual work day. Not too shabby.

What is a bit shabby is my performance in said training. We had to draw a house today, using line and diagonal line functions, circles, squares and polygons. I tried to make mine look very similar to the one in the example: one big window next to a doorknob-less front door of a brick house with a brown triangle roof. Pretty boring. And rudimentary--like South Park-style. Maybe they use the software we're learning?

Anyway, I tried to spice mine up with some nice patterns to 'texturize' my green bushes and gave my remarkably lollipop-like flowers varying colors to add some pizazz. But it didn't stop there, friends: I even added a great big sun in the upper right hand corner with big thick beams that shone down--nay, touched!--the roof of my little house.

Smug with my clever innovation, I looked around at my classmates' work. Their houses all had perfect flowers in front and cobblestone walkways and much much fancier architecture with stained glass windows and what I imagine would be stucco exteriors. Blue skies, distinct bushes versus my green blobs, prettier butterflies with incandescent wings flying around the homes.

So, it's official: I will not quit my day job.

Unless South Park calls.

Just real quick before I go vomit...

2007-08-07T12:35:00.000-07:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact: Sarah Clark, Wal-Mart
1-800-331-0085

Dr. John Agwunobi to join Wal-Mart as Senior Vice President and President for the Professional Services Division

BENTONVILLE, Ark., Tuesday, August 7, 2007 --Wal-Mart Stores, Inc. is pleased to announce that Dr. John Agwunobi, current Assistant Secretary for Health for the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services and an Admiral in the U.S. Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, has been named Senior Vice President and President for the Professional Services Division for Wal-Mart in the U.S. effective September 4.

Dr. Agwunobi will oversee the company's health and wellness business unit including pharmacies, vision centers and health care clinics. He is the country's expert on public health, and he will bring new perspective, diverse talents and tremendous expertise to our company in his new role.

He will report to Bill Simon, executive vice president and chief operating officer for Wal-Mart Stores U.S.

"John is the country's expert on public health, and I look forward to his contributions in furthering Wal-Mart's health and wellness efforts," said Simon. "He will bring new perspective, diverse talents and tremendous expertise to our company in his new role." Added Dr. Agwunobi, "Wal-Mart touches many lives in many communities and this position provides me with a new opportunity to reach people in the places where they live, work and shop. I am very excited to join the Wal-Mart team."

Dr. Agwunobi, also a pediatrician, is a seasoned public health professional with experience in health care delivery, managed care and health care policy. As Assistant Secretary for Health, he was responsible for disease prevention, health promotion, women and minority health efforts, the reduction of health disparities, the fight against HIV/AIDS, pandemic influenza planning and vaccine preventable disease initiatives.

Prior to his current position, Dr. Agwunobi served as Florida's Secretary of Health and State Health Officer from October 2001 to September 2005. In this role, he confronted many public health challenges, including leading the state's public health and medical response to four major hurricanes, led the call for a healthier Florida, managed the response to the nation's first-ever intentional anthrax attack, and guided Florida's nationally-recognized efforts to protect the state against bioterrorism.

Wal-Mart Stores, Inc. operates [the locations and contact information I don't feel the need to publish here].

###

Maybe this only seems scandalous to me, but the idea that someone whose career has ostensibly focused on improving the health of the public will now be working for one of the worst purveyors of screwing employees out of decent health (and many other) benefits is pretty atrocious.

One hopes that Agwunobi's new post will lead to better benefits for all involved--workers and patrons alike--but I can't help but suspect that it will only lead to better benefits for himself, paid for by a nakedly politically-motivated move by Wal-Mart.

I think separation of Church and State is a good thing.

I think separation of Corporation and State--at least more separation than we currently see--is even better.

Amp, revealed

2007-08-06T10:59:00.000-07:00

So, in the description of this baby, they forgot to mention that time I used it. Some of you may remember: It was that September night, back in '99, when I was touring a lot and doing lots of blow. My SF days. I ran into Blake on the corner, his guitar in hand, and he was all I'm about to go record some kick ass records, wanna come? And I was all, if you quit looking at me all lovey-like that (did I mention that I was his muse for Chesterfield King? Yeah.). He was all you're just so... [I glared] uh, nevermind, yeah, no more love eyes, come one let's go rock out! So I go to what I thought was their studio and bam! it was a new venue that I had somehow missed and it was filled with people all ready for Blake to go on stage. (He was always showing up late. The rest of the band would get so pissed off. (I know: lead singers.))

Anyway, a few songs in, Blake, that dick, was all "hey everyone, I have a special guest for you!" He nods at the lights guy and a huge spotlight shines right on me. Uh, like, if I wanted to be performing wouldn't I be doing it with my own band, Super Pretty Fairy Dust?! Good God this guy was too much. Sooo of course the crowd is like freaking out and of course I'm looking regular hot but not on-stage hot and there's Blake the whole time, smirking. It's enough that he fooled me into to going to YET ANOTHER one of their shows (like their crowds weren't big enough), but now I have to perform? Too much. And he wonders why the love eyes piss me off.

So, at the very insistent star(power)-struck crowd's cheering, I finally get up on stage, flick Blake off, wave at the other guys in the band, take Blake's guitar, turn up the amp proper and rock out. I did one of their songs, Sea Foam Green, in a totally rearranged way so it was all hard and fast and energetic yet longing. There was still haunted, throaty longing.

By the end of the song, I was glistening (and, as my scale confirmed later, had dropped two pounds (on account of the rocking out)). So, song over, I'm catching my breath, flciking my head to the side to get the wet hair off my forehead, take the guitar off, pass it back to dumbfounded Blake (he hadn't known I was working on that cover; I bet he thought I was going to play my band's smash hit, "Blake Loves Me" (that showboater) . So I give his guitar back, turn around and turn the amp back to their respectable levels and am about to leave the stage. I mean, it was only like 10 seconds, but it hit me: the entire audience is silent. I finally look up, kinda shrug and, as if that sparked one giant, collective snapping-out-of-it, they take their mouths off the ground, refocus their rock-dazed eyes and then start yelling and whistling and clapping like crazy. I have to admit, it was a rush. It's true: you just never get used to it. It's like the first time every time. Which is more than I can say about blow.

This guy needs some estrogen--stat

2007-07-18T09:54:00.000-07:00

From an article this morning:

[Michael] Vick reached a settlement last year with a woman who charged in a lawsuit that he had knowingly given her herpes. Last season, Vick was fined $10,000 by the NFL and agreed to donate another $10,000 to charity for making an obscene gesture toward fans while leaving the field after a game at the Georgia Dome in November.

The above paragraph proves he's kind of a dick. But he's the nice Vick, right?

Wrong:

According to the indictment, Vick decided in his rookie season of 2001, with Phillips and Taylor, to start a dogfighting operation. Vick, who grew up in Newport News, paid $34,000 in June 2001 for a property at 1915 Moonlight Rd. and, according to the indictment, "used this property as the main staging area for housing and training the pit bulls involved in the dogfighting venture and hosting dog fights."

The indictment said that in April 2007, Peace, Phillips and Vick "executed approximately eight dogs that did not perform well in 'testing' sessions by various methods, including hanging, drowning and/or slamming at least one dog's body to the ground." Vick also is alleged to have consulted with Peace before Peace killed a losing dog by electrocution in 2003.

This guy's monstrous. I don't like him.

Love that Ross Vegas

2007-06-28T18:15:00.000-07:00

It's an email chain, so, you know, read upside-down.

Enjoy.

From: Starpower
To: Ross Vegas
Subject: RE: Tomorrow is Don't Pump Gas Day
Date: Tue, 15 May 2007 10:46:29 -0700 (PDT)

Hiya!

I know these boycotts essentially mean nothing except a good laugh for the oil execs. It is an empty gesture, I realize, but when you have a full tank of gas and the ability to forward an email and a penchant for idealism particularly when it only demands extremely low-grade action, well, it got the better of me. But what do I know, I'm actually just as addicted to oil as the next guy.

-SP

***

From: Ross Vegas
To: Starpower
Subject: RE: Tomorrow is Don't Pump Gas Day
Date: Tue, 15 May 2007 10:46:29 -0700 (PDT)

Hey.

I hate the man as much as any other recycling, navy-shower taking guy (OK, I drive an SUV but I planted a bunch of trees to offset my carbon footprint. Kind of like lenny dicaprio did to offset his private jet). I also hate (in a totally conflicted way) that our entire way of life is founded on the availability of cheap energy. But... There was no price drop in April 1997. Plus, everyone is just going to fill their tank today or wait until the day after the boycott so the folks down at Exxon will get our cabbage one way or the other.

That's how they roll.

Except for the sucking sound that is the eternal damnation of their souls, it's a pretty good gig when you think about it. What we need is an "Everyone Bike to Work for the Rest of Their Lives Day" and "Everyone Only Buy Food That is Local Day...Forever" and "Hey Ethanol Really Kinda Sucks Day" etc. Until then. Ladies and gentlemen. Start your engines.

-Ross

***

From: Starpower
To: Starpower (including Ross Vegas on the BCC list (the proper way to email many folks. (just saying.)))
Subject: Tomorrow is Don't Pump Gas Day
Date: Mon, 14 May 2007 15:49:26 -0700 (PDT)

DON'T PUMP GAS ON MAY 15TH

In April 1997, there was a "gas out" conducted nationwide in protest of gas prices. Gasoline prices dropped 30 cents a gallon overnight. On May 15th 2007, all internet users are to not go to a gas station in protest of high gas prices. Gas is now over $3.00 a gallon in most places. There are 73,000,000+ American members currently on the internet network, and the average car takes about 30 to 50 dollars to fill up.If all users did not go to the pump on the 15th, it would take $2,292,000,000.00 (that's almost 3 BILLION) out of the pockets of big oil. So, don't buy gas on the 15th and lets try to put a dent in the oil industry for at least one day. If you agree, pass this on to all of your contact list.

I totally rinsed the carrot and the yogurt was unopened.

2007-05-08T14:21:00.000-07:00

(We've already broken the TMI seal, yes? Good. Read on.) So I have been feeling a bit, um, queasy the past few days. Not constantly, but intermittently. You know, you're working along fine and then you're all Oh-Dear-God-I'd-Best-Get-To-The-Bathroom-ASAP.

At times like this, one wonders what brought it all on. So I thought to myself, Starpower, Public Health Professional, do you think your stomach sadness is due to the farmer's market carrot you ate without peeling or the yogurt that was more than a week (okay, month) postdated?

It probably depends on the way you look at it: the side of the coin that says I'm disgusting or the other side of the coin that says I'm disgusting. Tough call.

Can I get a witness? (Please?)

2007-04-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

As the week's gone on, it's become clearer and clearer to me that this horrible event at VA Tech that I can hardly name more specifically is not a thing I'll get over very soon. On Monday, I was in shock; Tuesday a little sad; Wednesday choking-back-tears sad and today I was choking back tears for the half-day that I was at work until I bailed and cried on the drive home. Finally.

And I know now that I won't be over this for a while, maybe quite a while. Because what happened isn't just sad, it's horrifying. And though I'm sure that I haven't really figured it all--or any of it--out, I have figured out that this is a thing that I have to handle, to deal with, to heal from--all the while feeling self-indulgent and guilty for having such a strong reaction. You see, I haven't lived there since 1996.

But it was a very important part of my life. I lived there for four years and loved it and love it still and everyone I talk to who went there is feeling similarly wrecked and surprised at their own shatter. People can't stop crying, people can't talk about it, people can't stop talking about it, people can't get enough of the coverage, people can't wait til we're back to Britney.

And I'd give myself a harder time for taking it all so hard if I thought any part of my reaction were controllable. But it's not. I can't not feel this sad. I can't not be totally normal and laughing one second and on the verge of tears the next, the lump in my throat swelling for the millionth time in a day. I can't not veer from sad to livid and--so help me and I do feel bad--but I couldn't not flick off the guy in traffic today who honked at me for no reason. I was pissed.

I can't not not do laundry. I can't not not wash the dishes. I can't not not talk in too many negatives.

I can't do anything but as little as possible. I did, however, make it to yoga this evening. With the teacher's permission, I made an announcement after class asking people to consider wearing orange and maroon tomorrow and to join Tech alumni at the north side of the Santa Monica Pier tomorrow at 7 pm for a candlelight vigil. No reaction. From anyone.

Then my teacher made her announcement and chuckled to ask if anyone else had any announcements. She's one of my favorite yoga teachers and still, at that minute, I thought a little less of her. And might for awhile.

No one came up to me after class. I wasn't really announcing the vigil or our colors for attention for myself--it really was for all of us Hokies here in LA--but I suppose I was expecting and hoping for a little sympathy.

But this is Southern California and the people who live here live 3,000 miles away from my old home, Blacksburg. They don't get it, they aren't affected, and you can't fake not being affected. So I made the announcement and then we all left.

I couldn't not feel a little disappointed, a little isolated, and very very far from home.