Look look! She Said She Said has been updated for the first time in four months. It's a rebirth! I will post there soon. Very exciting.

I really have a thing for train travel. Which is why it would be so neat to have a wedding reception here. Wouldn't it? Please don't die, train travel.

I also really have a thing for Seinfeld-before-bed. I know Seinfeld obsessions are like, so-10-years-ago, but what can I say: I'm a traditionalist when it comes to soothing TV. It's gotten to the point where I pretty much can't fall asleep without first hearing 22 minutes of George's neurotic whining and Kramer's high-pitched panic. I require it. All I can say is thank heavens for my still-free UltimateTV, which provides me with endless episodes just waiting for the 11:00 or 11:30 late-night selection.

Anyway, point being, I was watching this old two-parter the other day where Elaine bids on a set of JFK's golf clubs at a high-society auction. She buys them for Mr. Peterman for $20,000, when he's previously authorized her to spend only $10,000. Then, in typical Seinfeldian fashion, a long string of coincidences result in the clubs being demolished by Newman's mail truck. At the end of the episode you see Peterman aghast, pulling the clubs out one-by-one, and Elaine wincing as he observes the extent to which they're bent and banged up. Anyway (boy I make a short story long), I've probably seen this episode 10 or 11 times, and every single time I find myself hoping against hope that the clubs are okay. Is that totally weird, or am I just an eternal optimist? And imagine if one day they did turn out to be okay? What the hell would that mean?

Oh also, I once went to this big closeout sale for J. Peterman clothes, back in Boston. I bought a suit there with a fur collar. I never, ever have worn it (this was about six years ago) but it's kind of cool to have. For posterity and all, and for taking up room in my closet.

This stinks. Plus, one of the cats threw up on Bryan's shoe the other day. (Not that I'm naming any names.) It's still there -- I say Bryan's shoe, Bryan's clean-up.

It's funny how things you'd never consider going to all of a sudden become intriguing when the tickets are free.

Here I am, trying to make up for lost time. A few items of note:

1. As reported by Sarah last week, Angelina and Billy Bob are on the outs. This is quite disturbing news. I mean, they're soul mates!

2. I just discovered that Blogger has buttons for bold, link, and italics. Um, have they always been there? I've been writing all my own damn hrefs. Sometimes being so unobservant is a real curse. Sometimes, it's a blessing.

3. I'm taking a photography class, starting last week. The first class went something like this: Class starts at 7. It's 6:23 and I'm still at work. Shit. I throw my stuff together and race home. I shove some food in my face, grab my camera bag and rush out the door, random objects flying. I then drive like a madwoman over to the Redwood City Community Center, better known as Red Morton (or "Red Moron," as we like to refer to it in my household). I burst in the door, panting, disheveled, my hair all a mess, and yelp, "Where's the photography class?!?" The guy behind the desk looks at me sympathetically with his finger on the panic button and says, "Sorry honey, I think that class was yesterday." I do an Elaine-like overexaggerated collapsing motion and mime falling to the ground. Who's the moron now?

Anyway, in tonight's class we get to develop a roll of black and white film. I have photos on there from the Modern Appliance Band performance on Saturday and I can't wait to see how they turn out!

It's on Mondays, this class, is what I'm saying -- not Tuesdays.

Bing Bang! Bang bang, Bing!

Okay, I know this can get really annoying, but I'm getting some super-freaky search hits from Google that I feel compelled to share. My favorites:

#reqs: search term
-----: -----------

3: beef it's what's for dinner
1: jesse russell
1: halts or hilarity or coincided or between or enclosing
1: unbuttoned chest hair
1: underwater party pics
1: jack wagner's wife
1: tragic culture
1: gareth's ass picture
1: supported statuesque upshot divergence material
1: duvet copper colored

gareth's ass picture is pretty damn good, I say. Of course, it now links to my removed .htm blog file. How long does it take Google to update, I wonder?

Happy birthday Heather!

I find it quite odd that the exclamation point is known as "bang" in geek speak. Bang! Bang! Bang! Actually, that's kind of fun.

I laughed, I cried, it was every thing I ever wanted in a web story. From my Inbox on June 4, 2002:

> Hi Allyson, I owe you a big thanks. Found your site due to a strange bout of surfing you may find amusing.
1) Saw Super Diamond and Pop Rocks on Sunday the 26th at Bimbo's
2) Thought that Pop Rocks was just incredible, want to go see them again
3) Surfed for Pop Rocks website the next day, but found your friend Jess's page instead
4) Read through Jess's page for a few nights, was blown away by her brothers' suicide story, and didn't want to read it any more for a while. Powerful stuff.
5) Started back on it tonight, somehow clicked to your site, and found what I was looking for originally, poprocks.net!
6) Your site is just great, great use of pix and text too. [Ed. -- I was going to take this out, lest I look like a braggart, but for, ya know, the sake of editorial integrity and all...]
7) Can't make the Pop Rocks/RD lounge gig in June, but hope to in July and if you're in attendance, a cocktail of your choice is on me for showing me what I was looking for! [Ed. -- I like cocktails of my choice. Thank you.]

-- [Name withheld to protect the innocent Pop Rocks fan]

I'm sort of anti-blog lately. Blogger burnout? Wedding overload? Lack of coherent thought? Or maybe my faulty comments are to blame. No matter the cause, I'm feeling a little distant from paraphrasing these days. Perhaps I'd prefer everything unabridged for a while.

This curious state of affairs hasn't stopped me from taking and posting a few new photos: My favorites being of the resplendent Nancy, my gift to the two girls I tutor during the year; and of last Saturday's party host and his honest feelings about my picture-taking. Oh, lest we forget the jaunt to Hooters in Bellevue, WA. I can't think of two more inappropriate patrons than Aaron and myself...

It also hasn't stopped me from wondering how Jennifer Aniston feels about Rock Star being a "SPECIAL! $1.99" basement-budget pay-per-view on DIRECTV. Or marveling that Andy Warhol was once on Love Boat.

And please, please! tell me you've been watching Crank Yankers. Please.

Oh, I just might've found something worse than Whammy with Todd Newton: Revealed with Jules Asner. (Cue Heather: "You Won't Know It, Until We Reveal It.") I'd lke to see a list of E! on-air "personality" requirements one day.

Hey, I think I'm cured!

Is there anything worse than the new Press Your Luck (aka "Whammy") hosted by Todd Newton?! Anything at all?

On Friday night, I learned that stand-up comedians sometimes do encores. Or at least, really famous stand-up comedians with 30-year-old wives who shouldn't do jokes about the Taliban or "Behind the Music." Then, on Saturday night, I learned that Ben Affleck can actually carry a famous-franchise spy movie. Go Ben!

Today I was sad when I bought only one Father's Day card for the first time in my entire life.

My comments are still broken. I tried everything that Holger suggested, but to no avail. (Though I still get them in by e-mail -- such a mystery!) It's a mess. I got tired of playing around with it so I'm giving up for a little while. I'll try again in a couple of days. Argh, stupid technology.

Ah, 1-2-3 testing? (Delusions tell me maybe a fresh post will clear things up. This is quite a mystery. Harumph.)

Since Monday at 5:45PM, all comments on this blog have been written in invisible ink. They're really there (I get the full text of them in my Hotmail inbox, don't despair), you just can't see them on the webpage. Does anyone have my magic pen? Please help.

Whine! My comments are broken and I'm in Seattle again. Also, have you noticed that there are just too damn many stylish and attractive-looking trade paperbacks these days? How am I supposed to choose what to read if I can't judge a book by its cover.

I just realized that my photo page is exactly a year old. Neat.