While The Minister may have Poetry Friday, apparently I have Photography Monday. This week's submissions:

1. Sushi Showdown. Oh, the fish. The beautiful fish.

2. Thank You for Singing! Was what the cab driver said after an earsplitting 2AM backseat rendition of "The Search Is Over" and then "Faithfully." Honestly, I think that maybe he meant it. Other highlights of the night: Meeting my anonymous fellow Pop Rocks fan and erstwhile e-mailer, and convincing the lead singer of Pop Rocks ("excuse me, excuse me") that Jess's connection to the band was important enough to warrant both a microphone shout-out and the two of us frolicking on stage for the final song. And finally, because I like to make sure everyone is aware of this: I LOVE 80s MUSIC! Oh yes I do.

I'm pretty goddamn excited because I just got my archives fixed. This is gonna be a good weekend, isn't it?

Today marks the second instance of "our last day of work together" for me and Heather. That really is excessive, don't you think? Rightfully so, she has an excellent perspective on her upcoming free time; and Sarah offers many spot-on observations regarding unemployment. Still, it sucks. To be me, I mean. I'll miss you, Heather!

This weekend promises much fun and many great photo ops, for which I am grateful. ("Thank goodness," you say, "More pictures on Monday!")

I haven't participated in Poetry Friday in a long time. Out of practice:

Why?
Why Curiosity, why?
I loved the cat.

Finally, I'm really mad that I missed this. If I were unemployed, I might start working towards the title of Miss CA Rodeo 2003, myself.

Last night Heather came over, and we watched If Lucy Fell!

While on the surface, that might not sound particularly noteworthy, I have to insist that it is -- purely based on the fact that this movie was recorded on my TiVo on, and not watched since, August 6 of 2000. It became sort of a running joke and an endless source of annoyance for Bryan, since I refused to delete it (and it takes up valuable space!) but I never felt like watching it. So actually sitting down to do so was really weird for me, and I was concerned that everything might be different afterwards. Possibly I'm a little too affected by my televisionary gadgets.

Luckily, the planet did not explode. (Nor did the TiVo.) Instead, as Heather pointed out, we were given the gift of a sage new assessment for any and all situations: Open, Closed. See, there was this one scene, where the leading man was having a passionate conversation with Elle McPherson. The shot went back and forth between LM and EM about 10 times, and every single time, LM's shirt magically changed from Open, to Closed. And back to Open. Now Closed. It was consistently inconsistent.

You can imagine how this would apply to so many, many things. Plus, I love/hate when bad movie cuts are so blatant like that.

"Hey, that's not an art word."

-- My photography teacher, last night, in response to a 4-letter expletive uttered by me in a moment of photographic mishap

I just found out that my friend Kelly will be touring with Bruce Springsteen this fall as a production assistant. How exciting is that? Maybe I can tag along and do another "on the road" story... Since I, like, do so much writing these days.

How does one get such a plum position, you ask? After working for Farm Aid for years, Kelly was hired by John Mellencamp in '99 and has since run the gamut of jobs for the erstwhile Cougar: assistant tour manager to Girl Friday to nanny for his two kids. It's been crazy, fun, stressful, awful, romantic, and, most importantly, a source of endlessly entertaining stories for me. And it's how we met Son Volt. Ah, the mem'ries!

Bruce comes to San Jose on August 27, which is luckily right after we return from Boston for a wedding.

Yay for Kelly!

I love this fortune so much, I might have to redesign my homepage around it.

While you might think the only "Notorious" I'm interested in refers to a certain (fabulous) 80s band, I was one of five who crossed the bay this past Friday evening to check out the film version at Oakland's storied Paramount Theater. (None of us had ever been.) The place is truly a trip: With $5 tickets, seats for 3,000, a real live organ player and a spin-the-wheel prize system that predates Bob Barker himself, I declare us all winners. My critique of Notorious as a movie generally centered on the fact that Ingrid Bergman wore sensible shoes the whole time (good), and that one of the supporting cast members' names was "Eberhard Krumschmidt" (also good). Would such a name be allowed in today's Hollywood? I think not.

Of course, there were the three people dressed as jokers (four, if you count me), and the fact that we were all dying for snacks, which I was told have been banned from the theater "since 1972!" There were also photo ops galore, and Sarah quickly learned that Jess is truly the standard to which Heather and I aspire. And let's not forget the prevue for Burn Witch Burn. Scary!

In last night's photography class, we practiced portraiture. We learned how to create "diffused" light, when to suggest the "contrabody" pose, and that pretty much everyone's face has a slim side and, as my teacher diplomatically put it, a "not-so-slim" side. Like duh, I already knew that.

One of my favorite things is when someone says to me at work, "Boy, you look tired today." I mean, what do you do with that? The only thing I can think of is to apply really red lipstick.

Last Friday night Sarah's dad took us to the symphony. It was Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and the best word we could think of to describe it was "lovely." During the performance, I kept vacillating between an irrational fear that my cell phone would somehow turn itself on and ring piercingly -- and the image of Julia Roberts quivering next to Richard Gere at the opera.

On Sunday I layed (lied? I can never remember) in bed for 5 hours and watched Cocoon and Chances Are. I cried when the alien died, I cried when Cybill Shepherd married Ryan O'Neal, and I cried when Wilfred Brimley said goodbye to his grandson. I guess I've been a little emotional lately.

Did you know that Christian Bale's stepmom is Gloria Steinem? I didn't know that. Sort of ironic with the whole American Psycho thing and all.

So yeah, last week I went back east for a few days. For the second leg of my journey, my mom and I roadtripped from Connecticut to Vermont to hunt down a matrimonial mansion. This was interesting because a) I drove the family handicap van, which I quickly learned was a "lowrider" and thus to avoid all speedbumps, potholes and small rocks or my mom would scream; b) Vermont wedding sites generally appear to have a "Shining" thing going on: witness the Lloyd-like piano player at The Castle and the topiary maze at The Jackson House Inn; and c) Vermont folk are pretty eccentric. My favorite Vermont moment was when we pulled the van up beside a local supermarket to get directions, and this little old couple exited the supermarket by the side of the van with their shopping cart. My attention turned to the woman giving us directions, I noticed about 2 minutes later out of the corner of my eye that the two hadn't budged. I yelled out the window, "Excuse me, are you waiting for us?" and the man replied, "Well, you are in the crosswalk."

After we got back to Connecticut, my mom tried to convince me that The Candlewood Inn down the street from where we live might just be the perfect place "right under my nose." They've recently renovated it as a function site; while I was growing up it was one of the local restaurant/bars my friends and I used to frequent. Though her intentions are pure, it's hard to explain to mom that my memories there of late-high school/early-college drinking with friends and assorted late-high school/early-college debauchery make it not-quite-right for wedding vows. I'm sure you understand.

So then... I spent the weekend (and my 31st birthday) in New York City with the lovely Jen and Drake. They surprised me with the best dinner plans ever: A reservation at Nyla, just days after the grand opening! So very exciting. Though the food was just so-so, the bar crowd snobby and Brit nowehere to be seen, I was as happy as jean shorts at a Pat Benatar concert. Continuing the hunt for celebrities, we traveled on to The Cutting Room, a low-key bar owned by none other than SATC's Mr. Big. Alas, all movie stars must've fled the city for the 4th, so we managed to amuse ourselves with the combination Pac-Man/Galaga tabletop game and Jello shots instead.

Oh and! (Please bear with me...) I checked out my dad's new pad in Greenwich Village, which is just such an oddity since he has been hopelessly devoted to the middle of nowhere since forever and ever. I love this picture of him outside the building. Oh and and and! Jen and I stumbled across this little lunch place on Monday that serves sandwiches and salads DEVOTED TO AIRLINE FOOD! I mean, it was actually really good food, but check out the menu. I wonder if this guy knows about it... So there, fancy airline-food-site man!

Back east was fun.

Finally! I got my photos back from the Modern Appliance Band (and other related studies in black and white.) As if I were so fancy. Per my photography teacher, I am trying to "capture moments." One important thing I learned is to make sure your line of vision is not obstructed by rude and poorly-placed poles. Sheesh. This one, of Lynn running, is my favorite. Neat shadow.

So apparently this photography obsession runs in the family, as my brother just sent me a link to some black-and-whites he posted. Perhaps we could become the first-ever brother/sister traveling photography team... Though it's probably been done already. It's interesting because I think both of our sets have some merit, but they're really quite different. I most enjoy his ones at the lunch counter, and of the homeless man. Actually, my mom is also a bit crazy with the camera: One of my favorite moments in Vermont was when we pulled over to the side of the road and both got out with our respective cameras to photograph this insanity of a junkyard/lawn. And I loved that my mom wants to frame it with the words, "At least my house isn't this bad."

Oh and Pat Benatar photos are up. If you like words better, Sarah has a splendid account of the show.

I guess my blog is not much good for those averse to looking at random pictures of things in which they have absolutely no interest.

PS Just don't look at the archives. Sigh.

I swear to god I might pass out. I think I got my comments working again. I could cry. The format is a disaster but HALLELUJAH! Redemption is mine. I wish I were Southern or religious or something. Am I allowed to hoot 'n holler anyway? Please comment.

It's hot today. Like, really really hot. I just walked down to the VW dealer across the street from me, to pick up my Golf that demanded to take this really really hot day off. I can't say that I could ever endorse the purchase of a VW by a friend or family member: Since leasing her in March of 2000, my girl has had 1) a windshield wiper violently fly off during the middle of a rainstorm, 2) a severe oil burning problem that put me on the brink of killing her many a time, 3) a faulty airbag that rendered the car "undriveable," and now 4) a malfunctioning hose of some sort that set off another dire-warning light. What's interesting is that Jess's Beetle had the same light go on at precisely the same time -- we decided the VW mechanics must have a button they can push when in need of funding for Fourth of July BBQ supplies.

It surprises me that something that looks so simple and sweet can actually be incredibly flighty.

I have so much to say about my trip back east, I don't know where to start. And my comments are totally f*ed so I'm removing them altogether. For now. So don't panic. Ha ha ha ha. This heat is making me crazy.

Tonight I'm flying to JFK -- getting in at 6:37am (that's 3:37 PT, in case you were wondering) and cabbing to Long Island to surprise my grandmother for her 85th birthday. (Grandma, please ignore if you are reading.) The next day I'm going to CT to embark on a roadtrip to VT with my mom, to look at wedding sites. What started out as a plan for me and two girlfriends to cruise up to Vermont for a few days (think convertible, pigtails, and Britney Spears on the stereo) has now turned into me driving my mom's handicap van, with her lying prone in the backseat due to recent knee surgery. (The handicap van was for my grandfather, also in case you were wondering.) Heather's loaning me books on tape. Then weekend will be spent in NYC with aforementioned girlfriends, toasting entry into official "thirtysomething"-dom. Overall, it should be quite a trip!

I used to be a total snob about US Magazine. In the past few months, however, I've completely surrendered. Though EW of course offers superior writing and an actual website, how can I resist a publication that tells me what $400 skin care regimen Naomi Campbell is using and offers ironic Billy Bob Thornton quotes like "We met at the dawn of time, I think, in a kind of supernatural way"?