Last week Stephanie and I had Girl Solidarity Night. Really, all that means is that we went out for fancy cocktails and watched movies, but it sounds better the other way.

We watched Legend.

Anyone remember that one? Tom Cruise fights evil Tim Curry to save his love and the last unicorn and the peaceful, joyous, innocent world?

It's bad. I mean, really bad. The sort of bad you can't watch alone, but you can laugh at self-consciously with a friend. And still sort of enjoy.

Raise your hand if you remember the moral of the movie.

Anyone?

Okay, I'll tell you.

When you go to fight evil, don't wear pants.

Rules to live by.

So, I've cut back to one (gigantic) cup of coffee per day, and I went to take a drink just now, and realised that I'd already finished it, and washed out my mug. Very disappointing. But I refuse to be a slave to caffeine.

We have our company holiday lunch shortly, which is a step down from the swanky evening party at the Columbia Tower last year. But still, a party's a party.

I should say, in case anyone has noticed, that the archive links aren't working. Since this page was a template provided by Blogger, it's all inherited code, and for some reason it isn't playing well with everything else. I'm working on it. I've been sacrificing black lambs and lighting candles around my computer, but no luck so far.

Woohoo! All that chanting worked: here's the picture of Santa Marco and Santa Me.

You know, there are so many creative, wonderful, fascinating people out there. Sometimes it just completely floors me. And it's not as though they're all in New York, or Paris, or anything; they're right here in my very own back yard. Err... If I had a back yard.

Support your local artists, y'all. They're hard-working folk with a burning need to create something. It may not always quite work, and you and I may not understand it, but it's pretty amazing, nonetheless.

Sometimes I don't appreciate these things. But I should. We all should. And that's my holiday message. If you're reading this, you've got it pretty good too, so think about giving something back to the community. And go spend some time with your family; they mean well, and they love you, and they may be crazy, but who isn't?

Now I have Crossfire by Kasey Chambers stuck in my head, and I can't sleep, and I stubbed my toe, which hurt quite a bit. But on the other hand, I have a big fluffy blanket and a broadband connection. So there ya go.

I've been updating my Friendster account. I like it, because it says I have friends. Lots and lots of friends.

Hey, I'll bet some of my friends are awake now too! Everyone who can't sleep, raise your hand.

Haha, I didn't say "Simon says."

Well, the picture of me as Santa is now posted, but it's doing that thing it always does when I try to post a new page: it tells me it's forbidden and I'm not allowed to see it. Why does it do that? Anyway, I'll link to it here as soon as Casey wakes up and fixes it.

Everybody who wants to see the picture, join me in the "fix it" chant. Fixitfixitfixitfixitfixit!

In the meantime, here's a picture of me at SeaCompression, looking slightly silly in a very goth dress.

I wrote this, too. I'm all over the internet lately. Like a big, grammatically correct weed...

Marco says that I can't be queen of the universe, since Peaches already holds the title. I was very upset about that for a moment, until I realized that I could still be minister of shiny things.

It's good to have goals.

Tony is my friend from the opera. Tony knows everything there is to know about popular culture, and is a twelve-year-old boy at heart. Tony went to see Adam West host an evening of comedy in Olympia:

My God, you will not BELIEVE the adventure we had with Batman.

We arrived at the Go Club in Olympia at about 6:30 (crappy commute), and there was already a pretty big line; there were three comedians going on, and West was MC'ing. They let us in at about 7pm.

The Go Cllub is a pretty comfy little establishment with a faintly '80's patina to the decor; I got a Cape Codder with an umbrella in it, and nursed it for a long while. After about an hour of waiting, Adam West took the stage, rather nattily dressed in a tweed jacket and sweater. When he first took the stage, the Batman theme was thundering on the PA, and the audience roared. Then Adam yelled into the Mic, "Everyone do the Batusi!", and he proceeded to do an awkward and hilarious variation of that venerable Batdance. From there, however, it all turned to shit.

West looked quite well-preserved, but he was obviously drunk. After the Batusi, he proceeded to slur out several bad Bat-jokes, and harp on about how the producers of the Batman movies snubbed him. His mood grew increasingly sour as he continued his "routine". At one point he grabbed the backside of a passing waitress and asked her, "Do you wanna see my Batarang?" A few very uneasy titters came from the audience, as though this were a joke; I suppose it could have been part of his act, but from the expression on her face, I doubt it.

After 15 minutes, he was finished and made a bee-line straight for the bar. A small cluster of people (Rita and I included) converged on him to get an autograph. It was a good thing we had a DVD and an 8x10 for him to sign, because he had no merchandise of his own there. That, however, didn't stop him from demanding $10 for each autograph from us!! Seriously! My disillusionment was stockpiling fast, but we had driven 80 miles to meet him, and I was damn sure gonna get his John Hancock.I gave him a twenty, which he shoved into his front pocket with a gruff and perfunctory 'thank you'.

He signed my DVD; his hand was slightly moist with condensation from his bourbon glass, and so in addition to his autograph, my Batman DVD now includes a smudged thumbprint of his, and a couple of drops of water (or more likely, bourbon) on it. Rita fared a little better and at least didn't wind up with any foreign substances or pawprints on it. We turned away from him and were nearly out the door when things REALLY got unbelievable.

Rita grabbed my shoulder and pointed me back in Adam West's direction. "Oh, my God! Look!" she said. I turned around to see what drew her attention. Adam, it seems, was in a heated conversation with a very tall guy with a mullet. Then Mulletman jabbed his index finger into West's chest and growled out something about Batman insulting his girlfriend (we were about 75 ft away, and the sound system was loudly pumping out music between comics, so we didn't catch the whole exchange). West was becoming extremely agitated, and barked out an apology with all of the hostility of an insult. Then the guy with the mullet grabbed Adam West's lapel with his left hand, and with his right, TOOK A POKE AT ADAM WEST. No shit. Some guy with a mullet coldcocked Batman! Then several Go Club staffers converged on the two of them, a bouncer and bartender each grabbing one of Mulletman's arms. We couldn't see anything else through the crowd , but I asked a woman who was just a few feet from the fracas what happened (though we had a suspicion). She said that Mulletman was the companion of the waitress at the receiving end of Adam West's bat-paws, and the guy was (obviously) PISSED. I'm surprised that all of this wasn't in the papers.






Ok, I'm only kidding. Being a distraction to those around me is a sworn mission in my life, too...Mwhahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!
I didn't go visit Batman, either. It was $20 admission, and he was only MC'ing a gaggle of comics, plus--Holy Commute, Batman!--it woulda been almost 2 hours one-way to get to Olympia.
Yes it is very, very, very slow at work today. Can you tell?

Everybody admire Tony, for he is a brilliant and funny man. He asked me to reiterate that the preceding is all made up, straight out of his head, and that anyone representing Adam West should remember that before suing him. So, for the record, it's all lies. Lies, lies, lies.

Have you ever wanted to preach the truth about Great Cthulhu, but not known how to begin? Look no further.

Remember, that is not dead which can eternal lie, and in strange aeons even death may die.

Today's song-in-the-head is Disco 2000. I have to say, Pulp beats the hell out of ABBA.

I went to see The Barbarian Invasions last night. It was very heart-wrenching and French. French-Canadian, actually. One of the main characters looked a lot like David Duchovny. I liked it quite a bit, although the script had a tendancy to wander.

I'm currently only halfway through Fellowship, so there's pretty much no chance that I'll finish re-reading the LotR trilogy before I see the final movie (Next Wednesday! Wheee!!!!).

And that's about the news. I have a Santa picture, but I need to smallify it before I post it. I wonder whether I know how to do that...

Saturday night I dressed up in a Santa costume and went out bar-hopping with about 70 other Santas (as well as various reindeer, elves, and clowns). I was damn cute. Pictures soon.

First, though, I went to a party that Kathy from work was having. As I was going straight from there to the Santa event, I wore my costume. While it was perfectly appropriate for later, I suspect the short skirt and fishnets combination was a little skimpy for a work party.

Maybe I'll get a raise...

Haunukkah is NOT the Jewish Christmas!

It's only the very luckiest of mortals who are the recipients of a Zach haiku:

Sarah [Blank-blank-blank]
is a Seattle writer
(with a swamp closet)

And it's all true.

Today I have Mamma Mia stuck in my head. Now you do too. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Today's post is dedicated to the fabulous Sir Bob Geldof, and his aptly-named I Don't Like Mondays.

I am now back at work, and not completely enjoying it. After two weeks, I've gotten used to being a lady of somewhat leisure. Why must you people always insist on me doing things, when I am clearly entitled to all I desire without ever having to lift a finger?

Last night I discovered a heretofore unknown geographic anomaly in my very own bedroom. I shall call it Swamp Closet. Its crowning glory is the tall and mighty tower of Leaky Water Heater.

After cleaning up the floor a bit, and throwing out some extremely moldy throw pillows, I examined the remains in a calm, detatched, and purely academic manner which in no way involved hopping around and screeching "ickyickyickyickyicky!" and repeatedly washing my foot.

Based on my observations, it's been leaking for A Very Long Time. No longer than a year, since I know it wasn't like that when I moved in, but anything else is fair game. The Scary Black Mold has reached about 8 inches up the wall.

But the best part?

The floor is sprouting mushrooms.

Yes.

Mushrooms.

I have a freakin' fairy ring in my closet!

(Umm... that sentence sort of ended up somewhere other than where it started... kind of...)