tis the fricking season

I hate the holidays.  I get surly and sulky and bitter.  Which, when mixed with authentic happiness, gets a bit confusing, really.  It was all fine and dandy to be 18, blasting NIN while wrapping a few presents, angry, heartbroken, and able to escape the familial through regular and judiciously timed smoke breaks.  It was all fine and dandy, too, to just skip family entirely, and spend it with The Ex and her family, if still fraught.  But the mountain has come to Mohammed, and yet rather than being impressed with the miracle I'm feeling alpine-ophobic.  (Damn. There's already a band named "Fear of Mountains.")  Anyway, a professional wobbly yesterday, courtesy Radical Colleague, whom I just don't particularly like, despite having known her for 20 odd years.  She seems to be on a slightly different track, a path of less resistance, perhaps because of a more obviously "sexy" field.  So the additional request I received sent me for a spin, which merely confirmed that I get sulky and surly and bitter around the holidays. I like it that way, I think.  Which is not to say I don't have 30 minutes to shower, shave, shit, shine, and shampoo in time to accompany a family member to purchase cases of wine for the benefit of my alcoholic family, arriving from up North all too soon.  Including my speed-dealing, meth-head, light-fingered cousin, who will be staying with us, along with his latest floozie.  We'll deposit YCT's jewelry at someone else's house, but what about silver candlesticks? Financial documents? I may just go on and on about how broke I am, and he'll not bother to steal my identity. If he's even smart enough to do so.  Then, shopping for pretty much fucking everyone.  Boo. fucking. Hoo.  Merry fucking holidays, all.  I'm slammed until the conference in Chicago, then when I come back I'm teaching (to which I actually look forward), but totally fucking slammed with work until April, at which point I should be able to breathe and get some work done.  

(dol/dull)drums

Seasonal affective disorder, thank you very much. It was a gorgeous SoCal winter day - clear, not warm but not cold nor even terribly cool, blue skies, a hint of the weakness of winter sunlight. So, seasonal, my friends, is relative. Dropped YCT's car off for repairs, walked to the LA subway (past one section of the writer's strike. I honked going and cheered coming. I may well cross the street going, tomorrow, and engage the striking writers more directly. Organized labor is hot.), and took the fricking subway in LA from the Valley to Hollywood. For a buck twenty five, paid by debit card, turnstile free, 8 minute wait for a 6 minute ride. Who knew? I had no fucking idea. Stopped for breakfast in Hollywood, took the leisurely option of the hour-long walk home, enjoying the 'Jim Henson's Studios now occupies Charlie Chaplin's Studios?' (And has Kermit always been on that roof?) moments alongside a few alleys, crack addicts, and the mysterious running homeless guy I've seen _much_ further west, but also earlier in the day. Homie is the Forrest Gump of the homeless, dirty, smelly, and physically disabled crowd of distance runners.

blah blah blah. I'm boring myself. No major crises, but a bad case of the blahs. Perhaps because there's so much to do. Or, so much I haven't done. I drink, numb, rinse, repeat. Waiting for an old friend and I to manage to actually toss back some jars. In a recent conversation, he described England as "[my] promised land." Interestingly apt. And departure of colleague/friend (referenced below, somewhere) has had many a knock-on effect, and shall have many a knock-on more. Both locally, and, intriguingly, bi-coastally. Hmmm. Bored with my own writing - without romantic drama, what is there?

If you're really bored, go check out http://awkwardthingsisaytogirls.com/. Start at the beginning. I have so many better stories than this guy, yet his tale is all too familiar at the same time.

grief, unexpected

I should have known things were going all too well.  A colleague is departing.  Doesn't that sound nice and clinical and not at all a big deal?  Better, perhaps, "the senior colleague who has generously mentored me, and become in short order a true friend, is leaving for pastures proverbially, though certainly not literally, greener."  Fuuuuuuuuucccccccccckkkkkkk.  Having spent entirely too many late nights in the office (Fri, Sat, Mon, Tues) leading up to the talk this afternoon (it went fine. B+, I think) and reading these damn hiring files (meeting tomorrow at noon), I'm gonna go home and drink me a bottle of wine.

the hours roll on

If I'm not careful, my ass is gonna attach itself to my office chair. Whoever indicated the life of the junior faculty member was anything other than indentured servitude, well, they were full of shit. "Can't complain" my ass. Here last night until 8, a full 8-hour day today, and still I'm panicked about getting shit out the door in time for the talk on Wednesday, so shall be in again tomorrow, in between celebrating the 96th birthday of my 4'8" Jewish step-grandmother from the Lower East Side. Sigh. Although it just occurs to me these recommendation letters could go in late. In fact, fuck 'em. Sorry John of the keen and restless intellect and the methodical deliberation and analysis - it's gonna have to wait. Although no one will be looking at these files until the New Year, so it's not as if I'm single handedly going to ruin your future. And if I do, you'll never know. AnywayS, I gotta tend to my own future. 30 fricking colleagues showing up for what was supposed to be a roundtable discussion populated by 7-10 techies and geeks. My plan is to geek out so much that the colleagues don't know what I'm saying, but throw down enough period-specific detail that the geeks can't fault me for it being mostly tech show-and-tell-and-I-wish-things-would-improve. But "show and tell" means "slides" means "screen shots" means "fiddly ass shit you can't fake" means time, which, of course, is on the short side. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Shrug. Brother-in-law's birthday party, and Herself is visiting friends up north, so I'm off to drink and drive solo....