Posted a new series of dreams on Starrynight. I've been getting massive amounts of sleep lately -- we're talking 9,10 hours a night. No idea why, I just can't keep my head up. Last night I went to sleep at 11:15, which is incredibly early for me, and when the alarm went off at 9:30 I had to force myself to get up and go to the playground-gym, where I could barely stay awake as I was swimming. Cause of death: drowning due to interminable somnolence. The next 5 hours of work are looking challenging.

All the suggestions for fish names are lovely, but I still haven't settled on one. I'm thinking of "Uncle Sam," or "Cousin Bob." "Pesci Butter" is still in the running, as are "Zwei" and "Second Course." :)

In a rare moment of cosmic justice, Anne has gone and gotten herself a weblog. If anyone in this world was ever born to have a weblog, it is Anne -- she is a marvelous storyteller who expresses herself in writing like nobody's business. Think innate humor and quirky thoughtfulness and general hilarity. Anne. Go!

It hasn't been a good weekend for pets in my world. My aunt had to put her dog to sleep yesterday, and (much less sadly), my fish at work died over the weekend of a mysterious mold-type affliction all over his body. I'd noticed a tiny spot on Wednesday morning and changed his water before I left, but alas. I'm told it was quite disgusting -- fortunately, some kind and unlucky co-workers who had to be in the office Friday gave him a nice burial at sea.

And so, in the spirit of jumping back on the fish horse -- fishorse? -- I went to PetSmart and got myself another betta, this one with pale blue stripes. No one can take the place in my heart reserved for the old fish, but he's a beauty, and very fiesty. I don't know what to name him, though... the old one's name was Honey, although it never really stuck and I usually called him, somewhat uncreatively, My Fish. I'm thinking of Also My Fish or My Second Fish for this one. :) Any ideas?

Patriotic things I did to aid our economy this weekend: Bought several gifts and the makings of several other gifts. Spent Barnes and Noble gift certificate on book about Taliban fighters, "O Brother Where Art Thou" soundtrack. Rented two movies -- two mockumentaries, in fact. Received new winter coat and VCR (one that will tape things! ooh!) as early Chanukah presents. Here's a question: Why, in World War II, were Americans urged to save their money, and in this one we're being encouraged to spend it? Discuss.

On the drive back, I couldn't help but notice how sad most of the Americana is looking. I'm not nearly as aware of its presence as I once was, but all the rain is making the hand-painted "United We Stand" signs on the highway overpasses run into puddles of drooly mud. The flags on people's cars are becoming tattered beyond recognition. And my notice of this was coinciding a little eerily with a passage from Bill Bryson's "In a Sunburned Country" -- which I'm listening to in the car, and is fabulous -- about Australians' excessively negative view of themselves. When driving alone under a thickly cloudy and oppresively warm November sky, through alternating mist and torrential rain and a good deal of post-holiday-weekend traffic, don't listen to books about Australia. It doesn't make you want to embrace your life. :)

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to share that story below, but I didn't want to share in the same paragraph as this: Link and Think. I was all proud of myself because I'd read an article about the National AIDS Day project The 59th Minute, which sounds incredible -- a bunch of one-minute videos projected onto a huge screen in Times Square -- and the Day With(out) Art. I'd heard about it, and about its connection to Link and Think, and I was all set to mention it. But this morning, I saw it on Blogger. So there goes my originality, but it doesn't make it any less worthwhile. And someone I didn't know emailed me a few months ago about the link to Banned Books Week they'd seen here, which encourages me to continue to promote these weblog community projects or whatever they are. Stay tuned on Dec. 1 for thoughtful links, etc., about AIDS. (Remind me, too, because I might forget.)

You know it's going to be a long day when one of your co-workers, when asked what he'd like on his pizza, good-naturedly screams "meat and mushrooms! meat and mushrooms!" -- probably your two least favorite foods -- just to antagonize you, and the thought of it actually makes you gag. For-real gag, like precursor-to-actually-throwing-up gag. That's never happened before. Not a good thing.

This picture is very close to what we saw early Sunday morning -- obviously no picture could really do justice, but thanks to the photographer for posting that on the Web.

Anyway, a lovely weekend. Our pre-Thanksgiving dinner was a good time, although I think the freaking turkey wouldn't be done if it was STILL in the oven. But we managed to not give anyone salmonella, as far as I know, and there was tons of good food and good people and goodness all around. And then the meteors viewed while lying on freezing asphalt in the middle of a side street off of Massachusetts Avenue. More sleeping (although not for you guys, heh heh), brunch, Harry Potter. Yes, I liked it very very much. (Requisite clarification: not as much as the book, but). I thought it was absorbing and well-acted and visually breathtaking and just a good experience in general. I also loved the two little girls sitting next to us who were interacting with the movie as though it was happening to them... at the end of the movie, when Hagrid is standing next to the train and waving, they were waving back...

New comments -- we have fickle tastes in commenting systems, apparantly. Although I daresay that each incarnation of these comments gets progressively easier to use and more customizeable. Capitalism loves everyone, even seemingly cost-free Web utilities.

If any of you poor souls out there don't catch the Sesame Street reference with the peanut butter sandwiches, just ask. I mean, if you can even read this. Without Sesame Street, I can't fathom how. :)

I had written a whole long thing about my lovely weekend in New York and inadvertently erased it yesterday. I was too annoyed at myself to recreate it. Cliffs Notes version: beautiful walk around the Cloisters at sunset, good conversation with old friends, very little sleep, more good conversation with old friends, a tremendously wonderful play ("Proof" -- go see it). Big gape in the skyline when flying in and bright white floodlights when flying out. The x-ray guy at LaGuardia took every single item out of my backpack, including the six bagels I was purloining from the city, touching each one with his latex-covered hand and scattering sesame seeds all over the conveyor belt. I offered him one. He declined.

Tonight's amusemet: Although I'm usually an aimster devotee, I was on limewire tonight and discovered the tab that lets you see what all the other users are searching for. Hilarious. Some highlights (the PG-rated highlights):

asian
sex
asian sex
asian twins sex
azalea bushes
silent bob
horse pony donkey
x.jpg
all i want to do is make love to you.mp3
quark janet jackson
panties
jappanese [sic] panties
german panties

It would be a tremendous writing exercise to take 10 random terms from this list and have to connect them in 50 words or less. Unfortunately, most of the resulting stories would have to be about teenage lesbians from foreign countries listening to bad '80s music...

Today's topic: beaurocracy. Discuss.

Yesterday I was filling something out on a Web site that required me to put down my college GPA. As some of you already know, I had a major that didn't give out grades -- it was supposedly taught in a colloquium style á la ancient Greece and we were evaluated in words instead of numbers, but this is not today's topic so we can discuss that later -- thus making it difficult for me to fill in the required portions of the GPA screen. I try leaving it blank, typing N/A, clicking on the nav bar to try to skip it and jump to a different section. No dice. Can't get past it. I call the office of the place of the online thing. I get through to the right person, and I'll give the other people in the office credit because everyone was really nice and attempting to be helpful except, perhaps, this guy. Here is a brief transcript of our conversation:

Me: Blah blah blah here is my whole story what should I do?
Him (abrupt): Try leaving it blank.
Me: I did. That doesn't work.
Him (more abrupt): Try typing N/A.
Me (trying to be jokey): I did. That doesn't work.
Him (getting annoyed): Try skipping that section entirely.
Me (feeling dumb for trying to joke with an individual obviously incapable of amusement): I did. That doesn't work.
Him (getting more annoyed): Well, what do you think your GPA would have been?
Me (intelligently): Huh?
Him: If you had had a GPA, what would it have been? If you had gotten grades, would they have been good? Did you do well in college?

Now, let us pause for a moment to reflect. "Did you do well in college?" Excuse me? I don't know, did you, you dork?

Me (also getting annoyed): I guess so, but I really don't know how it would translate into—
Him: It doesn't matter, just make up a number. Do you think you would have gotten a 3.5? That's half A's and half B's.
Me: Well, see, I would prefer not to do that—
Him (thinking I am insane and not listening to what I'm saying): OK, then, just write that down. Just write down 3.5 in all the blanks and then make a note telling whoever looks at it that *I* told you to do that.

Another pause: Since he is obviously oh-so familiar with the online process, he must realize that there's not actually a lot of opportunity to write mash notes to the people reviewing the finished product. These people are going to be making an important decision about my future based on this thing. There are big, mean disclaimers all over every piece of material in this thing about how important it is that you stick to the format, that your social security number and date of birth and your randomly-assigned 36-digit number be in the upper right-hand corner of every single thing, and that if they're not, it will certainly be counted against you because there are so, so, so many prospective candidates trying to do the very thing you want to do.

Me: I'm sorry, but I don't really know where a notation like that would fit into the online application. You'll be receiving a copy of my college transcript, which kind of makes this part unnecessary anyway — how about if I just fill out the regular paper forms. That way I could write N/A.
Him (no longer listening): No, no, we want everything to be online. Was that all? -- doesn't wait for answer -- thanks. Good luck.

*Dial tone in my ear*.

Grrrrr beaurocracy grr.

From a NY Times Magazine article about Aaron Sorkin and "The West Wing": When I ask others involved in the show about this apparent gulf between Sorkin's experience and his work, they quickly get defensive and object to the media's radical-chic bias for vicarious darkness. 'Ooh, violence -- I went to prep school but I'm down with that,' mocks Bradley Whitford. 'Aaron is pushing the envelope of intelligence and hope, and that's so much more radical than the envelope of violence and sex.'"

The article is really interesting, mostly for the larger implications about the do-we-write-what-we-know-or-what-we-want-to-know question, but also for the specifics. I didn't know anything about Sorkin's issues with drugs. And I never really considered the show to be all idealized happiness and light. I think the author's a little off the mark with that... the characters are almost universally "good" and the show has a very positive tone, true, but it's not as though nothing bad ever happens. Then again, I only started watching the show this season, so maybe I don't know yet. And who's Bradley Whitford, the one who's cuter than Rob Lowe but doesn't know it, or the older balding Jewish guy?

OK, I'm saying it, you... the Diamond... the Diamondbacks... the Diamondbacks happened to win the World Series tonight. They are not, however, the best team in baseball, and you know it. Talk to me once they've won a couple more. :) But they did play really darn well and I have to say I enjoyed watching the playoffs way more this year than last -- if the best team can't win all the time, at least the games can be exciting. More exciting, in fact, because they *don't* win all the time, and that's as much of a concession as you're getting. Go 2002 Yankees! Heh.

I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you.... what's the best team in baseball? Say it, out loud, to your computer screen, right now. SAY IT! SAAAAAAAAAAY IIIIIIIIITTTT! :)

I don't buy into any of this "it's magic! it's the ghost of Babe Ruth!" rubbish, by the way. And it's not luck, because luck like that wouldn't happen twice in a row. Is the collective energy of a lot of people who really, really want something positive to happen in their city a factor? That one, I wouldn't completely discount. I definitely hesitate about forcing some kind of larger context onto this; baseball can be a forum/outlet/stage for emotional expression/release/projection, if you will, but I don't want to make it something it's not. Still. How great are they? I don't care if the Yankees never win another game, in this series or for the rest of their existance -- these last two games are the best thing ever.