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Location: Work.
Listening: "Do It Again" ~ Steely Dan.

Parenthetically, I used to have a miniature stuffed camel named Steely Dan. An ex kidnapped me from working on a particularly stressful writing assignment in my senior year and treated me to a Happy Meal. Inside, I found a stuffed camel that could fit in my palm. "Hey Nineteen" was playing on the MacDonald's PA system; I promptly named him Steely Dan. He accompanied me everywhere, in backpack, suitcase, or purse, for about three years before being lost in the move to Texas. I miss him sometimes.

The beginning of this week has been fairly calm and has somehow flown by. I've spent much of the time getting my ducks in a row. I just finished paying the monthly bills. I've been working steadily on getting my resume into shape and ready for posting by Friday. I checked in on my 401K and found my stock investments performing unexpectedly above average. I'm getting my car insurance settled on Friday and looking into getting independent health insurance through my agency. I've started to make a list of household chores to finish up by the end of this coming weekend. In other words, I'm making an effort to get as many things organized and taken care of as possible before the holiday season hits full force. I've also researched submission guidelines for several magazines, found a recipe for charoset (delicious apple-nut mixture used at Passover to symbolize the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves to build Egyptian structures), read 250 pages of The Mists Of Avalon and half of Harry Potter & The Sorcerer's Stone, helped a friend with gathering material on paganism for his "Magick, Witchcraft & Religion" class at 'SC, and made efforts to track down several old friends from college. I'm planning on starting the Swahili lessons again this coming Sunday (they'll be a regular Sunday feature of the journal) and possibly starting to jog again on Saturday mornings. I'm also planning on finishing what there is to Violence Engine and giving Peter his long-neglected critique. Might be the New Year, who knows, but I feel like things are starting to come together--largely, because I've determined to take charge of them.

[As a digression: I'm currently on hold with Charter in Michigan. Part of their recorded message references "...problems with recent security measures adopted by the federal government. Their radar signals are currently interfering with satellite cable programming. Please be patient as we work to remedy this problem." Interesting.].

In continuing news of why I love my friends, Jeff sent me the mp3 of Die Toten Hosen performing "Auld Lang Syne". There's nothing quite like holiday classics performed by a German punk band backed by frenzied, plugged-in bagpipes to brighten my afternoon. Nothing at all like them, really.

Perhaps that's a good thing.

Nonetheless, the song kicks and inspired both nostalgia for the Lahontan/Burning Man folks and much downloading of The Clash (I highly recommend their cover of "I Fought The Law")and The Sex Pistols--which, in turn, led to much downloading of Siouxsie and The Pet Shop Boys. I've long suspected that I'm a WeHo club boy trapped in a woman's body and my playlist is coming close to proving it. All I need are some leather chaps and a mesh shirt and I'm set.

Speaking of Pet Shop Boys, Peter and I have started watching the first season of Absolutely Fabulous on DVD. So far, it's as amusing as I remember from when my friend Erin and I would have AbFab marathons during summers home from college. Peter even came equipped with Haagen-Dazs. I'm currently digging around for the Pet Shop Boys' mix, but having little luck. I did, however, manage to find "Cities In Dust" by Siouxsie & The Banshees as well as "Rock The Casbah", so I'm content for the moment.

...so Austin is now on the phone, inviting me to come to Target with him. For those unfamiliar with the concept of Austin, I'll explain eventually, but for now, suffice to say that the boy is a member of Phi Beta Kappa, a graduate of Harvard Law, an associate with the largest international law firm in the world--and has never been able to make a decision to save his life. Thursday night, he called the house to ask me what he wanted for dinner. He then called the office Friday night to let me know that he was leaving the racetrack in Arcadia and was wondering where he could buy a decent bottle of wine in Glendale for a "thing" he had. Occasionally, he calls to hold the cel to the radio for a particular song (usually either something drunk and Irish or so bluesy that I'm one of the few he knows who'd enjoy it). Once, he called from a department store to ask if "we" (the royal "we" is often employed) needed a new bedspread and, if so, what color "we" thought would go with the velvet throw pillows. If it's possible to find something both endearing and vaguely psychotic, that's how I feel about Austin's calls. That feeling could also be extended to his habit of purchasing seasonal dishtowels (embroidered with little black cats, turkeys, etc.) to display in his kitchen...as well as his almost selfless devotion to his cat...his passion for flea markets and garage sales...his purchase from EBay of about fifteen Mac monitors to use as accents in his living room...his extensive knowledge of freshwater fish...the list goes on. And on...