Ode to Sweet Pickles

Two reasons I miss Sweet Pickles:

His snarky behavior, and his even snarkier behavior.

Things that Make You Go Hmmmm...

Things I saw yesterday:

Two people (students?) on campus wearing animal costumes. Not regular clothes with cat ears or a dog nose, but a full-length furry animal costume. Two of them. Together. I passed them as I left the union. They were talking about random things that most college students talk about: make ups, break ups, whatever drama was in their life at that moment.

A chicken. May not seem all that strange, but it was a chicken running around the exterior walkway of my building. I ran into a young woman just moving in and she asked me is this was normal. Um. No. At one point the chicken had a stand-off with this odd girl who also lives in my building. The chicken was perched on the handrail of the steps, cackling (or whatever chickens do) and flapping it's wings. I went outside a bit later and the chicken was gone. My guess is that someone in the neighborhood raises chickens for eggs and one got loose. But still. There she was. A chicken wandering around the building.

Whatever Happened to...

I've lived in several different states and many different towns. I left friends in all of them. Many of them I have stayed in touch with. First it was due to the ease of email, then to the beauty of the Internet, and now Facebook.

When I started my Facebook page I did not intend it to become a tool to find old friends or to post old pictures. I planned on using it to reach students and whatnot. I decided I wanted to keep different parts of my life separate. Part of this was because I lived in a college town of 20,000 people and worked at a university that had a student population almost as large as the town. I already felt like I lived in a fishbowl.

Then I moved and began to use Facebook to keep up with yet another group of friends I had left behind. And then my mom joined. And then other friends. And friends of friends. And... then friends from college. Not just the people I had seen from time to time over the last decade and a half, but the people who dropped off the face of the earth and were only heard of in bad rumors. The ones I hoped hadn't become a statistic.

It's been fun, catching up. Seeing my goth punk friends look like, well, grown ups and parents. With jobs and families, no hair (not by choice, but by age). It's an odd reminder that we all grew up and got old. Posting pictures so we could laugh at ourselves with people who lived on the other side of the world.

And then there was one friend who contacted me... He was the one I have wondered about and thought about the most over the years. I heard some nasty rumors about him post graduation, but I never knew if they were true. If they were, I had hoped that fifteen years later, he was okay. And I guess I wanted to know that he was okay. Then he friended me on Facebook.

It was weird. This person I had wondered so often where and how he was, and then there he was. The kicker? He lives six hours south of me. We've been catching up via email. I sent him a blackmail-worthy picture of him and one of my roommates at a Halloween party. Turns out the rumors were more or less true, but in the end, he's done well for himself. That makes me smile.

But what I didn't expect was the emotion from the memories. It's funny how one picture, one sentence in an email, one simple thing can bring back such strong memories--memories so intense I can feel the air, smell the smells, and remember so vividly how I felt during a specific time. And this one person has brought back some memories so strong, I was really taken aback. Some of the memories are cringe-worthy, given the drama that is your life when you are 20 years old. But others? Others are intense because they revolve around the first grown-up hurdle I ever had to face: the death of a good friend. We--all of my friends and I-- got each other through it. For whatever reason, my recently-found Facebook friend and I leaned on each other a lot during that time period. Because of that, and other things, he is one of those people I thought of often. And now I know where he is and that he's happy. And that makes me smile.

I also realized that the people I often thought about, the ones I wondered where they were or what they were doing... I have found almost all of them.* And you know what? Despite everything, we all turned out pretty damn good.




*There are two more I wonder about. But as one long-lost-friend said, it's just a matter of time before they pop up.

How Do You Define Asshole?*

I'd say this guy does a good job of it here, here, and here.

Honestly, I don't know who Jeffrey Wells is, but I know the people who run the Oxford Film Festival very, very well. It's a great festival and one I was proud to take part in--both as a screener and an attendee--for several years. One of my favorite events ever year was the Film Festival. But I guess to some pseudo-cosmopolitan dipshits like Wells, the Oxford Film festival is merely a small local festival that no one outside of the region cares about. And he believes that he held up his end of the bargain by just being there, not attending the films, but mentioning it--along with how 1997 the place is.

I lived in that area for many years. I complained non-stop about the lack of things for those years. Ask anyone. But the thing I appreciated the most while I was there was how gracious people were. Part of it is a southern thing and part of it is just how you act in a small town. It's what you do. It could get exhausting trying to figure out what I was and wasn't supposed to do according to some social standards I really didn't understand. And while I knew I didn't want to stay there, it is a great little town to visit, and I look forward to returning to see friends and soak up both the liquor and the country-fried goodness.

But, see, this is the thing, I can complain about it because I lived there. I took part of it with me when I left. I have conflicted attitudes toward the south, but I'll be damned if I am going to let some jackass who was invited by the Film Festival to participate in a panel and attend the Festival trash the area, the town, the people, and then claim that he was the victim. Seriously? Because when you trash that town and those people I reserve the right to get defensive because trashing them is like trashing family. I can complain about it and them because they are part of me. But someone else? Hell, no. (And by "trash" I mean acting like a damn primadonna.)

So how do you define asshole? I'm thinking Jeffery Wells is it. Screw you and your pretentious bullshit. That Film Festival is run by people who love film, love their town, and want to highlight the talented people in the region while giving something back in return. And having seen the Festival grow over the last several years, I personally think it has gone past a "small regional festival" that no one outside of the area cares about to a great regional festival that is gaining a lot of positive press and recognition. And it is ALL being done on a volunteer basis. Every single part of it. So... No one cares about it? Hell, you're there right? Granted, you blew everyone off in order to eat overpriced food at City Grocery and take pictures of the Square. Believe me, there is more to the area than City Grocery and the Sqaure. Much more. And that much more is the people. The lovely, creative, welcoming people. And you, Mr. Wells, have shown nothing but contempt for all of them.

But, one thing, at least by blogging about it and trying to play the victim, you have shown that you, indeed, know how to define asshole. Too bad the Film Festival got buried in your bullshit.

*The thought, comments, and swearing in this post do not represent those of the Oxford Film Festival.... They represent me, a fan of the Oxford Film Festival.

Hollywood!

American Idol is back! American Idol is back!





I know. I know. I'm a shallow, horrible person.

Denver and Stuff

I had all these things rattling around in my head that I was going to say about ALA in Denver. You know, that blog post that you are always writing when you are doing something. But, after a week went by, I forgot it all. So instead, the highlights (with photos):

I had an awesome view of the Cascades and Tetons on the flight to Denver.

I think that is Mt Baker in the distance

Cascades


Tetons

Tetons with Fog

Frenchie and I arrived in Denver within 20 minutes of each other so we shared an overpriced cab from Denver International Airport (also known as Kansas) to our hotel downtown. We went through the ritual of getting our badges and ginormous ALA bag. From there it was on to a couple of alcohol-fueled happy hours, and then Indian food... where I spilled stuff on my sweater. Of course.

ALA Bus + Police Tape = Interesting

Bear at the Denver Convention Center

Woo! Seen while walking from one Happy Hour to the next

The next morning it was off to the ALA meetings. If you've ever been to an ALA meeting then you know what it my conference was like: lots of buzz words, attempts to define the purpose of your committee, and complaining. They are the types of meetings where you spend most of your time thinking about how big of a drink you will have when the meeting is over. Either that or you question why you didn't have a drink before the meeting.

The fire alarm went off in our hotel. I stuck my head out into the hallway (after feeling the door to see if it was warm) and asked the housecleaning lady if I should be worried by the alarm. "No, it's downstairs. No need to worry." And then she got on the elevator. And then the firetrucks pulled up outside. It was a false alarm, of course, but some notification that it was a false alarm would've been nice.

I saw SK, my former boss. Always lots of fun because she seems generally confused by my lifestyle. Don't you want to buy a house? Aren't you tired of being alone/moving/changing jobs/You Name It? If you don't eat meat, fish, dairy, or eggs, what do you eat? To some it may sound tiring, but I find it entertaining.

Later that night I went to dinner with some librarian Sci-fi geeks and had some delicious and strong margaritas. See? ALA=Liquor. Drunk librarians=Entertainment.

I saw several other former colleagues, I ate more good food. Some friends and I ate at Watercourse one night where I had vegan "country-fried" seitan, and deargoditwasdelicious. It has been almost ten years that had that kind of breading and texture to it. All followed by vegan carrot cake. I was beyond excited.

Vegan "country-fried" goodness

More meetings. More self-defining. And realization that I probably won't have to go to Midwinter in Boston. Yay!

It snowed and got cold. Frenchie laughed at me because I was cold. Why? Because it was cold. I may be from the midwest, but that doesn't mean we don't get cold. We do. We just know how to deal with it. And then we complain about it. A lot.

Frenchie and I had an adventure in Denver International where I think we may have walked all the way to Nebraska just to get to our gates. No major plane hiccups, no freaks sitting next to me. Actually, the seat between me and the dude in the aisle seat was empty. Awesome. And I made it back to my home sweet home without any major incidents.

Rockies

The last week has included a lot of catch up, and I had hoped to spend the weekend doing nothing but reading some pointless, trashy novel, but ended up spending more time out and about. Pantsman and Ms. Pantsman were in town from Seattle. We spent a couple of hours having lunch and coffee. It's good to be able to hang out with both of them from time to time.