Meet Hilary's New Campaign Managers

Jamie and I went up to Sacramento recently to, among other things, see some historical sites. Here we are in Rick's Dessert Diner fueling up on sugar and 1950s kitsch before a late-night run to the Stanford Mansion and The Governor's Mansion! Buildings of yore! We like to do our touring at night, when Sacramento is most seductive.

In the car on the way back to Santa Cruz, Jamie, Rach, and I discussed ways to revamp Hilary R. Clinton's public image. Since she is not particularly feminine, we think it would be fortuitous for her to simply discard any remaining vestiges of being a woman, and start slicking her hair back and wearing white suits. Maybe even disco suits. Maybe even Elvis' suit. You know, an attractive combination of verve, sparkle, and rugged masculinity. Drawn-on pencil-thin mustache is optional, but advised. And here's the clincher: She shall take a page from the Cal Worthington book of showmanship by riding into important public events on a fierce tiger. The tiger is symbolic of our nation's troubles, and you, Hilary, are the only candidate who can "tame the beast!" The pendulous (and totally optional!) gold chains hanging around both your and the tiger's necks will evoke the opulence of the new, increasingly prosperous America under your reign... if you'd only let us tweak your image every so slightly!

Call us, Hilary! We will turn you into the Liberace of presidential hopefuls.

Watch this clip to get the full flavor of what we'd like to achieve. You can skip minutes 1:39 till the end, where Cal Worthington is getting gnawed on (playfully?) by the tiger, and later getting "love" bites in the neck from what appears to be a bear buckled into the passenger seat of a Chevrolet. That part's not important.

Crippled by addiction-- crafting adversely effected

I'm really glad to have found this egg cream blueprint online. Now I can make my own egg creams from home, and recreate that glorious high! Up until now, I had been "chasing the dragon" for weeks!

I think my insatiable need for egg creams (abbreviated from here on out as E.C.s) is starting to adversely affect my rich hobby life. For instance, instead of sewing, I just spent hours perusing this fake craigslist, looking for free give-aways, before realizing that it was just a hilarious fraud. Oh well, I guess I didn't really want those free cobra puppies, anyway.

In the meantime, I'll be watching what I like to call Egg Cream-o-Vision. It's barely audible, it's out of focus, and I JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH!!!

Egg Creams-- Better Than Crack Cocaine; also, A Trip I Went On

When I was in New York last month, Jamie called me up and said, in a nutshell, "Hey Julia, wanna come with me to the midwest and deep south to retrieve the homemade raft that myself and several others used to navigate the Mississippi this summer/fall? You remember-- that life changing experience I had that involved many hilarious and scary brushes with the local law enforcement. Remember how myself and the other rafters became the hot topic on the local news and, with the aide of a generous lawyer seeking publicity and a somewhat bombastic news anchor we eventually made it to our proposed destination of New Orleans, even with the coast guard hot on our trails?" Well, ok, perhaps he said less than that. Maybe he said Come Get The Raft With Me. Bottom line: I agreed to go. It's amazing what I'll agree to do once I get a few egg creams in me! Lay off the sauce, Julia! Granted, there's no alcohol in an egg cream (that I know of!) but darned if I don't get riled up just thinking about them! EGG CREAM!!!!

So flash forward a couple of weeks: Jamie and I are driving through the south at breakneck speed, hell-bent on retrieving the raft in N'Orleans, only making brief stops to pee and immerse ourselves in a wonderland of Elvis memorabilia. Adventure around every turn! At one point, I believed Jamie to be lost in some thick brush. Even my dangerously high levels of egg-cream derived moxie couldn't make me get in that brush! I cursed myself for leaving my machete in Santa Cruz.

But listen, dear reader, all you really need to know is that the raft was secured eventually, and is currently resting, disassembled, in a garage in Kansas City, MO. This adventure has easily been the most exciting one of my life. I almost don't want to tell you too much about it, gentle reader, because, given the usual comically dull "style" of my blog (that you have, I'm sure, come to both enjoy and even revere as a sort of Prairie Home Companion alternative), it seems kind of vulgar to suddenly shock you with a lot of swashbuckling, folderol, and fanfare. Frankly, I have to assume that at least 70% of my readers have some kind of geriatric heart condition, and you old biddies probably don't welcome too many kicks. I mean, am I right or am I right, ladies?
For those of you who probably won't suffer dizzy spells or shortness of breath in the face of a little excitement, feel free to have a look-see at my pictures from the trip.


Raft disassembly-- Deconstruction of some very large-scale crafting!



Another egg-creamless continental breakfast leaves me near tears at a Best Western in Donaldsonville, LA.



2008 off to a rollicking start! Happy new year, friends!

Breaking News: Once In A Lifetime Event

Here, feast your eyes before I come to my senses: a nearly flattering photo of Rach! Now, ordinarily I would only feature the most hideous pick of the flickr litter-- it's just a compulsion of mine. Maybe the holiday season has left me feeling benevolent. Maybe it's the aftermath of jet-lag, or a bit of undigested New York bagel. I don't know. What I do know is this: she recently got a haircut that makes her look like Janet from Three's Company, or maybe even a blind woman who has never seen her own hair and allows friends to convince her to get something "fuss free" and gender-neutral for the sake of convenience. In other words, fans of my usual draconian approach to photography can breath easy, for this foray into forgiving pictures of Rach will be decidedly short-lived.

Oh yeah, I was in New York for a week. More on that when I start feeling like myself again, and as usual, more pictures on my flickr.

Another Pitiful Attempt at Murder

For a shining moment last weekend, my bleak social life caught a glimpse of hope, as Rach and I met up with friends in the east bay for all kinds of jollies! We enjoyed cheap Indian fare in San Francisco, played games, went to a karaoke joint, and stayed up into the wee hours making egg sandwiches at an impromptu sleepover in Oakland. When we awoke, delicious french toast with Real maple syrup was heaped on plates before us by our generous host, Spencer.




You might notice that my friends appear to be showing wild and deranged excitement and energy in these photos. Really, it was Rach who was behaving manically, and the looks on our friends' faces could in all likelihood be fear. You see, Rach interacts socially even less now than I do, and all the excitement of genuine human contact made her jumpier than a grasshopper'n a bed a' hot coals. (I'm trying to incorporate some "spicy contry sayins" into my vocab for a quick and easy injection of "quirky personality." Is it working?) In fact, her high-strung and lunatic-like skylarking soon began to irritate me so much that an "unplanned" detour into this ravine to dispose of her discretely was in order. As you can see from this pictoral, she did not scamper playfully down to within pushing distance of the water as I'd hoped, and instead stood high on the hill, training her suspicious eye on the camera and snapping (terrible) photos of Jamie and myself.



I guess Rachel was hip to our tricks all along, because this photo was obviously taken at gunpoint!

Photos More Unflattering Than The Ones I Take of Rachel; Also, The Endless Supply of Math Department Hijinks

Just when I had eaten the last of the Honey Nut Cheerios and was between Netflix acquisitions and life was more unbloggable that usual, I stumbled on this treasure trove of photographic gems! There's at least three browsable hours worth of semi-hideous polaroids from the 50s through 70s in here! Boredom effectively ended.

No, really, I manage to stay pretty busy. I mean, in addition to being a full-time student, I have that job grading math tests, which is really less of a job and more a thrilling hobby comparable to spelunking, kayaking, and of course, crocheting. I really can't even begin to list the hilarious cuts-ups and characters I meet in the Math Department. Ok, granted, no one in the Math Department really looks me in the eye or has done anything to give me the idea that they've made any kind of human interaction in their lifetimes. But I think after 3 to 5 years of constant cajoling (and possibly some icebreaker games/intense therapy) that their inner boisterousness and sense of humor will slowly reveal itself, maybe in the form of a head-nod or an audible sigh. When it does, I'll be ready.

Sometimes My Life Just Gets So Exciting That I Nearly Puke

My social life in Santa Cruz has slowed to a crawl, but good news: the pie season is upon us. No time like the present to hop a train up to Sactown and try some of mom's heavily sugared varietals. Now, dear reader, it should be noted that I did not indeed "hop" the train; that was just a figure of speech. I do not condone such flagrant disregard of train safety. I boarded the train cautiously and legally, and even volunteered to wear a life vest although Amtrak staff deemed this practice to be both very unnecessary and grossly unappealing. The woman sitting next to me asked the conductor if she could move, as the life vest, inflated to full capacity, was "encroaching on her space" and "should have purchased a ticket if it wanted its own seat." "Safety first," I said, sneering at her as she pouted. Some people have no class.

Once my tum was properly pie-filled, I decided to call up Rach and see what she's been doing. Apparently she's been doing a whole lotta nothing, but we did go to the local fake British bar, The Bonn Lair, wherein we participated in an impromptu "light rock" trivia contest. Drunken thirty-something age single men sure are impressed with our 80s hits knowledge, it seems. Today Rach gave me a much needed home haircut in her backyard while her parents looked on with suspicion and perhaps even anger. Now I'm ready to go back to S.C. and really razzle-dazzle those fellow math majors.


I know. I already regret using "razzle-dazzle."