Barb's Burblings

The rise (...no fall) of gas

On Sunday night and Monday morning, the news was saying that the price of gas would rise due to Hurricane Katrina (and if you want to help victims, donate here or by calling 1-800-HELP-NOW). At that point, my car had slightly over a quarter tank of gas (which would last for a while), but I decided to get gas on Tuesday, on my way home from work. As I drove to work Tuesday morning, I took note of gas prices--most were around $2.69. Fine. When I drove home, they were up to $2.76. I filled up.

Today, the same gas station I filled up at $2.76? Was at $3.09. It went up 33 cents in 24 hours. The stations a bit closer to my apartment were still at a "reasonable" $2.89, but...dang. And according to CNN, experts are saying that prices will "definitely" hit $4 a gallon in the near future. They just aren't sure whether that will last, or whether it'll go down fairly quickly.

Current song in my head:
"Breakaway" by Kelly Clarkson

Power hour

It took me a while after I got home last night to realize that anything was on. Mostly because I went directly into my bedroom and turned on the radio. That worked fine. It wasn't until my computer said that I had no connection that I started suspecting something was up. I went into the living room and saw that the modem and router were both off. "Odd," I thought to myself. I flicked the switches; I made sure they were plugged in. Everything looked OK. Then I tried the lamp. It also wasn't working. Then the tv. Also not working.

Turns out that the electricity for half of my apartment was out. The far wall of my bedroom? Fine. The wall that borders the living room? Out. The living room? Out. The dining room? Fine. The kitchen side with the microwave? Out. The kitchen side with the fridge? Fine. (Thank God.) Carrie's wall that borders the living room? Out. Carrie's other wall? Fine. Both bathrooms? Fine.

It was just so bizarre. In looking out the window, I could tell it was similar throughout the complex. Some windows were brightly lit; in others, I could make out people moving around with candles. A couple of times, all the electricity went out, but only briefly. Around 2 or so I woke up to find that the fan in my room was off (yep, the electricity that powers the a/c? out)--the electricity had gone out completely. Again. Swell. But then it all came back on. The a/c kicked in. My alarm clock turned on (I had set my cell phone). And when I woke up around 5, I was chilly. It was blissful.

But totally random.

And in other annoying news, I'm hungry. There are bagels and donuts to be had. But nooo, I have a dentist appointment in an hour and don't want to ruin the effects of my thorough tooth brushing this morning.

Current song in my head:
"Mr. Brightside" by the Killers

Calendarly challenged

I work a compressed schedule, which means that I work longer hours most days so I can have every other Friday off. I enjoy it a lot, though it does mean getting to work at 7:30. My problem comes when I mark my calendar with which Fridays I have off. Because I invariably mark the wrong ones. I realized this morning that I had messed up yet again, when the morning DJs pointed out that September 9 is next Friday (which, okay, is scary enough--it's already September?). "Huh," I thought to myself. "That's the day after I have jury duty. And I had thought that the day after jury duty is a compressed day. But this Friday is my compressed day. I think, anyway. I was at work on Friday, right?" And so on. Then I realized if I had marked the calendar wrong for that, then I was probably wrong well into the future. And so it was. I thought I was working the full week when I go on the cruise; nope. Compressed week. I thought my compressed day fell on my birthday. Nope. I'm supposed to work that day. (I may switch that, though, so I can have my birthday off.)

Honestly, you'd think that marking off every other Friday was some sort of challenging task. Well, to me, I guess it is.

Maybe I should've just said "tents"

So I finally got around to labelling my pictures from the camping trip last month when I spent a few good minutes debating whether it should be "campsite" or "camp site." (I finally went with "campsite.") You know you're an editor when you make style decisions for picture labels that probably won't be seen by anyone else.

...And don't call me 'sunshine'

My love of Jon Stewart has managed to grow even more. He was brilliant on last night's show, to the point where I want to carry him around with me so he can articulate my opinions about politics. Here's a partial transcript, courtesy of Wonkette, of his interview with Christopher Hitchens from last night's episode:

Hitch: I'm sorry, sunshine... I just watched you ridicule the president for saying he wouldn't give. . . . Stewart: No, you misunderstood why. . . . That's not why I ridiculed the president. He refuses to answer questions from adults as though we were adults and falls back upon platitudes and phrases and talking points that does a disservice to the goals that he himself shares with the very people needs to convince.

[Audience erupts in applause]

Hitch: You want me to believe you're really secretly on the side of the Bush administration. . .
Stewart: I secretly need to believe he's on my side. He's too important and powerful a man not to be.

Have you heard?

My parents got me a t-shirt from St. Petersburg on their cruise, and I decided to wear it today. Consequently, I have the song "A Rumor in St. Petersburg" from Anastasia in my head. Man, I hope this doesn't happen every time I wear this shirt. (Amusingly enough, the shirt isn't actually from St. Petersburg--it's from their cruise ship. And part of me wants to add "My parents went to" and "And all I got was this lousy t-shirt" to the shirt. A coworker suggested putting it on the pack. It is a nice shirt, though.)

In exciting news, Carrie and I are going on a cruise of our own. We're heading to the Bahamas in October on this ship. I'm really looking forward to a week (well, 4 days) of just lying around, doing nothing, and having food and drinks provided for me. Plus, it really wasn't expensive at all. Mmm, relaxing.

In baseball news, after a lot of soul searching, I benched Brian on my fantasy team. He just hasn't been doing well lately (except for stolen bases). It hurt. So I went to last night's game and he immediately leads off the game with a single. I guess he wasn't too happy about being benched. Although, there are better ways to prove that than by going 1-4 in the game. The game itself was actually awesome. We snapped a losing streak and Rodrigo Lopez got out of some tight jams; the best was probably when he struck out Erstad and Guerrero with the bases loaded. Scary, but fun. And since the game was less than two and a half hours, I was home early!

Current song in my head:
Take a wild guess

What this country has come to

The other day, driving along, I was behind a car that on the left side of the license plate had one of those yellow ribbon magnets that say "Support our troops." I'm not a huge fan of those, but I'm certainly used to them by now. What got me was the one on the other side. It wasn't one of the normal other ones you see--pink for breast cancer, black for POW/MIA, etc. No. It was white with black pawprints and had the word "Dachshund" in pretty script. I think I would respect that person more if they just had the dachshund one.

Comics page progress goes "boink"

In good news for comics lovers everywhere, Calvin & Hobbes will return for four months this fall. Hopefully this means new strips. Hopefully this does not mean that Bill Watterson is strapped for cash.

Excitement and adventure...

Are not words I would not use to describe this past weekend. Fantastic probably is, though. Over three days, I had exactly one thing planned. The rest of the time I spent sleeping, reading, or bumming around. (Well, I did run a bunch of errands on Friday.) It was wonderful. I didn't have to get up on Saturday to tutor. I didn't have to trek downtown on Sunday for Smithsonian docenting. Mmm. Obligation-free.

The one plan I had was Becca's birthday party, which was at Great Falls Park. We ate (a lot), we played games, we walked over to the falls (which were a LOT easier to get to and from than Dark Hollow Falls). It wasn't 100 million degrees out, so all in all, a pleasant afternoon.

I also managed to kick butt in my fantasy baseball matchup last week, winning 9-1. (Sadly, the same cannot be said for my O's.) Unfortunately, that didn't move me up in the rankings. Argh! And this week I'm up against the league leader (a matchup I am already losing 7-3).

Current song in my head:
"Just What I Needed" by the Cars

Trial by Barb

A few weeks ago I received a jury summons. It's actually the second time I've gotten called for jury duty, but I didn't have to go in the first time. I imagine I will this time, though; my number is much lower. (The day before your assigned day, you call in and enter the number on your summons, then it tells you whether you actually need to come in.) Because I'm a big geek, I'm actually kind of excited about jury duty.

Or, I was. Until I saw that John Allen Muhammad, one of the two men convicted in the Fall '02 sniper killings, has been extradited to Montgomery County. He and Lee Boyd Malvo (and again, with the three names for infamous killers) have both been convicted in Virginia, but Maryland wants a go at them, too. Now I realize that the chance of me getting called to sit on that jury is minimal; heck, Malvo's been in MoCo since May. But, still. It does make me a touch nervous. I wonder if I'd get excused, though, just because of the fact that I (a) lived here at the time and (b) lived pretty close to where the shootings took place. To the point that when out-of-town guests visit, I give them a little tour ("And one of the sniper shootings was at that gas station!"), because I'm driving by a lot of the sites anyway.

Embarrassed? Me? Yes. Very.

Last weekend was my cousin's wedding. And it was all very lovely. I have to give him and his wife credit for the seating arrangement; they put me at a table with some big baseball fans. (And the reception was that much more enjoyable, coming after the O's beat Toronto 1-0. And did you all catch the O's sweep of the A's? Woo!) It was also nice seeing my aunt, whom I haven't seen since she was diagnosed with cancer this spring. She's doing well, thankfully. And the little girl at the table was a great dancing partner.

So overall, a very enjoyable time. On Sunday, my cousin's parents had a brunch at their house, and all was lovely. Then I dragged my mom to sit in the 100 degree weather to watch the O's lose to the Blue Jays. Oh well. (The O's went 4-2 that week; I was at both the losses. And a win. But anyway.)

But there was trauma. Against my will, I was dragged onto the dance floor when the bride threw the bouquet. I have yet to go to a wedding where the single women eagerly rush onto the floor and fight over the bouquet, as they seem to do in all the weddings on tv and in movies. But anyway. The bride obviously had someone in mind for the bouquet, but her first throw went careening off into the tables. The second time she managed to throw it straight back. Two women in front of me grappled a bit for it before it fell behind them. In front of me. Neither of them made a move for it at all, so I reluctantly picked it up. My first "caught" bouquet.

Now, at most weddings I've been to, the girl who caught the bouquet and the guy who caught the garter only have to dance. Not so, here. Their tradition was that the guy has to put the garter on the girl--and the higher the garter, the longer the marriage. This would be bad enough on its own, but add into it the fact that the guy who caught the garter was 10 years old.

To say that the boy seemed terrified would be an understatement. (I was not exactly Miss Calm, myself.) The DJ was having a good time bantering, and commenting on the fact that I had turned beet red. After I told him that the situation made me "feel dirty" (16 years younger than me is definitely outside the age range), the DJ let the kid off the hook. Which wound up being the most mortifying part of all. Because the DJ asked for a volunteer to take this kid's place.

And there it was. Me, sitting there, on a chair in the middle of the dance floor. Face, red. Feeling excessively self-conscious. Why did I wear that dress? How terrible did I look? No guy would want to come and put the garter on me. (And pausing to thank God that I had shaved my legs that morning.) There's going to be complete silence and the DJ is going to have to ask a few times. Horrible, horrible. And finally some guy will take pity on me, and I'll feel like absolute crap.

Fortunately, that isn't how it worked out. It was still completely mortifying. One of the best men hopped right up there and took the garter. Of course, then he had to put it on. And of course I was wearing a dress that was somewhat short, so it's not like he could get away with not putting the garter up very high. But we managed to get through it--both of us feeling obviously very awkward about the whole thing. It worked out well, though. And everyone said I did fine and was a good sport, etc. I apologized to the bride, knowing someone else should've gone through that hell, but she said that the person it was intended for didn't want it.

And I didn't even get a dance with the guy out of it. Sheesh. (The guy, for the record, had a girlfriend.)

Current song in my head:
"The Greatest Love of All" by Whitney Houston

Return of Raffy

ESPN.com's Page 2 reacts to the Baltimore crowd's reaction to Raffy's return. I was one of the 30,954 (though there were way fewer than that actually there). I didn't cheer. I didn't boo. I just sat there. It was pretty cool, though. (Not literally. Literally it was insanely hot; gametime temp was 95, but that was at 1:30--it undoubtedly got hotter.) The boos started first, so it almost seemed that the cheering was a reaction to the booing. I can tell you that if Raffy had managed a base hit in the ninth to tie the game, he'd be a lot more popular than he is now.

Coming soon: My account of this past weekend, which in addition to this game also included possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life.

A letter to Brian Roberts

Dear Brian,

Congratulations on the sweep of the Devil Rays! It's good to see the team starting to play well again.

I am concerned about one thing. I read the story in yesterday's Washington Post and saw Jay Gibbons's quote that you guys are going to be allowed to have facial hair if you win four games in a row. This concerns me, because you have a tendency to grow facial hair during the offseason, and even had that soul patch earlier this season.

Don't do it, Brian. Facial hair only works for a very few men, and you're not one of them. Please resist the temptation to cover your face with hair. It just looks silly. And I know I'm not alone in thinking this. Seriously, it's a bad look. Don't do it.

Kisses,
Barb

The wet shoes are NOT helping

Yesterday I woke up with the beginnings of a cold. It could've come from any number of people, but there I was. Runny/stuffy nose. Vague beginnings of a sore throat. Overall blechiness. And are still around today. It's gotten to the point where I very much have "cold voice"--you know, the odd pronounciations, etc. Fun!

Earlier I went out to get my hair cut. Unfortunately, it was absolutely pouring down rain. I had an umbrella, but it didn't stop my (or, I as typed, "by," which is the correct phonetic pronounciation for me at the moment) shoes from getting totally soaked. And I had to stay in them through the haircut. It was a relief to get back to the office and take them off. True, the head of my department gave me a funny look for walking around barefoot, but tough. I doubt wearing cold, wet shoes is good for me.

Current song in my head:
"Meet Me In St. Louis"

Letting go...or not

It took me five years, but I think I've finally reached the point where I no longer want to go back to college. There was quite a long stretch of time where I pined for my days at Gettysburg. Life after college was OK, but nothing could compare with those four years. And it's kind of still true. College rocked and I absolutely loved it, but I guess I've just reached the point that I've accepted where I am with my life. (Well, sort of.) (And when I'm actually at Gettysburg, it's a totally different story; it's all I can do to stop myself from clinging to Weidensall and refusing to let go.)

And as a side note, last weekend when I was visiting Melodie, she commented on how it's kind of odd being a "grownup" and how it involves a lot of standing around talking, which is true. Of course, I pointed out that we had just spent a good 5 minutes watching people trying to eat 6 Saltines in a minute, so we're not totally in the "grownup" camp yet.

Anyway, so I've managed to pretty much let go of college--or, at least, of wanting to be back there. And yet, I absolutely cannot let go of my resentment of moving during high school. I was watching Meet Me in St. Louis yesterday, and [SPOILER ALERT] the family is supposed to move to New York City. They wind up not going when the father sees how crushed the family is. And I wound up yelling at the tv that that's not how life works. (I later discovered that the movie is based on a true story and the family did move to NYC.) I know that moving to Great Falls wasn't entirely bad; the theater program at CMR was awesome, I learned how to keep score at baseball games, and I think that it did help me become comfortable with who I am. But it did suck. A lot. It's been 11 years since that move (and 7 since my folks moved away from there), but it still kind of bothers me. I think driving up to Connecticut and being near the places I used to live kind of brought it all out. It's amazing that I still got a pang as I drove by Exit 135 of the Garden State Parkway, even though I haven't lived there in 18 years.

(And totally unrelated, but because I know you care, I have managed to claw my way out of last place in my fantasy baseball league; I actually jumped up two spots. Hurrah!)

Current song in my head:
"Turning Japanese" by the Vapors

Masochist much?

It's like I can't stop myself. Every week, without fail, I read Marc Fisher's chat. He's a Metro columnist for the Washington Post, and I disagree with him on just about everything. Or, I disagree with the way he expresses himself. His chats frustrate me week after week; they just get me worked up and annoyed. But can I stop reading them? No. I never read his columns, but I can't stop myself from the chats. At least this week's wasn't too bad.

Current song in my head:
"Thank God I'm a Country Boy" by John Denver

Camping pictures

OK, I finally got around to scanning my pictures. Here's the full album.

Here's a sample, the group merrily relaxing after a rough day of tromping through the Shenandoah.

Camping and Connecticut

OK, I haven't scanned my camping photos yet. But I will!

The trip was great. We saw lots of wildlife, in the form of deer (and fawns, awww) that were everywhere, bears, beardogs, and coyotes. Brent valiantly managed to start a fire on Friday night, even though the wood was quite damp (as we all were by the end of the evening; the weather was cool, but very moist). We cooked hot dogs on sticks for dinner and were illuminated by the sun that the people at the next site had brought with them. Brent, Katie, Steve, and Becca thought a bear had entered their campsite during the night (Dave and I were safe at the next site), but it turned out to be a dog. In fairness, it was a Rottweiler.

Saturday we decided to hike to Dark Hollow Falls, which was described in one of the hiking guides as being closest to Skyline Drive, though many people have trouble with the hike back. No kidding. It suuucked. But we survived. We also did another quick hike and saw the 20s/30s celebration, complete with period cars and small horses. That night we went to the Big Meadows to look at the stars. It was fantastic. We were so far away from the city lights that the night sky was just filled. Beatiful.

Needless to say, there were smores both nights--and lots of them.

Sunday involved a quick hike which was, thankfully, flat. It also involved a bear wandering through the forest not far from our campsite, which was slightly unnerving (maybe not a beardog that first night?). And since by this point we were all quite smelly, it was time to head back home. Where I promptly showered, did laundry, and napped. Camping was lovely, but you sure do wake up at the crack of dawn.

This past weekend I went and visited Melodie in Connecticut, which was lovely. We spent most of the weekend hanging out with her friends, who were all very, very nice (and provided free food, which was also nice). And we watched Band of Brothers and Horatio Hornblower, and went to Mystic Seaport (history, hurrah!).

The nicest thing, I think, was that it seemed like conversation managed to flow well all weekend. A lot of times, when you see a friend you haven't seen in a while, it seems like conversation can be stilted. But everything felt really normal, still, which is always nice. So it was a lovely weekend, though ironically, I got more mosquito bites than I did in the Shenandoah. Huh.

Current song in my head:
"3 a.m." by Matchbox 20

A sad day in Barbland

Even though my life has been somewhat eventful of late, what with the camping and the journeying to Connecticut, I have to make a quick note about baseball. For some reason, the Orioles traded my Reserve Oriole Boyfriend Larry Bigbie to the Colorado Rockies. They gained a player with essentially the same stats, only he bats righty. Argh! I feel bad for Larry. He came up with the O's and it has to be a shock. I hope he does well out in Colorado and maybe I'll see him when the Rockies play the Nats. I'll miss him. I guess that makes him my Official Colorado Rockies Boyfriend.