I just re-read that last post. Newton is somewhere over in Northern Ireland, shaking his head in disgust and saying "Sure, and I thought she understood British sense of humor." That sense of humor, as both Mary and Rich can attest, is based on vicious mockery and such. But in a good way, once you get used to it. Newton, we're a kinder, gentler people here, and we want everyone to be happy and feel validated. Deep cleansing breaths all around. So you think you can come visit without causing a riot?

So what do you guys want to talk about next? Politics? Religion? Boy Bands? Discuss.

Don't do it, Mary! Drowning yourself in the lawn sprinkler -- someone else's lawn sprinkler -- is just not the way to go! If you're into self destruction, follow my lead by repressing and sublimating everything into a molten ball of ickiness, until it explodes in various unpleasant ways and, like, eats your spleen or something. That's much more rewarding. Really.

I actually feel bad about all the trouble I caused. Rich, thank you for leaping to my defense, and saying that I'm an exceptionally cool person. You're pretty damn cool yourself, and I think you've out-geeked Wendy with your sentient TiVo and your Spock code. And Mary, you do realize that you are among the coolest folks ever, in the office or out, and your blog makes my laugh my ass off. Let's all be friends!

(This, of course, is just more of my stodgy Northern European conflict-avoidance behavior. Why clear the air when you can repress and sublimate?)

Andy... OK, I'm pretty sure I have nothing to apologize to you for. You are a wimp about neighborhoods. But in the nicest of all possible ways.

I'm going to shut down before I cause an international incident.

Um, actually, Rich, my neighborhood is kinda scary. They're exaggerating, but I'm a little defensive about the safety of my neighborhood, as I really, really can't afford to move.

And I'll make sure to have a party next time you're in town. Just give me some warning so I can clean.

What is with the stupid Emmy peope? Not one nomination for Buffy -- not even writing? Did they not see The Body? Argh. Idiots. Harumph.

As Wendy and I have mentioned, we live in a "changing neighborhood." We're "urban pioneers." What this basically means is we wanted to buy a house but couldn't afford to buy one anywhere hip and trendy or where most of the folks we work with live. So, we're in kinda west of hip-and-trendy-burg. Is this different than the neighborhoods (Lakeview, Andersonville) where I used to live? Yes. Is it less safe than the areas where some people (Andy, who's in serious ritzy-ville) live? Sure. Do I fear for my life whenever I walk out the door or stand near a window? No, of course not. We're not idiots -- There's no way Wendy or I would have agreed to buy a house someplace where we'd have to live in fear. OK, granted, there's a little more police activity than in my old neighborhoods, and the fireworks on the 4th freaked me out, and yes, fine, there was a drug bust next door on the day of my housewarming party, but really. Get a grip, people.

So I'm having a party next weekend to celebrate my new curtains, and I've invited, as per usual, Mary and Andy. They almost never show up to my parties, and I finally have hard evidence as to why:

marydellisanti: You have to go, too.
andydehnart: um, I suppose
andydehnart: as long as you drive or something
andydehnart: so we don't get knifed
marydellisanti: What?
marydellisanti: So my tires can get stolen?
andydehnart: how else would we get there? cabs don't come to her neighborhood
marydellisanti: I will drive, but I will not drop you off first then look for a parking space.
marydellisanti: You will have to walk with me from the car.
andydehnart: I will
andydehnart: we'll circle
andydehnart: until a space opens
andydehnart: right in front of her apt
andydehnart: :-)
marydellisanti: Agreed.

Note: It took a hell of a lot of begging and cajoling and pissing and moaning to get this conversation out of them. Mary didn't mind, but Andy had a snit fit. (I have a feeling I'm starting a blog war here. Fine. Bring it on, Andy.)

And to clarify: Cabs will come to my neighborhood, you just have to call first and it can take a while. My tires have never been slashed/stolen. (In the spirit of full disclosure, I will admit that my car is pretty beat up and not really worth defacing.) To my knowledge, no one I've ever invited to my apartment has been knifed. So there.

Wimps.

Happy birthday, Aunt Elaine!

Wendy is talking about pining for the fjords -- er, sorry, mountains -- of Montana. As she grew up in Yellowstone, I understand that. However, I must emphasize again: Remember the Kaczynski factor, Wendy! No retreating to a cabin cut off from all human companionship! I'm afraid your powers would be warped for evil if that were to happen. You'd have to promise me (1) no bomb-building, and (2) you'd allow visitors at least every other day. Oh, and please don't sell your half of the house to finance your cabin. I can't afford to buy you out yet.

Evidence of that came in a letter from the Illinois Department of Revenue, which apparently thinks I owe them much more money than the accountant told me. Hmm. This does not make me happy. Calling the accountant now to straighten this out.

Other than that, I'm watching the news from Portadown to make sure no ill-aimed petrol bombs take out a potential place to stay if I ever get back to that neck of the woods. Take care, Newton. Try not to piss anyone off unduly. I know it's asking a lot, but make an effort, will you?

More fun birthday hijinks: The interns, Pat and Esther, got me a very nice card that mocks President Dubya. That made me happy. Andy, who sits behind me and it the closest thing I have to a staff (if you can count as staff someone who is anti-corporate as all hell and constantly plotting my demise), was less pleased, as he either forgot or couldn't care less. (Actually, he said, "I didn't want to mention it, because I know people are sensitive when they turn 40." Smartass.)

At any rate, I just got back to my desk to find it completely draped in "Over the Hill" banners. Thanks, Andy. Now I feel loved.

Quick mid-birthday update: I got the following from Newton:

Happy Birthday you old cow
Happy Birthday to you, you were born in a zoo...(repeat, fade).
Welcome to the wonderful world of "31", when the reality of being in your 30s finally hits home. It's a delicate psychological balancing act: YES, you've now become the kind of person you used to hate; and NO, you really don't give a shit. After all what's the point? Soon you'll be 40. Shortly after that, you'll be dead.

Have a drink on me dear.

Newton

Thanks ever so for those touching sentiments.

Laura and Jorge called, and Laura was bit peeved to hear that I was quoting her without permission. I do apologize. And she responds: "Now that I'm an adult, I like my quiet little Wilmington life, thank you very much." (Yes, I got permission to quote her on that.) I hereby make a formal apology for any pain and suffering I may have caused. Now please don't sue or release those "Perm years" pictures to the media.

I also got flowers from my parents, and books from my very cool Aunt Elaine and Uncle Walt.

Elaine is my godmother, and her birthday is tomorrow. My sister Amy and I were talking this weekend about how we want Laura and Jorge to have kids so we can become aunts. I've called dibs on being Cool Bohemian Aunt Sarah, and I plan to model my behavior off Aunt Elaine. She lives in California, worked with folks on wineries and such, takes vacations in cool places, sends me weird and wonderful things (a hat from Mongolia!), and is basically a great role model for Cool Bohemian Aunthood. I hope I can live up to her. Happy birthday, Elaine!

So, I lied. One last try.

Now what. Oh, to hell with it, I'm giving up for the night.

Cool. I KNEW William Shatner would whip blog into shape.

Well, it amused me.

Blog ... not... posting... Must ... perform ... act ... of... will.. to get ...blog ...to post. Maybe .... ripping off shirt.... will help....

Note to self: Never agree -- volunteer! -- to organize anything, ever again. Especially not something for which not all the parties involved have e-mail. Feh.

In the midst of my cleaning, I found an old Christmas card from my sister Laura, from what must have been the Christmas of 1993. She had spent the fall of the previous year in Paris, and I was in Hong Kong. In part, it reads: "It's so weird -- after having been to Europe I realize how warped this little town [Wilmington, DE, our hometown] is. I mean, it was a nice place to grow up and all, but there's no real life here.Just the way this place is set up makes it impossible for people to live among one another. It's just all suburbs -- you can't walk to do any of your daily chores -- you gotta drive. This place just feels ... incomplete. All the parks and gardens and little shops and markets and cafes in Europe -- that just makes you feel like you're living with people."

Laura and her husband Jorge now live in Wilmington, about 10 minutes from where we grew up. Heh.

And Laura, this is only partially because I haven't heard from you/gotten any cards from you about my birthday tomorrow -- Amy is exempt because she called on Sunday in a preemptive strike to say she might not be able to call me on the day itself, but by God, she didn't forget this year.

Yes, my sisters forgot my 30th birthday last year. Wahhh. I figure I'll be able to milk this guilt for at least another couple of years.

(And dad, please don't remind me of those three years running when I missed mom's birthday. It's different, I swear.)

Yeah, ok, so I'm still living in squalor. These things happen.

Been following the debates on the Letters Page at the Portadown News. A lot of good, thoughtful people, and a lot of assholes --often the same folks (myself included, no doubt). Still, it's good to see people "break[ing] down the discourse of bigotry with our rampant satire," as feline1 says.

One of the things that has come up on the boards is the whole "Goddamn Americans are supporting these bloodthirsty bastards, and that's what's causing the problem." While I don't think that's true -- people have managed to hate and kill each other long before this country even existied -- I have to say I see where they're coming from. What gives us, as Americans, the right to say "this group is right and this group is wrong, and I know this because five generations ago my father's family fled that country to avoid starving"? I mean, the conflict in Ireland has been going on for more than 400 years -- do you really think one side is all right and the other side is all wrong? And how would we know? But there are still plenty of us supporting groups that advocate or perpetrate violence. What the hell? Now, granted, I was educated by Quakers and therefore lean towards non-violent solutions, but doesn't that reflexive "Fuck the [insert groups name here]" make anyone else uncomfortable?

Flames/responses welcome/expected. And I say this with the full knowledge that nothing particularly traumatic has happened in Denmark, where my father's family is from, in a very long time.

Right. Um, There's some sort of police action going on across the street -- there seems to be something of a manhunt in a house just down the block, with about a dozen cops checking around the house and property. Very odd. The joys of urban pioneering. I emphasize that this does not happen often -- you should still come to my parties and such. I'll let you know what the deal is if I ever find out.

I have designated today the Official International Clean This Apartment The Hell Up day. Feel free to celebrate.

So, I'm having varying degrees of success thus far. Yes, I've done laundry (for future reference, shedding black cat + white sheets = bad idea) and picked up a bit, and my tenant is patching the holes in the walls left by the HVAC guys when they put in the new venting, but otherwise, I've allowed myself to be distracted by the paper and calling CCA people about the garage sale and such. Sigh.

In the paper, however, I did find a quote from Newton about the marching season and the prospects for peace in Northern Ireland. He's the first one quoted. Who knew that I once dated a Voice Of His People?

Not much else going on. My machine is getting bombarded by SNMP discovery broadcast requests from someone/thing called MGONCALL. Quit it, ok? Don't make me sick the Tech Goddess downstairs on you.