Spaced penguin: Possibly one of the coolest online games ever. It has penguins! And space! And planets! And vectors! And gravity on the bob! (or, actually on the Kevin, but still.....) Boy. If only Randy Kolach had this when I was taking physics in high school -- it would have made a big difference.

Randy was still probably the best science teacher I ever had -- he made all that gravity stuff fun and intersting, but by that point I'd ignored math long enough that I really couldn't pursue optimal physics, and therefore spent much of my time in his class editing articles for the school newspaper. And arguing about why we had to take science int he first place. In honor (?) of this, he actually wrote a question about me on the final exam: "A certain student who has a tendency to make snide comments about science is dangling on a pendulum over a pit full of alligators..." was how it started, and it was about calculating the swing of the pendulum. Sadly, I got it wrong.

Went with Lotti to see 1001 Afternoons in Chicago, a play based on the book of columns by Ben Hecht. Fun stuff -- 1921-22 Chicago, hard-bitten newspapermen, jazz babies, all the rest. I loved The Front Page (and His Girl Friday, which was based on that), which was Hecht's portrait of newsmen and editors, and the things they get up to. That movie was one of the reasons I wanted to be a journalist. It's not like that anymore, of course -- much less drinking on the job, and women are treated a hell of a lot better -- but it's one of those "Ah, the good old days" sort of things. Thing is, if I'd have been there then, I'd have been miserable. I play at being a cynic, but I don't think I'd be able to actually exploit people like they did then. And I really doubt I'd be up for stealing photos off the mantlepiece to illustrate stories about murder victims.

Anyway, good show, but I'm glad I'm living now instead of then.

Oh, I also got some reactions from yesterdays' post:

From Newton who, once upon a time, chastised me for talking about innocuous things in my blog and challenged me to be more honest, open and edgy:

Your last blog post took it right to the edge. Oh, so it's getting too much for you, huh, tough guy? Here I am, looking into the abyss, confronting my demons, reveal my dark seemy side to the web-reading public, and it's getting you kind of freaked out. Well, that's what happens when you live on the edge. You wouldn't know that, as you just run a satirical website in one of the most fraught political landscapes in the world, in such an atmosphere that could, in fact, get you killed. Wimp.

And from Angie, who is outing herself as being just as much a freak as I am:

Observations:

1. Not sure what the hell the deal is with the baking but whatever. Sarah will be Sarah. Tis not for me to question why (at least in this particular case)

2. Can't help you on the shopping thing really. But can relate. Happens to me from time to time.

3. It is normal to cry at the cat carol thing. Totally normal. I'm not allowed to read the lost pet notices at PetSmart anymore as we leave the store because I start crying. I'm not allowed to watch certain shows on Animal Planet. I almost started to cry when I read about the poor cat. POOR CAT! sniff.. Normal. NORMAL I say! Thanks for the affirmations, Ang. You are now officially an enabler. Cool!

Hah! And again I say, Hah! I just got off the phone with AT&T Broadband, that heap of pestulant dingo dung, and I am flush with karmic victory. The silly eegits left a cryptic message on my answering machine -- please call us, said the computer-generated voice. Hmmm. OK, no problem. I get transfered to a customer service agent who says that the system sayd my bill is past due. She's very stern. I think I'm suposed to be either scared or apologetic. Hah. Not likely.

"Oh really," I say. "Does your system also mention that you owe me credits for all the multitude of problems I've been having with your service since about September?" I am the soul of sweetness and light.

"Let me check," she says. Silence. Typing. "Hmm." More silence. More typing. Hey, I'm in no rush, I can wait.

"OK, I see we owe you $44.95 for this problem... and you've got a credit for $34.99 for this... and there are those $20 credits for when the service tech was late... and that credit from October... and that credit from November..." More silence. "OK, it looks like you're all right. Sorry to disturb you."

"Not a problem," I say, still sweetness and light. Then I hang up the phone, scream "Yes! Bastards!" and celebrate my victory over the stupidity of AT&T Broadband.

I'm almost disappointed I didn't get any kind of an arguement from them, however. I was waiting to tell her that I pay my bills online, and I can't do that since my cable modem keeps going out.

Evidence that I really need to increase my medication:

The Annual Baking Frenzy
As I've mentioned before, between Thanksgiving and New Year's I'm a baking dervish. This is fine, I enjoy it, but it may be a wee bit compulsive. Especially since I don't really cook or bake the rest of the year. Why cram it all into a month and a half? Why spend time pondering ever-more-complicated recipes that I only take out once a year? If I like it so much, why not do it all the time?

Shopping Bulimia
This is in no way to be flippant about actual bulimia, but that's the best way I have of describing what I've been doing lately -- mostly with Christmas stuff. I go into a store for one thing, get distracted by the cool stuff, buy shitloads, come home and realize that not only do I not need this stuff, I don't really want it and I can't really use it. So I purge the next day, returning a good portion of the booty to the store in question. Odd. At least it doesn't dissolve your teeth or burn a hole in your esophagus like actual vomitting. (Sorry, I have a sister who works in an eating disorder clinic.)

Excessive Sentimentality
Among the Christmas items I've been buying up and returning are CDs. Lots of them. I was listening to one of them while baking tonight, and there was a song by Meryn Cadell called The Cat Carol, about a cat left out in the snow on Christmas Eve. It finds a half-frozen little mouse,and because it's Christmas Eve it puts aside natural enimity and trys to keep the mouse warm so it doesn't die. And then Santa shows up and finds the cat, who froze to death but who managed to keep the mouse alive and warm. So Santa puts the cat up in the sky as stars to remind us of its love and sacrifice. And I'm listening to this, and I'm just weeping. The poor cat! Sniffle sniffle whimper wahhh!!! The cynical, rational, adult part of my brain is sitting there going I can't fucking believe this! It's practically a Hallmark commercial! But the rest of me is crying over that poor wee cat. Still. Even as I type. This is not normal.

So what have we learned today?
(a) Sarah needs to get out more
(b) Sarah has well and truly lost it
(c) Just about anything can seem pathological when you think about it too much
(d) All of the above.

Hi, my name is Sarah, and I'm a book junkie. I'm trying to take control of my addiction, but today it's especially hard. Why? Read on:

Cercei: hey... do you know that the Trib book sale is today?
sjerslix: I'm trying to ignore it... I really can't justify pretending to be a trib employee anymore
sjerslix: Sigh.
sjerslix: It pains me to say that, though.
Cercei: oh. I'm sorry.
sjerslix: Whimper
sjerslix: No problem. I'll just be rocking quietly in a corner, saying "Happy place" over and over again.
Cercei: i see.
sjerslix: Withdrawl is a bitch.

The Trib book sale is nirvana for book junkies -- every book, every CD the Trib reviewers receive over the course of the year, on sale real cheap for chariety. So new hardbacks go for $2 or $3 dollars. I'd get something like 40 books for $60. God, it's great. But I've already run out of shelf space, and I really don't work for the Trib company anymore, much as it pains me to say it. So I'm trying to keep myself distracted, to not think about all those lovely new books waiting for a home.... Arghh!

I used to say the Trib book sale was one of my cheif benefits for working at the company. And what's more, I'd even trained for it -- living in Hong Kong for three years made me adept at worming through crowds and discreetly using my elbows to get at what I wanted. Damn it, I've been training for this event!

Oh, it hurts to know all those books are right across the river and I can't get to them.

Wowie. I've had two people mention in the past 24 hours that they either read my blog pretty consistantly and that they definitely notice when I don't update. Oops. I apologize for being slack over the last week. Like I said, it's AT&T Broadband's fault, but I will struggle on against these odds to serve my public (i.e., Angie and my parents. Hey, it's a start.)

Hi Angie! Hi mom and dad!

Last night was the official start of my Christmas social season, with Christine and Brian's party out in Oak Park. They have staked out the first Saturday of December, just as Lotti has dibs on the Sunday before Halloween and I have the weekend closest to the 21st of February. Yes, we're creatures of habit. We like it that way. Anyway, Christine and Brian's place is gorgeous, they always have amazing food and great wine, and it's always a good time. The only weird thing about it is there's the group of college friends -- us -- and the group of adult friends. I walked in this year and there were all these... adults. Like, real adults, not quasi-adults like me and Angie and Lotti and such. People Christine and Brian know from work, and MBA school, and the neighborhood and such. Sometimes the two groups mesh, and sometimes they... don't. Part of it is that we, the college group, are a bunch of wimps who don't mingle and such. We're easily intimidated, and we tend to huddle together for security. It's stupid, but there you are. Another part of it is we, the college group, can occassionally sound like we're a Tourette's Syndrome convention. Just about all of us have the lack-of-filter problem. Hell, it's fun. Last night's classic moment was when Lotti started channeling a 30's "Hey, kids! Let's put on a show!" movie and you could just feel the adults shrinking back in horror as we laughed. It made sense at the time. And it was funny. Really. I guess you had to be there -- or, even if you were there, I guess you had to .. oh, hell, I don't know. Just go with it.

So Christine and Brian, I'm sorry if we scared off your friends. I guess we're not quite fit for the Adult's Table yet.

The thing is, I hope we're all still living in stream of consciousness and willing to make fools out of ourselves and laugh out loud for a very, very long time to come.

My other dilemma with the party is that I only occasionally know how to dress myself. Hey, I work for a dot-com, I go to work in jeans. Getting dressed up is something of a big deal. I think I looked pretty good -- velvet pants, silk shirt and tank top. People kept stroking my leg, which is the most action I've gotten in a while, so I was fine with that. The only thing was the tank top kept kind of creeping down, and I was afraid I was, shall me say, cleaving maybe a bit too much. I wasn't gonig to flash anyone or anything -- I think -- but I was exposing considerably more decollatage than is normal for me. I mean, sure, one of the good things about being "voluptuous" or "zaftig" or any of the other nice ways of saying fat is that you do tend to have bountiful bazongas, and yeah, I know, if you got 'em, flaunt 'em, but I'm not really used to flaunting 'em. Let's just say I was uncomfortably aware of my posture for the entire evening. And leaning over to pick something up was not an option.

In other news, I went a little crazy with the cheese whiz Christmas-wise today. I was going to just zip out to the grocery store to pick up a few ingredients I was running low on.... but I got distracted. First of all, I needed to buy new pajamas, as the ones I've been wearing for the past couple of years are so worn in (or worn out) that they may be considered illegal in some states. Angie is having a girlie sleepover next weekend, and I don't want to inadvertantly moon all my friends. So I stopped by a store to get flannel pajama bottoms, and left with jammies, a sweater, a shirt and four pairs of tights. What can I say, I'm weak. Then to the grocery store for brown and powdered sugars, (and other things that mysteriously appeared in my cart -- how did that magazine get there? Oh well.)

A brief detour to CostCo, as I was right next to it and I've been considering whether it would make sense to join. After a quick survey, I realized that I would save enough on cat litter alone to make it worthwhile. Plus there are the industrial-size bags of brown sugar, which would cut out these dangerous short trips to the store next Christmas. So that's on the list.

Then, since I was so close anyway, I thought I'd just pop into Target. A couple of mistakes there: (1)Target is full of cool stuff, and (2) Target is even fuller of people, so "popping in" was patently impossible. Did I turn around like a sensible person when I saw the massive crowds? Hell no, I was on a roll. My "quick look" at Target netted me the following Christmas items: Doormat, hand towels, lights, easy-use lightswitch, stocking hangers, cookie decorations, table cloth, CDs. Did I need any of this? No. Do I care? No. Again, I'm weak.

Then home to bake, and bake, and bake some more. I turn into this baking dervish between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day -- I give cookies to just about everyone I've ever talked to, and the kitchen is pretty much constantly in use for that month and a half. Which is weird, since I don't cook/bake much for the rest of the year. It used to drive Tripp, my ex, nuts -- he cooks regularly, and suddenly, the kitchen was a disaster area and I was using all the bowls, oven, spoons, etc. I think it's a weird Jersild genetic thing. Or not. Whatever. Anyway, people don't tend to complain (not even Tripp anymore, since we're no longer living together and he gets to cookies without having to deal with the kitchen.)

I'm having trouble with the truffles this year -- I can't find the recipe I used to use, and I don't like the substitute I found so much. That, and I accidentally made one batch with unsweetened chocolate, and had to add a bunch of sugar to make it edible. I'll have to call my chocolate expert to see if they can (or should) be saved.

Oh, does anyone know where I can get crystallized violets or other edible flowers? I'm not having any luck with my usual sources of obscure/high-end ingredients here. And I'm not quite hard-core Martha Stewart enough to make them myself.