Last night I dreamed Jim Halpert was in love with me. And I don't mean he wanted to bang me and then NOT call me the next day or NOT respond to my emails. I mean, I could sense, like Pam could sense, that he really really really liked me. I haven't felt that way in years. Needless to say, I was pretty fucking pissed when I woke up the next morning and realized he had no idea that I existed, let alone that I was the love of his life. So whatever, it sucked to wake up alone again. And not just alone but like, I'm never gonna find a real Jim Halpert EVER kind of alone. But I thought about the crazy breakfast I was going to make for myself and quickly abandoned my grief and self-pity. Eggs over easy with fresh cilantro, herbed up goat cheese, sun flower sprouts, multigrain toast, seedless tangerines, just ground french roast coffee. COME ON! That would take anyone's mind off of the intangible and arguably esoteric discovery of true love. Hell, it's a myth anyways. How are all these people getting together? Every dude I meet has some bubble-butt perfect artist girlfriend. I can't compete with that. I come off abrasive, bitter, to the the point of being considered rude, perhaps. I see myself as transparent, but no one bothers to look. I catalogue hours of thought on an issue and via a sentence and a face, I intimidate and turn-off potential suitors. I am not scary. I'm a real dear if you sift through the black layers of cynisism and hate. I think. Recently, my friend Nic came to visit me here in Oakland. She assumed the role of my self-appointed life-coach for five days. A rough and entirely too self-reflective and self-centered time later, I had become more aware of my short-comings, but was in no safe place to change them absolutely. Fuck. I'm thirty-one. Is it possible to significantly amend, say reverse ingrained personality traits? Dubiously, I only filter now, instead of speaking niceties. Nic says this is a huge step. I say, Nic, I almost blurted out "xxxx" and says, Good Elly; it was good you stopped yourself. Progress.
That dream ruled in comparison to the dream I had one night previous. I lived in some sort of cramped apartment, filled with limbless, decapitated bodies. The wounds were cauterized so there was hardly a mess, but even wrapped in down comforters they still seemed out of place, illegal. I discovered the bodies but had no memory of doing the dirty work. I assumed a friend had committed the crimes and I was maintaining loyalty by stowing the goods and keeping my yap shut to police. It presented quite a moral conundrum of sorts and having too much TV knowledge of crime scene investigations, I was sure no one had covered their tracks perfectly -- especially me -- and sure enough I would be cuffed, questioned and thrown in the slammer. That dream required way too much bargaining and worry, so when I woke up I felt relief akin to wasabi resolution or a passed pregnancy test. Just last week, I dreamt my grandma was maniacally driving me down the coast in her Ford Taurus - forcing me to yell at her "Calm the fuck down, Grandma". Even in a dream, that's a weird fucking thing to yell at your grandma. Anyways, our mode of transportation magically converted to a bicycle and she hit a crack and flipped over the handlebars. Worried about her condition, I phoned my mother. But honestly, I was thrilled our joyride arrived at an end that didn't include us drowning in the Pacific ocean where jellyfish could sting us on our metaphysical dissent into the depths of the universe. Who knew my grandma was such a renegade spaz.
Adbusters' Buy Nothing Day commences November 23, 2007 - which is the day after Thanksgiving (aka Black Mother Fuckin' Friday). The premise of the resistance: "an effort to expose the environmental and social consequences of First World over-consumption." Preach it.
Finally, some brainiac in the NY Times has pointed out what I've been grumbling to my peers about for the last myriad years: Political and social progress, as accomplished by a government, is impossible when a fuckton of money is at stake. 
If you get NPR's Fresh Air podcast, last Friday's had a nice nug in the center. It is a seven minute piece discussing the big SERIES releases of 'Seinfeld', 'Twin Peaks' and 'My So-Called Life'. The treasure clip is hearing David Lynch inadvertently (but in all his charming sincerity) deem "Baywatch" culturally irrelevant, as he's got no clue what it is. Weirdly, I couldn't avoid accepting my gut welling up with seething-hatred upon hearing Jerry Seinfeld's voice. His wifey comes off so icky, association is a real bitch, Jerr. And you know he is part of the machine churning out her "nutritional" shit. 
Last night I dreamed Jim Halpert was in love with me. And I don't mean he wanted to bang me and then NOT call me the next day or NOT respond to my emails. I mean, I could sense, like Pam could sense, that he really really really liked me. I haven't felt that way in years. Needless to say, I was pretty fucking pissed when I woke up the next morning and realized he had no idea that I existed, let alone that I was the love of his life. So whatever, it sucked to wake up alone again. And not just alone but like, I'm never gonna find a real Jim Halpert EVER kind of alone. But I thought about the crazy breakfast I was going to make for myself and quickly abandoned my grief and self-pity. Eggs over easy with fresh cilantro, herbed up goat cheese, sun flower sprouts, multigrain toast, seedless tangerines, just ground french roast coffee. COME ON! That would take anyone's mind off of the intangible and arguably esoteric discovery of true love. Hell, it's a myth anyways. How are all these people getting together? Every dude I meet has some bubble-butt perfect artist girlfriend. I can't compete with that. I come off abrasive, bitter, to the the point of being considered rude, perhaps. I see myself as transparent, but no one bothers to look. I catalogue hours of thought on an issue and via a sentence and a face, I intimidate and turn-off potential suitors. I am not scary. I'm a real dear if you sift through the black layers of cynisism and hate. I think. Recently, my friend Nic came to visit me here in Oakland. She assumed the role of my self-appointed life-coach for five days. A rough and entirely too self-reflective and self-centered time later, I had become more aware of my short-comings, but was in no safe place to change them absolutely. Fuck. I'm thirty-one. Is it possible to significantly amend, say reverse ingrained personality traits? Dubiously, I only filter now, instead of speaking niceties. Nic says this is a huge step. I say, Nic, I almost blurted out "xxxx" and says, Good Elly; it was good you stopped yourself. Progress.
Does anyone else feel like this clouded, alarmist, reactionary way the federal government makes everything an act of terra' is way out of control? I was fucking pissed about the liquid take-down in the airports, but now we are willy nilly prosecuting random REGULAR AMERICAN CRIMINALS under the guise of terrorism? 
