It’s WAY Too Early For This

Trying to keep myself alert by rambling here while waiting for a 6am flight. L.A. traffic? What traffic? Not when your airport shuttle picks you up at 3:30am. I think we got to LAX from Westwood in 15 minutes. I also think this is the first time I’ve ever been at an airport before the ticket counters opened (except for that super short night spent in the Denver airport for a crazy early flight). This is so wrong, but it was better than getting in close to midnight and then having to go to work the next morning.

On the way to the airport, I saw an airline billboard commanding Angelenos to “Go see KC” to promote its new non-stop flights from LA to KC. If you lived in LA, would you think of vacationing in Kansas City? I thought it was funny though because I’m going home to KC, it was 3-something in the morning on no sleep, and some of the little I saw of LA reminds me of Kansas City. Except the ocean. Definitely not the ocean. Someone please wake me up if we fly over the Grand Canyon again…

A Fork In The Road

“Trust your intuition.”

“Go with your gut feelings.”

That should be helpful advice, right? But that’s part of my damn problem, my internal battle for the last two years. Is your heart your gut? What if whatever it is tells you two different things you can’t yet figure out how to meld or intertwine? Or what if you just can’t hear it?

A year and a half ago, I was at a point where I would just start tearing up at the oddest things– a poem, a lecture by one of my favorite profs. I had been going down one path, and that year a couple of classes unearthed a path I’d long detoured away from, one I had piled the nail-studded and worm-holed planks of wooden practical reality over. I truly liked the path I was on, but suddenly my heart started tugging me in a different direction, one I resisted because I couldn’t–can’t–won’t let myself?–see the way.

Long boring story short, I’m standing at the proverbial fork in the road today, and I can’t tell which way to go.

“You’ll make a good decision,” someone I trust and rely on has been assuring me. Will I? Sure doesn’t feel that way at all. Other big decisions in my life have been so much easier, so much clearer. I could hear my intuition clearly.

But lately I’ve felt almost just as foggy, in some ways, as I was a year and a half ago. I want a sign; it can be just a small one, but I need it to be one that I can, in my current muddled state, see. Is that risk, that cost worth it? What will I regret? Why do I continue to let myself roil inside? Damn, I knew I should’ve actually started that ‘meditation practice’ they talked about in Buddhism class.

I have to say yes or no. I have to pick a path. I have to move forward in some direction. I can’t tell which way the winds are blowing. And time is running out.

The Obligatory Boring Oscar Post

This might be the first year I’ve seen–and liked, even loved–this many of the films nominated for the main Oscar awards: Capote; Good Night, and Good Luck; Brokeback Mountain; Syriana; Pride & Prejudice; Junebug; Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room; and March of the Penguins. Crash is sitting by my bed, but I haven’t watched it yet.

Seymour Hoffman wowed me in Capote, but a few weeks ago, I switched allegiances for Best Actor. (Like it matters, but hey, what are blogs for.) At dinner I was talking about Good Night, and Good Luck, which I saw a second time, and suddenly I really wanted David Strathairn to win, even though I realize he likely won’t. He killed me the first time I saw it, and I loved him again on a second viewing. That will probably be one of my favorite movies to watch over and over once it’s on DVD.

Part of why I loved Good Night, and Good Luck is that it reminded me of my journalism professor’s classes, especially his public policy class, which was one of the best courses I had in school. I think I once “accused” him, in the kindest way possible (I hope), of being like a drug pusher, getting me hooked–except instead of crack, he was pushing Truth! Democracy! Freedom! All in the guise of journalism and a free press. Unfortunately, I can’t replay his lectures, but Good Night, and Good Luck has a similar impact on me.

Chicken P0op, Aisle 3

The mere idea of this is almost enough to cure a lip balm addict like me on the spot. Spied this lip balm at my local grocery store tonight:

lip balm called chicken p0op…i kid you not, unfortunately.

chicken poop lipbalm

Some inside family jokes should be kept that way. Although it is kind of funny if people actually buy this…

Chicken p0op, toy handcuffs for your valentine….I’m also starting to wonder about the person who does the ordering for the aisle miscellanea at this store. Part-time gig for the family’s 14-year-old boy?? But now I’m curious as to what’ll be next…

Monday Miscellanea

I guess it’s technically no longer Monday, but since I haven’t gone to bed yet, it’s still Monday.

A. Turns out that having to get a cashier’s check for the reduced fine of $135 and overnight it to Colorado to get that hold cleared to have those transcripts sent has so far paid off: In spite of this really gross sentence, I now have at least three (including my top choice, as of tonight!!!) options to go pay yet another university somewhere else way, way, way more than that fine for two more years of school, if I want to.

Some days I wish I had an anonymous blog, but I don’t and am too lazy to go underground, so no more about that limbo yet. In real life, my nervewracked distraction might occasionally be driving everyone around me nuts or just plain annoyed, for which I apologize and promise I will return to a normal level of real life scatterbrainedness soon. Next month. Maybe.

B. To avoid having future huge library overdue fines, follow Eric’s tip and use to get emails reminding you BEFORE your books are overdue. Genius. Sadly, it does not yet work with many university libraries (the source of my $$$ fine), but it covers many local library systems, including Kansas City’s.