Saturday, April 29, 2006

Entering a draught

Lots of people do lots of things when they're running low on ideas.

Vincent van Gogh cut his ear off.
A couple (of hundred) actresses stripped.
Barbie got her breast size reduced.
Beethoven went deaf.
A couple (of dozen) actors decided they'd be directors.
Ariel collected dinglehoppers.
Whats-his-name went crazy.
Mary Kate started listening to shitty music.
Carrie Bradshaw wrote about the search for the perfect french fry.
My computer decided to screw up the hard drive.

I sat contemplating how terrible Milky Way bars were because of their astonishing lack of texture.

Where am I going with this? A very boring place.

Last night was the last night I had to rope ushers in for. This means the end of the season is coming to a close. I'm not sure if I'll be working there next year after my study-abroad quarter, but I would love to. I enjoy the people I work with, the music, and what I get to do. We'll see if I can continue.

If I would have been asked (in all my glory) to go up on stage to make some closing remarks (or something...) about the season and such, I don't think I would have talked too much about the music. I would have talked about the strange lady who without fail, would arrive late to every concert I had to "manage" and would stand outside in the hall waiting to be let in. She'd always wander in like she fell into the place by accident, walk over to the door, pull on it before I stopped her and told her she couldn't go in quite yet, and every...single...time she would try to see if she could see any part of the stage in the crack between the doors.

You can't. There is a large metal bar between the doors. But that hasn't stopped her yet.

Then she'd start to talk (loudly) to see where we were in the program and when she could sit down.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. If I didn't think about it too hard, each concert was painful for two reasons:

1. The people performing had more talent in their pinkies than I had in my entire body
2. In 60 or so years, I will be like a majority of the audience. Old, decrepit, mostly impatient, with paper-thin skin, and probably with some sort of a diaper for a leaky bladder.

But what I'm trying to get at is that I really liked these Friday night concerts. I liked sitting in the back row of the concerts and either fall asleep, or listen/watch to everyone. Some people would fall asleep, others would talk, others would do nothing at all, still others would listen attentively, then others would go I think solely to cause trouble.

Then when the piece was over, they'd sit in a silent stupor because their hearing aids turned off, because they didn't realize the piece was over, or because they had all fallen asleep.

Or because they were enjoying what they had just heard.

In short, I hope in 60 years I'll able to appreciate something as much as these people do.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

I know how to solve the problem of Maria

You KNOW she forgot to make the matching underwear out of curtains for the Von Trapp family kids.

The mystery underwear that keeps on appearing in my laundry should do the trick.

If that is your underwear, you've got a pretty small bum.

Monday, April 24, 2006

The promised goods, delivered

This blog, in addition to being a window to my addictive nature and scrambled mind, has revealed my technologically failed endeavors. I am the detrimental equivalent of Midas and the Golden Touch.

Adrianne and the Adverse Pat. That's what my legend would be called.

Anyhow, Friday night as I was leaving the dorm with the esteemed Abbie Toney to get her some McDonald's, all the electricity in the dorm went out. Poof, just like that, and a collective pained and surprised yell resounded behind us as hundreds of college students were suddenly torn away from watching The Greatest Game Ever Played, Queer as Folk, porn, from facebooking, and from performing whatever illicit activities they might have been doing. That right there was a sign: Adrianne, you break everything you touch.

Then I reached into my pocket to look at my cell phone and lo! the small little screen was entirely black with the ominous words "check SIM" frozen on its (dense...ugly...thick...half-witted...) face. It continued to shine there until we re-entered the darkened dorm and while we sat around with dozens of lit tea candles surrounding us.

Everyone, this means the following: I GOT A NEW CELL PHONE


The shining white beacon of light on the left is my new medium of communication, which shall henceforth be named Gonorrhea, because I SAY SO.


Ok, so some sacrifice had to be made in thickness...

A whole new set of bells and whistles.

In short, I don't have anyone's cell phone number anymore, because my old cell phone was too old to have that nifty function of saving things ONTO THE SIM CARD, like this phone can do. When I brought in my little dark blue soldier, the T-Mobile people looked at me like I was from the ice age. Yes, yes that's right, this phone has got blackjack on it. And it has no wall paper.

If you want me to have your cell phone number, please e-mail me at...

I am expecting to be innundated with hundreds of e-mails NOW. HA!

I still view this change as nothing short of the apocalypse. It is an utter disaster, but I am adjusting well to the change, considering the phone has hardly left my hands since I got it. A vast improvement over the last phone, which would hardly be in my hands or in my possession over the course of a week.

All that glitters is not gold

This weekend, people...


THIS weekend is going to go down in history, everyone.

Let me elaborate. But first, let me go to sleep.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

I had a title earlier, but I can't remember it

A couple of summers ago, I met three swell girls:

Lacey Blake
Julia Pascuzzo
Abbie Toney

Our relationship was based solely on devouring copious amounts of gooey butter cake, shooting ice cubes at each other, and complaining about weight gain while we were in a summer program in St. Louis. After the initial shock of gaining 15 pounds overnight, we all became sufficiently composed to try to meet up in the future, and we did once so far. Now, Abbie Toney is coming to visit Chicago this weekend, and in addition to visiting the city, she is going to be visiting ME.

A couple of hours ago, I received this e-mail from her:

hey so my friend wants to go kiting on saturday morning @ 33rd Street
Beach. you should come with us silly. actually i demand you do - b/c im
super not looking forward to it cuz im not a fan of the whole heights .
. . but i think we could have lots of laughs with it. sooo come with us
okay :)
I foresee several problems with this.

1. I don't REALLY know what kiting is
2. I have never kited
3. If it is indeed what that website says it is, I can't do it because the website has the word "EXTREME" (note the italics) in the header, and EVERYONE knows Adrianne doesn't do anything involving italics or the word "extreme," except for have extreme mood swings.

But nothing "EXTREME" with sports. Especially not with sports.

(The last time I tried to do anything "EXTREME" in my book (errr...rollerblading...) I ended up with a cast for 2.5 months and an enormously smelly foot)

If I DID go kiting, nothing good would come of it. I'd end up in either of the following positions:

That is the Sears Tower

I'll have to think this one over.

Monday, April 17, 2006

Some people just didn't pray hard enough this Sunday

Some people may fondly remember the rather recent entry about Tix's car, Toots. The masking tape, the looming holes, the loose sprigs, and busted wires all served in endearing to you this monster of a car, much like your favorite shredded teddy bear. Its innards might be all over your bed when you wake up in the morning after a night of intensely clutching it to your heart, but as long as the general shape is recognizable, it's still your baby.



Toots has tooted its last.

Sunday afternoon after Tix was cruising home from work, he rammed into the veritable Chariot of the Lord and was assailed by the wrath of God. A bus full of enthused Baptists blasted their way directly into Tix's path, and Tix's guardian angel was not around to help out. Between discussing police reports and insurance information a short while afterwards, the bus driver attempted to convert Tix. To set him on the right path once again.

What follows is Toots's (pictoral) and verbal eulogy

The World after Toots's final bleat

With the passing of your grand old frame
The world can never again be the same.
The birds and the bees
Even the grand old trees
All seem to sigh "Oh dear" discontentedly.

It is true you might not have been magnificently attired
Some say your registration was even expired,
But through all this
It was unadultered bliss
Driving in you along 55th's cemented abyss.

We know you're in a better place
With dogs, angels, and an everlasting grace,
We miss you, really, we do,
That heart so big and true,
So put in a good word for us, won't you?

RIP Toots. You're flying now.

Starting yesterday with Mary Kate pouring ice cold water all over me and my poor unsuspecting computer, I have been shot with water several times. It's that time of year again: assassins. Asassins? Assasins? Whatever it is, it's making me feel like and ass (HAAAAAAA) and I'm not even playing. This last time was when I was getting out of the elevator and I felt a short, powerful buzz right behind my ear. As I was wiping off the Michigan Lake tap water sprayed all over my face, I couldn't help but wonder when someone was going to get to the point and just use a real gun.

I have done laundry a week ago, and my clean clothes are STILL in my hamper. This means my dirty clothes are strewn everywhere across the room. No one is doing their dishes (still), and the recylcing pile is once again growing to an inordinate size.


Not really.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

I'm fighting the urge to do a meme on here right now

Let's just get the obligatory pictures out of the way:

**heaves a sigh of contentment**

It's Easter, and I can't remember the last time I painted Easter eggs, or went on an Easter egg hunt. But I remember I never believed in the Easter bunny, because I always thought it was really dumb. Now that I begin to think, though, I don't understand why things like the Easter bunny, Santa Claus, or the tooth fairy exist. I don't think they cultivate imagination, really. I never believed in Santa Claus, although I will admit to believing in the toothfairy for a RIDICULOUSLY long time, and I still have a wild imagination. Here I am updating blog thinking that I'm going to finish all my homework for tomorrow tonight. And if it's to keep them kids longer, well, I don't know. After I read Marx and Adam Smith to my kids for their bedtimes stories, I'm going to be sure to remind them that there is no such thing as Santa or the tooth fairy every night.

Among other things yesterday, like imagining what sort of cult I would want to create if I could get some followers, I was thinking about what characters in movies I would want to portray if I could magically act well. And here is a small list:

Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday.

Rosalind Russell is in 2 of my favorite movies (The Women and this one), and in His Girl Friday, and she plays what I'd want to probably be normally: a shrewd, quick-witted young lady with a clever comeback and retort to anything. Plus, she's funny, and she talks really fast, which I wish I could do. So I would want to play her in the movie because, well, I'd wish I'd have some of her qualities.

Donald O'Connor in Singin' in the Rain.

I am not limiting this to female characters.

Debbie Reynolds would not be bad, only she kind of pisses me off sometimes, plus Donald O'Connor gets to dance "Moses Supposes" with Gene Kelly, which, obviously, I would have wanted to do if I were around at the time. And I've always wanted to tap dance. Plus, doesn't he look like he's having a good time?

Judith Anderson (the woman on the right) in Rebecca.

Look at her! She is so evil. She totally derserves what she gets at the end of the movie, and it would be nice to be terrifying for a change.

I'm trying to think of contemporary movies, but I can't really recall any. Ideally, I'd want to be some sort of chica latina who dances incessantly to salsa music, but well, they don't make movies like that nowadays. And I wouldn't want to somehow end up in, say, Cold Mountain or something. Or I'd want to be some sort of a secret agent in a movie. Movies really did change. I wonder if imaginations did too.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Teachers teach more by what they are than by what they say

For the past couple of months, I'm sure Kristopher Capello's heart has been skipping a beat whenever someone has said "teach" and "for America" in the same sentence. Or even in different sentences, because he's just that kind of guy

He's also a bigger pessimist and more self-deprecating than me, which is nearly inconceivable, but there you have it. This means that when he deems me worthy enough for a conversation in between his thousands of DJ-ing gigs, we usually have the most upbeat IM chats imaginable, like:

hallo kris!
congratulations on getting an interview
i knew ALL ALONG
i wtill won't get it for real

Or another instance

me: well well
Kristopher: well well well
me: here's the future teacher for america
Kristopher: comedy
what the hell can i teach in 5 minutes
me: that's the interview?
Kristopher: that's the first part
me: you have to teach a class for five minutes?
pronouncing words
there's SO MUCH
Kristopher: i have to teach and evaluate their learning in 5 minutes. i have to teach the other interviewees and interviewers
pronouncing words? thats ridiculous
me: why
difference between there, their
Kristopher: if i choose something easy, theyll think im a dick
me: ok, i was going to suggest differential equations next
Kristopher: im thinking the bill of rights or like a specific amendment

Yeah, I'd suck at teaching, but that whole amendment thing, which he went on to berate for 15 minutes or so afterwards, seems to have done the trick.

TFA ushered in their newest minions today with some regular old e-mails, and Kristopher Capello got one. Because he sure as hell deserves it.

Congratulations Kris!

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Returning to a semblance of normalcy

Mary Kate recently requested an update. I didn't think too much about fulfilling her requests (since I am doing her dishes...bitch), but her desire has taken on an entirely new dimension of urgency since she recently snapped a picture tastefully composed of a me, a dusty busty, a broken lightbulb, sans pants. I will let you figure out which one of those items listed was not wearing pants.

I have a feeling I will soon be fixing her meals and doing her laundry in addition to washing her dishes.

Anyway, what can I say? There's nothing I really want to desperately elaborate upon in blog. So, demonstrating a remarkable ability to regurgitate useless information, I shall turn to Freud to fill in the gaping hole yawning in my brain right now.

Recently in sosc we started reading Freud. Whoopdeedoo, I can tell everyone is impressed. We reached the neuroses section, where several peculiar neuroses are related very prettily and in great detail, with lots of prefixes and suffixes attached to simple words. I will not bore you with the details, but it got me to thinking about lots of people's neuroses.

Take, for one, my roommates.

Neuroses: being late, "dirty" things, things that have touched the ground in a previous life

The other day I was getting ready to go to school. I leisurely woke up, ate breakfast, checked the weather, my e-mail, wrote the great American novel, and got dressed.

Julie propelled herself out of bed, immediately sprouted 90 arms, finished dressing, eating, brushing her hair and teeth, and put her shoes on in 0.0003 seconds, and was out the door before I had even brushed my teeth. For me, multi-tasking is "WOOOHOOOOOOOOO PUTTING ON DEODORANT AND USING MOUTHWASH AT THE SAME TIME!" while for her, it's putting socks, eating, swearing, and blinking at the same time.

By the way, I was not late to class. In fact, we basically got to the same place at around the same time.

Why the worry?

Neuroses: Things catching on fire, being overheard

I will be the first to admit I am a living, breathing, eating firehazard in the room. Who was the one who hung (several) things over firepoles, and ummm, put a hot iron away into a cardboard box tonight?

Me. And the iron was not too hot, Kat.

When we were painting the room and had to go around the firepoles, Kat's eyes got about as round as saucers and wordlessly handed me the rollers to go around the poles. I gleefully did a few pullups on the poles and proceeded to paint the walls hanging upside down from the poles. I am just not too worried about things catching on fire or breaking fire sprinklers for some reason, while others are.

Why the worry?

Neuroses: Flying...ummmm....shit....what am I forgetting?

Can't analyze only flying. Can't think of any for her.

I used to have stupid habits I'd HAVE to perform or I thought the world would end. Such as the whole stupid thing where I thought everything in my body had to be symmetrically experienced to go on living. Like, my right hand had to touch everything my left hand did, and my right ear had to be scratched the same way my left was. A bit hindering, but there nonetheless. And I still have to calculate the ages of all the artists I see in museums. I look like I'm terribly involved in the caption, but I'm really just doing mental math.

I have to take my laundry out now. What are YOUR neuroses?

Monday, April 10, 2006

I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye

The monstrous pile of recycling left as suddenly as it arrived. After trolls and sparrows started to emerge from the pile, Mary Kate and Julie took it upon themselves to dispose of the mess.

Help! I think a troll is coming!

Size comparison. Julie is taller than it. I probably am not.

Anyhow, because of Mary Kate and Julie's generosity, I am forced to do the dishes for the rest of the week. Nay, not just DO them, but lick them clean after I scraped off the leftovers with my fingernails and then swaddle them individually in the finest silks. Kat made a delicious dinner today, and because I didn't take out the trash, I wasn't allowed to eat the meal.

(I would like to point out those pants are as black as a kettle, jerks.)
From now on, I have to scavenge for food from the bottom of the drain. If not, then...

I have Mary Kate to put me in my place.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

A Shinto-shipboard-sculptural tryst

I declare D.Y.O.D. a flop.

Daily update on Our Radical Recycling Riches

Methinks I seem some stuff that has inadvertently fallen on the ground. This means the end of it's tether is a-nearing, and someone has to take all of this out.

I recommend reading this article for some interesting imagery.

This is all.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Absolutely brain dead

When is our recycling going to start paying rent?

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Recycle, reuse, reduce

This is only being held together by the grace of God.

It will take many trips to eliminate the pile this time.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Before we all get carried away over dishes...

From now on, there's going to be a gun in the kitchen. Whoever doesn't do their dishes will be executed against the refrigerator and put in the broom closet.

I am, however, will to compromise, and I'd be open to the "three strikes and your out" suggestion, where strikes one and two involve non-lethal shot randomly into the body, with the third one finally doing the job.

I only had to operate three times on the copy machine today.

We'll see if I have any adventures to relate later after the concert with big recorders.

Monday, April 03, 2006

I have 5 songs on itunes right now.

I could meticulously retell my weekend right now. I could also run full speed through one of the windows of the Shoreland and get kicked out of housing before I reached the ground, but I'm just going to sit here instead and post pictures. Because with quite a bit of reading to finish, what else would I do?

There used to be a picture of Mary Kate here. But she made me take it down. She is a conniving, loose woman and I hope all her children will look like weasels.

Something's coming, I don't know what it is, but it is going to be great...

My favorite part about ducks, aside from their quacks.

or alternately...since there is a world of difference between the two...

So, it was Juan's birthday on April 1st. Tina decided she wanted to celebrate his Latino heritage and made some churros in the kitchen, which fast transformed into a battle between me and the ingredients used.

Step 1: Get excited about making churros

Step 2: Squeeze batter into a GIANT VAT OF HOT OIL.

Step 3: Watch it fry. While flipping it with a spatula (<--not pictured)

Step 4: Roll in cinnamon and sugar. Yes, we were quite aware they looked like animal turds

Enjoying the churros.

Then the trashbag ripped when I tried pouring the leftover oil into it. Then I had to clean it all up.

The other big change around here was that Kat kindly painted the kitchen lime green. See?

Do not be intimidated by that large pile of dishes in the kitchen. They are always there, and I made sure they were in the rack and not in the sink to deceive you into thinking we do not live in utter squalor. But this brings me around to something else.

Roommates, I recommend we reinstate the Do Your Own Dishes policy.


The process usually goes something like:

We use dishes
Dirty dish pile grows
I get sick of seeing them in the sink, so I do them
The pile grows on the dishrack.
I don't like putting away dishes. But I still do them occasionally, so the clean pile of dishes resembles Jenga.
Mary Kate puts them away at some point in time.

Now, the beauty of dishes is that they're ALWAYS there waiting for you. You can't say the same thing about lots of things in life, like cheap airplane tickets, buses, or your prom date when he sees you wore a rainbow-colored tube dress for the big night. We had D.Y.O.D. for about a full 3 weeks before break, and it worked semi-nicely.

Let's give it another try, shall we? Before I throw the dirty towel in and start throwing away dishes and silverware.