Signs I hate biographical genres

1. Severe procrastination writing one-page biographies for work.

2. Close-reading other biographies; finding it more interesting to deconstruct and proofread than to actually follow time line.

Ennui getting to me

I didn't used to hate bugs, and now they're in places I never expected to see them, and it kind of freaks me out. In the couch, on the wall next to my bed, in the windowsill... just, hanging out, like they were paying rent or something.

This anxiety could also have contributed to the dream I had last night in which I was so bored in Utah that I forgot to leave. I jogged from Logan to Salt Lake City airport, trekking all my bags, and paid an exorbitant amount of money for a flight to Amsterdam that I had forgotten to book earlier. I arrived in Amsterdam so late in the night that I fell asleep on my bags in the airport and woke up to find them all gone.

Please, please, don't let this happen to me.

God kills kittens to spare them from bored girls

http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/07/10/BAGKKQU58H8.DTL

Still annoyed at the landlord

It has become more evident that, now that the original lease has expired, the only law our landlord broke was violating our lease by not replacing our fridge as per our estoppel agreement (the thing she and we signed that said she's the new owner but our lease is the same and she has to do anything the old landlord left behind, like replacing our fridge).

The new offer/new lease is shakier because our documentation isn't that great, because our landlord evades the "can we get that in writing?" question, a lot.

So basically, except that one big contractual obligation, which she technically isn't obliged to fulfill anymore since she evaded her responsibility to it, she isn't breaking any fair housing laws anymore.

I've emailed the Rent Board anyway. Maybe there's a hidden Socialist State of Berkeley clause I don't know about, like Section 14, Subclause 2: Being Professional; or Section 12, Subclause 13: Taking Responsibility; or Section 8, Subclause 85: Doing the Right Thing in a Timely Manner, Like, Last Year.

Calling all Utahns!

Or just the ones who know a thing or two about police protocol. Maybe the Berkeley CopWatch could do an on-location in Logan, Utah?

The local cops were taking pictures just before they belligerently broke up a birthday party for our company manager Saturday night, and witnesses I've spoken to said the cops wouldn't even explain why, shouting "Do you really have to ask?" As for noise, it wasn't nearly as loud as some previous parties at The Pines, and those that were louder have been broken up much more civilly (or not at all) than this one.

Some suspect the cops weren't taking too kindly to the theme of the party-- drag kings and queens. After the party was broken up, four company members on their way to their off-premises apartments were followed and pulled over, though none were drunk and only one was dressed in drag, and told "we don't like your kind here."

At first, veteran company members thought the cops were taking pictures because the scene was absolutely hilarious-- according to them, sheriffs have been known to come by merely for the entertainment of watching entertainers have fun. After all, it's not like they have any fun of their own. But after this year's sheriff came, posed for pictures with well-dressed partygoers, and left, several city police officers parked on the side of the building, started taking pictures "for evidence," waited for the Drag King walk-off to be over and then one shut off the power as the other began screaming for the person in charge to come forward. Then screamer-cop ordered everyone to disperse, and warned that if there's a party next weekend, "everyone in the apartment complex will be arrested." I'd like to see the Mormon tenants explain that one to Mom, Dad, and their ward president.

I am not especially comfortable with the idea of a police department retaining photos of me people-watching, whether or not my name is attached. They were taken while officers had not announced themselves on private property (and I wouldn't have been visible from the street), and the officers had parked out of sight without their lights on. They were there for at least five minutes taking pictures before I noticed they were even on our property.

I know there are city noise ordinances about music playing after 10 pm, though the police aren't required to enforce those until someone complains. No noise complaint was mentioned. It was almost (but definitely not past) midnight on a Saturday night, in a suburban parking lot of an apartment complex that's located on a highway. It's a loud neighborhood, with or without our contribution.

I guess the parts of the police's behavior that bother me are this: unannounced arrival, taking pictures, excessive cussing and yelling, threatening arrest without explaining why, and expressing clear disdain for those dressed for the occasion.

Not to mention, someone tells me that there is actually a law against cross-dressing in either the City of Logan or State of Utah, which could be the reason for the cops breaking up the party. I am a little busy this week. Does this sound familiar to anyone?

Who loves me?

Google Analytics tells me that the Pleasanton, CA readership is stronger than that of Berkeley or San Francisco. Also, that despite I've emailed my mother the link to this blog, which was not the easiest thing to reveal to her, she has not visited it (nor has anyone in my hometown, for that matter. Hmph.), which means she missed my awesome and super-personal ode to her. Lame. Mom- if you're arriving late in the game and are looking for your ode, scroll down and find your picture.

Anyway, I've never spent more than ten minutes in Pleasanton, and to my knowledge I have no friends there. Fascinating.

Of course, Google might not actually mean Pleasanton, just like all of my Utah readership can't be from Salt Lake City. After all, I'm almost two hours north of there, and I read myself all the time. Not like there's anything else to do.

You know you want to