"It is of no concern to you!"

Every day on my twice-a-day commute, I pass this place called Malani Enterprise. It's a fairly obscure building surrounded by mechanics' shops and small warehouses.

But it's the sign outside that catches my eye. It reads:

MALANI ENTERPRISE
CANDIES - MOTOR OIL - MEDICINE

For months I've been driving by this place, trying to figure out the connection between candies, motor oil, and medicine. Today, my curiosity got the best of me, so I called them up. A woman answered ...

Her: "Malani Enterprise."

Me: "Hi there! I was wondering what kind of business you're in ... what you sell."

Her: "Are you a business owner? We only work with businesses."

Me: "No, I'm not a business owner. I just drive by your place every day..."

Her (cutting me off): "IT IS OF NO CONCERN TO YOU!"

Me: "Well I just ..."

Her (realizing how that must have sounded): "We only work with other businesses, so if you do not own a business, there is no reason for you to be asking about us or calling us, because we cannot help you."

Me: "Um, okay."

I felt like I was having a phone conversation with the frickin' Soup Nazi. Candy, motor oil, and medicine my ass. I wonder what really goes on in that building.

BMH IMPLOSION ANNOUNCED

Special Lunch Break Announcement!!

Normally, I make a point of not posting until I get home from work but I wanted to get the word out ASAP. The implosion of Baptist Memorial Hospital-Medical Center has been announced.

It will take place on Sunday, Nov. 6 at 6:30 a.m. It's supposed to be one of the largest implosions nationwide this year.

If you've ever wanted to see a 900,000-square-foot building go down, be there.

And if you're among my friends into urban spelunking, time's running out. The asbestos is abated and the crews are about to work full-force drilling holes in preparation for the implosion. So get in there and get something good. Pronto.

P.S. You can check out the implosion video from the much smaller Physicians and Surgeons Building here.

Science!

Hay guys and gals, i now control the horizontal and the vertical, for the time being (read, i hijacked kate's blog ^_^)

I imagine that you all have seen those hokey pictures in chemistry textbooks where they have all those beakers with pretty colors in them. (see figure 1, lots of volumetric flasks with pretty colored solutions in them, bleh, so fake and hokey looking)

I never really liked those pictures because its not a particularly accurate depiction of what most chemists deal with. Usually, i deal with colorless solutions and white powder or white crystals. Very rarely, outside of teaching labs, do i deal with the transition metals and their multitude of colorfulness.

Today, i got one hell of a surprise, some of that "fake" chemistry was in our lab. During this past summer, we participated in an American Chemical Society (ACS, www.chemistry.org) project (Project SEED). This project introduces lower income highschool students into the research lab, and essentially, try to hook them on research early in their academic careers. The hope is that they will go to an undergrad institution and continue research as an undergrad, then like it so much they get their Ph.D. Its a good program in my opinion, but it really does require special advisors.

Our Project SEED student worked with extracted cabbage dye in the hopes that it would react with chlorine and be useful as an analytical method. (It didnt work, oh well, such is life and research) But, it turns out, extracted cabbage dye will change color depending on the acidity of the solution. I was simply amazed that something like this (figure 2) could actually happen. That is all the same solution, simply at a different pH. Needless to say, i geeked out and took many pictures, and this was one of them. So now, whenever i see those hokey textbook images, ill know, that they aren't that far out of the realm of possiblity, and can be obtained by extracting red cabbage juice.

Science! is awesome!

(Formatted because i am becoming a perfectionist towards presentation, and not spelling or grammer checked because that requires printing and checking, and hay, its the internet, no need for that)

Fluffy hurricane evacuees send thanks

Today, I was poking through a stack of mail marked for our editorial department when I came across a letter postmarked New Orleans. The back of it read, "This is a thank you we would like printed for help to a couple of dogs during Hurricane Katrina."

Of course, that piqued my interest. :)

The paper I work for is geared toward the business community, so unfortunately, this is out of line with what we'd normally print. But I left a note for my boss to tell her I was posting the thank-you letter on my blog. I thought it was pretty cool, and I wanted somebody other than me to see it.

I'm glad that Memphis Animal Clinic was able to shelter Dude and Specks until they could reunite with their Mom and Dad. A hurricane is a big, scary experience for humans. I suppose it must be for furry friends, too.

Anyway, the return address listed only Dude and Specks' names, so I don't know anything about their owners, other than their permanent address in Downtown New Orleans. But I do know that as soon as I can find out where they're living temporarily, two fluffy NOLA evacuees are going to get a big bag of chew toys. ^_^

Wil, Hil, Jewelry and Voodoo

First things first: Congrats to my coworker, Jennifer, and her hubby, Gordon, on the birth of the birth of their twin boys! Everybody say hello to "Wilson Gordon" and "Hildreth Parker" (whom I assume will be called Wil and Hil). ::grins::

I had a fairly uneventful weekend (other than steaming over Jeremy and Sara, as I posted earlier). Paul and I did a whole lotta nothin' — and it felt good. I napped liberally.

I did buy a pretty cool necklace, which you can view in the closed and open positions. The super-special bonus was that I had a gift certificate, so I only had to pay the cost of shipping. Schweet! ^_^

I'll post more about the Voodoo Music Fest when it gets closer, but I will now direct your attention to the icon on the left-hand side of your browser. (You may imagine me saying that in my best flight attendant voice.) Basically, New Orleans' awesomely awesomest Halloween-weekend music festival has been relocated to Memphis. All proceeds go to hurricane relief. So ... good concert, good cause. I can't lose.

There are no fewer than fifteen bands that I'd like to see, including (but not limited to) Nine Inch Nails, The Flaming Lips, New York Dolls (Mmmm), Queens of the Stone Age, and Billy Idol. Also, I'd like to check out ex-Grateful Dead's Mickey Hart and his Voodoo Drum Circle.

But the best part: Cake will be there, so I can stop kicking myself for not going alone (without Matt, without Paul) to their concert in Nashville in June.

We started out so young and strong, only to surrender

I was running out of the door of the office yesterday when Paul called saying he and his research prof were going to R.P. Tracks. Of course, I was game — I wanted to celebrate!

From the car, I called Jeremy. "Hey, I'm going to Tracks. Made me think of you." To say he was curt might be giving him too much credit. I assumed it was because Sara was there and didn't want him talking to me. I was right.

While Paul and I were driving home, Jeremy called me back. Sara was at work and he was in my neighborhood, so we invited him over. We mixed up some drinks, goofed off, showed Jeremy Monstee's rendition of Sara. He stayed for like, six hours ... then left here in hopes that he'd get home before she did to stave off any impending You-Were-At-Kate's fights.

I just don't get it.

Sara spent a month in California helping a guy-friend, Mike, move to Memphis. Mike is now living with Jeremy and Sara. And yet Jeremy can't come visit Paul and me? It's annoying. She's ripped his effing balls off. She controls the money and gives him an allowance. She has her friends but he can't have any. Life is lived by her rules.

He didn't eat for two days last week because his allowance ran out, or something. I got so angry I didn't really let him finish telling me the story.

He worries about her and cares immensely for her, which is why he puts up with all this. But I worry about him and care immensely for him ... so I don't want him to put up with this. Since I can't stand up for him, I want him to stand up for himself. But it's a complicated situation, and things just don't happen like that. I'm relegated to short phone conversations and lots of worrying. At least he still opens up to me when he can get away. At least we're not totally back to square one, 1996.

Last night, when he was leaving, I asked if he still had a key to my place. He said he did, but didn't know where it was. I reminded him how to jimmy his way into the place. Paul said he was welcome anytime. He'll never come; she'll get too angry. But at least he's got a home away from home if he needs it.

This morning — somewhere between the grogginess of the drinks and the extra sleeping pills I shouldn't have taken last night — there's still a small fiery anger and a lot of resignation. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Can't we just go back and rearrange things so that you're not everybody's caretaker, the world's shoulder on which to cry? Can't we make it so that there's no need to talk anyone down from the rafters?

So, now, I've put on Jackson Browne's The Pretender. I'm fighting my way through the haze still enveloping my brain, and I swear that one of these days, I'm going to make things right.

I just don't know when ... or how.

w00t!

Last night, the Kate's Ink Web site reached the 1 million mark for successful requests. One million!! So tonight, after work, I'm going out to celebrate. You're welcome to come along. IM me for details. ^_^

So much geek love. <3 <3 <3

A very depressing post

(1.) Here are 240 reasons why drugs are bad. (Mmmkay?)

(2.) Famous last words (along with famous obituaries, wills, etc.).

(3.) Suicide notes of famous people.
-----------------------------------------

In totally unrelated news, but just as depressing, my wrist hurts really bad. I'd been putting off posting about it because I was kind of hoping it would go away on its own. But it's been killing me for well over a week now.

If you will gaze now upon the man in the picture who is not me, you will see where it hurts and where it's swollen. Except it's on the other hand. You will also see a nifty wrist brace (which I don't own) and a really cool Kate-drawn belly button tattoo. Yay!!

Okay, so the real reason this picture is here is because I wanted to post Mr. Funny-Looking Shirtless Man-Dood Who Is Apparently Saying The Pledge Of Allegiance And Gazing Upon ... Nothing.

I called yesterday to make an appointment with Bourland, Paul's hand doctor. My reasoning: I'm 25 years old and my four favorite hobbies involve my wrist. I want to stave off any real problems before they start. Bourland can't see me until after my vacation (which is a mere two weeks away now). I am to RICE it until then.

But see, that whole RICE thing is a problem. I can Ice it, and I can Compress it ... but I kind of have issues with Resting and Elevating. To rest/elevate would be to give up my editing. And my gaming. And my piano-ing. And my e-mailing and blogging and other things that require the use of my hand.

... It's going to be a long month.

Two questions (and a bonus)

(1.) Let's say you're in a situation where you know you're right and have proof to back it up. At what point (or in what situations) would you press the issue versus letting it slide to avoid confrontation? Assume the issue is relatively small and the only stakes are one's personal pride and/or reputation.

(2.) If you beat 175 million-to-1 odds and won the $250 million Mega Millions jackpot, would you wait to claim your mad cash? (It's been five days now.) And would you take the $151.6 million lump sum or $9.6 million a year for 25 years.

BONUS QUESTION: What would you do if you were 92 years old and in the last 16 years had won two multimillion-dollar jackpots playing Megabucks slots in Vegas? Your first jackpot was $4.6 million; your second was $21.1 million. How would you spend it? Remember ... you're 92 years old.

Let me feel your heart, let me hear your song

I snagged a copy of the soundtrack to Mr. Holland's Opus yesterday. Still can't believe it's been a decade since I saw it on the big screen. And, as I found out driving home today, tears still sting my eyes when I listen to the music.

The movie holds a special place in my heart very few films do. (Dead Poets Society, Unbreakable, To Sir With Love).

(A slight tangent here — there are also a number of movies that make me physically ill. Among them: The General's Daughter, Full Metal Jacket, some technicolor version of The Most Dangerous Game).

Anyway, I started thinking about why a movie like Mr. Holland's Opus would be so moving to me. I mean, I guess the obvious answer is because I'm a musician. But maybe it's because I've been so inspired by a handful of music teachers who have taught me that the music is not simply notes, but feelings. It's universal.

There's a line in the movie where Mr. Holland asks Gertrude (pictured above), "When you look in the mirror, what do you like about yourself?" Gertrude replies that she likes her hair; that her father tells her it reminds him of the sunset. And Mr. Holland replies, "Then play the sunset."

I don't think that was a line I understood 10 years ago. By that point, I'd had a half-dozen music teachers — piano, voice, flute. But what did it mean to "play the sunset"? Music was notes on a page, skillfully attacked over and over until the point of perfect execution. "Feeling" was when the music teacher swayed back and forth, looking half angry, half flustered.

And then there was Russ. Russ Mchedlishvili. Fluent in Georgian, Russian, English ... and piano. Russ was my Mr. Holland. I'd had so many teachers, so many lessons since I was three years old. And it took me 20 years to learn to feel the music, to understand what that meant.

"At this point in the song, he's angry, he's hurting," she'd say. "Feel the anger." And after a while, the composer's feelings were my feelings. I learned to channel through the music.

I learned to play the sunset, to feel the heart, to hear the song.

So, um, wherever you are, Russ, thanks. And yes, I'm keeping my nails trimmed, just for you. ^_^

Yo ho ho...

It's Talk Like a Pirate Day, guys -- err, maties! Enjoy! :)

[Edit: Just noticed GrrFace beat me to it, darnit.)

Farewell to my favorite mouse-friend

Woe is me. I have lost a dear, dear hardware-type friend today: my Logitech iFeel Mouse (model M-UN58a).

Oh, it's not as if there haven't been other mice in my life. I've owned a number of the little guys — even taking my personal optical three-button mouse (model M-BD58) to the office before optical mice were all the rage.

But this is different. My iFeel (affectionally dubbed little iFfy), has been with me for a very long time. I have cradled her bright-blue vibrating soul in my right hand for nearly five years now.

She's stayed by my side through two years of college and three years of marriage, moving 12 times in the process (dorm, home, two apartments, home). She's aided in research papers and job hunts. And the warm glow of her red LED has soothed me late into the evening on marathon video game runs.

I remember all those times we'd be browsing online Chinese delivery menus, and she'd buzz a happy little buzz as we passed over the Chicken Chow Mein. Or the times when she'd bounce along to a high-scoring game of online Arkanoid.

Oh my sweet, sweet force-feedback vibrating mouse. I think I may bury you in the back yard with a little sign that says, "Here lies iFfy, model M-UN58a, my comrade and confidant. You were born before your time, before people wanting their right hand to vibrate every .2 seconds."

For now, I am using Paul's extra mouse, a beige little number with no style, no personality. I fear it will be a long time before I am again wooed by a perky mouse who really understands me. Don't try to console me; this is something I must try to work through on my own.

Where everybody knows your name ...

Adam, meet Abby. Abby, meet Adam.

OH WAIT, YOU TWO ALREADY KNOW EACH OTHER!

I found this out last night when Abby IMd me saying I had freaked her out by posting a pic of the AS guys in my blog.

This once again proves that Memphis is the biggest small town ever. One million people, and you can't go anywhere without seeing somebody you know.

Which means that every time you walk out your door, you fear bumping into your ex or your therapist or the illegal aliens who mow your neighbor's lawn.

Or Prince Mongo. Or John Ford.

Or, in Abby's case, the guy on which you had your first crush. (He knows, doesn't he?)

/me ducks and runs

American Standard ... and stuff and stuff

I have a friend. His name is Matt. Matt is in a band. Check them out here and here. (He's one of the guys in the picture. Yes, really.)

Man, every time I talk to Matt, it's like ... well, we have a lot of catching up to do.

Me: "In April, a guy I've known online longer than I've known Paul decided he was leaving home to hitchhike and be free and shit. So he came and lived with us for six weeks. Then he and I drove across five states. I came home alone. My best friend came to Memphis to see me; I went to Jacksonville to see her. I changed meds. I started therapy, I stopped therapy. I blogged a lot, I gamed a lot ... I don't know, it's just been weird."

Him: sounds intense. listen to elvis costello ... that always makes me smile.

Okay, okay ... I guess most of the catching up is on my end. But then again, it usually takes getting him alone for a while to make him open up.

It doesn't take a genius to realize things aren't going to be the way they were in college, that we — all of us — will still juggle the way we always did, but that we'll juggle different things. In different places. And eventually some things will become stupid heavy and we'll drop the things that don't seem so important, and well ... like I said, things are never going to be the same.

Matt had a way — has a way — of keeping me sane when I'm about to lose it. He's like Klonopin without the sedation. There were times when he'd say, "Just calm down," and I'd want to scream, "No, dammit," but I never did. I just ... did my best to calm down. Most of the time, it worked.

And he's the one who'd hang up the phone for me when I couldn't do it myself. I need more people like that in my life.

It's strange, how he's retreated into himself the same way I did. I guess we all do at some point. It's just hard to discern the foggy outlines of the things you missed when you were busy finding yourself. The world doesn't wait. I wish it did; I wish it had for me.

Urm, I posted about Matt in April, before most of you knew the goodness that was Kate's Ink. ::grins:: More about his music later. I'm going to get out of the office now that traffic's subsided. 6:30 p.m. on a Friday. Can't say I'm not dedicated to work.

Brick walls and bathrooms, Part Deux

I thought the whole poop-on-the-floor fiasco was over this morning. And it was, kinda.

Around lunchtime, I heard the roar of the bathroom fan (that thing could wake the dead). I turned around, and water was all over the floor.

My boss was washing her hands, not paying attention, when the toilet overflowed.

All over her shoes. And her feet. And her pants.

When I found her, she was in the breakroom liberally applying Lysol to the lower half of her body. I gingerly reminded her of yesterday's situation.

She was less than thrilled that I brought it up. :-D

Incidentally, I think people would appreciate our bathroom a lot more if we installed the pictured toilet. An LED light system? Very progressive.

The manufacturer's site has videos of the toilet in action. Yes, really.

Brick walls and bathrooms

Caught this graffiti on the way back to the office today. You may have to click on the picture to read the text on the left.

At least we know that the taggers defacing Downtown Memphis businesses have a heart. Maybe no sense of civic pride ... but certainly a heart.

Speaking of the office, there was a situation this morning that really really really made me wish my office was not right across the hall from the bathroom. I don't even have airflow in here, so I'm afraid germs congregate here and throw little germy raves before slamdancing my immune system. I won't go into great detail about the situation, except to say that one of my coworkers yelled down the hallway that there was "shit on the floor." I assumed the term "shit" meant "things."

Until I found out she was being literal. Ew.

Cranium Fun Fact Finder

If you own Cranium, raise your hand.

If you don't, run out and buy it, come home, and raise your hand. It's just that good. (There's even an office-kosher version for your desk.)

Paul and I grew up very differently. He played video games; I played board games. At family gatherings, we played (and still play) everything from Balderdash to '90s Trivial Pursuit. I eat up Games magazine's annual listings (2005, 2004, 2003). And I'm always trying to drag Paul into a tantalizing game of Mindtrap.

Anyway, the Cranium guys posted a list of ideas for hosting Cranium-centered parties, among them the Fun Fact Finder card (at right). Their suggestion: Have each guest fill out a card, then try to guess who's who based on answers.

Since we can't all get together for a Cranium party (although you're welcome to come play with me anytime you're in Memphis!), I figured you could humor me with your fun facts. Don't think too hard.

Here are mine:

People tell me I remind them of Bubbles, the famous Powerpuff Girl. (A little tough, a little gullible, and rarely without a fluffy friend like Octi.)

If I were a cocktail, I'd be a caipirinha. (Sweet. Sour. Will knock you on your ass.)

If you and I played Mindtrap, there's no way you'd win.

I own a fur coat, but I would never wear it outside the house. (When I was about 8, I really really really wanted a fur coat. I thought they were so pretty and glamorous — and I got one for Christmas! Imagine my surprise when I found out it was made out of dead animal skins. I thought they made fur coats by shearing the animal, like wool comes from sheep. I never wore it again. ::sniffle::)

The longest stretch I've ever gone without sleeping, in hours, is 49. (I was editor in chief of a daily, planning a wedding, and cramming for finals. I aced them and graduated MCL. So there.)

So ... what are your Fun Facts?

Microsoft Teach Me to Talk Real Good-Like

My coworker, Stacey, called me today: "I was running Microsoft grammar check ... and it wanted to change something to 'you is.'"

I laughed. Then I taught her how to take a screenshot and e-mail it to me. (My fault the quality is subpar, but you should be able to read it.)

Observe the wonders of Word grammar:

---

---

So next time you aren't sure how to "talk real good," check a dictionary. Or Strunk & White. Or a 4th grade English textbook.

Anything but Word. ::grins::

I feel pretty ... oh so pretty ...

I'm not on the cutting edge of anything. Period.

You're more likely to find me in ripped-up jeans and an old concert t-shirt than a houndstooth skirt and an understated black blazer. I don't wear makeup on the weekends. And I haven't cut my hair since, um, well ... since before I went to L.A. And that was two years ago next month.

That's not to say that I don't know how to be pretty. I mean, I own a copy of Beauty: The New Basics. I also own copies of Kevyn Aucoin's two books, Facing Forward and Making Faces.

I even did a stint with Mary Kay right after I got married. Didn't take long for me to find out that (a.) I'm about as adept at selling things as a pile of cat litter, and (b.) it's a frickin' cult. (Seriously. Worse than religion. More on that some other time.)

I actually still order MK about once a year, because it allows me to get my makeup half-price. And, hey, a little lipstick never hurt anyone (except for the people who believe in this urban legend).

Anyway, I picked up my copy of Beauty the other night — it looked kind of lonely on my bookshelf, among Paul's sci-fi books, my graphic novels, and a smattering of video game guides. And I came across something in the book I'd never noticed before: "The Face Time Line," a seven-page look at beauty rituals, etc., through the ages.

On the timeline:

• 1400s: Upper-class Frenchwomen use white or beige water-soluble paste on their faces, and some make a concotion of asparagus roots, wild anise, and the bulbs of white lilies steeped in the milk of asses and red goats, aged in warm horse manure, and filtered through felt—to improve the skin.
• 1800s: "Enameling" the face with white lead salts is a fashionable—and sometimes fatal—practice.
• 1880s: Women consume prussic acid, corrosive sublimate, and caustic polish—all toxic substances—to improve their complexions.
• Early 1900s: Injections of carmine (a red substance derived from the cochineal insect) promise to recapture the "bloom of youth," but instead create bumps and pimples that, unlike the "bloom," never go away.

The timelines (the book also includes hair and body timelines) are full of interesting and/or positive things, too — ancient west African dreadlocks, the regulation of toxic products in cosmetics, Sun Protection Factor ratings, etc.

But it's kind of disturbing to see the things that people — men and women alike — have done to themselves through the ages in the name of looking "pretty."

And it makes me wonder which of our rituals will be fodder for the people of the future. Face lifts? Liposuction? Lip-plumping? Botox? Tattooed eyeliner? Hair transplants?

P-P-P-Powerbook lovin'

I thought I'd post this for everyone's amusement. Found it on the Internet. It's called Thesis Stress.

Anyone been through/going through the doctorate process that can verify the validity of this animation? Lord knows I get frustrated, and I'm only the wife of a Ph.D. candidate. ::shrugs::

Also, I don't know why I've never posted about P-P-P-Powerbook before. I can say I was actually following this as it happened, and it's like an Internet legend now! :)

Basic premise: Guy puts his friend's G4 Powerbook on eBay, receives an e-mail trying to scam him through fake escrow, and decides to turn the tables on the scammer. The results: A three-ring binder lovingly crafted into the "P-P-P-Powerbook," complete with hand-drawn screen and a self-assembled keyboard. Photos are on the main site; photos and story are here.

In a month, I'll be on the beach...

Dad called yesterday with bad news.

"I'm not sure we're going to be able to go on vacation like we'd planned. I may have to do hurricane duty on the coast ... I just don't know. I'm e-mailing my boss this afternoon, and I should know something in the next 24 hours."

Man, that killed me. Don't get me wrong: I know the hurricane victims need money and stuff, and I really feel bad that a whole city was destroyed and is now covered in toxic sludge, but I'd really been looking forward to this trip.

The plan was for Mom and Dad to rent a three-bedroom condo in Destin, Fla. Paul and I were going to split the price with them, but they offered to pay for it all. Wow ... five days on the beach, with our only cost being food.

Again, wow.

But then came the hurricane, and with it, Dad's probable assignment to the Mississippi coast.

"I'll beg, sweetie. I'll tell my boss that I've missed every vacation this year because something's come up each time. And we've already paid the deposit on the condo and everything."

I told him it was okay.

It was not okay. ::grins::

So this morning, there was a voice mail on my machine. His boss cleared him to go on vacation — despite the hurricane — so our Destin trip is a go.

Hee hee ... I'm sure I'll post about it at least a couple of times before I leave in a month. This ties with Toronto as my absolute favorite destination. White sands, aqua waters. Seaside. Fudpuckers. Zoo Gallery. Back Porch. Late-night crab hunts.

I can't wait. :)

Somebody buy me this ... now

Six Reasons Why You Should Buy Me
This Grand Piano ... Now
By: Kate Simone

(1.) It's on eBay for $600. That's six-fricking-hundred bucks.
(2.) The auction is over in 20 hours.
(3.) It's in Nashville ... so we can avoid cross-country shipping.
(4.) It needs tuning, but is in otherwise good shape.
(5.) I haven't practiced on a grand since college.

And, finally...
(6.) I want it.

Please, please, please? Once again, it's THIS grand piano.

P.S. Dear Paul, You're not allowed to buy it, because that money is on reserve for our vacation. Kthx.

My iPod Top 25

Top 25 Most Played Songs (according to my iPod)

1. "Homeward Bound," Simon & Garfunkel
2. "Lisa Listen," Lisa Loeb
3. "Pilar (Things Here are Different)," Jill Sobule
4. "Ironic," Alanis Morissette
5. "Still Fighting It," Ben Folds
6. "Moving Out (Anthony's Song," Billy Joel

7. "The Kids Aren't Alright," The Offspring
8. "Heroes," Jill Sobule
9. "Under Pressure," Queen
10. "Psycho Killer," Talking Heads
11. "It's All Been Done," Barenaked Ladies
12. "Pinch Me," Barenaked Ladies
13. "Midnight Train to Georgia," Ani DiFranco and Indigo Girls
14. "Chloroform the One You Love," Flickerstick
15. "Crush Story," Too Much Joy
    
16. "Resistance Song," Jill Sobule
17. "Landed," Ben Folds
18. "Side of the Road," Ben Folds
19. "Clint Eastwood," Gorillaz
20. "Might Be in Love," Juliana Hatfield
    
21. "Flood," Jars of Clay
22. "Living Dead Girl," Rob Zombie
23. "Section 14: Two Thousand Places," Polyphonic Spree
24. "Section 12: Hold Me Now," Polyphonic Spree
25. "Call and Answer," Barenaked Ladies

Like, Zoinks!

About three years ago, I managed to snag an interview with Scott Innes for Toonarific.com. Great Web site, great guy ... great time in my life. :)

Here's the transcript in all its glory:

Scott Innes is best known as the voice of Scooby-Doo and Shaggy in several films including Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island and Scrappy-Doo in Scooby-Doo: The Movie, the live-action film released in 2002. It was a pleasure to interview Scott between sets at WYNK Baton Rouge, where he’s a country music deejay. His Web site, www.scottinnes.com, includes information about songs he’s written, his radio show, and his book, Dreams DOO Come True!: My Life as a Dog.

How did you get the job of being Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?

Well, pretty much, I've been doing it all my life. ... But professionally I've been doing it for about five years. I do an afternoon show for WYNK in Baton Rouge, and I did a parody to a song by Alabama. And the song is called "Shagging on the Boulevard," but I did "Shaggy on the Boulevard." And this caller kept harrassing me to send it to Hanna-Barbera. So lo and behold, I did, and it was the last day of casting for a movie called Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island. Don Messick (the original voice of Scooby) had been sick, and you know, the day after they gave me the part, Don passed away.

Did you grow up watching Scooby? What cartoons did you like?

Really, growing up, I remember watching two things: The Brady Bunch and Gilligan's Island. ... I grew up watching Hanna-Barbera cartoons, but Scooby and Shaggy were always my favorite.

Isn't it true your Shaggy and Scooby voice has been used for things other than movies?

Yeah, 200-plus talking toys. And Scrappy-Doo. You know, I was Scrappy in the recent (live-action) movie.

Has your voice work put in touch with any big names in entertainment?

Yeah, I mean, really more so in the animation field. Working next to Frank Welker -- you know, Freddy -- and Adrienne Barbeau ... and John Ritter, from Three's Company. You remember that show? And you know, I'm a country disc jockey, so it's weird having stars like Reba McIntyre and Garth Brooks call me up and ask me to do the voice on their answering machine or for their kid's birthday party. The girl from X-Files (Gillian Anderson) called and wanted me to do a voice message for her kids.

Tell me a little bit about your "day job."

Well, you know, I get up early in the morning. I'm a disc jockey, so I do a lot of freelance work. I work at WYNK in Baton Rouge, La. It's a Clear Channel station. I'm also in syndication in Sarasota, Fla., at WCTQ, and I'm getting ready to pick up another couple of markets. My show is called Cartunes -- you know, "tunes," as in T-U-N-E-S.

So you've put out a book. Tell me about it.

I've always wanted to write a book, so this kind of tells how I went from a snotty 4-year-old telling my teacher I was going to be the voice of Shaggy and Scooby one day to actually having my dreams come true. The book is called Dreams DOO Come True!: My Life As a Dog. ... The book is out right now, and it's only available from my Web site (www.scottinnes.com), but I autograph it for you and everything.

What other voice work have you done besides Shaggy and Scooby?

I'm the voice of Popeye for King Features, and I've done some Radio Shack commercials as Astro, and I've done a lot of work for Cartoon Network. Let's see ... Shag Rugg and the Hillbilly Bears. I've done some Snagglepuss. Who else? Professor Pat Pending, which was one of the Hanna-Barbera cartoons from "Wacky Races."

So I've got to ask you the obligatory Toonarific.com question: How many degrees of separation are you from Kevin Bacon?

Well, in Scooby and Shaggy's case, probably not too many, because (imitating Shaggy): "We love bacon!" ... "Like, zoinks! Seven degrees? Are you kidding? We like to cook our bacon at about 110 degrees."

You know, if the newspaper didn't keep me so busy, I'd love to set up more interviews. I kind of miss writing ... but I'll never go back to being a full-time reporter.

And, anyway, I love wielding my red pen.

Meat and potatoes (but mostly meat)

As I mentioned Friday, Paul and I planned a little soiree Downtown to celebrate his book being shipped out for editing. And when I say soiree, I mean we drove Downtown for dinner ... then came home to play video games with my little bro-in-law. ::grins::

But, hey, that's pretty much the perfect evening for a couple of geeks. :)

We had dinner at Texas de Brazil. I know I've mentioned it in my blog before, but I don't think I've described the place in any detail. First of all, it's a self-proclaimed Brazilian churrascaria. I don't know how authentic it is, because I've never been to Brazil. I do know that most of the meat-carving waitron seem to be straight from Brazil. It's odd (I mean, heck, even our Chinese delivery guy has a Southern drawl), but it certainly adds to the ambience.

The huge salad bar is awesome (salads ... plus ginormous asparagus, sushi, sliced fresh wheels of parmasan, bamboo shoots, jasmine rice, grilled Portabello, and soup -- yesterday, lobster bisque).

And then comes the meat. Lots of it. Dudes wearing gauchos tucked into their boots carry around meat on swords. Yes, swords. And they carve it at your table. It's an Atkins dieter's (or a big blue monster's) wet dream.

Fourteen kinds of meat. Fourteen. I mean, yeah, they bring you a big ol' plate of garlic mashed potatoes, polenta sticks, fried cinnamon bananas, and the best pao de queijo I've ever tasted. But the focus is definitely the meat.

You've got your filet mignon wrapped in bacon, filet mignon not wrapped in bacon, garlic top sirloin, barbecued ribs, parmasan-crusted chicken, parmasan-crusted pork, lamb, Brazilian sausage (Paul's favorite) ... and, okay, I can't remember the rest. But they're all good. And did I mention they're served on swords? ;-)

Today was the first day back at work after the three-day weekend, and lunch was cold instant mashed potatoes (which bore a slight aftertaste of the Lemon Joy soap used to clean my bowl). For some reason -- I don't know why -- it just didn't measure up to last night's dinner.

I think it's because you can't serve mashed potatoes on a sword.

For those about to rock, we salute you

Paul and I like to play this game when we're in the car. It's called "Kate's Got the iPod and Paul Doesn't." Okay, on second thought, I guess he's not terribly fond of this game, but we play anyway. :)

There are three rounds to KGtiPaPD:
(1.) What song is this?
(2.) Who sings it?
(3.) What year did it come out?

Surprisingly, he's pretty good at it, although tonight I stumped him with some crazy Queen covers by The Flaming Lips ("Bohemian Rhapsody") and Gavin DeGraw ("We Are the Champions"). Next, I chose "Hangin' Tough" (New Kids on the Block, 1989). He correctly named the song and artist, but was off on the date by three years. He said 1992.

After yapping about New Kids' overuse of synthesizers and how it "hurt his ears," I obliged his request for me to pick another song.

Me: What song is this?
Paul: I don't know.
Me: Well, who sings it?
Paul: The Ramones.
Me: You sure?
Paul: Yeah.

Nope. It was a song called "Addiction" written by monstee. Hee hee. Hope he doesn't mind me bragging on him a bit. (If he does, I'll edit the post. ::grins::) And I do believe the Ramones comparison the highest compliment Paul could pay him. :)

From MaMML to AwwaRF with LovE

CONGRATS to the MAMML team, who sent their 299-page doorstop -- err, I mean book -- to AwwaRF today.

Now, the lucky, lucky, super-lucky AwwaRF folks get to read it. Because I can't send a copy of the report to each of you, I'll give you the condensed version here:

• Page 1: Water water, blah, blah, blah
• Page 2: Water water, blah, blah, blah
• Page 3: RUT ROH! DISINFECTION BY-PRODUCTS!!!
  
• Pages 4-299: Water water, blah, blah, blah
  

Anyway, it's out the door now, and I have temporarily reclaimed my husband from the lab just in time for a long weekend! This calls for a party!

So, to celebrate, I'm taking Paul out. We're going to have fun. Then we're going to come home and play video games, because, well, that's fun too. And because I'm much much better than him and need to lay the smack down. (See, he's been so busy that I've felt sorry for him and let him win. Yeah, that's it.)

The rest of you are not invited to our little soiree. But don't feel left out -- you can stay busy by working this exceedingly difficult water-related connect-the-dots. If you think it's going to take you a little while, you might want to print out the picture. And keep an eraser handy, just in case.

Oh -- send your well wishes (pun fully intended) to Paul. He reads all your comments, and I think he needs a pat on the back for a job well done. ^_^

A few random things ...

Ugh. I just can't watch the news anymore. Mom called last night. She doesn't read my blog (thank god) but she echoed what I posted a couple of days ago. She told me it's just so hard to lose places to which we've attached memories. How do I respond to that? You can never go home again ...

Anyway, in trying to get that off my mind, I thought I'd post about all the other stuff going on in my life.

(1.) To my dear, dear friend who shall remain nameless: It is a bad idea to leave town without telling your wife. It is a worse idea to move into an apartment in which your bedroom window yields a view of your ex-girlfriend's apartment ... and then not tell your wife OR your ex-girlfriend that you can watch her.

(2.) I have reached Level 8 of Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories. (Or click Here, if you'd prefer it in its native Japanese.) Without giving away too much of the plot, the game is set up in a castle with 10 floors. I'm getting ready to start the 8th floor, so I'm thinking, "Hey, I'm almost done! Doing good, Kate!"

Then I hit up a walkthrough guide which informs me after the 10 floors I have to go through, like, 14 bosses or something. And when I finish "Sora's Story," then "Riku's Story" begins. Now, Riku doesn't explore the castle's 10 floors like Sora does. Instead he explores the castle's 10 basements. And among the bosses Riku has to fight is Riku. Twice.

Very Fight Club, if you ask me.

(3.) Found this on the Internet today -->

Of course, when I first started reading the box, I thought the items were related. That's generally how bullet points work -- a header followed by supporting thingies. You know:

Fruit:
*Apples
*Oranges
*Bananas

Certainly, I can't be the only person who thinks that way. Right? Back me up here. :) Anyway, I thought it kind of offensive, implying that AC/DC fans are getting up there in years. I mean, really! Everybody knows it's Rolling Stones fans who are about to bite the dust. Duh.

(4.) Thursday has no good songs. I mean, Monday has "Manic Monday" (or "Monday, Monday"). Friday has "Friday I'm in Love." I can't think of a single Thursday song off the top of my head. If I could, I'd probably be singing it right now, as Thursdays are my favorite day of the week. Hurm.