6-29-00

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June, 2000

6/29/00

Survivor Update: Dirk-the-Bible-thumper of Tagi Tribe gets the boot last episode! Woo-hoo, I was right! Too bad about Kelly and the rowing competition. I knew she'd bomb out when she bragged to the host that as a white water rafter, she "was in her element" (if only she'd dragged that boat into the water a little faster...). Afterward, in tears, she mumbles to Susan, "I lost to a guy (Gervase) who can't f**king swim." Now if only little Colleen had rowed for Pagong, Kelly, you might have won this one. In the meantime, Pagong won chickens in an earlier competition. (In light of the new movie, Chicken Run, I can just imagine the chickens telling the producers: "Hey, the DEAL WAS: we lay eggs only -- being butchered is not in the contract. Capeesh?") Looks like next episode, Gervase rankles the women-folk with sexist remarks. Well, you knew that was coming... Lastly, as for former Pagongian Ramona supposedly "spilling the beans" about the show's outcome by casually mentioning on a talk show that Gretchen is "a survivor," I think 'tis all much ado about nothing. C'mon. I'm sure that Gretchen will be among the very last to go -- maybe even among the last two survivors. But my money's still on Richard -- he's got enough brains and brawn to pull it off. And speaking of "pulling off" -- from the previews it appears that Richard will be strolling about the camp buck-nekkid. Ah, if only Sean would get the idea to doff his clothing... Sigh.

On the Writing Front: Well, only 565 words were added to Mind Diver yesterday -- the final word-count for today isn't official yet. Wednesday I collided with my arch-nemesis, the Plot-Monster. You see, when the narrative starts to slow down, the Plot-Monster comes out of hiding and hefts its considerable bulk between the story and I. This causes me to go into a kind of funk/despair and I just end up staring blankly at the monitor. Luckily, once I get past the pedestrian parts of the narrative (which I'll re-embroider later, of course), it'll start to speed along. Jeez, I just hate it when the narrative begins to drag -- worse, I'm such an obsessive perfectionist that I can't seem to get it into my skull that this is only the FIRST DRAFT. I don't remember who said this, but it's so true: "Puke the thing out and clean the mess later."

On the Job Front: I sent an application to UCSD in La Jolla -- for the second time. Sheesh. They could at least call me for an interview for crissakes. God, how I loathe job hunting. God, how I loathe working at clerical jobs. Oh, don't get me started on that topic...

On the Social Front: Saturday I'm going to see Mel Gibson in The Patriot -- oooh, the eighteenth century and Mel. As with all costume films, I'll be critiquing this one. It really bugs me when I see fashion which became popular in, say, 1790 appearing in a film set in the 1770s. Most people wouldn't notice, but we costumers cringe, shake our heads and munch our knuckles at such costuming faux pas. There's nothing worse than a costume designer who didn't do his/her homework for a film.

After the film, my friend and I will dine at an Irish restaurant/pub called The Field in downtown San Diego. The owners are from Ireland and all the furniture, fixtures -- even the bricks in the walls -- have all been brought over directly from Ireland. And, of course, all the food is authentically-prepared Irish food. I know it's one of the worst things you can eat, but I love corned beef (this from someone who rarely eats red meat, won't even touch steak).

Eventually we'll end up at The Living Room (one of my favorite indie coffeehouses) in La Jolla for lattés, pastries and ambience. And hopefully there'll be some cute guys there for us to ogle.