This is bloody brilliant. Someone took the time to rework popular Christmas carols into minor keys. They sound ominous and creepy and Danny Elfman-esque (Are you familiar? Yes? No? Does the music for basically EVERY Tim Burton film? Formerly of Oingo Boingo? Came up with “The Simpsons” theme song? And “Futurama”?)

Here’s the video.. it’s called “Evil Christmas Carols (Volume 1)”… click here to check it out.

Another absolutely brill link to check out is this one.
The page is called “dmf” but you should figure it out quickly. It’s called “Tinydrum 3.0″ and if you click on a few cubes, you’ll see what happens.

The sounds are more like a drum + chimes, with a very Oriental feel to them. Somewhere in my mind, I know what specific instruments they sound like, but I can’t recall immediately and since my initial Google search didn’t make me go, “A-ha!!!” I’ve abandoned that idea for the moment.

Note: if you paste the following numbers into the dialog box next to the words “tinydrum 3.0″ you’ll be hearing what I’m listening to right now and could possibly fall asleep to.

1024-9480-2088-17796-265-36896Tomorrow, we get all up in the Polak Christmas. This means I will be helping my mom make fresh homemade pierogi (despite my earlier assertions that I won’t, based on an incorrect belief that she was going to purchase them), ignoring any and all fish dishes, and perhaps assisting with making soup or dessert or salad. Then we open presents. And maybe watch “The Sound of Music” or “Mary Poppins” or a movie that someone is getting for Christmas, but which is NOT “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest” - though I should pick that up next week.

Perhaps tomorrow I will write more about the Polak Christmas. Some might find it an interesting peek into how our family has adapted our traditions to American culture and Americanized children, as well as the fact that the children really don’t believe in any religion anymore.

Note: I should be updating the books page soon as I have finished, in the last 2 weeks, “The God Delusion”, “Letter to a Christian Nation”, “The Dogs of Babel”, “Ella Minnow Pea”, “Fables”, and re-read “Perfume”, “Pride and Prejudice” and “Spook.”

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… the present your friend gets you for Christmas is something you just bought for yourself. I mean, that’s impressive. Even my family can’t get that accurate!

I had my second occupational therapy session tonight and I have improved a lot even since Tuesday’s session; my range of motion before was 15/25 and now it’s 25/40 (those numbers represent the corresponding angle to which I can bend my wrist back and forth… that is, if I bend my wrist forward, it’s not the angle that’s formed between my palm and my forearm, but 180 degrees minus that number).

There’s a magical machine there that I want to own. It’s got a proper name*, but I am calling it the corn-husk machine. It looks like a giant two-slice toaster with a hole in one end which has a canvas tube coming out of it. It’s filled with ground corn husk particles, which feel like really soft sand. The “toast slots” are protected with netting so the corn husk doesn’t fly out. I stuck my hand into the canvas tube and the therapist velcroed the tube around my upper arm so the corn husks wouldn’t fly out. She turned on the machine; extremely warm (but comfortably so) air started puffing up through the corn husk particles in a staggered fashion, making it seem like a massage. Meanwhile, a metal plate hidden under the vast quantities of corn husk started to warm it all up from underneath. Between the soft, warm, dry sensation (like running your fingers through really soft and fluffy sand on a beach) and the soft drone of the machine, I was basically lulled to sleep… but I managed to stay upright and kept doing my hand exercises in the machine. I love the corn husk machine.

*Proper name = fluidotherapy: a dry heat treatment where the hand is placed in a unit filled with a particulate similar to sawdust (ground corn husk). The machine forces warmed air through the particulate to decease joint stiffness, reduce hypersensitivity, and improve circulation.

SO today was my errand-running day off. It was action-packed and now I need to get to bed since I DO have work tomorrow. A half-day, but still…

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I admit that I have a variety of peculiarities and quirks, not the least of which is a mild OCD. It’s usually not a problem and results in good-natured ribbing from friends who will nudge the fork and knife on my napkin at the diner, if only to see how long I can go without fixing them. Or push books on bookshelves, or give me a look when I start straightening books in the store. Or it means that I have sudden compulsions (that would be the “C” part of the disorder) to organize everything on my desk at work since I feel absolutely out of control if the papers and magazines and folders and books aren’t in neat piles at right angles to each other.

Again, not normally an issue that gets in the way of my functioning. It just makes me really neat and tidy in fits.

HOWEVER, the effects on my innate sense of order and logic sometimes make it hard for me to accept when a project isn’t going “just so” - and this only ever really happens at home. I get really grumpy and angry because if only they (being my kin) would do things the way I suggested, and accepted that it was the best and most efficient way to do them, we’d be so much better off. If I had a dollar for each time my methods ended up being the “right way” to do something and a family member said, “OK, you were right…” or smiled sheepishly in defeat and admission… well, I’d still be in debt, but much less than I am.

Things around here are all left for the last-minute; my brother and I literally threw the lights up on the Christmas tree tonight since we were sick of it standing in the middle of the living room, 16 feet tall and naked. Instead, it’s now 16 feet tall and strung with LED lights (they use much less energy than regular incandescent lights).

I’ve also been given some cash to go buy myself a watch tomorrow; then I will turn around and give it to my father so he can wrap it and put it under the tree for me. Since he doesn’t know what to get me. Such is the way. I think I’m an incredibly easy person to shop for. If you searched my blog for the phrase “I want…” you’d come up with tons of shopping ideas and not one wish for world peace (though I want that, too…)

My little brother asked me again what I want for Christmas and I told him I wanted a gift certificate to Sephora since I need some new perfume; his response, “I really don’t want to go Sephora. Is Target OK?”

Yes, Target is always OK, but it’s entertaining to see just how frightening the black and white shellacked glossiness of a Sephora store can frighten a heterosexual male. Especially during this time of year.

About 30 minutes ago, my sister announced that she likes crossword puzzles and that she wishes to receive some for Christmas. Since I am also a crossword puzzle aficionado, I’ll take it upon myself to get some for her. So, I’ve got a ton of shit to accomplish tomorrow morning (purchase crossword puzzle books and watch) before 11:30, at which point I have to head out to meet my friend Theresa for lunch, which then gets me back home by 1:30 or so, to help my sister put ornaments on the tree (she just called and booked me for that time) and then go to occupational therapy at 5:30. I’ll get home by 7pm and… uh… eat something… and eventually get to bed and go to work on Friday and then it’s basically Christmas.

In other breaking news:
• Today, my new co-worker (who used to be a forensic anthropologist and assistant medical examiner who, yes, performed autopsies) commented that she’d like to pick my brain next week. I just think it’s incredibly funny for someone who wrote her master’s thesis on skulls to say she wants to pick someone’s brain. Some might say creepy; I say hilarious.
• Also today, I received a Christmas card from a friend I haven’t heard from in almost three years. I’m going to write her a letter since the drifting apart happened in a somewhat bumpy fashion with job changes and relocations and falling out of touch.
• I’ve taken to calling the elastic compression stocking on my wrist my Very Sexy (as in Victoria’s Secret) Elastic Compression Stocking. You know, with my nails all painted up, it’s mildly sexy… if you’re into bondage. Perhaps. There will be no photo just in case.

I’m off to do round five of my therapy exercises for my wrist. Then I can call it a night. While I can sleep in a little, I can’t sleep past 8:30 since I need to get my ass in gear. At least I can sleep in this weekend.

Every other holiday requires my attention from the early morning hours onward, cooking and preparing - except Christmas. It’s my mother’s bailiwick. I help with Easter, I handle Thanksgiving; she gets Christmas and all the delights that four kinds of herring dishes, salmon, trout, and mushroom soup can provide. I just eat the pierogi and keep my mouth shut.

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I am wearing an elastic hand stocking. It’s actually an elastic compression stocking my occupational therapist gave me today which I must wear all the time to help the swelling go down. But at one point, she referred to it as the “elastic stocking.”

I also have at-home exercises to perform. I have a handout.
And another appointment on Thursday. And then Tuesday. And then Thursday.

Currently, two Christmas presents are sitting in my bathroom drying. It’s not as gross as it sounds; the bathroom has both a window and a ventilation fan, so it’s the perfect place to spray something that has toxic vapors (”known in the state of California to cause cancer.”)

Great. I didn’t notice that when I bought it. Oh, well. All the more reason for very good ventilation.

My sister will be home soon and wants to decorate the Christmas tree. It looks like she and I will be the sole decorators. The rest of the family is in a state of uncivil war. Or passive-aggressive resistance. Whatever stupid phrase applies.

I guess this quality time with my sister is my reward for videotaping “Gilmore Girls” for her. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.

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I hate those Cymbalta commercials - probably because they’re true. There are physical and physiological effects. It hurts everywhere - in the non-physical realm of the mind, and everywhere else to boot. Look - they even provide a picture you can take to your doctor. How helpful.

Physical = pain, nausea
Physiological = insomnia, loss of appetite

I’m not in a good way right now. Aside from the omelette I had on Saturday, I’ve been living off of one soup a day for the past three days since I have no appetite; nothing seems “right.” I don’t feel well — I feel nauseated and dizzy and feverish and stiff. Anytime I start talking to someone, my eyes start welling up because, much like Old Faithful, I could gush at any minute.

Today, I left work at 2:30 because the closer it got to 3:00 (the time of our holiday party) the more and more ill I was feeling… just this sickening deep dread or anticipation of nothing in particular coupled with nausea… the idea of having to be social just made me want to cry. The worst part is that I LIKE the people I work with and, if I were normal instead of some sort of f***ing freak, I would have had a good time. But I couldn’t even think about it… I felt the need to get out… and just be by myself. This means I also missed the company holiday party in NYC. That was just an overwhelming thought; having to mingle among hundreds of people, trying to talk over loud music; feeling sick to my stomach the whole time; feeling self-conscious and awkward and ugly; wanting nothing more than to go hide out in the restroom and stay there all night like it was a middle school dance (though I never attended any for this very reason). I would’ve kept myself from having a good time… no fault of anyone I work with, just my messed up brain.

At least I know it wasn’t a panic attack since I didn’t feel any sort of “need for flight” and managed to stick it out until 2:30 without going sweaty and cold - I just wanted to get away SO I could be by myself. Means to an end.

I cried in the car the minute I closed the door. I cried the entire ride home. I started getting hysterical and hyperventilating so I took the nearest familiar and sat in a Michael’s (craft store) parking lot, bawling like a bad actress in a Lifetime movie.

Then I stopped home, cried some more, splashed cold water on my face and then went to buy milk (since my mom asked me to), went to the post office to send Christmas cards to family and friends in Poland, and then got one of the last two Christmas presents I need to buy. I’m getting the other one either tomorrow night or Thursday morning.

Perhaps I should be concerned that only the concept of responsibility - HAVING to go to work, HAVING to bring in party supplies since I promised, HAVING to buy milk, HAVING to go to the post office - can get me to do anything. My overdeveloped sense of responsibility is the only thing that provides me with the impetus to get my ass out of bed in the morning… I know that people are depending on me and that I can’t let them down. Letting them down leads to guilt which leads to increased depression, feelings of worthlessness and insomnia.

The flip side is that if people depend on me too much (see also: familial relations) I deeply resent that responsibility because I didn’t choose it.

But I guess that’s pretty universal. The things we don’t choose to “own” (in the business jargon) or which are unexpected are inevitably the ones we hate the most. See also: Office Space, “I wasn’t even supposed to BE here today.”

We humans like our freedom of choice, or at least what passes for it.

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Whether it’s stress or actual illness (since my mother is feeling similarly) I feel like crap.

It’s 6pm and I’m ready for bed. This doesn’t happen unless something’s not right with me.

Since I can do little more than sit in one place (since it helps to ease the stomach cramp) I’ve almost finished making the gifts for my boss and my friend at work. I have to let them dry, do some detailing, let them dry again and then give them a protective coat of varnish.

That’s right. Crafty.

When I finish them, I’ll take photos and post them once the gifts have been given. I have a makeshift crafting table constructed from a large Amazon box in which the gift for my brother arrived. It’s the perfect height, though.

I’ve been sitting here all day, though, and I’ve watched “The Neverending Story”, “Napoleon Dynamite” and now I’m watching “My Fair Lady.”

And my tummy keeps making disruptive noises. I had some soup in case it was hunger, but now I just feel increasingly nauseated.

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I don’t know if this is a regular occurrence for most people, but it seems that I’m experiencing these sort of bittersweet moments more and more frequently - moments where I can be laughing because something is funny in at least one respect, but crying seconds later or inside the whole time because I’m also struck by sadness.

For example, today I was out with Theresa. We had tasty breakfast/lunch at the diner (I had an “Upstate New York” omelette - eggs, sausage, cheddar and pieces of apple. It was incredibly and unexpectedly tasty). Afterward, we did some shopping and that went well - having a friend along is always a good thing.

On the way home, another friend (a guy) called me and we were planning on going to the bookstore later… and I said, “I’ll talk to you later…” and he replied, “Ok - talk to you soon, sweetie.” I sort of yelped, “What?” since, despite being my oldest friend, we don’t EVER talk to each other that way, using little affectionate terms (other than “punk” or “dumbass”)… and because he’s not gay. I could HEAR him blushing and smiling in embarrassment, saying, “Shit - I just said that, didn’t I? I’ve just been on the phone with [girlfriend's name] back and forth between talking to you… oh, shit…”

I told him, “It’s OK sweetbuns” and then started laughing hysterically (hard enough that I was crying) at the thought of him calling ANYONE “sweetie.” I’ve never been present while he’s been in a relationship (while we were in college and just keeping in touch via phone and email) so it seems and sounds COMPLETELY out of character and was amusingly shocking.

But, of course, after I got home and had a few minutes to get over the laughter and sit in silence, I started to fall into that pit of “woe-is-I-the-loser” and, “I’ve never had a boyfriend to call me by an affectionate name.” It’s one thing to have a female friend or a gay male friend call you “honey” or “sweetie” or “darling” or “love”; it’s quite different to have a significant other call you be a name that’s exclusive to you in their life. My brother and his girlfriend are another (though more nauseating) example; they have several “cute” nicknames for one another and have established a private lexicon of sorts.

Now, I’m not saying that I want someone to call me “honey” or “sweetie ” or (terms that I like even less such as) “babe”, “hun”, “boo”, “cutie”, “sexy” or “sugar.”

Note: in looking for anything that would be even worse than those, I Googled “nicknames” and “girlfriend. Try it. There are message boards where people are asking, “Does anyone have a cute name for a girlfriend? I just started dating a girl and I really need a sweet nickname.” Gag me with box of Russell Stover chocolates.)

Then it comes down to this: if I had a significant other, would I find myself not minding the semi-retarded names or would I still feel the same about them? Does this vitriol arise simply from the bitterness of loneliness during the holiday season? Is the loneliness during the holiday season simply a greedy impulse since it means there’s one less person giving me a gift?

Well, I can’t answer the first two, but the last one is a NO. I couldn’t even think of what to tell my little brother today when he asked me what I want for Christmas. I didn’t know and told him to look at my Amazon wishlist. Most of the things on there are things I’m planning to buy for myself at one point or another… so yeah.

I also told my mother that I’m not sure I want to participate in our annual Christmas “breaking-of-the-bread” tradition. For several reasons… it’s based in religious tradition and I’m not a believer. Therefore, it’s false and inappropriate. All of Christmas is based on religious tradition, but I feel that most of it has become so secularized (hello, my Jewish and Hindu friends with Christmas trees who give gifts on Christmas day?) that it doesn’t matter quite as much. But the breaking of the bread is a lot more formal and becomes really awkward for me since I’m forced to come up with someone sincere and inoffensive to each family member.

You see, the tradition is that we each break off a large piece of this communion wafer that my grandparents send from Poland (half of their piece, which they’ve had blessed.) We stand up around the dinner table and make our way around the table to visit every other member of the family. You each break off a piece of the bread and place it on the tongue of the other person (any lapsed Roman Catholic is cringing at this point) and recite some wishes for the coming year.

In past years, mine have been sort of hot and cold: “stop being such a bitch” is my favorite from the recent past, but I also have gotten “I hope that things improve in your romantic life” (meaning my non-existent romantic life) or “success in work/school” (which isn’t much of a wish and is more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s the one thing I do consistently.)

Well, I’m going to go through my bag of goodies from today. I made my purchases at my sister’s employee discount day so I got a bunch of tasty books for 40% off. Mmmm. Yummy. I’ve already added them to my LibraryThing catalog.

I purchased:
• The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (I lost my old copy…)
• Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris
• Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (the spine of my mass market was getting icky and I love this book too much not to have a readable, holdable trade paperback)
• Brunelleschi’s Dome by Ross King
• Party of One: A Loner’s Manifesto by Anneli Rufus
• The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst
• Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall by Bill Willingham
• The Audrey Hepburn Treasures
• Breaking the Spell by Daniel Dennett
• Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn
• Ark Baby by Liz Jensen
• Trivial Pursuit Book Lover’s Edition
• a 2007 planner from paperblanks. Mine has an illustration of a Tibetan serpent wrapping around from the front to the back. It’s rilll purdy.

I didn’t get a 2007 wall calendar yet, but I’m going to get that at Borders since they carry a wider variety of the Cavallini and Co. wall calendars I’ve come to love. I might get a fun page-a-day calendar, but I can wait a little while. I don’t know if I want something thought-inspiring (wisdom of the east), informational (word-a-day), creative (origami or crossword puzzle) or just pretty (famous paintings or something…)

So… I’m ripping some of my CDs to iTunes so I can throw more songs onto my iPod. I added some oldies but goodies - the Beastie Boys “Hello Nasty” and the Gorillaz “Gorillaz.” Right now, I’m selecting pieces from various U2 b-side CDs and such. I’ve been wanting to listen to the U2 version of “Everlasting Love” for weeks and today I was just humming bits of “Hallelujah Here She Comes” and so that’s what I’m listening to now.

And I’m not disappointed with the results of giving into this craving; it’s just as good in reality as the remembered sounds are in my head. There’s a bit of a grittiness to it that I really enjoy. And the simple harmonies are fitting.

I don’t know what’s next on my list, but this will do for tonight. It’s 12:30 and I should get to bed since I have a day full of activity planned tomorrow (making gifts, wrapping gifts, going to the supermarket with mum, etc.)

Night-night.

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Not a good day.
I’m upset. I need to cry.
I don’t know if I can. I feel dried up and hollow.

I’m having lunch with Theresa tomorrow and maybe I’ll feel better after some friend-time. And book-buying.

Things are just craptastic, really.

Gah.

I can’t believe I let myself screw things up so badly years ago and that despite my best efforts of the past three years, I really have nothing to show for it. It’s so easy to mess up and make mistakes and it takes forever to fix them… it’s so easy to lose control of things and the time it takes to regain control seems like an eternity of one step forward, two steps back - thus, never actually getting ahead. Whether it’s my weight or my finances or my mental health or my living situation… nothing is showing promise or improvement lately.

I guess I should be glad that the things I’ve screwed up in my life haven’t left me injured, ill, dead, or anything. Still, I’m so careful with everything, those wouldn’t be options, really. I’ve managed not to harm anyone but myself. That’s by no means a good thing, but in my twisted mind, it’s better to screw myself over than get anyone else involved in my shit.

Perhaps that’s why I keep everyone at arm’s length.

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I WISH I could feel this tired.

Or this tired.

Instead, last night I was up until 3 in the morning since I could NOT get comfortable and sleepy. I’ve been headachey and feeling feverish (though not running a fever) all day - either as a result of lack of sleep or maybe I’m coming down with something. I hope not.

At work today, I was trying to figure out who my Secret Santa is (though we don’t call it that - we have a silly acronym for it.)

On Monday morning, I received an envelope containing a white tissue paper-wrapped bundle with the following quote taped to the outside: “it’s good because it’s awful.” Inside the tissue paper was a 5″ tall capital letter “A” covered in silver glitter. Mystery - though I knew that quote to be about camp… as in style or aesthetic, not the place you go to for summer vacation.

On Monday afternoon, I found yet another white tissue paper-wrapped bundle on my chair. This time, there was a picture of Susan Sontag on the outside and the quote, “one can be serious about the frivolous, frivolous about the serious.” A capital letter “E”, also glittered up, was inside.

Tuesday after lunch, I returned to my desk to find a third white tissue paper packet. This time, there was a picture of Wonder Woman (cartoon, not Linda E.) taped to the front along with the quote, “If tragedy is an experience of hyperinvolvement, comedy is an experience of underinvolvement, of detachment.”

Insomnia-aided research last night led me to discover that all those quotes come from Susan Sontag herself, in a 1964 essay entitled, Notes on ‘Camp’. It’s a pretty cool essay about the aesthetics of the Camp style/movement, if you will. I thought I knew who it was, but the person I thought it was enlisted my help in getting something done for their recipient. So unless that’s a ridiculous red herring, there’s someone else out there who is totally providing me with lots of curiosity.

And lots of silver glitter all over everything at my desk.
And tomorrow, I will get the gift these clues have been leading up to.

Laundry is going in the dryer.
Eva is getting into her bed.

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I haven’t had a headache this bad in I don’t know how long. Since 11 this morning… and my day was non-stop. I was finally able to buy some headache medicine at the train station at 5:30, so by the time I arrived home at 6:30, I only felt the tension and not the pain.

I napped for an hour then helped my mom with some Polish pastry cooking and now I’m going to bed. I wonder if this is a migraine - I have some sensitivity to light and sound and I feel dizzy, almost to the point of nausea.

Whatever it is, I don’t like it… not one little bit.

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