not falling down

I started back to work full time for the summer today, as if you can’t tell.

Hmm. What are my top ten favorite movies of all time?

1. Hackers
2. Sneakers
3. Toy Story 2
4. Unbreakable
5. Hackers
6. Hackers

Bored with this now. Wanna go ride bikes?

I forgot to mark down a deposit a while back, which means I have about $350 more than I thought I had, and that’s nice. According to my checkbook, though, that’s now about $150 less than I should have, and I haven’t missed another credit or debit in at least seven months. I must have screwed up something big last fall.

The annoying thing is that thanks to the Interweb, I can always see my current balance in relatively real time, but that’s inaccurate because paper-based checks still lumber around like elephants (not that electronic transfers are in any way instant, but there’s no chance of them getting forgotten in somebody’s pocket). The whole point of my check register is that it’s supposed to be more accurate, because I record all transactions as if they took place instantly; since it relies on a human agent (me), though, it’s fallible, because I am fallible and my arithmetic doubly so. I’m tempted to just reset my check register balance to what the bank tells me it is, but then I’m sure some transaction that’s in the register but hasn’t yet posted online would sneak up and blackjack me. And anyway, it’s bad policy to trust the bank blindly.

If I could find the error–either online or in my register–this would all go away, but I’ve tried several times and I can’t. I’d go back all the way to the beginning of my account history, if I could, but the Interweb only lets me go back six statements. I’d use my paper statements, except I immediately rip them all up and throw them away on principle. After all, they don’t tell me anything I don’t know!

This problem would also not exist if I wasn’t a moron.

Ken, Maria and I rolled down to l’Centre on Saturday to coo over Lisa’s senior show, which was all very massive color-gradient glass pieces, and awesome. I can’t really describe them to you–she has a couple pics up, but seeing them in three dimensions and with more light was much better.

The next day, Maria and I argued over whether or not I am indie–something for which I vaguely hope, but never considered myself cool enough to achieve. She pointed out that in addition to my mild but distinguished collection of obscure t-shirts, I do know two glassblowers, and that’s some solid cred there. I should have known that in the indie world, friends are primarily status symbols and tools to an end. (And for the record, Maria used to date a rock star, so I’m pretty much never going to be indier than she is.)

Oh, sure, nobody gives it any press when John Allison’s guest artist rips off my comic.