Caucasians and spatial attention

I hate being bombarded with ten things I need to be doing RIGHT NOW! within 15 minutes tonight I was reading up on a researcher I am interviewing with for a job tomorrow (journal article: "Tracking the time-course of attentional involvement in spatial working memory: and event-related potential investigation," yeaaaaaaaaaah) and then Gav-dog wants to talk about selling stock to buy this house we are in the process of negotiating, and then my dad calls to talk about car stuff, getting my car impounded, towed, assessed, junked, scrapped, and my going into the "other" insurance company's office who won't pay out, put out, pay up, with machine guns blazing, only to be replaced with razor sharp machetes when the bullets run out. goddamn auto insurance companies. life would be so much simpler if we just churned our own fucking butter, talked to squirrels and sold coke out of our buggies. so I wrapped things up with my dad, making the usual promises to call insurance companies, police, towing companies, to get this fucking thing resolved. I would rather gouge my eyes out, but hey, there's that whole character building thing that just keeps me going. gavin and I decided to junk the small cap funds with stock in shit like yankee candle co. for cold hard cash. and I finished the article, sort of. cognitive theory is the kind of thing that I have to read 1000 times. it's harder than most other psychological theories because you really have to visualize different planes of consciousness, allow for a separate memory area, and then there's attention, and distraction and little parts of your brain that light up like xmas trees when you look at a house. it's not like child psychology where you get to spend all day speculating whether or not having a sick child causes parents to be stressed out. looks like we need a couple of years to tease that one out.
rant rant rant.
I have nothing else to say. my white russian, sans vodka, as there is none in the house, is sweet and helping me not give so much of a fuck. I ate an oreo before, and gavdog went to see his brother, who looks and acts like ozzie in teh 80's. except brother has not done quite enough drugs as ozzie: he still has hand-eye coordination. plus he's really just a little jewish boy whose bar mitzvah picture I have seen, from the 80's with huge thick glasses and I can't possibly take him seriously as the rockstar he wants to be.
H
note to self: hearing the ice cream truck jingle outside at 10 pm just reeks of mischief.