Saturday, July 29, 2006
Happy 25th, Mel!
I love getting back from the pool, and then hours later, catching the smell of chlorine on my skin...it's such a summer smell, and calls to mind memories of hanging out at my grandparents' house.
Ever since I bashed CL, I've been on a bent to have it touch every part of my life. Last night I met up with a CL girl at a nearby breakfast eatery to do a sketchy book exchange. I gave her $23.90 (shorting her .10), she gave me eight used books in a red Lord & Taylor bag.
Now, her ad had said that the books would be $3 each, or $25 for the lot. She was selling 16 books. For me, it was a no-brainer. Pay the $24, get the books I want. Why pay $25, be out a dollar, and have eight books lying around that I have negative interest in?
E thought I was crazy...and we had a tense few moments discussing our respective rationales, not seeing eye to eye, and thinking the other person is ridiculous. After agreeing to disagree (or, you know, just dropping it), we got up and went to our local CVS.
This morning Mel and I (chauffered by her fiance!) went to a woman's house to look at wedding gowns. We had found the ad on CL during a lag at work on Thursday...all it said was this woman had hundreds of gowns at her house, and was pricing them ridiculously low. Mel did the legwork, and set up a noon appointment.
The only experience I have with wedding dress shopping is that episode on Sex & the City when Carrie has a panic attack and tears a gown off in a fit of terror...with that as my only frame of reference, I was on the alert for any anxiety on Mel's behalf.
There was none of that, Thank God. And while I was looking forward to going (Why wouldn't I? It was a sketchy CL adventure!), I did not realize that it would be so much fun. The woman selling the dresses was very cool, with a beautiful townhome, decorated with an enviable North African flair. Her three year old daughter, shy at first, was soon sitting next to me on the sofa and tossing veils into Mel's already full arms.
The dresses...some of them were FABULOUS. So many skirts! So much crinoline! So many zippers and buttons and trains galore! And Mel has a body made for a wedding dress, apparently, because they all looked fabulous on her.
AND SHE FOUND "THE ONE"!!!!
It looks perfect on her...it's beautiful. I'm not going to describe it here, in case it should somehow get back to the groom, but if anyone wants a blow-by-blow description of the wonderfulness that is the wedding dress, let me know.
Since the woman had bought out a bridal boutique with her husband, and they're moving to Chicago in early September, they were eager to unload some of the merchandise. So, Mel got a terrific deal, with a veil and shoes thrown in for good measure. We left with thank yous, promises to mail her a copy of our magazine, and Mel's bridal costume wrapped in plastic and carried in a Disney Princess gift bag.
Is it premature to say that it's lucky to shop for a wedding dress on one's birthday? Until there's evidence to the contrary, I'm going to perpetuate this young single's tale.
Ever since I bashed CL, I've been on a bent to have it touch every part of my life. Last night I met up with a CL girl at a nearby breakfast eatery to do a sketchy book exchange. I gave her $23.90 (shorting her .10), she gave me eight used books in a red Lord & Taylor bag.
Now, her ad had said that the books would be $3 each, or $25 for the lot. She was selling 16 books. For me, it was a no-brainer. Pay the $24, get the books I want. Why pay $25, be out a dollar, and have eight books lying around that I have negative interest in?
E thought I was crazy...and we had a tense few moments discussing our respective rationales, not seeing eye to eye, and thinking the other person is ridiculous. After agreeing to disagree (or, you know, just dropping it), we got up and went to our local CVS.
This morning Mel and I (chauffered by her fiance!) went to a woman's house to look at wedding gowns. We had found the ad on CL during a lag at work on Thursday...all it said was this woman had hundreds of gowns at her house, and was pricing them ridiculously low. Mel did the legwork, and set up a noon appointment.
The only experience I have with wedding dress shopping is that episode on Sex & the City when Carrie has a panic attack and tears a gown off in a fit of terror...with that as my only frame of reference, I was on the alert for any anxiety on Mel's behalf.
There was none of that, Thank God. And while I was looking forward to going (Why wouldn't I? It was a sketchy CL adventure!), I did not realize that it would be so much fun. The woman selling the dresses was very cool, with a beautiful townhome, decorated with an enviable North African flair. Her three year old daughter, shy at first, was soon sitting next to me on the sofa and tossing veils into Mel's already full arms.
The dresses...some of them were FABULOUS. So many skirts! So much crinoline! So many zippers and buttons and trains galore! And Mel has a body made for a wedding dress, apparently, because they all looked fabulous on her.
AND SHE FOUND "THE ONE"!!!!
It looks perfect on her...it's beautiful. I'm not going to describe it here, in case it should somehow get back to the groom, but if anyone wants a blow-by-blow description of the wonderfulness that is the wedding dress, let me know.
Since the woman had bought out a bridal boutique with her husband, and they're moving to Chicago in early September, they were eager to unload some of the merchandise. So, Mel got a terrific deal, with a veil and shoes thrown in for good measure. We left with thank yous, promises to mail her a copy of our magazine, and Mel's bridal costume wrapped in plastic and carried in a Disney Princess gift bag.
Is it premature to say that it's lucky to shop for a wedding dress on one's birthday? Until there's evidence to the contrary, I'm going to perpetuate this young single's tale.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Top o'the morning to ya!
I said "good morning" to a homeless man this morning.
AND HE SPIT AT ME.
happily for me, he missed.
argh.
AND HE SPIT AT ME.
happily for me, he missed.
argh.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Love/Hate
I love craigslist. It has helped me out a lot in the past year or so - most importantly, I found my job through it. We also got free sofas last weekend from the site, and E managed to convince some sucker to help us move the aforementioned sofas via...an ad on craigslist.
I joined kickball because of craigslist, and I've recently joined a book club and a french club, both on craigslist. Who knows if they'll get off the ground, but I've made the initial connections. And, even if they don't happen, I've been reading the best book because of it - "The Map of Love" by Ahdaf Soueif. I recommend it wholeheartedly.
But I digress.
The point, is, well...as much as it pains me to admit it, I believe that craigslist is responsible for the weakening of the dating fabric of our society. And that hole in the tapestry of love is centered around the sweet, sweet drug that is "missed connections."
At first glance, it seems as though MCs could only help the lonely singles who are wandering through their cities, lost, and struggling to find a shared heart, or a shared bed for the night.
But NO!
MC make the men and women in the cities weak, afraid, too shy, hesitant, too eager to use the crutch that is the Internet in the hopes that the cute girl that smiled is similarly addicted. We've lost our chutzpah, the nerve that is necessary to talk to an attractive stranger.
Here's a cute post. And no, it's not about me.
You made my day, Woodley Park Metro, street level. - m4w - 27
Just before 8:00pm on Wednesday evening... You have dark hair and dark eyes, wore a shirt that bordered between yellow and orange, carried a bag over one shoulder and wore grey earphones. I was the white guy with the very short hair, wearing black from head to toe with the black ear buds. You gave me the nicest smile, I smiled back, we passed each other and I caught you smiling again as I the escaltor took me down. Thanks for offering me a nice ending to an otherwise crappy day! I don't know why I didn't thank you right then and there but I'd love to exchange words next time instead of only smiles.
Now, I know this is fanciful, but I'm picturing a totally smart, hot, perfect guy writing this. That's another problem with the medium. I tend to idealize people...but really, most of the posters are the sketchy guys whose eyes you avoid on the Metro every morning.
But I'll forget that, because it's not important.
Imagine if he had talked to her? They could be on their way to happiness! Or, maybe she has a boyfriend, or has no interest in him, or whatever. But at least he'd know. None of this silly MC "I need more details?" business.
Down with Missed Connections. Start talking to those hotties in the street, instead of clacking away wistfully at a computer five minutes after the brief passing.
I joined kickball because of craigslist, and I've recently joined a book club and a french club, both on craigslist. Who knows if they'll get off the ground, but I've made the initial connections. And, even if they don't happen, I've been reading the best book because of it - "The Map of Love" by Ahdaf Soueif. I recommend it wholeheartedly.
But I digress.
The point, is, well...as much as it pains me to admit it, I believe that craigslist is responsible for the weakening of the dating fabric of our society. And that hole in the tapestry of love is centered around the sweet, sweet drug that is "missed connections."
At first glance, it seems as though MCs could only help the lonely singles who are wandering through their cities, lost, and struggling to find a shared heart, or a shared bed for the night.
But NO!
MC make the men and women in the cities weak, afraid, too shy, hesitant, too eager to use the crutch that is the Internet in the hopes that the cute girl that smiled is similarly addicted. We've lost our chutzpah, the nerve that is necessary to talk to an attractive stranger.
Here's a cute post. And no, it's not about me.
You made my day, Woodley Park Metro, street level. - m4w - 27
Just before 8:00pm on Wednesday evening... You have dark hair and dark eyes, wore a shirt that bordered between yellow and orange, carried a bag over one shoulder and wore grey earphones. I was the white guy with the very short hair, wearing black from head to toe with the black ear buds. You gave me the nicest smile, I smiled back, we passed each other and I caught you smiling again as I the escaltor took me down. Thanks for offering me a nice ending to an otherwise crappy day! I don't know why I didn't thank you right then and there but I'd love to exchange words next time instead of only smiles.
Now, I know this is fanciful, but I'm picturing a totally smart, hot, perfect guy writing this. That's another problem with the medium. I tend to idealize people...but really, most of the posters are the sketchy guys whose eyes you avoid on the Metro every morning.
But I'll forget that, because it's not important.
Imagine if he had talked to her? They could be on their way to happiness! Or, maybe she has a boyfriend, or has no interest in him, or whatever. But at least he'd know. None of this silly MC "I need more details?" business.
Down with Missed Connections. Start talking to those hotties in the street, instead of clacking away wistfully at a computer five minutes after the brief passing.
So uh...
I guess we were never meant to be.
I still swooned when he touched my hand junior year of high school, though.
I still swooned when he touched my hand junior year of high school, though.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I failed!
I tried to give blood today, but my iron was too low, even with my last ditch heroic efforts of choking down multiple bowls of grape-nuts.
I'm going to rally, take the vitamin Monique suggested, and give it another go in two weeks.
Who's in?
I'm going to rally, take the vitamin Monique suggested, and give it another go in two weeks.
Who's in?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
The Metro was bizarrely empty this morning. And last night, around prime commuting time.
Did I miss a memo?
Did I miss a memo?
Monday, July 24, 2006
so, about that.
"I hope you find someone else, somewhere in your life...you say I should stay with you. That Jesus forgives you. You pray I will, but I won't. The difference is...Jesus loves you. I don't."
- Danielle Peck, "I Don't"
(for the record, I have nothing to "forgive him" about - I thought the song was appropriate, though.)
I'm really just writing to get over the unpleasantness that is the previous post. I know I'm a wuss/a baby/what have you, but stuff like that really freaks me out/unnerves me. Oh, and G had thought that I was super nice, and I told him that I'm secretly a bitch. For all of you still under the mistaken impression that I'm a nice person - consider that I posted his emails on a BLOG. Bitchiest move of the century. The witch is unveiled!
I dyed my hair last night (perhaps to go incognito?)...I went with "Cinnaberry" from Natural Instincts. I was waffling in the Rite-Aid aisle, while juggling lotion, band-aids, ibuprofin, and neosporin (hey, it never hurts to be prepared!), and E pushed me over the edge with her encouraging words.
After staring intensely at the box for two hours, I rallied and performed a late-night dye job. Whenever I'm rinsing out my hair, I always have this brief thought that I'm in "Psycho" as I watch the dye run down my skin and the walls of the shower.
Luckily, that doesn't last long. I didn't have much time to examine my new hue, as it was midnight, and my bedtime was long overdue. My bathroom is rather dark, so I ventured into the world this morning, not really knowing, nor caring, what my head looks like in the sun. Well, my burning curiosity is helped by the fact that I dyed it the same color last year.
Reactions have ranged from "I LOVE IT" from CP and E (aw!), to "So! Do you like it?" from my boss. Interestingly enough, my mom said the exact same thing to me last summer.
It's just hair.
(<-- what people with bad hair say to console themselves.)
- Danielle Peck, "I Don't"
(for the record, I have nothing to "forgive him" about - I thought the song was appropriate, though.)
I'm really just writing to get over the unpleasantness that is the previous post. I know I'm a wuss/a baby/what have you, but stuff like that really freaks me out/unnerves me. Oh, and G had thought that I was super nice, and I told him that I'm secretly a bitch. For all of you still under the mistaken impression that I'm a nice person - consider that I posted his emails on a BLOG. Bitchiest move of the century. The witch is unveiled!
I dyed my hair last night (perhaps to go incognito?)...I went with "Cinnaberry" from Natural Instincts. I was waffling in the Rite-Aid aisle, while juggling lotion, band-aids, ibuprofin, and neosporin (hey, it never hurts to be prepared!), and E pushed me over the edge with her encouraging words.
After staring intensely at the box for two hours, I rallied and performed a late-night dye job. Whenever I'm rinsing out my hair, I always have this brief thought that I'm in "Psycho" as I watch the dye run down my skin and the walls of the shower.
Luckily, that doesn't last long. I didn't have much time to examine my new hue, as it was midnight, and my bedtime was long overdue. My bathroom is rather dark, so I ventured into the world this morning, not really knowing, nor caring, what my head looks like in the sun. Well, my burning curiosity is helped by the fact that I dyed it the same color last year.
Reactions have ranged from "I LOVE IT" from CP and E (aw!), to "So! Do you like it?" from my boss. Interestingly enough, my mom said the exact same thing to me last summer.
It's just hair.
(<-- what people with bad hair say to console themselves.)
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Because I know you guys love a good train wreck...
Okay. I met this guy last week at the Times. We kissed. He got my number. He texted me. We went out on a date on Thursday. It was great fun. Last night, he went out with me and my friends to a kickball party, then the Times. He was being clingy, drunk, jealous. I told him I was leaving, he got all clingy and sad and wouldn't let me go, I pulled away.
E and I got back to our apartment...I ate some reese's peanut butter cups, and we were recapping the ridiculousness of the night. Then my phone rang. It was him. And then again. Suddenly, the Mario Bros. tune that I picked out as my ring tone started to sound a little scary. E placed bets - would he call again? Oh, he did. And a fourth time. And a fifth time.
I did not answer, of course. When I had left him at the bar, I had told him that I was going to bed, and I did. After double locking the doors, even though he doesn't know where we live. I woke up this afternoon at the leisurely time of 1:10 pm to discover five new emails waiting for me in my inbox. Here they are, with my response.
1:32 am
On 7/23/06, G wrote:
Meghan! I miss you! I wish you didn't leave me! I am so sad and I am sorry that I may have screwed things up between us! I really wanted to make the guys I was hanging out with feel special, and I know they did because just before I left they wanted my phone number and want to take me out this week at DuPont Circle or something.... I wish I didn't neglect you so much tonight! I want to be with you, but you left me :-( I am truly sorry if I screwed things up between us!!!! I really want to spend more time with you!!! I AM SO SORRY!!! I spent the whole night crying to others that you left me!!!! I even used the "L" word, thought I don't want to scare you away by it!!! I MISS YOU TERRIBLY!!! Please call me as soon as you can!!!
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks!
It is my lady, it is my love!
I MISS YOU!!! Please call me!!!
Love,
G
2:07 am
On 7/23/06, G wrote:
I was a FOOL to miss and neglect you the way I did tonight!!! I screwed up and don't deserve such a wonderful person. I am sorry!!! I really wanted to spend some quality time with you and I am sorry that you left me for broke!!! I realize now that I may have drank too much for your acceptance and I am sorry for it. I wish I could go back and not drank at all since I think you like me just the way I am. I am soooo sorry. I miss you dearly and hope that you don't hate me!!!
Love,
G
2:16 am
On 7/23/06, G wrote:
I LOVE YOU!!!
-G
4:48 am
On 7/23/06, G wrote:
Wait a minute! As I am just starting to sober up, I just remembered that there was a guy all over you as you left the Irish Times! I know that he didn't leave with you, but it saddened me that he was all over you until you left. I am sooo depressed now since I screwed things up between us and you seemed to be looking for other guys :-( That's okay I guess since we were probably never meant to be and I won't be here for much longer..... I enjoyed the time we did have together though and I will never forget you!!! My heart is so broken that you left all of a sudden, but I know I didn't give you the attention you deserve tonight. Take care and continue to be who you are, you beautiful, gorgeous, pretty-eyed thing!!! You are so lucky to be able to get any man that you want while I must settle for a woman who can put up with me....
Love,
G
12:17 pm
On 7/23/06, G wrote:
Hey, I am sorry about all the crazy e-mails I sent you. I think I am just a little disappointed that I didn't spend the quality time I wanted to with you last night, then you left before I realized what a fool I was. I also apologize for the hint of jealousy I displayed in my e-mail below. I know I have no right to be that way and am just a little heartbroken because of our whole situation. You truly are a wonderful and beautiful person, that if things were a little different, I would definitely want to date you on a more regular basis and for a much longer time. I'm not sure that you would give me that chance, but it is a nice thought I have in the back of my head ;-) Anyways, I am sorry if I was a jerk. I know I drank more than I should have and I spent way too much time with those dorky guys trying to make them feel cool. I would really like to make it up to you and am wondering if I could possibly take you to dinner tonight? I will understand if you can't or don't want to. I am just so hurt remembering that you said you liked the sober me better and I may have disappointed you. Anyways, just give me a call later if you want and let me know. I need to charge my phone, so if I don't pick up, please leave a message. I miss you dearly and hope to see you again soon!
Love,
G
My response
1:26 pm
Hi G,
Wow.
I woke up this morning to five emails from you, five missed calls, and two text messages. That is way too much.
First of all, you did not neglect me at the bar. I need my space, and it's okay if someone is not next to me every second. I thought it was very cool that you were hanging out with those guys.
Secondly, yes, a guy did put his arm around me when we left the bar. Which, even if I didn't know him, and I allowed him to do that, would have been fine. However, we've been friends for over a year. We were chatting.
Third, you do not love me. You know me as well as someone can know a person after one week. Love is something that takes time, and hours and hours spent with a person. You may think you love me...or maybe you love me when you're drunk, but you do not love me, not really.
Dinner tonight would not be a good idea.
meg
E and I got back to our apartment...I ate some reese's peanut butter cups, and we were recapping the ridiculousness of the night. Then my phone rang. It was him. And then again. Suddenly, the Mario Bros. tune that I picked out as my ring tone started to sound a little scary. E placed bets - would he call again? Oh, he did. And a fourth time. And a fifth time.
I did not answer, of course. When I had left him at the bar, I had told him that I was going to bed, and I did. After double locking the doors, even though he doesn't know where we live. I woke up this afternoon at the leisurely time of 1:10 pm to discover five new emails waiting for me in my inbox. Here they are, with my response.
1:32 am
On 7/23/06, G
Meghan! I miss you! I wish you didn't leave me! I am so sad and I am sorry that I may have screwed things up between us! I really wanted to make the guys I was hanging out with feel special, and I know they did because just before I left they wanted my phone number and want to take me out this week at DuPont Circle or something.... I wish I didn't neglect you so much tonight! I want to be with you, but you left me :-( I am truly sorry if I screwed things up between us!!!! I really want to spend more time with you!!! I AM SO SORRY!!! I spent the whole night crying to others that you left me!!!! I even used the "L" word, thought I don't want to scare you away by it!!! I MISS YOU TERRIBLY!!! Please call me as soon as you can!!!
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks!
It is my lady, it is my love!
I MISS YOU!!! Please call me!!!
Love,
G
2:07 am
On 7/23/06, G
I was a FOOL to miss and neglect you the way I did tonight!!! I screwed up and don't deserve such a wonderful person. I am sorry!!! I really wanted to spend some quality time with you and I am sorry that you left me for broke!!! I realize now that I may have drank too much for your acceptance and I am sorry for it. I wish I could go back and not drank at all since I think you like me just the way I am. I am soooo sorry. I miss you dearly and hope that you don't hate me!!!
Love,
G
2:16 am
On 7/23/06, G
I LOVE YOU!!!
-G
4:48 am
On 7/23/06, G
Wait a minute! As I am just starting to sober up, I just remembered that there was a guy all over you as you left the Irish Times! I know that he didn't leave with you, but it saddened me that he was all over you until you left. I am sooo depressed now since I screwed things up between us and you seemed to be looking for other guys :-( That's okay I guess since we were probably never meant to be and I won't be here for much longer..... I enjoyed the time we did have together though and I will never forget you!!! My heart is so broken that you left all of a sudden, but I know I didn't give you the attention you deserve tonight. Take care and continue to be who you are, you beautiful, gorgeous, pretty-eyed thing!!! You are so lucky to be able to get any man that you want while I must settle for a woman who can put up with me....
Love,
G
12:17 pm
On 7/23/06, G
Hey, I am sorry about all the crazy e-mails I sent you. I think I am just a little disappointed that I didn't spend the quality time I wanted to with you last night, then you left before I realized what a fool I was. I also apologize for the hint of jealousy I displayed in my e-mail below. I know I have no right to be that way and am just a little heartbroken because of our whole situation. You truly are a wonderful and beautiful person, that if things were a little different, I would definitely want to date you on a more regular basis and for a much longer time. I'm not sure that you would give me that chance, but it is a nice thought I have in the back of my head ;-) Anyways, I am sorry if I was a jerk. I know I drank more than I should have and I spent way too much time with those dorky guys trying to make them feel cool. I would really like to make it up to you and am wondering if I could possibly take you to dinner tonight? I will understand if you can't or don't want to. I am just so hurt remembering that you said you liked the sober me better and I may have disappointed you. Anyways, just give me a call later if you want and let me know. I need to charge my phone, so if I don't pick up, please leave a message. I miss you dearly and hope to see you again soon!
Love,
G
My response
1:26 pm
Hi G,
Wow.
I woke up this morning to five emails from you, five missed calls, and two text messages. That is way too much.
First of all, you did not neglect me at the bar. I need my space, and it's okay if someone is not next to me every second. I thought it was very cool that you were hanging out with those guys.
Secondly, yes, a guy did put his arm around me when we left the bar. Which, even if I didn't know him, and I allowed him to do that, would have been fine. However, we've been friends for over a year. We were chatting.
Third, you do not love me. You know me as well as someone can know a person after one week. Love is something that takes time, and hours and hours spent with a person. You may think you love me...or maybe you love me when you're drunk, but you do not love me, not really.
Dinner tonight would not be a good idea.
meg
Friday, July 21, 2006
The dumbest smart conversation ever
goo: so...I forget. do we use "gray" with an "e" or an "a"?
mel: (takes off headphones) what?
goo: so...I forget. do we use "gray" with an "e" or an "a"?
david: yeah...
goo: I think it's with an "a." but I like "e" better.
david: I agree!
goo: because, like, it's so ugly with the "a" - all yucky and brown and black. But "e" is nice! like tea!
mel: that's actually a great way of remembering it. Because the tea is British, and "e" is the British way of spelling it.
goo: is that called something? mneem mneem nee....
mel: what?
(david looks like he's thinking)
goo: a...nemonic? mnenoic?
mel: yes, I think so.
david: yes, yes, I think so. right?
mel: yes, it's any way of remembering something.
david: right, it doesn't matter on the sound of the word.
goo: how do you spell it? m-n? n-m?
mel: M-N
goo: N-M?
mel: M-N
goo: M-N-E-N-O-N-I-C?
mel: I'll just type it to you.
Convo switches to IM:
mel: mnemonic
mel: pronounced "nemonic"
mel: it's like mnemosyne
mel: the goddess of memory
mel: mother of the muses
meanwhile, in the Real World...
goo: oh! Mnmnmnemosyne...
david: we're such nerds. I was just looking that up too.
10 minutes later, on IM, after telling Mel to check out the entry
mel: except i didn't have to look it up
goo: oh, right
mel: oddly, i wrote a song called "mnemosyne" when i was a freshman in college (or maybe the summer before freshman year)
mel: (takes off headphones) what?
goo: so...I forget. do we use "gray" with an "e" or an "a"?
david: yeah...
goo: I think it's with an "a." but I like "e" better.
david: I agree!
goo: because, like, it's so ugly with the "a" - all yucky and brown and black. But "e" is nice! like tea!
mel: that's actually a great way of remembering it. Because the tea is British, and "e" is the British way of spelling it.
goo: is that called something? mneem mneem nee....
mel: what?
(david looks like he's thinking)
goo: a...nemonic? mnenoic?
mel: yes, I think so.
david: yes, yes, I think so. right?
mel: yes, it's any way of remembering something.
david: right, it doesn't matter on the sound of the word.
goo: how do you spell it? m-n? n-m?
mel: M-N
goo: N-M?
mel: M-N
goo: M-N-E-N-O-N-I-C?
mel: I'll just type it to you.
Convo switches to IM:
mel: mnemonic
mel: pronounced "nemonic"
mel: it's like mnemosyne
mel: the goddess of memory
mel: mother of the muses
meanwhile, in the Real World...
goo: oh! Mnmnmnemosyne...
david: we're such nerds. I was just looking that up too.
10 minutes later, on IM, after telling Mel to check out the entry
mel: except i didn't have to look it up
goo: oh, right
mel: oddly, i wrote a song called "mnemosyne" when i was a freshman in college (or maybe the summer before freshman year)
imagination!
Apologies to my coworkers, who have already seen this!
I got this in an email from a coworker. She said that if she were the teacher, and students wrote these things, she'd want to fail all of them.
I, on the other hand, would want to give out As. I think they're perfect...and can't even pick out a favorite.
********
This one's for the English majors among us...
Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their
collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school
essays. These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of
teachers across the country. Here are last year's winners.....
1. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of
those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country
speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse
without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
2. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli, and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.
3. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just before it throws up.
4. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
5. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
6. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated
because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge
at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
7. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn't.
8. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled
with vegetable soup.
9. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie,
surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and
Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 pm instead of 7:30.
10. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
11. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you
fry them in hot grease.
12. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across
the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having
left Cleveland at 6:36 pm traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at
4:19 pm at a speed of 35 mph.
13. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
14. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
also never met.
15. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the
East River .
16. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only
one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
17. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
18. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.
19. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
eating for awhile.
20. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either,
but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land
mine or something.
21. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
22. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with
power tools.
23. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as
if she were a garbage truck backing up.
I got this in an email from a coworker. She said that if she were the teacher, and students wrote these things, she'd want to fail all of them.
I, on the other hand, would want to give out As. I think they're perfect...and can't even pick out a favorite.
********
This one's for the English majors among us...
Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their
collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school
essays. These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of
teachers across the country. Here are last year's winners.....
1. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of
those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country
speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse
without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
2. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli, and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.
3. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just before it throws up.
4. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
5. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
6. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated
because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge
at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
7. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn't.
8. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled
with vegetable soup.
9. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie,
surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and
Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 pm instead of 7:30.
10. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
11. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you
fry them in hot grease.
12. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across
the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having
left Cleveland at 6:36 pm traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at
4:19 pm at a speed of 35 mph.
13. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
14. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
also never met.
15. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the
East River .
16. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only
one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
17. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
18. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.
19. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
eating for awhile.
20. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either,
but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land
mine or something.
21. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
22. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with
power tools.
23. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as
if she were a garbage truck backing up.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
underlying motivations
A couple of weeks ago I said that I needed to do some thinking/soul-searching, etc etc.
And, unexpectedly, I've actually had a breakthrough.
For a couple of years I've been contemplating going back to school to become a teacher. I figured that I'd aim for middle school, since I think that's a great age (mentally) for kids, and because my middle school teachers were practically the only bright spot in an otherwise semi-miserable middle school existence. May as well give back.
During my remarkably unremarkable commute to work, I often chew on an apple and contemplate life. I personally find contemplating to be very hard, and find that it's much easier to think about a book that I'm reading than the direction of my own life.
But one day I stumbled upon my teacher plan, and set about to thinking as to why this plan has come about. I thought it was for my "love of teaching." But really...not really.
The teacher plan comes out of two worries.
1) That I won't be able to cut it as an editor and writer
2) That being a teacher is the only way to be "home with the kids"
Okay, at least Number 1 has a rational basis. Everyone is afraid that they won't be good enough. But it's also ridiculous. Why wouldn't I be able to cut it? In the grand career scheme, I don't have much experience at all. There's plenty of time to learn, and I'm increasing my knowledge by bits and pieces day by day. As long as I work my butt off, it will all be good. My formidable foes are laziness and insecurity, not stupidity.
Number Two is just idiotic. First of all, I don't have kids. This is planning to the extreme, and is a bit insane. Disregarding the whole "single and not a kid in sight" factor, there's also the fact that editing and writing may be, in fact, the easiest jobs to do from home. All I'd need is a computer, Internet connection, printer, paper, and a pen.
Don't get me wrong. I love teaching. But I love editing more.
So there.
And, unexpectedly, I've actually had a breakthrough.
For a couple of years I've been contemplating going back to school to become a teacher. I figured that I'd aim for middle school, since I think that's a great age (mentally) for kids, and because my middle school teachers were practically the only bright spot in an otherwise semi-miserable middle school existence. May as well give back.
During my remarkably unremarkable commute to work, I often chew on an apple and contemplate life. I personally find contemplating to be very hard, and find that it's much easier to think about a book that I'm reading than the direction of my own life.
But one day I stumbled upon my teacher plan, and set about to thinking as to why this plan has come about. I thought it was for my "love of teaching." But really...not really.
The teacher plan comes out of two worries.
1) That I won't be able to cut it as an editor and writer
2) That being a teacher is the only way to be "home with the kids"
Okay, at least Number 1 has a rational basis. Everyone is afraid that they won't be good enough. But it's also ridiculous. Why wouldn't I be able to cut it? In the grand career scheme, I don't have much experience at all. There's plenty of time to learn, and I'm increasing my knowledge by bits and pieces day by day. As long as I work my butt off, it will all be good. My formidable foes are laziness and insecurity, not stupidity.
Number Two is just idiotic. First of all, I don't have kids. This is planning to the extreme, and is a bit insane. Disregarding the whole "single and not a kid in sight" factor, there's also the fact that editing and writing may be, in fact, the easiest jobs to do from home. All I'd need is a computer, Internet connection, printer, paper, and a pen.
Don't get me wrong. I love teaching. But I love editing more.
So there.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Two things
- my little brother was supposed to get home from China today, but his flight is delayed. BY A WHOLE DAY. :-( He's not getting back until tomorrow! :-(
- my left eyelid is randomly super swollen. All Quasimodo-ish. I have no idea why. It was like this when I woke up yesterday, and it sorta went down during the day...and now it's back up again. WTF?! This is scary, because people say I have nice eyes. What if it never goes down and my best feature is ruined?!?!?!?!?
love,
Quasi
- my left eyelid is randomly super swollen. All Quasimodo-ish. I have no idea why. It was like this when I woke up yesterday, and it sorta went down during the day...and now it's back up again. WTF?! This is scary, because people say I have nice eyes. What if it never goes down and my best feature is ruined?!?!?!?!?
love,
Quasi
Sunday, July 16, 2006
train-bus-plane-bus-train-car
The world reacts kindly to a cornflower blue sundress paired with a Syracuse baseball cap. Old people smiled, guys flirted, girls were friendly, metro station operators became forgiving, and a woman that reminded me of my Great Aunt Mary chatted with me.
But perhaps my grandma was the wrong audience. She liked my gold sandals, but when I told her that it set off the metal detector at the airport, and the security guard immediately knew that it were my shoes that had set it off, my grandma replied "Well, it's not as though you could be hiding anything under THAT."
Hint acknowledged!
I've really begun to relate to my aunts and uncles as humans, not just as aunts and uncles. Or rather...I've begun to confide in some of them, and ask for their advice, and have awesome actual conversations. Today I talked to my Uncle Bill about crime and safety in DC, and perceptions of safety. (So sue me, it's on my mind.) I talked to my Aunt Mary about guys, and confidence, and self-esteem, and told her what's been going on in my life. And she shared stories back. Good, interesting stories that showed that she understood.
Oh, and on the Metro bus to Dulles, a girl sat next to me. We began talking for some reason or another, and I gave her restaurant recommendations for DC. She told me that she was meeting her boyfriend at the airport - and I mean "meeting" in the truest sense of the word. They had met online on a democrat site, and clicked. After a month and a half of emails and phone conversations, she said that there's no doubt in her mind that he's the one.
We left at the base of an escalator - her going right, me going up. It was an awkward goodbye, I felt like we should have hugged or exchanged email addresses or something, because we got along so well in such a short time, and I was extremely curious as to how her love story would play out.
She was so sure. And I can't help but believe in her.
Here's to Jen & Eduardo! I hope their reality is even better than their dreams.
But perhaps my grandma was the wrong audience. She liked my gold sandals, but when I told her that it set off the metal detector at the airport, and the security guard immediately knew that it were my shoes that had set it off, my grandma replied "Well, it's not as though you could be hiding anything under THAT."
Hint acknowledged!
I've really begun to relate to my aunts and uncles as humans, not just as aunts and uncles. Or rather...I've begun to confide in some of them, and ask for their advice, and have awesome actual conversations. Today I talked to my Uncle Bill about crime and safety in DC, and perceptions of safety. (So sue me, it's on my mind.) I talked to my Aunt Mary about guys, and confidence, and self-esteem, and told her what's been going on in my life. And she shared stories back. Good, interesting stories that showed that she understood.
Oh, and on the Metro bus to Dulles, a girl sat next to me. We began talking for some reason or another, and I gave her restaurant recommendations for DC. She told me that she was meeting her boyfriend at the airport - and I mean "meeting" in the truest sense of the word. They had met online on a democrat site, and clicked. After a month and a half of emails and phone conversations, she said that there's no doubt in her mind that he's the one.
We left at the base of an escalator - her going right, me going up. It was an awkward goodbye, I felt like we should have hugged or exchanged email addresses or something, because we got along so well in such a short time, and I was extremely curious as to how her love story would play out.
She was so sure. And I can't help but believe in her.
Here's to Jen & Eduardo! I hope their reality is even better than their dreams.
Friday, July 14, 2006
dye
I'm resisting the semi-annual urge to dye my hair.
And by resisting...I mean...casually walking down the hair dye aisle in CVS for no reason. And seeing a large gap in my upcoming schedule, and thinking that it can accomodate 30 minutes of hair experimentation.
PROS:
It's fun.
It's a change.
New colors are shimmery and pretty and not dull.
CONS:
It will probably look bad and unnatural.
In six months, I'll see a mild case of roots and get the urge to start the process all over again.
My real color isn't that bad...and I get natural highlights in the summer.
And by resisting...I mean...casually walking down the hair dye aisle in CVS for no reason. And seeing a large gap in my upcoming schedule, and thinking that it can accomodate 30 minutes of hair experimentation.
PROS:
It's fun.
It's a change.
New colors are shimmery and pretty and not dull.
CONS:
It will probably look bad and unnatural.
In six months, I'll see a mild case of roots and get the urge to start the process all over again.
My real color isn't that bad...and I get natural highlights in the summer.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
eight posts in one - image, race, stereotypes
For me, it comes down to image, not the color of skin. If I see three or four kids approaching me at night, and they're wearing baggy clothes, sweatshirts, look "thuggish," I'm inclined to be on the alert. White, black, whatever.
Clothing accounts for a lot of someone's image, and how they want to be seen by the world. "Thug" wear might mean that someone wants to look tough. Popped collars might be preppy, or trying to look rich. Windpants might mean that someone wants to project a sporty image. These people may be none of these things, but to claim that the clothes that you choose have nothing to do with how you want to be seen is faintly ludicrous. So it's a shame to be offended by someone making judgments on what you wear...because it's not bad to (partially) judge a book by its cover. That's what a cover is there for.
If the people that attacked the British guy and his friend were wearing baggy clothes and looked out of place in the neighborhood, they should have plainly said that. But even then, it's not as though the neighborhood has a dress code. Plenty of residents and legit shoppers and tourists dress like slobs.
I do think that the police officer would have had more of a defense if there had been a rash of crimes, and the people were on the loose, and each time, it had been three black males, wearing dark clothes, ages 20-25, or something. But to flatly say that black people are unusual in Georgetown is irresponsible.
E and I walked through SE a couple of weeks ago, from RFK to Union Station. And yeah, we did not pass any other white people. If there was some violence going on in SE, and the suspects were white, I would not be down with being told to stay out of the area because of the color of my skin. But if two white girls had just murdered someone/committed a robbery and were on the loose, I would understand if I was stopped and questioned.
Last year there was a rash of robberies/muggings on the CUA campus and in the surrounding neighborhood. The school is so undiverse that it's ridiculous, which is to say that I think it's about 75 percent white. So, after the Department of Public Safety stepped up their patrols, a lot of the black students were being IDed as they went into dorms. Profiled.
The EIC of the newspaper went to talk to the Director of DPS about this, saying that it was pissing off students. These kids are paying the same as everyone else, but they're being discriminated against. And the Director (who is black) said that it was common sense, since not one white person had mugged a student on or off campus. If the suspects had red hair, I don't think it would be unreasonable for a red-haired person to expect to be IDed.
During lunch, I had said that profiling isn't something that just white people do to black people - I do it to white people all the time.
(To be clear, I'm not saying this is right of me. Just telling the truth.)
If I see a group of white guys, or any guys, for that matter, and they're sporting popped collars, have spiky gelled hair, and are wearing Aviators, my first thought will be "they are assholes/jackasses/frat boys."
Now, they may not be assholes. But for whatever reason (too many movies? intimidation? too much collegehumor.com?), I already have a negative image of them. And I am well aware that that is not fair.
Also, if I'm alone at night, and I see a male figure up ahead, I might cross the street. If I'm with someone else, I don't know if I would. I know that doesn't make sense, since duos get attacked all the time, but that's how it is. But, also, whenever I'm out walking, and it's night, I have my pepper spray in hand. Whether I'm alone or with a couple of people, it doesn't matter.
Goodness. I'm trying to be so clear here, so that no one gets offended by something that I don't mean. I know it's sexist to cross the street because of a male, but if a female looks sketchy, I'll cross the street as well. And by "sketchy" I mean staring at me, weaving back and forth, just looking suspicious. Also, the truth is that I'm taller and heavier than a lot of girls. A 5'2" girl isn't going to scare me. A 5'2" male probably won't either. But a 6'5" male?
Clothing accounts for a lot of someone's image, and how they want to be seen by the world. "Thug" wear might mean that someone wants to look tough. Popped collars might be preppy, or trying to look rich. Windpants might mean that someone wants to project a sporty image. These people may be none of these things, but to claim that the clothes that you choose have nothing to do with how you want to be seen is faintly ludicrous. So it's a shame to be offended by someone making judgments on what you wear...because it's not bad to (partially) judge a book by its cover. That's what a cover is there for.
If the people that attacked the British guy and his friend were wearing baggy clothes and looked out of place in the neighborhood, they should have plainly said that. But even then, it's not as though the neighborhood has a dress code. Plenty of residents and legit shoppers and tourists dress like slobs.
I do think that the police officer would have had more of a defense if there had been a rash of crimes, and the people were on the loose, and each time, it had been three black males, wearing dark clothes, ages 20-25, or something. But to flatly say that black people are unusual in Georgetown is irresponsible.
E and I walked through SE a couple of weeks ago, from RFK to Union Station. And yeah, we did not pass any other white people. If there was some violence going on in SE, and the suspects were white, I would not be down with being told to stay out of the area because of the color of my skin. But if two white girls had just murdered someone/committed a robbery and were on the loose, I would understand if I was stopped and questioned.
Last year there was a rash of robberies/muggings on the CUA campus and in the surrounding neighborhood. The school is so undiverse that it's ridiculous, which is to say that I think it's about 75 percent white. So, after the Department of Public Safety stepped up their patrols, a lot of the black students were being IDed as they went into dorms. Profiled.
The EIC of the newspaper went to talk to the Director of DPS about this, saying that it was pissing off students. These kids are paying the same as everyone else, but they're being discriminated against. And the Director (who is black) said that it was common sense, since not one white person had mugged a student on or off campus. If the suspects had red hair, I don't think it would be unreasonable for a red-haired person to expect to be IDed.
During lunch, I had said that profiling isn't something that just white people do to black people - I do it to white people all the time.
(To be clear, I'm not saying this is right of me. Just telling the truth.)
If I see a group of white guys, or any guys, for that matter, and they're sporting popped collars, have spiky gelled hair, and are wearing Aviators, my first thought will be "they are assholes/jackasses/frat boys."
Now, they may not be assholes. But for whatever reason (too many movies? intimidation? too much collegehumor.com?), I already have a negative image of them. And I am well aware that that is not fair.
Also, if I'm alone at night, and I see a male figure up ahead, I might cross the street. If I'm with someone else, I don't know if I would. I know that doesn't make sense, since duos get attacked all the time, but that's how it is. But, also, whenever I'm out walking, and it's night, I have my pepper spray in hand. Whether I'm alone or with a couple of people, it doesn't matter.
Goodness. I'm trying to be so clear here, so that no one gets offended by something that I don't mean. I know it's sexist to cross the street because of a male, but if a female looks sketchy, I'll cross the street as well. And by "sketchy" I mean staring at me, weaving back and forth, just looking suspicious. Also, the truth is that I'm taller and heavier than a lot of girls. A 5'2" girl isn't going to scare me. A 5'2" male probably won't either. But a 6'5" male?
discussions over sandwiches
We skimmed the surface of a very interesting conversation in the work lunchroom today...and I regret that it stopped when it did.
It touched upon the issues of crime, and what constitutes racial profiling, and violence being largely ignored until someone white is hurt.
Hopefully more on this later.
This has been a heart-breaking week for the world.
Man Slain In Attack on Couple in Georgetown, Crime Emergency Declared, Investigators Seek Clues in Bombay Bombings, Concrete Falls, and a Couple's Joy is Destroyed
It touched upon the issues of crime, and what constitutes racial profiling, and violence being largely ignored until someone white is hurt.
Hopefully more on this later.
This has been a heart-breaking week for the world.
Man Slain In Attack on Couple in Georgetown, Crime Emergency Declared, Investigators Seek Clues in Bombay Bombings, Concrete Falls, and a Couple's Joy is Destroyed
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
most annoying person IN THE UNIVERSE
That would be me.
I just got a caramel frappuccino at Starbucks, and I absolutely refuse to use their "tall, venti, etc" lingo. So I'm like "Hi, may I please have a small caramel frappuccino, with skim milk?" And the guy at the register goes, "So, a tall lite caramel frappuccino."
Whatever. Until I'm in an intime bistro in small town Italy, with the gentle rays of the sun bathing me and my lover in a soft light, it's going to be a "small, medium, or large. bitch."
Hell. I'll even use the Italian terminology in Boston's North End, or in other Italian enclaves in the United States.
But Starbucks! It's a glorified McDonald's! Let's all stop pretending that a mule is a horse, aight?
I just got a caramel frappuccino at Starbucks, and I absolutely refuse to use their "tall, venti, etc" lingo. So I'm like "Hi, may I please have a small caramel frappuccino, with skim milk?" And the guy at the register goes, "So, a tall lite caramel frappuccino."
Whatever. Until I'm in an intime bistro in small town Italy, with the gentle rays of the sun bathing me and my lover in a soft light, it's going to be a "small, medium, or large. bitch."
Hell. I'll even use the Italian terminology in Boston's North End, or in other Italian enclaves in the United States.
But Starbucks! It's a glorified McDonald's! Let's all stop pretending that a mule is a horse, aight?
dream big. or, at least, bigger.
don't even bother reading this crap!
I'm wiped out, due to irresponsible bedtimes the past couple of days. I know this is common sense...but I definitely notice a strong correlation between how much sleep I get and how well I do at work the next day. After careful observation, I've decided that I need at least eight hours of sleep a night to be a good worker. There's a fine threshold - and with fewer than, oh, about seven hours, I just don't really give a shit.
And that's extremely dangerous.
So I've begun this (short, and ridiculously easy) campaign to get rid of the stupid things that are getting in the way of complete happiness.
Stupid things:
1. get subscription to Glamour
2. clean bathroom + tidy up bedroom
3. clean fish bowl
4. do laundry
5. mail father's day card
I did # 1 already. Yes! And I got a Vanity Fair subscription too. I mailed my dad's Father's Day card last night - and depending on how you look at it, it's either extremely early...or a month late. I'm going to refresh Major Tom's homestead tonight, and do at least...two loads of laundry. And I absolutely have to clean my bedroom and bathroom. I mean, really. It's been too long.
Time for a meeting.
PS - Wombat gave me a shoutout in Kiss & Blog. Swoon!! Makes the fact that Josh Turner is married a little easier to swallow.
And that's extremely dangerous.
So I've begun this (short, and ridiculously easy) campaign to get rid of the stupid things that are getting in the way of complete happiness.
Stupid things:
1. get subscription to Glamour
2. clean bathroom + tidy up bedroom
3. clean fish bowl
4. do laundry
5. mail father's day card
I did # 1 already. Yes! And I got a Vanity Fair subscription too. I mailed my dad's Father's Day card last night - and depending on how you look at it, it's either extremely early...or a month late. I'm going to refresh Major Tom's homestead tonight, and do at least...two loads of laundry. And I absolutely have to clean my bedroom and bathroom. I mean, really. It's been too long.
Time for a meeting.
PS - Wombat gave me a shoutout in Kiss & Blog. Swoon!! Makes the fact that Josh Turner is married a little easier to swallow.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
"move your fingers away from the fire"
The article “Confessions of a Worrywart” really struck me. For too long, I’ve been The Cautious One, always thinking of the worst case scenario. And I’m pretty sure it’s hereditary, because today, when I was talking to my mom, I mentioned that we’ve been borrowing the internet for the past couple of weeks (thanks, “Sydney”!), because Verizon has been thoroughly incompetent. I told her that as a show of gratitude, I think that we should keep our connection non-password protected (if and when we get it). My mom replied, “Well, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if terrorist activity is traced back to you.” What? What?!
So, Friday night, after E and I left the Journey concert early, and we walked by a few guys in the parking lot, and one put his arms up for a high-five, I high-fived him back. And when he put his arm around me, instead of throwing him off, I molded to his side, and walked along, laughing at the moment. And when he stopped, faced me, and leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t jump and shimmy out of his grasp.
I kissed back.
So, Friday night, after E and I left the Journey concert early, and we walked by a few guys in the parking lot, and one put his arms up for a high-five, I high-fived him back. And when he put his arm around me, instead of throwing him off, I molded to his side, and walked along, laughing at the moment. And when he stopped, faced me, and leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t jump and shimmy out of his grasp.
I kissed back.
Friday, July 07, 2006
does the homeless man read my blog?
Because he hasn't been there for the past two days.
JOURNEY CONCERT TONIGHT!
oh, and K Voss sent this to me. I do NOT know what he is implying, but I promptly cut the comic out and put it on my bulletin board at work. ;-)
PS - E updated her blog for the first time...in...five months. She'll make you laugh. She'll make you cry. Read it! (link in sidebar.)
JOURNEY CONCERT TONIGHT!
oh, and K Voss sent this to me. I do NOT know what he is implying, but I promptly cut the comic out and put it on my bulletin board at work. ;-)
PS - E updated her blog for the first time...in...five months. She'll make you laugh. She'll make you cry. Read it! (link in sidebar.)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
My heart belongs to...
- My grapes have loads of seeds in them. WTF? They are so seedy. One seed, I understand. But three or four per grape? That's just ridiculous, and really makes me question whether or not it's worth the effort. And thanks to the horrific news reports of last summer, I keep expecting to find a black widow nestled among the yummy goodness.
- Continuing my obsession/new habit of escaping from reality, I watched a couple of episodes of Lost last night. And one episode made me cry. LIKE A BABY. It started with a trickle of tears, and it led up to a few escaped sobs. I think crying when watching a movie or reading a book is sometimes a way to release the feelings that have been bottling up. Maybe you don't have the energy, or the massive amounts of self-pity that it takes to let out a wail, and watching a sad movie gives you the excuse to just let it out. And in that vein, if anyone wants an excuse to cry their eyes out, watch "Jack Frost".
And now, totally disregarding my last point, imagine the power that some people have...to be able to make people cry. To give people the chills. To make them really feel things, just by watching a scene, or reading a chapter. It's amazing that acting and words on a page can do that.
- While at a National's game last Sunday, I was examining the new $10 bill in my hand. Ostensibly, I was pondering whether or not the dipping dots ("the ice cream of the future" for the past 15 years or so) were worth $4.50, but all of a sudden, it came to me. Hamilton is totally hot.
- Continuing my obsession/new habit of escaping from reality, I watched a couple of episodes of Lost last night. And one episode made me cry. LIKE A BABY. It started with a trickle of tears, and it led up to a few escaped sobs. I think crying when watching a movie or reading a book is sometimes a way to release the feelings that have been bottling up. Maybe you don't have the energy, or the massive amounts of self-pity that it takes to let out a wail, and watching a sad movie gives you the excuse to just let it out. And in that vein, if anyone wants an excuse to cry their eyes out, watch "Jack Frost".
And now, totally disregarding my last point, imagine the power that some people have...to be able to make people cry. To give people the chills. To make them really feel things, just by watching a scene, or reading a chapter. It's amazing that acting and words on a page can do that.
- While at a National's game last Sunday, I was examining the new $10 bill in my hand. Ostensibly, I was pondering whether or not the dipping dots ("the ice cream of the future" for the past 15 years or so) were worth $4.50, but all of a sudden, it came to me. Hamilton is totally hot.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
dilemma!
On my way to the metro, there's this homeless man that chills right by the entrance in the morning. I've always basically ignored him, except for a half-hearted smile or two. One day last week he asked me to stop and talk, and I gave a big smile, and said, "I'm running late! I gotta go to work!"
He replied, "Oh, to hell with a job! Come talk!"
Funny, yes. Oh, the delicious irony! The man who wants my money is telling me not to make money!
But now, every single day, he says "come talk to me." And I keep walking, saying something along the lines of "sorry, can't!"
I want to be like "LEAVE ME ALONE. I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. YOU SCARE ME."
I could avoid him by going to the other metro entrance, but that would add over five minutes to my commute.
It's just annoying, and slightly disturbing.
He replied, "Oh, to hell with a job! Come talk!"
Funny, yes. Oh, the delicious irony! The man who wants my money is telling me not to make money!
But now, every single day, he says "come talk to me." And I keep walking, saying something along the lines of "sorry, can't!"
I want to be like "LEAVE ME ALONE. I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. YOU SCARE ME."
I could avoid him by going to the other metro entrance, but that would add over five minutes to my commute.
It's just annoying, and slightly disturbing.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
not to post twice in one day, but...
I thought this paragraph kinda umm...sums me up at times.
"I didn't abstain from parties and bars -- far from it -- but in the middle of whatever intoxicated state I have ever found myself, there sits a sober nugget like the metal BB inside the spray-paint can. There, deep inside, I am sane, rational, capable of discerning up from down, smart from dumb, dumb, dumb. Don't drive after a sip of wine, this dutiful take-no-prisoners conscience says. Don't kiss that boy. Move your fingers away from the fire. This judging capacity seems both a gift and a curse. It has both saved and doomed me. My friend Karen calls it my Wise Soul. I know it for what it truly is: a curmudgeonly voice of consequence and reason. I've been carrying it around since I was very, very young."
From Confessions of a Worrywart
"I didn't abstain from parties and bars -- far from it -- but in the middle of whatever intoxicated state I have ever found myself, there sits a sober nugget like the metal BB inside the spray-paint can. There, deep inside, I am sane, rational, capable of discerning up from down, smart from dumb, dumb, dumb. Don't drive after a sip of wine, this dutiful take-no-prisoners conscience says. Don't kiss that boy. Move your fingers away from the fire. This judging capacity seems both a gift and a curse. It has both saved and doomed me. My friend Karen calls it my Wise Soul. I know it for what it truly is: a curmudgeonly voice of consequence and reason. I've been carrying it around since I was very, very young."
From Confessions of a Worrywart
a couple of hours in the big city
Due to the benevolence of the head of the company, I had yesterday off. Finally getting my shit together around noon, I packed a lunch (because we’re nearing payday, and I obstinately refuse to a. budget or b. deny myself any purchase, leading to poverty in the days before PD) and headed to the recently opened portrait gallery.
Walking up the steps, it felt like some big, climactic moment. A triumphant scene in the movie of my life, if you will. Four + years of walking past this building, and wanting to go explore inside. The feeling was building up and threatening to bubble over into hand claps and little hops, but I didn’t have anyone to share it with.
No matter…there were security guards. I’d tell one of them as he was checking my bag – he’d understand. The mustached man looking in my bag looked slightly disgruntled, but I’ve been nicer to meaner. So I gushed, “I am just so EXCITED!” and he looked at me, and said,
“Well, that’s nice. But you can’t bring that in here.” Gesturing with his poker, he jabbed at my pepper spray key chain.
I’m pretty sure my face fell faster than an ill-prepared soufflé. I asked him if I could leave it somewhere, and he said that I could put it in the box next to him. The other security guard helpfully volunteered that if I did that, I wouldn’t be getting it back. I wasn’t so distraught that I didn’t feel a flicker of annoyance at Security Guard A for not sharing that crucial point.
I stood there, contemplating the dilemma. Sure, I could put the pepper spray in the “amnesty box,” but that would mean that it would be gone forever. And if I let go of it forever, you just know that I was going to get mugged during the next possible muggable opportunity. And I didn’t know anyone who worked around there (“Hey, could you hold my pepper spray? Thanks, you’re a doll!”), and it was just. so. hot. outside.
Just when I was about to sink into the depths of despair and swallow the thing, a guy getting his backpack inspected chimed in with a “just go outside and hide it!”
Okay…now, I think this is the same everywhere, but especially in DC, you don’t just drop packages in potted plants. That makes you a terrorist. Period.
Willing to risk that misunderstanding, I walked outside, and kind of looked around casually. Whistling, I hooked a right to the side of the front stairs. No potted plants in sight, but there was a gap in between the building and the thick stone wall surrounding the steps. Thanking the heavens for unfinished work, I dropped the pepper spray in there, and straightened up suspiciously.
A family was watching me, but no matter. For all they knew, I was a secret agent. And that wasn’t so far-fetched, since the Spy Museum is right around the corner, right? Take two of the examination of personal items, and Security Guard B checks out my stuff. I think he had pity on me, because as he was shifting around my lunch, I hear SG A giving some people some crap about bringing food into the museum.
So, after that drama, I finally get inside. And the first hallway is wonderful, a dream come true. Well, a bit too crowded to really qualify as a “dream come true,” but then I remembered that, as a rule, people are lazy and lemming-like, so I took the elevator (hee hee) to the third floor. Blissfully nearly empty, I was free to stare at pictures to my heart’s content.
Okay, so here’s the juicy stuff, for you museum-lovers.
They have this huge temporary exhibit of art by William Wegman. Everyone is familiar with Wegman’s work, even if they don’t know it – he’s the guy who poses his gray dog in a lot of pictures, in humiliating poses. Turns out that he’s actually so much more, and I fell in love (I wonder if he’s still alive?). He has a really quirky sense of humor…for example, he had a sketch of “20 birds and 20 waves” (or something), and he drew seagulls, and waves…you know…using “v”s and upside down “v”s. Okay, so it doesn’t sound so brilliant when written, but it was great. Made me laugh out loud.
There’s also this grand hall of contemporary art. And for the most part it was great art, not some globs of white paint on white paper, representing the misunderstood angst of inner-city parakeets.
And then there’s a hall with portraits of “Great 20th Century Americans”—so neat. One room had all of these oil paintings of WWII generals, and it really pressed upon me their place of importance in American history. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that they had patriotic music pumping subliminally in the background.
Another room was full of writers, like ee cummings, Gertrude Stein, Marianne Moore, and Upton Sinclair. And it’s just so strange to see what they looked like, to see where the genius came from. And each painting/statue/picture has a great paragraph chock full of information about the person, so if you don’t know who someone is, you don’t have to walk around in faux intelligence, chewing on the ends of your eyeglasses, making an effort to look like a distracted genius.
After two hours there, I had to leave, because I was starting to have information overload, and I didn’t want to gloss over anything that I’d love, given more of an attention span. Besides, from time to time I had visions of a SWAT team descending upon me as I picked up the goods, and I wanted to get the arrest over with.
(If anyone wants to check the place out, and wants a museum buddy, let me know, because I’m looking forward to going back.)
Leaving from a different side of the building than the one I came in (because I’m bad with NESW directions like that), I had plenty of time to “case the situation.” A couple was standing right next to the pepper spray hiding spot. Not wanting to cool my heels in the 95°F heat waiting for them to leave, I walked right up to them, said “excuse me,” and grabbed the offending object.
Sizing up my actions immediately, they laughed at me in a good-natured way, and it was a lovely ending to a bizarre situation.
Walking up the steps, it felt like some big, climactic moment. A triumphant scene in the movie of my life, if you will. Four + years of walking past this building, and wanting to go explore inside. The feeling was building up and threatening to bubble over into hand claps and little hops, but I didn’t have anyone to share it with.
No matter…there were security guards. I’d tell one of them as he was checking my bag – he’d understand. The mustached man looking in my bag looked slightly disgruntled, but I’ve been nicer to meaner. So I gushed, “I am just so EXCITED!” and he looked at me, and said,
“Well, that’s nice. But you can’t bring that in here.” Gesturing with his poker, he jabbed at my pepper spray key chain.
I’m pretty sure my face fell faster than an ill-prepared soufflé. I asked him if I could leave it somewhere, and he said that I could put it in the box next to him. The other security guard helpfully volunteered that if I did that, I wouldn’t be getting it back. I wasn’t so distraught that I didn’t feel a flicker of annoyance at Security Guard A for not sharing that crucial point.
I stood there, contemplating the dilemma. Sure, I could put the pepper spray in the “amnesty box,” but that would mean that it would be gone forever. And if I let go of it forever, you just know that I was going to get mugged during the next possible muggable opportunity. And I didn’t know anyone who worked around there (“Hey, could you hold my pepper spray? Thanks, you’re a doll!”), and it was just. so. hot. outside.
Just when I was about to sink into the depths of despair and swallow the thing, a guy getting his backpack inspected chimed in with a “just go outside and hide it!”
Okay…now, I think this is the same everywhere, but especially in DC, you don’t just drop packages in potted plants. That makes you a terrorist. Period.
Willing to risk that misunderstanding, I walked outside, and kind of looked around casually. Whistling, I hooked a right to the side of the front stairs. No potted plants in sight, but there was a gap in between the building and the thick stone wall surrounding the steps. Thanking the heavens for unfinished work, I dropped the pepper spray in there, and straightened up suspiciously.
A family was watching me, but no matter. For all they knew, I was a secret agent. And that wasn’t so far-fetched, since the Spy Museum is right around the corner, right? Take two of the examination of personal items, and Security Guard B checks out my stuff. I think he had pity on me, because as he was shifting around my lunch, I hear SG A giving some people some crap about bringing food into the museum.
So, after that drama, I finally get inside. And the first hallway is wonderful, a dream come true. Well, a bit too crowded to really qualify as a “dream come true,” but then I remembered that, as a rule, people are lazy and lemming-like, so I took the elevator (hee hee) to the third floor. Blissfully nearly empty, I was free to stare at pictures to my heart’s content.
Okay, so here’s the juicy stuff, for you museum-lovers.
They have this huge temporary exhibit of art by William Wegman. Everyone is familiar with Wegman’s work, even if they don’t know it – he’s the guy who poses his gray dog in a lot of pictures, in humiliating poses. Turns out that he’s actually so much more, and I fell in love (I wonder if he’s still alive?). He has a really quirky sense of humor…for example, he had a sketch of “20 birds and 20 waves” (or something), and he drew seagulls, and waves…you know…using “v”s and upside down “v”s. Okay, so it doesn’t sound so brilliant when written, but it was great. Made me laugh out loud.
There’s also this grand hall of contemporary art. And for the most part it was great art, not some globs of white paint on white paper, representing the misunderstood angst of inner-city parakeets.
And then there’s a hall with portraits of “Great 20th Century Americans”—so neat. One room had all of these oil paintings of WWII generals, and it really pressed upon me their place of importance in American history. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that they had patriotic music pumping subliminally in the background.
Another room was full of writers, like ee cummings, Gertrude Stein, Marianne Moore, and Upton Sinclair. And it’s just so strange to see what they looked like, to see where the genius came from. And each painting/statue/picture has a great paragraph chock full of information about the person, so if you don’t know who someone is, you don’t have to walk around in faux intelligence, chewing on the ends of your eyeglasses, making an effort to look like a distracted genius.
After two hours there, I had to leave, because I was starting to have information overload, and I didn’t want to gloss over anything that I’d love, given more of an attention span. Besides, from time to time I had visions of a SWAT team descending upon me as I picked up the goods, and I wanted to get the arrest over with.
(If anyone wants to check the place out, and wants a museum buddy, let me know, because I’m looking forward to going back.)
Leaving from a different side of the building than the one I came in (because I’m bad with NESW directions like that), I had plenty of time to “case the situation.” A couple was standing right next to the pepper spray hiding spot. Not wanting to cool my heels in the 95°F heat waiting for them to leave, I walked right up to them, said “excuse me,” and grabbed the offending object.
Sizing up my actions immediately, they laughed at me in a good-natured way, and it was a lovely ending to a bizarre situation.
