I just ordered a Gillian Welch album and two Ryan Adams albums. I could really get used to having a little bit of extra money.
I had a little bit of extra money right before I moved away from Morgantown. I was making a pretty good living for Morgantown, teaching a bunch of classes and taking on extra work wherever I could. As a teacher, you have big chunks of time that are empty and I figured that I might as well fill them since everyone else had a job that required they be there all day. If I wasn't working, there wasn't anyone to hang out with anyway.
Then I transitioned from TA to Adjunct Professor. I knew that there was going to be a bit of a pay bump but I didn't think it'd be more than like a hundred bucks.
Then I got my first paycheck for adjuncting and was sure there had been a mistake. It was for $880. I called up the woman that does accounting for WVU's English Department and asked why they had paid me in a lump sum. Was I now getting paid monthy instead of bi-weekly? And she was like, "What? What are you talking about?" I told her how much the check was for and that my old check had been like half of that...or less. And she explained that they hadn't paid me in a lump sum and that I was still getting paid bi-weekly. I repeated what she said. "You mean that I get paid $880 every two weeks?" "Yes." I repeated it back to her 3 or 4 more times. I asked her to double check the books or the log or whatever the hell they use to know about these things.
Surely this was my Monopoly moment. "Bank error in your favor. Collect double what you're worth every two weeks." I knew I should keep my mouth shut and just take the money. But that's not my way. I'm a worrier and as a worrier I'm always scared that someone will come back months after realizing the error and make me pay back money that I no longer have. (I also worry about near Earth objects, failing at life and having to go back a few levels [repeating high school, going back to the dorms, etc.], and how my entire apartment is subject to entropy.)
But it wasn't a mistake. I got to keep the money and the money just kept coming on a bi-weekly basis.
It was so much expendable income. Let's break this down.
Rent--$250 (utilities included)
Netflix--$25
Cell Phone--$60
Car Insurance--$34
Gas--$50 (that's a generous estimate...I didn't need to drive much in Morgantown)
Groceries--$100
Entertainment--$50 (again...generous...all I need was a $9 half gallon of Vladimir and I was set to go for at least two weeks)
Remaining Expendable Income:$1191
WHAT? I was so amped. Finally, I could buy brand name things if I wanted to. I could shop at a real grocery store. I could buy things that weren't second hand.
That first month was great. I went to Wal-Mart and bought everything that was on my list of "Stuff I Need to Buy". I didn't have to add things up or debate which I needed more, soap or a toothbrush. I just put everything in the cart. I bought a new vaccum. I went to Target and got some sweaters. I took Hess to dinner. When I was done doing everthing that I could think to do, I still had money. I just saved it.
Yeah, September 2005 was awesome. October...not so much.
At the end of August I had interviewed for my current job. They called at the end of September to offer it to me. I was going to have to move. I needed first month's rent and a security deposit and enough money to tide me over until I got my first paycheck and that would take a month. Everything I made from then on out went into savings. I was back to an ascetic lifestyle.
And I pretty much have been ever since. My first year here I wasn't making much and my rent had quadrupled from what I was accustomed to paying in Morgantown. There was a moment of reprieve in February of this year when my raise kicked in. It was so sweet. Extra money. Again! Then my car died. And just as I was getting used to the idea that I could periodically afford to buy some sushi, it was taken away. Fucking car payments and higher insurance.
But I can see more money on its way. And there's nothing that could ruin it now. Everything I have has already died and been replaced. My car, my computer, and soon--my couch.
Surely this means that I'm going to die or something. The universe will not let me have a steady stream of expendable income.
You will surely regret this
Sam Brown--explodingdog.com
Friday, September 28, 2007
"Childrens do learn," Bush tells school kids
Wed Sep 26, 2:03 PM ET
Offering a grammar lesson guaranteed to make any English teacher cringe, President George W. Bush told a group of New York school kids on Wednesday: "Childrens do learn."
Bush made his latest grammatical slip-up at a made-for-TV event where he urged Congress to reauthorize the No Child Left Behind Act, the centrepiece of his education policy, as he touted a new national report card on improved test scores.
The event drew New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Education Secretary Margaret Spellings plus teachers and about 20 fourth and fifth graders from P.S. 76.
During his first presidential campaign, Bush -- who promised to be the "education president" -- once asked: "Is our children learning?"
On Wednesday, Bush seemed to answer his own question with the same kind of grammatical twist. "As yesterday's positive report card shows, childrens do learn when standards are high and results are measured," he said.
The White House opted to clean up Bush's diction in the official transcript.
Bush is no stranger to verbal gaffes. He often acknowledges he was no more than an average student in school and jokes about his habit of mangling the English language.
Just a day earlier, the White House inadvertently showed how it tries to prevent Bush from making even more slips of the tongue than he already does. As Bush addressed the U.N. General Assembly on Tuesday, a marked-up draft of his speech briefly popped up on the U.N. Web site, complete with a phonetic pronunciation guide to get him past troublesome names of countries and world leaders.
_______________________________________
Oh. Yes. Also, here are some other choice Bushisms from the last 2 years.
"Information is moving -- you know, nightly news is one way, of course, but it's also moving through the blogosphere and through the Internets." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 2, 2007
"Either we'll succeed, or we won't succeed. And the definition of success as I described is sectarian violence down. Success is not no violence." --George W. Bush, on Iraq, Washington, D.C., May 2, 2007
"There are jobs Americans aren't doing. ... If you've got a chicken factory, a chicken-plucking factory, or whatever you call them, you know what I'm talking about." --George W. Bush. Tipp City, Ohio, April 19, 2007
"The solution to Iraq -- an Iraq that can govern itself, sustain itself and defend itself -- is more than a military mission. Precisely the reason why I sent more troops into Baghdad." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., April 3, 2007
Maria Bartiromo: "I'm curious, have you ever googled anybody? Do you use Google?"
President Bush: "Occasionally. One of the things I've used on the Google is to pull up maps. It's very interesting to see -- I've forgot the name of the program -- but you get the satellite, and you can -- like, I kinda like to look at the ranch. It remind me of where I wanna be sometimes." --interview with CNBC's Maria Bartiromo, Oct. 24, 2006
"I said I was looking for a book to read, Laura said you ought to try Camus. I also read three Shakespeares. ... I've got a eck-a-lec-tic reading list." --George W. Bush, interview with NBC's Brian Williams, New Orleans, La., Aug. 29, 2006
"I think -- tide turning -- see, as I remember -- I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of -- it's easy to see a tide turn -- did I say those words?" --George W. Bush, asked if the tide was turning in Iraq, Washington, D.C., June 14, 2006
"That's George Washington, the first president, of course. The interesting thing about him is that I read three -- three or four books about him last year. Isn't that interesting?" --George W. Bush, while showing German newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C., May 5, 2006
"That's called, A Charge To Keep, based upon a religious hymn. The hymn talks about serving God. The president's job is never to promote a religion." --George W. Bush, showing German newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C., May 5, 2006
Offering a grammar lesson guaranteed to make any English teacher cringe, President George W. Bush told a group of New York school kids on Wednesday: "Childrens do learn."
Bush made his latest grammatical slip-up at a made-for-TV event where he urged Congress to reauthorize the No Child Left Behind Act, the centrepiece of his education policy, as he touted a new national report card on improved test scores.
The event drew New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Education Secretary Margaret Spellings plus teachers and about 20 fourth and fifth graders from P.S. 76.
During his first presidential campaign, Bush -- who promised to be the "education president" -- once asked: "Is our children learning?"
On Wednesday, Bush seemed to answer his own question with the same kind of grammatical twist. "As yesterday's positive report card shows, childrens do learn when standards are high and results are measured," he said.
The White House opted to clean up Bush's diction in the official transcript.
Bush is no stranger to verbal gaffes. He often acknowledges he was no more than an average student in school and jokes about his habit of mangling the English language.
Just a day earlier, the White House inadvertently showed how it tries to prevent Bush from making even more slips of the tongue than he already does. As Bush addressed the U.N. General Assembly on Tuesday, a marked-up draft of his speech briefly popped up on the U.N. Web site, complete with a phonetic pronunciation guide to get him past troublesome names of countries and world leaders.
_______________________________________
Oh. Yes. Also, here are some other choice Bushisms from the last 2 years.
"Information is moving -- you know, nightly news is one way, of course, but it's also moving through the blogosphere and through the Internets." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 2, 2007
"Either we'll succeed, or we won't succeed. And the definition of success as I described is sectarian violence down. Success is not no violence." --George W. Bush, on Iraq, Washington, D.C., May 2, 2007
"There are jobs Americans aren't doing. ... If you've got a chicken factory, a chicken-plucking factory, or whatever you call them, you know what I'm talking about." --George W. Bush. Tipp City, Ohio, April 19, 2007
"The solution to Iraq -- an Iraq that can govern itself, sustain itself and defend itself -- is more than a military mission. Precisely the reason why I sent more troops into Baghdad." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., April 3, 2007
Maria Bartiromo: "I'm curious, have you ever googled anybody? Do you use Google?"
President Bush: "Occasionally. One of the things I've used on the Google is to pull up maps. It's very interesting to see -- I've forgot the name of the program -- but you get the satellite, and you can -- like, I kinda like to look at the ranch. It remind me of where I wanna be sometimes." --interview with CNBC's Maria Bartiromo, Oct. 24, 2006
"I said I was looking for a book to read, Laura said you ought to try Camus. I also read three Shakespeares. ... I've got a eck-a-lec-tic reading list." --George W. Bush, interview with NBC's Brian Williams, New Orleans, La., Aug. 29, 2006
"I think -- tide turning -- see, as I remember -- I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of -- it's easy to see a tide turn -- did I say those words?" --George W. Bush, asked if the tide was turning in Iraq, Washington, D.C., June 14, 2006
"That's George Washington, the first president, of course. The interesting thing about him is that I read three -- three or four books about him last year. Isn't that interesting?" --George W. Bush, while showing German newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C., May 5, 2006
"That's called, A Charge To Keep, based upon a religious hymn. The hymn talks about serving God. The president's job is never to promote a religion." --George W. Bush, showing German newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C., May 5, 2006
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Your Mom's a title for my blog.
Life is a joy for losers.
I don't think that losers know that they're losers. The kind of people that are capable of asking themselves, "Damn, am I a loser?" or affirming to themselves, "Hey, I think I might be a loser." are also the type of people for whom being a loser is a thing to be concerned about. They're people for whom loserness is a problem to be avoided. Consequently, they'll take the appropriate measures to ensure that they are not currently, and do not become, a loser. Losers don't ask themselves if they're a loser and they are incapable of taking steps to avoid or rectify such a situation (thus their loserly status). For them, it's a nonissue.
For losers, loserness is a moving target. That is to say, the shadow that their loserly self casts on the cave wall bears no resemblance for them to the idea of a loser. Me? A loser? No, no, no. I mean sure...I wear a utilikilt and I borrowed money from my grandma to go to Otakon but I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be promoted to an associate at Wal-Mart and from there I can really launch my career into douchebaggery and pick up some sweet young cosplay babes.
(Seriously, what's up cosplay babes? Sometimes you're so hot but you're all like dumbass young. Dude...am I a skeezy pervy loser for thinking that? Oh zing. I just illustrated my own point. Please take note that my self awareness officially puts me in the "not a loser" category. [However, I think I can still safely be put in the "skeezy pervy" category for making that remark.])
He might be aware that others in a similar situation could be considered a loser but he can't imagine that that would apply to him. After all, he's him. He's Dude. Dude believes that he's self-aware enough to know if he were a loser. For sure, he thinks he'd be the first to know.
But he isn't. We are the first to know. Dude might concede that his situation is remarkably lame but he always keeps pushing the mark of a loser further and further away. It's like getting older. You think that 20 is pretty old until you hit 20 and then you decide that 28 is old but when you get to 28 you move that mark to the late 30s and so on. For him, he's always a few slurpees shy of being the dude outside 7-11 checking out the bounce in your shirt. For him, there's always some key aspect of being a loser that he's pretty sure he lacks. So yeah...I think he's probably happy.
_______________________________________________________
The following came from Sean's blog:
I tried to argue that the [tattoo] removals happen because many people get tattoos when they are young or drunk or stupid-heads. The bikers turned doctors. The 'I love you M' ass tattoos. The "I want a peace sign with something in it that says 'don't fuck with me'".
I hope marriage is like that too. That, like tattoos, there are cool marriages and lame marriages, and that cool people can tell the difference, and that I'm a cool person.
I like this idea.
Though I've lived with tons of insignficant others, I've not yet lived with an other that was signifcant in any fashion. And so I have a very romanticized idea of living with a boyfriend. I assume that it's like a constant sleepover.
I like to think of leaving a warm bed full of a warm boy in the mornings. I'd lean over him all sleepy and kiss his forehead before I go to work or vice versa. I like to think that we'd make dinner together and talk to the cats and review our days and be genuinely interested in what the other has to say. I like to think that I could settle in an overstuffed chair (one of those giant chairs you can really sprawl in...god, I want one of those) and read a book or watch some XFiles while he played videogames and we'd be fine just being separate from each other. We could be together but left alone.
I think about inside jokes and familiar touching. I imagine what our fights would be like and how we'd have to get used to seeing each other when we don't look our best.
My lack of experience living with a boyfriend probably means that I'm not a good judge of how married life is likely to be. I'm fine with that. I don't feel much need to get married. But I do feel a desire to live with someone. Even if it's just to find out that I've been wildly mistaken about how fun it'll be. Maybe it isn't a kiss fest. Maybe it's not just burying your head in the soft skin of their stomach and smelling them. But then again, maybe it is.
_____________________________________________
I had some toast with peanut butter for breakfast. It always reminds me of being in kindergarten. My mom used to give me peanut butter toast and let me eat it out on our deck sitting at the picnic table. Actually, it was a tiny picnic table that my dad built to fit little kids.
There's a very small thing coming in the mail. Nothing to get worked up about. Just a package with something inside. Penny.
I don't think that losers know that they're losers. The kind of people that are capable of asking themselves, "Damn, am I a loser?" or affirming to themselves, "Hey, I think I might be a loser." are also the type of people for whom being a loser is a thing to be concerned about. They're people for whom loserness is a problem to be avoided. Consequently, they'll take the appropriate measures to ensure that they are not currently, and do not become, a loser. Losers don't ask themselves if they're a loser and they are incapable of taking steps to avoid or rectify such a situation (thus their loserly status). For them, it's a nonissue.
For losers, loserness is a moving target. That is to say, the shadow that their loserly self casts on the cave wall bears no resemblance for them to the idea of a loser. Me? A loser? No, no, no. I mean sure...I wear a utilikilt and I borrowed money from my grandma to go to Otakon but I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be promoted to an associate at Wal-Mart and from there I can really launch my career into douchebaggery and pick up some sweet young cosplay babes.
(Seriously, what's up cosplay babes? Sometimes you're so hot but you're all like dumbass young. Dude...am I a skeezy pervy loser for thinking that? Oh zing. I just illustrated my own point. Please take note that my self awareness officially puts me in the "not a loser" category. [However, I think I can still safely be put in the "skeezy pervy" category for making that remark.])
He might be aware that others in a similar situation could be considered a loser but he can't imagine that that would apply to him. After all, he's him. He's Dude. Dude believes that he's self-aware enough to know if he were a loser. For sure, he thinks he'd be the first to know.
But he isn't. We are the first to know. Dude might concede that his situation is remarkably lame but he always keeps pushing the mark of a loser further and further away. It's like getting older. You think that 20 is pretty old until you hit 20 and then you decide that 28 is old but when you get to 28 you move that mark to the late 30s and so on. For him, he's always a few slurpees shy of being the dude outside 7-11 checking out the bounce in your shirt. For him, there's always some key aspect of being a loser that he's pretty sure he lacks. So yeah...I think he's probably happy.
_______________________________________________________
The following came from Sean's blog:
I tried to argue that the [tattoo] removals happen because many people get tattoos when they are young or drunk or stupid-heads. The bikers turned doctors. The 'I love you M' ass tattoos. The "I want a peace sign with something in it that says 'don't fuck with me'".
I hope marriage is like that too. That, like tattoos, there are cool marriages and lame marriages, and that cool people can tell the difference, and that I'm a cool person.
I like this idea.
Though I've lived with tons of insignficant others, I've not yet lived with an other that was signifcant in any fashion. And so I have a very romanticized idea of living with a boyfriend. I assume that it's like a constant sleepover.
I like to think of leaving a warm bed full of a warm boy in the mornings. I'd lean over him all sleepy and kiss his forehead before I go to work or vice versa. I like to think that we'd make dinner together and talk to the cats and review our days and be genuinely interested in what the other has to say. I like to think that I could settle in an overstuffed chair (one of those giant chairs you can really sprawl in...god, I want one of those) and read a book or watch some XFiles while he played videogames and we'd be fine just being separate from each other. We could be together but left alone.
I think about inside jokes and familiar touching. I imagine what our fights would be like and how we'd have to get used to seeing each other when we don't look our best.
My lack of experience living with a boyfriend probably means that I'm not a good judge of how married life is likely to be. I'm fine with that. I don't feel much need to get married. But I do feel a desire to live with someone. Even if it's just to find out that I've been wildly mistaken about how fun it'll be. Maybe it isn't a kiss fest. Maybe it's not just burying your head in the soft skin of their stomach and smelling them. But then again, maybe it is.
_____________________________________________
I had some toast with peanut butter for breakfast. It always reminds me of being in kindergarten. My mom used to give me peanut butter toast and let me eat it out on our deck sitting at the picnic table. Actually, it was a tiny picnic table that my dad built to fit little kids.
There's a very small thing coming in the mail. Nothing to get worked up about. Just a package with something inside. Penny.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Did I ever tell you...
about the day I found out that Marie Wells pees corn?
Marie Wells was a jerk. Even for a first grader. This one time she totally stole my little purple purse. I later found it in her desk and I was like, "Marie, that's my purse." Marie said, "No, it isn't. It's mine." And I was like, "Umm...nuh uh. I can tell it's mine. It's got my Michael Jackson pin on it because I'm in love with him and I'm planning on having his babies." And Marie said, "No, my dad gave me that Michael Jackson pin." Which was a damn lie because the only thing Marie Wells ever got from her dad were cigarette burns and bad posture.
One day, Marie was being her usual jerky self and Mrs. Boyce told her that she had to stay inside to eat her lunch and she couldn't have after lunch recess. The rest of us went to lunch per our normal routine. When we returned to the classroom there was a puddle of pee on the floor under Mare Wells' desk and--right there...in front of my very own eyes--there were little corn niblets in the pee.
And it hit me...Marie Wells pees corn? Marie Wells pees corn. Oh. My. God. Marie Wells pees corn!
That makes sense. Of course she pees corn. She would pee corn. That's so Marie. Oh man, I bet she's super ashamed of herself. Peeing in public and peeing corn no less. That's totally gross.
I envisioned Marie peeing herself and making sad little faces when the niblets plopped out. I imagined her running from the room, too embarrassed to cope with the freakish nature of her urinary tract. She'd likely never come back. Nope. Not now that we all knew the truth about her.
When Mrs. Boyce came back into the room she apologized. She had been waiting for a custodian to bring a mop and was hoping that she could have it cleaned up before we returned. Marie, she informed us, had had an accident.
No lie, lady! She peed corn all over the floor!
Then some kid was like, "Why is there corn on the floor?" I laughed in my own head at how stupid some kids can be. Idiot. Marie Wells pees corn! But Mrs. Boyce explained that--in her haste to leave the room and flee the evidence of her accident--Marie had knocked her lunch try off her desk where she was eating and some corn niblets fell to the floor.
So, Marie Wells doesn't pee corn? What a ripoff.
And I point this out because it's a sad moment. It's the moment that I stopped believing that people could possibly pee corn or have super powers and started down the path of skepticism. So yeah, sort of sad.
Marie Wells was a jerk. Even for a first grader. This one time she totally stole my little purple purse. I later found it in her desk and I was like, "Marie, that's my purse." Marie said, "No, it isn't. It's mine." And I was like, "Umm...nuh uh. I can tell it's mine. It's got my Michael Jackson pin on it because I'm in love with him and I'm planning on having his babies." And Marie said, "No, my dad gave me that Michael Jackson pin." Which was a damn lie because the only thing Marie Wells ever got from her dad were cigarette burns and bad posture.
One day, Marie was being her usual jerky self and Mrs. Boyce told her that she had to stay inside to eat her lunch and she couldn't have after lunch recess. The rest of us went to lunch per our normal routine. When we returned to the classroom there was a puddle of pee on the floor under Mare Wells' desk and--right there...in front of my very own eyes--there were little corn niblets in the pee.
And it hit me...Marie Wells pees corn? Marie Wells pees corn. Oh. My. God. Marie Wells pees corn!
That makes sense. Of course she pees corn. She would pee corn. That's so Marie. Oh man, I bet she's super ashamed of herself. Peeing in public and peeing corn no less. That's totally gross.
I envisioned Marie peeing herself and making sad little faces when the niblets plopped out. I imagined her running from the room, too embarrassed to cope with the freakish nature of her urinary tract. She'd likely never come back. Nope. Not now that we all knew the truth about her.
When Mrs. Boyce came back into the room she apologized. She had been waiting for a custodian to bring a mop and was hoping that she could have it cleaned up before we returned. Marie, she informed us, had had an accident.
No lie, lady! She peed corn all over the floor!
Then some kid was like, "Why is there corn on the floor?" I laughed in my own head at how stupid some kids can be. Idiot. Marie Wells pees corn! But Mrs. Boyce explained that--in her haste to leave the room and flee the evidence of her accident--Marie had knocked her lunch try off her desk where she was eating and some corn niblets fell to the floor.
So, Marie Wells doesn't pee corn? What a ripoff.
And I point this out because it's a sad moment. It's the moment that I stopped believing that people could possibly pee corn or have super powers and started down the path of skepticism. So yeah, sort of sad.
No Bone Movies
The following blog was written by my long time friend and great buddy, Nick. Nick manages a Blockbuster store in Columbus, Ohio.
No Bone Movies
An exchange between myself and an approx. 8-10 year old girl who presumably was on her way to her soccer game or just finished her soccer game or was sporting her "soccer player" Halloween costume early or was just plain a fraud:
G: Excuse me, can you help me, can you tell me what might be some good bone movies?
N: Bone movies?
G: Yes
N: Bone?
G: Yes
N: I'm not sure what you're asking me
G: Like movies about people made out of bones
N: BONE? People made out of bones?
G: There's one I wanted, I can't remember what it's called
N: A person made out of bones? Like a skeleton?
G: Like a person...with bones (motions, presenting her arm)
N: Hmm...
G: You probably wouldn't know what I'm talking about, nevermind.
I suspect she was either on drugs or her parents were cultists. Recommend a good bone movie? Like I have a bone movie section, and she wants me to point out a handful of the best? And what is a person made out of bones if not some sort of reanimated skeleton? The word "skeleton" evoked no glimmer of recognition. I truly had no idea what she was talking about. And yes, I am aware Ozzy Osbourne has a song called "No Bone Movies" about adult films, and I will not entertain the idea that this was her angle. I must find these esoteric bone movies.
No Bone Movies
An exchange between myself and an approx. 8-10 year old girl who presumably was on her way to her soccer game or just finished her soccer game or was sporting her "soccer player" Halloween costume early or was just plain a fraud:
G: Excuse me, can you help me, can you tell me what might be some good bone movies?
N: Bone movies?
G: Yes
N: Bone?
G: Yes
N: I'm not sure what you're asking me
G: Like movies about people made out of bones
N: BONE? People made out of bones?
G: There's one I wanted, I can't remember what it's called
N: A person made out of bones? Like a skeleton?
G: Like a person...with bones (motions, presenting her arm)
N: Hmm...
G: You probably wouldn't know what I'm talking about, nevermind.
I suspect she was either on drugs or her parents were cultists. Recommend a good bone movie? Like I have a bone movie section, and she wants me to point out a handful of the best? And what is a person made out of bones if not some sort of reanimated skeleton? The word "skeleton" evoked no glimmer of recognition. I truly had no idea what she was talking about. And yes, I am aware Ozzy Osbourne has a song called "No Bone Movies" about adult films, and I will not entertain the idea that this was her angle. I must find these esoteric bone movies.
COME ON!
Facebook is now giving me the option of searching my entire AIM buddy list to see if any of the people on there are also on facebook. If they're not already on facebook, I can send them a message to prod them into signing up. Okay. That's not unreasonable. Importing a list of contacts from one place to another is a pretty easy way of finding people. (Let's just ignore the fact that if you're too busy to look through profiles and find your friends the old fashioned way, then you probably have no business being on a site that's designed around the premise that you're the kind of person that's interested in wasting time by reading an arbitrary set of unrevealing questions that your friends and acquaintances have painstakingly answered. "What are my favorite books? Gee. How can I answer this in such a way that the people of the internet understand that I'm smart, hip, into their cool liberal ideals, and desirable to the max? Hmm...Siddhartha. Yes, I'll say that my favorite book is Siddhartha." Seriously, is that book on everyone's favorite fucking book list?)
OkCupid has a facebook thing too. I didn't bother checking it out but I'm sure it's the same sort of thing that facebook has with AIM. With this new OkCupid/Facebook mash-up you can double your ability to be made angry and uncomfortable by fatasses with dumb ideas. Hooray?
Then, this morning, I went online to buy my ticket for the Lucero show. After making my purchase, ticketmaster tells me that they're now linked to facebook and I can search to see who else is going to the show. Use of a shwat? Come. The Fuck. On. This is out of hand.
OkCupid has a facebook thing too. I didn't bother checking it out but I'm sure it's the same sort of thing that facebook has with AIM. With this new OkCupid/Facebook mash-up you can double your ability to be made angry and uncomfortable by fatasses with dumb ideas. Hooray?
Then, this morning, I went online to buy my ticket for the Lucero show. After making my purchase, ticketmaster tells me that they're now linked to facebook and I can search to see who else is going to the show. Use of a shwat? Come. The Fuck. On. This is out of hand.
Monday, September 24, 2007
5 Senses
I touched a stingray. It felt like high quality, wet velvet but more muscely.
Ate some really good sashimi at a fancy restaurant from which I had a great view of Alcatraz.
Smelled Mediterranean fruit fly pheromones. Super gross. It's like an incredibly potent cough syrup mixed with household cleaner.
Heard some fake birdcalls on something called a squawkbox.
From this information I can conclude that California, like every other place I've ever visited, has things that can stimulate each of my 5 senses. And hooray for that.
_______________________________________
My birthday is coming up and I have the itch to have a party. Not the sit around in wooden chairs and stare awkwardly at the coffee table kind of party. Not the 16 year old girl throwing up in your sink kind of debaucherous shindigs of yesterday. What I'd like to have is a reasonable mix of both reasonable and unreasonable people with the best of worst intentions and enough alcohol to make our dreams come true. But those parties are rare and I'm just getting my hopes up if I start thinking like that.
But how about a porch sitting, beer drinking party? How about an XFiles drinking game party? Or a party game party? Or a vodka swilling, "what would you do if _____?" party? That sounds pretty good. Maybe a party where all we do is sit around and chat and smile and think that life is pretty good sometimes and there's tasty salsa and no real reason to not be in this room, with these people, engaging in that activity. Yeah, that sounds pretty good.
Now, the only problem is that I don't have many friends in Maryland. I mean, I have friends but they were Ben's friends before they were my friends. And I like them and have a good time with them but if they come to my birthday party will they be wondering, "Where are all of Mandi's friends? All I see here are Ben's friends that she's entitled to by virtue of dating him. Is she incapable of getting her own friends?" Well...am I? The answer is, "Sort of." And now that that's out of the way, please continue drinking. You'll find that I'm much more charming with each drink that passes your lips.
Ate some really good sashimi at a fancy restaurant from which I had a great view of Alcatraz.
Smelled Mediterranean fruit fly pheromones. Super gross. It's like an incredibly potent cough syrup mixed with household cleaner.
Heard some fake birdcalls on something called a squawkbox.
From this information I can conclude that California, like every other place I've ever visited, has things that can stimulate each of my 5 senses. And hooray for that.
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My birthday is coming up and I have the itch to have a party. Not the sit around in wooden chairs and stare awkwardly at the coffee table kind of party. Not the 16 year old girl throwing up in your sink kind of debaucherous shindigs of yesterday. What I'd like to have is a reasonable mix of both reasonable and unreasonable people with the best of worst intentions and enough alcohol to make our dreams come true. But those parties are rare and I'm just getting my hopes up if I start thinking like that.
But how about a porch sitting, beer drinking party? How about an XFiles drinking game party? Or a party game party? Or a vodka swilling, "what would you do if _____?" party? That sounds pretty good. Maybe a party where all we do is sit around and chat and smile and think that life is pretty good sometimes and there's tasty salsa and no real reason to not be in this room, with these people, engaging in that activity. Yeah, that sounds pretty good.
Now, the only problem is that I don't have many friends in Maryland. I mean, I have friends but they were Ben's friends before they were my friends. And I like them and have a good time with them but if they come to my birthday party will they be wondering, "Where are all of Mandi's friends? All I see here are Ben's friends that she's entitled to by virtue of dating him. Is she incapable of getting her own friends?" Well...am I? The answer is, "Sort of." And now that that's out of the way, please continue drinking. You'll find that I'm much more charming with each drink that passes your lips.
You had me at saving $70.
Oh Sprint...you know how to please me. When I went online to check my bill today there was a charge for 121 text messages totaling $18. But I had added the $5 a month 300 text message plan. So what the fuck? I call Sprint up and I'm all, "Sprint, what's your problem man?" And Sprint's all, "Dang. Yeah. I see what you're saying. How's about we remove $13 of that charge and just charge you for the $5 package?" And I'm all, "Cool. I feel really positively towards you now." And so they see the opening and they're like, "Well, how's about renewing your contract with us for another 2 years? We'll knock $70 off your current bill and give you a $150 credit towards a new phone." So I'm thinking to myself that I could maybe use a new phone and I could for fucking sure use $70 and I also know that I'm unlikely to give enough of a crap to ever bother changing to a different cell phone service provider and so now seems like as good a time as any to renew. So yeah, now I have a fine selection of about 3 0r 4 low end cell phones that are free to choose from. They'll all be just barely serviceable like the free phones always are but you know...free.
Friday, September 14, 2007
I care only as much as is required of me.
I never much bothered with getting really into a subculture. From the names I was called in high school and the appearance of the people shouting them at me, I gathered that I was not a part of the mainstream. That left everything else. And let me tell you, everything else is a pretty big category. Everything else runs the gamit of interesting, including kinda interesting, sorta interesting, there's one little interesting thing, we ingest interesting things, we kick interesting things, we light interesting things on fire, we fuck interesting things, we wish we were hot enough to fuck interesting things, we play interesting games, we dress in interesting ways, we move our bodies in an interestingly awkward fashion, we talk about interesting things, we build an interesting mythos for ourselves, etc. You get the idea.
The point is, I understood what my subculture options were and I was happy with those options but I was never very good at being a member of a subculture. I couldn't be bothered to get invested in my cultural signs and signifiers in that way. Truth is, I'll swear allegiance to anything that benefits me at the moment. You like nerd guys? Learn to play Magic and be a nerd girl. You're dating a dude that's a techie for your high school drama group? Start being in plays and becoma a drama dork so you can spend some time making out with him in the green room. (Or does this just indicate that I'd do anything for a cute boy?)
Subcultures should be about readily and easily identifying sets of information related to others and providing the same kind of information to them. They should make your life easier. But they don't. They have rules and prescribed behaviors and it's not like I'm saying, "Dude, I can't be put in a box." I'm saying that it's work and I'm not interested in doing the kind of work it is.
Plus, subcultures have interests that are bundled together like cable packages. If you want TLC then you have to have HG TV too. If you like hacky sacking then you have to smoke pot. They get all entangly. Cumbersome.
Oh nevermind...I started writing this blog a few hours ago and work interrupted it and now I'm bored with it. Stupid subcultures.
Oh but wait, my title...yes...dammit...this blog had so much potential. I was gonna talk about how I'm only interested in politics in as much as I have to identify as liberal for people to understand that I'm young, hip, and sexy. It's the adult subculture. So yeah...only care as much as is required of you...which is to say, care enough so that people understand how desirable you are.
The point is, I understood what my subculture options were and I was happy with those options but I was never very good at being a member of a subculture. I couldn't be bothered to get invested in my cultural signs and signifiers in that way. Truth is, I'll swear allegiance to anything that benefits me at the moment. You like nerd guys? Learn to play Magic and be a nerd girl. You're dating a dude that's a techie for your high school drama group? Start being in plays and becoma a drama dork so you can spend some time making out with him in the green room. (Or does this just indicate that I'd do anything for a cute boy?)
Subcultures should be about readily and easily identifying sets of information related to others and providing the same kind of information to them. They should make your life easier. But they don't. They have rules and prescribed behaviors and it's not like I'm saying, "Dude, I can't be put in a box." I'm saying that it's work and I'm not interested in doing the kind of work it is.
Plus, subcultures have interests that are bundled together like cable packages. If you want TLC then you have to have HG TV too. If you like hacky sacking then you have to smoke pot. They get all entangly. Cumbersome.
Oh nevermind...I started writing this blog a few hours ago and work interrupted it and now I'm bored with it. Stupid subcultures.
Oh but wait, my title...yes...dammit...this blog had so much potential. I was gonna talk about how I'm only interested in politics in as much as I have to identify as liberal for people to understand that I'm young, hip, and sexy. It's the adult subculture. So yeah...only care as much as is required of you...which is to say, care enough so that people understand how desirable you are.
I have to make some changes.
I'm a creature of habit. I get into a routine and I stay in it. This can be both good and bad when it comes to physical activity. It ensures that I run every day but it also ensures that I run the same way, on the same trail or elliptical every day. The problem is, there aren't many places--safe places anway--where I can go running. That tends to limit my options for varying the terrain. Thus, I'm at a standstill. This happens to me constantly. Last year when it happened I changed my routine from 30 minutes to 45 minutes. Before that, I added strength training. But I'm at a bit of a difficult impass now. I can't keep adding time to my workout. I'm gonna have to get creative. I'm going to have to vary things...to run in different intervals with some hard runs in there or finally start using that jump rope I bought. Or just doing 3 longer 45 minute runs a week and 2 shorter but more intense 30 minute runs in a week. Something. It's either vary the routine or stay exactly the same and see no additional benefits to working out. The second one isn't really an option.
While I like feeling good and active and all that jazz, I really hate having to think about it a lot. But I do. And I worry. When I miss a day of my planned workout, I feel like I'm immediately going to get enormous. It's stupid but fat is something I never want to be. I'm fine with being round so long as the round is in the right places.
So yeah...new plan for when I get back from California. And hopefully there'll be time to run in California...I mean, talk about varying your routine. Run 2 days in Maryland and 3 in California. Sure, it's a costly endeavor...but well worth it? Maybe.
While I like feeling good and active and all that jazz, I really hate having to think about it a lot. But I do. And I worry. When I miss a day of my planned workout, I feel like I'm immediately going to get enormous. It's stupid but fat is something I never want to be. I'm fine with being round so long as the round is in the right places.
So yeah...new plan for when I get back from California. And hopefully there'll be time to run in California...I mean, talk about varying your routine. Run 2 days in Maryland and 3 in California. Sure, it's a costly endeavor...but well worth it? Maybe.
Note to Self: Post those pictures.
Note to Self: You don't look as cute in a pattern on pattern outfit as you think you do. Makes your trunk look all...well...like a trunk. Also, stop standing by the skinniest person you know to get pictures taken.
Note to Self: Do continue standing beside gay friends to get a picture taken. Notice how slimming John's Red Strip is. That's the true power of overpriced Jamacian beer. 
Note to Self: You and Hess have weird pie faces where your features are all centered in the middle and then there are vast expanses of skin that contain no features. It's weird. Not entirely unattractive but maybe you're like a new breed to tard?
Note to Self: Do continue standing beside gay friends to get a picture taken. Notice how slimming John's Red Strip is. That's the true power of overpriced Jamacian beer.
Note to Self: You and Hess have weird pie faces where your features are all centered in the middle and then there are vast expanses of skin that contain no features. It's weird. Not entirely unattractive but maybe you're like a new breed to tard?Dude...what?
Someone stole or threw out my butter. I went to make my toast this morning and it wasn't in the refrigerator in the lounge that it's usually in. I moved stuff around, shoved stuff to the side, threw away some rotten bagels...but still, no Soy Garden butter. So I checked the other three refrigerators in the lounge. Nothing. Who would take my half used butter? And why? And will it reappear? Will they realize their mistake? Dammit. That was my butter. I had to make a trip to Trader Joe's to get it since it's the only place I know of that sells it.
To save my toast, I used peanut butter. My toast will be tasty but I'll be fighting back the bitter memory of losing my actual butter.
To save my toast, I used peanut butter. My toast will be tasty but I'll be fighting back the bitter memory of losing my actual butter.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Excerpts From a Romance Novel: Part II
From Connie Brockway's excellent novel My Seduction. Jacket blurb reads, "In the company of a Highlander, no woman is entirely out of danger." True that. I know we've all been in a situation where we're with this highlander and we're all, "I'm totally safe." But you're not!!! You can't be entirely out of danger when you're in the company of a highlander. Valuable lesson to learn, ladies.
A synopsis of My Seduction:
"Desperate to keep her two sisters and herself from the poorhouse Kate Nash Blackburn embarks upon a journety to northern Scotland, where she hopes to gain the gratitude and patronage of a wealthy marquis. When fate maroons her at a tavern full of ruffians, a brawny Highland soldier comes to her rescue. It's Kit MacNeill, the man whose pledge to her family has haunted her for years. When he offers to escort Kate through the treacherous Highlands to Castle Parnell, she accepts even though her instincts warn her against trusting this rough and dangerous man. But soon Kate is startled by the Highlander's cultured speech and courtly manners. Who is this man of contradictions, shaped by a shadowy past, who fiercly wards off an attempt on her life, whose broad shoulders beckon her touch, and in whose arms she comes fully alive?"
Oh man. A tavern full of ruffians? A brawny, rough, and dangerous man with a shadowy past? A beautiful woman seeking the patronage fo a wealthy marquis? I ought to sue Connie Brockway for stealing stories from my own life. Seriously, I should be getting royalties for this.
The mere presence of Kit creates a warm sensation in Kate. Let's read...
"She did not reply, flustered by him: his size; the leathery masculine scent of him; the breadth of his shoulders; the rough stubble on his chin and cheeks; the easy competence of his hands on the reins. She was entirely too aware of him."
But what would happen if we were to rewrite that small snippet to reflect something much closer to an actual experience?
"She could not reply, taken aback by him: his childlike body; the heady Chipotle burrito scent on him; the impressive expanse of his videogame knowledge; the rough skin on his chapped lips that he just couldn't stop biting and tonguing; the commandingly intense way his slim fingers clench a Mountain Dew bottle when he's DMing a particularly engrossing game. It was too much."
Sounds like my type of man. Actually...it kind of does...just minus the childlike body thing. Fucking hell.
Kate's pretty hot too:
"[H]er dark hair caught the fire of the setting sun. Her lips, ever, a lure and an entirecment, glistened--she had been sipping water or wine--and he remembered his suggestion--his threat--that she might drink from his mouth. His belly muscles tightened with lust... ."
Sean: the end of this sentence originally included ", and she did not know." Now, my preference is to not use an ellipsis b/c what I'm omitting doesn't change the meaning of the quoted text and it doesn't end as a fragment. But apparently MLA says I should include it. It provides me with the option of using a bracket to clear up the intent of the four dots. For example "His belly muscles tightened with lust [...]." I like that. It makes it clear that there's an ellipsis and then a period. But I could also write it as I have above (ellipsis, space, period) or just ...." I hate that one. A four dot ellipsis? What are we? Heathens?
Oh romance novels and punctuation. You amuse me to no end.
A synopsis of My Seduction:
"Desperate to keep her two sisters and herself from the poorhouse Kate Nash Blackburn embarks upon a journety to northern Scotland, where she hopes to gain the gratitude and patronage of a wealthy marquis. When fate maroons her at a tavern full of ruffians, a brawny Highland soldier comes to her rescue. It's Kit MacNeill, the man whose pledge to her family has haunted her for years. When he offers to escort Kate through the treacherous Highlands to Castle Parnell, she accepts even though her instincts warn her against trusting this rough and dangerous man. But soon Kate is startled by the Highlander's cultured speech and courtly manners. Who is this man of contradictions, shaped by a shadowy past, who fiercly wards off an attempt on her life, whose broad shoulders beckon her touch, and in whose arms she comes fully alive?"
Oh man. A tavern full of ruffians? A brawny, rough, and dangerous man with a shadowy past? A beautiful woman seeking the patronage fo a wealthy marquis? I ought to sue Connie Brockway for stealing stories from my own life. Seriously, I should be getting royalties for this.
The mere presence of Kit creates a warm sensation in Kate. Let's read...
"She did not reply, flustered by him: his size; the leathery masculine scent of him; the breadth of his shoulders; the rough stubble on his chin and cheeks; the easy competence of his hands on the reins. She was entirely too aware of him."
But what would happen if we were to rewrite that small snippet to reflect something much closer to an actual experience?
"She could not reply, taken aback by him: his childlike body; the heady Chipotle burrito scent on him; the impressive expanse of his videogame knowledge; the rough skin on his chapped lips that he just couldn't stop biting and tonguing; the commandingly intense way his slim fingers clench a Mountain Dew bottle when he's DMing a particularly engrossing game. It was too much."
Sounds like my type of man. Actually...it kind of does...just minus the childlike body thing. Fucking hell.
Kate's pretty hot too:
"[H]er dark hair caught the fire of the setting sun. Her lips, ever, a lure and an entirecment, glistened--she had been sipping water or wine--and he remembered his suggestion--his threat--that she might drink from his mouth. His belly muscles tightened with lust... ."
Sean: the end of this sentence originally included ", and she did not know." Now, my preference is to not use an ellipsis b/c what I'm omitting doesn't change the meaning of the quoted text and it doesn't end as a fragment. But apparently MLA says I should include it. It provides me with the option of using a bracket to clear up the intent of the four dots. For example "His belly muscles tightened with lust [...]." I like that. It makes it clear that there's an ellipsis and then a period. But I could also write it as I have above (ellipsis, space, period) or just ...." I hate that one. A four dot ellipsis? What are we? Heathens?
Oh romance novels and punctuation. You amuse me to no end.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
[At least] I got kisses...
is a good perspective to have on anything.--"Your house burned down."
"Well, at least I got kisses."
--"You're accepted to the country club."
"Also, I got kisses"
Kissing is the best part of a relationship and too often the first thing to be ignored. Heated kissing--eager and wet and urgent--can quickly be replaced by comfortable kissing--familiar and simple and at ease with itself. Both have their benefits. When you're in the comfortable kissing mode, you often think fondly upon your heated kissing days. But if you're engaged in heated kissing, you might find yourself recalling the comfortable kissing of a previous relationship and how...well...comforting it was.
Kissing is the best part of a relationship and too often the first thing to be ignored. Heated kissing--eager and wet and urgent--can quickly be replaced by comfortable kissing--familiar and simple and at ease with itself. Both have their benefits. When you're in the comfortable kissing mode, you often think fondly upon your heated kissing days. But if you're engaged in heated kissing, you might find yourself recalling the comfortable kissing of a previous relationship and how...well...comforting it was.
It's a strange thing. But I suppose it lets us smell and taste and touch and--depending on the kiss--hear and see all at once. Plus, it's happening in the middle of my face where the majority of these sensory apparatuses are located. So that's pretty nice too. If done correctly, it produces some of the most pleasant sensations human beings are capable of. If done incorrectly, it becomes like two sets of worms writhing together in the most unfortunate, silly display. It is both embarrassing to be a bad kisser and embarrassing to be kissed poorly.
If you get a little crazy and mix other types of touch in with the kissing, you come up with a heady concoction of assgrabbery that's ain't likely to stop till someone's buttocks are worn raw.
I have a thing for touch of all kinds. Rubbing, stroking, holding, and especially tickling. [Not the funny kind of tickling but the kind where someone lightly strokes the sensitive bits of the inside of your arm or the underside of your knee. That pleases me immensely and almost always puts me to sleep when done correctly.] I like skin and all the interesting responses it engenders in me.
When I touch someone else, I like to think about all the things that part of their body has done before and all the other people and items that have come into contact with that bit of skin prior to me touching it. And then I think about all the things and people that will touch that skin before this person's life ends. And then I think about them as an old man or woman and how that skin will be different but the same and I wonder if when they're old they'll ever remember that I touched them. And I figure that even if they don't remember, I will. I make a little promise to remember it enough for the both of us but I don't tell them about this secret promise. I like knowing that it's just between me and that piece of skin.
How exciting that people have form and extension out into the world. Amazing to think that the wrists I tickled or touched or held down might later be involved in mundane tasks like buying milk. Or maybe they're vastly more adventurous wrists and they later play an integral role in sailing a boat. (Laugh now but I dare you to try sailing a boat without wrists.) It's fun for me to think about all this milk buying and boat sailing done by a body that I'm acquainted with. People come together and do all sorts of interesting things with their bodies--sexual or otherwise--and then they separate. There are so many people and their accompanying bodies out in the world that you'll never even see, let alone touch. So I guess it's good that you get to touch the ones you do because after conducting an exhaustive search I can't find anything wrong with touch.
That Feingold feeling.
Senator Feingold (D-Wisconsin) was on NPR yesterday talking about General Petraeus's testimony before Congress concering the Iraq war. They played a snippet of the testimony where Senator Feingold explains that in 2007, more troops have died every month than in that month in 2006. General Petraeus responded by saying that of course there would be more casualties since there were now more troops on the ground and we were on the offensive. NPR asked Feingold if there wasn't some sound logic in that reasoning. Feingold's response was excellent. He said he was sure that Iraq War veterans and their families--and the families of those that have died--would be surprised and saddened to hear what Petraeus had said. How could we just now be on the offensive? What have we been doing for 4 1/2 years? After all, invading a country and seizing control of it seems like a pretty "on the offensive" action to take. Oh, Russ Feingold. If only you could make yourself a more dynamic public presence you might actually have a shot at the presidency. I'd vote for you. Good things about Senator Feingold: only senator to vote against the Partiot Act, was one of the small group of senators to vote against allowing W to use force in Iraq and he was the first senator to call for a withdraw of troops, and he's fiscally responsible--he introduced legislation to cap the number of political appointees in the Executive Branch (and they're the biggest waste of resources in the damn government...seriously) and introduced legislation to end automatic salary increases for members of congress. True, it's easy to introduce legislation and much harder to keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't just die in committee...but I likes me some Russ Feingold and, for whatever reason, I tend to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Excerpts from a romance novel.
"Martay felt exhilarated by the time Night Sun walked her back to his lodge. She had always enjoyed being the center of attention and she had certainly had that honor fot the past couple of hours. She had been presented to every member of the tribe, and from the tiniest toddler, a boy called Slow One, to the oldest warrior, a deaf-mute named Speaks-Not-At-All, the Lakota Sioux of Windwalker's small band were clearly fascinated with Martay."
"This strange man was a ruthless Sioux, wild and dangerous, no matter how polished he appeared as he calmly cut the beef with a stolen sterling knife and sipped his wine from a stolen crystal flute." (HAHAH..."Cut the beef")
"This strange man was a ruthless Sioux, wild and dangerous, no matter how polished he appeared as he calmly cut the beef with a stolen sterling knife and sipped his wine from a stolen crystal flute." (HAHAH..."Cut the beef")
Tattoo
For anyone that hasn't seen it yet, Bryn was nice enough to post this image of my new tattoo. Thanks Bryn.
What sets us apart from the animals.
Yesterday was payday and along with the usual amount I also got my bonus for the year. It's not a ton but you know...it's pretty sweet to have a job that gives you a bonus at all.
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I cancelled part of my car insurance. I'm now saving $66. Sweet.
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When someone I know moves or plans on moving or thinks about moving, I take it as a personal affront. I don't mean when they move into a new apartment or buy a house (though I find purchasing a home to be offensive in an entirely different way). I mean when they root through all their belongings and get rid of all the sentimental minutiae that have been building up for a lifetime.
It doesn't matter how long I've known the person...years or minutes...either way, I'm bothered by the thought that this person, this friend or this stranger, would alter their life in such a fashion that they're no longer geographically convenient to me. How could this person, this friend or lover or stranger, have made plans without carefully considering me and without making adequate provisions to ensure that I would have ready access to them whenever I wanted? I thought that I knew them so well! And the stuff that I didn't know about them I totally made up in a flattering way! Jerks! All my efforts wasted!
I like to think that anyone I've ever had any kind of pleasant contact with will be available to me forever. Any time I want. Sure, I might get sick of them sometime between now and forever but that's when I like to think that they'd just go away, melt into the background, and not hassle me anymore until I decided I wanted to see them again. Moving takes away this option. It may not be a reasonable or likely option, but it's one that I can't help but feeling I have and that I'm being deprived of when people remove themselves from my life. Plus, people moving is an affront to all the sentiments--real or imagined--that I have or was thinking about having for that person. And I value sentiment. It's the thought of an emotion. And that's better than the emotion itself. It gets the brain involved in the business of feeling and that's what puts us above the monstrous hordes of the rest of humanity...it's an integral part of what makes me feel superior to that lonely woman working at the Westover Dairy Mart that I saw walking home in the rain, carrying a Dollar Store bag full of the bits of her lunch that she didn't eat.
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I cancelled part of my car insurance. I'm now saving $66. Sweet.
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When someone I know moves or plans on moving or thinks about moving, I take it as a personal affront. I don't mean when they move into a new apartment or buy a house (though I find purchasing a home to be offensive in an entirely different way). I mean when they root through all their belongings and get rid of all the sentimental minutiae that have been building up for a lifetime.
It doesn't matter how long I've known the person...years or minutes...either way, I'm bothered by the thought that this person, this friend or this stranger, would alter their life in such a fashion that they're no longer geographically convenient to me. How could this person, this friend or lover or stranger, have made plans without carefully considering me and without making adequate provisions to ensure that I would have ready access to them whenever I wanted? I thought that I knew them so well! And the stuff that I didn't know about them I totally made up in a flattering way! Jerks! All my efforts wasted!
I like to think that anyone I've ever had any kind of pleasant contact with will be available to me forever. Any time I want. Sure, I might get sick of them sometime between now and forever but that's when I like to think that they'd just go away, melt into the background, and not hassle me anymore until I decided I wanted to see them again. Moving takes away this option. It may not be a reasonable or likely option, but it's one that I can't help but feeling I have and that I'm being deprived of when people remove themselves from my life. Plus, people moving is an affront to all the sentiments--real or imagined--that I have or was thinking about having for that person. And I value sentiment. It's the thought of an emotion. And that's better than the emotion itself. It gets the brain involved in the business of feeling and that's what puts us above the monstrous hordes of the rest of humanity...it's an integral part of what makes me feel superior to that lonely woman working at the Westover Dairy Mart that I saw walking home in the rain, carrying a Dollar Store bag full of the bits of her lunch that she didn't eat.
Monday, September 10, 2007
How I spent my end of summer vacation.
Maine has sucked all blogging ability away from me. I can't write sentences good. Suffice to say that 3 1/2 days with my family is 3 days too many. I love my parents. I love my 2 year old niece. And I can tolerate my brother (Fred) and his wife (Nancy) when I have to. But love and the ability to tolerate aside, these people make me crazy.
If you tell Fred that you had a sandwich for lunch, he'll tell you that he knows someone that can eat 12 sandwiches for lunch and still have room for a bag of fritos. If you have $5 in your wallet, Fred will tell you that he has $105 in his wallet. To illustrate my point, here's a recounting of a conversation that I had with him after going for a run Friday morning.
F: "Did you go for a run?"
M: "Yeah."
F: "How far did you go?"
M: "I don't know. I go by time instead of distance."
F: "Well, how long did you go?"
M: "Half an hour."
F: nodding his head knowingly..."How long does it take you to run a mile?"
M: "I don't know. I do that thing where you run five minutes and walk one minute."
F: "So you cheat?"
M: "No, that's not cheating."
F: "Yeah, that's cheating."
M: "No, it isn't. It lessens your chance of getting an injury and makes you a more efficient long distance runner. That's how some people train for marathons."
F: "No it's not. I know a guy that trains for marathons and you know what he does? He goes out and runs 26 miles. That's how you train for a marathon."
M: "Okay then."
F: "And I also know a guy that's in his 60s and when he says he's going out for a little run he means that he's going to run 15 miles. That guy's strong. I mean, he isn't tough but he can run like a motherfucker. If you're gonna run then you need to just run but don't cheat."
M: "Okay, whatever."
F: "Cheater."
Yeah, that's my brother.
That brings us to my sister-in-law, Nancy. Nothing is ever okay with Nancy. Every damn thing is subject to critique and it never measures up to her standards. This is super funny since her standards are pretty low. After going out for a lobster dinner (which Fred wouldn't even try...he had to get a cheeseburger and Nancy got chicken strips), Nancy announced that she didn't like where we had eaten and the food wasn't that good. Actually, this happened every time we ate. The only meal she didn't complain about was the Arby's she got in the mall. Cearly, we're dealing with a real connoisseur here. I mean yeah...I can get down on some Arby's but shut the serious fuck up about everything else. Just stop complaining. Like, right now. Additionally, she refers to Abbey--my niece--as "my child." For instance, we're at the rehearsal dinner and she turns to my table and says, "Have you seen my child? Where is my child?"Perhaps that's one of those things that's more annoying when you hear it. It's similar to that thing that people do right after they get married where they stop calling their spouse by their name and just say "my husband" or "my wife"...as if I've fucking forgotten how one individual is related to the other.
Other stuff that happened in Maine:
--During the wedding I sent a text message to Sean that was grumbling about the sort of music they play at weddings. He sent one back that simply said, "SHOUT!" At that exact moment "Shout" was indeed playing.
--I was invited to ride someone's hog...literally. But wait, not like a pig hog but like a bike hog. So yeah, sort of literally.
--A dude on the boardwalk saying, "Then MoMo pops up out of left field." Clearly I have no idea what he's talking about but it's sweet just the same.
--Walking home from the bar with my brothers and some other people, the follwing excange occurred:
Nancy: "What time are we going to breakfast Sunday?"
Jay (oldest brother): "7:30"
N: "7:30! Our flight doesn't leave until 12:15. What will we do until then?"
Me: "You could buy a book."
N: "What would I do with a book?"
Me: "What? You can't read? Fred, maybe you should have Abbey (the 2 year old) teach Nancy how to read."
At that point she said something under her breath about me being a smartass. For real, what the hell do you mean what will you do with a book? It's a book! It implies its usage!
If you tell Fred that you had a sandwich for lunch, he'll tell you that he knows someone that can eat 12 sandwiches for lunch and still have room for a bag of fritos. If you have $5 in your wallet, Fred will tell you that he has $105 in his wallet. To illustrate my point, here's a recounting of a conversation that I had with him after going for a run Friday morning.
F: "Did you go for a run?"
M: "Yeah."
F: "How far did you go?"
M: "I don't know. I go by time instead of distance."
F: "Well, how long did you go?"
M: "Half an hour."
F: nodding his head knowingly..."How long does it take you to run a mile?"
M: "I don't know. I do that thing where you run five minutes and walk one minute."
F: "So you cheat?"
M: "No, that's not cheating."
F: "Yeah, that's cheating."
M: "No, it isn't. It lessens your chance of getting an injury and makes you a more efficient long distance runner. That's how some people train for marathons."
F: "No it's not. I know a guy that trains for marathons and you know what he does? He goes out and runs 26 miles. That's how you train for a marathon."
M: "Okay then."
F: "And I also know a guy that's in his 60s and when he says he's going out for a little run he means that he's going to run 15 miles. That guy's strong. I mean, he isn't tough but he can run like a motherfucker. If you're gonna run then you need to just run but don't cheat."
M: "Okay, whatever."
F: "Cheater."
Yeah, that's my brother.
That brings us to my sister-in-law, Nancy. Nothing is ever okay with Nancy. Every damn thing is subject to critique and it never measures up to her standards. This is super funny since her standards are pretty low. After going out for a lobster dinner (which Fred wouldn't even try...he had to get a cheeseburger and Nancy got chicken strips), Nancy announced that she didn't like where we had eaten and the food wasn't that good. Actually, this happened every time we ate. The only meal she didn't complain about was the Arby's she got in the mall. Cearly, we're dealing with a real connoisseur here. I mean yeah...I can get down on some Arby's but shut the serious fuck up about everything else. Just stop complaining. Like, right now. Additionally, she refers to Abbey--my niece--as "my child." For instance, we're at the rehearsal dinner and she turns to my table and says, "Have you seen my child? Where is my child?"Perhaps that's one of those things that's more annoying when you hear it. It's similar to that thing that people do right after they get married where they stop calling their spouse by their name and just say "my husband" or "my wife"...as if I've fucking forgotten how one individual is related to the other.
Other stuff that happened in Maine:
--During the wedding I sent a text message to Sean that was grumbling about the sort of music they play at weddings. He sent one back that simply said, "SHOUT!" At that exact moment "Shout" was indeed playing.
--I was invited to ride someone's hog...literally. But wait, not like a pig hog but like a bike hog. So yeah, sort of literally.
--A dude on the boardwalk saying, "Then MoMo pops up out of left field." Clearly I have no idea what he's talking about but it's sweet just the same.
--Walking home from the bar with my brothers and some other people, the follwing excange occurred:
Nancy: "What time are we going to breakfast Sunday?"
Jay (oldest brother): "7:30"
N: "7:30! Our flight doesn't leave until 12:15. What will we do until then?"
Me: "You could buy a book."
N: "What would I do with a book?"
Me: "What? You can't read? Fred, maybe you should have Abbey (the 2 year old) teach Nancy how to read."
At that point she said something under her breath about me being a smartass. For real, what the hell do you mean what will you do with a book? It's a book! It implies its usage!
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