Tingles!

Done by the amazingly talented and not to mention gorgeous Kristin McCall.

The True Spirit of the Games

I love the Olympics. Every two years, the best of the best suit up and battle it out for bragging rights until the next group of super-human athletes congregate a few years later. Winter, summer, that one summer one that was in winter somehow I think. I loved that figure skater from France who did illegal back-flips on the ice, Keri Strug who rocked that shit on 1 foot, and currently love the fact that 4 horses got thrown out for doping. The Chinese gymnasts are fetuses, but horses are getting tossed for being on the juice. Nice.

Side note: Learning about China = Conclusion that China is scary

I love my arbitrary selection of whom to cheer for. Will their outfit charm me? A haircut? Perhaps that fascinating thing those swimmers do with their hips when coming out from a turn? Their gold shoes? Or that British gymnast, Beth Tweedle, who has the best name ever and thus deserves my momentary support in the short time I'll be aware of her existence?

And I love track and field. People running and jumping over stuff and throwing things at other things will always be fascinating.

There's just so much to enjoy!

Except for the announcers. While watching synchronized diving (and totally into it) I heard the female announcer mention that one girl had moved from California to Indiana to train. She concluded that "it's much easier to train for this event when you're in the same place, at the same time, with your partner". (reproduced emphasis hers) While I don't doubt this at all, it just seems kinda obvious.

While watching the relay race tonight (again, totally into it, I'll be beside myself at rhythmic gymnastics, and I'm not kidding), the announcers noted that it was raining, and pontificating on its impact on the race. As they debate slickness of the road and visibility, they pause and note that three of the teams have dropped their batons. At the same hand off in the race. During the heavy rain. They start talking about it like it's a training issue. As if the teams skipped passing the baton class at relay race school. "It's really a shame, so many reasons that could have gone wrong." I just thought a metal bar could get slippery in the rain, thus leading to more droppability when wet and passed from one guy running in the rain to another guy, also running in the rain.

But I'm not an expert like those guys.

Alternatives to "And They Lived Happily Ever After"

"And sometimes she wondered whether a kiss that reanimated her from the dead was really grounds for a lifelong romance."

Think hard, Snow White.

A Moment With A Character In The Book I'm Currently Reading

"According to Jack, all of Rebecca's boyfriends were black, which seemed, if not racist, race-ish, and I wondered, Why the black guys, Becky? just as I'd wondered in the case of my friend Alex, Why the Asian women? Or in my own case, Why the pirates?"


The Wonder Spot
Melissa Bank

With All Due Respect to Mr. Bender B. Rodriguez

I've been reading about this guy for a few days now. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Don't get me wrong, I love robots. Maybe a little too much. I love the idea of perfect logic unclouded by the human trappings of emotions, or that pesky free will. I love the dedication to perfecting a specific task. I love that Asimov created the laws for robots long before they were needed, or possibly just when they were needed.

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Simple and effective. Why don't people work like that?
(In the short story "Evidence" Asimov puts it this way: "if such an individual obeys the Laws, he may be a robot or simply a very good man.")

But when you factor in a robot designed to respond to cuddling and touching in a positive way, does that open the door to more sinister things? I'm not talking about electric gonorrhea, the noisy killer. More like, a robot that grows attached to people, develops a preference to certain human touches and an aversion to others. Learns to seek companionship but only of certain sorts. How does that play out? A negative reaction to some people? A too-enthusiastic reaction to others? Could the robot develop attachment to a single person, and therefore possibly suffer if that attachment is broken? And then crush someone with their giant metal claws?

Doesn't that all defeat the purpose of being a robot? (except the metal claws part, that's 100% awesome robot)

If my fantasies of not having feelings and being totally logical and rational in all events in my life are to stay strong, scientists can't be doing this to me. I need cold, unfeeling, task oriented mechanical men in my life to look up to. Data, ASIMO, Roombas and the like. Sure, they can play soccer with me and vacuum my floor, but I don't want one that needs a hugs. Maybe one that just needs an oil change and some searing-hot resin every so often.

I Wish I Was a Robot

Then this would be my biggest problem:

It's like tiny stilts! For your feet!

I have to say, I only sort of understand why women wear heels. I'm a girl, I can appreciate the aesthetic created when the foot is pointed and wrapped up in cute strappy tethers. It makes you taller! It reduces the risk of the appearance of cankles! Look at how cute they are! As hard as it may be to believe, before I moved to Boston, I didn't even own flats, aside from a pair of sneakers.

Since moving to a place where I depend totally on my feet (and the T) to get me around, my shoe choices have become more practical, leading me to turn my back on my hight-enhancing footwear. I'm 5'8", at this point any more hight added just feels like I'm lording my ability to reach the top shelf over the short people.

But here's my actual argument: They're unwieldy and uncomfortable. I had thought that foot binding went out of style when they started allowing women to walk on their own, instead of being carried from the kitchen to the bedroom and back again. But here we are, toes pinched, straps digging into flesh, back and hips misaligned. Not to mention the blisters and calluses from breaking in a new pair. And in observing women walk in these shoes, I've noticed that one thing connects all of them: the little heel wobble. When the heel hits the ground, it shakes back and forth, just a little. Every time, every person. Being that I have the worst balance (thanks childhood ear infections!), that little wobble is just too much of a margin of error for me. With my luck I'll hit one of the cobblestones wrong and snap off a foot or something.

Why must we put ourselves through this? I get that pain is beauty or whatever cliche you wanna throw out there, but I gotta be able to walk on concrete and quickly. Having my feet throb because the shoes were just too cute to pass up doesn't make that much sense to me. Oh, and by the way, if I ever hear some girl in 4 inch strappy stilettos complaining about how her feet hurt after choosing them over something a little more reasonable, all she'll get from me is a look and maybe a sarcastic comment relating to her stupidity. It all depends on the person.

I do have to say, my friend Danielle is the exception to my arguments. Wears heels constantly, worked up her tolerance, brings backup shoes, doesn't whine about sore feet. I've got a lot of respect for that. If there was some kind of triathlon held where the participants had to do the whole thing in strappy, pointy heels, she'd win it. I'd just be at the start, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to get my feet into the damn shoes.

Pale And Proud Of It

Like it always does, Summer is coming again. Every year, about this time, flowers are in bloom, the trees are filled in, and the weather is finally not soul-crushingly depressing. Then there's this one major problem: The sun.

Don't get me wrong, I love it when it's sunny and warm out. I wake up happier in the morning and get home when it's still light out, both very good things.

But I'm pale. Really pale. Not albino, blinding pale, but still. I burn when it's cloudy if I stay outside too long. So when we hit this level of sunshine, I'm immediately on guard. I check for any potential SPF in any product I use. Nail polishes to hair products (I have to protect the part in my hair, because of the ease in which the sun will fry me). Every day I debate regular moisturizer or extra special SPF moisturizer, the latter of which causing an overall smattering of blemishes to appear. I search my lip products for a mere mention of sun protection, and hope that my regular lotion won't have be replaced with baby sunblock. The thing is, I kind of like being pale. My risk of sun-induced skin cancer is reduced, I never get sunburnt, and I get to be Snow White every year for Halloween.

150 years ago paleness denoted status: those who didn't have to work outside. Later, being tanned denoted status: those who could afford tropical vacations and also afford them often enough to keep their color. Now, with the popularity of self-tanners and tanning beds it's too easy to "tan". Anyone who has the will to pull together the cash can easily buy the fake stuff, or get a membership to a "Salon". I use the quotes ironically, because I can't figure out what font denotes sarcastic derision.

The look ends up being ghastly, leathery and wrinkled, or orange and totally unnatural. Of the two, I feel less strongly about tanning beds. At least it's honest about being a concentrated box of all that stuff that gives you a tan. And cancer, of course. The fake tans, on the other hand, are so obviously a lie. Bright freaking orange and streaky most of the time. It's alarmingly false, like they've been exposed to radiation and may grow an extra appendage at any moment.

I know I could get a tan if I really tried. Go tanning for a minute a day, then two, then three, and so on. Or buy the boxed stuff and feel like some overgrown Oompa-Loompa. But I'd rather look like the book-reading, video game-playing, knitter that I really am.

Dear CNN,

Can I be your new headline writer? These are good but I think mine would be better.

For example, you post:
R. Kelly acquitted of all child porn counts

I, personally would have gone with something more like:
"R. Kelly Aquitted, Little Man/Digital Mole Defense Successful"
with the subheadline of:
"R. Kelly thanks Dave Chapelle for the digital piss sketch that inspired the defense."
Because he should thank Dave Chapelle, that mole was DIGITAL!

Also, there's this one:
NASA identifies shiny object trailing shuttle


My version:
"NASA Distracted by Shiny Thing, Realizes It Was The Sun"

Call me, CNN. I've got more, and some are actually funny!

Lazy Post

This made me think of two of my friends. Mostly because I can see it happening, and may have seen it happen at the last bbq.
Brian and Brad enjoy some delicious ham.

"Sex in the City"? It Should Be Called "Old Bitches Never Shut The Fuck Up"

I'll admit, I like the show. It's cute and fanciful and you get to see boobs more often than not (thanks Samantha!). Don't get me wrong, it has problems. It's unrealistic, materialistic, shallow, self-absorbed, and represents a subway-less, almost-all-rich-white-people view of the city. Not to mention the puns, the laziest, most irritating form of comedy ever. All in all, taken with a massive grain of salt, it's mostly enjoyable.

But I will not be paying to see the movie.

As far as I'm concerned, the show had its run. The movie should be a love letter to their die-hard fans (gay guys and their fag hags from what I saw at the Boylston Lowe's on Friday), of which I am not included. Paying for this shit would just encourage them to do it more. More "i wonders" and hyper analyzing every single fucking thing that a guy ever does ever. Does she ever wonder that maybe her problem is that she's really self absorbed and can't stop overthinking everything? I've had enough. And I really can't stand another 6 months of fucking pink sparkley marketing containing more and more puns.

I saw this today, and I'm going to steal it but still give credit to the source, it just summed up how I feel so nicely.

"Manolo Blahniks
come in eight different shades of
I don't give a sh*t"

Thanks, Gallery of the Absurd!
(and totally read the review, it mentions Mothra!)

P.S. Why does Carrie get it on with her bra on? Or should we just be thankful SJP isn't showing her boobs?

2 Open Letters

It's really difficult walking through Downtown Crossing sometimes. Since my office and my T stop are on opposite ends of the area, I get to do it twice a day. I know that it's a pedestrian walkway, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to smack the shit out of people who walk directly in my way. I tend to walk quickly and in a straight line, these people tend to meander all over the place, as if drunk. I noticed an obvious connection of people walking while texting or talking on their phones to people that will get in my way. I really hope they don't drive while on those things. After observing nearly 2 years of this, I feel I have to reach out instead of just fuming mentally and plotting revenge.

There are 2 main identified types that I'd like to specifically address:

Dear Middle-Aged White Guys,
Yes, you are in a suit, and I'm sure that you think you have a very impressive job. A job that requires you to either walk directly at me expecting me to move, or for you to stand in the middle of a busy hallway or sidewalk, forcing people to go around you. Well, Middle-Aged White Guy, from now on I'm through getting out of your way. I played hockey, so expect a shoulder check or some other variant of getting smacked by me if you do happen to cross my path in the future.
Lots of love,
Me

and, of course:

Dear Newish Moms (and Pregnant Chicks) with Infants in Strollers,
Congrats, you can breed. Ans apparently breeding takes away all regard to people that didn't come directly out of your uterus. Next time one of you runs over my foot with your baby transporting contraption I'm gonna pull you aside and tell you that your baby is the ugliest thing I've ever seen. If you're pregnant as well, I'll make remarks about how ugly that baby is going to be. If you're really a bitch I'll say something about you being a bad example for your child and infer that they're going to become a serial killer because of your bad manners. I could breed too, you know, but hopefully I wouldn't be such an asshole about it.
Lots of love,
Me

Admin Professionals Day

Today is Administrative Professionals Day. It doesn't really mean anything, just a way to placate those who serve. Like me.
So this becomes my general feeling about the day:


But my boss is awesome. He knows he could get me a card or buy me coffee, instead he gives me free time off. Because the only thing better than money is time, and he's already the reason I get paid.

So, my fellow admin assistants, remember this:
We run our companies. Whether they admit it or not, we are the ones that really keep the place going.

P.S.

Dear people I am forced to interact with,
I know I have changed my hair a lot recently. This does not give you permission to pet me. If anything, it should deter you lest you pet me and fuck up my hair. Then I'll have to smack you.
Thanks.

The Best Bit of Advice You'll Ever Receive

Hi there! Do you have trouble communicating? Issues getting your point across to friends, family and lovers? Can't figure out how to say all those awkward things you just need to get off of your chest, leading you to blurt them out at the most inappropriate moments, like that funeral that time, Brian? (You really shouldn't have shouted at the dead body. She couldn't hear you, she was dead.)

Well, I've got the answer for you!

Seriously though, I work with a lot of mental health professionals. They're all nuts, but good at what they do and give great advice. Through listening to many of them sound off on any given problem, I've developed this little technique. I've noticed that the biggest problem most people seem to have when communicating is getting that one awkward conversation out of the way.

So I offer you this strategy:
Open the conversation with, "we need to have an awkward conversation".

It's hard to do at first, being so direct, but it has numerous benefits.
First of all, you have to say that line, then give an indication of topic and timeframe. For example: "Hi, we need to have an awkward conversation about the dirty bathroom. It probably won't take more than 10 minutes."

This way, you let the person know exactly what they're in for. You're able to talk to them without getting them defensive, like they would if you just dropped the topic into some random conversation. Think about it, would you rather be blindsided or have a moment to think?

But don't think that this is some opening for getting a bunch of petty crap off of your chest. Stick to the topic unless it naturally goes somewhere else, and save anything else for another awkward conversation. Remember that you used the word "conversation", no yelling, no bickering, just discussing.

So give it a shot, you can blame me if it fails, but you really should blame yourself. If it's 2 reasonably rational people, then it shouldn't fail.
Unless you suck.

Malaise..

I'm doing a few huge projects at work till the end of next month, so instead of ignoring the blog i'm going to post weird pictures and randomly insert commentary.

This made me think of my friend Brian, my most favoritest person i've ever met ever.
The type of guy that i'd marry for the money then spend the rest of my life trying to poison, as he's trying to kill me for the insurance policy he secretly bought for me.

I love that kid!



from monkeyfluids.com

Gallant eats his spaghetti with a knife and fork. Goofus uses his hands.

Ah, Highlights for children.

I had totally forgot about that magazine until sitting in the dentist's waiting room. I knew I'd get looks from the staff and the other patients, but I couldn't resist.

When I was little, my grandmother gave me a subscription. From the ages of 6 till about 9 I had that bundle of information about wholesome values, reasons to wash your hands, and to fear and respect escalators delivered to my door each month. My favorite feature was always Goofus and Gallant.



See? How else would we know not to run down what are essentially stairs, our parents? Shouldn't it be something like not running the wrong way up or down the escalator? Why am I giving it this much thought?

Because I grew up on this shit, that's why. How much have my own values been shaped by some obnoxious do-gooder and some self-centered idiot with obvious behavior issues?



I'm bossy, sure, but that other comparison is like apples and oranges. Literally.
Oranges are easy to share, apples aren't. Someone has to take the last one.

So I guess I'm more Goofus than Gallant at this point, but I choose to think that Gallant is a little brown nosing apple polisher and Goofus is awesome.

It works out in my head.

It's About Time We Invented Magic

I've been rereading some Harry Potter books. The 6th movie comes out in November so I wanted to brush up on my details so I can complain about what the movie left out.

But I think I need to stop reading them. I keep getting all pissed off that I can't do magic and fight evil and be awesome.

Sporting Amy Winehouse Mouth

I broke a tooth yesterday. It shattered when I bit down on some hard bit in a Dunkin Donuts sausage breakfast sandwich. I don't want to think too hard about what that was. The pain was incredible. It was like getting punched in the face by a zombie brandishing an ice pick.

So, despite my total paralyzing fear of dentists, I called one and made an appointment. Later that afternoon I go in. I manage to burst into tears from sheer anxiety when filling out the paperwork, scare the crap out of the receptionists with aforementioned outburst, and make most of the paperwork illegible due to tears. The receptionist was really nice, as was the girl who came out to lead me to the office. She probably noticed me shaking like a chihuahua in a snowstorm, and I appreciated the kindergarten teacher approach to dealing with me.

The tech gives me an x-ray, me in the lead blanket, her hiding in another room. I burst into tears again, this time for absolutely no reason. Then the dentist comes in. Big, friendly Russian guy, shakes my hand, starts explaining everything in the nicest way possible. It turns out the tooth is basically ruined, and as a bonus, I need a root canal. Tomorrow.

As devastated as I was to hear the news, his follow up of "we'll give you vicodin for the pain" really softened the blow. For some reason, any anxiety I had was cured by the idea of painkillers.

So my roommate and I went to fill my prescription, wondering aloud why dentistry immediately goes to heavy painkillers when a problem comes up. I take some and pass out. I get up this morning, shaking with terror, and go to my appointment.

The dentist told me yesterday that we'll use as much novocaine as it takes to numb me. When I get there, I immediately get 3 shots of novocaine. Those fucking hurt. Then another. Then 2 more just in case. We go through the procedure, me listening to my iPod the whole time. I didn't feel a damn thing. Still can't, I'm rocking a totally numb left side of my face. Six shots of novocaine, I could take a sledgehammer to the face and not notice.

So my shattered tooth is mostly gone, and I get a crown and a cap or something a week from Monday. Until then, I get to have a gap in my teeth. I feel like such a hillbilly. Or Amy Winehouse.

Maybe I should get a bouffant and finish off the look...

Is your lemonade made from real lemons? Are your Girl Scout cookies made from real Girl Scouts?

Ah, cookie time has ended yet again. May I just say, I love cookies. Cookie was my first word, and to this day I'll fight anyone over the last oreo in the box.

This tends to be my favorite time of year. Little girls, learning about responsibility, entrepreneurship, and hocking baked goods to random passers-by.


Ah, delicious. Even on a computer screen.

In my case, I don't actually know anyone in Girl Scouts or with kids in Girl Scouts.
This leads me to be super-creepy around my office, asking anyone who nears my desk if they have young daughters. After the initial weird look, I usually get a no. I eventually learned to ask straight out if someone had a cookie connection, making it sound almost illicit, but much less pedophiliac.

Fortunately, we had a new person start working here right at the open of cookie time. Her first day, within our first conversation, I asked. And as luck would have it, her daughter is in Girl Scouts and was selling them.

So I got 14 boxes. I'm not even kidding.
I gave some out as gifts and thank you's for helping me out on various things.

Then I got 6 more boxes. Bringing my total to $80 spent on cookies.
I have about 5 boxes left. I've been saving the good ones for myself.

I think what I love most about these cookies (aside from the deliciousness) is the fact that I spent $80 dollars on cookies and instead of looking like gluttony, it looks like generosity.

Can't we replace all of this nonsense with some sort of cage match?

I feel like the election has been going on for years.

Wait, I think it actually has...

I find myself really annoyed by politics lately. And by lately I mean since the presidential campaign started, sometime last year. I understand that this is a huge country, and reaching out to voters takes time, traveling, money, positive tv ads, attacking the other guy tv ads, more money, debates, more traveling, more money, and apparently the rest of my patience for these people.

Aside from idiotic rhetoric and general douchebaggery, I think my main problem is this:

Don't these people have jobs? Jobs serving the public? Jobs they should be doing instead of spending months and months in what amounts to a huge job interview for a higher position? I know that some aren't currently holding jobs as elected officials, but it seems like all the front-runners are. You and I couldn't do that at our jobs, we'd get fired. They just get more attention on their fund raising efforts.

What does this say about their presidency? Will they spend all of their time first trying to be reelected then trying to be appointed to some cushy ambassadorship?

Of course they will, who am I kidding?

So it looks like this is just the way it is, at least until the robots with zombie brains finally take over. Or November, but I think my option is better.

How could you, Jordan!?!?!?

Remember this? Remember how hot you were? How brooding and sensitive? How illiterate? How you in 1994 is still #3 on my list of hot celebrities to do if I get a chance?

(from Wikipedia)

• Jordan Catalano, played by Jared Leto, is one of the best remembered characters of the show, though he was possibly the least seen and had the fewest lines of dialogue. He is a good-looking boy but also a major slacker who constantly cuts classes and stands on the brink of being expelled. He's nearly illiterate and is mistakenly believed to be stupid because of this. Angela is in love with him and during the series they begin an on-off relationship. Although he appears to belong to a group of rebellious teens, he is tired of the meaningless acts of vandalism that his friends commit for fun, yet he has no reason to believe that his life will change. He reveals his emotional depth in his songwriting ability and occasional - seemingly accidental - profound thoughts. He writes a song "Red", which Angela thinks is about her because of her dyed red hair, however it is about his car.

He was so hot and sensitive.

And he's turned into this:


Yeah, that's Paris Hilton. Jared Leto circa 1994 is off my list. Officially. The hottie you were has been erased from my memory by the douchebag you were determined to become.

As for that person, she's going to be in Boston in February to accept some kind of award from the Harvard Lampoon. The picture above has convinced me that I need to go to that event, simply to hurl insults and water balloons and the whore.

Blah, blah, blah

Yeah, it's been just about a month since I posted. That'll happen with holiday knitting and shitty weather related ennui. But I just hate these so much I had to vent.

I'm dyslexic. Not severely but some things really mess with me.
Like this:


So fuck you, guy that invented CAPTCHA.
Have you considered using the Russian alphabet? It'll look about the same to me.