We all like to think that we fit in, but have a few things about ourselves that set us apart from others. I tried to think of a few and while I know that many people will have similar attributes, the collection of all of them in one person helps make me distinctly me.
1. I'm a girl who loves to watch and play football and basketball, but I also get super excited when I get to wear my gorgeous 4-inch purple peep-toe heels.
2. I don't like Hollywood or the hypocrisy of actors who make millions of dollars for a few months' work and think I should be giving away more of my money while they buy houses that could house entire villages of the poor countries they so want to help and I struggle to make rent, but I love the glamour of the Oscars.
3. I have an undergraduate degree, a graduate certificate and a master's degree and I feel like a failure every day when I come to work as an administrative assistant. I despise telling people what I do b/c it looks ridiculous. I took the admin job at a university so I could get a free master's degree and over a year since completing it, I'm doing the same job. I hate it when people ask me where I work and what I do.
4. When I'm at work sitting down all day, I really want to go work out. As soon as I'm off work, I have no desire to work out and I just want to go home and sit down all night.
5. I currently only own one pair of jeans. I had a second pair, but they got a hole in them and I don't wear holey jeans. I've never been a jeans hoarder and don't understand the need for multiple pairs so I usually have a dark pair and a light pair. I'll replace my light pair and be perfectly fine with my 2 pairs of jeans.
6. I'm anti-Apple. I have a Microsoft Zune instead of an iPod and I refuse to get an iPhone. I resent the anti-conformity angle they use while almost completely monopolizing the mp3 player and smartphone markets. What do the hipsters and artists and people who are sooooo different from everyone else use? Apple everything.
7. I'm totally in love with cats and don't really care for dogs. I know this makes me appear quite crazy and scares guys off but I don't care. Cats are cute and playful while also being independent beings who need very little. They can also love on you very gently and be very sweet. Dogs smell and jump and lick you and need so much maintenance. A dog loving on you always involves being head-butted and licked and it's quite unpleasant. And did I mention they smell? Before you jump on me that cats' litter boxes smell, let's review something. Cats themselves do not smell. If you clean their litter box as you're supposed to, that doesn't smell either. Dogs smell. Like the actual dog smells. Every house that owns a dog smells like dog.
8. I hate the band Nirvana. With a passion. I think they were an absolutely awful band and not because of Grohl or Novaselic. Kurt Cobain was atrocious. He could not sing, he had an elementary understanding of the guitar, he could NOT sing (I want to ensure that's emphasized), and his lyrics were anything but genius: they were the ramblings of a drug addict. He killed himself because he didn't want to be famous (and because he was a drug addict and didn't think straight) and I'm supposed to be sad about that? Cry me a river Kurt, you know how to not be famous? You don't be famous. See me? Right now? I'm being not famous. It's easy. If you didn't want to be famous anymore or sell out your music you know what you do? You stop selling your music. You stop giving interviews on MTV about not wanting to be famous, you stop making videos, you stop putting albums out, you stop touring, etc. I'm sure many non-conformists listen to your mass-produced messages on their iPods.
9. One of my favorite things in the world is to get up Sunday morning and make waffles while playing the local classic rock station. Double the pleasure if it's nice out and I can open the windows as well.
10. I want to go on a ship at night. Not a cruise ship, but a big ole fishing boat or something. I want to act like the sailor I feel like. A yacht with all of its lights turned off would suffice, but I really want to hear the creaking of a ship at sea at night.
11. I love ballet. I loved it when I danced it and I love to watch it. If I was rich and living in NYC, I'd have season tickets to the American Ballet Theater and I'd love every second of it.
12. I don't have a GPS and will probably never have a GPS. I do this thing before I go somewhere with which I'm not familiar called "looking up directions and looking at the map." I'm pretty good with directions and as I've seen my ability to retain phone numbers diminish with the use of cell phones, I refuse to have that happen with my sense of direction and ability to find places on my own.
13. I don't really understand what "Esquire" means. I know that it goes after the name of some attorneys, but I don't understand it. Are all attorneys "esquires?" Does "esquire" always mean attorneys, or can another profession use the term? Are esquires only men? Is it a certain class or type of attorney that can use "esquire?"
14. Many of the things I was obsessed with as a child are still obsessions now. Volcanoes, weather (hurricanes especially), ballet, and geology can still get me excited and giddy.
15. I cannot end lists on anything other than a multiple of 5. Lists HAVE to end with a 5 or 0. Have to.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Yes, It Was 70 Degrees Yesterday, But It's 34 Degrees Today
Dear Girl in Too-Short Shorts and Flip-Flops:
www.weather.com.
You're welcome.
www.weather.com.
You're welcome.
I Live Below Serial Killers
Back in October 2009, we got new neighbors above us. From the beginning Boyfriend and I thought they were strange. Since 2009, they're hardly--if ever--gone from the apartment at the same time. Someone is always home and someone is always awake. We know this because they are always banging around up there. Morning, noon and night, they are making noise. I've decided that they play pool in the room above my bedroom and bowl in their kitchen. They never open their blinds and they never use lights. Seriously. Drive by at any time and you will never see lights on in the Creepertons' apartment. When they leave, it's only for short periods of time and it's very very rare that they go somewhere together. If they go somewhere together, they're gone for about 5 minutes. We have no idea what on Earth they could possibly do to earn money except maybe they use the insurance they got when they killed their father/husband. To further compound the creepiness--we cannot tell just what their relationship might be. It's pretty obvious that Boyfriend and I are dating and we live together. It's obvious that the nice couple who live behind us are an older married couple. Across from them was a younger couple--we think married. Across from us is a man who sometimes has his daughter and has recently gotten married to New Woman. Above us though? We don't know if they date, if they're siblings, or if they're mother/son. I know that doesn't sound weird when you think about it once. But really think--have you ever not been able to tell even remotely if someone COULD be mom/sister/girlfriend/wife? They're creepy and I think the woman is genetically altered somehow because she is in no way normal-looking. I thought she had Down syndrome at one point, but she's not cute enough and quite frankly, too much of a bitch. I know, you hate me now. But really, at least Mr. Creeperton smiles and nods, Bitch Creeperton never even attempts to make eye contact. She just likes to complain about our music and call the police when we are watching the Oscars. Suffice to say, the sight of about 10 people dressed to the nines (girls in sequined/bridesmaid dress and dudes in suits) sitting on the couch watching the Oscars while a police officer stands on the red carpet outside our door actually telling us he doesn't know why he was called here was hilarious. I'm not lying; that's a story for another time.
Last week, Boyfriend noticed what looked like moisture in the ceiling. He texted me about it, but I thought little of it because our ceiling has stains anyway. How is our ceiling stained? I haven't the foggiest. Those older stains actually have a reddish tint, but are not food-related and I really think they're blood stains that have seeped through the Creepertons' floor. Anyway. By later that evening, I had forgotten all about this.
Fast forward to early this morning. At 1:30 this morning, I was awakened from a lovely dream to Boyfriend asking what the emergency maintenance number was because our ceiling was falling. That's quite an awakening at 1:30 in the morning, especially when you were so joyful to be getting into bed at 10:00 a.m. like normal adults who just might get enough sleep. Alas, I had to get up to see our caving ceiling. In that aforementioned moisture spot was now what appeared to be a drywall vagina in our ceiling dripping water into a puddle on our carpet. No really, that's the best way to describe it. It wasn't a hole per se, but the ceiling was peeled back on either side and...ok, just trust me. Boyfriend looked up the emergency number and I went back to bed. Fifteen minutes later, I hear banging and get up to see maintenance guy standing on my kitchen counter, banging a hole into my ceiling (and water still dripping). He named a few things it could be and said it should be okay to last until he could come back around 9:00 a.m. today. At 8:30 this morning, Boyfriend calls to say moisture line has extended into our kitchen and now there is water dripping from our kitchen light fixture--what every renter loves to hear! Maintenance says they are going to get the key to the apartment above us because it sounds like maybe it could be coming from their AC unit.
Maintenance visits upstairs. Asks if they have any water lying around and Mr. Creeperton says they do not. Maintenance guy asks if they have noticed anything that could be weird. Mr. Creeperton says that their AC froze up last week. When asked why they were running their AC at all, Mr. C says, "Well it's been getting up to over 55!" Apparently 55 is the magic temperature where the Creepertons fear the bodies they have hidden up there begin to decompose. Clearly they couldn't call anyone about their AC because running it in February when the temps have been reaching a scorching sixty degrees (that's Fahrenheit, not Celsius or Kelvin or anything else) is just weird and too many red flags would be raised. It also means that outsiders might have to come in the apartment and we can't have that, lest they see that all of the light bulbs have been removed and there are people pieces in various dark places.
So maintenance comes back downstairs and makes a hole in our ceiling big enough to fit a man's head in. Turns out, the hole was made so that a man could stick his head in. Said man looks around and locates the leak, which is clearly coming from the apartment above us, in the general direction of their kitchen. Workers must now go back upstairs to do more investigative work because they should most definitely have some water lying around if that much was coming into our ceiling and onto our floorS. When they go upstairs, they find that Creepertons' sink has been leaking so much that the cabinets are rotted out at the bottom. This sink has leaked so much that it rotted through cabinets, still had to travel 6-8 inches to reach their floor, saturate the floor and into that magical space between their floor and our ceiling, then saturate our ceiling and begin to drip in our living room AND kitchen--in 2 completely separate places. The damage was so bad, maintenance had to cut open the counter in multiple places, including removing an entire corner. How do you not notice that?!
Oh I know--you DO notice that but choose not to report it because outsiders might have to come in your apartment and they might just discover the human heads in the freezer that fall out every now and then and sound like bowling balls hitting the floor.
Maintenance did not expect to see such a show upstairs and had to leave to get more supplies. As soon as maintenance leaves, Mr. C leaves with a black trash bag. Who uses black trash bags for their kitchen? You know who uses black trash bags? Contractors, carpenters, lawn guys, and serial killers. Mr. C has not yet returned. He's NEVER gone this long.
We are going to have a hole in our ceiling until Thursday because it needs to dry out up there. Lord only knows what they have to do upstairs, but whatever it is, I'm sure the Creepertons are moving the body parts out of the apartment ahead of time. Boyfriend actually texted a little while ago to inform me that the other car has not returned, but he hears what sounds like shuffling and DRAGGING above him. There's cleaning to be done, obviously!
I'm fearful and told Boyfriend to hide our cats. Serial killers love killing cats. And people. They love killing cats and people and our apartment has both, and we have now put a spotlight on them, thus all but ensuring that we've stolen the focus from the next intended victim(s) and put it squarely on ourselves. We may have saved lives (though in all likelihood, killed ourselves). You're welcome, previous targets.
1:04 p.m. update: Mr. Creeperton HAS returned, but did it creepily. Boyfriend didn't notice his return. What he DID notice, however, was that Mr. C. is leaving with ANOTHER black trash bag! Actually, he's walked outside and put the trash bag in his truck and is just sitting there. Boyfriend looked out of the blinds and Mr. Creeperton was staring at him! Dude sat in his car for entire minutes after that. When he finally did drive away, he drove AWAY from the trash compactor. But why? Clearly he was going to the county landfill, where there is much more trash and much less likelihood that his disposed body parts will be located. Even if they are, there's no telling from where they came. There's just too much risk in dropping them off at the apartment complex trash site.
Last week, Boyfriend noticed what looked like moisture in the ceiling. He texted me about it, but I thought little of it because our ceiling has stains anyway. How is our ceiling stained? I haven't the foggiest. Those older stains actually have a reddish tint, but are not food-related and I really think they're blood stains that have seeped through the Creepertons' floor. Anyway. By later that evening, I had forgotten all about this.
Fast forward to early this morning. At 1:30 this morning, I was awakened from a lovely dream to Boyfriend asking what the emergency maintenance number was because our ceiling was falling. That's quite an awakening at 1:30 in the morning, especially when you were so joyful to be getting into bed at 10:00 a.m. like normal adults who just might get enough sleep. Alas, I had to get up to see our caving ceiling. In that aforementioned moisture spot was now what appeared to be a drywall vagina in our ceiling dripping water into a puddle on our carpet. No really, that's the best way to describe it. It wasn't a hole per se, but the ceiling was peeled back on either side and...ok, just trust me. Boyfriend looked up the emergency number and I went back to bed. Fifteen minutes later, I hear banging and get up to see maintenance guy standing on my kitchen counter, banging a hole into my ceiling (and water still dripping). He named a few things it could be and said it should be okay to last until he could come back around 9:00 a.m. today. At 8:30 this morning, Boyfriend calls to say moisture line has extended into our kitchen and now there is water dripping from our kitchen light fixture--what every renter loves to hear! Maintenance says they are going to get the key to the apartment above us because it sounds like maybe it could be coming from their AC unit.
Maintenance visits upstairs. Asks if they have any water lying around and Mr. Creeperton says they do not. Maintenance guy asks if they have noticed anything that could be weird. Mr. Creeperton says that their AC froze up last week. When asked why they were running their AC at all, Mr. C says, "Well it's been getting up to over 55!" Apparently 55 is the magic temperature where the Creepertons fear the bodies they have hidden up there begin to decompose. Clearly they couldn't call anyone about their AC because running it in February when the temps have been reaching a scorching sixty degrees (that's Fahrenheit, not Celsius or Kelvin or anything else) is just weird and too many red flags would be raised. It also means that outsiders might have to come in the apartment and we can't have that, lest they see that all of the light bulbs have been removed and there are people pieces in various dark places.
So maintenance comes back downstairs and makes a hole in our ceiling big enough to fit a man's head in. Turns out, the hole was made so that a man could stick his head in. Said man looks around and locates the leak, which is clearly coming from the apartment above us, in the general direction of their kitchen. Workers must now go back upstairs to do more investigative work because they should most definitely have some water lying around if that much was coming into our ceiling and onto our floorS. When they go upstairs, they find that Creepertons' sink has been leaking so much that the cabinets are rotted out at the bottom. This sink has leaked so much that it rotted through cabinets, still had to travel 6-8 inches to reach their floor, saturate the floor and into that magical space between their floor and our ceiling, then saturate our ceiling and begin to drip in our living room AND kitchen--in 2 completely separate places. The damage was so bad, maintenance had to cut open the counter in multiple places, including removing an entire corner. How do you not notice that?!
Oh I know--you DO notice that but choose not to report it because outsiders might have to come in your apartment and they might just discover the human heads in the freezer that fall out every now and then and sound like bowling balls hitting the floor.
Maintenance did not expect to see such a show upstairs and had to leave to get more supplies. As soon as maintenance leaves, Mr. C leaves with a black trash bag. Who uses black trash bags for their kitchen? You know who uses black trash bags? Contractors, carpenters, lawn guys, and serial killers. Mr. C has not yet returned. He's NEVER gone this long.
We are going to have a hole in our ceiling until Thursday because it needs to dry out up there. Lord only knows what they have to do upstairs, but whatever it is, I'm sure the Creepertons are moving the body parts out of the apartment ahead of time. Boyfriend actually texted a little while ago to inform me that the other car has not returned, but he hears what sounds like shuffling and DRAGGING above him. There's cleaning to be done, obviously!
I'm fearful and told Boyfriend to hide our cats. Serial killers love killing cats. And people. They love killing cats and people and our apartment has both, and we have now put a spotlight on them, thus all but ensuring that we've stolen the focus from the next intended victim(s) and put it squarely on ourselves. We may have saved lives (though in all likelihood, killed ourselves). You're welcome, previous targets.
1:04 p.m. update: Mr. Creeperton HAS returned, but did it creepily. Boyfriend didn't notice his return. What he DID notice, however, was that Mr. C. is leaving with ANOTHER black trash bag! Actually, he's walked outside and put the trash bag in his truck and is just sitting there. Boyfriend looked out of the blinds and Mr. Creeperton was staring at him! Dude sat in his car for entire minutes after that. When he finally did drive away, he drove AWAY from the trash compactor. But why? Clearly he was going to the county landfill, where there is much more trash and much less likelihood that his disposed body parts will be located. Even if they are, there's no telling from where they came. There's just too much risk in dropping them off at the apartment complex trash site.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Brother/Sister E-mail #2
While listening to Foreigner's "Juke Box Hero" one day, I realized that I had a few questions about this man's "hero" status. So, I asked my source for all that is classic rock (and good music in general). What I got was one of the most thoughtfully considered analytical answers ever. And you know, he was able to answer my question.
Email from Me:
What amazing feat does it take to acquire the status of Juke Box Hero?
What sort of fantastic act must one perform? From what did this newly
appointed "Hero" save others?
Email from Brother:
Well, we have to analyze this to glean the answer to your question...
FIRST VERSE
Standing in the rain, with his head hung low
Couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show
Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene
Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream
He heard one guitar, just blew him away
He saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day
Bought a beat up six string in a secondhand store
Didn't know how to play it, but he knew for sure
That one guitar, felt good in his hands
Didn't take long, to understand
Just one guitar, slung way down low
Was one way ticket, only one way to go
So he started rockin
Aint never gonna stop
Gotta keep on rockin
Someday hes gonna make it to the top
---I see this a lot in action flicks, our hero, outside in the rain,
standing there, head hung low. I've seen it in Batman, X-men, and the
like. Rambo stood there in the rain in First Blood Part II, ready to
kill anything & everything to get the POW's 'cause they ("charlies")
killed his woman. Frank Reynolds and Charlie ??? let it rain on them
though, but those are just comedic heroes. I think even Chuck Norris
has allowed it to rain on him, just for effect though. Although I will
say, Jack Bauer would never be caught in the rain. Neither would Agent
Jack Bauer, cats don't like rain. So, I guess the first part of heroism
is standing in the rain. Check that box, we've got it here.
Now we look at his response time. He heard a "distant scream" through a
wall. Could be concrete, if so, that's impressive. If it's sheet rock,
still pretty good. But, he's responding to a scream. Always a need for
some type of hero if there's a scream.
Then he heard one guitar blow him away and he was seeing stars
afterward. That's a pretty strong punch, even from a "D" chord. But he
goes to a pawn shop and buys a guitar of his own, and it felt pretty
good in his hands. I equate that to a kid getting antsy and buying his
first gun. It feels pretty good in his hands. Know what other hero had
a gun. The Punisher.
CHORUS
And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero
He took one guitar, juke box hero, stars in his eyes
Juke box hero, hell come alive tonight
Not a lot going on here that we didn't cover beforehand. It just lets
you know he's a hero, to someone.
SECOND VERSE
In a town without a name, in a heavy downpour
Thought he passed his own shadow, by the backstage door
Like a trip through the past, to that day in the rain
And that one guitar made his whole life change
Now he needs to keep rockin
He just cant stop
Gotta keep on rockin
That boy has got to stay on top
Here we have a nameless, lawless town our "hero" has come through,
probably rode in on a tour bus with some groupies. It's still raining,
for effect. "Like a trip through the past...," hey, every hero has a
bad memory they don't want to visit. Batman didn't want to think about
falling into what would later become the Batcave. Max Payne didn't want
to think of his wife & kid. Rambo didn't want to think about "the old
Vietnam," nor Rocky about Apollo Creed. But it happens, it has to, so
they know what they're fighting for.
And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Yeah, juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
With that one guitar hell come alive
Come alive tonight
Yeah, hes gotta keep rockin
He just cant stop
Gotta keep on rockin
That boy has got to stay on top
And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Just one guitar, put stars in his eyes
Hes just a juke box hero, aah aah aah
Juke box hero, juke box hero, hes got stars in his eyes
Stars in his eyes
I think what we have here is someone who has drastically tried to become
a hero in someone else's eyes, which is sad really because if someone
else wants you to become a hero, and you can't, then you're a failure.
And failures never win. But, this Juke Box Hero has become a hero to
someone, defeating Juke Boxes all over the world apparently. He just
forgot to mention it, because he has succeeded quite well actually. I
haven't seen a Juke Box in ages.
Email from Me:
What amazing feat does it take to acquire the status of Juke Box Hero?
What sort of fantastic act must one perform? From what did this newly
appointed "Hero" save others?
Email from Brother:
Well, we have to analyze this to glean the answer to your question...
FIRST VERSE
Standing in the rain, with his head hung low
Couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show
Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene
Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream
He heard one guitar, just blew him away
He saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day
Bought a beat up six string in a secondhand store
Didn't know how to play it, but he knew for sure
That one guitar, felt good in his hands
Didn't take long, to understand
Just one guitar, slung way down low
Was one way ticket, only one way to go
So he started rockin
Aint never gonna stop
Gotta keep on rockin
Someday hes gonna make it to the top
---I see this a lot in action flicks, our hero, outside in the rain,
standing there, head hung low. I've seen it in Batman, X-men, and the
like. Rambo stood there in the rain in First Blood Part II, ready to
kill anything & everything to get the POW's 'cause they ("charlies")
killed his woman. Frank Reynolds and Charlie ??? let it rain on them
though, but those are just comedic heroes. I think even Chuck Norris
has allowed it to rain on him, just for effect though. Although I will
say, Jack Bauer would never be caught in the rain. Neither would Agent
Jack Bauer, cats don't like rain. So, I guess the first part of heroism
is standing in the rain. Check that box, we've got it here.
Now we look at his response time. He heard a "distant scream" through a
wall. Could be concrete, if so, that's impressive. If it's sheet rock,
still pretty good. But, he's responding to a scream. Always a need for
some type of hero if there's a scream.
Then he heard one guitar blow him away and he was seeing stars
afterward. That's a pretty strong punch, even from a "D" chord. But he
goes to a pawn shop and buys a guitar of his own, and it felt pretty
good in his hands. I equate that to a kid getting antsy and buying his
first gun. It feels pretty good in his hands. Know what other hero had
a gun. The Punisher.
CHORUS
And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero
He took one guitar, juke box hero, stars in his eyes
Juke box hero, hell come alive tonight
Not a lot going on here that we didn't cover beforehand. It just lets
you know he's a hero, to someone.
SECOND VERSE
In a town without a name, in a heavy downpour
Thought he passed his own shadow, by the backstage door
Like a trip through the past, to that day in the rain
And that one guitar made his whole life change
Now he needs to keep rockin
He just cant stop
Gotta keep on rockin
That boy has got to stay on top
Here we have a nameless, lawless town our "hero" has come through,
probably rode in on a tour bus with some groupies. It's still raining,
for effect. "Like a trip through the past...," hey, every hero has a
bad memory they don't want to visit. Batman didn't want to think about
falling into what would later become the Batcave. Max Payne didn't want
to think of his wife & kid. Rambo didn't want to think about "the old
Vietnam," nor Rocky about Apollo Creed. But it happens, it has to, so
they know what they're fighting for.
And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Yeah, juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
With that one guitar hell come alive
Come alive tonight
Yeah, hes gotta keep rockin
He just cant stop
Gotta keep on rockin
That boy has got to stay on top
And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Hes a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes
Just one guitar, put stars in his eyes
Hes just a juke box hero, aah aah aah
Juke box hero, juke box hero, hes got stars in his eyes
Stars in his eyes
I think what we have here is someone who has drastically tried to become
a hero in someone else's eyes, which is sad really because if someone
else wants you to become a hero, and you can't, then you're a failure.
And failures never win. But, this Juke Box Hero has become a hero to
someone, defeating Juke Boxes all over the world apparently. He just
forgot to mention it, because he has succeeded quite well actually. I
haven't seen a Juke Box in ages.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
That Time I Was a Member of One of America's Most Powerful Crime Families
As a child born in the early 80s, I was unwaveringly caught up in the madness that swarmed over little girls when the most wonderful thing that ever happened happened:
The New Kids on the Block came around.
I don't mean "came around" like they "came around town." I simply mean that they existed. They existed and they made the music that every single-digit-aged little girl swooned over and HELLO did you SEE Joey McIntyre and Jonathan Knight? I wasn't a Jordan person, clearly.
Anyway, I had a Jonathan Knight poster. It hung on my wall and I loved it and I stared at it, and I loved being in my room because of that poster that my parents bought me when we went to Movie Time one Friday night to rent a movie. That poster also resulted in the assumption that I was in a family much different from the one in which I actually existed.
To all the youngins: You had to actually leave the house and go to a store that rented video tapes. Oh and tapes were these things that you put in a VCU to play your movie. They weren't on discs. Images and sounds were burned onto a tape that wound around 2 heads and if you were Kind, you would Rewind said tapes before returning them to the rental store. There were even these things that re-wound your tapes when you were done watching a million times faster than your VCR and sometimes I exaggerate. My family didn't own one of those b/c we weren't lazy and didn't waste our damn money.
Anyway.
I had a Jonathan Knight poster. On this poster was a phone number you could dial to, you know, talk to the New Kids. 1-900-909-5KIDS. I remember this b/c it was REALLY easy for a 9 year old to remember and I may have dialed it more than once. Maybe even multiple times. I thought 1-800 and 1-900 numbers were the same (free). While I thought they were free, I still was not comfortable calling someone I didn't know, much less the NEW KIDS ON THE FREAKING BLOCK and OMG what if Jonathan or Joey answered and talked to me? So of course I called multiple times.
So I dialed the number the first time and hung up. Lightning didn't strike me and my parents hadn't yet found out, so I called again. I remember them saying something that scared me so I hung up again. Then I called them back. And they entertained me. Then it was time to leave for church. Then I got home, changed out of my pretty dress and called the New Kids back again. I remember "listening to them in their studio." Then an exciting offer came my way!
What kind of exciting offer? I could own a cassette tape that let me hear MORE of them joking around in their studio! For only $12.99 and it would be added to the phone bill automatically so there was no need to try and get a pesky check or something mailed. Only $12.99 for a cassette of the New Kids? Add that bitch on there. Phone bills were, like, super-expensive right? My parents will never know that it's thirteen dollars more expensive than normal (before the cost of shipping, handling, and oh yeah, the cost of the MULTIPLE 1-900 calls I had made). Regardless, I wanted this tape and to get it, I just had to press a button indicating such. This was all made possible by the disclaimer on the poster that said you have to get your parents' permission first if you were under 18 so they're operating under the assumption that I had done so. Thus the purchasing process was insanely easy.
My bitchin cassette of the New Kids on the Block in their studio and making prank phone calls was going to arrive in an unmarked package (lest someone want to steal such a goldmine of awesome) but first I had to give them the shipping information. Of course, this included my name and address. Now, I didn't understand the importance of spelling a last name or road name at the tender age of 9, but that didn't matter b/c if I knew how to spell my last name, so did they, right? Just say it slow enough. Whomever addressed the package got the street name correct and that's not even a real word. They didn't, however, get my last name right.
My unmarked, padded brown package came delivered to someone with the last name "Gambino." Nothing is written on this package save my name and address. No return address, no business name anywhere, no nothing. Just a plain brown package, slightly padded so as to avoid injury to the undoubtedly fragile item(s) inside.
Poor postal worker. In his hands, he's handling a nondescript brown package addressed to an apparent member or relative of one of the largest, most infamous crime families in America. Remember John Gotti? The "Dapper Don?" He headed the Gambino crime family.
I bet that delivery guy had never in his career handled a package so gingerly. I also wonder if the girls with the last names of "Barton" and "Smith" got theirs faster than I got mine.
Epilogue:
The first few weeks were glorious. I took my tape to the babysitter's and the other girls there loved it too. I was a hit and my parents didn't know b/c surely they would have said something by now, right? Nope, turns out that phone bills only came once a month. When the bill came, what resulted was my first real grounding and the first time I had really, truly, honestly pissed my parents off. I mean pissed. Super pissed. Probably because multiple bills came. There was one from our regular carrier. Then another with more charges. All in all, I had to work off my debt from multiple phone bills (plural there, I don't know if that's sunk in yet) that totaled over $140. Do you know how much money that would be NOW for a simple land line? Imagine the late 80s. My brother got a break from chores for a while because I took over his in addition to my own. A lot of cleaning the litter box (daily, which is better than I do now actually), emptying the dishwasher, setting the table, cleaning off the table, taking the trash out, vacuuming, dusting, etc. It was a low period in my life. But I worked it off and I'm a better person now who appreciates hard work, the value of money, phone bill prices, and not being really dumb.
$20 says I can still find that tape somewhere if I look hard enough. My mailman and I worked our butts off for it, nothing was going to happen to that thing.
The New Kids on the Block came around.
I don't mean "came around" like they "came around town." I simply mean that they existed. They existed and they made the music that every single-digit-aged little girl swooned over and HELLO did you SEE Joey McIntyre and Jonathan Knight? I wasn't a Jordan person, clearly.
Anyway, I had a Jonathan Knight poster. It hung on my wall and I loved it and I stared at it, and I loved being in my room because of that poster that my parents bought me when we went to Movie Time one Friday night to rent a movie. That poster also resulted in the assumption that I was in a family much different from the one in which I actually existed.
To all the youngins: You had to actually leave the house and go to a store that rented video tapes. Oh and tapes were these things that you put in a VCU to play your movie. They weren't on discs. Images and sounds were burned onto a tape that wound around 2 heads and if you were Kind, you would Rewind said tapes before returning them to the rental store. There were even these things that re-wound your tapes when you were done watching a million times faster than your VCR and sometimes I exaggerate. My family didn't own one of those b/c we weren't lazy and didn't waste our damn money.
Anyway.
I had a Jonathan Knight poster. On this poster was a phone number you could dial to, you know, talk to the New Kids. 1-900-909-5KIDS. I remember this b/c it was REALLY easy for a 9 year old to remember and I may have dialed it more than once. Maybe even multiple times. I thought 1-800 and 1-900 numbers were the same (free). While I thought they were free, I still was not comfortable calling someone I didn't know, much less the NEW KIDS ON THE FREAKING BLOCK and OMG what if Jonathan or Joey answered and talked to me? So of course I called multiple times.
So I dialed the number the first time and hung up. Lightning didn't strike me and my parents hadn't yet found out, so I called again. I remember them saying something that scared me so I hung up again. Then I called them back. And they entertained me. Then it was time to leave for church. Then I got home, changed out of my pretty dress and called the New Kids back again. I remember "listening to them in their studio." Then an exciting offer came my way!
What kind of exciting offer? I could own a cassette tape that let me hear MORE of them joking around in their studio! For only $12.99 and it would be added to the phone bill automatically so there was no need to try and get a pesky check or something mailed. Only $12.99 for a cassette of the New Kids? Add that bitch on there. Phone bills were, like, super-expensive right? My parents will never know that it's thirteen dollars more expensive than normal (before the cost of shipping, handling, and oh yeah, the cost of the MULTIPLE 1-900 calls I had made). Regardless, I wanted this tape and to get it, I just had to press a button indicating such. This was all made possible by the disclaimer on the poster that said you have to get your parents' permission first if you were under 18 so they're operating under the assumption that I had done so. Thus the purchasing process was insanely easy.
My bitchin cassette of the New Kids on the Block in their studio and making prank phone calls was going to arrive in an unmarked package (lest someone want to steal such a goldmine of awesome) but first I had to give them the shipping information. Of course, this included my name and address. Now, I didn't understand the importance of spelling a last name or road name at the tender age of 9, but that didn't matter b/c if I knew how to spell my last name, so did they, right? Just say it slow enough. Whomever addressed the package got the street name correct and that's not even a real word. They didn't, however, get my last name right.
My unmarked, padded brown package came delivered to someone with the last name "Gambino." Nothing is written on this package save my name and address. No return address, no business name anywhere, no nothing. Just a plain brown package, slightly padded so as to avoid injury to the undoubtedly fragile item(s) inside.
Poor postal worker. In his hands, he's handling a nondescript brown package addressed to an apparent member or relative of one of the largest, most infamous crime families in America. Remember John Gotti? The "Dapper Don?" He headed the Gambino crime family.
I bet that delivery guy had never in his career handled a package so gingerly. I also wonder if the girls with the last names of "Barton" and "Smith" got theirs faster than I got mine.
Epilogue:
The first few weeks were glorious. I took my tape to the babysitter's and the other girls there loved it too. I was a hit and my parents didn't know b/c surely they would have said something by now, right? Nope, turns out that phone bills only came once a month. When the bill came, what resulted was my first real grounding and the first time I had really, truly, honestly pissed my parents off. I mean pissed. Super pissed. Probably because multiple bills came. There was one from our regular carrier. Then another with more charges. All in all, I had to work off my debt from multiple phone bills (plural there, I don't know if that's sunk in yet) that totaled over $140. Do you know how much money that would be NOW for a simple land line? Imagine the late 80s. My brother got a break from chores for a while because I took over his in addition to my own. A lot of cleaning the litter box (daily, which is better than I do now actually), emptying the dishwasher, setting the table, cleaning off the table, taking the trash out, vacuuming, dusting, etc. It was a low period in my life. But I worked it off and I'm a better person now who appreciates hard work, the value of money, phone bill prices, and not being really dumb.
$20 says I can still find that tape somewhere if I look hard enough. My mailman and I worked our butts off for it, nothing was going to happen to that thing.
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Phone Calls I Get at Work
I get a phone call this morning from someone who is meeting my boss here in our office. She wanted our "actual physical location." I give her our address and my boss's room number. I should also add that she didn't ask for this information when she scheduled the meeting with my boss and said, "We can come to her office." You'd think a "Can you give us the address" would have followed, but no. I just figured she knew where we were or had looked on my boss's email signature and Googled it, but whatever. She didn't ask when she scheduled the meeting and offered to come to our office. Back to the present story. So she calls and asks for our "actual physical location" as opposed to the fanciful one where I dream I work in a beautiful office overlooking the Pacific with palm trees and flamingos and penguins that frolic about in my purple-hued office where Metallica plays live shows for me each day and I never have to hear awful bands like Cage the Elephant. She also doesn't want me to say, "Chicago. Our office is in Chicago" because, well, that's 1) far too vague and 2) simply not true. To avoid magical and false information, she asks for our "actual physical location."
So I give her the address, she thanks me, and we hang up the phone.
Story detour: What do you do when you're given an address to meet with someone? I'll tell you what I do. I look up the address so I know where I'm going. This method works so well, that I feel no reservations about recommending this practice to each and every one of you. When someone provides you with an address, you can go to this website called "Google" and it will show you where it is. You can even go to this website and zoom to street level so you can see the exact building you'll be going to and you'll know what to look for when you arrive. It's amazing, try it.
This is not the avenue that the two people take when arriving. No no, I get a phone call from the male coming and he says "Hi. I'm at the corner of [your street] and [other street]. Where do I go?" That corner is literally--literally--just one house over from our office. There's *that corner*, house, then our house. Someone moderately vision-impaired without glasses could read our address from his exact location. So here's the conversation:
Man: "...where do I go?"
Me: "We're [number]"
Man: "Ok, well do I walk towards the park or the other way?"
Me: "You'd walk towards the park and we're on the right."
Man: "Oh ok, on the right. That explains a lot, thanks."
You know what's on the left? A giant cathedral. There is no way that we would be on the left. And, like most addresses, there is only one of our number on the street (b/c it would be silly to have 915 on BOTH sides of the street) and there is just no possible way he could NOT see that from where he was standing unless he didn't look.
I got two phone calls in the matter of an hour asking where we were. The person who called the first time was with the person who called the second time. Neither person bothered to look at a map before coming. Why would you when you can just ASK someone?
I just typed in our address into Google maps. You can see our front door. Just saying.
So I give her the address, she thanks me, and we hang up the phone.
Story detour: What do you do when you're given an address to meet with someone? I'll tell you what I do. I look up the address so I know where I'm going. This method works so well, that I feel no reservations about recommending this practice to each and every one of you. When someone provides you with an address, you can go to this website called "Google" and it will show you where it is. You can even go to this website and zoom to street level so you can see the exact building you'll be going to and you'll know what to look for when you arrive. It's amazing, try it.
This is not the avenue that the two people take when arriving. No no, I get a phone call from the male coming and he says "Hi. I'm at the corner of [your street] and [other street]. Where do I go?" That corner is literally--literally--just one house over from our office. There's *that corner*, house, then our house. Someone moderately vision-impaired without glasses could read our address from his exact location. So here's the conversation:
Man: "...where do I go?"
Me: "We're [number]"
Man: "Ok, well do I walk towards the park or the other way?"
Me: "You'd walk towards the park and we're on the right."
Man: "Oh ok, on the right. That explains a lot, thanks."
You know what's on the left? A giant cathedral. There is no way that we would be on the left. And, like most addresses, there is only one of our number on the street (b/c it would be silly to have 915 on BOTH sides of the street) and there is just no possible way he could NOT see that from where he was standing unless he didn't look.
I got two phone calls in the matter of an hour asking where we were. The person who called the first time was with the person who called the second time. Neither person bothered to look at a map before coming. Why would you when you can just ASK someone?
I just typed in our address into Google maps. You can see our front door. Just saying.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Bathroom Bitch
I can't quite explain what happened to me after using the restroom today. Oh I CAN describe it, but I don't think it will adequately convey the weirdness/awkwardness/strangeness of what I experienced. I shall try. First, however, I want to put in a little background information. This is all taking place in an urban college campus, where old houses have been converted into offices. By old, I mean OLD. This results in every room having a great deal of echo and one cannot clear one's throat without someone on the first floor being able to hear it. Thus, what I'm saying is: sound travels here. Far. You cannot do anything quietly. Second, the restroom door is at the foot of some stairs, which come at the end of a relatively long, skinny hall. There is no need to stand directly by the door, as there is plenty of space behind you, and not much room in front of you for the person to exit the restroom. Third, the sink and counter are situated in proximity to the door in such a way as there is enough clearance to open the door and not much else. And the door opens in. Therefore, the person in the restroom is opening the door on him- or herself and there is not room for anything other than the opening door and the door opener. On to the story...
1. I used the restroom. I had not been, nor planned to be, in the room for very long at all.
2. I was just about done with my usage of the restroom and the toilet is finishing up its loud flushing cycle. Loud as in the toilet is loud and everything echoes so it's freaking loud and there's no way someone on the second floor couldn't hear it.
3. As I'm finishing up and getting ready to leave--a fluff of the hair in the mirror is about all I had left at the time--someone tries to open the door. Forcefully. Multiple times.
4. At no time did this would-be intruder knock. He or she kept trying to open the OBVIOUSLY locked door.
**I would like to add, again, that sound travels like you wouldn't believe in this building. The WBI should have heard both the toilet flushing and me moving around. Plus, isn't it customary to KNOCK on a closed door before attempting to enter, ESPECIALLY in the case of a restroom?**
5. I opened the door to see someone I don't know looking right at me. But hold on, it gets weird here.
6. That person, instead of apologizing and stepping aside so I could walk out of the restroom, begins to walk towards me.
7. This person is attempting to get INTO the restroom before I am OUT of the restroom. There is that awkward movement where two people must turn sideways because they are trying, at the same time, to get through a space meant for only one person.
8. This person glared at me as though I was in her way. Apparently, I should have known that this person who I've never seen before would need to use the restroom mere seconds after I did and I should have prevented this whole episode.
At the very least, I need to 1) not lock the door so she can come and go as she pleases whether the facilities are available or not or 2) learn to open the door and exit at the EXACT same time even though laws of physics don't allow this. Of course, she could also walk upstairs to the 3rd floor where there was an open restroom, but whatever.
1. I used the restroom. I had not been, nor planned to be, in the room for very long at all.
2. I was just about done with my usage of the restroom and the toilet is finishing up its loud flushing cycle. Loud as in the toilet is loud and everything echoes so it's freaking loud and there's no way someone on the second floor couldn't hear it.
3. As I'm finishing up and getting ready to leave--a fluff of the hair in the mirror is about all I had left at the time--someone tries to open the door. Forcefully. Multiple times.
4. At no time did this would-be intruder knock. He or she kept trying to open the OBVIOUSLY locked door.
**I would like to add, again, that sound travels like you wouldn't believe in this building. The WBI should have heard both the toilet flushing and me moving around. Plus, isn't it customary to KNOCK on a closed door before attempting to enter, ESPECIALLY in the case of a restroom?**
5. I opened the door to see someone I don't know looking right at me. But hold on, it gets weird here.
6. That person, instead of apologizing and stepping aside so I could walk out of the restroom, begins to walk towards me.
7. This person is attempting to get INTO the restroom before I am OUT of the restroom. There is that awkward movement where two people must turn sideways because they are trying, at the same time, to get through a space meant for only one person.
8. This person glared at me as though I was in her way. Apparently, I should have known that this person who I've never seen before would need to use the restroom mere seconds after I did and I should have prevented this whole episode.
At the very least, I need to 1) not lock the door so she can come and go as she pleases whether the facilities are available or not or 2) learn to open the door and exit at the EXACT same time even though laws of physics don't allow this. Of course, she could also walk upstairs to the 3rd floor where there was an open restroom, but whatever.
30 Years of Habits
I just turned 30 a few days ago and while I don't feel that different, I have thought about a number of things. Ten years ago, I was in college and began a 365-day countdown to 21 on my AIM profile. At that time, I knew exactly who I was going to marry, in what my subject my degree would be, where I wanted to work afterward, when I was going to get married, etc. The only thing I didn't know, then, was who was going to take me out for my 21st birthday because I was the first of my friends to turn 21, save a good friend who did not yet drink at the time. Anyway, I just KNEW that by 30 I'd be old and married and a mother with a great job making a lot of money with my aerospace engineer husband.
Ten years is a large period of time, during which many many changes can take place.
I still work entry-level. I've dated the same guy for almost 9 years and there is no proposal on the horizon. I am childless, though I should also say that I am HAPPILY childless. When I reached about 23 or 25, I realized that I did not want children in my 20s. I think that was a wise decision, though I didn't really have a choice seeing as though I am still unmarried. I wanted to be married before 30 (but not much before), so that's goal number one unattained. I wanted to own my home before I was 30, so that's goal number two unattained. I EXPECTED to be working in my desired career field (much) before I was 30, so that's goal number three unattained. I planned on traveling to England and "accidentally" running into Prince William so that we could begin our fairy-tale romance, so there goes goal number four as well. Those unattained goals are really the only things I've felt down about since turning 30.
However, I've also thought about things I heard/said/did/experienced throughout my life onto which I still hold even though it's silly to do so. This part isn't deep. This is really thinking about those silly things that happened to you when you were a child that still influence your decision-making 25 years later. This is the fun part of turning 30. Thus I present to you...
Silly Childhood Crap That Continues to Influence Me Even Though I Know It's Silly Childhood Crap:
1. I'm quite reluctant to give you a bite of whatever I'm eating.
REASON: When I was about 5, I was about to enjoy a rare chocolate Little Debbie cake while sitting in my dad's lap. He asked for a bite and being the Daddy's Girl I am, I wholeheartedly offered him a bite even though I had not yet had one myself. He ate the whole thing, except that which my tiny girl hands were still gripping. I threw the last crescent at his chest and ran into my room where I cried on my bed. My mean Daddy had just eaten the ONE treat I was going to get that night and we NEVER had treats like Little Debbie cakes in the house! To this day he says that the only reason he did that was because he knew that we had more in the kitchen and that I was going to get BOTH cakes in the package instead of the one I was normally allowed to have. I still think he was doing it just to be mean, the drive behind the motivations of most boys.
2. I hate it if someone says my whole name--first, middle, last.
REASON: Kids are mean and want to upset you in any way possible. My 3 names flow together nicely and can get a nice rhythm. What that means is that it's easily chanted in a taunting manner. The kids at my babysitter's house did that...a lot. Such teasing usually came after my brother started it because he was a jerk. Still, I would cry and yell at them to stop, which just made them chant my name louder. Now, I like my name. I like my first name, I like my middle name, I like my last name, and I like how they flow together. All the kids were doing was saying my name. This simple act of saying my name, however, used to piss me off. So, to this day, I don't like hearing my name with any sort of rhythm.
3. I will usually side with the younger sibling.
REASON: I was the younger sibling. I hated my older brother because he could hit me, kick me, be mean to me, tease me, invite me to play before leaving me, restart the Nintendo when I was playing, invite me to play Super Mario Brothers then pause the game when I was jumping over something so that when he unpaused it I would fall to my death and lose a life that I was going to lose shortly anyway because I was a freaking 7-year-old girl playing as Luigi...and it would somehow be my fault and I was always asked, "Well what did you DO to make your brother hit you, kick you, be mean to you, tease you, etc.?" Thus, I tend to side with the younger sibling in most arguments.
4. I'm secretly terrified of escalators.
REASON: When I was young, my parents used to tell me that you could get really hurt by the escalator so I was always scared of getting on and off. Getting on to go down was especially terrifying b/c there's a chance you could go to step on and miss or the stair is going far faster than you really think and you could go flying forward and down the escalator to your certain death. Add this to the time my mom got on without waiting for me (I was probably 6 or 7) and rode it all the way down and I was just too scared to get on and I had visions of staying at the top of the escalator forever while my Mom didn't realize I wasn't there and went on without me just before a kidnapper came and got me and I would never see my family again. Luckily some nice lady held my hand and guided me down the escalator where my mother thankfully DID wait for me and I was not kidnapped. This could have been a really big deal.
5. I keep all of my credit receipts.
REASON: On an episode of ALF, the family got audited. It looked like quite the traumatic experience. I said that would never happen to me and if it did, I'd be prepared. So I had every credit/check receipt that I received from the age of 16 until about 27. Today, I'll get rid of them once a year--to make room for the next year's receipts. It's still quite hard b/c WHAT IF?! Forget that I claim nothing, have no dependents, etc.
There is no reason why any self-respecting 30 year old should still think these ways but I do.
Ten years is a large period of time, during which many many changes can take place.
I still work entry-level. I've dated the same guy for almost 9 years and there is no proposal on the horizon. I am childless, though I should also say that I am HAPPILY childless. When I reached about 23 or 25, I realized that I did not want children in my 20s. I think that was a wise decision, though I didn't really have a choice seeing as though I am still unmarried. I wanted to be married before 30 (but not much before), so that's goal number one unattained. I wanted to own my home before I was 30, so that's goal number two unattained. I EXPECTED to be working in my desired career field (much) before I was 30, so that's goal number three unattained. I planned on traveling to England and "accidentally" running into Prince William so that we could begin our fairy-tale romance, so there goes goal number four as well. Those unattained goals are really the only things I've felt down about since turning 30.
However, I've also thought about things I heard/said/did/experienced throughout my life onto which I still hold even though it's silly to do so. This part isn't deep. This is really thinking about those silly things that happened to you when you were a child that still influence your decision-making 25 years later. This is the fun part of turning 30. Thus I present to you...
Silly Childhood Crap That Continues to Influence Me Even Though I Know It's Silly Childhood Crap:
1. I'm quite reluctant to give you a bite of whatever I'm eating.
REASON: When I was about 5, I was about to enjoy a rare chocolate Little Debbie cake while sitting in my dad's lap. He asked for a bite and being the Daddy's Girl I am, I wholeheartedly offered him a bite even though I had not yet had one myself. He ate the whole thing, except that which my tiny girl hands were still gripping. I threw the last crescent at his chest and ran into my room where I cried on my bed. My mean Daddy had just eaten the ONE treat I was going to get that night and we NEVER had treats like Little Debbie cakes in the house! To this day he says that the only reason he did that was because he knew that we had more in the kitchen and that I was going to get BOTH cakes in the package instead of the one I was normally allowed to have. I still think he was doing it just to be mean, the drive behind the motivations of most boys.
2. I hate it if someone says my whole name--first, middle, last.
REASON: Kids are mean and want to upset you in any way possible. My 3 names flow together nicely and can get a nice rhythm. What that means is that it's easily chanted in a taunting manner. The kids at my babysitter's house did that...a lot. Such teasing usually came after my brother started it because he was a jerk. Still, I would cry and yell at them to stop, which just made them chant my name louder. Now, I like my name. I like my first name, I like my middle name, I like my last name, and I like how they flow together. All the kids were doing was saying my name. This simple act of saying my name, however, used to piss me off. So, to this day, I don't like hearing my name with any sort of rhythm.
3. I will usually side with the younger sibling.
REASON: I was the younger sibling. I hated my older brother because he could hit me, kick me, be mean to me, tease me, invite me to play before leaving me, restart the Nintendo when I was playing, invite me to play Super Mario Brothers then pause the game when I was jumping over something so that when he unpaused it I would fall to my death and lose a life that I was going to lose shortly anyway because I was a freaking 7-year-old girl playing as Luigi...and it would somehow be my fault and I was always asked, "Well what did you DO to make your brother hit you, kick you, be mean to you, tease you, etc.?" Thus, I tend to side with the younger sibling in most arguments.
4. I'm secretly terrified of escalators.
REASON: When I was young, my parents used to tell me that you could get really hurt by the escalator so I was always scared of getting on and off. Getting on to go down was especially terrifying b/c there's a chance you could go to step on and miss or the stair is going far faster than you really think and you could go flying forward and down the escalator to your certain death. Add this to the time my mom got on without waiting for me (I was probably 6 or 7) and rode it all the way down and I was just too scared to get on and I had visions of staying at the top of the escalator forever while my Mom didn't realize I wasn't there and went on without me just before a kidnapper came and got me and I would never see my family again. Luckily some nice lady held my hand and guided me down the escalator where my mother thankfully DID wait for me and I was not kidnapped. This could have been a really big deal.
5. I keep all of my credit receipts.
REASON: On an episode of ALF, the family got audited. It looked like quite the traumatic experience. I said that would never happen to me and if it did, I'd be prepared. So I had every credit/check receipt that I received from the age of 16 until about 27. Today, I'll get rid of them once a year--to make room for the next year's receipts. It's still quite hard b/c WHAT IF?! Forget that I claim nothing, have no dependents, etc.
There is no reason why any self-respecting 30 year old should still think these ways but I do.
Monday, December 27, 2010
List Two: Places I Have No Desire to Visit
I haven't traveled a great deal at all. I do believe that this facet of my life kept me from meeting Prince William and living out my life's destiny of becoming an actual princess instead of just the royalty I believe myself to be in my head, but I digress. Until a few months ago, I had never been in a state that did not border the Atlantic Ocean. I have now been west of the Appalachians and it was quite exciting. Clearly, I want to travel because almost anywhere is new to me. And new = exciting. Very exciting. When riding through Indiana and Illinios is the highlight of your recent traveling life, there's an issue. I've never had a passport and I have no reason to need one in the near future. I need to see more.
You would think, then, that I'd be willing to go almost anywhere. Assuming a trip is free, this might be true but even then there are places that you probably couldn't pay me to go. I think we all have these types of places. Those places -- the ones that don't necessarily contain those roads visited frequently by Westerners accustomed to certain luxuries (like bathrooms) -- aren't really the focus here. There are perfectly legitimate travel destinations that I have no desire to visit.
Places I Have No Desire to Visit
1. Africa.
Nope, no desire to go to Africa. I mean sure, I'd go to South Africa where English is spoken widely, but even there the water is pretty cold so I don't fancy myself taking kindly to the beaches. There are penguins there though and that might be enough to change my mind. The rest of Africa though? No thanks. Maybe Egypt, but really once I see the pyramids I'm done. When I think of vacations, sweating in the desert or on a safari seeing animals I can see in any North American zoo is not a part of the fantasy. I prefer not to be dusty and frightened that these animals may turn on us at any time. When I think of Africa, I think of hot and dusty and that's just not my idea of relaxing.
2. India.
If it came to it, I would pay to avoid going to India. With my personal space issues, India is not a comfortable choice to me. I get very uncomfortable and anxious and slightly ADD if someone has infiltrated my bubble. I can't think of anything other than the breach of bubble security. Combined with the aforementioned dislike of heat, I think India would cause extreme internal discomfort. I also don't know what I'd eat. I'm the pickiest adult eater with whom you'll ever come into contact and it's not like I can eat beef there. India would not be fun for me.
3. Actually, most of Asia.
Okay, so I kind of want to go to Japan but otherwise Asia doesn't interest me that much. A lot of that comes from the food thing, but there's also a distinct language barrier I don't think I'll ever break. I also picture Asia as very humid and full of people who don't respect my bubble.
4. Detroit.
I like cars, but not enough.
5. Iowa.
I don't like corn so I think Iowa would just be a total bust.
6. Amsterdam.
I've never smoked pot and I needn't any prostitutes so I feel like I'd be wasting my time. And Amsterdam's time. I'll spend my time in other European places.
7. Mexico.
So I hear Cabo is cool, but I can go other tropical places where drug cartels and narcotraffickers don't visit tourist destinations for victims. Mexico is actually quite dangerous. I've always just thought that if I could afford the cost of a vacation to a destination with great beaches, it would be somewhere in which I'm comfortable leaving my resort and has more history that I care about. When I vacation, I want to feel safe, clean and be able to drink the water.
8. The Bahamas.
It just seems so over. I'm also told it's dirty and people swarm on you.
9. The Middle East.
It's dusty. It's scary. I wouldn't be able to eat anything. I'm also Christian, look Jewish and have assets that are difficult to hide. I think travel here for me could be sketchy.
10. Las Vegas.
I'm not a dude at a bachelor party. I'm not a stripper at a dude's bachelor party. I've been to Atlantic City and AC at least has boardwalks on the beach. I see no reason to visit a bigger AC in the middle of the desert. Also, the phrase "What happens in Vegas" has spawned so many copycat sayings for places that are not nearly as interesting or sinful that it makes me somewhat resent Las Vegas. Your reputation precedes you, Vegas, and I'm uninterested.
You would think, then, that I'd be willing to go almost anywhere. Assuming a trip is free, this might be true but even then there are places that you probably couldn't pay me to go. I think we all have these types of places. Those places -- the ones that don't necessarily contain those roads visited frequently by Westerners accustomed to certain luxuries (like bathrooms) -- aren't really the focus here. There are perfectly legitimate travel destinations that I have no desire to visit.
Places I Have No Desire to Visit
1. Africa.
Nope, no desire to go to Africa. I mean sure, I'd go to South Africa where English is spoken widely, but even there the water is pretty cold so I don't fancy myself taking kindly to the beaches. There are penguins there though and that might be enough to change my mind. The rest of Africa though? No thanks. Maybe Egypt, but really once I see the pyramids I'm done. When I think of vacations, sweating in the desert or on a safari seeing animals I can see in any North American zoo is not a part of the fantasy. I prefer not to be dusty and frightened that these animals may turn on us at any time. When I think of Africa, I think of hot and dusty and that's just not my idea of relaxing.
2. India.
If it came to it, I would pay to avoid going to India. With my personal space issues, India is not a comfortable choice to me. I get very uncomfortable and anxious and slightly ADD if someone has infiltrated my bubble. I can't think of anything other than the breach of bubble security. Combined with the aforementioned dislike of heat, I think India would cause extreme internal discomfort. I also don't know what I'd eat. I'm the pickiest adult eater with whom you'll ever come into contact and it's not like I can eat beef there. India would not be fun for me.
3. Actually, most of Asia.
Okay, so I kind of want to go to Japan but otherwise Asia doesn't interest me that much. A lot of that comes from the food thing, but there's also a distinct language barrier I don't think I'll ever break. I also picture Asia as very humid and full of people who don't respect my bubble.
4. Detroit.
I like cars, but not enough.
5. Iowa.
I don't like corn so I think Iowa would just be a total bust.
6. Amsterdam.
I've never smoked pot and I needn't any prostitutes so I feel like I'd be wasting my time. And Amsterdam's time. I'll spend my time in other European places.
7. Mexico.
So I hear Cabo is cool, but I can go other tropical places where drug cartels and narcotraffickers don't visit tourist destinations for victims. Mexico is actually quite dangerous. I've always just thought that if I could afford the cost of a vacation to a destination with great beaches, it would be somewhere in which I'm comfortable leaving my resort and has more history that I care about. When I vacation, I want to feel safe, clean and be able to drink the water.
8. The Bahamas.
It just seems so over. I'm also told it's dirty and people swarm on you.
9. The Middle East.
It's dusty. It's scary. I wouldn't be able to eat anything. I'm also Christian, look Jewish and have assets that are difficult to hide. I think travel here for me could be sketchy.
10. Las Vegas.
I'm not a dude at a bachelor party. I'm not a stripper at a dude's bachelor party. I've been to Atlantic City and AC at least has boardwalks on the beach. I see no reason to visit a bigger AC in the middle of the desert. Also, the phrase "What happens in Vegas" has spawned so many copycat sayings for places that are not nearly as interesting or sinful that it makes me somewhat resent Las Vegas. Your reputation precedes you, Vegas, and I'm uninterested.
Monday, December 13, 2010
List One: Annoyances/Happinesses
Sometimes I feel the need to write down my annoyances if only because sometimes reading them puts them in perspective and I get over myself. Then sometimes someone else reads them and says "Hey that annoys me too" and I feel instantly vindicated. However, as I'm trying to become a happier person, I have decided that I will not produce a list comprised of only annoyances, but will instead balance out said list with things that make me happy. I will do the happy one last so it will end on the high note. I will also ensure that I come up with at least one more Thing That Makes Me Happy than Thing That Annoys Me. I'm positive like that.
Things that annoy me:
1. People coming to me at work before trying to figure it out on their own. Of course, if it was something I regularly did and was a part of my job then this wouldn't be an issue. But it never is. Today, for instance, I received an e-mail that our location on the campus map was incorrect and could I "have someone fix this immediately." I have nothing to do with campus maps, much less how they appear on the website. You know who does? Creative Services, as indicated on this webpage. There is a button at the bottom of the page for "Send us updates or comments." Instead of that person who noticed the issue--and is the only one WITH an issue b/c our location actually isn't "wrong" per se--hitting that button and filling out the web form, she e-mailed me when all I will be able to do is hit said button.
2. Someone asking me to do something because they don't want to do it. Again, it's not necessarily my job, they just don't want to do it. I know you don't want to order the lunches, but what makes you think I want to just because I've done it before? I hate doing it. It's coming to your people for your event and is getting charged to your account. What makes it worse is that you came to me for assistance and after I had provided you with all of the necessary information and contacts, you literally handed it back to me and said "Can you do this? I hate calling for this stuff." What the heck?
3. People who drive in the rain/snow/dark without headlights. Not only is it the law to have your lights on in these conditions, but we other drivers cannot see you otherwise. It's never the people who drive bright yellow or red cars either. Ninety-eight per cent of the time, it's people driving silver, gray, white, or some other color automobile that blends in seamlessly with the environment.
4. When people switch up their routine and in doing so, disrupt mine. I'm an intense creature of habit. I'm not a fan of change once I've established a routine that works for me. This was never more prominent than when I was in school and 8 weeks into the semester, a classmate had decided he or she wanted to sit in the seat I had occupied for the previous 8 weeks of class. I don't want to sit anywhere else, if I did then I would have sat there on the first day of class. That whole class where I sat somewhere differently would be a complete loss for me b/c I'd be able to think of nothing else and I'd be uncomfortable. I'd be wondering why, halfway through the semester, someone had decided they wanted to sit somewhere else and why that happened to be my seat. Likewise, if I've been parking in the same spot at work for a year and you've been parking in the same spot for about that long, don't decide one week that you'll take my spot. It's weird and it disrupts my day and we've established by now that I'm very important and can't have my day disrupted.
5. Christmas songs by former Beatles. Hate them. Give me Nat King Cole and Burl Ives and you keep your depressing Beatles.
6. People who always need your help but are too busy to provide you with some the very few times you ask for it. In a similar vein, people who ask for help they don't need. When I show up with 10 bags on my arms and I can walk to the front, please don't call me to come downstairs and open the back door b/c you have a single box--that I end up carrying.
Things that make me happy!:
1. Champagne. Hand me a glass of light crisp champagne and watch my smile illuminate my face. Korbel Brut=happiness in a flute. Or, you know, Solo cup.
2. Football. September-February I don't mind Sundays. The rest of the year though? Sundays blow.
3. Diet Dr. Pepper.
4. Snow!
5. My nephews. I could sit and watch them play and learn for hours. Hearing the oldest learn my name and actually want to hang out with me fills me with more joy than I could ever imagine.
6. MAC makeup. It's only the best.
7. My two cats. They're only the cutest things ever and I swear they understand me and we can communicate rather effectively. You've seen the crazy cat lady? That's going to be me when I get a larger house and find someone to divorce me and leave me alone, paving the way for increased feline presence. Enter 50 cats.
Things that annoy me:
1. People coming to me at work before trying to figure it out on their own. Of course, if it was something I regularly did and was a part of my job then this wouldn't be an issue. But it never is. Today, for instance, I received an e-mail that our location on the campus map was incorrect and could I "have someone fix this immediately." I have nothing to do with campus maps, much less how they appear on the website. You know who does? Creative Services, as indicated on this webpage. There is a button at the bottom of the page for "Send us updates or comments." Instead of that person who noticed the issue--and is the only one WITH an issue b/c our location actually isn't "wrong" per se--hitting that button and filling out the web form, she e-mailed me when all I will be able to do is hit said button.
2. Someone asking me to do something because they don't want to do it. Again, it's not necessarily my job, they just don't want to do it. I know you don't want to order the lunches, but what makes you think I want to just because I've done it before? I hate doing it. It's coming to your people for your event and is getting charged to your account. What makes it worse is that you came to me for assistance and after I had provided you with all of the necessary information and contacts, you literally handed it back to me and said "Can you do this? I hate calling for this stuff." What the heck?
3. People who drive in the rain/snow/dark without headlights. Not only is it the law to have your lights on in these conditions, but we other drivers cannot see you otherwise. It's never the people who drive bright yellow or red cars either. Ninety-eight per cent of the time, it's people driving silver, gray, white, or some other color automobile that blends in seamlessly with the environment.
4. When people switch up their routine and in doing so, disrupt mine. I'm an intense creature of habit. I'm not a fan of change once I've established a routine that works for me. This was never more prominent than when I was in school and 8 weeks into the semester, a classmate had decided he or she wanted to sit in the seat I had occupied for the previous 8 weeks of class. I don't want to sit anywhere else, if I did then I would have sat there on the first day of class. That whole class where I sat somewhere differently would be a complete loss for me b/c I'd be able to think of nothing else and I'd be uncomfortable. I'd be wondering why, halfway through the semester, someone had decided they wanted to sit somewhere else and why that happened to be my seat. Likewise, if I've been parking in the same spot at work for a year and you've been parking in the same spot for about that long, don't decide one week that you'll take my spot. It's weird and it disrupts my day and we've established by now that I'm very important and can't have my day disrupted.
5. Christmas songs by former Beatles. Hate them. Give me Nat King Cole and Burl Ives and you keep your depressing Beatles.
6. People who always need your help but are too busy to provide you with some the very few times you ask for it. In a similar vein, people who ask for help they don't need. When I show up with 10 bags on my arms and I can walk to the front, please don't call me to come downstairs and open the back door b/c you have a single box--that I end up carrying.
Things that make me happy!:
1. Champagne. Hand me a glass of light crisp champagne and watch my smile illuminate my face. Korbel Brut=happiness in a flute. Or, you know, Solo cup.
2. Football. September-February I don't mind Sundays. The rest of the year though? Sundays blow.
3. Diet Dr. Pepper.
4. Snow!
5. My nephews. I could sit and watch them play and learn for hours. Hearing the oldest learn my name and actually want to hang out with me fills me with more joy than I could ever imagine.
6. MAC makeup. It's only the best.
7. My two cats. They're only the cutest things ever and I swear they understand me and we can communicate rather effectively. You've seen the crazy cat lady? That's going to be me when I get a larger house and find someone to divorce me and leave me alone, paving the way for increased feline presence. Enter 50 cats.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Concession to Kate Middleton
Anyone who knows me knows that I called Prince William a long time ago. As a child I knew he was a catch and was my best way of achieving my career goal: Princess. But not only any prince would do. He needed to be my age, handsome, appear normal, and preferably be British because I've always liked the accents. Given my mother's admiration of Diana, Princess of Wales, I learned of my future prince pretty early. He was only a year younger than I. He was handsome. It looked like Diana was doing everything in her power to allow him to grow up "normal" (as normal as a prince being raised by royals and whose mother herself was an aristocrat, thus she herself probably wasn't "normal" as we commoners would normally associate with the word). He was most assuredly British. I called him when my age was naught but in the single digits.
Unfortunately, I never traveled much. I really only ever went to the Outer Banks and he didn't visit there much. I never could make it to Britain. We were never in the same place at the same time. I was already enrolled in my undergraduate institution and I loved it, so I could neither conjure up the funds nor the desire for a transfer to St. Andrews. I knew this would probably be my downfall. It was.
He met Kate Middleton and apparently they hit it off. She landed William AND Lady Di's ring and while I can't shake the feeling that Miss Middleton takes everything from me even though I most assuredly called him first and I truly believe that a woman of her upbringing understands the concept of "dibs," I guess I must concede.
Well played, Middleton. Consider yourself lucky I couldn't ever make it to the UK.
Unfortunately, I never traveled much. I really only ever went to the Outer Banks and he didn't visit there much. I never could make it to Britain. We were never in the same place at the same time. I was already enrolled in my undergraduate institution and I loved it, so I could neither conjure up the funds nor the desire for a transfer to St. Andrews. I knew this would probably be my downfall. It was.
He met Kate Middleton and apparently they hit it off. She landed William AND Lady Di's ring and while I can't shake the feeling that Miss Middleton takes everything from me even though I most assuredly called him first and I truly believe that a woman of her upbringing understands the concept of "dibs," I guess I must concede.
Well played, Middleton. Consider yourself lucky I couldn't ever make it to the UK.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Counting, and Especially Reading, Is Hard
Last year I completed graduate school. In May I got a graduate certificate (that essentially means that I "majored" in something and the work was a bit more extensive than undergrad, but not enough to be a graduate degree. It's like recognized official extra credit) and in December I got a master's. I submitted these accomplishments to my undergraduate institution's magazine. See, in each issue there is a "Class Notes" section where the achievements of alumni are recognized. It didn't come in the Spring 2010 issue, which was the first one I received after submitting my awesome accomplishment but I was fine with this because they were probably already getting ready for publication and they held my note for the next issue. The next issue I received was Fall 2010, and that came a few weeks ago. I looked in the Class Notes section and there is no mention of me. Hmm. Being the investigator and unparalleled internet researcher that I am, I found the issue with my submission.
My note was published in Summer 2010. I know I would have looked in every subsequent magazine I received after my submission and I never saw it. I don't remember the cover (while this may not mean much to some, I have somewhat of a photographic memory so if I've seen something, I will usually remember it). I look in my stash of alumni magazines and I don't see the cover I don't recognize. In the six years after graduating from my undergraduate institution, I have never missed an issue of the alumni magazine.
Until something about me was in it.
If I was going to miss an issue at some point during the 6 years after graduation, why wouldn't it be the only one in which I'm mentioned? This will not get me down. I will remedy this.
I send an e-mail to the magazine and let them know what is up. I say:
Hello,
I never received the Summer 2010 issue of the *Alumni Magazine* and was hoping one could be sent to me. I had an entry in the class notes published in that issue and while I know that's available online, I would like to have it in print if possible. Can that issue be sent to me?"
In response I'm told, "Sure thing, we'll get one out to you" and the author of the e-mail requests my mailing address, which I promptly provide.
Yippee I'm getting the Summer 2010 issue of the Alumni Magazine where I can see my name and my accomplishments!
In the mail yesterday is an unusually heavy envelope from my undergraduate institution's publishing department. I'm intrigued. I can't wait to open it. I've seen it online, but I want it in print! I can show my as-yet-not-conceived-kids my name in a magazine, revealing the acquisition of degrees that are also hanging on my walls so they'd see them anyway, but this way they can see that my much-favored undergraduate institution talked about me! Yay!
Inside the envelope are three Fall 2010 issues.
The Fall 2010 issue I received on time is 20 steps away in my bedroom. I now have three additional copies of a magazine I already had. I asked for one copy of Summer 2010. I got three copies of Fall 2010. I went to school known for engineering, business, biology, geosciences, computer science, and other smart programs that require the ability to read and count. Fail.
I can't wait to see if I get Spring 2009 sometime next week.
My note was published in Summer 2010. I know I would have looked in every subsequent magazine I received after my submission and I never saw it. I don't remember the cover (while this may not mean much to some, I have somewhat of a photographic memory so if I've seen something, I will usually remember it). I look in my stash of alumni magazines and I don't see the cover I don't recognize. In the six years after graduating from my undergraduate institution, I have never missed an issue of the alumni magazine.
Until something about me was in it.
If I was going to miss an issue at some point during the 6 years after graduation, why wouldn't it be the only one in which I'm mentioned? This will not get me down. I will remedy this.
I send an e-mail to the magazine and let them know what is up. I say:
Hello,
I never received the Summer 2010 issue of the *Alumni Magazine* and was hoping one could be sent to me. I had an entry in the class notes published in that issue and while I know that's available online, I would like to have it in print if possible. Can that issue be sent to me?"
In response I'm told, "Sure thing, we'll get one out to you" and the author of the e-mail requests my mailing address, which I promptly provide.
Yippee I'm getting the Summer 2010 issue of the Alumni Magazine where I can see my name and my accomplishments!
In the mail yesterday is an unusually heavy envelope from my undergraduate institution's publishing department. I'm intrigued. I can't wait to open it. I've seen it online, but I want it in print! I can show my as-yet-not-conceived-kids my name in a magazine, revealing the acquisition of degrees that are also hanging on my walls so they'd see them anyway, but this way they can see that my much-favored undergraduate institution talked about me! Yay!
Inside the envelope are three Fall 2010 issues.
The Fall 2010 issue I received on time is 20 steps away in my bedroom. I now have three additional copies of a magazine I already had. I asked for one copy of Summer 2010. I got three copies of Fall 2010. I went to school known for engineering, business, biology, geosciences, computer science, and other smart programs that require the ability to read and count. Fail.
I can't wait to see if I get Spring 2009 sometime next week.
The Funny List
Comedy is the subject about which I'm most passionate. Some people care about politics, some about the environment, some people care about education, and others about babies.
Me? I care about comedy. I care about stand-up comedy especially. It's exceedingly difficult to please me with stand-up. It has to be done correctly. It has to be sharp, smart, quick, and like the person is telling stories instead of jokes. I want to laugh about life. They have to be random and make me laugh because I can't see the punchline coming or I never would have thought of that comparison. If I can predict the joke, or if you yell at me and think the way to make me laugh is by screaming profanities, I won't laugh. If you can say the same profanities in funny witty stories that I can't predict, then you might make it on Em's Funny List someday. This is of course a goal to which all aspiring comedians should strive since I do have a knack for recognizing the goods. After all, I had my friends watching Jeff Dunham back in the late 80s/early 90s when MTV had its "Half-Hour Comedy Hour" and I thought his Jalepeno on a Stick was just too funny to adequately describe so I'd have them come to my house when it was on. Never heard of, or don't remember, MTV's Half-Hour Comedy Hour? I win.
The following are my favorite comedians, in ascending order:
10. Steve Byrne. I sure hope he'll be making a name for himself quite soon. Very funny Asian.
9. Steven Wright. Most people know him as "The Guy on the Couch" in Half-Baked. He's so much more than that. His stand-up was a little like Mitch Hedberg's in that it was very dry and deadpan and his one-liners were fantastic.
8. 90s Paula Poundstone. I loved her act. Many times she'd just come out and talk to the audience--completely improv. I can't tell you how intelligent that is to me. If you can go out on stage with no material and just have faith in your own quick wit then you know you've picked the correct path. I'd love to just hang out with her. I think she'd kill me with laughter.
7. Eddie Murphy. His "Eddie Murphy Raw" is still one of the funniest stand-up shows ever.
6. Ellen DeGeneres. One of her earliest routines included an airline focus. I still reference it. I love when someone recognizes the hilarity of life. I want to hang out with her too.
5. Bill Cosby. A true classic. He's gone kind of crazy and isn't as funny anymore (saw him in December 2008 and he kind of reminded me of your grandfather who's losing it and has become totally inappropriate but not in a funny way) but his early stuff is fabulous. I re-purchased "Bill Cosby: Himself" just a few years ago and laughed as hard as I did the first time. I want chocolate caaaaake!
4. Mitch Hedburg. If you see an escalator out of service and think to yourself "Escalators can never break down. They simply become stairs" then Mitch touched you too. "A friend asked me if I wanted a frozen banana and I said "no." Then I thought I might want a regular banana later, so, yes."
3. Daniel Tosh. He's new, so for him to be so high on Em's Funny List is special. I love biting sarcasm and someone who's not afraid to be politically incorrect, but not offensive (unless you're sensitive and then you probably find him offensive, in which case you probably shouldn't be watching comedy). He makes you realize that it's impossible to be mad on a jet ski. He's totally right. If someone said I could have free tickets to any comedian's show, he'd be second on the list.
2. George Carlin. He's the Godfather of Comedy. In my opinion, funny didn't exist in its present form before George Carlin. His ability to make humor out of every day situations in which we all share was priceless. "Things We Share" is one of my favorites from him and I always think about it when I'm going up or down stairs and I think there's one more step. Or pick up a suitcase I think is full but it's really empty and for a split second I think I'm really strong. The only reason he's not second on my list of comedians I want to see in person is, you know, the dead thing.
1. Eddie Izzard. He's the funniest person on the planet. When you think of smart, witty comedy with randomness abounding, Eddie Izzard is the master. One of the greatest things about him is his spontaneity and improv. Each show is different because he doesn't write his stuff down. He knows about what he wants to talk but two shows on a given tour can be markedly different from one another. You know that guy on Family Guy who just gets sarcasm and finds stuff "funny because it's true!"? That's how I feel when I watch Eddie Izzard. His subjects are hilarious stories and historical analysis. I know that doesn't sound funny, but it is. I can honestly say that 48 hours will not pass that I don't speak an Izzard quote, make an Eddie reference, or think silently to myself, "Oooh. Stupid man." This man is a genius and a true comedic icon.
I'd also like to add an honorable mention for Dana Carvey. His 1995 HBO special, "Critic's Choice" is one of my favorites. He just didn't do stand-up long enough to make my list because this is for stand-up.
You'll notice that Chris Rock is not on this list. I recognize Rock's hilarity. When I read his quotations from his acts, I laugh hard. It's his delivery that turns me off and thus, I cannot include him on Em's Funny List since it's MY favorite comedians and not necessarily the all-encompassing Best of All Time (though really, it should be). He yells at me and I'm not a fan of that. It's a shame too because the man's material really is funny.
Me? I care about comedy. I care about stand-up comedy especially. It's exceedingly difficult to please me with stand-up. It has to be done correctly. It has to be sharp, smart, quick, and like the person is telling stories instead of jokes. I want to laugh about life. They have to be random and make me laugh because I can't see the punchline coming or I never would have thought of that comparison. If I can predict the joke, or if you yell at me and think the way to make me laugh is by screaming profanities, I won't laugh. If you can say the same profanities in funny witty stories that I can't predict, then you might make it on Em's Funny List someday. This is of course a goal to which all aspiring comedians should strive since I do have a knack for recognizing the goods. After all, I had my friends watching Jeff Dunham back in the late 80s/early 90s when MTV had its "Half-Hour Comedy Hour" and I thought his Jalepeno on a Stick was just too funny to adequately describe so I'd have them come to my house when it was on. Never heard of, or don't remember, MTV's Half-Hour Comedy Hour? I win.
The following are my favorite comedians, in ascending order:
10. Steve Byrne. I sure hope he'll be making a name for himself quite soon. Very funny Asian.
9. Steven Wright. Most people know him as "The Guy on the Couch" in Half-Baked. He's so much more than that. His stand-up was a little like Mitch Hedberg's in that it was very dry and deadpan and his one-liners were fantastic.
8. 90s Paula Poundstone. I loved her act. Many times she'd just come out and talk to the audience--completely improv. I can't tell you how intelligent that is to me. If you can go out on stage with no material and just have faith in your own quick wit then you know you've picked the correct path. I'd love to just hang out with her. I think she'd kill me with laughter.
7. Eddie Murphy. His "Eddie Murphy Raw" is still one of the funniest stand-up shows ever.
6. Ellen DeGeneres. One of her earliest routines included an airline focus. I still reference it. I love when someone recognizes the hilarity of life. I want to hang out with her too.
5. Bill Cosby. A true classic. He's gone kind of crazy and isn't as funny anymore (saw him in December 2008 and he kind of reminded me of your grandfather who's losing it and has become totally inappropriate but not in a funny way) but his early stuff is fabulous. I re-purchased "Bill Cosby: Himself" just a few years ago and laughed as hard as I did the first time. I want chocolate caaaaake!
4. Mitch Hedburg. If you see an escalator out of service and think to yourself "Escalators can never break down. They simply become stairs" then Mitch touched you too. "A friend asked me if I wanted a frozen banana and I said "no." Then I thought I might want a regular banana later, so, yes."
3. Daniel Tosh. He's new, so for him to be so high on Em's Funny List is special. I love biting sarcasm and someone who's not afraid to be politically incorrect, but not offensive (unless you're sensitive and then you probably find him offensive, in which case you probably shouldn't be watching comedy). He makes you realize that it's impossible to be mad on a jet ski. He's totally right. If someone said I could have free tickets to any comedian's show, he'd be second on the list.
2. George Carlin. He's the Godfather of Comedy. In my opinion, funny didn't exist in its present form before George Carlin. His ability to make humor out of every day situations in which we all share was priceless. "Things We Share" is one of my favorites from him and I always think about it when I'm going up or down stairs and I think there's one more step. Or pick up a suitcase I think is full but it's really empty and for a split second I think I'm really strong. The only reason he's not second on my list of comedians I want to see in person is, you know, the dead thing.
1. Eddie Izzard. He's the funniest person on the planet. When you think of smart, witty comedy with randomness abounding, Eddie Izzard is the master. One of the greatest things about him is his spontaneity and improv. Each show is different because he doesn't write his stuff down. He knows about what he wants to talk but two shows on a given tour can be markedly different from one another. You know that guy on Family Guy who just gets sarcasm and finds stuff "funny because it's true!"? That's how I feel when I watch Eddie Izzard. His subjects are hilarious stories and historical analysis. I know that doesn't sound funny, but it is. I can honestly say that 48 hours will not pass that I don't speak an Izzard quote, make an Eddie reference, or think silently to myself, "Oooh. Stupid man." This man is a genius and a true comedic icon.
I'd also like to add an honorable mention for Dana Carvey. His 1995 HBO special, "Critic's Choice" is one of my favorites. He just didn't do stand-up long enough to make my list because this is for stand-up.
You'll notice that Chris Rock is not on this list. I recognize Rock's hilarity. When I read his quotations from his acts, I laugh hard. It's his delivery that turns me off and thus, I cannot include him on Em's Funny List since it's MY favorite comedians and not necessarily the all-encompassing Best of All Time (though really, it should be). He yells at me and I'm not a fan of that. It's a shame too because the man's material really is funny.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Brother/Sister E-mail #1
From Brother:
Subject: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
I had a meeting yesterday ... and my supervisor has
given me blanket permission to travel to help.
So, when I got home yesterday, I thought I should find the right music
to set the tone. I subsequently found my Less Than Zero Original Motion
Picture Soundtrack, put it on Track #4, and cranked up "Going Back to
Cali" by LL Cool J 'cause I'm just that cool.
Whenever I remember to bring it in, I'll be playing it here in the
office whenever I find out the exact date I'm going.
From Me:
Subject: RE: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
Having that song in today's digital world would raise relatively few
eyebrows to those of us who remember music released prior to 1990.
Undeniably, we can all play songs from our youth that bring forth fond
memories and perhaps lend way to a few good laughs among good company.
However, we all read that you pulled out your "CD," which means that at
some point in time you willfully obtained and spent money on this entire
album. While standing in a retail establishment, you spotted this CD
and thought, "I should get that. This is a good idea" and thus further
expanded your immense CD collection. I've often wondered how you have
been able to acquire a collection of, at my personal last count, close
to 500 compact discs and thereby compiling one of the most eclectic
music collections this side of Plan 9 and other similar
patchouli-reeking emo establishments that no self-respecting untattooed
white chick with brushable hair from the suburbs should enter. Now I
have figured it out: you simply cannot be too discriminate. You must
live for the moment. Make the purchase. You recognize that at some
point in time, the soundtrack of life may necessitate any and every song
ever composed and you must be ready.
Thus, one must remain ready--Be Prepared, if you will--for any occasion
the soundtrack of life may need to further enhance--nay, illuminate--to
provide proper support of the moment.
And Brother, you are ready.
Never will you be forced to let the question of, "Will I have the
appropriate musical styling that will fit this precise moment with which
life has presented me" go unanswered. You already know the answer is
yes--yes you will have it. Whatever "it" may be, you will have it.
Less Than Zero: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack? Check. Spice
Girls' Spice World? Got it. Hall & Oats? Undoubtedly. Iron Maiden's
entire catalog and Hilary Duff are available as well for those
situations requiring their use. You are an example of preparedness to
us all. You, sir, are ready. Ready for life. That, unquestionably, is
gangsta. And it should feel damn good.
From Brother:
Subject: RE: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
...and on the way home, particularly on my way to and while I'm at the
airport to depart to come home, I shall play Phil Collins "Take Me Home"
from the "No Jacket Required" album, because that's the song played at
the end of the "Prodigal Son" episode of Miami Vice's Season 2 premiere,
when Crocket & Tubbs go to New York, and Crockett's waiting at the
airport, smoking a cigarette mind you (taboo in today's society, now he
would drink coffee), waiting on Tubbs to decide if he's going back to
Miami or staying in New York. It's a timeless classic.
Gene Simmons is in that episode, in the beginning, living a boat, I
mean, a yacht.
From Me:
Subject: RE: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
The Miami Vice Soundtrack should be at the top of the queue for this
field trip. Remember that it doesn't matter if it's heroin,
cocaine, or hash--you've got to carry weapons, because you always carry
cash. Considering they move it through Miami and sell it in LA, such an
occurrence is not absent from the realm of possibility and Glenn Frey
can most assuredly assist in adequately captivating that moment.
And please, for the love of God, if you must storm into a room for
whatever reason, you must be ready to amp up your partners and there is
but one sound bite that will adequately address that need: Leeroy
Jenkins. Yet one more reason why one's music catalog must always grow
and be open to additions no matter how large or small. Every moment in
life needs its musical support and none are too unimportant. No sir,
every moment bears with it its own importance.
Subject: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
I had a meeting yesterday ... and my supervisor has
given me blanket permission to travel to help.
So, when I got home yesterday, I thought I should find the right music
to set the tone. I subsequently found my Less Than Zero Original Motion
Picture Soundtrack, put it on Track #4, and cranked up "Going Back to
Cali" by LL Cool J 'cause I'm just that cool.
Whenever I remember to bring it in, I'll be playing it here in the
office whenever I find out the exact date I'm going.
From Me:
Subject: RE: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
Having that song in today's digital world would raise relatively few
eyebrows to those of us who remember music released prior to 1990.
Undeniably, we can all play songs from our youth that bring forth fond
memories and perhaps lend way to a few good laughs among good company.
However, we all read that you pulled out your "CD," which means that at
some point in time you willfully obtained and spent money on this entire
album. While standing in a retail establishment, you spotted this CD
and thought, "I should get that. This is a good idea" and thus further
expanded your immense CD collection. I've often wondered how you have
been able to acquire a collection of, at my personal last count, close
to 500 compact discs and thereby compiling one of the most eclectic
music collections this side of Plan 9 and other similar
patchouli-reeking emo establishments that no self-respecting untattooed
white chick with brushable hair from the suburbs should enter. Now I
have figured it out: you simply cannot be too discriminate. You must
live for the moment. Make the purchase. You recognize that at some
point in time, the soundtrack of life may necessitate any and every song
ever composed and you must be ready.
Thus, one must remain ready--Be Prepared, if you will--for any occasion
the soundtrack of life may need to further enhance--nay, illuminate--to
provide proper support of the moment.
And Brother, you are ready.
Never will you be forced to let the question of, "Will I have the
appropriate musical styling that will fit this precise moment with which
life has presented me" go unanswered. You already know the answer is
yes--yes you will have it. Whatever "it" may be, you will have it.
Less Than Zero: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack? Check. Spice
Girls' Spice World? Got it. Hall & Oats? Undoubtedly. Iron Maiden's
entire catalog and Hilary Duff are available as well for those
situations requiring their use. You are an example of preparedness to
us all. You, sir, are ready. Ready for life. That, unquestionably, is
gangsta. And it should feel damn good.
From Brother:
Subject: RE: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
...and on the way home, particularly on my way to and while I'm at the
airport to depart to come home, I shall play Phil Collins "Take Me Home"
from the "No Jacket Required" album, because that's the song played at
the end of the "Prodigal Son" episode of Miami Vice's Season 2 premiere,
when Crocket & Tubbs go to New York, and Crockett's waiting at the
airport, smoking a cigarette mind you (taboo in today's society, now he
would drink coffee), waiting on Tubbs to decide if he's going back to
Miami or staying in New York. It's a timeless classic.
Gene Simmons is in that episode, in the beginning, living a boat, I
mean, a yacht.
From Me:
Subject: RE: Brother's feelings on his new field trip
The Miami Vice Soundtrack should be at the top of the queue for this
field trip. Remember that it doesn't matter if it's heroin,
cocaine, or hash--you've got to carry weapons, because you always carry
cash. Considering they move it through Miami and sell it in LA, such an
occurrence is not absent from the realm of possibility and Glenn Frey
can most assuredly assist in adequately captivating that moment.
And please, for the love of God, if you must storm into a room for
whatever reason, you must be ready to amp up your partners and there is
but one sound bite that will adequately address that need: Leeroy
Jenkins. Yet one more reason why one's music catalog must always grow
and be open to additions no matter how large or small. Every moment in
life needs its musical support and none are too unimportant. No sir,
every moment bears with it its own importance.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Misleading Title
Don't expect a lot. Titling yourself as "funny" is usually done by someone who is not actually funny or it means no one will laugh when you'd like them to. There's a reason behind the title and conceit nor confidence comprise that reason.
I went with "The Funny One" as my blog title because I couldn't think of anything clever and that's how I, as a bridesmaid, was introduced at my friends' wedding. I don't remember how any of of the other bridesmaids or groomsmen were introduced, I just remember standing in the doorway to be introduced, hearing my name, then hearing the DJ say that I was "the funny one of the group," (which is misleading because I hang out with a lot of people funnier than I, but maybe I was the funny girl at the time? I digress), and then laughing too hard to hear the rest of what he said, and thinking to myself "Crap, there's going to be a lot of pictures of me with my Stupid Laugh Face on." Indeed there were many pictures with me wearing my Stupid Laugh Face and I never did get to hear whether the DJ was joking nor how my groomsman escort was described and introduced because I was laughing too loud because I laugh too loud and it's embarrassing, especially in public. So there I am, laughing too loudly, my Stupid Laugh Face getting photographed so it will forever live on, not knowing if the bride and groom did actually think I was "the funny one of the group" or if they were making fun of me for thinking I was funny when I actually am not. For almost 7 years I've enjoyed thinking that they do actually think I was funny at the time and I'm not going back now.
So anyway, welcome to this. It has no real purpose, no real theme. Sometimes I just want to write but I'm not a good enough writer, or a coherent enough thinker, to actually write and publish a book. I can, however, write snippets. You're welcome.
Oh, the address? I could say it has real meaning but I'd be lying. thefunnyone.blogspot was taken. So was funnyone.blogspot. I didn't want numbers in the address, so I thought of a completely different "one" (I'm allowed to say it's completely different because when you're playing "Rhyme" in Pile of Death or Kings, they're allowed to be two separate answers). I support my decision of settling with the alternate spelling with the idea that the funny did win. Because funny always wins.
I went with "The Funny One" as my blog title because I couldn't think of anything clever and that's how I, as a bridesmaid, was introduced at my friends' wedding. I don't remember how any of of the other bridesmaids or groomsmen were introduced, I just remember standing in the doorway to be introduced, hearing my name, then hearing the DJ say that I was "the funny one of the group," (which is misleading because I hang out with a lot of people funnier than I, but maybe I was the funny girl at the time? I digress), and then laughing too hard to hear the rest of what he said, and thinking to myself "Crap, there's going to be a lot of pictures of me with my Stupid Laugh Face on." Indeed there were many pictures with me wearing my Stupid Laugh Face and I never did get to hear whether the DJ was joking nor how my groomsman escort was described and introduced because I was laughing too loud because I laugh too loud and it's embarrassing, especially in public. So there I am, laughing too loudly, my Stupid Laugh Face getting photographed so it will forever live on, not knowing if the bride and groom did actually think I was "the funny one of the group" or if they were making fun of me for thinking I was funny when I actually am not. For almost 7 years I've enjoyed thinking that they do actually think I was funny at the time and I'm not going back now.
So anyway, welcome to this. It has no real purpose, no real theme. Sometimes I just want to write but I'm not a good enough writer, or a coherent enough thinker, to actually write and publish a book. I can, however, write snippets. You're welcome.
Oh, the address? I could say it has real meaning but I'd be lying. thefunnyone.blogspot was taken. So was funnyone.blogspot. I didn't want numbers in the address, so I thought of a completely different "one" (I'm allowed to say it's completely different because when you're playing "Rhyme" in Pile of Death or Kings, they're allowed to be two separate answers). I support my decision of settling with the alternate spelling with the idea that the funny did win. Because funny always wins.
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