So I'm back from New York already. It went just as fast as I thought it would, but I feel like the most was made out of a short trip. On the taxi ride to the airport we took the bridge and so I was given a breathtakingly panoramic view of what I was leaving. It was only when the driver yelled at me to stop smearing his window with face oil that I realized I had been watching the retreat of the city much in the same way that Dustin Hoffman's character in The Rain Man might--my top half twisted sideways, forehead against the glass, mouth open, and the index finger of my left hand tapping in regular intervals against the bottom of the window pane. Fortunately we were in the far right lane so no one was passing and worrying about the autistic girl in the cab all by herself.
I didnt get to work today until 2:30, and I fully intend on leaving at 5 as usual. I woke up feeling kind of weird this morning--it may have been from traveling so late. Or it may be that during the course of my time in the air and on layover I ate a turkey sandwich, a large heathbar cookie, 3 bags of airplane peanuts, a bunch of gummi bears and dried apricots, a medium sized ghirardelli caramel chocolate square, a king size bag of cheddar cheese ritz bits, and a thing of honey roasted cashews. And a sprite zero. Either way, I definitely haven't been hungry yet today, even though it is well after 4 pm.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
love of my life. or the next couple of weeks anyway.
I'm not really one to spend huge amounts of money on clothing and accessories, but if I had $1700 bucks lying around I would buy this thing no questions asked. It's popping up everywhere. First it was in a magazine that I read a couple of months ago. Then I saw this really rich looking woman carrying it into High Cotton. Then Miranda had it in the Sex and the City movie. It will be mine someday, even if I am 80 and it is considered a vintage item.In other news, if I have to see my roommate's face one more time this weekend I am going to scream until I develop polyps on my vocal chords. She never leaves. Ever. You probably couldn't pry her ass off of the couch with a crowbar. And while she is on the couch you know what she does? She watches hip hop videos on MTV. Yesterday she sat there for 2 hours after work watching a Lil Wayne video marathon. I love TV and everything, but sometimes enough is enough. What I would give for my own apartment at this moment in time.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
rain, with a chance of more rain
Its monsoon season around here I guess. Except they don't tell you on the news in the morning, even though it rains every single day like clockwork. Yet I'm still stupid enough to think "No rain on the news today! I'll leave my umbrella in my car!" I think I very well could be one of those people who WOULD jump off a cliff just because someone told me to.
I was watching some commercial for the Olympics, and I've got to say--even though Michael Phelps has a may-jah case of but-his-face, he has seriously got the hottest body I've ever seen. Good lord.
Also, I haven't worked out in 6 days and people have been telling me all day that I look like I have lost a lot of weight. This is kind of the opposite of what I've been going for, but i guess it's amazing what muscular atrophy can do for your figure.
You know when you're reading a book with an obscure name, and there comes that moment when you FINALLY get to the line in the book that contains/explains the title? This happened to me last night as I was finishing up David Sedaris's new book "When You Are Engulfed in Flames," and when I found that line I felt the most disproportionate swelling of pride. It was like the kind of feeling you would get when you solve a one of those cryptoquotes puzzles in the paper, and even though every person who ever reads that book will be like "oh, and there's the title," I seriously felt for a second like fucking Sherlock Holmes. So, so sad.
I recieved The Bone Collector from my Netflix cue last night, and I must say, I really do think Angelina Jolie is an awesome actress. One of the only good movies I had ever seen her in (besides Wanted) was "Girl, Interrupted," and even though she won an Oscar for that I always kind of thought that her playing the role of an institutionalized girl was kind of like 50 Cent playing the role of a rapper from the school of hard knocks, at least at that point in her life. Not a huge stretch. However, she was really good in this movie, and I think its cool how she's sexy just because she IS, not because she's vamping it up and acting coy for the camera.
I haven't eaten yet today. Probably because I spent the better part of the morning a)trying to figure out where my car was, b)finding out that my sister had taken it to work because HER car had a flat tire, and c)figuring out where the tire jack was so that I could change her tire in order to get myself to work. I mean, seriously? I got here at like noon. At least its Thursday--if that shit had happened on Monday I would have just thrown in the towel and called in sick the entire week.
I was watching some commercial for the Olympics, and I've got to say--even though Michael Phelps has a may-jah case of but-his-face, he has seriously got the hottest body I've ever seen. Good lord.
Also, I haven't worked out in 6 days and people have been telling me all day that I look like I have lost a lot of weight. This is kind of the opposite of what I've been going for, but i guess it's amazing what muscular atrophy can do for your figure.
You know when you're reading a book with an obscure name, and there comes that moment when you FINALLY get to the line in the book that contains/explains the title? This happened to me last night as I was finishing up David Sedaris's new book "When You Are Engulfed in Flames," and when I found that line I felt the most disproportionate swelling of pride. It was like the kind of feeling you would get when you solve a one of those cryptoquotes puzzles in the paper, and even though every person who ever reads that book will be like "oh, and there's the title," I seriously felt for a second like fucking Sherlock Holmes. So, so sad.
I recieved The Bone Collector from my Netflix cue last night, and I must say, I really do think Angelina Jolie is an awesome actress. One of the only good movies I had ever seen her in (besides Wanted) was "Girl, Interrupted," and even though she won an Oscar for that I always kind of thought that her playing the role of an institutionalized girl was kind of like 50 Cent playing the role of a rapper from the school of hard knocks, at least at that point in her life. Not a huge stretch. However, she was really good in this movie, and I think its cool how she's sexy just because she IS, not because she's vamping it up and acting coy for the camera.
I haven't eaten yet today. Probably because I spent the better part of the morning a)trying to figure out where my car was, b)finding out that my sister had taken it to work because HER car had a flat tire, and c)figuring out where the tire jack was so that I could change her tire in order to get myself to work. I mean, seriously? I got here at like noon. At least its Thursday--if that shit had happened on Monday I would have just thrown in the towel and called in sick the entire week.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
my waking thoughts
Something has really been bothering me lately. Namely, where are all the bobby pins? I was doing some not so fact-based calculations in my head this morning while I was laying in bed. Here is what my train of thought sounded like:
I personally, as someone who has historically always had short hair, have used upwards of around 1000 bobby pins in my life (consider that one of those packs has 18), probably more. When I lose them, I have no idea where they go, they just disappear. I'm going to assume that I'm not the only one who this happens to. I'm also going to assume that I represent a standard usage of bobby pins.
I went to Wikipedia and it told me that bobby pins first gained popularity in the 1920s. For simplicity's sake, I'll just say they have been around for ~85 years. From 1920 to 2007, the U.S. population has increased by 195 million people, around half of whom are women, so that gives an increase of 97.5 million women. If you just take 97.5 million and multiply it by 1000 (this mode of calculation is probably wrong but I figure its close enough), you have around 97 billion bobby pins floating around somewhere, unaccounted for (this doesn't even COUNT the volume that must have been needed for the beehive).
So where they hell are they. You know how people always talk about the questions they would ask God if they met him in person? That would be one of mine. This question can also be applied to pens.
Glad I got that off my chest. I got some good news yesterday--the lady from the dog adoption place called me about the dog I am looking at. Finally. Now I apparently have 2 dogs to choose from. The original one (Meg) is who I am still most interested in, but there is another one in Rock Hill (Bella) who I am probably going to go visit soon. She's the same breed (Australian Shepherd) but has black and white markings like a Border Collie, which is really cute. Anyway, Aussies are working dogs, so I explained to the lady that the reason I was interested in the first dog is that she has a very calm demeanor, and I didn't want to end up with a dog who was going to tear up my house and start herding around my next door neighbor's 3 kids. She told me that this one is very similar to the first--she has always been primarily indoors and is very quiet, only really requires a walk in the morning and at night. So I'm gonna visit and see if she likes me. It should be interesting.
I personally, as someone who has historically always had short hair, have used upwards of around 1000 bobby pins in my life (consider that one of those packs has 18), probably more. When I lose them, I have no idea where they go, they just disappear. I'm going to assume that I'm not the only one who this happens to. I'm also going to assume that I represent a standard usage of bobby pins.
I went to Wikipedia and it told me that bobby pins first gained popularity in the 1920s. For simplicity's sake, I'll just say they have been around for ~85 years. From 1920 to 2007, the U.S. population has increased by 195 million people, around half of whom are women, so that gives an increase of 97.5 million women. If you just take 97.5 million and multiply it by 1000 (this mode of calculation is probably wrong but I figure its close enough), you have around 97 billion bobby pins floating around somewhere, unaccounted for (this doesn't even COUNT the volume that must have been needed for the beehive).
So where they hell are they. You know how people always talk about the questions they would ask God if they met him in person? That would be one of mine. This question can also be applied to pens.
Glad I got that off my chest. I got some good news yesterday--the lady from the dog adoption place called me about the dog I am looking at. Finally. Now I apparently have 2 dogs to choose from. The original one (Meg) is who I am still most interested in, but there is another one in Rock Hill (Bella) who I am probably going to go visit soon. She's the same breed (Australian Shepherd) but has black and white markings like a Border Collie, which is really cute. Anyway, Aussies are working dogs, so I explained to the lady that the reason I was interested in the first dog is that she has a very calm demeanor, and I didn't want to end up with a dog who was going to tear up my house and start herding around my next door neighbor's 3 kids. She told me that this one is very similar to the first--she has always been primarily indoors and is very quiet, only really requires a walk in the morning and at night. So I'm gonna visit and see if she likes me. It should be interesting.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
ANCHORS AWAY!
Mom is in town today so we went to see the Yorktown after church. I was super excited because the last time I went to see the Yorktown I was in the seventh grade and we spent the night on the ship in those tiny three tiered bunks with 6 inches of space between your face and the bottom of the bed above you. So it was amazing, is what I'm trying to say.
Anyway, one of the things that somehow escaped my memory is that the ship is not air conditioned. In retrospect I guess it is sort of ridiculous for me to expect that they would even attempt to air condition an aircraft carrier with approximately 10open doors the size of drive-in movie screens lining the sides, but hey, it's Charleston--they make miracles happen with the A/C when it gets bad enough.
Well, no miracles today, apparently. On the open deck it actually wasn't too bad--there was a decent breeze coming in from the harbor and cool airplanes everywhere, so the heat wasn't really that noticeable. However, once we followed the signs downstairs for "tour 3" (out of 6), panic immediately began to set in. The humidity, already oppressive in open air, became immediately concentrated when experienced below deck, giving one the sensation of attempting to breathe underwater without the benefit of gills.
The tour was self guided, and the person in question was expected to navigate the ship by way of a million yellow arrows lining the floor of the passageways. This sounds like a system that any retard could follow, but apparently I'm not just ANY retard because I suddenly found myself in a room containing lots of kitchen-y looking things, staring through a huge pane of plate glass at the group of tourists on the other side. They looked surprised to see me there (probably since I wasn't supposed to be there). I backed out carefully and tried to find some yellow floor arrows, and finally after what I would estimate as around 5 hours later, I stumbled into the "women and african americans in the military" exhibit (I love how they group us together to save space). Once I made it to the deck above, I just stood there gasping for a second and scanning the floor for my mommy who was standing next to the navy flight simulator looking bored. She suggested we go tour the submarine. After a quick imaginary tour of the claustrophobic horrors that probably awaited me down there, I told her that I was just going to buy 20 ounces of cool Diet Coke for $1.75 and chill.
I can't wait to go back when my dad visits.
Anyway, one of the things that somehow escaped my memory is that the ship is not air conditioned. In retrospect I guess it is sort of ridiculous for me to expect that they would even attempt to air condition an aircraft carrier with approximately 10open doors the size of drive-in movie screens lining the sides, but hey, it's Charleston--they make miracles happen with the A/C when it gets bad enough.
Well, no miracles today, apparently. On the open deck it actually wasn't too bad--there was a decent breeze coming in from the harbor and cool airplanes everywhere, so the heat wasn't really that noticeable. However, once we followed the signs downstairs for "tour 3" (out of 6), panic immediately began to set in. The humidity, already oppressive in open air, became immediately concentrated when experienced below deck, giving one the sensation of attempting to breathe underwater without the benefit of gills.
The tour was self guided, and the person in question was expected to navigate the ship by way of a million yellow arrows lining the floor of the passageways. This sounds like a system that any retard could follow, but apparently I'm not just ANY retard because I suddenly found myself in a room containing lots of kitchen-y looking things, staring through a huge pane of plate glass at the group of tourists on the other side. They looked surprised to see me there (probably since I wasn't supposed to be there). I backed out carefully and tried to find some yellow floor arrows, and finally after what I would estimate as around 5 hours later, I stumbled into the "women and african americans in the military" exhibit (I love how they group us together to save space). Once I made it to the deck above, I just stood there gasping for a second and scanning the floor for my mommy who was standing next to the navy flight simulator looking bored. She suggested we go tour the submarine. After a quick imaginary tour of the claustrophobic horrors that probably awaited me down there, I told her that I was just going to buy 20 ounces of cool Diet Coke for $1.75 and chill.
I can't wait to go back when my dad visits.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
i could live off of lemon zest luna bars
I could. They taste like those girlscout cookies, except they aren't five dollars a box. Or maybe they are, now that I think about it. Still, they are delicious in the morning. Um, and the new Vivanno smoothies from Starbucks? Can't wait to try those. There's some kind of mango something-or-other that I'm not too enthused about, but I can't wait to try me some banana-chocolate. Plus its "good for you," whatever that means.
I was reading some articles today about mirror therapy. Apparently scientists have been doing research on them for years in an attempt to understand the brain's ability to process what is seen in mirrors (for example, taking the 2-D image reflected in a mirror and then being able to construct an entirely 3-D image in our heads from it). I never really thought of it as that big of a mystery, but I think part of science's job is to take the stuff that no one else would ever see as a big deal and make a big deal out of it.
But I digress. So apparently mirrors are being used recently as therapy for phantom limb pain--by reflecting the image of the existing leg in such a way that it appears in the position of the phantom leg, the brain can trick itself into feeling a normal, healthy leg and thereby alleviates the pain. Trippy.
Moving on. The Apple store is opening on King Street Saturday. Finally. I love Apple stores because even though I will not need or want to purchase one of my own for a couple of years, to me they function as a type of internet cafe, and since I don't own one of them newfangled Blackberries I am one of the rare few who actually require the service of an internet cafe from time to time.
In the same vein, I woke up the other day and realized that over the past year or so I have somehow managed to slip into my own personal technological stone-age. I don't even own a functioning computer, and my phone is a Razr for crying out loud. Not even a good one. A refurbished one with a mis-matched battery cover that is serving as the sorry replacement for my previous crappy Razr that died for no reason. I bought my first ipod this year. My house has no DVR. No Tivo. We do have satellite, but our plan doesn't include the Discovery Health Channel OR VH1 Classic, so there is never anything on besides Project Runway.
This isn't really intentional, like I'm protesting the rapidly spinning wheels of technological progress or anything. I think it's just that things move too fast for me. I have trouble justifying spending hundreds of dollars on a new i-Whatever when Steve Jobs is just going to bust my balls with a completely new version of the same product a week later. Its like I would almost rather all my stuff be outrageously outdated so that people think of me as eccentric and quirky with my 2003 Gateway desktop that only runs Itunes, rather than a desperate, geeky wannabe who is always grasping at the cutting edge.
I was reading some articles today about mirror therapy. Apparently scientists have been doing research on them for years in an attempt to understand the brain's ability to process what is seen in mirrors (for example, taking the 2-D image reflected in a mirror and then being able to construct an entirely 3-D image in our heads from it). I never really thought of it as that big of a mystery, but I think part of science's job is to take the stuff that no one else would ever see as a big deal and make a big deal out of it.
But I digress. So apparently mirrors are being used recently as therapy for phantom limb pain--by reflecting the image of the existing leg in such a way that it appears in the position of the phantom leg, the brain can trick itself into feeling a normal, healthy leg and thereby alleviates the pain. Trippy.
Moving on. The Apple store is opening on King Street Saturday. Finally. I love Apple stores because even though I will not need or want to purchase one of my own for a couple of years, to me they function as a type of internet cafe, and since I don't own one of them newfangled Blackberries I am one of the rare few who actually require the service of an internet cafe from time to time.
In the same vein, I woke up the other day and realized that over the past year or so I have somehow managed to slip into my own personal technological stone-age. I don't even own a functioning computer, and my phone is a Razr for crying out loud. Not even a good one. A refurbished one with a mis-matched battery cover that is serving as the sorry replacement for my previous crappy Razr that died for no reason. I bought my first ipod this year. My house has no DVR. No Tivo. We do have satellite, but our plan doesn't include the Discovery Health Channel OR VH1 Classic, so there is never anything on besides Project Runway.
This isn't really intentional, like I'm protesting the rapidly spinning wheels of technological progress or anything. I think it's just that things move too fast for me. I have trouble justifying spending hundreds of dollars on a new i-Whatever when Steve Jobs is just going to bust my balls with a completely new version of the same product a week later. Its like I would almost rather all my stuff be outrageously outdated so that people think of me as eccentric and quirky with my 2003 Gateway desktop that only runs Itunes, rather than a desperate, geeky wannabe who is always grasping at the cutting edge.
Monday, July 21, 2008
maybe there's more to life than being really really ridiculously good-looking.
I can't believe it's the 21st of July. In a way it's awesome, because it means that in 24 days I will be visiting New York and and then around a month and a half after that I'll be in Texas at ACL. However, the downside is that I find myself spending so much time looking forward to things (as opposed to enjoying my current situation) that whole weeks can fly by without me noticing. Don't get me wrong, I have a pretty fun life, and I feel like there is plenty for me to do during my time off. However, I also feel like my job is extremely soul-sucking. And unfortunately the time I spend at work is much more than I would prefer. And it's making me dumber. I can barely finish a sudoku any more.
I realize that I am not the first or last person to be faced with this problem, but it's kind of like being broken up with--it happens to literally everyone, but when it happens to you it feels so personal and wrong, and you can't help but think that no one should ever have to put up with crap like this. My aunt Milena always used to tell me things like "seize the day, and dance like no one is watching!" However, Milena also was a wealthy stay at home mom to an only child, so she literally had the time and money to do ANYTHING she wanted. It never occurred to me that that is a situation in which I would never ever find myself.
Anyway, I saw Wanted, Mamma Mia, and The Dark Knight this weekend (it was a big movie weekend, obviously). Mamma Mia was super cheesy and would have been better with someone other than Meryl Streep, but the other two were spectacular. Wanted was everything I wanted it to be--out of control implausible violence, hot cars, and stunts involving complete disregard for the laws of physics. I loved it. And in Dark Knight, Heath Ledger actually managed to live up to all the hype, which is no small feat. I was extremely impressed.
Ok. I have to go eat now. Thats the other thing I look forward to during the day, but that has pretty much been a constant throughout my life, so its cool.
I realize that I am not the first or last person to be faced with this problem, but it's kind of like being broken up with--it happens to literally everyone, but when it happens to you it feels so personal and wrong, and you can't help but think that no one should ever have to put up with crap like this. My aunt Milena always used to tell me things like "seize the day, and dance like no one is watching!" However, Milena also was a wealthy stay at home mom to an only child, so she literally had the time and money to do ANYTHING she wanted. It never occurred to me that that is a situation in which I would never ever find myself.
Anyway, I saw Wanted, Mamma Mia, and The Dark Knight this weekend (it was a big movie weekend, obviously). Mamma Mia was super cheesy and would have been better with someone other than Meryl Streep, but the other two were spectacular. Wanted was everything I wanted it to be--out of control implausible violence, hot cars, and stunts involving complete disregard for the laws of physics. I loved it. And in Dark Knight, Heath Ledger actually managed to live up to all the hype, which is no small feat. I was extremely impressed.
Ok. I have to go eat now. Thats the other thing I look forward to during the day, but that has pretty much been a constant throughout my life, so its cool.
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