I'm wearing a new shirt today; it buttons down the front.
Fifteen minutes after arriving at work this morning, I found out that the shirt apparently prefers to be unbuttoned down the front.
(PS - by that, I of course mean that the shirt, all-on-its-own, continually reverts to a state of unbuttonedness; I do NOT mean to intimate that I've been making out with someone in the back room.)
(Although that latter scenario would be preferable to the actual one)
5/31/07
and thankfully I'm still young enough to be able to see the darned things
Being a plant owner isn't all fun and games. Sometimes you have to pull cactus spines out of your arms before breakfast.
5/30/07
upstate NY marketing strategies
I drove by a gas station this morning that had a sandwich-board sign out front. The sign said "We Now Have GAS!" in a very awe-struck, enthusiastic lettering.
Given that I was in Oneonta, I half-expected to see a similar sign in front of the dental office; "We Now Have Dentists!"
Given that I was in Oneonta, I half-expected to see a similar sign in front of the dental office; "We Now Have Dentists!"
5/29/07
we accept Monopoly bills and bottle caps only
I passed a house this weekend that had a bunch of stuff spread on blankets in the yard, and a large sign which proclaimed that they were having a "FREE SALE".
ummm... any chance they've got any scalpels left?
Speakinabillboards, a new one has appeared on Route 7, just outside Oneonta. I get chills up my spine every time I see it, although I assume (?!?!) it's supposed to sound comforting. It's promoting a New Cancer Treatment:
CYBERKNIFE!
...Out of all the words they could have chosen, they picked 'knife'?!
CYBERKNIFE!
...Out of all the words they could have chosen, they picked 'knife'?!
reason # 3,678 that I should stop shopping at Wal-Mart
For a number of years, I've been enamored of taking my own reusable bags with me when I go shopping, thus reducing the number of plastic grocery bags in the universe (or, in my kitchen, at least). Consequently, when Hannaford (our local supermarket chain) came out with a very cool and convenient design of reusable shopping bag, I bought a whole bunch of them.
I have been completely satisfied with the bags, their ease of handling, their capacious size, their color (purple!), and I have used them without any problem at many stores all over the east coast, with one exception: Wal-Mart. They seem to throw Wal-Mart employees for a loop.
This is how it goes:
At the Wal-Mart checkout line, I place the bag (as I do at every other store), open, face up, on top of whatever I'm purchasing, with the HANNAFORD logo set facing the cashier and displayed prominently, so that the cashier will realize that the bag is mine and that I want them to pack my stuff in it.
The Wal-Mart cashier (and by that I mean EVERY Wal-Mart cashier, to date) then picks up the bag, looks intently at the HANNAFORD logo on the front of the bag, flips the bag over, looks intently at the HANNAFORD label on the other side, squints at me, looks back at front of the bag, wrinkles up his/her forehead, squints at me again, and says "Where'd you find this? There's no price on it."
I have been completely satisfied with the bags, their ease of handling, their capacious size, their color (purple!), and I have used them without any problem at many stores all over the east coast, with one exception: Wal-Mart. They seem to throw Wal-Mart employees for a loop.
This is how it goes:
At the Wal-Mart checkout line, I place the bag (as I do at every other store), open, face up, on top of whatever I'm purchasing, with the HANNAFORD logo set facing the cashier and displayed prominently, so that the cashier will realize that the bag is mine and that I want them to pack my stuff in it.
The Wal-Mart cashier (and by that I mean EVERY Wal-Mart cashier, to date) then picks up the bag, looks intently at the HANNAFORD logo on the front of the bag, flips the bag over, looks intently at the HANNAFORD label on the other side, squints at me, looks back at front of the bag, wrinkles up his/her forehead, squints at me again, and says "Where'd you find this? There's no price on it."
fighting & fantasy: PE in the 21st century
Athletics just asked me to credit a student $50 for returning a pair of "Under Armour Tights".
5/25/07
hmmm...
Sometimes it seems [from my vantage point] like every loan account I delve into during my workday is inevitably delinquent. So, could I say that these loans are delinquent by default?
golden state syndrome
I'm still enough of a California girl that when I see an orange lying on the street in Oneonta, my inital assumption is that it must have come from a nearby tree.
5/24/07
proof, in case any was necessary, of my complete and utter insanity
I just had such an odd experience that I feel compelled to write about it. (Though I'm assuming that what people will likely find odd is not the experience itself, but the whole context of my emotional attachment to a hunk of metal.)
Regardless.
I just donated my old car to PBS [actually, WGBH Boston] [and not THE old car; NOT The Cow] - no, my second old car, the one given to me four years ago by family friends, the one that needed a new windshield before I could drive it; the one that sat in Joel's driveway for months until I stopped pretending to my insurance company that I was still living in California, and was able to register it in NY; the one I at first resented because I felt forced by its free-ness and relative newness to accept it from these people and start driving it instead of The Cow; the one I drove with Peter and Sylvie to Kurt's wedding with Helmut's five sex-tents in the back; the one I drove to Mark and Janice's wedding and the brakes failed and I had to have them put in new brake lines right there in NJ, which then failed again when I got it back to NY, but I got them fixed again, but they failed again just after I'd completed a harrowing snowy journey to Jamie and Cheryl's, but I got them fixed the next day in PA, and drove back to NY, but then they failed again, but FINALLY stayed fixed, just in time for me to decide it was really time for me to buy a new(er) car, but of course just before I did that, the car decided it really needed a tune-up as well.
Anyway, this is the car I donated to PBS.
Despite what you might imagine, over the four years of constant repair, I had developed a real affection for the car, and I was having a terrible time giving it up; I was surprised by how terrible it was. But I finally made the decision, had my dad mail in the title (I just couldn't bring myself to do it), and they scheduled pickup for... well, that's the thing. The woman called on Tuesday and said they would pick it up "in the next day or two." And I didn't have to be there. That was good; I didn't want to stress out some tow truck driver by sobbing all over him.
So yesterday morning, I said my final farewells to the car, I took some photos. I drove off to work. I specifically did not go home for lunch, for fear of meeting up with the tow truck and having to witness the horrible and tragic last scene of the car receding from sight.
When I got home from work, I was almost scared to look in the driveway, but of course the car was still there. I felt almost... let down, somehow; it was all somewhat anti-climactic, but I was glad I had a chance to see it one last time.
Regardless.
I just donated my old car to PBS [actually, WGBH Boston] [and not THE old car; NOT The Cow] - no, my second old car, the one given to me four years ago by family friends, the one that needed a new windshield before I could drive it; the one that sat in Joel's driveway for months until I stopped pretending to my insurance company that I was still living in California, and was able to register it in NY; the one I at first resented because I felt forced by its free-ness and relative newness to accept it from these people and start driving it instead of The Cow; the one I drove with Peter and Sylvie to Kurt's wedding with Helmut's five sex-tents in the back; the one I drove to Mark and Janice's wedding and the brakes failed and I had to have them put in new brake lines right there in NJ, which then failed again when I got it back to NY, but I got them fixed again, but they failed again just after I'd completed a harrowing snowy journey to Jamie and Cheryl's, but I got them fixed the next day in PA, and drove back to NY, but then they failed again, but FINALLY stayed fixed, just in time for me to decide it was really time for me to buy a new(er) car, but of course just before I did that, the car decided it really needed a tune-up as well.
Anyway, this is the car I donated to PBS.
Despite what you might imagine, over the four years of constant repair, I had developed a real affection for the car, and I was having a terrible time giving it up; I was surprised by how terrible it was. But I finally made the decision, had my dad mail in the title (I just couldn't bring myself to do it), and they scheduled pickup for... well, that's the thing. The woman called on Tuesday and said they would pick it up "in the next day or two." And I didn't have to be there. That was good; I didn't want to stress out some tow truck driver by sobbing all over him.
So yesterday morning, I said my final farewells to the car, I took some photos. I drove off to work. I specifically did not go home for lunch, for fear of meeting up with the tow truck and having to witness the horrible and tragic last scene of the car receding from sight.
When I got home from work, I was almost scared to look in the driveway, but of course the car was still there. I felt almost... let down, somehow; it was all somewhat anti-climactic, but I was glad I had a chance to see it one last time.
This morning, I said goodbye for good, since I knew it had to happen today. Again, I didn't go home for lunch.
But when I got home from work at 6pm, there it was, still in the driveway. I cursed the PBS people for putting me through so much emotional trauma. I began wondering if they had misplaced my paperwork and had forgotten about the pickup altogether. I was dreading having to call them about it. Thankfully, I had a whole list of distracting stuff to do, which I did, and then I left the house again and drove out to the train yards and went for a walk, after which I went directly to my storage unit to pick up some camping equipment for this weekend.
And so here's where the strange experience starts: I knew, rationally, that the work day was long over, and that the car would most likely be picked up tomorrow; I mean, it had been almost 7pm when I'd left for the walk, and was now heading on towards 8. But as I was leaving the storage unit, I had this sudden feeling of freeness, of lightness, somehow. And a very specific sense of being (as it were) one car less. It felt exactly like when my cat died, and I had felt her energy slowly dissipating until I knew she wasn't in her body anymore. A feeling of something being finally over, finished. With the mixed relief and sadness that always comes with that.
I felt all this very strongly, and then I told myself that I was totally nuts, because of course the car had been in my driveway 45 minutes earlier when I'd left the house, and was obviously still in my driveway, and in fact might never (at the rate things were going) be picked up by any tow company ever.
Anyway, I drove home, and turned into the driveway... and saw that the car was gone.
5/23/07
random thoughts
Two things I've added to myself since the age of 24:
cynicism
a sense of humor
...you know, it's, like, buying accessories for your camera. Sometimes they cost more than you expected.
But, no, no, on second thought, the cynicism has been there since the beginning.
When I was in second or third grade, my school showed two informational films to the whole student body; one on the evils of smoking; the other on pollution and the effects of overpopulation/development in natural areas. The environmental film, I remember, had some very upsetting shots of wetland nesting grounds with bulldozer tracks running through them; they first showed you the birds nesting happily among the reeds and cattails, and then the same location a week later, plowed flat, with just a few tell-tale feathers to speak to the fate of the chicks.
On the way back up to the classroom, I said to our student teacher, "now if that won't make you start smoking, I don't know what will!" She looked at me blankly; I knew she didn't get what I was saying.
I remember this experience particularly, because it was when I started noticing that things I said were often misinterpreted by grownups, and even peers. I'd get a lot of those blank looks, or (worse) weird looks.
Makes you stop talking at all, eventually.
In fact, I really believe that most shyness develops when people start to feel that anything they say or do will inevitably be misunderstood. [I just made that up, but it feels right.]
cynicism
a sense of humor
...you know, it's, like, buying accessories for your camera. Sometimes they cost more than you expected.
But, no, no, on second thought, the cynicism has been there since the beginning.
When I was in second or third grade, my school showed two informational films to the whole student body; one on the evils of smoking; the other on pollution and the effects of overpopulation/development in natural areas. The environmental film, I remember, had some very upsetting shots of wetland nesting grounds with bulldozer tracks running through them; they first showed you the birds nesting happily among the reeds and cattails, and then the same location a week later, plowed flat, with just a few tell-tale feathers to speak to the fate of the chicks.
On the way back up to the classroom, I said to our student teacher, "now if that won't make you start smoking, I don't know what will!" She looked at me blankly; I knew she didn't get what I was saying.
I remember this experience particularly, because it was when I started noticing that things I said were often misinterpreted by grownups, and even peers. I'd get a lot of those blank looks, or (worse) weird looks.
Makes you stop talking at all, eventually.
In fact, I really believe that most shyness develops when people start to feel that anything they say or do will inevitably be misunderstood. [I just made that up, but it feels right.]
Me? I watch Medium.
Hey, I just got this link in an email from one of the myriad political/social groups that send me motivational messages all day, every day. If you're in the mood to feel totally shitty about yourself and everything you're not doing to positively change the world, this will help:
http://home.ourfuture.org/tba07/maria-leavey-vote.html
(as the suit guy says, "I guarantee it!")
http://home.ourfuture.org/tba07/maria-leavey-vote.html
(as the suit guy says, "I guarantee it!")
5/22/07
d is for day
There is one thing that pushes my buttons even more than drunk college students, and that is our generally apathetic response to the climate crisis. (And by 'our' I'm talking both about government(s), and all us lucky residents of this planet earth.)
I've done pretty much everything on the little checklist some office or other sent me awhile ago; I use compact fluorescent light bulbs and I bought a more fuel-efficient car. I recycle. I've written to politicians. The only thing I avoided doing was installing energy-efficient windows in my apartment; I wasn't sure my landlord would be very happy with that. Yeah, I've mushed my life around a bit, made a few changes, but I admit I don't think about the impending crisis every day, I haven't made huge strides to ensure that it doesn't happen; I'm not on a crusade.
Maybe I should be. I think we all should be.
Al Gore told us that we still have time to avert disaster. I hope he was right. I hope he's still right. I worry, though. We don't have Gandhi anymore, to fast in protest and get us all motivated; in fact I don't see anyone fasting. On the contrary, we're all getting fatter.
[Will obesity or global warming finally put an end to our society? -New Episode airs October 22nd!]
Damn those cliffhanger season finales!
When I was in Plymouth, MA last (last) weekend (and yes, I used gas to get there), my mom and I noticed that most of the beach-front property was for sale. I commented on it; it seemed odd. She told me about someone she knows who recently sold their beachfront property as well. But not because they wanted to relocate; no, they sold it so that they don't lose money on the property, you know, when the sea level rises the projected 12 feet or so and covers it.
There was something about that whole scenario that made me want to scream and bite. The bland assumption that the rising sea level is a foregone conclusion; the money-grubbing; the I'm-looking-out-for-me-and-the-rest-of-you-can-burn-in-hell attitude. Because it's exactly that mentality that's gotten us into this mess, and perpetuating it is not going to get us out. How can people not see that?! As things are going right now, we're ALL scheduled to burn in hell.
It all reminds me of Eddie Izzard's portrayal of kids eating chocolate at Easter while their parents try to instill in them a sense of the meaning behind the observance: The parents say "Remember, kids, Jesus died for your sins." And the kids [concentrating on the chocolate] say "Yeah, I know, it's great!" The parent, shocked, says, "No, no, it's bad!" And the kid (still eating) says "Yeah, it's bad, it's terrible. Whatever you want. Just keep giving me these eggs!"
Global warming? Yeah, it's terrible. Now pass me the lasagna.
And yeah, it's human nature. Sure. But it just ain't gonna cut it this time around.
So, are we going to make real sacrifices? HelloooooooooooooooOOOOOooooo?! Helloooooo out there! Are we ready to take a stand for ourselves and our planet? Is our government going to get off its ass and help us out? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!
As that famous guy once said, "We must all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately."
I've done pretty much everything on the little checklist some office or other sent me awhile ago; I use compact fluorescent light bulbs and I bought a more fuel-efficient car. I recycle. I've written to politicians. The only thing I avoided doing was installing energy-efficient windows in my apartment; I wasn't sure my landlord would be very happy with that. Yeah, I've mushed my life around a bit, made a few changes, but I admit I don't think about the impending crisis every day, I haven't made huge strides to ensure that it doesn't happen; I'm not on a crusade.
Maybe I should be. I think we all should be.
Al Gore told us that we still have time to avert disaster. I hope he was right. I hope he's still right. I worry, though. We don't have Gandhi anymore, to fast in protest and get us all motivated; in fact I don't see anyone fasting. On the contrary, we're all getting fatter.
[Will obesity or global warming finally put an end to our society? -New Episode airs October 22nd!]
Damn those cliffhanger season finales!
When I was in Plymouth, MA last (last) weekend (and yes, I used gas to get there), my mom and I noticed that most of the beach-front property was for sale. I commented on it; it seemed odd. She told me about someone she knows who recently sold their beachfront property as well. But not because they wanted to relocate; no, they sold it so that they don't lose money on the property, you know, when the sea level rises the projected 12 feet or so and covers it.
There was something about that whole scenario that made me want to scream and bite. The bland assumption that the rising sea level is a foregone conclusion; the money-grubbing; the I'm-looking-out-for-me-and-the-rest-of-you-can-burn-in-hell attitude. Because it's exactly that mentality that's gotten us into this mess, and perpetuating it is not going to get us out. How can people not see that?! As things are going right now, we're ALL scheduled to burn in hell.
It all reminds me of Eddie Izzard's portrayal of kids eating chocolate at Easter while their parents try to instill in them a sense of the meaning behind the observance: The parents say "Remember, kids, Jesus died for your sins." And the kids [concentrating on the chocolate] say "Yeah, I know, it's great!" The parent, shocked, says, "No, no, it's bad!" And the kid (still eating) says "Yeah, it's bad, it's terrible. Whatever you want. Just keep giving me these eggs!"
Global warming? Yeah, it's terrible. Now pass me the lasagna.
And yeah, it's human nature. Sure. But it just ain't gonna cut it this time around.
So, are we going to make real sacrifices? HelloooooooooooooooOOOOOooooo?! Helloooooo out there! Are we ready to take a stand for ourselves and our planet? Is our government going to get off its ass and help us out? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!
As that famous guy once said, "We must all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately."
5/20/07
driving while delusional
The trip from Oneonta to my friends' house in New Jersey always makes me feel a bit schizophrenic. I begin to imagine that maybe I'm really still in California.
The fact of visiting them puts me in the mindset, for starters, since we all lived together out there. I can legitimately yell "I'M COMIN', C-KO!!" [our original moving-west mantra; Mark and Kurt and I would periodically shout it during our cross-country journey in an effort to telepathically reassure Mark's cat (who was already there) that we were on our way.] [Yeah, the explanation took longer than the joke; I shoulda left it out. Oh well.] [Next time I will annoy you by simply saying "inside joke" and not explaining anything, I promise.]
...And then there's the thing of taking Route 17 to I-85... no, I mean I-87, of course... then driving south in the dark on an 8-lane highway with trees and hills on my right, city lights on the left; I'm on 280! ... No, no, wait, it's 287. But I think I can almost see Colma! And now I'm looking for the exit to Highway 101... oh no, I mean 202.
Then I start passing signs for Oakland. Skyline. Sand Hill Road. Fair Oaks. What the hell is going on?! And is that really, can it possibly be, the very same Interstate 80 that crosses the Bay Bridge? It is! [Dear Readers, that is one of the oddest things about our interstate highway system; I still can't get my mind around it. It's like the yellow brick road; if I take that Del Water Gap exit (apparently the most spanish-sounding name that New Jersey can muster, but, hey, at least they're trying!) onto I-80, and I drive for awhile ('just minutes!', as Jamie might say), I will eventually find myself in San Francisco! It's too weird.]
And there you have it. The NJ-CA mindgame. It's fun! You should try it sometime.
The fact of visiting them puts me in the mindset, for starters, since we all lived together out there. I can legitimately yell "I'M COMIN', C-KO!!" [our original moving-west mantra; Mark and Kurt and I would periodically shout it during our cross-country journey in an effort to telepathically reassure Mark's cat (who was already there) that we were on our way.] [Yeah, the explanation took longer than the joke; I shoulda left it out. Oh well.] [Next time I will annoy you by simply saying "inside joke" and not explaining anything, I promise.]
...And then there's the thing of taking Route 17 to I-85... no, I mean I-87, of course... then driving south in the dark on an 8-lane highway with trees and hills on my right, city lights on the left; I'm on 280! ... No, no, wait, it's 287. But I think I can almost see Colma! And now I'm looking for the exit to Highway 101... oh no, I mean 202.
Then I start passing signs for Oakland. Skyline. Sand Hill Road. Fair Oaks. What the hell is going on?! And is that really, can it possibly be, the very same Interstate 80 that crosses the Bay Bridge? It is! [Dear Readers, that is one of the oddest things about our interstate highway system; I still can't get my mind around it. It's like the yellow brick road; if I take that Del Water Gap exit (apparently the most spanish-sounding name that New Jersey can muster, but, hey, at least they're trying!) onto I-80, and I drive for awhile ('just minutes!', as Jamie might say), I will eventually find myself in San Francisco! It's too weird.]
And there you have it. The NJ-CA mindgame. It's fun! You should try it sometime.
5/18/07
spring
I sent a donation to the National Arbor Foundation a few weeks ago. As a thank-you gift, they promised to send me ten live trees.
I wasn't sure how they were going to manage that; I imagined a large tractor-trailer pulling up in front of my house; men wearing thick canvas gloves, covered with dirt, pounding on my front door and saying "So where d'ya want 'em, lady?"
Instead, I got a thin, 2 ½ -foot-long white plastic envelope in the mail. I opened it. There were some sticks inside, with roots; just a few roots, covered in that kind of weird absorbent jelly you find inside baby diapers if you slice them open. The sticks looked totally dead.
Trying to feel hopeful, I put them in some dirt. I watered the dirt. I looked at the sticks. Nothing happened. I thought sadly about the loss of life; the last, awful, fatal trip of these tender saplings, their final surrender to the rough handling of the US postal system. I lined the pots up on the kitchen floor, and went to do some errands.
Yesterday, I glanced at the sticks again. To my amazement, there were little green leaves sprouting out of the sticks! They’re really growing, my ten little trees!
Of course, the same miracle has been going on outside my apartment for the last couple of weeks. And I still marvel at it every spring; watching the leaves come out is always an incredible experience. But I’ve also come to expect it. It’s an expected miracle.
There was something extra-astounding about the miracle going on inside my apartment. I hadn’t expected it. I thought I knew the scoop; I thought I had it all figured out. I had conceded to the inevitability of death. But life surprised me, yet again.
It’s a good thing to find that I can’t always predict how things will turn out. And to be reminded that even when things appear hopeless, there’s still a chance for a happy ending.
I wasn't sure how they were going to manage that; I imagined a large tractor-trailer pulling up in front of my house; men wearing thick canvas gloves, covered with dirt, pounding on my front door and saying "So where d'ya want 'em, lady?"
Instead, I got a thin, 2 ½ -foot-long white plastic envelope in the mail. I opened it. There were some sticks inside, with roots; just a few roots, covered in that kind of weird absorbent jelly you find inside baby diapers if you slice them open. The sticks looked totally dead.
Trying to feel hopeful, I put them in some dirt. I watered the dirt. I looked at the sticks. Nothing happened. I thought sadly about the loss of life; the last, awful, fatal trip of these tender saplings, their final surrender to the rough handling of the US postal system. I lined the pots up on the kitchen floor, and went to do some errands.
Yesterday, I glanced at the sticks again. To my amazement, there were little green leaves sprouting out of the sticks! They’re really growing, my ten little trees!
Of course, the same miracle has been going on outside my apartment for the last couple of weeks. And I still marvel at it every spring; watching the leaves come out is always an incredible experience. But I’ve also come to expect it. It’s an expected miracle.
There was something extra-astounding about the miracle going on inside my apartment. I hadn’t expected it. I thought I knew the scoop; I thought I had it all figured out. I had conceded to the inevitability of death. But life surprised me, yet again.
It’s a good thing to find that I can’t always predict how things will turn out. And to be reminded that even when things appear hopeless, there’s still a chance for a happy ending.
5/17/07
what the...?!?!
...in a fit of desperation, I pulled up Match.com and looked at some of the available dates in my area. And I swear to you, I swear on... whatever it is people usually swear on... that every single man on every single page of the 16 pages of men that came up; every single* man is looking for a woman who is turned on by thunderstorms! And, unbelievably, there was not one mention of romantic walks on the beach. Is it real? Is it fate? Is it possible that I have 256 perfect matches in the small city of Oneonta?!
I'm overwhelmed. I think I need some air.
(* this was not intentional, but worked out pretty well, as every single man is also, of course, single!)
(and that is the last time I'm going to use that word for at least a month.)
I'm overwhelmed. I think I need some air.
(* this was not intentional, but worked out pretty well, as every single man is also, of course, single!)
(and that is the last time I'm going to use that word for at least a month.)
election blues
Not to get onto a negative roll, but I gotta say that I like this Romney guy even less than I like harp music. A lot less. In fact, I’d feel better about the whole thing if he stopped trying to run for president, and put his energies towards learning how to play an instrument. The harp, for instance.
They say the Democrats don’t like him. That makes sense. I’m a democrat. I don’t like him.
They say that the evangelical Christians don’t like him either. Interesting.
(I can hear Rob saying, as is his wont, “Evangelical Christians? Some of my best friends are evangelical Christians!”)
I’ll be fascinated to see how this all plays out. If things get serious, will we suddenly have a Liberal Democrat-Conservative Christian alliance? Will the democrats start passing out flyers about Christian salvation in an effort to help more republicans see the light? To what lengths will people go to keep Mitt Romney out of office?
…Tune in next year; you might hear Rob say, “George W. Bush? Some of my best friends are George W. Bush!”
They say the Democrats don’t like him. That makes sense. I’m a democrat. I don’t like him.
They say that the evangelical Christians don’t like him either. Interesting.
(I can hear Rob saying, as is his wont, “Evangelical Christians? Some of my best friends are evangelical Christians!”)
I’ll be fascinated to see how this all plays out. If things get serious, will we suddenly have a Liberal Democrat-Conservative Christian alliance? Will the democrats start passing out flyers about Christian salvation in an effort to help more republicans see the light? To what lengths will people go to keep Mitt Romney out of office?
…Tune in next year; you might hear Rob say, “George W. Bush? Some of my best friends are George W. Bush!”
some early morning thoughts
1) Traveling is expansive. Traveling is expensive.
2) I'm glad my toes aren't permanently contorted from wearing tight shoes.
3) Those construction workers should have moved that fire extinguisher before stacking a 9-foot-high pile of wooden pallets in front of its housing.
2) I'm glad my toes aren't permanently contorted from wearing tight shoes.
3) Those construction workers should have moved that fire extinguisher before stacking a 9-foot-high pile of wooden pallets in front of its housing.
5/15/07
harping on harps
Sadly, I'm forced to conclude that I don't really like harp music very much. The instrument itself is really cool, and must be hellishly difficult to play and transport. (!) So those aspects redeem it slightly, but for the most part the sound is just too goopily sweet. Lacks backbone.
Although I'm sure it would sound better if I were getting a massage. Or if I were living the last scene of a romantic B-movie, holding hands with my lover at the front of a sailboat, looking out over the waves at our future together, the wind flowing through our hair, sunset in the distance. But I'm not getting a massage, nor am I on a sailboat. I'm at work, and I'm on the phone, holding for the next available representative. Damn.
Although I'm sure it would sound better if I were getting a massage. Or if I were living the last scene of a romantic B-movie, holding hands with my lover at the front of a sailboat, looking out over the waves at our future together, the wind flowing through our hair, sunset in the distance. But I'm not getting a massage, nor am I on a sailboat. I'm at work, and I'm on the phone, holding for the next available representative. Damn.
(re)commendation
This weekend I had a chance to 'read' Miriam Engelberg's incredibly honest, right-on, eye-opening and absolutely hilarious graphic novel, Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person. I would recommend it to anyone with any interest in the subject, and/or with an interest in human nature. In fact, I'll go so far as to suggest it as a good choice even for those of us who don't plan to have cancer.
5/12/07
a windshield romance
I've noticed recently (and not-so-recently, come to think of it; yep, for awhile now) a number of ads and commercials that don't make much sense. I either can’t figure out what they’re selling, or their message is completely random, and seems to have nothing whatsoever to do with what they’re trying to promote. These ads leave you with a ‘...huh?!’ kind of feeling. You turn to the person next to you and raise your eyebrows, and they turn to you, looking equally puzzled. (And then, ideally, you both burst into laughter, and talk the whole thing over for the next few minutes. Ad-bonding, I call it.)
-Then there are the commercials that are just hopelessly ridiculous, or have some bizarre element; they’re simultaneously hilarious and revolting. You writhe internally at the prospect of ever having to sit through them a second time, and yet you find yourself, uncontrollably, looking forward to the next viewing, because they’re just… so… compellingly awful. I’ve noticed that commercials in this category usually have to do with 1) local car sales, 2) local law offices, or 3) local mattress and furniture outlets.
Anyway, this is all a lead-in so I can tell you about the billboard I saw today on my drive over to Massachusetts. It read:
PAYLESS AUTO GLASS
Our place… OR YOURS?
-Then there are the commercials that are just hopelessly ridiculous, or have some bizarre element; they’re simultaneously hilarious and revolting. You writhe internally at the prospect of ever having to sit through them a second time, and yet you find yourself, uncontrollably, looking forward to the next viewing, because they’re just… so… compellingly awful. I’ve noticed that commercials in this category usually have to do with 1) local car sales, 2) local law offices, or 3) local mattress and furniture outlets.
Anyway, this is all a lead-in so I can tell you about the billboard I saw today on my drive over to Massachusetts. It read:
PAYLESS AUTO GLASS
Our place… OR YOURS?
5/11/07
savings schmavings! I'll lend ya a 20!
Our office just received notification from our bank of a transfer of funds from a parent's New York 529 College Saving Plan to cover tuition charges on their student's account. The amount transferred was $17.00.
I presume that I will soon be asked by our receptionist to explain to this parent why their account still has a balance due, and for once it'll be easy! I can simply point out that their last payment was three zeros short.
I presume that I will soon be asked by our receptionist to explain to this parent why their account still has a balance due, and for once it'll be easy! I can simply point out that their last payment was three zeros short.
healthy kids, healthy lawns
I just saw a TV commercial that concerned me greatly. Bayer, the trusted aspirin manufacturer, is now advertising their newest product: 24-hour Grub Killer Plus! I had to shut my eyes for a minute and look again. Yes, folks, it’s true! The Bayer graphic design team has produced a brightly-colored box for their delightful Grub Killer, complete with a prominent display of the Bayer aspirin logo to help create favorable associations in the mind of the viewer, and to ensure the continuation of our brand loyalty.
I regret to inform the Bayer graphic design team that their plan has been unsuccessful.
And I sincerely hope that the two products are not manufactured in the same facility. If factories cannot keep nut debris out of non-nut food products, to the end that they have to post warnings on their packaging alerting those with allergies that the deceptively innocent-looking canned pineapple they’re about to bite into may contain enough traces of peanut to send them into anaphylactic shock… I shudder to think about the possible cross-pollination scenario with these two products. So the next time you buy aspirin, make sure you read the fine print on the box. If there is any mention of grubs, or fire ants, or anything even remotely related to garden care, don’t think twice. Switch to Advil.
I regret to inform the Bayer graphic design team that their plan has been unsuccessful.
And I sincerely hope that the two products are not manufactured in the same facility. If factories cannot keep nut debris out of non-nut food products, to the end that they have to post warnings on their packaging alerting those with allergies that the deceptively innocent-looking canned pineapple they’re about to bite into may contain enough traces of peanut to send them into anaphylactic shock… I shudder to think about the possible cross-pollination scenario with these two products. So the next time you buy aspirin, make sure you read the fine print on the box. If there is any mention of grubs, or fire ants, or anything even remotely related to garden care, don’t think twice. Switch to Advil.
childhood
My grandmother had a round, blue flowered box labeled “Dusting Powder”. If you slowly lifted the lid, inside you would find a large puff; satin on one side, soft fur on the other, sitting lightly on top of a large amount of white powder. The powder smelled really good, and if you picked up the puff slightly and let it drop, a small, tantalizingly-scented cloud would rise and tickle your nostrils. It was a wonderful treat for the senses. What I never understood, however, was why anyone would want to use such a thing on furniture.
5/8/07
the upside of the downside of imagination
I came to the conclusion a number of years ago that worrywarts make the best defensive drivers (knock on wood), because we’re always imagining lots of horrible things that might occur, and trying to prepare for them. And when you’re in a car, the number of horrible situations that might occur at any moment is higher than pretty much anywhere else [except perhaps if you’re hiking that slippery rock trail to the deadly waterfall overlook in Yosemite]. But driving… driving is the ultimate high for worrywarts; just think of all the nightmarish things that can put their little grisly hands on you while you’re in a car… just think!
Good! I'm glad you're with me on that.
mi casa es su casa
Much of the time I live (as I think most people do) focused on work, or on friends, or on deciding what I need to pick up at the grocery store tonight so that I’ll have all the necessary ingredients to make that soup for dinner tomorrow.
But sometimes (and more and more often the older I get), the world seems to invert in my mind; all its assumptions and consistencies overturned. And then, for a short time, even the most mundane of daily things seems suddenly strange and wondrous.
I just experienced one of those turn-overs. I was lying on the couch, watching the cat lick his paws, watching his ears go back as he heard a car go by on the street; seeing his pupils narrow and his posture stiffen ever-so-slightly. And I thought – how bizarre that I share my life with an animal. An animal; a small thing with claws and fur and a rough tongue and a non-human brain, no ability to speak a language; a wild thing. There is a wild thing living in my apartment! Why is he here? And what does he make of it? Why is he so complacent? Doesn’t he find it strange to live high in the air, on the second floor, and have his food come in uniformly-shaped pellets? Doesn’t he think it odd to look out on houses and cars instead of jungle or forest? To hear church bells ring every hour? Has he memorized all of the Christian hymns they play?
And then… suddenly it seemed even stranger that I should be human, living in a humanly-constructed box, surrounded by humanly-constructed things. Not living outside with the trees, like all the other beings on this planet. I mean, it’s a simple thought, but doesn’t it ever strike you as odd that we live in houses? Or, maybe what I mean is, doesn’t it strike you as incredible that other animals don’t?! I was in New Jersey visiting Mark and Janice, watching these huge turkey vultures circle over their house and thinking – wow, those enormous birds just live out here! They’re not in a zoo, they don’t belong to the neighbors, they’re not on loan by the Chinese government as part of an educational exchange*; they actually live out here, in these trees! And when it rains, and snows – they’re just out there. They don’t ever go home and turn up the thermostat and take a nice hot shower and throw their sopping clothes in the dryer. They don’t pay rent, or property tax. They don’t own dishes, or clothing, or have boxes of Christmas ornaments stashed away in cupboards. They’re completely comfortable being just themselves, with no possessions but their own bodies, sitting out in the weather, all day and all night, every moment of their lives. Isn’t that the strangest and most amazing thing you’ve ever heard of?
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