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Monday, February 25th, 2008
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8:08 pm - Color me disillusioned
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Today I had to go in to the doctor's office to get an employment physical for my new job as a teacher at a daycare. When I got to the office there was a line at the receptionist's window, and I had to wait to check-in. In front of me was an elderly couple speaking with the receptionist and another older woman waiting to pick up test results. Right when I came in the door, I heard the female half of the couple ask the receptionist "What's universal insurance?" Seemingly having no better idea of what the woman was talking about than I did, the receptionist just shook her head. After another minute of wittering and deliberation, the woman in front of me just couldn't contain her knowledge anymore. "I'll bet it's like what they have in Canada!" she burst out. "Oh" said the woman who'd asked. The other lady continued, "You have to wait two years for surgery there! Everybody just has to wait their turn in line, and they don't get the kind of care that we get here!"
Her enthusiastic patriotism aside, I wanted to smack this woman in the mouth. She continued on for awhile detailing the evils of national health insurance, even turning to smile at me in search of support for her tirade. Since I happen to be one of the millions of uninsured adults in this country, my support was not forthcoming. Unlike this woman, who is covered by Medicare, I paid for my visit out-of-pocket, and will just have to cross my fingers for another few months until the health insurance at my new job kicks in. (For which I will undoutedly be paying a ludicrously disproportionate chunk of my salary, anyway.)
That woman got my blood boiling for awhile, but I soon simmered down. After all, what should I expect? That's the way it goes in this country: the money you get from the government is simply your due, but money doled out to anyone else is nothing less than communism. I would be angrier, but then, I'm used to being disappointed.
It all started when I turned 18. I could wait to be able to vote! I remember gushing to friends that I was so excited my birthday occurred in a presidential election year, and that I would get to vote right away at 18. I couldn't understand the apathetic blank stares that I received in response to my joy. Why weren't my friends who were similarly situated also excited?
I voted Democrat that first year, and I was positively certain Al Gore (despite his monumental lack of electibility) would win. After all, there couldn't be that many people who would actually vote for George W. Bush, could there?
On election night I sat on the futon in my dorm room with my Republican roommate as the results came in. Through hours, and eventually days and weeks, of recounts and lawsuits contesting the results, I held out hope that my choice would prevail.
Well, we all know how that turned out.
Since then, I've had many more opportunities to exercise my civic duty and vote in national elections, and each time I've behaved the same way: I get excited, I read about the candidates and the issues, and I follow the results of each stage with eager anticipation. The end result is almost always the same: disappointment. I'm always certain that the elections will go in favor of my choice: the democrats. And I don't even like the democrats that much! I'm not naive enough to believe there's that much of a difference between the two parties. I simply vote for what I perceive to be the lesser of two evils, for which I do feel slightly guilty.
But nevertheless: crushing disappointment.
Then, in 2006, a glimmer of hope! Flying in the face of what I was beginning to consider my personal hex, the democrats took over the congress! When I look back now on how happy and optimistic I was at the result, I can't but feel just a little bit ashamed of myself because, naturally, it made f-all of a difference; the democrats achieved bascially nothing of what they said they would do.
Which brings me now to this election. I just played the "Candidate Match Game" over at the USA Today website. They ask your opinion on a series of issues, and then show you which candidates most closely match your views. The candidates that most closely matched with me on the issues were, in order: 1. Dennis Kucinich 2. Mike Gravel 3. Joseph Biden.
It's no surprise, really: after all, I voted for Kucinich in the Michigan Primary. (Do I feel a little guilty for voting for a white male in this historic election year that has seen the first serious chance of seeing a woman or person of color assume the presidency? Yes, a little; but hey, I vote on the issues!) But will I have the opportunity to vote for him in the general election in November? Nope; he's dropped out. As has Joe Biden. Mike Gravel is still in it, despite receiving roughly 400 votes out of the more than 200,000 cast in the New Hampshire primary. (For those of you who like statistics, that's roughly .14 percent of the vote.)
Am I surprised that the candidates who most closely agree with me never had any chance of becoming president? Nope; I realized a long time ago that people who think like me have no chance of getting anywhere near the White House. America (most of it, anyway) just doesn't think like me.
Are there countries that do? Yeah, there are; quite a few, actually. They're not perfect, and they pay a hell of a lot in taxes, but their citizens are happy, healthy, and kicking our ass in education. What I've been debating with myself is this: do I owe it to this country (which I do love, by the way) to stick it out and fight the good fight (even though most of my fellow citizens would label me some sort of pinko-commie-liberal and have done with me), or do I take the hint and get the hell out and go live with the people agree with me (more closely, anyway)?
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| Thursday, January 10th, 2008
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2:11 am
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Ok, so keeping up with updating the journal: not so much. I'm sorry! Truly, I am! But really, I've made this promise so many times before, you had to know deep down in your heart it would never last. If you believed me, then I'm sorry: you were a fool.
Anyway, quick update: it's after 2 am, I can't sleep, and I'm all hopped up on allergy medication. If this entry doesn't make any sense, you can look to those three facts for your explanation.
In other news, I am now a licensed driver! Squirrels and pedestrians beware, I am hittin' the streets!
In other other news, I was reading through crochet blogs, and came across this little gem: "I have been truly blessed by the Lord with the ability to crochet." Which just makes me so jealous, because I actually had to learn how to crochet, rather than being gifted with it by divine right. I have been sitting here for the last ten minutes trying to imagine what it would be like to be the sort of person who has those sorts of thoughts just bumping around my brain, and honestly, it's beyond my ability to reason.
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| Wednesday, December 19th, 2007
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1:26 pm - Christmas Baking
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The Zen Lesson of Butter Cookies
Six hours of my life
spent baking christmas cookies--
the frosting won't dry.
Patience
The gingerbread man
he sticks to the pan
I free his head
but I break off his leg.
The frosting is sticky
the coconut icky
and I think that I'm having a stroke.
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| Friday, December 14th, 2007
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3:28 pm - Touching Me, Touching You
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I've decided that I need to keep up with this livejournal, despite the lack of interesting goings-on in my life. It shouldn't be too hard, as everyone knows I can go on at length about nothing in particular with very little encouragement. My goal is to have at least a couple of updates per week, so watch this space for more pointless ranting and aimless carrying-on!
In return, I would like ask a favor of you, gentle reader: let me know you're out there! I was just talking to my friend Lizzie from high school at a birthday party for our friend Cassie, and she mentioned that she reads this journal. I had no idea! So if there's anyone else out there to whom I haven't spoken in awhile, just drop me a line to say hello. (And if we do speak regularly, comments are always welcome.) I'm not the best at staying in touch, but at least we might reconnect over the interwebs. Just remember: "The internet is a series of tubes through which congressman can reach in and fondle sixteen year-old boys." (John Oliver, The Daily Show) So, let's get gropin'!
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| Tuesday, November 27th, 2007
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11:58 pm - The Search Continues
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The backstory: I have been trying, for about two months now, to find a job. I'm not looking for anything fancy: just a cut above the usual minimum wage retail position. So far, I've had no luck.
The scene: sitting in the living room with my mom. I'm crocheting, she's watching television; we haven't spoken in about 10 minutes.
Mom: You should write a book.
Me: I should what?
Mom: You should write a book.
Me: What kind of book?
Mom: I don't know--a novel.
Me: Where is this coming from?
Mom: I'm just thinking of what kind of jobs you could do.
Me: ...
Mom: You know, you're good at makings things up, and being funny.
Me: You do realize it's quite difficult to get a book published.
Mom: I know...but you could try!
I love my poor, delusional mother.
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| Tuesday, October 16th, 2007
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12:22 am
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Because I'm a pedant, and because I can't think of anything else to write about, I'm going to steal an idea from the Grammar Nazis' Livejournal community and post my
List of Top Ten Spelling/Grammar/Punctuation Pet Peeves*
1. "Should of", "Would of", "Could of".
I know that "should've" sounds like "should of", but that's no excuse. Why not write "shoulda" instead? At least then you'd be acknowledging that you're transliterating the spoken vernacular instead of vying for grammatical correctness and falling far short of the mark.
2. STICKY CAPSLOCK or "i seem to have misplaced my shift key"
I don't care if it's easier; when I read text without proper capitalization, I immediately judge the writer to be an uneducated troll.
3. Your stupid!
I'm sorry, my what?
4. Your a looser!
If you're going to imply your personal superiority by insulting someone, you should at least learn to spell one of the more common put-downs of this modern era. Otherwise, you just look like a dumbass.
5. Text speak anywhere other than texts
I don't really text, so I don't understand a lot of text speak. That's part of my problem. Also, if you're writing in a medium that doesn't limit the number of characters with which you may express yourself, you have no excuse for "saving time" with text speech. Trust me: you're not that busy that you can't spell the words out properly.
6. Misplaced apostrophe's
Apostrophe usage can be tricky, but it's worth getting right if you don't want to look like an imbecile.
7. Off ten
To be fair, this is a mistake I myself make all the time. At some point in my past I got it into my head to start pronouncing the "t" in often. I don't know when or why it happened, but it did, and it stuck. Flash forward to a few years ago, when I was perusing a website of common word pronunciation errors (like you do), and I discovered that this is not a valid variation in pronunciation. Ever since then I've tried to change back to the correct silent "t" pronunciation, but I slip up all the time, and it drives me nuts. It drives me twice as nuts (parse that sentence!) when I hear other people do it, but it just reminds me of the fact that I do it, too, and therefore have no right to get uppity about their lapse in correct speech.
8. KKKMart
At some point in the past, it was decided by business owners and advertisers that the letter "C" was just not edgy and appealing enough, and so was removed from many signs and slogans and replaced with the vastly more eye-catching letter "K"; thus "Campus Corner" becomes "Kampus Korner" (and, to me, the KKKMart). I blame Krazy Glue.
9. Improper use of the semicolon
The semicolon is your friend; be good to him!
10. Ellipsis? Whatever.......
An ellipsis is a discrete unit of punctuation consisting of three periods; like so: (...). Adding more periods on to the end does not make a more suspenseful pause; it makes your punctuation incorrect.
*Yes, I know I wrote an entire entry about how spelling and grammar pedantry has become a new educated yuppie pastime akin to mental masturbation. I realize that every person's brain is wired differently from everyone else's, that there are many differing measures of intelligence, and that it's unfair to judge people based on one limited area of verbal acumen. I know all of this. I'm weak, people. Weak.
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| Sunday, September 9th, 2007
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10:33 pm - Villianous Villanelles
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I made a pact with myself to try and write more poetry. Tonight, I tried to write a villanelle. A villanelle is a highly structured poem, which follows this format (as copied from Wikipedia):
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 2 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 4 (a)
Line 5 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 7 (a)
Line 8 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 10 (a)
Line 11 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Line 13 (a)
Line 14 (b)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Line 16 (a)
Line 17 (b)
Refrain 1 (A1)
Refrain 2 (A2)
Perhaps the most famous example of this type of poem is Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", which happens to be one of my favorite poems.
When comparing my poem (which I'll post just after this) to the template and to the excellent work of Mr. Thomas, you'll notice several departures from those traditional forms. This is due to the fact that I was slightly tipsy when I wrote this poem, and didn't fully grasp the format until I was halfway through my poem. Since I couldn't be bothered to start again, what I'm left with is slightly more than a freestyle poem, and slightly less than a villanelle. However, it IS a poem, and therefore counts toward my goal. So without further ado:
Untitled (for now)
My eyes reflect the sights as they are seen
my heart distorts the image as it likes
my lashes catch the dreams that would escape
it can be so depressing for a girl
who knows the myth of true love to be trite
whose eyes reflect the sights as they are seen
to keep a cheerful outlook on the world
I turn my eyes to all that's good and right
my lashes catch the dreams that would escape
when black and white are mixed into a swirl
both colors still emerge distinct and bright
my eyes reflect the sights as they are seen
gray's beauty painted 'cross a colored world
dulls sharp contrasts and harshest beams of light
my lashes catch the dreams that would escape
I wonder if I've ever been a girl
with youth to conquer weariness and fright
my eyes reflect the sights as they are seen
but my lashes catch the dreams that would escape
(Note: I know this poem is extremely rough, and could use a lot of work--however, that tends to my problem with producing poetry: I work on a poem for ages, never happy with the way it sounds, and consequently never finishing it. I'm hoping that by forcing myself to write imperfect poetry, I can learn to work on my skills without driving myself crazy with the fact that they aren't yet perfected.
The fact that I've had a couple of beers helps, too.)
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| Thursday, August 30th, 2007
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10:37 pm - An amusing quote
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She kept saying it, "I always speak my mind! I always speak my mind!"
After awhile, I thought, "Ok, what do you want? A medal? You always speak your mind--well a lot of people always speak their mind: Hitler, the Cookie Monster...just two examples there. There's no merit in always speaking your mind if all you've got in there is "Kill 'em all!" or "Cookie!"
--Mark Watson, from "Mark Watson Makes the World Substantially Better"
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| Thursday, August 9th, 2007
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6:43 pm - What you leave behind
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I failed to mention in any of my earlier posts that I have quit smoking. Not altogether--I still have a few once a week at the bar, but I am no longer an everyday smoker. I've kept this up for a little over three months now.
All of this is very well and good, but I only bring up the fact because I have recently started smoking a cigarette or two during the day again. Why? Well, because I had some left over from the bar this weekend, and also, because I am in the middle of packing up and moving to my parent's house, and the stress and bother of moving has driven me to nicotine relief. I'm not really worried that this is a full relapse, but my slip is indicative of how I feel about moving.
Moving is terrible. The worst thing about moving this time is that I've lived in my current apartment for three years, and have had three years to accumulate junk and debris that must be dealt with. Before this, ever since I've moved out of my parent's house, I haven't lived in any one place for longer than a year. My regular changes of domicile prevented me from collecting too much stuff that I would only throw out later. Now I have to sift through three years worth of papers, trinkets, and souvenirs that have piled up.
I say 'sift through', but mostly I've just been tossing things. When I'm settled, I have a tendency to be a bit of a packrat; I think to myself, "Oh, this might come in handy later" or "I might want to look at this again", but when it comes time to move I realize that it won't, and I don't, and in fact all the stuff that I've piled up hasn't been touched since I put it there. So straight into the trash it goes.
In some ways, it's liberating to rid yourself of the clutter that's clogging up your living space and your life. In others, it's immensely depressing as you're forced to take stock of the forgotten products of your life so far: the art supplies from the class you dropped; the clothes you haven't worn in years; the books you bought and never read; the games you only ever played once; the piles of paper that represent countless hours of schoolwork you'll never need to use again. Every bit of it represents a you that's gone forever, or that never was in the first place. Cleaning out a cupboard full of the countless knitting projects I've started over the years and never finished ended up being an extended metaphor for everything in life I've ever started, only to abandon later. The dumpster outside my apartment building has become a monument to the industrious, productive me I always tried to cultivate, but never quite became.
It's one thing to take stock of your life mentally, but the physical act is a little harder to bear. And so I've turned to the cancer stick.
But before you start to think I'm melancholy and depressed, fear not: there's also a sense of renewal that comes with cleaning up life's clutter. Instead of haunting my closets like the ghosts of Christmas past, the detritus of life no longer needed will be shipped out of sight, out of mind, and off to the dump, and I feel lighter for it. I can move on and start over, rather than holding on to the failures and objects of the past. Moving out has become moving forward, and that's the direction I've been trying to go in all along.
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| Friday, August 3rd, 2007
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8:04 pm - Perhaps he's a big fan of Secretary?
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All right; I have officially had the weirdest solicitation of my life. I know that a lot of weird people have approached me before with odd requests, but this one takes the cake, I promise you. It's going to sound rather harmless and mundane at first, but just think about it for awhile: I guarantee you'll be disturbed.
When I got home from work this evening (about 7:45) I decided that since it was payday and I have no tempting food in my apartment, I would treat myself to Jimmy John's. Despite the fact that Jimmy John's is only about 4 blocks from my apartment, I had just gotten off of work, and it was extremely tempting just to pick up the phone and order delivery. I fought the urge, I did the right thing, I headed out.
I was in the home stretch, on the same block as JJ's, when a guy pulled over in his car and hailed me from the window. "Excuse me! Miss! You don't know anyone who can type, do you?" Naturally, this is not what I expected to hear, so I assumed that I had misheard him; surely, he just wanted directions downtown. "What?" I asked. "Do you know anyone who can type? I have some things I need typed up..."
Ok, he definitely said "typed". A man has just pulled over on the street to ask a stranger out the window if she knows of anyone who can "type". Nevertheless, I said, "Type?" and he confirmed, "Yeah, type". "No" I said, quickly adjusting to this bizarre new situation and deciding that a swift denial and extraction of myself from the conversation was the best course of action, "sorry, I don't know anyone." "You can't type?!" he asked, rather incredulous. I have no idea whether or not I look like the sort of person who would be able to type, if the sheer look of me screams "TYPIST!", but this man clearly decided I had that look about me and was shocked at my denial.
Of course, I can type; quite well, in fact. This journal would certainly be an epic labor of love if I couldn't. But again, it seemed smarter to lie. Once I confirmed for him that no, there would be no typing henceforth, I ducked into JJ's and he drove away.
Once again, I must ask my readers (all 3 of you) exactly what the hell went on there. I didn't allow the situation to progress that far, but surely if my answer had been "Yes, I can type" his next reply would have been, "then I shall take you to my typing" (or something similar). What I mean is: he clearly wanted me to go somewhere with him.
What exactly would have happened once I got there? Did he really have a stack of documents that needed transcribing? Would he have paid me? Is "typing" some new street code for prostitution? (I already know, from previous experience, that I can be mistaken for a prostitute as well as a typist.) If he had other sinister motives, did he really hope to lure me with the promise of freelance office work? (The economy is pretty bad, but still, come on!)
Even though it's tempting (and certainly safer) to assume the worst of strange men who solicit me from cars, deep down inside I really do think he had some typing that needed to be done, and this was the best way he could think of to accomplish the task. Exactly what he needed typed, or what sort of head injury he'd previously suffered to make him think that soliciting secretarial work on the street was acceptable, I have no idea. But I will make this point again, to any well-meaning guys out there who may be reading: it is NEVER acceptable behavior to invite strange women off the street into your car, even if you plan to pay her. (I should say, ESPECIALLY if you plan to pay her...) Be careful, guy: women more skittish than me will call the police.
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| Thursday, August 2nd, 2007
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6:03 pm - More Ways the System Has Failed You
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So, I have finally decided, after nearly ten years of putting it off, that I need to get my driver's license. So today, I went down to the Secretary of State to apply for my Temporary Instruction Permit, which will allow me to practice driving with licensed adults. I didn't get the permit today, because I didn't have $25 bucks on me, I forgot my checkbook, and they don't take cards, but I did take my written test and pass it, so just as soon as I come up with the dough, I'll be on the streets menacing society from the vantage point of a two ton moving vehicle; doesn't seem right, but there it is!
The test itself was pretty easy, despite the deliberately confusing, ass-backwards way in which they write the questions. I don't want to brag, but I passed with only one incorrect answer. It was about railroad crossings and what you should do when you come to one without a gate or any lights. I said "stop and listen for a train" when the correct answer was "look both ways while continuing over the tracks". I chalk this up to the fact that I'm pretty much a city girl, and don't really ever come across railroad crossings without gates or lights.
Aside from all the "how fast do you drive in a construction zone" and "what does a red, octagonal sign mean" questions, the questions on the test are pretty worthless and mostly designed to weed out lunatics and those people who not only don't know how to drive, but are also completely unable to reason their way through a basic multiple choice test. I don't know what it says about our society and the way we drive, but just about every question contained as an answer option: "blow your horn to alert other drivers". (Just in case anyone was wondering, no: that was never the right answer.)
My favorite question went something like this:
17. The children riding in the backseat of your vehicle are repeatedly demanding that you change the radio station. Do you:
a). Refuse their request until it is safe to change the station.
b). Change the station immediately.
c). Reach into the glove compartment for an audio book.
What I most love about this question, is that it reads more like a query on a Cosmo personality test than it does like a question on a driving exam. I want to MEET the people who can't get this one right, and shake their hands; if they aren't complete, drooling imbeciles then they are undoubtedly the most honest people you'll ever meet in your life.
Anyway, so I passed the test, and it only took me about 2 1/2 hours to do it. (The test itself took me about ten minutes; the rest of the time was spent waiting for my number to be called.)
What do I hate most about waiting at the Secretary of State? Everybody else who is waiting with me.
Now, don't get me wrong: I don't like waiting any more than the next person. There are many more interesting and important things I would rather be doing than sitting on a plastic chair in a drab, beige-colored lobby listening to some old man clearing phlegm from his throat as a constantly screaming child repeatedly kicks the back of my chair. However, I am an ADULT, and I realize that there are times in my life where I will have to WAIT. I don't have any official research, but from my own observation it appears to me that in any given waiting situation, roughly 4 out of 5 adults will be unable to deal psychologically with this fact. It's bad enough when you have to wait, but it makes it infinitely worse to have listen to the people around you tutting, and sighing, and complaining the whole time.
Thank God I had my iPod with me.
If I hadn't, I would have had to listen to the middle-aged man who came in about 15 minutes after me and seemed particularly irked about waiting. He addressed several "witty" comments to the open air, and might have been trying to strike up a conversation with me, but I used my headphones as an excuse to ignore him; as I said, impatient people make me impatient when I'm playing the waiting game, and until he'd got there I'd had a perfectly pleasant time listening to my iPod.
What really bothers me about impatient people is this: do you really think you're that special? Is your life really that much more important than everyone else's? Is waiting really so terrible that your particular boredom and irritation demands to be shared with others, who might otherwise have survived the experience with their nerves intact?
Sheesh.
All right, I'm getting all het up; I should go, before MY irritation becomes contagious. ;)
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| Saturday, July 28th, 2007
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11:05 am - Lady of the Flies
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A little update on the fly situation:
I spent the beginning part of this week at my parent's house, and when I returned to the apartment I opened the door to find it practically filled with dead and dying flies. The kitchen floor was littered, the window was swarming, and five of them had committed mass suicide in the cat's water bowl. I have no idea how they got in, or why they were there, as I didn't leave any food out. Honestly, that's probably why they were all dying: starvation.
So, my mom and I swept up the corpses from the kitchen floor (there were, I would guess, around 30-40) and headed out to the drug store to pick up some fly paper. We decided instead on a pair of Fly Motels, as we were afraid the cat would manage to stick herself to the fly paper. The package said, "Flies fly in, but they don't fly out!" Bullshit! I have seen several flies merrily crawling in and out of the contraption without getting so much as a toe caught on the adhesive. However, it does seem to be culling the weak and infirm, as there are about 10 of them that have been trapped inside: the weakest links, I would imagine. The smarter, stronger flies who managed to avoid being trapped are probably off somewhere breeding as I write this, creating a race of super flies (or Supah Flies, if you will). If that happens, I may have to resort to the chemical solutions (though first, the cat and I will have to find a place to hang for awhile).
In other news, my iPod has been found! What? You didn't know it was missing? Well, if you weren't fortunate enough to call me on the day I lost it (as only Jessica was), then you missed my gut-wrenching soul-scream as I described the agony of being deprived of my near-constant companion. (Honestly, it's scary how quickly and how thoroughly I've become dependent on it; I've only had it since Christmas.) I've spent a scant two days without it now, and I miss it more than words can say. I never realized how depressing the bus is without my music to keep my company.
But at least I know where it is. Where was it, you ask? Why, right where I thought it was: in my mother's car. You see, she has a cable to connect her iPod to the speakers in her car, and I was using it to listen to my music on the way back to Ypsi. When we went to the drug store to buy the Housefly Death Camp, I slipped the iPod down between the seat and the center console, so that someone looking into the car wouldn't see it and be tempted. I forgot to bring it in with me when I got home.
As soon as I realized I didn't have it, I called my mom to confirm that it was still in her car. She said it wasn't. I made her look again, this time specifying she should check the cable. She swore up and down it wasn't in her car. Then began my day and a half of misery. If it wasn't in her car, and it wasn't in my apartment, it only could have fallen outside on the way in to the apartment, in which case it is long, long gone. I don't have money to buy a new one, so therefore I would have to go MONTHS music-less on public transportation!
But then this morning she called me to say it was in her car. WHICH I KNEW! And to make matters worse, it was still connected to the cable, just as I said it was. She said that she'd looked at the other end of the cable (the end you plug into the car) and it was empty, so she assumed my iPod wasn't there. OK... Well anyway, despite my mom doing what she always yells at me for (that is, looking for something without really LOOKING), I am relieved that my baby is safe!
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| Wednesday, July 18th, 2007
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2:02 pm - *crunch*
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The cat has been eating flies all afternoon.
I don't know where they came from, but all of a sudden there's been about four of them flying around the apartment today. Franny's having a ball, as it gives her the opportunity to play the mighty, fearsome hunter. (Though the effect was slightly spoiled when she reared up to bat at one, and ended up sort of rolling over onto her back with her paws in the air like Winnie the Pooh.) When she catches her prey, she celebrates by eating her trophy. It's fairly disgusting, and I'd sort of like to stop her, but then it makes me feel like she's earning her keep, ridding the apartment of bothersome vermin.
Go, Fran, go!
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| Thursday, July 5th, 2007
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3:25 pm - An(other) opportunity to talk about myself
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Really, the best thing about having a livejournal is the opportunity to blather on and on at length about yourself without having to tend to the social conventions of conversation (i.e. pausing to let someone else have a turn to talk; pretending to be interested in someone other than yourself; etc.) Honestly, I don't know why I bother with friends!
Anyway, I haven't been getting many hours at work lately, and I've had absolutely nothing to do for about two days straight now, and I'm going a bit stir-crazy. Whilst trolling around the interwebs, I came across one of those little survey dealies one can either post on their livejournal, or email around to all their friends. The chief pleasure in these things, clearly, is filling them out and not in reading the responses of your friends, so I won't feel bad if no one actually reads this. (As if anyone regularly reads my journal anyway.) Without further ado:
1. How old will you be in five years?
30. Now excuse me while I go have a good cry.
2. Who did you spend at least two hours with today?
Absolutely no one. Even the cat has spent the better part of the day sleeping under my bed.
3. How tall are you?
5'4". This is a bit of an issue with me, as I don't like to be considered short, and realistically speaking, I am not: 5'4" is average height for an American woman. However, people at work keep telling me I'm short. Why does it matter so much to me? Because even though I am a completely non-violent person who has never been in a physical fight in her life (save the ones I used to have with my brother when we were kids) I still like to think that I could kick someone's ass if I needed to. So there you go.
4. What do you look forward to most in the next six weeks?
New Orleans with Jessica, clearly!
5. What's the last movie you saw?
Knocked Up. Hilarious! Though Becca and I were laughing quite a bit harder than everyone else...
6. Who was the last person to call you?
That would have been Lauren, day before yesterday.
7. Who was the last person you called?
I called in to work to see if they needed me, as I was "on call" tonight. They didn't need me, so here I am.
8. What was the last text message you received?
Really, the only person who ever texts me is Jessica. I just checked my phone, and the last message she sent me was a little over a month ago (I think). It was "Do u work thurs?"
9. Who was the last person to leave you a voicemail?
I think it was Terri, but I probably just called her back rather than listening to it. I'm terrible at listening to voice mails.
10. Do you prefer to call or text?
Call. If I have something to say, I'd rather not wear out my thumbs saying it.
11. What were you doing at 12am last night?
Reading. Oh, what a life I lead...
12. Are your parents married/separated/divorced?
I know it's boring, but they're married (to each other), and have been for about 28 years.
13. When is the last time you saw your mom?
Hmm...last month sometime.
14. What color are your eyes?
I always say they're green, and I can usually get people to agree with me, but occasionally someone will insist they're hazel, or brown, or gray or something, and then I get very cross.
15. What time did you wake up today?
9:30 am.
16. What are you wearing right now?
Rainbow socks, a tutu, and a balaclava. (Go on, prove I'm not!)
17. What is your favorite christmas song?
River, by Joni Mitchell.
18. Where is your favorite place to be?
I can't say there's any one place; "with friends" would be the closest answer. Failing that, I quite like to be in bed.
19. Where is your least favorite place to be?
While this answer varies, too, in the stirrups at the gynecologist's office or in the dentist's chair are always reliably awful places.
21. Where will you be in 10 years?
I'd like to say "God only knows", but I'm an atheist, so it's even worse than that. ;)
22. Do you tan or burn?
Burn; like a piece of garlic toast left under the broiler too long.
23. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
As a child with very vivid dreams, it was pretty much a different baddie every night. I do remember a particularly scary dream about the shadow of a goat chasing me around my bedroom.
24. What was the last thing to make you smile?
The Russell Howard show on BBC internet radio.
25. How many tvs do you have in your house?
At the moment, I live in a studio apartment, and have just the one tv. In my parent's house (to where I will be moving soon), there are currently, I believe, 5 tvs, which is 2.5 times the number of people who currently live there.
26. How big is your bed?
As I mentioned, I live in a tiny studio apartment, and so have a twin-sized bed. You might be wondering, "But what if someone *wink,wink* sleeps over?" Well yes, that can be a pain, but it is a great excuse to get rid of someone and enjoy your sleep in peace.
27. Do you have a laptop or desktop computer?
A big, cranky desktop currently infected with every form of spyware ever invented.
28. Do you sleep with or without clothes on?
With. I can never quite get comfortable sleeping without.
29. What color are your sheets?
Red, as is the blanket and the quilt.
30. How many pillows do you sleep with?
I sleep on one, but have another for reading in bed. (If you've managed to read this far, this is probably the point where you're beginning to regret it.)
31. What is your favorite season?
I can't say I have one; I just enjoy a lovely day no matter what the season.
32. Do you prefer shoes, socks, or bare feet?
Bare feet if it's warm, socks if it's cold. Shoes only when absolutely necessary.
33. Are you a social person?
I am obnoxiously social when around other people (I'm one of those people who makes conversation with strangers while in line at the grocery store), but then I also have these hermit-like tendencies where I can hole up in my apartment for days at a time without the need for any human interaction.
34. What was the last thing you ate?
Chips and salsa.
35. What is your favorite restaurant?
Oh, don't get me started when there are so many good ones to choose from...
36. What is your favorite ice cream?
My favorite all-around flavor would either be cookies and cream, or pistachio.
37. What is your favorite dessert?
Tiramisu. It combines just about all my favorite foods: coffee, chocolate, booze, and cheese.
38. What is your favorite kind of soup?
Homemade chicken noodle.
39. Do you like coffee?
Lord yes; more than oxygen, really.
40. How many glasses of water, a day, do you drink on average?
I can't really say; if I'm at home, I pretty much always have a glass of water in front of me. Makes for a lot of trips to the bathroom.
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| Wednesday, July 4th, 2007
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10:07 pm - Word Nerd Flips the Bird
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For as long as I can remember, I've loved language. I like reading it, and speaking it, and playing with it, and compiling it into fun little poems and stories. I'm fascinated by slang and the way language (especially English) is used throughout the world, and I'm even such a nerd that I get out my old Linguistics textbooks for a little light reading before bedtime. (I did, however, stop short of becoming a linguist, opting instead to become a social worker: a profession in which I talk at people for a living.)
The dark side of my passionate love affair with words is my tendency to be a bit of a spelling, grammar, and vocabulary pedant. Despite coming of age in the era of email, instant messages, and texting, I've staunchly refused to adopt the truncated, acronym-filled speech best suited to those modes of communication. I notice spelling and grammar mistakes on road signs and restaurant menus. I even, despite my better judgment of what is and is not polite, corrected a friend on her use of the word "finagle". (She was saying finangle, with an extra "n". I'm so sorry, Wellsy!) And while I have an immense respect for education and learning, and believe that the rules of correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation are well worth learning, I can't help but feel guilty at the unmitigated glee with which I corrected a note my boss had written to read "you're" rather than the incorrect, possessive "your".
For you see, while I've been anal-retentive and persnickety about my use of English almost since I began speaking it, I've only recently noticed a popular trend mirroring my own behavior: namely, being pedantic about spelling and grammar seems to be the new elite, yuppy pastime. Which leads me to wonder: is my desire for proper speech motivated mostly by my love of language and precision, or by a subtly disguised (and unacknowledged) streak of snobbery and classism?
I first began to wonder at my own motives when leafing through a friend's copy of the book Eats Shoots and Leaves. I was drawn to it immediately when I saw it on her nightstand, and when she suggested that we bring reading material with us to the pool, I jumped at the chance to peruse a book I'd long been itching to read. I had thought it was a lighthearted, fun look at language and the ways in which it can be misconstrued and played with. While it was lighthearted, to be sure, underneath the fun was a current of prudish snobbery.
In the past, whenever I had found an example of incorrect spelling or grammar in the world and pointed it out, I always did so just a little bit guiltily; not because I'm ashamed to know it's wrong, but because I've bothered to take the time to point out a simple human error, the likes of which nearly everyone makes on a daily basis, and used it as an opportunity to highlight my own cleverness. Ms. Truss, the author of Eats Shoots and Leaves, feels no such guilt, it would seem. She discusses publicly displayed mistakes in punctuation as if they were vicious affronts to God and society, and describes in vivid detail the pains she suffers upon viewing such monstronsities. While I'm sure much of it is hyperbolic to effect humor, she does seem to go a little far.
After all, what is it that you are saying when you correct the spelling and grammar of others, if not, "I'm much more intelligent and better educated than you are!"? It's mostly harmless when you're pointing out that a reporter has swapped "it's" for "its" in a newspaper article, but a whole 'nother ball game when you start rolling your eyes at the speech of those who choose not to adopt the "educated", prestige form of the language. Quite frankly, it's a slippery slope I'm afraid of tumbling down; we like to think we live in a classless society, but the attitudes we carry toward different dialects of the language would suggest otherwise. And though we might view these alternate dialects with scorn and ridicule, and describe them as ignorant or uneducated, even a language snob such as myself uses "lazy", ungrammatical language every once in awhile, and I know I wouldn't like some other grammar nerd following me around and pointing out my every mistake.
So while I'm sure I'll still notice the missing subjunctive tense in the title of one of my favorite songs ("I Wish I Was the Moon"), I do believe I'll make renewed efforts not to foist my pedantry on the rest of the world. After all, the function of language is communication, not making me feel smarter and better than everyone else; as long as I can understand the messages of the people around me, I do believe I'll shut my mouth and leave the corrections to myself.
No one likes a smart ass.
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| Sunday, July 1st, 2007
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6:15 pm - You are the walrus, I am a raccoon.
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Has anyone heard of a movie coming out called The Golden Compass? No? Me neither. BUT, they have a pretty cool website out, complete with an interactive quiz to help you "find you inner daemon". Now, I didn't pay much attention to the complicated ramble at the beginning that gave an explanation of the significance of demons in this movie, but if I am to understand correctly, they are, somehow, a good thing. In any case, it would appear that my inner demon is a raccoon named Aesop. To me, the most amusing part of this is that, in reality, I'm actually quite frightened of raccoons.
If you would like to find out what cuddly critter embodies your inner demon, then visit the movie's website here. If you would like to weigh in on whether or not the raccoon is a fitting personification of my true nature, you can do so by following the link provided below.
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| Thursday, June 28th, 2007
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10:56 pm - A Curious Incident
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Today I helped one of the most amusing and perplexing customers I've had the pleasure to deal with in a long time. The incident itself was not so remarkable, and didn't take too long, but the longer I think about it, the more funny/sad I find it.
She came in shortly after we opened this morning with an obnoxious child in tow. The boy appeared to be about 10, and I knew she was babysitting him because she kept saying, in a loud, amused tone, "I can tell I'm really going to regret agreeing to babysit you this summer!" I'm sure she's right, as I'd only been acquainted with the child for a total of three minutes at this point, and I know I was already regretting her decision. He kept hiding behind the racks of clothing, playing with the jewelry, and shouting. In short, he was behaving like a child, which is to be expected, but as a rule I tend to dislike children first thing in the morning; especially when they're messing up merchandise I will later have to straighten.
She picked out a shirt and some pants, and I helped her choose a couple of bras, and then she was ready to be rung up. The first thing she did was hand her store charge card over to me. We have a card reader on the counter for the customer to use to swipe her own card, but in my experience I've learned that, generally, the people who insist on handing their card over for me to swipe have an embarrassing amount of trouble working the card reader for themselves, so I held on to it for her. I rang everything up, and the total came to about $130. After I gave her the total and went to swipe her card, she said one of the most confusing things I've ever heard in the course of my duties as a retail clerk: "After that's all used up, they're not going to send me a bill, are they?"
Now, if anyone would like to share with me their first impression of what, exactly, this woman was asking me, I would love to hear it, because my first response was stunned, frozen silence. I retracted my hand from the card reader before the card was swiped and stared at her a moment. "I'm sorry?" I inquired in as polite a way as possible. She repeated the question. I thought, 'Maybe I wasn't paying attention, and this is a gift card. What else could she mean by "used up"?' But no, it wasn't a gift card, and she was aware that this was a charge card. She said something about a $190 charge she'd made the month before, and receiving a bill for it at her home. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but: this is the way charge cards are supposed to work, yes?
(I should mention now that, up until this point, the woman and I had been talking about Prince. Yes, "Purple Rain" Prince. THAT Prince. I don't know how we got on the subject, but she started telling me about how her sister liked to dress like prince, with the high-collared shirts and the lacy cravats and such. When my manager April and I were going over the encounter later this, to her, would be the most damning bit of evidence against the woman's sanity.)
Finally April, who had been doing something at the other end of the counter, was motivated by my dumbfounded silence to try to help me answer this woman's questions. "Yes," she said, "you should be getting a statement next month detailing your charges." After a little back and forth, the woman seemed to accept this answer, and I was suitably convinced that the woman knew what was going on, and how her charge card worked, so that I could run her card through the reader.
Of course, it came back declined.
Usually, if a customer's card is declined and they want to know why, there are steps that I take before calling our credit agency's call center. I can check their available balance on the register, or obtain their payment history from the automated voice menu, but in this lady's case I went right for the live representative. After explaining to the woman on the phone why I was calling, I gave the phone to the owner of the declined card. I couldn't tell from her end of the conversation what the woman at the call center was saying, but when she hung up, she said that she had only an available balance of $107 and would have to put something back. After removing the shirt from the purchase and bringing the total in under $100, she paid, and left.
I am still, to this moment, scratching my head over what she thought was going on when she first gave me her card. April, it turns out, had no better idea than I did what was going on, though she certainly covered better. Did the woman think her $400 credit limit was free money she shouldn't be expected to pay back? What happened to the previous charge she said she'd made the month before? Had she EVER made a payment on this card, and WOULD she ever?
These are questions I may never have the answers to.
But if you would like to experience the dumbfounded look with which I favored this lady, the next time you go to charge anything, after you've run your card through the reader, simply look right at the cashier and say in your most innocent, indignant tone, "They're not going to send me a bill for this, are they?"
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| Monday, June 4th, 2007
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10:00 pm - Ode to a Dead Squirrel
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Strange to see so still a form
I've seen so quick and lithe before
A pity 'tis the day is warm
The flies have gathered all the more
The first day, still, as if in sleep
save for the busy insect cloud
the next day made to rotting meat
the flesh bereft of sprightly leap
the matted fur now forms a shroud
Memento Mori on the street.
(Somehow, Jessica, when you pestered me to update my journal, I don't think this is quite what you had in mind.)
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| Tuesday, February 20th, 2007
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9:17 pm - I feel like someone slipped me one of Paula's crazy pills...
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For the first year ever, I've been watching American Idol. I haven't seen every episode, and I don't really remember any of the contestants' names, but a show that I've avoided for years due to its cheesiness, inanity, and sadism has managed to hold my attention for more than five minutes at a time, so kudos to them.
During the audition episodes, I more or less agreed with the assessments of the judges; at least, that is, for the moments I was able to watch the show instead of turning the station to avoid severe empathetic pain. Randy is rambling and incoherent, Paula is drunk, and Simon is needlessly cruel, but for the most part, I tended to side with them regarding the talent of the contestants.
However, now that the show has made it to the final 24 contestants, I have no idea where they're coming from anymore. Now, I'm watching the show in front of my computer (as should be obvious from the timestamp of this post), so for the most part I am hearing the show, but not watching it. Perhaps the stylistic flair of the invidividual contestants adds more to the overall performance than I realize, but I feel like the judges are listening to a completely different show than I am. Everyone that I think sounds boring, maudlin, and off-key the judges are loving, and the people I think I might actually enjoy listening to are dissed. I don't know what's going on.
All I will say is that I hope the fat guy who looks kinda like Jack Osbourne wins. He's a pretty decent singer, and anyone who states as his reason for wanting to become the next American Idol is to "make David Hasselhoff" cry, deserves some kind of award.
Also, I wonder how much of the bickering between Ryan and Simon they had to edit out of the show's final version to make it come in under two hours?
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| Friday, February 16th, 2007
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1:31 pm - Me as a South Park Character
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