Its no great secret that I’ve been having a love affair with Google for quite some time now. Google is great. Everything I could want, but lately… I dunno. That connection we had at the beginning, you know that fierce passion, that flame, well it’s dying out. And lately I’ve been feeling a little under-appreciated.
Like just the other day. I said I wanted to go to a store in Gaithersburg. “Did you mean Montgomery Village?” As if I didn’t have the address right in front of me with Gaithersburg written on it. Like I’m some kind of idiot who wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. I mean its not like I was off by a letter or two. And yet Google insisted over and over again until finally I was like FINE! I meant Montgomery Village!!
But I didn’t mean Montgomery Village.
And before I used to think it was cute the way we’d finish each other's sentences. We were so in sync...
Yesterday I was looking for the “percentage of wom-“ and before I could finish Google jumps in with “percentage of women who shave their pubic hair!”
WHAT?!
Where the hell did that come from right? And to make matters worse I was at work. What if someone had walked in? What then?
So, I don’t know what to do. On one hand Google is really smart and helpful. And really when you look at the alternatives, Google is the best choice. On the other hand, I feel like I deserve better. And I don’t know how long I can put up with the condescending tone or these lascivious innuendos of late.
I need advice and I’m tempted to go to my ex to ask what to do.
I know! It’s so wrong… But what can I say?
Yahoo answers.
********************************
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Last Man Standing
Over the years I've watched my dog Gally run down the list of dog haters, non-believers I like to call them, and turn them each into cooing, petting, food sharing hypocrites.
I know what you're thinking. "EVERYONE thinks their dog is the best dog in the world."
On the contrary, I do not think my dog is the best dog in the world. She's stubborn, has selective hearing, and won't sleep on her bed unless the fluff inside is evenly distributed to her liking. Every story my mother shares about this hellion of a dog brings me that much closer to taking her to a shelter during my next visit home and leaving her there for a night so she can see how the other half lives. So she can understand that not every dog is getting omega 3 enriched food and an oscillating space heater by their beds during the winter time. And I use the word winter very loosely as she currently resides in Los Angeles.
Yet with all of her faults she still manages to fool everyone into thinking that she's special, worthy of their affections. where all others were not. Everyone except for my dad.
Because "back in Guyana dogs are not pets. They guard the property. They rummage through garbage for food. And under NO circumstances are they allowed inside of the home."
He held firm to his beliefs. For years I watched him treat Gally like she was nothing more than a common houseplant. He seemed impervious to those endearing human like tendencies that had worked to win over so many before him. I wondered how long he was going to be able to keep up the facade until I realized it was no facade. My father did not like dogs. Not now. Not ever.
*******************
In hindsight I should have seen the signs, the beginning of the end if you will. Maybe I did and just chose to ignore them.
I believed my dad when he said he was washing Gally's food bowl and putting in fresh water because he didn't want to attract bugs into the garage.
I believed him when he okay'd her bed being moved into the house because of the exceptionally cold Southern California winter.
I even believed him when he started bringing home meatless steak bones from restaurants masked as "leftovers" claiming he didn't realize how little meat was left on them.
Still, he never did anything to show Gally the love and affection she demanded from all those around her. He never pet her. He never took her for walks. He never fed her from the table... And Gally, not one to degrade herself by grovelling, withdrew her attempts.
And so grew a rift between them. For years they lived together under the same roof, each holding the other in contempt.
Gally was okay with this arrangement. As long as she had my mom to dote on her, what did it matter that my dad didn't like her. I don't think that was the case for my dad... I think it began to wear down on him. There's only so many times you can come home to a dog who doesn't even bother to raise her head in acknowledgment of your arrival, before you start to feel bad about yourself. Its human nature. No one wants to be disliked. Especially in their own home.
And so on Thursday, October 8, 2009, after six years of standing his ground, my father waved a white flag and extended an olive branch in the form of a steak bone to his opponent Gally. And no, he didn't give it my mom to give to her. He didn't slyly drop it into her bowl when she wasn't looking. He gave her a bone for her to take from his hands.
After my mom told me the story I had to call my dad to confirm. It was true. He gave the dog a bone.
She didn't take the bone from him at first though. She just looked at him. I'd like to think she was carefully calculating the repercussions of her next move. When in reality she was probably just confused. Thought my dad had unknowingly let his hand drift down in front of her face while holding a bone... And he'd developed two lazy eyes that made it seem like he was maintaining eye contact with her while doing this. Once she realized that this offering was legit, he says she took it, and enjoyed it.
Is this the beginning of a beautiful relationship? Only time will tell. Even though she broke him, as she knew one day she would, he still lasted longer than all the rest. And for that, I take my hat off to him.
Daddy, this blog post is for you... the last man standing.
I know what you're thinking. "EVERYONE thinks their dog is the best dog in the world."
On the contrary, I do not think my dog is the best dog in the world. She's stubborn, has selective hearing, and won't sleep on her bed unless the fluff inside is evenly distributed to her liking. Every story my mother shares about this hellion of a dog brings me that much closer to taking her to a shelter during my next visit home and leaving her there for a night so she can see how the other half lives. So she can understand that not every dog is getting omega 3 enriched food and an oscillating space heater by their beds during the winter time. And I use the word winter very loosely as she currently resides in Los Angeles.
Yet with all of her faults she still manages to fool everyone into thinking that she's special, worthy of their affections. where all others were not. Everyone except for my dad.
Because "back in Guyana dogs are not pets. They guard the property. They rummage through garbage for food. And under NO circumstances are they allowed inside of the home."
He held firm to his beliefs. For years I watched him treat Gally like she was nothing more than a common houseplant. He seemed impervious to those endearing human like tendencies that had worked to win over so many before him. I wondered how long he was going to be able to keep up the facade until I realized it was no facade. My father did not like dogs. Not now. Not ever.
*******************
In hindsight I should have seen the signs, the beginning of the end if you will. Maybe I did and just chose to ignore them.
I believed my dad when he said he was washing Gally's food bowl and putting in fresh water because he didn't want to attract bugs into the garage.
I believed him when he okay'd her bed being moved into the house because of the exceptionally cold Southern California winter.
I even believed him when he started bringing home meatless steak bones from restaurants masked as "leftovers" claiming he didn't realize how little meat was left on them.
Still, he never did anything to show Gally the love and affection she demanded from all those around her. He never pet her. He never took her for walks. He never fed her from the table... And Gally, not one to degrade herself by grovelling, withdrew her attempts.
And so grew a rift between them. For years they lived together under the same roof, each holding the other in contempt.
Gally was okay with this arrangement. As long as she had my mom to dote on her, what did it matter that my dad didn't like her. I don't think that was the case for my dad... I think it began to wear down on him. There's only so many times you can come home to a dog who doesn't even bother to raise her head in acknowledgment of your arrival, before you start to feel bad about yourself. Its human nature. No one wants to be disliked. Especially in their own home.
And so on Thursday, October 8, 2009, after six years of standing his ground, my father waved a white flag and extended an olive branch in the form of a steak bone to his opponent Gally. And no, he didn't give it my mom to give to her. He didn't slyly drop it into her bowl when she wasn't looking. He gave her a bone for her to take from his hands.
After my mom told me the story I had to call my dad to confirm. It was true. He gave the dog a bone.
She didn't take the bone from him at first though. She just looked at him. I'd like to think she was carefully calculating the repercussions of her next move. When in reality she was probably just confused. Thought my dad had unknowingly let his hand drift down in front of her face while holding a bone... And he'd developed two lazy eyes that made it seem like he was maintaining eye contact with her while doing this. Once she realized that this offering was legit, he says she took it, and enjoyed it.
Is this the beginning of a beautiful relationship? Only time will tell. Even though she broke him, as she knew one day she would, he still lasted longer than all the rest. And for that, I take my hat off to him.
Daddy, this blog post is for you... the last man standing.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Elephant In The Room
"No one wants to talk about the elephant in the room." Oh?
Let's imagine you're at a party. You're enjoying a few drinks, chatting with folks , exchanging witty anecdotes... Suddenly out of the corner of your eye, you spot... could it be? No...
Yes.
An elephant. For argument's sake, we are also imagining that this is a very large and very crowded room where you wouldn't have noticed the 10 ft 10,000 lb animal when you initially walked in.
Is this English idiomatic expression inferring that most people would continue to carry on in normal conversation pretending not to see this elephant? What happens if the elephant walked over and hit you in the head with its trunk, throwing you to the ground? Do you complain about the uneven flooring? And what if the elephant starts making elephant noises. Do you turn up the music a little louder? Feign a coughing fit to divert everyone's attention?
There are a lot of topics that people will go to great lengths to avoid talking about due to a fear of violating social norms, an elephant however, not one of them.
If I ever found myself in this situation, I feel like I'd have to something, just to make sure I wasn't going crazy. Hey I've seen Donnie Darko. And Harvey. Suffering from delusions, not a good thing.
Me: Sorry to interrupt the conversation but does anyone else see the elephant in the room?
Fictional Friend #1: I see it.
Fictional Friend #2: Me too.
At which point I would redirect the conversation cause contrary to the old adage, EVERYONE wants to talk about the elephant in the room.
Let's imagine you're at a party. You're enjoying a few drinks, chatting with folks , exchanging witty anecdotes... Suddenly out of the corner of your eye, you spot... could it be? No...
Yes.
An elephant. For argument's sake, we are also imagining that this is a very large and very crowded room where you wouldn't have noticed the 10 ft 10,000 lb animal when you initially walked in.
Is this English idiomatic expression inferring that most people would continue to carry on in normal conversation pretending not to see this elephant? What happens if the elephant walked over and hit you in the head with its trunk, throwing you to the ground? Do you complain about the uneven flooring? And what if the elephant starts making elephant noises. Do you turn up the music a little louder? Feign a coughing fit to divert everyone's attention?
There are a lot of topics that people will go to great lengths to avoid talking about due to a fear of violating social norms, an elephant however, not one of them.
If I ever found myself in this situation, I feel like I'd have to something, just to make sure I wasn't going crazy. Hey I've seen Donnie Darko. And Harvey. Suffering from delusions, not a good thing.
Me: Sorry to interrupt the conversation but does anyone else see the elephant in the room?
Fictional Friend #1: I see it.
Fictional Friend #2: Me too.
At which point I would redirect the conversation cause contrary to the old adage, EVERYONE wants to talk about the elephant in the room.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
On the Fringe Again
This past week was the season premiere of my new favorite show I love to hate but watch anyways, Fringe. Fringe is a FOX drama series "about an FBI agent who finds herself drawn into an investigation that blurs the line between science fiction and reality." Its basically an updated version of x-files, which is probably why I secretly love it. Its a reminder of my younger, less social days.
Whenever I watch shows like Fringe, I like to play the mental game, "What would I do in said situation(s)?" If I were an FBI agent who had to investigate all kinds of strange and unexplainable murders, how would I handle it?
Now, let's assume for the sake of argument that the uncontrollable crying would have to stop at some point, probably around the 3rd or 4th episode and I'd have to come out of hiding and actually start working to solve these bizarre cases...
Here is why the world would still come to an end if it were up to me to save it:
#1 - I'm smart but not that smart: If I learned anything from my last game of Trivia, its that I don't know much outside of what I've learned in school, "on the streets" of Redondo, Hermosa or Manahattan Beach, or from watching Sailor Moon, Degrassi, Smallville, or House. I can solve an advanced calculus math problem. I know what anaphylactic shock is, though I wouldn't know what to do if someone next to me went into anaphylactic shock. I can put air in my car tires. I can solve business school cases, kind of. I can tell you the chemical make-up of air and water. All valuable in their own right... However not going to help me figure out the motives of a crazed supernatural killer.
#2 - I couldn't find my mom in a department store as a kid and I'm willing to bet that without the aid of cell phones, I'd still have trouble today. Finding a shape-shifter, mind controller, or -- who are we kidding -- any ol' averge person for that matter hiding out "somewhere" in the North East, not gonna happen.
#3 - I can't stand the sight of blood... let alone exposed organs and bones, and dismembered bodies. Upon seeing a dead man's decaying body lying in the middle of his living room floor, I'd call it a day, hand that case right off to someone else and apply for a desk position.
#4 - I have bad knees. The folks on Fringe do alot of running, kicking in of doors, jumping off of high places. My knees couldn't take that kind of abuse. The driving I could do. The stealth walking along dark narrow hallways, fine... but if my target starts to run, I'd find myself in something of a predicament.
And finally #5 - Despite the assumtion made earlier, realistically speaking, the uncontrollable crying would probably never stop.
And so, if the world was going to end unless I uncurled myself from the fetal position and got out there and saved it, I'm afraid we'd all be in ALOT of trouble. So let's hope that day never comes.
Whenever I watch shows like Fringe, I like to play the mental game, "What would I do in said situation(s)?" If I were an FBI agent who had to investigate all kinds of strange and unexplainable murders, how would I handle it?
Now, let's assume for the sake of argument that the uncontrollable crying would have to stop at some point, probably around the 3rd or 4th episode and I'd have to come out of hiding and actually start working to solve these bizarre cases...
Here is why the world would still come to an end if it were up to me to save it:
#1 - I'm smart but not that smart: If I learned anything from my last game of Trivia, its that I don't know much outside of what I've learned in school, "on the streets" of Redondo, Hermosa or Manahattan Beach, or from watching Sailor Moon, Degrassi, Smallville, or House. I can solve an advanced calculus math problem. I know what anaphylactic shock is, though I wouldn't know what to do if someone next to me went into anaphylactic shock. I can put air in my car tires. I can solve business school cases, kind of. I can tell you the chemical make-up of air and water. All valuable in their own right... However not going to help me figure out the motives of a crazed supernatural killer.
#2 - I couldn't find my mom in a department store as a kid and I'm willing to bet that without the aid of cell phones, I'd still have trouble today. Finding a shape-shifter, mind controller, or -- who are we kidding -- any ol' averge person for that matter hiding out "somewhere" in the North East, not gonna happen.
#3 - I can't stand the sight of blood... let alone exposed organs and bones, and dismembered bodies. Upon seeing a dead man's decaying body lying in the middle of his living room floor, I'd call it a day, hand that case right off to someone else and apply for a desk position.
#4 - I have bad knees. The folks on Fringe do alot of running, kicking in of doors, jumping off of high places. My knees couldn't take that kind of abuse. The driving I could do. The stealth walking along dark narrow hallways, fine... but if my target starts to run, I'd find myself in something of a predicament.
And finally #5 - Despite the assumtion made earlier, realistically speaking, the uncontrollable crying would probably never stop.
And so, if the world was going to end unless I uncurled myself from the fetal position and got out there and saved it, I'm afraid we'd all be in ALOT of trouble. So let's hope that day never comes.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Tales of a Traveling Isuzu
What started off as an impromptu trip to Baltimore for Memorial Day Weekend suddenly turned into an impromptu two week road trip filled with old friends, new friends, historic landmarks, a boat and of course Absinthe...
The Plan:
Be completely moved out of my apartment by 3pm May 21st and on the way to Baltimore to spend Memorial Day Weekend with my dear friend Chrissy.
The Actual:
On the morning of May 21st, I woke up in my bed and looked around my bedroom. Everything was still intact. Not even the pictures had been taken down from the walls. It was 8:30am. Which meant I had about 6 hours to move everything. Plenty of time.
10am - Room is still intact
11am - intact
noon - you guessed it, intact.
By 3pm, my room was looking as room-like as ever, and it became apparent to me that I would not be leaving for Maryland as planned. I'll spare you the details. Just know this, I did my final walk through of the apartment to be sure I'd left nothing behind, at 7:30am, May 22nd.
And so with two and a half hours of sleep under my belt, I hopped into my little Isuzu Rodeo which was filled to the brim with clothes, shoes, toiletries, an electric kettle, bathroom mats, a wireless router -- you know, the necessities -- and set off for Baltimore.
About four hours into the drive, I stopped to get gas and pick up a few things at CVS. Alot happens in four hours. For one, people are no longer dressed in their pajamas. And if they are, they're certainly not leaving the house to get gas and pick up a few things at CVS. Had I been of sound mind at 7:30am, I might have accounted for this and dressed accordingly....
I finally arrived in Baltimore at around 1:30pm. The sight of my friend Chrissy standing on the corner, holding the key to her apartment was like an oasis. I said a brief hello to the friend I hadn't seen in years, took the key, punched her address into my GPS and peeled off. Hours later, I emerged from my slumber a new woman. It was time to get ready for my dinner in DC.
My friend took me to Sonoma Restaurant. The food was amazing! I highly recommend the local pork porterhouse. I cannot speak to the mussels however, as they were out that night. You may want to call ahead if that would be a problem for you.
My friend and I were sure to touch on all the approved dinner conversation topics, health care and education reform, immigration laws, religion, race... Wait, that can't be right. Damn. I guess that's what I get for breezing through the etiquette book my mother gave me in middle school. Luckily for me, he hadn't read the book either.
After a wonderful dinner with great food, wine and good conversation, we set off on a driving tour of the city. DC has to be one of the prettiest cities at night. It was a lot to take in, seeing all of the landmarks I'd only really ever seen in movies and photographs. It was surreal.
The next day my friend Chrissy took me sailing. Actually it was her father and mother who took us sailing. We just drank beer, ate chips and took pictures. I saw where Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner. Nice huh? As we passed the buoy that marked the spot, Chrissy and I broke into song, "And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air; Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there..." It was at that moment I noticed something. That buoy was pretty far from Fort McHenry. Good thing Francis relied on the rockets red glare, because from where I was sitting, there was no way anyone would have seen that a flag was still there. Especially at night.
What a cool experience though! Much better than reading about this in a history book. Of course that could also have had something to do with the Yuengling. That certainly made the learning process alot more fun.
After a smooth sailing trip to the downtown Baltimore harbor, we headed back.... This time into the wind.
I thought I'd gone sailing before, but as I sat bracing for dear life, praying I wouldn't fall overboard, I thought to myself, I would have remembered this. I guess a trip to Catalina on a giant cruiser does not a sailing experience make...
Lucky for me, Chrissy's dad is an experienced man of the sea.
Next stop on my road trip, Philly!! I stayed with my best friend from middle school and high school, Alice, where we got into all kinds of shenanigans. Actually we didn't really do much anything. I read. She knitted. We im-ed eachother from adjacent rooms. We weren't the "coolest" girls back in the day. What can I say? Old habits die hard.
I did manage to get out and meet up with my friend Greg. We went to see Star Trek... Good movie! Would not recommend seeing it at an Image MAXimum theater, however. Chris Pine is hot, but not worth having to crane your neck around the projector to see what he's doing on the far left side of the screen.
After the movie, we went to an Absinthe bar. Neither of us had ever tried Absinthe so we thought, why the heck not? The process of preparing Absinthe is so cool! The bar tender brings you a big contraption filled with ice water. Then he or she puts a sugar cube on top of a strainer that sits atop a shot glass of Absinthe and drips ice water onto it, slowly dissolving the sugar cube into your drink. It looked so cool I could hardly wait to try it.
Ever had melted black licorice that burned your throat?
No?
Want to?
************
Though it wasn't as enjoyable an experience as I'd hoped it would be, I am still happy I tried it. Because it made me really appreciate my first and only love, Vodka. What can I say? Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.
Afterward we took a drive through Philly. Drove by the nation's very first hospital, Pennsylvania Hospital, founded by my man Ben Franklin and Dr. Thomas Bond. Now there's a name you don't hear... ever. I wonder what happened to him. Maybe he was on a $150 bill that was eventually phased out?
We also drove by the largest or one of the largest(?) masonic temples in the world. An especially fun sight for me as I was in the middle of reading Angels and Demons.
But what I was super excited about more than anything was getting to drive by the places in the opening credits of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, especially Boathouse Row. How pretty is this?! Thanks Greg!
Next stop on the list, NEW YORK!! I stayed with my cousin and her wife. It was fantabulous. They live in Fort Green which is this cool part of Brooklyn with funky shops, good restaurants and beautiful parks. After having a nice brunch with my cousins Ama, Joan, Abbey and Abbey's son Mason, we took a nice long stroll through one such park.
After chatting with little Mason I soon realized that Abbey, who used to make us homemade pancakes when we were little, play games with us, and take care of us when we were sick, was a horrible mother...
"You've never heard of superman?!" I asked.
"No," Mason answered.
I looked over at my cousin in disgust. I felt like I didn't even know her anymore.
There was work to be done. So, while my cousins sat around idly talking about God knows what... world news, education reform, art history... Mason and I began tackling the serious issues.
An hour later -
"...And what's the only thing that can kill superman?" I quizzed him.
"Pieces of his own planet," he answered.
"And what's that called?"
"I don't remember."
"Kryptonite."
"Kryptonite."
"Good, and what's his weakness?"
"People."
"Well done."
As far as four year olds go, Mason is by far the smartest and the coolest. Definitely way up there on my favorites list. Here he is as a baby. They grow up so fast. *tear*
I also got the chance to spend some time with my name twin. I met her at a party in Brooklyn Heights, where her friend was showcasing 365 photographs. Why did he have 365 photographs to showcase? I'll tell you why.
As a New Years Resolution, he decided he was going to take a picture every day for 365 days. However unlike my yearly promise to finally be on a first name basis with the people who scan my card at the gym, he actually followed through on his.... Every day for 365 days he took a picture. Some were with a camera, others with a camera phone. He had them printed and pasted them all over his apartment. Can you imagine? 365 days of your life documented by photography. How incredible is that?
He called it "Project 365" and here are his pics from 2008 -
Project 365 Photos
Kara and I took a picture on his roof to commemorate the evening. We called it Project 1.
My friend Jonathan took me to the Smithsonian one rainy afternoon. While walking through the American War exhibit, I stumbled upon an unlikely war hero, Stubby. Stubby was a military dog who became the unofficial mascot when he was smuggled aboard the S.S. Minnesota in an overcoat. He was a doggy legend. Served in over 17 battles! Meanwhile my own dog Gally is afraid of and will bark at anyone in a baseball cap... That includes small children on their way out of a t-ball game. True story.
I sent this picture to my mom with the caption, "Look at Stubby! He received medals for serving in the war of 1812."
She replied, "Gally would never fight in a war. She's a pacifist."
I probably would have used the words "lazy" and "cowardly", but I guess pacifist works too.
After our trip to the Smithsonian we walked around outside. Even though it was misty and overcast, it was still a beautiful day.
And so this pretty much concluded my journey. Only two weeks after I'd set off on what was supposed to be a 3 day trip to Baltimore, I head back to Durham.
Only Durham wanted nothing to do with me...
Here's a fun fact:
Turning on your windshield wipers when you have zero visibility does nothing aside from highlight the fact that you have zero visibility. This was the second time in two weeks I thought I was going to die...
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's funny how two short weeks can really change a person. I met up with old friends, was introduced to new friends, experienced new things, new places, and discovered new likes and dislikes... It was all completely unscripted and I loved every minute of it. I was sad to say goodbye to my life as a wayward traveler, but suddenly really excited to say hello to my new life post business school.
Special thanks to the following people:
Chrissy, Thank you for turning me on to those chocolate chip sandwich cookies. I really appreciate it.
Alice, thank you for letting Tony sleep on my luggage. Oh and thanks for taking me sight seeing...
Jonathan, thanks for the steak. No really. Thank you.
Seriously though, THANK YOU to everyone who was a part of these two weeks. I am forever grateful and hope to repay the favor someday. I'm lucky to have you all in my life.
Lots of Love!
The Plan:
Be completely moved out of my apartment by 3pm May 21st and on the way to Baltimore to spend Memorial Day Weekend with my dear friend Chrissy.
The Actual:
On the morning of May 21st, I woke up in my bed and looked around my bedroom. Everything was still intact. Not even the pictures had been taken down from the walls. It was 8:30am. Which meant I had about 6 hours to move everything. Plenty of time.
10am - Room is still intact
11am - intact
noon - you guessed it, intact.
By 3pm, my room was looking as room-like as ever, and it became apparent to me that I would not be leaving for Maryland as planned. I'll spare you the details. Just know this, I did my final walk through of the apartment to be sure I'd left nothing behind, at 7:30am, May 22nd.
And so with two and a half hours of sleep under my belt, I hopped into my little Isuzu Rodeo which was filled to the brim with clothes, shoes, toiletries, an electric kettle, bathroom mats, a wireless router -- you know, the necessities -- and set off for Baltimore.
Space Time Continuum
About four hours into the drive, I stopped to get gas and pick up a few things at CVS. Alot happens in four hours. For one, people are no longer dressed in their pajamas. And if they are, they're certainly not leaving the house to get gas and pick up a few things at CVS. Had I been of sound mind at 7:30am, I might have accounted for this and dressed accordingly....
I finally arrived in Baltimore at around 1:30pm. The sight of my friend Chrissy standing on the corner, holding the key to her apartment was like an oasis. I said a brief hello to the friend I hadn't seen in years, took the key, punched her address into my GPS and peeled off. Hours later, I emerged from my slumber a new woman. It was time to get ready for my dinner in DC.
Mussels Anyone?
My friend took me to Sonoma Restaurant. The food was amazing! I highly recommend the local pork porterhouse. I cannot speak to the mussels however, as they were out that night. You may want to call ahead if that would be a problem for you.
My friend and I were sure to touch on all the approved dinner conversation topics, health care and education reform, immigration laws, religion, race... Wait, that can't be right. Damn. I guess that's what I get for breezing through the etiquette book my mother gave me in middle school. Luckily for me, he hadn't read the book either.
After a wonderful dinner with great food, wine and good conversation, we set off on a driving tour of the city. DC has to be one of the prettiest cities at night. It was a lot to take in, seeing all of the landmarks I'd only really ever seen in movies and photographs. It was surreal.
I'm On A Boat!!
The next day my friend Chrissy took me sailing. Actually it was her father and mother who took us sailing. We just drank beer, ate chips and took pictures. I saw where Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner. Nice huh? As we passed the buoy that marked the spot, Chrissy and I broke into song, "And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air; Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there..." It was at that moment I noticed something. That buoy was pretty far from Fort McHenry. Good thing Francis relied on the rockets red glare, because from where I was sitting, there was no way anyone would have seen that a flag was still there. Especially at night.
What a cool experience though! Much better than reading about this in a history book. Of course that could also have had something to do with the Yuengling. That certainly made the learning process alot more fun.
After a smooth sailing trip to the downtown Baltimore harbor, we headed back.... This time into the wind.
I thought I'd gone sailing before, but as I sat bracing for dear life, praying I wouldn't fall overboard, I thought to myself, I would have remembered this. I guess a trip to Catalina on a giant cruiser does not a sailing experience make...
Lucky for me, Chrissy's dad is an experienced man of the sea.
Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Next stop on my road trip, Philly!! I stayed with my best friend from middle school and high school, Alice, where we got into all kinds of shenanigans. Actually we didn't really do much anything. I read. She knitted. We im-ed eachother from adjacent rooms. We weren't the "coolest" girls back in the day. What can I say? Old habits die hard.
I did manage to get out and meet up with my friend Greg. We went to see Star Trek... Good movie! Would not recommend seeing it at an Image MAXimum theater, however. Chris Pine is hot, but not worth having to crane your neck around the projector to see what he's doing on the far left side of the screen.
After the movie, we went to an Absinthe bar. Neither of us had ever tried Absinthe so we thought, why the heck not? The process of preparing Absinthe is so cool! The bar tender brings you a big contraption filled with ice water. Then he or she puts a sugar cube on top of a strainer that sits atop a shot glass of Absinthe and drips ice water onto it, slowly dissolving the sugar cube into your drink. It looked so cool I could hardly wait to try it.
Ever had melted black licorice that burned your throat?
No?
Want to?
************
Though it wasn't as enjoyable an experience as I'd hoped it would be, I am still happy I tried it. Because it made me really appreciate my first and only love, Vodka. What can I say? Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.
Afterward we took a drive through Philly. Drove by the nation's very first hospital, Pennsylvania Hospital, founded by my man Ben Franklin and Dr. Thomas Bond. Now there's a name you don't hear... ever. I wonder what happened to him. Maybe he was on a $150 bill that was eventually phased out?
We also drove by the largest or one of the largest(?) masonic temples in the world. An especially fun sight for me as I was in the middle of reading Angels and Demons.
But what I was super excited about more than anything was getting to drive by the places in the opening credits of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, especially Boathouse Row. How pretty is this?! Thanks Greg!
Family Matters
Next stop on the list, NEW YORK!! I stayed with my cousin and her wife. It was fantabulous. They live in Fort Green which is this cool part of Brooklyn with funky shops, good restaurants and beautiful parks. After having a nice brunch with my cousins Ama, Joan, Abbey and Abbey's son Mason, we took a nice long stroll through one such park.
After chatting with little Mason I soon realized that Abbey, who used to make us homemade pancakes when we were little, play games with us, and take care of us when we were sick, was a horrible mother...
"You've never heard of superman?!" I asked.
"No," Mason answered.
I looked over at my cousin in disgust. I felt like I didn't even know her anymore.
There was work to be done. So, while my cousins sat around idly talking about God knows what... world news, education reform, art history... Mason and I began tackling the serious issues.
An hour later -
"...And what's the only thing that can kill superman?" I quizzed him.
"Pieces of his own planet," he answered.
"And what's that called?"
"I don't remember."
"Kryptonite."
"Kryptonite."
"Good, and what's his weakness?"
"People."
"Well done."
As far as four year olds go, Mason is by far the smartest and the coolest. Definitely way up there on my favorites list. Here he is as a baby. They grow up so fast. *tear*
Where Brooklyn At?!
I also got the chance to spend some time with my name twin. I met her at a party in Brooklyn Heights, where her friend was showcasing 365 photographs. Why did he have 365 photographs to showcase? I'll tell you why.
As a New Years Resolution, he decided he was going to take a picture every day for 365 days. However unlike my yearly promise to finally be on a first name basis with the people who scan my card at the gym, he actually followed through on his.... Every day for 365 days he took a picture. Some were with a camera, others with a camera phone. He had them printed and pasted them all over his apartment. Can you imagine? 365 days of your life documented by photography. How incredible is that?
He called it "Project 365" and here are his pics from 2008 -
Project 365 Photos
Kara and I took a picture on his roof to commemorate the evening. We called it Project 1.
Back to DC
My friend Jonathan took me to the Smithsonian one rainy afternoon. While walking through the American War exhibit, I stumbled upon an unlikely war hero, Stubby. Stubby was a military dog who became the unofficial mascot when he was smuggled aboard the S.S. Minnesota in an overcoat. He was a doggy legend. Served in over 17 battles! Meanwhile my own dog Gally is afraid of and will bark at anyone in a baseball cap... That includes small children on their way out of a t-ball game. True story.
I sent this picture to my mom with the caption, "Look at Stubby! He received medals for serving in the war of 1812."
She replied, "Gally would never fight in a war. She's a pacifist."
I probably would have used the words "lazy" and "cowardly", but I guess pacifist works too.
After our trip to the Smithsonian we walked around outside. Even though it was misty and overcast, it was still a beautiful day.
And so this pretty much concluded my journey. Only two weeks after I'd set off on what was supposed to be a 3 day trip to Baltimore, I head back to Durham.
Only Durham wanted nothing to do with me...
Here's a fun fact:
Turning on your windshield wipers when you have zero visibility does nothing aside from highlight the fact that you have zero visibility. This was the second time in two weeks I thought I was going to die...
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's funny how two short weeks can really change a person. I met up with old friends, was introduced to new friends, experienced new things, new places, and discovered new likes and dislikes... It was all completely unscripted and I loved every minute of it. I was sad to say goodbye to my life as a wayward traveler, but suddenly really excited to say hello to my new life post business school.
Special thanks to the following people:
Chrissy, Thank you for turning me on to those chocolate chip sandwich cookies. I really appreciate it.
Alice, thank you for letting Tony sleep on my luggage. Oh and thanks for taking me sight seeing...
Jonathan, thanks for the steak. No really. Thank you.
Seriously though, THANK YOU to everyone who was a part of these two weeks. I am forever grateful and hope to repay the favor someday. I'm lucky to have you all in my life.
Lots of Love!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Feeling Hot Hot Hot!
I'd avoided Bikram yoga from the time I first learned about it back in '04 until now. While the thought of doing 90 minutes of yoga in a room heated to 105 degrees might sound appealing to some, as a general rule of thumb, I've always tried to steer clear of activities that made me feel nauseous, dizzy, and like I was going to die.
However, I'm someone who is able to keep a slightly ajar mind and after listening to my friend Amy hailing the praises of Bikram Choudhury, week after week, month after month, I decided to give it a go.
The night before, I put a large bottle of water in the freezer and packed my hot yoga bag, with towels, face wipes, and an extra t-shirt. The next morning I was ready to yoga! I get to the studio, take of my shoes, sign in. When I get into the room, its nice and warm. The lights are dimmed. I roll out my little mat, place my towel over it, and lay down. I feel at peace.
Suddenly my serenity is interrupted by a male voice, Paul, our instructor, and florescent lights. And did the room suddenly get warmer?!
We do some breathing exercises and then he jumps right in. From the very beginning I was struggling. I'm not sure if it was the actual poses or self fulfilling prophecy but I couldn't do the simplest of moves. I'm talking not being able to hold my hands up above my head. My inner child was red with shame. And the heat. Oh the heat. The room was getting hotter with each passing minute and I was becoming more and more delirious. I didn't know which way was up.
Paul looks at me at one point and says, "Kara left arm over right and wrap around."
I look at him and put my right arm over my left.
"No, your left."
I unravel my arms. Then I put my right arm over my left.
"No your LEFT arm over your right."
Beads of sweat are coming down into my eyes blinding me. I'm feeling faint and his words sound like grown-ups on Charlie Brown. I blink and stare, but I have no idea what he's saying to me. "Left arm over my right?! What does that even mean?"
After a few more tries I eventually get it, but it still made no sense to me. None of it made any sense.
I needed water. But apparently you can only drink water at certain times during the session. I found this our as I reached for my water. Paul says, "Not yet. Find your breath. Just find your breath."
Find my breath? "Since when does breathing take the place of water?!" I wanted to ask. I stared longingly at my Smart water as I transitioned into the next pose.
With about 20 minutes remaining Paul says, "Doing good everyone. Kara you're half way through. Keep up the good work." I hear some chuckles from the others. Then he chuckles. "Just kidding. We're almost done."
Well well well... If it isn't Paul... the funny man. I give him a terse grin.
When we finally finish I just want to leave. But we're encouraged to decompress. I sit, drinking my now warm Smart water, waiting for Amy.
As we get into the car, Amy asks, "So how do you feel?"
I look at her, still a little disoriented. "I need to process what just happened to me."
She laughs. "Just wait until tomorrow. You're going to feel it."
I'd better.
I woke up the next morning hoping for resolution. I wanted every muscle in my entire body to be sore. Only then would what I put myself through the day before have made any sense.
What ached on me? My lower back and the area behind my shoulder blades. Not quite the areas I was hoping to tone up before Beach Week, but I guess its better than nothing. Still, I don't think Bikram yoga is for me. While it gives new meaning to "feel the burn" I think for now, I'll stick with the old.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
However, I'm someone who is able to keep a slightly ajar mind and after listening to my friend Amy hailing the praises of Bikram Choudhury, week after week, month after month, I decided to give it a go.
The night before, I put a large bottle of water in the freezer and packed my hot yoga bag, with towels, face wipes, and an extra t-shirt. The next morning I was ready to yoga! I get to the studio, take of my shoes, sign in. When I get into the room, its nice and warm. The lights are dimmed. I roll out my little mat, place my towel over it, and lay down. I feel at peace.
Suddenly my serenity is interrupted by a male voice, Paul, our instructor, and florescent lights. And did the room suddenly get warmer?!
We do some breathing exercises and then he jumps right in. From the very beginning I was struggling. I'm not sure if it was the actual poses or self fulfilling prophecy but I couldn't do the simplest of moves. I'm talking not being able to hold my hands up above my head. My inner child was red with shame. And the heat. Oh the heat. The room was getting hotter with each passing minute and I was becoming more and more delirious. I didn't know which way was up.
Paul looks at me at one point and says, "Kara left arm over right and wrap around."
I look at him and put my right arm over my left.
"No, your left."
I unravel my arms. Then I put my right arm over my left.
"No your LEFT arm over your right."
Beads of sweat are coming down into my eyes blinding me. I'm feeling faint and his words sound like grown-ups on Charlie Brown. I blink and stare, but I have no idea what he's saying to me. "Left arm over my right?! What does that even mean?"
After a few more tries I eventually get it, but it still made no sense to me. None of it made any sense.
I needed water. But apparently you can only drink water at certain times during the session. I found this our as I reached for my water. Paul says, "Not yet. Find your breath. Just find your breath."
Find my breath? "Since when does breathing take the place of water?!" I wanted to ask. I stared longingly at my Smart water as I transitioned into the next pose.
With about 20 minutes remaining Paul says, "Doing good everyone. Kara you're half way through. Keep up the good work." I hear some chuckles from the others. Then he chuckles. "Just kidding. We're almost done."
Well well well... If it isn't Paul... the funny man. I give him a terse grin.
When we finally finish I just want to leave. But we're encouraged to decompress. I sit, drinking my now warm Smart water, waiting for Amy.
As we get into the car, Amy asks, "So how do you feel?"
I look at her, still a little disoriented. "I need to process what just happened to me."
She laughs. "Just wait until tomorrow. You're going to feel it."
I'd better.
I woke up the next morning hoping for resolution. I wanted every muscle in my entire body to be sore. Only then would what I put myself through the day before have made any sense.
What ached on me? My lower back and the area behind my shoulder blades. Not quite the areas I was hoping to tone up before Beach Week, but I guess its better than nothing. Still, I don't think Bikram yoga is for me. While it gives new meaning to "feel the burn" I think for now, I'll stick with the old.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Durham... [Temporary] Home to the Stars
Last Thursday, my friends KL & LH took me out for a belated birthday dinner. On the way to the restaurant, I asked, "Where are we going?"
My friend KL answered. "Its a surprise."
Oooh... I thought. A surprise. I love surprises. Even though, we live in Durham and one can only be "surprised" by one of four places, I still liked the sound of it. We get to Brightleaf and park the car. Anxious, I ask again, "So, Where are we going?"
KL says, "Pops! Have you ever been there?"
"Yes, on Monday... for my birthday dinner."
Like I said. One of four places. So we picked a new location. Piedmont. I'd never eaten there, but I heard it was nice. LH pulled out her iphone and got directions. "We can walk this," she says.
And so we walked... and walked... and walked... Still no Piedmont. Three girls walking around Durham at 9pm armed only with cell phones, credit cards and cameras, probably not the best situation to be in... So we decided to go back to the car and drive to the restaurant.
On the walk back to the car we played the game, "Who do you see in your cabin in a horror film?" We picked people from school. And no, this isn't a 'who do you want to see dead' game... even though inevitably by nature of the theme all but one or two will have to die. This is more picking people from your life, people you go to school with, work with, etc who fit the stereotypes one would see in a horror movie. We played this game all the way to the car and until we got to the restaurant. After we were seated, we finalized our list of the ten lucky individuals chosen to be brutally murdered out in the woods. For good measure, I included myself... And we laughed over our list until the waiter brought the wine list.
We decided on the Luberri Rioja Crianza, Biga, a nice Tempranillo. After ordering, I looked around the restaurant at the other patrons. One in particular caught my eye. I was overcome with a sense of familiarity. No. Couldn't be.
"KL, I would swear that man sitting over there is Colin Firth."
"No. What would he be doing in Durham?"
LH leans in from across the table. "I can't hear. What are you whispering about."
"She thinks that Colin Firth is sitting over there."
LH's eyes widen. "Are you serious? Oh my God I love him."
"I swear its him!" I said.
LH's back was to him, KL was angled in a way where his back was to her, and all I had was a side profile and a hunch.
KL whipped out her blackberry and LH her iphone. Turns out Colin Firth and Orlando Bloom were current filming their upcoming film "Main Street" in Durham.
I was 99% positive it was him, we just needed to be sure. He got up from the table and left the restaurant. The plan was that when he came back, we three would turn and look at him to confirm. When he re-entered, we turned and looked at him, then back at eachother.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Its Colin Firth!!!" I screamed in my head.
LH says in an excited whisper, "It's Mr. Darcy! And he's drinking our wine!"
We all start frantically texting friends and family.
LH received a response text from her friend, then she looks at us and says, "D wants to know if she can bring her Pride and Prejudiced mug with his picture on it, for him to sign."
I look at her. "Umm... no. Absolutely not."
What?!
Anyways, we spend the rest of the meal trying to figure out our plan of attack. We knew we shouldn't interrupt his meal, but we did want to talk to him, so that left us with one other option. Wait. So that's what we did. We waited. We had almost everything we could have ordered from the menu. And finally, after two and a half hours, just when we'd run out of things to order, they finally got up. His wife and their friends headed for the door and he went in the opposite direction towards the bathroom.
Could this set up be any more perfect?! After two minutes of, You do it. No you do it. What would I say? I don't know! You do it. No you do it. But its your birthday... Stalemate.
Fine! I'll do it, I said.
As he walked out of the bathroom, I jumped up from my seat. I don't recall exactly what I said, because its all kind of a blur at this point, but I do know that I didn't sound like someone who'd just celebrated her 29th birthday.
"Colin, umm, I'm a big fan... Love your work... Really love your work... I'm just such a big fan... Like a really big fan. I might as well have added, Can you sign my Teen Beat please?! Wait till the girls at school hear about this!"
If LH hadn't stepped in to salvage the conversation, I don't know what I would have done. "So, what brings you to Durham?" She asks casually, as if she didn't finish reading the imdb synopsis on her iphone.
He chatted with us for about 5 mins. Us being LH as all I was good for was a blank stare and awkward smile. Then at the end of our convo, I stepped back inside of myself and mustered up the courage to ask him for a picture. KL did the honors.
"Smile," she held up the camera.
Okay that one was blurry.
One more time.
"Smile..."
How was that?
Umm... Perfect.
Thanks so much Colin. Enjoy the rest of your time in Durham!
And just like that, Mr. Darcy was out of our lives.
I looked at the picture. "What the-?!" I gave KL a look.
"I was NOT going to ask for another picture."
She was right. Not that I needed a picture to remember that night.
"Where are we going?
Its a surprise..."
And what a surprise it turned out to be. I remember nothing I ingested that night, and still it was the best 2 and a half hour meal of my life. Well worth the additional calories. Colin Firth was the nicest man ever. He's definitely still got a fan in me. I've seen almost everything he's ever been in and I have every intention of seeing his upcoming film, Main Street:
From the once thriving tobacco warehouses, to the current run-down and closed shops of Five Points, a diverse group of residents and their respective life changes when outsider Gus Leroy (Colin Firth) brings something new and potentially dangerous into their quiet town.
Filmed in our very own Durham, North Caroilna. I've spent my whole life in Los Angeles, frequenting the bars and restaurants that glaze the insides of People and US weekly, and I see Colin Firth in a small restaurant in Downtown Durham. If that ain't fate, I don't know what is. Best birthday ever! :)
My friend KL answered. "Its a surprise."
Oooh... I thought. A surprise. I love surprises. Even though, we live in Durham and one can only be "surprised" by one of four places, I still liked the sound of it. We get to Brightleaf and park the car. Anxious, I ask again, "So, Where are we going?"
KL says, "Pops! Have you ever been there?"
"Yes, on Monday... for my birthday dinner."
Like I said. One of four places. So we picked a new location. Piedmont. I'd never eaten there, but I heard it was nice. LH pulled out her iphone and got directions. "We can walk this," she says.
And so we walked... and walked... and walked... Still no Piedmont. Three girls walking around Durham at 9pm armed only with cell phones, credit cards and cameras, probably not the best situation to be in... So we decided to go back to the car and drive to the restaurant.
On the walk back to the car we played the game, "Who do you see in your cabin in a horror film?" We picked people from school. And no, this isn't a 'who do you want to see dead' game... even though inevitably by nature of the theme all but one or two will have to die. This is more picking people from your life, people you go to school with, work with, etc who fit the stereotypes one would see in a horror movie. We played this game all the way to the car and until we got to the restaurant. After we were seated, we finalized our list of the ten lucky individuals chosen to be brutally murdered out in the woods. For good measure, I included myself... And we laughed over our list until the waiter brought the wine list.
We decided on the Luberri Rioja Crianza, Biga, a nice Tempranillo. After ordering, I looked around the restaurant at the other patrons. One in particular caught my eye. I was overcome with a sense of familiarity. No. Couldn't be."KL, I would swear that man sitting over there is Colin Firth."
"No. What would he be doing in Durham?"
LH leans in from across the table. "I can't hear. What are you whispering about."
"She thinks that Colin Firth is sitting over there."
LH's eyes widen. "Are you serious? Oh my God I love him."
"I swear its him!" I said.
LH's back was to him, KL was angled in a way where his back was to her, and all I had was a side profile and a hunch.
KL whipped out her blackberry and LH her iphone. Turns out Colin Firth and Orlando Bloom were current filming their upcoming film "Main Street" in Durham.
I was 99% positive it was him, we just needed to be sure. He got up from the table and left the restaurant. The plan was that when he came back, we three would turn and look at him to confirm. When he re-entered, we turned and looked at him, then back at eachother.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Its Colin Firth!!!" I screamed in my head.
LH says in an excited whisper, "It's Mr. Darcy! And he's drinking our wine!"
We all start frantically texting friends and family.
LH received a response text from her friend, then she looks at us and says, "D wants to know if she can bring her Pride and Prejudiced mug with his picture on it, for him to sign."
I look at her. "Umm... no. Absolutely not."
What?!
Anyways, we spend the rest of the meal trying to figure out our plan of attack. We knew we shouldn't interrupt his meal, but we did want to talk to him, so that left us with one other option. Wait. So that's what we did. We waited. We had almost everything we could have ordered from the menu. And finally, after two and a half hours, just when we'd run out of things to order, they finally got up. His wife and their friends headed for the door and he went in the opposite direction towards the bathroom.
Could this set up be any more perfect?! After two minutes of, You do it. No you do it. What would I say? I don't know! You do it. No you do it. But its your birthday... Stalemate.
Fine! I'll do it, I said.
As he walked out of the bathroom, I jumped up from my seat. I don't recall exactly what I said, because its all kind of a blur at this point, but I do know that I didn't sound like someone who'd just celebrated her 29th birthday.
"Colin, umm, I'm a big fan... Love your work... Really love your work... I'm just such a big fan... Like a really big fan. I might as well have added, Can you sign my Teen Beat please?! Wait till the girls at school hear about this!"
If LH hadn't stepped in to salvage the conversation, I don't know what I would have done. "So, what brings you to Durham?" She asks casually, as if she didn't finish reading the imdb synopsis on her iphone.
He chatted with us for about 5 mins. Us being LH as all I was good for was a blank stare and awkward smile. Then at the end of our convo, I stepped back inside of myself and mustered up the courage to ask him for a picture. KL did the honors.
"Smile," she held up the camera.
Okay that one was blurry.
One more time.
"Smile..."
How was that?
Umm... Perfect.
Thanks so much Colin. Enjoy the rest of your time in Durham!
And just like that, Mr. Darcy was out of our lives.
I looked at the picture. "What the-?!" I gave KL a look.
"I was NOT going to ask for another picture."
She was right. Not that I needed a picture to remember that night.
"Where are we going?
Its a surprise..."
And what a surprise it turned out to be. I remember nothing I ingested that night, and still it was the best 2 and a half hour meal of my life. Well worth the additional calories. Colin Firth was the nicest man ever. He's definitely still got a fan in me. I've seen almost everything he's ever been in and I have every intention of seeing his upcoming film, Main Street:
From the once thriving tobacco warehouses, to the current run-down and closed shops of Five Points, a diverse group of residents and their respective life changes when outsider Gus Leroy (Colin Firth) brings something new and potentially dangerous into their quiet town.
Filmed in our very own Durham, North Caroilna. I've spent my whole life in Los Angeles, frequenting the bars and restaurants that glaze the insides of People and US weekly, and I see Colin Firth in a small restaurant in Downtown Durham. If that ain't fate, I don't know what is. Best birthday ever! :)
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Fell on the floor...
For someone who believes wholeheartedly in the motto, "Waste not want not," my mom has been dropping a lot of food on the floor lately. I don't know whether it's the unsteady hands that come with growing older or the arrival of a certain furry 80 pound brindle dog, but something isn't right. Because it's not like she drops other things. Just food. And good food. I'm not talking raw meat as its being carried from the sink to the pot... Cooked food. Well seasoned food. Steak. Shrimp. Chicken. Pork...
The last time I was home, I watched my dog enjoying lamb, yes lamb, in her dog bowl; lamb that conveniently "fell on the floor". So I tried to imagine how that mishap could have played out. It is afterall a "rack" of lamb. I'm guessing she sliced them into individual lamb pieces and arranged them on a platter. But then what?
Was a giant piece of the lamb teetering precariously on the edge of a plate?
Did she suddenly lose her balance in the 6 feet from the oven to the dining room table, and lose one perfectly sliced lamb bone, managing to salvage the rest?
Did a giant gust of wind sweep in through the kitchen and carry it up and over the upwards sloping edge of the plate?
Did a little gnome run in, snatch one and then get startled and drop it before scampering out?
I dunno. But man, thank God for the dog. Because if she wasn't there, all of this good food would be going to waste.
The morning after the fallen lamb fiasco, I went downstairs to see Gally enjoying what looked like pancakes, eggs, and ham. I turned to my mom and gave her a look.
"What?" She asked. "It fell on the floor."
"Yeah... I bet," I said.
The last time I was home, I watched my dog enjoying lamb, yes lamb, in her dog bowl; lamb that conveniently "fell on the floor". So I tried to imagine how that mishap could have played out. It is afterall a "rack" of lamb. I'm guessing she sliced them into individual lamb pieces and arranged them on a platter. But then what?
Was a giant piece of the lamb teetering precariously on the edge of a plate?
Did she suddenly lose her balance in the 6 feet from the oven to the dining room table, and lose one perfectly sliced lamb bone, managing to salvage the rest?
Did a giant gust of wind sweep in through the kitchen and carry it up and over the upwards sloping edge of the plate?
Did a little gnome run in, snatch one and then get startled and drop it before scampering out?
I dunno. But man, thank God for the dog. Because if she wasn't there, all of this good food would be going to waste.
The morning after the fallen lamb fiasco, I went downstairs to see Gally enjoying what looked like pancakes, eggs, and ham. I turned to my mom and gave her a look.
"What?" She asked. "It fell on the floor."
"Yeah... I bet," I said.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Coke vs. Pepsi
I have never taken the Pepsi challenge. Why? Because I never needed to. I am a Coke fan, through and through. I've always liked Coke, and I always will like Coke. Taking the Pepsi challenge would only confirm what I already know. Coke is the right choice for me.
This past March I took the Newman-O's challenge. Newman-O's is the Organic response to the Oreo. I know what you're thinking, "What?!" And that's what I thought. I mean really, an Organic Oreo? What were they thinking? Still, I humored the person who offered it to me. Needless to say, I won that challenge. As predicted, there still is and can only be one Oreo.
So out of sheer know-it-all-ness, I've never done a blind test with Coke and Pepsi. I have however done a sighted test and I do notice a distinct difference in taste between the two colas. Pepsi is good, don't get me wrong. Its nice and refreshing... if there are no other alternatives. But Coke... Oh man, Coke has that extra something. You know? Slightly richer in taste. More carbonated. Just better. I can't quite put my finger on it. I just know it tastes better.
Today I had to read an academic paper for my Behavioral Economics class that reported the results of a Coke-Pepsi blind taste test experiment. Of course I knew where this was headed but I read on, mainly because it was for class and I had to.
As it turns out, the die-hard Coke fans, such as myself, couldn't really tell the difference. When I finished the paper, I got to thinking...
Do we do experiments to see if kids can tell the difference when you replace their favorite stuffed animal Binky with another one that looks just like it? And then once they've played with the impostor for a few weeks we go, "HAH! That's not Binky! You idiot! That's Binky's twin from Toys R Us!! Had you going there for a minute didn't we?!"
No, we don't do that. Why? Aside from the obvious - It would be really mean and possibly psychologically damaging - We don't do that because if a child wants to form a deep connection with a stuffed animal and assign it a persona, who the heck are we to dictate otherwise?
My point being, these futile attempts to convince me that there is no difference between Coke and Pepsi are not going to work. I've made up my mind. I made it up when I was seven and saw cute little polar bears with red scarves drinking it in the snow. You can blind test me all you want. But when that blindfold comes off, there's only one cola I'm going to reach for, and it sure as heck won't be Pepsi.
This past March I took the Newman-O's challenge. Newman-O's is the Organic response to the Oreo. I know what you're thinking, "What?!" And that's what I thought. I mean really, an Organic Oreo? What were they thinking? Still, I humored the person who offered it to me. Needless to say, I won that challenge. As predicted, there still is and can only be one Oreo.
So out of sheer know-it-all-ness, I've never done a blind test with Coke and Pepsi. I have however done a sighted test and I do notice a distinct difference in taste between the two colas. Pepsi is good, don't get me wrong. Its nice and refreshing... if there are no other alternatives. But Coke... Oh man, Coke has that extra something. You know? Slightly richer in taste. More carbonated. Just better. I can't quite put my finger on it. I just know it tastes better.
Today I had to read an academic paper for my Behavioral Economics class that reported the results of a Coke-Pepsi blind taste test experiment. Of course I knew where this was headed but I read on, mainly because it was for class and I had to.
As it turns out, the die-hard Coke fans, such as myself, couldn't really tell the difference. When I finished the paper, I got to thinking...
Do we do experiments to see if kids can tell the difference when you replace their favorite stuffed animal Binky with another one that looks just like it? And then once they've played with the impostor for a few weeks we go, "HAH! That's not Binky! You idiot! That's Binky's twin from Toys R Us!! Had you going there for a minute didn't we?!"
No, we don't do that. Why? Aside from the obvious - It would be really mean and possibly psychologically damaging - We don't do that because if a child wants to form a deep connection with a stuffed animal and assign it a persona, who the heck are we to dictate otherwise?
My point being, these futile attempts to convince me that there is no difference between Coke and Pepsi are not going to work. I've made up my mind. I made it up when I was seven and saw cute little polar bears with red scarves drinking it in the snow. You can blind test me all you want. But when that blindfold comes off, there's only one cola I'm going to reach for, and it sure as heck won't be Pepsi.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Lions and Tigers and Bear Stearns, OH MY!
Ever since the historic collapse of Bear Stearns, we have been peeling back the layers of an industry which, until a year ago, had eluded most of us, and have discovered that the age old saying is indeed true: there really is no such thing as a free lunch. Years of bad management and suboptimal decisions has led us into one of the worst economic crises anyone could have imagined. And just when we think things are maybe beginning to turn around, something else crops up. Its like the ultimate death spiral.
Our latest failed attempt at resuscitation: The AIG bonus scandal. After accepting $170 billion in government funds, AIG has turned around and paid $300 million in bonuses to their employees. What do I think the government should do?
Umm... Let them keep their money!!
Here's how I looked at this whole situation. Let's say you give a child money. He or she comes back with a big bag of candy. Do you get mad at the kid for not buying fruit and confiscate their bag of candy? No. Doesn't work that way. There were no stipulations on the bailout money and so AIG reserves the right to allocate those funds as they see fit. Sure it isn't fair that hard earned tax money is being given to people so they can keep their charter jets and second homes in the Hampton's, but who's fault is that?
Last March Toto pulled back the curtain to reveal a frail old deceitful man. "PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!" He says into his microphone.
Okay, the government said, we won't pay attention to the man behind the curtain. Instead, we will give him $170 billion to continue doing "business as usual". And surprise surprise, that's just what he did. As far as I can tell the AIGs and Bear Stearns of the world have done absolutely nothing to elicit the public's trust, so why should anyone have expected a bailout to change their behavior? Allowing a person to fail changes his or her behavior. Bailing them out doesn't. Isn't that a concept straight out of Life Lessons 101?
So, as much as I don't approve of execs getting millions in bonuses during a time when the unemployment rate is over 8%, the highest its been in over a quarter of a century, AIG has an obligation to their employees to honor their contracts. It would be ethically wrong not to. It would also be wrong to impose a 90% tax on those bonuses.
The government was captivated by the smoke and mirrors. Their need to believe in the great wizard of Wall Street blinded them from the harsh reality of it all. I for one have had enough. I think its about time we took that old man out of the control booth and started taking care of business.
Our latest failed attempt at resuscitation: The AIG bonus scandal. After accepting $170 billion in government funds, AIG has turned around and paid $300 million in bonuses to their employees. What do I think the government should do?
Umm... Let them keep their money!!
Here's how I looked at this whole situation. Let's say you give a child money. He or she comes back with a big bag of candy. Do you get mad at the kid for not buying fruit and confiscate their bag of candy? No. Doesn't work that way. There were no stipulations on the bailout money and so AIG reserves the right to allocate those funds as they see fit. Sure it isn't fair that hard earned tax money is being given to people so they can keep their charter jets and second homes in the Hampton's, but who's fault is that?
Last March Toto pulled back the curtain to reveal a frail old deceitful man. "PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!" He says into his microphone.
Okay, the government said, we won't pay attention to the man behind the curtain. Instead, we will give him $170 billion to continue doing "business as usual". And surprise surprise, that's just what he did. As far as I can tell the AIGs and Bear Stearns of the world have done absolutely nothing to elicit the public's trust, so why should anyone have expected a bailout to change their behavior? Allowing a person to fail changes his or her behavior. Bailing them out doesn't. Isn't that a concept straight out of Life Lessons 101?
So, as much as I don't approve of execs getting millions in bonuses during a time when the unemployment rate is over 8%, the highest its been in over a quarter of a century, AIG has an obligation to their employees to honor their contracts. It would be ethically wrong not to. It would also be wrong to impose a 90% tax on those bonuses.
The government was captivated by the smoke and mirrors. Their need to believe in the great wizard of Wall Street blinded them from the harsh reality of it all. I for one have had enough. I think its about time we took that old man out of the control booth and started taking care of business.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Losers Walk Home!!
Picture this.
Its 1993. A warm Saturday afternoon in Southern California. I'm clad in a high sheen polyester green jersey and black drawstring shorts, all the rage that season. My team name, "The Green Machine". I know, very original. As it turns out, soccer moms, while skilled at cutting oranges into perfect little wedges, left much to be desired when it came to choosing creative team names. But we were 13 and given the choice between a witty team name and good half-time/post game snacks, we definitely preferred the latter.
I can't remember the team we played that day. I don't know what the exact score was. Maybe we were down. Maybe we were tied. Alls I know is, we weren't winning. My mother was sitting in the bleachers, screaming directions, and since she wasn't too familiar with the soccer terminology she just yelled what she saw. I'm on the field running my little heart out. And then, out of the blue, with ten some-odd minutes left in the game, she suddenly yells out,
"Kara, don't forget, Losers walk home!!!"
Nevermind that we were quite a ways from home, and I was without a change of shoes. This was an AYSO soccer game. A-Y-S-O! A league who's motto is "Everyone Plays". I turn to look at my mom in the stands. She's laughing at her own joke, her audience of parents laughing alongside her. My mom, the only one I knew who could scream out something that ridiculous during a soccer game for middle schoolers, and convince everyone that it was just playful teasing.
Everyone, of course, except for me. There is much truth in jest. In this case, it was all truth. Now, just to be clear, my mother would never had made me walk home if we'd lost, nor would she have made me feel bad about losing. But she loved when I won. At anything! Soccer games, track meets, writing contests, spelling bees, bingo... You never saw a woman so proud. To this day, she's the first person I call after my intramural soccer games.
Losing was never an option for me, not out of fear that she would see me as a failure, but because I wouldn't get to see her see me as a winner.
This past week, during my trip to Tahoe, I was glad Mrs. F wasn't in the stands watching the atrocity which was my snowboarding. Out of the 60+ who were on the trip, I was probably in the lower 10%. Talk about a humbling experience. Actually it was more so humiliating than humbling. I spent most of my time on the mountain immersed in powder snow, watching in bitter envy as seven year olds cruised effortlessly past me. It was a disgrace.
At the end of one of my disastrous days of "snowboarding", I ended up on a hilly run. To get to the bottom I needed to hit it fast from the beginning and let the momentum take me all the way down. There was only one problem. I was afraid of going fast. I had to though. So, I mustered up the courage I needed, kicked off and went shooting down the mountain...
For about 5 seconds. AHHHHH TOO FAST!! I carved into the snow to slow down, then straightened up again. But it was too late. I kept slowing down. Then I slowed down some more. Then I completely stopped.
*Insert expletive here*
Immobile, I watched as skier after skier, snowboarder after snowboarder coasted past me. There was only one thing to do. I reached down and unhooked my boots from my bindings. Then I picked up my board and started down the mountain, all the while cursing myself for showing such cowardice.
After about twenty minutes of walking in the snow, fingertips frozen solid and nose running from being in the cold, I had to smile at the irony. Guess my mom was right afterall. Losers really do walk home.
****************************
Its 1993. A warm Saturday afternoon in Southern California. I'm clad in a high sheen polyester green jersey and black drawstring shorts, all the rage that season. My team name, "The Green Machine". I know, very original. As it turns out, soccer moms, while skilled at cutting oranges into perfect little wedges, left much to be desired when it came to choosing creative team names. But we were 13 and given the choice between a witty team name and good half-time/post game snacks, we definitely preferred the latter.
I can't remember the team we played that day. I don't know what the exact score was. Maybe we were down. Maybe we were tied. Alls I know is, we weren't winning. My mother was sitting in the bleachers, screaming directions, and since she wasn't too familiar with the soccer terminology she just yelled what she saw. I'm on the field running my little heart out. And then, out of the blue, with ten some-odd minutes left in the game, she suddenly yells out,
"Kara, don't forget, Losers walk home!!!"
Nevermind that we were quite a ways from home, and I was without a change of shoes. This was an AYSO soccer game. A-Y-S-O! A league who's motto is "Everyone Plays". I turn to look at my mom in the stands. She's laughing at her own joke, her audience of parents laughing alongside her. My mom, the only one I knew who could scream out something that ridiculous during a soccer game for middle schoolers, and convince everyone that it was just playful teasing.
Everyone, of course, except for me. There is much truth in jest. In this case, it was all truth. Now, just to be clear, my mother would never had made me walk home if we'd lost, nor would she have made me feel bad about losing. But she loved when I won. At anything! Soccer games, track meets, writing contests, spelling bees, bingo... You never saw a woman so proud. To this day, she's the first person I call after my intramural soccer games.
Losing was never an option for me, not out of fear that she would see me as a failure, but because I wouldn't get to see her see me as a winner.
This past week, during my trip to Tahoe, I was glad Mrs. F wasn't in the stands watching the atrocity which was my snowboarding. Out of the 60+ who were on the trip, I was probably in the lower 10%. Talk about a humbling experience. Actually it was more so humiliating than humbling. I spent most of my time on the mountain immersed in powder snow, watching in bitter envy as seven year olds cruised effortlessly past me. It was a disgrace.
At the end of one of my disastrous days of "snowboarding", I ended up on a hilly run. To get to the bottom I needed to hit it fast from the beginning and let the momentum take me all the way down. There was only one problem. I was afraid of going fast. I had to though. So, I mustered up the courage I needed, kicked off and went shooting down the mountain...
For about 5 seconds. AHHHHH TOO FAST!! I carved into the snow to slow down, then straightened up again. But it was too late. I kept slowing down. Then I slowed down some more. Then I completely stopped.
*Insert expletive here*
Immobile, I watched as skier after skier, snowboarder after snowboarder coasted past me. There was only one thing to do. I reached down and unhooked my boots from my bindings. Then I picked up my board and started down the mountain, all the while cursing myself for showing such cowardice.
After about twenty minutes of walking in the snow, fingertips frozen solid and nose running from being in the cold, I had to smile at the irony. Guess my mom was right afterall. Losers really do walk home.
****************************
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Smoking = Bad
"Philip Morris told to pay $8 million in smoker's death"
This is the headline I read this morning. The article reads, "A Florida court has ordered US tobacco giant Philip Morris to pay eight million dollars to the widow of a lung cancer victim, in a case that could set a precedent for 8,000 similar trials in the southern state."
Since the 1800's people have known of the dangers of tobacco. So it should come as no great shock to anyone that SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU and that if you smoke, especially three packs of cigarettes a day, you run a HUGE risk of developing lung cancer.
- Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined that Cigarette Smoking is Dangerous to Your Health (1970-1985)
- SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy. (1985-)
- SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Quitting Smoking Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Health. (1985-)
- SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking By Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight. (1985-)
- SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. (1985-)
The warning signs were there, quite literally, spelled out in plain English... not Sanskrit or Aramaic. English!
Here's what I think about this lawsuit - Suing the tobacco company because you got cancer from something they flat out told you you were going to get cancer from is like suing Trojan cause you couldn't conceive while using their condoms. It is asinine and frankly in the middle of an economic crisis I can think of far better ways to redistribute corporate wealth than into the hands of idiots.
Philip Morris on Smoking & Health Issues
********************************
Lung cancer is the most common cause of cancer-related death in men and the second most common in women. It is responsible for 1.3 million deaths worldwide annually and 87% of all lung cancer is smoking related. No one should ever have to watch a loved one suffer from cancer, especially if it could be prevented. Our time on this earth is short so please make healthy decisions. Take care of your bodies. Your family and friends need you.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Rubber Ducky Isn't So Fun Afterall
"Hasbro, home to the My Little Pony brand, had no comment..."
Oh my goodness, I wondered as I half-consciously listened to NPR early this morning. What could they have responded with 'no comment' to? Was the CEO laundering money? Were they smuggling drugs in Monopoly boxes?! What?? What horrifying despicable acts were they up to, those corporate mongers, those ne'er do wells!!
My interest was peaked. I listened further.
Turns out that Hasbro and other companies were refusing to disclose which chemicals they used to make their plastics softer, despite the growing concern of carcinogens by parents across the US.
Ahh, that magic buzz word, "carcinogens". Whatever did we do before the discovery of carcinogens? More importantly whatever did we do before the discovery of the effects of carcinogens... in lab rats. The newest member of the carcinogen family? Phthalates. Studies have shown that high doses of phthalates can cause reproductive problems in rodents.
If only my parents had known. All of that time wasted trying to dissuade me from getting into cars with strangers, doing drugs, swimming right after eating... what they really should have focused on was carcinogens. They were everywhere apparently. The paint in our house. My #2 pencils. Even my cute and yellow and chubby rubber ducky. Sure I was fond of him, heck he made bathtime lots of fun. Unbeknownst to me, everytime I made my way to the tubby, I was walking into a death trap.
And yet, here I sit, cancer-free. A miracle, I know. How did I manage to cheat death you ask? Maybe because I didn't eat my rubby ducky, I just bathed with it.
Anytime you read that X product has been known to cause cancer in rats, know that they are exposing these rats to a ridiculously high level of the stuff. And let me give you a quick lesson on lab rats. Lab rats are great for testing out initial drugs and therapies because they are a decent indicator -- I use the word "decent" loosely -- of how humans will respond to those same drugs and therapies. However results are rarely 100% reproducible in humans. Why? Because, surprise surprise, humans are different from rodents. Not a valid comparison.
So let your kids play with all of the phthalate based toys they want to. You can rest easy. In a few short years they'll be moving on to small communication devices that emit microwave radiation, more commonly known as the cellular phone.
Oh my goodness, I wondered as I half-consciously listened to NPR early this morning. What could they have responded with 'no comment' to? Was the CEO laundering money? Were they smuggling drugs in Monopoly boxes?! What?? What horrifying despicable acts were they up to, those corporate mongers, those ne'er do wells!!
My interest was peaked. I listened further.
Turns out that Hasbro and other companies were refusing to disclose which chemicals they used to make their plastics softer, despite the growing concern of carcinogens by parents across the US.
Ahh, that magic buzz word, "carcinogens". Whatever did we do before the discovery of carcinogens? More importantly whatever did we do before the discovery of the effects of carcinogens... in lab rats. The newest member of the carcinogen family? Phthalates. Studies have shown that high doses of phthalates can cause reproductive problems in rodents.
If only my parents had known. All of that time wasted trying to dissuade me from getting into cars with strangers, doing drugs, swimming right after eating... what they really should have focused on was carcinogens. They were everywhere apparently. The paint in our house. My #2 pencils. Even my cute and yellow and chubby rubber ducky. Sure I was fond of him, heck he made bathtime lots of fun. Unbeknownst to me, everytime I made my way to the tubby, I was walking into a death trap.
And yet, here I sit, cancer-free. A miracle, I know. How did I manage to cheat death you ask? Maybe because I didn't eat my rubby ducky, I just bathed with it.
Anytime you read that X product has been known to cause cancer in rats, know that they are exposing these rats to a ridiculously high level of the stuff. And let me give you a quick lesson on lab rats. Lab rats are great for testing out initial drugs and therapies because they are a decent indicator -- I use the word "decent" loosely -- of how humans will respond to those same drugs and therapies. However results are rarely 100% reproducible in humans. Why? Because, surprise surprise, humans are different from rodents. Not a valid comparison.
So let your kids play with all of the phthalate based toys they want to. You can rest easy. In a few short years they'll be moving on to small communication devices that emit microwave radiation, more commonly known as the cellular phone.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sayings Revealed
The world is your oyster!
Really? That's great! At least it would be if I ate oysters, but I don't. In fact, I don't even like oysters. If the world became my oyster, that would be akin to saying I now live in my own personal hell. I'd rather the world be my steak. Or chocolate chip cookie... Where did that saying come from anyways? Who do we have to blame for this fatuitous proverb?
None other than the late, great William Shakespeare. From 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' (1600).
Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.
Pistol: Why, then, the world's mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.'
I wonder how many of us knew that, "The world is your oyster." was code for, "If someone doesn't give it to you, then take it by brute force." Certainly not I.
But duly noted, Willy. Duly noted.
Short end of the stick...
Question for you. Which end of the stick is the short end? By definition, can there be a short end or long end of a stick which is uniform in nature? Yeah... I didn't think so either.
But in fact there is slightly more to this saying. It is speculated that the phrase "short end of the stick" refers to an old fashioned method for carrying large objects, where a long stick is inserted through ropes or cords wrapped around the object and two people carry the object together. If the load is off-center a disproportionate burden is placed on the person with the... "short end of the stick".
Hmm... This one actually makes sense.
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!
A little background on the meaning of this saying: When horses age their teeth begin to project further forward each year and so their age can be estimated by checking how prominent the teeth are.
This proverb means that when given a present, don't question the value of it. After all its free.
So, if you get a horse for free don't look at its teeth to see how old it is. Just blindly invest in a stable, food, hay, vet bills... Oh and get emotionally attached hoping that your "gift" isn't knocking on death's door.
See where I'm going with this? Now, I'm not saying to look at the horse's teeth in front of the person who gave it to you. That would be plain rude. But when they leave it might be wise to take a gander, just to see what you're working with. Then if teeth are a little more prominent than you'd like, put a bow on that sucker and hand it off.
Really? That's great! At least it would be if I ate oysters, but I don't. In fact, I don't even like oysters. If the world became my oyster, that would be akin to saying I now live in my own personal hell. I'd rather the world be my steak. Or chocolate chip cookie... Where did that saying come from anyways? Who do we have to blame for this fatuitous proverb?
None other than the late, great William Shakespeare. From 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' (1600).
Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.
Pistol: Why, then, the world's mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.'
I wonder how many of us knew that, "The world is your oyster." was code for, "If someone doesn't give it to you, then take it by brute force." Certainly not I.
But duly noted, Willy. Duly noted.
Short end of the stick...
Question for you. Which end of the stick is the short end? By definition, can there be a short end or long end of a stick which is uniform in nature? Yeah... I didn't think so either.
But in fact there is slightly more to this saying. It is speculated that the phrase "short end of the stick" refers to an old fashioned method for carrying large objects, where a long stick is inserted through ropes or cords wrapped around the object and two people carry the object together. If the load is off-center a disproportionate burden is placed on the person with the... "short end of the stick".
Hmm... This one actually makes sense.
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!
A little background on the meaning of this saying: When horses age their teeth begin to project further forward each year and so their age can be estimated by checking how prominent the teeth are.
This proverb means that when given a present, don't question the value of it. After all its free.
So, if you get a horse for free don't look at its teeth to see how old it is. Just blindly invest in a stable, food, hay, vet bills... Oh and get emotionally attached hoping that your "gift" isn't knocking on death's door.
See where I'm going with this? Now, I'm not saying to look at the horse's teeth in front of the person who gave it to you. That would be plain rude. But when they leave it might be wise to take a gander, just to see what you're working with. Then if teeth are a little more prominent than you'd like, put a bow on that sucker and hand it off.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Swingers
Watch kids when they're sitting on a stool or chair. They love dangling their feet, swinging them every which way, with careless abandon. Whenever I see that it makes me smile. Why? Because I am reminded of a simpler time, dare I say a better time... before I discovered foot rests.
I was meeting a friend for dinner last week at the Mexican Subway, aka Chipotle, and he was running late so I decided to go in and wait for him. I picked a table next to the window for better visibility and sat on the stool. Instinctively I ran my feet along the pole in search of a place to rest my them.
Nothing! Panic set in. Why was there no where to put my feet?! Had Chipotle, on the journey to greatness overlooked this one tiny yet instrumental detail in the design of their establishment? I looked down in disbelieve, and then I saw it. The foot rest was on the table.
Phew! That was a close call.
Have you ever had to sit for a long time without a place to rest your feet? Its torture. There's something unsettling about dangling feet for an adult. I don't know why, but there just is. Somewhere along the path to adulthood we lost our ability to simultaneously eat and swing our feet. I am writing this to remind you that this was not always the case.
So the next time you find yourself in a situation where there is no place to rest your feet, remember the younger more free-spirited you... The you before runner's knee and a torn meniscus, and then find someplace else to sit.
*******************************
I was meeting a friend for dinner last week at the Mexican Subway, aka Chipotle, and he was running late so I decided to go in and wait for him. I picked a table next to the window for better visibility and sat on the stool. Instinctively I ran my feet along the pole in search of a place to rest my them.
Nothing! Panic set in. Why was there no where to put my feet?! Had Chipotle, on the journey to greatness overlooked this one tiny yet instrumental detail in the design of their establishment? I looked down in disbelieve, and then I saw it. The foot rest was on the table.
Phew! That was a close call.
Have you ever had to sit for a long time without a place to rest your feet? Its torture. There's something unsettling about dangling feet for an adult. I don't know why, but there just is. Somewhere along the path to adulthood we lost our ability to simultaneously eat and swing our feet. I am writing this to remind you that this was not always the case.
So the next time you find yourself in a situation where there is no place to rest your feet, remember the younger more free-spirited you... The you before runner's knee and a torn meniscus, and then find someplace else to sit.
*******************************
Monday, January 26, 2009
Why Is The Sky Blue?
One of my best friends and I were talking about kids and how they ask really annoying questions like, "Why is the sky blue?" And then when you answer with what you think to be the easiest and least disputable answer, "Because God made it so," what do you get in response?
"Why?"
"Cause God made everything."
"Why?"
"Cause he likes making things."
"Why?"
"He's good with his hands."
"Why?"
"Cause he went to a good trade school."
Why?
Then the inevitable happens. You say what every adult is NOT supposed to say to an inquisitive mind.
"Because... I... say so!! No more whys."
My friend gave me a better solution to avoiding this whole question asking tennis match. If you don't want kids bugging you with their asinine questions, then why not just answer the question?
"Why is the sky blue?"
"Well little Wilber, I'm glad you asked that. The blue color of the sky is due to Rayleigh scattering. As light moves through the atmosphere, most of the longer wavelengths pass straight through. Little of the red, orange and yellow light is affected by the air, cause as you may or may not already know those colors aren't absorbed by the gas molecues in air. However, much of the shorter wavelength light is absorbed by the gas molecules. The absorbed blue light is then radiated in different directions. It gets scattered all around the sky, hence, the blue. "
And then for added effect, after you've given this speech, smile at the kid smugly, daring him with your eyes, to ask you "Why?" Go on ahead kid. TRY me.
The average child will know when he's lost the "Why" game and gracefully bow out. Only the brazen ones will challenge you. For them, its time to play hardball. Physics practice problems. I'm talking vectors, the speed of wave equation, make them memorize the speed of light, the works! See how long they can stand doing work when their peers are outside livin' the high life.
If at that point you still can't kill the kid's spirit, you may have bite the bullet and actually "teach" them things, real things. Scary thought, I know, especially since I for one do not really know much about anything of relevance. And the things I do know I don't know in much detail.
You could do the right thing and help foster an interactive fun environment of learning... Or, you can sit them in front of the TV and hope they forget their question. Maybe its the engineer in me, but I for one vote for the former.
**************************
This blog post is dedicated to AH. Thanks for being my voice of... what's the opposite of reason?
"Why?"
"Cause God made everything."
"Why?"
"Cause he likes making things."
"Why?"
"He's good with his hands."
"Why?"
"Cause he went to a good trade school."
Why?
Then the inevitable happens. You say what every adult is NOT supposed to say to an inquisitive mind.
"Because... I... say so!! No more whys."
My friend gave me a better solution to avoiding this whole question asking tennis match. If you don't want kids bugging you with their asinine questions, then why not just answer the question?
"Why is the sky blue?"
"Well little Wilber, I'm glad you asked that. The blue color of the sky is due to Rayleigh scattering. As light moves through the atmosphere, most of the longer wavelengths pass straight through. Little of the red, orange and yellow light is affected by the air, cause as you may or may not already know those colors aren't absorbed by the gas molecues in air. However, much of the shorter wavelength light is absorbed by the gas molecules. The absorbed blue light is then radiated in different directions. It gets scattered all around the sky, hence, the blue. "
And then for added effect, after you've given this speech, smile at the kid smugly, daring him with your eyes, to ask you "Why?" Go on ahead kid. TRY me.
The average child will know when he's lost the "Why" game and gracefully bow out. Only the brazen ones will challenge you. For them, its time to play hardball. Physics practice problems. I'm talking vectors, the speed of wave equation, make them memorize the speed of light, the works! See how long they can stand doing work when their peers are outside livin' the high life.
If at that point you still can't kill the kid's spirit, you may have bite the bullet and actually "teach" them things, real things. Scary thought, I know, especially since I for one do not really know much about anything of relevance. And the things I do know I don't know in much detail.
You could do the right thing and help foster an interactive fun environment of learning... Or, you can sit them in front of the TV and hope they forget their question. Maybe its the engineer in me, but I for one vote for the former.
**************************
This blog post is dedicated to AH. Thanks for being my voice of... what's the opposite of reason?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Takes one to know one!!
Remember this?
"You're an idiot!!"
"Oh yeah????" Think Kara think... I got it! "Takes one to know one!!"
What?
How did that make it into the mainstream as a comeback? I ask you. You're essentially saying with this come back, "Yes, I certainly am an idiot. And so are you. We're BOTH idiots, HAH!!" And I feel like that's not quite the point I wanted to make during a heated playground tiff. What I would have liked to say was something along the lines of, "No, YOU'RE the idiot." Maybe not in those exact words.
Who taught me that, I want to know. And why did I accept that as the status quo? That wasn't supposed to rhyme... Anyways, I'm a little upset. I feel like I really wore that phrase out as a child and I wish someone, anyone, would have helped me see the light.
How many times had I admitted to being an idiot, a fat pig, a four-eyed freak, a smelly dork, a loser, an ugly fugly... whatever that is... Me. That's what it was. Cause I owned up to it. I stood before my peers, opened my mouth and said, "I'd just like everyone to know, that I am an ugly fugly.
*GASP*
"But its okay, cause that guy's an ugly fugly too."
"You're an idiot!!"
"Oh yeah????" Think Kara think... I got it! "Takes one to know one!!"
What?
How did that make it into the mainstream as a comeback? I ask you. You're essentially saying with this come back, "Yes, I certainly am an idiot. And so are you. We're BOTH idiots, HAH!!" And I feel like that's not quite the point I wanted to make during a heated playground tiff. What I would have liked to say was something along the lines of, "No, YOU'RE the idiot." Maybe not in those exact words.
Who taught me that, I want to know. And why did I accept that as the status quo? That wasn't supposed to rhyme... Anyways, I'm a little upset. I feel like I really wore that phrase out as a child and I wish someone, anyone, would have helped me see the light.
How many times had I admitted to being an idiot, a fat pig, a four-eyed freak, a smelly dork, a loser, an ugly fugly... whatever that is... Me. That's what it was. Cause I owned up to it. I stood before my peers, opened my mouth and said, "I'd just like everyone to know, that I am an ugly fugly.
*GASP*
"But its okay, cause that guy's an ugly fugly too."
Buck Naked vs Butt Naked
I used to think I was pretty well educated, with an IQ almost at the genius level, but when approached and asked which was the proper phrase, "buck naked" or "butt naked" I suddenly realized I still had much to learn. So I turned to my dear friend Wikipedia, the online encylopedia, for guidance and enlightenment:
Dating from the 1920's the expression buck naked commonly means completely or totally naked or without a "stitch" (as opposed to partially naked). Synonyms include "bare naked", "buck-arse naked", and "butt naked" (also spelled, facetiously, "butt nekkid"). In the South, "buck naked" or "butt naked" means not in your house, out looking for trouble on Saturday night and wearing no clothes.
So, even though it originated as buck naked, apparently both buck naked and butt naked are acceptable.
I hope that clears up the confusion...
Dating from the 1920's the expression buck naked commonly means completely or totally naked or without a "stitch" (as opposed to partially naked). Synonyms include "bare naked", "buck-arse naked", and "butt naked" (also spelled, facetiously, "butt nekkid"). In the South, "buck naked" or "butt naked" means not in your house, out looking for trouble on Saturday night and wearing no clothes.
So, even though it originated as buck naked, apparently both buck naked and butt naked are acceptable.
I hope that clears up the confusion...
How much wood you ask?
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
"While it makes for a great tongue-twister, the sad answer is: probably none. Woodchucks aren't particularly tree-oriented, and while they can climb to find food, they prefer being on the ground. In fact, they got the name "woodchuck" from British trappers who couldn't quite wrap their tongues around the Cree Indian name "wuhak."
More commonly (and accurately) known as groundhogs, these animals are closely related to squirrels, marmots, and prairie dogs, with which they share an affinity for burrowing. And actually, a burrowing woodchuck can chuck dirt, in the form of tunnels that can reach five feet deep and as much as 35 feet in length.
So, based on that number, New York State wildlife expert Richard Thomas calculated that if a woodchuck could chuck wood, he could chuck as much as 700 pounds of the stuff."
Which eight year old would have known that?!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Dating Game
If you're ever at a party and its getting a little dull, one surefire way to peak everyone's interest is to yell out "Hey guys wanna play a game?!"
The response? "Hell yes!" Why? Because games are fun. A good game can forge lifelong friendships between strangers. Who cares about surrounding yourself with people who share your values and have similar likes and dislikes. Very overrated. What I need is someone who can correctly interpret my frantic scribblings in a heated game of Pictionary! I need someone who knows how to catch my phrase! And I especially need someone who knows that there is no musical called "Fiddler on a Hot Tin Roof", lest we have another repeat of the Scene It Fiasco of '08... Deborah.
Still it was fun. Why? Because it was a game. No hard feelings. No resentment. No loss of self-esteem. Everyone could rest easy. I would not be bringing "baggage" to the next trivia game night.
Another kind of game is sports. Take soccer for example. I love soccer. I've played since I was eight. Over the years I've grown taller, stronger, faster, better. Of course so did everyone else, hence why I'm in business school and not playing professionally. Still, I continue to play for recreation because its fun. I love the rush I get from winning. And though it could be pretty devastating to lose, it was never so devastating that a "suicide" soda and chili cheese fries from the snack stand couldn't rectify. Or now, a cold beer.
And after I lose a match I never think to myself, "I never want to touch another soccer ball as long as I live! I hate soccer!! Why is soccer so darn hard to figure out?! What am I doing wrong?"
Which brings me to another so-called "game", The Dating Game. The Dating Game as far as I can tell really isn't a game at all. Games have rules. Maybe the dating game has rules, and I just don't know them. In which case, where is our governing body?? There's the National Football League and the National Basketball Association. Where's the National Dating Association?! I need rules. Instead I get nothing. No coach. No ref. No halftime huddle. No cool jersey with my last name on the back. And to add insult to injury, I don't even get a snack and Capris Sun at the end of it all. I just go home. Defeated, bitter, and all the more confused.
So if not a game, how could we describe this enigmatic world of dating? Enigma...conundrum... mystery... Eureka!!
"The Dating Puzzle"
Puzzles are a kind of game, right? They're somewhat fun to do, at least initially. And much like dating, a puzzle really has no rules except to start with the edges first, then the sides and then work your way to the middle hoping that it gets easier along the way. What's annoying is when you think you're getting close to finishing and you realize you're missing pieces or there are random pieces from from a different puzzle mixed in.
Many a puzzle has been started but never finished, because of some of reasons some mentioned above. Missing pieces, lack of time... Or the actual puzzle wasn't quite looking like the picture on the box, so you moved on. And ever notice that you'll rarely go back to complete a puzzle you started years before. Even if you tried to gently place completed sections back into the box, they always come apart and you still feel like you're starting from scratch.
But if you've got all of the pieces, help from your family and friends, time to devote, and you're willing to walk away and come back with fresh eyes and a better attitude, you can enjoy that sense of fulfillment/relief one only gets from completing a puzzle with many little pieces.
I know what you're thinking:
TA DAA!!! Its the picture on the box!! No great surprise there, I know.
But that's how dating is. Hopefully most of us already know what a good relationship looks like. We're just waiting for it to look like the picture on the box.
The response? "Hell yes!" Why? Because games are fun. A good game can forge lifelong friendships between strangers. Who cares about surrounding yourself with people who share your values and have similar likes and dislikes. Very overrated. What I need is someone who can correctly interpret my frantic scribblings in a heated game of Pictionary! I need someone who knows how to catch my phrase! And I especially need someone who knows that there is no musical called "Fiddler on a Hot Tin Roof", lest we have another repeat of the Scene It Fiasco of '08... Deborah.
Still it was fun. Why? Because it was a game. No hard feelings. No resentment. No loss of self-esteem. Everyone could rest easy. I would not be bringing "baggage" to the next trivia game night.
Another kind of game is sports. Take soccer for example. I love soccer. I've played since I was eight. Over the years I've grown taller, stronger, faster, better. Of course so did everyone else, hence why I'm in business school and not playing professionally. Still, I continue to play for recreation because its fun. I love the rush I get from winning. And though it could be pretty devastating to lose, it was never so devastating that a "suicide" soda and chili cheese fries from the snack stand couldn't rectify. Or now, a cold beer.
And after I lose a match I never think to myself, "I never want to touch another soccer ball as long as I live! I hate soccer!! Why is soccer so darn hard to figure out?! What am I doing wrong?"
Which brings me to another so-called "game", The Dating Game. The Dating Game as far as I can tell really isn't a game at all. Games have rules. Maybe the dating game has rules, and I just don't know them. In which case, where is our governing body?? There's the National Football League and the National Basketball Association. Where's the National Dating Association?! I need rules. Instead I get nothing. No coach. No ref. No halftime huddle. No cool jersey with my last name on the back. And to add insult to injury, I don't even get a snack and Capris Sun at the end of it all. I just go home. Defeated, bitter, and all the more confused.
So if not a game, how could we describe this enigmatic world of dating? Enigma...conundrum... mystery... Eureka!!
"The Dating Puzzle"
Puzzles are a kind of game, right? They're somewhat fun to do, at least initially. And much like dating, a puzzle really has no rules except to start with the edges first, then the sides and then work your way to the middle hoping that it gets easier along the way. What's annoying is when you think you're getting close to finishing and you realize you're missing pieces or there are random pieces from from a different puzzle mixed in.
Many a puzzle has been started but never finished, because of some of reasons some mentioned above. Missing pieces, lack of time... Or the actual puzzle wasn't quite looking like the picture on the box, so you moved on. And ever notice that you'll rarely go back to complete a puzzle you started years before. Even if you tried to gently place completed sections back into the box, they always come apart and you still feel like you're starting from scratch.
But if you've got all of the pieces, help from your family and friends, time to devote, and you're willing to walk away and come back with fresh eyes and a better attitude, you can enjoy that sense of fulfillment/relief one only gets from completing a puzzle with many little pieces.
I know what you're thinking:
TA DAA!!! Its the picture on the box!! No great surprise there, I know.
But that's how dating is. Hopefully most of us already know what a good relationship looks like. We're just waiting for it to look like the picture on the box.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Bedbugs... Don't let them bite YOU!
"Night Night - Sleep Tight
Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite!!"
First off, if I'm not mistaken, let means allow. And I don't think I would ever allow a bug -- bed or otherwise -- to bite me assuming I had a choice. Secondly, how in the hell do you expect me to sleep tight when you've just alerted me to the fact that I have bugs in my bed?
As a kid I remember hearing this sleepytime rhyme and thinking, how cute. Friendly little bedbugs that slept alongside me through the night. All I needed to do was make sure I didn't "let" them bite me. Easy enough. I assumed these bedbugs were rational. I could probably level with them. I'd let them sleep in my bed as long as they didn't bite me. Deal?
It wasn't until I was older I learned the harsh truth. Bedbugs were not rational, nor would they sleep alongside me. I'd sleep. They'd latched onto my skin and feed on my blood. Bedbugs were not my friends. Mind you, I've never been exposed to them, at least not that I'm aware of... There was that period when I studied abroad in London and lived in a dorm with very questionable sleeping accommodations, but even then I don't think there were bedbugs.
Back to the rhyme. Tiny blood thirsty bugs in my bed and I'm supposed to not let them bite me. I couldn't step outside of my apartment this summer without being attacked by North Carolina mosquitoes, and this was while I was awake. Asleep, I stand no chance. I don't really do much when I'm sleeping except for snore and occasionally sleep talk. Could I annoy them with my snoring? Trick them into thinking I was awake with my nonsensical babblings?
What could one do to keep from being bitten by bedbugs? I did some research and here's what I found:
Apparently bedbugs don't like light. So if you have a light source quickly accessible from your bed, turn it on at about an hour before dawn. This is usually the time when bedbugs are most active. When you do this, they will scatter. Oh and this can't be any old light source, say a lamp, normally accessible from a bed. No no my friend, you'll need a flashlight or a torch. So, dust off your old torch -- should be in storage next to your pitchfork -- and get ready to catch some bedbugs! As they scatter grab a dust pan and brush (also kept next to the bed), and sweep the bugs into the pan, THEN immediately sweep them into a cup or mug full of water (also kept next to your bed?) where the bugs will drown quickly. Dispose of the water down the sink or toilet. Disinfect the mattress, skirting boards and so on regularly.
OR
If you live in the 21st century, DDT will also do the trick. I tried to think of a way to update the rhyme given this new information:
"Night Night - Sleep Tight
Find Your Torch Light
Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite!!"
But I'm not quite sure how I feel about small children armed with torches... Its just that I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with Dichloro-Diphenyl-Trichloroethane.
Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite!!"
First off, if I'm not mistaken, let means allow. And I don't think I would ever allow a bug -- bed or otherwise -- to bite me assuming I had a choice. Secondly, how in the hell do you expect me to sleep tight when you've just alerted me to the fact that I have bugs in my bed?
As a kid I remember hearing this sleepytime rhyme and thinking, how cute. Friendly little bedbugs that slept alongside me through the night. All I needed to do was make sure I didn't "let" them bite me. Easy enough. I assumed these bedbugs were rational. I could probably level with them. I'd let them sleep in my bed as long as they didn't bite me. Deal?
It wasn't until I was older I learned the harsh truth. Bedbugs were not rational, nor would they sleep alongside me. I'd sleep. They'd latched onto my skin and feed on my blood. Bedbugs were not my friends. Mind you, I've never been exposed to them, at least not that I'm aware of... There was that period when I studied abroad in London and lived in a dorm with very questionable sleeping accommodations, but even then I don't think there were bedbugs.
Back to the rhyme. Tiny blood thirsty bugs in my bed and I'm supposed to not let them bite me. I couldn't step outside of my apartment this summer without being attacked by North Carolina mosquitoes, and this was while I was awake. Asleep, I stand no chance. I don't really do much when I'm sleeping except for snore and occasionally sleep talk. Could I annoy them with my snoring? Trick them into thinking I was awake with my nonsensical babblings?
What could one do to keep from being bitten by bedbugs? I did some research and here's what I found:
Apparently bedbugs don't like light. So if you have a light source quickly accessible from your bed, turn it on at about an hour before dawn. This is usually the time when bedbugs are most active. When you do this, they will scatter. Oh and this can't be any old light source, say a lamp, normally accessible from a bed. No no my friend, you'll need a flashlight or a torch. So, dust off your old torch -- should be in storage next to your pitchfork -- and get ready to catch some bedbugs! As they scatter grab a dust pan and brush (also kept next to the bed), and sweep the bugs into the pan, THEN immediately sweep them into a cup or mug full of water (also kept next to your bed?) where the bugs will drown quickly. Dispose of the water down the sink or toilet. Disinfect the mattress, skirting boards and so on regularly.
OR
If you live in the 21st century, DDT will also do the trick. I tried to think of a way to update the rhyme given this new information:
"Night Night - Sleep Tight
Find Your Torch Light
Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite!!"
But I'm not quite sure how I feel about small children armed with torches... Its just that I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with Dichloro-Diphenyl-Trichloroethane.
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