ya, know?
I mean, I haven't been this social since, well, since my early 20's (eeck!) But, then there is that whole, I have to type it out and tell you about it. I want to tell you, but then there is that life-thing. My, life-thing, that keeps happening. That, life-thing where I keep saying I won't go out, that I will only drink water, that I won't be out for more than an hour or so, that I still have my Spring Break cold, but, c'mon, my name isn't PG for nothing, you know?
Why, just last week I was all snuggled on my couch, counting the minutes down until it would be an "acceptable" bedtime hour, face washed, contacts out and glasses on, PJ's stepped into, mindless drivel on the Stupid Box, coughing up a Sickville storm. Then, my friends called. And, well, there might be a problem when I make my way out to the bar, without make-up, on a Tuesday, at 10pm...and close the bar down, when mere minutes previously to be called, I was wanting bed.
So. You see, I have stories. Funny stories, sad stories, witty stories, love stories, and cry-myself-to-sleep stories, but....I also have stories about papers and presentations and exams. Sadly, those "stories" have been winning. I know, I know, I don't like it either. But, what can I say, I need to actually be able to find a job once I finish this here Master's degree, you know? I mean, I have bills.
So. Be patient. I'm not dead, just a grad student. I'll be back, I'll be around and the stories will still abound. I promise. I swear. I mean, it's PG, here.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
smidge past mid-term, half past done
Goodness, when you type your life out in updates, it sure goes by quickly. Well, actually, it goes by quickly anyway, but it waxes more poetic to say it the other way.
I've made it past mid-term, past spring break, and there are only a few (short, yet, long) weeks left of my first year, second semester of grad school. Whoo-whee and
gol-lee, I cannot believe it either.
I like the bullet-points, don't you? I mean, it's nice, neat, tidy, you know what the topic is, what it will cover and it just simply goes so much smoother for my quick wit, charm, and sarcasm to fill in the bullet-point blanks that way. So, bullet-points, it is.
Social organizer: I should be in PR. I can get people to organize, rally-around, give time, and themselves to causes and to things. Sure, some of these things have to do with causes such as breast cancer and the food bank, and some of these things have to do with St. Patrick Day celebrations, but still, the point is I can gather the group and give to causes. Those causes may be in the fight to save boobs and those causes may be in, how to damage your liver with green beer. Still, the motivation and power to persuade is there. (Note to self: think about running for some sort of office and use my powers for good.) (Done.)
Sewing horizontal line: Hmm, my stitch and bitch has sort of fallen away, so my horizontal line has become a dot. This does not bode well for the art projects, nor for the quilt that I have been working on for eight years.
Quantitative Research: a.k.a stats: Somehow I am pulling an "A" No, trust me, I am just as surprised as you, probably more so. However, the grade and the class is not the point of this bullet. No, the point of this bullet is about the professor, Ramona. Poor, Ramona. First, her name is Ramona. Poor, girl. Let me tell you about her back-story. Once again, her name is Ramona. I'm guessing she was picked on, a lot, as a child and more than likely spent her lunch hours with her nose in a book. Absolutely nothing wrong with having your nose in a book, just as long as a person pulls it out of the book every now and again to look at, take in, and enjoy some of the world around them. I'm gonna guess Ramona did not do this. Not a lot of social skills. Sure, she thinks she has social skills, she also thinks she has a keen sense of humor, she would be wrong on both counts. Oh, oh, so very wrong. Ramona, thinks she is funny, no, she's just mean. Mean, sense of humor, mean wit. Again, I think this goes back to her childhood, lack of social skills, and eighty-five too many boys knocking the book out of her hand during recess in the fifth grade. (All of life can be traced back to fifth grade. True story.) Ramona's voice also has the sweet, sweet sound of cat nails on a chalk board mixed into the worst possible electric guitar feedback you've ever heard in your entire life. Yep. Not painful at all. We just nonchalantly wipe the blood from our ears as she is being witty and calling us all idiots. Yep, not afraid to ask questions in her class. Mixed in with her voice, her humor, and her teaching style is also the debate over whether or not she is wearing a bra. If she is wearing a bra, it has clearly lost the battle. The bra has given up and the boobs are merely resting on her stomach at this point. I know. I know. I shouldn't make fun, it's not nice, but it gets me through class, and I am managing to get an "A". So, do not critique my mean mocking style, just accept it and move on to the next bullet-point.
Spring break: Already over and gone. I have no idea how it happened either. Somewhere between going out on Thursday, Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it just flew by. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I was sick. It is a mystery.
Shade-o-riffic tree: We've made peace. The tree won. Because I decided to let it win. Moving on.
Dating: There was someone who had potential.(Math Teacher) (Notice the past-tense) Then, then, he said a fateful sentence, "you're very guarded." (Knock the wind out of me, ricochet my brain around my skull, dust self off, pick self up, cue evil music.) Da, dun, daaaaa! Kiss of death. For him, not me. Pay attention. Sure, I know I'm guarded, but here I thought I hid it so well with my boundless sense of humor, wit, talent, sarcasm, and ability to actively listen and pay attention. Damn it. Those charms, my magic lasso, and invisible plane had worked so well for me over the past decade or so. Now I have to find a new dating superpower. Crap.
Classes: See bullet-point on Ramona, otherwise, they are going okay. In one class, which is supposed to start at 11:00 and finish at 12:15, the professor shows up around 11:07, talks about something completely not relevant to class for about 15 more minutes, rambles about the topic of discussion, kinda, sorta, but not really for about 25 minutes, talks about the discussion topic for about 13 minutes, let's us out of class 15 minutes early. Yeah, I feel I am getting my tuition dollars worth.
GPA: Unless something goes horribly wrong, and well, it is me we are talking about, I should receive as close to a 4.0 without actually receiving a 4.0 and without going over a 4.0 this semester. This is substantially better than last semester, but we don't like to talk about that.
Brazil: I leave in 10 weeks. I leave in 10 weeks!!!!!!!!! I leave in 10 weeks (!!!!) Crap, I leave in 10 weeks. Yep, say that every hour or so and you pretty much have my brain and my sleeping pattern summed up. Slowly, slowly it is all coming together. I am planning on purchasing my ticket this week (the round trip plane ticket costs as much as my entire trip to Budapest. Not quite sure how that math works out, but whatever.) and from there it is getting my visa, apartment there, and everything (EVERYTHING) else together. I am nervous, excited, scared, excited, nervous, and scared, and scared, excited, and nervous.
Portuguese: "Quero uma cerveja." translation: "I would like a beer." Ta dah!(Thanks, Limpy) An American girl in Brazil success story. Hey, if it can work here, I think it should work there. No? Fine. I'm working on it, okay,? Maybe not working on it enough, but I'm working on it. I have ten more weeks to put it off, err, I mean, commit it all to memory, receive a gold star, and charm the locals.
Yellow fever vaccine: That will be part of the next bullet-point list. Something tells me there may be a story about that little live vaccine. That something would be, Hello! Have you met me? It says, "may cause illness." Something tells me there won't be any "may" about it. It's a live vaccine of yellow fever being shot into my body for god's sake! Parents, friends, neighbors will all be put on alert to feed me ice chips and to make sure I don't go running naked around the greater Small State U community screaming, "I lost my invisible plane! I lost my invisible plane!"
So, tell me all about yourself.
I've made it past mid-term, past spring break, and there are only a few (short, yet, long) weeks left of my first year, second semester of grad school. Whoo-whee and
gol-lee, I cannot believe it either.
I like the bullet-points, don't you? I mean, it's nice, neat, tidy, you know what the topic is, what it will cover and it just simply goes so much smoother for my quick wit, charm, and sarcasm to fill in the bullet-point blanks that way. So, bullet-points, it is.
Social organizer: I should be in PR. I can get people to organize, rally-around, give time, and themselves to causes and to things. Sure, some of these things have to do with causes such as breast cancer and the food bank, and some of these things have to do with St. Patrick Day celebrations, but still, the point is I can gather the group and give to causes. Those causes may be in the fight to save boobs and those causes may be in, how to damage your liver with green beer. Still, the motivation and power to persuade is there. (Note to self: think about running for some sort of office and use my powers for good.) (Done.)
Sewing horizontal line: Hmm, my stitch and bitch has sort of fallen away, so my horizontal line has become a dot. This does not bode well for the art projects, nor for the quilt that I have been working on for eight years.
Quantitative Research: a.k.a stats: Somehow I am pulling an "A" No, trust me, I am just as surprised as you, probably more so. However, the grade and the class is not the point of this bullet. No, the point of this bullet is about the professor, Ramona. Poor, Ramona. First, her name is Ramona. Poor, girl. Let me tell you about her back-story. Once again, her name is Ramona. I'm guessing she was picked on, a lot, as a child and more than likely spent her lunch hours with her nose in a book. Absolutely nothing wrong with having your nose in a book, just as long as a person pulls it out of the book every now and again to look at, take in, and enjoy some of the world around them. I'm gonna guess Ramona did not do this. Not a lot of social skills. Sure, she thinks she has social skills, she also thinks she has a keen sense of humor, she would be wrong on both counts. Oh, oh, so very wrong. Ramona, thinks she is funny, no, she's just mean. Mean, sense of humor, mean wit. Again, I think this goes back to her childhood, lack of social skills, and eighty-five too many boys knocking the book out of her hand during recess in the fifth grade. (All of life can be traced back to fifth grade. True story.) Ramona's voice also has the sweet, sweet sound of cat nails on a chalk board mixed into the worst possible electric guitar feedback you've ever heard in your entire life. Yep. Not painful at all. We just nonchalantly wipe the blood from our ears as she is being witty and calling us all idiots. Yep, not afraid to ask questions in her class. Mixed in with her voice, her humor, and her teaching style is also the debate over whether or not she is wearing a bra. If she is wearing a bra, it has clearly lost the battle. The bra has given up and the boobs are merely resting on her stomach at this point. I know. I know. I shouldn't make fun, it's not nice, but it gets me through class, and I am managing to get an "A". So, do not critique my mean mocking style, just accept it and move on to the next bullet-point.
Spring break: Already over and gone. I have no idea how it happened either. Somewhere between going out on Thursday, Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it just flew by. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I was sick. It is a mystery.
Shade-o-riffic tree: We've made peace. The tree won. Because I decided to let it win. Moving on.
Dating: There was someone who had potential.(Math Teacher) (Notice the past-tense) Then, then, he said a fateful sentence, "you're very guarded." (Knock the wind out of me, ricochet my brain around my skull, dust self off, pick self up, cue evil music.) Da, dun, daaaaa! Kiss of death. For him, not me. Pay attention. Sure, I know I'm guarded, but here I thought I hid it so well with my boundless sense of humor, wit, talent, sarcasm, and ability to actively listen and pay attention. Damn it. Those charms, my magic lasso, and invisible plane had worked so well for me over the past decade or so. Now I have to find a new dating superpower. Crap.
Classes: See bullet-point on Ramona, otherwise, they are going okay. In one class, which is supposed to start at 11:00 and finish at 12:15, the professor shows up around 11:07, talks about something completely not relevant to class for about 15 more minutes, rambles about the topic of discussion, kinda, sorta, but not really for about 25 minutes, talks about the discussion topic for about 13 minutes, let's us out of class 15 minutes early. Yeah, I feel I am getting my tuition dollars worth.
GPA: Unless something goes horribly wrong, and well, it is me we are talking about, I should receive as close to a 4.0 without actually receiving a 4.0 and without going over a 4.0 this semester. This is substantially better than last semester, but we don't like to talk about that.
Brazil: I leave in 10 weeks. I leave in 10 weeks!!!!!!!!! I leave in 10 weeks (!!!!) Crap, I leave in 10 weeks. Yep, say that every hour or so and you pretty much have my brain and my sleeping pattern summed up. Slowly, slowly it is all coming together. I am planning on purchasing my ticket this week (the round trip plane ticket costs as much as my entire trip to Budapest. Not quite sure how that math works out, but whatever.) and from there it is getting my visa, apartment there, and everything (EVERYTHING) else together. I am nervous, excited, scared, excited, nervous, and scared, and scared, excited, and nervous.
Portuguese: "Quero uma cerveja." translation: "I would like a beer." Ta dah!(Thanks, Limpy) An American girl in Brazil success story. Hey, if it can work here, I think it should work there. No? Fine. I'm working on it, okay,? Maybe not working on it enough, but I'm working on it. I have ten more weeks to put it off, err, I mean, commit it all to memory, receive a gold star, and charm the locals.
Yellow fever vaccine: That will be part of the next bullet-point list. Something tells me there may be a story about that little live vaccine. That something would be, Hello! Have you met me? It says, "may cause illness." Something tells me there won't be any "may" about it. It's a live vaccine of yellow fever being shot into my body for god's sake! Parents, friends, neighbors will all be put on alert to feed me ice chips and to make sure I don't go running naked around the greater Small State U community screaming, "I lost my invisible plane! I lost my invisible plane!"
So, tell me all about yourself.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
a drunk man's words, are a sober man's thoughts
If only the random phone calls and text messages I receive at 2a.m. had the same courage to be made at 2p.m.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
the power of one
After deleting three different titles to this post, I decided to just write it out here.
The power to both pick-up the phone when it rings and the power to dial the phone. I know, not Earth shattering things, but when you've dated and been hurt (crushed) as much as I have, well, those can be kinda big deals.
As the phone dialer, it takes courage to punch the numbers. As the receiver of the call, it takes courage to not screen and actually pick-up the phone. Again, not changing the world here, but possibly changing the world of one.
Yep. If you haven't already figured it out, I've started dating someone. Still pretty new. (about three weeks) (and if history has taught me anything, admit I am dating someone on the blog and dating someone will end, so.)(but I hope that curse can be broken.) Still new enough that I am trying to not revert back to old habits of sabotage. Not doing so well on that front, as Monday (ala, St. Pat's) I went home with a guy I met that night, after flirting with my guy friends all night, and while dating the formerly mentioned man. Not proud of that moment, but it happened and I didn't do anything morally wrong, maybe just stupid, but not wrong. Issues, who has issues? Get your issues, here!
Last night the dating man, we shall call him, Math Teacher, and I just told each other that we liked each other and that this is a pressure free situation. (Cue sappy music.)
Math Teacher also knocked me on my ass last night (no slap, just a knock) when he told me I am "very guarded...he hasn't figured out why yet, but I am." Ah, yep. Amazing how one sentence can knock the wind from me. I told him I had been hurt a lot and there is time for him to figure it out if he is patient. So. We shall see. (cue, music)(again.)
So, anyway, this week it's about the power of being able to pick-up the phone, maybe make a drunk dial or two, ask someone out, tell them that I like them (sad, but that's kinda a big deal for me. I know, sad.) and to have the courage to not be the cat-lady. Cause, it is a short line between being a happy-go-lucky single gal to being the woman who is bitter and owns at least three cats. Let's just be honest about that. It's about having the courage to not become the cat-lady.
The power to both pick-up the phone when it rings and the power to dial the phone. I know, not Earth shattering things, but when you've dated and been hurt (crushed) as much as I have, well, those can be kinda big deals.
As the phone dialer, it takes courage to punch the numbers. As the receiver of the call, it takes courage to not screen and actually pick-up the phone. Again, not changing the world here, but possibly changing the world of one.
Yep. If you haven't already figured it out, I've started dating someone. Still pretty new. (about three weeks) (and if history has taught me anything, admit I am dating someone on the blog and dating someone will end, so.)(but I hope that curse can be broken.) Still new enough that I am trying to not revert back to old habits of sabotage. Not doing so well on that front, as Monday (ala, St. Pat's) I went home with a guy I met that night, after flirting with my guy friends all night, and while dating the formerly mentioned man. Not proud of that moment, but it happened and I didn't do anything morally wrong, maybe just stupid, but not wrong. Issues, who has issues? Get your issues, here!
Last night the dating man, we shall call him, Math Teacher, and I just told each other that we liked each other and that this is a pressure free situation. (Cue sappy music.)
Math Teacher also knocked me on my ass last night (no slap, just a knock) when he told me I am "very guarded...he hasn't figured out why yet, but I am." Ah, yep. Amazing how one sentence can knock the wind from me. I told him I had been hurt a lot and there is time for him to figure it out if he is patient. So. We shall see. (cue, music)(again.)
So, anyway, this week it's about the power of being able to pick-up the phone, maybe make a drunk dial or two, ask someone out, tell them that I like them (sad, but that's kinda a big deal for me. I know, sad.) and to have the courage to not be the cat-lady. Cause, it is a short line between being a happy-go-lucky single gal to being the woman who is bitter and owns at least three cats. Let's just be honest about that. It's about having the courage to not become the cat-lady.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
overheard and said
Overheard: Me in bathroom stall number 1 overhearing girls in stalls 2 and 3
Girl 2: Those guys are really hot. (pause) I wish I would have worn better underwear.
Girl 3: (pause) Ah, I'm wearing Hanes Her Way.
Me trying not to laugh at the girls while looking down at my Victoria Secret. Lesson: Always be prepared.
Said: conversation between myself and a guy I've gone out with a couple times.
Him: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "A girlfriend and I are supposed to be going out tonight." (I went out Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.)
Slight pause. "Do you go out a lot?"
Slight pause from me "Um, well, that's kind of subjective."
(I mean, I don't think I go out a lot. ya know?)
Overheard: Walking across campus, guy behind me on his cell phone, I assume talking to a friend.
Him: "When are my student loans due?"
Assume the other person says, six months from the day you graduate.
"Yeah, that scares the shit out of me. I cannot even tell you how much."
Me thinking and nodding knowingly, yeah, you and me both, buddy. You and me both.
Said: Last night at the bar when I attempted to leave at an ungodly early hour.
A round table of guy friends. "Holy hell! PG! You are not leaving! Where do you think you're going? Sit your ass down!"
"Okay, I'll stay, but I refuse to have any more fun."
My best guy friend to the waitress "Get this girl a round of shots."
"Oh, okay. If I must."
Said: Best guy friend to me.
"PG, If I pay you $50 will you punch me out with your right breast?"
"Hell, for you, I'll do it for two easy payments and one difficult payment of
$49.99."
Overheard and said:
Said: by my date upon realizing I knew, and love a band he used to do security for. As a matter fact, it was the first bar band I ever saw. "Wow, you just elevated yourself to a whole new level."
Me: "Yes!"
Overheard: by the radio DJ in the room, "Well, that sounds promising."
My thoughts, "Yes, yes it does."
Said: to my table-full of guy and girlfriends:
(My building shares a hot water heater and my water will mysteriously, and without warning turn from a nice, wake-me-up-in-the-morning-temperature to scalding-melt-my- flesh-off and I have a hand-held shower head.) "So, the other morning, while in the shower, the water turned to scalding and I just about burnt my clit off..."
(Yeah, It was worth the reaction at the table.)
Girl 2: Those guys are really hot. (pause) I wish I would have worn better underwear.
Girl 3: (pause) Ah, I'm wearing Hanes Her Way.
Me trying not to laugh at the girls while looking down at my Victoria Secret. Lesson: Always be prepared.
Said: conversation between myself and a guy I've gone out with a couple times.
Him: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "A girlfriend and I are supposed to be going out tonight." (I went out Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.)
Slight pause. "Do you go out a lot?"
Slight pause from me "Um, well, that's kind of subjective."
(I mean, I don't think I go out a lot. ya know?)
Overheard: Walking across campus, guy behind me on his cell phone, I assume talking to a friend.
Him: "When are my student loans due?"
Assume the other person says, six months from the day you graduate.
"Yeah, that scares the shit out of me. I cannot even tell you how much."
Me thinking and nodding knowingly, yeah, you and me both, buddy. You and me both.
Said: Last night at the bar when I attempted to leave at an ungodly early hour.
A round table of guy friends. "Holy hell! PG! You are not leaving! Where do you think you're going? Sit your ass down!"
"Okay, I'll stay, but I refuse to have any more fun."
My best guy friend to the waitress "Get this girl a round of shots."
"Oh, okay. If I must."
Said: Best guy friend to me.
"PG, If I pay you $50 will you punch me out with your right breast?"
"Hell, for you, I'll do it for two easy payments and one difficult payment of
$49.99."
Overheard and said:
Said: by my date upon realizing I knew, and love a band he used to do security for. As a matter fact, it was the first bar band I ever saw. "Wow, you just elevated yourself to a whole new level."
Me: "Yes!"
Overheard: by the radio DJ in the room, "Well, that sounds promising."
My thoughts, "Yes, yes it does."
Said: to my table-full of guy and girlfriends:
(My building shares a hot water heater and my water will mysteriously, and without warning turn from a nice, wake-me-up-in-the-morning-temperature to scalding-melt-my- flesh-off and I have a hand-held shower head.) "So, the other morning, while in the shower, the water turned to scalding and I just about burnt my clit off..."
(Yeah, It was worth the reaction at the table.)
Thursday, March 13, 2008
inner dork: randomness
I know, bad PG. No inner dorking, no outter dorkings, no dorkings at all, so bad, so wrong. Bad blog slacking PG.
So, without further ado, here is your inner dorking:
Did you know....
In 1956 the Physical Culture and Sports Commission of communist China recognized the sport of hand-grenade throwing.
During a hundred-meter race, a top sprinter makes contact with the ground only about forty times.
The only sport that takes place on a triangular race-course is sailing.
(I had no idea ponds and lakes came in triangle.)
Eosophobia is a fear of dawn.
(I think I suffer from this disorder.)
A duffle bag got its name because the thick wool originally used to make the bags came from the Belgium town of Duffle.
The difference between a nook and a cranny is that the nook is a corner and the cranny is a crack.
(So, boys, always make sure to cover all the nooks and crannys. Just sayin')
In native Greek, Utopia means "not a place" or "nowhere."
Women's hearts beat faster than men's.
Men get hiccups more often than women do.
Women blink twice as often as men do.
(It was recently pointed out to me, that when I am thinking about something I "blink hard" or, to phrase it better, I close my eyes for a long second. Hmm, I don't think I cleared that up at all.)
A cubic mile of seawater contains, on average, more than $117 million worth of gold and $11 million worth of silver.
(Let's go diving!)
Winters were colder a thousand years ago. In 1063, the River Thames froze for fourteen weeks.
(Yeah, well, I think this winter classifies as "colder". Good Lord, but I am glad spring is almost here.)
The average lifespan of a slug is eighteen months.
(Gosh, but I feel I can complete my day now.)
and last:
Some ribbon worms will eat themselves if they cannot find food.
(And I know some men who wish they could.) (Eat themselves.)
Ta dah! Now, go enjoy your day.
So, without further ado, here is your inner dorking:
Did you know....
In 1956 the Physical Culture and Sports Commission of communist China recognized the sport of hand-grenade throwing.
During a hundred-meter race, a top sprinter makes contact with the ground only about forty times.
The only sport that takes place on a triangular race-course is sailing.
(I had no idea ponds and lakes came in triangle.)
Eosophobia is a fear of dawn.
(I think I suffer from this disorder.)
A duffle bag got its name because the thick wool originally used to make the bags came from the Belgium town of Duffle.
The difference between a nook and a cranny is that the nook is a corner and the cranny is a crack.
(So, boys, always make sure to cover all the nooks and crannys. Just sayin')
In native Greek, Utopia means "not a place" or "nowhere."
Women's hearts beat faster than men's.
Men get hiccups more often than women do.
Women blink twice as often as men do.
(It was recently pointed out to me, that when I am thinking about something I "blink hard" or, to phrase it better, I close my eyes for a long second. Hmm, I don't think I cleared that up at all.)
A cubic mile of seawater contains, on average, more than $117 million worth of gold and $11 million worth of silver.
(Let's go diving!)
Winters were colder a thousand years ago. In 1063, the River Thames froze for fourteen weeks.
(Yeah, well, I think this winter classifies as "colder". Good Lord, but I am glad spring is almost here.)
The average lifespan of a slug is eighteen months.
(Gosh, but I feel I can complete my day now.)
and last:
Some ribbon worms will eat themselves if they cannot find food.
(And I know some men who wish they could.) (Eat themselves.)
Ta dah! Now, go enjoy your day.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Lost the war, concede the battle, win a small victory
The Shade-o-riffic tree is laden with a thick transparent coat of ice and a fresh blanket of snow, the weight of both forces the branches southward.
As I sit on the middle cushion of my big-ugly-comfy couch, blanket wrapped around my knees and feet, holding the over-sized powder blue coffee mug steaming with a freshly poured cup of heavily creamed coffee, I stare. I stare at the branches through my patio doors and will the wind to blow harder. I murmur my secret evil chant to the Global Gods, “blow, wind, blow.” Hoping against all hope that these words will reach up to the snowy, blustery, heavens and the power of my will combined with the powers of my subconscious will make the heavy branches come crashing down to the ground and I will win a small victory against the
Shade-o-riffic tree.
Fall.
Stare longer.
Will the braches to come tumbling down.
See it.
Will it.
Want it.
If I want something bad enough, I need to see it, envision it, isn’t that what all those psycho-babble Oprah-sheep are always espousing? See it, want it, will it.
Wait, am I supposed to write it down? Is “write it down” one of the things they “bah” about?
In my tunnel-vision determination to bring the tree to a shattering cold death, I realize I am missing a crucial step. I place the powder blue coffee mug on a coaster and I search my crappy apartment for a pen and a piece of paper. In my search I wonder if this is how it started for Jack Torrance. How soon did he go crazy after he and his family moved into the Overlook Hotel? How soon? With the vision of “Heeeeere’s, Johnny!” crashing through my door; the crazy one, not Carson, the word “redrum” pours scarlet in my mind. With shock and horror at what I’ve become, a tree hating grad student, I abruptly stop scribbling my missing affirmation on the shredded cover of last semester's environmental public policy book where the crucial words of "wanted dead, not alive," the last step needed to finish my crucifying bullet, falls harmlessly to the floor. I let out a sad, short, disgusted whimper of shame as I shake my head and lower my gaze to the living room carpet where I notice a few lonely speaks of salt and sand combined with several small balls of black sweatshirt fuzz and I realize that in my all consuming one woman staring contest, it has been awhile since I last vacuumed.
I decide that it is time to concede my battle with the Shade-o-riffic tree. It has obviously been here longer than I and it will be here long after I leave, this is victory enough. I raise my coffee mug in a salute and shout, “Live on, you stupid humongous tree! Live on!”
Moments later I dump the corpse of the .5 houseplant into the garbage and change yet another burned-out light bulb in a vain attempt to brighten my perpetually dusk apartment. During the houseplant burial ceremony I vow to kill trees in another more vigorously sinister way; with the printing of research.
As I sit on the middle cushion of my big-ugly-comfy couch, blanket wrapped around my knees and feet, holding the over-sized powder blue coffee mug steaming with a freshly poured cup of heavily creamed coffee, I stare. I stare at the branches through my patio doors and will the wind to blow harder. I murmur my secret evil chant to the Global Gods, “blow, wind, blow.” Hoping against all hope that these words will reach up to the snowy, blustery, heavens and the power of my will combined with the powers of my subconscious will make the heavy branches come crashing down to the ground and I will win a small victory against the
Shade-o-riffic tree.
Fall.
Stare longer.
Will the braches to come tumbling down.
See it.
Will it.
Want it.
If I want something bad enough, I need to see it, envision it, isn’t that what all those psycho-babble Oprah-sheep are always espousing? See it, want it, will it.
Wait, am I supposed to write it down? Is “write it down” one of the things they “bah” about?
In my tunnel-vision determination to bring the tree to a shattering cold death, I realize I am missing a crucial step. I place the powder blue coffee mug on a coaster and I search my crappy apartment for a pen and a piece of paper. In my search I wonder if this is how it started for Jack Torrance. How soon did he go crazy after he and his family moved into the Overlook Hotel? How soon? With the vision of “Heeeeere’s, Johnny!” crashing through my door; the crazy one, not Carson, the word “redrum” pours scarlet in my mind. With shock and horror at what I’ve become, a tree hating grad student, I abruptly stop scribbling my missing affirmation on the shredded cover of last semester's environmental public policy book where the crucial words of "wanted dead, not alive," the last step needed to finish my crucifying bullet, falls harmlessly to the floor. I let out a sad, short, disgusted whimper of shame as I shake my head and lower my gaze to the living room carpet where I notice a few lonely speaks of salt and sand combined with several small balls of black sweatshirt fuzz and I realize that in my all consuming one woman staring contest, it has been awhile since I last vacuumed.
I decide that it is time to concede my battle with the Shade-o-riffic tree. It has obviously been here longer than I and it will be here long after I leave, this is victory enough. I raise my coffee mug in a salute and shout, “Live on, you stupid humongous tree! Live on!”
Moments later I dump the corpse of the .5 houseplant into the garbage and change yet another burned-out light bulb in a vain attempt to brighten my perpetually dusk apartment. During the houseplant burial ceremony I vow to kill trees in another more vigorously sinister way; with the printing of research.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Power of One: the one woman boycott
I have my causes, the things I care about, the things I'm not willing to put up with, the things I support. Then I have the things I will not support and the causes and things I boycott. It's the power of the one person boycott. (Bows head, outstretches right arm and raises hand into a fist)
I don't have many things I boycott, but I feel strongly about those that I have.
Wal-Mart. Truly, an evil empire. I refer to this evil empire as The Devil Store. I will not shop there; I do not support the evil empire in any way. Horrible, horrible store. Bad on the environment, treats their employees horribly, many of their employees are on welfare to subsudize their income, yet the CEO's of Wal-mart are some of the richest in the world. Boycott has been ongoing for over five years.
Blockbuster. In principle I just do not care for the store. However, several years ago they charged me repeatedly for late fees that I did not owe and claimed, repeatedly, that I did not return movies when I had. So, perhaps not completely justified, because it has more to do with bad training and store policies than anything else, I don't care. Boycott has been ongoing for over seven years.
A local grocery store chain: Has more to do with the fact that the pimple faced kids do not realize that we all have to work, we don't want to, working is not our favorite thing, but we like to have money, and "Hey, how are you?" is a rhetorical question. Boycott is off and on because unfortunately sometimes I do need to shop there, because, unfortunately I like food on Sundays. (My favorite grocery store is closed on Sundays.)
Ethanol gasoline: It's a horrible, horrible, horrible policy. Ethanol sprawl, water run-off, downstream pollution, still uses petroleum; it is not a cheaper fuel. The only reason it is cheaper is because of tax subsidies. Tax breaks for the gas station owners and farmers. It actually costs more and takes more energy to produce one gallon of ethanol than it does to produce one gallon of regular gasoline. Boycott is brand new, about a week. I've thought about it since this past fall, finally my Jiminy Cricket got to me. Do I like paying more at the pump, no. But regular gasoline burns slower, lasts longer; so really, I'm saving money.
PBS: Okay, I do not boycott PBS. I love PBS. But, I did realize, just the other day, that I listen, watch, and throughly enjoy PBS and NPR, but I never give them money to stay on the air. They are public goods and I am a free-rider. I should stop that. The next telethon I've promised myself that I will give a donation. Just seems like the right thing to do.
So, those are a few of mine. Do you all have any one person boycotts?
I don't have many things I boycott, but I feel strongly about those that I have.
Wal-Mart. Truly, an evil empire. I refer to this evil empire as The Devil Store. I will not shop there; I do not support the evil empire in any way. Horrible, horrible store. Bad on the environment, treats their employees horribly, many of their employees are on welfare to subsudize their income, yet the CEO's of Wal-mart are some of the richest in the world. Boycott has been ongoing for over five years.
Blockbuster. In principle I just do not care for the store. However, several years ago they charged me repeatedly for late fees that I did not owe and claimed, repeatedly, that I did not return movies when I had. So, perhaps not completely justified, because it has more to do with bad training and store policies than anything else, I don't care. Boycott has been ongoing for over seven years.
A local grocery store chain: Has more to do with the fact that the pimple faced kids do not realize that we all have to work, we don't want to, working is not our favorite thing, but we like to have money, and "Hey, how are you?" is a rhetorical question. Boycott is off and on because unfortunately sometimes I do need to shop there, because, unfortunately I like food on Sundays. (My favorite grocery store is closed on Sundays.)
Ethanol gasoline: It's a horrible, horrible, horrible policy. Ethanol sprawl, water run-off, downstream pollution, still uses petroleum; it is not a cheaper fuel. The only reason it is cheaper is because of tax subsidies. Tax breaks for the gas station owners and farmers. It actually costs more and takes more energy to produce one gallon of ethanol than it does to produce one gallon of regular gasoline. Boycott is brand new, about a week. I've thought about it since this past fall, finally my Jiminy Cricket got to me. Do I like paying more at the pump, no. But regular gasoline burns slower, lasts longer; so really, I'm saving money.
PBS: Okay, I do not boycott PBS. I love PBS. But, I did realize, just the other day, that I listen, watch, and throughly enjoy PBS and NPR, but I never give them money to stay on the air. They are public goods and I am a free-rider. I should stop that. The next telethon I've promised myself that I will give a donation. Just seems like the right thing to do.
So, those are a few of mine. Do you all have any one person boycotts?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Where I'm Going, Where I've Been
I think it is time for an update on this here thing called my life. A bullet-point list if you will, of all the wisdom, book-learning, wonderful, and self-fulfilling life experiences known as grad school. (Sarcasm and snarky comments may, can, and will be included) (but no preservatives or partially hydrated corn oil.) (There may be some additives.) (This post will only contain the truth.) (Or at least the truth as I see it.) (which is the only truth that matters.)
At times It may also appear in the form of the third person.
Apartment: Still hate it. It's amazing that with all the cleaning products on the market, Madison Avenue has not come up with one that can make a fifty-year old apartment smell or look clean after several hours of cleaning. Notify Johnson & Johnson that they need to add "New and Improved Cleaning Power" to all of their products.
Shade-o-riffic tree: Still willing it to die. The tree is stronger than the powers of my will and subconscious. Number of house plants claimed: 3.5 (one is still hanging on. I don't give it much hope. Two-three more weeks, tops. Notify Earl May.) I have learned that the powers of a tree are stronger than the powers of house plants which need and love photosynthesis.
State University Shuffle: What I refer to my walking pace and speed to and from school each day. Apparently the greater State University area does not have a snow removal, sand, and salt disbursement budget. Thus, everything is covered in snow and ice in various forms of melt, remelt, and shoe imprints; thus I am too terrified to actually pick-up my feet when walking, a shuffle will do just fine.
Parking tickets: I'm convinced I've paid enough in parking fines to at least cover my State University shuffle foot path each day, but apparently I am wrong about that. Bastards.
College aesthetic of beauty: I never really understood why the 18-24 year-olds love the sweatpants and sweatshirts so much. Is it really that hard to put on a stylish top and cute but comfortable pair of pants? I've since learned that this fashion trend serves a purpose. That purpose is that it is breath-freezing-in-the throat cold outside and sweatpants and sweatshirts keep a person toasty and warm. Plus, since it is booger freezing cold outside and a toasty 72 degrees inside, divided by the body heat of 50 college student, added into the sweat that is created from wearing enough layers not to loose limbs and ears lobes, multiplied by the power of a 30 pound backpack, by the square-root of the energy it takes to walk up a flight of stairs, well, I will be a bit glowy by the time I get to class. Hence, the "sweat" in sweatshirts. So, the college beauty aesthetic actually serves a purpose. Who knew, college kids really are smart.
Heels, skirts, matching sets of fun and funky jewelry: Yeah. Those haven't been broken out in awhile. For any confusion, see the above.
Job: I do not have one. I do not want one. I do not want to look for one. I have never had this much free time. I will never have this much free time again. I have enjoyed it. I am enjoying it. I will enjoy it. PG, the no-job-having-girl, I am.
Brazil: My internship has been approved for the summer; I will be spending eight weeks in Salvador, Brazil working with impoverished women and children. Six weeks are for my internship, two weeks will be for me to travel around South America. The organization is totally grassroots. Totally grassroots is government code for, unpaid internship, which means I need to come up with a crap load of money in the next few months. However, I will be doing the kind of work I know I need to be doing, which is helping with health education, sex and HIV/AIDS education, as well as teaching the local children how to read and write. I will also be helping with the making and selling of jewelry to help provide funds for the community. Now, that's not what my actual internship will be. No, I need to do a bunch and a whole lotta research for the actual requirements, but I am hoping to have all non-fun research and writing stuff finished by the time June rolls around, that way I can have the time to do all of the other schtuff while I am in country.
Learning Portuguese: Um, well. I've bought the CD's. I've made flash cards. It's similar to Spanish. ..... Yeah, I'm pretty far from committing any words, let alone phrases, to memory. Maybe I can just put the flash cards on a ring and when somebody says something to me I can just flip through my cards. That seems productive not to mention a great way to make friends and spread the American love.
Drinking: I'm German. That means I'm good at it. I also practice often. The kids here haven't learned that drinking isn't a race and that no matter what, we will all get to the finish line. But, one day they will have this wisdom and they will go far.
Dating: Blech. Boys and guys are stupid, men are not stupid. However, there seems to be more boys and guys than men in this town. And let's be honest, I'm not over the last man. So, I am on a dating break.
Art: A girlfriend and I started a Sunday sewing circle. It's just the two of us, so I guess it is more of a sewing horizontal line, but still, the stitch and bitch is there.
Classes: Oh, yeah, the reason why I am here. Classes and professors are better than last semester, but I don't know how much that is really saying. Taking 10 credits of grad and 3 credits of undergrad (missing a micro-econ requirement) plus, I had the wisdom and foresight to ask if I could audit the dreaded and scary Public Finance class that I will take next spring (apparently one of two classes that most everyone has trouble with and also one of two classes which people fail on the comps) so, 16 credits it is. Did I mention I don't have a job? Other than my Quantitative Research class (a.k.a. stats, formulas, and all things math-like) I am enjoying the classes and should do fine. Hopefully once we move to the computer for the stats class it will become less stomach burning, and tear inducing.
So, even though I've never had this much free time, I'm just as busy as I've always been. So, sorry for the lack of posting, but I've been busy killing trees and reading about all things fascinating and dealing with human rights and public policy. Sure, maybe not the most exciting stuff, but the professors keep telling me that I will actually need to know this stuff cause apparently I will be tested on it. So, there you go.
I had a big emotional breakthrough on my decsion to be here (I know, sounds hokey, but truly, wow, changed everything.) So, after six months of doubt, I'm finally feeling good about being here. Sometimes it's good to say things outloud to friends. Sometimes they can come up with five seconds of wisdom that finally allows me to see all those trees in the forest.
Okay, so, what is new with all of you?
At times It may also appear in the form of the third person.
Apartment: Still hate it. It's amazing that with all the cleaning products on the market, Madison Avenue has not come up with one that can make a fifty-year old apartment smell or look clean after several hours of cleaning. Notify Johnson & Johnson that they need to add "New and Improved Cleaning Power" to all of their products.
Shade-o-riffic tree: Still willing it to die. The tree is stronger than the powers of my will and subconscious. Number of house plants claimed: 3.5 (one is still hanging on. I don't give it much hope. Two-three more weeks, tops. Notify Earl May.) I have learned that the powers of a tree are stronger than the powers of house plants which need and love photosynthesis.
State University Shuffle: What I refer to my walking pace and speed to and from school each day. Apparently the greater State University area does not have a snow removal, sand, and salt disbursement budget. Thus, everything is covered in snow and ice in various forms of melt, remelt, and shoe imprints; thus I am too terrified to actually pick-up my feet when walking, a shuffle will do just fine.
Parking tickets: I'm convinced I've paid enough in parking fines to at least cover my State University shuffle foot path each day, but apparently I am wrong about that. Bastards.
College aesthetic of beauty: I never really understood why the 18-24 year-olds love the sweatpants and sweatshirts so much. Is it really that hard to put on a stylish top and cute but comfortable pair of pants? I've since learned that this fashion trend serves a purpose. That purpose is that it is breath-freezing-in-the throat cold outside and sweatpants and sweatshirts keep a person toasty and warm. Plus, since it is booger freezing cold outside and a toasty 72 degrees inside, divided by the body heat of 50 college student, added into the sweat that is created from wearing enough layers not to loose limbs and ears lobes, multiplied by the power of a 30 pound backpack, by the square-root of the energy it takes to walk up a flight of stairs, well, I will be a bit glowy by the time I get to class. Hence, the "sweat" in sweatshirts. So, the college beauty aesthetic actually serves a purpose. Who knew, college kids really are smart.
Heels, skirts, matching sets of fun and funky jewelry: Yeah. Those haven't been broken out in awhile. For any confusion, see the above.
Job: I do not have one. I do not want one. I do not want to look for one. I have never had this much free time. I will never have this much free time again. I have enjoyed it. I am enjoying it. I will enjoy it. PG, the no-job-having-girl, I am.
Brazil: My internship has been approved for the summer; I will be spending eight weeks in Salvador, Brazil working with impoverished women and children. Six weeks are for my internship, two weeks will be for me to travel around South America. The organization is totally grassroots. Totally grassroots is government code for, unpaid internship, which means I need to come up with a crap load of money in the next few months. However, I will be doing the kind of work I know I need to be doing, which is helping with health education, sex and HIV/AIDS education, as well as teaching the local children how to read and write. I will also be helping with the making and selling of jewelry to help provide funds for the community. Now, that's not what my actual internship will be. No, I need to do a bunch and a whole lotta research for the actual requirements, but I am hoping to have all non-fun research and writing stuff finished by the time June rolls around, that way I can have the time to do all of the other schtuff while I am in country.
Learning Portuguese: Um, well. I've bought the CD's. I've made flash cards. It's similar to Spanish. ..... Yeah, I'm pretty far from committing any words, let alone phrases, to memory. Maybe I can just put the flash cards on a ring and when somebody says something to me I can just flip through my cards. That seems productive not to mention a great way to make friends and spread the American love.
Drinking: I'm German. That means I'm good at it. I also practice often. The kids here haven't learned that drinking isn't a race and that no matter what, we will all get to the finish line. But, one day they will have this wisdom and they will go far.
Dating: Blech. Boys and guys are stupid, men are not stupid. However, there seems to be more boys and guys than men in this town. And let's be honest, I'm not over the last man. So, I am on a dating break.
Art: A girlfriend and I started a Sunday sewing circle. It's just the two of us, so I guess it is more of a sewing horizontal line, but still, the stitch and bitch is there.
Classes: Oh, yeah, the reason why I am here. Classes and professors are better than last semester, but I don't know how much that is really saying. Taking 10 credits of grad and 3 credits of undergrad (missing a micro-econ requirement) plus, I had the wisdom and foresight to ask if I could audit the dreaded and scary Public Finance class that I will take next spring (apparently one of two classes that most everyone has trouble with and also one of two classes which people fail on the comps) so, 16 credits it is. Did I mention I don't have a job? Other than my Quantitative Research class (a.k.a. stats, formulas, and all things math-like) I am enjoying the classes and should do fine. Hopefully once we move to the computer for the stats class it will become less stomach burning, and tear inducing.
So, even though I've never had this much free time, I'm just as busy as I've always been. So, sorry for the lack of posting, but I've been busy killing trees and reading about all things fascinating and dealing with human rights and public policy. Sure, maybe not the most exciting stuff, but the professors keep telling me that I will actually need to know this stuff cause apparently I will be tested on it. So, there you go.
I had a big emotional breakthrough on my decsion to be here (I know, sounds hokey, but truly, wow, changed everything.) So, after six months of doubt, I'm finally feeling good about being here. Sometimes it's good to say things outloud to friends. Sometimes they can come up with five seconds of wisdom that finally allows me to see all those trees in the forest.
Okay, so, what is new with all of you?
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
You could use a laugh today
I was all prepared to write a sad little post tonight; then I remembered Mitch. Mitch Hedberg and how my guy friend and I went back and forth the other night quoting his lines. I then spent the last hour watching old clips of his. I am no longer sad.
Score one for Mitch.
I thought perhaps you could use a laugh as well.
Cause really, no matter what kind of day you are having when can we not use a laugh break?
Always.
We can always use a laugh break.
Enjoy: Hee-lar-e-ous
...and yes, I know I've shared before. Don't be persnikity, just enjoy.
Score one for Mitch.
I thought perhaps you could use a laugh as well.
Cause really, no matter what kind of day you are having when can we not use a laugh break?
Always.
We can always use a laugh break.
Enjoy: Hee-lar-e-ous
...and yes, I know I've shared before. Don't be persnikity, just enjoy.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
inner dork: Milwaukee's best
As some, dear readers, so kindly pointed out to me last week, uh, where's Milwaukee in all of the beer love?
So, here are some factoids as to why Milwaukee was at one point, the king of bad beer.
Speaking of bad beer, remember Hamms and the Hamms bear? Man, I had a baseball T as a kid that I LOVED. Wore it all the time. I loved those little beer commercials with the Hamms bear. He had so many misadventures. He was so silly...
Do you suppose the Hamms Beer Company was marketing to kids? Huh, do ya?
So, did you know....
Milwaukee did not enjoy any significant advantages as concerned the price or availability of raw materials such as hops and barley.
Labor was not noticeably cheaper in Milwaukee than most other brewing cities.
Milwaukee's water supply did not offer any special advantages for brewing. The nineteenth century myth that Milwaukee water produced a superior brew was debunked by early chemists.
There were no particular advantages associated with transportation of freight in or out of Milwaukee.
Although cooperage (barrels, vats, casks, etc.) was inexpensive in Milwaukee due to the large Wisconsin lumber trade, the savings were not significant enough to provide a major advantage. And anyway, the Milwaukee brewers consumed so many beer barrels that they were often forced to buy them from suppliers outside Wisconsin, thus incurring transportation costs. In fact, frequent barrel shortages in Milwaukee finally compelled the Pabst and Schlitz breweries to join forces and establish the Delta Cooperage Company to secure a constant supply of barrels.
Cheap, abundant ice from Lake Michigan certainly favored brewing before the advent of artificial refrigeration. Ice also stimulated long-distance shipping of beer, since rail cars needed to be packed with enormous quantities of ice to prevent spoilage of the beer en route. But all Great Lakes cities -- Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, etc. -- also enjoyed the same advantages. Thus, Milwaukee's ice supply can not alone be credited with the developing city's brewing prowess.
What, then, caused Milwaukee to become the "brewing capital of the world?"
The best answer is that it was a combination of a diverse set of factors:
1) Conditions in Milwaukee were just as favorable for beer-making as they were in most major cities. Yet, compared to many nineteenth century brewing centers, Milwaukee's population -- and that of its outlying regions -- was relatively small. Thus, Milwaukee brewers were forced to turn to outside markets to expand sales. This unique problem ultimately transformed Milwaukee's breweries into "nationally-minded" organizations. Once begun, the strategy of long-distance shipping did not cease for Milwaukee's brewers until their beer was being sold in every corner of America.
2) Proximity to the large beer-consuming population of Chicago -- and the easy and inexpensive lake transportation thereto -- was always a boon to Milwaukee's brewing industry. For example, the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 boosted sales of Milwaukee breweries enormously. Schlitz's frequent shipments of beer to the devastated city earned it the slogan, "The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous." Schlitz enjoyed a 100 percent jump in sales immediately after the Chicago fire.
3) There is no question that certain of Milwaukee's brewers were extraordinarily talented businessmen. While their particular circumstances may have accidentally lead them to aspire to greater markets than most brewers, it can not be denied that the men behind the breweries were savvy, aggressive industrialists. And much of their success was achieved through vision, hard work and sound business sense.
Next week: why beer and cheese make a lovely combination of co-mingling tastes on the buds.
So, here are some factoids as to why Milwaukee was at one point, the king of bad beer.
Speaking of bad beer, remember Hamms and the Hamms bear? Man, I had a baseball T as a kid that I LOVED. Wore it all the time. I loved those little beer commercials with the Hamms bear. He had so many misadventures. He was so silly...
Do you suppose the Hamms Beer Company was marketing to kids? Huh, do ya?
So, did you know....
Milwaukee did not enjoy any significant advantages as concerned the price or availability of raw materials such as hops and barley.
Labor was not noticeably cheaper in Milwaukee than most other brewing cities.
Milwaukee's water supply did not offer any special advantages for brewing. The nineteenth century myth that Milwaukee water produced a superior brew was debunked by early chemists.
There were no particular advantages associated with transportation of freight in or out of Milwaukee.
Although cooperage (barrels, vats, casks, etc.) was inexpensive in Milwaukee due to the large Wisconsin lumber trade, the savings were not significant enough to provide a major advantage. And anyway, the Milwaukee brewers consumed so many beer barrels that they were often forced to buy them from suppliers outside Wisconsin, thus incurring transportation costs. In fact, frequent barrel shortages in Milwaukee finally compelled the Pabst and Schlitz breweries to join forces and establish the Delta Cooperage Company to secure a constant supply of barrels.
Cheap, abundant ice from Lake Michigan certainly favored brewing before the advent of artificial refrigeration. Ice also stimulated long-distance shipping of beer, since rail cars needed to be packed with enormous quantities of ice to prevent spoilage of the beer en route. But all Great Lakes cities -- Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, etc. -- also enjoyed the same advantages. Thus, Milwaukee's ice supply can not alone be credited with the developing city's brewing prowess.
What, then, caused Milwaukee to become the "brewing capital of the world?"
The best answer is that it was a combination of a diverse set of factors:
1) Conditions in Milwaukee were just as favorable for beer-making as they were in most major cities. Yet, compared to many nineteenth century brewing centers, Milwaukee's population -- and that of its outlying regions -- was relatively small. Thus, Milwaukee brewers were forced to turn to outside markets to expand sales. This unique problem ultimately transformed Milwaukee's breweries into "nationally-minded" organizations. Once begun, the strategy of long-distance shipping did not cease for Milwaukee's brewers until their beer was being sold in every corner of America.
2) Proximity to the large beer-consuming population of Chicago -- and the easy and inexpensive lake transportation thereto -- was always a boon to Milwaukee's brewing industry. For example, the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 boosted sales of Milwaukee breweries enormously. Schlitz's frequent shipments of beer to the devastated city earned it the slogan, "The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous." Schlitz enjoyed a 100 percent jump in sales immediately after the Chicago fire.
3) There is no question that certain of Milwaukee's brewers were extraordinarily talented businessmen. While their particular circumstances may have accidentally lead them to aspire to greater markets than most brewers, it can not be denied that the men behind the breweries were savvy, aggressive industrialists. And much of their success was achieved through vision, hard work and sound business sense.
Next week: why beer and cheese make a lovely combination of co-mingling tastes on the buds.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Paul the Penguin
When I walked to school today I encountered Paul. Paul the Penguin. Nice guy. I thought it was a bit odd to see a penguin out and about in these parts, so I asked him about his relocation to the northern side of the planet. He said that his home in Antarctica was getting a bit warm and he and his wife, Deloris, had heard how cold and blustery the Great White North could be*, so they decided to relocate. As he spoke with some snow blew into my eyes, so I could see his point. Well, not so much see, as my eyes were filled with freezing ice, but I could certainly understand the relocation plan of his family. As we spoke, he told me about his wife, they’ve been married 25 years, two kids, a son Marlin, which I found to be an unusual name for a penguin as it is part of the fish family, but he said it was a an old family name going back to the Mesozoic area. Sure, sure. A daughter, Samantha, Sam for short, who has met a seagull during the relocation program. Paul is trying to accept the interspecies love match, but Deloris is just sick with worry over what the neighbors must be saying.
It was at this point in the conversation that I had to interrupt Paul and asked, "Paul, have you seen my nipples, cause I think they fell off." He shook his head in a sad little way and admitted that he had not, but wished me luck on my search. Personally, I think Paul was lying; I think he had seen my nipples. Perhaps he had only seen them pointing like rock hard diamonds through my coat before they had fallen off, but he had seen them. I just don't think he wanted to embarrass me. Paul is a good man. He seems to be a little too preoccupied by the interspecies dating of his daughter, but he's a dad and his job is to worry. Before I left our conversation, I told him that sometimes there are good things that come with interspecies dating. He asked me to name a few.
The Zorse.
The Ass.
Those were all I could name.
I knew he would spend the rest of the day muttering to himself over the thought of his daughter giving birth to a Pensgull.
*Current temp: -2.
Windchill: -28.
Snow: The snow? It's currently snowing sideways.
How far can the eye see: Not very fucking.
The joy of being a grad student:
my day is "officially" over, I am on my couch, beer by my side. Ahhhhh. (Unofficially my ass needs to be doing homework.)
It was at this point in the conversation that I had to interrupt Paul and asked, "Paul, have you seen my nipples, cause I think they fell off." He shook his head in a sad little way and admitted that he had not, but wished me luck on my search. Personally, I think Paul was lying; I think he had seen my nipples. Perhaps he had only seen them pointing like rock hard diamonds through my coat before they had fallen off, but he had seen them. I just don't think he wanted to embarrass me. Paul is a good man. He seems to be a little too preoccupied by the interspecies dating of his daughter, but he's a dad and his job is to worry. Before I left our conversation, I told him that sometimes there are good things that come with interspecies dating. He asked me to name a few.
The Zorse.
The Ass.
Those were all I could name.
I knew he would spend the rest of the day muttering to himself over the thought of his daughter giving birth to a Pensgull.
*Current temp: -2.
Windchill: -28.
Snow: The snow? It's currently snowing sideways.
How far can the eye see: Not very fucking.
The joy of being a grad student:
my day is "officially" over, I am on my couch, beer by my side. Ahhhhh. (Unofficially my ass needs to be doing homework.)
Thursday, January 24, 2008
inner dork: cheers!
Yay! It's Thursday!
Did you know...
In America 69% of men and 57% of women drink beer.
Beer was often served with breakfast in medieval England.
(As it should be.)
The oldest recipe in existence is a recipe for beer.
(Is in in hieroglyphics?)
Germany has a beer ice cream in Popsicle form. Its alcohol content is lower than that of normal beer.
(Hmmm, ick.)
The makers of Old Grandad whisky produced their product throughout Prohibition by marking the bottles "for medical purposes."
(so, why wasn't everyone that smart? Where were the other PR peeps?)
The coiffe is the metal wire basket that holds a champagne cork in place.
In making bourbon whisky 51% of the grain that is used must be corn.
Jacqueline Kennedy had the recipe for daiquiris pinned to the wall of the White House kitchen; it was the couple's favorite drink.
(As it should be.)
As it is -6 degrees with a windchill of -25, today I think I will make a hot totty to warm my soul, and hands, and nose, and feet, and mind, and....
Did you know...
In America 69% of men and 57% of women drink beer.
Beer was often served with breakfast in medieval England.
(As it should be.)
The oldest recipe in existence is a recipe for beer.
(Is in in hieroglyphics?)
Germany has a beer ice cream in Popsicle form. Its alcohol content is lower than that of normal beer.
(Hmmm, ick.)
The makers of Old Grandad whisky produced their product throughout Prohibition by marking the bottles "for medical purposes."
(so, why wasn't everyone that smart? Where were the other PR peeps?)
The coiffe is the metal wire basket that holds a champagne cork in place.
In making bourbon whisky 51% of the grain that is used must be corn.
Jacqueline Kennedy had the recipe for daiquiris pinned to the wall of the White House kitchen; it was the couple's favorite drink.
(As it should be.)
As it is -6 degrees with a windchill of -25, today I think I will make a hot totty to warm my soul, and hands, and nose, and feet, and mind, and....
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
I want to laugh until I cry
I met with my professor today to see what I did wrong on my final from last semester.
He was very kind, sympathetic. He gave me six additional points and apologized for not reading my answers more closely.
He sympathized with my problems at mid-term (with the weird guy who claimed he lived in my apartment previously and resulted in a call to the police and an additional lock being put on my door.) He told me I should have told him about the issue at the time and he would have let me take the test at a later date. However, it is now too late to do anything about that test.
He told me I did very well on all of my papers and they dealt with interesting subjects.
I asked if there was anything I could do to improve my grade; any papers, reports, anything? No, but only because others had asked and he told them no; he couldn't make a concession for me. But, I could tell he wanted to.
He could tell I really studied for the final and that I cared. He hemmed, he pondered, he was searching for other ways to help me.
He told me I could ask for the class to be dropped and I could retake the class in the fall.
I asked if the syllabus would be the same and could I just turn in the same papers?
Laughing, he said, the syllabus would be the same in the fall.
I told him I would not ask for the class/grade to be dropped from my report.
In the end, the six additional points was about all he could do. I knew he wanted, he wished he could do more.
What did those six little points do for my overall GPA: it went from a 2.85 to a 2.9.
What does my GPA need, have, to be? 3.0.
I find that 2.9 REALLY freakin' frustrating and I believe it is laughing, nay, mocking me.
I will be laughing until I cry for the rest of the day.
... if you need me, I will be at the bar.
Or, hiding under a blanket on my bed.
Definitely one of those.
...and perhaps muttering about stupid rules and regulations and why exceptions should be made for really smart and cute people....
He was very kind, sympathetic. He gave me six additional points and apologized for not reading my answers more closely.
He sympathized with my problems at mid-term (with the weird guy who claimed he lived in my apartment previously and resulted in a call to the police and an additional lock being put on my door.) He told me I should have told him about the issue at the time and he would have let me take the test at a later date. However, it is now too late to do anything about that test.
He told me I did very well on all of my papers and they dealt with interesting subjects.
I asked if there was anything I could do to improve my grade; any papers, reports, anything? No, but only because others had asked and he told them no; he couldn't make a concession for me. But, I could tell he wanted to.
He could tell I really studied for the final and that I cared. He hemmed, he pondered, he was searching for other ways to help me.
He told me I could ask for the class to be dropped and I could retake the class in the fall.
I asked if the syllabus would be the same and could I just turn in the same papers?
Laughing, he said, the syllabus would be the same in the fall.
I told him I would not ask for the class/grade to be dropped from my report.
In the end, the six additional points was about all he could do. I knew he wanted, he wished he could do more.
What did those six little points do for my overall GPA: it went from a 2.85 to a 2.9.
What does my GPA need, have, to be? 3.0.
I find that 2.9 REALLY freakin' frustrating and I believe it is laughing, nay, mocking me.
I will be laughing until I cry for the rest of the day.
... if you need me, I will be at the bar.
Or, hiding under a blanket on my bed.
Definitely one of those.
...and perhaps muttering about stupid rules and regulations and why exceptions should be made for really smart and cute people....
The Power of One: Those who believed in the dream
Martin Luther King may have had the voice, but he needed people to believe in and follow the dream.
The power of one man who had the leadership.
The power of each person who was and is a believer.
Together they were powerful.
Together they made a movement.
This is for all each person who have, and continue to, lose their lives and their voices for a cause.
This is for all of those who never had, nor will, be recognized for their sacrifices.
The power of one man who had the leadership.
The power of each person who was and is a believer.
Together they were powerful.
Together they made a movement.
This is for all each person who have, and continue to, lose their lives and their voices for a cause.
This is for all of those who never had, nor will, be recognized for their sacrifices.
Monday, January 21, 2008
the two words I am longing to hear
What are those two little words?
Are they; love you, like you, call you, call me, see you, fuck you, fuck me, eat me, dinner, tonight?, you're awesome, you're adorable, you're intelligent, you're beautiful.
Nope.
None of those.
The two words I long, yearn, to hear from someone; more specifically someone who I am dating, are "...and you?"
So simple. So easy. So un-self absorbed. Yet, yet, those are two little words which I rarely hear. Rarely.
Perhaps I am part of the problem, but my attitude and thinking are, if you're not interested, or if you do not care enough to ask, then I do not and will not care enough to tell you.
I know, how silly of me. But truly, if a person cannot muster the verbiage to ask, "Hey, honey, how was your day?" Then where is my motivation to tell you? To me it says, "I don't give a damn about you or about your day."
Perhaps that is wrong, but that's what it says to me.
Where is this coming from?
Oh, why, let me tell you.
After a second date with the Guy Who Does Not Drink, and not being asked one, not one, not one tiny, little, small, smidgeon of a question about myself, my frustration has hit a wall.
I saw the writing on the wall before the first date, but I am trying to break old ways and old habits and see past things and past old behavior of dismissing people before I have a chance to get to know them. So, I went out on a first date. First date was enjoyable, but the only reason there were any words and vocal chord usage on my part is because I would interject a story or a witty anecdote here and there.
Writing on the wall was screaming at me say, hitting me on the head if you will, but I went out on a second date on Saturday. After two hours of no questions being sent my way and several stifled yawns on my part, I knew there would be no third date.
Now, I can see how perhaps this doesn't seem like a big deal. I understand that in a long-term relationship the "...and you?" can go to the wayside. I understand. I've been in a few long-term relationships. But, if the "...and you?" is not there in the beginning, then there is no hope that it will be there in a month, six months, or a year. It just won't happen.
I can also see where you may be saying, "Hey, why don't you just say something to him..." Also an excellent point. However, it's not as if he is the first person that I've encountered this with. It is also not a gender specific issue. There is also the point of, he is in his mid-thirties and if he doesn't know the proper way to carry on a conversation I don't think it is my job to teach him. Hell, I don't want to teach him. There's enough training (from both people) that comes into play with dating, the proper way to carry on a conversation is not one more thing I care to add to the list.
Again, I can still see where you might be thinking, what's the big deal? Sure, I understand. Let me explain: Say you're in school, there is no question as to what I am in school for.
Say, you're new to town, there is no question as to where I am originally from.
Say, you've been to a few countries outside of the U.S., but there is no question as to why, where, when, how, with whom.
Say, you've had a really interesting day, but there is no question as to why it was interesting (or bad, or good, or sad, or happy.)
Say, you went to see a band the night before, but there is no question as to who, where, what.
Say, you're thirty-three years old and left a pretty decent life to pursue the above, wouldn't you be curious as to why? Yet, there is no question to the why.
Say, you are a really interesting person with some really great and lively stories, but the person doesn't know how to get to those stories.
Sure, I interject and provide some of those stories and win the person over with my stunning personality, but my point is that I would like to be asked to inject. I would like the person to care, to be interested enough to ask about me.
So, men, women, all others who read this here blog, please, for the love of god and for all healthy relationships, ask your significant others, whether they be lovers or friends, "...and you?" I can guarantee it will make all the difference in the world. Because everyone likes to talk about themselves. Everyone has stories. Everyone has something to give. And everyone likes to be asked to give a witty story and everyone likes to be asked, "...and you."
Are they; love you, like you, call you, call me, see you, fuck you, fuck me, eat me, dinner, tonight?, you're awesome, you're adorable, you're intelligent, you're beautiful.
Nope.
None of those.
The two words I long, yearn, to hear from someone; more specifically someone who I am dating, are "...and you?"
So simple. So easy. So un-self absorbed. Yet, yet, those are two little words which I rarely hear. Rarely.
Perhaps I am part of the problem, but my attitude and thinking are, if you're not interested, or if you do not care enough to ask, then I do not and will not care enough to tell you.
I know, how silly of me. But truly, if a person cannot muster the verbiage to ask, "Hey, honey, how was your day?" Then where is my motivation to tell you? To me it says, "I don't give a damn about you or about your day."
Perhaps that is wrong, but that's what it says to me.
Where is this coming from?
Oh, why, let me tell you.
After a second date with the Guy Who Does Not Drink, and not being asked one, not one, not one tiny, little, small, smidgeon of a question about myself, my frustration has hit a wall.
I saw the writing on the wall before the first date, but I am trying to break old ways and old habits and see past things and past old behavior of dismissing people before I have a chance to get to know them. So, I went out on a first date. First date was enjoyable, but the only reason there were any words and vocal chord usage on my part is because I would interject a story or a witty anecdote here and there.
Writing on the wall was screaming at me say, hitting me on the head if you will, but I went out on a second date on Saturday. After two hours of no questions being sent my way and several stifled yawns on my part, I knew there would be no third date.
Now, I can see how perhaps this doesn't seem like a big deal. I understand that in a long-term relationship the "...and you?" can go to the wayside. I understand. I've been in a few long-term relationships. But, if the "...and you?" is not there in the beginning, then there is no hope that it will be there in a month, six months, or a year. It just won't happen.
I can also see where you may be saying, "Hey, why don't you just say something to him..." Also an excellent point. However, it's not as if he is the first person that I've encountered this with. It is also not a gender specific issue. There is also the point of, he is in his mid-thirties and if he doesn't know the proper way to carry on a conversation I don't think it is my job to teach him. Hell, I don't want to teach him. There's enough training (from both people) that comes into play with dating, the proper way to carry on a conversation is not one more thing I care to add to the list.
Again, I can still see where you might be thinking, what's the big deal? Sure, I understand. Let me explain: Say you're in school, there is no question as to what I am in school for.
Say, you're new to town, there is no question as to where I am originally from.
Say, you've been to a few countries outside of the U.S., but there is no question as to why, where, when, how, with whom.
Say, you've had a really interesting day, but there is no question as to why it was interesting (or bad, or good, or sad, or happy.)
Say, you went to see a band the night before, but there is no question as to who, where, what.
Say, you're thirty-three years old and left a pretty decent life to pursue the above, wouldn't you be curious as to why? Yet, there is no question to the why.
Say, you are a really interesting person with some really great and lively stories, but the person doesn't know how to get to those stories.
Sure, I interject and provide some of those stories and win the person over with my stunning personality, but my point is that I would like to be asked to inject. I would like the person to care, to be interested enough to ask about me.
So, men, women, all others who read this here blog, please, for the love of god and for all healthy relationships, ask your significant others, whether they be lovers or friends, "...and you?" I can guarantee it will make all the difference in the world. Because everyone likes to talk about themselves. Everyone has stories. Everyone has something to give. And everyone likes to be asked to give a witty story and everyone likes to be asked, "...and you."
Thursday, January 17, 2008
inner dork: snow
As it has snowed, again, here last night, today, and will continue through tomorrow.
As we have reached 18,000 inches in the white fluffy stuff.
(Okay, that may be a smidge of an exaggeration.)
(A smidge, a tad, of an exaggeration, but not by much)
As the windchill is currently -14.
And as I just walked two miles to and fro in the white, non-shoveled, non-plowed, crap of white fluff in that windchill, yet when I got to school I was sweaty. (Dressing for the winter months is a conundrum. Must be bundled-up so as not to freeze, but I will be sweaty by the time I get there, but fingers, ears, nipples, will be numb.)
So, here are some "fun" snow facts.
Based on National Weather Service records for 1961 through 1990, Rochester, New York averages 94 inches of snow annually and is the snowiest large city in the United States. Rochester has a population more than 200,000 and annual municipal snow-removal budget of $3.7 million.
(Good, Lord. See, some place does get 18,000 inches of snow.)
(Again, perhaps an exaggeration.)
Almost 187 inches of snow fell in seven days on Thompson Pass, Alaska in February, 1953.
(Getting closer to that 18,000 mark.)
Each year an average of 105 snow-producing storms affect the continental United States. A typical storm will have a snow-producing lifetime of two to five days and will bring snow to portions of several states.
In the early 1900s, skiers created their own terminology to describe types of snow, including the terms "fluffy snow," "powder snow," and "sticky snow." Later, the terminology expanded to include descriptive terms such as "champagne powder," "corduroy," and "mashed potatoes."
(What, not a term for, sick-of-this-blinding-white-cold-snow-powder?)
In the western United States, mountain snow pack contributes up to 75 percent of all year-round surface water supplies.
Nationwide, the average snowfall amount per day when snow falls is about two inches, but in some mountain areas of the West, an average of seven inches per snow day is observed.
(Huh, I had no idea my state had mountains. Imagine my surprise that my state may, in fact, have mountains based on this "fun" fact.)
As we have reached 18,000 inches in the white fluffy stuff.
(Okay, that may be a smidge of an exaggeration.)
(A smidge, a tad, of an exaggeration, but not by much)
As the windchill is currently -14.
And as I just walked two miles to and fro in the white, non-shoveled, non-plowed, crap of white fluff in that windchill, yet when I got to school I was sweaty. (Dressing for the winter months is a conundrum. Must be bundled-up so as not to freeze, but I will be sweaty by the time I get there, but fingers, ears, nipples, will be numb.)
So, here are some "fun" snow facts.
Based on National Weather Service records for 1961 through 1990, Rochester, New York averages 94 inches of snow annually and is the snowiest large city in the United States. Rochester has a population more than 200,000 and annual municipal snow-removal budget of $3.7 million.
(Good, Lord. See, some place does get 18,000 inches of snow.)
(Again, perhaps an exaggeration.)
Almost 187 inches of snow fell in seven days on Thompson Pass, Alaska in February, 1953.
(Getting closer to that 18,000 mark.)
Each year an average of 105 snow-producing storms affect the continental United States. A typical storm will have a snow-producing lifetime of two to five days and will bring snow to portions of several states.
In the early 1900s, skiers created their own terminology to describe types of snow, including the terms "fluffy snow," "powder snow," and "sticky snow." Later, the terminology expanded to include descriptive terms such as "champagne powder," "corduroy," and "mashed potatoes."
(What, not a term for, sick-of-this-blinding-white-cold-snow-powder?)
In the western United States, mountain snow pack contributes up to 75 percent of all year-round surface water supplies.
Nationwide, the average snowfall amount per day when snow falls is about two inches, but in some mountain areas of the West, an average of seven inches per snow day is observed.
(Huh, I had no idea my state had mountains. Imagine my surprise that my state may, in fact, have mountains based on this "fun" fact.)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The Power of One: Beads for Life
This was a good weekly feature. It shouldn't have stopped. I need to keep it going.
We forget how powerful we are. How good we are. How good and powerful we can be. One person can and does make a difference. One person in the lives of many and in the life of one, it all matters. Sometimes that person is good, sometimes that person is not so good. Sometimes we harness the power in the wrong ways.
For the most part this weekly Wednesday feature will be about the good in humankind, but sometimes it will be about the bad in humankind, just to serve as a reminder. A reminder that evil can come in the human form and in small ways just as the good can come in good and powerful ways. Sometimes it will be a feature story, other times a link to a cause or a website which I think is trying to do good things in small ways. You may not agree with all of the choices, that's fine. At the very least I would hope, I want, it to generate thought, feelings, emotions, and perhaps action on your part. Big action or little action, either way it is an action and that's all I hope for. That's all I want. I want us all to remember and to know that whether we believe it, think it, or want to recognize it, we all make a difference. Big, small, little, huge, and many times in ways we don't know at all, we all make a difference in this great big giant world of ours and I want us to remember that we make a difference more than we forget that we make a difference. Even if we only remember for a moment once a week on a Wednesday.
This week: Beads for Life
We forget how powerful we are. How good we are. How good and powerful we can be. One person can and does make a difference. One person in the lives of many and in the life of one, it all matters. Sometimes that person is good, sometimes that person is not so good. Sometimes we harness the power in the wrong ways.
For the most part this weekly Wednesday feature will be about the good in humankind, but sometimes it will be about the bad in humankind, just to serve as a reminder. A reminder that evil can come in the human form and in small ways just as the good can come in good and powerful ways. Sometimes it will be a feature story, other times a link to a cause or a website which I think is trying to do good things in small ways. You may not agree with all of the choices, that's fine. At the very least I would hope, I want, it to generate thought, feelings, emotions, and perhaps action on your part. Big action or little action, either way it is an action and that's all I hope for. That's all I want. I want us all to remember and to know that whether we believe it, think it, or want to recognize it, we all make a difference. Big, small, little, huge, and many times in ways we don't know at all, we all make a difference in this great big giant world of ours and I want us to remember that we make a difference more than we forget that we make a difference. Even if we only remember for a moment once a week on a Wednesday.
This week: Beads for Life
Monday, January 14, 2008
soapbox: politics and sex
Soapboxes. I like them. I don't have very many causes that I get rallied up for, but there are a few. Also, one thing you should know, I don't yell. I hate yelling, yellers, and people who speak over others. I hate it. Just because someone talks louder that doesn't mean I hear them any better. Frankly, once a voice is raised in anger or stupidity I will stop listening altogether. Also, I believe if a person gets angry, upset, their panties in a bunch over everything, then when something really and actually matters to them, I won't know that it really matters to them because of all the time they were angry, upset, and panties were bunchy over all things petty and small. So, I choose my battles and I try to choose carefully.
However, if a person has an issue that they can speak passionately and intelligently on, I will actively listen as long as they will actively and respectively listen to me in return. That's what these soapboxes will be. Me, getting behind something, asking something, or feeling passionately about something and hoping, wanting, an intelligent conversation to come of and from it. No yelling. No badgering. No name-calling. Just some things I would like to talk about and see how others feel and think about them.
With the latest batch of winners and casualties from the process known as the American electoral process, I have to say there is something that has been bothering me for about a year now. Something that has been simmering and brewing and I finally think it needs to be said: the language that is used in the electoral process. The language that is used to describe a candidate and their ideas, values, morals.
Specifically it is the sexist language that has been used in this campaign because (gasp!) a female candidate has been so audacious to make it so far into the electoral process. How dare she! She, that evil, power-hungry bitch! She married for power and she is hungry for more! That, that ladies and gents is the only reason she has gone after the White House!
(Sigh.)
How quick we are to go to the lowest denominator when it comes to describing someone, whether they are male or female. However, it seems to me, that when it comes to a woman we are much quicker to revert back to the school-children on the playground telling the others to meet us at the bikes at the end of the day.
Why? Why are we so quick to jump to the sexist language? Why do we believe that a woman who wants to go for the greatest job this country has to offer that comes with a pay-check that they are going after the job for different reasons than all of the men who have came before?
Why do we care? Why do we care so bloomin’ much why she and Bill were and are married? If…if they married for power are they any different than the Roosevelt’s, the Kennedy’s, the Lincolns, or the Washington’s just to name a few. I hate to break it to you, but people married for alliances of money, name, power, not for love; especially when it comes to political campaigns well into the twentieth century. As this was a common practice, these politically aligned marriages are not any different than the marriages that happened for centuries where kingdoms were aligned because this king married that queen. Power marriages happen all the time; just as power friendships happen. I’m pretty certain that without those power “friendships” Washington, as we know it, would not exist.
We are so quick to go to the sexist language, but we would never, openly, go for the racist language. Why, because it is so much more acceptable to go for the quick laugh, the easy quip of calling someone a bitch than to spend the extra second it takes to try and come up with a more intelligent word. Also, we do not think anything about calling someone a bitch, but we would never, ever call someone a nigger. Why, because society has come to realize one is acceptable and one is not.
But, why? Why has one become acceptable? I’m not saying we should regress to saying the “b-word” or the “c-word” and on and on, that doesn’t get us anywhere. I am saying that we need to stop being sophomoric about these issues.
There is also the issue of Republicans being quick to throw the jabs at the Democrats and the liberal are quick to throw the jabs at the conservatives. These open-air verbal matches do not get us anywhere, either. We've made the word liberal and conservative words that we want to wipe our shoes with. Throwing a low-blow my way does not make me respect your side, your ideas, your thoughts anymore than if I went to this playground tactic and threw sand at you about your side.
With the present president I think it is easy to say we, as a nation, as a whole, have become even more divided than we were in the past, we need a candidate that can bring us together. But more than that, we need to grow-up and bring ourselves together and stop with the name-calling and the childish sandlot fights. It’s ridiculous and we are better than that. At least I would still like to believe we are. I may be cynical, but I am still an idealist. How about we all try to be better than the other guy and stop; stop with the name calling, the bi-partisanship the sexist language towards everyone. Just a thought. However, if we keep on this attitude of that side and this side, we are not going to get anywhere politically. If we keep with the sexist language, we really are not going to get anywhere in terms of progress towards the future.
However, if a person has an issue that they can speak passionately and intelligently on, I will actively listen as long as they will actively and respectively listen to me in return. That's what these soapboxes will be. Me, getting behind something, asking something, or feeling passionately about something and hoping, wanting, an intelligent conversation to come of and from it. No yelling. No badgering. No name-calling. Just some things I would like to talk about and see how others feel and think about them.
With the latest batch of winners and casualties from the process known as the American electoral process, I have to say there is something that has been bothering me for about a year now. Something that has been simmering and brewing and I finally think it needs to be said: the language that is used in the electoral process. The language that is used to describe a candidate and their ideas, values, morals.
Specifically it is the sexist language that has been used in this campaign because (gasp!) a female candidate has been so audacious to make it so far into the electoral process. How dare she! She, that evil, power-hungry bitch! She married for power and she is hungry for more! That, that ladies and gents is the only reason she has gone after the White House!
(Sigh.)
How quick we are to go to the lowest denominator when it comes to describing someone, whether they are male or female. However, it seems to me, that when it comes to a woman we are much quicker to revert back to the school-children on the playground telling the others to meet us at the bikes at the end of the day.
Why? Why are we so quick to jump to the sexist language? Why do we believe that a woman who wants to go for the greatest job this country has to offer that comes with a pay-check that they are going after the job for different reasons than all of the men who have came before?
Why do we care? Why do we care so bloomin’ much why she and Bill were and are married? If…if they married for power are they any different than the Roosevelt’s, the Kennedy’s, the Lincolns, or the Washington’s just to name a few. I hate to break it to you, but people married for alliances of money, name, power, not for love; especially when it comes to political campaigns well into the twentieth century. As this was a common practice, these politically aligned marriages are not any different than the marriages that happened for centuries where kingdoms were aligned because this king married that queen. Power marriages happen all the time; just as power friendships happen. I’m pretty certain that without those power “friendships” Washington, as we know it, would not exist.
We are so quick to go to the sexist language, but we would never, openly, go for the racist language. Why, because it is so much more acceptable to go for the quick laugh, the easy quip of calling someone a bitch than to spend the extra second it takes to try and come up with a more intelligent word. Also, we do not think anything about calling someone a bitch, but we would never, ever call someone a nigger. Why, because society has come to realize one is acceptable and one is not.
But, why? Why has one become acceptable? I’m not saying we should regress to saying the “b-word” or the “c-word” and on and on, that doesn’t get us anywhere. I am saying that we need to stop being sophomoric about these issues.
There is also the issue of Republicans being quick to throw the jabs at the Democrats and the liberal are quick to throw the jabs at the conservatives. These open-air verbal matches do not get us anywhere, either. We've made the word liberal and conservative words that we want to wipe our shoes with. Throwing a low-blow my way does not make me respect your side, your ideas, your thoughts anymore than if I went to this playground tactic and threw sand at you about your side.
With the present president I think it is easy to say we, as a nation, as a whole, have become even more divided than we were in the past, we need a candidate that can bring us together. But more than that, we need to grow-up and bring ourselves together and stop with the name-calling and the childish sandlot fights. It’s ridiculous and we are better than that. At least I would still like to believe we are. I may be cynical, but I am still an idealist. How about we all try to be better than the other guy and stop; stop with the name calling, the bi-partisanship the sexist language towards everyone. Just a thought. However, if we keep on this attitude of that side and this side, we are not going to get anywhere politically. If we keep with the sexist language, we really are not going to get anywhere in terms of progress towards the future.
Friday, January 11, 2008
time for an update
been awhile since I've done a full recap on this thing called my life, so here it goes.
Finally seeing the tunnel out of Sickville. Good, Lord. I haven't been sick in over a year and I haven't been this sick in several years.
I've been off from school since December 13th and I go back on Monday. One. Whole. Month. Freakin' awesome.
Too bad that one week was spent sick, but that's the way it goes.
My trip back home for a little over a week for the holidays was good. Good times with the family. Time spent baking and cooking with Mama, which was good for my soul and mind. All the additional calories have been eaten away in Sickville.
I didn't make my GPA for last semester. I've come to terms with it and I will meet with my professor to see what I did wrong on the final. I worked my way from an F at midterm to an A by finals day and ended up with a C.
Yep, that means I failed the final. (But, fail two tests and still getting a C; part of me is oddly proud of my grade.) I have a sinking feeling I missed one of the questions. At 35 points a piece, not good to miss one.
Whatever the reason I will find out next week.
Whatever the reason I really don't think the professor with change my grade to a B, so it doesn't really matter other than for my peace of mind why I failed the final.
As a result I lost my scholarship.
Not happy about this.
But, moving on.
So, that means I have to get my act in gear or my MPP career will be over before it was started.
I won't be working next semester, so that should help.
You know, since I won't have a job where I make no money and have umpteen meetings to go to after work hours and organize an entire homecoming event for the university...all while none are my job.
I'm guessing that will help in the GPA, stress, and school studies.
With all of that in consideration, I did really well for my first semester.
Self-doubt will be gone...or not as prevalent...next semester. This means I will do better.
On another academic note, I found out, with math being my most dreaded and sweat inducing subject that it is for me, that I can get a B in stats without opening my book, studying, and all while talking to the guy next to me during class, and not really giving a damn about the class.
The reason I didn't give a damn is because it is an undergrad class and didn't count towards my GPA.
Perhaps not giving a damn is a good strategy.
So far for my internship in Brazil this summer I have managed to save almost $500 in the last month.
Thanks, half.com.
I also had some monies saved, so I only $5100.00 more to save.
By June.
I plan to sell some jewelery and some of my paintings.
On the dating front:
I have a date tomorrow.
But, he doesn't drink.
Alcohol.
He doesn't drink alcohol.
No reason, he just doesn't.
What do we think boys and girls? Will there be a second date?
There may be a possibility for a Guy Number Two.
Guy number two and I went out once last fall but nothing came from it.
He emailed me the other day to say, he fucked up. Sorry for disappearing. This is him groveling. Second chance?
He received an email stating, I don't recommend fucking up again, cause there will not be a third chance. And feel free to grovel. A lot.
He drinks.
London and I were supposed to get together in KC over the holidays, but after making the plans I didn't hear back from him.
This is odd and uncharacteristic of him.
Part of me is worried and part of me is annoyed.
One of my guy friends and I are going to try to make a spring break trip to AZ for spring training.
Anyone care to join us?
There will be a lot of beer.
A lot.
As if that needed to be said.
My Mustang and the winter are not friends.
I really, really, really..and repeat until the word no longer makes sense...want a new car.
This won't be happening, but I want one.
Mine is paid for. I like not having a payment. I cannot afford to have a payment. Done.
My apartment still sucks.
Hate it.
I only have 1.5 years more to live here.
I can make do.
Then hopefully I will be making so much money that I can actually choose where I want to live and not have to settle for what I can afford and doesn't make my skin crawl.
Hey, remember when I used to post everyday and I actually had some witty, insightful, and amusing tales to tell? Well, what do you say I pick that back up?
Starting Monday I plan to bring back some favorites.
Well, favorites for me. Soapbox posts on Monday, Power of One posts On Wednesday, and of course Inner Dorks on Thursday.
The other days will be filled with wit, banter, and amusing tales I'm retelling.
At the very least there will be words in the posts.
K.
Think that's all.
For now.
Finally seeing the tunnel out of Sickville. Good, Lord. I haven't been sick in over a year and I haven't been this sick in several years.
I've been off from school since December 13th and I go back on Monday. One. Whole. Month. Freakin' awesome.
Too bad that one week was spent sick, but that's the way it goes.
My trip back home for a little over a week for the holidays was good. Good times with the family. Time spent baking and cooking with Mama, which was good for my soul and mind. All the additional calories have been eaten away in Sickville.
I didn't make my GPA for last semester. I've come to terms with it and I will meet with my professor to see what I did wrong on the final. I worked my way from an F at midterm to an A by finals day and ended up with a C.
Yep, that means I failed the final. (But, fail two tests and still getting a C; part of me is oddly proud of my grade.) I have a sinking feeling I missed one of the questions. At 35 points a piece, not good to miss one.
Whatever the reason I will find out next week.
Whatever the reason I really don't think the professor with change my grade to a B, so it doesn't really matter other than for my peace of mind why I failed the final.
As a result I lost my scholarship.
Not happy about this.
But, moving on.
So, that means I have to get my act in gear or my MPP career will be over before it was started.
I won't be working next semester, so that should help.
You know, since I won't have a job where I make no money and have umpteen meetings to go to after work hours and organize an entire homecoming event for the university...all while none are my job.
I'm guessing that will help in the GPA, stress, and school studies.
With all of that in consideration, I did really well for my first semester.
Self-doubt will be gone...or not as prevalent...next semester. This means I will do better.
On another academic note, I found out, with math being my most dreaded and sweat inducing subject that it is for me, that I can get a B in stats without opening my book, studying, and all while talking to the guy next to me during class, and not really giving a damn about the class.
The reason I didn't give a damn is because it is an undergrad class and didn't count towards my GPA.
Perhaps not giving a damn is a good strategy.
So far for my internship in Brazil this summer I have managed to save almost $500 in the last month.
Thanks, half.com.
I also had some monies saved, so I only $5100.00 more to save.
By June.
I plan to sell some jewelery and some of my paintings.
On the dating front:
I have a date tomorrow.
But, he doesn't drink.
Alcohol.
He doesn't drink alcohol.
No reason, he just doesn't.
What do we think boys and girls? Will there be a second date?
There may be a possibility for a Guy Number Two.
Guy number two and I went out once last fall but nothing came from it.
He emailed me the other day to say, he fucked up. Sorry for disappearing. This is him groveling. Second chance?
He received an email stating, I don't recommend fucking up again, cause there will not be a third chance. And feel free to grovel. A lot.
He drinks.
London and I were supposed to get together in KC over the holidays, but after making the plans I didn't hear back from him.
This is odd and uncharacteristic of him.
Part of me is worried and part of me is annoyed.
One of my guy friends and I are going to try to make a spring break trip to AZ for spring training.
Anyone care to join us?
There will be a lot of beer.
A lot.
As if that needed to be said.
My Mustang and the winter are not friends.
I really, really, really..and repeat until the word no longer makes sense...want a new car.
This won't be happening, but I want one.
Mine is paid for. I like not having a payment. I cannot afford to have a payment. Done.
My apartment still sucks.
Hate it.
I only have 1.5 years more to live here.
I can make do.
Then hopefully I will be making so much money that I can actually choose where I want to live and not have to settle for what I can afford and doesn't make my skin crawl.
Hey, remember when I used to post everyday and I actually had some witty, insightful, and amusing tales to tell? Well, what do you say I pick that back up?
Starting Monday I plan to bring back some favorites.
Well, favorites for me. Soapbox posts on Monday, Power of One posts On Wednesday, and of course Inner Dorks on Thursday.
The other days will be filled with wit, banter, and amusing tales I'm retelling.
At the very least there will be words in the posts.
K.
Think that's all.
For now.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
inner dork: when death comes a knockin'
Since I still feel like death; today's inner dork is all things death-like.
In Turkey, the color of mourning is violet. In most Muslim countries and in China, it is white.
Pope Adrian VI died after a fly got stuck in his throat as he was drinking from a water fountain.
Snow angels originated from medieval Jewish mystics who practiced rolling in the snow to purge themselves of evil urges.
(Much like a cold shower does today??)
A Bible published in England in 1632 left out the word "not" in the seventh commandment. Making it, "thou shalt commit adultery" it became known as "The Wicked Bible."
The American newspaper columnist H.L. Mencken wrote: "Puritanism-The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy."
Okay, sorry for the short blog-learning today, I must go back to Sickville, now.
In Turkey, the color of mourning is violet. In most Muslim countries and in China, it is white.
Pope Adrian VI died after a fly got stuck in his throat as he was drinking from a water fountain.
Snow angels originated from medieval Jewish mystics who practiced rolling in the snow to purge themselves of evil urges.
(Much like a cold shower does today??)
A Bible published in England in 1632 left out the word "not" in the seventh commandment. Making it, "thou shalt commit adultery" it became known as "The Wicked Bible."
The American newspaper columnist H.L. Mencken wrote: "Puritanism-The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy."
Okay, sorry for the short blog-learning today, I must go back to Sickville, now.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Fast train to Sickville
Actually, I'm lost in Sickville. I took the fast train here on Friday and woke-up lost in this miserable town on Saturday. Aches, pains, nasal drip that looks like cream of chicken soup...what, too much? All I need is some decent sleep and I know I will feel better. However. The nose wouldn't let me sleep on Friday night and the whine inducing aches and pains of my body wouldn't let me sleep on Saturday night. Last night the Vicodin I took helped, but not much. (Note to self: take two Vicodin tonight.)
Today, it will be me, Anthony Bourdain, and a marathon of The West Wing. (Good show, don't know why I didn't watch it more when it was originally on. Probably because I wasn't home, but whatever.) Oh, and I also have the second season of Weeds. Truly, my brain has been sitting like the mushy, mushness it has become over my school break. Good brain. Zombies, stay away.
Today, it will be me, Anthony Bourdain, and a marathon of The West Wing. (Good show, don't know why I didn't watch it more when it was originally on. Probably because I wasn't home, but whatever.) Oh, and I also have the second season of Weeds. Truly, my brain has been sitting like the mushy, mushness it has become over my school break. Good brain. Zombies, stay away.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
inner dork: caucuses
Oh my goodness! I almost forgot about inner dork, fore shame!
Okay, today's inner dork is all about caucuses, who, why, what, and why on Earth, Iowa is so bloomin' important.
How they work: In each of Iowa's nearly 2,000 voting precincts Democrats and Republicans hold separate meetings on caucus night. The meetings can be held almost anywhere - in schools, firehouses, church basements and even living rooms. Anybody registered member of a party can attend that party's meeting.
Republicans vote in the caucuses by secret ballots. The vote determines which delegates, representing which candidates, will attend county conventions. There, delegates are chosen for state congressional district conventions, where delegate to national convention are picked.
The Republicans use a winner-take-all system. Whichever candidate wins the caucuses takes all of the delegates for the state.
Democrats, The meetings divide into groups, each supporting a particular candidate. If a candidate doesn't have a sufficient percentage of the total number of voters attending, its members join other candidates' groups sufficient percentage of the total number of voters attending, its members join other candidates' groups. When that redistribution finally ends with groups of sufficient size, the delegates are divided among them according to the percentage of the meetings' attendees they represent. The process then proceeds through the county and state conventions. At the national convention, the candidates receive delegates proportionately, rather than the winner taking all of the state's delegates.
Doors open around 6:ish,doors close at 7:ish and it will be finished around 8:ish. That's it.
Now, why the hell it's in Iowa and why Iowa is so damn important:
1800's, the state adopts a caucus platform. The state's first caucuses were held in mid-spring, in the middle of the national presidential nominating schedule.
1916: Iowa held its first and only primary election. Only 25 percent of registered voters showed up. Iowa reverted back to its caucus system.
Apparently nothing interesting happened in approximately 50-or so years.
1972: Iowa's Democratic Party moved its caucus date forward, positioning the caucus ahead of the New Hampshire primary and making it the first nominating event in the nation. Sen. Edward Muskie of Maine, the front-runner, beat Sen. George McGovern of South Dakota by less of a margin than expected. McGovern went on to become the Democratic presidential nominee.
1976: A little-known Democratic governor from Georgia, Jimmy Carter, campaigned heavily in the state and wound up coming in second to "uncommitted." That almost-win positioned Carter to later take the Democratic nomination. Republicans moved up their primary to make the Iowa caucuses a bipartisan national event. President Gerald Ford narrowly beat Gov. Ronald Reagan of California. Ford later won the Republican nomination, but lost the presidency to Carter.
1980: Carter was the incumbent president, and he beat Sen. Ted Kennedy of Massachusetts. Ronald Reagan, meanwhile, did not focus heavily on Iowa. But his GOP competition, George H.W. Bush, did, and won the GOP contest with 32 percent of the vote. Reagan received 30 percent of the vote. Reagan ultimately beat Carter. By this time, the media began relying on results in Iowa as an indicator of how the race would turn out.
1984: Reagan, the incumbent president, was unopposed. On the Democratic side, it was a wide open race, with Sen. Gary Hart of Colorado, former Vice President Walter Mondale, Rev. Jesse Jackson and Sen. John Glenn of Ohio facing off. Mondale, who won the Iowa caucuses, was ultimately the Democratic nominee. Reagan defeated him in the general election.
1988: An open race in Iowa and one that ultimately had no bearing on either party's eventual nomination. On the Republican side, Sen. Bob Dole of Kansas beat televangelist Pat Robertson and then-Vice President George Bush in the caucuses, but Bush ultimately became the nominee. He also ultimately beat Democratic nominee Gov. Michael Dukakis of Massachusetts, who came in third to Rep. Richard Gephardt of Missouri.
1992: Incumbent President George Bush was unopposed among Republicans, and any competitiveness in Iowa was rendered moot by the candidacy of Sen. Tom Harkin of Iowa, a beloved figure in the state. With him running, few other Democrats even bothered to compete. Bill Clinton went on to win the presidency.
1996: Democrat Clinton was the incumbent, and unopposed. Among Republicans, Bob Dole beat Pat Buchanan. Clinton beat Dole later that year in the general election.
2000: Iowa winners Al Gore and George W. Bush went on to win their party's nomination. Bush, the Republican, won the general election.
2004: Despite a surge in popularity from Vermont Gov. Howard Dean, Democrat John Kerry, who'd previously lagged in polls, won the caucuses. John Edwards came in second. Kerry went on to win the nomination. On the Republican end, Bush was unopposed, and went on to win a second term.
Personally, I hope Edwards pulls ahead. Personally, I want the ads to stop and tonight to be over soon:ish. But, that's just me.
Okay, today's inner dork is all about caucuses, who, why, what, and why on Earth, Iowa is so bloomin' important.
How they work: In each of Iowa's nearly 2,000 voting precincts Democrats and Republicans hold separate meetings on caucus night. The meetings can be held almost anywhere - in schools, firehouses, church basements and even living rooms. Anybody registered member of a party can attend that party's meeting.
Republicans vote in the caucuses by secret ballots. The vote determines which delegates, representing which candidates, will attend county conventions. There, delegates are chosen for state congressional district conventions, where delegate to national convention are picked.
The Republicans use a winner-take-all system. Whichever candidate wins the caucuses takes all of the delegates for the state.
Democrats, The meetings divide into groups, each supporting a particular candidate. If a candidate doesn't have a sufficient percentage of the total number of voters attending, its members join other candidates' groups sufficient percentage of the total number of voters attending, its members join other candidates' groups. When that redistribution finally ends with groups of sufficient size, the delegates are divided among them according to the percentage of the meetings' attendees they represent. The process then proceeds through the county and state conventions. At the national convention, the candidates receive delegates proportionately, rather than the winner taking all of the state's delegates.
Doors open around 6:ish,doors close at 7:ish and it will be finished around 8:ish. That's it.
Now, why the hell it's in Iowa and why Iowa is so damn important:
1800's, the state adopts a caucus platform. The state's first caucuses were held in mid-spring, in the middle of the national presidential nominating schedule.
1916: Iowa held its first and only primary election. Only 25 percent of registered voters showed up. Iowa reverted back to its caucus system.
Apparently nothing interesting happened in approximately 50-or so years.
1972: Iowa's Democratic Party moved its caucus date forward, positioning the caucus ahead of the New Hampshire primary and making it the first nominating event in the nation. Sen. Edward Muskie of Maine, the front-runner, beat Sen. George McGovern of South Dakota by less of a margin than expected. McGovern went on to become the Democratic presidential nominee.
1976: A little-known Democratic governor from Georgia, Jimmy Carter, campaigned heavily in the state and wound up coming in second to "uncommitted." That almost-win positioned Carter to later take the Democratic nomination. Republicans moved up their primary to make the Iowa caucuses a bipartisan national event. President Gerald Ford narrowly beat Gov. Ronald Reagan of California. Ford later won the Republican nomination, but lost the presidency to Carter.
1980: Carter was the incumbent president, and he beat Sen. Ted Kennedy of Massachusetts. Ronald Reagan, meanwhile, did not focus heavily on Iowa. But his GOP competition, George H.W. Bush, did, and won the GOP contest with 32 percent of the vote. Reagan received 30 percent of the vote. Reagan ultimately beat Carter. By this time, the media began relying on results in Iowa as an indicator of how the race would turn out.
1984: Reagan, the incumbent president, was unopposed. On the Democratic side, it was a wide open race, with Sen. Gary Hart of Colorado, former Vice President Walter Mondale, Rev. Jesse Jackson and Sen. John Glenn of Ohio facing off. Mondale, who won the Iowa caucuses, was ultimately the Democratic nominee. Reagan defeated him in the general election.
1988: An open race in Iowa and one that ultimately had no bearing on either party's eventual nomination. On the Republican side, Sen. Bob Dole of Kansas beat televangelist Pat Robertson and then-Vice President George Bush in the caucuses, but Bush ultimately became the nominee. He also ultimately beat Democratic nominee Gov. Michael Dukakis of Massachusetts, who came in third to Rep. Richard Gephardt of Missouri.
1992: Incumbent President George Bush was unopposed among Republicans, and any competitiveness in Iowa was rendered moot by the candidacy of Sen. Tom Harkin of Iowa, a beloved figure in the state. With him running, few other Democrats even bothered to compete. Bill Clinton went on to win the presidency.
1996: Democrat Clinton was the incumbent, and unopposed. Among Republicans, Bob Dole beat Pat Buchanan. Clinton beat Dole later that year in the general election.
2000: Iowa winners Al Gore and George W. Bush went on to win their party's nomination. Bush, the Republican, won the general election.
2004: Despite a surge in popularity from Vermont Gov. Howard Dean, Democrat John Kerry, who'd previously lagged in polls, won the caucuses. John Edwards came in second. Kerry went on to win the nomination. On the Republican end, Bush was unopposed, and went on to win a second term.
Personally, I hope Edwards pulls ahead. Personally, I want the ads to stop and tonight to be over soon:ish. But, that's just me.
Monday, December 31, 2007
starring me in the face
2008, that is. Hol-le-hell. How did another year go by?
There is something about new year's eve that calms me and makes me reflect. Not that reflecting is anything new, I tend to reflect on the past and on new possibilities a lot..perhaps too often, but I like to remind myself of where I've been, where I've gone, and where I'm going. I do more thinking about it all tomorrow, only there is a very good chance that tomorrow's reflection will be interrupted by a banging in my head, greasy food to try and curb the banging, and dark sunglasses to stop the blinding in my eyes. So, along with some errands and watching a mindless marathon of "No Reservation" with Anthony Bourdain, I'll reflect on one of the most amazing years of my life and I'll wonder what the new year will bring to me and those around me.
One thing I know for sure is that I grew in ways I could not have imagined, saw things I only dreamed about, and learned enough to know that I don't know anything at all. It was an interesting, heartbreaking, stressful, imaginative, eye-opening, courageous, daydreaming, tear-filled, laugh line making, liver killing, exhausting, insomnia inducing, wondrous and glorious year. I look forward to more of all the above starting tomorrow. (Around noon-ish.) (I'm expecting a late night.)
Happy new year everyone!
There is something about new year's eve that calms me and makes me reflect. Not that reflecting is anything new, I tend to reflect on the past and on new possibilities a lot..perhaps too often, but I like to remind myself of where I've been, where I've gone, and where I'm going. I do more thinking about it all tomorrow, only there is a very good chance that tomorrow's reflection will be interrupted by a banging in my head, greasy food to try and curb the banging, and dark sunglasses to stop the blinding in my eyes. So, along with some errands and watching a mindless marathon of "No Reservation" with Anthony Bourdain, I'll reflect on one of the most amazing years of my life and I'll wonder what the new year will bring to me and those around me.
One thing I know for sure is that I grew in ways I could not have imagined, saw things I only dreamed about, and learned enough to know that I don't know anything at all. It was an interesting, heartbreaking, stressful, imaginative, eye-opening, courageous, daydreaming, tear-filled, laugh line making, liver killing, exhausting, insomnia inducing, wondrous and glorious year. I look forward to more of all the above starting tomorrow. (Around noon-ish.) (I'm expecting a late night.)
Happy new year everyone!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Happy Merry Christmas!
to all and to all a wonderful holiday!
(...and if need be, add alcohol. Alcohol makes everything seem wonderful and glorious.
Me, I had a bottle of red wine last night. Hmmm, good Christmas eve.)
I hope your day is wonderful and (not too) bright!
(...and if need be, add alcohol. Alcohol makes everything seem wonderful and glorious.
Me, I had a bottle of red wine last night. Hmmm, good Christmas eve.)
I hope your day is wonderful and (not too) bright!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
inner dork: it's literature, my dear.
Yay! It's inner dork Thursday. Or, how to make book-learning fun.
Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was the first manuscript to be sent to the publisher already type-written.
The typewriter was invented in 1876.
The first names of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were Henry and Edward.
Dr. Frankenstein's first name was Victor.
Mick Jagger turned down an advance of 3.5 million pounds for his memoirs, because he couldn't remember enough significant information about his own life.
(Does that make it a good life or a bad life??)
In 1900, Americans voted their favorite book, after the Bible, was the Sears Roebuck Catalogue.
There are twenty different kisses described in the Kama Sutra.
J.R.R. Tolkien's name stand for John Ronald Reuel.
In the Batman Stories, Riddler's real name was Edward Nigma or E. Nigma.
According to Ernest Hemingway there are four achievements to become a real man: plant a tree, fight a bull, write a book, and have a son.
(Hmmm, so apparently, he was a real man.)
(A son, not a daughter. There will be no substitutions.)
One edition of a current Sunday New York Times has more information in it than a typical adult was exposed to in an entire lifetime a hundred years ago.
Gosh, I sure have missed Inner Dorkings.
Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was the first manuscript to be sent to the publisher already type-written.
The typewriter was invented in 1876.
The first names of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were Henry and Edward.
Dr. Frankenstein's first name was Victor.
Mick Jagger turned down an advance of 3.5 million pounds for his memoirs, because he couldn't remember enough significant information about his own life.
(Does that make it a good life or a bad life??)
In 1900, Americans voted their favorite book, after the Bible, was the Sears Roebuck Catalogue.
There are twenty different kisses described in the Kama Sutra.
J.R.R. Tolkien's name stand for John Ronald Reuel.
In the Batman Stories, Riddler's real name was Edward Nigma or E. Nigma.
According to Ernest Hemingway there are four achievements to become a real man: plant a tree, fight a bull, write a book, and have a son.
(Hmmm, so apparently, he was a real man.)
(A son, not a daughter. There will be no substitutions.)
One edition of a current Sunday New York Times has more information in it than a typical adult was exposed to in an entire lifetime a hundred years ago.
Gosh, I sure have missed Inner Dorkings.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
wish hard, hope hard, drink hard...
Okay, so grades are due today.
Grades have not been posted as of yet.
I need to get a 3.0.
A 3.0 means: I won't be placed on probation, I won't lose my scholarship, I will be able to apply for scholarships and grants for my Brazil trip.
It basically means I won't have to worry.
So, if all of you, most lovely of lovely people, can think all good thoughts for me, that would be great.
There are two classes that have some cause for concern. Bad start, strong finish, but that bad start was a really bad start, so even though I had a strong finish there is still need for worry.
In another class, which I was (perhaps the keyword) getting an "A" I was most annoyed with the professor and with his test. I kinda showed this in my answer on the essay portion. When the question asked us to show our knowledge in research and apply it to the (stupid ass) question being asked of me, I (kinda) responded in a snarky manner.
The question, to paraphrase: developers want to build a new housing development along the Mississippi river...and it goes from there.
My first sentence to the questions read: "Well, I would ask why people would want to live along a flood plain." (not kidding)
Second sentence read: "Will the people have a problem with needing to buy flood insurance?" (Nope, still serious.)
Third sentence, "Will they have a problem with the smell of the river?" (Nope.)
..and it went from there.
So, who knows where my "A" might have went.
Other class I was (again, keyword) getting an "A" in, that professor decided to grill me over the hot, hot bed of evil known as the, end of the semester pissiness for over 30 minutes in front of my peers because she misunderstood what I said only I didn't know that she misunderstood and couldn't for the life of me understand why she wasn't getting it and when she finally did understand she didn't seem to care about the hot, hot bed of uncomfortableness and flusteredness she had just put me through. The class, however, apologized on her behalf.
So. Please. Please, squeeze your eyes tight and think happy good thoughts for (or, of) me.
See it. Think it. Visualize it.
The 3.0.
Or. 3.2.
Better yet, a 3.5.
That'd be great.
Thanks.
You're all the most-bestest.
Grades have not been posted as of yet.
I need to get a 3.0.
A 3.0 means: I won't be placed on probation, I won't lose my scholarship, I will be able to apply for scholarships and grants for my Brazil trip.
It basically means I won't have to worry.
So, if all of you, most lovely of lovely people, can think all good thoughts for me, that would be great.
There are two classes that have some cause for concern. Bad start, strong finish, but that bad start was a really bad start, so even though I had a strong finish there is still need for worry.
In another class, which I was (perhaps the keyword) getting an "A" I was most annoyed with the professor and with his test. I kinda showed this in my answer on the essay portion. When the question asked us to show our knowledge in research and apply it to the (stupid ass) question being asked of me, I (kinda) responded in a snarky manner.
The question, to paraphrase: developers want to build a new housing development along the Mississippi river...and it goes from there.
My first sentence to the questions read: "Well, I would ask why people would want to live along a flood plain." (not kidding)
Second sentence read: "Will the people have a problem with needing to buy flood insurance?" (Nope, still serious.)
Third sentence, "Will they have a problem with the smell of the river?" (Nope.)
..and it went from there.
So, who knows where my "A" might have went.
Other class I was (again, keyword) getting an "A" in, that professor decided to grill me over the hot, hot bed of evil known as the, end of the semester pissiness for over 30 minutes in front of my peers because she misunderstood what I said only I didn't know that she misunderstood and couldn't for the life of me understand why she wasn't getting it and when she finally did understand she didn't seem to care about the hot, hot bed of uncomfortableness and flusteredness she had just put me through. The class, however, apologized on her behalf.
So. Please. Please, squeeze your eyes tight and think happy good thoughts for (or, of) me.
See it. Think it. Visualize it.
The 3.0.
Or. 3.2.
Better yet, a 3.5.
That'd be great.
Thanks.
You're all the most-bestest.
Friday, December 14, 2007
that's why they call it, practicing
I joke about my drinking ability.
I make fun of my liver.
I've been known to beat my liver into quiet submission.
I always win the battle.
At least until the next morning.
Yesterday, you know, the last day of the semester, I told my three most-bestest friends to meet me at the bar. At the bar at 1:15 CST.
They came.
Aaaaaand, they did not drink.
I made fun.
I ridiculed.
I said, what the fuck?!?!
They said, they were tired. (They complained, really)
They were up late.
They wanted a nap.
In the meantime I drank five of my most favorite drinks in about two hours. Actually, two hours is probably being generous. More like 1.5 hours, but I don't want to brag.
I would have kept drinking but they mentioned money constraints and tired eyes and wa-wa-wa.
Fine.
They went home to nap.
Okay, I took a nap too. Hey, I was home and the alcohol had kicked in. Nappy-time sounded like a good idea.
Back to the bar at 9:ish.
Aaaaaand we all drank the night away.
When I wasn't drinking fast enough, they enabled me.
When they weren't drinking fast enough, I enabled them.
It's a give and take relationship.
I'm not an alcoholic.
I'm a practicing alcoholic.
There is a difference.
Here's the thing, I'm 33 years old. They are: 22, 24, 26. (My most bestest friends. The rest of the gang is mostly 22 and 23.)
I have, admittedly and I've been told, that I have the worst sleeping patterns of just about anyone alive.
Meaning, I don't. Sleep. I don't sleep. Rarely. Six hours, tops. Mixed in with a lot of insomnia.
Yet, they were tired. Several of the gang left early.
I closed the bar.
And I can drink all of them under the table without slurring or being stupid.
Maybe loud and hilarious. But not stupid.
There is a difference.
There are two different levels of obnoxious.
I am the fun kind of obnoxious.
Oh, and I met someone.
I'll see if there is any chemistry when we're both sober and I'll let you know.
I don't have hopes of it being ever-lasting.
Or more than weekend-lasting.
But I've been known to be wrong.
About a lot of things.
I make fun of my liver.
I've been known to beat my liver into quiet submission.
I always win the battle.
At least until the next morning.
Yesterday, you know, the last day of the semester, I told my three most-bestest friends to meet me at the bar. At the bar at 1:15 CST.
They came.
Aaaaaand, they did not drink.
I made fun.
I ridiculed.
I said, what the fuck?!?!
They said, they were tired. (They complained, really)
They were up late.
They wanted a nap.
In the meantime I drank five of my most favorite drinks in about two hours. Actually, two hours is probably being generous. More like 1.5 hours, but I don't want to brag.
I would have kept drinking but they mentioned money constraints and tired eyes and wa-wa-wa.
Fine.
They went home to nap.
Okay, I took a nap too. Hey, I was home and the alcohol had kicked in. Nappy-time sounded like a good idea.
Back to the bar at 9:ish.
Aaaaaand we all drank the night away.
When I wasn't drinking fast enough, they enabled me.
When they weren't drinking fast enough, I enabled them.
It's a give and take relationship.
I'm not an alcoholic.
I'm a practicing alcoholic.
There is a difference.
Here's the thing, I'm 33 years old. They are: 22, 24, 26. (My most bestest friends. The rest of the gang is mostly 22 and 23.)
I have, admittedly and I've been told, that I have the worst sleeping patterns of just about anyone alive.
Meaning, I don't. Sleep. I don't sleep. Rarely. Six hours, tops. Mixed in with a lot of insomnia.
Yet, they were tired. Several of the gang left early.
I closed the bar.
And I can drink all of them under the table without slurring or being stupid.
Maybe loud and hilarious. But not stupid.
There is a difference.
There are two different levels of obnoxious.
I am the fun kind of obnoxious.
Oh, and I met someone.
I'll see if there is any chemistry when we're both sober and I'll let you know.
I don't have hopes of it being ever-lasting.
Or more than weekend-lasting.
But I've been known to be wrong.
About a lot of things.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
inner dork: all about the numbers
No, I've missed inner dork more. Honest.
This one is an inner dork (of sorts) about me and this semester.
Day the semester began: August 20th.
Day I started my job: August 28th.
Day I quit my job: December 7th.
Last day of the semester: (for me) December 13th.
Papers finished: 37.
Friends made: 3, life long friends.
Experiences had: Too many to count.
Things learned: Enough to let me know that I don't know anything.
Annoyance level: Has been high.
Number of times I've cried: 1 time. Maybe 2, due to stress and not being sure I was making the right choices.
Number of alcoholic beverages consumed: Off the charts. I cannot count that high.
Time the last of my papers are due: 1:00 CST, today.
Number I have to turn in: 21.
This time last year: My undergrad thesis advisor was telling me: I had no talent, no concept of the English language, I wouldn't pass the thesis committee.
And Mr. London told me he was moving.
Exactly at this time last year.
Ah, the difference a year can make.
Time I will be at the bar: 1:15 CST. I won't be late.
Hours I will be at the bar: Until they ask me to leave. Or until my credit card reads, "denied" whichever comes first.
This one is an inner dork (of sorts) about me and this semester.
Day the semester began: August 20th.
Day I started my job: August 28th.
Day I quit my job: December 7th.
Last day of the semester: (for me) December 13th.
Papers finished: 37.
Friends made: 3, life long friends.
Experiences had: Too many to count.
Things learned: Enough to let me know that I don't know anything.
Annoyance level: Has been high.
Number of times I've cried: 1 time. Maybe 2, due to stress and not being sure I was making the right choices.
Number of alcoholic beverages consumed: Off the charts. I cannot count that high.
Time the last of my papers are due: 1:00 CST, today.
Number I have to turn in: 21.
This time last year: My undergrad thesis advisor was telling me: I had no talent, no concept of the English language, I wouldn't pass the thesis committee.
And Mr. London told me he was moving.
Exactly at this time last year.
Ah, the difference a year can make.
Time I will be at the bar: 1:15 CST. I won't be late.
Hours I will be at the bar: Until they ask me to leave. Or until my credit card reads, "denied" whichever comes first.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
well, that ain't right...
(A moment to set the scene:)
Finals week. 36.5 papers finished out of 37.
Take home essays to finish: 1 set of 2 questions.
Finals taken: 1.
Finals left to take: 2.
Two of those finals are tomorrow.
I really, really need to get an "A" on one of them.
(Feel free to send me all kinds of warm and fuzzy thoughts around 1:00 pm CST.) (Thanks.)
(and then again around 6:00 pm CST.)
(Thanks.)
21 of the papers are due on Thursday at 1:00 pm CST.
They count as a total of 55% of my grade for the semester.
(No pressure.)
Today, my state was hit with another ice/snow storm.
School was not canceled.
I lost three hours of precious study time to go take a final on an undergrad stats class that has nothing to do with my GPA.
I was annoyed as all hell.
Tonight I finished a research paper and I needed to refresh my eyes. So, time to wash the face and brush the teeth, take out the contacts, put on the glasses and start the next round of typing. The take home essays, to be exact.
Take out the contact container from my medicine cabinet.
Grab the container of multi-vitamins, put one in the right contact holder, one in the left contact holder.
Stand and stare at the contact container.
Try and figure out what I did wrong.
Why doesn't that look right?
Tilt head.
Hmmm.
Oh.
...and let the laughter commence and the dark circles under my eyes brighter for a moment.
Pretty sure the contacts would be healthier in the morning, but they would not be cleaner.
Brush teeth.
Feel (slightly) refreshed.
Write blog post.
Think of some bullshit to write for the essay test.
20% of my grade, so it needs to be good bullshit.
Wonder Twins, activate! In the form of: giving a shit!
Almost there....almost there.....
Finals week. 36.5 papers finished out of 37.
Take home essays to finish: 1 set of 2 questions.
Finals taken: 1.
Finals left to take: 2.
Two of those finals are tomorrow.
I really, really need to get an "A" on one of them.
(Feel free to send me all kinds of warm and fuzzy thoughts around 1:00 pm CST.) (Thanks.)
(and then again around 6:00 pm CST.)
(Thanks.)
21 of the papers are due on Thursday at 1:00 pm CST.
They count as a total of 55% of my grade for the semester.
(No pressure.)
Today, my state was hit with another ice/snow storm.
School was not canceled.
I lost three hours of precious study time to go take a final on an undergrad stats class that has nothing to do with my GPA.
I was annoyed as all hell.
Tonight I finished a research paper and I needed to refresh my eyes. So, time to wash the face and brush the teeth, take out the contacts, put on the glasses and start the next round of typing. The take home essays, to be exact.
Take out the contact container from my medicine cabinet.
Grab the container of multi-vitamins, put one in the right contact holder, one in the left contact holder.
Stand and stare at the contact container.
Try and figure out what I did wrong.
Why doesn't that look right?
Tilt head.
Hmmm.
Oh.
...and let the laughter commence and the dark circles under my eyes brighter for a moment.
Pretty sure the contacts would be healthier in the morning, but they would not be cleaner.
Brush teeth.
Feel (slightly) refreshed.
Write blog post.
Think of some bullshit to write for the essay test.
20% of my grade, so it needs to be good bullshit.
Wonder Twins, activate! In the form of: giving a shit!
Almost there....almost there.....
Monday, December 03, 2007
Since last I graced you with my presence
Well, some things have happened, not a lot, but some.
First, jet lag is horrible. Mine seems to be in the evening. I wake-up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and by 10 p.m. I have tears in my eyes and my body and brain are begging for bed.
The jet lag being a result of my trip and my trip being so fast, all I want to do is daydream about my travels and fantasize about my next one. In my fantasies (trip fantasies, not my sexual ones...although...) I have been to: the Croatia coast, the capitals of central Europe via rail, Amsterdam, London and Paris....I really need to focus on the $5,000 I'll need for Brazil. Oh, and the last of my papers which are due this week and next. I have nine left. Nine out of 37....almost there.
Even with the jet lag and an impending ice storm I still managed to go out on Friday night. (and Thursday before class...and...) Live music, the company of good friends, and plenty of my drink of choice; vodka and her girl Cranberry.
Now.
When the label on the bottle, which houses the vodka literally reads "vodka" and nothing else well, the head is going to hurt the next day.
The wonderful night of live music, good friends, and vodka and cranberry ended at a greasy spoon with a few of the friends and a member of the band (who would also drive us home...)
...the morning started with the friend who crashed on the big, ugly, comfy couch waking me up to tell me there was snow on the ground and she needed to make it home.
Opening the door to go outside there was an ominous silence in which the only sound was that of freezing rain. A look at my car and....ick.
After spending about 36 minutes scrapping my windows in time with the little drummer boy who had made himself comfortable in my skull. (And just an FYI, when freezing rain, a.k.a ice, makes its way from car windows and flies (pelts) your face, it hurts. Just FYI.)
A drive to buy sandbags for my trunk, dropping my friend at her car, the buying of some wonderfully greasy food, a nice hot shower and being snowed in...or iced in...for the weekend, I do love a good snow storm when I don't have to be out in it...I enjoyed a wonderfully lazy two days.
On another note, I quit my job. My last day will be this Friday. I am super excited about this.
It wasn't the pay, it wasn't the job, it wasn't the horribly random and not well thought-out assignments; no, it wasn't any of those that made me give my notice. It was the completely random and hateful comments, the condescending remarks from the grad assist, the remarks about my intelligence, the complete ADD moments, and the lack of active listening and the ability to give coherent instructions on how to do my job. I spent most of the last three and a half months trying to take it all as sarcasm...then I just realized it wasn't worth the minimum wage hassle and I quit.
Oh, and my schedule next semester wouldn't work out with my job, although true, that was really just the excuse I gave. Honestly, I just hated it.
On another note: look what Mr. London sent me
Yep. Color me surprised. Just a, "Sorry I missed you in Budapest, hope to see you over Christmas" $80 flower bouquet that I ordered from London.
Okay, I added that last part. That part wasn't on the card. That part just made me feel special.
On another note: I have no attention span to finish the last of the 37 papers or study for the four finals. None. At. All. This needs to change.
On another note: I got nothing else.
Oh wait, yes I do: PTG what happened to your blog?
Okay, that one was a bit specific.
Now. I have nothing else. Except, how are all of you?
First, jet lag is horrible. Mine seems to be in the evening. I wake-up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and by 10 p.m. I have tears in my eyes and my body and brain are begging for bed.
The jet lag being a result of my trip and my trip being so fast, all I want to do is daydream about my travels and fantasize about my next one. In my fantasies (trip fantasies, not my sexual ones...although...) I have been to: the Croatia coast, the capitals of central Europe via rail, Amsterdam, London and Paris....I really need to focus on the $5,000 I'll need for Brazil. Oh, and the last of my papers which are due this week and next. I have nine left. Nine out of 37....almost there.
Even with the jet lag and an impending ice storm I still managed to go out on Friday night. (and Thursday before class...and...) Live music, the company of good friends, and plenty of my drink of choice; vodka and her girl Cranberry.
Now.
When the label on the bottle, which houses the vodka literally reads "vodka" and nothing else well, the head is going to hurt the next day.
The wonderful night of live music, good friends, and vodka and cranberry ended at a greasy spoon with a few of the friends and a member of the band (who would also drive us home...)
...the morning started with the friend who crashed on the big, ugly, comfy couch waking me up to tell me there was snow on the ground and she needed to make it home.
Opening the door to go outside there was an ominous silence in which the only sound was that of freezing rain. A look at my car and....ick.
After spending about 36 minutes scrapping my windows in time with the little drummer boy who had made himself comfortable in my skull. (And just an FYI, when freezing rain, a.k.a ice, makes its way from car windows and flies (pelts) your face, it hurts. Just FYI.)
A drive to buy sandbags for my trunk, dropping my friend at her car, the buying of some wonderfully greasy food, a nice hot shower and being snowed in...or iced in...for the weekend, I do love a good snow storm when I don't have to be out in it...I enjoyed a wonderfully lazy two days.
On another note, I quit my job. My last day will be this Friday. I am super excited about this.
It wasn't the pay, it wasn't the job, it wasn't the horribly random and not well thought-out assignments; no, it wasn't any of those that made me give my notice. It was the completely random and hateful comments, the condescending remarks from the grad assist, the remarks about my intelligence, the complete ADD moments, and the lack of active listening and the ability to give coherent instructions on how to do my job. I spent most of the last three and a half months trying to take it all as sarcasm...then I just realized it wasn't worth the minimum wage hassle and I quit.
Oh, and my schedule next semester wouldn't work out with my job, although true, that was really just the excuse I gave. Honestly, I just hated it.
On another note: look what Mr. London sent me
Yep. Color me surprised. Just a, "Sorry I missed you in Budapest, hope to see you over Christmas" $80 flower bouquet that I ordered from London.
Okay, I added that last part. That part wasn't on the card. That part just made me feel special.
On another note: I have no attention span to finish the last of the 37 papers or study for the four finals. None. At. All. This needs to change.
On another note: I got nothing else.
Oh wait, yes I do: PTG what happened to your blog?
Okay, that one was a bit specific.
Now. I have nothing else. Except, how are all of you?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Upon my return from Budapest
...I realize wanderlust has a powerful pull and I have no desire to fight it.
Budapest is an amazing and beautiful city. A person can read all the books, do all the research, but it isn't until I step foot in a new city and do some exploring on my own that I finally get what the travel books are tying to explain.
After 14 hours of flying (one way) and 4 airports (8 airports altogether. So much better than the 17 to go to Greece) I landed in Budapest, Tuesday afternoon around 3. In my hotel by 4. Since insomnia just seems to be part of my life at this point, along with not sleeping on the plane, the time difference, and just being plain (and plane) tired, Tuesday was mostly a bust. A trip around the block to see what I could see in the dark (not much) a bite to eat from a local shop and back to my room.
Wednesday was the tour of the city. A trip to the Jewish District, which was the Jewish Ghetto during the war, to Hero's Square (the square built in honor of their Millennium celebration in 1896, not completed until 1929, oops.) Opera House, Parliament, around the city, over the Chain Bridge and the Danube, over into Buda, to the Fisherman's Bastion,(which serves as a viewing terrace and nothing more.) Gellert Hill, (Gellert was a man who tried to convert the locals to Christianity. The locals didn't like this very much so, they put Gellert into a barrel, sealed it, threw the barrel down the hill, thus killing him. Let all other Christian converters be warned.) and then I was left in the town square to fend for myself to find my way back to my hotel. Hmmm, where's my map. In my pocket. Excellent. Now. Where am I?
On my way back to my hotel I stopped at St. Stephen's Basilica and then, since it was approaching dusk (which happens around 3 and dark by 4. Me no likey.) I wanted to make the trek back to my hotel since I wasn't sure how to get there and according to the helpful man on the street, it was only a 15-20 minute walk. Totally do-able. However, on my way I came across the Jewish Quarter again and I wanted to walk around since we really didn't have the chance on the tour. After a short stroll I realized I had forgotten the directions back to my hotel. (hey, the synagogue was shiny and sparkly, the stop couldn't be helped.) I stopped into a quaint Jewish bakery and asked the girls for directions. English was not a second language and there was some stumbling, but I was pretty sure I got it. And while in the bakery, stomach rumbling as it had been several hours (several) and many miles (many) since breakfast I bought a few pastries and they gave me a loaf of bread as a present. (ah, girls after my own heart.) Short story long, after about two hours I found my hotel. I didn't get lost, I got distracted. There is a difference.
Thursday I walked back to the Jewish district and took a tour of the synagogue, the second largest in the world, which also included a tour of a museum, the memory garden, which included mass graves from the Holocaust, and the Tree of Life, built in memory of those who were lost. The whole thing was beautiful, amazing, lovely, and heart wrenching.
I walked through the streets which was once the Jewish ghetto and let my mind wander back to another time. I listened to the sounds, the noise, the quiet, the smells, and took in all the buildings and it was suddenly 1940s World War II. It wasn't hard to image that the graffiti on the buildings once spelled out racial slurs and the buildings once housed thousands of Jews cramped into a small space. The fear, the dread, the threat of being taken away. It never ceases to amaze me what man can do to human kind and how human kind can overcome what man tries to do. It was an emotional journey.
From there I walked over to Buda and into the Castle District. To do so I had to walk over the Chain Bridge over the Danube. Pausing on the bridge to, once again, travel back in time and image when there wasn't a bridge, through the years of the war, post-war, to the present day.
Buda and Pest are totally different from one another. Pest is busy, busy, busy, noisy, lots and lots of traffic, lots and lots of car pollution, and the buildings all have graffiti on them. Buda is quiet, quaint, and has a feeling of old world. A place where a person can sit and watch the world go by. Pest, you are the world going by.
Friday was a walk down to the House of Terror. The building where both the Nazi's, during the war, and the secret police, post-war, used as their headquarters. Just as the name suggests, it was a house of terror. Again, what man does to each other. Again, it was an emotional morning. Later in the day it was back across the Chain Bridge, into Buda, and back to my hotel.
Saturday, up at 4:30 a.m., picked-up for the hotel at 6:15 and on the plane home. I arrived back in home state around 6:35 pm. Back to my apartment at 5:32 pm on Sunday.
It was a lovely and very quick trip. It hasn't all hit me yet, but I wouldn't mind going back some day.
Some highlights: I don't know what it is with me and European airports, but from Amsterdam to Budapest, I didn't have a boarding pass. I needed to stop at a transfer desk to get one. After learning the difference between "t" and "d", running, waiting and being told to go to another "t" gate with a shorter wait, running to the transfer desk and being told the plane was closed. Telling the girl I would run really fast if they would let me on, she said she would call the gate and in the meantime I needed to run. Now, running in an airport is interesting in itself. Running in an airport after sitting for 10 hours straight with a 30 pound backpack strapped to my back, well, yeah, "running" is not necessarily what I was doing. More of a fast jog. They were waiting for me at the gate. Yep, they held the plane for me. (ah, special.) After struggling to get the pack off (nice backpack strap burn on my arm) I was on the plane. On the return flight, I was booked on a plane/flight that didn't exist, they were most kind to me in Budapest and they placed me on the correct flight. Then I realized I had a whopping six minutes to get from the Budapest plane to the Amsterdam gate. Yep, six minutes. This time I had a boarding pass and I figured between the six minutes, plus the 30 minutes to board, I had 36 minutes to get on the plane. Totally do-able. I made it in 15, (I have learned to navigate my way through airports quiet nicely) but it turns out they make you go through security well before the need to board. I "ran" for nothing. Lesson learned. I also had to answer several security questions before I could board. Toughest test I've ever taken.
The food: Lots of bread, lots of pastries. Good wine. Since I hardly ate and I walked from one side to the other (literally) no weight gained. (yah!) (Must eat more next time.) And if you like things pickled, go to Budapest. A gyro in Greece is not the same as a gyro in Budapest. The same is true for falafal. The difference: it has all things pickled on it. Red cabbage, sauerkraut, carrots, and just for good measure, pickles. Mmm, that was a surprise....and not a pleasant one.
The people: very lovely.
The language: Almost everyone spoke English. When there was a language barrier, it is amazing what a smile, a pointing of the finger to what I wanted, money, and a nod of thanks, can get a person.
The currency: I made a cheat sheet, which was a really good idea; and when I would see 924 I kept reminding myself, that it was only about $5.
The weather: Not bad. Cold, but it didn't rain or snow. Definitely needed hat, gloves, and a scarf.
Problems: The only glitch was my cell phone. I had made it an international phone, but unfortunately, Verizon added that feature without checking to see if it would actually work. I spent about $80 on phone calls. Verizon will be getting an earful later today.
My feet: cobblestone, bricks, and ornate streets are beautiful, but good Lord, they hurt my feet. My shoes are literally worn out. The tread has been worn smooth. I ended each night with a foot massage. Sadly, performed by me.
Me: I honestly did this trip all alone. I was alone in Greece, but I would run into the same people, or the same people would be on the tours, so I was alone, but I met others. This trip, not so much. I literally did it all by myself and I am very proud of that achievement. I didn't get lost (getting turned around and distracted by shiny things is not the same as getting lost.) So, go, me!
My next trip: If I wasn't going to be spending my summer in Brazil (and wow, that's tough) I would be going to Prague and Vienna. Everyone I spoke with (and by "everyone" I mean shop keepers) kept asking if I was going on to those two cities. I wanted this trip to include all three, but time didn't allow for it, I now need to see the others. (I almost did a day trip to Prague, but again, time.)
It was a lovely and very quick trip, again, it hasn't all hit me, yet. I'm sure, just as Greece took some time to all hit me, the same will be true for this one.
The synagogue
The view of Pest from Buda
St. Stephen's Basilica
The House of Terror
The Chain Bridge
One of the lions guarding the Chain Bridge
Memorial garden, mass graves in the synagogue yard
Tree of Life, synagogue yard
View of Pest, from Buda
Fisherman's Bastion
Budapest is an amazing and beautiful city. A person can read all the books, do all the research, but it isn't until I step foot in a new city and do some exploring on my own that I finally get what the travel books are tying to explain.
After 14 hours of flying (one way) and 4 airports (8 airports altogether. So much better than the 17 to go to Greece) I landed in Budapest, Tuesday afternoon around 3. In my hotel by 4. Since insomnia just seems to be part of my life at this point, along with not sleeping on the plane, the time difference, and just being plain (and plane) tired, Tuesday was mostly a bust. A trip around the block to see what I could see in the dark (not much) a bite to eat from a local shop and back to my room.
Wednesday was the tour of the city. A trip to the Jewish District, which was the Jewish Ghetto during the war, to Hero's Square (the square built in honor of their Millennium celebration in 1896, not completed until 1929, oops.) Opera House, Parliament, around the city, over the Chain Bridge and the Danube, over into Buda, to the Fisherman's Bastion,(which serves as a viewing terrace and nothing more.) Gellert Hill, (Gellert was a man who tried to convert the locals to Christianity. The locals didn't like this very much so, they put Gellert into a barrel, sealed it, threw the barrel down the hill, thus killing him. Let all other Christian converters be warned.) and then I was left in the town square to fend for myself to find my way back to my hotel. Hmmm, where's my map. In my pocket. Excellent. Now. Where am I?
On my way back to my hotel I stopped at St. Stephen's Basilica and then, since it was approaching dusk (which happens around 3 and dark by 4. Me no likey.) I wanted to make the trek back to my hotel since I wasn't sure how to get there and according to the helpful man on the street, it was only a 15-20 minute walk. Totally do-able. However, on my way I came across the Jewish Quarter again and I wanted to walk around since we really didn't have the chance on the tour. After a short stroll I realized I had forgotten the directions back to my hotel. (hey, the synagogue was shiny and sparkly, the stop couldn't be helped.) I stopped into a quaint Jewish bakery and asked the girls for directions. English was not a second language and there was some stumbling, but I was pretty sure I got it. And while in the bakery, stomach rumbling as it had been several hours (several) and many miles (many) since breakfast I bought a few pastries and they gave me a loaf of bread as a present. (ah, girls after my own heart.) Short story long, after about two hours I found my hotel. I didn't get lost, I got distracted. There is a difference.
Thursday I walked back to the Jewish district and took a tour of the synagogue, the second largest in the world, which also included a tour of a museum, the memory garden, which included mass graves from the Holocaust, and the Tree of Life, built in memory of those who were lost. The whole thing was beautiful, amazing, lovely, and heart wrenching.
I walked through the streets which was once the Jewish ghetto and let my mind wander back to another time. I listened to the sounds, the noise, the quiet, the smells, and took in all the buildings and it was suddenly 1940s World War II. It wasn't hard to image that the graffiti on the buildings once spelled out racial slurs and the buildings once housed thousands of Jews cramped into a small space. The fear, the dread, the threat of being taken away. It never ceases to amaze me what man can do to human kind and how human kind can overcome what man tries to do. It was an emotional journey.
From there I walked over to Buda and into the Castle District. To do so I had to walk over the Chain Bridge over the Danube. Pausing on the bridge to, once again, travel back in time and image when there wasn't a bridge, through the years of the war, post-war, to the present day.
Buda and Pest are totally different from one another. Pest is busy, busy, busy, noisy, lots and lots of traffic, lots and lots of car pollution, and the buildings all have graffiti on them. Buda is quiet, quaint, and has a feeling of old world. A place where a person can sit and watch the world go by. Pest, you are the world going by.
Friday was a walk down to the House of Terror. The building where both the Nazi's, during the war, and the secret police, post-war, used as their headquarters. Just as the name suggests, it was a house of terror. Again, what man does to each other. Again, it was an emotional morning. Later in the day it was back across the Chain Bridge, into Buda, and back to my hotel.
Saturday, up at 4:30 a.m., picked-up for the hotel at 6:15 and on the plane home. I arrived back in home state around 6:35 pm. Back to my apartment at 5:32 pm on Sunday.
It was a lovely and very quick trip. It hasn't all hit me yet, but I wouldn't mind going back some day.
Some highlights: I don't know what it is with me and European airports, but from Amsterdam to Budapest, I didn't have a boarding pass. I needed to stop at a transfer desk to get one. After learning the difference between "t" and "d", running, waiting and being told to go to another "t" gate with a shorter wait, running to the transfer desk and being told the plane was closed. Telling the girl I would run really fast if they would let me on, she said she would call the gate and in the meantime I needed to run. Now, running in an airport is interesting in itself. Running in an airport after sitting for 10 hours straight with a 30 pound backpack strapped to my back, well, yeah, "running" is not necessarily what I was doing. More of a fast jog. They were waiting for me at the gate. Yep, they held the plane for me. (ah, special.) After struggling to get the pack off (nice backpack strap burn on my arm) I was on the plane. On the return flight, I was booked on a plane/flight that didn't exist, they were most kind to me in Budapest and they placed me on the correct flight. Then I realized I had a whopping six minutes to get from the Budapest plane to the Amsterdam gate. Yep, six minutes. This time I had a boarding pass and I figured between the six minutes, plus the 30 minutes to board, I had 36 minutes to get on the plane. Totally do-able. I made it in 15, (I have learned to navigate my way through airports quiet nicely) but it turns out they make you go through security well before the need to board. I "ran" for nothing. Lesson learned. I also had to answer several security questions before I could board. Toughest test I've ever taken.
The food: Lots of bread, lots of pastries. Good wine. Since I hardly ate and I walked from one side to the other (literally) no weight gained. (yah!) (Must eat more next time.) And if you like things pickled, go to Budapest. A gyro in Greece is not the same as a gyro in Budapest. The same is true for falafal. The difference: it has all things pickled on it. Red cabbage, sauerkraut, carrots, and just for good measure, pickles. Mmm, that was a surprise....and not a pleasant one.
The people: very lovely.
The language: Almost everyone spoke English. When there was a language barrier, it is amazing what a smile, a pointing of the finger to what I wanted, money, and a nod of thanks, can get a person.
The currency: I made a cheat sheet, which was a really good idea; and when I would see 924 I kept reminding myself, that it was only about $5.
The weather: Not bad. Cold, but it didn't rain or snow. Definitely needed hat, gloves, and a scarf.
Problems: The only glitch was my cell phone. I had made it an international phone, but unfortunately, Verizon added that feature without checking to see if it would actually work. I spent about $80 on phone calls. Verizon will be getting an earful later today.
My feet: cobblestone, bricks, and ornate streets are beautiful, but good Lord, they hurt my feet. My shoes are literally worn out. The tread has been worn smooth. I ended each night with a foot massage. Sadly, performed by me.
Me: I honestly did this trip all alone. I was alone in Greece, but I would run into the same people, or the same people would be on the tours, so I was alone, but I met others. This trip, not so much. I literally did it all by myself and I am very proud of that achievement. I didn't get lost (getting turned around and distracted by shiny things is not the same as getting lost.) So, go, me!
My next trip: If I wasn't going to be spending my summer in Brazil (and wow, that's tough) I would be going to Prague and Vienna. Everyone I spoke with (and by "everyone" I mean shop keepers) kept asking if I was going on to those two cities. I wanted this trip to include all three, but time didn't allow for it, I now need to see the others. (I almost did a day trip to Prague, but again, time.)
It was a lovely and very quick trip, again, it hasn't all hit me, yet. I'm sure, just as Greece took some time to all hit me, the same will be true for this one.
The synagogue
The view of Pest from Buda
St. Stephen's Basilica
The House of Terror
The Chain Bridge
One of the lions guarding the Chain Bridge
Memorial garden, mass graves in the synagogue yard
Tree of Life, synagogue yard
View of Pest, from Buda
Fisherman's Bastion
Thursday, November 15, 2007
...and to all the biggest part of the wish bone
Okay, so I know I am a week early, but I won't be here this time next week.
..okay, that makes it sounds like I am going to parish by this time next week. Rest assured I have no plans to do that. However, I don't think I really have any control over such things.
ANYway. I will leave for home tomorrow, celebrate Turkey Day on Saturday (Cause my family loves and misses me that much that they are willing to sacrifice the bird early for me) and then Monday I will be on a place bound for Budapest around 4:43p.m. CST. According to the flight schedule I will be in Amsterdam around noon-ish on Tuesday and Budapest around 2-ish (Buda time.) (Actually, Pest time as I will be on the Pest side for my stay) (I wonder if they have ghosts there?) (Get it? Boooo-da) (Fine. I thought it was clever.) I will return last Saturday night. Short trip. And for this trip I will only be in eight airports. The reason I say "only" is because for the Greece trip I was 17. I am happy about the 8.
I am curious about this trip. I am excited to see the Jewish quarter and the artist quarter, which according to the map to hotel location I am close to everything that any one would or could care to see. However, I also had hopes of Mr. London joining me for the trip. However, he just emailed me and told me he is sad and very upset to say that it will not work out. I am a big believer in, life works out the way it is supposed to. We'll see each other again. I know this.
Also, on another "I must see the world front" my internship to spend the summer in Brazil was approved!! Now. I just need to come up with a few thousand dollars. This will work out. I know this.
So, I managed to finish two of my main papers, finishing touches will be put on them when I finish typing this awesome post. I will work on the others today and over the weekend. In the meantime I will be out celebrating with the rest of the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol tonight as a "see you later and have a fabulous trip" to my awesomeness.
So, may all of you have a wonderful Butterball Day and may your pumpkin pie come whipped and creamy.
I'll see you back here in about 10 days or so.
..okay, that makes it sounds like I am going to parish by this time next week. Rest assured I have no plans to do that. However, I don't think I really have any control over such things.
ANYway. I will leave for home tomorrow, celebrate Turkey Day on Saturday (Cause my family loves and misses me that much that they are willing to sacrifice the bird early for me) and then Monday I will be on a place bound for Budapest around 4:43p.m. CST. According to the flight schedule I will be in Amsterdam around noon-ish on Tuesday and Budapest around 2-ish (Buda time.) (Actually, Pest time as I will be on the Pest side for my stay) (I wonder if they have ghosts there?) (Get it? Boooo-da) (Fine. I thought it was clever.) I will return last Saturday night. Short trip. And for this trip I will only be in eight airports. The reason I say "only" is because for the Greece trip I was 17. I am happy about the 8.
I am curious about this trip. I am excited to see the Jewish quarter and the artist quarter, which according to the map to hotel location I am close to everything that any one would or could care to see. However, I also had hopes of Mr. London joining me for the trip. However, he just emailed me and told me he is sad and very upset to say that it will not work out. I am a big believer in, life works out the way it is supposed to. We'll see each other again. I know this.
Also, on another "I must see the world front" my internship to spend the summer in Brazil was approved!! Now. I just need to come up with a few thousand dollars. This will work out. I know this.
So, I managed to finish two of my main papers, finishing touches will be put on them when I finish typing this awesome post. I will work on the others today and over the weekend. In the meantime I will be out celebrating with the rest of the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol tonight as a "see you later and have a fabulous trip" to my awesomeness.
So, may all of you have a wonderful Butterball Day and may your pumpkin pie come whipped and creamy.
I'll see you back here in about 10 days or so.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
I'll take the anitbacterial soap. Thanks.
It's late and I am sitting here in the computer lab killing trees as a result of printing off research. (hate crime policy, specifically gender based hate crimes. Should be fascinating.)
However, what is keeping me entertained is the fact that I am pretty sure the guy across from me is looking at porn and trying to keep his erection to a minimum.
Why do I think this? Because of his grinning, constant movement in his seat and his need to "re-adjust" in his seat to the point that no person needs to be that comfortable that often.
...wait. Is he unzipping his pants?
Okay, I am starring right at him..he is about three feet from me...what the hell.
...yeah. That was a zipper I just heard.
Good lord.
"Dude, what the hell?"
Yes, I just "dude-ed you."
"What the hell?"
Hmmm, he doesn't seem to be amused.
I think it is time to wash my hands and go home. Cause all I can think about is what hands have touched this keyboard and this mouse.
...Where is the hand sanitizer?!?!!?
However, what is keeping me entertained is the fact that I am pretty sure the guy across from me is looking at porn and trying to keep his erection to a minimum.
Why do I think this? Because of his grinning, constant movement in his seat and his need to "re-adjust" in his seat to the point that no person needs to be that comfortable that often.
...wait. Is he unzipping his pants?
Okay, I am starring right at him..he is about three feet from me...what the hell.
...yeah. That was a zipper I just heard.
Good lord.
"Dude, what the hell?"
Yes, I just "dude-ed you."
"What the hell?"
Hmmm, he doesn't seem to be amused.
I think it is time to wash my hands and go home. Cause all I can think about is what hands have touched this keyboard and this mouse.
...Where is the hand sanitizer?!?!!?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
...and now a moment to daydream...
First, I LOVE falling back and gaining an hour. Fantastic!
Second, In two weeks I will be celebrating Turkey day early because I will be in Budapest! How crazily wonderful is that?
Even though I scheduled the trip back in early June I've only had the chance to study up on it last night and then an evening when I was back home. I think I finally have the currency figured out (totally in my favor.) No idea on the language. Not happy about not knowing how to say the basics, but I still have two WHOLE weeks to figure it out. (yes, that was sarcasm.)
If anyone has any pointers, please point me.
Third, proving that life has to do with who you know and not what you know: A friend of mine (we will call her Enviro Girl) in the MPP works with a gal who has her own non-profit. In explaining to Enviro Girl what I want to do with my MPP degree, she told me I needed to talk to the girl she works with as she has an internship available for the summer, which is when I need to have one. So I emailed her a couple of days ago and yesterday we met.
Her org is EXACTLY what I want to do; educating and empowering impoverished women and children in terms of health education and life skills. She does teaching and also jewelry making/sales. So, this is awesome, right? Well, yes. However, the most wonderfully fantastic amazing part of it: it's in Brazil.
Yes!
Brazil!
I would be spending my summer in Brazil.
Well, if I can figure out how to make it policy related. Non-profit Girl has told me it is up to me how I want to direct the internship, let her know and she will figure it out from there.
Friday I meet with my director to discuss internships and requirements and such, so let's hope.
However, right now I am in full-force daydream mode. This is the stage where everything is possible and I haven't been told nothing is impossible...perfect daydreaming stage. The stage where I can think of, dream, and image all of the possibles and all of the probables and none of the impossibles or improbables.
I was too excited after meeting with her to just come home, so a stop at the local B&N was in order. One book bought on Brazil, Portuguese language tapes, and the new book, "American Creation." Sure that last one sounds random, but I had planned to purchase the book yesterday before any of this other came about. So on the way home I popped in the Portuguese language CD. I am no where close to learning the language. However, before I even knew this was a dream that could be a possibility I was thinking about taking a foreign language class next semester. Looks like that may be a good idea now.
Fourth, if you're thinking you hate me right now, well I do have four papers to write before I leave and two of the requirements haven't been posted yet. They were supposed to be posted by Friday, alas they haven't. Yeah, that professor is awesome. But, this is a small price to pay. Small price indeed considering I will be in Budapest in two weeks.
(!!!! Two weeks!!! How is that even possible? How is it November?)
So, I will be spending the rest of the day trying to be productive and trying to not let my daydreaming take over. Needless to say, the insomnia has been back for about a week now. Yeah, surprising. Last night, when I should have been sound asleep dreaming about all of the above I was instead daydreaming and planning about all of the above. I know, it's tough.
Second, In two weeks I will be celebrating Turkey day early because I will be in Budapest! How crazily wonderful is that?
Even though I scheduled the trip back in early June I've only had the chance to study up on it last night and then an evening when I was back home. I think I finally have the currency figured out (totally in my favor.) No idea on the language. Not happy about not knowing how to say the basics, but I still have two WHOLE weeks to figure it out. (yes, that was sarcasm.)
If anyone has any pointers, please point me.
Third, proving that life has to do with who you know and not what you know: A friend of mine (we will call her Enviro Girl) in the MPP works with a gal who has her own non-profit. In explaining to Enviro Girl what I want to do with my MPP degree, she told me I needed to talk to the girl she works with as she has an internship available for the summer, which is when I need to have one. So I emailed her a couple of days ago and yesterday we met.
Her org is EXACTLY what I want to do; educating and empowering impoverished women and children in terms of health education and life skills. She does teaching and also jewelry making/sales. So, this is awesome, right? Well, yes. However, the most wonderfully fantastic amazing part of it: it's in Brazil.
Yes!
Brazil!
I would be spending my summer in Brazil.
Well, if I can figure out how to make it policy related. Non-profit Girl has told me it is up to me how I want to direct the internship, let her know and she will figure it out from there.
Friday I meet with my director to discuss internships and requirements and such, so let's hope.
However, right now I am in full-force daydream mode. This is the stage where everything is possible and I haven't been told nothing is impossible...perfect daydreaming stage. The stage where I can think of, dream, and image all of the possibles and all of the probables and none of the impossibles or improbables.
I was too excited after meeting with her to just come home, so a stop at the local B&N was in order. One book bought on Brazil, Portuguese language tapes, and the new book, "American Creation." Sure that last one sounds random, but I had planned to purchase the book yesterday before any of this other came about. So on the way home I popped in the Portuguese language CD. I am no where close to learning the language. However, before I even knew this was a dream that could be a possibility I was thinking about taking a foreign language class next semester. Looks like that may be a good idea now.
Fourth, if you're thinking you hate me right now, well I do have four papers to write before I leave and two of the requirements haven't been posted yet. They were supposed to be posted by Friday, alas they haven't. Yeah, that professor is awesome. But, this is a small price to pay. Small price indeed considering I will be in Budapest in two weeks.
(!!!! Two weeks!!! How is that even possible? How is it November?)
So, I will be spending the rest of the day trying to be productive and trying to not let my daydreaming take over. Needless to say, the insomnia has been back for about a week now. Yeah, surprising. Last night, when I should have been sound asleep dreaming about all of the above I was instead daydreaming and planning about all of the above. I know, it's tough.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Halloween!
...and November 1st.
Good gravy it has just flown by.
Okay, last night was awesome fun and today came mighty early. I hear that happens when a person doesn't get to bed before 3 and their alarm goes off at 7:22. Just a rumor I heard, but I am hear to tell you, it's true. True that was me last night and true that it comes early.
Also, when you go to a dive bar as your last stop and you order a vodka cranberry; top shelf, middle shelf, bottom shelf, or no shelf, sink water. Which one do you think I ended up with?
If you guessed a combination of no shelf mixed with sink and a dash of cranberry, well you would be right.
I said it tasted like Ritz crackers with fake cheese. The two other people who sipped the drink didn't get that.
Okay fine. How about just the fake cheese part?
No.
Fine.
How about I couldn't even stomach it and the drink was not drunken. (I may have been drunken, but the drink was not.) I've brushed, flossed, and rinsed twice since last night and I still can't get the taste of the last drink out of my mouth. Oh yeah. Tasty.
Oh yeah. No stomach lining.
Wait, that makes it sound like I've thrown-up.
I haven't. I am a professional.
I do need some coffee.
And some bread.
And a cookie.
(To wake me up.)
(To absorb.)
(For the sugar. And the Halloween sugar cookies they had on campus yesterday were awesome.)
Oh, and some grease.
(Just because. A hamburger is always a good thing.)
Our group costume was awesome. We were the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol.
Oh yeah. Blue blazers, white shirts (that did not fit so well. Way big) and khakis. We either looked like we were trying to sell you a home or we looked like Mormons. I figured since we didn't have on backpacks no one would think we were trying to get them into Heaven. Luckily we also had on name tags to erase any confusion before it could start.
I would run up to the lucky winner, we would hand them the big fake check which was made out for $500 million, thousand dollars and fifty-six and half cents. (Any guesses whose idea that was?) They were then given red, white, and blue flowers, black balloons, a microphone shoved in their face that looked like a dildo (not intentionally) (no, really.)(yes, the microphone was mine. Toilet paper roll, with tissue still on it, and a paper mache' egg glued to the top which I Sharpied.) and I took their picture.
I now have a bunch of pictures of drunk people who I don't know.
But it was big fun.
We should have won the contest we entered; the owner, and the crowd said so, but alas, we were beat-out by a slutty Little Red Riding Hood and her Wolf. Sad, but true.
It was awesome and it just proves why I love Halloween so much.
Because it's awesome.
Duh.
Good gravy it has just flown by.
Okay, last night was awesome fun and today came mighty early. I hear that happens when a person doesn't get to bed before 3 and their alarm goes off at 7:22. Just a rumor I heard, but I am hear to tell you, it's true. True that was me last night and true that it comes early.
Also, when you go to a dive bar as your last stop and you order a vodka cranberry; top shelf, middle shelf, bottom shelf, or no shelf, sink water. Which one do you think I ended up with?
If you guessed a combination of no shelf mixed with sink and a dash of cranberry, well you would be right.
I said it tasted like Ritz crackers with fake cheese. The two other people who sipped the drink didn't get that.
Okay fine. How about just the fake cheese part?
No.
Fine.
How about I couldn't even stomach it and the drink was not drunken. (I may have been drunken, but the drink was not.) I've brushed, flossed, and rinsed twice since last night and I still can't get the taste of the last drink out of my mouth. Oh yeah. Tasty.
Oh yeah. No stomach lining.
Wait, that makes it sound like I've thrown-up.
I haven't. I am a professional.
I do need some coffee.
And some bread.
And a cookie.
(To wake me up.)
(To absorb.)
(For the sugar. And the Halloween sugar cookies they had on campus yesterday were awesome.)
Oh, and some grease.
(Just because. A hamburger is always a good thing.)
Our group costume was awesome. We were the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol.
Oh yeah. Blue blazers, white shirts (that did not fit so well. Way big) and khakis. We either looked like we were trying to sell you a home or we looked like Mormons. I figured since we didn't have on backpacks no one would think we were trying to get them into Heaven. Luckily we also had on name tags to erase any confusion before it could start.
I would run up to the lucky winner, we would hand them the big fake check which was made out for $500 million, thousand dollars and fifty-six and half cents. (Any guesses whose idea that was?) They were then given red, white, and blue flowers, black balloons, a microphone shoved in their face that looked like a dildo (not intentionally) (no, really.)(yes, the microphone was mine. Toilet paper roll, with tissue still on it, and a paper mache' egg glued to the top which I Sharpied.) and I took their picture.
I now have a bunch of pictures of drunk people who I don't know.
But it was big fun.
We should have won the contest we entered; the owner, and the crowd said so, but alas, we were beat-out by a slutty Little Red Riding Hood and her Wolf. Sad, but true.
It was awesome and it just proves why I love Halloween so much.
Because it's awesome.
Duh.
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