One of the things I like about the week between Christmas and New Year's isn't just the break I'll be getting from work. It's the ability to be able to catch up on all the Web surfing (and blogging) I wish I could have done during the non-holiday season. Here's a sampling of the interesting videos I received as forwards/stumbled across/googled in the last few days:
Clay Aiken's love child via sperm donation. Or, if the smiling man at the end of the video is his dad, then it's like father, like son.
Just the way Jaws kept coming back to torture the Brody family on Amity Island, the cockroach will always find its way back to the Gay Weatherman.
This just in: NYT confirms that having daughters is better than having sons in Korea. I could have told you that about ten years ago.
This might be the only reality show I really haven't watched, but I still could predict that the Clark Brothers would win it all.
If you can't help but get sucked into the train wreck that is I Love New York, then you're going to love the online uncensored extras.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Dogsitting
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a cat hater, but I love this picture! Got it as a forward. Don't you just wish you could sit on people's heads a lot of the time? I have this feeling most of the time at work.
(I'm sure no cats were harmed in the making of this photo.)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
To be or not to be born again
While watching Carson Daly a few days ago, I watched an interview for a very interesting guest, Brian "Head" Welch, the ex-guitarist for metal band Korn. Apparently, Welch had become a born-again Christian at a low point in his life (his conversion moment happened while he was in a hotel room high on crystal meth). Since then he's gone public about his experience and written a book about it that is a NYT bestseller.
I wanted to do a little more research on him so I googled him and this Web page of people's biographies popped up, a list of notable names who have claimed to be born-again Christians. The list included some famous religious names, but also included its fair share of serial killers, former porn stars, troubled athletes, and, quite amusingly, former Prince proteges.
It's easy to be cynical of those folks who find God when they have to curry favor with the public (see: Michael Vick and Paris Hilton) or emphasize that they have faith when their integrity is questioned (see any politician) or who claim to have had a born-again experience to convince others that they are no longer evil (see: pretty much any murderer up for parole). And really, why shouldn't we all question conversions of convenience?
Regardless of what people think, however, at the end of the day it's only God who truly knows whose spiritual changes are true and who is doing it to further his/her own causes; after all, Jesus reached out to tax collectors, thieves, prostitutes, and lepers, healed them, befriended them and called for transformed lives. And it's definitely true that people don't often turn to religion until something shakes up their world or until they find themselves at the bottom of a spiritual and emotional ditch, waiting for someone to pull them out. People who have everything going for them often don't think they need God.
Anyway, back to Welch. I saw a few of his interviews from CNN and other TV newscasts on YouTube, and after he became a Christian he quit drugs cold turkey and left the band after hearing his young daughter singing sexually suggestive Korn lyrics. For every religious conservative who is exposed for having a secret life that mirrors the lives of those they condemn, there is a story like Welch's that, in my opinion, really tells the Gospel story. I just wish there were more of them out there like that.
I wanted to do a little more research on him so I googled him and this Web page of people's biographies popped up, a list of notable names who have claimed to be born-again Christians. The list included some famous religious names, but also included its fair share of serial killers, former porn stars, troubled athletes, and, quite amusingly, former Prince proteges.
It's easy to be cynical of those folks who find God when they have to curry favor with the public (see: Michael Vick and Paris Hilton) or emphasize that they have faith when their integrity is questioned (see any politician) or who claim to have had a born-again experience to convince others that they are no longer evil (see: pretty much any murderer up for parole). And really, why shouldn't we all question conversions of convenience?
Regardless of what people think, however, at the end of the day it's only God who truly knows whose spiritual changes are true and who is doing it to further his/her own causes; after all, Jesus reached out to tax collectors, thieves, prostitutes, and lepers, healed them, befriended them and called for transformed lives. And it's definitely true that people don't often turn to religion until something shakes up their world or until they find themselves at the bottom of a spiritual and emotional ditch, waiting for someone to pull them out. People who have everything going for them often don't think they need God.
Anyway, back to Welch. I saw a few of his interviews from CNN and other TV newscasts on YouTube, and after he became a Christian he quit drugs cold turkey and left the band after hearing his young daughter singing sexually suggestive Korn lyrics. For every religious conservative who is exposed for having a secret life that mirrors the lives of those they condemn, there is a story like Welch's that, in my opinion, really tells the Gospel story. I just wish there were more of them out there like that.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Crouching v@$#!, hidden p@#!$
If I were not a proper (not so) young lady, I would have replaced the symbols with the words for the male and female naughty bits. That's the nickname I've given Ang Lee's movie "Lust, Caution," the NC-17 espionage love story about a young resistance fighter who seduces a government official in Japan-occupied China in order to help set up his assasination.
Maybe I've become jaded with art-house movies, but I actually didn't think it was so bad. I mean, the sex scenes probably did warrant the NC-17 rating. It's kind of like seeing a live demonstration of kama sutra stuff--I was impressed with the lead actress' flexibility. And Tony Leung does flash some brain and was probably painfully strapped down at some point if indeed those scenes are only simulated sex (a disclaimer at the end of the credits claims it was). But the reviews made it seem as if the actors are naked for half the movie. That's certainly not so. The entire first half of the movie is just buildup to the first sex scene.
Overall, the movie was good unless you can't sit still in a theater for more than two hours. That junk was loooong—almost 2 hrs and 40 minutes. For my personal taste, though, I don't know if it's something I would have chosen to pay a full ticket for (I got tix to a free screening). The thing that made this particular screening worth it was that Ang Lee was there doing a Q&A. I managed to snap this pic before heading out of the theater.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
I would totally pimp out my trailer
Okay, I admit it--I bought the new Britney single, Gimme More. (Hey, at least I didn't buy the whole album.)
Other trailer trash things I'll admit to doing recently:
1. Watching I Love New York on VH1.
2. Craving Spam.
3. Accidentally getting sucked into a Lifetime Movie Network film, "Haunting on Sorority Row," and then TIVOING IT when I had to leave before the end. (No, it wasn't worth the Tivoing space...)
4. Watching the magic/mentalist show "Phenomenon"
5. Eating hot dogs and Kraft macaroni & cheese like I was back in kindergarten.
Yeah, so what?? You got something to say about that??
Other trailer trash things I'll admit to doing recently:
1. Watching I Love New York on VH1.
2. Craving Spam.
3. Accidentally getting sucked into a Lifetime Movie Network film, "Haunting on Sorority Row," and then TIVOING IT when I had to leave before the end. (No, it wasn't worth the Tivoing space...)
4. Watching the magic/mentalist show "Phenomenon"
5. Eating hot dogs and Kraft macaroni & cheese like I was back in kindergarten.
Yeah, so what?? You got something to say about that??
Monday, October 29, 2007
Pedi-cab hotties
Maybe it's just me, but I've always noticed that pedicab drivers are really cute--young, hot 20-somethings--and I always thought it strange. I guess I'd always assumed that, like taxi cab drivers, pedicab drivers would also be mostly recent immigrants looking for a way to make a living. I did a little Googling and read that many are, indeed, immigrants, but many are also students and actors. So, my new crushes--on top of firefighters (I always see at least one or two cute ones on every firetruck)--are pedicab drivers.
It's nice to have eye candy.
It's nice to have eye candy.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Lo fidelity
Things I do when I'm bored at home, can't sleep, but don't want to do something mentally challenging like reading:
1. Cut my own hair (most recently, my bangs were the victim.)
2. Rearrange/delete/add songs to my iPod's "Faves" playlist.
3. Catch up on my Scrabulous game.
4. Piece together really gross snacks from what's in my fridge (pickles and cottage cheese; sardines with cheese and crackers; Leibniz biscuits and yogurt).
5. Cut out funny New Yorker cartoons (Get it, people will pay a $1 for anything--even a glimpse of the moon! HAHAHA!!)
6. Look at the same Crate & Barrel catalog over and over
7. Watch stuff on Tivo that I've already watched
8. Try on my "skinny" dresses to see if my fat still hangs out.
9. Google random people or do social networking searches for people I haven't seen or talked to in ages.
10. Conceive of trivial but overthought lists like I'm some sort of bad dick-lit character in a Nick Hornby novel.
1. Cut my own hair (most recently, my bangs were the victim.)
2. Rearrange/delete/add songs to my iPod's "Faves" playlist.
3. Catch up on my Scrabulous game.
4. Piece together really gross snacks from what's in my fridge (pickles and cottage cheese; sardines with cheese and crackers; Leibniz biscuits and yogurt).
5. Cut out funny New Yorker cartoons (Get it, people will pay a $1 for anything--even a glimpse of the moon! HAHAHA!!)
6. Look at the same Crate & Barrel catalog over and over
7. Watch stuff on Tivo that I've already watched
8. Try on my "skinny" dresses to see if my fat still hangs out.
9. Google random people or do social networking searches for people I haven't seen or talked to in ages.
10. Conceive of trivial but overthought lists like I'm some sort of bad dick-lit character in a Nick Hornby novel.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
I like no one
I have a new favorite song (at least until I get sick of it, which could be next week).
It's the new Alicia Keys song, No One, which plays when you log onto her website. I think it's partially that it's just a good song, but I think it's also the way she sings it. It's supposed to be a happy song but she has this stressed out longing in her voice at the same time, like she's crying out for someone. I haven't really heard her sing a song quite like that before.
It's the new Alicia Keys song, No One, which plays when you log onto her website. I think it's partially that it's just a good song, but I think it's also the way she sings it. It's supposed to be a happy song but she has this stressed out longing in her voice at the same time, like she's crying out for someone. I haven't really heard her sing a song quite like that before.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Beauty in poverty
I have nothing intelligent to really say about this rather sad article in the NYT about a poor man in Japan who starved to death after he stopped receiving welfare. But I was captivated by this image of his shack because, while it's clear that this shanty was occupied by someone in extreme poverty, there's something hauntingly beautiful about it. I think it's a combination of the fact that it looks like a piece of modern art (somehow, it's color scheme doesn't look accidental, the blue of the leftover siding and the red in the rust create a beautiful combination) yet holds a story of poverty and tragedy inside.
Photo by Ko Sasaki for the New York Times.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
What color is your parachute—of dating?
When I read articles like this one in the NYT, or read an infamous craigslist posting like this one, or another NYT article like this one, it makes me think, it's no wonder relationships are dysfunctional.
For starters, I've never understood the whole friends with benefits thing. Maybe because I've never had a FWB. If someone is your best friend and you are physically attracted to them too, well, to me that just seems like a no-brainer. Maybe I'm oversimplifying things, and lord knows New Yorkers like to complicate things. But I would think that's what most people are looking for--a best friend whose bones you also want to jump. God forbid anyone should have one of those.
But then there are those who only have a transactional view of relationships, most prominently featured in the craiglist post. [Read: "What am I doing wrong?"] (According to her responder, she's a depreciating asset, and his financial assets aren't, so he'd rather lease than buy, and it's not really a fair transaction.) I swear, not all NYers are this shallow. (Only slightly more than half).
As far as the second NYT article goes--I guess because I've never had a lot of disposable income, I just always assumed that the guy would make more than me to begin with. However, recently, it has occurred to me that I could be the breadwinner in a relationship, esp. if one dates one in a creative field. I'm not gonna lie, it's nice to be able to afford nice dinners and such, and I don't think these girls are denying that. It seems the real issue though is that the guys weren't comfortable with the social implications of the women making more than them. I guess they would never stand a chance with Craigslist girl.
A friend once said to me when she was dating her husband-to-be that relationships would be so much easier if we could have just wear certain color t-shirts on dates that signal what we're really thinking, without having to say it, i.e., "If I wear a green shirt, that means I like you," etc. That would make life so much easier. Here's how I would color-code the t-shirts, one for each color of the rainbow (plus two extras):
Red: I think you're hot and could care less what you're actually saying, but am pretending to be interested so I can tap that ass later.
Orange: I think you're cute but am concerned that our differences in class/friends/social status/political views/race/religion will cause problems for us down the road.
Yellow: I'm trying hard to be attracted to you, but it's not happening, so please don't lean in for a kiss later. This is not a date. I repeat, this is not a date.
Green: I offer my beauty and trophy-wife skills in exchange for your money/power/status, and vice versa.
Blue: You remind of an ex, and I'm on the rebound.
Indigo: I think I like you, see nothing wrong with you at present, and actually want to see where this goes.
Violet: I'm not out of the closet yet and am giving heterosexuality one last college try.
And here's two more:
Black: I'm not at all interested, but I was too nice to say no to this date. (Many women have a lot of black in their wardrobe, so I think this could actually work.)
Jackson Pollock: You're damaged and crazy, but I'm unhealthily attracted by that. (T-shirt color will switch to camoflauge when one attempts to hide from crazy ex.)
For starters, I've never understood the whole friends with benefits thing. Maybe because I've never had a FWB. If someone is your best friend and you are physically attracted to them too, well, to me that just seems like a no-brainer. Maybe I'm oversimplifying things, and lord knows New Yorkers like to complicate things. But I would think that's what most people are looking for--a best friend whose bones you also want to jump. God forbid anyone should have one of those.
But then there are those who only have a transactional view of relationships, most prominently featured in the craiglist post. [Read: "What am I doing wrong?"] (According to her responder, she's a depreciating asset, and his financial assets aren't, so he'd rather lease than buy, and it's not really a fair transaction.) I swear, not all NYers are this shallow. (Only slightly more than half).
As far as the second NYT article goes--I guess because I've never had a lot of disposable income, I just always assumed that the guy would make more than me to begin with. However, recently, it has occurred to me that I could be the breadwinner in a relationship, esp. if one dates one in a creative field. I'm not gonna lie, it's nice to be able to afford nice dinners and such, and I don't think these girls are denying that. It seems the real issue though is that the guys weren't comfortable with the social implications of the women making more than them. I guess they would never stand a chance with Craigslist girl.
A friend once said to me when she was dating her husband-to-be that relationships would be so much easier if we could have just wear certain color t-shirts on dates that signal what we're really thinking, without having to say it, i.e., "If I wear a green shirt, that means I like you," etc. That would make life so much easier. Here's how I would color-code the t-shirts, one for each color of the rainbow (plus two extras):
Red: I think you're hot and could care less what you're actually saying, but am pretending to be interested so I can tap that ass later.
Orange: I think you're cute but am concerned that our differences in class/friends/social status/political views/race/religion will cause problems for us down the road.
Yellow: I'm trying hard to be attracted to you, but it's not happening, so please don't lean in for a kiss later. This is not a date. I repeat, this is not a date.
Green: I offer my beauty and trophy-wife skills in exchange for your money/power/status, and vice versa.
Blue: You remind of an ex, and I'm on the rebound.
Indigo: I think I like you, see nothing wrong with you at present, and actually want to see where this goes.
Violet: I'm not out of the closet yet and am giving heterosexuality one last college try.
And here's two more:
Black: I'm not at all interested, but I was too nice to say no to this date. (Many women have a lot of black in their wardrobe, so I think this could actually work.)
Jackson Pollock: You're damaged and crazy, but I'm unhealthily attracted by that. (T-shirt color will switch to camoflauge when one attempts to hide from crazy ex.)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wedded un-bliss
So this past weekend was my sister's wedding, and being the maid of honor, I had to give a toast. The basic theme of my toast was: The girl who always took care of other people found someone who could take care of her. One of the little ha-has I stuck in there was "If you ever want to see just how bossy a girl can be, make her plan a wedding."
It's a wonder that any bride can relax on her wedding day, especially if she was the one who planned it all. I can't believe how well my sister planned. But of course, there are always going to be details that are overlooked, and all these little details were enough to make her want to tear the 300 bobby pins out of her hair. For starters, the guy who was going to do her wedding updo quit, and the salon forgot to tell her. So a more junior stylist did her hair and did an ok job, but it wasn't exactly how she wanted it. Then the nail tips she didn't initially want to get, but was talked into getting by the manicurist the day before, started to peel off, resulting in the bride tearing off her own nails while getting an updo that took too long to do and wasn't what she initially wanted. Then there's the problem of the control-freak dad who tries to take matters into his own hands and behind the bride's back keeps moving things and people around without consulting the bride. Result: Bride and maid of honor do a lot of foot stomping and talking through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, groomsmen drink Coors Lights in bridal suite and stand around doing what most groomsmen do at a wedding: Nothing. If I ever get married I think I'm either going to have to elope, or if I get lucky, win the lottery/marry rich and hire a planner to do everything so all I have to do is show up in a pretty dress.
Anyway, at the end of the day, I forgot all the little overlooked details and stresses, and it was great to see my parents having a blast, despite the fact that we were yelling at my dad through gritted teeth all night. I think it also helped that the afterparty consisted of about 15 friends closing out the bar at Bennigan's. (Hey, it's the burbs, what are you gonna do?) I think my sister put in a good-faith effort to have a good time, but I think she was over it by the end of the night and just wanted to go to bed. But I can't wait to see the pictures. I think the $20K+ that people pay for a wedding might just be worth it if the photos turn out great. I expect to see alot of drunk relatives and family friends, the soul train dance line we started on the dance floor, the running around helping my sister change three times throughout the night. And I might even laugh if I see a photo of me yelling through gritted teeth.
It's a wonder that any bride can relax on her wedding day, especially if she was the one who planned it all. I can't believe how well my sister planned. But of course, there are always going to be details that are overlooked, and all these little details were enough to make her want to tear the 300 bobby pins out of her hair. For starters, the guy who was going to do her wedding updo quit, and the salon forgot to tell her. So a more junior stylist did her hair and did an ok job, but it wasn't exactly how she wanted it. Then the nail tips she didn't initially want to get, but was talked into getting by the manicurist the day before, started to peel off, resulting in the bride tearing off her own nails while getting an updo that took too long to do and wasn't what she initially wanted. Then there's the problem of the control-freak dad who tries to take matters into his own hands and behind the bride's back keeps moving things and people around without consulting the bride. Result: Bride and maid of honor do a lot of foot stomping and talking through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, groomsmen drink Coors Lights in bridal suite and stand around doing what most groomsmen do at a wedding: Nothing. If I ever get married I think I'm either going to have to elope, or if I get lucky, win the lottery/marry rich and hire a planner to do everything so all I have to do is show up in a pretty dress.
Anyway, at the end of the day, I forgot all the little overlooked details and stresses, and it was great to see my parents having a blast, despite the fact that we were yelling at my dad through gritted teeth all night. I think it also helped that the afterparty consisted of about 15 friends closing out the bar at Bennigan's. (Hey, it's the burbs, what are you gonna do?) I think my sister put in a good-faith effort to have a good time, but I think she was over it by the end of the night and just wanted to go to bed. But I can't wait to see the pictures. I think the $20K+ that people pay for a wedding might just be worth it if the photos turn out great. I expect to see alot of drunk relatives and family friends, the soul train dance line we started on the dance floor, the running around helping my sister change three times throughout the night. And I might even laugh if I see a photo of me yelling through gritted teeth.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Open for business 24/7
So I've been at a new job for about three months now, and if I ever complained about working late at my old job, I shouldn't have. My schedule at my current job actually requires me to work longer hours, at least on a per-day average. (Not to mention that I have no time to procrastinate by constantly checking email or IM'ing--or blogging, for that matter!) I haven't been to my beloved step class in maybe a month, and I've had to cut out some extracurricular activities from my schedule, primarily because my new job is more client-driven, and as such my excuse for staying late is actually valid, versus my previous excuse of "I just took two hours to run to soho for a lunch shopping excursion so now I'm paying for it."
Anyway, one of the things that I've noticed about myself is that I have a keen survival instinct: my ability to fuel myself with really bad and random food. When I work late at night I tend to not eat real food when I get home because it's just too late for a full meal. The one good thing is that I have a cafeteria at work, which I go to everyday at lunch and make sure to pile up on healthy things like spinach (which strategically cover up fried mozzarella sticks and waffle fries). But then when I eat late night dinners, I'll piece together random snacks that have no business going together. To me it makes perfect sense, but I'm sure would only induce looks of disgust to anyone else.
Like tonight--around 8 pm while I was still at work I ate a bag of Chex mix from the vending machine. Then when I got home around 11, I ate a single-size cup of cottage cheese with sweet relish, followed by a handful of grapes. It's times like these when I wish I worked at a place like Google, which serves free breakfast, lunch and dinner to their employees. Some people think this is a ploy to keep employees at work all the time and trapped in the office. But the truth of the matter is, I eat lunch at my desk everyday anyway and stay late at least once a week, so I may as well get food while I'm at it. Harrumph.
Anyway, one of the things that I've noticed about myself is that I have a keen survival instinct: my ability to fuel myself with really bad and random food. When I work late at night I tend to not eat real food when I get home because it's just too late for a full meal. The one good thing is that I have a cafeteria at work, which I go to everyday at lunch and make sure to pile up on healthy things like spinach (which strategically cover up fried mozzarella sticks and waffle fries). But then when I eat late night dinners, I'll piece together random snacks that have no business going together. To me it makes perfect sense, but I'm sure would only induce looks of disgust to anyone else.
Like tonight--around 8 pm while I was still at work I ate a bag of Chex mix from the vending machine. Then when I got home around 11, I ate a single-size cup of cottage cheese with sweet relish, followed by a handful of grapes. It's times like these when I wish I worked at a place like Google, which serves free breakfast, lunch and dinner to their employees. Some people think this is a ploy to keep employees at work all the time and trapped in the office. But the truth of the matter is, I eat lunch at my desk everyday anyway and stay late at least once a week, so I may as well get food while I'm at it. Harrumph.
Monday, August 06, 2007
You're as sexy as a stop sign
I'd like to keep my blog as clean as possible, but I just found this piece of news so oddly disturbing. I just heard Jay Leno mention it in his monologue. A man in Sioux Falls was arrested for trying to have sex with traffic signs. This more detailed report by The Smoking Gun reveals utility poles were among the violated.
Indecent exposure is one of the things I'll never quite understand. Maybe I'm a prude, but I barely want people to see my exposed muffin top in public, much less my entire naked body. Now I know that this guy (nickname: Bubba. Why does that not surprise me?) clearly has something wrong with him and needs help, but it seems you don't have to be a really crazy person to want to get off on exposing yourself to people, judging from the types of people who moonlight as flashers. I've been the victim of indecent exposure before. In the one time in particular that stands out in my mind, I'm pretty sure the guy was mentally disturbed. But I have other friends who've been flashed several times in the subway by guys who seem to have normal day jobs. Most of us victims never really felt threatened in any way. It's been more a feeling of...eh. Is that all you're showing me? I think partially the reaction is blah because we know overreacting is what indecent exposur-ists get off on.
The other interesting thing about indecent exposure is that the perps are almost always men. What is it about men that makes them think women want to see their little willies all the time? Please. Don't flatter yourselves. When are you going to realize that it's women's bodies that are the works of art? This is validated by the fact that the Smoking Gun reports that Bubba liked to wear fishnets sometimes, a way of showing his reverence for the female form.
Also, now when someone says I'm shaped like a stop sign, I'll take it as compliment.
On an aside, Bubba is the perfect guest for Jerry Springer or bad reality tv.
Indecent exposure is one of the things I'll never quite understand. Maybe I'm a prude, but I barely want people to see my exposed muffin top in public, much less my entire naked body. Now I know that this guy (nickname: Bubba. Why does that not surprise me?) clearly has something wrong with him and needs help, but it seems you don't have to be a really crazy person to want to get off on exposing yourself to people, judging from the types of people who moonlight as flashers. I've been the victim of indecent exposure before. In the one time in particular that stands out in my mind, I'm pretty sure the guy was mentally disturbed. But I have other friends who've been flashed several times in the subway by guys who seem to have normal day jobs. Most of us victims never really felt threatened in any way. It's been more a feeling of...eh. Is that all you're showing me? I think partially the reaction is blah because we know overreacting is what indecent exposur-ists get off on.
The other interesting thing about indecent exposure is that the perps are almost always men. What is it about men that makes them think women want to see their little willies all the time? Please. Don't flatter yourselves. When are you going to realize that it's women's bodies that are the works of art? This is validated by the fact that the Smoking Gun reports that Bubba liked to wear fishnets sometimes, a way of showing his reverence for the female form.
Also, now when someone says I'm shaped like a stop sign, I'll take it as compliment.
On an aside, Bubba is the perfect guest for Jerry Springer or bad reality tv.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Roasted buns
Oh my. Has it really been that long since my last post? There's only one thing to blame for that: Work. I recently switched jobs. My tenure at my last job required crazy hours, mostly because we were so understaffed. My new job is busy in a different sort of way. The good thing is that technically, I shouldn't have to bring any work home. The bad thing is that I always find a way to bring work home with me.
I was talking to a coworker today about taking summer Fridays and how, because of the project we work on, it has been near impossible to do that. But because we are getting some freelance help this week, I think I'm actually going to be able to do that. We were also chatting about freelancing, and how I could never be a full time freelancer. The problem is that I have two sides to me: I can be a totally lazy ass and the ultimate procrastinator. Then I have this other extreme that becomes a workaholic and a control freak at work and never takes vacation because I'm afraid of not being in the loop when I come back--I hate the feeling of not knowing what's going on. I haven't taken a vacation in over a year (aside from a few small weekends home), mostly because I have no money to go anywhere, but I also won't just take those days off to chill. I guess I feel like if I'm not gonna be doing anything vacation-y, I may as well just be at work.
Last weekend, however, I finally got to take a mini getaway to the beach in Connecticut courtesy of S and L. It was great to just chill on the beach and go to bed before midnight (something I find near impossible to do in NYC). All of this was wonderful and relaxing--but of course, the one time I'm on "vacation," I go and burn my ass. Literally. I didn't put enough sunscreen on the back of my legs and the lower part of my butt cheeks that are exposed by a bikini bottom. So when you look at my bare ass it looks like i have white underwear on and red legs. It looks like someone took a hot pink paintbrush and ran it down my legs. It looks like I got spanked hard by a frat boy.
Ouch! I can't even vacation without causing myself some stress.
p.s: If this is a Filipino prison, lock me up! The best part: The "girlfriend's" hairline. Awesome.
I was talking to a coworker today about taking summer Fridays and how, because of the project we work on, it has been near impossible to do that. But because we are getting some freelance help this week, I think I'm actually going to be able to do that. We were also chatting about freelancing, and how I could never be a full time freelancer. The problem is that I have two sides to me: I can be a totally lazy ass and the ultimate procrastinator. Then I have this other extreme that becomes a workaholic and a control freak at work and never takes vacation because I'm afraid of not being in the loop when I come back--I hate the feeling of not knowing what's going on. I haven't taken a vacation in over a year (aside from a few small weekends home), mostly because I have no money to go anywhere, but I also won't just take those days off to chill. I guess I feel like if I'm not gonna be doing anything vacation-y, I may as well just be at work.
Last weekend, however, I finally got to take a mini getaway to the beach in Connecticut courtesy of S and L. It was great to just chill on the beach and go to bed before midnight (something I find near impossible to do in NYC). All of this was wonderful and relaxing--but of course, the one time I'm on "vacation," I go and burn my ass. Literally. I didn't put enough sunscreen on the back of my legs and the lower part of my butt cheeks that are exposed by a bikini bottom. So when you look at my bare ass it looks like i have white underwear on and red legs. It looks like someone took a hot pink paintbrush and ran it down my legs. It looks like I got spanked hard by a frat boy.
Ouch! I can't even vacation without causing myself some stress.
p.s: If this is a Filipino prison, lock me up! The best part: The "girlfriend's" hairline. Awesome.
Monday, May 21, 2007
What the poop?!
A friend of mine forwarded this Wikipedia article to me about a South Korean woman who got caught on camera refusing to clean up her dog's crap after the little bugger shat on the subway. The woman published a public apology, but judging from her actions when the incident actually occurred, I think she was more sorry that she was caught than that she let her dog use the subway as its fire hydrant.
While I don't think the situation should have evolved to death-threat level, how I wish something like this would happen in New York! I soooo want all those dog owners out there who literally do believe their dogs' sh*$ doesn't stink to feel the wrath of us pedestrians who feel as if we are walking on a freaking mine field every day. In the age of camera cell phones, all you reckless dog owners better be careful--we're watching you, you and your constipated teacup poodle.
While I don't think the situation should have evolved to death-threat level, how I wish something like this would happen in New York! I soooo want all those dog owners out there who literally do believe their dogs' sh*$ doesn't stink to feel the wrath of us pedestrians who feel as if we are walking on a freaking mine field every day. In the age of camera cell phones, all you reckless dog owners better be careful--we're watching you, you and your constipated teacup poodle.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Stephen Colbert rains
I'm effing tired. Work has been a bitch. Boys can be pains in the asses. But Stephen Colbert always makes me laugh.
Especially considering he speaks better Korean than I can!
Stephen Colbert Hits the Korean Pop Charts
Especially considering he speaks better Korean than I can!
Stephen Colbert Hits the Korean Pop Charts
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Kids say the $#@%& things
There's something inherently funny about kids cursing. I'm not advocating it, and perhaps it's borderline child abuse, but it just goes to show how much kids absorb (and how careful you should be with your words around them). Of course, in these videos, it's more about innocently picking up some phrases they've heard mommy and daddy throwing around (or, in Pearl's case, being told what to say phonetically. Adam McKay claims she never used those words again. You'll see what I mean if you click on the link below).
So I almost busted out laughing at work watching these two videos. Precocious kids can be creepy (read: Dakota Fanning, and those videos the news showed about a month or two ago of the toddlers who knew how to smoke pot) but in these they are just darn cute.
Cassie Kicks Ask
Pearl Demands the Rent, Bitch
So I almost busted out laughing at work watching these two videos. Precocious kids can be creepy (read: Dakota Fanning, and those videos the news showed about a month or two ago of the toddlers who knew how to smoke pot) but in these they are just darn cute.
Cassie Kicks Ask
Pearl Demands the Rent, Bitch
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
I was an alien once
Watching the news has been truly depressing of late. In New York, a Columbia journalism student was brutally raped and tortured by a madman; a 5-year-old girl was found hanging in a closet in her Bronx apartment in what police believe was an accidental strangling; and, of course, the VA Tech shootings continue to resonate throughout the news.
The fact that the VA Tech shooter was Korean American caught a lot of us in the K-A community by surprise, and lots of people, particularly of my parents’ generation were afraid of a backlash, but aside from a few isolated incidents I had not heard of anything too bad that was happening. The truth is, it’s likely that those who already harbor racist feelings toward Asians will use it as an excuse to fuel their hatred, but they’ll use any incident, major or minor, to do so.
I was reading this Salon article written by Asian American journalist Jeff Yang about the general feelings within the Asian journalism community, and I was surprised to read that many people expressed some form of inexplicable guilt, that maybe part of the reason for his breakdown had to do with pressures typically put on second-generation students to succeed. Personally, I feel no guilt. To me, plain and simple, Cho was mentally disturbed and couldn’t deal with the normal pressures of daily life, including the struggles that come with immigrating to a new country. According to video of his relatives in Korea, he had issues even as a young child before moving to the states.
Don’t get me wrong, I do feel some empathy with what he may have gone through. According to some articles I’ve read, he was made fun of for never talking, and when he did, the strange way he spoke would prompt taunts of “Go back to China.” All of us who are second-gen have experienced something like that throughout our youth. But by most accounts, a lot of his isolation was self-imposed, as he refused to interact with any peers. To me at least, it seems clear that these actions were done by a disturbed young man who was dealing with isolation, loneliness, and depression, and found a scapegoat for his malaise in rich white kids (though his victims were not, by any means, all rich white kids).
That said, I do take issue with the way he has been portrayed in the media, as Jeff Yang points out. When I read headlines that the shooter was from Korea, I initially thought that he was an international student who came straight from Korea. But when I read that he’d actually come over when he was 10, I realized he was a Korean-American—while not naturalized, he was pretty much second-gen, but the media’s initial reports all emphasized his “otherness” through their choice of description: a resident alien, vs. a permanent resident, the constant description of him as Korean, the way they put his last name first because he had a Korean name (i.e, if he had had an American name, he would have been Larry Cho, or whatever), and the way in which a race is never an issue when a killer is white.
I wasn’t a naturalized citizen until I went through the process on my own when I was 18. I had been going by an American name for a long time, even though it wasn’t legal. For a lot of my life, I could speak Spanish better than I could speak Korean. But if I had done some similar crime, I would have been branded as a killer from Korea. I suppose technically it’s true, but that description would have been highly misleading and wouldn’t provide the public with an accurate reflection of who I truly was.
Anyway, there is one thing I keep hearing thrown out there, and that is hopefully that this incident will urge Asian families in particular to get help for themselves or their loved ones if they sense any mental health issues—and to stop treating it like a stigma that must be ignored for fear of “losing face.” I don’t know if Cho could have been helped, but I wonder if treatment earlier in his life could have made some sort of difference.
The fact that the VA Tech shooter was Korean American caught a lot of us in the K-A community by surprise, and lots of people, particularly of my parents’ generation were afraid of a backlash, but aside from a few isolated incidents I had not heard of anything too bad that was happening. The truth is, it’s likely that those who already harbor racist feelings toward Asians will use it as an excuse to fuel their hatred, but they’ll use any incident, major or minor, to do so.
I was reading this Salon article written by Asian American journalist Jeff Yang about the general feelings within the Asian journalism community, and I was surprised to read that many people expressed some form of inexplicable guilt, that maybe part of the reason for his breakdown had to do with pressures typically put on second-generation students to succeed. Personally, I feel no guilt. To me, plain and simple, Cho was mentally disturbed and couldn’t deal with the normal pressures of daily life, including the struggles that come with immigrating to a new country. According to video of his relatives in Korea, he had issues even as a young child before moving to the states.
Don’t get me wrong, I do feel some empathy with what he may have gone through. According to some articles I’ve read, he was made fun of for never talking, and when he did, the strange way he spoke would prompt taunts of “Go back to China.” All of us who are second-gen have experienced something like that throughout our youth. But by most accounts, a lot of his isolation was self-imposed, as he refused to interact with any peers. To me at least, it seems clear that these actions were done by a disturbed young man who was dealing with isolation, loneliness, and depression, and found a scapegoat for his malaise in rich white kids (though his victims were not, by any means, all rich white kids).
That said, I do take issue with the way he has been portrayed in the media, as Jeff Yang points out. When I read headlines that the shooter was from Korea, I initially thought that he was an international student who came straight from Korea. But when I read that he’d actually come over when he was 10, I realized he was a Korean-American—while not naturalized, he was pretty much second-gen, but the media’s initial reports all emphasized his “otherness” through their choice of description: a resident alien, vs. a permanent resident, the constant description of him as Korean, the way they put his last name first because he had a Korean name (i.e, if he had had an American name, he would have been Larry Cho, or whatever), and the way in which a race is never an issue when a killer is white.
I wasn’t a naturalized citizen until I went through the process on my own when I was 18. I had been going by an American name for a long time, even though it wasn’t legal. For a lot of my life, I could speak Spanish better than I could speak Korean. But if I had done some similar crime, I would have been branded as a killer from Korea. I suppose technically it’s true, but that description would have been highly misleading and wouldn’t provide the public with an accurate reflection of who I truly was.
Anyway, there is one thing I keep hearing thrown out there, and that is hopefully that this incident will urge Asian families in particular to get help for themselves or their loved ones if they sense any mental health issues—and to stop treating it like a stigma that must be ignored for fear of “losing face.” I don’t know if Cho could have been helped, but I wonder if treatment earlier in his life could have made some sort of difference.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Stars: They're just like us (Koreans)!
While searching for photos of hanboks (traditional Korean clothing), my sister stumbled across two photos of celebrities wearing them. She was researching different kinds and colors because our aunts in Korea are going to buy one for her so she can wear it at her wedding (the girl who claimed to want a low-key wedding is now going to change three times over the course of the night: she has a traditional wedding dress for the ceremony, a hanbok to greet our parents guests, and a casual wedding dress for the latter half of the reception. LOL).
Anyway, she found these photos. Of course, Britney's has to be garishly hot pink. She looks cute but those colors are horrendous, in my opinion.
When I first saw this one of Nic Cage in one, I busted out laughing. I find this photo disturbing. The hanboks themselves are actually quite beautiful. I think it's the thought of him with his nearly-jailbait bride doing a traditional Korean wedding ceremony that cracks me up. Well, at least you can't accuse him of not trying to embrace his wife's culture. I guess a man will do anything to get some young hot ass.
Friday, March 23, 2007
David’s Bridal=taffeta and organza hell
Every couple of years, I get into wedding season, and I think this summer-fall is going to be the next one. I have three weddings that I’m invited to, though not entirely sure whether I’ll be going to all three. One is a big one, my sister’s. Last weekend included a three-hour bus trip home that turned into six because of the snow, a trip to David’s Bridal (what I like to call the Wal-Mart of wedding shops), a meeting with a florist, a trip to two bakeries to inquire about wedding cakes, and a stakeout of the reception hall.
The trip to David’s Bridal was an interesting one. We had an “appointment” at noon but didn’t get an associate until 12:30. There were only two dresses my sister wanted to try on, so the associate got them for us, as well as a veil and some various accessories she needed, but was pretty much MIA after that because she was also helping two or three other brides/bridesmaids at the same time. She checked on us occasionally, but I was the one pulling the satin and tulle over my sister’s head, trying to gauge the size, and fixing the back of the dress (which I’m going to be doing about a million times on the wedding day). Much to our surprise, she actually found one she liked amid the sea of bedazzled ruffles and bows, a simple one that was the least David’s Bridal-y. Thank God my bridesmaid dress is from J Crew. I don’t think I can handle wearing any of the seafoam green/fushia/pale blue mess I saw in there. And don’t let them fool you into looking at their “separates” line, where you mix and match tops and bottoms. That just doubles the bridesmaid fugliness into two pieces instead of one.
Anyway, the price and the simplicity of the dress is really what sold us on it. Not too often can you get the dress and veil for less than $500-$600 bucks. So throughout the course of the wedding, my sister—who initially had said she wanted to just show up at the ceremony in a rent-a-dress just for the photos—is going to change three times: once in her wedding dress, once in traditional Korean dress, and probably once more into a more casual J Crew wedding dress she bought on sale for the dancing.
Speaking of traditional Korean dress, I caught a random ABC sitcom called “In Case of Emergency” that starts Jonathan Silverman and Kelly Hu, a Chinese actress playing a Korean woman. From what I can gather, it’s about a bunch of housemates, and Jonathan Silverman’s character is in love with Kelly. (In the tradition of movies/shows with Asian actors, the Asian character’s name is the actor’s real-life name, like how Jackie Chan is always Jackie in his movies.) Anyway, in the show she pretends to be married to please her strict Korean parents who are in town, and they demand she have a traditional Korean wedding. As part of this traditional Korean wedding, the groom is supposed to present the bride with a live goose. Now, from what I could tell, the Korean garb and overall setup of the Korean ceremony looked close to authentic, but I’ve never heard of this goose business. It sounds like a Hollywood setup to me. Or maybe the writers did a lot of deep research and this is so authentic I’ve never heard of it.
Anyway, my other strange Korean-wedding-related media encounter in the past two days was a NYT article my coworker sent me on the troubles that can occur in a Korean wedding when the in-laws aren’t pleased with the gifts to/from their son or daughter-in-law to be. According to this article, the gifts can make or break future relations with the in-laws. The dowry especially is deemed important. Hmm. The only dowry my future husband is getting is maybe my mom’s homemade kimchee for life. Otherwise, all he’s inheriting is my debt.
On an aside, this article follows another article about Korean men joining dating services to find Vietnamese brides, by the same writer, and is part of a trend I’ve noticed over the past few years of articles that like to study the various eccentricities—or at least what seems eccentric to mainstream Americans—of Korean culture like some sort of cultural anthropology. The New York Times seems especially interested in its observations of Korean culture. Or, as the subject line in my coworker’s email to me reads: “Mainstream media continues to report Korean dirty laundry.”
Go air your own dirty laundry, New York Times! I know you’ve probably got a few more Jayson Blairs embedded somewhere in there. Harrumph.
The trip to David’s Bridal was an interesting one. We had an “appointment” at noon but didn’t get an associate until 12:30. There were only two dresses my sister wanted to try on, so the associate got them for us, as well as a veil and some various accessories she needed, but was pretty much MIA after that because she was also helping two or three other brides/bridesmaids at the same time. She checked on us occasionally, but I was the one pulling the satin and tulle over my sister’s head, trying to gauge the size, and fixing the back of the dress (which I’m going to be doing about a million times on the wedding day). Much to our surprise, she actually found one she liked amid the sea of bedazzled ruffles and bows, a simple one that was the least David’s Bridal-y. Thank God my bridesmaid dress is from J Crew. I don’t think I can handle wearing any of the seafoam green/fushia/pale blue mess I saw in there. And don’t let them fool you into looking at their “separates” line, where you mix and match tops and bottoms. That just doubles the bridesmaid fugliness into two pieces instead of one.
Anyway, the price and the simplicity of the dress is really what sold us on it. Not too often can you get the dress and veil for less than $500-$600 bucks. So throughout the course of the wedding, my sister—who initially had said she wanted to just show up at the ceremony in a rent-a-dress just for the photos—is going to change three times: once in her wedding dress, once in traditional Korean dress, and probably once more into a more casual J Crew wedding dress she bought on sale for the dancing.
Speaking of traditional Korean dress, I caught a random ABC sitcom called “In Case of Emergency” that starts Jonathan Silverman and Kelly Hu, a Chinese actress playing a Korean woman. From what I can gather, it’s about a bunch of housemates, and Jonathan Silverman’s character is in love with Kelly. (In the tradition of movies/shows with Asian actors, the Asian character’s name is the actor’s real-life name, like how Jackie Chan is always Jackie in his movies.) Anyway, in the show she pretends to be married to please her strict Korean parents who are in town, and they demand she have a traditional Korean wedding. As part of this traditional Korean wedding, the groom is supposed to present the bride with a live goose. Now, from what I could tell, the Korean garb and overall setup of the Korean ceremony looked close to authentic, but I’ve never heard of this goose business. It sounds like a Hollywood setup to me. Or maybe the writers did a lot of deep research and this is so authentic I’ve never heard of it.
Anyway, my other strange Korean-wedding-related media encounter in the past two days was a NYT article my coworker sent me on the troubles that can occur in a Korean wedding when the in-laws aren’t pleased with the gifts to/from their son or daughter-in-law to be. According to this article, the gifts can make or break future relations with the in-laws. The dowry especially is deemed important. Hmm. The only dowry my future husband is getting is maybe my mom’s homemade kimchee for life. Otherwise, all he’s inheriting is my debt.
On an aside, this article follows another article about Korean men joining dating services to find Vietnamese brides, by the same writer, and is part of a trend I’ve noticed over the past few years of articles that like to study the various eccentricities—or at least what seems eccentric to mainstream Americans—of Korean culture like some sort of cultural anthropology. The New York Times seems especially interested in its observations of Korean culture. Or, as the subject line in my coworker’s email to me reads: “Mainstream media continues to report Korean dirty laundry.”
Go air your own dirty laundry, New York Times! I know you’ve probably got a few more Jayson Blairs embedded somewhere in there. Harrumph.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Heart attack on a bun, anyone?
The Krispy Kreme burger is slowly making it’s way across the country. I think I’d read that some form of it had appeared in a minor league ballpark a few years back. It’s now made its way into Google’s New York cafeteria (which I’ve seen before, and it rocks). I’m equal parts disgusted and craving it right now as I write.
The Krispy Kreme burger just reminds me of how badly I eat when I’m stressed. Hell week is now officially over, but I’m left with the aftermath of my poor stressed-out eating. Here’s what made it into my diet over the past week or so:
• At least six slices of pizza
• Chex mix
• Hint of Lime Tostitos
• Several Entemann’s donuts
• Korean fried chicken
• Coke, non-diet
• Several pieces of fresh mozzarella
• Leftover pad thai
• Tons of Starbucks
• A few Samoas and a Tagalong (it’s Girl Scout Cookie season)
And so, so much more that I’m probably not remembering right now. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a whole row of Oreos. My coworker ate that. Seriously. Just thinking of the film the artificial vanilla filling leaves on your tongue is making me feel greasy right now.
So to recover from my stressed out eating (which left a grease-induced roadmap on my face) my dinner was but a mere bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats and a bite of fresh mozzarella. Though what I really want right now is a Big Mac (I used to be able to eat 2 when I was in elementary school). Grr. I think it’s time for a cold shower.
The Krispy Kreme burger just reminds me of how badly I eat when I’m stressed. Hell week is now officially over, but I’m left with the aftermath of my poor stressed-out eating. Here’s what made it into my diet over the past week or so:
• At least six slices of pizza
• Chex mix
• Hint of Lime Tostitos
• Several Entemann’s donuts
• Korean fried chicken
• Coke, non-diet
• Several pieces of fresh mozzarella
• Leftover pad thai
• Tons of Starbucks
• A few Samoas and a Tagalong (it’s Girl Scout Cookie season)
And so, so much more that I’m probably not remembering right now. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a whole row of Oreos. My coworker ate that. Seriously. Just thinking of the film the artificial vanilla filling leaves on your tongue is making me feel greasy right now.
So to recover from my stressed out eating (which left a grease-induced roadmap on my face) my dinner was but a mere bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats and a bite of fresh mozzarella. Though what I really want right now is a Big Mac (I used to be able to eat 2 when I was in elementary school). Grr. I think it’s time for a cold shower.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Are you a cubicle slave?
Okay, I'm breaking one of the number-one rules of blogging, which is never blog from work. But I'm in the office at 10 pm on a Sunday evening, going crazy from writing on deadline about stuff I really could give two shits about right now, all while not getting paid what I'm worth, so I think I'll cut myself some slack. I need a quick concentration break. Here goes:
Signs you're becoming a cubicle slave (and yes, I've done all of these):
--You've put your head down in your cube for a quick (quick=hour-long) nap while working on a weekend.
--You've gone through an iTunes playlist at least three times while working on a weekend.
--You've run into several other cubicle slaves in the office and wonder what the hell these workaholic freaks could be so busy with that they're working on a weekend.
--You ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at your cube while working on a weekend.
--It was daylight outside and now it's pitch black while you're working on a weekend.
--By the time you get home, you realize you have to wake up in a few hours to go back to work, after working on a weekend.
--You are rueing all the time you wasted at work during the week checking e-mail and surfing the Web so you would not have to work on a weekend.
--You are working for some strange corporate entity whose name smacks of some secret evil enterprise, like Dr. Evil's in Austin Power, and on the weekend, no less.
--You are working on a weekend, period. And on the first spring-like weekend of the season.
This sucks ass big time! Grrr.
Signs you're becoming a cubicle slave (and yes, I've done all of these):
--You've put your head down in your cube for a quick (quick=hour-long) nap while working on a weekend.
--You've gone through an iTunes playlist at least three times while working on a weekend.
--You've run into several other cubicle slaves in the office and wonder what the hell these workaholic freaks could be so busy with that they're working on a weekend.
--You ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at your cube while working on a weekend.
--It was daylight outside and now it's pitch black while you're working on a weekend.
--By the time you get home, you realize you have to wake up in a few hours to go back to work, after working on a weekend.
--You are rueing all the time you wasted at work during the week checking e-mail and surfing the Web so you would not have to work on a weekend.
--You are working for some strange corporate entity whose name smacks of some secret evil enterprise, like Dr. Evil's in Austin Power, and on the weekend, no less.
--You are working on a weekend, period. And on the first spring-like weekend of the season.
This sucks ass big time! Grrr.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Bunnies and bulls$!#
I’m not particularly superstitious or take horoscopes seriously, but I do find it curious that both my Eastern and Western signs reflect at least part of my personality (though I guess you could say that if you’re looking for it, you can find yourself in whatever new age mumbo jumbo you’re looking into).
Anyway, I’m a Taurus, and, according to one site, “Taureans are determined, productive, practical, reliable, resourceful and capable of generating great wealth. They will work slowly and steadily to achieve their ultimate goal. Ruled by Venus, Taurus loves material comforts, sensual pleasures and beauty. They take great pride in their possessions and assets. Taureans may be stubborn, but their steady demeanor makes them reliable and loyal.”
Ok. I can see myself in that, although I don’t know about the generating great wealth part. The only thing I seem capable of generating is great debt. But I am very slow-but-steady, practical, stubborn, reliable and loyal, so that’s good. But the rest of the description makes me sound like a shallow gold digger. My Chinese zodiac will make me sound better, I’m sure.
Not so sure about that, actually. I went on this site to check out what the “Rabbit Personality” is, and there was a very lengthy description. Here’s the good: merciful, elegant, amiable, love of the arts, strong sense of justice, diplomatic, and dislike of arguments.
But then there it was again: “A woman born in the year of the rabbit is beautiful and elegant, and she will prefer to be married to a kind, conservative millionaire than to a handsome, penniless man. Her husband must be a person who can provide her favorable material conditions, who can protect her and support her luxurious life style, and who can walk away whenever she is in low spirits.”
Again, the moon and stars and sun and tide and planets and whatever the hell else they use to come up with horoscopes are calling me a gold digger. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in those things, she sniffs. Harrumph.
At any rate, it’s the year of the Golden Pig, which apparently only comes around once every 600 years, so I decided to see what the Chinese zodiac says this year holds for me. I looked at a couple, and apparently I’m supposed to get loads of cash coming my way because of all the success I’ll have in business. This horoscope, however, seems to be a more realistic summary of what I should expect: It’s a good year for me to get married. (Or at least find romance.) I should expect a modest raise. And I’ll have 1 neutral and 11 good months. Yippee. I just have to watch out for some minor accidents. (I am pretty accident-prone.)
All that is in good fun, and I don’t take it seriously, but I did find a few statements pretty telling. I'll let those of you who know me decide if they are true or not:
“To those they love, they are gentle and kind, while to some other people they may be perfunctory and halfhearted, even cool and merciless.”
“They can hide their real features by their decent appearance when they face opponents, and then hurt them. By the time one discovers this, they will have tricked you.”
“Generally speaking, she will be someone you can get along well. She will be good company with whom to go shopping or to talk.”
BUT:
“She will always wear large and comfortable clothing, made of good material.”
IS MOST DEF NOT TRUE! I don’t wear oversized clothing, and I’m a bargain shopper, people.
Anyway, I’m a Taurus, and, according to one site, “Taureans are determined, productive, practical, reliable, resourceful and capable of generating great wealth. They will work slowly and steadily to achieve their ultimate goal. Ruled by Venus, Taurus loves material comforts, sensual pleasures and beauty. They take great pride in their possessions and assets. Taureans may be stubborn, but their steady demeanor makes them reliable and loyal.”
Ok. I can see myself in that, although I don’t know about the generating great wealth part. The only thing I seem capable of generating is great debt. But I am very slow-but-steady, practical, stubborn, reliable and loyal, so that’s good. But the rest of the description makes me sound like a shallow gold digger. My Chinese zodiac will make me sound better, I’m sure.
Not so sure about that, actually. I went on this site to check out what the “Rabbit Personality” is, and there was a very lengthy description. Here’s the good: merciful, elegant, amiable, love of the arts, strong sense of justice, diplomatic, and dislike of arguments.
But then there it was again: “A woman born in the year of the rabbit is beautiful and elegant, and she will prefer to be married to a kind, conservative millionaire than to a handsome, penniless man. Her husband must be a person who can provide her favorable material conditions, who can protect her and support her luxurious life style, and who can walk away whenever she is in low spirits.”
Again, the moon and stars and sun and tide and planets and whatever the hell else they use to come up with horoscopes are calling me a gold digger. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in those things, she sniffs. Harrumph.
At any rate, it’s the year of the Golden Pig, which apparently only comes around once every 600 years, so I decided to see what the Chinese zodiac says this year holds for me. I looked at a couple, and apparently I’m supposed to get loads of cash coming my way because of all the success I’ll have in business. This horoscope, however, seems to be a more realistic summary of what I should expect: It’s a good year for me to get married. (Or at least find romance.) I should expect a modest raise. And I’ll have 1 neutral and 11 good months. Yippee. I just have to watch out for some minor accidents. (I am pretty accident-prone.)
All that is in good fun, and I don’t take it seriously, but I did find a few statements pretty telling. I'll let those of you who know me decide if they are true or not:
“To those they love, they are gentle and kind, while to some other people they may be perfunctory and halfhearted, even cool and merciless.”
“They can hide their real features by their decent appearance when they face opponents, and then hurt them. By the time one discovers this, they will have tricked you.”
“Generally speaking, she will be someone you can get along well. She will be good company with whom to go shopping or to talk.”
BUT:
“She will always wear large and comfortable clothing, made of good material.”
IS MOST DEF NOT TRUE! I don’t wear oversized clothing, and I’m a bargain shopper, people.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Does the devil wear Bluetooth?
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m either trying to do a million things at once, or I’m completely zoned out wondering things like how I should rearrange my room, as if I would actually get around to that.
Like today, I did some leisurely shopping, took a nap for about 2 hours when I got back, and woke up and ate a McDonald’s apple pie. But right now I’m simultaneously blogging, IMing, and watching The Devil Wears Prada on DVD. But I’m at my parents’ house, and I like to take laziness liberties here, so I’m giving myself a pass.
Speaking of the Devil, the movie reminds me of my first job post-college. I remember when I would have to “make things happen” for her, too, and get that disappointed tone of voice when I didn’t pull through. She always used to make people in my office cry occasionally with her yelling and was known to throw around the occasional four-letter word. And like the heroine in Devil, I lasted less than a year and sort of went through this period post quitting in which I hated Corporate America and how the underlings at such companies are treated.
Now, I realize that not everyone is like that, and I find it very true that people tend to leave bad managers, not bad jobs. Now that we have new management at work, I’m curious as to whether it will become more Dilbert like. So far, the symptoms are there: Consultants are called in. Your boss calls all day meetings that everyone is required to attend, though only about 25 percent of what’s on the agenda has anything to do with you. You were asked to “look over” a 20-page document and provide input. Your boss walks around with a wireless headpiece stuck to his ear. And he likes to look you in the eye and thank you for your input and says considers the fact that we can wear jeans on Friday as “having a little fun” around the office. Yikes.
Anyway, in all fairness, my boss did give me a Starbucks card that should fuel my morning caffeine jolt for probably the next six months. That was nice. I just hope that all these signs won’t mean I have to start assigning Dilbert nicknames to the people in my office once the consultant’s suggestions start kicking in.
In other news:
Rickie Lee Jones spreads the gospel, of sorts.
Like today, I did some leisurely shopping, took a nap for about 2 hours when I got back, and woke up and ate a McDonald’s apple pie. But right now I’m simultaneously blogging, IMing, and watching The Devil Wears Prada on DVD. But I’m at my parents’ house, and I like to take laziness liberties here, so I’m giving myself a pass.
Speaking of the Devil, the movie reminds me of my first job post-college. I remember when I would have to “make things happen” for her, too, and get that disappointed tone of voice when I didn’t pull through. She always used to make people in my office cry occasionally with her yelling and was known to throw around the occasional four-letter word. And like the heroine in Devil, I lasted less than a year and sort of went through this period post quitting in which I hated Corporate America and how the underlings at such companies are treated.
Now, I realize that not everyone is like that, and I find it very true that people tend to leave bad managers, not bad jobs. Now that we have new management at work, I’m curious as to whether it will become more Dilbert like. So far, the symptoms are there: Consultants are called in. Your boss calls all day meetings that everyone is required to attend, though only about 25 percent of what’s on the agenda has anything to do with you. You were asked to “look over” a 20-page document and provide input. Your boss walks around with a wireless headpiece stuck to his ear. And he likes to look you in the eye and thank you for your input and says considers the fact that we can wear jeans on Friday as “having a little fun” around the office. Yikes.
Anyway, in all fairness, my boss did give me a Starbucks card that should fuel my morning caffeine jolt for probably the next six months. That was nice. I just hope that all these signs won’t mean I have to start assigning Dilbert nicknames to the people in my office once the consultant’s suggestions start kicking in.
In other news:
Rickie Lee Jones spreads the gospel, of sorts.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
I’m going back to cally....I don’t think so
So just as I was getting my body used to West Coast time, it was time to head back to New York and mess up my body clock again. I’m up to my eyeballs in work but I was glad for the trip. I got to see the Left Coast fam that I don’t get to see too often, including a grandmother who asks me about once an hour why I’m not married. I’ll give her a pass because she’s been having memory problems lately and may not recall that she just told me I had to get married before she died—although I’m probably really just giving her the benefit of the doubt.
Anyway, I had two interesting celebrity sightings, both on my JetBlue flight. I saw Vincent “Big Pussy” Pastore from the Sopranos going to California, and John Hensley, who plays Matt McNamara on one of my favorite shows, Nip/Tuck, coming back. They both look pretty much like how they do on TV. Vincent Pastore is huge. John Hensley is taller than I thought he’d be, though he was dressed sort of the way Matt dresses on the show—slightly alternative and moody, but pleasant enough to the woman in his row, who recognized him from the show and seemed to be having a bit of a conversation with him.
Speaking of celebrities, one of the things I did do was visit Hollywood, walking around the Kodak theater area, taking a pic with Zorro, and looking at the handprints in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater. This is the second time I’ve been to Hollywood, and I have to say I’ve not been too impressed with it. Granted, I’ve only really seen the touristy parts, but Hollywood is more gritty than glitzy, from what I’ve seen. It definitely has character though, with it’s vintage shops and old theaters (and there are a lot of characters who pose for pictures with tourists for tips, like my BF Zorro, as well as an emaciated Spider-Man, Princess Fiona from Shrek, and a couple other weirdos who don’t appear to have a day job).
Whenever I go to the West Coast I always wonder if I could make a go of it there, but the whole having-to-drive-everywhere thing is a big thumbs down. That, and the whole smog thing sort of freaks me out. I can’t imagine living in a place where you have days where you’re not supposed to go out because of pollution. Is it just me, or is there something wrong with living in a city where occasionally you aren’t supposed to breathe the air? Or where sometimes the ground beneath you may swallow you whole? Or where a simple flick of a cigarette can ignite a brush fire that goes on for days?
On the other hand, there are some great things about Cally: The number of Jamba Juices per square mile, for example, and IN-N-Out Burger. And the scenic drives provide mountain or seaside views. And if you can stand nippy toes you can wear flip-flops virtually all year round.
For now though, I don’t see myself going West anytime soon. I think New York City has treated me well thus far. I’ve never been a crime statistic, unless you count the highway robbery I pay for my apartment relative to other cities.
In other news:
My boy Ilan, my pick from the start, is the winner of Top Chef! I’m glad I got to see him cook at Casa Mono before he quit. I was thisclose to him while I was peering over the bar where the line chefs cook, trying to look at all the strange ingredients they use in their food there (a lot of it is offal). Now onto Top Design!
Speaking of bad Hollywood, doesn’t this REALLY make you want to watch The Wicker Man? At least you can say that Nick Cage throws himself into his work, no matter how inadvertently hilarious.
Speaking again of bad Hollywood (or London's West End), Harry Potter's all growed up, and I feel dirty for wondering how on earth he got that six pack and whether he's really nude in those publicity shots.
Anyway, I had two interesting celebrity sightings, both on my JetBlue flight. I saw Vincent “Big Pussy” Pastore from the Sopranos going to California, and John Hensley, who plays Matt McNamara on one of my favorite shows, Nip/Tuck, coming back. They both look pretty much like how they do on TV. Vincent Pastore is huge. John Hensley is taller than I thought he’d be, though he was dressed sort of the way Matt dresses on the show—slightly alternative and moody, but pleasant enough to the woman in his row, who recognized him from the show and seemed to be having a bit of a conversation with him.
Speaking of celebrities, one of the things I did do was visit Hollywood, walking around the Kodak theater area, taking a pic with Zorro, and looking at the handprints in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater. This is the second time I’ve been to Hollywood, and I have to say I’ve not been too impressed with it. Granted, I’ve only really seen the touristy parts, but Hollywood is more gritty than glitzy, from what I’ve seen. It definitely has character though, with it’s vintage shops and old theaters (and there are a lot of characters who pose for pictures with tourists for tips, like my BF Zorro, as well as an emaciated Spider-Man, Princess Fiona from Shrek, and a couple other weirdos who don’t appear to have a day job).
Whenever I go to the West Coast I always wonder if I could make a go of it there, but the whole having-to-drive-everywhere thing is a big thumbs down. That, and the whole smog thing sort of freaks me out. I can’t imagine living in a place where you have days where you’re not supposed to go out because of pollution. Is it just me, or is there something wrong with living in a city where occasionally you aren’t supposed to breathe the air? Or where sometimes the ground beneath you may swallow you whole? Or where a simple flick of a cigarette can ignite a brush fire that goes on for days?
On the other hand, there are some great things about Cally: The number of Jamba Juices per square mile, for example, and IN-N-Out Burger. And the scenic drives provide mountain or seaside views. And if you can stand nippy toes you can wear flip-flops virtually all year round.
For now though, I don’t see myself going West anytime soon. I think New York City has treated me well thus far. I’ve never been a crime statistic, unless you count the highway robbery I pay for my apartment relative to other cities.
In other news:
My boy Ilan, my pick from the start, is the winner of Top Chef! I’m glad I got to see him cook at Casa Mono before he quit. I was thisclose to him while I was peering over the bar where the line chefs cook, trying to look at all the strange ingredients they use in their food there (a lot of it is offal). Now onto Top Design!
Speaking of bad Hollywood, doesn’t this REALLY make you want to watch The Wicker Man? At least you can say that Nick Cage throws himself into his work, no matter how inadvertently hilarious.
Speaking again of bad Hollywood (or London's West End), Harry Potter's all growed up, and I feel dirty for wondering how on earth he got that six pack and whether he's really nude in those publicity shots.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Red-eye rants
So I’m sitting at the gate waiting for my JetBlue flight to Cally to leave, and all I can say is, thank God for the free wi-fi here. Another reason to love JetBlue. It’s 5 am and I’ve been here already for about a half hour even though my flight doesn’t leave until 6.45 because freakin’ SuperShuttle insists on picking you up three hours before your flight, even though there is absolutely no traffic on the road at 3.30 am, even in New York City.
I don’t really want to sleep in my chair, so I thought I’d blog, even though I’m bleary-eyed and totally delirious from sleep deprivation. While I was packing earlier tonight (last night?) I was watching episodes of American Idol and Top Chef, two of my favorite reality shows. On Top Chef the final two are Ilan and Marcel, which the producers probably planned because they pretty much hate each other on the show. Well, all the other chefs have pretty much hated Marcel throughout the show because he’s a cocky nerd who gets on everyone’s nerves, but the boy can cook and plate and makes foams out of pretty much any liquid.
My pick to win from pretty early on in the competition though was Ilan, though I must admit I lost the faith a little based upon the recent reaction from the judges to some of his more curious dishes (a desert made from chocolate and liver--what?). But definitely he, Cliff and Sam were my top choices, except that Cliff got kicked off for manhandling Marcel and Sexy Sam got kicked off during the Hawaii challenge for not actually cooking any of the Hawaiian dishes he presented (i.e, his dishes were mostly just prepared but not set to a flame of some sort, I think).
I actually saw Ilan at Casa Mono, Mario Batalli’s tapas restaurant where he works as a line cook, and where they serve a lot of things that go in Scrapple (I’ve since learned from the show that such things are called “offal” in haute cuisine.) The food overall was good, and our party had it’s share of interesting dishes, including cock’s comb, which really comes out red and jelly-like and in the spiky shape of a cock’s comb. It almost looks like red jello made from the mold of a cut-off star. Ilan looked pretty much like Ilan except he was wearing really big nerd glasses. Still a cutie-patootie though. Even if he’s a winner I guess he still has to do his day job until the winning episode airs. No one really seemed to be gawking at him, so I wonder if people in the restaurant even knew that he could very well be America’s Next Top Chef.
Ilan’s not the only reality TV star I’ve had a real-world encounter with. Ian Benardo was a really bad contestant on So You Think You Can Dance, and last night was a really bad contestant on the latest episode of Idol (he readily admits he has two therapists who tell him he can sing and dance). I actually saw him walking in the East Village this past summer, and he was unmistakable, with his sweat headband.
Sigh…more time to kill. What else should we talk about as I delete the 300+ messages in my junk Hotmail account? Here’s some interesting tidbits:
In other news:
Surimi, the designer imposter otherwise known as imitation crab meat (and what non-authentic sushi eaters put in their California rolls) can now legally be labeled as "Crab-flavored seafood, made with surimi, a fully cooked fish protein." Is that like bacon-flavored bits or grape “drink”? I grew up on “grape drink” (I don’t think it could be legally called soda) and I think the real description for it was supposed to be processed sugar water. What I don’t understand is why they don’t just label it “surimi?” That almost sounds like sashimi, and is fancier than either “imitation crab meat” or “crab flavored fish proteins.”
This story perfectly exemplifies the lengths men will go to to NOT have to ask for directions.
Okay, almost time to board--and to get out of this freakin' freezing NYC weather!
I don’t really want to sleep in my chair, so I thought I’d blog, even though I’m bleary-eyed and totally delirious from sleep deprivation. While I was packing earlier tonight (last night?) I was watching episodes of American Idol and Top Chef, two of my favorite reality shows. On Top Chef the final two are Ilan and Marcel, which the producers probably planned because they pretty much hate each other on the show. Well, all the other chefs have pretty much hated Marcel throughout the show because he’s a cocky nerd who gets on everyone’s nerves, but the boy can cook and plate and makes foams out of pretty much any liquid.
My pick to win from pretty early on in the competition though was Ilan, though I must admit I lost the faith a little based upon the recent reaction from the judges to some of his more curious dishes (a desert made from chocolate and liver--what?). But definitely he, Cliff and Sam were my top choices, except that Cliff got kicked off for manhandling Marcel and Sexy Sam got kicked off during the Hawaii challenge for not actually cooking any of the Hawaiian dishes he presented (i.e, his dishes were mostly just prepared but not set to a flame of some sort, I think).
I actually saw Ilan at Casa Mono, Mario Batalli’s tapas restaurant where he works as a line cook, and where they serve a lot of things that go in Scrapple (I’ve since learned from the show that such things are called “offal” in haute cuisine.) The food overall was good, and our party had it’s share of interesting dishes, including cock’s comb, which really comes out red and jelly-like and in the spiky shape of a cock’s comb. It almost looks like red jello made from the mold of a cut-off star. Ilan looked pretty much like Ilan except he was wearing really big nerd glasses. Still a cutie-patootie though. Even if he’s a winner I guess he still has to do his day job until the winning episode airs. No one really seemed to be gawking at him, so I wonder if people in the restaurant even knew that he could very well be America’s Next Top Chef.
Ilan’s not the only reality TV star I’ve had a real-world encounter with. Ian Benardo was a really bad contestant on So You Think You Can Dance, and last night was a really bad contestant on the latest episode of Idol (he readily admits he has two therapists who tell him he can sing and dance). I actually saw him walking in the East Village this past summer, and he was unmistakable, with his sweat headband.
Sigh…more time to kill. What else should we talk about as I delete the 300+ messages in my junk Hotmail account? Here’s some interesting tidbits:
In other news:
Surimi, the designer imposter otherwise known as imitation crab meat (and what non-authentic sushi eaters put in their California rolls) can now legally be labeled as "Crab-flavored seafood, made with surimi, a fully cooked fish protein." Is that like bacon-flavored bits or grape “drink”? I grew up on “grape drink” (I don’t think it could be legally called soda) and I think the real description for it was supposed to be processed sugar water. What I don’t understand is why they don’t just label it “surimi?” That almost sounds like sashimi, and is fancier than either “imitation crab meat” or “crab flavored fish proteins.”
This story perfectly exemplifies the lengths men will go to to NOT have to ask for directions.
Okay, almost time to board--and to get out of this freakin' freezing NYC weather!
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Five-second movie haiku reviews
So while I’m waiting for my at-home dye job to complete its magic, thought I’d provide a few more haiku reviews. Now that American Idol is in full swing, I’ll have to do them here instead. Here’s a few more recent flicks I’ve caught:
The Departed
Faithful to Hong Kong
version, and Leo is great,
but Jack still steals show.
The Little Children
Sordid affair plot
That proves adults aren't mature
Subplots make the film.
Dreamgirls
Jennifer Hudson
is the real star. She should win
an award—and did!
Notes on a Scandal
Cate makes BIG mistakes
But Judi is the real wench.
Twisted, but great plot.
Blood Diamond
Lots of disturbing
images of kids with guns.
You should toss your rings.
The Departed
Faithful to Hong Kong
version, and Leo is great,
but Jack still steals show.
The Little Children
Sordid affair plot
That proves adults aren't mature
Subplots make the film.
Dreamgirls
Jennifer Hudson
is the real star. She should win
an award—and did!
Notes on a Scandal
Cate makes BIG mistakes
But Judi is the real wench.
Twisted, but great plot.
Blood Diamond
Lots of disturbing
images of kids with guns.
You should toss your rings.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Discipline update: Week One
Okay, so it’s been about a week since I’ve made a resolution to be more disciplined, and I think tracking it will help keep me more accountable. I think by disciplined, I mostly mean that I want to be less lazy in all facets of my life and stop procrastinating so much. Of all the seven deadly sins, sloth is by far the one I have the hardest problem with. People used to joke that in college my default mode was sleep, and it’s true—I used to sleep in the front row of my sociology 101 class with my jacket over my head in full view of my prof. What was I thinking??!! I would have hated me if I were her.
So I’ve been pretty good about going to the gym when I have a free night, but I’ve also been good about not having the gym take over my life—for instance, last week I forewent my favorite hip-hop/step duo of gym classes to exercise my brain and attend a screening with a friend of this documentary of playwright Tony Kushner, and listen to a Q&A with him afterward at the 92nd St. Y. Boy, can Tony talk. And talk. And talk. And talk some more about what a raging liberal he is. There is definitely no middle-of-the-road for him, and the documentary focuses a lot on his political activism. Overall though, the Q&A and Tony himself are quite intriguing. I didn’t know he also wrote some musicals and books. But I felt the documentary was only okay—it was a little slow at times.
I’ve also been trying to be more disciplined at work by surfing the Net less, trying to answer e-mails right away, and space my work out so I’m not in a last-minute crunch (like now, but I count this as a result of activities that I did or did not do prior to setting my resolution. And technically while I’m writing this I could be doing real work, but it’s 2 am and my brain is fried). I stayed till after 10 pm today to write a story and did NOT IM all day. That’s asking a lot of me. Of course, I didn’t finish, so I’m planning to wake up really early tomorrow and get to work before everyone else (Ha.)
But here’s a sign that I still need a little help. While eating the half of my Saigon Grill Bun Xao lunch that I didn’t finish for dinner, I realized I was getting fish sauce on my fingers. Instead of walking the 50 feet to my work kitchen to get a paper towel, I took a blank sheet of paper off my desk and used it as a napkin. I even used it to wipe the fish sauce off my face when I accidentally pushed the cap down too hard on the little container, sending a spray on me.
Eventually though, I did haul my ass to the kitchen cuz I realized fish sauce don’t smell so good when you use only 8.5 X 11 20-lb paper stock to get it off. You actually do need a wet paper towel. There’s hope for me yet.
In other news: Does this mean I only view Clive Owen as a fling, while Orlando Bloom would be my husband? At the very least, it does explain why I think manly pretty boy Wentworth Miller is a perfect 10.
So I’ve been pretty good about going to the gym when I have a free night, but I’ve also been good about not having the gym take over my life—for instance, last week I forewent my favorite hip-hop/step duo of gym classes to exercise my brain and attend a screening with a friend of this documentary of playwright Tony Kushner, and listen to a Q&A with him afterward at the 92nd St. Y. Boy, can Tony talk. And talk. And talk. And talk some more about what a raging liberal he is. There is definitely no middle-of-the-road for him, and the documentary focuses a lot on his political activism. Overall though, the Q&A and Tony himself are quite intriguing. I didn’t know he also wrote some musicals and books. But I felt the documentary was only okay—it was a little slow at times.
I’ve also been trying to be more disciplined at work by surfing the Net less, trying to answer e-mails right away, and space my work out so I’m not in a last-minute crunch (like now, but I count this as a result of activities that I did or did not do prior to setting my resolution. And technically while I’m writing this I could be doing real work, but it’s 2 am and my brain is fried). I stayed till after 10 pm today to write a story and did NOT IM all day. That’s asking a lot of me. Of course, I didn’t finish, so I’m planning to wake up really early tomorrow and get to work before everyone else (Ha.)
But here’s a sign that I still need a little help. While eating the half of my Saigon Grill Bun Xao lunch that I didn’t finish for dinner, I realized I was getting fish sauce on my fingers. Instead of walking the 50 feet to my work kitchen to get a paper towel, I took a blank sheet of paper off my desk and used it as a napkin. I even used it to wipe the fish sauce off my face when I accidentally pushed the cap down too hard on the little container, sending a spray on me.
Eventually though, I did haul my ass to the kitchen cuz I realized fish sauce don’t smell so good when you use only 8.5 X 11 20-lb paper stock to get it off. You actually do need a wet paper towel. There’s hope for me yet.
In other news: Does this mean I only view Clive Owen as a fling, while Orlando Bloom would be my husband? At the very least, it does explain why I think manly pretty boy Wentworth Miller is a perfect 10.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
It’s already 2007??
This holiday season has been lovely. I got good gifts, gave good gifts, saw the Nutcracker, and vegged out to several late nights of Dog Whisperer Week.
So I had big plans for ringing in 2007. Big. Me, one who loathes running and starts panting after a quarter mile, had this big plan to do the 4-mile Midnight Run in Central Park. Last year, I went to cheer on some friends who did it, and I thought this year I’d kickstart my new year’s resolution of being disciplined by forcing myself to run.
Problem is, whenever I looked at details of the race, I would google it, and Google’s results would take me to the 2005 race page, when the entry free was $35. It never occurred to me I was looking at the wrong page—the 2007 entry fee was $50. How’s that for inflation? That was supposed to be my drinking money. So that idea was pooh poohed. However, before going out for the night, I decided to run about 2 miles along Central Park, so I still feel I was a bit disciplined. (Including the fact that I was a gym a-hole this past week to “train” for my 4-mile run—I worked out T, W, Th, Sat, and Sun. A pace I am sure to NOT keep up.)
The rest of the night was lovely, spent partly at a party in some loft of some person I would never have met without a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-connection because he was clearly out of the income range of people I would know, judging by his apartment; and partly at Schiller’s, which was surprisingly not that crowded, but unsurprisingly as beautiful-people pretentious as usual.
Anywho, here’s to resolutions (can I keep this “discipline” thing up?), new experiences, new decisions, new successes, and probably a few new failures as well. Hopefully it'll all be stuff that will make me a more well-rounded (not literally, one hopes).
Happy New Year!
So I had big plans for ringing in 2007. Big. Me, one who loathes running and starts panting after a quarter mile, had this big plan to do the 4-mile Midnight Run in Central Park. Last year, I went to cheer on some friends who did it, and I thought this year I’d kickstart my new year’s resolution of being disciplined by forcing myself to run.
Problem is, whenever I looked at details of the race, I would google it, and Google’s results would take me to the 2005 race page, when the entry free was $35. It never occurred to me I was looking at the wrong page—the 2007 entry fee was $50. How’s that for inflation? That was supposed to be my drinking money. So that idea was pooh poohed. However, before going out for the night, I decided to run about 2 miles along Central Park, so I still feel I was a bit disciplined. (Including the fact that I was a gym a-hole this past week to “train” for my 4-mile run—I worked out T, W, Th, Sat, and Sun. A pace I am sure to NOT keep up.)
The rest of the night was lovely, spent partly at a party in some loft of some person I would never have met without a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-connection because he was clearly out of the income range of people I would know, judging by his apartment; and partly at Schiller’s, which was surprisingly not that crowded, but unsurprisingly as beautiful-people pretentious as usual.
Anywho, here’s to resolutions (can I keep this “discipline” thing up?), new experiences, new decisions, new successes, and probably a few new failures as well. Hopefully it'll all be stuff that will make me a more well-rounded (not literally, one hopes).
Happy New Year!
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