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.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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.
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