Holy Middle of May, Batman

Little things that need to be said

For someone not really talking about robots, Ira Glass certainly says the word "robot" a lot. Is it because his main goal in life is to narrate the innately human that robots are just kind of on his mind? Or do robots just come up in speech a lot in general? I will have to pay more attention to my own conversations and do some research.

I really need to track down a good recipe for lamb korma, because it is the food of the gods. If I was forced to eat that every day, I don't think I would mind as much as I would mind being forced to eat, say, Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Apparently Oprah has the power to bring fast food, and the population of the country, to its knees. This kind of ruined my lunch plans today. Curse you, Oprah!

I ran into my friend's house to grab something I'd left there this evening, and her roommate had some friends over as an end-of-semester type party. I was in the house no more than two minutes, just picking up my belongings and then walking back out, when one of the attendees, a person I want to describe as flamingly and outspoken-ly gay (but whom I won't describe that way because WHAT IF HE ISN'T AND I'M COMPLETELY WRONG ABOUT HIM), walked up to me and started talking to me. He was talking to me in the frank and open and unnecessarily personal way that only drunk people usually talk. Since I know that no alcohol was being served at the party I must draw my own conclusion that either a) he had provided his own libations or b) he must have thought I was someone else? Anyway. He walked over to me and began talking: "Thank you. You know, I LOVE the LDS. I really do. I love them with all my heart. My first voice teacher was a bishop and I just love him. You're all great. I know I'm just playing into stereotypes, but that's how I feel." About halfway through he lightly placed his fingertips on my belly in the way that most people would place their fingertips on a person's shoulder to make a serious point, and that kind of creeped me out, like, please don't touch me, I'm not worried about catching The Gay, but what if I catch The Overly Chatty?

Also, hurrah, because I didn't work this morning and because I blew off my usual Saturday bike ride with my Dad, I was able to get some major cleaning done! Laundry: hung up! Bedroom: cleaned and vaccuumed! Bathroom: spotless! Chinchilla cage: no longer full of poop! I also finally fixed the two flat tires my bike has had for the past two weeks, just in time for the thermometer to hit the triple digits and school to let out so I will be driving to work and parking for free for the next three months. The bright side to my bike needing to be fixed is that I finally broke down and bought a pump. This means that next time I have to fix a flat I won't have to walk down to the gas station around the corner to fill up my tires, although I may do it sometimes just for the sheer thrill of walking down the alley holding a wheel in my hand.

This is how you know I should be asleep in my bed

When I sit around reading forums just because I'm awake, and then laugh big, barrel-chested laughs when I find this: "Maybe spending my formative years cleaning restrooms at a fast food joint has given me a bit of bias here, but I'm fairly certain that a couch in a guy's restroom would be a heinous piece of furnature that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole."

Also when I look long and hard at the "Monetize" tab in blogger and wonder how they intend to make my blog more like Monet's. Why is there no tab labelled Michelangelize?

Also when as I'm doing both the above things I keep looking over my shoulder because I can very plainly hear my doppelganger sneaking up behind me, timing her steps with the rhythmic sway of the washer/drier. I hear you! You think you're being sneaky and silent but I can hear your presence behind me!

Safe as Howard's End

Hmm, in answer to your question, Lu, yeah, it worked in that the crocs became cleaner and the washing machine did not break. It did not work in that one of the little doohickies that keeps the strap on somehow opened up in the machine. It would have been less of a problem if I had put the doohicky back on the shoe in the correct place and snapped it back together. Unfortunately, I first had to make sure the snap thing on the doohicky still worked, and so snapped it together, unconnected to the shoe or the strap. Turns out those doohickies are dang strong and do not come apart for the WORLD. So now I have one nonworking shoe out of six. I was thinking of putting that shoe back together with an unraveled paper clip, but does anybody else have any grand ideas that are less white trash?

In other news, I've heard the term "safe as houses" twice during the past 24 hours, before which I can safely say I had never ever heard it at all, in my life. Has this always been a common phrase? Am I missing something? It isn't even that I heard it from similar sources- once was on a Shark Week episode of Mythbusters (I feel lucky that the one time I've felt like watching tv for the past, uh, three years or so, there was a Mythbusters marathon going on) and the other was spoken by Helena Bonham Carter's character in Howard's End.

Which brings me to my next point: what gives, Howard's End? I liked Where Angels Fear to Tread, I liked A Room With a View, I tried Howard's End, muscled through about half of it, failed to find the plot, and ground to a dejected halt. "I'll watch the movie," I thought. "Certainly with Emma Thompson, Helena Bonham Carter, and, oh crud, you know, that dude. The Silence of the Lambs dude. You know his name. Anthony Hopkins! Certainly with those three niftiest of actors the movie will help me understand the awesomeness of the book. The book's a classic, right?

Turns out the book is a classic in the same way that the freaking Great Gatsby is a classic: because it's kind of boring, you feel nothing for the characters, and feel a little more than vaguely annoyed when you finish and realize you can't get those hours of your life back. They are gone forever.

Ok, so I guess that the movie at least had one redeeming quality- Emma Thompson had a few really amazing outfits. There was this one grey striped dress kind of in the middle of the movie, before she got all fancy, but only just before, and it was quite beautiful. And then at some point she's wandering around the outside of a... castle thing... and wearing a really fancy gold-ish dress that you don't get to see enough of because you're mostly looking at her back in that scene.

Anyway. Back to my point.

What was my point? Where was I going with this? I guess all I really wanted to say was that the movie sucked. And I'm glad I didn't keep reading the book, if that's where it was all heading anyway. That is all.

Simple pleasures

So yesterday, I did the most amazing thing! I cleaned my bedroom!

"... and underneath a dirty sock you found a hundred dollar bill?"

No. I just cleaned my room, is all. It made me feel good, so good in fact that today when I got home from work I vaccuumed it, and then I started to feel really adventurous and decided to clean my three pairs of crocs. They've been getting kind of sad and dusty, and I think it should be ok that I threw them all into the washing machine.

Please don't tell me if it's a bad idea, because it's already in progress. My roommates will be relieved, I am sure, that I didn't dump in a bunch of dish soap the way I wanted to. I thought better of it for the sake of the machine and people's clothes, and went with regular clothes detergent. Hopefully that gets them clean.

My favorite part? The amazing squeaky noises eminating from the hallway. All that wet croc material, rubbing up against itself! I love it.

Thank You, Cathartic Internets

Holy mackerel, when did the internet get so funny? Maybe it's because I've spent most of this week being crushed by sadness and depression and general sitting-on-the-couch-after-work-alone time. And then today I get home from work and get on the computer at home (for the first time in a good while) and boom! People are saying all these great things!

In other words, it felt really, REALLY good to sit down and laugh out loud this afternoon. So good, in fact, that I will share the awesomeness that was our Pi Day Pi Party from last Saturday.... sometime. Tonight.

Until Then

So I've been having a hard time getting motivated enough to sit down with my computer and upload the pictures on my camera (frankly, I've been having a hard time getting motivated to do anything, including opening my eyes in the mornings), and until I get that done I won't be able to tell (show) the world about my adventureful weekend. I'm very excited to tell about the great times that were had by all on Saturday, which was a holiday for the math nerd in all of us, so perhaps tomorrow I'll get up the gumption (whoa that doesn't look right at all... gumtion? gumpshun? sigh. No longer am I my own dictionary) to get the ball rolling. I am sure everyone will wait patiently until then.

No Curds or Whey Were Harmed in this Production

You know that show, America's Funniest Videos? Back when Bob Saget would make the funny voices for animals and you would sit your younger self down to laugh and laugh at others' misfortunes? Yes? Ok. Let's get more specific.

You know those ones where you see this woman in her kitchen, maybe she's baking a cake, maybe she's singing along to loud music? Maybe she's baking a yellow cake with orange zest in it that will be delicious, and singing and dancing while using the mixer because all her roommates are out and she can be as obnoxious as she wants while alone in the apartment? And then you see someone sneak up behind her with a fake spider on a fishing pole and lowers it down until it's about an inch from her eyebrows and she jumps three feet in the air and screams bloody murder?

Yeah, that just happened to me, except it was a Freaking Real Spider coming down from the ceiling, no fishing pole involved. Boy am I glad there was no one around to see that or capture it on an old 90's camcorder to send in to Bob Saget.

My Life is a Spelling Bee and I'm Winning

Last night as I was getting ready for bed my roommate popped her head in the door.

"Hey ViolaSaint, how do you spell mediocre?"

I told her, she said thanks, and walked back to her room.


This morning I was sitting at my desk and doing something or other, you know, working, and my phone rang. Looking at my caller ID, I saw it was my boss' cell phone. This is not uncommon, as he frequently disappears to meetings and otherwise walks around campus for hours at a time, meeting with people from everywhere and generally Getting Stuff Done. I picked up the phone.

"ViolaSaint! How do you spell cabbage?"

I let him know how to spell cabbage, he said ok, and hung up.


What the heck, folks? I know I'm very dependable as a dictionary and thesaurus, and so I'm handy to have around, but usually my services aren't needed twice within the same twelve hour period. Also, why in the world did my boss need to know how to spell cabbage? I can think of myriad reasons for my roommate to use the word mediocre, but cabbage? Really?

On an unrelated note, I dislike jogging about as much as I like sitting around talking and laughing with friends

So we got a new roommate recently (ok, so maybe it was a month or so ago by now), which means no more filling up the whole closet of clothes, no more naked time after showers, and no more falling asleep to weird music on the iPod for me. Which are all sad things to be without.

On the plus side, she's very nice and likes to laugh and likes to make other people laugh. She's easy to get along with, and thus far hasn't complained about anything I do, although I'm sure there are things to complain about.

My new favorite thing about the newbie roomie, the favorite thing that I just discovered this afternoon upon returning home from work, is that she is secretly Witch Hazel.



Yes, beneath that skinny, pretty, blonde exterior is a giggling, fat green witch with high-heeled boots. How do I know this? Simple. She leaves a little scattering of bobby pins all over the floor, whenever she (apparently) jumps onto her broom to fly off for the evening.

I'm not sure if the bobby pins will ever annoy or otherwise upset me, but for now it just makes me laugh, imagining her cackling and getting ready to split a hare with her big ol' cleaver.

Reasons I love the internet in general

And youtube in particular.

Here's a reason.

Here's another.

I guess these also might be reasons why I love Russians as well?

BIG... CLOSE TO EVERYTHING...

I once had a set of roommates that had this annoying habit. If they found something funny or otherwise entertaining, they would laugh for a few moments and then declare that they "almost peed [their] pants! Really!"

I think this bothered me mostly because hello, we are adults now and it is unnecessary and undistinguished to talk about pee. It annoyed me in the same way the whole "I just threw up a little in my mouth" thing annoyed me for a few years there where Everyone was saying it All The Time.

That being said, this McSweeney's List caught me so offguard that, well, you know. The rapidfire hilarity of the seventh and eighth entries is what really got me. And you know, I read these lists for the exact reason that I expect them to be funny. Somehow that one just really hit the right spot for me. Thank you, Eric Feezell.

Thoughts on Hoboes

Discussion with my roommate: who has the moral upperhand? Hoboes or office drones? What is the American Dream, and is it different from the American Ideology? I contend that the American Dream is to get your money for nothing and your chicks for free, and that the American Ideology is that if the Dream doesn't come true, you will always be able to get the money if you just work hard enough. Being a hobo is the Dream, and the protestant work ethic is the backup. Eh?

On hoboes: My roommate couldn't be one for moral and also for hygienic reasons. She thinks she would not like to smell bad. I don't think I would mind, and that puts me in mind of the idea of pheromones. Are they real? Do they actually work, and if so, how? If you were in a room with a bunch of people, how would your Jacobsen's organ know which person was emitting the good pheromones? Is that the reason why people go on dates, is to cross-check in a number of situations and make sure that the pheromones remain constant? Could a person effectively mooch off a friend's irresistibility by never being separated from them? This seems a tricky business.

Also on hoboes: man, I'd like to be one. And barring that, I wish I could at least see one. I have always watched passing trains diligently when stopped at the crossing, hoping to see one of the majestic dying breed. Hoboes make me think of wheat fields and the Rootabaga Stories and why is there such a rich hobo tradition in our culture if hoboism is not the American Dream?

Bums vs. hoboes: what is the difference? I feel like there is something naturally inferior about bums, like maybe because they stay in the same place it's proven that they've simply got problems and can't afford or otherwise manage having a home. Hoboes, on the other hand, just have places to go, and keeping a home would be logistically a bad idea when they've constantly needing to be in different places. Hoboes are maybe bums with a purpose?

At one point, written on the wall of the music building on campus there was a message: no oboe can compare with the music of the soul, or something along those lines. Although it was happy and good-natured graffiti that made my day brighten every time I saw it, I also felt the urge to graffito the graffiti to read, no hoboe can compare with the music of the soul. I feel like defacement of state property can always be improved, and often without too much effort or added visual impact. One little letter could have changed a simpering hippie sentiment into a real good chuckle for the students, musicians and hoboes alike who used that building.

This Moment is Accounted For

I'm currently in the middle of what I will call, for lack of a better term, a time audit. At the suggestion of the Austenite, I've created an excel file that has a running tally of every hour (it's actually accurate to five minutes, sort of) of my day. During the past three days, I've spent around 25 hours at work, 21 hours asleep, and close to 9 hours have been marked as "social," which basically means sitting around talking to roommates and/or watching movies with folks. I've spent between 2 and 3 hours each on exercise, computer time, and bathing, with service taking the smallest chunk of time at an hour and a half. I'm kind of adding categories as they come up, and although I had kind of planned on needing a "sinning" category for the hours I couldn't figure out what I was doing during the day (and thus must obviously have been sinning) I have so far been pretty good about marking stuff often enough that my time is all accounted for at the end of each day.

I'm kind of looking forward to analyzing everything at the end of the week to see what I can improve on (prediction: sleep more, spend less time on the computer). I was recently listening to an old This American Life about a guy who makes lists and tallies of everything he does every day for the past like 40 years, and I thought, "gee. I could be that guy, except I'd have statistical data for how long I did stuff for!" Obviously I need more sleep.

Time for Lunchtime Musings!

Which is worse: the fact that the lady who used to sit at my current desk spilled coffee down the front of it SOMETIME IN THE PAST and never cleaned it up, or the fact that I noticed it last week and I still haven't cleaned it up?

Followup question: does it matter?

Maybe I'll sit on the couch all day and watch movies

Two nights ago I was happily sitting and watching an old movie with my roommate and a friend, and something in the movie made me laugh. Not because it was meant to be funny, but something dated the movie, maybe it was when the leading lady was supposed to be crying but instead it looked like she had snorted a handful of pepper?

Anyway. So I started laughing too hard and choked on a little blob of misplaced spit, and suddenly I was coughing and couldn't stop, and then when I did stop, I still had to cough every couple of minutes for the rest of the evening. Weird, huh?

Then the next day I *still* had to cough every couple of minutes, all through the day at work, and on top of that my neck and back were really achey and sore, and then as I rode my bike home my throat hurt so bad from the breathing and the coughing and the achiness that I almost gave up halfway through my commute to live in the park for the rest of my life. And then I realized that I was sick, that I caught whatever it is that my roommate was home with.

While I was at work still, I went in the bathroom and looked down my throat in the mirror to see what I could see. Which is really silly, because I've never been one of those people who can look into a throat and see that the tonsils are too big, or whatever. I have some friends who can do that, but to be honest, when I look into my throat all I see is a bunch of flesh. I could have an alien life form nestled in there and I would never know.

So I went home at the end of the day and made myself and my roommate some chicken noodle soup which was pretty amazing, considering the fact that I could barely roll out the dough for the noodles without sitting down for a rest in the middle.



I'm finally starting to be congested today, but the achiness is starting to go away. It's like having a cold... in reverse! Starting with the weak, lingering cough, then the achey muscles, now the snot. In a few hours I'll probably start sneezing, and by tomorrow morning I'll be better!

Favorite passage from a lunchtime read

This is out of David Sedaris' When You are Engulfed in Flames, and I think that if you stop at just the right point in this section it's a beautifully poignant look at human nature. Fortunately for us, Sedaris goes beyond that point and gives us something to snort with laughter at in our offices.

"I remember once riding in the car with my dad. I was twelve, and it was just the two of us, coming home from the bank. We'd been silent for blocks, when out of nowhere he turned to me, saying, 'I want you to know that I've never once cheated on your mother.'

'Um. OK,' I said. And then he turned on the radio and listened to a football game.

Years later, I mentioned this incident to a friend, who speculated that my father had said this specifically because he had been unfaithful. 'That was a guilty conscience talking,' she said, but I knew that she was wrong. More likely my father was having some problem at work and needed to remind himself that he was not completely worthless. It sounds like something you'd read on a movie poster: sometimes the sins you haven't committed are all you have to hold on to. If you're really desperate, you might need to grope, saying, for example, 'I've never killed anyone with a hammer' or 'I've never stolen from anyone who didn't deserve it.' But whatever his faults, my dad did not have to stoop quite that low."

Not counting my chickens yet, but...

Dang, that's some fine cheese. I know because I made it and pressed it and dried it myself. I lovingly (perhaps a little paranoidly) turned it over and over as it dried, so one end wouldn't be any moister than the other. I smelled it sometimes.

Ok, I smelled it a lot. I smelled it every time I turned it over, perhaps 50 times in four days. Sometimes I smelled it twice when turning it over. Sometimes I smelled it in between turnings. It just smells good, ok? I'm not sure I can stand to wait a whole four weeks before eating it. More than once I nearly took a big chomp out of it while smelling. There might even have been drool.

I think I covet my cheese.

What I do not covet, however, is the crappy waxing job I did on it. Yes, that is a big ol' thumbprint in the top of the wax, and no, I don't own a pastry brush. Turns out that putting a few layers of wax onto a cheese without using a pastry brush and without burning your fingers is pretty difficult to do. But it's done! Now I have to wait. Probably the most difficult stage of all the cheesemaking stages. You should check back with me in a month. I'll let you know how it went.

Also? I've got two more gallons of milk in the fridge (it was on sale, I promise!) that will begin the process on Saturday. I'm stoked.

A promise I have no problem with

Alright, so yesterday I found an amazing book on a free books pile. A free books pile in itself is a beautiful thing, and when there's a book in there that looks interesting, it's just an added bonus. I've come across a couple of these books; sometimes I just take it because I like the cover (see: five paperbacks of, like, academic journal bibliographies swiped from a geography department in Canada, and an issue of American Quarterly with a picture of a woman wearing a gas mask while pushing her child in a stroller, also be-gas masked), while other times it's an actual book that I read and enjoy (like the memoirs of some blind guy on how being blind doesn't preclude you from being a normal guy).

The book I got yesterday was an encyclopedia of religion. Yes, you can open the book and find entries on faith, necromancy, and every kind of protestantism there was in 1945. I was standing there next to the book pile, gloating over my good fortune in finding this gem, when our Jane Austen-loving male friend came up and asked what I was reading. I showed him the book with glee, and he totally confirmed my good taste. Thank goodness, because on other occasions when I have been excited about things I have been shut down by people who do not understand the coolness! of the things! He got excited about the book and asked me to look up a few things, and expressed his jealousy that I got to it first.

Just as we were about to part, me going back to work and he going back to work on his comps, he asked in passing the name of the compiler. The best part! This man's name was Vergilius Ferm. If we ever had any doubt as to the legitimacy or accuracy of the book, or even the sheer wonder of the book, the name on the spine would be an instant reassurance. Vergilius Ferm. The stamp of authority. Vergilius Ferm! Before we parted, the Austenite made me promise that my firstborn son (or even my firstborn daughter) would be named Vergilius Ferm.

Things that Make the World a Sadder Place

Little Women (the Winona Ryder version)

War

Police chase video TV shows

Arm Fat (stomach fat and leg fat as well)

That scene in Animal Farm where the starving, cold animals smell barley wafting from the house and think the pigs are making them a warm mash, when they're really making beer for themselves. *Sob*.

Capitalism (sort of)

Things the World would be Sadder Without

Pyrex bowls

James Thurber

Dr Mario

Bacon

Deodorant

Ice water

Smells

Scrabble

Hershey's fake white chocolate with minty sprinkles in it

Bicycles

The Beatles in general, and George Harrison in particular (also John Lennon [Ringo Starr as well {I guess Paul is ok, although, as Mimi Smartypants pointed out, he does look a little too much like Angela Lansbury now that he's old}])

The whole concept of dinner and a movie

Pamper-y bathroom things like lotion and nice soaps