Hipsters and hip young families “changing how we live, how we relate, how we eat…chicken for breakfast? I’m just that anti-establishment, dude…” Brilliant, if by brilliant you mean “preposterous yet effective marketing”.
Bassie, on why she can’t climb across a particularly precarious section of playground equipment: “I need more gravity”. (p.s. this is how I will hitherto forward refer to weight in any context, e.g. “I have so much more gravity after eating that entire French Silk Pie!”
Me, to yosefblog, on why I have the right to talk about something disgusting (in this case, a character Dina invented called “Dr. Gross”, who removes people’s body parts and various bodily fluids and eats them) in a crowded line at Wendy’s: “They don’t pay me not to talk about it!”
I do not know enough (read: anything) about programming to implement these, but they would be awesome, and yosefblog and I agree we would pay to download them*:
1. New York Cab Driver Garmin- deliberately misunderstands your destination request and then takes you the absolute longest route possible.
2. The A.I. Series- voices (and personalities) of Hal, Joshua, and Johnny 5, for starters. “The only way to get there is not to drive…”
If you could get these to me before my trip to Boston Friday morning, that would be great…
So I need to go to the bathroom at the Jewel. I walk down the little corridor to the bathroom door. I find the usual cart full of restocks in front of the bathroom door, as well as the sound of a fan coming from the bathroom.
Hmm, I think, that may likely indicate that a person is inside blow drying her hands. But it may also simply be the fan that accompanies the light. And since I desperately need to relieve myself, I will attempt to see for myself. The worst that could happen is the person in the bathroom will experience the mild irritation of the locked doorknob jiggling, and the best is that I get to pee faster.
So I turn the knob. And the door opens.
And I find an elderly woman standing at the blower. Damn it! Got the bullet that time. And yet, I think, she is finishing drying her hands, so perhaps this is perfect timing; Maybe she had unlocked the door, realized that she wanted to more fully dry her hands, and set back to the dryer with the door unlocked as I found it. I shall hold the door open momentarily, then, which may work to our mutual benefit. She will not have to open the door upon leaving, and I will get to pee faster.
But it is not to be…
“Close the door!” she shouts, pushing it shut. I then stand there outside the bathroom while she, out of spite, waits for the blower to stop, hold 1…2…3…and sets it whirring again. After the completed second cycle of the blower, she emerges.
And she takes her cart and starts to leave.
Wait! That’s her cart? That cart filled with three boxes of sudafed, four jars of concord grape jelly, six boxes of jello brand key lime pie filling, eighteen pairs of tube socks…? That’s not a restock cart!?
At this point, any thoughts of even broaching the topic of her neglecting to lock a public bathroom door, thereby making me feel like I had done something wrong have all but left my head. Let her go, Rachel. She’s not worth it, I tell myself. So I watch her start to walk away. And then…
She turns back for a moment, eyes me suspiciously and mutters “…just held the door open like that…” and shuffles away.
I am tempted to shout back to her, to call her out on her unlocked door that started it all, to tell her that it was she, and not me, who has broken the rules of propriety, but I realize that this retort would have a “you can’t fire me, I quit” quality to it, and even if no one is there to hear it, it seems undignified and foolish.
So, you have bested me this time, batty old hag. But I will return. And someday, I will open that unlocked door and see you taking a dump, and I will hold that door open and watch…and I, I will have the last laugh.
I don’t think I’ve had one since Prom, but I had one Friday night. Or rather, it was called a “sleepover”, but really we all just hung out until 5:30 in the morning, then half of us passed out and the other half cleaned up and went home. Conclusion:
Positives– Any sexual tension has already been put on the table and diffused well before the event because, for God’s sake, we’re all adults here; no concerns that we will be “caught drinking”; people clean up after themselves
Negatives– No awkward sexual tension; no adrenaline rush out of fear of being caught drinking; no parents to clean up after us.
yb (who is sitting next to me as I post this; or did I just break the fourth wall!?) suggests there should be a different word for such an “adult sleepover”; sort of like how Bassie and her friends have “sleepunders”, where they all hang out in pajamas from 6-8 PM, and then go home.
Any suggestions?
I’m sure Ira Glass finds it puzzling that his nasally little Jewish voice has inspired so many a swoon by intellectual uberdorks such as myself. Well, Stephen Colbert’s confused, too, but I guess you get used to it.
Anyway, here’s a gorgeous little piece from the guy who makes me, despite my better judgment, donate to chicago public radio when they bring him in to charm us at the very end of the pledge drive, pledge-fatigued as we are. “We don’t need your money, but you know you’re going to call, because you are a hard core npr listener. I mean, you’re listening to the pledge drive! Seriously!” Oh, Ira, you clever bastard!
thanks to yb for the link; you know me too well!
I like the song “Cecilia”. This post is not an attempt to defend it as a fantastically catchy little pop tune that is great for working out to, or driving in your high school friend’s convertible to, or slapping whatever hard object happens to be around to simulate drums to. No. Because I know all of the rational arguments against “Cecilia”, and right now, it’s not about that.
This post is about a moment of clarity I had today as I was changing out of my gym shoes by the door of the Evanston Athletic Club. “Cecilia, you’re breakin’ my heart. You’re shakin’ my confidence daily…” Yes, that was certainly the word I heard. Daily. But that’s impossible, says Luke Skywalker, it’s “baby”…isn’t it? But, like the optical illusion, I had suddenly seen the old hag, and I could not go back to the young society woman with the feather in her hat. How many years had I sung this song in error? Well, for as long as I’ve been singing it. It’s “daily”, as sure as the nose on my face. Not “baby”, you idiot. Daily. Daily. Daily.
Suddenly the world feels so full of possibilities…
Dina on an ear infection: I feel like my ear needs to throw up…(very serious expression on her face) but I don’t know how!
Awesome features of that statement include:
* Not quite having the filter that would keep her from suggesting that an ear could, in fact, throw up.
* Having enough of that filter to follow up her statement with an acknowledgment that she understands that there does not seem to be a mechanism by which her ear could, in fact, throw up.
It is the careful navigation of this line that makes for great artists (i.e. I know that clocks do not, in fact, melt, but what if they did?)
I have been AWOL from cyberspace while planning the final phases of my cross-country move in 4Dspace. But now that our Boston plans are shaping up, I’m a little more calm. Calm enough to tell you about the girls’ recent acquisition of “Would You Rather” into their game repertoire. Here’s some of my favorites:
Bassie: Would you rather get 8000 paper cuts or have one giant sore on your body that didn’t heal for a year?
Dina: Would you rather be in a room full of yummy candy or a room full of scary snakes?
Okay, so only one of them has really acquired it…
I loved you in “Weird Science”*, even though I was supposed to hate you. I pined for you in “Less Than Zero“, even though I was supposed to pity you. I wanted you in “Two Girls and a Guy“, even though I knew I’d be the feisty but less hot brunette who ends up losing the battle for your affections. Like Jason Bateman, you have risen from the ashes of my first pre-teen, proto-sexual crush like a phoenix of pure charisma and spot on comedic timing. So hats off to you, Ironman. You’ll always be a superhero to me.
*What, no link to a picture? Isn’t this whole post just an excuse to link to pictures of your childhood crush? Alas, I can find none of RDJ as a blazer-sleeve-rolling, jelly-bracelet-wearing, pre-metro-sexual. But maybe you can make a computerized version of him on your IBM with your phone modem and he’ll come to life and teach you to be cool.
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