today is the first day in 2 months that i have worn socks. i had a hard time remembering where i kept them. my feet are in distress however, as my heels are comfortably snug and warm and content to not have pebbles infiltrate their comfort zone, while my toes are screaming "HMMMPFFFFF! we can't breathe!" and the foot as a whole is just not really into the whole restriction by clogs. well feet, shut up and walk.
after having to change my outfit at least 5 times because uh, when i don't pay attention i get the ambush hickie which is so 1991, i exit my abode to realize that some literate bastard has stolen my washington post. is it because it's 10 am you think i have already left for work, that unlike every single fucking morning when i have a puppy's excitement about the surprise that awaits me on my stoop, this very day i decided to step over it and leave it for you? or did i not pay my bill? i looked in every bush and weed and now quite pissed for lack of style section and emptiness of the Express yellow distribution box. and because it's 10 am the dudes in yellow won't be handing them out at the metro. how am i going to get my horoscope?
i continue walking and see the familiar daperly dressed hatman on his new yellow bike and he says, "hey, love those pants!" and i look down and see them. my pants are fucking lavender. why the hell am i wearing purple pants? i distinctly remember buying these for their color - a slate grey to replace the wonderful slate grey pants i forgot were drying on the balcony of a Jamaican villa over a year ago. never managed to find the same neutral shade of khakis that so easily match everything.
a few months back i found myself at an old navy outlet, the kind that's in a huge Costo-like echoey warehouse with high-treble music and sickening fluorescent lights. i swear they were grey. but no, in the natural sunlight of an overcast august day, they're fucking lavender. and paired with a navy blue shirt i look nothing less than color blind. there should be a law against those fucking fluorescent lights. yet now, at my desk again, they're grey! were they never meant to be worn outside? is it a sign i should have never left my house. what does my horoscope say? i should just go back to bed.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
people who deserve a punch in the face
an interesting letter in today's "tell me about it" advice column:
Dear Carolyn:
I have a question about manners. I say on the Metro you should give your seat up for the disabled and the elderly. Last time I checked, women choose to have babies, therefore they aren't disabled. My friend says they should be afforded the courtesy. I think I'm already paying for them and their kids (i.e., school costs, time away from work). If you can't stand, don't get pregnant. Who's right?
D.C.
why even publish this garbage? i'm not sure what depresses me more, that this person exists, or that they exist in DC. if i had one bullet to spend today, i know where i would put it. sadly, Carolyn's answer ("try this, who's kind?") kind of sucked...so where do i start?
"if you can't stand, don't get pregnant." um, ok, so let's let this asshole get a seat on the metro, and let the human race comes to a standstill!
i'm sure if women had one choice, they would choose that men carry babies for 9 months in their abdomens. in fact, i would choose that macho asshole in particular be the one to gestate a fetus for 3/4 of a year. though wouldn't it be an interesting topic if this woman in question lived in South Dakota? not sure she'd have much of a choice to do anything.
when you consider such a perspective of inhumanity in today's context human suffering, it's really no surprise that every day is riddled with the digsuting events of another war. i'm going to go vomit now.
Dear Carolyn:
I have a question about manners. I say on the Metro you should give your seat up for the disabled and the elderly. Last time I checked, women choose to have babies, therefore they aren't disabled. My friend says they should be afforded the courtesy. I think I'm already paying for them and their kids (i.e., school costs, time away from work). If you can't stand, don't get pregnant. Who's right?
D.C.
why even publish this garbage? i'm not sure what depresses me more, that this person exists, or that they exist in DC. if i had one bullet to spend today, i know where i would put it. sadly, Carolyn's answer ("try this, who's kind?") kind of sucked...so where do i start?
"if you can't stand, don't get pregnant." um, ok, so let's let this asshole get a seat on the metro, and let the human race comes to a standstill!
i'm sure if women had one choice, they would choose that men carry babies for 9 months in their abdomens. in fact, i would choose that macho asshole in particular be the one to gestate a fetus for 3/4 of a year. though wouldn't it be an interesting topic if this woman in question lived in South Dakota? not sure she'd have much of a choice to do anything.
when you consider such a perspective of inhumanity in today's context human suffering, it's really no surprise that every day is riddled with the digsuting events of another war. i'm going to go vomit now.
Friday, August 25, 2006
NYT: DC is dicey
so the NY times travel section has a little weekend in DC article on where/what to do for 39 hours in the capital. i always try to read guidebooks and stuff for my city to get some more outside perspective on my home town, or find new places to go. (sadly, there don't seem to be that many, DC often feels pretty small)
anyway, there are some good suggestions, drinks on the roof of the Washington Hotel, who knew? Al Crostino on U street that i've always wanted to try, though i suspect now it will be full of snooty new yorkers. the NYT has a knack for 'ruining' places like that. in my experience it happened in very rural france, seeing my quaint neighborhood joint get overrun by boisterous english speakers- it's a sure sign it passed in the Times.
but my main point here was that it was sorta depressing to read that the 9:30 club is stated to be in a "dicey" neighborhood. sad, but true. there was also a cold warning to watch your back when visiting the mall and monuments at night. is this really what our city has come to? alas, given the recent crime emergency and spate of muggings, it seems yes. it fills me with both disappointment and rage. i practice my roundhouse kicks to the solar plexus every time i i imagine some loser invading my personal space to steal my razr phone, which, you can totally get for free pretty much anywhere. why do thieves always steal old crappy cell phones? i had a broken old nokia once that disappeared from a bar. is there really a market for these? do they recycle the batteries into gems or send them to asia to finance a drug war? and uh, i'm going to cut off service pretty much immediately after i send it a few scathing text messages, and maybe trace the phone calls from my bill so it's really not much use to the criminal seeking to hide his steps. and doesn't everyone have a gazillion minutes these days, what's so valuable about stealing someone else's cell when you most likely have your own (seriously, who doesn't have a cell these days) or, as a last resort can probably just ask to borrow a phone for a quick call? it doesn't come with the threat of jail time, or my signature roundhouse kick to the solar plexus, either.
anyway, there are some good suggestions, drinks on the roof of the Washington Hotel, who knew? Al Crostino on U street that i've always wanted to try, though i suspect now it will be full of snooty new yorkers. the NYT has a knack for 'ruining' places like that. in my experience it happened in very rural france, seeing my quaint neighborhood joint get overrun by boisterous english speakers- it's a sure sign it passed in the Times.
but my main point here was that it was sorta depressing to read that the 9:30 club is stated to be in a "dicey" neighborhood. sad, but true. there was also a cold warning to watch your back when visiting the mall and monuments at night. is this really what our city has come to? alas, given the recent crime emergency and spate of muggings, it seems yes. it fills me with both disappointment and rage. i practice my roundhouse kicks to the solar plexus every time i i imagine some loser invading my personal space to steal my razr phone, which, you can totally get for free pretty much anywhere. why do thieves always steal old crappy cell phones? i had a broken old nokia once that disappeared from a bar. is there really a market for these? do they recycle the batteries into gems or send them to asia to finance a drug war? and uh, i'm going to cut off service pretty much immediately after i send it a few scathing text messages, and maybe trace the phone calls from my bill so it's really not much use to the criminal seeking to hide his steps. and doesn't everyone have a gazillion minutes these days, what's so valuable about stealing someone else's cell when you most likely have your own (seriously, who doesn't have a cell these days) or, as a last resort can probably just ask to borrow a phone for a quick call? it doesn't come with the threat of jail time, or my signature roundhouse kick to the solar plexus, either.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
the sound of one hand clapping...
ok, today i am sitting in my [piece of shit] cubicle [that i finally asked to be moved out of] and from deep inside me i had a thought. i should listen to paris hilton's new CD online. brain, stop it. stop clicking, put down the mouse. what do you think you are doing?
i've actually listened to the whole thing. some songs twice. um, there's a moral to this story somewhere...it likely has to do with coming to work still quite possibly drunk slightly before noon(asylum's 15th anniversary party. naughty nurses and stripper poles. kick yourself for missing it).
is this a sub-conscious self-flagellation? someone please tell me this is me, telling myself i shouldn't close bars on wednesday nights, drink sparks until sunrise and play frisbee in the street, have the police say "stop throwing that frisbee ma'am" over their megaphone [too lazy to get out of their car?], run to another street, lose the frisbee in the gutter and then open a manhole cover, order my boyfriend to reach in and grab it with his feet. he did.
so my favorite line so far is "if you think you're sexy clap your hands."
Monday, August 14, 2006
pizza the size of your face
the pizza available to adams morgan revelers never ceases to amaze me and this phenonemon is a favorite topic of discussion... 
i hear one slice packs like over 1,000 calories. but that's not why i won't touch the stuff. no, it's because on my first weekend in DC, when i had just moved in and experienced the late nite post-last call hunger pangs, i lined up at the place i like to call the "disco slice. it's the one that's lower down on the strip, across from kalorama that boasts loud techno music, sparkly walls, dancing billboard guy, strobe lights...enough to give you a seizure. we had exited pharmacy bar and my roommate from north carolina and i were in no way going to wait on this extraordinarily long line. we pooled our resources together: her big boobs and perfect smile and my 5 dollar bill. she approached our prey, an inebriated gentleman with not one, not two, but three huge slices of pepperoni pizza. the transaction was quick and effortless and as we cheered our achievement - yes, at the time buying a huge greasy slice of pizza for 3 times what it's worth, while degrading ourselves before someone likely from virginia was worthy of celebration. in our haste of jumping and hugging and wooooing i inadvertantly dropped the weighty slice and as luck would have it, fell right onto the sidewalk, cheese side down.
our smiles quickly faded to desperation, we don't have any more money! we're starving! the other patrons cum spectators quickly chanted "5 second rule!! 5 second rule!!" and without thinking, i picked up the slice, leaving a puddle of grease upon the mottled sidewalk, inspected it quickly for hypodermic needles and cigarette butts and to the raving shouts and applause from our adoring fans took a huge bite. it was unexpectedly smooth and sorta tasty, as opposed to crunchy with sand and glass shards, offering validity to the rule so many of food droppers live by. as we stumbled home my roommate and my conscience made me promise to never eat a slice of that pizza ever again. every time i walk by i feel a cringe of regret from that night, and to this day, i have abided.
i hear one slice packs like over 1,000 calories. but that's not why i won't touch the stuff. no, it's because on my first weekend in DC, when i had just moved in and experienced the late nite post-last call hunger pangs, i lined up at the place i like to call the "disco slice. it's the one that's lower down on the strip, across from kalorama that boasts loud techno music, sparkly walls, dancing billboard guy, strobe lights...enough to give you a seizure. we had exited pharmacy bar and my roommate from north carolina and i were in no way going to wait on this extraordinarily long line. we pooled our resources together: her big boobs and perfect smile and my 5 dollar bill. she approached our prey, an inebriated gentleman with not one, not two, but three huge slices of pepperoni pizza. the transaction was quick and effortless and as we cheered our achievement - yes, at the time buying a huge greasy slice of pizza for 3 times what it's worth, while degrading ourselves before someone likely from virginia was worthy of celebration. in our haste of jumping and hugging and wooooing i inadvertantly dropped the weighty slice and as luck would have it, fell right onto the sidewalk, cheese side down.our smiles quickly faded to desperation, we don't have any more money! we're starving! the other patrons cum spectators quickly chanted "5 second rule!! 5 second rule!!" and without thinking, i picked up the slice, leaving a puddle of grease upon the mottled sidewalk, inspected it quickly for hypodermic needles and cigarette butts and to the raving shouts and applause from our adoring fans took a huge bite. it was unexpectedly smooth and sorta tasty, as opposed to crunchy with sand and glass shards, offering validity to the rule so many of food droppers live by. as we stumbled home my roommate and my conscience made me promise to never eat a slice of that pizza ever again. every time i walk by i feel a cringe of regret from that night, and to this day, i have abided.
Wednesday, August 9, 2006
chip off the ole block
cruising around for somewhere to ditch my car this am, i run into a friend who points to a tight spot she saw down the street. "knowing you, you'll make it fit!" she said. and that's how my most super awesome morning began, with this totally sweet rockstar parrallel parking job: 
now sure, you buzzkills out there will tell me that i'm just gonna get bumped by either car when they leave. well i tell you, that's what bumpers are for. on my way to my office tho, i saw the asshole who yesterday took the last two spaces on the street, right in front of me as i waited for one of them. i told him he needs a serious lesson in parking from my dad, as well as some extra good karma to prevent the next angry person from keying his piece of shit camry.
i get it from my dad. last time he came to visit he barely listened to a thing i said all during dinner, he had this wide grin on his face and any response to my relationship troubles, job stories would be met with his explanation on how he bypassed the laws of physics (which he knows quite a bit about) and shoved his rented chevy malibu between two massive suvs. finally, after dinner i agreed to the detour to view how incredible his parking feat was. and holy shit, i was pretty impressed. told all my friends about it too. we were both bummed when the car behind him left, erasing his greatest achievement and making him look like an asshole for hugging the car in front.
i'll always remember it tho. because kick-ass parking runs in our genes!
Saturday, August 5, 2006
grand theft cello
Where to start: chronologically, or by level of insanity? Or the order in which this all gets diffused from my sleep deprived, alcohol infused brain:
Let’s set the scene:
It was 2 pm, on the hassidic jewish version of the chinatown NY-DC bus which was idling outside Penn station, midtown. As the Jeff Spicoli wannabe who had made everyone roll their eyes at his loud cell phone calls to his “bros and babes,” and wore the impossibly ironic shirt bearing the slogan: “yes, I’m THAT guy” later attested:
it was a friendly bus.
Indeed.
In fact, I had befriended most of the passengers on the way up to NYC on Friday, a side-effect of being stuck on large immobile object for more than 7 hours. Well, most everybody, THAT guy, later renamed as “bro-ski” remained on my hate list well into the weekend. When the bus re-fueled somewhere in New Jersey after nearly depleting its reserves in the 4 hours it took us to reach i-95, we were all on a first name basis. There was my cute seat neighbor, whom I ended up exchanging texts with all weekend, not as much for his cutey phD student puzzling-solving intelligence (I got him hooked on samurai sodoku in Delaware) but for his confidence, which he oozed – which I can now identify as the all-time most important thing I look for in people. Plainly put, I realized that its confidence that will protect me from seething jealousy, people who read my email or accuse me of egregious immoral behaviour, etc…and its that small thing we take for granted that was sorely lacking in my last relationship, but I digress…
the reason why everyone approach me to make conversation was not because of my stunning good looks or affable personality, nay, it was because I was travelling with my monstrous stringed instrument, “the big guitar?” they always ask. No, it’s my cello, securely stored in a big bright taxicab-yellow case, the reason for which I always tell people who ask, “why a yellow cello case?” is because it rhymes, and because if someone were ever to run off with it, I could see them a mile away, laugh, because as if that would ever happen.
So there I was, rather content to leave new york, after a drama packed weekend worthy of a WB sitcom (specific stories to follow). I tried to relax into my seat as our bus driver simoultaneously scolded us for “keeping a big black man from his sunday night collard greens” if we were to mess up his bus, and professing his love for Reese Witherspoon – the absence of votes for a movie prompted a dictatorial decision to watch “Just Like Heaven.” Groan. But I found satisfaction in that my weekend trip was successful in its mission to procure two simple things: bagels and shoes. The smell of a dozen fresh sesame and egg bagels emanated from my bag and I was admiring my feet perched in their new 4 inch platform shoes that put me among the tall people whenever I so desire. And let us not forget my new Nicole Richie gigornous sunglasses which are begging to go out to brunch.
As the bus filled up, I was joined by a familiar pal from the trip up (though I did call him and his friend dicks for getting a cab before I did on Friday), we eagerly exchanged our stories: my 911 call to help an epileptic stalkerazzi fan at my gig for his bachelor party bachanalia. As my new friend’s stories grew tiresome, not helped by his obviously hungover drawl, I just happened to notice that the baggage door had been opened on the street side of the bus. Odd. A man, seemingly dressed as a bus driver rustled through the luggage contents, moving things, supposedly securing them for our trip. I then peered down at the familiar edge of my adorable yello cello, who served me so well the night before.
As the man went out of view, I quickly turned to the reflection of the bus in a clean-windowed building across the street, and noticed this man was walking away with my cello. Clearly, he was putting it in a safer compartment, perhaps bringing it onboard as I had asked when I made my reservation? But wait, this man was neither a hassidic jew, nor our bus driver, who is here in front of me telling us how much he likes Popeyes but despises Bojangles as much as loud passengers. I glanced furtively into the rearview mirror of the bus: this man was running away with my $18,000 instrument.
I don’t recall how I exited, I really think I went through the walls of the bus, just like Reese did all throughout that really shitty movie, but my feet were no longer wearing delicate tall heels, these were rocket shoes that weren’t even hitting the ground, I wasn’t breathing, I wasn't hearing anything, I was sprinting waaay faster than Carrie Bradshaw in her manolos running after Big, I was fucking flying at this guy like I was crouching tiger, or hidden dragon.
It could have been the incessant slur of obscenities which deserve never to be written or repeated ever, or the look of maternal rage of a mother bear without her cub on my face that literally made this guy drop everything on his person put his hands up and start crying, I will not know. Within seconds bachelor boy was holding this obviously mentally disturbed man as he started apologizing and cowering in fear, as my own silly (what if he had a gun?) adrenaline-rush turned similarly to tears and whimpers.
And soon the hassidic busmen surrounded us as we tried to make light of this situation. Someone told me I needed to call the cops. I didn’t even have to dial 911- all I had to do was hit fucking re-dial from the night before and once again, I was surrounded by law enforcement within seconds, love that nyc response time.
there was snot, oh the familiar snot from this fall, teeming from my nose as I tried to explain...this guy, took my baby, and holy shit, I just stole my fucking cello back...I stole my cello back.
When I took my baby back into my arms at the Mcpherson square dropoff, I saw a couple point to me and whispher:
“that’s the infamous cello.”
Let’s set the scene:
It was 2 pm, on the hassidic jewish version of the chinatown NY-DC bus which was idling outside Penn station, midtown. As the Jeff Spicoli wannabe who had made everyone roll their eyes at his loud cell phone calls to his “bros and babes,” and wore the impossibly ironic shirt bearing the slogan: “yes, I’m THAT guy” later attested:
it was a friendly bus.
Indeed.
In fact, I had befriended most of the passengers on the way up to NYC on Friday, a side-effect of being stuck on large immobile object for more than 7 hours. Well, most everybody, THAT guy, later renamed as “bro-ski” remained on my hate list well into the weekend. When the bus re-fueled somewhere in New Jersey after nearly depleting its reserves in the 4 hours it took us to reach i-95, we were all on a first name basis. There was my cute seat neighbor, whom I ended up exchanging texts with all weekend, not as much for his cutey phD student puzzling-solving intelligence (I got him hooked on samurai sodoku in Delaware) but for his confidence, which he oozed – which I can now identify as the all-time most important thing I look for in people. Plainly put, I realized that its confidence that will protect me from seething jealousy, people who read my email or accuse me of egregious immoral behaviour, etc…and its that small thing we take for granted that was sorely lacking in my last relationship, but I digress…
the reason why everyone approach me to make conversation was not because of my stunning good looks or affable personality, nay, it was because I was travelling with my monstrous stringed instrument, “the big guitar?” they always ask. No, it’s my cello, securely stored in a big bright taxicab-yellow case, the reason for which I always tell people who ask, “why a yellow cello case?” is because it rhymes, and because if someone were ever to run off with it, I could see them a mile away, laugh, because as if that would ever happen.
So there I was, rather content to leave new york, after a drama packed weekend worthy of a WB sitcom (specific stories to follow). I tried to relax into my seat as our bus driver simoultaneously scolded us for “keeping a big black man from his sunday night collard greens” if we were to mess up his bus, and professing his love for Reese Witherspoon – the absence of votes for a movie prompted a dictatorial decision to watch “Just Like Heaven.” Groan. But I found satisfaction in that my weekend trip was successful in its mission to procure two simple things: bagels and shoes. The smell of a dozen fresh sesame and egg bagels emanated from my bag and I was admiring my feet perched in their new 4 inch platform shoes that put me among the tall people whenever I so desire. And let us not forget my new Nicole Richie gigornous sunglasses which are begging to go out to brunch.
As the bus filled up, I was joined by a familiar pal from the trip up (though I did call him and his friend dicks for getting a cab before I did on Friday), we eagerly exchanged our stories: my 911 call to help an epileptic stalkerazzi fan at my gig for his bachelor party bachanalia. As my new friend’s stories grew tiresome, not helped by his obviously hungover drawl, I just happened to notice that the baggage door had been opened on the street side of the bus. Odd. A man, seemingly dressed as a bus driver rustled through the luggage contents, moving things, supposedly securing them for our trip. I then peered down at the familiar edge of my adorable yello cello, who served me so well the night before.
As the man went out of view, I quickly turned to the reflection of the bus in a clean-windowed building across the street, and noticed this man was walking away with my cello. Clearly, he was putting it in a safer compartment, perhaps bringing it onboard as I had asked when I made my reservation? But wait, this man was neither a hassidic jew, nor our bus driver, who is here in front of me telling us how much he likes Popeyes but despises Bojangles as much as loud passengers. I glanced furtively into the rearview mirror of the bus: this man was running away with my $18,000 instrument.
I don’t recall how I exited, I really think I went through the walls of the bus, just like Reese did all throughout that really shitty movie, but my feet were no longer wearing delicate tall heels, these were rocket shoes that weren’t even hitting the ground, I wasn’t breathing, I wasn't hearing anything, I was sprinting waaay faster than Carrie Bradshaw in her manolos running after Big, I was fucking flying at this guy like I was crouching tiger, or hidden dragon.
It could have been the incessant slur of obscenities which deserve never to be written or repeated ever, or the look of maternal rage of a mother bear without her cub on my face that literally made this guy drop everything on his person put his hands up and start crying, I will not know. Within seconds bachelor boy was holding this obviously mentally disturbed man as he started apologizing and cowering in fear, as my own silly (what if he had a gun?) adrenaline-rush turned similarly to tears and whimpers.
And soon the hassidic busmen surrounded us as we tried to make light of this situation. Someone told me I needed to call the cops. I didn’t even have to dial 911- all I had to do was hit fucking re-dial from the night before and once again, I was surrounded by law enforcement within seconds, love that nyc response time.
there was snot, oh the familiar snot from this fall, teeming from my nose as I tried to explain...this guy, took my baby, and holy shit, I just stole my fucking cello back...I stole my cello back.
When I took my baby back into my arms at the Mcpherson square dropoff, I saw a couple point to me and whispher:
“that’s the infamous cello.”
if you can't get laid at whole foods...
...you need to see a doctor."
such was professed at the p street whole paycheck at the sunday afternoon peak shopping/cruising time, when my brother and i stopped in for lemonade. he doesn't get out much on his one day off and this is how i acquiesced in his request to "go outside, see and be around people, maybe ogle some trim."
seriously, i bet you at least a dozen new couples form every month right near the olive bar. or maybe your hand brushes against someone else's as you dive your toothpick in for a fifth stabbing of goat gouda. i tell anyone who is single that they should spend at least an hour there each week, helping people discern what isn't organic - have you noticed all the lemons now are labelled "conventional?" yeah, that means it's not organic, people. read: pesticides; same ole shit you buy at safeway. neither are the avocados or potatoes. yet yer still paying organic prices. pretty clever. they have organic onions tho. ooooh, wow, onions.
so in the end i guess what you really pay for then is the chance to fall in love. if even briefly with the godlike creature who's buying bulk cashews. yum.
such was professed at the p street whole paycheck at the sunday afternoon peak shopping/cruising time, when my brother and i stopped in for lemonade. he doesn't get out much on his one day off and this is how i acquiesced in his request to "go outside, see and be around people, maybe ogle some trim."
seriously, i bet you at least a dozen new couples form every month right near the olive bar. or maybe your hand brushes against someone else's as you dive your toothpick in for a fifth stabbing of goat gouda. i tell anyone who is single that they should spend at least an hour there each week, helping people discern what isn't organic - have you noticed all the lemons now are labelled "conventional?" yeah, that means it's not organic, people. read: pesticides; same ole shit you buy at safeway. neither are the avocados or potatoes. yet yer still paying organic prices. pretty clever. they have organic onions tho. ooooh, wow, onions.
so in the end i guess what you really pay for then is the chance to fall in love. if even briefly with the godlike creature who's buying bulk cashews. yum.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
i suck at arm wrestling
first of all, i'd like to preface this by saying that arm wrestling in french is called "bras de fer" which translates to "arm of iron." awesome.
so, for some strange reason, i have been doing a lot of arm wrestling lately. the first competition was inspired by the roller ladies at asylum who were hosting an arm wrestling fundraiser one saturday. i was out with my new roommate who, interestingly enough, is a fitter version of me...thin, curly hair, jewish looking. on the first eve of her new residency, it seemed approrpriate that an arm wrestle would set the stage for the house, who's more kick ass, who's gonna empty the fucking dishwasher. the back of my hand was in a sticky puddle of bourbon in about 10 seconds (actually, a vodka-bourbon concoction we were testing that came out of a friend's nose). out of nowhere these pulsating python bicpes humiliated me in front of all my friends as she sheepishly said, well, i work out a lot. the skinny ass waitress came to console me and someone convinced her to step up. no problem. even after tiring a bit from my first competition there's no way this girl has the arms. alas, she refused to go lefty (not fair!) and just as quickly if not quicker, thrashed my hopes of victory. after people tried to buck me up, i ambled home with my stronger apartment mate, shoulders sore, vowing to never let that happen to me again.
i've since been hitting the gym at lunch, pumping iron, doing pushups with "eye of the tiger" in my headphones. and it just so happens that last tuesday i was drinking at the red and the black on H street and this busty sword swallower walked in and recruited me for their female arm wresling tournament at the new palace of wonders. you're on. i quickly downed my drink and my posse of trainers eagerly escorted me next door. we entered with whoops and hollers and my pals quickly massaged my shoulders and dispensed valuable advice wrist-breaking advice they had gleaned from a recent viewing of over the top.
i was up against red sonia. a nice blondie obviously hailing from somewhere in upper NW, her sleeveless t showed no apparent threat. and it was on. i put up a damn good fight. i squeezed her palms, tried to spin her elbow, even snarled at her and as i hassled for a good 3 or 4 minutes while bar patrons screamed and hooted, i slowly lost energy and felt my inevitable defeat overcome me. and that's when it hit me. i have never won at arm wrestling. red sonia ended up winning the prize, so i didn't feel that bad. the emcee offered a lefty rematch for losers which i eagerly threw in 10 bucks for, but no one stepped up. were they scared? and that's when i realized...to this day i still have never lost a lefty arm wrestle. and if i do, well...i'll just start punching people in the face. lefty.
so, for some strange reason, i have been doing a lot of arm wrestling lately. the first competition was inspired by the roller ladies at asylum who were hosting an arm wrestling fundraiser one saturday. i was out with my new roommate who, interestingly enough, is a fitter version of me...thin, curly hair, jewish looking. on the first eve of her new residency, it seemed approrpriate that an arm wrestle would set the stage for the house, who's more kick ass, who's gonna empty the fucking dishwasher. the back of my hand was in a sticky puddle of bourbon in about 10 seconds (actually, a vodka-bourbon concoction we were testing that came out of a friend's nose). out of nowhere these pulsating python bicpes humiliated me in front of all my friends as she sheepishly said, well, i work out a lot. the skinny ass waitress came to console me and someone convinced her to step up. no problem. even after tiring a bit from my first competition there's no way this girl has the arms. alas, she refused to go lefty (not fair!) and just as quickly if not quicker, thrashed my hopes of victory. after people tried to buck me up, i ambled home with my stronger apartment mate, shoulders sore, vowing to never let that happen to me again.
i've since been hitting the gym at lunch, pumping iron, doing pushups with "eye of the tiger" in my headphones. and it just so happens that last tuesday i was drinking at the red and the black on H street and this busty sword swallower walked in and recruited me for their female arm wresling tournament at the new palace of wonders. you're on. i quickly downed my drink and my posse of trainers eagerly escorted me next door. we entered with whoops and hollers and my pals quickly massaged my shoulders and dispensed valuable advice wrist-breaking advice they had gleaned from a recent viewing of over the top.
i was up against red sonia. a nice blondie obviously hailing from somewhere in upper NW, her sleeveless t showed no apparent threat. and it was on. i put up a damn good fight. i squeezed her palms, tried to spin her elbow, even snarled at her and as i hassled for a good 3 or 4 minutes while bar patrons screamed and hooted, i slowly lost energy and felt my inevitable defeat overcome me. and that's when it hit me. i have never won at arm wrestling. red sonia ended up winning the prize, so i didn't feel that bad. the emcee offered a lefty rematch for losers which i eagerly threw in 10 bucks for, but no one stepped up. were they scared? and that's when i realized...to this day i still have never lost a lefty arm wrestle. and if i do, well...i'll just start punching people in the face. lefty.
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
on crime, temperature
dc crime and temperatures are soaring. i have the following things to say.
on crime: it's pretty obvious...it's not more cops, just less cops sitting in their air conditioned cars accumulating powdered sugar in the creases of their uniforms and holding conference calls with their girlfriends. put them on foot. really, get them to mingle with the dudes on their porch who see everything go down, know everyone. get them to chat up the mango and empenada vendors, you know. if you need some mobility then fine, put them on bikes, i'll take bikes. but no segways. confine those to malls and airports because i'm sorry no one is getting any respect out of the ghetto when you're on a segway.
on temperature: ok, so it's pretty hot. yeah, i sweat and get a wee bit lightheaded if i walk too fast. but it's not crazy unbearably hot. i like the free bottles of the water at the silver spring metro, especially when handed out by those handsome uniformed gentlemen. rreow.
but have you ever been to africa? southeast asia? the caribbean? florida? those places are hot. damn hot. i reckon any given year there are a lot more people sweating and complaining around the world than in DC. have you ever had to go to work in Panama? in a long sleeved dress shirt? and you flag down a taxi but then he wants to charge you 5 times the going rate so you try to get another one, but he has three leering construction workers in the back and no a/c so then you give up and catch the bus, which is an old school bus packed to the gills with people, and only half the windows open and the back of your legs are stuck to the fake leather seat and the sides of your thighs are stuck to the lady next to you? you haven't?
well shut the hell up then.
on crime: it's pretty obvious...it's not more cops, just less cops sitting in their air conditioned cars accumulating powdered sugar in the creases of their uniforms and holding conference calls with their girlfriends. put them on foot. really, get them to mingle with the dudes on their porch who see everything go down, know everyone. get them to chat up the mango and empenada vendors, you know. if you need some mobility then fine, put them on bikes, i'll take bikes. but no segways. confine those to malls and airports because i'm sorry no one is getting any respect out of the ghetto when you're on a segway.
on temperature: ok, so it's pretty hot. yeah, i sweat and get a wee bit lightheaded if i walk too fast. but it's not crazy unbearably hot. i like the free bottles of the water at the silver spring metro, especially when handed out by those handsome uniformed gentlemen. rreow.
but have you ever been to africa? southeast asia? the caribbean? florida? those places are hot. damn hot. i reckon any given year there are a lot more people sweating and complaining around the world than in DC. have you ever had to go to work in Panama? in a long sleeved dress shirt? and you flag down a taxi but then he wants to charge you 5 times the going rate so you try to get another one, but he has three leering construction workers in the back and no a/c so then you give up and catch the bus, which is an old school bus packed to the gills with people, and only half the windows open and the back of your legs are stuck to the fake leather seat and the sides of your thighs are stuck to the lady next to you? you haven't?
well shut the hell up then.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
office space
so i recently had the most blatant 'office space' day. one of the Toms who runs my division came up to me with his "i [heart] my scottish terrier" coffee mug and said, "yyyyyeah, i'm going to have to ask you to go ahead and change cubicles by 1pm today."
and thus, on the eve of my 5th anniversary of working here, i got evicted and dumped into the shittiest cubicle on the planet, one which is impossibly no more than 40% of the meager space i've occupied for 1824 days of my budding career. simple extension of my limbs and i can touch
either of the two walls that make my corner. this corner which, until noon yesterday housed broken printers and frayed printer cables. i swear i'm going to burn this place to the fucking ground. at least i have my stapler. good ole stapler.
but to make matters worse, after moving in, i took a quick survey of my new neighbors and met yarmulke guy with the thick glasses and curlz who enthusiastically welcomed me to his "little patch of paradise!!" with some stale candies; someone who's known as "Ari G," some chick who's last name is Golberg and another lady with a suspiciously large nose, unibrow and sideburns. i
smell something fishy. gefilte fishy. i'm not even jewish! (ok, so i have a pretty jewish last name), but still, these assholes are segregating me.
once again, i will blame hezbollah.
and thus, on the eve of my 5th anniversary of working here, i got evicted and dumped into the shittiest cubicle on the planet, one which is impossibly no more than 40% of the meager space i've occupied for 1824 days of my budding career. simple extension of my limbs and i can touch
either of the two walls that make my corner. this corner which, until noon yesterday housed broken printers and frayed printer cables. i swear i'm going to burn this place to the fucking ground. at least i have my stapler. good ole stapler.
but to make matters worse, after moving in, i took a quick survey of my new neighbors and met yarmulke guy with the thick glasses and curlz who enthusiastically welcomed me to his "little patch of paradise!!" with some stale candies; someone who's known as "Ari G," some chick who's last name is Golberg and another lady with a suspiciously large nose, unibrow and sideburns. i
smell something fishy. gefilte fishy. i'm not even jewish! (ok, so i have a pretty jewish last name), but still, these assholes are segregating me.
once again, i will blame hezbollah.
Monday, July 24, 2006
virginia sunday
it was a sunday out in virginia, a rare occurence for carless me, but it was an adventure to the arlington drafthouse to see "thank you for smoking" which made my two sundays-in-a-row movie run quite a success. anyway, after a post-movie round of disc golf we stopped at the 7-11 on carlin springs, as usual, where they have a new asian guy working there who is unbelievably hilarious. i would go in, just so you can hear him say in his high funny voice "WHENEVER!" which i think is his version of "whatever."
so i was standing there, sifting through a washington post, trying to not to wrinkle it too much to have to pay for it, when i'm suddenly shocked, mouth agape, as i am learning from the reliable source that a good friend of mine is engaged to someone he met 4 weeks ago. totally weird.
meanwhile, asian guy is telling my friend "do it with a man, do it with a woman, whenever..." another customer walks in to buy cigarettes and asian guy goes "are you over 18?"
and the guy chortles, "i'm 34, dude!"
"jeez, i'm just askin'. curious you know. whenever!"
i guess that's just how it goes in virginia. the place is strange i tell you.
so i was standing there, sifting through a washington post, trying to not to wrinkle it too much to have to pay for it, when i'm suddenly shocked, mouth agape, as i am learning from the reliable source that a good friend of mine is engaged to someone he met 4 weeks ago. totally weird.
meanwhile, asian guy is telling my friend "do it with a man, do it with a woman, whenever..." another customer walks in to buy cigarettes and asian guy goes "are you over 18?"
and the guy chortles, "i'm 34, dude!"
"jeez, i'm just askin'. curious you know. whenever!"
i guess that's just how it goes in virginia. the place is strange i tell you.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
they're all the same: crazy
so a friend of mine has been out of the loop this past week, likely due to non-stop back-to-back meetings (seriously, one meeting a month is plenty for me) and so she asks me, "[aurelgrooves], what's with all this lebanon/hezbollah stuff people keep talking about? i'm so embarassed i have no idea what's going on. will you please explain it to me?"
and so i figured the best way to convey the recents events of insanity that is destroying lives, cities and countries over there is to hit home with a western hemisphere metaphor.
so let's imagine there are these crazy people up in Canada, we'll call them Quebecois separatists. let's just say that one night, during their weekly pilgrimages to Plattsburgh, NY they had a few too many at the strip club and, i don't know, took a few roofied exotic dancers back across the border with them. okay, let's just say they took them as hostages in an attempt to bring attention to their cause: Quebec as a sovereign nation, free from the cripppling grip of the Canadian government (whatever).
so as soon as the strip club owner finds out, people start freaking and good old Dubya declares his right to defend his nation, because fuck, that's what nations do and decides to blow the shit out of Quebec City, Montreal and maybe Toronto for good measure, starting with airports, suburbs, civilian apartment buildings. next thing you know it's a full-out war, countries are evactuating their citizens quickly with little advance notice while the americans, well they take their sweet ass time. and Quebec City, which was once a vibrant edgy modern city plunges back to colonial war times. and so that's pretty much it. (and you should really stay tuned to the Daily Show to comprehend just how insane it is).
"thanks! i totally get it now!"
no problemo, that's what i'm here for.
and so i figured the best way to convey the recents events of insanity that is destroying lives, cities and countries over there is to hit home with a western hemisphere metaphor.
so let's imagine there are these crazy people up in Canada, we'll call them Quebecois separatists. let's just say that one night, during their weekly pilgrimages to Plattsburgh, NY they had a few too many at the strip club and, i don't know, took a few roofied exotic dancers back across the border with them. okay, let's just say they took them as hostages in an attempt to bring attention to their cause: Quebec as a sovereign nation, free from the cripppling grip of the Canadian government (whatever).
so as soon as the strip club owner finds out, people start freaking and good old Dubya declares his right to defend his nation, because fuck, that's what nations do and decides to blow the shit out of Quebec City, Montreal and maybe Toronto for good measure, starting with airports, suburbs, civilian apartment buildings. next thing you know it's a full-out war, countries are evactuating their citizens quickly with little advance notice while the americans, well they take their sweet ass time. and Quebec City, which was once a vibrant edgy modern city plunges back to colonial war times. and so that's pretty much it. (and you should really stay tuned to the Daily Show to comprehend just how insane it is).
"thanks! i totally get it now!"
no problemo, that's what i'm here for.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
movie cures hangover
so usually, when really hungover on a sunday i'll wake up whoever is on the couch and go out for brunch, usually at asylum where we drink bloodys, buy hours of gangsta rap from the jukebox to offend other patrons and hope the re-buzz eliminates the headache. it often works like a charm. then, we'll either hit a friend's pool or play frisbee golf, but both of these ideas are active and require energy, motivation and a little craziness on a hot summer day. so yesterday, we determined a movie was the way to go.
we exited asylum to find some older tourists checking out the menu. "it's awesome, you should eat here" i said to their eager smiles, as i internally giggled at the f-bomb infested playlist i left in our wake. then, i got tackled by a stupidly tall friend who tried to wrestle my bag from me. a girl in a short skirt had to step over my sprawled body on the sidewalk and when she did, uttered the snottiest, "um, yeah. seriously?" whatever. we walked down to dupont circle, at which point i ordered my one pretty muscular friend to take his shirt off. because it's dupont afterall. and i enjoyed smacking him and attempting to induce my turkey-shaped hand imprints on all available skin space.
we arrived just in time to catch a scanner darkly.
my friends had wanted to see it last weekend, and insulted me repeatedly when i couldn't find the showtime because, duh, it wasn't out yet. anyway, i will say it is one of the finest movies i've seen in a long, long time. you take a handful of vonnegut and a handful near-futuristic conspiracy theory and a handfull of groovy animation and WHAM! smash it all together.
i was worried said animation would freak me out but it didn't. you could recognize the actors in this weird way, like hey, that's winona ryder, is she blonde? keanu reeves might just be hotter in animated form...i was loving the way he moved. and the dialogue was utterly fantastic. maybe because robert downey jr. and woody harrelson's characters who reminded me of myself and my dufus friends, who think physical violence (see: sidewalk wrestling) is funny, and we're always getting into weird illogical arguments for no other reason than to humour ourselves and offend others. e.g: the brunchtime topic of: is it ok to eat your own shit? what about someone else's?
afterwards my roommate, who didn't see the movie asked me and one male friend to define the plot in simple terms to test her hypothesis, the theory that: men and women interpret sci-fi movies completely differently, likely due to hormonal or innate brain differences. and after extensive experimentation (n=1) we concluded, it's true. my friend and i each explained what seemed like barely related movies and then got into a heated debate about what keanu was actually thinking, why everyone did what they did etc... it went on for a while and then i just ended it by performing my most extreme super awesome cannonball, soaking everyone in vicinity of the pool and ceasing all scanner darkly-related conversation, bitches. because all tense conversations can, and should be ended with cannonballs.
we exited asylum to find some older tourists checking out the menu. "it's awesome, you should eat here" i said to their eager smiles, as i internally giggled at the f-bomb infested playlist i left in our wake. then, i got tackled by a stupidly tall friend who tried to wrestle my bag from me. a girl in a short skirt had to step over my sprawled body on the sidewalk and when she did, uttered the snottiest, "um, yeah. seriously?" whatever. we walked down to dupont circle, at which point i ordered my one pretty muscular friend to take his shirt off. because it's dupont afterall. and i enjoyed smacking him and attempting to induce my turkey-shaped hand imprints on all available skin space.
we arrived just in time to catch a scanner darkly.
my friends had wanted to see it last weekend, and insulted me repeatedly when i couldn't find the showtime because, duh, it wasn't out yet. anyway, i will say it is one of the finest movies i've seen in a long, long time. you take a handful of vonnegut and a handful near-futuristic conspiracy theory and a handfull of groovy animation and WHAM! smash it all together.
i was worried said animation would freak me out but it didn't. you could recognize the actors in this weird way, like hey, that's winona ryder, is she blonde? keanu reeves might just be hotter in animated form...i was loving the way he moved. and the dialogue was utterly fantastic. maybe because robert downey jr. and woody harrelson's characters who reminded me of myself and my dufus friends, who think physical violence (see: sidewalk wrestling) is funny, and we're always getting into weird illogical arguments for no other reason than to humour ourselves and offend others. e.g: the brunchtime topic of: is it ok to eat your own shit? what about someone else's?
afterwards my roommate, who didn't see the movie asked me and one male friend to define the plot in simple terms to test her hypothesis, the theory that: men and women interpret sci-fi movies completely differently, likely due to hormonal or innate brain differences. and after extensive experimentation (n=1) we concluded, it's true. my friend and i each explained what seemed like barely related movies and then got into a heated debate about what keanu was actually thinking, why everyone did what they did etc... it went on for a while and then i just ended it by performing my most extreme super awesome cannonball, soaking everyone in vicinity of the pool and ceasing all scanner darkly-related conversation, bitches. because all tense conversations can, and should be ended with cannonballs.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
double entendre
so one of the construction trucks at the columbia heights construction mess boasts a clever phrase on its side:
"satisfaction guaranteed with every steel erection." hehe. what are they really trying to say?
"satisfaction guaranteed with every steel erection." hehe. what are they really trying to say?
the skeevy intern
yes, i have a 46 year old intern....i'm not being harsh when i describe him as a balding little troll with brown teeth. i was briefly introduced to him on his first day here and thankfully never saw him again until he apparently irked everyone with both his personality and his incompetence to the point that finally someone said "why don't you go down the hall and talk to aurelgrooves, maybe she can give you some work to do." thanks losers.
i offered several projects he could assist with to which he replied, "no offense, but that sounds kind of boring." listen dude, you're an intern. secondly, this is what we do. and fuck you for calling my work boring. and here's when i made it clear that i'm not too happy about it either, but it's part of life. you get a few months of fun work followed by a lot of months of boring crap and you just have to deal. welcome to life. welcome to government work. and welcome to me, grumpy. don't piss me off.
anyway, i finally got him to do something slightly less boring, and if he had any brains or cleverness, he would have found a shortcut like i usually do, finished the job in an hour and then sat back and read blogs all day. but no. he's truly an idiot. i'm now kicking myself for having given him this project because every two minutes he's in my cube asking, stupid questions he could answer himself if he had any capacity to learn...he asks in his nasally new jersey accent, "there's a box that comes up. should i click it?"
what does the box say
"it asks if i want to overwrite the existing file.
"well, i don't know, do you?!
"ummm"
and to avoid what will inevitably be a 12minute explanation for something really trivial, i get up, walk across the hall, down the stairs and zig zag through cubicles to find his computer displaying the lingering overwrite question box. i cancel and look through his files and there are about 150 of them, all named things like:
test1
test2a
box_test
polygon
type filename here
my_file
...etc...
i let out a big sigh, thinking about the 26 page manuscript i'm in the middle of finishing for a deadline in two hours, and simply can't find the energy to deal with this guy. i ask him to explain his strategy, what he's trying to do and why he's using this method when i'm confronted with his inability to start and end a sentence. like with nouns and verbs and stuff? no, he just talks jibberish in interwinding circles, interjecting phrases and can't seem to explain a single thought in his head...
were you a banker before or something? and decided to go back to grad school? my inner monologue is urgently questioning his career change.
finally, instead of trying to teach him, or letting him figure it out for himself, i run the thing, click here and there...voila.
he turns to me with this way-too-sincere leery "thank you."
totally grossed out, i turn to leave.
"no really, i have never seen anyone work so deftly and as fast as you."
uh thanks
"and can i say something, i mean, i'm happily married. i just want to re-iterate that. i'm happily married" something he has already stated several times, almost daily. he points to a picture of a woman whom i presume is his wife (poor woman) and then continues into a 15 minute string of compliments on my eyes.
"your eyes are just stunning. so green! i love it when you wear glasses. has anyone ever told you that" at this point, i'm shuddering and holding back the bile in my mouth trying to humour myself at the fact that he's using the classic french pickup line "t'as de beaux yeux, tu sais" (which i think comes from this movie) when i'm contemplating either dialing human resources to report this pervert or just escape into the sounds of the cubes surrounding me which are quite obivously suppressed laughs and giggles. i can recognize the snickers of the center fielder from my softball team whom i just want to whack with my notebook.
if this is sexual harassment, this is the most pathetic example. i would much rather be hit on by the hot guy in IT. nevertheless, HR is on my speed dial, and you know what, i'm going home and derive a plot to humiliate this guy. and at least the latinos who whistle at me on the street have a friggin' sense of humour.
i offered several projects he could assist with to which he replied, "no offense, but that sounds kind of boring." listen dude, you're an intern. secondly, this is what we do. and fuck you for calling my work boring. and here's when i made it clear that i'm not too happy about it either, but it's part of life. you get a few months of fun work followed by a lot of months of boring crap and you just have to deal. welcome to life. welcome to government work. and welcome to me, grumpy. don't piss me off.
anyway, i finally got him to do something slightly less boring, and if he had any brains or cleverness, he would have found a shortcut like i usually do, finished the job in an hour and then sat back and read blogs all day. but no. he's truly an idiot. i'm now kicking myself for having given him this project because every two minutes he's in my cube asking, stupid questions he could answer himself if he had any capacity to learn...he asks in his nasally new jersey accent, "there's a box that comes up. should i click it?"
what does the box say
"it asks if i want to overwrite the existing file.
"well, i don't know, do you?!
"ummm"
and to avoid what will inevitably be a 12minute explanation for something really trivial, i get up, walk across the hall, down the stairs and zig zag through cubicles to find his computer displaying the lingering overwrite question box. i cancel and look through his files and there are about 150 of them, all named things like:
test1
test2a
box_test
polygon
type filename here
my_file
...etc...
i let out a big sigh, thinking about the 26 page manuscript i'm in the middle of finishing for a deadline in two hours, and simply can't find the energy to deal with this guy. i ask him to explain his strategy, what he's trying to do and why he's using this method when i'm confronted with his inability to start and end a sentence. like with nouns and verbs and stuff? no, he just talks jibberish in interwinding circles, interjecting phrases and can't seem to explain a single thought in his head...
were you a banker before or something? and decided to go back to grad school? my inner monologue is urgently questioning his career change.
finally, instead of trying to teach him, or letting him figure it out for himself, i run the thing, click here and there...voila.
he turns to me with this way-too-sincere leery "thank you."
totally grossed out, i turn to leave.
"no really, i have never seen anyone work so deftly and as fast as you."
uh thanks
"and can i say something, i mean, i'm happily married. i just want to re-iterate that. i'm happily married" something he has already stated several times, almost daily. he points to a picture of a woman whom i presume is his wife (poor woman) and then continues into a 15 minute string of compliments on my eyes.
"your eyes are just stunning. so green! i love it when you wear glasses. has anyone ever told you that" at this point, i'm shuddering and holding back the bile in my mouth trying to humour myself at the fact that he's using the classic french pickup line "t'as de beaux yeux, tu sais" (which i think comes from this movie) when i'm contemplating either dialing human resources to report this pervert or just escape into the sounds of the cubes surrounding me which are quite obivously suppressed laughs and giggles. i can recognize the snickers of the center fielder from my softball team whom i just want to whack with my notebook.
if this is sexual harassment, this is the most pathetic example. i would much rather be hit on by the hot guy in IT. nevertheless, HR is on my speed dial, and you know what, i'm going home and derive a plot to humiliate this guy. and at least the latinos who whistle at me on the street have a friggin' sense of humour.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
the portrait gallery...is FREEZING
i went to the portrait gallery last week, apparently on the same day as Karl Rove was there. my stepfather knew the names of every president without even looking at the desciption "that's James Monroe!" like he had one of those presidential rulers in his pockets, while my mom would say "Ulysses Grant waz president?" i'm pretty sure we covered the whole place despite its size. my favorite tho was the modern stuff on the top floor. the william wegman exhibit was surprisingly clever, and not only pictures of dogs, though they were surely one of the hi-lites. i loved his sketches and plays on words, which reminded me a lot of the natalie dee cartoons i check out every day.
but what's up with the guards not letting anyone take pictures? i understand if flashes are prohibited...but i have seen a lot of pictures on the web, so were these hidden cameras carried by criminals or what? you may have seen a lot of shots of the intricate scaffolding of the unfinished glass roof though, which i guess is legal to capture. i spent almost a half hour at this window, i couldn't stay any longer however, because my fingers and toes were numb after my desperate search to find a thermostat to turn the senseless air conditioning down. i swear i could see my breath, save the ozone layer people! after reaching near hypothermia, we retreated from the encroaching glaciers to a cafe patio in the sun and 90 degree heat and humidity, ordering hot toddies to regain feeling in our limbs.
but what's up with the guards not letting anyone take pictures? i understand if flashes are prohibited...but i have seen a lot of pictures on the web, so were these hidden cameras carried by criminals or what? you may have seen a lot of shots of the intricate scaffolding of the unfinished glass roof though, which i guess is legal to capture. i spent almost a half hour at this window, i couldn't stay any longer however, because my fingers and toes were numb after my desperate search to find a thermostat to turn the senseless air conditioning down. i swear i could see my breath, save the ozone layer people! after reaching near hypothermia, we retreated from the encroaching glaciers to a cafe patio in the sun and 90 degree heat and humidity, ordering hot toddies to regain feeling in our limbs.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
have you heard this yet?
my all time favorite group, zero 7 has released another stunning album:
it features the usual suspects, plus jose gonzales, which surprised and enthralled me in the first track. a few months ago, i just happened to come across him on myspace, and the song of his that i adore is 'crosses,' which is remixed and featured at the end.
it features the usual suspects, plus jose gonzales, which surprised and enthralled me in the first track. a few months ago, i just happened to come across him on myspace, and the song of his that i adore is 'crosses,' which is remixed and featured at the end. i listened to it all last week and couldn't stand to be interrupted so when my 45 year old skeevy intern (yes, someone unloaded the creep onto me, and it's obvious why) came in to bother me like he does every five minutes i perfected the universal sign for "i can't hear you!" which goes like this:
1) shake your head in a "no"
2) point to your blaring headphones
3) shrug and turn around
so this album is a wee bit different than the others, a really new sound which reminds me a bit of stereolab. each song is a little weird and unique, but blend wonderfully together for a really great album you should hear all the way thru. i left the CD in the stereo for my roommmate (we put little 3 CD mixes in for eachother, picking each one to play in order so when you press power, you always have a nice surprise in store - i picked zero 7 to go with madonna's 'music' adn rjd2 to finish off) but it turns out her favorite song is mine too: "pageant of the bizarre" which has a few different parts (the take a chance on me segment is excellent), we also just love the first lyrics, which perfectly describe both our lives:
It's never gonna be
Normal, you and me
What you're signing on for
Is a storm at sea
so true.
Monday, July 10, 2006
i have a drinking problem?
this weekend i went to 7 different bars and got kicked out of three. two incidents involved cake. in my face. there were mexican wrestling masks and frisbees. i lost my ATM card. if i piece together the fragments of my memory correctly, we were at a bar and one friend shows up out of nowhere with some birthday cake. my roommate smashes it into my face and deep into my ear and as i wipe my eyes, i see the innocent cake-bringer getting ushered out the door by a team of bouncers. i waved from inside as he tried to argue his case. the bartender then turns to me, "all of you need to clean up that mess and leave right now."
i respond, "i completely 100% agree with you....can i have 5 irish car bombs?" and that's the last time i saw my ATM card.
you know that verizon commercial, the one with the guy on the bus who says "you, turn up the music, and you, shake your junk!" well i also vaguely recall one of my friends who as often as possible leads me to such disaster shouting, "hey you! drink that shot, and you! make out with aurelgrooves." and that's how i ended my saturday nite lip wrestling some very, very young dude. the most eerie feeling was coming back the next day to inquire about my missing card and have all the bartenders and bouncers smile sleezily as they now know me, my name and what they think i'm all about...bad, bad alcohol. great, great, weekend...
i respond, "i completely 100% agree with you....can i have 5 irish car bombs?" and that's the last time i saw my ATM card.
you know that verizon commercial, the one with the guy on the bus who says "you, turn up the music, and you, shake your junk!" well i also vaguely recall one of my friends who as often as possible leads me to such disaster shouting, "hey you! drink that shot, and you! make out with aurelgrooves." and that's how i ended my saturday nite lip wrestling some very, very young dude. the most eerie feeling was coming back the next day to inquire about my missing card and have all the bartenders and bouncers smile sleezily as they now know me, my name and what they think i'm all about...bad, bad alcohol. great, great, weekend...
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
who are they calling freaky?
yes, i saw my first DC july 4th fireworks from a ghetto rooftop in NE.
far more fascinating were the dudes blowing up huge firecrackers across the street...at a gas station. it was all very baghdad. nonetheless i'm very happy no one grabbed my shoulders and pretended to push me off the ledge to scare me, because i hate it when people do that, and because it was a rickety rooftop, and because my legs were dangling over the edge, and because i was pretty drunk.
far more fascinating were the dudes blowing up huge firecrackers across the street...at a gas station. it was all very baghdad. nonetheless i'm very happy no one grabbed my shoulders and pretended to push me off the ledge to scare me, because i hate it when people do that, and because it was a rickety rooftop, and because my legs were dangling over the edge, and because i was pretty drunk.
Saturday, July 1, 2006
bad ideas: sake bombs and russial roulette
on friday nite, i was introduced to the sake bomb on perry's roofdeck. the whole idea is definitely good fodder next time i go out for sushi with my parents. i wholeheartedly approve of the methodology, the precarious balancing of the sake cup on the chopsticks over a beer, and a hulk smash of the table to drop it in, the fizzle, and the chugging. and the agility involved should be a safeguard against overdrinking - i.e. if you don't have the coordination to set the next shot up, then you're not drinking it. the ultimate 'check and balance.' what i had not anticipated however, was the brazen lack of fiscal responsibility that overwhelmed me, after three courses of sushi, enough beer bottles and sake to cover the table twice over, when i picked up the half-grand check for our table of six: me and 5 much wealthier-than-me gentlemen.
it seemed like the odds were definitely in my favor for a little credit card roulette.
as a waitress, i always wanted to choose someone's demise, this seemed like a wonderful opportunity to risk the game. think about it - there was only 1/6 chance that my card would actually get picked, and if it did, well, i'm the one cute, broke girl with all these guys in ties or linen shirts- clearly their chivalry would prevail and save me. so we threw the deck into someone's hat, called the waitress over and let the games begin...one by one...a male name was called. my blood pressure dropped as each dude stoop up and cheered, high fived the others. the waitress calmly pulled out everyone's card, ultimately being saved the arduous task of pronouncing my unpronounceable name. as she held up my bank of america debit card (that money is so gone!) to take to the register i looked desperately to my dinner mates who replied "well it was your idea to go out for a fancy dinner!" and the truth was spoken.
yes, as a matter of fact, it was my idea, after retrieving one of my friends at the airport in his suit, i suggested that we use his style to our advantage get some grub somewhere other than the asylum for once. i was my idea to match his stylin' and dress in heels and a fancy new necklace for a night out on the town. and dammit, it was my idea to play credit card roulette. i curse you, sake bombs!
BUT, like everything, there's the positive side. i take this to be an investment strategy, like how as a rule, i always buy the first round of drinks of the night and subsequently get the rest of my night's drinks paid for because "i bought the first round, remember?" guarantees at least the next six...which is a very economical plan. as such, i intend on working my debt out of each any everyone of them...with interest...for a good long time...(remember perry's? i need another maker's on the rocks...) and in the end, i will prevail. really.
it seemed like the odds were definitely in my favor for a little credit card roulette.
as a waitress, i always wanted to choose someone's demise, this seemed like a wonderful opportunity to risk the game. think about it - there was only 1/6 chance that my card would actually get picked, and if it did, well, i'm the one cute, broke girl with all these guys in ties or linen shirts- clearly their chivalry would prevail and save me. so we threw the deck into someone's hat, called the waitress over and let the games begin...one by one...a male name was called. my blood pressure dropped as each dude stoop up and cheered, high fived the others. the waitress calmly pulled out everyone's card, ultimately being saved the arduous task of pronouncing my unpronounceable name. as she held up my bank of america debit card (that money is so gone!) to take to the register i looked desperately to my dinner mates who replied "well it was your idea to go out for a fancy dinner!" and the truth was spoken.
yes, as a matter of fact, it was my idea, after retrieving one of my friends at the airport in his suit, i suggested that we use his style to our advantage get some grub somewhere other than the asylum for once. i was my idea to match his stylin' and dress in heels and a fancy new necklace for a night out on the town. and dammit, it was my idea to play credit card roulette. i curse you, sake bombs!
BUT, like everything, there's the positive side. i take this to be an investment strategy, like how as a rule, i always buy the first round of drinks of the night and subsequently get the rest of my night's drinks paid for because "i bought the first round, remember?" guarantees at least the next six...which is a very economical plan. as such, i intend on working my debt out of each any everyone of them...with interest...for a good long time...(remember perry's? i need another maker's on the rocks...) and in the end, i will prevail. really.
Friday, June 30, 2006
we're not in DC anymore
so how do i explain this...after being released from the controls of my ex at the beginning of the year, i since reconnected with all my wild and crazy friends, several of which who were going through the same tough breakup process. so that was always the apparent reason for the endless nights with physical antics that got us kicked out of bars, throwing frisbees out of car windows, etc...
i figured our juvenile bordlerine public menace behaviour would die down sooner or later and our age would catch up with us. but quite frankly it hasn't. the changing seasons only seem to have made it even worse. and not only that, we have recruited my new boyfriend who fully condones, if not perpetuates our exploration of the truly disgusting undrinkable shot, smashing things into hair and face, throwing delicate objects, whathaveyou. thus, i fully prepared myself for a long, eventful night out in manhattan last friday with the new bf, bringing along only the bare minimum of accessories, wearing confortable shoes, mentally preparing myself for the next day text apology etc...
our night followed a logical stream of events, drinking within eye-shot of police officers, riding a tassled, pedalless, flat-tired purple toddler's bike which we rescued from a chinatown dumpster and parking it proudly next to a shiny vespa in front of our bar destination, breaking and/or stealing tall german beer glasses, mocking everyone in sight, and making utter fools of ourselves on the dance floor. typical really. so when i came across a roll of toilet paper left on a lounge couch (?), i thought it perfectly logical to ambush one of my high school friends and re-enact that eventful night when we wrapped every tree in his yard with charmin before the ghastly rains of prom night. on my haunches, standing on a coffee table, ready to pounce and mummify, to my utmost suprise, boyfriend calmly took the roll from my hands, held my wrists at my side, and said, "cherie, this is not DC. new york is not just ready for you yet." i locked eyes with the glaring 300 pound bouncer and realized he was right, so right. and that's only one of the reasons that makes dc so special; in the capital, it's almost like you're with family, whereas new york is a vast unfriendly jungle with so many rules. then someone knocked over a tall beer stein and as fluid dynamics would have it, a fierce stream of pilsner went straight up my nose.
luckily, i had a roll of toilet paper in my hands.
i figured our juvenile bordlerine public menace behaviour would die down sooner or later and our age would catch up with us. but quite frankly it hasn't. the changing seasons only seem to have made it even worse. and not only that, we have recruited my new boyfriend who fully condones, if not perpetuates our exploration of the truly disgusting undrinkable shot, smashing things into hair and face, throwing delicate objects, whathaveyou. thus, i fully prepared myself for a long, eventful night out in manhattan last friday with the new bf, bringing along only the bare minimum of accessories, wearing confortable shoes, mentally preparing myself for the next day text apology etc...
our night followed a logical stream of events, drinking within eye-shot of police officers, riding a tassled, pedalless, flat-tired purple toddler's bike which we rescued from a chinatown dumpster and parking it proudly next to a shiny vespa in front of our bar destination, breaking and/or stealing tall german beer glasses, mocking everyone in sight, and making utter fools of ourselves on the dance floor. typical really. so when i came across a roll of toilet paper left on a lounge couch (?), i thought it perfectly logical to ambush one of my high school friends and re-enact that eventful night when we wrapped every tree in his yard with charmin before the ghastly rains of prom night. on my haunches, standing on a coffee table, ready to pounce and mummify, to my utmost suprise, boyfriend calmly took the roll from my hands, held my wrists at my side, and said, "cherie, this is not DC. new york is not just ready for you yet." i locked eyes with the glaring 300 pound bouncer and realized he was right, so right. and that's only one of the reasons that makes dc so special; in the capital, it's almost like you're with family, whereas new york is a vast unfriendly jungle with so many rules. then someone knocked over a tall beer stein and as fluid dynamics would have it, a fierce stream of pilsner went straight up my nose.
luckily, i had a roll of toilet paper in my hands.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
when you're sick, clean!
one thing i do when i'm sick, or feeling down, is clean. like a metaphor of my intestines, i scrubbed all the nastiness out of the tub this morning, the grit between the tiles and vacuumed the little spaces between the carpet and the walls. i think it helps both the brain and the body to do something physical to get better. i murphy's oiled the hardwood floors too, first time ever. so then, when you feel better you have this wonderful surprise of a clean, sparkling apartment waiting for your entrance into health.
same goes when you throw a party, always clean up as much as you can before you go to bed, because when you're drunk, it can even be fun, and since your senses are dulled, it doesn't feel as gross or as much of a chore. and heck, you often don't even remember doing it. after my last party, i stumbled up the stairs into the kitchen, and i noticed, wow, i can barely tell there was a party here, who cleaned up?
"you did."
and so when you get better after feeling like crap, you can look around at cleanliness, sense a good feeling in your body and think, wow, who helped me get over this?
same goes when you throw a party, always clean up as much as you can before you go to bed, because when you're drunk, it can even be fun, and since your senses are dulled, it doesn't feel as gross or as much of a chore. and heck, you often don't even remember doing it. after my last party, i stumbled up the stairs into the kitchen, and i noticed, wow, i can barely tell there was a party here, who cleaned up?
"you did."
and so when you get better after feeling like crap, you can look around at cleanliness, sense a good feeling in your body and think, wow, who helped me get over this?
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
who wants whale?
now this in interesting...why on earth would countries like Mongolia (land-locked!) and Dominica (self-proclaimed 'green' island?) vote to overturn the moratorium on commercial whaling? now, i did once think that perhaps a well-managed whale fishery might make sense given the current state of affairs, but recent shit has come to light, man. first of all, the japanese demand for whale meat is decreasing. so wtf? what is the point of a fishery at all? why are they obviously buying votes from other nations with no whaling interests?
secondly, it seems whales are far more valuable alive for their economic benefits from whale watching and tourism in the Caribbean, Atlantic and Pacific, than chopped up and frozen, or killed under the guise of scientific research...even in Iceland, another active whaling country which defies the moratorium anyway. so WTF?
okay, so i guess people are concerned that whales eat a lot of fish, you know, they said that for seals too, somehow justifying a reason to club them. yeah, whales eat krill and fish, and so do a lot of other things, that's not a good enough reason for removing a species (especially in such a cruel manner) from the planet..they're there for a reason, like sharks and turtles, they might not be 'convenient' for our greedy desires, as we compete with them for resources, but dammit, it's not OUR ocean.
so it looks like the US might jump into the ring* for a little tag-team action. it's about friggin' time. embargos on pro-whaling countries might also be a good idea, like stopping cruise ships** from porting at grenada and saint kitts ..but in the end, maybe instead of chasing terrorists into their holes we should be concerned with the potential collapse of a major food and money source for the entire world- our oceans.
*btw, nice shout-out to my Duke professor - i recall one student's project looking at how whales avoid oil rigs...between that and deafening navy sonar, the poor bastards have nowhere to go!
**then again, while cruise ships are $good$ they're also bad, a blessing and a curse...
secondly, it seems whales are far more valuable alive for their economic benefits from whale watching and tourism in the Caribbean, Atlantic and Pacific, than chopped up and frozen, or killed under the guise of scientific research...even in Iceland, another active whaling country which defies the moratorium anyway. so WTF?
okay, so i guess people are concerned that whales eat a lot of fish, you know, they said that for seals too, somehow justifying a reason to club them. yeah, whales eat krill and fish, and so do a lot of other things, that's not a good enough reason for removing a species (especially in such a cruel manner) from the planet..they're there for a reason, like sharks and turtles, they might not be 'convenient' for our greedy desires, as we compete with them for resources, but dammit, it's not OUR ocean.
so it looks like the US might jump into the ring* for a little tag-team action. it's about friggin' time. embargos on pro-whaling countries might also be a good idea, like stopping cruise ships** from porting at grenada and saint kitts ..but in the end, maybe instead of chasing terrorists into their holes we should be concerned with the potential collapse of a major food and money source for the entire world- our oceans.
*btw, nice shout-out to my Duke professor - i recall one student's project looking at how whales avoid oil rigs...between that and deafening navy sonar, the poor bastards have nowhere to go!
**then again, while cruise ships are $good$ they're also bad, a blessing and a curse...
Monday, June 26, 2006
sit down and shut up!
so i was going to write about this awesome chinese buffet i went to on friday with my office, where i scraped the ocean floor onto my plate, but instead, i'll tell you about my night spent in the hospital with food poisoning, an awful experience compounded by an atrocious hospital which made me question whether i was still in the states.
after violently puking up blood for about 2 and a half hours in front of stunned residents of the GWU waiting room outside the ER, i shuddered and collapsed onto the cold tile floor, which actually relaxed my back and soothed my spasming insides for a dream moment...when a security guard immediately towered over me and ordered me to sit in the uncomfortable chair with armrest with the tone one would talk to a disorderly drunk. as i slowly tried to figure out what was going, the way i was moving my mouth wasn't able to explain the misery of my situation, he ended my attempt at conversation with "sit down, and shut up!" my neighbor who brought me in stepped in, telling him she had asked for a reclining chair an hour earlier, which fell on deaf ears. i then darted, as fast i could to the ONLY bathroom as my insides felt ready to explode...it was occupied. i wandered and found a room with a couch and managed to zone out for a few minutes, forgetting the crushing pain and nausea when the same security guard came back and told i wasn't allowed to be here, that the room was for prayer only (i guess i had found the chapel) - i told him i was praying, praying that a doctor would see me soon, praying for the strength the endure when he scoffed, accused me of "fabricating" but not telling me why i couldn't stay when the room exploded with more security guards, nurses, secretaries, a scene which overflowed into the waiting room with ridiculous shouts and screams, i had never seen anything like it. really, i wasn't doing anybody any harm by quietly sitting...and everyone was angry, yelling. in the middle of this atrocious scene a feel a tap on my shoulder, a friend of the ex, whom i had ironically seen earlier in georgetown and ran away from, as i usually do, it was all a whirlwind, when a nurse finally came over with a laz-y-boy and then embarked on a guilt trip telling me she had a trauma patient that might not make it - and then proceeded to detail facts about his accident - right in front of his waiting girlfriend who had been hours without news. talk about professional!
the ordeal continued and when i was finally admitted, spent the night going in and out of sleep, or trying at least, while i got a back door fingerblast, oooh that was fun, blood tests...at one point they blocked my room with a stretcher with a passed out student on it, preventing me from getting to the bathroom to vomit some more...i had one of the homeless drunks move her, and when i was able to exit, i was in the middle of a sea of drunks. some guys in handcuffs, puking on themselves. after hours of wandering around in my buttless robe searching for some water to drink (the vending machine ate my dollar, leaving me parched and sobbing against the lghts of a mountain dew ad). on my way back, i came across my nurse on a computer checking email. did you get my blood tests back? oh right...you have food poisoning...you can go home, just drink lots of water. gee thanks!
is this really what our health care system has dissolved into? i've seen better attention to patients in france, canada (socialized health care sounds good to me), even panama...we're supposed to be the best in the world. but i saw nothing but disgruntled cranky overworked employees with little or no compassion. so here's to a weekend of gatorade, soccer and not being able to do any of the things i had planned, and wondering what kind of world we live in...
after violently puking up blood for about 2 and a half hours in front of stunned residents of the GWU waiting room outside the ER, i shuddered and collapsed onto the cold tile floor, which actually relaxed my back and soothed my spasming insides for a dream moment...when a security guard immediately towered over me and ordered me to sit in the uncomfortable chair with armrest with the tone one would talk to a disorderly drunk. as i slowly tried to figure out what was going, the way i was moving my mouth wasn't able to explain the misery of my situation, he ended my attempt at conversation with "sit down, and shut up!" my neighbor who brought me in stepped in, telling him she had asked for a reclining chair an hour earlier, which fell on deaf ears. i then darted, as fast i could to the ONLY bathroom as my insides felt ready to explode...it was occupied. i wandered and found a room with a couch and managed to zone out for a few minutes, forgetting the crushing pain and nausea when the same security guard came back and told i wasn't allowed to be here, that the room was for prayer only (i guess i had found the chapel) - i told him i was praying, praying that a doctor would see me soon, praying for the strength the endure when he scoffed, accused me of "fabricating" but not telling me why i couldn't stay when the room exploded with more security guards, nurses, secretaries, a scene which overflowed into the waiting room with ridiculous shouts and screams, i had never seen anything like it. really, i wasn't doing anybody any harm by quietly sitting...and everyone was angry, yelling. in the middle of this atrocious scene a feel a tap on my shoulder, a friend of the ex, whom i had ironically seen earlier in georgetown and ran away from, as i usually do, it was all a whirlwind, when a nurse finally came over with a laz-y-boy and then embarked on a guilt trip telling me she had a trauma patient that might not make it - and then proceeded to detail facts about his accident - right in front of his waiting girlfriend who had been hours without news. talk about professional!
the ordeal continued and when i was finally admitted, spent the night going in and out of sleep, or trying at least, while i got a back door fingerblast, oooh that was fun, blood tests...at one point they blocked my room with a stretcher with a passed out student on it, preventing me from getting to the bathroom to vomit some more...i had one of the homeless drunks move her, and when i was able to exit, i was in the middle of a sea of drunks. some guys in handcuffs, puking on themselves. after hours of wandering around in my buttless robe searching for some water to drink (the vending machine ate my dollar, leaving me parched and sobbing against the lghts of a mountain dew ad). on my way back, i came across my nurse on a computer checking email. did you get my blood tests back? oh right...you have food poisoning...you can go home, just drink lots of water. gee thanks!
is this really what our health care system has dissolved into? i've seen better attention to patients in france, canada (socialized health care sounds good to me), even panama...we're supposed to be the best in the world. but i saw nothing but disgruntled cranky overworked employees with little or no compassion. so here's to a weekend of gatorade, soccer and not being able to do any of the things i had planned, and wondering what kind of world we live in...
discount lunch plan
so this here advanced technology has found a flaw in my discount lunch plan at the Giant supermarket. (Giant refers to the brand name of the store, not it's actual size, btw). i bought a bunch of apples on sale for 99cents/lb and threw in a bunch of super fancy organic apricots ad plums as a treat. when i typed in the code for granny smith apples, the machine says "este articulo requiere ayuda!" (always choose spanish for the angry voice, and because no one will know what you're trying to do). but the machine knows about my fruit! and the light above my aisle started blinking and a big fat old Giant employee (actually, in this case, 'Giant' described her size as well) came and scolded me for mixing my fruit and stayed while i punched in different codes for everything. it call came out to over 15 bucks. but what i want to know is, how does the machine know that the items in my bag are different size and densities? does it see or feel varied shapes? is there a human inside there? technology such as this will never cease to amaze me.
**oh, and special thanks to the express for a shout-out yesterday...i love that paper. i would read it more if i didn't get the washington post delivered to my door everyday, for almost free (and express, you've got two crossword puzzles and a style section to compete with).if i start biking to work again, i'll be lost...lost...
**oh, and special thanks to the express for a shout-out yesterday...i love that paper. i would read it more if i didn't get the washington post delivered to my door everyday, for almost free (and express, you've got two crossword puzzles and a style section to compete with).if i start biking to work again, i'll be lost...lost...
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
bay bridge gotcha down?
so if you’re driving out to any of the
The sandwich menu is dazzling with beef and brie on baguette, hummus and feta on ciabatta, reubens and tuna melts – all on fresh baked breads. REAL baguette people, none of this sourdough crap! I heard a lot of people in there speaking french, though a funny sort of francais that I couldn’t exactly pinpoint – their twang wasn’t signature
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
my cat hates me
my cat still isn't speaking to me. i walk up to her kindly, softly, whispering her name, dangling fresh smoked salmon and offering to scratch her in her favorite spots under her chin or behind her ears but she just runs and hides. meanwhile, the 17 year old mangy bag of bones excuse for a cat that my friend is taking care of...well it just loves me. sure it smells like a barn animal, has lumpy crusty patchy fur, oozes liquid out of every orifice - be it eyes, nose, ears, mouth, ass or its last injection site...thus the nickname "leaky." it's sad to even look at, its eyes barely focused, sitting and shaking on its haunches because any other position is too painful. i know it's just asking the world to put it out of its misery. the inuit die with dignity, but this thing...ok maybe the making neck snapping, noose off the balcony, kitty car in a garage jokes was taking it a bit too far but seriously tho, the thing is miserable. and it stinks.
Tuesday, June 6, 2006
al gore is boring, but makes good movie
so during our last dinner in seattle, the topic of global warming, which has been increasingly on the people's mindwaves came up and my host said, "fuckit, let's go see what al gore has to say." and we walked to the theater to check it out. dubbed "one of the best powerpoint presentations you'll ever see" it was not without its charm: simpson's references (greehouse gwasses?), a few pokes at the current administration and some decent science for the masses. however, i could have done without the 45 minutes of footage of al's profile and his imac, approximating some sort of political apple commercial. the ending with his tall manish outline in a spotlight was a bit too egotastical, though the overarching theme i felt was "damn, why couldn't this guy be our president??" we would be so much better off in so many more ways than climate change awareness.
i truly hope the right people go see this though, as there are still plenty of folks who just don't believe there is any evidence of climate change - even though it's overwhelming. and yes, even me as a scientician, i'll admit that i still have some reservations as to the real connection between human-produced CO2 and quickly warming temperatures, however, the facts are crystal clear: the earth is indeed warming and it's quickly going to be a sad, sad state of affairs around here in the very near future. and there are many things we can do about it. to start, reduce your footprint (carbon and ecological), if not for an overall improvement in quality of life for all of us on this overcrowded planet, but for your own conscience.
i truly hope the right people go see this though, as there are still plenty of folks who just don't believe there is any evidence of climate change - even though it's overwhelming. and yes, even me as a scientician, i'll admit that i still have some reservations as to the real connection between human-produced CO2 and quickly warming temperatures, however, the facts are crystal clear: the earth is indeed warming and it's quickly going to be a sad, sad state of affairs around here in the very near future. and there are many things we can do about it. to start, reduce your footprint (carbon and ecological), if not for an overall improvement in quality of life for all of us on this overcrowded planet, but for your own conscience.
Monday, June 5, 2006
one for my fallen homies
Just got back from a day long haul around Vancouver island with some colleagues...we probably only covered a mere 15% of what’s here. When the car rental guy hooked me up with an SUV I crinkled my nose at the gas prices, but it saved us today, when I got us lost on logging roads for about 4 hours, my passengers silent, praying for us to make it back to civilization. We were at lake Cowachan, the largest lake on the island and wanted to see it in all its glory. We headed around the south side, I was eager to explore some dirt roads when suddenly, we were amidst the wilderness…a beautiful clear blue wavy lake on one side, breathtaking mountains all around, snow-capped peaks…only the landscape was scarred by giant slabs of forest that sheared off into clear cuts. Giant wounds, covered by dirt, stumps and branch piles. 
It was breathtaking…breathtakingly sad. We sped along, speechless at the simoultaneous natural beauty and anthropogenic disease, periodically blinded by the dust and deafened by the sound 18-wheelers speeding by at a warp speed with loads of trees, trunks as wide as our puny ford escape. I could barely keep the car on the road at 40 mph, and these guys were blowing by at twice our speed in an endless convoy. The cute young girl at the tourist office had warned us about these trucks, subcontracted drivers who have no regard for local traffic, the growing resentment towards these large faceless corporations who rule the lands around town like midievel kings.
And then my mind shuffled back to grad school, when I studied the socio-economics of British Columbia, with literacy, poverty, unemployment and environmental disregard alarmingly similar to developing nations who clear their forests faster than they can replant them. Over 70% of B.C.’s old growth forests are leased for logging. The province’s main natural resource, home to the few remaining temperate rainforests and all its associated species (we saw a confused black bear crossing the road at one point, seemingly oblivious to us – cars are nothing new to these animals) is rented to international firms for logging, these companies who have no stake in local communities or economics simply clear the land as they please and move on when there’s nothing left. Unlike in the U.S., where we have regulations on riparian buffers, slope, and replanting that limit where and how we clear and manage forests, in Canada it appears to be a free-for-all. An antiquated perspective of an unlimited resource. Simply frightening. And so we sped along miles and miles of these roads that sliced beautiful forests into pieces. Every panorama I wanted to capture on camera was marred by this overwhelming evidence of human abuse. And it went on and on and on until finally I just decided to keep heading west and we finally reached the sea, with the amazing ridge line of Washington state across the water, not so far away.
And then it’s back to the conference tomorrow…to learn of crashing salmon stocks, decreasing water quality, warming oceans…Canada, just like the US, no matter where you go, just isn’t so natural and pristine anymore. boo.
It was breathtaking…breathtakingly sad. We sped along, speechless at the simoultaneous natural beauty and anthropogenic disease, periodically blinded by the dust and deafened by the sound 18-wheelers speeding by at a warp speed with loads of trees, trunks as wide as our puny ford escape. I could barely keep the car on the road at 40 mph, and these guys were blowing by at twice our speed in an endless convoy. The cute young girl at the tourist office had warned us about these trucks, subcontracted drivers who have no regard for local traffic, the growing resentment towards these large faceless corporations who rule the lands around town like midievel kings. And then my mind shuffled back to grad school, when I studied the socio-economics of British Columbia, with literacy, poverty, unemployment and environmental disregard alarmingly similar to developing nations who clear their forests faster than they can replant them. Over 70% of B.C.’s old growth forests are leased for logging. The province’s main natural resource, home to the few remaining temperate rainforests and all its associated species (we saw a confused black bear crossing the road at one point, seemingly oblivious to us – cars are nothing new to these animals) is rented to international firms for logging, these companies who have no stake in local communities or economics simply clear the land as they please and move on when there’s nothing left. Unlike in the U.S., where we have regulations on riparian buffers, slope, and replanting that limit where and how we clear and manage forests, in Canada it appears to be a free-for-all. An antiquated perspective of an unlimited resource. Simply frightening. And so we sped along miles and miles of these roads that sliced beautiful forests into pieces. Every panorama I wanted to capture on camera was marred by this overwhelming evidence of human abuse. And it went on and on and on until finally I just decided to keep heading west and we finally reached the sea, with the amazing ridge line of Washington state across the water, not so far away.
And then it’s back to the conference tomorrow…to learn of crashing salmon stocks, decreasing water quality, warming oceans…Canada, just like the US, no matter where you go, just isn’t so natural and pristine anymore. boo.
Friday, June 2, 2006
sasquatch has good taste
i wanted to steal this sign and put it in front of the babyGap downtown but didn't...
Thursday, June 1, 2006
that's a houseboat for ya
so the funny thing about victoria, canada is that at the super market (called the country grocer, which is having huge specials for "bucaneer days" btw), well, the produce sucks. merely rotten tomatoes, peaches that are more expensive than 20 gallons of gas (tho they call it petrol here), wilted spinach, nasty legumes in general...but then you go to the fish aisle and it's just nutty: fresh halibut, snapper, five types of salmon you would give an eye for at the whole foods...so i decded to make some fish tacos, which, according to my guests were "the best fish tacos i've ever tasted, in my life, REALLY" (patting myself on the back). i made some fruity mango/expensive peach salsa, served it with some french salad, cheap red wine and it was a party. now the halibut had some fierce bones in it, and the snapper still had the skin and as i was carving out all the inedible pieces, grouping them into a stinky pile and looking at the sink drain which i had assumed was equipped with a garbage disposal...which was stinking this place to high heaven...when i thought, duh, aurelgrooves, you're on a houseboat silly - there's tons of animal life just begging for your scraps, and i slid open the window, tossed out some bits of fish and veggies to the little waves where a seal head was just poking out minutes before...and within seconds, there was a full on massacre between gulls, marine mammals, fish...it was amazing. really, the most efficient garbage disposal i have ever encountered.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
lefties!
ok, it's about time i wrote about this.
i've met six new lefties in as many days (uzbeki is one of them).
interesting facts about lefties:
-People who are left-handed are technically said to be sinistral, and left-handedness is sometimes referred to as sinistrality. Both words derive from sinister, the Latin word for “left”. This word in turn derives from sinus, the Latin word for “pocket” referring to the fact that the pocket in a Roman toga was on the left side, for the convenience of a right-handed wearer.
-about 10% of the human population is left-handed...
-more males are lefty than females (i'm even more rare!)
-left handed people are better at fighting without weapons because of the "surprise" factor. (i love it!)
-in many parts of the world, such as Indonesia, it is considered impolite to eat and accept gifts with the left hand. Romans also frowned upon lefties. (bastards!)
-Ciotog is an Irish language word used to describe left-handed people. It derives from the Irish word Ciotog which means 'Strange Person'. (awesome)
-there's a theory that lefties are more intelligent and creative (toldja so)
-Studies have shown that there is a correlation between committing sexual crimes against children and being left-handed (boo)
famous lefties:
-George W. H. Bush AND Bill Clinton AND Ross Perot! all three 1992 candidates!
-Ben Franklin
-Napoleon
-Julius Caesar (ha, even tho it was frowned upon!)
-Abu Musab al-Zarqawi and Osama Bin Laden (really, do we know that for sure?)
-Da Vinci and Escher and Michaelangelo
-50 cent! Bob Dylan, Art Garfunkel, Isaac Hayes (just to name a few, there are many, many more)
-Woody Allen, Matthew Broderick AND Sarah Jessica Parker, Charlie Chaplan, Robert DeNiro (i knew that, actually), Freddie Prinze Jr., Keanu Reeves, Jerry Seinfeld, Sylvester Stallone, Hillary Swank, Alan Thicke (i know his banker), Marky Mark, Oprah
-John McEnroe, Bill Gates, JFK, Jay Leno, Ken Jennings (jeopardy man)
so now you have something to talk about next time you see them. As for me, i'll be inviting them over for the biggest lefty bash ever. wow.
i've met six new lefties in as many days (uzbeki is one of them).
interesting facts about lefties:
-People who are left-handed are technically said to be sinistral, and left-handedness is sometimes referred to as sinistrality. Both words derive from sinister, the Latin word for “left”. This word in turn derives from sinus, the Latin word for “pocket” referring to the fact that the pocket in a Roman toga was on the left side, for the convenience of a right-handed wearer.
-about 10% of the human population is left-handed...
-more males are lefty than females (i'm even more rare!)
-left handed people are better at fighting without weapons because of the "surprise" factor. (i love it!)
-in many parts of the world, such as Indonesia, it is considered impolite to eat and accept gifts with the left hand. Romans also frowned upon lefties. (bastards!)
-Ciotog is an Irish language word used to describe left-handed people. It derives from the Irish word Ciotog which means 'Strange Person'. (awesome)
-there's a theory that lefties are more intelligent and creative (toldja so)
-Studies have shown that there is a correlation between committing sexual crimes against children and being left-handed (boo)
famous lefties:
-George W. H. Bush AND Bill Clinton AND Ross Perot! all three 1992 candidates!
-Ben Franklin
-Napoleon
-Julius Caesar (ha, even tho it was frowned upon!)
-Abu Musab al-Zarqawi and Osama Bin Laden (really, do we know that for sure?)
-Da Vinci and Escher and Michaelangelo
-50 cent! Bob Dylan, Art Garfunkel, Isaac Hayes (just to name a few, there are many, many more)
-Woody Allen, Matthew Broderick AND Sarah Jessica Parker, Charlie Chaplan, Robert DeNiro (i knew that, actually), Freddie Prinze Jr., Keanu Reeves, Jerry Seinfeld, Sylvester Stallone, Hillary Swank, Alan Thicke (i know his banker), Marky Mark, Oprah
-John McEnroe, Bill Gates, JFK, Jay Leno, Ken Jennings (jeopardy man)
so now you have something to talk about next time you see them. As for me, i'll be inviting them over for the biggest lefty bash ever. wow.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
bob dole is a lefty
so i partied it up with the honorable senator bob dole the other night, and his chauffeur, wilber.
but in the brief time we hung out i found out that:
bob dole likes: vodka, sinatra
bob dole dislikes: cross-dressers, jay-z
but the moral of the story is that he's a lefty...sorta not by choice, but a lefty nonetheless.
don't they look so super psyched for this picture? (in reality, i said something very stupid and inappropriate).
so yeah, i guess he's pretty much the biggest celebrity i've actually had a chance to talk to, is that sad? though i did meet andy rooney when i was 12, and when i asked if i could get a picture with him he replied, "do i have a choice?" and i answered, "no." and that was that.
but in the brief time we hung out i found out that:
bob dole likes: vodka, sinatra
bob dole dislikes: cross-dressers, jay-z
but the moral of the story is that he's a lefty...sorta not by choice, but a lefty nonetheless.
Friday, May 26, 2006
you know you're in north virginia when...
-you are immersed in a sea of upturned collars
-you are deafened by the noise of FLIP FLOP FLIP FLOP
-manicured sidewalks punctuated by sod and flowers
-the trees that line the street are all skinny
-you have to park in a garage or a mall
-it looks like a brochure from an airplane magazine - like when they showcase some new town
-drinks are never an integer dollar value, it's always $5.73, $4.49 - evidence that you're drinking at a franchise, where they can't expect their employees or customers to be good at math
-guys think it's perfectly normal to ask about/guess the color of a woman's panties.
-you are deafened by the noise of FLIP FLOP FLIP FLOP
-manicured sidewalks punctuated by sod and flowers
-the trees that line the street are all skinny
-you have to park in a garage or a mall
-it looks like a brochure from an airplane magazine - like when they showcase some new town
-drinks are never an integer dollar value, it's always $5.73, $4.49 - evidence that you're drinking at a franchise, where they can't expect their employees or customers to be good at math
-guys think it's perfectly normal to ask about/guess the color of a woman's panties.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
congratulations
so in my office, every thursday we sit around 5 pints of ben and jerry's and talk shit during something known as "the contractor meeting." every few meetings or so, larry, the contractor meeting organizer/ice cream purchaser brings in a cake for a special cake party. just like in that seinfeld episode, we celebrate someone's achievement: a new dog, an engagement, publishing a paper or a successful conference call. well in the five years i've been here, there's never been a single cake party for me, while some people are on their second or third cake celebration and so finally, larry comes over to my cube and says, tapping his chin, looking at the ceiling, "you know, i don't think we've ever had a cake party for you [aurelgrooves]"
(no shit, i'm thinking)
"and i'm sure you've had....some sort of achievement this fiscal year...haven't you?"
(2005 totally sucked ass, is that what you're getting at?)
"so go ahead and pick out a cake"
and he drops a cakelove pamphlet on my desk (they have a store in silver spring, btw).
now i've been waiting five years for this, i'm not going to get some overpriced, calorie-fileld repeat of jenny's summer vacation picture cake party. no way.
i will so show them.
so i summoned my team of chefs to chief ike's and asked what the turn around could be on a special cake order. it just so happens my brother has a spongebob squarepants cake mold, and my other chef friend has an ice cream maker at the restaurant. we proceeded to devise the weirdest, strangest cake and ice cream combination we could come up with that people will just have to eat...and here it is: root beer and pomegranate ice cream (pom is still all the rage, yknow - then again rhubarb was all over the food section today), served with some sort of savory cheese tart, and my crowning achievement whatever it is, written in none other than bacon bits on spongebob's square tummy. the only question that remains however, is, what is my big achievement? yeah, i did in fact release a data cd, lead a big workshop and published some papers but come on, that's boring. i want something both funny, uncomfortable and little unnerving for these geek i work with. so i polled my friends and here are the results:
congratulations aurelgrooves! for:
-finally dumping that lying cheating sleazeball boyfriend!
-you're NOT pregnant!
-4 months being cavity free!
-having such sublime joobs!
-dancing better than 100% of chief ike's patrons!
-seeing your roommate's boyfriend naked!
-doing that really good pterodactyl imitation!
-that your rash has stopped spreading!
or maybe just: congrats for getting your officemates to throw you a lame cake party!
heehee. the brainstorming will continue through memorial day.
(no shit, i'm thinking)
"and i'm sure you've had....some sort of achievement this fiscal year...haven't you?"
(2005 totally sucked ass, is that what you're getting at?)
"so go ahead and pick out a cake"
and he drops a cakelove pamphlet on my desk (they have a store in silver spring, btw).
now i've been waiting five years for this, i'm not going to get some overpriced, calorie-fileld repeat of jenny's summer vacation picture cake party. no way.
i will so show them.
so i summoned my team of chefs to chief ike's and asked what the turn around could be on a special cake order. it just so happens my brother has a spongebob squarepants cake mold, and my other chef friend has an ice cream maker at the restaurant. we proceeded to devise the weirdest, strangest cake and ice cream combination we could come up with that people will just have to eat...and here it is: root beer and pomegranate ice cream (pom is still all the rage, yknow - then again rhubarb was all over the food section today), served with some sort of savory cheese tart, and my crowning achievement whatever it is, written in none other than bacon bits on spongebob's square tummy. the only question that remains however, is, what is my big achievement? yeah, i did in fact release a data cd, lead a big workshop and published some papers but come on, that's boring. i want something both funny, uncomfortable and little unnerving for these geek i work with. so i polled my friends and here are the results:
congratulations aurelgrooves! for:
-finally dumping that lying cheating sleazeball boyfriend!
-you're NOT pregnant!
-4 months being cavity free!
-having such sublime joobs!
-dancing better than 100% of chief ike's patrons!
-seeing your roommate's boyfriend naked!
-doing that really good pterodactyl imitation!
-that your rash has stopped spreading!
or maybe just: congrats for getting your officemates to throw you a lame cake party!
heehee. the brainstorming will continue through memorial day.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
who needs glaciers anyway
i received this email from the people upstairs the other day:
"SILVER SPRING, Md (5/12/06) -- hundreds of concerned citizens and leaders from across the nation will join Hurricane Katrina survivors May 31st just outside of Washington, D.C. to denounce the Bush Administration's cover up of the growing scientific link between monstrous hurricanes and human-induced global warming. Despite a flurry of peer-reviewed scientific studies linking planetary warming to storms like Katrina, leaders at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and the National Hurricane Center (a subset of NOAA) continue to claim with no supporting data -- that the recent hurricane devastation is part of a "natural cycle." Protesters will condemn these responses as an abdication of government responsibility when millions of Americans are increasingly vulnerable to violent storms in a warmer world.
Meanwhile, just since August 2005, no fewer than four major scientific studies; one conducted by NOAA itself have shown that warmer sea-surface temperatures created by atmospheric warming are increasing the frequency, power, and lifespan of major hurricanes. Yet there is no mention of these studies at the National Hurricane Center (NHC) web site despite the agency's official mission to save lives, mitigate property loss, and improve economic efficiency by issuing the best watches, warnings, forecasts and analyses of hazardous tropical weather, and by increasing understanding of these hazards. And NHC director Max Mayfield denied any substantive connection between global warming and hurricanes before a US Senate panel last fall. Meanwhile at NOAA, The Washington Post and other media have documented the ongoing campaign to cover up global warming data. Under the directorship of Bush's friend and political appointee, Vice Admiral Conrad C. Lautenbacher Jr., NOAA climate scientists are being intimidated from talking to the press and their papers are being withheld from publication. These actions at NOAA and the NHC are part of an obvious political campaign orchestrated by the White House to avoid the serious cuts in fossil fuel use scientists say are needed to fight global warming. But by ignoring the science and denying the warming on behalf of Exxon Mobil, the Bush Administration is condemning millions more Americans to the suffering and loss seen throughout the Gulf Coast in 2005. The cover up must stop now! Please make plans to join the May 31st protest and vigil."
next wednesday will be an interesting workday indeed. now i'm not really privied to say if there has been a total 'cover-up' or not at NOAA -global warming climate change has always been a contentious issue in climate research, even before Dubya came to NOAA headquarters to trash the Kyoto protocol and deny our role in global CO2 emissions in front of the very people who struggle daily to prove the tenuous link between americans and the global environment with science. but i will say, hurricanes - all the crazy shit we saw last year - backed up highways, toppled houses, people hiding in astrodomes, stranded on rooftops - it all speaks a hell of a lot more to people than say, coral bleaching or the extinction of polar bears - both of which are pretty friggin' serious but it won't get Geraldo on-site live! or make the headlones for weeks.
i don't know really know what a protest at NOAA can achieve (to be frank, most people in my office are dems, speak ill of the repubs anyway, like how you see so many cartoons in the hallways, poking fun at the dubya and his cronies, always sorta odd to see in a government building), as i think many people within the administration (look at christie todd whitman and her resignation) have already been battling this issue politically for a long time.
so i guess i'll just say this: it's pretty important to scream this issue out loud, it's pretty timely, given the recent press and yeah! al gore's new movie! (the music is scary enough) but let's also decry that we're pretty far from having any significant action to prevent climate change or hurricanes for that matter, for obvious reasons - we can't just change the climate from year to year, and $$$$$. and greed. just look at the inside page of the post today - we are some greedy, fucked up people!).
because in the end, despite all the news and publications, political struggle, what the repubs say in the end about climate change and all that - they spew what seems to come from some pamphlet written by karl rove, or even worse, the frightening, undeniably insane complete lunatics that take the other side:
"Carbon Dioxide - they call it pollution, we call it life" who are these people?
i'll tell you what tho, my softball team cum environmental aggressors wish more than anything that those nutso's had a team we could smash an ozone hole though:
"Cheap Beer, they call it pollution, we call it life"
"SILVER SPRING, Md (5/12/06) -- hundreds of concerned citizens and leaders from across the nation will join Hurricane Katrina survivors May 31st just outside of Washington, D.C. to denounce the Bush Administration's cover up of the growing scientific link between monstrous hurricanes and human-induced global warming. Despite a flurry of peer-reviewed scientific studies linking planetary warming to storms like Katrina, leaders at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and the National Hurricane Center (a subset of NOAA) continue to claim with no supporting data -- that the recent hurricane devastation is part of a "natural cycle." Protesters will condemn these responses as an abdication of government responsibility when millions of Americans are increasingly vulnerable to violent storms in a warmer world.
Meanwhile, just since August 2005, no fewer than four major scientific studies; one conducted by NOAA itself have shown that warmer sea-surface temperatures created by atmospheric warming are increasing the frequency, power, and lifespan of major hurricanes. Yet there is no mention of these studies at the National Hurricane Center (NHC) web site despite the agency's official mission to save lives, mitigate property loss, and improve economic efficiency by issuing the best watches, warnings, forecasts and analyses of hazardous tropical weather, and by increasing understanding of these hazards. And NHC director Max Mayfield denied any substantive connection between global warming and hurricanes before a US Senate panel last fall. Meanwhile at NOAA, The Washington Post and other media have documented the ongoing campaign to cover up global warming data. Under the directorship of Bush's friend and political appointee, Vice Admiral Conrad C. Lautenbacher Jr., NOAA climate scientists are being intimidated from talking to the press and their papers are being withheld from publication. These actions at NOAA and the NHC are part of an obvious political campaign orchestrated by the White House to avoid the serious cuts in fossil fuel use scientists say are needed to fight global warming. But by ignoring the science and denying the warming on behalf of Exxon Mobil, the Bush Administration is condemning millions more Americans to the suffering and loss seen throughout the Gulf Coast in 2005. The cover up must stop now! Please make plans to join the May 31st protest and vigil."
next wednesday will be an interesting workday indeed. now i'm not really privied to say if there has been a total 'cover-up' or not at NOAA -
i don't know really know what a protest at NOAA can achieve (to be frank, most people in my office are dems, speak ill of the repubs anyway, like how you see so many cartoons in the hallways, poking fun at the dubya and his cronies, always sorta odd to see in a government building), as i think many people within the administration (look at christie todd whitman and her resignation) have already been battling this issue politically for a long time.
so i guess i'll just say this: it's pretty important to scream this issue out loud, it's pretty timely, given the recent press and yeah! al gore's new movie! (the music is scary enough) but let's also decry that we're pretty far from having any significant action to prevent climate change or hurricanes for that matter, for obvious reasons - we can't just change the climate from year to year, and $$$$$. and greed. just look at the inside page of the post today - we are some greedy, fucked up people!).
because in the end, despite all the news and publications, political struggle, what the repubs say in the end about climate change and all that - they spew what seems to come from some pamphlet written by karl rove, or even worse, the frightening, undeniably insane complete lunatics that take the other side:
"Carbon Dioxide - they call it pollution, we call it life" who are these people?
i'll tell you what tho, my softball team cum environmental aggressors wish more than anything that those nutso's had a team we could smash an ozone hole though:
"Cheap Beer, they call it pollution, we call it life"
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