Today is April 5th, correct?

So why is it snowing?!? I'm supposed to be in flip-flops, not ear muffs! I'll just add this to my arsenal of "things to look forward to living the SoCal life."

Never mind the weather, there are more important things to discuss. Paula Abdul, for example. As promised, I watched the results show, and I've giving up hoping Sanjaya will be kicked off. I think RKG might be onto something with her theory that Howard Stern's morning promos for votefortheworst.com is a key factor. Also, Janiac made a fair point that if Haley just keeps wearing less fabric on bottom than on top she's going to stick around (but she's got to stop feigning annoyance when Simon comments on her legs). LaKisha is my pick, although I don't understand why she was dressed like a bank teller last night. Melissa Doolittle is clearly the most talented, but she came into the game with a stylist and a vocal coach. I just don't feel like America's taking part in the discovery of some hidden gem. It'd be like putting a 5th grade teacher on Are you smarter than a fifth grader? Plus Melissa's head is a little too much like Guy Smiley's for my liking. And where's her neck? She looks like my Barbies whose heads I accidentally ripped off trying to brush their hair and then tried to smoosh back on.

But back to Paula. I saw the clips from Tuesday night's show. I saw the scarf, but what can I say? Really, Scott, what do you want me to say about her neckerchief? Do you want me to say that she looks like she's a guest judge on Grease: You're the One that I Want and she's getting just a little too into it? Do you want me to suggest that maybe she's spending a big chunk of her Idol paycheck on outpatient therapy and so has been waitressing at a 50s style drive up, girls on roller skates, sock hop diner to pick up some extra cash? It was terrible, it really was, and I bet Simon had to work very hard to restrain himself from grabbing either end of the scarf and pulling until Paula's head popped off. And Steph, I'm not so sure the extension is Jessica Simpson 4 Target, I think it may have just come from one of those mall kiosks where you can buy faux-hair in a myriad of forms - clips, scrunchies, banana combs. Perhaps she picked it up on her way to her interview for the waitressing gig to go with her poodle skirt. What I would really like to say, however, is that I'm proud. I'm just so proud of Paula, proud because for the second week in a row I think she really is sober, and that's something we should all be proud of her for. Maybe the scarf is there to hide a patch that's releasing a slow, regulated dose of oxycontin into her stream so she doesn't go into the DTs on live, national television. Hey, whatever works.

The thermometer might be returning to freezing, but this cold bitchy heart of mine is melting, just a little, for Pabdul. Besides, my favorite fashion critics already gave her a much better fugging than I could ever hope to.

Blog request

I've never gotten one of these before! Apparently my brother-in-law would like me to address Paula's scarf, while my sister "would like to see something in regards to that nasty ass Jessica Simpson for Target looking hair extension that she's sporting as a ponytail this week." (personal communication with sister, 4/4/07)

Sadly, I didn't see AI last night. I don't even know if Paula's still on the wagon. Damn you, teaching responsibilities! Oh, how I wish I could deliver. I feel as if I've failed both as an in-law and as a blogger. I pledge to my readers to have my caboose parked on the couch for the results show tonight and report back with something catty and cynical tomorrow. We all know we can count on Paula for an endless supply of material.

Couldn't have said it better myself

... And Patronize Our Vendors

A tourist mom with three teens in tow halts in the middle of the block, causing two suits and several other people to crash into them.

Suit #1: For the love of God, move, you idiots! There are people walking behind you!
Tourist mom: You don't have to be so rude!
Suit #2: He's rude? You clearly see this is a busy sidewalk, and yet you stop dead in the middle and block all traffic!
Tourist mom: He didn't have to say it so rude -- we are not from around here!
Suit #1: And does that somehow excuse your being idiots and stopping in the middle of a busy street?
Tourist mom: At least we are not so rude in Tennessee!
Suit #2: That explains the idiocy, but it still isn't an excuse.
Tourist mom: That was unnecessary!
Suit #1: Perhaps, but it's true.
Suit #2: Here, maybe this is more polite: Welcome to New York. Slow walking idiots prone to stopping for no reason stay to the fucking right of busy sidewalks, and don't get in the way of the non-mentally impaired locals. Now fuck off.

--50th & 6th

via Overheard in New York, Apr 3, 2007

Spring Collections

With the weather warming my thoughts go immediately to one thing - shopping! While I think my fall line is the most flattering to my body type, I absolutely love spring clothing. Jeans, tee shirt and flip-flops are my favorite ensemble, which, conveniently, is appropriate attire year round in SoCal. Also, since I'm teaching this summer I have a good excuse to purchase some new work clothes.

There are certainly worse things than wanting to buy clothes and not finding anything you like, but it's a major shopping let-down. Has anyone checked out the spring collections at the shops lately? Here's my run-down of these major let-downs:

• The Gap - 2 words: Snooze Fest. My god could the clothes in there get any more boring? I mean, it's the Gap, I'm not expecting anything crazy. Stick to the palette - khaki, white, navy, black, many a grey or a cream - but do something with the cut, style, fabric - something! Their spring line could turn an ADHD suffering 5-year-old on a pixie stick and grape crush binge into a narcoleptic.


• Esprit - So nautical you need dramamine and a magnetic bracelet to cruise the shop floor. I do love me some navy and white stripes, and boat neck collars really flatter my clavicle, but we're just a few brass anchor buttons away from Cache - dangerous waters indeed. Add to that the fact that Janiac has barred me from purchasing any more graphic tees and there's not a whole lot left for me to choose from.


• Express - I've been loyal to EXP for a long, long time - since the days of the bejeweled-ankle jean and the over sized floral print sweatshirt; hell, Lisa and I gave a nod to the shop in our senior yearbook blurbs! - but you've got to meet me half way. I appreciate lengths, but Short does not equal Skinny! What the hell is the point of having lengths if you change the dimensions of the waist/hips? Last week I tried on a pair of Sz 8 Regular length editors and couldn't get them over my thighs. The same style, same size cropped length fit just fine - did they add the extra material to the seat of the pants? I'm pleased as punch royal blue is in this season - it's such a lush, vibrant color and it happens to suit my complexion quite well - but the arsenal of jewel-toned button down shirts are only appropriate for work if you're an accountant for a brothel. And do not get my started on the terry-onesies.


• H&M - There should be a sign on the door warning pregnant women, epileptics and people with heart conditions to seek medical advice before entering. Seriously, who hired a paranoid schizophrenic to head the design team? I am a huge fan of the 60's mod look (even though I wouldn't be caught dead in any garment that carries the mini- prefix), but there is way too much orange, and juxtaposed with kelly green it gives me a migraine. It's what I imagine a clothing store designed by my mother would look like. And while I appreciate that they're being socially responsible, the larger-than life billboard of Madona on the south side of Houston St. between Broadway and Lafayette freaks me out a little - she's slowly morphing into Marcia Cross.


• American Eagle - I keep thinking I'm getting too old to shop here, but so far this is where I've been most successful. I got an adorable one-piece bathing suit, a nice casual and versatile blue skirt, and a black bra that fits (little size fluctuation going on)! Some of the clothes are just ridiculous - their shorts, even if I did wear shorts and even if I could fit my booty into them, both big if's, could not contain my 'lady-bits' (the 'ol sneeze and my labia might fall out worry) - but year after year they continue to be the only retailer that sells decent cargo-capris, and when you don't wear shorts, they're a mainstay of the summer wardrobe.

I haven't been to Old Navy in a while, and Summer lines are flushing out the Spring ones, so maybe there's still hope. Keep your fingers crossed for me, I really don't want to teach in clothes that look like they came out of the closet of a hypothetical love child between Popeye and Crystal Gayle from her Solid Gold days.

DIY, muthafuka

While I was only meaning to unleash my inner lesbian by volunteering to help renovate Peter's apartment, my inner gansta seems to have snuck out as well. Maybe it was the do-rag I was sporting yesterday. Or the "chicks dig my sweet ride" tee-shirt. (And, yes, chicks do indeed dig my sweet ride.) For some reason I feel compelled to yell "peace out, muthafukahhhhhhhhhs," when exiting a room full of people. Maybe it's nothing at all to go with my inner gangsta, and everything to do with being a suburban white girl. Apparently it's not an uncommon ailment.

Potty mouth aside, I realized that I quite like home remodeling. This will come in handy when I get to SD because the catch to Paul finding a reasonably priced 2 bedroom in my favorite area is that the second of those bedrooms has a "cloud-scape" painted on the ceiling. I'm not sure we can do anything about the wood panelling in the living room (Paul vetoed my suggestion that we take up macrame), but the white-washing of that ceiling will be Paul and me's first household couple project since assembling his flat-pack IKEA table.

Yesterday was also my first taste of caffeine and alcohol since the demon-virus. I was up until 1am - I usually tuck in around 10:30 - and woke up at 7am ready to take on the world. I was the first back at Peter's because I wanted to remove the painting tape from the bathroom walls. I was also thinking I needed to get there before his other friends because they put too much paint on the brush, roll and edger. I'm realizing that my control-freak disposition might make me unpleasant company, so I'm trying to chill out, but I don't think the tall non-fat no-whip caramel macchiato I had this morning is helping. Too much caffeine, muthafukahhhhhs.....

Good morning, Sunshine

Even the fact that last night's Grey's was a REPEAT, despite the fact that I was pretty much positive it was supposed to be a new episode, cannot get me down because it's BEAUTIFUL outside, and there is just so much to be excited about:

• The sun is shining, there isn's a cloud in the sky, and SBK and I might sneak out onto the fire escape this afternoon for some UV rays.
• I picked up some daffodils this morning, and they are the most glorious yellow (which is a nice contrast to the 'vase' I've fashioned for them out of red Solo cups). My trip to London reminded me how much I love this vibrant cup and saucer flowers.
• I had pasta for dinner, oatmeal for breakfast, and am packing PB&J for lunch - all (digestive) systems are go! I am literally a whole new woman on the inside.
• Peter is starting renovations on his apartment this weekend, so I get a chance to don a bandana, grab some spackle and unleash my inner lesbian. [Note: this stereotype-invoking comment was approved by an actual lesbian.]
• Janiac has an Express coupon for me, and what better time to go shopping than after unexpectedly shedding a few lbs.
• In a recycling binge last night I went through all my old magazines and tore out the recipes and ideas I wanted to keep. I've dedicated some time this morning to looking up things of interest on the internet, like these freaky-cool portable paper towels and ready-made meal plans from RealSimple.

And, in the event that a proverbial little grumpy storm cloud threatens to damper my happy-go-lucky mood, I can also try out some of stress-reducing techniques suggested by Beth in one of her new articles (yay Beth!).

Return to the Land of the Living

Sorry for the patchy blogging over here. It’s not for a lack of material – there’s so much to talk about! Heather Mills and former Miss America on Dancing with the Stars, the first signs of Spring in the Northeast, Paul getting evicted from his apartment and finding us a nice 2 bedroom a block from the beach. Unfortunately I’ve been distracted by the demon virus. Since Friday night the ultimate battle between good and evil has been ragging in my GI tract. Sure, the doctor said it’s just some viral gastro enteritis thingie, but I know that when my stomach pains Monday night almost sent me to the hospital it was because Lucifer and Yahweh themselves were going mano e mano in my small intestine.

I forgot how much being sick sucks. I don’t have cable and I don’t like soap operas or day-time court shows, so I’ve been pretty much shit out of luck on the television front during the day. I bought Lucky, but it just pisses me off how insanely expensive everything in there is. Ooh, I can get a Kale handbag for $516 instead of $645 – ‘Lucky Break’ my eye. Instead, I’ve been sipping my Gatorade, vitamin water, ginger ale and other jewel-toned liquids from my bed. I never thought I’d say it, but thank god for Fox. American Idol to the rescue! I’m back on the couch and inspired to blog away, never mind my body’s violent aversion to solids.

First of all, and I cannot believe I’m going to document this statement, I think Paula Abdul was actually sober on Tuesday night. She made rational comments. They actually had substance. I can’t be absolutely sure because I was so distracted by Sanjaya’s faux hawk, but if she was using substances they were fairly benign. Second major observation, the girls on that show have got to get a new nail artist. I loathe chunky, thick squared off acrylic nails. You can get more natural looking results with Lee press-on’s. Third, not crazy about Haley’s version of “True Colors” but I covet the black dress she was wearing (although I’m not sure how that banded hem would work with my behind). I covet it almost as much as I covet Gwen Stefani’s eye liner.

One final thing I couldn’t quite understand. Did the AI wardrobe budget run out before Jordin could pick out her complete ensemble, forcing one of the interns to run down to a local Papa Gino’s, steal a table cloth and fashion it into a short sleeve zip up hoodie? That doesn’t seem believable, but what’s my other option? Am I really to believe that a) enough people in the fashion industry believed that garment was a good enough idea to bring to production, b) the garment then made it to the AI fashion closet, and c) this girl chose to wear it because she thought it looked good? I might be a little weak from not eating, but I'm not delusional people.

And by the look on Ryan's face I'm guessing he's sharing either my virus or my thoughts about her outfit.

Howdy, Neighbor!

You might think a short morning walk to the ATM and cobbler would be boring, but not when you live in my 'hood. It's amazing what types of characters you can encounter on a 15 min errand run.

• There's the poor guy being wheeled out of NYSC on a gurney sporting an oxygen mask to compliment his racket-ball whites. Oh, beyond middle-aged man, those little blue pills might make you feel like you're 25 between the sheets, but your knees can't be fooled that easily.
• A trip to the ATM - usually a solitary venture - brings us upon the homeless lady that sleeps in the vestibule. My, Lucy (she looks like a Lucy), those ski goggles really do compliment your Reebok high-tops.
• Then we run into a woman tottering down Broadway with a big, black dog (neither the woman nor the dog look entirely comfortable with their current partner) squealing to no one in particular, "Can you get to Broadway from here? Can you get to Broadway? Does anyone know?" I let her know she's on Broadway; it seems like the right thing, although I'm not sure it helped.
• And finally the Shoe Repair Guy, who persists in asking me if I'm a Russian Jew every time I go into his shop, despite my efforts to tell him my closest link to Eastern Europe is my grandmother, a Catholic Pole. He does a fantastic job with my heels, though, and I'm not particularly wedded to my religious background so being mistaken for a Jewess isn't offensive. It just makes me want a pair of diamond earrings.

Oooh, these are the people in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood, in my neigh-bor-hood...

Houston, we have a problem.

Just back from London and while I'd plan to go on and on about how the British will carpet absolutely anything (bathrooms, kitchens, subway seats - honestly, anything) I had an experience in Trader Joe's this morning that I have to share, if for no other reason than because I refuse to suffer alone.

In line in front of me was a woman, all of 5' nothing, with big, brown curly hair. She was wearing - and I could not make this up if I tried - a black lace cami over a blue, NASA jump suit with red cowboy boots.

!!

So many questions! Was she trying to be ironic? Was she just stocking up on snacks before strapping on her adult diaper and driving 800 miles to mace someone? Was she trying to raise awareness about the dangers of unrequited (imagined) love triangles and the potentially psychosis inducing stress working mothers face in male dominated occupations?

Urban Poetry

Look Right or Die

Greetings from London! I'm nearing the end of my week here, and the phrase "Look Right or Die", uttered by a member of NY sociology delegate that rocked Somerset over the weekend, has saved my life many a time.

I am having a wonderful trip. Starting the conference several hours after landing at Heathrow was a bit taxing, but I managed to push through and impressed both the Americans and the foreigners with my "social stamina." I wouldn't advise drinking until 2:30 am when you haven't slept and have to comment on a paper at 9:30 the next morning, especially since setting an alarm might not seem like as high a priority as rekindling the fire in the hotel pub in the wee hrs of the night and you can't always rely on your friends to knock on your door at 9:20 am, but, in a pinch, it can be done. Since the conference ended Saturday I've been chillin' in Lenny's posh London flat and loving it.

Here are some highlights of the trip so far:

• Des, the mini-coach driver; the hotel/conference center; killer Shepherd's pie; good academic dialogue and a renewed sense of vigor for my own research; making new friends, even ones that live in NYC; discovering "strawberry pencils"; the weather; British wit; finding our about Newt Gingrich's affair; boxed sandwiches; Cadbury chocolate vending machines in the tube stations

And here are a few things I could have done without:

• jet lag; liver damage; the conference sandwiches (O'Whooleheagh reckons they float); the exchange rate (when you change dollars at the airport they punch you in the face for free); certain papers; getting lost in TopShop (although I cannot describe the sense of relief I felt when they finally paged me over the intercom, even if they did have to say I was a lost child); The Last King of Scotland (the acting was truly amazing, but if you're ever contemplating suicide and need that little extra nudge, this will do the trick); prawn, mayo and sweetcorn sandwiches

Right then, yesterday's jaunt around Covent Garden and today's trip to the Victoria & Albert museum have really done me in so I think it's time for a quick kip. Cheers!

The British are Coming!

Okay, slight exaggeration. 1 Brit, but he's a good one. Paul's flight should be leaving San Diego in the next hour. Appropriately, it's absolutely pissing it down with rain this morning. Sitting in the lounge of my department and looking southeast at the grey wet Lower East Side I do feel a bit nostalgic for England. As luck would have it, Paul and I will be traveling to the airport together Wednesday, and when he returns to San Diego I will head 3,000 miles in the other direction for a graduate student conference.

NYLON is just a pretentious labeling of an excuse for students from NYU and LSE to get together and talk culture. Historically, the group used to be a bit of an old boy's club, but in my role as the rambunctious little sister of the group I've been doing my best to mix it up over the last few years. The pink shirts have been replacing the blue shirts. This year we're being whisked away to the English countryside and are staying at what looks to be a fairly posh estate house. Sure beats the macro hostel we stayed at in London 2 years ago with approximately 70% of all Spanish school children aged 12-16.

Lest you think sociology conferences are all tea and crumpets, the price of admission to this otherwise free trip is having to read some 17 papers and the ensuing discussions. There's an underlying divide between us and them - European sociology tends to be much more theoretical while its American counterpart is more empirical - but once we get past that some of the discussions can be quite interesting. Sadly the engaging and relevant bits usually account for only a fraction of the discussion. Then it just becomes an epistemological pissing contest:

• "How do you relate this to Habermas' interpretation of the Kantian aesthetic?"
• "What does this case tell us about the practice of craft?"
• "The real problem with this paper stems from your fundamental misunderstanding of urbanism."
• "Isn't this really just a case of double hermeneutics?"
• "Where are you in this paper? More importantly, where am I?"

Translation into plain English: "I'm going to ignore everything you wrote about, in fact I haven't even read past page 3, and talk about what I'm interested in so I can show Dr. Famous von Social Theorist how brilliantly clever I am."

Somewhere about half-way through the second day of the conference we usually start to get a little loopy (the aftereffects of the previous night's social event combined with jet lag taking hold) and make efforts to spice things up a bit (as much as is possible in this situation). For example, Tey had to comment on a paper two years ago which pretended to be about the ethical implications of intimate involvement with one's research subjects. Basically, the author of said paper just wanted us to know he was banging a Swede. Tey was able to work in the phrase "the fuck-er/fuck-ee relationship" - which made things a whole lot more interesting. Last year Noah rose to the challenge of using the word "mayonnaise" in the discussion during the final panel.

I have to be careful not to maximize my fun potential at the conference, however, because after all the glamour and excitement of Sociologists do Sommerset has subsided I'm hanging out for a few days with Lenny the Great (DJ name: Preacher's Daughter) in London proper, and hope to sneak in a cheeky pint with Dr. Jessica Lamb (DJ name: Aunty J or Lammo) as well. Hopefully I'll have lots of exciting tales to tell! Back in the states 3/14. Keep cool, my babies!

Cheers!!

Teaching is both fun and funny

When I'm not stalking shoes online or treating my body like a human garbage disposal I do spend a fair amount of time engaging in the craft of pedagogy. Currently I T.A. a statistics lab recitation once a week, teach an adult ed research methods class, and have been going to a series of workshops sponsored by NYU's Center for Teaching Excellence (add that to the list of NYU's redeeming qualities as a corporation - N=4). It's fun. I like it. You're not supposed to admit this (especially in my department where empirical elitism is currently in vogue), but teaching can be fun. It can also be funny.

In that vein, my colleagues and I have been sharing our experiencces. We currently have a contest for best excuse for late paper/missing class/ reason why you can't take the exam. I, of course, am a front runner with the "Inspirational Speaker". SBK got an e-mail that said, "I opened the door to let my cat out this morning and two squirrels ran in." That's it. That was the whole excuse.

Then there are those incidents that would be funny if, that is, they weren't also a little scary. Take, for example the following exchange. My friend holds his weekly recitation at a local fair trade coffee shop. It's very hip and cool and right-on. They also have good coffee.

----- Original Message -----
From - TA
Date - Tue, 27 Feb 2007 21:08:12 -0500
To - ENTIRE CLASS
Subject - on getting a table
...hi folks, i have a meeting tomorrow morning before
recitation. i will be ON TIME, like all of you, but i won't be able to get
there early and stake out our table ... if anyone arrives early (or can arrive
early) and claim us that table, that'd be great. i'll buy you
coffee.thanks, and see you at 930

And then he got this reply from a student:

----- Original Message -----
From - STUDENT
Date - Tue, 27 Feb 2007 21:24:44 -0500
To - TA
Subject - Re: on
getting a table ...

hm. that sounds almost like a date. isn't that against the rules?

Um, WHAT?!? She sounds like a potential bunny-boiler to me.

The binge continues

I’m gross, I realize this, but I’m also kind of genius in my cupboard based concoctions of grossness.

I started off the day yesterday like a person who not only cares about her physical condition but is actively involved in improving and/or maintaining her health – multivitamin, brisk walk to the gym, quick jaunt on the treadmill, bumped it up a notch on stair master. Moved to the mats for some abs and stretches. Some chick tried her best to thwart be by going through a seemingly endless number of sun salutations on top of me (seriously, these are the quick stretch mats – yoga or elliptical, pick one). I even did the plank, and by conjugating irregular French verbs I lasted 45 seconds. Arms – boo yeah! Rock on.

Oatmeal? Normal. Salad? Normal. Grapes? Apple? Normal and normal.

I thought I had impeded my impetus to ingest totally unnecessary food with a late afternoon (early evening?) snack of Stacy’s Parmesan Garlic and Herb pita chips and a KitKat washed down with a Coke Zero (nectar of the GODS). I underestimated myself.

Flash forward to 9:30pm. When I had peanut butter with my apple in the afternoon I nuked it for a few seconds (it was in the fridge). Perfect, made it smooth and creamy. At home I put roughly 3 Tlbs in a bowl and set the microwave for 2 minutes – I don’t know what I was thinking. It was dry and crumbly. What could I use to emulsify it? Milk? Oh, hello Hersey’s chocolate syrup! When I drizzled it on the singed PB it made a bizarre crackling noise. Once that subsided the consistency worked. But what to pair it with? Pretzels? Oh, hello No Pudge ice cream bar in the freezer (I've lost my self control but not my sense of irony). Yummmmmmmmmmm.

Like I said, gross, but creative, inventive, and edible.

While I was enjoying my delicious blend of tastes, textures and temperatures I caught a few minutes of the new game show “Are you smarter than a 5th grader?” I might be gross, but at least I know the name of the ship on which the Pilgrims came. I’ll take slovenly over stupid any day, as long as I can get some Nutella to go with it.

Binge blog

WARNING: What follows is not pretty or dignified; it's barely human.

You know that episode of Sex in the City where Miranda eats the cake out of the trash barrel and then calls Carrie and leaves her a message about possibly having to check her friend into the Betty Crocker Clinic? Season 4, Episode 52. Well, I've been a little stressed lately. A March meltdown is on the horizon (workshop - Paul visit - London - conference - NY - Philly - conference - Paul's sister and husband in NY - NY - workshop - conference). I know I chose sociology as a career and so that suggests a certain amount of interest, but 3 conferences in 3 weeks in 3 different cities is a little too much sociology, even for me. And you know how when you get stressed all the little problems snowball, and I've just been so frustrated by the lack of body modification the gym has produced, so I did the most obvious thing - self sabotage.

I was sitting in class last night fantasizing about food. It wasn't hunger, just a craving, but what would satisfy it? I got it in my head that I wanted Bugles. (Yes, I know that my sister is the pregnant one, I'm just a fat ass). I went to the super market and walked around like a zombie with a bag of lettuce in my hands ogling all the various treats - the savory section with Wavy Lays, Sun Chips and Smartfood; the sweet section with gummy peaches, York Peppermint Patties, and Entenmann's Glazed Popems; the baking section with brownies, brownies and more brownies. I successfully walked out with just the lettuce, but that was the extent of my short lived victory of willpower.

When I got home I ate (this is after dinner, mind you), within the space of an hour and a half, a 100 calorie pouch of Goldfish, an apple with peanut butter, 4 pieces of cornbread with soy butter, several large scoops of whipped vanilla frosting out of the tub, and some leftover honey almond granola cereal.

I need help.

Oscar highlights

The material provided by the Oscar's is just too good to pass up - sorry.

First of all, I have a major lady-crush on Helen Mirren. She looked positively rav-ish-ing. Thank you, Ms. Mirren, for showing the women of Hollywood that "age appropriate" does not equal "frumpy" and that "sexy" does not equal "slutty" when done correctly. Now if someone could just teach these girls a lesson about up-do's!

I know the phrase "up-do" may conjure up images of tight, Andrea Zuckerman style French twists and stacks of hairpins beside the sink for some, but for those that have access to celebrity stylists this is not a valid excuse. This isn't just some awards show - it's the awards show! Put your hair up! Yes, I mean you, Reese (this bangs thing has just gone too far - you bounced back from the divorce like a pro and are a hot single mom with a career and a sense of fashion, we get it). Gwyneth and Nicole, I don't know if you planned to do the matching side swept blond extension look, but would it really have been so hard to sweep those tresses up into a low pony or a loose chignon? The straightening iron is for use before appearances on Live with Regis and Kelly and E! interviews, not for the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Honestly, you two have been around long enough to know better.

My favorite moments of the evening all had to do with Al Gore. You have to appreciate An Inconvenient Truth for what it was - all politicians are self-congratulatory, but at least Al has a message and a purpose. Watching that movie was like watching my dad give a PowerPoint - I just wanted to give him a big hug afterwards. (The product placement was, for me, the biggest distraction. Every 10 minutes it was like, Al, are you being sponsored by Apple?)

Early in the night Ellen made the joke about America not voting for Jennifer Hudson on Idol, and now here she was (shocker of a win! nice job, J Hud, that's how to wear your hair down, and I am so glad you ditched that Judy Jetson shrug you were wearing on the Red Carpet - buxom girls can't do shrugs, sweetie; and, boy, did Beyonce looked piAssed!), whereas America did vote for Al Gore... [laughter ensues] That joke will never get old for me. I loved that Al went a little crazy after the 2000 disaster some called a Presidential election; I loved that he got all Castaway on us and grew that crazy hunter's beard and gained the combined weight of the Olsen Twins. I loved every second of it. And look how far he's come since then!

Then Melissa Etheridge won for best original song (looks like she's beating the cancer - hooray for her! - but has Jack Nicholson started chemo? I must have missed that memo, but I can't think of any logical reason why he would chosen to look like Daddy Warbucks' maniacal, meth-addicted little brother). The first person she thanked? Her wife, Tammy Lynn Michaels (who looks an awful lot like Dixie Chick Natalie Maines, don't you think?) That's right, conservative America, you heard correctly - wife. They're married. They sleep together. They do it - with each other - and they like it. As my brother-in-law's gran would say, "Anther one. Screwin'." I think, for once (and hopefully only once) in my life Tipper Gore and I were thinking the same thing - that's a damn good looking pair of lesbians.

Wardrobe Wishlist

If the boys (and girls) get fantasy football, I want fantasy fashion. I want to dream about teaming up designers to put together the perfect spring line for me. I'm usually a Gap, Express, H&M kind of girl, but living in New York it's hard not to get bit by the designer bug. And it I had any resistance before, it was completely broken down by Project Runway, which is why Michael Kors is going to be first on my design team. I've got my eye on these little puppies:

To be fair, they're not really even that expensive. Unfortunately, on my career student budget pretty much anything that doesn't magically appear by the grace of the fashion fairies is a strain on my wallet. But these, c'mon, they would be perfect with just about anything - skirts, dresses, jeans, capris. They're just so summery - I can almost smell the suntan lotion! Oh man I want a frozen pina colada....(I'd go for the daquiri but I'd be afraid of spilling it on the shoes).

I want Trinny and Susannah overseeing my whole hypothetical transformation. They are two vicious bitches, and I think they are fantastic!

This is what democracy looks like

Yesterday's protest to the NYU Republicans' "Find the Illegal Immigrant" event went off well. There was quite a lot of media there, and it was good to get back behind the police barricades.

And their excuse was bogus even for Republicans - "Sometimes, you have to be politically incorrect," said the club President. "Sometimes, you have to be provocative." Get real. You're not trying to start a discussion. This is an academic community. If you wanted a discussion there'd be a forum with representatives from both sides. What's next on the agenda? Stage a fake lynching of a Black man to encourage a dialogue about race relations?

He was singing, "I crossed the border, but I didn't break a single law," to the tune of Bob Marley's "I Shot the Sheriff."






Paul and I started arguing about immigrants' rights the other night (as we do; once we finally tired of arguing over pronunciation - and that lasted a good 2 1/2 yrs - we were bound to turn to politics). Here's another case where it's not a simple pro/con stance. It's not that I'm for illegal immigration; it's more a matter of what you do with people once they're here, and frankly spending any amount of resources on hunting people down for deportation makes no sense. Going after the cleaning companies employing hundreds of illegals, no doubt for dismal pay and in poor working conditions, that seems a little more fruitful.


The crowd of protesters was really an eclectic mix - it warmed my cold, cynical, bitchy heart and made me believe that people really can make a difference.


Then I watched the evening news. Lead stories included:

• outrage over the escalators not working at the new Staten Island Ferry Terminal (people have to walk up two flights of stairs?! dear god, they might be getting exercise!);
• the judge's ruling in the fight over Anna Nicole Smith's "decaying body" - okay the news talked about it like it was sprawled in a field somewhere swarmed by flies, and while I think ANS's mother is an evil twunt, to use Beth's term, I'm pretty sure the judge crying while delivering the ruling constitutes solid grounds for an appeal;
• Busta Rhymes being arrested for running a red light (a.k.a. Driving While Black);
• and speculations that a local doctor wasn't dosed with acid by 3 Hispanic males but, in fact, burnt himself in the shower and was too embarrassed to admit it.

Back to being cynical.

Upper Class Injuries

In my recitation this afternoon 2 of my students were visibly injured - one with her arm in a sling and one with a brace around his neck. "Gosh, was there some class accident? I hope you guys haven't been studying too hard?" har har har. It slipped out.

At the end of class Neck Brace had a question, so I went and sat next to him:

Me: Are you OK? What happened? You don't have to answer if you don't want, it's really none of my business.
Neck Brace: No, it's okay. I was skiing this weekend, but the worst part is it didn't even happen skiing. I was in a hot tub, and a really strong gust of wind came along, and the cover hit me in the head.
Me: Wow.
Neck Brace: Yeah, and at the clinic they said this is actually a pretty common injury.
Me: Yeah. That's the preppiest sob story I've ever heard. You should tell people you got in a car accident.

Like a Bay Leaf in a Melting Pot

I wanted to blog about the thief who stole my 100 calorie Jell-O pudding snack from the department refrigerator yesterday (I'll find out who you are, don't worry), I had a whole tirade mentally scripted, but something more "interesting" has come up.

Tomorrow the NYU College Republicans are holding a "Find the Illegal Immigrant" rally outside the main academic building. Yup, that's right. I shit you not. You can't make this stuff off (although who would want to? probably the same person who stole the creamy chocolatey goodness that would have been my late afternoon snack yesterday). If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself.

From what I understand, my only source being the rumors and side-conversations being held around the office, these little GOPers in training are going to stand around and try and point out illegal immigrants in the crowd. Besides being retarded, this activity seems to have some methodological flaws. There are a lot of foreign nationals in the NYU community - students, faculty, staff. How do you tell who's legal and illegal? Are you going to ask to see their papers? And will we be identifying all potential aliens, or just those of the "South of the Rio Grande/ East of the Mediterranean" variety? Empirically, there are boatloads of illegal Irish, and I'm sure a handful of Canadians have snuck in over the years, but somehow I get the feeling that's not whom the Young Republicans intend to finger. They need to give a much clear operational definition of "illegal immigrants." Also, the sampling couldn't be worse. You want to spot illegal aliens in one of the 5 New York boroughs, the Village isn't exactly a hot spot for undocumented workers. Try Sunnyside, Queens, or Jersey City, Jersey. Try mid-town at lunchtime - go on, snatch a delivery guy right off his bike and demand to know his visa status!

Anyone in the NYU vicinity interested in joining the opposition from 11-2 can gather outside the Silver Center. Wear a white shirt as a symbol of peaceful protest.
You'll spot me wearing an "I'm an illegal immigrant" tee.

UPDATE: Got some more info. Apparently they're not going to point out real illegal immigrants. They're going to have a person wear a name-tag that says "Illegal Immigrant." The other participants have to find that person and show their NYU ID card (symbolic of INS identification, obviously) before they can search him/her. The person who wins gets a gift certificate. See, it's all just fun and games! Wow, do I feel like an oversensitive tree-hugging sissy-pants Liberal or what?!? It's as harmless as the Affirmative-Action bake sale they held 2 years ago.

Read more at:http://www.nydailynews.com/news/local/story/499380p-421075c.htmlhttp://www.gothamist.com/archives/2007/02/21/nyu_students_pr.php

Victory!

En fin! I won the green bag on eBay (and I don't own a green bag so it's doubly exciting) for the bargain price of $46.24. I like eBay - it's like gambling, but you get a prize when you lose your money. Yeah, so I specially hauled my cu and my portable out to a cafe for the express purpose of wi-fi-ing my way into the winning bidding position, and some might see that as slightly pathetic. I view it as highly determined. Besides, I will be one stylin' laptop-toting mofo once my latest addition to the bag collection arrives. Je suis hyper chic.

Aw man, but now what am I going to obsessively hunt for online??

Cas de portable: épisode trois

In an effort to keep a positive attitude towards this week's auxiliary No-No Dr. appointment, I'm doing some preemptive pity shopping. The hunt for an affordable function-meets-fashion laptop case continues, and today I've found even more goodies (including this consumer rating site).

In the luxe department:

• Knomo SAMARA 15" in Porcelain
  

• FranklinConvey's Chelsea Business Tote in Ivory
  

(are we seeing a theme emerging? I'm drawn to impracticality - although white leather is more feasible in SoCal)

• FranklinConvey's Martina Business Tote in Chocolate
  

(although I already have a similar but cooler Kathy von Zealand version of this bag in chocolate faux-croc; in general this is just a great website, all of their bags are delicious and the binder/tote combinations make the corporate world look enticing)

• Moonsus Icon Tote

(indeed, I quite like many of the Moonsus bags - they are the closest to what I'm looking for, but the deal breakers are a) these bags are retardedly expensive and b) the wannabe Luis Vuitton print is so lame)

Hopefully I'll win this green DVF laptop case on eBay and the search for a laptop case will be settled once and for all.

Aging gracefully

Signs I am getting older:

• When the temperature drops below freezing, comfort surpasses fashion on the list of dressing priorities (thermals, please).
• The advent of the 2 day hangover
• My body won't let me sleep past 10am unless I'm really sick.
• Friends getting married
• Friends getting divorced
• Friends getting pregnant. On purpose. (Oh! You guys meant for this to happen! Congratulations!)
• I can discuss the relative merits of Pepto Bismal vs. Tums.
• I understand the importance of fiber in one's diet and eat accordingly (Kashi fiber twigs, mmmmm).
• I know what 900 sq.ft. looks like.
• I know the market price of various types of produce and shop accordingly (grapes are how much?!? f-that! get some apples - no, the cheap ones).
• I have a basic knowledge about the real estate market in at least 3 major U.S. cities.
• Large groups of teenagers intimidate me.
• On any given day, I need to choose between caffine and alcohol.
• My students don't get my cultural references (What do you mean none of you have seen Heathers?).
• Two glasses of wine with dinner or watching T.V.? Better chase that with a liter of water or it's going to be some kind of headache come 7:30 am.
• I have asked someone to turn the music down.
• I have asked someone to turn the volume on the T.V. up.
• If I want my body shape to change, it's not exercise -OR- eat right; it's both; with vigilance.
• When I'm home, I listen to the same radio station as my dad. And we swap CDs. (Joni Mitchell? Awesome. Here, try the new Dixie Chicks. Is this my David Grey or yours?
• My hips crack.
• I'm going to live with a boy!

Life lessons

Man, I'm getting all existential lately.

Here are some important things I have learned as an adult (not quite sure when that happened) that I thought I, in my infinite wisdom, might share with you:

• When in doubt, do nothing (thanks for that one, Aunt Mary).
• Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to (e.g. What makes pad thai so darn tastey? Did he sleep with anyone while we were "on a break"? What makes the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser so darn effective?)
• In a pinch, a stapler makes a great hem/button.
• Stop the Q-tip when you get resistance (thank you for that one, Chandler Bing)
• Karma's a bitch (e.g. if you cheat on your girlfriend and don't use protection and there's a high probability your ex has an STI b/c she's a dirty slam pig and then you go to get tested and the nurse accidentally sticks the swap too far down your pee hole, so be it)
• There's a fine line between revenge and restoring the balance of cosmic justice - I like to err on the side of justice
• In a recipe you can substitute a mixture of 1/4 tsp lemon juice and 1/2 c milk for buttermilk
• There is no substitute for baking soda, or baking powder, I forget which...
• It is safe to chew while blowdrying your hair so long as you don't flip your head over
• It is not safe to chew while applying mascara
• Looking through a miscroscope and applying mascara are two things most successfully performed with your mouth wide open
• Hairspray gives you a competitive advantage when trying to kill a fly (it makes the wings sticky and slows them down)
• Always, always screen calls from my mother (now some of you may be thinking "but I don't know your mother, why would she ever call me, and how would she even get my number" - see, she's got your defenses down already)

Okie dokie, enough wisdom for a Sunday evening. I've got to go suspend all knowledge of reality so that I may enjoy a new episode of Desperate Housewives.

Moral Dilemas

SBK and I scheduled a hot date last night - she wanted my feng shui consulting know-how on her new room. She had an apt to go to, so we planned to meet by the subway. Then we'd travel uptown, see what genius insight I could offer about rearranging her bedroom, order in, and watch movies. I stopped home first to pick up a wrench and drop off shtuff, and there, beckoning to me from the corner of my dresser, was the Kit-Kat I'd purchased the day before but hadn't gotten around to (what with the cheeseburger, sweet potatoes fries, beer and ice cream, there really wasn't time).

I devoured all four sections en route to the designated meeting place. I was racked with guilt. If I had held off all of 15 min I could have shared with my friend. Should I tell her? Approaching the rendez-vous destination I was seized with anxiety as the two halves of my conscience debated furiously:

• Confess - you gluttonous sow!


• She'll never know, and your hips pay the full price - when it comes down to it, your rapid ingestion was downright altruistic!

And they were both right! I had done something bad, but my friend in blissful ignorance of the fact that minutes ago a delicious chocolaty wafery treat had existed in my possession. What to do?!?

Conclusion: Consumption was selfish, but telling would be cruel.

If only all sins were this yummy.

Big Sis to the Rescue!

My sister just e-mailed me the PERFECT pick me up:

http://townienews.blogspot.com/

Just a little Bawston accent to brighten my day. Heed her warning to cease all food and beverage consumption whilst viewing. I followed her recommendations and viewed the SuperBowl coverage and the review of The Departed (10/6/06).

Mother Nature is a vengeful C*nt

Things started looking not so good when Paul’s flight was delayed 1 hr 15 min before he left for the airport. I went into the dermatologist for a quick, annual mole scan (“the quantity is concerning, you gotta come in every year, but the quality, the quality I’m seeing today is excellent” – if only all my Doctors’ appointments were this easy). When I came out I talked to Paul again and his flight was delayed until 8pm. That was crap b/c it put him on the red-eye, which he was trying to avoid by taking the 2pm flight in the first place, and it means he took a full day off from work for no reason. By the time I emerged from K-mart, having purchased a heating pad for Jane, 2% milk and Honey Bunches of Oats for Paul, and a Kit-Kat for me (I was already feeling a little down, but I did resist the Mint Chocolate covered Oreos) Paul was calling me to say his flight was canceled. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fucker. Shit. Fuck.

Fly out Friday? Not unless he wanted to risk going through Chicago, which the airline personnel did not recommend. But he needs to be back in SD by Wednesday, so by the time he hypothetically got here Saturday we’d have about 72 hrs. Poo. Big stinky yucky poo. Long story short, he’s coming in 2 weeks. So help me god, if the weather gods try to fuck with me then I will haul my fat (but increasingly taught) white ass to JFK with a hairdryer and extension cord and make that place fit to fly my g-d self. Grr. [t-minus 10 days to P-day, apparently the “pissy” part is kicking in.]

I, of course, handled the news like a big girl. I cried, but I took my contacts out before too long so they wouldn’t turn into relentlessly adhesive pieces of saran wrap (very adult). I uncorked the bottle of Lambic Pêche MMR brought over last week and drank it straight from the bottle (only grow-ups can legally drink alcohol). I then pouted and cried and quibbled unintelligibly to Paul. I may have even kicked my feet a little whilst blubbering “it’s not fair.” That last bit was a little childish, but I recognize the difference, an obvious sign of maturity.

I then engaged in some moderate wallowing, but I think it was justified. Bad things that have happened this month (in chronological order):

• SBK’s friend dying – world loses great defense attorney
• Thinking JJJ had cancer
• SBK reporting back on the continued dire state of NOLA
• Steph not getting to come visit b/c of her butt-munch megalomaniac professor dumb fuck
• Having a 2nd abnormal pap result [TMI warning: This means a 2nd cervical biopsy, and if there was one thing I could do with never experiencing more than once it was having my hoo hoo snipped)
• Having to cancel a weekend with Paul I was really looking forward to
  

Enter SBK and Bec to the rescue! They called to check how puffy I was from crying and told me I had 45 minutes to get dressed and mitigate the blotchyness. I started to think a little more positively. Good things that have happened this month (again, in chronological order):

• SBK coming back – I missed her! – and moving into an amazing apartment
• My students pro-actively researching class topics and then sharing their info with me
• JJJ not having cancer – yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay fungus!
• Paul getting permission to travel (Immigration stuff)
• My uncles visiting and taking me to a delicious restaurant
• Steph feeling Li’l Spins moving around insider her
• Getting a great mix CD from Beth in her ingenious CD swap
• Unexpected request for help with a wedding speech – very flattering
• Little reminders about how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends
  

And, trying to maintain a more optimistic outlook, bull-frog eyes the morning after a good cry make an excellent pallet for eye-liner.

My R-squared is bigger than yours

Falls squarely in the "you've got to see it to believe it" category:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=489221653835413043

I wonder what my students would think if I showed it in class...

Clumsy much?

I tend to get a bit clumsy before my period. In fact, if we each got to individualize the PMS anagram I think mine would be pissy/messy/stupid. But I've still got a good week and a half left before P-day so I'm not sure that I can use it as an excuse for yesterday's happenings:

Treadmill, 8:30 am - Accidentally hit emergency stop button. Can't figure out what's happening at first, but catch on and resume workout (and you can be DAMN sure I counted the 1/4 mile I'd already run). Drop towel, which flies off the back end. Pause. Retrieve towel and resume workout. Try to drink water and instead squirt it all over chest. Figure I would have gotten sweaty there anyways. Cut hand on little plastic tie that holds channel/volume control box to treadmill. Consider informing staff of sharp plastic projectile but think better of calling attention to what a spaz I am.

Stairmaster, 9:00 am - Drop towel. Descend to floor level, retrieve towel and resume workout. Attempt to drink water and instead drop water bottle, spilling water all over me, machine, and floor and scaring the bejesus out of the woman next to me. Convince neighbor she doesn't need to cease her rapid gyrating for me to retrieve bottle. Carefully kick bottle out from under her machine and resume workout.

Weight room, 10:00 am - Avoid free weights out of concern for personal safety.

Department, 11:00 am - Drop same piece of paper twice en route from mailbox to office. Distance - approx. 200 ft. I'm not carrying anything else.

Bulk of day - avoid sharp/ heavy objects, hot liquids and going anywhere I wouldn't be found for quite some time if fell and knocked self unconscious. Walk home at octogenarian pace.

And at night the only injury I incurred was stepping on a piece of glass (origins unknown). I was able to safely remove it with tweezers, no biggie (especially compared to the burnt hands/slip 'n hit face in shower/vertigo combination I had a couple of months ago, but that's another story for another day). Looking back I'm not sure if it's PMS or if I just need to come to terms with the fact that, no matter how hard I try, I can't force myself to be a morning person and, consequently, early a.m. workouts may not be in my best interests.

Valetine's Haikus

Flowers and candy?
Buy me more presents, fat boy
Or no sex for you

Not hard to love you
You could make it easier
If you didn't snore

Gonna get me some!
Chocolates and marshmallows!
What were you thinking?

Candy and flowers
Will not make up for cheating
But diamonds might work

Come hither sweet thang!
Wrap me up in your love, but
Don't drench me in sweat

Be my Valentine
I want you all to myself
Me? Stalking? Never!

Lucky to have you
But your psycho ex-girlfriend
Is cramping our style

Sexy lingerie?
Champagne and strawberries, too?
You are all I need.

Happy Valentine's Day

I'm neither for nor against V-day. I like candy and flowers, so if a Hallmark invented holiday gets me those I'm all for it. And frankly, anything that makes you warm and fuzzy inside on a day like today (say it together everyone - N'orEastAH) is a good thing. Unless it's tortuing puppies - then you are a sick, sick individual and should be removed from society. I love puppies.

But since I was feeling a little cranky this morning and then was forced into full-blown bitch mode when I had to hit a car on the trunk (it was BACKING UP at a cross walk, which is retarded any day of the week but which is potentially lethal when it's freezing rain and there's 1/2 a foot of slush on the ground - the guy could have run over Bec, who astutely pointed out that you know you're a New Yorker when you are willing to hit a car, and we're going to have to leave that behind when we relocate to New Hampshire and San Diego respectively), I thought I'd offer my sarcastic take on this holiday with a list of alternative conversation hearts I'd like to see:

• so what


• big deal


• unlucky


• too close


• stalker


• nice try


• not quite


• that's it?!

My dog ate my excuse

A few years ago my friend left a job as a corporate recruiter and as a farewell tribute she sent around a list she had compiled of the funniest things she had read on resumes. It was hysterical; I regret not keeping it. In a similar vein, I've started keeping track of funny tidbits and happenings from my world as a wanna-be academic, which includes being student/teacher/colleague to a host of individuals who are just a few highlights short of a full head. Today, I thought I'd share a new addition that's gone straight to the #1 position on the list of excuses/reasons students give for missing class:

Regretfully, I will not be in class on [date] as a result of a long standing commitment for a presentation aimed to inspire children and teenagers from the Bronx to be all they can be.

Blowin' a hammie

Now that I actually attend the gym on a regular basis and can honestly tell a health care professional that I workout 4-5 times a week, I feel I have earned the right to judge some of the other gym goers*. (*Some of these characters are more ideal types than actual people, but some really, physically exist.) Let the stone throwing begin!

• The contortionist - what physical activity are you about to engage in that you need to do a full split in order to adequately prepare? I didn't see any uneven bars or regulation-height balance beams on my way in. This is not a Bally's fitness, it's a school gym. Just go back to your dorm and dedicate your energy to hooking up with the baseball player down the hall. You know that's where you'd rather be.


• The smelly guy - This one deserves a gendered pronoun because I have never in my life experienced an odor like this emanate from a woman. Body odor is one thing. If you don't want to use deodorant, well I guess I can suffer a little - it is the gym, after all. There are probably some health benefits to getting it all out. The other odors drifting over from your treadmill...those we've got to talk about. You are clearly quite the runner, and maybe you are more accustomed to exercising outside where the wind and your movement whisk your wind away. Here, however, we are indoors. We are stuck next to each other for the next 30 minutes or however long our workouts may last, and there is no excuse for your flatulence. I mean, sometimes cardio stirs up my tummy a little bit. I'll admit, I've let the occasional foof slip out. I'm not proud of it, but farts happen. Your problem seems to be much more systemic. May I suggest some Gas-X as a side dish to your PowerBar?


• The holder-on-for-dear-life - Do you really need to be walking that fast at that steep of an incline? It looks dangerous. In fact, I'm not only concerned for you - if you want to power-walk your self into oblivion and your parents aren't going to force you to see an eating disorder specialist against your will, that's your prerogative - but when your arm detaches at the shoulder socket - and believe me it will - and you go flying off the back of the treadmill, all 78 lbs of you are going to smash into the poor girl unfortunate enough to have chosen the recumbent bike behind you. And no matter how much mass you don't have, remember that (according to urban legend) even a globule of spit at the right velocity can kill someone.


• The grunter/weight slammer - Okay, I get it. You're huge. You are gargantuan. Your muscles rival Sly Stallone when in prime physical condition for any one of the Rocky movies. Your shoulders are so broad and ripped you probably can't wipe your own bum after you go the bathroom. Women line up just to get a glimpse of your manhood. Testosterone oozes from your acne-ridden pores. You are a living Adonis. Etcetera, etcetera. I get it! Really, I do, but do you really need to make those noises? It sounds like you could use some more fiber in your diet. Aren't GI problems one of the side effects of prolonged steroid use? And if you're so strong, why are you dropping the weights? You're going to make smelly guy poo himself, and I'm scared the vibrations will propel holder-on-er into bike girl.


• The porn star - I tend to err on the side of prudishness in the locker room. Perhaps its an artifact of being on a swim team with lots of other white, suburban girls equally unhappy about their bodies (can't they design a racing suit that doesn't turn your boobs into under-arm pudge or, at the very least, diminishes your bum as much as it does your bosom?). I don't think everyone should have to work so hard at keeping all their bits covered with the teeny, fraying, prison-issue gym towel. If you are proud of your body, whatever form it may take, all the power to you. HOWEVER, there is a fine line between being comfortable nude in front of others and being an exhibitionist. Do you really need to dry your hair in nothing but a thong? Is it absolutely necessary for you to apply your make-up while the rest of you is au natural (and your mons pubis is resting on the sink counter)? Does the elaborate performance that is your moisturizer applying regime increase its absorption into your skin, or do you just want to show off how little your thighs juggle even when vigorously rubbed? (P.S. Please pass along the name of your waxer, she's clearly very talented, as I can see that she has removed hair from very difficult to reach crevices of your body.)

And anyone who doesn't wipe off the machine when there is excessive visible perspiration should have a 20lbs medicine ball dropped on his or her foot.

Random Thoughts

I watched Jarhead last night and was contemplating a thoughtful reflection on the effective war critique it offered without being too obvious or overbearing, but really what excuse do you need to watch a movie with Jake Gyllenhaal all-but-naked and Jamie Fox? Plus I'm not feeling inspired for a political rant at the moment. But it definitely did a good job of portraying the soldiers' perspectives - very "Support the troops, not the war," which I can get on board with.

So keeping it current but light, Paul tried to tell me the other night that Anna Nicole Smith was this generation's Marilyn Monroe. The only thing those two have in common is that both were bottle blondes and both are dead. I don't think our generation has a Marilyn. What would the criteria be? Affair with President + prolific actress + sex bomb + serial wife + troubled childhood + Playmate + premature death? Monika Lewinsky meets Julia Roberts meets Pamela Anderson meets Angelina Jolie meets J-Lo meets Drew Barrymore meets meets Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes of TLC? Yeah, not sure we have one of those.

The death of Anna Nicole is really sad and for many reasons. The woman was obviously a bit of a trainwreck, but she wasn't all bad. She inspired me to buy my first big-barreled curling iron - that was a good thing. She was a sexy Guess model, and I like potential wardrobe options modeled by women who look like they can an enjoy a nice piece of bacon and/or a brownie sundae. In her last interviews she looked like she was really suffering and deeply depressed over the death of her son and was clearly being sedated. Whether or not she was self-medicating, well...either way it's understandable. Now she's dead, and 3 men are claiming paternity over her baby girl. Good luck to that little lady. They should put aside a substantial portion of her potential trust fund for the copious amounts of therapy she's clearly going to need. Although starting out with a troubled childhood isn't necessarily a bad thing. Who knows, with a little luck and some strategic marketing she could be the next generation's Marilyn Monroe.

Overheard in the office

She used to have a sense of humor, I don't know what happened. She's a lesbian slam poet! You can't have a sense of humor when you're a lesbian slam poet - you have to get up there and talk about your cunt. And that's fine if that's what you want to do with your life, but I don't want to hear about your cunt all the time.

Dork humor

Sarah [entering office]: How you doin'?
Me: O.K.
Sarah: h'okay coach?
Me: h'okay coach.
[Sarah exists.]
Mon: What is that from?
Me: I'm not sure. I think it's from a movie The Bad News Bears. Sarah says it and I just picked it up from her.
[pause]
Isn't that the definition of simulacrum? A replication of a thing that is itself a replication without any knowledge of the original thing?
[Mon nods head yes.]
Me [way too excitedly]: Yay! I used simulacrum correctly in a sentence!
Mon: That would have served you very well in the late 90's.

I am retarded

Okay, I know it's not politically correct to use that word, but there's a time and a place. Especially if you grew up in the Boston area - certain things are just wicked retahded, end of story. It's the only way to describe them. Let it be.

So why am I retarded? Well, as you may have noticed, I couldn't figure out how to label my posts. Not such a big deal, but have the fun is in the title. In my first year of grad school at NYU I co-wrote a statistics paper with another graduate student - my roommate Ashley - entitled "What have you got to do to get a female CEO around here? Commercial Corporations and Glass Ceilings: Institutional Mechanisms and the Public/Private Divide." The paper's not that great, but if you just saw the first page you might want to read it. Our clever use of word play might pique your interest. Similarly, we have an informal contest going on in the department to see who can get the most creative form of punctuation into his or her dissertation title. Sarah's got a head start with her article "Bioethicists [Micro]Sort® It Out: Sex Selection and the Maintenance of Authority."

Beth had e-mailed about the laptop bags (a search which continues to vex me), so I asked her to share her wisdom. Turns out a title box just pops up for her. So I had a gander on the "settings" tab and after looking for, oh, about 30 seconds I found a field called "Show Title field". The drop down menu next to it has 2 options - Yes and No. Quick fix. Now my archives won't look like word jumbles.

But on the retarded issue. It should never be used as a derogatory label for someone who has an actual mental disability, if for no other reason than because it lacks imagination. I hope that one day the mentally challenged can reclaim this slur, much in the way some lesbians have reclaimed "Dyke," and someone can walk into special education classroom and ask, with deep affection, "Where my 'tards at?"

Anaphylactic Shock

Ohmygawd. I'm having difficulty breathing. I just found this website. It led me to a list of lots of other accessory shopping sites. With coupons. I immediately called Jane to give her the coupon code I found for lunaboston. And I stayed on the phone with her until I was assured that she had purchased the bag she wants - reminding her that I am an online-shopping GENIUS and that with my help she procured her laptop bag for $76.50 rather than $150. And then I found this amazing travel accessory website, which is perfect for me because IloveaccessoriesandItravelalot! And they have Orla Kiely bags - on sale! And then a few more clicks, and I ended up looking at this gorgeous bag. But how sexy is the white leather tote?!?!?!

HELP!

I'm the coldest lady in all the land

After my trip to the No-no Doctor this morning (you know, the one who touches you in your no-no special place), I tottered down Broadway, wrapped up like Ralphie's little brother from A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!"). A big debate was raging in my head - should I splurge on a scrumptious Starbucks beverage and treat, or should I go straight to my office and have a more sensible cup of tea and packet of instant oatmeal? Of course I went for the corporate breakfast, because if you don't deserve a treat after going to 3rd base with a metal crank and a latex glove, then when do you? Really.

[T.M.I. warning: Incidentally, my doctor told me my cervix has a tendency to "deviate to the left." I've never heard such a thing before. Even my cervix is deviant - who knew?!]

I must say the tallnonfatnowhipcinnamondolcelattewithsugarfreesyrup was a little disappointing. Simultaneously too sweet and a little bland. The Reduced-Fat Cinnamon Chip Mini Loaf, however, was a delightful surprise. It would have been perfect paired with a cup of sweet, milky PG tips tea. (God bless those little flavoroid pyramids - I get them imported from England. What can I say, I'm a tea snob. I got spoiled learning to drink tea in the UK.)

But when I got to the office and checked out my favorite blog, I realized there's something else to make me all warm and fuzzy inside - Fashion Week! - or, more specifically, the commentary! I live for vicious fashion critiques. The people that write for MSN Undressed are clearly of above average intelligence and have a pact with Satan. I can get on board with that.

If I could have attended one show, it would have to have been the Heart Truth Red Dress show. What a great idea?! Get celebrities to wear gorgeous red frocks and raise awareness about heart disease, the leading killer of women in this country. It is totally worth checking out the video to see Betsey Johnson, also a breast cancer survivor, channel Cindy Lauper and bounce down the catwalk. Kim Catrell is ravishing. Rachel Ray apparently left her neck backstage. Spring chicken and recovering Idol finalist Katherine McPhee also held her own against some more seasoned celebs (Billie Jean King and Felicia Reshad, to name a few), showing off her amazing gams (and did she get implants?) in a Swarovski-studded mini. Now don't get me wrong, she looked smokin', but I was a wee bit worried about her no-no special place. One wrong move in that smock and her va-ga-ga might catch a McPhever.

The Hunt is On: Update

Jane has just purchased a matching laptop to mine, so she's joined me on the quest for the perfect computer bag. We found some beautiful carrying cases today in the Bag store on 8th, confirming that Jane and I have fantastic (read expensive) taste. Jane has fallen for the Highway Bird Tote in Red (HW-08), whereas I'm leaning towards the Acme Trixy in Chocolate Brown. Convinced that you can always find things cheaper online (CONFIRMED: Jane's was $150 in the store and on the designer's website, $90 on lunaboston.com), I did a new search and stumbled across this little gem! Here's a site I can get on board with - these people clearly share my affinity for accessories/containing devices. I also got to see the Timbuk2 Marina Computer Handbag in person, and I must say on the less-expensive end of things I do like it quite a bit. It's made of the ballistic material most messenger bags are, so it's still decidedly techy, but in the right color it could be quite cool. The Talene Reilly bags are amazing, but sadly I'm not looking for something in the $300 price range. Okay but now I'm in lurve with this Lodis bag...

Decisions, decisions...

Cracking the code

I think I have deciphered the Starbucks formula:

f(x) = # of shots + size + dairy + specialty beverage + shots

Examples:

a double venti non-fat americano

-OR-

a tall soy no-whip mocha

-OR-

a grande non-fat cinnamon dolce latte with sugar-free syrup

I'm onto you, you green-aproned imps! No longer will you feign superiority over me by haughtily re-arranging the words of my order, verbally excluding me from your clique like some upper-class country club members chuckling at their less couth guest's ignorance of fish forks!

Hello, my name is Lazy, and I'm a gamer

Things that I should have worked on today:

• Grading lab assignments
• Reading for my comprehensive exam
• Learning more about my potential dissertation topic

And here's what I did instead:

Thunder Plunder Borg the Viking has a liking for plundering.

Play this free game now!!

Addictive. Almost as bad as TextTwist.