te>Couldn’t we all use a little John Denver right about now? We could:
Aye Calypso! The place's you've been to The things that you've shown us The stories you tell Aye Calypso! I sing to your spirit The men who have served you So long and so well
Right. Why am I still at work?
San Francisco Moment:
Guy in a Jeep Cherokee passed me this morning with his radio blaring. He stopped for the light and as the engine roar quieted, I heard, “THE NASDAQ COMPOSITE INDEX PLUNGED TO ITS LOWEST LEVEL IN 15 MONTHS…” He was blasting NPR. Rock on, suburban white guy.
Stuff that creeps me out, in order of creepiness:
- Russian grandmother sells her living grandson for organ harvesting.
- Japanese men are signing up for an online service that lets them woo a virtual woman over email. They must court the woman, and if they’re good enough the relationship will, ah, progress. If not, the “woman” dumps them.
- This museum has an exhibit on the human body that includes fake human feces floating in a toilet. Kids love it.
With my ears plugged from the cold, I mistook an ambulence siren for an aria and looked around for the fat lady.
You know what’s not pleasant? Drinking at the water fountain and feeling the stream of water dip when someone flushes the toilet in the bathroom next door.
I saw a commercial this weekend for an E-Z Bake Oven CD-ROM. Two girls sat side by side giggling in anticipation over the rising cake… on their monitor.
GAHHHH! First they take away candy cigarettes, then toys that spark, and now this? Excuse me, Orwellian Overlords? The whole point of the E-Z Bake oven is to mix the tap water and pseudo-chocolate powder, spill most of the “batter” on the floor while you’re pouring it into tiny pans, and let it bake for three hours under the scorching heat of a 60-watt lightbulb. Now that’s entertainment. The day I catch my child watching an animated cake and clapping her hands in glee, I’m unplugging the Telescreen and sitting down to wait for the Thought Police to take me away.
Walking me to work this morning, Fred kept nudging me into the parking meters. I finally asked if I could switch sides with him. He seemed frustrated and said, “I know I’m supposed to walk on the curb side, but in San Francisco all the bums are on the inside.” Good point.
When I was in college, I had an art history professor who would dock our papers an entire grade if they didn’t have titles. So I wouldn’t forget, I wrote “The Coolest Title in the World Goes Here” on my title page. Of course, I never got back to it and I turned the paper in. The best part is, the paper was on “art in public spaces.” Tragically, if one leaves the “l” out of public, spell check doesn’t catch it. Even if you leave the “l” out two or three times.
Fat Chicks in Party Hats will make you feel like a creep for laughing. The barely English captions are so incredibly random that you can’t stop scrolling. The caption for this one reads, “my date for the prom did taste like choclate! BURP! oh i am so alone.”
Stolen from Metafilter.
This site’s creators aren’t disturbed by the lude nature of amateur porn photography, but the zebra-print drapes must go.
Obscene Interiors has painstakingly cropped out all the extraneous nudity, so you can experience the full horror of beaded avacado bedspreads without distraction.
My nephew Trevor is three, and he’s a big fan of nose picking. I said, “Trevor, don’t do that, honey. People think it’s gross.” Trevor looked up at me thoughtfully with his finger buried up to his knuckle. He said in his most earnest, explanatory tone, “No they don’t, Auntie Mawget. They think it’s yummy.”
All right, it’s true that I’m sick again for the third time in two months. But if one more chipper, healthy person tells me to take echinacea, I’m going to march into their cube and rub my cold-infested face all over their phone receiver.
Then I’m going to call to thank them for their sound advice.
Characters: Friends from my college newspaper.
Subject: Finding a sugar daddy.
Excerpt (minus extraneous inside jokes):
Drew: I’ve been looking for a Sugar Mama/Daddy to support me while I finish my novel. Now, who the hell’s pulling down the most here?
Me: Extremely generous SWF seeks aspiring novelist to share mutually beneficial relationship and writers’ nest in city. I’m a wealthy editor seeking a young man to dot my “i”s and cross my “t”s. Can you prove that your sword is as mighty as your pen?
Matthias: The only four words I need to win Drew’s favor: Hung like a rhino.
Drew: I’d like to respond to ad box #133256, “SWF seeking aspiring novelist, etc.”: SWM, rugged, untamed, unflinching…Alaskan. Seeking a woman to clean game and fish including, but not limited to, caribou, moose, salmon, carp, trout, ptarmigan, grouse, bass, shad, dolly varden, raven, wolf, bobcat, house cat, sewer rat and the occasional feral monkey. Must have own knife and “fat-scraper”, must be able to make fire from snow, must weigh at least 195 (for boat ballast). Are you strong enough to be my man? I mean, woman?
Me: Um.. what’s dolly varden?
Jessie: That’s like Dolly Parton, except minus the gargantuan
boobies, and also it’s a fish.