Mighty Life List
Nov 30 2005

While You’re Ahead

In search of a portable blender, Josh calls information for REI contact info:

-What city?

-San Francisco.

-Listing?

-REI

-What’s that?

-R-E-I.

-Can you spell that?

-ARR-EEEE-EYE

-Oh! What does that stand for?

-Really egalatarian cicles. (hangs up)

Nov 29 2005

Fable Becomes Headline

A young girl dies of a kiss.

Nov 28 2005

Dirty Talk

This page lists dozens of ways to bypass voice response systems, and it reminded me of a trick my friend Jeff shared with me a while ago. It doesn’t work for every system, but when it does, it’s glorious. It goes like this:

Robot: Please press one to access your account, press two to

Me: Fuck.

Robot: I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you repeat what you just said?

Me: Fuck.

Robot: I think you said you want to talk to an agent. Is this correct?

Me: Yes.

Agent: Hello! May I have your account number please?

Of course, I’m extra polite once the operator gets on the line, as he or she presumably knows that I got aggressive at the phone. Yet another example of how nastiness is rewarded. Unfortunately, until someone designs a system that reacts similarly when I say Please and Thank You, I’m sticking with the program.

Nov 21 2005

The Robber Bride

The best parts of The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood:

Good egg, he says. Small things like good eggs delight him, small things like bad eggs depress him. He’s easy to please, but difficult to protect.

West is not the tool-using type, though: the only hammer in the house belongs to Tony, and for anything other than simple nail-pounding she looks in the Yellow Pages. Why risk your life?

throwing your leftovers out the window, the ribbons, the wrapping paper, the half-eaten filo pastries and the champagne truffles, things you’d used up just by looking at them.

Nov 20 2005

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

The best part of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon:

time is not like space. And when you put something down somewhere, like a protractor or a biscuit, you can have a map in your head to tell you where you have left it, but even if you don’t have a map it will still be there because a map is a representation of things that actually exist so you can find the protractor or the biscuit again. And a timetable is a map of time, except that if you don’t have a timetable time is not there like the landing and the garden and the route to school. Because time is only the relationship between the way different things change, like the earth going round the sun and atoms vibrating and clocks ticking and day and night and waking up and going to sleep.

time is a mystery, and not even a thing, and no one has ever solved the puzzle of what time is, exactly. And so, if you get lost in time it is like being lost in a desert, except that you can’t see the desert because it is not a thing.

And this is why I like timetables, because they make sure you don’t get lost in time.

Nov 17 2005

Also, I Tried Hot Sauce


Sharks
Originally uploaded by MaggieMason.

I have not, historically, been a risk taker. Try this new television show? OK. Choose a new breakfast cereal? Maybe. Strap a bungee cord to my ankle and leap face-first into a pool of asphalt? I’ll be hiding the coat closet.

Of course, I’m not saying that I should be jumping from airplanes or swan diving off cliffs to prove that I’m brave, just that I can be disproportionately afraid of certain things. At times my fear that Something Bad Will Happen can be so powerful that it dares the universe to deliver.

On our honeymoon, Bryan spent hours backstroking in the ocean outside our room, while I worried from the balcony. The water was choppy and dark, I could tell a storm was coming in, and you couldn’t see the bottom because the sand was so churned up. As all of you know, when you can’t see what’s around you, you’re obviously surrounded by vicious beasties that would like to suck the marrow from your bones.

After much cajoling, Bryan finally convinced me to join him for a swim. I cautiously waded in up to my thighs, and was immediately stung by a jellyfish.

This is how it goes. I predict that Bad Stuff will happen, and Bad Stuff never lets me down. So, this year, one of my birthday goals was to ignore my own best instincts. I decided to take more risks.

When we left for Belize, I knew it had some of the most beautiful reefs in the world, and we agreed to take a snorkeling trip. I had to steel myself for the good of the group, because I’ve never really enjoyed snorkeling. When I’m not struggling to get my mask to work, I’m floating paralyzed in a teeming soup of living things. All of them swim faster than me, and sharks totally know this.

Still, I’m the one who wanted to take more risks, so a few days into vacation we climbed aboard the boat that would take us to the reef, about fifteen minutes away from the island. Once we were in the water, my new resolve to resist panic was holding up. We’d been swimming for a half hour or so, and I was having a great time. That is, until our guide grabbed my upper arm and pointed out a dark, ominous shape waiting below us. It was a shark.

I inhaled a lungful of salt water, jerked my head up to choke and gasp for air, then smacked my face back into the water so I could monitor the shark. As our guide swam down toward it, I began to hyperventilate and search frantically for Bryan. I planned to grab him around the chest and drag him back to the boat.

Our guide took hold of the shark’s fins, and then let it pull him along as it struggled to get away. Horrified, I finally found Bryan in the tangle of limbs and snorkel masks. He read my terror, and responded with a dizzy grin, shoving his hands in my face with his thumbs pointed up. Chum, I thought.

Having scared the shark away, our guide returned to the group and we continued on our way back to the boat. I was shaking a little as I climbed aboard and peeled the mask off of my face. You didn’t like the shark much, did you? Bryan asked. No, I said. I did not.

A few minutes later, the boat stopped unexpectedly and our guide pulled out a bucket of fish. He threw handfuls overboard, and in a few moments the water was jumping with sharks. I inhaled deeply.

Climb in! our guide yelled, over the din of gnashing teeth. They won’t bite.

I drew my eyebrows in and pointed accusingly at the convulsing mass. Biting was all they seemed to be doing. Biting is, in fact, how sharks roll.

Our guide laughed, They’re nurse sharks! Not aggressive.

They were leaping and tearing at the fish, piling on top of one another to get at it. Our friend Erin, a certified diver, was already halfway down the ladder. Bryan snapped his mask on and ran his thumb beneath the elastic band. Come on, baby! he said. I clenched my teeth and whimpered.

You’re not coming? he asked, throwing one leg over the side. He was disappointed. My eyes widened. No! I said. No! Why exactly are we getting in the water here? For a front-row view of a feeding frenzy? But Bryan was already in.

I reached for my camera and kept an eye out for his head bobbing above the waves. I could hardly believe how many sharks there were, or how vicious they looked, tearing at the chum.

While I watched, I could already begin to feel the pull of regret. I knew that when we got home, I wouldn’t be able to join in when Bryan told this story to our friends; that I would have to say I’d waited in the boat.

I thought about how much of my life I’d spent watching other people do things that scared me. Here I was, standing by, while people a few feet away from me were seizing a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I knew I wasn’t being brave, and I was jealous of the others who had slipped into the water so confidently. I thought about my resolution, and how swimming with sharks is the actual clich that people use to describe foolhardy risks.

As I secured my mask, Bryan surfaced and beckoned me in. I adjusted my snorkel, and jumped.

Nov 16 2005

Simple(ton) Pleasures

Something about Belize the soft air, the magical quality of the light, the beer for breakfast–made us more susceptible to awful puns.

Erin would tell a story, Rachel would exclaim, That’s un-Belize-able! and we’d all collapse in riotous laughter. As we passed a vacation home named Maya House, I adopted an Italian accent, That’s-a my-a house! Woo-hoo! Bryan practically had to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes.

Apparently, everything is more entertaining when you don’t have access to basic cable.