So, in the next few days I have to clean my house, finish painting my front door, move some boxes, feed some guests, and have a huge alumni party at my house.
Yeah. I probably won't be posting regularly until July 5th.
6.29.2006
6.28.2006
Disjointed Thoughts on a Wednesday
A great phrase on This American Life (2004 episode "I Love My Car"), speaking about a gangly teenager:
"There's something tech-support about him."
And now I must paint my front door black. Why? Because it's there. Because it was white. Because someone, somewhere, invented paint, dangit.
I'd also like to point out that del.icio.us is handy for so many things--my most recently-tagged topics are Egyptology, gamers, and parenting.
"There's something tech-support about him."
And now I must paint my front door black. Why? Because it's there. Because it was white. Because someone, somewhere, invented paint, dangit.
I'd also like to point out that del.icio.us is handy for so many things--my most recently-tagged topics are Egyptology, gamers, and parenting.
6.27.2006
Groove to the (Video Game) Music
I am so loving the altNPR podcasts, especially Press Start, all about video games. I love the episode about video game music. It brings back fond memories of my pals Amy and Bryan, using our tape recorder to record NES music. Yes, I know, the uber-geek/nerd/dork labels are all applicable here.
Did you know that Beck rocks like NES?
This has got to be one of the more interesting CRS reports I've come across:
"Members of the U.S. Congress Who Have Died of Other Than Natural Causes While in Office"
Yes, I know I'm terribly morbid and curious--but those are naturally inseparable charcteristics: curiousity, after all, killed the cat. And yes, it does list the cause of death.
So, how exactly does "drowned" differ from "accidentally drowned," anyway?
Did you know that Beck rocks like NES?
This has got to be one of the more interesting CRS reports I've come across:
"Members of the U.S. Congress Who Have Died of Other Than Natural Causes While in Office"
Yes, I know I'm terribly morbid and curious--but those are naturally inseparable charcteristics: curiousity, after all, killed the cat. And yes, it does list the cause of death.
So, how exactly does "drowned" differ from "accidentally drowned," anyway?
6.24.2006
A Hubby By Any Other Name...
Alex just called and asked if I wanted to get a quart of (semi) glossy black paint on my way home to paint our front door! I'm quite happy--it's something we've talked about for awhole, that I've desired at least since seeing Hugh-Grant-as-Prime-Minister's glossy black front door in Love Actually, and it will be a spontaneous and concrete change to the house. Not a big one, but enough. (I tell you, that home improvement gets in your blood, and you've got to get that high every once in awhile, be it the smell of paint, grout stains on your pants, or flooring glue on--well--everything.)
That reminds me: Alex. I make a conscious effort to refer to my Main Man as "Alex" both in my blog and in person when he's not around (i.e., at work), even if the people to whom I am speaking don't know him. I thought that might seem odd to some people--maybe some blog readers are wondering if we're married or what--so I'll just take a moment to reflect upon the habit. Yes, we're married--going on six years. Yes, I love being married--I'm not trying to hide that fact. It's just that I've always hated, in conversations, saying, "My best friend in high school..." or "My pal Rita in Las Vegas..." or "My husband..." There are a few tenuous reasons that suggest why this bothers me.
1) It assumes the person you're speaking to doesn't know this person or share this experience, and they may feel excluded (I tend to, when other people talk this way around me).
2) If that person does know to whom you're referring, or at least knows their name, they might be annoyed or confused that you don't simply call them by name.
3) It seems really impersonal to me to refer to Alex as "my husband." There's a difference between saying, "This is my husband, Alex," and saying "This weekend, my husband and I went to Home Depot." There's no personality in that statement; my husband, for all the audience could know, might have a blank white face and generic build--American Husband, Model #1157. To me, to refer to Alex as, well, Alex, not only gives him a concrete presence as a person, but it connotes the strong friendship that our relationship is based upon. I don't want to obliquely refer to him as "my husband" to others and give them the sense that I don't like him well enough to use his name.
Of course, the odd thing about it is that we rarely call each other by our names. Granted, as we both go by our middle names anyway, we're already not using our given first names. But unless we need to get each other's attention, it just sounds kinda funny. I don't call many people by their names anyway, for whatever reason. It's not as if, after twenty-two years, I'm afraid that I've got Amy's name wrong. It's just that "Dude" and "Ames" seem more natural.
I hope my pondering hasn't bored you, or caused you to mutter bitter comments about married people and their starry eyes for each other, or whatever. I'm with you--Smug Marrieds suck, they really do, and I'm trying my darndest not to be one of those annoying chicks--but dang it, I can't help that I married my best friend. Nor would I want to (help it, that is).
(Yeah, yeah brevity is the soul of wit. I know.)
Iloveya, babe!
That reminds me: Alex. I make a conscious effort to refer to my Main Man as "Alex" both in my blog and in person when he's not around (i.e., at work), even if the people to whom I am speaking don't know him. I thought that might seem odd to some people--maybe some blog readers are wondering if we're married or what--so I'll just take a moment to reflect upon the habit. Yes, we're married--going on six years. Yes, I love being married--I'm not trying to hide that fact. It's just that I've always hated, in conversations, saying, "My best friend in high school..." or "My pal Rita in Las Vegas..." or "My husband..." There are a few tenuous reasons that suggest why this bothers me.
1) It assumes the person you're speaking to doesn't know this person or share this experience, and they may feel excluded (I tend to, when other people talk this way around me).
2) If that person does know to whom you're referring, or at least knows their name, they might be annoyed or confused that you don't simply call them by name.
3) It seems really impersonal to me to refer to Alex as "my husband." There's a difference between saying, "This is my husband, Alex," and saying "This weekend, my husband and I went to Home Depot." There's no personality in that statement; my husband, for all the audience could know, might have a blank white face and generic build--American Husband, Model #1157. To me, to refer to Alex as, well, Alex, not only gives him a concrete presence as a person, but it connotes the strong friendship that our relationship is based upon. I don't want to obliquely refer to him as "my husband" to others and give them the sense that I don't like him well enough to use his name.
Of course, the odd thing about it is that we rarely call each other by our names. Granted, as we both go by our middle names anyway, we're already not using our given first names. But unless we need to get each other's attention, it just sounds kinda funny. I don't call many people by their names anyway, for whatever reason. It's not as if, after twenty-two years, I'm afraid that I've got Amy's name wrong. It's just that "Dude" and "Ames" seem more natural.
I hope my pondering hasn't bored you, or caused you to mutter bitter comments about married people and their starry eyes for each other, or whatever. I'm with you--Smug Marrieds suck, they really do, and I'm trying my darndest not to be one of those annoying chicks--but dang it, I can't help that I married my best friend. Nor would I want to (help it, that is).
(Yeah, yeah brevity is the soul of wit. I know.)
Iloveya, babe!
6.22.2006
Re: Rethinking Remodel
So... yeah. In the interest of sanity, Alex and I realized that we didn't have to kill ourselves getting our bedroom remodel done before July 1st. So you'll have to wait a little longer for photos and ludicrous anecdotes.
Re: North Korea fueling missle: Alex made a hilarious metaphor yesterday--he said that North Korea is like the wimpy high-school nerd, and that the US is like the star quarterback, and North Korea just threw a superball at the US's face. And it was an airball. Man, don't tick off the quarterback. It's just not smart.
In the meantime, here's an update of what I'm thinking about:
Re: North Korea fueling missle: Alex made a hilarious metaphor yesterday--he said that North Korea is like the wimpy high-school nerd, and that the US is like the star quarterback, and North Korea just threw a superball at the US's face. And it was an airball. Man, don't tick off the quarterback. It's just not smart.
In the meantime, here's an update of what I'm thinking about:
- This is interesting: the Southern Baptist Convention's now officially teetotalling.
- Is this the most creative mom, or what? I want to be this cool.
- So, the Mavs lost. Sigh.
- Lego leaves the US! And believe it or not, they're not moving things to Denmark--but to Mexico. Hmmm. What story did this appear directly above in my NPR RSS feeds? "Congress at Odds over Immigration Legislation." Interesting juxtaposition.
- So... it didn't even strike me until reading this Slashdot story that the controller for the new Nintendo console will be called the Wiimote. Causing any human speaking about it to sound either like they are incapable of pronouncing their "R"s, or that they find the thing so gosh-darned cute that they've got to use babytalk. Much as I'm gung-ho for Nintendo, this does cause me a small shudder.
- Bike Path... Train Station Replica... Public Restroom... Art Gallery. Weird.
- Fiction vs. Real Life. Fine line, isn't it?
- Star Wars Transformers. Yeah, I've got some. No, not these particular ones. Yeah, they pretty much rock.
- Strongbad & Homestar on IT:"Your call is very un-portant to us."
- Hilarious ad on home recording.
- Want to see how insecure RFID is? Build yourself a skimmer.
- Awwwwsome! Foster's has a design blog!
- Online comic about copyright issues affecting a documentary filmmaker:
- More copyright humor goodness.
- Mac vs. PC ads: a review.
- I have changed one of my lifelong goals, learning the tango, to learning salsa. We get more salsa here in Tejas, anyhow. Pass the chips!
- Have a flag flown over the US capitol as a gift; ranges from $9-$20.
6.19.2006
Impromptu Presto-Chango
Those of you who know myself and my man in Real Life (that's the sunshiny-space outside your blacked-out window to you virtual-life die-hards) are well aware of the fact that Home Improvement is a genetic... curse? flaw? ...in both our families. We got not only the "do-it-yourself" gene from both of our families (closely related to the "I-could-make-that-cheaper-and-better" gene), but we're both addicted to before/after scenarios. Makeovers, project cars, remodels, whatever--if it was old and boring and now it's miraculously snazzy, we're into it.
This sick urge tends to strike us in six-month intervals, ironically coinciding with a college-alum party we host every six months. Which inevitably makes finishing our latest project a mad race, the last twenty-four hours of which we spend scrubbing off grout/installing trim/etc. while frantically muttering to each other, "Why do we always do this? Why? Why?"
I theorize that there are two reasons for this. First, it takes six months for us to forget the pain, sweat, and complete insanity of the latest project. Second, subconsciously our minds realize that if we schedule a project shortly before the party, we have a strict deadline, causing our natural procrastination to be obliterated in the panic of knowing that 30-50 people will be walking into our house 2-4 weeks from now. (Third may be that paint samples and tile give off a powerful pheremone to which we become temporarily immune, but which eventually cripples our good sense.)
Reason #2 is the best reason, really, since it impels us to be finished, and after the party we can sit back and bask in the loveliness of a finished project. But it can also be incredibly stressful.
We've been working on our metal building since before the last party at New Year's--although it wasn't completely sided at that point--and was our only home improvement plan to complete before the party. But in the past two weeks, although the exterior is quite finished, we realized we would be unable to complete the bathroom inside. Enter frustration over an unfinished project.
Then add in tremendous heat that makes us want to stay indoors. And a good dose of home makeover shows. (Drat HGTV, TLC, and satellite itself! The peer pressure is too much!)
So Saturday, after three years of hemming and hawing over a bedroom wall color, we instantly picked a greyish-blue shade. Much like we picked the living room wall color after a year or two of undecided frustration--one random day we picked a green we liked and painted it that week.
And of course, there are all kinds of things that crop up after you pick out a wall color. Lest I reveal too much of our mad plot, I'll let that tantilizing suggestion... er... tantilize you for awhile as we tackle this epic endeavor. I'll post some before/after photos (see, I told you) when we're done--hopefully next week, just in time for the party.
In the meantime, don't be surprised to see a bit of lag in this blog for the next week. I'll regale you with stories of home improvement mishaps next week.
This sick urge tends to strike us in six-month intervals, ironically coinciding with a college-alum party we host every six months. Which inevitably makes finishing our latest project a mad race, the last twenty-four hours of which we spend scrubbing off grout/installing trim/etc. while frantically muttering to each other, "Why do we always do this? Why? Why?"
I theorize that there are two reasons for this. First, it takes six months for us to forget the pain, sweat, and complete insanity of the latest project. Second, subconsciously our minds realize that if we schedule a project shortly before the party, we have a strict deadline, causing our natural procrastination to be obliterated in the panic of knowing that 30-50 people will be walking into our house 2-4 weeks from now. (Third may be that paint samples and tile give off a powerful pheremone to which we become temporarily immune, but which eventually cripples our good sense.)
Reason #2 is the best reason, really, since it impels us to be finished, and after the party we can sit back and bask in the loveliness of a finished project. But it can also be incredibly stressful.
We've been working on our metal building since before the last party at New Year's--although it wasn't completely sided at that point--and was our only home improvement plan to complete before the party. But in the past two weeks, although the exterior is quite finished, we realized we would be unable to complete the bathroom inside. Enter frustration over an unfinished project.
Then add in tremendous heat that makes us want to stay indoors. And a good dose of home makeover shows. (Drat HGTV, TLC, and satellite itself! The peer pressure is too much!)
So Saturday, after three years of hemming and hawing over a bedroom wall color, we instantly picked a greyish-blue shade. Much like we picked the living room wall color after a year or two of undecided frustration--one random day we picked a green we liked and painted it that week.
And of course, there are all kinds of things that crop up after you pick out a wall color. Lest I reveal too much of our mad plot, I'll let that tantilizing suggestion... er... tantilize you for awhile as we tackle this epic endeavor. I'll post some before/after photos (see, I told you) when we're done--hopefully next week, just in time for the party.
In the meantime, don't be surprised to see a bit of lag in this blog for the next week. I'll regale you with stories of home improvement mishaps next week.
Shoes (aka, Vanity Before Comfort)
I own two kinds of painful shoes. The first is the obvious kind: the kind that make your feet ache (either the entire foot or a specific part). There are the high heels, the narrow heels, the shoes that are a tad too tight, those that don't support my arches, and the heeled sandals that the balls of my feet slide in.
The second kind doesn't make the food ache or sore, but is more insidious: the skin irritant shoe. Even when they fit well, there are a number of shoes I own which rub against the heel or back of my ankle until they produce blisters, which are in turn rubbed off, revealing raw dermis to be gradually chafed off. As I don these evil shoes, I tell myself hopefully, "Well, last time I wasn't wearing hose--or my foot was swollen--or I needed to add a pad to the back. It'll be okay this time." This is what is known as being delusional.
Of course, it never ends well. I've added tape, bandaids, gel inserts--you name it, I've tried to cushion the back of these shoes with it. It never works.
Since I started this job, I've kept my shoes on a rotational schedule. I wear gorgeous but painful shoes every other day, giving myself a day to rest with shoes that are comfy, but don't necessarily finish off the outfit. I'm getting addicted to wearing heels again, which is cruel, cruel irony now that I work on the third floor. And take the stairs.
But I still do it. Aesthetics before comfort, fashion over happy feet. I may have some tomboy ways, but in the area of shoes, I am as weak as Imelda Marcos.
The second kind doesn't make the food ache or sore, but is more insidious: the skin irritant shoe. Even when they fit well, there are a number of shoes I own which rub against the heel or back of my ankle until they produce blisters, which are in turn rubbed off, revealing raw dermis to be gradually chafed off. As I don these evil shoes, I tell myself hopefully, "Well, last time I wasn't wearing hose--or my foot was swollen--or I needed to add a pad to the back. It'll be okay this time." This is what is known as being delusional.
Of course, it never ends well. I've added tape, bandaids, gel inserts--you name it, I've tried to cushion the back of these shoes with it. It never works.
Since I started this job, I've kept my shoes on a rotational schedule. I wear gorgeous but painful shoes every other day, giving myself a day to rest with shoes that are comfy, but don't necessarily finish off the outfit. I'm getting addicted to wearing heels again, which is cruel, cruel irony now that I work on the third floor. And take the stairs.
But I still do it. Aesthetics before comfort, fashion over happy feet. I may have some tomboy ways, but in the area of shoes, I am as weak as Imelda Marcos.
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