Friday, August 27, 2004
"I just had no intention of living this way"
Do you want the truth? The truth is that I'm tired. I'm so fucking sick and tired of all of this. I'm tired of pretending that getting laid off was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because you know what? It wasn't. It's been exactly three months, which is way past the time when I can read articles about Hilary Swank and pretend like everything's going to be OK. It's not even remotely close to OK. I hate having to pretend that I just love not having a job because I can get up whenever I want to, when the truth is that each morning I wake up when it's already light outside feels more and more like a failure. I hate having to spend hours at the library searching for jobs and then having to convince myself that I actually want to work at Office Supply Monthly in God-knows-where, New Jersey, just because it's the only job I've seen all week that I'm remotely qualified for. I hate the interminable silence of my apartment when I'm waiting for the phone to ring with news about a job. I hate getting excited when the phone finally, blessedly rings, only to find out that it's my bank or a wrong number. I hate that I can't fall asleep at night because of the afternoon nap I took because it's the only thing I could do to fill the hours of mind-numbing boredom. I hate that I can finish a novel or two a week. I hate meeting new people and being forced to bumble an answer to the question, "So what do you do?" I hate watching Seinfeld and identifying with George. George! I hate having to pay a ridiculous sum of money for health insurance that doesn't even cover the things I actually use my health insurance for. I hate hearing my friends plan trips and activities and wondering if I'll be able to go along with them or not. I hate the anxiety that creeps over me every time I balance my checkbook. I hate the automated voice man on the unemployment claim line that I have to call every week. I hate not being able to get my hair cut or buy new jeans because I've convinced myself that these are things I can live without. I hate hearing about friends and acquaintances and former co-workers who have transitioned so easily to the next step. I hate hoping and praying so fervently that I'll be offered jobs that I'm actually overqualified for. I hate that this isn't the first time I've had to feel this way, and I hate that the last time I felt like this was scarcely more than a year ago. But what I hate most of all is that I never did anything to deserve this.
Do you want the truth? The truth is that I'm tired. I'm so fucking sick and tired of all of this. I'm tired of pretending that getting laid off was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because you know what? It wasn't. It's been exactly three months, which is way past the time when I can read articles about Hilary Swank and pretend like everything's going to be OK. It's not even remotely close to OK. I hate having to pretend that I just love not having a job because I can get up whenever I want to, when the truth is that each morning I wake up when it's already light outside feels more and more like a failure. I hate having to spend hours at the library searching for jobs and then having to convince myself that I actually want to work at Office Supply Monthly in God-knows-where, New Jersey, just because it's the only job I've seen all week that I'm remotely qualified for. I hate the interminable silence of my apartment when I'm waiting for the phone to ring with news about a job. I hate getting excited when the phone finally, blessedly rings, only to find out that it's my bank or a wrong number. I hate that I can't fall asleep at night because of the afternoon nap I took because it's the only thing I could do to fill the hours of mind-numbing boredom. I hate that I can finish a novel or two a week. I hate meeting new people and being forced to bumble an answer to the question, "So what do you do?" I hate watching Seinfeld and identifying with George. George! I hate having to pay a ridiculous sum of money for health insurance that doesn't even cover the things I actually use my health insurance for. I hate hearing my friends plan trips and activities and wondering if I'll be able to go along with them or not. I hate the anxiety that creeps over me every time I balance my checkbook. I hate the automated voice man on the unemployment claim line that I have to call every week. I hate not being able to get my hair cut or buy new jeans because I've convinced myself that these are things I can live without. I hate hearing about friends and acquaintances and former co-workers who have transitioned so easily to the next step. I hate hoping and praying so fervently that I'll be offered jobs that I'm actually overqualified for. I hate that this isn't the first time I've had to feel this way, and I hate that the last time I felt like this was scarcely more than a year ago. But what I hate most of all is that I never did anything to deserve this.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Yesterday afternoon I was trying to take a nap when, out of nowhere, I was suddenly struck with a thought so confounding that it rendered me completely unable to sleep. This thought was: If Peter Parker is Spider-man, then how does he take pictures of Spider-man for the newspaper? Does he have some kind of auto-timer on his camera? Because those things can be a pain to set up, even if you are a superhero, and it seems to me like that would take a lot of time out of, you know, saving lives and fighting evildoers and whatnot. Perhaps this was all addressed in the first movie, which I still haven't seen. So can someone please explain this to me?
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
The most amazing thing I saw last night on The Amazing Race
Oh, Collin. Without Mirna around to pick on anymore, he's now turned to assaulting the poor cab drivers of Tanzania, who only want to get paid what I assume is a fair amount of money (since it's what they charged the other teams) for such a long haul. I remember the first time I went to France and everyone talked about how the money didn't seem real, like it was just play money. Apparently Collin thinks the "it's just pretend" maxim applies to all aspects of international travel--including the law. Oh, it's just Africa! It's a continent full of wild heathens! They can't possibly have laws! Yeah. Except on a continent where law enforcement officials (not to mention your average citizens...and perhaps taxi drivers) have been known to tote semi-automatic weapons, I'd think twice about getting into any scuffles with them, especially over something as measly as $50. I guess the police at the Kilimanjaro airport aren't the type to carry uzis, which is a shame, because I'd really like to see if Collin can keep up his tough veneer with a gun pointed at his back.
Oh, Collin. Without Mirna around to pick on anymore, he's now turned to assaulting the poor cab drivers of Tanzania, who only want to get paid what I assume is a fair amount of money (since it's what they charged the other teams) for such a long haul. I remember the first time I went to France and everyone talked about how the money didn't seem real, like it was just play money. Apparently Collin thinks the "it's just pretend" maxim applies to all aspects of international travel--including the law. Oh, it's just Africa! It's a continent full of wild heathens! They can't possibly have laws! Yeah. Except on a continent where law enforcement officials (not to mention your average citizens...and perhaps taxi drivers) have been known to tote semi-automatic weapons, I'd think twice about getting into any scuffles with them, especially over something as measly as $50. I guess the police at the Kilimanjaro airport aren't the type to carry uzis, which is a shame, because I'd really like to see if Collin can keep up his tough veneer with a gun pointed at his back.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
I've spent way more time thinking about this than I should
So I've had this theory for a while that all Freddie Prinze Jr. romantic comedies are just rip-offs of modern romantic-comedy classics. This weekend, in an attempt to put this theory through its final test, I gave in and watched Summer Catch, the only film in the Freddie Prinze Jr. romantic-comedy canon that I had yet to see. (As far as I know. He could have made some more of them while I wasn't looking.) I am happy to report that this considerable sacrifice was not in vain, as the theory remains substantiated. So this seems as good a time as any to subject it to public scrutiny. (But before I do, I would just like to say that, in my defense, I only actually paid to see one of these movies; the rest I caught on movie channels late at night or checked out from the library. Not that that makes it any better, but still. I wanted you to know.)
The movie: She's All That
Which is a rip-off of: Pretty Woman
The evidence: Well, they pretty much say so in the film itself, so that should be your first clue. The roles are re-written for the teenage audience, so instead of being a hooker, our heroine is the class "nerd" (read: a knockout oh-so-cleverly hidden behind glasses), and the hero is a star jock rather than a wealthy playboy. There's the requisite makeover, a plot twist involving a smarmy best friend and the inevitable questioning of identity, all capped off with a cloyingly romantic ending. Sadly, no one utters the line, "I've got a runner in my pantyhose! I'm not wearing pantyhose!" But there is some choreographed dancing to make up for it.
The movie: Boys and Girls
Which is a rip-off of: When Harry Met Sally
The evidence: Short of actually citing the ripped-off film in the dialogue, this movie is pretty much as big a rip-off as She's All That, seeking to answer the question "Can men and women ever really be friends?" for a new generation. (Here's another question: Why does the new generation need all these questions answered again? Don't they know they can watch Pretty Woman and When Harry Met Sally on cable every weekend?) Anyway. As in WHMS, we begin with a brief, chance encounter that, years later, leads to a spark of recognition and the beginning of a beautiful friendship that is ultimately compromised when the two friends sleep together at the top of the third act. After the requisite awkwardness, the friends realize their true love for each other, a realization that requires one of them to chase wildly after the other. There are a few subtle differences, though. For instance, Meg Ryan and Carrie Fisher never shared a lesbian liplock, and not once did Billy Crystal perform a choreographed dance in a foam club.
The movie: Down to You
Which is a rip-off of: Annie Hall
The evidence: OK, so I'll be the first to admit that this comparison is a bit loose. It's also the one that excites the most protest. Apparently, Gary Marshall and Rob Reiner are fair game when it comes to Freddie Prinze Jr. comparisons, but Woody Allen is taking it all a bit too far. Well, too bad. Look, it's not like I'm saying that Down to You is on equal footing with Annie Hall. I'm just saying that it bears certain similarities, namely that it eschews the traditional romantic comedy formula in favor of following one couple through the ups and downs of their relationship, from the giddy, awkward beginning to the inevitable breakup and post-breakup fallout. Also, unlike any other Freddie Prinze Jr. romantic comedy, it uses certain cinematic techniques, such as direct address, which are also used in Annie Hall. See? I told you the similarities were minimal. But they're there.
The movie: Summer Catch
Which is a rip-off of: Bull Durham
The evidence: I pretty much had my mind made up about this one before I even watched it. I mean, a romantic comedy about baseball? The Bull Durham comparisons were inevitable. The people who wrote the blurb on the back of the box must have thought so, too, because they described the movie as a "Bull Durham-styled romantic comedy." (Apparently Freddie now actually admits to ripping off the classics.) Which is why I was surprised to find that this movie actually had few similarities to Bull Durham. Sure, there's the baseball. And I guess you could see Freddie Prinze Jr. as the serious, maverick Kevin Coster type and Matthew Lillard as goofy golden boy Tim Robbins. But Jessica Biel is no Susan Sarandon. In fact, the closest thing this movie has to Susan Sarandon's character is trashy townie Brittany Murphy (whose scenes, thankfully, are kept to a minimum). But hey, if the movie claims it's ripping off Bull Durham, who am I to argue?
So I've had this theory for a while that all Freddie Prinze Jr. romantic comedies are just rip-offs of modern romantic-comedy classics. This weekend, in an attempt to put this theory through its final test, I gave in and watched Summer Catch, the only film in the Freddie Prinze Jr. romantic-comedy canon that I had yet to see. (As far as I know. He could have made some more of them while I wasn't looking.) I am happy to report that this considerable sacrifice was not in vain, as the theory remains substantiated. So this seems as good a time as any to subject it to public scrutiny. (But before I do, I would just like to say that, in my defense, I only actually paid to see one of these movies; the rest I caught on movie channels late at night or checked out from the library. Not that that makes it any better, but still. I wanted you to know.)
The movie: She's All That
Which is a rip-off of: Pretty Woman
The evidence: Well, they pretty much say so in the film itself, so that should be your first clue. The roles are re-written for the teenage audience, so instead of being a hooker, our heroine is the class "nerd" (read: a knockout oh-so-cleverly hidden behind glasses), and the hero is a star jock rather than a wealthy playboy. There's the requisite makeover, a plot twist involving a smarmy best friend and the inevitable questioning of identity, all capped off with a cloyingly romantic ending. Sadly, no one utters the line, "I've got a runner in my pantyhose! I'm not wearing pantyhose!" But there is some choreographed dancing to make up for it.
The movie: Boys and Girls
Which is a rip-off of: When Harry Met Sally
The evidence: Short of actually citing the ripped-off film in the dialogue, this movie is pretty much as big a rip-off as She's All That, seeking to answer the question "Can men and women ever really be friends?" for a new generation. (Here's another question: Why does the new generation need all these questions answered again? Don't they know they can watch Pretty Woman and When Harry Met Sally on cable every weekend?) Anyway. As in WHMS, we begin with a brief, chance encounter that, years later, leads to a spark of recognition and the beginning of a beautiful friendship that is ultimately compromised when the two friends sleep together at the top of the third act. After the requisite awkwardness, the friends realize their true love for each other, a realization that requires one of them to chase wildly after the other. There are a few subtle differences, though. For instance, Meg Ryan and Carrie Fisher never shared a lesbian liplock, and not once did Billy Crystal perform a choreographed dance in a foam club.
The movie: Down to You
Which is a rip-off of: Annie Hall
The evidence: OK, so I'll be the first to admit that this comparison is a bit loose. It's also the one that excites the most protest. Apparently, Gary Marshall and Rob Reiner are fair game when it comes to Freddie Prinze Jr. comparisons, but Woody Allen is taking it all a bit too far. Well, too bad. Look, it's not like I'm saying that Down to You is on equal footing with Annie Hall. I'm just saying that it bears certain similarities, namely that it eschews the traditional romantic comedy formula in favor of following one couple through the ups and downs of their relationship, from the giddy, awkward beginning to the inevitable breakup and post-breakup fallout. Also, unlike any other Freddie Prinze Jr. romantic comedy, it uses certain cinematic techniques, such as direct address, which are also used in Annie Hall. See? I told you the similarities were minimal. But they're there.
The movie: Summer Catch
Which is a rip-off of: Bull Durham
The evidence: I pretty much had my mind made up about this one before I even watched it. I mean, a romantic comedy about baseball? The Bull Durham comparisons were inevitable. The people who wrote the blurb on the back of the box must have thought so, too, because they described the movie as a "Bull Durham-styled romantic comedy." (Apparently Freddie now actually admits to ripping off the classics.) Which is why I was surprised to find that this movie actually had few similarities to Bull Durham. Sure, there's the baseball. And I guess you could see Freddie Prinze Jr. as the serious, maverick Kevin Coster type and Matthew Lillard as goofy golden boy Tim Robbins. But Jessica Biel is no Susan Sarandon. In fact, the closest thing this movie has to Susan Sarandon's character is trashy townie Brittany Murphy (whose scenes, thankfully, are kept to a minimum). But hey, if the movie claims it's ripping off Bull Durham, who am I to argue?
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
The most amazing thing I saw last night on The Amazing Race
Let's just call this the Mirna Comemorative Edition. Although what else can I really say about the Blanche DuBois of TAR5? We've already touched on her apparent gambling problem, her inability to understand the word "race," her puzzling interpretations of various languages and her sheer lunacy, particularly with regard to Collin (which was out again in full force in this episode). There was that one hilarious moment at the beginning of the episode where the editors lingered on a shot of her and Charla, unable to open their first clue envelope. (Bravo again, guys!) But other than that, all I really have to say is that I'll miss her. Yeah, you read that right. I'll miss her. It's essential to have someone to hate during each race, and Mirna was such a good candidate because she was so crazy and stupid that she just made me laugh. Now the only person I have left to hate is Collin, and he just makes me want to throw things.
I do wish Phil hadn't gone on and on about how amazing Mirna is when they were eliminated. Because Charla is the only amazing one here. She was able to run a great race in spite of her limitations (and by "limitations," I don't mean her stature, I mean having been burdened by Mirna). But Mirna? Not so amazing. Unless he meant it like, "Mirna, you are so amazing! Now, why don't you go with these nice gentlemen? Here, let's slip you into this little white jacket..." Have fun in the loony bin, Mirna. Say hello to Omarosa for me.
Let's just call this the Mirna Comemorative Edition. Although what else can I really say about the Blanche DuBois of TAR5? We've already touched on her apparent gambling problem, her inability to understand the word "race," her puzzling interpretations of various languages and her sheer lunacy, particularly with regard to Collin (which was out again in full force in this episode). There was that one hilarious moment at the beginning of the episode where the editors lingered on a shot of her and Charla, unable to open their first clue envelope. (Bravo again, guys!) But other than that, all I really have to say is that I'll miss her. Yeah, you read that right. I'll miss her. It's essential to have someone to hate during each race, and Mirna was such a good candidate because she was so crazy and stupid that she just made me laugh. Now the only person I have left to hate is Collin, and he just makes me want to throw things.
I do wish Phil hadn't gone on and on about how amazing Mirna is when they were eliminated. Because Charla is the only amazing one here. She was able to run a great race in spite of her limitations (and by "limitations," I don't mean her stature, I mean having been burdened by Mirna). But Mirna? Not so amazing. Unless he meant it like, "Mirna, you are so amazing! Now, why don't you go with these nice gentlemen? Here, let's slip you into this little white jacket..." Have fun in the loony bin, Mirna. Say hello to Omarosa for me.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
My future husband
I've finally found him. I'm reading this book called Love Monkey (and no, I have no explanation as to why I chose to read this book, other than that since I have read so many Helen Fielding rip-offs, I figured it was time to try a Nick Hornby rip-off) by a guy called Kyle Smith. In the book, the narrator (who I realize is actually a fictional character, but, based on the author blurb on the jacket, the book seems to be somewhat autobiographical) bemoans being single because he has no one to make sarcastic comments to while watching TV. Remember when I said the best thing about being married would be having someone to make sarcastic comments to while watching TV? Obviously we're meant for each other.
However, later in the book, the narrator also makes an offhanded mention of people frying up cats in trailer parks in Birmingham, which suggests how little he actually knows about this region of the country. Sure, we may be in Alabama, but Birmingham is a very upscale, metropolitan city (as those who have been to visit me can attest). I have not seen one trailer park since I moved here two years ago. Of course, that doesn't mean they don't exist, but still. I was offended. So much for my future husband. (Oh well, at least I still have Scott, who's not too shabby with the sarcastic commenting himself.)
Then again...
Who needs boys when you have IKEA? I just discovered that there's one coming to Atlanta next summer. The countdown has officially begun! Now if only they could get an H&M, too, my requirements for cheap European imports would be completely satisfied.
But on the other hand...
Boys are quite nice to look at. Especially when those boys are Michael Phelps and Ian Thorpe. I just wish they wouldn't insist on wearing those full-body suits when swimming. Why are those so popular all of a sudden? Do they help you go faster? Or is it just really chilly in Athens? The triumphant return of the Speedo seems like such a small concession to make to the millions of female fans out there. At least the divers still know what women want.
While we're on the subject, I was a bit miffed that the results of yesterday's big race were reported in a big, splashy headline on the front page of MSN hours before the race actually aired on NBC. I mean, I understand that there are some people who want to know the results as soon as the race is over, before they even see it on TV. (Not sure who these people are, but probably the ones with some money riding on it.) But there are some of us who like to be kept in suspense. Would it kill MSN to post this stuff on an interior page instead of making it the lead headline on the page that everyone sees when logging out of Hotmail? If you're going to do that, you might as well have Bob Costas announce, "We turn our attention now to the pool, where Ian Thorpe is about to win gold in the 200-meter freestyle." Honestly. I am boycotting MSN until the Olympics are over. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do this without also boycotting Hotmail, but I am.
I've finally found him. I'm reading this book called Love Monkey (and no, I have no explanation as to why I chose to read this book, other than that since I have read so many Helen Fielding rip-offs, I figured it was time to try a Nick Hornby rip-off) by a guy called Kyle Smith. In the book, the narrator (who I realize is actually a fictional character, but, based on the author blurb on the jacket, the book seems to be somewhat autobiographical) bemoans being single because he has no one to make sarcastic comments to while watching TV. Remember when I said the best thing about being married would be having someone to make sarcastic comments to while watching TV? Obviously we're meant for each other.
However, later in the book, the narrator also makes an offhanded mention of people frying up cats in trailer parks in Birmingham, which suggests how little he actually knows about this region of the country. Sure, we may be in Alabama, but Birmingham is a very upscale, metropolitan city (as those who have been to visit me can attest). I have not seen one trailer park since I moved here two years ago. Of course, that doesn't mean they don't exist, but still. I was offended. So much for my future husband. (Oh well, at least I still have Scott, who's not too shabby with the sarcastic commenting himself.)
Then again...
Who needs boys when you have IKEA? I just discovered that there's one coming to Atlanta next summer. The countdown has officially begun! Now if only they could get an H&M, too, my requirements for cheap European imports would be completely satisfied.
But on the other hand...
Boys are quite nice to look at. Especially when those boys are Michael Phelps and Ian Thorpe. I just wish they wouldn't insist on wearing those full-body suits when swimming. Why are those so popular all of a sudden? Do they help you go faster? Or is it just really chilly in Athens? The triumphant return of the Speedo seems like such a small concession to make to the millions of female fans out there. At least the divers still know what women want.
While we're on the subject, I was a bit miffed that the results of yesterday's big race were reported in a big, splashy headline on the front page of MSN hours before the race actually aired on NBC. I mean, I understand that there are some people who want to know the results as soon as the race is over, before they even see it on TV. (Not sure who these people are, but probably the ones with some money riding on it.) But there are some of us who like to be kept in suspense. Would it kill MSN to post this stuff on an interior page instead of making it the lead headline on the page that everyone sees when logging out of Hotmail? If you're going to do that, you might as well have Bob Costas announce, "We turn our attention now to the pool, where Ian Thorpe is about to win gold in the 200-meter freestyle." Honestly. I am boycotting MSN until the Olympics are over. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do this without also boycotting Hotmail, but I am.
Friday, August 13, 2004
The surreal life
Yesterday I had a job interview at an office that just bought a bunch of the furniture from my old office (which technically still has about 10 people working in it, but I guess they don't really have a need for a whole office full of furniture). Not only that, I ran into four (four!) of my former co-workers while I was there (although one of those was intentional--I had to stop by and see my friend Robyn since we're going to the Norah Jones concert tonight and had to decide where to meet up). I also know there's at least one more person from my old job working there now that I didn't happen to run into. Considering how badly things ended there, the whole thing was a bit jarring.
Also yesterday, I randomly ran into two people I worked with at my internship--one at the library, and one at this art benefit thingy. My God, this is a small town sometimes.
Yesterday I had a job interview at an office that just bought a bunch of the furniture from my old office (which technically still has about 10 people working in it, but I guess they don't really have a need for a whole office full of furniture). Not only that, I ran into four (four!) of my former co-workers while I was there (although one of those was intentional--I had to stop by and see my friend Robyn since we're going to the Norah Jones concert tonight and had to decide where to meet up). I also know there's at least one more person from my old job working there now that I didn't happen to run into. Considering how badly things ended there, the whole thing was a bit jarring.
Also yesterday, I randomly ran into two people I worked with at my internship--one at the library, and one at this art benefit thingy. My God, this is a small town sometimes.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Wanted: Attack Cat
So apparently my new neighbor has birds. Isn't that just absolutely bloody fantastic? You know, I thought working from home was going to be great. No distractions, just me and my computer and some peace and quiet. I could really get some work done. And now? Birds. These are no sweet, warbling canaries or nightingales, either. These are shrieking jungle birds. The whole floor sounds like a freaking menagerie. I didn't think it was possible to find a work environment more annoying than being surrounded by Loudies, but I was wrong. So, so wrong.
It kind of reminds me of that one Seinfeld where Elaine wants to get her boyfriend's cats bumped off because she's allergic to them. She muses how much a hitman would charge to take care of the cats, and Jerry guesses that "it couldn't be more than $13, $14 a cat." By that estimation, I'm thinking birds would probably be about $7 or $8 apiece. Or--and this is even better--I could get myself an attack cat (or perhaps borrow Heather's) and just let it "accidentally" wander into her apartment. On second thought, that seems like the kind of scenario that could land me on Judge Judy.
So apparently my new neighbor has birds. Isn't that just absolutely bloody fantastic? You know, I thought working from home was going to be great. No distractions, just me and my computer and some peace and quiet. I could really get some work done. And now? Birds. These are no sweet, warbling canaries or nightingales, either. These are shrieking jungle birds. The whole floor sounds like a freaking menagerie. I didn't think it was possible to find a work environment more annoying than being surrounded by Loudies, but I was wrong. So, so wrong.
It kind of reminds me of that one Seinfeld where Elaine wants to get her boyfriend's cats bumped off because she's allergic to them. She muses how much a hitman would charge to take care of the cats, and Jerry guesses that "it couldn't be more than $13, $14 a cat." By that estimation, I'm thinking birds would probably be about $7 or $8 apiece. Or--and this is even better--I could get myself an attack cat (or perhaps borrow Heather's) and just let it "accidentally" wander into her apartment. On second thought, that seems like the kind of scenario that could land me on Judge Judy.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
The most amazing thing I saw last night on The Amazing Race
Oh, hell, I'm just going to give it to her. Is it...can it be possible that Mirna actually knows Arabic? Once in Egypt, the woman who brought us such words as "doctor-o" and "stop-ay" seems to be speaking in a language that is foreign to my ears, yet is somehow understood by whoever's doing the subtitles. Not knowing any Arabic myself, it does seem somewhat possible that this is the language Mirna is speaking. However, knowing Mirna, it seems slightly more possible that, as part of her continuing descent into madness, she has made up an entirely new language that only she can understand, and the subtitle guy is just making stuff up. After all, this is the same woman who claims that all of the other teams "went ballistic" as a result of their jealousy of her and Charla. So she's clearly a lunatic. Creating a new language can't be far behind paranoid delusions resulting from an overinflated sense of self-importance. Oh, Mirna. I do hope someone checks you into an insane asylum once you get home.
You know what wasn't amazing about this episode? Marshall and Lance quitting. In fact, that was pretty crappy. It wasn't so much the fact that they quit (because, in all honesty, it was going to be pretty hard for Marshall to run the remainder of the race, and as much as I hate them, I wouldn't want him to horribly damage his knees), it was they way they did it. If you've come that far already, is it really going to hurt to finish the leg with a little dignity? And it's interesting to note that it was Lance, not Marshall, who refused to finish the Roadblock after he saw that all the other teams had been there. Sure, maybe there's something a little pathetic about, say, downing two pounds of caviar when you know there's really no point, but it's way more pathetic to throw a hissy fit and just give up in the middle of a task. Phil was suitably admonishing in this instance, I thought.
Oh, and I told you guys that Collin was going to get all incredulous and pissy when the inevitable bunching robbed him of his lead. Then again, Collin is pretty much incredulous and pissy all the time, so it wasn't that hard to predict.
UPDATE: It occurred to me after writing this that it's quite probable that Mirna is Jewish, and the foreign language that she was speaking with such fluency was Hebrew. Still, that doesn't explain how she knew such phrases as "Fast, horsey!" and "They're maniacs" in Hebrew. I mean, that's not exactly the kind of thing they teach you for your bat mitzvah, right? I still prefer the explanation that she's crazy and making up her own language.
Oh, hell, I'm just going to give it to her. Is it...can it be possible that Mirna actually knows Arabic? Once in Egypt, the woman who brought us such words as "doctor-o" and "stop-ay" seems to be speaking in a language that is foreign to my ears, yet is somehow understood by whoever's doing the subtitles. Not knowing any Arabic myself, it does seem somewhat possible that this is the language Mirna is speaking. However, knowing Mirna, it seems slightly more possible that, as part of her continuing descent into madness, she has made up an entirely new language that only she can understand, and the subtitle guy is just making stuff up. After all, this is the same woman who claims that all of the other teams "went ballistic" as a result of their jealousy of her and Charla. So she's clearly a lunatic. Creating a new language can't be far behind paranoid delusions resulting from an overinflated sense of self-importance. Oh, Mirna. I do hope someone checks you into an insane asylum once you get home.
You know what wasn't amazing about this episode? Marshall and Lance quitting. In fact, that was pretty crappy. It wasn't so much the fact that they quit (because, in all honesty, it was going to be pretty hard for Marshall to run the remainder of the race, and as much as I hate them, I wouldn't want him to horribly damage his knees), it was they way they did it. If you've come that far already, is it really going to hurt to finish the leg with a little dignity? And it's interesting to note that it was Lance, not Marshall, who refused to finish the Roadblock after he saw that all the other teams had been there. Sure, maybe there's something a little pathetic about, say, downing two pounds of caviar when you know there's really no point, but it's way more pathetic to throw a hissy fit and just give up in the middle of a task. Phil was suitably admonishing in this instance, I thought.
Oh, and I told you guys that Collin was going to get all incredulous and pissy when the inevitable bunching robbed him of his lead. Then again, Collin is pretty much incredulous and pissy all the time, so it wasn't that hard to predict.
UPDATE: It occurred to me after writing this that it's quite probable that Mirna is Jewish, and the foreign language that she was speaking with such fluency was Hebrew. Still, that doesn't explain how she knew such phrases as "Fast, horsey!" and "They're maniacs" in Hebrew. I mean, that's not exactly the kind of thing they teach you for your bat mitzvah, right? I still prefer the explanation that she's crazy and making up her own language.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Unemployment is so underrated
Here's another good thing I've found about being unemployed: You can go to a baseball game with your friends on a Thursday night and not have to worry about getting up early the next morning.
Also, on Friday, when you're deathly ill from too many 15-cent hot wings and dollar beers at said baseball game, you can spend the afternoon lying in the park, reading magazines and taking advantage of the gorgeous, fall-like weather while the rest of your friends are cooped up in offices like a bunch of suckers.
Of course, there is a downside to hanging out in the park on a weekday afternoon. Namely, that some strange guy might come up to you and tell you he's thinking of going to school to study some sort of physical therapy and wants to know if he can give you a foot massage. Needless to say, I politely declined this offer. The funniest thing was, he prefaced it with, "I don't mean for this to sound odd, but..." Here's a little hint, strange guy in park: Any time you walk up to a woman you don't know and ask if you can rub her feet, it's going to sound odd, preface or no. So don't even bother trying to qualify it.
Here's another good thing I've found about being unemployed: You can go to a baseball game with your friends on a Thursday night and not have to worry about getting up early the next morning.
Also, on Friday, when you're deathly ill from too many 15-cent hot wings and dollar beers at said baseball game, you can spend the afternoon lying in the park, reading magazines and taking advantage of the gorgeous, fall-like weather while the rest of your friends are cooped up in offices like a bunch of suckers.
Of course, there is a downside to hanging out in the park on a weekday afternoon. Namely, that some strange guy might come up to you and tell you he's thinking of going to school to study some sort of physical therapy and wants to know if he can give you a foot massage. Needless to say, I politely declined this offer. The funniest thing was, he prefaced it with, "I don't mean for this to sound odd, but..." Here's a little hint, strange guy in park: Any time you walk up to a woman you don't know and ask if you can rub her feet, it's going to sound odd, preface or no. So don't even bother trying to qualify it.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
The most amazing thing I saw last night on The Amazing Race
Once again, this dubious honor narrowly escapes Mirna, whose interpretations of languages around the globe continue to astound. (If she really thinks "bellisimo" is Russian, I can't wait to hear her interpretation of Arabic. Actually, I'm betting it's gonna sound a lot like her "Spanish.")
No, this week the award goes solely to Collin and Christie, who, in a span of about five minutes, managed to go from Smartest Team Ever to Run This Race (by managing to get a flight that got in 12 hours in front of all the other teams) to Dumbest Team Ever to Run This Race (by choosing what was quite possibly the worst use of a Fast Forward in the history of Fast Forwards). The thing about the Fast Forward is that it's supposed to help you get forward...fast. Now, common sense would dictate that the proper time to use such an opportunity (or, as Phil would say, "when it's most advantageous to go for it") is when you're falling behind. Not when you have a seven-hour lead on your competition. When presented with the Fast Forward option, Collin's logic was, and I quote, "Well, we're in first place. Why not?" Apparently he didn't hear me in my living room screaming, "Because that's not what it's for, you idiot!" And I guess he didn't hear Phil over at the Sphinx, either, screaming, "Collin, that is not what I meant by 'most advantageous to go for it'!"
Perhaps he thought that he and Christie could garner a lead so large that it would put them in front for the rest of the race. If so, perhaps he should have watched this show once or twice before coming on it. Because if he had, he'd know that there's no lead so big that a little good, old-fashioned bunching can't screw you right out of it. (And judging by the fact that Mirna appears to catch up with him next week, I can pretty much guarantee I'm right about this one.) Oh, Collin. Did no one tell you the first rule of racing? Bunching is inevitable. (Actually, that's the second rule. The first one is: This is actually a race. Mirna, I'm looking at you.)
Once again, this dubious honor narrowly escapes Mirna, whose interpretations of languages around the globe continue to astound. (If she really thinks "bellisimo" is Russian, I can't wait to hear her interpretation of Arabic. Actually, I'm betting it's gonna sound a lot like her "Spanish.")
No, this week the award goes solely to Collin and Christie, who, in a span of about five minutes, managed to go from Smartest Team Ever to Run This Race (by managing to get a flight that got in 12 hours in front of all the other teams) to Dumbest Team Ever to Run This Race (by choosing what was quite possibly the worst use of a Fast Forward in the history of Fast Forwards). The thing about the Fast Forward is that it's supposed to help you get forward...fast. Now, common sense would dictate that the proper time to use such an opportunity (or, as Phil would say, "when it's most advantageous to go for it") is when you're falling behind. Not when you have a seven-hour lead on your competition. When presented with the Fast Forward option, Collin's logic was, and I quote, "Well, we're in first place. Why not?" Apparently he didn't hear me in my living room screaming, "Because that's not what it's for, you idiot!" And I guess he didn't hear Phil over at the Sphinx, either, screaming, "Collin, that is not what I meant by 'most advantageous to go for it'!"
Perhaps he thought that he and Christie could garner a lead so large that it would put them in front for the rest of the race. If so, perhaps he should have watched this show once or twice before coming on it. Because if he had, he'd know that there's no lead so big that a little good, old-fashioned bunching can't screw you right out of it. (And judging by the fact that Mirna appears to catch up with him next week, I can pretty much guarantee I'm right about this one.) Oh, Collin. Did no one tell you the first rule of racing? Bunching is inevitable. (Actually, that's the second rule. The first one is: This is actually a race. Mirna, I'm looking at you.)
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
I'm a 24-year-old nerd
Yesterday morning as I was washing one of my contacts, it tore in two right in my palm. Because I am both too broke to afford new contacts and can't find my current prescription from my eye doctor, I must wait until I go home next month to get new contacts. So, for the next four weeks, I'm stuck wearing my glasses and therefore also stuck feeling like a total nerd.
Before I go any further, let me just say that it's not like I think glasses = nerd. I know that a great many of my faithful readers wear glasses all the time, and I happen to think you all look quite lovely in them. It's just that the last time I wore glasses full-time was in middle school, when I was in fact a complete nerd--chubby with bad skin, mall bangs and stirrup pants. (To give you an idea of just how hideous I was: Upon seeing my seventh-grade yearbook pictures, my mother said, "Um, you might not want to hand those out to people.") My glasses are like a time machine that transport me directly back to middle school--a time in one's life that should never, ever have to be relived.
It's not that I don't like the glasses themselves. I got trendy new frames about a year ago, and I love them--at certain times. It seems to me that some activities are more conducive to glasses-wearing than others. These include reading, hanging out at artsy coffeehouses and restaurants, and pretending to be a sexy librarian. Then there are those activities that are not so glasses-friendly--namely, working out. When I'm wearing a cool outfit and hanging out somewhere cool with my cool friends, I can convince myself that I am not in fact back in the seventh grade. However, when I'm all sweaty and wearing schlumpy workout clothes and can practically feel the pimples popping up all over my face, not so much.
Then there is the added factor of not being able to see quite as well with my glasses as I could with my contacts, due to their further physical distance from my eyeball. (They're the exact same prescription, so I know this is the reason.) For someone who is already prone to running into things, having my vision slightly blurred is not really a good thing. It definitely ups the nerd quotient. It's hard to look intellectually sexy when you're crashing into walls and tables and things.
Perhaps by the time this month is over, my eyes will adjust and I'll learn to make peace with my nerdy seventh grade self and I won't even want to wear the new contacts when I get them. Or maybe I'll break down and buy some contacts before this week is over.
Yesterday morning as I was washing one of my contacts, it tore in two right in my palm. Because I am both too broke to afford new contacts and can't find my current prescription from my eye doctor, I must wait until I go home next month to get new contacts. So, for the next four weeks, I'm stuck wearing my glasses and therefore also stuck feeling like a total nerd.
Before I go any further, let me just say that it's not like I think glasses = nerd. I know that a great many of my faithful readers wear glasses all the time, and I happen to think you all look quite lovely in them. It's just that the last time I wore glasses full-time was in middle school, when I was in fact a complete nerd--chubby with bad skin, mall bangs and stirrup pants. (To give you an idea of just how hideous I was: Upon seeing my seventh-grade yearbook pictures, my mother said, "Um, you might not want to hand those out to people.") My glasses are like a time machine that transport me directly back to middle school--a time in one's life that should never, ever have to be relived.
It's not that I don't like the glasses themselves. I got trendy new frames about a year ago, and I love them--at certain times. It seems to me that some activities are more conducive to glasses-wearing than others. These include reading, hanging out at artsy coffeehouses and restaurants, and pretending to be a sexy librarian. Then there are those activities that are not so glasses-friendly--namely, working out. When I'm wearing a cool outfit and hanging out somewhere cool with my cool friends, I can convince myself that I am not in fact back in the seventh grade. However, when I'm all sweaty and wearing schlumpy workout clothes and can practically feel the pimples popping up all over my face, not so much.
Then there is the added factor of not being able to see quite as well with my glasses as I could with my contacts, due to their further physical distance from my eyeball. (They're the exact same prescription, so I know this is the reason.) For someone who is already prone to running into things, having my vision slightly blurred is not really a good thing. It definitely ups the nerd quotient. It's hard to look intellectually sexy when you're crashing into walls and tables and things.
Perhaps by the time this month is over, my eyes will adjust and I'll learn to make peace with my nerdy seventh grade self and I won't even want to wear the new contacts when I get them. Or maybe I'll break down and buy some contacts before this week is over.
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