Don't worry about me. I am shielded from the giants because I am in the center of a building built during the Cold War and that is probably capable of withstanding nuclear blasts and very big things.
I am referring again, of course, to events from The BFG.
It is late and I am tired. What better time for a blog post? What better time to discuss the essential matters in life? Sleep and clean water fit that characterization. Why our species has not evolved to require sleeping for less than one-third of our lives I am not quite sure, but, in our current evolutionary state, it is quite necessary to go to bed.
For instance, I am going to go to bed tonight. One obstacle stands in the way of my much-needed embrace of warmth and oblivion: a checklist. You see, on Friday evening I made a weekend checklist. There remain on this list several items that have not yet been completed: note-typing, fellowship-applying, practicing the violin...
All will get done! I swear, checklist!
Lampshades are an interesting phenomenon, for sometimes an ugly lampshade will conceal a quite striking lamp. I'll stick that in my mental collection of trite metaphors.
"Trite" is a useful word that can dismiss just about anything. That novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez? Trite garbage! Impressionist art? Trite, and absolutely inchoate to boot! The words of Martin Luther King, Jr.? Well, I consider them rather trite if I do say so myself, dear lad. Yes, mmm, yes. Indeed.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Kittens! Kittens! Kittens! Kittens!
Kittens are similar to human babies in that they are young and innocent; however, kittens have the added advantage of being cats. There is nothing better than a cat. Chocolate cake is not better than a cat; cinderblocks are not better than cats. Cats are even better than blogs!
Kittens are soft. They are softer than sofas, velvet, Democrats, afghans, Afghans, and blogs.
Kittens are soft. They are softer than sofas, velvet, Democrats, afghans, Afghans, and blogs.
Kittens leave food on their faces by accident.
Some kittens are very active, like senior citizens who are conscientious about their health.
When I graduate from _____ College/University, I will be unemployable. Nevertheless, thanks to kittens, I will be able to execute a useful role in society: that of cat ladyship. People will call my home when they find litters of kittens in the recycling and when they discover they have debilitating cat allergies. They will not call the police about the stench emanating from my house, as I will be a diligent cat lady. I will be, in point of fact, the vanguard of cat.
Do you like cats?
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Partisinal Behavior
Weaning not only sounds bizarre if you say it five times, but it is also, very interestingly, not one of those words that we use to refer to our own behavior. Puppies and gerbils get weaned, but we simply stop breast-feeding. Perhaps it has something to do with our tendency to not transfer guardianship of our young to another species when they are old enough.
Regardless, I have finally [weaned myself off daily blogging, stopped blogging every day, ceased [blog-feeding, breast-blogging]]! It was at midnight this morning, when I was comfortably seated on _____'s lap, brushing my teeth, that I realized I hadn't blogged the day before; but that's another story for a time that will never come.
Two days ago I posted instructions on how to carry out a totally rad party trick. Well, it turns out that _____, of the blog Yesterday Afternoon, also has a tip on how to keep your pants fire-free at cocktail parties. Did you like that idiom? I hope you did. If you know of an idiom that would have actually functioned in place of the one I made up, please let me know by commenting on this post or by calling me on the telephone. No text messages, please.
I have been to a fair few cocktail and otherwise fancy parties. I've found that the most effective way to avoid appearing riveted by the cheese selection is by apportioning yourself a suitably large slice or wad (depending on your proficiency with a cheese knife) at the beginning of the party, scarfing it down, and sampling moderately throughout the rest of the evening or morning. It's a tried and true method.
Deviled eggs, on the other hand, are virtually impossible to resist. I've never been able to crack that egg. Hah. Hah.
Regardless, I have finally [weaned myself off daily blogging, stopped blogging every day, ceased [blog-feeding, breast-blogging]]! It was at midnight this morning, when I was comfortably seated on _____'s lap, brushing my teeth, that I realized I hadn't blogged the day before; but that's another story for a time that will never come.
Two days ago I posted instructions on how to carry out a totally rad party trick. Well, it turns out that _____, of the blog Yesterday Afternoon, also has a tip on how to keep your pants fire-free at cocktail parties. Did you like that idiom? I hope you did. If you know of an idiom that would have actually functioned in place of the one I made up, please let me know by commenting on this post or by calling me on the telephone. No text messages, please.
I have been to a fair few cocktail and otherwise fancy parties. I've found that the most effective way to avoid appearing riveted by the cheese selection is by apportioning yourself a suitably large slice or wad (depending on your proficiency with a cheese knife) at the beginning of the party, scarfing it down, and sampling moderately throughout the rest of the evening or morning. It's a tried and true method.
Deviled eggs, on the other hand, are virtually impossible to resist. I've never been able to crack that egg. Hah. Hah.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Pontius Pilates, Static Palates
The first half of this post's title refers to the name of the hypothetical pilates studio that I would run if I had any knowledge of or interest in pilates. (On a similar note, "charades" should almost certainly rhyme with "pilates.") The second half refers to static palatography, which I saw and experienced for the first time today. If you aren't familiar with static palatography, please go look it up on Google Images. If you do know what it is, you should do the same, if only to vicariously experience the guaranteed surprise of someone who doesn't realize it involves the insides of people's mouths.
One of the most useful things I learned at the demonstration of static palatography was that it can be recreated as a party trick! All you need is burned toast (a toaster and bread can bring this about), olive or other vegetable oil, some sort of receptacle, a sharp utensil, a blunt utensil or Q-Tip, a mirror and a camera.
Using the sharp utensil, scrape off the burnt part of the toast into your receptacle; a cup could fulfill this function. With the blunt utensil, mix the oil into the charred fragments of bread. Once it is sort of pasty (paste-like, that is, not Pumpkin Pasty or pale-pasty), coat your conversational partner's tongue in the paste. Have the subject say a word or syllable incorporating only one phoneme that will make contact with the inside of his or her mouth. While the charcoaled person holds a mirror to reflect the marks made by the contact between his or her mouth and his or her articulators, take a photo.
Ta-da! Blamo! Lumos! Now you know how the subject articulates some consonant!
One of the most useful things I learned at the demonstration of static palatography was that it can be recreated as a party trick! All you need is burned toast (a toaster and bread can bring this about), olive or other vegetable oil, some sort of receptacle, a sharp utensil, a blunt utensil or Q-Tip, a mirror and a camera.
Using the sharp utensil, scrape off the burnt part of the toast into your receptacle; a cup could fulfill this function. With the blunt utensil, mix the oil into the charred fragments of bread. Once it is sort of pasty (paste-like, that is, not Pumpkin Pasty or pale-pasty), coat your conversational partner's tongue in the paste. Have the subject say a word or syllable incorporating only one phoneme that will make contact with the inside of his or her mouth. While the charcoaled person holds a mirror to reflect the marks made by the contact between his or her mouth and his or her articulators, take a photo.
Ta-da! Blamo! Lumos! Now you know how the subject articulates some consonant!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Late Night With a Concerned Friend
Greetings, pale traveler. It is my favorite time of day--that is, nearly witching hour. At least, I think it is. Isn't midnight considered witching hour in The BFG? That book is what I base all of my knowledge of sociocultural constructs on.
I am hoping that the term "sociocultural construct" either has the meaning I intended to get across, or that it is meaningless--I don't want to offend any sociologists. They can be mean, I think. There are no sociologists in The BFG, so I have nothing on which to base that claim.
I am currently reading Divided Minds for my psych class, which I would recommend based on the 60 pages I've read so far. I wonder how many journalists from the Times or the Guardian or the Post or what-have-you have written book reviews after only reading 60 pages. Speculate amongst yourselves.
But Divided Minds is not about dissociative identity disorder--it is about schizophrenia, which happens to be a disorder that is commonly confused with DID. I would say that my second-hand exposure to schizophrenia has been rather mixed today. The book is written in part by a woman with schizophrenia, and in part by her schizophrenialess* sister, so it understandably provides a sympathetic view of schizophrenia sufferers. On the other hand, while I was enjoying my curry in the dining hall, a dinner companion described a recent horrific incident that happened to occur a few miles from her Canada home; a man with schizophrenia stabbed and ate the face off of his bus partner. So that made me a little bit less hungry.
Still, it is important to keep in mind that people with schizophrenia should not be held personally accountable for their actions, especially not in a legal setting. The focus should not be bringing people like the man on the bus or Jared Loughner "to justice," but to treat their diseases and eventually, maybe, potentially, cure them.
*I learned how to make affixes today in First Language Acquisition! Just kidding. I learned to do that when I was ~2-3.
I am hoping that the term "sociocultural construct" either has the meaning I intended to get across, or that it is meaningless--I don't want to offend any sociologists. They can be mean, I think. There are no sociologists in The BFG, so I have nothing on which to base that claim.
I am currently reading Divided Minds for my psych class, which I would recommend based on the 60 pages I've read so far. I wonder how many journalists from the Times or the Guardian or the Post or what-have-you have written book reviews after only reading 60 pages. Speculate amongst yourselves.
But Divided Minds is not about dissociative identity disorder--it is about schizophrenia, which happens to be a disorder that is commonly confused with DID. I would say that my second-hand exposure to schizophrenia has been rather mixed today. The book is written in part by a woman with schizophrenia, and in part by her schizophrenialess* sister, so it understandably provides a sympathetic view of schizophrenia sufferers. On the other hand, while I was enjoying my curry in the dining hall, a dinner companion described a recent horrific incident that happened to occur a few miles from her Canada home; a man with schizophrenia stabbed and ate the face off of his bus partner. So that made me a little bit less hungry.
Still, it is important to keep in mind that people with schizophrenia should not be held personally accountable for their actions, especially not in a legal setting. The focus should not be bringing people like the man on the bus or Jared Loughner "to justice," but to treat their diseases and eventually, maybe, potentially, cure them.
*I learned how to make affixes today in First Language Acquisition! Just kidding. I learned to do that when I was ~2-3.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Not-Quite-Live-Blogging of the State of the Union!
SOMEONE told me the wrong time for the State of the Union. So this is neither live nor on-time. Nor is it interesting, well-informed or topical! Enjoy!
8:51: John "Boner" Boehner's pink tie does not look very good with his orange skin. But it also sort of serves to mitigate the Vader-like appearance he exudes from that chair behind Obama.
8:55: Obama has had a crap-ton of visitors! Imagine if you met 1,000,000 people in a couple years. Or in your lifetime. (How many people do you think you meet in a lifetime? Discuss.)
9:00: This is harder than I thought.
9:01: Jill sucks at clapping.
9:02: I wonder if anyone is in charge of Obama's earwax. That would be really awkward--especially having to tell him that he needs to get his ears cleaned out. But they are rather shiny! Someone should do it.
9:03: What about Haiti?
9:04: She's so plaid.
9:08: That green is rather fetching.
9:09: Cutey Joe!
9:09: Republicans don't know how to cheer. They emit a sort of unenthusiastic "ehhhh."
9:13: FUX DA SPEECH OMG OMG OMG IT'S REGGIE!!!!!!!!1111111
8:51: John "Boner" Boehner's pink tie does not look very good with his orange skin. But it also sort of serves to mitigate the Vader-like appearance he exudes from that chair behind Obama.
8:55: Obama has had a crap-ton of visitors! Imagine if you met 1,000,000 people in a couple years. Or in your lifetime. (How many people do you think you meet in a lifetime? Discuss.)
9:00: This is harder than I thought.
9:01: Jill sucks at clapping.
9:02: I wonder if anyone is in charge of Obama's earwax. That would be really awkward--especially having to tell him that he needs to get his ears cleaned out. But they are rather shiny! Someone should do it.
9:03: What about Haiti?
9:04: She's so plaid.
9:08: That green is rather fetching.
9:09: Cutey Joe!
9:09: Republicans don't know how to cheer. They emit a sort of unenthusiastic "ehhhh."
9:13: FUX DA SPEECH OMG OMG OMG IT'S REGGIE!!!!!!!!1111111
Monday, January 24, 2011
A Disclaimer: I Have Only Taken 3 Weeks of Introductory Psychology
I just finished my psych reading for Wednesday, which is about psychopathology. It was a pretty interesting chapter, and it also rather entertaining to read. I'm not sure whether it provided the kind of enjoyment you get from learning something new, or the more perverse kind that comes from watching "Law and Order: @#$% You" (Clever, right?); but if it was indeed the latter, I may be guilty of having been a little bit too intrigued.
Regardless, psychologists have really got to get their act together. It sounds like mental disorders are generally manifested with way too much variation for the diagnostic criteria to be of much use; so if the disorder contains one criterion that doesn't apply to a particular patient, there is no treatment for him or her.
Then there is the issue of where these disorders come from. Genes and environment, blah blah blah poverty, yes, I'm sure that's the case, but researchers are still having trouble determining what it is in abnormal brain chemistry that corresponds to given mental disorders. If there are differing neurochemical explanations for multiple cases of the same disorder, should we really be grouping them under the same name? There are plenty of (I hesitate to say "real," but I'll go ahead and do it to make my pre-med roommate happy) real medical conditions that share similar external symptoms with one another, but that are nonetheless distinct.
Lastly, I have always been creeped out by interacting with people who are not as they seem, like characters in theatrical productions who try to elicit audience participation or the clown at McDonald's. So I think I would be nervous to meet someone with dissociative identity disorder. I'm not saying that I would cry, as I have on numerous occasions when confronted with costumed figures, but I wouldn't be too eager to talk with he or she.
Regardless, psychologists have really got to get their act together. It sounds like mental disorders are generally manifested with way too much variation for the diagnostic criteria to be of much use; so if the disorder contains one criterion that doesn't apply to a particular patient, there is no treatment for him or her.
Then there is the issue of where these disorders come from. Genes and environment, blah blah blah poverty, yes, I'm sure that's the case, but researchers are still having trouble determining what it is in abnormal brain chemistry that corresponds to given mental disorders. If there are differing neurochemical explanations for multiple cases of the same disorder, should we really be grouping them under the same name? There are plenty of (I hesitate to say "real," but I'll go ahead and do it to make my pre-med roommate happy) real medical conditions that share similar external symptoms with one another, but that are nonetheless distinct.
Lastly, I have always been creeped out by interacting with people who are not as they seem, like characters in theatrical productions who try to elicit audience participation or the clown at McDonald's. So I think I would be nervous to meet someone with dissociative identity disorder. I'm not saying that I would cry, as I have on numerous occasions when confronted with costumed figures, but I wouldn't be too eager to talk with he or she.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Football (the kind with hands and linebackers)
Americans find football interesting. I think this is connected to their deep and abiding disrespect for Leviticus. I also wonder whether the popularity of this national "pastime" (Must a pastime be interactive? Discuss.) has caused, or, perhaps, has resulted in shoulder envy. You see, football players look like they have abnormally large shoulders and clavicles. This is an optical illusion; but as Americans begin to associate the virility, strength and stamina of football players with their physical appearance, they may also begin to believe that those positive characteristics have a basis in shoulder girth.
This is Joseph Addai, apparently, who plays for the Indianapolis Colts. Note what appear to be his immensely muscular shoulders. At least, some might identify them as such--a five-year-old, for instance, or the sort of American citizen who is responsible for the third suggested result on this list:
But, small children and large rocks that rest at the bottom of the Mainstream (I am not a fascist, I swear! I don't even believe in social Darwinism!), Joseph Addai actually has normal, human-sized shoulders.
I think it is important to clarify this issue in case Americans start selecting mates based on shoulder size. This would not be an apocalyptic eventuality, but it would be unfortunate, as it would make future generations of Americans increasingly top-heavy.
As you can likely tell, I don't really know anything about football. However, since when has ignorance stopped anyone from coming to conclusions?
Saturday, January 22, 2011
"Arctic Death, Infinite Night"
If there is anything I've learned from spending a significant amount of time in what some would consider an unacceptably chilly environment, it is that there is nothing better than being warm. I used to think the Match Girl was a little foolish to have squandered all her matches, not to mention unrealistically weak to have died after just a couple hours out in the British winter. Now, I don't know what would have happened to me if I had a particularly callous father and only a small number of matches.
Fortunately for me, I will likely never have to worry about such a circumstance! And thanks to my experience in the northern latitudes of the world (the longitude remains a mystery), I have a fulcrum of wisdom on the subject.
OK, apparently "fulcrum" isn't the right word at all. I looked it up. Then I have a LOT of wisdom--is that better, American Heritage Assholictionary? Good.
One very helpful measure to take when pursuing icy ambitions is to slap on some long underwear. I suppose you could put them on, too, if they're not suitably elastic. As I have already mentioned, long underwear is to food what manna is to God. Wait, that's not right. It's a good thing they got rid of that part of the SATs before I took it. (I think clothes should be somewhere in that analogy?)
It's a good idea to wear a coat and not misplace it.
I have rather long hair, which comes in quite handy in terms of extra warmth in the proximity of my head region. Long hair is thus a strategic cold-weather stratagem. In the celebrated words of Vince Noir, "My hair's virtually a hat."
Fortunately for me, I will likely never have to worry about such a circumstance! And thanks to my experience in the northern latitudes of the world (the longitude remains a mystery), I have a fulcrum of wisdom on the subject.
OK, apparently "fulcrum" isn't the right word at all. I looked it up. Then I have a LOT of wisdom--is that better, American Heritage Assholictionary? Good.
One very helpful measure to take when pursuing icy ambitions is to slap on some long underwear. I suppose you could put them on, too, if they're not suitably elastic. As I have already mentioned, long underwear is to food what manna is to God. Wait, that's not right. It's a good thing they got rid of that part of the SATs before I took it. (I think clothes should be somewhere in that analogy?)
It's a good idea to wear a coat and not misplace it.
I have rather long hair, which comes in quite handy in terms of extra warmth in the proximity of my head region. Long hair is thus a strategic cold-weather stratagem. In the celebrated words of Vince Noir, "My hair's virtually a hat."
"My hair's virtually a hat."
Notably, Vince Noir has also said such things as, "My name is Vince, but I'm not a prince," when talking to a fox on crack.
Perhaps my cold weather tips are of some use to you! If they aren't, I'm sorry, but Google has around 11,000,000 related webpages to offer you on the subject.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Beach Boys
I am used to slander, lies, devilish tales and other generally duplicitous acts such as auto body surfing. I am thus not fazed by _____'s supposed "exposé" of my alleged connections to the organisms that populate Hipster River. In fact, I welcome his "exposé," since the flawed arguments he makes undermine themselves rather conveniently.
Other than that, I don't really have anything of import to say. As I promised in my introductory blog post, however, I shall treat such a circumstance as only a minor setback. So here are some things that are not important! Enjoy:
If you would like to browse within the interweb in lieu of finishing a knitting project, prank-calling a pet grooming business or brushing up on your idiomatic expressions of French origin, I recommend this website (Isn't the welcome graphic grand?) which I found after Googling the name of the author of my one and only sticker book, Cats at the Beach. Or you could peruse this webpage, a news item that might prove interesting to you if you are a twelve-year-old girl.
As you can tell, I'm still not well
It makes me sad to say
But when my strength returns, I'll bay
at the waxing moon and ring some sort of bell.
(That poem is my apology to you, especially for the second web link.)
Other than that, I don't really have anything of import to say. As I promised in my introductory blog post, however, I shall treat such a circumstance as only a minor setback. So here are some things that are not important! Enjoy:
If you would like to browse within the interweb in lieu of finishing a knitting project, prank-calling a pet grooming business or brushing up on your idiomatic expressions of French origin, I recommend this website (Isn't the welcome graphic grand?) which I found after Googling the name of the author of my one and only sticker book, Cats at the Beach. Or you could peruse this webpage, a news item that might prove interesting to you if you are a twelve-year-old girl.
As you can tell, I'm still not well
It makes me sad to say
But when my strength returns, I'll bay
at the waxing moon and ring some sort of bell.
(That poem is my apology to you, especially for the second web link.)
Thursday, January 20, 2011
News
From now on, this is a political blog! I will talk about the GOP and the Committee on Foreign Relations and the latest Supreme Court noms* and John Boehner's skin color and taxes.
Just fooling! Speaking of English gerunds and gerundives...I really wish folks would realize that we don't use a "g" phoneme word-finally (at the end of the word) when we say things like "fooling" and "eating" and "[artfully] demonstrating [one's worth]." It is actually a velar nasal, and it looks like this when you write it in IPA: Å‹
The alveolar nasal /n/ is a separate phoneme (although n and Å‹ are sometimes allophones!), and that is what we use when we say "eatin'," ""foolin'," "demonstratin'," and "and" (but not "ink," because the nasal there assimilates to the place of articulation of the following /k/, which is also velar).
Sorry to talk about phonology again.
The reason I almost decided to turn political was a conversation held between me and ____ last night. My conversational partner claimed that my blog holds no interest for him/her, or for anyone, really, for two reasons: first, because it is not of topical subject matter, and second, because I "name-drop." Actually, I name-preserve, but from now on I shall drop all names. That is why, for instance, I have withheld the name of the person with whom I was speaking yesterday.
But I will try to be more topical in the future. Because I am under the weather, I am not going to attempt such a feat now. I don't think I can beat the Supreme Court pun I've made, either (see below). For now, suffice it to say that, given recent legislation passed in the House of Representatives, every Republican member of that body must be of below-average intelligence, or else their staffers are, or else they have decided to arrest all progress that might be made in this Congress for some larger noble purpose of which I am not yet aware. I don't really think that last option is true--I just put it in there to be fair and balanced. That is a great slogan! I am going to use it more often.
*(Get it? Breyer? Noms? Ice cream? Justice Breyer? Mayb'z or mayb'z not?)
Just fooling! Speaking of English gerunds and gerundives...I really wish folks would realize that we don't use a "g" phoneme word-finally (at the end of the word) when we say things like "fooling" and "eating" and "[artfully] demonstrating [one's worth]." It is actually a velar nasal, and it looks like this when you write it in IPA: Å‹
The alveolar nasal /n/ is a separate phoneme (although n and Å‹ are sometimes allophones!), and that is what we use when we say "eatin'," ""foolin'," "demonstratin'," and "and" (but not "ink," because the nasal there assimilates to the place of articulation of the following /k/, which is also velar).
Sorry to talk about phonology again.
The reason I almost decided to turn political was a conversation held between me and ____ last night. My conversational partner claimed that my blog holds no interest for him/her, or for anyone, really, for two reasons: first, because it is not of topical subject matter, and second, because I "name-drop." Actually, I name-preserve, but from now on I shall drop all names. That is why, for instance, I have withheld the name of the person with whom I was speaking yesterday.
But I will try to be more topical in the future. Because I am under the weather, I am not going to attempt such a feat now. I don't think I can beat the Supreme Court pun I've made, either (see below). For now, suffice it to say that, given recent legislation passed in the House of Representatives, every Republican member of that body must be of below-average intelligence, or else their staffers are, or else they have decided to arrest all progress that might be made in this Congress for some larger noble purpose of which I am not yet aware. I don't really think that last option is true--I just put it in there to be fair and balanced. That is a great slogan! I am going to use it more often.
*(Get it? Breyer? Noms? Ice cream? Justice Breyer? Mayb'z or mayb'z not?)
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Emails
I have my most brilliant and shining ideas when I'm about to fall asleep, and last night was no different. Let's say your name is Mildred Smith, and you have received the following email from a doting professor:
Dear Mildred,
I hope you found the problem set easy enough! On a related note, what do you think of narwhals? I prefer them to almost any other horned creature.
Yours,
Millicent Roberts
As is expected of you when you have received correspondence containing a query, you respond. It may start out rather mundanely:
Millicent,
I am pleased to see that you've finally gotten the hang of email. Congrats!* In response to your question, I think the narwhal is nearly as impressive as the dugong.
Here is where you can mess with Millicent, or, really, any unsuspecting interweb user with whom you are in email exchange.
Sincerely,
Mildred Roberts-Smith
If Millicent then inquires as to why you have hyphenated her last name onto your own, as if you had married her, you can simply explain that you had accidentally copy-pasted her last name into your reply email. Whoops!
On another note, long underwear is probably what God (or, as vowel-hating Jews** would say, "G-d") wears. I am pretty sure it's divinely inspired.
*If you don't like spelling, you could conceivably substitute "Congrads!" here.
**Vaguely anti-Semitic comment #3!
Dear Mildred,
I hope you found the problem set easy enough! On a related note, what do you think of narwhals? I prefer them to almost any other horned creature.
Yours,
Millicent Roberts
As is expected of you when you have received correspondence containing a query, you respond. It may start out rather mundanely:
Millicent,
I am pleased to see that you've finally gotten the hang of email. Congrats!* In response to your question, I think the narwhal is nearly as impressive as the dugong.
Here is where you can mess with Millicent, or, really, any unsuspecting interweb user with whom you are in email exchange.
Sincerely,
Mildred Roberts-Smith
If Millicent then inquires as to why you have hyphenated her last name onto your own, as if you had married her, you can simply explain that you had accidentally copy-pasted her last name into your reply email. Whoops!
On another note, long underwear is probably what God (or, as vowel-hating Jews** would say, "G-d") wears. I am pretty sure it's divinely inspired.
*If you don't like spelling, you could conceivably substitute "Congrads!" here.
**Vaguely anti-Semitic comment #3!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Ich liebe Aprikozenmarmelade!
Ein, zvei, drei, fieu, fimph, zecht, zeden, acht, nein, zehn! I don't know how to spell any of those numbers--sorry. I could have just written 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, but that would have been a lot less believable.
Ich bin ein Lederhosen.
Wie gehts?
OK, that's all I got.
Monday, January 17, 2011
I Understand That This Post Will Preclude Me From Ever Running For Public Office
In light of recent debate, namely among me, Andrew P., and Maps, whose exploits within the British Isles are expertly recounted at this interwebs address, I have decided to dedicate the blog post you are now reading to the formulation of an accurate and coherent interpretation of the relation between the Elitist and the Hipster.
It is quite simple, actually. Imagine you are standing in the midst of a lightly treed wood. If you have never had the opportunity to leave the inner city or to find an escape from your suburban hellhole, I am sorry; use this picture as a visual aid.
(I figure this has to be legal to use because it's from a military web page.)
So, as you can see in this illustrative illustration, there is a cute lil' creek set between some trees and mud and probably some organisms that like to suck people's blood. Now aren't you glad you stayed in suburbia? Anyway, that creek is the Mainstream. The Mainstream is populated by the larger rocks at the bottom that often stay put but are sometimes moved along bit by bit, clunk, clunk, clunk, and by the smaller sediments that are carried along by the water. These small sediments are Elitists. They are an essential part of the Mainstream, but, importantly, they also view themselves as distinct from the comparatively unmoving Middle America rocks that stick to the stream bed. The Elitist sediments and Middle America rocks disdain one another for being uppity and traditionalist, respectively, but they both appreciate Glee.
Now, climbing up one of the banks of the Mainstream, you can spot in the distance another, decidedly smaller stream. It twists and turns on its way to some estuary, as tends to happen with such bodies of water, but it does so ironically. This, after all, is Hipster River. Hipster River is too small to contain the diverse rock types we see in the Mainstream; all you can find here are water-smoothed pebbles wearing lensless glasses, a few scattered Sufjan Stevens CDs (a CD--it's like a flat metal bagel), and Asiya.
It is quite simple, actually. Imagine you are standing in the midst of a lightly treed wood. If you have never had the opportunity to leave the inner city or to find an escape from your suburban hellhole, I am sorry; use this picture as a visual aid.
So, as you can see in this illustrative illustration, there is a cute lil' creek set between some trees and mud and probably some organisms that like to suck people's blood. Now aren't you glad you stayed in suburbia? Anyway, that creek is the Mainstream. The Mainstream is populated by the larger rocks at the bottom that often stay put but are sometimes moved along bit by bit, clunk, clunk, clunk, and by the smaller sediments that are carried along by the water. These small sediments are Elitists. They are an essential part of the Mainstream, but, importantly, they also view themselves as distinct from the comparatively unmoving Middle America rocks that stick to the stream bed. The Elitist sediments and Middle America rocks disdain one another for being uppity and traditionalist, respectively, but they both appreciate Glee.
Now, climbing up one of the banks of the Mainstream, you can spot in the distance another, decidedly smaller stream. It twists and turns on its way to some estuary, as tends to happen with such bodies of water, but it does so ironically. This, after all, is Hipster River. Hipster River is too small to contain the diverse rock types we see in the Mainstream; all you can find here are water-smoothed pebbles wearing lensless glasses, a few scattered Sufjan Stevens CDs (a CD--it's like a flat metal bagel), and Asiya.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Meta-Blog II: Phonetically Speaking
Time for some more meta-blogging! I consider this a good time to do so because I believe myself to be drained of all inspiration. Perhaps you, or you, or I, deep down in the damp and verdant understory of my soul (yes, I did learn about the rain forest in third grade), have some ingenious idea to discuss on this blog that would have eliminated the necessity for such blatant tomfoolery as meta-blogging, but I am frankly too tired to come ask you (YES, YOU) to provide me with your idea or to descend into the lower depths of my tropical being.
To be even more honest than I already am in my self-exalting position as an upstanding citizen of the interwebs, I don't really have much to discuss about my blog. Instead, I shall talk about the phonetic structure of the prefix /mɛtə/. The thing is, Standard American English speakers rarely, if ever, pronounce prototypical /t/. SAE speakers will instead make use of the tap [ɾ] because of laziness--why put all the effort of keeping your tongue in place and exploding lots of air when you can minimize the time between the two vowels and just tap your tongue against your alveolar ridge? S-r-s-l-y! So /mɛtə/ is often realized as [mɛɾə].
By the way, if you're not familiar with phonetics and you think what I wrote sounds moderately technical and/or esoteric, it's not. I don't really know what I'm talking about, to be honest. It's mainly pretension, and pretension sounds a lot like a medical condition.
This has been a meta-blog post!!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Disasters of the Last 14 Years and Some Good Things, Too
Yesterday I went through my old voicemail messages. For those of you time-traveling from 1997, voicemail is sort of like an answering machine, but without tape. Also, if you're heading back to 1997 after reading my blog, watch out for hanging chads, terrorist attacks, my adolescence, natural disasters, "social networking," war and genocide. Man/woman, the winter has really gotten to me.
Anyway, the following was one of the voicemails I found. It references a rather more mild natural disaster than the ones I presaged above for our time-traveling friends.
Hi, it's Mom. As you may have heard, there was a storm in Brooklyn and people think there was actually a tornado that went through. So I just wanted to let you know that we're okay and no trees fell on us, or our house, or our car. Bye-bye, honey.
I'm sorry if you did not find that message funny. That would mean either that you have no sense of humor or that you are illiterate; both are rather tragic alternatives.
I will now liven up this post with some rather more pleasant thoughts. Sarah A. recommended that I list some of my favorite smells, so here are a few:
-vanilla
-salt water (usu. in ocean form)
-onions sautéing
-lavender
-an owl OR a cat OR a toad
If you would like to please Sarah A.'s olfactor,* by the way, you should use grapefruit.
*Yes, I just nominalized "olfactory."
Anyway, the following was one of the voicemails I found. It references a rather more mild natural disaster than the ones I presaged above for our time-traveling friends.
Hi, it's Mom. As you may have heard, there was a storm in Brooklyn and people think there was actually a tornado that went through. So I just wanted to let you know that we're okay and no trees fell on us, or our house, or our car. Bye-bye, honey.
I'm sorry if you did not find that message funny. That would mean either that you have no sense of humor or that you are illiterate; both are rather tragic alternatives.
I will now liven up this post with some rather more pleasant thoughts. Sarah A. recommended that I list some of my favorite smells, so here are a few:
-vanilla
-salt water (usu. in ocean form)
-onions sautéing
-lavender
-an owl OR a cat OR a toad
If you would like to please Sarah A.'s olfactor,* by the way, you should use grapefruit.
*Yes, I just nominalized "olfactory."
Friday, January 14, 2011
Boox
Albus Dumbledore has shared some great wisdom with us over the years: "To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure"; "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"; and "One can never have enough socks." Dumbledore, or should I say J.K. Rowling, the fount of all human knowledge, is thoroughly correct. It has been snowing like a madwoman since I got out of class, but, thanks to a pair of rainbow waterproof socks I got for Hanukkah (thanks, 'rents), my feet are flesh-dry!
Speaking of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (yes, I am that elitist), what do you think would happen if a mirror were to be reflected into the Mirror of Erised? Would both mirrors see their own mirror-heart's greatest desire and become entranced by one another? That is supposing, of course, that both mirrors are magical and are suitably anthropomorphized.
This afternoon I entered a pact with one Jillian M., Forrest Sinclair and Asiya. Fortunately for Forrest, it is not a pregnancy pact. Actually, its content is relatively harmless despite the seemingly sinister nature of the ceremony we conducted to seal it. Our solemn agreement is BLANBLANBLAN (that's a drumroll noise featured in a language I may or may not invent) to write a novel or novelette by the end of the academic year. It is now time to begin brainstorming! Hopefully Jenna won't have to put my tongue guard in.*
*That's a reference to the television programme known as 30 Rock.
Speaking of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (yes, I am that elitist), what do you think would happen if a mirror were to be reflected into the Mirror of Erised? Would both mirrors see their own mirror-heart's greatest desire and become entranced by one another? That is supposing, of course, that both mirrors are magical and are suitably anthropomorphized.
This afternoon I entered a pact with one Jillian M., Forrest Sinclair and Asiya. Fortunately for Forrest, it is not a pregnancy pact. Actually, its content is relatively harmless despite the seemingly sinister nature of the ceremony we conducted to seal it. Our solemn agreement is BLANBLANBLAN (that's a drumroll noise featured in a language I may or may not invent) to write a novel or novelette by the end of the academic year. It is now time to begin brainstorming! Hopefully Jenna won't have to put my tongue guard in.*
*That's a reference to the television programme known as 30 Rock.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Lolcat Quiz I'd Like To Take
Two important things--one could almost say crucial things! They are important!
First, 45 seconds ago I published my second Sporcle quiz./! This one is for the Beatles fans. Let me know what you think. Not about the Beatles, I mean--everyone knows they were the greatest band of the twentieth century, and because there were no other "bands" as we know them in previous centuries, and because the twenty-first century has not appeased my elitist tastes in music, they were, in fact, the greatest band of all eternity, at least on our planet. Rather, I mean that you should tell me what you think about my Sporcle quiz. Too long, short, hard, easy, boring, that sort of thing. On second thought, don't tell me if it's boring because that would not be easy to fix and it would discourage me from further exercising my Sporcreativity.
Second, and slightly less crucially, MILF is a pretty funny turn of phrase. Calling someone a MILF is now socially acceptable in informal settings; but have you ever tried to call someone a BILF or a SILF? You see, your conversational partner will understand that you are not referring to your own mother or father when you say MILF or DILF. But "brother/sister I'd like to @#$%"? That comes across as something out of the Old Testament (you know, the Jew part)*--that is, it sounds like you're talking about desiring your own siblings when SILF and BILF should logically be analogues to MILF and DILF. Slang is a fickle friend, I suppose. Capricious, capricious, capricious!
*Anti-Semitic comment #2 on "From a Concerned Friend." A less offensive one than #1, perhaps.
First, 45 seconds ago I published my second Sporcle quiz./! This one is for the Beatles fans. Let me know what you think. Not about the Beatles, I mean--everyone knows they were the greatest band of the twentieth century, and because there were no other "bands" as we know them in previous centuries, and because the twenty-first century has not appeased my elitist tastes in music, they were, in fact, the greatest band of all eternity, at least on our planet. Rather, I mean that you should tell me what you think about my Sporcle quiz. Too long, short, hard, easy, boring, that sort of thing. On second thought, don't tell me if it's boring because that would not be easy to fix and it would discourage me from further exercising my Sporcreativity.
Second, and slightly less crucially, MILF is a pretty funny turn of phrase. Calling someone a MILF is now socially acceptable in informal settings; but have you ever tried to call someone a BILF or a SILF? You see, your conversational partner will understand that you are not referring to your own mother or father when you say MILF or DILF. But "brother/sister I'd like to @#$%"? That comes across as something out of the Old Testament (you know, the Jew part)*--that is, it sounds like you're talking about desiring your own siblings when SILF and BILF should logically be analogues to MILF and DILF. Slang is a fickle friend, I suppose. Capricious, capricious, capricious!
*Anti-Semitic comment #2 on "From a Concerned Friend." A less offensive one than #1, perhaps.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
A Disappointment
Over the weekend, I braved the bracing cold and close proximity to students from the other college/university in my town/city to go to the the supermarket. Amongst my other purchases (principally, or should I say ___, orange juice) I bought an organic avocado, which was a steal at the price of $1.08. I took it home with me on the bus. I waited several days for my avocado to ripen, tossing it from hand to hand and prodding it on occasion to test for ripeness. Today, I judged it ready for consumption (eating, not tuberculosis).
I opened it up and to my surprise, there was a werewolf standing there with glowing gold eyes. Just foolin'. That's Werewolf Bar Mitzvah. I actually saw this.
It pretty much tasted like that.
So I threw it in the compost. Now it can be reconstituted into a tastier and less brown avocado!
A revelation I had tonight, not about avocados: Polythene Pam's last name is Mustard, since she is the sister of Mean Mr. (Mustard).
I opened it up and to my surprise, there was a werewolf standing there with glowing gold eyes. Just foolin'. That's Werewolf Bar Mitzvah. I actually saw this.
It pretty much tasted like that.
So I threw it in the compost. Now it can be reconstituted into a tastier and less brown avocado!
A revelation I had tonight, not about avocados: Polythene Pam's last name is Mustard, since she is the sister of Mean Mr. (Mustard).
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
My Version of Stephen Colbert
Dear Friends,
The inevitable has happened. No, I'm not talking about the recent and tragic outbreak of violence that may have been motivated in part by our toxic political climate, although some would argue that such an incident was also inevitable. Also, I just talked about it, so I guess I was talking about it as "the inevitable." Still, the shootings in Tucson might not have been inevitable, since the shooter was a crazy person and not just someone out to "assassinate" Giffords. I honestly don't understand why they took what they found in his safe at face value, because, as I already said, he is a crazy person. There is also a lot I would like to say here about how the media glorifies violence, but that topic has already been scrutinized by people who are much more capable scrunitizers.
Anyway, the inevitable that I originally meant to refer to is that Andrew P., a conversation with whom I discussed in a previous blog post, has acted in the manner of a cinematic, that is, dramatically enhanced, Mark Zuckerberg (the one we know from that great A-Sorks movie). You guessed right. You can see the "Tumbuller" of my formerly close compatriot right here. Is it a blog?? Is it a disorganized array of thoughts?? Is it even, perhaps, a gallimaufry of his innermost workings?? "Tumbuller" does not answer our questions, but I am sure we will find out soon enough.
A Concerned Friend
The inevitable has happened. No, I'm not talking about the recent and tragic outbreak of violence that may have been motivated in part by our toxic political climate, although some would argue that such an incident was also inevitable. Also, I just talked about it, so I guess I was talking about it as "the inevitable." Still, the shootings in Tucson might not have been inevitable, since the shooter was a crazy person and not just someone out to "assassinate" Giffords. I honestly don't understand why they took what they found in his safe at face value, because, as I already said, he is a crazy person. There is also a lot I would like to say here about how the media glorifies violence, but that topic has already been scrutinized by people who are much more capable scrunitizers.
Anyway, the inevitable that I originally meant to refer to is that Andrew P., a conversation with whom I discussed in a previous blog post, has acted in the manner of a cinematic, that is, dramatically enhanced, Mark Zuckerberg (the one we know from that great A-Sorks movie). You guessed right. You can see the "Tumbuller" of my formerly close compatriot right here. Is it a blog?? Is it a disorganized array of thoughts?? Is it even, perhaps, a gallimaufry of his innermost workings?? "Tumbuller" does not answer our questions, but I am sure we will find out soon enough.
A Concerned Friend
Monday, January 10, 2011
Lol
I wonder if there is any space enclosed by the circle of people who read my blog that does not overlap with the circle containing people who have taken my Sporcle quiz. To find out if this is the case, I urge you to take my Sporcle quiz if you've never taken it. It involves lolcats and books, two things that appeal to everyone.
http://www.sporcle.com/games/Deborah/lolcatbooks
Speaking of appeeling things, my Bananagrams Page-a-day calendar is kicking my butt, even though, despite its name, it does not have one page per day. (On the weekends, they skimp you out. Is "skimp you out" an idiom?) Apparently I am not as good at Bananagrams as I thought. I am attempting a challenge on the easiest, one-banana level, where I just have to fill in the letters into predetermined box shapes. It's hard! I am simply too creative for it. I would think of another pun about bananas now if I didn't have to run to lunch.
http://www.sporcle.com/games/Deborah/lolcatbooks
Speaking of appeeling things, my Bananagrams Page-a-day calendar is kicking my butt, even though, despite its name, it does not have one page per day. (On the weekends, they skimp you out. Is "skimp you out" an idiom?) Apparently I am not as good at Bananagrams as I thought. I am attempting a challenge on the easiest, one-banana level, where I just have to fill in the letters into predetermined box shapes. It's hard! I am simply too creative for it. I would think of another pun about bananas now if I didn't have to run to lunch.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Reading
I am sure the assorted persons who read my blog are literate, but this post will feature some pictures, too, for those of you who prefer resting your pretty little eyes.
The only unsolicited piece of mail I have received since I arrived back here at ____ College/University (I value my privacy) has been from the Company Store. They sent me a catalog full of pretty pictures of bed linens. So, obvi'z, I also went to their website. This is one of the nice, tranquil scenes I found.
White Sale, OK, ha-ha, it's racist. But take a gander at the "end table"--that's a term I learned from the Sims games. The person who owns that ungodly number of pillows must not like to read very much, either, or else they love to read so much that they figured the only way to prevent themselves from staying up all night with a book in hand was to put a lamp on top of their books. It is a nice lamp, though. The kind you could fill with shells.
I am so hungry! But I am going to find the other photo pertinent to my concern for the literacy of whoever models the photographs for the Company Store before I go to whatever passes at ____ College/University for "brunch." OK, here it is.
That's too bad.
Now I get to go eat! Actually, I'm not sure that deserves an exclamation point.
The only unsolicited piece of mail I have received since I arrived back here at ____ College/University (I value my privacy) has been from the Company Store. They sent me a catalog full of pretty pictures of bed linens. So, obvi'z, I also went to their website. This is one of the nice, tranquil scenes I found.
I am so hungry! But I am going to find the other photo pertinent to my concern for the literacy of whoever models the photographs for the Company Store before I go to whatever passes at ____ College/University for "brunch." OK, here it is.
Now I get to go eat! Actually, I'm not sure that deserves an exclamation point.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Fruit on the Roof
A flat roof has much potential. For the past few months I have been attempting to get small, round hand fruit (I have used apples and oranges, but I would not rule out grapefruit, either) onto the roof of my dorm. I have come to within a foot. Getting hand fruit onto the roof is sort of like real-life Angry Birds, but I wouldn't know for sure--I am too mainstream to play it.
Down to the crux of my collegiate experience. I use the word crux because I played a magnificent Sporcle quiz yesterday whose subject was 4-letter words ending in X. Let me find a link for you. Here you are: http://www.sporcle.com/games/caramba/castlemaine
Anyway, the crux! The crux! I started taking this intro psych class this week, and it is mostly very interesting stuff. However, I am still ambivalent about the study of psychology. So far it seems to consist of a fun array of facts about the way people act, some of which are given fancy names like "motivated social cognition." Actually, motivated social cognition is one of the more entertaining ideas I've come across in this class, because it suggests that political conservatism is caused by nothing more than the emotional flaws of its proponents. I quote from my textbook: "In particular, the motivated social cognition perspective maintains that people respond to threat and uncertainty by expressing beliefs that help them to manage their concerns. Evidence supporting this perspective has come from studies showing that political conservatism is positively related to a concern with societal instability and death, a need for order and structure, and an intolerance of ambiguity (e.g., Jost et al., 2003)." I am tickled by the fact that these findings have been codified and substantiated within an academic framework; but is the academic framework really necessary? Even if I couldn't have phrased why some people are conservative in some fancy way, I think it's rather obvious why people ascribe to those views. Hey, this is a controversial post. If you have a particular outlook on psychology, you should write a comment about it! My roommate is not welcome to do so, however.
Down to the crux of my collegiate experience. I use the word crux because I played a magnificent Sporcle quiz yesterday whose subject was 4-letter words ending in X. Let me find a link for you. Here you are: http://www.sporcle.com/games/caramba/castlemaine
Anyway, the crux! The crux! I started taking this intro psych class this week, and it is mostly very interesting stuff. However, I am still ambivalent about the study of psychology. So far it seems to consist of a fun array of facts about the way people act, some of which are given fancy names like "motivated social cognition." Actually, motivated social cognition is one of the more entertaining ideas I've come across in this class, because it suggests that political conservatism is caused by nothing more than the emotional flaws of its proponents. I quote from my textbook: "In particular, the motivated social cognition perspective maintains that people respond to threat and uncertainty by expressing beliefs that help them to manage their concerns. Evidence supporting this perspective has come from studies showing that political conservatism is positively related to a concern with societal instability and death, a need for order and structure, and an intolerance of ambiguity (e.g., Jost et al., 2003)." I am tickled by the fact that these findings have been codified and substantiated within an academic framework; but is the academic framework really necessary? Even if I couldn't have phrased why some people are conservative in some fancy way, I think it's rather obvious why people ascribe to those views. Hey, this is a controversial post. If you have a particular outlook on psychology, you should write a comment about it! My roommate is not welcome to do so, however.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Meta-Blog
Last night I had an enlightening conversation with one Andrew P. I told this Androop about my blogular aspirations, which he promptly and tragically quashed. Apparently, he says, I will not make any money or fame unless I have some sort of "focus." Focus is not my middle name. My middle name is Anne. Focus is not even a family name. My family names include Alan, Michael, and David. Hold on! Why are there no family names of women? My family is sexist. It's probably because we're Jews. That's my blog's anti-Semitic comment number #1. That seems like a worthwhile thing to keep track of.
As I was saying, or, should I say, typing, since I usually don't say what I type (with one exception, because I dictated my blog post yesterday to Forrest Sinclair and Asiya), I have abandoned all hope that I will ever have more than four readers, unless Asiya and Patrick have stopped reading my blog and my parents never figure out how to find it, in which case I will have 0-1 reader.
This has been a meta-blog entry. Now it's time to put on socks and put in breakfast.
As I was saying, or, should I say, typing, since I usually don't say what I type (with one exception, because I dictated my blog post yesterday to Forrest Sinclair and Asiya), I have abandoned all hope that I will ever have more than four readers, unless Asiya and Patrick have stopped reading my blog and my parents never figure out how to find it, in which case I will have 0-1 reader.
This has been a meta-blog entry. Now it's time to put on socks and put in breakfast.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
From a Concerned Friend
I have decided to start a blog. It will be relatively interesting, and I will occasionally say things of import. You can read it if you'd like.
From a Concerned Friend
P.S. Thank you, Asiya and Forrest Sinclair, for encouraging me in my endeavor. "You're welcome, Deborah." What do you say to "You're welcome"? I still don't know.
From a Concerned Friend
P.S. Thank you, Asiya and Forrest Sinclair, for encouraging me in my endeavor. "You're welcome, Deborah." What do you say to "You're welcome"? I still don't know.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)