Use me to procrastinate, baby. I don't mind.
I was in the library for a bit today, and for once, it was actually a good experience: I was relatively productive and nothing about my fellow human beings bugged me to much. (Aside: I do actually like people, despite the somewhat misanthropic nature of most of my posts. It's really more that things are hilarious than awful, and it's better to laugh than watch your blood pressure go up, right? Hypertension's no fun.)
This positive experience cannot be attributed to each library excursion. The Villanova law library is pretty boss, overall, but I have plenty of collected stories from undergrad and a few from here that have enabled me to collect a set of rules for what you should and should not do in a library. My lovely friend Amy was there for last spring's disaster in the Rock at Brown.
Amy had lovingly saved me a desk so I could study for my comparative animal physio exam the next morning, and we were just outside the Absolute Quiet room. The first pair of ridic peeps was on the other side of the room, "studying" economics but really studying other things: the girl attempting to figure out if the boy wanted her, and if she could possibly talk about more shallow, pointless things. (Answer: no. The conversation revolved around "So at the party last weekend, she was totally wasted. And so was he. And they totally maybe hooked up. But there were other drunk people too and I think people we both know may have had sex. You know? *hair toss*") The boy was trying to discover if he could appear more uninterested in life. (Answer: yes, but only if he became a barnacle.)
The gem of the evening was sitting behind me, and I swear, every person she's ever met decided that was THE time and THE place to go find her, catch up, tell her how cute she was, bring her food, give her an abridged lap dance (I'm not kidding with the last one), etc. The only thing separating the action behind me and a rave is that there were no glowing parts and no one offered me drugs. Which is unfortunate.
I tried headphones, gave her the benefit of the doubt, and continued working. When her cackling over something stupid breached even the loudest section of Cannonball Adderley's "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy" that's when I snapped. Lightly, like a tiny twig. I turned around and said, "I'm sorry to do this, but do you think you could be a bit quieter? I can hear you through my headphones." She apologized and promised to quiet down. Roughly twelve minutes later, another of her friends (who were apparently budding off of each other and growing to sexual, yet not actual, maturity in the next room) came in and cackled like the offspring of a donkey with bronchitis and Ed the hyena from The Lion King. Amy and I were e-mailing and gchatting the whole time, along the lines of HOW CAN YOU BE THIS OBLIVIOUS TO THE WORLD and I'MA HURT SOMEBODY. She stuck it out longer than I did, because I figured I wouldn't be allowed to take my Bio 118 final if my bail was set at several million dollars. Y'know, for when I stabbed the girl through the neck with my pencil. Also, when I got up, she had apparently written two sentences in 3 and a half hours.
This was the worst library experience I've had, but there have been others, ranging from minor ridiculousness to full-on selfishness to the point of wanting to wave my hand in front of the person's face to see if she could see me or legit thought she was alone. So, therefore, some rules.
Dress appropriately.
This isn't really applying to the temperature of the library, though Brownies know that the SciLi basement can get icebox cold, and my fellow 1Ls realize that whoever controls the temperature in the VLS library is under the impression that if the average temperature is 65, and that's accomplished by making it alternate between 50 and 80, that's good enough. What I mean by this, actually, is don't come to the library like you're hitting Clutch later. (Jersey Shore reference, check.) It's a goshdarn library. You do not need heels and a miniskirt to get in. Also, is there a reason why you're in makeup that would benefit significantly from dimmer light? How many minutes did it take you to flat iron your hair? Are those sequins?! You get my point. Show up in sweats, for the love of God: it's not a mating ritual.
Stop claiming desks like they're the New World.
If you need to run to the bathroom, or go upstairs/downstairs for a cup of coffee, or even if you need to disappear for 15 minutes to go get food or run to your car, I won't hate you for leaving your stuff on a desk. I might not leave my stuff unattended in a library for that long, but I understand the value of hanging on to your desk. However, when it's reading period, and I got to the library 90 minutes ago, and your unopened books, sweatshirt, and Starbucks cup are taking up prime real estate and I have yet to see you, I hate you. I really do. Queen Isabella didn't finance your trip to this carrell, and I'd really appreciate if you moved your stuff, otherwise you gon' find it in the trash can. I'm climbin' in yo' desk space, snatchin' yo' textbooks up. This goes for napping in the library: I feel you, it gets tiring sometimes, but when a 20-minute power nap turns into "Gosh dang, I'm guessing a Draught of Living Death was in that coffee, whoopsies" (Harry Potter ref, CHECK), I may start tickling your face with a feather.
This ain't no mouth marathon, so stop runnin' it.
For serious, SHUT UP. Short conversations are totally fine, as were project discussions in undergrad in the places you were supposed to be doing it, but I don't want a color commentary on every. single. drink. you had this weekend and every. single. hominid. you spoke to after consuming them. Yes, there's drama in the world: save it for the stage, honey. I don't care about it, I don't need to hear it, and this is not the place for it. Go try out for The Real World and leave the learning to us. Really, we'll take it from here, since you've clearly dropped it and have no intention of looking for it. And if this sounded unfair to girls, I'm sorry. Bros? Please stop verbally flexing your Y chromosome and put some knowledge into your brick head, because no one except the clone of yourself you're talking to cares how hot that girl was whom you "got with" last night. If the sentence starts with "Dude, she was..." or if you feel the need to crouch so that your head is below your shoulders while saying it, REEL IT BACK IN, FELLAS. Your time is your time, but when your stupid time cuts into my learnin' time, somethin' else is gon' get cut.
Commit it to memory.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I'm a mouse, duh!
Oh my goodness, could my title be any more clever? Anyway, instead of editing my court observation exercise, I'm taking a break to update. I'm in a good mood, because my lovely mommy's birthday is tomorrow (along with some other cool people), by this time tomorrow I'll be done with my citations exam, I get to see the Brown Band this weekend at Penn (and hopefully watch Brown kick some Oatmeal butt), and I'm going as Snooki for Halloween. I know, I know, pictures or it didn't happen.
Yes, I'm going as Snooki. I really do not care if it's stupid or overdone, I love her and I found out recently that I can do the pouf with my hair. I'm going to shake my moneymaker along with the rest of my law school. (Technically, that would mean waving a casebook around at the bar... try not to laugh at this image, I DARE you.)
This is a segue to my actual point: The Slut Rule. This rule is defined by Mean Girls and this conversation:
Girl 1: "What are you going as for Halloween?"
Girl 2: "Sexy/slutty ________"
Before I get people getting angry at me, can I just say: while I personally do not feel comfortable dressing that way, it is absolutely up to you if you want to. Go ahead. You're allowed. I really, truly, don't care, and if you did a kickass job with your makeup I will tell you. I've seen absolutely stunning girls with gorgeous makeup and sweet (though tiny) outfits on Halloween, and I give them props. Additionally, if you are able to make yourself into something creative in this category (I believe my fave suggestion last year was "Sexy Civil War Reenactor"... come on, how many "The South Will Rise Again" puns could you make out of that?), I will give you MAD props.
So which ones do bother me? Three main groups:
1. Laziness.
This is often the Mean Girls category: buying a pair of ears and intentionally misusing eyeliner to give yourself whiskers doesn't make you a cat, it makes you lazy. Which might work for the cat, actually... but yeah, basically, if what you're wearing is what you'd wear out on any given night o' clubbin', and all you've added are ears, come ON. DO MORE. WORK for those free drinks. Otherwise I will be bringing a spray bottle of water to get you when you start claw-attacking the bar furniture, and harass you the whole evening with a fake mouse the whole night, trying to get you to chase it. You get upset? But, but... I thought you were a KITTY?! (Even better if the mouse is another girl who got lazy and is dressed just like you but in a GREY shirt).
2. WTF.
These are "sexy" costumes that aren't so the-back-o'-yo'-head-is-Riddikulus (TWO POP CULTURE REFERENCES, GET SOME) that they're funny: that's the Civil War Reenactor type. These types are generally sold, not put together, and clearly someone, somewhere, thought they'd legit be sexy. I stalked Spirit, a Halloween store that's got a whole category of "Sexy Women's Costumes," and some of my faves were:
There are more, but I think you get the idea. If it's that much of a stretch to make it sexy AND it's not funny, it's WTF and don't buy it.
3. Borderline racist/generally insulting.
Many, many of the "sexy" costumes have gone way past politically incorrect right up into "No." First of all, I'd say don't dress up as a Native American or a Bollywood dancer or a Mexican bandit or whatever else is sold just because you can. You're better than that, and you're reducing someone's culture to a stereotype, and a tired one at that.
What actually gets me angry instead of just perturbed are the ones who take a cultural thing and try to work it into a double entendre. Examples: "Taj My Hall" for a vaguely Indian outfit. "Pocahottie" for an American Indian outift. "Saki (sic) Sweetie" for a kimono-ish thing. And, my personal favorite, "Makin' Reservations" for another American Indian dress. not bein offensiv: ur doin it rong.
So, sorry for the long post, but hopefully you can prep for my reactions to your costume based ono what I've written here. You can also avoid all of this and be funny and/or nerdy: my boyfriend is going as a t test for Halloween.
Off to the tanning salon.
Yes, I'm going as Snooki. I really do not care if it's stupid or overdone, I love her and I found out recently that I can do the pouf with my hair. I'm going to shake my moneymaker along with the rest of my law school. (Technically, that would mean waving a casebook around at the bar... try not to laugh at this image, I DARE you.)
This is a segue to my actual point: The Slut Rule. This rule is defined by Mean Girls and this conversation:
Girl 1: "What are you going as for Halloween?"
Girl 2: "Sexy/slutty ________"
Before I get people getting angry at me, can I just say: while I personally do not feel comfortable dressing that way, it is absolutely up to you if you want to. Go ahead. You're allowed. I really, truly, don't care, and if you did a kickass job with your makeup I will tell you. I've seen absolutely stunning girls with gorgeous makeup and sweet (though tiny) outfits on Halloween, and I give them props. Additionally, if you are able to make yourself into something creative in this category (I believe my fave suggestion last year was "Sexy Civil War Reenactor"... come on, how many "The South Will Rise Again" puns could you make out of that?), I will give you MAD props.
So which ones do bother me? Three main groups:
1. Laziness.
This is often the Mean Girls category: buying a pair of ears and intentionally misusing eyeliner to give yourself whiskers doesn't make you a cat, it makes you lazy. Which might work for the cat, actually... but yeah, basically, if what you're wearing is what you'd wear out on any given night o' clubbin', and all you've added are ears, come ON. DO MORE. WORK for those free drinks. Otherwise I will be bringing a spray bottle of water to get you when you start claw-attacking the bar furniture, and harass you the whole evening with a fake mouse the whole night, trying to get you to chase it. You get upset? But, but... I thought you were a KITTY?! (Even better if the mouse is another girl who got lazy and is dressed just like you but in a GREY shirt).
2. WTF.
These are "sexy" costumes that aren't so the-back-o'-yo'-head-is-Riddikulus (TWO POP CULTURE REFERENCES, GET SOME) that they're funny: that's the Civil War Reenactor type. These types are generally sold, not put together, and clearly someone, somewhere, thought they'd legit be sexy. I stalked Spirit, a Halloween store that's got a whole category of "Sexy Women's Costumes," and some of my faves were:
- Sexy Robin Hood (labeled "Robyn Da Hood")
- Sexy Mad Hatter
- Sexy Border Patrol
- Sexy Taxi Driver
- Sexy Hermione Granger (I know, I know, but she's 11 in the first frickin' book, people!)
- Sexy Marie Antoinette
- Sexy Nun (also, I know, but can this one die? It wasn't funny to begin with. Also stop naming the costume Bad Habit - Sister Act 2 was better and funnier than this costume.)
- Sexy Bumblebee from Transformers
- Sexy Snowman
- Sexy Female Elvis
There are more, but I think you get the idea. If it's that much of a stretch to make it sexy AND it's not funny, it's WTF and don't buy it.
3. Borderline racist/generally insulting.
Many, many of the "sexy" costumes have gone way past politically incorrect right up into "No." First of all, I'd say don't dress up as a Native American or a Bollywood dancer or a Mexican bandit or whatever else is sold just because you can. You're better than that, and you're reducing someone's culture to a stereotype, and a tired one at that.
What actually gets me angry instead of just perturbed are the ones who take a cultural thing and try to work it into a double entendre. Examples: "Taj My Hall" for a vaguely Indian outfit. "Pocahottie" for an American Indian outift. "Saki (sic) Sweetie" for a kimono-ish thing. And, my personal favorite, "Makin' Reservations" for another American Indian dress. not bein offensiv: ur doin it rong.
So, sorry for the long post, but hopefully you can prep for my reactions to your costume based ono what I've written here. You can also avoid all of this and be funny and/or nerdy: my boyfriend is going as a t test for Halloween.
Off to the tanning salon.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Why would you turn against me?
My body is mutiny-ing. Nothing awful, just a cold that got (law-)schooled and turned into SUPER COLD. Watch as I make you regret every handshake you've performed, every doorknob you've touched, and every hour of sleep you've missed, because I'mma make you SICK. And because I'm a pansy and can't man up I've been dragging myself through the last few days as if I'm consumptive and on my way out. I'm not. I'm just whiny. Call Whine-One-One, not 911. Waaaahmbulance, not ambulance.
Colds are not the only thing that makes me bow down to the germ theory and pain receptors and tell them I've given up and will pay reparations and sign the Fourteen Points. I'm pathetic in lots of other disease formats, don't you worry. I've tried to compile a list.
Blisters: seriously, go die. There is no good way to complain about a blister unless you're discussing how complications from it are forcing the doctors to consider amputation. Otherwise you sound like a little girl who just let go of the balloon that a chain restaurant gave her for her birthday. One little liquid-filled result of uncomfortable shoes and I can't walk anymore. Whine whine whiiiiine.
Eyelash under a contact lens: this is a new level of miserable. If this hasn't happened to you, just trust me when I say that you no joke want to claw your eye out. Combine the discomfort of a middle-school slow dance when you have no partner and the urgency of the last two minutes of a final when you still have a paragraph to write and your hand is cramping and you've got the basics. I get really mad at my eyelashes when this happens because they are doing the exact opposite of what they're supposed to be doing. Protect my eye, hairs, or I will wear bright green mascara to spite you and you will never be pretty again. Bwahaha.
Migraines: these are difficult to quantify unless you've experienced one, but since there are no outward symptoms, it's rough to get people to believe you. Especially since, when you break it down, what you're saying is "I have a headache." I get these maybe once every two months or so, and there's very little I can do about them. Light hurts. Sound hurts. I'm pretty sure I can feel individual air molecules bouncing off of my forehead... and they're laughing at me. Wipes me out.
That kind of leads me into my last one: tummy aches. I am deathly afraid of throwing up. For reals, shots, blood, whatever else is better than feeling sick to my stomach. I will blubber if I feel even the least bit nauseous. Movies I watched when I was little and sick can no longer be seen because I associate them with feeling ill. Certain foods are out if I felt ill after eating them. I cover my eyes and ears during that scene in Mean Girls when she's like "Aaron Samuels I am so not Regina George, since she would never decide a pink bra was acceptable with a strapless dress."
My friend Alex has the same problem, and she thinks it happens to bio people more often: if you know the details, it's worse. I fully agree. But for reals, if you're sick from drinking, I will put you in the rescue position and get someone else to deal with it.
For the record, this post took me about two hours because I was talking about The Hunger Games series with the lovely Adrienne because I just finished the last book in the series and it ripped my heart out and put it back in. I want to be a lawyer, but what I want more than anything is to get a job reading fantasy and science fiction and talking about it forever.
I live off of comments, and also: recommend books. Oddly enough, being able to escape in books grounds me in law school. Don't ask me to explain any further because I'm pretty frickin' proud of that sentence.
Colds are not the only thing that makes me bow down to the germ theory and pain receptors and tell them I've given up and will pay reparations and sign the Fourteen Points. I'm pathetic in lots of other disease formats, don't you worry. I've tried to compile a list.
Blisters: seriously, go die. There is no good way to complain about a blister unless you're discussing how complications from it are forcing the doctors to consider amputation. Otherwise you sound like a little girl who just let go of the balloon that a chain restaurant gave her for her birthday. One little liquid-filled result of uncomfortable shoes and I can't walk anymore. Whine whine whiiiiine.
Eyelash under a contact lens: this is a new level of miserable. If this hasn't happened to you, just trust me when I say that you no joke want to claw your eye out. Combine the discomfort of a middle-school slow dance when you have no partner and the urgency of the last two minutes of a final when you still have a paragraph to write and your hand is cramping and you've got the basics. I get really mad at my eyelashes when this happens because they are doing the exact opposite of what they're supposed to be doing. Protect my eye, hairs, or I will wear bright green mascara to spite you and you will never be pretty again. Bwahaha.
Migraines: these are difficult to quantify unless you've experienced one, but since there are no outward symptoms, it's rough to get people to believe you. Especially since, when you break it down, what you're saying is "I have a headache." I get these maybe once every two months or so, and there's very little I can do about them. Light hurts. Sound hurts. I'm pretty sure I can feel individual air molecules bouncing off of my forehead... and they're laughing at me. Wipes me out.
That kind of leads me into my last one: tummy aches. I am deathly afraid of throwing up. For reals, shots, blood, whatever else is better than feeling sick to my stomach. I will blubber if I feel even the least bit nauseous. Movies I watched when I was little and sick can no longer be seen because I associate them with feeling ill. Certain foods are out if I felt ill after eating them. I cover my eyes and ears during that scene in Mean Girls when she's like "Aaron Samuels I am so not Regina George, since she would never decide a pink bra was acceptable with a strapless dress."
My friend Alex has the same problem, and she thinks it happens to bio people more often: if you know the details, it's worse. I fully agree. But for reals, if you're sick from drinking, I will put you in the rescue position and get someone else to deal with it.
For the record, this post took me about two hours because I was talking about The Hunger Games series with the lovely Adrienne because I just finished the last book in the series and it ripped my heart out and put it back in. I want to be a lawyer, but what I want more than anything is to get a job reading fantasy and science fiction and talking about it forever.
I live off of comments, and also: recommend books. Oddly enough, being able to escape in books grounds me in law school. Don't ask me to explain any further because I'm pretty frickin' proud of that sentence.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Reckless and negligent.
The future legal minds of southeastern Pennsylvania were out in force on Friday night... and they were ridiculously sloppy. Gosh dang I love you guys, but y'all were ridiculous.
I'm completely aware of my own bias when it comes to the effects of alcohol, as I've never been a big drinker, ever. I was on the substance-free floor my first year of college, and spent most of my time going to church choir and playing French horn. Glory days, fo' sho'.
Aaaaanyway. Friday night was Red Mass, a big ol' celebration for law people everywhere, and people told me they overheard people discussing pre-gaming Red Mass. Yeah I'ma shoot that one down. Still church. After the service, there was a reception at the law school (most people were like FREE ALCOHOL) and then another thing at a bar. I don't think the bar was prepared for several hundred well-dressed young people so everything got a little crazy. The following list was inspired by Friday night, but it's definitely been a series of data collections over several years.
1. PDA = Just say NO.
No, I don't mean act like your significant other has smallpox: I won't light you on fire if you're holding hands. However, if I see you sword-fighting with your tongues and I can't see your hands, I will be uncomfortable. There are very few moments where macking in public is acceptable to me: an airport arrivals gate, a wedding, mistletoe, maybe a few others. Things that don't count? "Oh, babe, you look sa-MOKING tonight, you're so hot!" and "giggle I'm pretty drunk,can... can I have 'nother drink? Pleeeeease?" Generally you're too far away for me to do much, but if you're in my way, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will pull you apart like you're at a middle school dance on my way to the bathroom. Save it for later kiddies.
2. This is my dance space, this is your dance space.
Yeah I just quoted Dirty Dancing and you love it. But yes, for the record, your inebriation does not grant you 6 times the dance space that my sobriety grants me. This is directed mostly at dudes doing what I like to call the "RNC delegates dropped into a house-music club" dance which consists of alternating the angle your elbow is held at and punching the air. Expert moves include incorporating your legs and fnding the beat. If you hit me with your chicken arm, or back up into me, I will shove you. It will happen. I don't like to be touched all that much to begin with, and since I already had to get super-friendly with about 45 people just because I was trying to reach the bar I really, really don't want you to bump into me. No touching.
3. The staff don't hate you.
If you're missing your ID and the bouncer gives you a hard time, don't get shocked or try to fight him. The waitress is not a "bitch" bcause she won't serve you. It's okay to get mad at the system, but these people are just following directions from their bosses. Friday night I asked the under-staffed bartender if I could tack on my drink to a larger order, and apologized to her for bothering her. The girl next to me said that I didn't need to apologize because it's her job. I responded with, "It's not her fault that the bar under-staffed tonight." So maybe I get a little worked up when I see people treating someone in a service industry poorly, but seriously, don't take out your I-haven't-had-nearly-enough-alcohol-tonight issues (or worse, I've-had-too-much) on some chick whose trying to fill an order for 6 Irish car bombs.
4. Don't wear heels if you can't handle them.
I know that I can't, so I avoid wearing them at all costs. Therefore, when you are stumbling around on your stilettos in front of my car and I really, really want you to move, I super-hate your footwear choice of the evening. If you can't handle the strappies without eating it on the slippery bar floor by the end of the night, maybe don't wear them. I can generally pick these girls out before they even start drinking because instead of actually rolling their feet when they walk, Top Model-style, they put their whole foot down on the ground at once like a Budweiser Clydesdale. There's no shame in flats, ladies, and I might decide to NOT run you over with my car if you can book.
I'm sure I'll think of more, but this is what I've got so far. Pray for me and my abandoned and malignant heart, but gosh darn do drunk people get me mad.
I'm completely aware of my own bias when it comes to the effects of alcohol, as I've never been a big drinker, ever. I was on the substance-free floor my first year of college, and spent most of my time going to church choir and playing French horn. Glory days, fo' sho'.
Aaaaanyway. Friday night was Red Mass, a big ol' celebration for law people everywhere, and people told me they overheard people discussing pre-gaming Red Mass. Yeah I'ma shoot that one down. Still church. After the service, there was a reception at the law school (most people were like FREE ALCOHOL) and then another thing at a bar. I don't think the bar was prepared for several hundred well-dressed young people so everything got a little crazy. The following list was inspired by Friday night, but it's definitely been a series of data collections over several years.
1. PDA = Just say NO.
No, I don't mean act like your significant other has smallpox: I won't light you on fire if you're holding hands. However, if I see you sword-fighting with your tongues and I can't see your hands, I will be uncomfortable. There are very few moments where macking in public is acceptable to me: an airport arrivals gate, a wedding, mistletoe, maybe a few others. Things that don't count? "Oh, babe, you look sa-MOKING tonight, you're so hot!" and "giggle I'm pretty drunk,can... can I have 'nother drink? Pleeeeease?" Generally you're too far away for me to do much, but if you're in my way, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will pull you apart like you're at a middle school dance on my way to the bathroom. Save it for later kiddies.
2. This is my dance space, this is your dance space.
Yeah I just quoted Dirty Dancing and you love it. But yes, for the record, your inebriation does not grant you 6 times the dance space that my sobriety grants me. This is directed mostly at dudes doing what I like to call the "RNC delegates dropped into a house-music club" dance which consists of alternating the angle your elbow is held at and punching the air. Expert moves include incorporating your legs and fnding the beat. If you hit me with your chicken arm, or back up into me, I will shove you. It will happen. I don't like to be touched all that much to begin with, and since I already had to get super-friendly with about 45 people just because I was trying to reach the bar I really, really don't want you to bump into me. No touching.
3. The staff don't hate you.
If you're missing your ID and the bouncer gives you a hard time, don't get shocked or try to fight him. The waitress is not a "bitch" bcause she won't serve you. It's okay to get mad at the system, but these people are just following directions from their bosses. Friday night I asked the under-staffed bartender if I could tack on my drink to a larger order, and apologized to her for bothering her. The girl next to me said that I didn't need to apologize because it's her job. I responded with, "It's not her fault that the bar under-staffed tonight." So maybe I get a little worked up when I see people treating someone in a service industry poorly, but seriously, don't take out your I-haven't-had-nearly-enough-alcohol-tonight issues (or worse, I've-had-too-much) on some chick whose trying to fill an order for 6 Irish car bombs.
4. Don't wear heels if you can't handle them.
I know that I can't, so I avoid wearing them at all costs. Therefore, when you are stumbling around on your stilettos in front of my car and I really, really want you to move, I super-hate your footwear choice of the evening. If you can't handle the strappies without eating it on the slippery bar floor by the end of the night, maybe don't wear them. I can generally pick these girls out before they even start drinking because instead of actually rolling their feet when they walk, Top Model-style, they put their whole foot down on the ground at once like a Budweiser Clydesdale. There's no shame in flats, ladies, and I might decide to NOT run you over with my car if you can book.
I'm sure I'll think of more, but this is what I've got so far. Pray for me and my abandoned and malignant heart, but gosh darn do drunk people get me mad.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Ridin' dirty.
Sorry for the delay. I love all of you, I just had a midterm and assignments and I slept through most of my break. Whaddup.
Also, I did in fact read about 1500 pages of fiction this past weekend, and I am very happy with that. I re-read some of Unseen Academicals (Terry Pratchett, my homeboy, READ HIS STUFF), and then I went to Barnes and Noble. It's not good when I go into a bookstore, as it's like taking a chocoholic into Godiva, or Snooki into Ed Hardy, or Bill Clinton into a strip club: I want all of it and the only thing that keeps me from taking it all is a potential lawsuit. Too far?
Anyway, I bought the new Ken Follett book Fall of Giants, and I am super pleased with my purchase. It's an epic like The Pillars of the Earth or World Without End but with many main characters and a setting in World War I. I haven't read anything but those epics, but the dude did not disappoint. Book was a thousand pages.
I also bought The Hunger Games which people have been recommending to me for a while and HOLY GOD this book was AMAZING. I'm going to get the second and third as soon as I can. It's written for teens, but it's seriously one of the best books I've read in a while. Violent and complicated and perfectly paced and stays with you after you've put it down. If you like science fiction go get it NAO KTHNX BAI.
Real reason for this post: I just drove the longest I've ever driven and the most states in one drive. As anyone who was in New Orleans with me this past January can attest to (oh hey Silver Bullet, heyyy), I'm a bit of a nervous driver. The part that most people don't see is the road rage going on in my head, and the combination of a desire to be safe and a wish that idiots would avoid my highway combines into a thought process like this:
**Aight, sweet, I found the entrance to the highway... hellooo I'm coming in and moving a lane over would definitely be awesome since there are no cars there... frickin' MOVE okay thank you!.... dammit I hate trucks why are there two trucks here OHMYGOD THEY'RE SURROUNDING ME PASSPASSPASS JESUS okay thank you God!.... I really don't like this Nicki Minaj song, can I look down and change the dial without crashing into someone? of course you can it's like an eighth of a second just do it FRICKIN' A WHAT WAS THAT oh a motorcycle I HATE YOU you can't just make up your own lane! I will drop-kick your dog off of a bridge... no I'll just slice up your tool-ish leather jacket JUST PASS ME, DAMMIT I'm doing ten over the speed limit! did I ask for a colonoscopy from your front bumper I THINK NOT aight doing well, doing well, good song, good song SHIT was that the EXIT no, no, calm down, the exit is not for another like, 25 miles, you're an idiot... and the A/C in the car is making my eyes water, I'll turn it down... aaaand now it's a hundred degrees in here, A/C back on DAMMIT TRUCK I HATE YOU... wait why are we breaking the truck is gonna crush me OHGOD PLEASE STOP... oh, it's a toll. I love you, EZ Pass!***
That's about 3 minutes worth. Today's drive was 3 hours. I spend pretty much all of it bouncing back and forth between I'mgonnadie/you'retoodumbtodrive/I'mgonnadie/you'retoodumbtodrive. So if you're ever with me in the car and wondering why my hands are turning white gripping the wheel and I seem really focused, this is why.
They see me rollin', they hatin'...
Also, I did in fact read about 1500 pages of fiction this past weekend, and I am very happy with that. I re-read some of Unseen Academicals (Terry Pratchett, my homeboy, READ HIS STUFF), and then I went to Barnes and Noble. It's not good when I go into a bookstore, as it's like taking a chocoholic into Godiva, or Snooki into Ed Hardy, or Bill Clinton into a strip club: I want all of it and the only thing that keeps me from taking it all is a potential lawsuit. Too far?
Anyway, I bought the new Ken Follett book Fall of Giants, and I am super pleased with my purchase. It's an epic like The Pillars of the Earth or World Without End but with many main characters and a setting in World War I. I haven't read anything but those epics, but the dude did not disappoint. Book was a thousand pages.
I also bought The Hunger Games which people have been recommending to me for a while and HOLY GOD this book was AMAZING. I'm going to get the second and third as soon as I can. It's written for teens, but it's seriously one of the best books I've read in a while. Violent and complicated and perfectly paced and stays with you after you've put it down. If you like science fiction go get it NAO KTHNX BAI.
Real reason for this post: I just drove the longest I've ever driven and the most states in one drive. As anyone who was in New Orleans with me this past January can attest to (oh hey Silver Bullet, heyyy), I'm a bit of a nervous driver. The part that most people don't see is the road rage going on in my head, and the combination of a desire to be safe and a wish that idiots would avoid my highway combines into a thought process like this:
**Aight, sweet, I found the entrance to the highway... hellooo I'm coming in and moving a lane over would definitely be awesome since there are no cars there... frickin' MOVE okay thank you!.... dammit I hate trucks why are there two trucks here OHMYGOD THEY'RE SURROUNDING ME PASSPASSPASS JESUS okay thank you God!.... I really don't like this Nicki Minaj song, can I look down and change the dial without crashing into someone? of course you can it's like an eighth of a second just do it FRICKIN' A WHAT WAS THAT oh a motorcycle I HATE YOU you can't just make up your own lane! I will drop-kick your dog off of a bridge... no I'll just slice up your tool-ish leather jacket JUST PASS ME, DAMMIT I'm doing ten over the speed limit! did I ask for a colonoscopy from your front bumper I THINK NOT aight doing well, doing well, good song, good song SHIT was that the EXIT no, no, calm down, the exit is not for another like, 25 miles, you're an idiot... and the A/C in the car is making my eyes water, I'll turn it down... aaaand now it's a hundred degrees in here, A/C back on DAMMIT TRUCK I HATE YOU... wait why are we breaking the truck is gonna crush me OHGOD PLEASE STOP... oh, it's a toll. I love you, EZ Pass!***
That's about 3 minutes worth. Today's drive was 3 hours. I spend pretty much all of it bouncing back and forth between I'mgonnadie/you'retoodumbtodrive/I'mgonnadie/you'retoodumbtodrive. So if you're ever with me in the car and wondering why my hands are turning white gripping the wheel and I seem really focused, this is why.
They see me rollin', they hatin'...
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Likable quirky.
Don't get me wrong, I love good AND terrible romantic comedies as much as the next girl. When Harry Met Sally is one of my favorite movies of all time, and I can still curl up on the couch at home and watch The Jane Austen Book Club whenever it's on TV.
However, I recently stumbled upon an xkcd cartoon (that frickin' Random button can get you SO EASILY) that made me think:
http://xkcd.com/122/
Yes, a lot of my favorite romantic comedies, or just plot lines in general, have "quirky" heroines, or heros, but this is the thing: they're the right kind of quirky.
Sally's character is "high-maintenance," and she can't sing, but that's really okay because she's successful and gorgeous. Grigg's character in JABC is super into science fiction and really awkward, but that's okay because he's really nice, has money but doesn't flaunt it, and OH WAIT is gorgeous.
Seriously, I love Grigg's character, but people who read science fiction just simply do not look like that. The ladies spend most of the movie pretending to overlook the fact that he's frickin' Hugh Dancy and just go "aww poor awkward computer dude, thought the books were sequels!" This is not how the world works. Sally can't sing and she's difficult in restaurants, but she's stunning and fun and she'd be single for roughly two days. She's the right kind of quirky.
I have the 7th Harry Potter book and an Orson Scott Card short story collection on my bookshelf, along with the MST3K movie. I read fantasy like it's nobody's business, and I'm not talking like "I read Ella Enchanted when I was little and stopped" I'm talking like, full-on, let's-go-meet-Tamora-Pierce, Terry-Goodkind's-a-boss, read-books-designed-for-25-year-old-socially-inept-single-dudes I read fantasy. I can sing, but what I sing is church hymns and Biggie and A Goofy Movie's soundtrack. I can quote things like nobody's business, but it's things like Arrested Development and Anchorman. None of these things is entertaining to an outside viewer, and thus none of these things would make me a good romantic comedy heroine.
This REALLY bothers me. Somehow we've decided that these, and only these, forms of quirkiness (preferably accompanied by veela-level good looks) are acceptable ranges of human. They're always a lack of coordination, filter, or skill and/or entertaining to a potential significant other. (Twilight, I'm looking at you and HATING YOU for making a shell of a character). Would seriously no one watch a movie or TV show or read a book that has an average-looking fantasy nerd guy/girl with a personality? I love these romantic comedies, but I can name about a hundred friends of mine who fit into none of the characteristics of these heroines and heros and would totally watch something more relatable. There's GOT to be a market for that.
Or I'm wrong, and no one in Hollywood finds my never-ending search for gorgeous harmony lines in Catholic hymns and my adamant opinion that while both are awesome, Speaker for the Dead is better than Ender's Game and my hopes to be able to spit Twista's verse in Let's Go before I die REMOTELY interesting.
In that case, movie people: suck it. You're missing out.
However, I recently stumbled upon an xkcd cartoon (that frickin' Random button can get you SO EASILY) that made me think:
http://xkcd.com/122/
Yes, a lot of my favorite romantic comedies, or just plot lines in general, have "quirky" heroines, or heros, but this is the thing: they're the right kind of quirky.
Sally's character is "high-maintenance," and she can't sing, but that's really okay because she's successful and gorgeous. Grigg's character in JABC is super into science fiction and really awkward, but that's okay because he's really nice, has money but doesn't flaunt it, and OH WAIT is gorgeous.
Seriously, I love Grigg's character, but people who read science fiction just simply do not look like that. The ladies spend most of the movie pretending to overlook the fact that he's frickin' Hugh Dancy and just go "aww poor awkward computer dude, thought the books were sequels!" This is not how the world works. Sally can't sing and she's difficult in restaurants, but she's stunning and fun and she'd be single for roughly two days. She's the right kind of quirky.
I have the 7th Harry Potter book and an Orson Scott Card short story collection on my bookshelf, along with the MST3K movie. I read fantasy like it's nobody's business, and I'm not talking like "I read Ella Enchanted when I was little and stopped" I'm talking like, full-on, let's-go-meet-Tamora-Pierce, Terry-Goodkind's-a-boss, read-books-designed-for-25-year-old-socially-inept-single-dudes I read fantasy. I can sing, but what I sing is church hymns and Biggie and A Goofy Movie's soundtrack. I can quote things like nobody's business, but it's things like Arrested Development and Anchorman. None of these things is entertaining to an outside viewer, and thus none of these things would make me a good romantic comedy heroine.
This REALLY bothers me. Somehow we've decided that these, and only these, forms of quirkiness (preferably accompanied by veela-level good looks) are acceptable ranges of human. They're always a lack of coordination, filter, or skill and/or entertaining to a potential significant other. (Twilight, I'm looking at you and HATING YOU for making a shell of a character). Would seriously no one watch a movie or TV show or read a book that has an average-looking fantasy nerd guy/girl with a personality? I love these romantic comedies, but I can name about a hundred friends of mine who fit into none of the characteristics of these heroines and heros and would totally watch something more relatable. There's GOT to be a market for that.
Or I'm wrong, and no one in Hollywood finds my never-ending search for gorgeous harmony lines in Catholic hymns and my adamant opinion that while both are awesome, Speaker for the Dead is better than Ender's Game and my hopes to be able to spit Twista's verse in Let's Go before I die REMOTELY interesting.
In that case, movie people: suck it. You're missing out.
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