Okay, it's not quite as dramatic as all that, really. I'm working on another writing project; my goal is to spend May revising the novel that I wrote in November.
Well, actually, my goal WAS to finish revising the novel in this month. But considering that it's now May 7th and I've just finished chapter two, plus won't be able to do much writing this weekend, that goal's starting to look just a leetle more difficult.
Still, it's not out of reach. It should work out fine, or at least I am going to keep believing that until proved otherwise.
If you want to check it out, the revised version of Mississippi starts here, and the original starts here. Feedback is appreciated...
07 May 2009
27 April 2009
Random Obsessions, #6: FOOD.
I know, I was a little surprised that food was all the way down at #6, too. There's a lot of competition for those top spots among my obsessions*. Don't get me wrong; despite not making the top five, I am a total, complete and utter freak for good food, not just your average foodie-with-way-better-tastes-than-she-can-really-afford**.
When someone tells me they went to a restaurant, my first question is, "So what'd you have?" And people, let me tell you something: I am not just being polite. I have this unquenchable need to know exactly what your meal was, in as much detail as you can recollect. And then I want to know how you liked it. I am fascinated by such things. You may be shocked to learn, at this point, that I am also very easily entertained.
Pity the poor tourist that stops me on the street for a restaurant recommendation. They end up with WAY more information than they needed (or, perhaps, ever dreamed it was possible to have). The other night, my foodie friend Pam and I actually went so far as to recommend specific items from different restaurants' menus, so that the poor sap would know what to get regardless of where he went. (But seriously, the Keg's berry salad IS fabulous, and so are their crab legs even if I can't handle dismembering the legs. I hope he went there.)
Sometimes when I'm having a bad day, I go online to read the menu for one of my favorite restaurants. I think reading it actually releases some sort of endorphins in my brain. I also love to read cookbooks; in fact, my collection is starting to outgrow the three-shelf bookshelf I've dedicated to it.
The downside to being obsessed with food - and I am so curious if this happens to other foodies a lot - is that I all too frequently get that refrain, "FOOD, glorious FOOD!" stuck in my head. Oh, and I hate to work out, so instead of a six-pack I have, well, a 40. Um... maybe a pony keg. It ain't pretty. But oh, it is so worth it.
The irony of this obsession is that I have a somewhat limited diet. For more than half my life, the only meat I've eaten is seafood. Plus, I hate cheese of any type, which tends to freak out my fellow foodies to no end. Take away meat & cheese, and a hell of a lot of people have no idea what to feed themselves. Believe me, I make do. In fact, I make out like a bandit... Picky foodies, unite!!
*Including, but not limited to, craft beer, Carolina basketball, and Winston Churchill.
**One time I actually tried calculating the amount of my debt that came from dining out on Uncle Visa, but it got so depressing that I quit and went out for some comfort food. Yes, on the card. Shut up.
Pssst... If you're a fellow foodie, check out my cooking & baking blog, http://annlovesfood.blogspot.com.
When someone tells me they went to a restaurant, my first question is, "So what'd you have?" And people, let me tell you something: I am not just being polite. I have this unquenchable need to know exactly what your meal was, in as much detail as you can recollect. And then I want to know how you liked it. I am fascinated by such things. You may be shocked to learn, at this point, that I am also very easily entertained.
Pity the poor tourist that stops me on the street for a restaurant recommendation. They end up with WAY more information than they needed (or, perhaps, ever dreamed it was possible to have). The other night, my foodie friend Pam and I actually went so far as to recommend specific items from different restaurants' menus, so that the poor sap would know what to get regardless of where he went. (But seriously, the Keg's berry salad IS fabulous, and so are their crab legs even if I can't handle dismembering the legs. I hope he went there.)
Sometimes when I'm having a bad day, I go online to read the menu for one of my favorite restaurants. I think reading it actually releases some sort of endorphins in my brain. I also love to read cookbooks; in fact, my collection is starting to outgrow the three-shelf bookshelf I've dedicated to it.
The downside to being obsessed with food - and I am so curious if this happens to other foodies a lot - is that I all too frequently get that refrain, "FOOD, glorious FOOD!" stuck in my head. Oh, and I hate to work out, so instead of a six-pack I have, well, a 40. Um... maybe a pony keg. It ain't pretty. But oh, it is so worth it.
The irony of this obsession is that I have a somewhat limited diet. For more than half my life, the only meat I've eaten is seafood. Plus, I hate cheese of any type, which tends to freak out my fellow foodies to no end. Take away meat & cheese, and a hell of a lot of people have no idea what to feed themselves. Believe me, I make do. In fact, I make out like a bandit... Picky foodies, unite!!
*Including, but not limited to, craft beer, Carolina basketball, and Winston Churchill.
**One time I actually tried calculating the amount of my debt that came from dining out on Uncle Visa, but it got so depressing that I quit and went out for some comfort food. Yes, on the card. Shut up.
Pssst... If you're a fellow foodie, check out my cooking & baking blog, http://annlovesfood.blogspot.com.
24 April 2009
Heartbreak hotel.
Ugh.
I promise not to bitch about the whole baby-dying thing too often, but honestly, it is amazing how fast people forget. It's been just over nine months since Abigail died, and my coworker (the one with the incredibly annoying Krusty the Clown laugh) just appeared in my doorway with his girlfriend's week-old baby in his arms, saying, "Hi Ann, just here to show off the baby."
"Oh, that's nice," I said with a patently forced smile, keeping my eyes glued to my computer screen so it would look like I was doing something important instead of dicking around on Twitter. "Congratulations." A few seconds of silence & he drifted away again.
Seriously. It's not like I expect my coworkers to keep track of my life's details, but your child dying is, you know, kind of a big deal. I mean, it was to us. Maybe I'm just crazy. One could hope for a teeny bit more sensitivity from people, though. Or a smattering of memory. I would like to think that if I knew an acquaintance of mine's kid died, it might be one of the few things I would remember about them.
I mean, go ahead and bring the tot to work, but do you really have to bring her into my office? Could we maybe just take two seconds to think about this? Is it just me??
On the plus side, it didn't reduce me to a weeping mess and cause me to flee the entire workplace, as an incident a couple months ago did. Let's hear it for healing! Or whatever you would call this.
For the record, she was tiny. And adorable. My coworker's kid, I mean. But so was my Abigail. Okay, now I'm reducing myself to a weeping mess. I'll stop.
I promise not to bitch about the whole baby-dying thing too often, but honestly, it is amazing how fast people forget. It's been just over nine months since Abigail died, and my coworker (the one with the incredibly annoying Krusty the Clown laugh) just appeared in my doorway with his girlfriend's week-old baby in his arms, saying, "Hi Ann, just here to show off the baby."
"Oh, that's nice," I said with a patently forced smile, keeping my eyes glued to my computer screen so it would look like I was doing something important instead of dicking around on Twitter. "Congratulations." A few seconds of silence & he drifted away again.
Seriously. It's not like I expect my coworkers to keep track of my life's details, but your child dying is, you know, kind of a big deal. I mean, it was to us. Maybe I'm just crazy. One could hope for a teeny bit more sensitivity from people, though. Or a smattering of memory. I would like to think that if I knew an acquaintance of mine's kid died, it might be one of the few things I would remember about them.
I mean, go ahead and bring the tot to work, but do you really have to bring her into my office? Could we maybe just take two seconds to think about this? Is it just me??
On the plus side, it didn't reduce me to a weeping mess and cause me to flee the entire workplace, as an incident a couple months ago did. Let's hear it for healing! Or whatever you would call this.
For the record, she was tiny. And adorable. My coworker's kid, I mean. But so was my Abigail. Okay, now I'm reducing myself to a weeping mess. I'll stop.
NAMED. Finally.
At last! Ever since I posted about wanting to name my new phone, two weeks ago or some similarly astronomically long time ago, the answer - or lack thereof - has just bugged the hell out of me. Nothing seemed to fit. But last night, a name drifted into my mind... a name I've always liked, since it belonged to a character in a book I read as a kid... and when I googled it (and subsequently read the first two sentences of the relevant Wikipedia article), it seemed to all fit perfectly.
Okay, I'll end the suspense. Really. I promise. Right now. You wanna know? All right, I'll tell you.
...
Malachi.
Isn't that a great name? Okay, don't tell me what you really think. No, do, but realize that I don't care if you disagree. ;) Or at least that whether or not I do care, it's too late now. He's named.
Honestly, I think I just like the sound of it. Malachi. Sounds tough and yet intelligent. Like some local wise man you'd find in an Irish pub. Yeah, that's it. Preferably one that's buying you drinks.
Anyway, apparently Malachi means 'my messenger' or 'my angel' in ancient Hebrew. Or maybe just Hebrew. Is there an ancient version of Hebrew? There must be. Regardless, although I'm loth to ascribe angelic attributes to my cell phone, it still seems to fit quite well indeed.
Not that I expect him to be any less of a pain in the ass now that he has a name. In fact, he might start getting even more uppity. In which case I shall have to revoke name-related privileges and revert back to "you fucking bitch, work with me!".
Okay, I'll end the suspense. Really. I promise. Right now. You wanna know? All right, I'll tell you.
...
Malachi.
Isn't that a great name? Okay, don't tell me what you really think. No, do, but realize that I don't care if you disagree. ;) Or at least that whether or not I do care, it's too late now. He's named.
Honestly, I think I just like the sound of it. Malachi. Sounds tough and yet intelligent. Like some local wise man you'd find in an Irish pub. Yeah, that's it. Preferably one that's buying you drinks.
Anyway, apparently Malachi means 'my messenger' or 'my angel' in ancient Hebrew. Or maybe just Hebrew. Is there an ancient version of Hebrew? There must be. Regardless, although I'm loth to ascribe angelic attributes to my cell phone, it still seems to fit quite well indeed.
Not that I expect him to be any less of a pain in the ass now that he has a name. In fact, he might start getting even more uppity. In which case I shall have to revoke name-related privileges and revert back to "you fucking bitch, work with me!".
22 April 2009
More chocolate-covered pretzels, stat!
I am sincerely trying to not be cynical about Earth Day.
Don't get me wrong. I love Earth Day and the principles it's trying to promote. But in some ways it seems kind of useless. The people who understand how important it is to conserve and recycle do it every day, and the vast majority of the people who don't - or won't - get it seem rather resistant to changing their ways.
Yes yes, I realize we have to fight the good fight, and all that. Promoting awareness is a very good thing. And it's a great opportunity to educate kids on the blah blah of blah blah blah. But again, shouldn't we be talking to kids about green living on a regular basis? I'm just saying. It's sort of like Black History Month: "Here, we'll make up for hundreds of years of enslavement, abuse and wrongdoing with an annual shoutout. Cool? Cool." No, not so cool, actually. Kind of offensive, IMO.
(All right, in all honesty, part of the problem may be that it's about 9:30 in the morning, I'm nearly out of caffeine, I finished off all my chocolate-covered pretzels yesterday, and for the last 45 minutes I've had to listen to a self-righteous coworker going around wishing everyone a happy Earth Day at the top of her lungs. One person responded, "Every day is Earth Day!" and she screamed, "EXACTLY!" Okay, thank you, I agree too; just not quite so loudly.)
So anyway, aside from recycling and fanatic light-switching-off and unused-gadget-unplugging, my habitual green efforts are concentrated on organic food. This is mainly because I am a total foodie, and organic food definitely tastes better. Plus, there's the peace of mind of not dumping carcinogens into your body and not polluting the earth with poison. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say, "Less poison for everybody!"
And that includes your mom and mine, Nature. Thanks Ma! Sorry about that whole Industrial Revolution thing. You know we still love you, right?
Don't get me wrong. I love Earth Day and the principles it's trying to promote. But in some ways it seems kind of useless. The people who understand how important it is to conserve and recycle do it every day, and the vast majority of the people who don't - or won't - get it seem rather resistant to changing their ways.
Yes yes, I realize we have to fight the good fight, and all that. Promoting awareness is a very good thing. And it's a great opportunity to educate kids on the blah blah of blah blah blah. But again, shouldn't we be talking to kids about green living on a regular basis? I'm just saying. It's sort of like Black History Month: "Here, we'll make up for hundreds of years of enslavement, abuse and wrongdoing with an annual shoutout. Cool? Cool." No, not so cool, actually. Kind of offensive, IMO.
(All right, in all honesty, part of the problem may be that it's about 9:30 in the morning, I'm nearly out of caffeine, I finished off all my chocolate-covered pretzels yesterday, and for the last 45 minutes I've had to listen to a self-righteous coworker going around wishing everyone a happy Earth Day at the top of her lungs. One person responded, "Every day is Earth Day!" and she screamed, "EXACTLY!" Okay, thank you, I agree too; just not quite so loudly.)
So anyway, aside from recycling and fanatic light-switching-off and unused-gadget-unplugging, my habitual green efforts are concentrated on organic food. This is mainly because I am a total foodie, and organic food definitely tastes better. Plus, there's the peace of mind of not dumping carcinogens into your body and not polluting the earth with poison. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say, "Less poison for everybody!"
And that includes your mom and mine, Nature. Thanks Ma! Sorry about that whole Industrial Revolution thing. You know we still love you, right?
21 April 2009
It's Not Easy Being Green**
Everybody have a nice day yesterday? I took the day off & enjoyed it immensely. Culturally prescribed slacking (and then, of course, snacking) aside, I actually got a fair amount done yesterday as well. The one thing I did not do that I (sort of, conceptually) wanted to do was get out in the yard & plant some of the seeds I recently bought.
The problem is that I am just not a gardener. 'Oh, look at the charming little seed packets! They have artist's renderings of what my plants will supposedly look like!' Seed packets are strangely irresistible to me, despite the fact that I should just start apologizing to them right there and then for having selected them, because there's no doubt those seeds are in for a long and difficult road. It's much harder to grow things when you only pay attention to them once every three weeks or so. No, really! You'd be surprised.
But, you know, there's always the chance that they could avoid it altogether, if I never manage to get them in the ground to begin with. There are a few that are early-season plants, like spinach and snap peas and such, which should be planted now. The ones we have to plant after the frost date need to be started indoors now.
In these circumstances, my train of thought tends to go something like this: 'I should really plant those seeds. Mmm, yummy vegetables. And it's such a nice day out! Oh, this will be fun. Oh, except first I have to go to the store and get all the supplies for planting them indoors and out, like the soil and those little cup-thingys and all that shit. Then I have to clear out all the weeds that have already started growing where I want to plant the veggies. Come to think of it, the yard looks pretty much trashed - the vines are out of control, I need to cut those back... there's dogshit in need of picking up... sweet flippin jeebus... You know, I should really wash these dishes right now. And then, uh, maybe pay some bills. Oh, and I have that freelance article I've got to finish. Yes. Lots to do! No time to spend ten hours gardening!' *deep sigh of relief*
It's not that I dislike gardening. It's just that, well, it's sort of a pain in the ass. And it takes a lot of time. I think the propensity for success is in a direct ratio to how much one enjoys it, though - I have friends whose gardens are veritable works of art, and make it sound nearly effortless. It mystifies me, I'll be honest.
The other problem is that here in our little community, everybody and their dog has a vegetable garden (yes, I suspect even the dogs out-garden me), and they're all going around with fervently gleaming eyes and talking about their seedlings. At which point in the conversation I secretly hope they'll plant too much and have a lot to give away to incompetents like me.
Still, I used to feel similarly about baking, and I've managed to become halfway decent at that, largely because I love to eat baked goods. Similarly, I always glory in the both-yummy-and-victorious taste of the eleven or so cherry tomatoes and one jalepeno pepper* I manage to coax from our garden's unwilling victims; if I actually grew all the different stuff we have seeds for, I'd eat so well this summer. Maybe I can overcome my gardening issues this year. I make no promises, though. I may have mail to shred, or something even more fun to do.
* Does not include zucchini, which I can grow in abundance. This is because in order to kill off a zucchini plant, you actually have to drop an anvil on it, Looney Tunes-style, and then set it on fire. I'm just not that aggro.
It's not that I dislike gardening. It's just that, well, it's sort of a pain in the ass. And it takes a lot of time. I think the propensity for success is in a direct ratio to how much one enjoys it, though - I have friends whose gardens are veritable works of art, and make it sound nearly effortless. It mystifies me, I'll be honest.
The other problem is that here in our little community, everybody and their dog has a vegetable garden (yes, I suspect even the dogs out-garden me), and they're all going around with fervently gleaming eyes and talking about their seedlings. At which point in the conversation I secretly hope they'll plant too much and have a lot to give away to incompetents like me.
Still, I used to feel similarly about baking, and I've managed to become halfway decent at that, largely because I love to eat baked goods. Similarly, I always glory in the both-yummy-and-victorious taste of the eleven or so cherry tomatoes and one jalepeno pepper* I manage to coax from our garden's unwilling victims; if I actually grew all the different stuff we have seeds for, I'd eat so well this summer. Maybe I can overcome my gardening issues this year. I make no promises, though. I may have mail to shred, or something even more fun to do.
* Does not include zucchini, which I can grow in abundance. This is because in order to kill off a zucchini plant, you actually have to drop an anvil on it, Looney Tunes-style, and then set it on fire. I'm just not that aggro.
** As you may have noticed by now, this blog has almost nothing whatsoever to do with Kermit, or recycling. Although locally grown produce is 'more green'. Anyway, my title probably should have been something more like, 'It's Not Easy Having Whatever the Antithesis of a Green Thumb Is', but that just doesn't really flow. Anyway, to make up for the lack of Kermit-related focus in the post, I offer you this link.
17 April 2009
A Drunkship of Cobblers
Last night I was going through some old files, wondering why the hell I keep all this crap anyway, when I came across an old photocopy from my mom that proves exactly why I keep all this crap. Packrats of the world, unite!
It's a page from 'Schott's Original Miscellany' with a section called 'Nouns of Assemblage', and some of them are so cool - either because they're poetic or they sound like they have a good story behind them.
A few faves:
- a malapertness of peddlers
- a gang of elk
- a murmuration of starlings
- a wildnerness of monkeys
- a chattering of choughs (WTF is a chough? Ah - a type of bird. I love you, interwebs.)
- a cete of badgers
- a bench of bishops
- a murder of crows
- a pontification of priests
- a rag of colts
- an exaltation of larks (beautiful!)
- a drift of swine
- a stud of mares
- a parliament of rooks & owls
- a glozing of taverners
- a business of ferrets
- a drunkship of cobblers
It's a page from 'Schott's Original Miscellany' with a section called 'Nouns of Assemblage', and some of them are so cool - either because they're poetic or they sound like they have a good story behind them.
A few faves:
- a malapertness of peddlers
- a gang of elk
- a murmuration of starlings
- a wildnerness of monkeys
- a chattering of choughs (WTF is a chough? Ah - a type of bird. I love you, interwebs.)
- a cete of badgers
- a bench of bishops
- a murder of crows
- a pontification of priests
- a rag of colts
- an exaltation of larks (beautiful!)
- a drift of swine
- a stud of mares
- a parliament of rooks & owls
- a glozing of taverners
- a business of ferrets
- a drunkship of cobblers
16 April 2009
Things I hate #9,824: the word 'pulchritude'
Honestly. Who the hell came up with the word 'pulchritude', and why did they think it was a good idea?
www.dictionary.com has this to say about it:
–noun
physical beauty; comeliness.
Origin: 1350–1400; ME < L pulchritūdō beauty, equiv. to pulchri- (comb. form of pulcher beautiful) + -tūdō
Synonyms: loveliness, beauteousness, fairness
1350 to 1400, eh? I know the Middle Ages were tough, but give me a flippin' break. I'm not saying that every word has to be an onomatopoeia, but for crying out loud, words that mean beauty should at least sound a little bit pretty.
It's just such an ugly word. Say it. "Pulchritude." It even makes your face grimace when you say it. Maybe it was invented as a way to be sarcastic without the compliment's recipient realizing, some sort of a devious court politics maneuver. Whatever. It's lame. And you can pretty much bet that anyone that actually tries to use it in regular conversation (which does not include this blog, shut up) deserves to be beaten about the head with a dictionary.
For the record, "serendipitous" is probably my favorite word. Now that has a nice sound to it. Serendipitous. It's got a certain... pulchritudinousness... to it, don't you think? (*gag, retch* I feel all icky now, even just spoofing it. Jeez.)
www.dictionary.com has this to say about it:
–noun
physical beauty; comeliness.
Origin: 1350–1400; ME < L pulchritūdō beauty, equiv. to pulchri- (comb. form of pulcher beautiful) + -tūdō
Synonyms: loveliness, beauteousness, fairness
1350 to 1400, eh? I know the Middle Ages were tough, but give me a flippin' break. I'm not saying that every word has to be an onomatopoeia, but for crying out loud, words that mean beauty should at least sound a little bit pretty.
It's just such an ugly word. Say it. "Pulchritude." It even makes your face grimace when you say it. Maybe it was invented as a way to be sarcastic without the compliment's recipient realizing, some sort of a devious court politics maneuver. Whatever. It's lame. And you can pretty much bet that anyone that actually tries to use it in regular conversation (which does not include this blog, shut up) deserves to be beaten about the head with a dictionary.
For the record, "serendipitous" is probably my favorite word. Now that has a nice sound to it. Serendipitous. It's got a certain... pulchritudinousness... to it, don't you think? (*gag, retch* I feel all icky now, even just spoofing it. Jeez.)
15 April 2009
Shit and taxes.
Shit happens. Frequently, it would seem. We are not surprised. We are, however, wishing it weren't so stinky.
I do PR for an animal shelter, and this morning, instead of going on live TV to feature a pet in my usual Wednesday-morning routine, I got to clean up a rather excessive amount of orange diarrhea - produced in the carpeted lobby of our administration area, no less, and by a dog I don't even own.
(Incidentally, isn't it odd how picking up one's own pet's poo is less gross than picking up someone else's dog's? It's all dogshit, after all. Maybe it's because we know we like our dogs.)
Anyway, now I can't wash my hands enough. In fact, I may have to go wash them again, and find a sterilizing wipe for my keyboard, because that shit was just nasty, and our cheap-ass paper towels were not what I'd call sufficient for the job. *Sideshow Bob shudder*
Frankly, I'm tempted to blame the day, because this morning while getting ready for work, I also got to clean up some puke from one of my cats. (Oh boy!) My current theory is that this is all Tax Day's fault and the animals are trying to tell us something.
It's like before an earthquake or other natural disaster; they can sense a huge mountain of bullshit dressed up in something called "The IRS" rumbling towards the hapless citizens of our fair country. If only our pets spoke English, we would never be screwed over again.
Mugrosa: "Mew!" (Translation: Your income taxes are going to make you puke!)
Me: "Aw, do you want some more food, sweetie?"
Mugrosa: "Mrow!" (Translation: Well, duh. I'm a cat, dumbass.)
I do PR for an animal shelter, and this morning, instead of going on live TV to feature a pet in my usual Wednesday-morning routine, I got to clean up a rather excessive amount of orange diarrhea - produced in the carpeted lobby of our administration area, no less, and by a dog I don't even own.
(Incidentally, isn't it odd how picking up one's own pet's poo is less gross than picking up someone else's dog's? It's all dogshit, after all. Maybe it's because we know we like our dogs.)
Anyway, now I can't wash my hands enough. In fact, I may have to go wash them again, and find a sterilizing wipe for my keyboard, because that shit was just nasty, and our cheap-ass paper towels were not what I'd call sufficient for the job. *Sideshow Bob shudder*
Frankly, I'm tempted to blame the day, because this morning while getting ready for work, I also got to clean up some puke from one of my cats. (Oh boy!) My current theory is that this is all Tax Day's fault and the animals are trying to tell us something.
It's like before an earthquake or other natural disaster; they can sense a huge mountain of bullshit dressed up in something called "The IRS" rumbling towards the hapless citizens of our fair country. If only our pets spoke English, we would never be screwed over again.
Mugrosa: "Mew!" (Translation: Your income taxes are going to make you puke!)
Me: "Aw, do you want some more food, sweetie?"
Mugrosa: "Mrow!" (Translation: Well, duh. I'm a cat, dumbass.)
(Left: Mugrosa, the Psychic Tax Cat, also plays Simpsons Clue.)
Okay, I take that back. We would never be surprised about getting screwed over again. Obviously, the animals can't prevent the actual screwing over of us. If they could, we would have no need for animal shelters, because people would actually take care of their pets. Wouldn't that be nice? Quite.
Anyway, personally, I think instead of income tax, they should just charge a little more sales tax on everything. That way if you spend more, you get taxed more. Of course, it would end up screwing over people like me, who are too dumb to stop spending money when they don't have any, but it would reward people that are actually fiscally responsible. I don't know many of those people, but I'm sure they're very nice. And we could all use more rewards in our lives, right? Right.
So don't mind me, I'll just be over here solving more hugely complex national problems with incredibly simplistic answers. Can I get a tax credit for providing this invaluable service?
Okay, I take that back. We would never be surprised about getting screwed over again. Obviously, the animals can't prevent the actual screwing over of us. If they could, we would have no need for animal shelters, because people would actually take care of their pets. Wouldn't that be nice? Quite.
Anyway, personally, I think instead of income tax, they should just charge a little more sales tax on everything. That way if you spend more, you get taxed more. Of course, it would end up screwing over people like me, who are too dumb to stop spending money when they don't have any, but it would reward people that are actually fiscally responsible. I don't know many of those people, but I'm sure they're very nice. And we could all use more rewards in our lives, right? Right.
So don't mind me, I'll just be over here solving more hugely complex national problems with incredibly simplistic answers. Can I get a tax credit for providing this invaluable service?
14 April 2009
Things I love #287: Rickrolling
Okay, so granted, I'm not really that up on pop culture. In fact, I tend to maintain a fairly blissful ignorance of a lot of pop culture, which I'd like to think is why it took me so long to catch onto this whole Rickrolling thing.
But every so often, pop culture comes up with something really awesome that I just have to appreciate, whenever I do manage to clue in. Such as the aforementioned rickrolls.
Is it bad that the first time a friend rickrolled me, I just laughed my ass off at the video without realizing I was being enmeshed in a cultural phenomenon? How self-aware do I have to be about this? Hopefully not very... At the time, the telltale word was never mentioned. Then, a few weeks later, I came across the term rickrolled twice in two days. So of course I googled it, read the Wikipedia article, and laughed my ass off even more.
Incidentally, one of the times I came across the term, it was through this link my friend sent me. As a Muppets freak, I pretty much adore this, but I have to admit it's not really worth watching through the whole thing. The Muppets pretty much repeat the same 30 seconds of action for the whole song. And normally, they're such good dancers! (You think I'm joking.)
Yesterday, I was feeling some Monday morning malaise, so I went to your eternal resource and mine, Youtube, to hunt up a good rickroll. Incidentally, I'm not convinced any website in the world can beat Youtube in terms of instant gratification, which is why I try to stay away from it. I don't need to add another to the long list of websites to which I'm compulsively addicted.
Anyway, as a Simpsons freak (and yes, I am a freak in many ways), I have to say this is possibly the most awesome rickroll ever. The look on Burns's face is just priceless.
In fact, the only problem with rickrolling - and I say this as if it were not the massive, maddening problem that it really is - is that as soon as you rickroll someone, the song leeches into your brain and doesn't let go for far too long. One has to wonder if the incidence of Rick Astley-related deaths is going to rise dramatically in corporate workplace settings. "You bitch, that's the second time this week you've fucking rickrolled me!!! I just got that song out of my fucking head!!! AHHHHH!!!!!!!" *Gruesome attack with three-hole punch*
But, you know, hopefully not.
... Secretly, I was hoping that this post would help get the song out of my head from when I rickrolled my friends yesterday with the Simpsons thing. But no dice. I refuse to turn to REM's 'It's the End of the World Etc', which is equally dangerous and brain-leeching. I keep trying for the Dead's 'Going Down the Road Feeling Bad' or Dylan's version of 'Brokedown Engine'. Why is it so much harder to get non-annoying songs stuck in one's head?
But every so often, pop culture comes up with something really awesome that I just have to appreciate, whenever I do manage to clue in. Such as the aforementioned rickrolls.
Is it bad that the first time a friend rickrolled me, I just laughed my ass off at the video without realizing I was being enmeshed in a cultural phenomenon? How self-aware do I have to be about this? Hopefully not very... At the time, the telltale word was never mentioned. Then, a few weeks later, I came across the term rickrolled twice in two days. So of course I googled it, read the Wikipedia article, and laughed my ass off even more.
Incidentally, one of the times I came across the term, it was through this link my friend sent me. As a Muppets freak, I pretty much adore this, but I have to admit it's not really worth watching through the whole thing. The Muppets pretty much repeat the same 30 seconds of action for the whole song. And normally, they're such good dancers! (You think I'm joking.)
Yesterday, I was feeling some Monday morning malaise, so I went to your eternal resource and mine, Youtube, to hunt up a good rickroll. Incidentally, I'm not convinced any website in the world can beat Youtube in terms of instant gratification, which is why I try to stay away from it. I don't need to add another to the long list of websites to which I'm compulsively addicted.
Anyway, as a Simpsons freak (and yes, I am a freak in many ways), I have to say this is possibly the most awesome rickroll ever. The look on Burns's face is just priceless.
In fact, the only problem with rickrolling - and I say this as if it were not the massive, maddening problem that it really is - is that as soon as you rickroll someone, the song leeches into your brain and doesn't let go for far too long. One has to wonder if the incidence of Rick Astley-related deaths is going to rise dramatically in corporate workplace settings. "You bitch, that's the second time this week you've fucking rickrolled me!!! I just got that song out of my fucking head!!! AHHHHH!!!!!!!" *Gruesome attack with three-hole punch*
But, you know, hopefully not.
... Secretly, I was hoping that this post would help get the song out of my head from when I rickrolled my friends yesterday with the Simpsons thing. But no dice. I refuse to turn to REM's 'It's the End of the World Etc', which is equally dangerous and brain-leeching. I keep trying for the Dead's 'Going Down the Road Feeling Bad' or Dylan's version of 'Brokedown Engine'. Why is it so much harder to get non-annoying songs stuck in one's head?
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