Compulsive Analysis

Happy New Year!

2008-01-02T10:43:00.000-06:00

"Plump is the New Fat" is being published in my school's nonfiction journal; I survived my group assignment but picked up a creepy secret admirer in the process; I decided to paint the dining room red, or, to be more exact, "raspberry truffle"; I got a new dog--Pumpkin, the Quizzical Puppydog; I started listening to David Sedaris books on tape because he effectively drowns out the voices in my head; I decided I might like to teach composition, but I'm not getting all excited about it because I might suck at teaching; I started flossing and taking vitamins; my optometrist tried to scare me straight by telling me that new capillaries are growing in my eyeballs because I wear my contacts at night. After a week of taking them out every night, I returned for my follow-up visit, at which time he told me my eyes were miraculously better, and I was now cleared to wear contacts for another year. I'm calling bullshit--I had run out of contacts 3 weeks before my first visit and had been wearing glasses full-time, so there's no way that an additional week of part-time contact wearing would cause my eyes to be magically better. But anyway, I take my contacts out about every 3rd night now. Which is a major improvement over wearing them for 45-60 days straight. Oh, and also I cooked two meals in one week last week, and one of the meals was soup, which is the meal that just keeps on giving until you're sick to death of eating soup, but you know you've got to finish it because there are starving children in Euthanasia, so then you start foisting the soup off on anyone who stops by your house. So really, that's like 10 meals. We only ate out one time last week. So you should be impressed.

That's basically it, since the last time we talked.

What's up with you?

It's Been a Minute...

2007-09-13T18:06:00.000-05:00

...so although I don't usually address news items--I like to keep Compulsive Analysis issues-based--I thought I owed you an explanation, on the off chance that you've been checking back and wondering why I haven't had anything to say.

Being unemployed is harder work than you'd think. I have these guilt issues--Charles the Great works 90 hours a week to subsidise my lifestyle, so I feel that I have to prove my value to the family unit in some other way. Over the past 5 weeks, other ways have included establishing online banking and bill-paying via Quicken (reference previous rants about automated phone-tree systems. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that Regions Bank is now on my list), painting my hallway (one garish color left by previous occupants down, twelve left to go), mowing and weedeating (which my brother/erstwhile lawnboy heartily enjoyed as he looked on from my couch, watching my cable television and eating my food), compiling records of all of our belongings for insurance purposes (ok, I admit it, I'm still not done with that one. talk about tedious), and sadly, burying Bubba, the koi fish, who perished during the August heatwave. I say burying to soften the dirty truth--we knew there was no way that Peanut, the Analytical Puppydog would allow Bubba's corpse to rest in peace in our yard, so poor Bubba was interred by the North Little Rock Sanitation Department, if you catch my drift.

So things have been crazy, but unfortunately, I can't say that's an unusual condition for my life, and I'm starting to think I may be addicted to being busy. But that's fodder for another post.

So what have you been up to? Slap me some skin in the comments section.

_the_analyst

You Deserve Much Better Than Me

2007-07-30T15:27:00.001-05:00

It's been a few months since the last time I berated popular music lyrics, so I feel the time is right for us to consider a song by which I am deeply troubled. I feel fairly certain that I have shared my feelings about these profoundly disturbing lyrics in person with at least 80 percent of Compulsive Analysis's regular readers (at last count, 5), so if you've already been subjected to my rant and do not wish to continue reading this post, I understand.

That being said, I now provide you with the lyrics of "Better Than Me," by Hinder, the "musical" ensemble responsible for "Lee-ups of an Angel."

I think you can do much better than me
After all the lies I made you believe
Guilt kicks in and I start to see
The edge of the bed
Where your nightgown used to be
I told myself I wouldn't miss you
But I remembered
What it feels like beside you

I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

While looking through your old box of notes
I found those pictures
That you were looking for
If there's one memory I don't want to lose
That time at the mall
You and me in the dressing room
I told myself I won't miss you
But I remembered
What it feels like beside you

I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

The bed I'm lying in is getting colder
Wish I never would've said it's over
And I can't pretend that I won't think about you when I'm older
Cause we never really had our closure
This can't be the end

I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

(And I think you should know this)
(You deserve much better than me)

Aside from the lead singer's gravely, I-smoke-two-packs-a-day-and-sleep-only-from-10 AM-to-2 PM-so-I-can-sound-like-that-guy-from-Creed voice and the unwanted mental image of a latter-day power ballad crooner determining how a nightgown-clad co-ed's innocence tastes, what really irks me about the song is its wretched refrain:

And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

I've said it before and I'll say it again: ladies, if a man tells you you deserve better than him, take him at his word and exit immediately. Run away! Run away! I shall now enlighten you as to the only possible reasons a man would use this abhorrent phrase:

1. He has terribly low self-esteem and needs a girlfriend/therapist to keep him from crumbling into a million self-loathing pieces. Get out now or spend the rest of your life babysitting his fragile ego.

or

2. He's absolutely right--you do deserve better than him. He's a self-involved bottom-dweller who knows he's done something to warrant your fury and is faking penitence to prevent a five-star break-up scene and/or the withdrawl of your financial support.

That's it. Those are the only options. Either way, he's got to go.

Clearly, Hinder-man falls into category 2. He's lied to Miss Innocent (line 2) and perhaps moved on to greener pastures, so he fakes guilt (line 3) and regret (lines 28-29). How do I know he's faking? Because it's not her he's missing. It's the sex.

I start to see
The edge of the bed
Where your nightgown used to be

If there's one memory I don't want to lose
That time at the mall
You and me in the dressing room

The bed I'm lying in is getting colder

If he really had such high regard for the woman who deserves so much better than him, why would the entire song be about wanting her (or at least, the sex) back? If he was really as benevolent as the offending lyric attempts to suggest, wouldn't he encourage her to find someone who is good enough, or better yet, demonstrate that he has seen the error of his ways, reformed, and made himself good enough?

I rest my case.

Unemployed

2007-07-26T13:38:00.000-05:00

That's what I am. Officially. Today.

Open Letter to Haylie Duff

2007-07-20T15:10:00.000-05:00

Alright, Haylie, I think that will be just about enough.

I appreciate where you're coming from--it must be tough being the less cute, less talented older sister of an adorably charismatic, squeaky clean teeny-bopper--but being Hilary Duff's relative does not a career make. No doubt this information is difficult for you to hear. Someone, perhaps your stagemom--I mean, mother--or your manager, has convinced you that if you are photographed with Hilary often enough you will become a successful actress/singer by osmosis.

Newsflash, Hay: being photographed alongside the Princess of Perkiness ain't doin' you any favors. Rather, the brighter her
sparkling eyes shine, the duller yours seem. The more endearingly guileless and innocent her expression is, the more disingenuous and, dare I say, porn-star-esque yours becomes.

We don't know each other, Hay-Hay, and although I could venture a few guesses about your personality and upbringing based on the fact that your parents chose to deliberately misspell both yours and your sister's names, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt that you have some redeeming qualities. While a burgeoning starlet you most certainly are not, perhaps you are clever or witty or extremely adept at organizing closets. I write, Haylie, not to berate you for a circumstance beyond your control and of which you are no doubt already aware--namely, that you, dear, are no Hilary Duff--but to encourage you to develop your other talents. I can only assume that you have already been convinced to quit your day job; let me implore you to get it back.

Things may turn out well for you yet, Haylie Duff. That darling Lizzie Maguire-ishness that has made your sister's poor singing and overacting tolerable--nay, adorable--is beginning to fade. Thirty pounds, a set of oddly-fitting porcelain veneers, and one emo boyfriend later, and Hil's starting to look a little...pinched...

(Before)

(After)

Perhaps you're the lucky one, Haylie. Get out now while you still have some dignity left to preserve.

With concern,

_the_analyst

Introducing (?) Tampax Cardboard

2007-07-18T14:05:00.000-05:00

Have you seen these commercials? Am I missing something? Weren't Tampax already cardboard?

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Homeownership

2007-07-02T08:32:00.001-05:00

Inspired by Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird by Wallace Stevens

I

Across the threshold they passed, he and she.
It was no Hollywood moment.
"I think you're supposed to carry me, not toss me over your shoulder..."

II

God, grant me the serenity to ignore the pink door
Until I have time to repaint it.

III
Thirty years.
"Do you think we will still live here in thirty years?"
"No."
They signed.

IV

If a limb falls from a tree in my yard
(and downs a cable line)
(and narrowly misses a parked car)
(but is in the city right of way, technically)
But I am not home to witness it,
Does it make a noise?
(and am I liable for the damage?)

V
June 15: Change air filter.
July 15: Change air filter.
August 15: Change air filter.
September 15: Change air filter.
To know infinity is to change the air filter.

VI

"Oakwood Manor" is immeasurably better
than the faux finish that preceeded it.
(More "faux" than "finish," to be sure.)
Another successful project comple--
Wow, those windowsills are filthy...

VII
So much depends on
a blue ceiling and yellow walls.

Why, previous homeowners, why?

VIII

Little rosebush, your
vibrant blooms greet me through my
bathroom window. Hope.

And now for something interactive: current and future homeowners, help me finish the last five stanzas. Wax poetic in the comments section. _the _analyst

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

Boring

2007-06-29T09:35:00.000-05:00

I'm concerned I may be boring. The signs are all there--I dislike all team sports, I enjoy grammar, I only watch movies for which I've seen previews, I couldn't even come up with a clever title for this post.

Do boring people realize they're boring? Do they themselves experience boredom? Do they endeavor to be more interesting and simply fail? What if I've been boring my whole life an never realized it? Or worse, what if I've recently BECOME boring! What if the reason that I've been unable to write a decent blog post for months is that my interestingness is shriveling up like an old...nothing. I've got nothing. No good analogy. This is troubling.

2007-06-08T12:50:00.000-05:00

What fascinates you? Aside from everyday celebrity gossip, news about family and friends, and the latest plot developments on your favorite show, what are you dying to know more about? What things do you google when you should be working? What things do you want to take a class to learn more about? What things are worth an extra trip to the bookstore?

What captures your imagination?

I'm into:

The Mafia, The Godfather, Al Pacino

New Orleans, voodoo, Cajun and Creole culture, Marie LaVeau, the “laissez les bons temps rouler” way of life

Western Civ—ancient Greece and Rome, the spread of Christianity, the Middle Ages, the Crusades, the Plague, the Renaissance, the Protestant Reformation, the Enlightenment, the American Revolution, the French Revolution, Industrialization, WWI, WWII

England, history of the English language, kings and queens of England, the Elizabethan Era, the Victorian Era, Canterbury Tales, Jane Austen novels, issues of class and social hierarchy

Romantic poetry, early Modern poetry, Hopkins, Whitman, Hardy

Epidemics, infectious diseases, cholera, diphtheria, tuberculosis, viral hemorrhagic fevers (like Ebola, Marburg, dengue, yellow fever), public health

Television commercials, jingles, branding, product placement

Now your turn. Share.

Hello again

2007-06-01T14:19:00.000-05:00

Hi. Been doing a little re-vamping. Found the more "user-friendly" Beta-Blogger to be not so user-friendly. Two hours later, I think I'm done for the day. More to come.

_t_a

To Create an Epidemic

2007-03-21T13:09:00.000-05:00

I know I said I wasn't going to post until after the festival, but I had a creative burst that couldn't wait. I think we should start an epidemic. You heard me. An epidemic. Not like a bird flu-type epidemic. I think we should start a new word or phrase. One that gets into the Oxford English Dictionary. Check it:

The OED, as it is fondly known by English professors and other assorted geeks, is distinct from other dictionaries in that it provides examples of words used in context in newspapers, letters, books, websites, commercials, and other printed mediums. AND, it attempts to trace the origin of the word, or of a particular usage of a word; in some cases, they are even able to furnish the earliest-known written example of a particular word. It's delicious!

So clearly you see where I'm going with this. If we start an epidemic and succeed in elevating our word to OED status, we will have written documentation that we are the ones who came up with it. We'll go down in history! Who's with me?!

What shall our pet phrase/word be? A neologism? An old word used in a new way? A clever hypenation? Think on it and get back to me.

_the_analyst

An Unceremonial Exit

2007-01-23T12:46:00.000-06:00

I've rewritten the opening sentence of this entry 10 times. I just couldn't get it to come out right. So, I'm just going to spill it. Here goes. I'm taking a sabbatical from Compulsive Analysis.

I wouldn't be so bold as to assume that your day centers on checking to see what I've posted, but my goal was that, on the off chance that you would check, you would find something that made you smile or laugh, or at least, that took you away from your cubicle for a while.

But between work and school, I'm just not finding the time to write quality stuff. So I'm going to take a little break for the semester.

Thanks for reading, and check back with me this summer.

_The_Analyst

Busier Than a One-Armed Paperhanger

2007-01-10T14:50:00.000-06:00

I won't say the birthday trip wasn't worth it, but I will say that the onslaught of emails and papers that greeted me when I arrived back at work today will make me seriously question taking anymore time off work between now and D-Day, April 20.

So I'm back in the saddle again, with a moderate case of pre-festival jitters already brewing. These are the days when no one at 620A Mystery Lane gets a good night's sleep.

As you know, I find doggerel poetry to be wonderfully cathartic. Thus,

I remember
Remembering
To Do
More than
I actually
Did.

What's stressing you out? Haiku me. Or limerick me. Whatever...

Two Things

2007-01-05T13:32:00.000-06:00

1. The fine folks at Blogger have upgraded, and they keep trying to drag me with them. Apparently, they've released a new version of Blogger that is 1) better? 2)faster? 3)more robust? I don't know. They didn't say. However, they are quite adamant that I must upgrade. They've taken to leaving not-so-subtle hints that I am a loser because I have not upgraded. Consider: when I log in, I must now select between logging into "NEW Blogger" and "Old Blogger." Not "Original Blogger" or "Blogger 1.0." OLD BLOGGER.

AND, "New Blogger" is somehow affiliated with Google (or, in other words, in league with the Devil). And I don't think I have to tell you how I feel about that! (See my senior thesis on Google Library.)

Well, Blogger, I have news for you: I'm still rocking my grey Old Navy sweatshirt from 8th grade and my brown Payless heels from '01, so your insinuations that I'm out of date are falling on deaf ears. I'm not switching. Deal with it.

2. I'm drained. Too much travel. Too much Christmas. Too many emails waiting in inbox. I don't know what to write about. Any suggestions? Anything you'd like me to gripe about? (You know ranting is a hobby of mine.)

Analyze this, Blogger.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

2006-12-28T09:30:00.000-06:00

Contents of my fridge, post-Christmas Party:

1 magnum bottle champagne, 3/4 full, has been open for 5 days; thus, likely flat
1 bottle Reisling, 1/2 full, still drinkable :)
1 bottle Lauderdale Cellars Red Cyn (yes, folks, that's Lauderdale County, Tennessee. As in Ripley. They have a winery. Indeed.)
1 liter Bacardi rum
3 Coors Lights (bottles, not cans)
1 quart Egg Nog
3 pints Half & Half
1 obligatory can Redi Whip
1 fridge pack Diet Coke
1 fridge pack Coke (I'm sticking to the diets for now. I don't know what will happen when they're all gone. You may find me sprawled out in the kitchen floor in a diabetic coma, surrounded by 6 cans of full-sugar coke)
1 pitcher sweet tea
1 quart skim milk
1 mixing bowl and spatula coated in hardened baking chocolate
2 limes
4 bell peppers
8 ounces cheddar cheese
3 tubes Betty Crocker easy squeeze icing
The last of one large Olive Garden salad
One bag of expired deli turkey
1/2 carton eggs
1 bag brown-ish apple slices
1 bag assorted baby carrots, celery slices, and broccoli crowns, in various stages of decay
1 bag hash browns (which were probably supposed to be stored in the freezer)
1 can cinnamon rolls (score!)

Conspicuously absent:
1 full carton eggs

Stored on the counter for lack of a better place to put them:
120 tiny candy canes
1 additional tube Betty Crocker easy squeeze icing
1 unused bar Ghirardelli baking chocolate
Approximately 15 surviving gingerbread men
1 bag bread cubes (pumpernickel and whole grain) left over from fondue; likely stale

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

2006-12-21T14:00:00.000-06:00

Glory be to God in the highest and on earth, peace, good will toward men. Lo, I send unto you tidings of great joy!

Weeks of yuletide anticipation will culminate tomorrow in the arrival of my most favorite season--the Christmas-New Year's-Birthday Trifecta! The next few weeks bring a whirlwind of excitement and merriment and other kinds of -ments, and I am breathless, nay, giddy with anticipation!

My joy in this most celebratory season is heightened by the fact that, beginning tomorrow at 12:00 noon, I will be off work for, count them, 10 and one half glorious days!

And how will I pass the time?

Saturday, December 23—Host Christmas party at my house for charmingly quirky and lovably ill-tempered relatives (my side)
Sunday, December 24—Travel to Tennessee for Christmas gathering with genuinely kind and pleasant relatives (Charles the Great’s side)
Monday, December 25—Return to Arkansas to accommodate Charles’ dreadful and wretched work schedule
Tuesday-Thursday, December 26-28—Wallow
Friday, December 29-Saturday, December 30—Fellowship with college roomies! Hooray!
December 30-January 1—New Year’s Eve in NEW ORLEANS!
January 1—Return to Arkansas
January 2-5—Work.
But wait—January 6-9—Birthday retreat to Tunica for spa treatments, shopping, and feasting on complimentary cuisine!

After my all-too-brief sabbatical, I will rejoin you, refreshed and rejuvenated and ready once again to analyze, critique, and write bad poetry.

God rest ye, merry gentlemen and –women!

Unburdened

2006-12-20T12:48:00.000-06:00

My socks of argyle gray--
I wore them yesterday.
Left home in a flurry,
Was in such a hurry,
I wore them again today.

Polyps, Revisited

2006-12-15T12:54:00.000-06:00

I found this on the hard drive of my computer today and thought some of you might enjoy reading it, for old times sake. This essay was part of a grand scheme ls and I cooked up to incorporate our favorite relationship term, "polyp," into the American pop-culture lexicon. We envisioned a best-selling book and apperances on Oprah. Someday, ls, someday...

If you happen to know someone who knows someone who knows Oprah, send 'em a link.

Cool-ly confident with a bad-boy demeanor and smoldering brown eyes, Jason has emerged as the heart-breaker of this season’s Laguna Beach. [This reference kinda dates the piece, huh?] Even sassy Alex and last season’s heroine, LC, have fallen for his charms. And Jessica. Oh, Jessica! There’s just something about Jason that keeps her coming back for more, despite his flirtations with other girls, his aloofness, his own admission that he treats her badly. What is it about this guy that turns an attractive, popular girl in to a clingy, ex-boyfriend-dialing wreck, and why does he continue to send Jessica the let’s-be-more-than-friends vibe, even after he’s insisted that’s all they’ll ever be? Arrgh! He’s such a...such a...polyp!

WHAT IS A POLYP?

The word polyp [paul-up] is a medical term—it’s defined as “a growth that projects, usually on a stem, from a membrane in the body, and can develop into cancer." Ewwww. However, researchers have recently borrowed the term to describe a particularly troublesome group of males discovered to be lurking around the dating pool. (Well, ok, maybe not researchers. Maybe my college girlfriends and I.) As it turns out, members of this newly identified subset of the human male population bear a striking resemblance to icky, dangerous polyps in both behavior and toxicity.

Insistence upon keeping a relationship at arm’s length is a cardinal identifier of polyp-like behavior, distinguishing a true polyp from any number of other irritating male sub-groups. If you’ve been polyp-ized, you may be familiar with one or more of the following scenarios:
o The male in question likes you, but he won’t introduce you to his friends.
o He wants to hang out, but only when it’s convenient for him (or when it’s inconvenient for you!)
o He says he’ll call you later, but forgets (or loses his phone, or gets tied up at ball practice, or is abducted by aliens, or offers some other partially convincing excuse.)
o You’re pretty sure that when you call him, your number on his caller-ID is greeted by a press of the “ignore” button.
In short, he’s not really a part of your life, but he’s still around, just danglin’ like a polyp! And such a toxic relationship definitely has the potential to become cancerous.

POLYP FIELD IDENTIFICATION

In order to aid savvy young women in the identification and removal of polyps, we've compiled a catalog of typical polyp behavior. If one or more of these characteristics applies to a male in your life, you may have been polyp-ized.

Too many good excuses: Best friends Lauren and Matt had been involved in an on-again-off-again flirtation since freshman year. Though Lauren was Matt’s trusted confidante and was always willing to console him after a difficult football practice or to keep him company on the night before a big game, Matt never seemed to be available when Lauren needed him. Though she was hurt when he missed her birthday or left her dateless on Valentine’s day, she felt guilty about expressing her anger to him because he always had such a good excuse. “There was always some good reason for him to be away on my birthday,” she says, explaining that Matt often offered his football schedule or family obligations as excuses for missing important events. “I drew a happy birthday card on the sidewalk at school for his birthday, and on my birthday, I didn’t even get a phone call!” she exclaims. Although a guy’s excuse may be totally legitimate, if it’s a part of a larger pattern of all-too-frequent really great excuses, it may be a sign of polyp-ization. A guy who sincerely wants to be a part of (rather than a dangling appendage on) your life will find a way to be there when you need him (and if he can’t be, he’ll find a really great way to make it up to you).

Too low-key: At first, sophomore Beth found the secrecy of her low-key relationship with sophisticated senior J.C. exciting. She didn’t mind that they didn’t ever go on dates because they had so much fun just talking about life, books, philosophy, everything. Determined not to be the clingy sophomore who pathetically followed her upper-classman crush around, Beth contentedly gave J.C. the space he seemed to need in social settings, rationalizing that she didn’t want to interfere with his time with his friends. After a few months, though, she started to feel a bit silly when he would pass her in the cafeteria with barely so much as a smile and a ‘hi’, and she had no idea what to tell curious classmates when asked about the status of her relationship. Though when they were alone she felt very much like part of a couple, when they were in public, they barely seemed to be friends. “You can’t really say we were dating since we only went on one date in nine months!” Beth jokes. Granted, a little privacy in a relationship can be a good thing; after all, what could be more uncomfortable than being subjected to a couple’s public fight or (worse yet) public make-out session. However, if you’re starting to feel more like his secret than his girlfriend, you may have a polyp on your hands.

Too inconsiderate of your time: Rebecca’s relationship with Liam was a classic case of good girl falls for bad boy. For this small-town girl, there was something irresistible about the school soccer star’s Irish accent and impish grin. Liam flashed the impish grin in question to ensure forgiveness for his chronic lateness. Night after night, Rebecca would sit by the window and watch the clock, wondering where Liam could be and how, in this age of electronic connectivity, he could have stumbled into an area totally cut off from all telecommunication. Why couldn’t he just call if he were going to be late, she’d wonder. “One night,” she recalls, “he said he was going to come over at nine. I didn’t hear from him until nine the next morning.” And though Liam had no problem canceling plans with Rebecca to spend time with his friends, he seemed surprised if she wasn’t available when his nights with the boys wrapped up. Failure to recognize the value of his girlfriend’s time is a classic polyp tendency, a tendency that shouldn’t be tolerated. Although it’s unrealistic to expect that your guy will always be on time, a phone call when he’s running late is simply common courtesy, as is respecting previously made plans.

PROPER TREATMENT FOR POLYP-IZATION

Just as in the medical world, the only proper treatment for this serious condition is a polyp-ectomy. Yep, you’ve just got to cut him off. Unfortunately, removing your emotional polyp is even more painful than removing a medical polyp—at least you’re anesthetized for a surgical polyp-ectomy! The prospect of removing your polyp will almost certainly evoke thoughts of those qualities you most admire in him. How, you may wonder, could a girl ever cut off the guy whose smile makes her socks melt or who understands better than anyone else her artwork,/sense of humor/love of Dickens’s novels? But cut him off you must! Whether or not he intends to, he’s becoming a hazard to your health and preventing you from finding someone who genuinely wants to be a part of your life, and by allowing him to continue dangling, you’re helping him. In the long run, the scars will be deeper if you allow your polyp to grow on you; the sooner you cut him off, the better!

You Know...

2006-12-14T17:54:00.000-06:00

...when you get your hair done and you think it looks drastically different, but no one else notices?

No Pizza For You

2006-12-12T11:51:00.000-06:00

We had heard the rumors, but we thought our neighbors were exaggerating. Surely not in 2006. Surely not after all the work that's been done, all the progress that's been made.

The rumor didn't even cross our minds when we called Papa John's on Sunday evening. One large pepperoni, one two-liter coke, delivery please.

No problem, they told us. It'll be 30 minutes, they told us.

And then they called us back. Charles the Great took the call and reported that the conversation went thusly: "Uh, yeah, man, I checked with my delivery drivers, and, uh, they won't go down there after dark. Sorry. Uh, you can come pick it up..."

The rumors were true. You really can't get a pizza delivered to downtown North Little Rock after dark.

We laughed, loaded Peanut up in the truck, and went to pick up our pizza. What else could we do?

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about this.

Got the formerly-blighted-neighborhood blues? Sing me a little ditty.

My Buddies

2006-12-05T16:32:00.000-06:00

They tell me stories on long car rides. They make sure I keep up with foreign affairs. They are constant, reliable friends. They are the voices of NPR.

Here's how I imagine them:

Gravely-voiced, marble-mouthed Carl Kasell is the curmudgeonly grandpa of public radio. I envision him with wavy, iron-gray hair and a santa-like barrel chest and jolly belly. He wears mismatched tweeds, suit vests, and a pocket watch. At night, he reads WWII military manuals by lamplight.

Terry Gross studied clinical psychology in graduate school. She drinks gallons of herbal tea each day (exclusively in large, earthenware cafe au lait mugs). She moonlights as a yoga instructor and owns only lightweight, pastel, knit cotton clothing. She conducts interviews sitting indian-style in her beige Herman Miller Aeron Chair.

Joanne Silberner has a very tiny nose, which prevents her words from resonating fully in her head. I have formed no other conclusions about her because I am too distracted pinching my nose to mimic her voice. I want to send her a box of breathe-right strips. I wonder what happens when she gets a cold.

Ann Taylor's greying blonde hair is parted severly on the left and cut in a practical chin-length bob. She wears skit suits every day except for Saturdays, when she dons sensible slacks and hush puppies. Her Afghan Elk Hound, Champion Martha's Vineyard Excursion a.k.a. "Martie", accompanies her to the studio each day and sits stoically beneath the control panel while Ann is on air.

Melissa Block and Robert Siegel, the achors of All Things Considered, have a thing going on. They play footsie under the control panel. Sometimes, when they've had a fight, you can hear it in their voices. Bonus for college classmates: is it just me, or does Robert Siegel's voice sound eerily like the voice of a certain vertically-challenged communications professor...?

When Steve Inskeep goes on vacation, he is replaced by a gentleman named "John Itsteen" (spelling?). John and Steve are actually the same person. Sometimes Steve gets a wild hair and decides to broadcast under a pseudonym for a few days. You'll note that NPR's roster bears no mention of Mr. Itsteen...

Peter Overby's domey pate is protected from the elements only by a fringe of auburn hair above his ears. His petite frame threatens to buckle under the weight of his egghead. He is afflicted with larger-than-average teeth which often impede his speech. He received a Master's degree in economics from a university at which it would be considered prestigious to receive a Master's degree in economics. He is a congenial fellow who enjoys cheese.

Daniel Schorr must have a chronic cold. He must. There's just no other explanation. Dan, I love you, but I need my foreign policy with a little enunciation.

You can view pictures and read bios of all your favorite NPR personalities by clicking on the link in the title of this post or by pasting this URL into your browser's navigation bar: http://www.npr.org/templates/people/?typeId=1
I caution you though, just as Adam and Eve suffered the consequences of eating from the Tree of Knowledge, so to will your illusions be shattered when you see what the NPR stars really look like.

That's My Prerogative

2006-12-04T11:48:00.000-06:00

This is the purse I will be carrying throughout the Christmas season:

Deal with it.

Excommunicated from my Lexicon

2006-11-29T08:30:00.000-06:00

You know what word really bothers me? Journey. As in, this journey has really taught me a lot about myself. It's even more irritating when used in conjunction with the adjective 'amazing.' As in, this has been an amazing journey. Really? Has it? Unless you are referring to the 1980s classic rock band or an extended period of travel during which you a) crossed a major body of water on a steam boat, b) traversed a continent, or c) floated down the Mississippi River on a log raft, you do not get to use the word 'journey'. So, just to clear up any lingering misunderstanding, a 10 week primetime network dating show is not a journey.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that the word has been so diluted, so overused, that it should be placed on sabbatical. We should not use it for a while. 'Journey' is tired. It wants to rest.

In the meantime, here are some suitable alternatives: excursion, expedition, odyssey, quest, promenade, ramble, sojourn, wayfaring.

Feel like buzzing about buzzwords? Holler at me.

This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: A Thanksgiving Story

2006-11-27T19:01:00.000-06:00

I should begin by describing the ring. It belonged to my great-grandmother Joyce, whom I never met. It was her wedding ring. It's small; white gold with two diamonds. Kind of an art-deco feel. Tons of sentimental value. I wear it as my wedding ring, but on my right hand because it doesn't match my engagement ring. Kinda quirky, but it works for me.

When it slipped from my fingers and dropped down the air conditioning vent on Thanksgiving morning, I felt oddly calm. Almost amused.

I'll be damned. Nothing but net. What are the odds?!

If you've never examined the inside of an air conditioning duct, I highly recommend it. I had not given much thought to what lies beneath the floor of my home and was surprised to discover a spacious system of pipes, an intriguing assortment of debris, and, thankfully, no spiders. After a few cautious, rubber-gloved swipes of the duct failed to uncover the ring, I called in reinforcements in the form of my pragmatic, level-headed husband.

Reason #28 why I know I married the right guy:

Our first attempts at locating the ring were rudimentary: a borrowed flashlight (courtesy of Gentleman C, our enigmatic neighbor) and a compact mirror. But with only an hour left until turkey-time at mom's house, we knew we'd have to step up our efforts. What a sight we must have been: Chuck crouched over the vent weilding a spatula and flashlight and me perched nervously nearby, one eye on the clock.

We'd drawn several spatula-fulls of dust and dirt from the vent when Chuck received a flash of inspiration. "I need a CAMERA!" he called, his voice echoing through the duct.

And thus we saw our first glimpse of the tiny ring, stranded several feet back in the duct. (That's it there in the photo--the little shiny object in the veeeeeery back.) Using the camera, we were able to determine the placement of our scooping tool in relation to the ring. Unfortunately, the spatula was just too short to reach the little sucker. (See picture below.)

We needed something longer. Something retractable. We needed... A SWIFFER! I raced to the kitchen and uncovered my Swiffer retractable cleaning wand. With the addition of a piece of cardstock it became a glorious scooping mechanism, and I felt truly smug and ingenius. (Except for the fact that I had, only minutes before, dropped a diamond ring down a vent. Except for that.) (See picture below.)

Like a surgeon and surgical nurse, we worked carefully, methodically. "Swiffer," Chuck would request. "Camera." The work was slow going, as the tiny ring was stubbornly entrenched and moved toward us only inches at a time. Beads of sweat gathered on Chuck's knitted brow, and I began to grow anxious--how was I going to explain to mom why I was late for Thanksgiving dinner? "Hi mom, I dropped your grandmother's ring down the vent. Sorry I'm late. Y'all go ahead and eat."?!?

Finally, after 45 minutes, Chuck had had enough. "You try!"

I kneeled beside the vent, peeked in to orient myself, brandished the swiffer, and scooped. And I GOT IT! On my first try! It was covered in dust but no worse for the wear.

And I'm never taking it off again. You'll have to pry it from my cold, dead finger.

So, in this season of thanksgiving, I am thankful for technology--digital cameras, swiffer wands. I am thankful that my ring was saved. And I'm thankful for my best bud, who always bails me out when I do stupid stuff.

Thanks for letting me have the glory, Chuck. I know you quit just in time to let me find the ring.

Additional Photos

2006-11-27T17:55:00.000-06:00

Photos won't upload. More later.

The Most Difficult Sentence in the English Language

2006-11-20T08:50:00.000-06:00

Several years ago, some classmates and I embarked on a quest to create THE MOST DIFFICULT SENTENCE IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. After much deliberation and painstaking pronunciation, we arrived a sentence so difficult to pronounce, so saturated with liquid consonants and tricky blends that I can't even say it in my head without becoming tongue-tied. Several of you are already familiar with this remarkable sentence, but in the interest of preserving it for posterity, I give you this heretofore unpublished conglomeration:

In the Christian Tradition, there's a particularly applicable rural brewery on the Marlboro reservoir.

Try saying THAT three times fast!

Your turn. Create THE MOST ______ SENTENCE IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Words are fun.

Potato, Potahto

2006-11-19T10:40:00.000-06:00

It's not a new topic, but I'm still intrigued by the differences in the way we pronounce words. How do you pronounce the following:

Grocery--
Gro-shery or Gro-sery?

Envelope--
In-velope or On-velope?

Mature--
Ma-chure or Ma-tour?

February--
Feb-you-ary or Feb-roo-ary?

Coupon--
Koo-pon or Kyoo-pon?

Due--
Doo or Dyoo?

Do you know anyone who's still hanging on to the "hw" sound, as in "hwat" (what) or "hwen" (when)?

What pronunciations really grate on your nerves?

Fax Spammer: A Limerick

2006-11-16T08:33:00.000-06:00

Dear fax spammer, you don't seem bright.
Why send your fax spam overnight?
Cause everyone knows,
In the trash can it goes.
If it's there in the tray
When I come in today,
I'll discard "Free Vacation! Five Nights!"

Here, I'll Give You a Topic

2006-11-09T14:33:00.000-06:00

I sense you may be having trouble getting started on your lists. Let's practice together.

LAST NAMES THAT SHOULD BE PHASED OUT:

1. Butts

2. Hyman

3. Weiner

4. Pugh

5. Hogg

6. Pigg

7. Koch

8. Fuchs

9. Hooker

10. Sweat

11. Ball

12. Hickey

13. Bastardi

Great Ideas for Which I Cannot Take Credit

2006-11-07T13:14:00.000-06:00

(But would, if I thought no one would know better)

1. Southwest Eggrolls

2. ok go Treadmill Dance

3. Haiku

4. Food TV

5. Daylight Savings Time

6. Leslie Basham, the Landers (United Auto Group) Spokeswoman

7. Formula 409

8. The "What If Dr. Mayo...?" Game

9. The "Good" Ice

10. McSweeney's Internet Tendency Lists

As you may know, McSweeney's Internet Tendency is the online contingent of the quarterly journal McSweeney's. This quirky publication is the brain-child of Dave Eggers, writer-extraordinaire and my potential soulmate. I secretly hate Eggers because he is infinitely more creative and talented that I can ever hope to be, yet also suspect that, were we ever to meet, we would be instant and lifelong kindred spirits. What can I say? Some people lust over handsome movie stars; I go for geeky writer-types.

But I digress. The point of this entry was not to elaborate on the theme "I Heart Dave Eggers" but to present a challenge. You see, McSweeney's Internet Tendency features a section devoted to lists composed by readers. Recent list topics have included: "Phrases on the Marquee at the Local Strip Club to Cater to a More Literate Crowd," "Jokes Made by Robots, for Robots," and "Prescription Drug or Metal Band?" The lists have become so popular that they've been compiled into a book: MOUNTAIN MAN DANCE MOVES: THE MCSWEENEY'S BOOK OF LISTS. I insist you visit the website immediately and often. http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/lists/

Now for the challenge: I am certain that the collective genius of Compulsive Analysis's dedicated readers (at most recent count, approximately 5 people) can yield several outstanding lists suitable for publication on the website, and, if we're lucky, even in a future anthology! Not only will you garner fame and glory, there will also be fewer degrees of separation between me and Dave. So, get crackin', people. Start churnin' out the lists. Choose your best and submit it to lists@mcsweeneys.net, and of course, post it as a comment HERE so we can all enjoy your humor and brilliance. If your list is published by McSweeney's, _The_Analyst will personally buy your dinner.

Sports Autism

2006-11-06T13:27:00.000-06:00

Those of you who follow SEC football may have noticed that my home state's own Arkansas Razorbacks are having a pretty good season. The Hogs are always big news around here, but this season, it seems they're all I hear about. The world shuts down on Saturdays, while the entire population of the state sits, transfixed, in front of the television. The air is thick with anticipation as the Hogs continue their glorious winning streak.

This presents a problem for me. Don't tell anyone, but...I don't care.

Now, before you go hyperventilating, let me say that I have nothing against the Hogs. I'm all for state pride. I much prefer their regal red uniforms to the unsophisticated, ahem, neon orange worn by other teams who shall remain nameless. I quite enjoy the snappy Razorback Fight Song. I even get a kick out of the whole Woooooo Pig Sooooie thing. But I cannot, for the life of me, make myself care about football. Or any other sport, for that matter.

Since junior high school, I’ve struggled to understand why I’m not like everyone else. But a few weeks ago, I discovered a clue. A window into my psyche. I heard about a study in which researchers tracked the eye-movements of people with autism as they watched movies. People with autism, it turned out, don’t seem to follow the plot of the movie with their eyes. They don’t focus on characters faces. They don’t focus on objects to which the characters refer. Their eyes dart around the screen in completely different patterns than people without autism.

Aha! I thought. Now I understand! I don’t track the action in a sporting event in the same way other people do! Even when I try to focus on the game, I lose track of the ball, become distracted by people in the crowd, or have trouble interpreting important plays. It’s not that I intentionally hate sports, I’m just sports autistic.

If you, too, struggle to enjoy sporting events, take this diagnostic quiz to determine whether you might suffer from sports autism:

1. Do you find watching a televised sporting event about as exciting as staring at a blank wall?

2. During a post-game discussion of an important play, have you ever remarked, “was that before or after the band played?”

3. At sporting events where you personally know the players, do you find it difficult to recall friends’ jersey numbers, yet remember what outfits the majority of the members of the crowd wore?

4. Are you able to track the movements of the hot-dog man but unable to determine how the ball got way over there?

5. When sitting near the foul line at a baseball game, do other members of your party fear for your safety and repeatedly caution you to duck?

If you answered yes to three or more of these questions, you may be sports autistic. There is no known cure for sports autism at present. However, as awareness is raised, so too, is hope.

Has your family been touched by sports autism? Share your story. Compulsive Analysis is here to provide support.

Get Thee Behind Me, Pottery Barn

2006-11-01T08:20:00.000-06:00

This is an exciting time to be a Little Rock resident--the whole town is abuzz with the news of THREE new shopping centers. It seems every conversation contains the phrases "Did you hear we're gettin' a Parisian" or "They're puttin' in a Williams-Sonoma." Our Starbucks quotient will have increased threefold by Christmas. Yes, these are exciting times.

Though I preach fiscal restraint at my monthly houseshold finance committee meetings, I was drawn like a moth to a flame to the new Midtowne Shopping center, a mere two blocks from my office. Perhaps, I thought, I won't find anything I want to purchase. Maybe Pottery Barn, Ann Taylor Loft, Bombay Company, White House Black Market, and Williams-Sonoma won't have anything good. Ha!

My resolve held up through Ann Taylor Loft and White House Black Market. Bombay Company hadn't put out their full product line yet, so I made a quick trip around the showroom and beat a hasty retreat. Even Williams-Sonoma was no match for my iron will--I rationalized that in order to justify a new set of copper pots and pans, I'd need to cook more than once a week (I'm a liar. Once a month.).

But as I approached the gleaming storefront at Pottery Barn, I felt my self-control begin to weaken. I'm not sure exactly what happened while I was in the store--it was all a whirl of brushed stainless steel, clever desktop organizers, charming serving dishes, and timeless, attractively-upholstered furniture. Suffice it to say that 124 bucks later, I emerged from the store loaded up with two honeysuckle-scented diffusers, one candle, and a bottle of room spray.

What, you might ask, would compell an otherwise rational person to spend $124 on honeysuckle-scented knick-knacks? Satan. The devil made me do it. Pottery Barn is in league with the devil.

Pottery Barn's marketing and design teams seem intent on making average people believe their lives would be better if only they owned a Manhattan Armchair in Everydaysuede or an Emmett Occasional Table. Consider the lifestyle PB peddles to your subconscious--buy this Rhys Office Suite and your desk calendar will be covered with dinner dates, trips to Paris, and shopping lists for wine and cheese parties; buy this modular storage unit with dowels for wrapping paper and pockets for tape and ribbon and you, too, can partake in the joys of stress-free gift wrapping. Sometimes the message is more sinister: "You mean you don't own a Westholme Cabinet in which to display books on photography and philosophy? How quaint."

PB's diabolical brilliance consumes its customers, tricks them into believing that happiness is just 12 placesettings of beaded bronze dinnerware away. Set one foot into the den of iniquity that is a PB retail store and you're immediately flooded with avarice, covetousness, and lust.

So this Christmas, I refuse to patronize Satan's Houseware Imporium. I'm boycotting.

Oh, who am I kidding. I'll be back. But next time, I'm carrying holy water.

Writer's Block

2006-10-25T15:12:00.000-05:00

I'm frustrated. I have three or four solid topics to discuss with you all, but I can't stay focused long enough to write them. I apologize--the words just aren't coming this week. I'm having...what do you call it...word retrieval issues.

In the meantime, consider this:
Is it "writer's block" or "writers' block" or "writers block"? I could rationalize each apostrophe placement. "Writer's block" would mean the block belonging to a particular writer. Makes sense. But so does "writers' block," the block affecting many writers, or just "writers block," a phrase so common that the apostrophe has become obsolete.

I have the same issue with driver(')s(') license. And visitor(')s(') guide.

Your thoughts? Is there an official rule for this?

Diary from the Edge

2006-10-24T10:24:00.000-05:00

Monday. 11:50 AM. Three and a half hours since we discovered our office internet is down. We’ve isolated the problem to the Ethernet router box. “Mac” at AT&T tech support tells me our modem is receiving full “ping,” which means the problem is with our hardware, not AT&T’s signal. Gary, our network specialist, won’t call me back.

The problem is far-reaching. No internet means no office email, no yahoo email, no other email, no intra-office server, no instant messenger.

Cell phone battery just died. Totally isolated.

No server files—nothing to work on. Doesn’t matter, though—no one to send work to. Made some mailing labels to pass the time.

Can’t think of a more descriptive word than “far-reaching.” What’s the word I’m looking for…? Curses! Thesaurus.com won’t load. Of course.

12:07 PM. Lunchtime. Pepperoni Pizza Smartwich is unfulfilling. Nothing to do while eating. Long for slate.com. Stare at blank screen. Co-worker attempts conversation. Human interaction? How foreign.

12:13 PM. Discover stray copy of Time magazine. Barack Obama on cover. Read article. Intriguing. Should investigate his book tour & share info with talent committee. Crap. Never mind.

1:11 PM. Boss needs phone number of steering committee member. Attempt to open database. Damnit. Hand instinctively clicks on internet explorer icon to access www.yellowpages.com. AAAAAHHHH! Do we have a phone book here? Blow dust off of phone book, find number.

2:03 PM. Would anyone notice if I snuck off to local library to get a fix?

2:15 PM. Looking out my window? You tube? MSN? JobsArkansas.com? Hellllooooo…….?

2:34 PM. Lsdfa sdf wesf;lk awseoisdf asd;lwevs;lbnas

Punkin Patch

2006-10-22T19:36:00.000-05:00

In the spirit of the season, here are a few punkin jokes:
How do you mend a broken Jack-o-lantern?
With a pumpkin patch!

Why do jack-o-lanterns have stupid smiles on their faces?
You'd have a stupid smile, too, if you had just had all your brains scooped out!

And some punkin facts:
The tradition of pumpkin carving originally started with the carving of turnips. When the Irish immigrated to the U.S., they found pumpkins a plenty, and they were much easier to carve for their ancient holiday.

In early colonial times, pumpkins were used as an ingredient for the crust of pies, not the filling.

Pumpkins were once recommended for removing freckles and curing snake bites.

The largest pumpkin ever grown weighed 1,140 pounds.

Happy carving!
PS: Punkin jokes and facts courtesy of www.pumpkinpatch.com

Edit

2006-10-19T13:11:00.000-05:00

Say this out loud:

Edited it

Isn't that great? Ed-di-di-dit. I try to work it into everyday conversation as often as possible. Some of you knew that already. But it's still funny to me.

That's all.

Downtown in a Nu-nu-nu-rou

2006-10-19T12:07:00.000-05:00

There's something that's been bothering me for a while now. I've spent an unnecessary amount of mental energy worrying about it. Perhaps you've been troubled, too. Allow me to allay your concerns. These are the official words to the chorus of the Fall Out Boy song "Sugar, We're Going Down":

We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it

Which is a relief, because this is what I thought the chorus said:

We're going downtown, in a nu-nu-nu-rou
And Sugar, weou going down sweou-eou
I'll be your never wah with a bullet
A lunnit gun complex cockpit and pull it

But now that I've seen what the actual words are, I understand why I couldn't make sense of the lead singer's poorly-enunciated croonings--the real words are crazy talk!

Let's parse it out:

We're going down, down--is this a sexual reference? a melodramatic metaphor for a downwardly spiraling relationship?
In an earlier round--ah! maybe it's a boxing reference! But, in an EARLIER round? Fall Out Boy, are you trying to get all deep on me here?
And, Sugar--really? Sugar? I can only assume the speaker is trying to be snide because he literally would be going down if he called me Sugar.
We're going down swinging--So, we're talking about a fight, then? Yet, according to the verses, he's just a notch on her bedpost. So would she really be interested in fighting with him? Sounds like he's the one with the problem, not her.
I'll be your number one with a bullet--Ah! I've got it! He's disgruntled because he was into her and she wasn't feeling it, so now he's gonna be her "number one" by holding her at gunpoint! Makes perfect sense.
Loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it--Awesome. Only one question--is he shooting himself or her?

Wow. How original. A bunch of angry, mal-adjusted white guys whining over a relationship-gone-bad. Perhaps the poor enunciation was a ploy to get me to pay attention to their cheesy song. Well it worked. But I still like my lyrics better.

Pop music got you down? Tell _The_Analyst about it.

Formula for Fall

2006-10-17T15:28:00.000-05:00

Time for a new poetic form. Today's challenge: write an original tercet on an autumnal theme. Tercet: A complete poem of three lines. It can be of any length, meter, or rhyme scheme.

Out came the sweaters, their boxes
Restocked with sheer blouses, blithe skirts.
Forecast this morning read eighty...

Why?

2006-10-16T13:52:00.000-05:00

On the Loss of Red Pentel

Red-felt-tip stealer,
Why not blue ballpoint instead?
Joyless scrawling. Woe.

Wanted: Career Counselor

2006-10-13T13:19:00.000-05:00

Top Ten Jobs I Would Like to Have But Don't Know How

1. Sommelier
2. Hair Stylist to the Stars
3. Master Carpenter/Furniture Designer
4. Contractor (specializing in historical preservation)
5. Poet Laureate
6. Seamstress/Dress-maker
7. Personal Assistant to an important political/public figure
8. Documentary Film Maker
9. Food Stylist (for print and television advertisements)
10. Philanthropist/President of My Own Charitable Trust

If anyone knows of an opening in any of these areas for someone with no experience or training, let me know. Seriously. I work cheap.

Share your secret career aspirations with _The_Analyst.

"..."

2006-10-11T21:03:00.000-05:00

Kudos go out to an unnamed source (you know who you are) who found this little gem nestled among the auto ads, gun show announcements, and lumber yard coupons that comprise the OZARK TRADING POST Weekly Shopper's Guide:

There are just no words. I don't even know where to begin.

I cannot, in good conscience, keep this one for myself. This must be a team effort. Who is this man? Who will respond to his ad? Why the Ozark Trading Post? What should the title of this entry be? Let the analysis begin.

Frozen Fare

2006-10-10T12:25:00.000-05:00

Alas, the sedentary workday of an administrative assistant affords few opportunities for exercise. Nor does the lowly salary afford much room in the budget to purchase bigger pants. Therfore, I've begun exploring the low-calorie realm of prepackaged frozen lunches. Fortunately, the frozen foods industry has made great strides since the days of salisbury steak and potatoes with mystery gravy. A quick trip down your local grocer's frozen entree aisle will reveal a wide variety of palatable, reasonably-priced options, many containing only 200-350 calories. Throw in a diet coke and you've got yourself a bona fide low-cal lunch in less than five minutes! (Which means more time to check your email, read your favorite online news magazine, or find out what Paris and TomKat have been up to today.)

_The_Analyst's Frozen Food Tips and Tricks:
My current favorite frozen entree brand is SmartOnes by Weight Watchers, which seems to feature a wider variety of flavors and ingredients than other brands. I particularly enjoyed the Chicken Enchiladas Suiza (or something like that), which were quite tasty and came in a suprisingly rich sauce, although they were a bit soggy.
Proceed with caution when purchasing pasta dishes. While the box-top photo will depict mountains of heavenly al dente noodles covered in a rich creamy sauce, we all know better than that. Don't be fooled. The box will contain approximately ten noodles and a small puddle of sauce. If you can handle that, go for it.
Steer clear of the mashed potatoes. The texture comes out all wrong and they tend to dry out around the edges. Mashed potatoes should be savored, not chewed. Try the rice dishes, instead. They tend to be the most filling, and the texture is quite normal.

This Week's Menu:
South Beach Diet Supreme Pizza, 340 calories--To my knowledge, the frozen foods industry still has not mastered the art of microwaveable pizza. I think it may be time to let go of the silver "crisping-tray" technology (you know, the silver piece of paper glued to the inside of the box that's supposed to keep your pizza from getting soggy?) and attack the problem from a different angle. The verdict: Although I've never met a pizza or french fry I didn't like, I was a bit underwhelmed. The flavor was so-so and the crust a bit chewy.

SmartOnes Lasagna Bolognese, 270 calories--According to the box: "Curly, bite-sized lasagna ribbons in a rich Bolognese-meat sauce with mozzarella." In reality, 10 noodles and a small puddle of sauce. The flavor was not bad at all, but I needed more sauce to cover all my noodles.

SmartOnes Spicy Szechuan Style Vegetables & Chicken, 240 calories--My Chinese co-worker smelled the tangy szechuan sauce from all the way in the kitchen and immediately recognized it--how's that for authentic? The lo mein noodles survived the freezing and thawing process nicely and the sauce adequately covered the noodles and chicken. Pretty good.

SmartOnes Lemon Herb Chicken Piccata, 230 calories--According to the box: "Grilled white meat chicken in a tangy lemon sauce with rice & spring vegetables." If "spring vegetables" is code for "green bean slivers," then the description on the box is pretty accurate. A bit bland, but filling.

SmartOnes Teriyaki Chicken & Vegetable Bowl, 270 calories--According to the box: "Grilled White Meat chicken and Asian-style vegetables in a sweet & spicy teriyaki sauce over white rice." My favorite of the week. A filling portion of rice and veggies, good texture, and decent flavor. Not bad at all.

Share your reviews of workday fare here.

Bad JuJu

2006-10-09T20:05:00.000-05:00

I speculate that approximately 30 percent of the time I spend walking Peanut, the Analytical Puppydog is devoted to extracting inappropriate objects from her tightly clenched teeth. Hound dog that she is, P is not satisfied until she has tracked, located, and mouthed every piece of litter, every leaf, every bug in our neighborhood.

To preserve my own sanity, I've begun to anticipate which objects Peanut will attempt to ingest, in the hopes of steering her away from them. While scanning the ground for likely temptations, I've discovered a number of unusual objects that defy explanation. I wonder, what conclusions could one draw about my neighborhood from a dogs-eye view?

Consider these objects, observed on our walk this afternoon:
Two dead birds

One ball of hair

One discarded baked potato. This poor spud had apparently been thrown against a viaduct support beam and was, amazingly, held there by its own starchy bonds.

Three chicken bones

Mysterious scrawlings

And one pork rib, cleaned to the bone

It's obvious to me that the only logical explanation for these mysterious findings is, of course, voodoo. My neighborhood has been infiltrated by spud-hating voodoo practitioners. It's the only thing that makes sense...

Axis of Evil

2006-10-09T12:25:00.000-05:00

As mentioned in a previous post, I've spent the last few weeks compiling and distributing sponsorship solicitation packets to businesses throughout the state of Arkansas. It seemed like a fairly easy task: draft a generic approach letter, pull together some informational flyers and press clippings, call in volunteers to help stuff packets, and mail 'em out.

Hear me when I say this, people: it wasn't that easy. I'll spare you the endless details, but suffice it to say that the process involved at least two after-work meetings and several hours at the library to identify potential sponsors, two days on the phone to ascertain the contact information of the party responsible for awarding sponsorships at each company, and one terse exchange over the office copy machine that very easily could have turned ugly. And that was all BEFORE we decided that the packets were too heavy, and thus too costly, to mail and would therefore need to be hand delivered.

However, though taxing, the sponsorship packet project was certainly a learning opportunity. And now, I present part one of my findings:

Phone Tree systems are members of the Axis of Evil and must be stopped.
1. Phone tree systems steal jobs from Americans by making trained, knowledgeable receptionists obsolete. Moreover, receptionists who remain in the workforce are woefully undereducated about their companies' structures and personnel and are no more able to assist callers than phone tree systems
2. Phone tree systems prevent customers from being served by customer service
3. Phone tree systems circumvent human interaction, thereby increasing anger and frustration and perpetuating technologically-induced isolation
4. Phone tree systems cannot answer the question, "Can you tell me who I'd need to speak to about..."
5. NO, I DO NOT KNOW MY PARTY'S EXTENSION!

During my marathon phone session ("Hi, could you tell me who I'd need to speak to about sponsorships and donations?" for about 8 hours straight), I encountered myriad phone systems and was transferred among various extensions and voice mailboxes an average of 4 times per company. Ladies and Gentlemen, that is no way to run a business. What if I had been someone important calling? By way of example, I offer this transcript from my doctor's office's phone tree system (we didn't approach this office for a sponsorship, but I think it's a perfect example of the problems I encountered during the sponsorship packet project):

Thank you for calling (So-n-So Dr.'s Office). Press 0 at any time for operator assistance or, if you know your party's extension, you may dial it at any time. For appointment scheduling, press 1; for insurance and patient accounts, press 2; to speak to your doctor's nurse, press 3; for lab and pathology, press 4; for prescription refills, press 5; for driving directions or office hours, press 6. If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and dial 911.

3 (To speak to my doctor's nurse): To speak to Dr. 1's nurse, press 101. To speak to Dr. 2's nurse, press 102. To speak to Dr. 3's nurse, press 103. If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and dial 911. [NOTE: MY DOCTOR IS DR. 4!!! WHAT NUMBER DO I PRESS?!)

0 (Remember, this is the extension I'm supposed to dial to get operator assistance): If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and dial 911. For lab and pathology, prescription refills, insurance and patient accounts, or to speak to your doctor's nurse, please choose from one of the menu options on the main menu.

So you see, there is really NO WAY to speak to an actual person at my doctor's office. Or any other company that uses a phone tree system. In some cases, you may luck out and reach the voice mailbox of an actual person, but you WILL NEVER SPEAK TO AN ACTUAL PERSON! And, what's up with the "life-threatening emergency" clause?

Therefore, we must band together to defeat phone tree systems. No longer will we bounce endlessly among menus and unnamed extensions. Today, we will fight back. I submit to you, then, this cheat:

Cingular Wireless Customer Service (611 from your Cingular phone or 1-800-CINGULAR):
Press 1 to confirm your phone number (or enter another number)
From the Main Menu: Press 0
From the Sub-Menu: Press 0
You may have to hold for a few minutes, but you'll get to talk to a real, live person.

Also, check out www.gethuman.com: an online database of phone tree prompts by company.

Know a phone tree cheat? Tell _The_Analyst!

Busy Week at Work

2006-10-03T21:58:00.000-05:00

Been out on the road hand-delivering sponsorship solicitation packets to what seems like every business in the state of Arkansas. Look forward to sharing my observations about receptionists, office buildings, and phonemail systems with you. Bear with me--more analysis to come. In the meantime, here's a pigeon to keep you company.

Peanut: On the Record

2006-09-29T17:36:00.000-05:00

Amid a firestorm of controversy surrounding allegations of an illicit affair with a dog nearly 10 times her age, Peanut, the Analytical Puppydog released this statement through her publicist:

I'd like to take this time to clear up any misconceptions about my sexuality and gender, as it seems there's been some confusion. For the record, I am female. That's right, I squat--I don't hike a leg (pardon the vulgarity). Yes, my collar and leash are blue, but only because my daddy couldn't stand the indignity of carrying a pink leash. Moreover, although I am attracted to boy dogs (and ONLY boy dogs), I choose to remain celibate, as I am 1)unmarried and 2)incapable of bearing puppies. And yes, I'm a natural blonde.

Sources close to Peanut reveal that she is deeply saddened by the allegations. "She's like, totally broken up about it," one pal reveals. "She and Taz, like, hardly know each other. I mean, they've sniffed each other a few times, but this whole thing has been blown totally out of proportion." Another source, speaking on condition of anonymity, expressed the depth of Peanut's sadness: "She hasn't bathed in days. She just lays there, chewing on her Nylabone," says the source. "She hardly even leaves the house except to potty."

Yet, Peanut's family insists she's taking the whole incident in stride. "Peanut's a resilient girl," her mommy says. "She's not going to let this get her down or keep her from accomplishing her goals. She's staying busy learning new tricks, and she's been doing some modeling for Outward Hound sportswear. We're just so proud of our little peanutty-buddy, oh yes we are! oh yes we are, little nutter-butter!"

Pew: try to use it in a sentence

2006-09-27T16:38:00.000-05:00

Be it hereby decreed: "Pew" is the funny word of the day.

Submitted by washburn: "I've always thought "pew" was interesting. It's such a short word, but it packs such an aggressive sound - pyuuw - as in putrid. And it sounds completely out of place in the context of a church, where it is surrounded by beautiful-sounding words such as altar and baptismal and loft."

In other business:

Sixteen haiku later: There,
Now don't you feel much better?
See? work CAN be fun.

Thanks to all who participated in the Seventeen Syllables of Satisfaction contest. Your submissions kept me in stiches all day!

And the winner is:

frequent visitor
of my candy bowl: why do
you announce your choice?
Submitted by: c-dub

--c-dub is so restrained. She doesn't insist frequent visitor make his/her selection silently, she doesn't hide the candy bowl. She simply wonders, bemused, at frequent visitor's idiosyncrasy.

Honorable Mentions are awarded to:

"Hang In There"

the picture of cats
you use as a screensaver
makes me feel stabby
Submitted by: washburn

--Most Effective Use of a Title. I see it, washburn, and I feel stabby, too.

Yo, Livestrong! Friendship
bracelets ain't bidness casual.
Neither are your keds.
Submitted by: co-chair

--Best Use of Synecdoche: Co-chair brilliantly uses the offending article of clothing as a representation of the whole offending individual.

Random acts of sloth...
Sit up you worthless weirdo,
The chair 'aint' your bed.
Submitted by: anonymous

--Best Turn of Phrase: "Random acts of sloth." So clever. It just rolls off the tongue.

grandmother of five
you ask for help everyday
learn to use the dell
Submitted by: d

--Most Exasperated: d, let me guess: everytime grandmother comes to ask for help, she regales you with charming grandchild anecdotes?

A Little Sleuthing

2006-09-27T09:08:00.000-05:00

620 Mystery Lane is a picturesque two-story Colonial Revival-style home built in 1898 and renovated in 2001, at which time it was divided into three apartments. Apartment A is home to a young married couple and their inquistive nine-month old Beagle-mix puppy, Peanut. Newcomers to Hodge-Cook House, the newlyweds are quite curious about their charmingly quirky neighbors.

Apartment C is inhabited by a mysterious gentleman in his late 30s/early 40s and an aging lhasa apso, name unknown, who approxmates a small dust-mop in size, gait, and overall appearance. Gentleman C, somewhat handsome with a touch of dignified gray at his temples, rarely entertains visitors and leaves his residence only occasionally and for short intervals. If he is employed, one must assume he works from home.

Apartment B (upstairs), is occupied, curiously, by Gentleman C's MOTHER, approximately 2-4 cats of various colorations who keep vigil in the east-facing dormer window, and a fluffy black schipperke named Taz. Kindly Madam B is afflicted with an arthritic condition and an incorrigible set of false teeth. Taz is afflicted by the exuberant Beagle next door, with whom he is most obviously annoyed.

Observations:
Gentleman C and Madam B are occasionally observed perching in almost silent repose, respecive pets in tow, on Gentleman C's porch, alongside his small hibachi grill and veritable jungle of potted plants. A proclivity to gardening seems to run in the family, and the exterior of Hodge-Cook House is grandly adorned with all manner of shurbbery, creeping vines, flowering plants, and a small but robust vegetable garden nestled between the sidewalk and parking lot. In mid-May, the vegetable garden yielded several fine heads of lettuce and two sturdy tomato vines, which, to the amazement of Apartment A's new tennants, rotted, unharvested, in the ground. The Beagle pup finds the unusual garden to be an excellent hiding place, where, under cover of dense foliage, she can carefully investigate the perimeter of Gentleman C's abode.

Gentleman C often dons cut-off Levi's 501s.

The residents of Apartment A frequently (and at odd hours) hear the angst-ridden tones of alternative rock drifting through the walls of Hodge-Cook House. They have yet to determine the source.

An Odd Occurrence:
At approximately 7:45 AM on a Monday morning several months past, the young woman in Apartment A was startled to discover a shabbily-clad man on her doorstep when she opened the door to leave for work. The man apologized for startling her and remarked that he must have had the wrong apartment. Indeed. As it turned out, the man had come in search of Gentleman C, who was not at home at the time and whose name he could not even recall until prompted, somewhat cautiously, by the young woman. As he departed, the man remarked, cryptically, "Hey, when you see him, tell him [Johnny] came by." She did not.

Who was this man? What did he want? Why was he unable to remember the name of the person he'd come to see? Where was Gentleman C at 7:45 in the morning?

Help _The_Analyst solve THE MYSTERY OF HODGE-COOK HOUSE! Who are Gentleman C and Madam B, and what's up with them? The author of the best explanation wins _The_Analyst's undying admiration and appreciation!

Seventeen Syllables of Satisfaction

2006-09-26T09:00:00.000-05:00

Haiku: all the catharsis of a Julia Sugarbaker-style tirade compressed into seventeen syllables.

"Haiku You"

Hurricane Man, blow
Elsewhere-ward. The Eye knows not
Storms swirl around him?

Enter _The_Analyst's Seventeen Syllables of Satisfaction Contest

The challenge:
In seventeen (five-
Seven-five), tell Coworker
How you really feel.

Post your responses here.

2006-09-22T19:20:00.000-05:00

"Plump" is the new "Fat"

2006-09-22T19:01:00.000-05:00

I received a text message this morning: "Plump is a funny word." For some time now, my friends and I have been engaged in a quest for funny words. Though I invite many friends, acquaintances, even strangers to participate in the search, few truly grasp what it is that makes a word funny. This particular message came from Rusty, a member of the inner circle of funny-word devotees--he rarely disappoints, and today is no exception. Plump IS a funny word. Consider the vowel sound, the lowly short "u"--for some reason, it's just funnier than the energetic and upstanding long "A" or the knowing and, as E.A. Poe described it, "sonorous" long "O". The short "u" is the sound of ignorance (uuuuuhh, I don't know) and of bright light stinging sleepy eyes in the early morning (uuuuuggghh!). Listen to the pop of the initial and final P's--can't you just hear a Ball Park Frank sizzling on a charcoal grill as it, well, plumps? Wallow in the word's connotation, for plump is decidedly distinct from its more harsh, angry sister "chunky", and not nearly as stark as its frank cousin "fat". Plump is pleased with its own corpulescence. Say it a few times: plump, plump, plump! Now that's comedy.

What separates the funny word game's novices from their more seasoned counterparts is their appreciation for the subtleties of humor inherent in a particular word. Novices often submit nonsense words for humor evaluation, but these lesser members of our lexicon lack the nuance to be genuinely funny. Though words like googly-moogly or bootylicious make silly sounds, their inherent humor is at best a visceral comedy, the linguistic equal of a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel. Nonsense words are to funny what Paris Hilton is to beautiful--the most obvious and generic example. That's not to say that a silly-sounding word can't be genuinely funny, though. Take, for example, the supremely funny word "gubernatorial." The first two syllables sound as silly as any nonsense word--goooo-ber. However, unlike nonsense words, which exist solely to sound funny, goooo-ber-natorial is a legitimate word with an actual meaning, AND it sounds funny. Moreover, the conflict between the ridiculousness of the images conjured by the silliness of the sound (think chocolate covered peanuts) and the stately pomposity of the word's definition (of or relating to a governor) creates a delicious verbal irony. Why, it's downright oxymoronic! (Another wonderfully funny, albeit overused, word.)

Words need not even sound funny to be funny. Consider beverage. When have you ever heard beverage used in conversation? "Mom, I'm thirsty. Can you bring me a beveage?" "Hey, we should get together soon. Let's meet for beverages this weekend." The word is so formal, so sterile, that it's entirely foreign in everyday communication. Yet, it's emblazoned across the menu board of every fastfood restaurant in America. Imagine if all menu items were categorized in such absurdly elevated terms--instead of chicken nuggets we'd order "Fowl" and instead of hamburgers and fish sandwiches we'd order "Surf & Turf". Beverage is so beautifully awkward as it shines forth from the menu board, standing guard over little Hi-C and Dr. Pepper.

In conclusion, funny words are all around us. We need only seek out subtleties of sound and meaning to find humor in even so dry a text as a dictionary.

The First Post

2006-09-22T14:34:00.000-05:00

I have nothing to say yet.