"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?
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Thursday, September 13, 2007
It's Been a Minute...
...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
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
Monday, July 30, 2007
You Deserve Much Better Than Me
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.
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.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Open Letter to Haylie Duff
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
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
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Introducing (?) Tampax Cardboard
Have you seen these commercials? Am I missing something? Weren't Tampax already cardboard?
Monday, July 02, 2007
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Homeownership
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
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
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