"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
Friday, June 29, 2007
Boring
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.
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.
Friday, June 08, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Hello again
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
_t_a
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
To Create an Epidemic
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
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
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
An Unceremonial Exit
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
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
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Busier Than a One-Armed Paperhanger
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...
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...
Friday, January 05, 2007
Two Things
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, "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.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
And a Partridge in a Pear Tree
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
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Tidings of Comfort and Joy
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!
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!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Unburdened
My socks of argyle gray--
I wore them yesterday.
Left home in a flurry,
Was in such a hurry,
I wore them again today.
I wore them yesterday.
Left home in a flurry,
Was in such a hurry,
I wore them again today.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Polyps, Revisited
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!
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!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
You Know...
...when you get your hair done and you think it looks drastically different, but no one else notices?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
No Pizza For You
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.
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.
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