Dear Diary,
I stepped in poop today. I thought nobody pooped outside in the winter? I am sad.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Leave my events alone!
I don't know why, but I get annoyed at people's appropriation of events. Take 9/11. Before 2001, it was just a date. The day before my mother's birthday, for instance, or that Friday when I got a hummer from a tranny, for another instance that doesn't apply to me. Of course, after 2001 it signifies a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center towers, a downed plane and an attack on some other building whose significance escapes me and everyone knows that.
But people are jumping on the bandwagon of 9/11 like it's the cool thing to do. 7/7 becomes "London's 9/11". 11/26 is "Mumbai's 9/11". I mean, aside from not having the phonetic coolness of 9/11, which simply rolls off the tongue (do you think that's why the terrorists picked it? Hmmm....), what's wrong with just calling it "the attacks of 7/7"? Own your date! Embrace it! Don't make it into something it's not by appropriating someone else's terrorist attack. Other people's terrorist dates aren't "cool".
People are becoming too nonchalant about their associations with this stuff. I just want to prevent an occasion when some neighbour's intentional placement of household cleaners on the Goldfarbstein lawn and their subsequent deadly effect on the 5 Goldfarbstein household pets gets named "The Goldfarbstein Household 9/11 Holocaust" in the local community center's bulletin.
I don't know why I made that family more Jewish than the state of Israel. So sue me.
But people are jumping on the bandwagon of 9/11 like it's the cool thing to do. 7/7 becomes "London's 9/11". 11/26 is "Mumbai's 9/11". I mean, aside from not having the phonetic coolness of 9/11, which simply rolls off the tongue (do you think that's why the terrorists picked it? Hmmm....), what's wrong with just calling it "the attacks of 7/7"? Own your date! Embrace it! Don't make it into something it's not by appropriating someone else's terrorist attack. Other people's terrorist dates aren't "cool".
People are becoming too nonchalant about their associations with this stuff. I just want to prevent an occasion when some neighbour's intentional placement of household cleaners on the Goldfarbstein lawn and their subsequent deadly effect on the 5 Goldfarbstein household pets gets named "The Goldfarbstein Household 9/11 Holocaust" in the local community center's bulletin.
I don't know why I made that family more Jewish than the state of Israel. So sue me.
Get an abortion (check)!!
Courtesy of my lovely partner's internetZ searching skills comes this purchasing gem. Don't miss out on this opportunity to write donation checks to your local Planned Parenthood, while telling them they're going to hell.
Pro-Life Zingers Checks are no-doubt still available. And stock up, because you can never get enough bad anti-choice humour.
Pro-Life Zingers Checks are no-doubt still available. And stock up, because you can never get enough bad anti-choice humour.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Kittens - Day 2
An addendum to the previous post. I made the rookie mistake of petting one of the kittens on the stomach. Please refrain from any such activity if you don't like the sight of your own blood.
(Friday night - Saturday night)
The night wasn't particularly restful again. The kittens found our bedroom plants just as appealing as those in the living room. So on they went with the digging. Certainly, if I knew the value of kitten-aeration, I would've patented the idea a long time ago. As it happens, though, I was more concerned with sleep, of which I still managed to get a little. In fact, I'll just admit that I slept in until 10 or 11. The kittens didn't mind. In retrospect, I understand why. There was more dirt to dig up in the living room, where they migrated early in the morning. I may have to clean every day, huh? On top of that (and pardon my French here), but their shit SMELLS! I've used the better half of our baking soda to try and cover up what has got to be a chemical weapon under Geneva Convention standards.
I attempted to do some yoga to stretch my largely-unstretched back, but upward-facing dog is difficult to achieve when you have a downward-sitting cat on your mat. Walter didn't really understand what I was doing, so he insisted on a closer look. Thanks for making this less meditational than it should be, kitten. You ARE the center of attention. I think even the instructor paused to wonder at the cuteness that is you.
I don't know if you're aware, but there is NOTHING to watch on Saturday morning/afternoon, so the kittens and I slowly drifted into a mid-day stupor. They even stopped playing with the bathrobe sash that Luisa generously contributed to the kitten-sitting cause. I know that when I look back on this week, the sash will be the straw that I used to hang on to sanity as it was being mauled by two cuddle-icious kittens.
But I'm off to work and then drinking. The kittens will once again fend for themselves for a good 12 hours. They don't seem to mind. Finally used to the environment, they seem to accept being in a completely different location with a certain upper-caste boredom.
Also, I started moving plants out of reach. Doesn't seem right that they should be abused on this scale. The question is, what is "out of reach" for two creative, energetic, determined kittens? I guess we'll find out when I come back from drinking. In the meantime, I vacuum the dirt left behind and hope that my Dyson doesn't choke on it. Don't lose your suction!!
Ok, off to work. Good night, kittens!
(Friday night - Saturday night)
The night wasn't particularly restful again. The kittens found our bedroom plants just as appealing as those in the living room. So on they went with the digging. Certainly, if I knew the value of kitten-aeration, I would've patented the idea a long time ago. As it happens, though, I was more concerned with sleep, of which I still managed to get a little. In fact, I'll just admit that I slept in until 10 or 11. The kittens didn't mind. In retrospect, I understand why. There was more dirt to dig up in the living room, where they migrated early in the morning. I may have to clean every day, huh? On top of that (and pardon my French here), but their shit SMELLS! I've used the better half of our baking soda to try and cover up what has got to be a chemical weapon under Geneva Convention standards.
I attempted to do some yoga to stretch my largely-unstretched back, but upward-facing dog is difficult to achieve when you have a downward-sitting cat on your mat. Walter didn't really understand what I was doing, so he insisted on a closer look. Thanks for making this less meditational than it should be, kitten. You ARE the center of attention. I think even the instructor paused to wonder at the cuteness that is you.
I don't know if you're aware, but there is NOTHING to watch on Saturday morning/afternoon, so the kittens and I slowly drifted into a mid-day stupor. They even stopped playing with the bathrobe sash that Luisa generously contributed to the kitten-sitting cause. I know that when I look back on this week, the sash will be the straw that I used to hang on to sanity as it was being mauled by two cuddle-icious kittens.
But I'm off to work and then drinking. The kittens will once again fend for themselves for a good 12 hours. They don't seem to mind. Finally used to the environment, they seem to accept being in a completely different location with a certain upper-caste boredom.
Also, I started moving plants out of reach. Doesn't seem right that they should be abused on this scale. The question is, what is "out of reach" for two creative, energetic, determined kittens? I guess we'll find out when I come back from drinking. In the meantime, I vacuum the dirt left behind and hope that my Dyson doesn't choke on it. Don't lose your suction!!
Ok, off to work. Good night, kittens!
Kittens - Day 1
Dear blogosphere,
I've been put in charge of caring for two adorable kittens this week, while their owners are away. Food and litter elements were provided, all I have to do was open my heart to kitten love. I believe the door's already cracked open just a bit, I'm sure these cutesters will rip it off its hinges.
(So day 1 was actually Thursday night-Friday, but I'm only now getting to a point where blogging doesn't seem like a horrible chore, just a regular one. Also, it's too cold in my office to do any real work, so blogging it is)
Luisa has left for a week of family-time and I am all alone with the kittens. I spent the night on the couch and they seemed pretty tame. This may yet be a piece of cake. I didn't sleep very well, but that was mostly my fault for stressing over the possibility that the kittens will fail to move when I rotate my gigantic body and be crushed under the mammoth weight.
After filling their water and food bowls, I leave the in the hands of Fates as I go to work, hoping they're not dead when I return.
I return and they're still alive. THEY'RE ALIVE! We play, watch TV and generally enjoy each other's company. One thing to keep in mind - they don't watch TV. Imagine watching TV in a room with a person who doesn't enjoy it but wants the company. Impossible. They'll talk your ear off and you'll miss all the dialogue from whatever movie you're watching for the 6th time. Kittens - much the same. No biggie. I should really pay attention to them anyway. I only have them for a week and then my exposure to cuteness will be limited by my access to The Daily Kitten.
Small problem - they apparently really like the plants we have on the floor. Enough to start digging them up. Dirt and leaves are everywhere, although it's more leaves and those are mostly dead. Our laziness in keeping the plants healthy is paying off - the kittens have something to play with. I should clean that up soon, however. Ok, off to bed.
I've been put in charge of caring for two adorable kittens this week, while their owners are away. Food and litter elements were provided, all I have to do was open my heart to kitten love. I believe the door's already cracked open just a bit, I'm sure these cutesters will rip it off its hinges.
(So day 1 was actually Thursday night-Friday, but I'm only now getting to a point where blogging doesn't seem like a horrible chore, just a regular one. Also, it's too cold in my office to do any real work, so blogging it is)
Luisa has left for a week of family-time and I am all alone with the kittens. I spent the night on the couch and they seemed pretty tame. This may yet be a piece of cake. I didn't sleep very well, but that was mostly my fault for stressing over the possibility that the kittens will fail to move when I rotate my gigantic body and be crushed under the mammoth weight.
After filling their water and food bowls, I leave the in the hands of Fates as I go to work, hoping they're not dead when I return.
I return and they're still alive. THEY'RE ALIVE! We play, watch TV and generally enjoy each other's company. One thing to keep in mind - they don't watch TV. Imagine watching TV in a room with a person who doesn't enjoy it but wants the company. Impossible. They'll talk your ear off and you'll miss all the dialogue from whatever movie you're watching for the 6th time. Kittens - much the same. No biggie. I should really pay attention to them anyway. I only have them for a week and then my exposure to cuteness will be limited by my access to The Daily Kitten.
Small problem - they apparently really like the plants we have on the floor. Enough to start digging them up. Dirt and leaves are everywhere, although it's more leaves and those are mostly dead. Our laziness in keeping the plants healthy is paying off - the kittens have something to play with. I should clean that up soon, however. Ok, off to bed.
Monday, October 13, 2008
million strong
I want to know who truly thinks that creating a Facebook "Million strong for..." group will affect the world. A million is not an impressive number anymore. In a world, where national debt is being counted in trillions, the richest people's worth in tens of billions and the population of an increasingly globalised and intermixed world in "just" billions, who pays attention to a "million"?
Even I, a person who will most likely not ever see their first million earned in this lifetime, consider it to be a low number. Let's up the ante here, people. Facebook has tens of millions of unique users. Let's not set our sights so low as to try and engage only 1/300th of the US population in an issue, a belief, a cause or a pet peeve. Ambition is how this country got to where it is (Option 1: beacon of freedom, richest nation in the world, land of opportunity. Option 2: opportunistic imperialist, most hated nation in the world, land of inequity)!
Should I, as a next step, create a Facebook group called "100 Million strong for putting the Million Strong groups in their place"?
Even I, a person who will most likely not ever see their first million earned in this lifetime, consider it to be a low number. Let's up the ante here, people. Facebook has tens of millions of unique users. Let's not set our sights so low as to try and engage only 1/300th of the US population in an issue, a belief, a cause or a pet peeve. Ambition is how this country got to where it is (Option 1: beacon of freedom, richest nation in the world, land of opportunity. Option 2: opportunistic imperialist, most hated nation in the world, land of inequity)!
Should I, as a next step, create a Facebook group called "100 Million strong for putting the Million Strong groups in their place"?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Today's wishlist for Santa
I wish
...there were photos of Sarah Palin standing on a rocky outcrop at the edge of Alaska, peering into the greyness of the Bering Strait, looking for Russia.
...that people who don't deserve to be laid off weren't.
...that the morally-retarded fat cats of Wall Street, getting paid tens of millions of dollars for jobs that shouldn't be worth that much, would admit that they're moral retards. They can still get paid tens of millions of dollars (they ARE supporting the service economy, after all), just as long as they feel bad about it.
...that formatting external hard drives to work with both Macs and PCs was as easy as spelling "Mac" and "PC".
...that I could rap like Talib Kweli and choose not use it.
...upon a star.
...for peace on earth.
...for a piece of watermelon.
...I didn't play dumb, thinking that one piece of watermelon would satisfy me.
...I had an entire, juicy watermelon all to myself.
...the economy was stronger. Buck up, economy! Go the gym, or something.
...there wasn't work I was avoiding. Is there? I wish I couldn't remember what it was.
...there were photos of Sarah Palin standing on a rocky outcrop at the edge of Alaska, peering into the greyness of the Bering Strait, looking for Russia.
...that people who don't deserve to be laid off weren't.
...that the morally-retarded fat cats of Wall Street, getting paid tens of millions of dollars for jobs that shouldn't be worth that much, would admit that they're moral retards. They can still get paid tens of millions of dollars (they ARE supporting the service economy, after all), just as long as they feel bad about it.
...that formatting external hard drives to work with both Macs and PCs was as easy as spelling "Mac" and "PC".
...that I could rap like Talib Kweli and choose not use it.
...upon a star.
...for peace on earth.
...for a piece of watermelon.
...I didn't play dumb, thinking that one piece of watermelon would satisfy me.
...I had an entire, juicy watermelon all to myself.
...the economy was stronger. Buck up, economy! Go the gym, or something.
...there wasn't work I was avoiding. Is there? I wish I couldn't remember what it was.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Children!!
So Luisa and I went volunteering this weekend. My two adventures through New York Cares this year have been planting trees and planting seeds of knowledge in children. I don't want to insult any children, but I'm leaning slightly to the trees side. Mostly because trees are less work. In detail...
We were supposed to go apple picking. Awesome. I love being outside and picking delicious things - apples, strawberries, even potatoes. It's like reaching into a fridge and pulling out food ready to eat. It's lazy and, therefore, extremely appealing. Of course, when you're out picking the fruit, it's like bending down, opening the fridge and reaching for something several dozen times. Or a thousand, if that's your form of employment. That gets tiresome. But I still like it.
We didn't do that. Instead, we got rained out (what, the kids can't take a little rain? Fragile, 8-year-old creatures!) and instead we went to the Museum of Natural History. I have mixed feelings about the museum for several reasons, not the least of which is the big negative fact that too many 8-year-olds go there. However, it's also pretty magnificent and their recent special exhibits have been fascinating. Plus, kids are funny. So off we went on 3 subway lines from Bed-Stuy to the Upper West Side.
For all the work that kids are, they can be really funny in many different ways. There's the obvious way - humor. How can you remain impartial to the classic "Why did the cat eat the grass?" joke (the answer: "Because it was hungry')? Then there's the imagination. To quote one of my charges, Alex: "And then there would be these cannons that would shoot a ball down Marcy Ave and the balls are full of robotic scorpions and they would explode and all the scorpions would go 'Bam!' and...." At which point I instructed him to use his "inside voice". Alex is a little loud. But very creative.
If you have more than one child and you think it's a fantastic idea to take your 1+ kids to the Museum of Natural History on a Saturday, don't. Turn around and go to your local park, stopping at your house on the way there to pick up that book about dinosaurs your child loves. Then proceed to read the book and recreate pictures of the said dinosaurs in the sand. To scale. See? It's like being in a museum. Then take a day off and go to AMNH on a weekday, in the hopes that there will be fewer kids around.
We didn't follow that bit of wisdom and, clutching to the children's hands ventured in. The good thing was having an activity to perform - a scavenger hunt - that kept the kids occupied for, oh, 45 minutes. At some point you start getting tired of figuring out which latin names for ancient creatures fit into the empty slots on your paper. I fully admit that I let both Alex and Precious cheat off me. I'd make a terrible teacher, but then again - that's why I'm in a solitary profession.
The big hurdle came when both kids lost interest and wanted to go home. Now! How do you convince them that a skeleton of a reticulated python is not just interesting, but also worth writing the name down. I decided to pick one of the two and explained how reticulated pythons are interesting, abandoning the scavenger hunt idea entirely and focusing on all the dead animals. "Do you guys know how a reticulated python kills its prey?" I said and eagerly looked in their faces. That was my approach. When interest fades, talk about horrible ways of dying. They bought it, too. The rest of the trip was much more enjoyable as we discussed how scary this or that exhibit is and how a giant squid eats ships (thank you, Alex) and is generally very frightening.
By the end, both the kids and the volunteers were pretty exhausted and on the way back there was a lot less noise than on the way there. Having to hold their hands for 5 hours, I was looking forward to the end for one simple reason in particular - when you hold someone's hand, they really trust and like you, right? I was imagining hugs and tearful good-byes and promises to see each other again. I know, I don't spend enough time with kids. I should know better. Precious abandoned me half-way from the subway back to the school building, jumped in the car and if she waved good-bye at some point, the rain must've covered it up with a non-existent wall of water. I was so taken aback by this that I can't even recall how Alex got picked up.
And that was the end. It was a relief to have the rest of the afternoon be kid-free and I can't even lie and say that the experience of the morning touched me in a particular way. I'll definitely volunteer with kids again, but I now know better to set my expectations lower and be prepared for exhausting trips. And when we finally have tearful good-byes (I'll probably be the one shedding the tears), I'll appreciate them that much more.
Next weekend? Pumpkin picking, if Luisa has anything to say about our plans. I don't think I've ever reached into a fridge to pick a pumpkin....
We were supposed to go apple picking. Awesome. I love being outside and picking delicious things - apples, strawberries, even potatoes. It's like reaching into a fridge and pulling out food ready to eat. It's lazy and, therefore, extremely appealing. Of course, when you're out picking the fruit, it's like bending down, opening the fridge and reaching for something several dozen times. Or a thousand, if that's your form of employment. That gets tiresome. But I still like it.
We didn't do that. Instead, we got rained out (what, the kids can't take a little rain? Fragile, 8-year-old creatures!) and instead we went to the Museum of Natural History. I have mixed feelings about the museum for several reasons, not the least of which is the big negative fact that too many 8-year-olds go there. However, it's also pretty magnificent and their recent special exhibits have been fascinating. Plus, kids are funny. So off we went on 3 subway lines from Bed-Stuy to the Upper West Side.
For all the work that kids are, they can be really funny in many different ways. There's the obvious way - humor. How can you remain impartial to the classic "Why did the cat eat the grass?" joke (the answer: "Because it was hungry')? Then there's the imagination. To quote one of my charges, Alex: "And then there would be these cannons that would shoot a ball down Marcy Ave and the balls are full of robotic scorpions and they would explode and all the scorpions would go 'Bam!' and...." At which point I instructed him to use his "inside voice". Alex is a little loud. But very creative.
If you have more than one child and you think it's a fantastic idea to take your 1+ kids to the Museum of Natural History on a Saturday, don't. Turn around and go to your local park, stopping at your house on the way there to pick up that book about dinosaurs your child loves. Then proceed to read the book and recreate pictures of the said dinosaurs in the sand. To scale. See? It's like being in a museum. Then take a day off and go to AMNH on a weekday, in the hopes that there will be fewer kids around.
We didn't follow that bit of wisdom and, clutching to the children's hands ventured in. The good thing was having an activity to perform - a scavenger hunt - that kept the kids occupied for, oh, 45 minutes. At some point you start getting tired of figuring out which latin names for ancient creatures fit into the empty slots on your paper. I fully admit that I let both Alex and Precious cheat off me. I'd make a terrible teacher, but then again - that's why I'm in a solitary profession.
The big hurdle came when both kids lost interest and wanted to go home. Now! How do you convince them that a skeleton of a reticulated python is not just interesting, but also worth writing the name down. I decided to pick one of the two and explained how reticulated pythons are interesting, abandoning the scavenger hunt idea entirely and focusing on all the dead animals. "Do you guys know how a reticulated python kills its prey?" I said and eagerly looked in their faces. That was my approach. When interest fades, talk about horrible ways of dying. They bought it, too. The rest of the trip was much more enjoyable as we discussed how scary this or that exhibit is and how a giant squid eats ships (thank you, Alex) and is generally very frightening.
By the end, both the kids and the volunteers were pretty exhausted and on the way back there was a lot less noise than on the way there. Having to hold their hands for 5 hours, I was looking forward to the end for one simple reason in particular - when you hold someone's hand, they really trust and like you, right? I was imagining hugs and tearful good-byes and promises to see each other again. I know, I don't spend enough time with kids. I should know better. Precious abandoned me half-way from the subway back to the school building, jumped in the car and if she waved good-bye at some point, the rain must've covered it up with a non-existent wall of water. I was so taken aback by this that I can't even recall how Alex got picked up.
And that was the end. It was a relief to have the rest of the afternoon be kid-free and I can't even lie and say that the experience of the morning touched me in a particular way. I'll definitely volunteer with kids again, but I now know better to set my expectations lower and be prepared for exhausting trips. And when we finally have tearful good-byes (I'll probably be the one shedding the tears), I'll appreciate them that much more.
Next weekend? Pumpkin picking, if Luisa has anything to say about our plans. I don't think I've ever reached into a fridge to pick a pumpkin....
Friday, September 19, 2008
what do *I* know?
That's the question I ask myself on a regular basis. What do I know and who am I to make decisions for other people (the unfortunate extension of that question is "who am I to make decisions for myself")? Recently, I've come to realise something traumatic - you HAVE to know things as an adult. That's what being an adult really is - having the ability to make a decision and back it up with either just hard-headed attitude (see GWBush) or concrete knowledge. One's confidence in that knowledge also has to be backed up by a fair-amount of hard-headed attitude (see Henry Kissinger, maybe?).
I suppose my problem is with those two examples. Those are adults who are widely considered to have made bad decisions. Terrible decisions, in fact. I mean, there are worse people and worse decisions, but I want to stay out of the realm of the criminal and the insane. Both W and Kissinger can probably be considered decent/well-meaning people (not Dick Cheney. He's all too appropriately named.) Yet here they are, making adult decisions that turn out to be terrible.
So what should give me the confidence that choices made by me won't be terrible? What gives anyone that confidence? There was a period in life when I was supposed to learn decision-making and now is the period when that skill would've been applicable.
But at the very least I have come to that realisation, right? From here on, it's smooth, active sailing to replace jerky, passive coasting. This calls for manifests and slogans. My fellow communists were good at that, though I never saw things like
"Knowing what I want!"
"Making decisions consciously and confidently!"
"Expressing your likes and dislikes vocally!"
"Living actively!"
plastered on walls of Moscow's buildings. Maybe the last one, but that was more about taking cold showers and early-morning runs to stay healthy.
My slogans to this point have been much more succinct and less exclamatory:
"Ugh"
"Maybe"
"I don't know"
"Yes?"
work in progress, I reckon...
I suppose my problem is with those two examples. Those are adults who are widely considered to have made bad decisions. Terrible decisions, in fact. I mean, there are worse people and worse decisions, but I want to stay out of the realm of the criminal and the insane. Both W and Kissinger can probably be considered decent/well-meaning people (not Dick Cheney. He's all too appropriately named.) Yet here they are, making adult decisions that turn out to be terrible.
So what should give me the confidence that choices made by me won't be terrible? What gives anyone that confidence? There was a period in life when I was supposed to learn decision-making and now is the period when that skill would've been applicable.
But at the very least I have come to that realisation, right? From here on, it's smooth, active sailing to replace jerky, passive coasting. This calls for manifests and slogans. My fellow communists were good at that, though I never saw things like
"Knowing what I want!"
"Making decisions consciously and confidently!"
"Expressing your likes and dislikes vocally!"
"Living actively!"
plastered on walls of Moscow's buildings. Maybe the last one, but that was more about taking cold showers and early-morning runs to stay healthy.
My slogans to this point have been much more succinct and less exclamatory:
"Ugh"
"Maybe"
"I don't know"
"Yes?"
work in progress, I reckon...
Fall
I think it's finally here. I felt cold in my fitted t-shirt last night. That t-shirt that hugs my pecs just so when I remember to straighten my back, almost calling out to the ladies on the D train. "Look at me!" say my pecs in that fitted t-shirt. Sometimes I think my pecs are a little desperate for attention. I'd much rather they behaved like my abs do, sucking the little Buddha in and creating an aura of mystery. Does he have a gut or doesn't he, ask themselves the pretty girls and the pretty boys. It doesn't look like he does, so does that mean he has a six-pack, they wonder. Subtle abs. You always get the girls with that one.
So yeah, fall is here. And with fall comes that nagging feeling that you just missed doing something, that the opportunity was there just a week ago when it was warm but you missed it and now it's gone and now you have to wear a whole bunch of clothes and stop sucking in your gut and let your back settle into its natural scoliotic shape.
At least there's apple-picking. Mmm...apples.
So yeah, fall is here. And with fall comes that nagging feeling that you just missed doing something, that the opportunity was there just a week ago when it was warm but you missed it and now it's gone and now you have to wear a whole bunch of clothes and stop sucking in your gut and let your back settle into its natural scoliotic shape.
At least there's apple-picking. Mmm...apples.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Windsor Knot of Life
Luisa and I went to a wedding on Sunday - a very pleasant and, for once, seemingly meaningful affair as these things go. Side note: Check out Baby Soda Jazz Band. They're really, really good. And read Newsweek. To support our just-married friends. They're lovely people.
But before we ever got to the wedding, there was the tie-tying procedure. Somehow, at my ripe 30, I am still experiencing every tie-knot for the first time. It could be described as the exact opposite of learning to ride a bike for me - I always forget how to do it. I think my distaste for wearing formal outfits, and ties in particular, is so strong as to eradicate any memories of learning the Windsor, the half-Windsor and the Pratt (in case you're wondering, these names are remembered only thanks to extensive research I JUST did on Sunday and will be forced out by next weekend). So the process starts from the beginning every time. "Fold the longer wider end over the shorter, narrower end...."
The thing that made me slightly sad was that I was looking at a pictorial step-by-step on the Internet tubes to figure out how to do it. I remember when my mother did my first few ties and then when my dad would knot the ties on himself and then simply transfer them onto my neck. You could sense care and pride in their attempts at making me look "presentable". A tie is intimate in a way that a coat or a hat can never be. The closest thing resembling it is a bandage, put on with care and affection. The difference there is that you're not bleeding when someone puts on a tie. Hopefully.
Point is, tieknot.com and the like have officially replaced a human tutorial (and Luisa, for that matter, although I'm not sure she knows how to tie a tie anyway). They've replaced another opportunity for a family that ties ties instead of saying "I love you" to feel close to each other. Again, I'm no internet basher, I'm just being cognizant of my losses.
For the first time in my life, I decided to try the Pratt knot and I quite like it, as knots go. It's symmetrical, unlike every single other knot I've ever worn in my entire life, and, in some twisted way, fun. So your parents' love goes only so far in tie-knotting. For the rest, try www.tie-a-tie.net, or any other tie-tying resource (Google search produced 1.8 million hits. Really??).
But before we ever got to the wedding, there was the tie-tying procedure. Somehow, at my ripe 30, I am still experiencing every tie-knot for the first time. It could be described as the exact opposite of learning to ride a bike for me - I always forget how to do it. I think my distaste for wearing formal outfits, and ties in particular, is so strong as to eradicate any memories of learning the Windsor, the half-Windsor and the Pratt (in case you're wondering, these names are remembered only thanks to extensive research I JUST did on Sunday and will be forced out by next weekend). So the process starts from the beginning every time. "Fold the longer wider end over the shorter, narrower end...."
The thing that made me slightly sad was that I was looking at a pictorial step-by-step on the Internet tubes to figure out how to do it. I remember when my mother did my first few ties and then when my dad would knot the ties on himself and then simply transfer them onto my neck. You could sense care and pride in their attempts at making me look "presentable". A tie is intimate in a way that a coat or a hat can never be. The closest thing resembling it is a bandage, put on with care and affection. The difference there is that you're not bleeding when someone puts on a tie. Hopefully.
Point is, tieknot.com and the like have officially replaced a human tutorial (and Luisa, for that matter, although I'm not sure she knows how to tie a tie anyway). They've replaced another opportunity for a family that ties ties instead of saying "I love you" to feel close to each other. Again, I'm no internet basher, I'm just being cognizant of my losses.
For the first time in my life, I decided to try the Pratt knot and I quite like it, as knots go. It's symmetrical, unlike every single other knot I've ever worn in my entire life, and, in some twisted way, fun. So your parents' love goes only so far in tie-knotting. For the rest, try www.tie-a-tie.net, or any other tie-tying resource (Google search produced 1.8 million hits. Really??).
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Death by Cartooning - Day 8
Things are definitely looking up for me. Every new adventure now has a 50/50 chance of not killing me. In the following setup, for example, I'm simply a slave to my job.
Note: Sue is my executive producer and is the nicest person you'll ever meet, so this is a very inaccurate depiction of her plans for me.
Note: Sue is my executive producer and is the nicest person you'll ever meet, so this is a very inaccurate depiction of her plans for me.
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