you know what?!

I got told by two people yesterday that I think too much, and all of my conversations are too deep. Well, people, it's posted on my blog. Did you see the cartoon?! I'm fully aware of this problem. I can't help it if I'm bored talking about nothing in particular unless you're just really funny.

I frequently refer back to the the two topics more suited to small talk the weather and everyone's help. Man, did the Hurricane make that SO much more interesting. (P.S. If you're reading this and you're not from Louisiana, the hurricane is always Hurricane Katrina.) It's kind of like "the drawer" because it's the only one that matters. Of course, please understand I don't want to sound like horrific natural disasters are somehow positive because they keep our small talk nice and interesting. I'm not that morbid, ok? GOSH.

Everyone's health is really only good for either changing the subject or for giving someone an jumping point for their story. No one really cares about how anyone is actually doing. You're either stressed (aren't we all?) , tired, good, fine, hangin' in there...I mostly try to get the other person to do the small talking because I'm sure that I will bore him or her do death, or worse, present myself as incredibly awkward and ridiculous as my close friends know me to be.

Y'all are right. I think too much.But I'm so bored and stuck chained behind the desk. What else can I do but sit around and over analyze? Really now!

T.o.E the sequel

Terms of endearment: the sequel, that is.
I have a friend who used to be my personal trainer who comes to visit me at the desk every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. He has at least two nicknames for me: Snuggie, because, so he says, I look like someone who would own a snuggie and love it and take it everywhere! Nay! I would attempt to say, and inadvertently confirm his suspicions be saying the words "nay" and later writing the word "inadvertently." He's also sure that I will one day own a litter of cats named horrible things like muffin, or cookies, or nippy.

What a future.

His other favorite nickname for me is "home school" because I'm just so sheltered. *shudder* However, I'm sort of glad it's home school and not something like "home fry" because ew, I don't want to be compared to a fried potato. Then again, people kind of like home fries. Most people think home school is weird. Kind of like reliving Little House on the Prairie except we don't live on the prairie anymore. But you know what, NO! I won't have this bashing of Home school because some of the nicest people I know were home schooled--with the exception of this one family that was scary, but WHATEVER! Um...yeah!!!... I think I may have dug the grave a little deeper. Let me just lie in it.

Terms of Endearment

I was just thinking how comfortable it makes me when people refer to their loved ones as "the boy" or "the man", or "girl." Let's call this phenomenon a practice of minimalist terms of endearment. It's like that person is so important in your life that you don't even need a name for everyone to know who you're talking about. We had this in my household growing up, except it also filtered down to objects and areas. We had, "the drawer," which always meant the top drawer second from the right on the right of the island, because it was THE drawer, the catch-all, containing everything from paper clips, to my dad's passport, car keys, an pieces of Dove chocolate. (Later, it must be noted, we created a drawer exclusively for chocolate. We also called that "the drawer.") We also had "the house" or "next door" which referred of course to the house across the stream on the other half of our acre and a half of property. Ok, makes sense, but it was highly entertaining when you're at someone else's house far away and still referring to your own house as "next door."
Terms of endearment, you know? They're awesome.

I don't want to be diluted Grape KoolAid.

Last Wednesday I joined a band without realizing I had joined a band. I realized it yesterday at practice for...a gig that is no longer happening... when the band leader started including me in a discussion about another member he's thinking about kicking out because she's not committed enough. WHOA THERE! I'm pretty sure I'm the one with the least amount of commitment in this outfit. I thought I was just being brought in for one or two things but nothing long term. Granted, I will admit that all of this confusion is not at least partly my own fault, just not paying attention, being tired, etc...Whatever, I'm an ARTISTE. I can't be blamed for my irresponsibility for my own...er...flightyness?
Bahhhh! But either way, in the middle of the practice I ended up leaving "early" after 2 hours (geez!), I started planning my escape. The leader is definitely pushy and excited about this band. I completely understand. He should be. But unfortunately, my candle has been burned on both ends and quite a few places in the middle. I'm becoming like a piece of dough that has been stretched to the point of breakage, or KoolAid that has been dissolved in too much water. Yeah that's me with a band commitment, diluted grape KoolAid.
Everyone loves Grap KoolAid until it becomes just sugar, hint of dimatap and Children's tylenol, gross water.
I don't think so, Tim. I don't think so.


oh P.S. I just had a horrible relation that I may be a transition-girl/ therapist for a number of people who have been in my life. I'm going to have to start charging for this services. Just saying.

Words to throw down in everyday conversation:

Forget name dropping! Throw out a nice Yiddish word every now and again to really impress your friends:

"I swear, that boy's got some chutzpah jumping in during the adult swim."

"When she won the Young Miss Surpreme title, I was so happy I could've just plotzed! Seriously, my cheek implants almost came through my skin! The naches was overwhelming.

"He just schleps downstairs, grabs a beer and sits in his man-cave every day. I think I'll try surprising him one wrapped in cellophane."

Oh, the joys of the JCC. If you're going to whine, whine in Yiddish sayings so I can at least pretend like I'm a guest actor on "The Nanny."

Stumbling Across Virtue Ethics

While browsing my blogs and recapping the story NPR ran this morning on the Congressional ethics--does it exist?! I came across a site called PEA soup which had an interesting piece on Virtue Ethics---

"Richard Sylvan's Last Man thought experiment: You know that you are the last sentient being who will ever exist on earth. Beside you is a giant old redwood (or the Mona Lisa or whatnot). You could destroy it for no reason. Would it be wrong to? Some people try to argue that it would be wrong, but another take (defended by Tom Hill, Jr.) is that it would be show bad character, but not strictly speaking be wrong."

I think this calls into question the inherent value in any given object--Does the mona lisa hold an inherent value that has not been granted by human beings? Does any object for that matter, somehow "shelter" or house a goodness or value that could be violated even by the last person on earth? If so, then what does this mean about the "virtue" of objects, art, people extant in the present world? If it would be wrong to destroy the mona lisa after everyone who would view it were somehow extinguished, then is it more wrong to destroy presently? Is it more wrong? Maybe it's not a question of it being more or less wrong, but maybe a question of impact. Is it less wrong to kill a man with no family than a man with a wife and kids. No, because to say so would violate the inherent value in the person, though the action of killing the man with a family has a greater immediate impact on his environment.
Anyway, food for thought.

No one should be forced to smile before Coffee

No one should be forced to smile before coffee because it's an action that is contrary to physical readiness at certain points in time. Do you know how many muscles you use to smile? Check out mr. man to the left. That's insanity. Think about how hard it is to move your legs in the morning after you've been lying down for5-8 hours. By the way, only 8 muscles are used in walking as opposed to 17 in your smile. Ok. So my science may be flimsy, but the point is no one expects anyone to get up and just start running to the best of their ability--not at least without a little adrenaline, a little fight or flight response, or something. Most of us, I suppose, choose something a little less heart-attacky/snake-dropped-at-my-feet fearfulness like coffee. If you haven't noticed after reading various past posts, I need coffee to survive my days on this earth. You know, sometimes I wish that I could just get rid of the habit, but I just can't; and more importantly, I don't want to. I would like to advocate the abolition of a workplace requirement to smile unless coffee be supplied upon arrival. Geez, look at that guy in the picture. Yeah, he looks like he needs a little Red Bull, li'l Pj's iced mocha to pull himself together.


awwww.

Two weeks passed so quickly

Last night when I was dropping off my friend at her house after picking her up from the airport, I had this strange sensation that it was morning. Then I realized, I'd been up before the sun almost every day for 14 days straight and my body must be confused, like a diver that swims deeper instead of going to the surface because he's lost track of where "up" is.
Of course, I haven't quite reached the level of insanity evident one day a little over a year ago when I woke up, got dressed and left my house at 12:30am thinking it was time to go to work. I didn't think to look at the clock in my car until I saw a cab dropping off a very, very drunk person. Wow, he's out late, I thought. No, Dorian, you have hallucinated 5:30am.

ANYWAY
Yeah, I went to Boston two weekends ago and Virginia this past weekend so the days in between have been insanely busy so I haven't gotten a chance to share all kinds of fun revelations...Of course now I can't think of most of them but I will say that Boston was amazing. I gave myself a walking tour, which was fantastic and quite physically rewarding. I hope to move there next fall and thus be forced to buy real winter clothing for the first time ever. And boots-- because it really doesn't make sense to have anything but rain boots in New Orleans because it's cold enough to wear boots about a week out of the year in total.

Fun memories of Boston:
NUMBER 1: Drawing excessive attention to myself at BC by falling down the stairs on campus in between the library and the Philosophy department building. Nice.

2. Begin recognized while riding on the T rail by someone who attended the same Friday night lecture as I did.

3. Paying 7 dollars for a pint of Blue Moon. Whoops.

4. Being asked for directions at least twice as often as being offered directions. Point for blending in!

5. Falling in love with Harvard Square and the book store and the number of men in oxford cloth shirts looking all serious and studious. Aww, y'all are so hard core.

6. Being conscious of the number of times I say "y'all." Whatever, it's the smoothest way to refer to a group of people in the second person. And I'm sure my future Bostonian friends will love me for it. ;)

Some Favorite things I've learned (includes use of the word "ragamuffin")

1. Beetles and june bugs and other round fliers hit themselves against walls and panes of glass over and over again because they are compelled to fly in a complete circle around any given light. If the light just so happens to be attached to a wall, well...hello, exoskeleton injury.

2. Fantasy Football is actually a stats game to which entire magazines and websites are dedicated. I definitely imagined a virtual reality game where your helmet was the controller with awesome video feed inside.

3. Shaving cream may leave a stain on your door in the shape of a smiley face over the course of 15 years give or take if you use it to draw a smiley face on your cousins' bedroom door. Margarine also leaves a stain on your walls for at least 17 years.

4. Doing a handstand in your living room sometimes does involve crashing into a glass table. ARG. Your parents were right again.

5. Without a doubt, you will always run into the most people you know when you are dressed like a ragamuffin.

6. No on ever uses the word ragamuffin anymore. I'm resurrecting it.

7. Is it wrong that I always imagined a short squatty child with rags tossed haphazardly in and around her overalls.... and a blueberry muffin when using the word ragamuffin?

8. The Little Match Girl is the world's most depressing movie. Why did I see it at the age of 7? I suppose it's never to early for parents to start teaching social awareness...or maybe it was a sneaky way of getting my sister and me to stop whining. "See? You could be dying in the cold like the little match girl." I don't have a complex or anything about that.

9. Complexes come in boxes of at least a bakers dozen.

10. A loooot of people don't know what a baker's dozen is. It's 13, ok people?!

Avuncular

of or relating to an uncle; suggestive of an uncle in kindliness or geniality.

I have just encountered someone who embodies the exact OPPOSITE of this word. He complains about my demeanor, but every day he comes and plops his enormous bag right in my face at the desk while he finds his card---because it's not possible to pull your card out before you get inside right?---doesn't respond when I say "good morning", in fact, averts his eyes. You know what, dude, maybe everyone is just afraid you might murder us in our sleep and therefore would rather be safe by having as little interaction as possible. And he says I'm scowling??? Maybe someone held up a mirror and it scared him and made him have a bad day.

Alas.

haircut

So, I got my hair cut and I'm afraid it may look a little like Murphy Brown this morning. That, or I look like the 12 year old Nancy Drew... My straightener died and my attempt to look like an edged-out Emo has been thwarted by my unruly, quasi wavy hair. ARG!

Friday night

Do I earn the title of "heinous bitch" if I confess that I met some of the most frustratingly disappointing, pathetic members of the opposite sex and treated them with such disdain that I didn't even bother smiling to hide the fact that my comments to them were meant to extinguish any shred of hope they might of had in impressing and therefore connecting with me?

The male sex maybe experiencing a dark age, though to be fair, so might the female sex. I think I'll just be asexual...like a snail, you know? Or maybe a starfish. Yes, most people like starfish, but what are they?They're a mystery to the world at large. Everyone thinks starfish are cool, but nobody messes with a starfish, unless you're a Shark or a manta ray or something. (Hey, the metaphor continues!) They're kind of repulsive in their beauty, I guess. That way, if I ever feel the need to "extend myself" into this world, I could just cut off my arm and part of my torso. No games.

O00 I just thought of a t-shirt idea: "No games, Just Gametes" HA. Wait. That's wrong. very, very wrong. Ok, that might suggest something other than what I meant, so let me clarify my stream of consciousness:
The games are getting REALLY old, guys. We might be ok with playing if you're actually good at them, meaning, you know how to finish them. Games are fun sometimes but it's really annoying when one person really doesn't know the rules of engagement.

Anyway, so the reason why I'm saying any of this is because Friday night, I met three levels of "gamers." The first group (of two) really had it going on. The conversation was quick and funny, complex, flirtatious...a good game. It only turned sour when their age (i guess) got the better of them and we realized they had no idea how to "seal the deal." How..annoying and utterly unattractive.
Here's a tip: It's never funny or attractive to start laughing about some "inside joke" that you have no intention of sharing. I think this is true of both guys and girls.

The second level guy of the night for me proved to be a notch lower on my interest level scale---we're hovering about 2 and 3 on a scale of 1-10. He was drunker and older than I realized at first and incapable of carrying on a conversation I came to find out, even though it all centered on him. When you can't even talk about yourself, let alone be perceptive enough to engage the person in front of you, we have a problem.

The third and final level of low turned up at the last bar of the evening. If you refer back to my opening paragraph, you'll find out how I felt about them.

Ahh going out may turn into a case-study ritual before the end of it all!

I am not a music snob.

Contrary to popular belief.

I was floored that one of my favorite, virtually unknown bands appeared on--wait for it--97.1, the New Orleans "premier" pop station. ARG, does this mean now that I'm not allowed to listen to Owl City for fear of ridiciule from my music snob friends who already think less of me for enjoying admittedly mundane and overdone pop music sometimes? NOT SO. I once heard an interview with Jack White of the White Stripes on NPR who reacted rather negatively and disbelievingly that so many of his fans dropped him once he became popular. Like, how dare you MAKE IT? How dare you break out of my cool inde music circle and somehow become appealing to more than 20 people? You sold out.
I'm hear to say that I will not be abandoning music that I like because other people think its cool to do so--abandon it, that is. Isn't that just as ridiculous as liking music because other people think its cool instead of making up your own mind?!

Advocating for Letter Writing

I like to write letters. Isn't receiving REAL MAIL the best thing in the world? I write letters to my grandmother because I never call. Or when I do call I miss her. But even she says receiving letters is one of the best things in the world, better than calls. It shows you've taken time to really think about the person you're writing too. Postcards can have this effect as well. I received my first postcard in years over the summer, and it absolutely made my day, my week even. Besides the effect on the receiving end, it's a pleasure on the sending end as well. It's such an easy form of writing to me. Maybe this is why blogging is so relaxing. It's like writing a letter. No formalities, but because it is a mode of communication, there is enough at stake to make you pay attention to things like mood, tone, and creativity with your words and thoughts.

Letters are my favorite.

Pietro Davenport

I just thought of this name. I thought to myself, wouldn't it be funny to come up with some random alias through whom I could post anything and everything. It would be like second Life in the Blog world. It's strange, even to me, that I thought the name should belong to a man. Is this because deep down I feel like it's more acceptable for a man to be a public jerk than it is for a woman? As in, it's somehow "unsightly" to be as ridiculous as this guy for instance----> http://roissy.wordpress.com/---- not that I want to be some female version of him. Right now, the only woman public icon of ridiculousness I can think of is Anne Coulter. um. I really don't want to be like her either. Is this because women are too driven by emotion? We just can't escape from our innate compassion for the feelings of others? No, I think there are too many female contradictions of that fact to be anything more than an exception to a sad, sad rule. but MAYBE, that's because so many women today are trying to be like men who, in consequence, have been emasculated and even more frustrating to the woman who we'll call the archetypal, "woman's woman," both strong and independent, but wise enough to understand the world doesn't need any more "men" (and by this I mean women acting like men) running things, least of all our relationships, and acts accordingly.