A few weeks back I made this big stink about writing more frequently and yet since that time I have wound up writing less than ever.
I haven’t cooked anything new.
I’m still in the office a million hours a week.
And now I’ve taken on a second job, albeit a small one at one night a week, as a Quiz Master.
So, I’m writing today, dammit.
I’m trying to find meaning and balance in my life. I say “meaning”, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I am an adult now, which is easy to claim on the basis of age, but much harder to grasp in terms of…everything else. I have no children because they are expensive. Also, they smell, but I could probably get over that. I do not feel settled in my career because when you’re a child there is only the want to be. To be an astronaut, a veterinarian, a doctor, a teacher, a lion wrangler, something definitive, something viewed as great, and you’re blissfully unaware in youth of the lesser positions, such office administration, personal assisting, the horrible world that is retail, etc. You think everything is fair, that you work 8:30am to 5pm, at which point you’re allowed to have a life and holidays off. And for working those hours you earn enough cash to afford said life, a vacation once a year, medical bills, the surprise of a car breaking down. The world has changed, however. And I am cranky for it.
Where am I going with this? I don’t know. Maybe the world hasn’t changed.
Adulthood – Something I’ve sparred with more than once on here. It’s hard to view one’s self as a true adult as I base my idea of an adult on my parents, who I viewed most while a child in the 1980’s. Also, at its core my life is one of learning, of being excited for art, history, the beauty, destruction, and evolution of our past. This blurs the lines of being an adult personally because one is supposed to let go of the loves you have as a child as you grow into maturity. As a child I loved learning, I loved museums. And I will not let go of those.
Speaking of cores, we all have an inner voice within us. If we didn’t we wouldn’t be able to read silently. Boom. Inner voice. As we grow, mature, and learn this inner voices matures with us, is us, defines our rationals and decision making processes. Every once in a while, however, my inner voice isn’t me.
That sounds bizarre and creepy. Scratch that.
What I mean to say is that every once in a while my inner child speaks for my inner voice.
This morning I read an article about a new “Alien Horned” dinosaur discovered in Canada recently. It’s called an “Alien” based on it’s scientific name (Xenoceratops), Xeno of course being latin for Alien. Yeah, no, stop thinking Scientology. I mean, their use of Xenu isn’t exactly wrong, but it’s also not real. Dinosaurs were real (unless of course that offends you, but if it does then you probably wouldn’t be reading my blog).
The point is the new dino didn’t look all that different. He’s instantly recognizable as a close relation to the Triceratops.
Ole’ Xeno himself. (Photo Credit Yahoo News)
So, I see the headline of a new dinosaur discovery and I can’t click fast enough out of childlike wonder and excitement, only for my eyes to rest on a rather familiar-though-slightly-different face. And my inner child’s inner voice takes over and says to me:
“That’s not new. That’s the dinosaur I’d ride like a horse if I lived back then.”
And that’s my first thought on this matter. Not “My, a new relation of a classic. How interesting!”, not “A new discovery! How delightful!”, not “Oh, joy, something new! The World as we know it is astounding!” Nope.
My first thought is that this is boring, because I would ride a triceratops and all of his or her kin like wild ponies of the Cretaceous Period.
WHY is that my first thought looking at poor Xeno Horn over here? First of all, no I wouldn’t have. In the improbable event of finding myself stuck back a few dozens of millions of years ago in the Earth’s beginnings, I would not be saddling up great monsters. Trampled to death? Maybe. Stung by a giant, horrifying insect of yore and left for dead? Most likely. Tour around on a Xenoceratops? Absolutely not. Not only did my inner child hop a ride on a Jules Verne or H.G. Wells premise, but I also came up with the girliest, most childish thought:
Big beast. I ride. He my friend. I call him “Friendy”.
I say “girliest” because though I spent much of my youth working on farms just so I could ride horses, I would have much rather had a dinosaur or pterosaur as a trusty stead; ponies were just practice. This was me at my girliest.
I love history, I respect history, I learn from history. Apparently, however, I will not grow out of my periodic inner child no matter how immature she may forever be.
I don’t think I mind this, though. It’s that childishness that keeps me enthusiastic over the interesting things I love, and I find that joy to be easily contagious to those around me. Maybe it will even make me a good parent, if ever I decide to embark on that experience. I know it certainly made my father a good dad, albeit a pretty corny one.
The holidays are upon us and, man, Capitalism really wants to drive that home.
* For the 1% geeks in your life, or those rich enough to shop for them, Blastr has released a list of psychotically expensive Holiday gifts. Yes, I am jealous. Thanks for asking.
* Target isn’t showing any signs of backing down from their 11pm Thanksgiving Day shift start time for employees. Evil? Yes. But their commercials star one of my favorite comedians: Maria Bamford.
* There will be a RIDICULOUS amount of TV marathons on the Boob Tube this coming week. Here’s an entire list!
* What the WHAT?! Liam Neeson narrates the War of the World on Broadway in London…and does so as a hologram!
* Doctor Who (Matt Smith before I’m bombarded with comments) is gettin’ naked for charity. A nude do-gooder? Sign me up!…to stare. ‘Cause staring is free, right? I have no money.
* Finally: someone has caught Leonardo DiCaprio dressed as the Great Gatsby! Classsssssy! And he’s slimmed down. Like a young Alec Baldwin, Leo tends to get a little doughy in his down time.
*MTV Geek has created a short catalog for the Star Wars geek on your holiday shopping list. I personally feel it’s missing a number of items, including the Death Star “Too Big to Fail” Keychain. Everyone needs that in their stocking! It’s been around for a while, but not enough people own the Interactive R2. I know, because I nor any of my friends have one of these darling, battery operated family additions, and my pals are so nerdy that one had a dream last night that we were all stuck in the world of Empire Strikes Back.
There’s Darth Vader in an Ugly Christmas Sweater and even a motorized AT-AT Walker for the purchaser who’s purse string know no bounds. I’m holder out on getting an AT-AT Walker until there’s one large enough for me to ride. This only just scratches the surface of Star Wars gifts, because, let’s face it, Star Wars is just as big as ever. Perhaps even more popular than it’s ever been. I’m sure you’ll see many more posts on star wars gifts as I find things that move me. Hey, have I ever shown you my Star Wars tattoo?
This is right after I got it, close to two years ago now. It is actually borderless, the dark outer edges were from the stencil put on my leg.
* In Uber Creepy News, someone over at MTV has compiled a list of “Famous Last Tweets”. It is exactly as it sounds: The last thing celebrities tweeted before their deaths. Ugh.
*Do you know Marcel? Marcel the Shell with Shoes on? I love him. I first saw him when Jenny Slate created him after getting kicked off of Saturday Night Live for saying “fuck” during a skit. She was horrified, everyone laughed, she finished the skit, and was shortly thereafter fired. I’m talking about Jenny, of course. Marcel wasn’t fired; that would be ridiculous. This is Marcel:
This makes my day every time I watch it. Anyway, he’s come out with a new video: Marcel 2. Enjoy.
* The next Star Trek will arrive in 2013. What are you more excited about: The second part of the Hobbit or Star Trek?
*I really don’t know who hires the writers at Blastr, but they need to be fired. The posts are riddled with grammatical errors and the pieces are simply not thought out well enough. In fact, I think most aren’t even written by real fans. This post is 11 Actors who should play Doctor Who in a Movie, written by someone who apparently has never gotten into Doctor Who – not just “watched”, I mean really gotten into. What are you, kidding?! This is awful. Jude Law?! He can suck it seven ways ’til Sunday. Natalie Portman?! Has the author even ever seen anything she’s been in?! And, just as a point of fact: An American Doctor would never be truly accepted. Not ever. Oh, this burns me up.
* This is the closest I’ll come to seeing the Twilight movies: staring at muppet parody posters.
*In more Star Wars news, iO9 has picked up on Lucas Films purchasing 3 rather curious domain names. Everything is speculation and no one is talking so we’ll just have to wait to see about this. If Skywalker Ranch wants to keep something private, they’re well versed in doing so. Blue Harvest.
* I don’t know how they’d do a Lego Movie per say, but I LOVE the video games, so I guess anything is possible. Seems like Hollywood is SERIOUSLY out of ideas, though (and has been for years).
* I’m all for the $99 Kindle Touch with Special Offers over the Nook $99 ereader. Yes, it’s annoying and complete bullshit that there are ads, but they only pop up at the bottom of the screen when you’re not reading and I just really prefer it’s look and interface. Above all, though, is Amazon’s far more extensive book selection. And they keep your junk on the Cloud. Boom.
* And finally I was forced by someone to watch The Menagerie episode of Star Trek TOS four times recently. When I wanted to find that person a Christmas gift (because in light of the repeated viewings I still love them), I had to look no further than Hallmark. Some weirdo there thought the horrible disfigured Capt. Pike would make an EXCELLENT ornament – his ‘lil red light even blinks!
“Okay…8 pack of double A batterieeeees…Anything else?”
“Nope, that’ll do it.”
“Okay, phone number area code first?”
“Your phone number, area code first.”
“I just want to buy some batteries.”
“Yeah, we have to enter everyone’s phone number for every sale.”
Luckily, like most girls, I’m practiced in the art of giving out a fake number when need be. I just never thought I’d have to do it to buy batteries.
I am thankful for the Information Age. We’ve got dating sites and this new thing called “social networking”. We’ve got twits doing tweets and we never have to leave our house for Christmas shopping. Amazon.com is my personal savior.
I love online shopping. Buy those shoes you need while on your lunch break, without even getting into your car. I only buy from sites I know, sites with those security insignias all over, long established sites and only sites that promise my information will not be sold. But I often wonder if these sites can be trusted. I only ever enter information when I’m purchasing something and I only enter the information necessary for billing and shipping; I generally don’t have a problem with it.
I do have a major problem, however, with stores that request personal information when I’m checking out in person. If it’s not being mailed to me I don’t understand why any of my personal information is necessary or why I should be expected to give it out.
After my trip to Radio Shack, to which I gave the number 867-5309, and received both my batteries and a dirty look, I went to Payless Shoes, where I was requested for the same information.
“I don’t give out my phone number.”
“Not a problem,” replied the sales woman and continued with my purchase.
At least she was able to finish without having to enter anything false.
At lunch my husband and I went to a chain Japanese restaurant.
“Two for lunch, please.”
“Sure! First and last name and zip code.”
“Is there a wait? It looks empty.”
“No, no wait. Name?”
I raised an eyebrow. Had I missed a memo? In an age when identity theft is both relatively new and on the rise, why are we so pleasantly expected to give information everywhere we go? Perhaps there was a criminal on the run, the local authorities only knew her name and that she liked to frequent fake sushi places. Surely that’s the only reason anyone would need personal information to sit you at an empty restaurant.
“Kate Doe. 78704.” The hostess typed it in.
“I don’t give that out.”
“Would you like to give your email to rece-“
“Actually I would just really like some lunch.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Okay.”
Lunch? In a restaurant?!? What a novel idea!
Though I was asked for information when ordering, it was just salad dressing preferences and type of rice, data that actually had relevance to eating. At the end came the bill and… an info card, which we received a full debriefing on by our waitress: Give them our information to do whatever with and we’ll receive coupons periodically…amongst other wank in our email box. That was the last straw.
I just laughed.
“What?” My husband asked me. “We’ll get coupons and it says they won’t sell our information.”
“No, they won’t. But the third party that holds our information, archives it for them, does.”
I used to work for a bookstore while I was in college, we’ll call it Edges. Shortly before I quit, they implemented a customer card system. I watched coworkers get fired because they did not push this card enough. Edges’ policy was that there was no reason why anyone should leave the store without one. I watched customers get into fights with managers that wouldn’t drop it, I watched people complain and scream to workers young and old – and make them cry – during the heart of the holiday season because Edges forced their employees to push this past the point of “No.” According to them “no” never means “no” because “there is no reason why a customer should leave the store without this card as it saves them money for free”. This policy means, of course, that Edges has the personal information of everyone who has ever shopped there. And, sure, as stated, Edges doesn’t sell the phone number, name, address, and email of those shoppers who signed up for the card. But the company who handles the information sure as hell did and does. That’s what’s known as a loophole.
Part of the problem is that we live in the age of corporations. I went to Payless because it’s all I could afford. I went to Radioshack and the lunch place because they were near the other locations we had to visit. We could dive into facts, conspiracy theories, etc. denouncing the faceless corporations for feeling entitled to the personal information of those it keeps living in hovels. I know my information is out there and it makes me nauseaous. The fact of the matter is that I made the decision to shop where I did on this day and if I want to keep my information private I now have to consider that in where I buy the days necessities.
It’s an acknowledgment of a ridiculous truth and it’s completely infuriating.
2010 Editor’s Pick on OpenSalon.
When I was fourteen years old I got my first job at a recycling plant for the town of Danbury. I made ten dollars an hour at that time, which, at twenty eight years old with a BA and an MA, is pretty close to what I make now. After the summer gig at the recycling plant I started work at a coffee shop at the age of fifteen. I was underage, but they hired me anyway, and that job really helped shape my high school life. Well, it shaped my extra-curricular high school life anyway. I also worked at clothing stores, and while looking cute was an integral part of my persona, folding clothes was not.
My mother worked for what we’ll refer to as Cashline.com at the time and got me a job doing receptionist work and IT Help Desk stuff. When I worked the Help Desk I would help the technologically inept (“My computer froze. I hit Ctrl-Alt-what?” and “How do I change my background?”) and I would wait on hold when the Help-Desk itself needed help. When I would work the receptionist desk I would…I won’t say I would do my best because that would be lying. I couldn’t slack off too much because my mother would have my head if I gave her reason to be anything but proud of me. I was, however, adequate and did well for a kid. There was this one regular caller in particular who really made up for any slacking off or fooling around. For legal and mental health issues I’ve forgotten his name.
As these days predated Caller ID (or personal cell phones for that matter) I never knew when this individual would be calling. On the evenings that he did get through I imagined he was calling from somewhere along the Pacific border. I don’t know why, I guess because he called each evening, after 4pm, and I just thought his type of call was better suited as a middle-of-the-day activity. So he would call, and I, a now sixteen year old, ego maniacle punk would answer, “Thank you for calling Cashline Executive Offices. How may I direct your call?” And he would respond “I want to speak with William Shatner.”
I enjoy the Geico commercials, or at least I did when they first premiered years ago during a Super Bowl. It would never occur to me, however, to call Geico and ask to speak with a caveman or British lizard. Be that as it may, in my few short years so far on this earth I have learned that reason and logic elude many. Many.
“William Shatner does not work here, sir,” I’d respond.
“Yes, he does. I’ve seen him in your commercials.”
“I know he does our commercials, sir, but he doesn’t work here. We don’t even film our commercials here.”
“William Shatner DOES work at Cashline and I demand to speak with him!”
At this point the guys voice would be at the level of making a sixteen year old girl cry. A weak sixteen year old. Being the opposite of weak I was merely an ass and, it should be noted, less articulate then this recreated conversation may imply. This call would happen almost every day and after time I knew what he looked like. Well, my teenage imagination did.
I always imagined this particular gentleman older, but not OLD, maybe in his mid-sixties, sitting in a 1970’s a corduroy Lazy Boy that had seen better days, duct tape on the sides and arms, an over used and beaten seat he referred to as his captain’s chair. I imagined he wore the same outfit every day, stuffing far too much flesh into far too little polyester, black pants with a red top, of course, and an embroidered or even hand drawn communicator just above and to the left of a probable by-pass surgery scar. A pale, hairy and slightly pink gut desperately trying to escape the confines of his get-up would be exploding from between pants waistline and repressive shirt. That’s what I thought, anyway.
On and on he would ramble: Cashline did this, his flight was awful, the Captain rescues people – never works WITH the bad guys! Shatner working for Cashline was like him cohorting with Klingons. I didn’t watch the original Star Trek series at this time and this experience may be some of the cause behind that. My favorite part of his calls always came after he started yelling:
“THE CAPTAIN OF THE ENTERPRISE WOULD NOT ALLOW SUCH SCAMMING TO OCCUR. YOUR COMPANY SCAMS PEOPLE AND I INTEND TO ALERT THE CAPTAIN!”
Well, Sir, why don’t you just hit your communicator and ask to meet him in the Halodeck? There you can reveal the evils of Cashline over a Saurian Brandy or a Romulan Ale.
Did I ever actually say that? Nah, I wasn’t that cool. I, in all honesty, would nod as if he could see me and “Mmhmm” like I had been there. I always got him of the phone calmer, but, then, he did always call back.
So why is this important and why does it matter? Because every day as a teen I learned that people are different and you must have patience. Granted once I know you I have no patience for you and you’re finished in my book, BUT every day I would get a little more evidence that either the world is crazy and I am fine or that there is simply no sanity and we’re all screwed. Either way I learned patience every day, in one way or another, and even get chances to demonstrate such patience, brief as those moments may be, every once in a while. When you’re young you first learn of differences from sight, you visually see that others are different. But this, this, taught me that people may have skeletons – not in their closets, but in their mind – and they seem all “normal” and you think you’re making ground and then – THEY GET YA! And that’s just the way it is, I guess.
Posts, posts every where and not a drop to drink!
Fashion has new posts! See me – the living, breathing, fashion faux pas – here.
My personal favorite, the Pop Bytes page, has been updated with all the lastest Hobbit, Doctor Who, Pop Culture, and weird news!
Good Eats is slowly filling with Recipes and Food stories…some of which are not so savory.
Find the Bad Kitty has been updated! Use your hawk eyes to find my jerk cats hanging out where they’re not allowed.
And, finally, stories I wrote prior to having a WordPress account are being uploaded to Story Time. Please check back regularly for the goods, the bad, and the fugly (that’s my term for funnily+ugly. Why? What did you think “fugly” stood for?)
Like all people who have “tried every diet” and suffer being “fat from birth”, any miracle drug completely excites me. Part of that is because science amazes me. Much of the pills we take come with both positive and (many) negative effects, many simply cannot be good for the human body, but we take them anyway in a desperate attempt to achieve whatever it is we’re seeking. After all, even placebos are often more than 10% affective. When one views medical science’s studies, failures, and new policies of the past 100 years – hell, even in the past 50 years – they surpass the previous 1000 years by leaps and bounds. And there’s something very mad-scientist about everything. I like to believe that it’s all for the betterment of mankind, but medicine, like American Universities, are now merely businesses with the prize being cash and not an advanced human population. We’re a people of instant gratification so we jump at cures, damn the long term affects.
I am no different, and I might carry a little shame, but not enough to stop me from getting in line for the following drug, if it one day winds up on the market. The good people at the Medical School at the University of Texas at Houston have developed an injection that kills blood vessels that feed fatty deposits. This means the blood vessels shrivel away, the fat is starved and then reabsorbed into the body, at which time the lucky recipient urinates or sweats out the excess just like regular weight loss. While all animal testing has its ethical issues, it is good news in the medical world that this drug is proving so effective on monkeys, as frequently drugs that may test well in the first stages (on rats) may not work well during the next point of testing, on our cousin primates. The drug may also help with insulin resistance.
I assume UT Houston purchased the primates from lab supply centers, and then fattened them up with a healthy diet of American junk food and Lifetime Television. I imagine they might have even turned binge eating in front of the BoobTube into a sort of drinking game with food instead of booze: Every time there’s an episode of Golden Girls on, the monkeys get cheesecake. A made-for-television movie featuring Jennifer Love Hewett would warrant a pizza and a pint of cookie dough ice cream. Designing Women means fried chicken and bourbon. Paradise… But I digress.
Once their test subjects had the “fatty deposits” necessary, testing began, and thus far has been excitingly successful. The average monkey on the injection lost 11% of their body weight in a month, an amount most humans struggle to lose and keep off within a year’s time. The placebo monkeys only lost a maximum 1% and their thighs now make a shwishing sounds whenever they wear track pants.
Much to the chagrin of curvacious ladies everywhere, the next stage of testing will be on humans, but only on men with prostate cancer. It is not clear why this would be and the NPR article offers no explanation. It has occurred to me, however, that this might be so that in the event of complications, i.e. death, the scientists would have the option to say “Oh, the cancer killed them. P.S. the drug is now for sale through Phizer.”