After my most recent brush with death (computer death, that is) I discovered something: I had been too trusting of a mysterious benefactor who I assumed was Microsoft. Every time I entered a login/password combination anywhere, Microsoft (or whoever - I don't want to wrongfully accuse anyone) thoughtfully offered to remember it for me. Wasn't that nice? And since I am, above all else, very very lazy, the idea of not having to type things appealed to me.
After my cousin changed my computer setup to get rid of the overwhelming viruses, I confessed my secret shame, and asked if maybe I needed to think up new passwords. He smacked his head at my stupidity (as perhaps you are doing) and told me in his most patient stupid-person voice that it might be wise to get some new ones in place. How was I to know that my laziness represented a serious and naive breach in security? So I quickly, and rather paranoidly, established a whole new set of extremely complicated passwords with random numbers, punctuation, and varied capitalization. I wrote them all down on a note card and hid it behind one of my many hanging pictures where only the cast of CSI could find it. I was feeling all smug about my new impenetrable security until I went to visit my parents. Suddenly, I realized the problem with a password so complicated that no one could memorize it: After about 20 tries, I couldn't check my email for the life of me (not to mention my facebook account or the ol' blog).
Now I have such mixed feelings about the whole affair. On the one hand, to go back to my tried and true all-purpose password would be ridiculous. Before you know it, some bot would be sending virus or porn emails to everyone in my address folder from me, and then what would my bishop think of me? On the other hand, perhaps having a password so complicated that even M.C. Escher would think it was over the top is a bit much. After all, how can I blog all my inner-most thoughts if I can't log in?
Woe is me indeed. What is a girl with a terrible memory to do in this age of hackers and virusi?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
WHEW
Wow, what a month. I'm sorry to neglect you, dear bloggie. So many things happening! So little time for writing!
First, there were the viruses. I feel like there is something inherently weak in me. It lets animals and small children know that I'm a pushover who can easily be broken by sad, big eyes. It calls to pranksters who know that I'm gullible. And it extends to my computer somehow, making it susceptible to those obnoxious virusi that exist to torment the computer illiterate. In this instance, by the time my poor cousin Lane was done fixing things, he had to switch me from Windows to Linux because I had been inundated with links to sites like "youporn," "nudetube," and "porntube" (they really go in for originality, don't they?). In the end, my computer was be-Linuxed and renamed "USSInvincible." But I still have the feeling that somewhere a hacker is developing a special virus for Linux software, just because they can sense my weakness.
Then, once my computer was usable again, I got called by the census to go out of town! Where was I going? Far away exotic places maybe? Perhaps I would be put up in the finest of hotels on the government's dime? Even better! I got to go to Kanab, UT and stay in the crusty, rusty Bob Bon Inn (motto: your presence here is kind of inconvenient). Surprisingly, my work in this tiny town kept me there for 9 days, mostly because I was visiting vacant vacation homes. When the economy is depressed, rustic multi-million dollar cabins are the first thing to go.
When at last I was home again, and when my parents had just delivered the fabulous Mattie to me for dog-sitting (because I was supposed to have nothing better to do), I was once again called out for censustizing. This time I headed to the slightly less tiny Cedar City, UT where I would be staying in a MUCH nicer hotel (chosen specifically because they allowed dogs - score one for me!) - only to be sent home after two days. WHY, FATE? I shouldn't complain, though. Mattie managed to trash the hotel room after 2 hours. I shudder to thing what she could have accomplished in 9 days!
So now, I'm home again. Searching for a job to fill my empty hours. Hopefully, I'll be back on track with meaningless blog entries in no time. Talk to you later, blog!
First, there were the viruses. I feel like there is something inherently weak in me. It lets animals and small children know that I'm a pushover who can easily be broken by sad, big eyes. It calls to pranksters who know that I'm gullible. And it extends to my computer somehow, making it susceptible to those obnoxious virusi that exist to torment the computer illiterate. In this instance, by the time my poor cousin Lane was done fixing things, he had to switch me from Windows to Linux because I had been inundated with links to sites like "youporn," "nudetube," and "porntube" (they really go in for originality, don't they?). In the end, my computer was be-Linuxed and renamed "USSInvincible." But I still have the feeling that somewhere a hacker is developing a special virus for Linux software, just because they can sense my weakness.
Then, once my computer was usable again, I got called by the census to go out of town! Where was I going? Far away exotic places maybe? Perhaps I would be put up in the finest of hotels on the government's dime? Even better! I got to go to Kanab, UT and stay in the crusty, rusty Bob Bon Inn (motto: your presence here is kind of inconvenient). Surprisingly, my work in this tiny town kept me there for 9 days, mostly because I was visiting vacant vacation homes. When the economy is depressed, rustic multi-million dollar cabins are the first thing to go.
When at last I was home again, and when my parents had just delivered the fabulous Mattie to me for dog-sitting (because I was supposed to have nothing better to do), I was once again called out for censustizing. This time I headed to the slightly less tiny Cedar City, UT where I would be staying in a MUCH nicer hotel (chosen specifically because they allowed dogs - score one for me!) - only to be sent home after two days. WHY, FATE? I shouldn't complain, though. Mattie managed to trash the hotel room after 2 hours. I shudder to thing what she could have accomplished in 9 days!
So now, I'm home again. Searching for a job to fill my empty hours. Hopefully, I'll be back on track with meaningless blog entries in no time. Talk to you later, blog!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The brotherhood of awesome vehicles
I recently accompanied my brother and father on a motorcycle ride. And by "accompanied" I mean, of course, that I rode behind; safely ensconced in a metal frame, doors, and glass windows to protect me from wind, bugs, and other cars. While I sat in smug comfort watching the lads waver at every gust of wind, and noting their bug smeared jackets, I also noted something else: every time they passed another motorcyclist each rider would extend an arm with two fingers outstretched in some kind of casual salute to being awesome.
In an instant I flashed back to high school when I was priveleged to drive, for a brief time, the king of rugged and manly cars - the CJ-7. Oh sure, it only got about 5 miles to the gallon, I almost needed a boost to get in, there were rust spots all over the floor, and it perpetually smelled like gas; BUT it was the coolest! It even almost won me "best car" in my senior yearbook (I lost to a vintage VW minibus).
Really, it was the coolest.
Even better, my friend Mike who drove a [pansy] Jeep Wrangler told me that I could now be let into the secret club of Jeep drivers, which was celebrated by a two fingered wave - the Jeep Wave (in my case, the Southern version). At first I was skeptical. Being susceptible to pranks as I am, I thought he was mocking me. He scoffed and told me that other Jeep drivers probably thought I was a snob, so I paid attention and noticed that it was true! I was getting the "we're too cool to wave a real wave, so we'll just throw out a couple of fingers to acknowledge that you are also cool" wave from every other jeep I passed.
This simple wave gave me a sense of being part of something bigger than myself; the Brotherhood of Awesome Vehicles.
When the CJ-7 finally gave up the ghost (after a passenger put his foot through the floor), gone was my membership ticket to the club. Much as I love my Passat - much as I love being able to drive faster than 50 mph, and not having to hike my skirt up to my thighs to climb in after church, or having to use my foot to turn on the high beams at night - it sadly is nowhere near awesome enough to usher me back into the fold.
It's almost enough to make me want to don only leather, get some tattoos, grow a beard, and climb on a hog. But only if I can look this cool while doing it:
Hahaha, biker "chick." But seriously, someone call the ASPCA.
In an instant I flashed back to high school when I was priveleged to drive, for a brief time, the king of rugged and manly cars - the CJ-7. Oh sure, it only got about 5 miles to the gallon, I almost needed a boost to get in, there were rust spots all over the floor, and it perpetually smelled like gas; BUT it was the coolest! It even almost won me "best car" in my senior yearbook (I lost to a vintage VW minibus).
Really, it was the coolest.
Even better, my friend Mike who drove a [pansy] Jeep Wrangler told me that I could now be let into the secret club of Jeep drivers, which was celebrated by a two fingered wave - the Jeep Wave (in my case, the Southern version). At first I was skeptical. Being susceptible to pranks as I am, I thought he was mocking me. He scoffed and told me that other Jeep drivers probably thought I was a snob, so I paid attention and noticed that it was true! I was getting the "we're too cool to wave a real wave, so we'll just throw out a couple of fingers to acknowledge that you are also cool" wave from every other jeep I passed.
This simple wave gave me a sense of being part of something bigger than myself; the Brotherhood of Awesome Vehicles.
When the CJ-7 finally gave up the ghost (after a passenger put his foot through the floor), gone was my membership ticket to the club. Much as I love my Passat - much as I love being able to drive faster than 50 mph, and not having to hike my skirt up to my thighs to climb in after church, or having to use my foot to turn on the high beams at night - it sadly is nowhere near awesome enough to usher me back into the fold.
It's almost enough to make me want to don only leather, get some tattoos, grow a beard, and climb on a hog. But only if I can look this cool while doing it:
Hahaha, biker "chick." But seriously, someone call the ASPCA.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Can I have it??
All my life I've wanted to be both funny and an actress so that I could do this kind of thing and make people laugh until they wet their pants:
I don't think that's too much to ask. Alas, for all my efforts the most success I've found was in the form of winning "Best Actress" in a ward talent show (humorously made out to Susan Krebs). I'll just have to stick to sharing hilarious videos instead of starring in them. C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?
I don't think that's too much to ask. Alas, for all my efforts the most success I've found was in the form of winning "Best Actress" in a ward talent show (humorously made out to Susan Krebs). I'll just have to stick to sharing hilarious videos instead of starring in them. C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Car Santa
I was walking across a large parking lot one day after wearily wending my way in the name of the Census, when my eye was caught by something out of the ordinary. I turned to see what had grabbed my attention and noticed a young gentleman with a large plastic bag over his shoulder. At first I assumed he was taking out the trash, but he was zig-zagging between cars on his way. I thought that perhaps he was OCD or something, and was unable to go in a straight line. Then I noticed there didn't seem to be a dumpster anywhere in the direction he was heading, so I payed even closer attention. I realized that he was grabbing at car doors as he passed, and I thought maybe he was going to drive to wherever the dumpster was and kept trying to get in the wrong car (not that I do that all the time or anything), but he didn't get in any of them, he just kept trying new doors.
For one last fleeting moment my bewildered brain struggled with what I was seeing:
a man in a doo rag,
with a plastic garbage bag over one shoulder,
systematically tugging at car handles only to move on upon finding them locked.
Finally my brain put it all together. Clearly the only reasonable explanation for this strange sight was that I'd caught a rare glimpse of the elusive Car Santa Claus, going from car to car leaving little presents for all the good girls and boys. So be sure to leave your doors unlocked, because you never know when he'll be headed your way!
PS - If you were wondering, after watching this for a bit I went into the main office and reported Car Santa lest his actions prove to be less than worthy.
For one last fleeting moment my bewildered brain struggled with what I was seeing:
a man in a doo rag,
with a plastic garbage bag over one shoulder,
systematically tugging at car handles only to move on upon finding them locked.
Finally my brain put it all together. Clearly the only reasonable explanation for this strange sight was that I'd caught a rare glimpse of the elusive Car Santa Claus, going from car to car leaving little presents for all the good girls and boys. So be sure to leave your doors unlocked, because you never know when he'll be headed your way!
PS - If you were wondering, after watching this for a bit I went into the main office and reported Car Santa lest his actions prove to be less than worthy.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Helpful hints from the US Government
I was recently hired as an employee of the US Census Bureau, which was awesome as I don't even want to say how low on cash I was running.
My bank account looked a little like this.
But despite the relief of a cash-inflow, the job itself combines all the prestige of a door-to-door salesman with the respect of a substitute gym teacher. It also generates about as much excitement as a snail parade. Therefore, it has been vital throughout the "censutizing" process (that's a real word, I swear) to find ways to amuse myself; starting with mocking my training materials.
I spent 4 days in intense training, and included in that training were some vital safety tips from the government. These were hilarious mostly because a person reading them was forced to imagine that someone, at some point, actually found themselves in these situations. Just like the amusing HOT warnings on all McDonald's coffee cups, these safety tips must have their origins somewhere. So I'm going to write a few of them here and let your imaginations do the rest.
I do realize, of course, that this list could be taken from the hilarious to the horrifying depending on how you look at it. It isn't so much the concepts that I'm amused by (being eaten alive by dogs is a fear of mine second only to being eaten alive by sharks), it's more the careful wording. How, I ask you, could someone hiding beneath your low rider car be waiting to "charge" your ankles? Are we talking about some sort of Chucky-like living doll that hides under cars waiting to pounce? That's what I instantly imagine: some type of tiny person in a tiny tank preparing to charge.
And what about someone waiting for an elevator would make you suspicious enough to wait for the next car, and what excuse would you use? I imagine some mean looking bully standing loitering in a lobby, and as I notice him I veer away from the elevator mumbling something about being in the wrong building because I don't want him to steal my lunch money.
As for the dog issue, how exactly do you show a dog that you're submissive - roll over on your back?? Again, my vivid imagination springs to life, picturing me grabbing a nearby child to use as a shield per my government issued instructions while I repeatedly tell the dog that it's the boss of me.
While I would never want to learn just how valuable this information is (what if I actually need to use my running shoes to escape?), I can't help but be grateful for it now because of the giggles it has brought to me. Thanks, US Government, for looking out for my well-being in the funniest way I can imagine.
My bank account looked a little like this.
But despite the relief of a cash-inflow, the job itself combines all the prestige of a door-to-door salesman with the respect of a substitute gym teacher. It also generates about as much excitement as a snail parade. Therefore, it has been vital throughout the "censutizing" process (that's a real word, I swear) to find ways to amuse myself; starting with mocking my training materials.
I spent 4 days in intense training, and included in that training were some vital safety tips from the government. These were hilarious mostly because a person reading them was forced to imagine that someone, at some point, actually found themselves in these situations. Just like the amusing HOT warnings on all McDonald's coffee cups, these safety tips must have their origins somewhere. So I'm going to write a few of them here and let your imaginations do the rest.
- Wear comfortable walking shoes. These shoes may come in handy should there be a need to run.
- Be cautious when riding elevators. If you are suspicious of another passenger, wait for the next car.
- As you walk towards your vehicle, scan beneath the vehicle for persons waiting to charge out at your ankles.
- Although some pets may be friendly, not all are friendly to strangers. Put something between you and a dog, such as a bag.
- If confronted by a dog, be submissive but do not run. If you run, the animal might try to knock you to the ground.
I do realize, of course, that this list could be taken from the hilarious to the horrifying depending on how you look at it. It isn't so much the concepts that I'm amused by (being eaten alive by dogs is a fear of mine second only to being eaten alive by sharks), it's more the careful wording. How, I ask you, could someone hiding beneath your low rider car be waiting to "charge" your ankles? Are we talking about some sort of Chucky-like living doll that hides under cars waiting to pounce? That's what I instantly imagine: some type of tiny person in a tiny tank preparing to charge.
And what about someone waiting for an elevator would make you suspicious enough to wait for the next car, and what excuse would you use? I imagine some mean looking bully standing loitering in a lobby, and as I notice him I veer away from the elevator mumbling something about being in the wrong building because I don't want him to steal my lunch money.
As for the dog issue, how exactly do you show a dog that you're submissive - roll over on your back?? Again, my vivid imagination springs to life, picturing me grabbing a nearby child to use as a shield per my government issued instructions while I repeatedly tell the dog that it's the boss of me.
While I would never want to learn just how valuable this information is (what if I actually need to use my running shoes to escape?), I can't help but be grateful for it now because of the giggles it has brought to me. Thanks, US Government, for looking out for my well-being in the funniest way I can imagine.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Gullibility and universal balance
Dear friends,
I wanted to write a really hilarious April Fool's post - one that would have you reeling in shock, and then rolling your eyes at your own gullibility in falling for it. But it turns out that, sadly, I do not have the prankster gene. Instead I have the complete opposite: what is known in scientific circles as "the sucker" gene.
For instance, when I was a young lass, my aunt and uncle kindly invited me on a trip with them to Myrtle Beach. I was thrilled because I had never been to the ocean before, and I wanted to leap through the waves like some sort of freakish dolphin-human hybrid. Then, my sisters got to me. They told me (snickering behind their hands) that it was shark season at the beach, and that if I set even one toe in the water I might as well lather myself up in ketchup and mustard and set sail in a giant hot dog bun for the sharks to gobble. Thus it was that no matter how hard my uncle tried to convince me that there were no sharks longer than 18 inches anywhere near the beach, I refused to swim in any body of water larger than the hotel pool (which, considering all the little kids peeing in it, was probably far more dangerous).
How I spent my summer vacation, by Susan.
All my life I've been easy prey for those of twisted minds who would seek out the simple and trusting for their own nefarious plans. Even when I try to be untrusting, I still inevitably give in to the evil logic used by people who are capable of pranking. If I was famous it would be me crying to my mom on the phone while Ashton Kutcher's hired hands "repossessed" my favorite guitars, instead of Justin Timberlake (incidentally, while that is the only episode of Pranked I have ever watched, it is also my favorite).
"Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Ashton's being mean to meeeeee!"
I've pondered about this problem. How is it that in the same family there can be two such devious masterminds as my sisters, and *me*? I finally realized that it all has to do with cosmic balance. In order for the universe to properly exist without blowing up, there must be yin and yang, black and white, good and bad, pranker and prankee.
So, long story short: the reason that I didn't try and trick anyone with a brilliant April Fool's joke is that if I were to be successful, the universe itself might explode. You're all welcome.
I wanted to write a really hilarious April Fool's post - one that would have you reeling in shock, and then rolling your eyes at your own gullibility in falling for it. But it turns out that, sadly, I do not have the prankster gene. Instead I have the complete opposite: what is known in scientific circles as "the sucker" gene.
For instance, when I was a young lass, my aunt and uncle kindly invited me on a trip with them to Myrtle Beach. I was thrilled because I had never been to the ocean before, and I wanted to leap through the waves like some sort of freakish dolphin-human hybrid. Then, my sisters got to me. They told me (snickering behind their hands) that it was shark season at the beach, and that if I set even one toe in the water I might as well lather myself up in ketchup and mustard and set sail in a giant hot dog bun for the sharks to gobble. Thus it was that no matter how hard my uncle tried to convince me that there were no sharks longer than 18 inches anywhere near the beach, I refused to swim in any body of water larger than the hotel pool (which, considering all the little kids peeing in it, was probably far more dangerous).
How I spent my summer vacation, by Susan.
All my life I've been easy prey for those of twisted minds who would seek out the simple and trusting for their own nefarious plans. Even when I try to be untrusting, I still inevitably give in to the evil logic used by people who are capable of pranking. If I was famous it would be me crying to my mom on the phone while Ashton Kutcher's hired hands "repossessed" my favorite guitars, instead of Justin Timberlake (incidentally, while that is the only episode of Pranked I have ever watched, it is also my favorite).
"Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Ashton's being mean to meeeeee!"
I've pondered about this problem. How is it that in the same family there can be two such devious masterminds as my sisters, and *me*? I finally realized that it all has to do with cosmic balance. In order for the universe to properly exist without blowing up, there must be yin and yang, black and white, good and bad, pranker and prankee.
So, long story short: the reason that I didn't try and trick anyone with a brilliant April Fool's joke is that if I were to be successful, the universe itself might explode. You're all welcome.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Blog makeover
I got an email this week from the blogger team offering me sweet new templates for the taking (I assume many of you got the same email). I was already thinking of making my blog shiny and new since it's been pretty much the same old blog since 2004 and who needs that kind of boring sameness, right? Therefore, I was ecstatic about the new templates.
Now, after hours of trying just about every combination possible, I hope you like what I picked to be the new public face for all my inner-most thoughts. And in keeping with the random wandering of said inner thoughts, don't be surprised if my blog layout changes frequently because they have some really really awesome templates!
Now, after hours of trying just about every combination possible, I hope you like what I picked to be the new public face for all my inner-most thoughts. And in keeping with the random wandering of said inner thoughts, don't be surprised if my blog layout changes frequently because they have some really really awesome templates!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Bonsai failure
You may remember that I was attempting at one point to grow a bonsai tree so that I can be fAsian (fake Asian), 'cause all the cool people are doing it. If all had gone as planned, I would have two adorable little trees right now that look something like this:
Instead, I have something that looks like this:
(wah wah wah waaaaah)
Not pictured is any sort of growth. Where did I go wrong? I can't tell if this is fate attempting to kindly remind me that I'm not a cool old Japanese man like Mister Miyagi, or if I just didn't follow the instructions properly. Whatever the reason, I figure that after carefully watering lumps of peat moss for two months with no sign of life, it's time to give up. So, I have three tiny seeds left for me to prove that I am one with friggin' nature, gosh darnit.
Cross your fingers, say a prayer to Demeter for me, and wish me luck!
Instead, I have something that looks like this:
(wah wah wah waaaaah)
Not pictured is any sort of growth. Where did I go wrong? I can't tell if this is fate attempting to kindly remind me that I'm not a cool old Japanese man like Mister Miyagi, or if I just didn't follow the instructions properly. Whatever the reason, I figure that after carefully watering lumps of peat moss for two months with no sign of life, it's time to give up. So, I have three tiny seeds left for me to prove that I am one with friggin' nature, gosh darnit.
Cross your fingers, say a prayer to Demeter for me, and wish me luck!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Kiss me, I think there's maybe some Irish somewhere in there.
Okay, so that phrase doesn't look nearly as good on a button as plain old "kiss me, I'm Irish" but I felt I should be completely honest. I'm not 100% sure of any Irish heritage, but I like to think I've got some blarney in me. So here's wishing you all a happy St. Paddy's Day! Go out and have a rollicking good time - without getting into trouble, that is.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Awesomeness
Have you ever been playing a game and thought, "This would make a really sweet movie?" While sadly this has for the most part been proven wrong (how on earth did they mess up Mario?), I submit to you this video as proof that there could one day be a video-game-to-movie experience that actually works.
The dancing. The Japanese rap. The guys dressed as skeletons. It is so good.
The dancing. The Japanese rap. The guys dressed as skeletons. It is so good.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Something I don't understand
My mind plays a very strange trick on me that's getting more and more noticeable every year. When I watch a movie or TV show (something I rarely do) and the main characters are in their early-to-mid 30s they seem so young and vibrant. It seems like the prime of life! But whenever I tell people my age (which is not yet in the early-to-midarly 30s range) I suddenly feel haggard, hoary* and hag-like (alliteration - get on that train!). Especially when said people are like 23 and I realize that they were still in middle school my freshman year of college. When I tell them my age they get this look on their faces as though all of the sudden wrinkles are going to explode forth from my face to smother them in ancientness.
I know logically in a tiny part of my brain that I am a spring chicken; a wealth of youth and vigor or something. I'm not even as old as those people in movies/TV who are depicted as being the *it* age. So how can I overcome this worry and paranoia that makes me want to be a cliche and start lying about my age?
*Okay, this is not normally a word I use but thesaurus.com promised me it was legit.
Friday, March 05, 2010
Blog envy
Okay, so not only do I frequently suffer from deep insecurities about not being funny at all when I read other people's blogs (why are you pity laughing??), but now I'm finding all these blogs that have existed far less time than mine has and they all have book deals! How do I get on that money train?
Granted, they are all VERY hilarious and they all cover topics a little more broad than mine, but surely the world needs to know of my zany adventures? Also, I don't swear NEARLY as much as these other guys do, so I'm safe for kids! Okay, maybe the world doesn't care, but I wants me some money. So, if anyone out there is reading this that has an in with a publisher, get me a book deal and I'll make it worth your while. I give a mean head scratch!
(here are a few blogs who know the right people and crack me up. warning! some of the posts are not suitable for all audiences - view at your own risk! for more blog-to-book stories, read here)
passive agressive notes (a site that locates and posts the silly notes we leave when angry)
stuff white people like (a site that makes me laugh and feel bad about myself at the same time)
regretsy (a site that mocks the crazy things sold in etsy shops. employs occasional foul language and also displays some pictures with nudity)
f u penguin (a site that tries unsuccessfully to mock adorable animals. also, sadly, uses the F word a lot - hence, the title)
Granted, they are all VERY hilarious and they all cover topics a little more broad than mine, but surely the world needs to know of my zany adventures? Also, I don't swear NEARLY as much as these other guys do, so I'm safe for kids! Okay, maybe the world doesn't care, but I wants me some money. So, if anyone out there is reading this that has an in with a publisher, get me a book deal and I'll make it worth your while. I give a mean head scratch!
(here are a few blogs who know the right people and crack me up. warning! some of the posts are not suitable for all audiences - view at your own risk! for more blog-to-book stories, read here)
passive agressive notes (a site that locates and posts the silly notes we leave when angry)
stuff white people like (a site that makes me laugh and feel bad about myself at the same time)
regretsy (a site that mocks the crazy things sold in etsy shops. employs occasional foul language and also displays some pictures with nudity)
f u penguin (a site that tries unsuccessfully to mock adorable animals. also, sadly, uses the F word a lot - hence, the title)
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Wait just a minute....
Recently on Facebook I've started noticing ads like these:
Try UGG's: Age 28
Age 28: Free Samples
Age 28 ONLY: Free iPad
At first I was understandably excited, because HEY! I'm 28!!! How convenient for me that my age should finally be something I claim proudly, rather than hiding it shamefully away like a bad report card or an embarrassing relative. Also, free stuff?? I totally LOVE free stuff!
But then, as I went to the official websites* for these products I could find no such tests or trials that were aimed specifically at 28 year olds. That's when it hit me: I had been played. It never occurred to me that Facebook would sneakily tell these ads my exact age just to lure me in and make me think I had an advantage over other would-be product testers. I feel so betrayed and horrified at how easily my personal information is used against me for crass commercialization, like I'm someone out of Minority Report.
I don't know why I'm surprised, clearly FB has no problem selling my information down the river. How else would pictures of my friends appear on ads for various FB applications (on non-FB websites, too!). And isn't it convenient that youtube knows who to propose as potential video friends, as if FB didn't sell it my friend list?
As a final test, I just went and gave myself a fake birth-date (in addition to the fake email address I already gave so I would stop getting stupid notifications). Now, if the ads start being aimed at 33 year olds instead, I will know officially that FB is no longer a kindly site that only wants to help me be social, but rather it is a greedy, sneaky, information selling monster who cares not one whit for my privacy.
And I thought we were friends. Et tu, Facebook??
*I never clicked on the links themselves. At least I'm smarter than that!
Try UGG's: Age 28
If you are 28 years old ONLY and female, get one FREE pair of UGG Boots today, participation required, (limit one) per person.
Age 28: Free Samples
Hundreds of companies are giving away FREE samples to 28 year old women. Check availability and participation requirements.
Age 28 ONLY: Free iPad
We are in desperate need for 28 year olds to test the new Apple iPad. You test it, you keep it. Participation required.
At first I was understandably excited, because HEY! I'm 28!!! How convenient for me that my age should finally be something I claim proudly, rather than hiding it shamefully away like a bad report card or an embarrassing relative. Also, free stuff?? I totally LOVE free stuff!
But then, as I went to the official websites* for these products I could find no such tests or trials that were aimed specifically at 28 year olds. That's when it hit me: I had been played. It never occurred to me that Facebook would sneakily tell these ads my exact age just to lure me in and make me think I had an advantage over other would-be product testers. I feel so betrayed and horrified at how easily my personal information is used against me for crass commercialization, like I'm someone out of Minority Report.
I don't know why I'm surprised, clearly FB has no problem selling my information down the river. How else would pictures of my friends appear on ads for various FB applications (on non-FB websites, too!). And isn't it convenient that youtube knows who to propose as potential video friends, as if FB didn't sell it my friend list?
As a final test, I just went and gave myself a fake birth-date (in addition to the fake email address I already gave so I would stop getting stupid notifications). Now, if the ads start being aimed at 33 year olds instead, I will know officially that FB is no longer a kindly site that only wants to help me be social, but rather it is a greedy, sneaky, information selling monster who cares not one whit for my privacy.
And I thought we were friends. Et tu, Facebook??
*I never clicked on the links themselves. At least I'm smarter than that!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Mon cher papa
Yesterday was my father's birthday, and so in honor of that momentous day I shall now write my top 5 favorite things about my dad.
5) Dad is a motor cycle maniac. I think he looks kinda like Harrison Ford, but the way Harrison Ford wishes he looked. Just check it out - you know you wish you were this cool.
4) Some of my fondest and oldest memories are of my dad reading to us. He read all of the Little House books, and I will always treasure that. A lot of my love for reading has come from this awesome example.
3) Dad, as is the case with all of the Kearl family, likes having his head/back rubbed and he isn't shy about sitting in front of someone and rolling his head around until that person gets the hint. I cherish the memory of watching one day as Dad looked around for something to scratch an itch with and used my sister's hairbrush. She came looking for it and was horrified to see Dad using it to scratch his leg.
2) Dad is the documentarian in our family. Without him, there would be little to no photographic evidence of our existence. This used to seem annoying, but recently (until my camera expired) I was learning to understand the compelling need to take awful pictures of everyone - which is why I took this awful picture of Dad getting ready to take an awful picture of us. And the cycle continues...
1) This last picture doesn't really demonstrate a quality but it makes me laugh.
And that is my favorite thing of all about Dad: his ability to make us all laugh. Dad brings out the giggly children in all the kids in my family - despite the fact that we are entirely TOO OLD to giggle. All my father has to do is make his hands into claws and say, "Did someone say it was TIME TO EAT?" and we all run screaming. Right before my parents moved from my childhood home, I remember one frantic night when we were lounging around in my parents' room. Suddenly we heard the thundering footsteps and growls of the Tickle Monster coming up the stairs. Immediately we all attempted to fit our adult bodies into the same spaces we hid in as children, despite having grown much larger since then. There was one violent scuffle wherein two or three of us tried to occupy the same spot and almost came to blows, all because my dad was coming to tickle us.
Thank you, Dad, for being a shining example and a wonderful father. Happy belated birthday!
5) Dad is a motor cycle maniac. I think he looks kinda like Harrison Ford, but the way Harrison Ford wishes he looked. Just check it out - you know you wish you were this cool.
4) Some of my fondest and oldest memories are of my dad reading to us. He read all of the Little House books, and I will always treasure that. A lot of my love for reading has come from this awesome example.
3) Dad, as is the case with all of the Kearl family, likes having his head/back rubbed and he isn't shy about sitting in front of someone and rolling his head around until that person gets the hint. I cherish the memory of watching one day as Dad looked around for something to scratch an itch with and used my sister's hairbrush. She came looking for it and was horrified to see Dad using it to scratch his leg.
2) Dad is the documentarian in our family. Without him, there would be little to no photographic evidence of our existence. This used to seem annoying, but recently (until my camera expired) I was learning to understand the compelling need to take awful pictures of everyone - which is why I took this awful picture of Dad getting ready to take an awful picture of us. And the cycle continues...
1) This last picture doesn't really demonstrate a quality but it makes me laugh.
And that is my favorite thing of all about Dad: his ability to make us all laugh. Dad brings out the giggly children in all the kids in my family - despite the fact that we are entirely TOO OLD to giggle. All my father has to do is make his hands into claws and say, "Did someone say it was TIME TO EAT?" and we all run screaming. Right before my parents moved from my childhood home, I remember one frantic night when we were lounging around in my parents' room. Suddenly we heard the thundering footsteps and growls of the Tickle Monster coming up the stairs. Immediately we all attempted to fit our adult bodies into the same spaces we hid in as children, despite having grown much larger since then. There was one violent scuffle wherein two or three of us tried to occupy the same spot and almost came to blows, all because my dad was coming to tickle us.
Thank you, Dad, for being a shining example and a wonderful father. Happy belated birthday!
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
License and registration, please
If you thought this was going to be a post about traffic cops, you'd be wrong. But I can forgive you for that, because my title was a tad misleading. In fact, this post is about something so different that you will no doubt be totally mystified and dying of curiosity to learn how the title even relates. The topic is: hair care. See? What did I tell you?
My sister was considering the addition of a nice punk streak to her head, something in perhaps a blue or purple that could show off her coolness to everyone.
Just something, you know, subtle.
Since I'm the one that always does her highlights I offered to do her streak as well, and when we noticed a small beauty supply store while we were out grocery shopping we decided to stop in. I explained what we were looking for to the cashier and asked if she had anything like what we needed, and to my surprise she eyed me up and down and said, "Well, are you licensed?" I replied in the negative, and in a condescending tone she told me, "Then all the items I could sell you are on that shelf," and she pointed to a rather sad and dusty shelf in a forgotten corner with five or so dejected looking boxes (clearly they knew they were not destined for a salon life).
Contents: unknown...
Dutifully, we went and looked at the shelf but quickly discovered that it had nothing we could use, and so we left. On the way out I stopped and said, "One more thing. Both my sister and I have tried at times to dye our hair dark brown, but as you can see from hers it quickly fades to a sort of red. I've been told that to keep it from fading we would need something called a filler. Do you have that, and is that something I could apply from home?" I don't know what I thought she'd say, since she had been none-to-helpful to a civilian like myself before, but I was very surprised at her response: "Well, since you're not licensed I really couldn't tell you about that, or how to do it. I could be held liable if something were to go wrong, you see."
What??? What was she expecting would go wrong? Was this merely hair-related - perhaps she feared I'd cause my sister to go bald and then come looking to sue her. Or was she afraid of something more dire, like maybe I'd be using this sinister filler to create home-made bombs which I would then use to blow up the beauty supply stores all over Idaho? I guess you never can tell with us fishy non-licensed folk. We're likely to do just about anything!
Unlicensed stylist at work.
The end of the story is that we left dye-less, and as of yet we haven't added that streak of brightly colored rebellion to my sister's hair. Next time I go in a store like that and someone asks if I have a license, I think my response will be, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to KILL YOU."
My sister was considering the addition of a nice punk streak to her head, something in perhaps a blue or purple that could show off her coolness to everyone.
Just something, you know, subtle.
Since I'm the one that always does her highlights I offered to do her streak as well, and when we noticed a small beauty supply store while we were out grocery shopping we decided to stop in. I explained what we were looking for to the cashier and asked if she had anything like what we needed, and to my surprise she eyed me up and down and said, "Well, are you licensed?" I replied in the negative, and in a condescending tone she told me, "Then all the items I could sell you are on that shelf," and she pointed to a rather sad and dusty shelf in a forgotten corner with five or so dejected looking boxes (clearly they knew they were not destined for a salon life).
Contents: unknown...
Dutifully, we went and looked at the shelf but quickly discovered that it had nothing we could use, and so we left. On the way out I stopped and said, "One more thing. Both my sister and I have tried at times to dye our hair dark brown, but as you can see from hers it quickly fades to a sort of red. I've been told that to keep it from fading we would need something called a filler. Do you have that, and is that something I could apply from home?" I don't know what I thought she'd say, since she had been none-to-helpful to a civilian like myself before, but I was very surprised at her response: "Well, since you're not licensed I really couldn't tell you about that, or how to do it. I could be held liable if something were to go wrong, you see."
What??? What was she expecting would go wrong? Was this merely hair-related - perhaps she feared I'd cause my sister to go bald and then come looking to sue her. Or was she afraid of something more dire, like maybe I'd be using this sinister filler to create home-made bombs which I would then use to blow up the beauty supply stores all over Idaho? I guess you never can tell with us fishy non-licensed folk. We're likely to do just about anything!
Unlicensed stylist at work.
The end of the story is that we left dye-less, and as of yet we haven't added that streak of brightly colored rebellion to my sister's hair. Next time I go in a store like that and someone asks if I have a license, I think my response will be, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to KILL YOU."
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Bonsai update
My brother asked why there wasn't a picture of my tree. Well, it's still a soggy seed sitting in a disgusting lump of peat moss right now, so there really isn't much to photograph. Also, my camera has been broken since 2008.
Instead, I will post the trees that have been inspiring me and urging me on in this endeavor. Enjoy!
Instead, I will post the trees that have been inspiring me and urging me on in this endeavor. Enjoy!
Monday, February 01, 2010
Musical musings
1) I don't know why I was so worried about a zombie apocalypse. I realized recently that an old childhood favorite of mine could easily have assuaged all my fears long ago if only I had listened to its message. I am, of course, refering to Zombie Jamboree as sung by Rockapella. According to Rockapella, zombies aren't the brain eating, bloody fingered, staggering monsters that Hollywood would have us fear. Instead they are a musical, rhythmical people who want nothing more than to dance on the Empire State building knocking conga drums and drinking rum. I shouldn't worry about being torn apart, instead I should practice my dance moves so we can get down together. Thanks, Rockapella!
(click here and skip to 2:37 to see old-timey Rockapella in all their mullet-headed, pastel shirt wearing glory)
2) My favorite song of 2009* is by far Say Hey (I Love You) by Michael Franti & Spearhead. It's true that this song loses quite a few point for repeatedly rhyming the word "you" with the daring choice of the word "you." That's why this phrase comes as such a surprise, and more than makes up for points previously lost:
From a song whose chorus is "my momma told me don't lose you/cause the best luck I had was you" one hardly expects to find a five syllable word, much less one that's as complex as 'metaphysical,' much less used in a sentence that actually kind of works. So, for the correct usage of that mammoth word, Say Hey (I Love You) wins my prize.
*I couldn't find the actual date this song was introduced to the world, so it could be from 2008. But I first heard it in '09, so that's the year it wins a prize for.
3) I've decided that what my life really needs is a soundtrack. I mean, watching movies and TV shows as much as I do, I have come to appreciate just how vital a soundtrack really is. Can you imagine Jaws or Psycho without the unforgettable music accompanying the contents of the films? Not as affective.
So, clearly in order for my life to be more awesome and memorable I really really need to have music to accompany all my actions, decisions, emotions, etc. Once there's music to go along with every car ride or phone call, my life will be complete. I just have to find an appropriate accompanist, and then I'll be all set.
(click here and skip to 2:37 to see old-timey Rockapella in all their mullet-headed, pastel shirt wearing glory)
2) My favorite song of 2009* is by far Say Hey (I Love You) by Michael Franti & Spearhead. It's true that this song loses quite a few point for repeatedly rhyming the word "you" with the daring choice of the word "you." That's why this phrase comes as such a surprise, and more than makes up for points previously lost:
Now I’m not a highly metaphysical man
But I know when the stars are aligned you can
bump into person in the middle of the road
look into their eyes and you suddenly know
From a song whose chorus is "my momma told me don't lose you/cause the best luck I had was you" one hardly expects to find a five syllable word, much less one that's as complex as 'metaphysical,' much less used in a sentence that actually kind of works. So, for the correct usage of that mammoth word, Say Hey (I Love You) wins my prize.
*I couldn't find the actual date this song was introduced to the world, so it could be from 2008. But I first heard it in '09, so that's the year it wins a prize for.
3) I've decided that what my life really needs is a soundtrack. I mean, watching movies and TV shows as much as I do, I have come to appreciate just how vital a soundtrack really is. Can you imagine Jaws or Psycho without the unforgettable music accompanying the contents of the films? Not as affective.
So, clearly in order for my life to be more awesome and memorable I really really need to have music to accompany all my actions, decisions, emotions, etc. Once there's music to go along with every car ride or phone call, my life will be complete. I just have to find an appropriate accompanist, and then I'll be all set.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
More than I can chew - or plant
Recently my mom and I were in a Barnes & Noble attempting to use up an ancient gift card she'd had floating around for ages. As we approached the check out counter we were faced with that little rotating rack that is designed specifically for people just like me, who are unable to resist ridiculous tchotchkes like the teeny tiny tea set or the cute little zen garden. But the one that caught my eye this day was the mini bonsai kit - I *had* to have it, and my mother, like any good enabler, kindly purchased it for me. Naturally, being that it was in the last minute rack at a chain book store, I assumed that this kit would be like every Americanized version of ancient Asian art forms: there would be some fast growing tree that would be fun for a month and then die; completely missing the point of the art. As you can guess, this is not what I found. Otherwise, why would I write a post? Come on, guys. Get with it.
I opened the box and was somewhat dismayed to find an entire book of instruction inside. Granted it's a 1"x 0.5" book, but still it has actual chapters instructing a would-be bonsai master on the ancient history of tiny trees, the spiritual meaning thereof, and the proper way to shape your tree... once it has grown.
If you guessed by the ominous ellipses that the growing part of this mild amusement of mine is ridiculously complicated, then you win the prize! I don't know what I was expecting to find, but five tree seeds and a detailed description of the treatment they require was not it. Before I can even think about taking my tiny scissors to my tiny tree there's about a year of carefully monitored growing that it must do. And before it can grow, there's a complicated sprouting process that potential trees must complete. Then, to make me feel even more tense about the process, it seems I'm supposed to sprout all five seeds and cull the weak ones - because nothing makes a sprout want to grow like watching all its siblings be murdered.
I have to admit that after being intimidated by the idea that in shaping this tree I will be basically shaping my SOUL, and also after learning that this isn't just a month or so of entertainment but an actual lifetime commitment, I'm tempted to just throw all the seeds out in my parents' back yard (run free, little seeds!) and buy a plastic bonsai tree that requires no more care than an occasional dusting. However, I've decided that I'm going to give this my best. No more buying plants that will live even if I don't put them in "dappled" sunlight or mist them on a bi-weekly basis. I'm diving into the world of green thumbery. And also, there will be no culling because I'm too weak for that. Whichever of these seeds actually sprout will be given love and life.
On that note, guess who will be getting tiny trees for birthdays? You're welcome, family.
I opened the box and was somewhat dismayed to find an entire book of instruction inside. Granted it's a 1"x 0.5" book, but still it has actual chapters instructing a would-be bonsai master on the ancient history of tiny trees, the spiritual meaning thereof, and the proper way to shape your tree... once it has grown.
If you guessed by the ominous ellipses that the growing part of this mild amusement of mine is ridiculously complicated, then you win the prize! I don't know what I was expecting to find, but five tree seeds and a detailed description of the treatment they require was not it. Before I can even think about taking my tiny scissors to my tiny tree there's about a year of carefully monitored growing that it must do. And before it can grow, there's a complicated sprouting process that potential trees must complete. Then, to make me feel even more tense about the process, it seems I'm supposed to sprout all five seeds and cull the weak ones - because nothing makes a sprout want to grow like watching all its siblings be murdered.
I have to admit that after being intimidated by the idea that in shaping this tree I will be basically shaping my SOUL, and also after learning that this isn't just a month or so of entertainment but an actual lifetime commitment, I'm tempted to just throw all the seeds out in my parents' back yard (run free, little seeds!) and buy a plastic bonsai tree that requires no more care than an occasional dusting. However, I've decided that I'm going to give this my best. No more buying plants that will live even if I don't put them in "dappled" sunlight or mist them on a bi-weekly basis. I'm diving into the world of green thumbery. And also, there will be no culling because I'm too weak for that. Whichever of these seeds actually sprout will be given love and life.
On that note, guess who will be getting tiny trees for birthdays? You're welcome, family.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Swine flue shmine flu
Guys, I just wanted to tell you that even though the world might be terrified of H1N1 and the CDC's website says,
my local Wal-Mart pharmacy representative told me that it wasn't even a thing anymore and that they have no plans to start issuing vaccines again any time soon, but maybe some other loser pharmacy would still have some left over useless vaccine, if I really want it. So, don't even worry about it guys!
"If you think 2009 H1N1 flu can’t affect you, your family, or your friends—think again.... A flu vaccine is the first and most important step in protecting against flu infection."
my local Wal-Mart pharmacy representative told me that it wasn't even a thing anymore and that they have no plans to start issuing vaccines again any time soon, but maybe some other loser pharmacy would still have some left over useless vaccine, if I really want it. So, don't even worry about it guys!
Thursday, January 07, 2010
AT LAST!
I have two "at lasts" to post about, both very exciting to me.
#1 - I posted last year about a kick-butt music video that my sister made (totally starring me, of course) and then waited with eagerness for the video to be posted online so I could show it off. And I waited... and waited... and AT LAST it's here! Hooray for Anna, filmstress extraordinaire! Prepare to be amazed by my music video debut (oh and I guess some other people were in it too):
#2 - I was sadly disappointed by 2009's supposed blockbuster movies, and you all had to hear about it ad nauseum. But finally finally came a movie that not only lived up to my expectations, but also exceeded them: Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, it helps that my only "expectation" for the movie was that Dr. Watson (aka Jude Law) be stunningly good looking
(check plus!)
but still the movie rocked my socks AND the respective socks of my mother, father, brother and sister. It had all the characteristics of the Holmes stories I loved so dearly and read so voraciously (before I read the anti-Mormon A Study in Scarlet which left me a little cold):
And then there was more. Gone was the subservient dog-like Watson, who seemed to only exist so that Holmes could have someone to be smug to. He was replaced with an intelligent and saucy Watson, and we were treated to a delightful bantering between the two all through the movie instead of just Watson's constant attempts to solve the mystery, and Holmes' constant condescending correction of Watson. We were also treated to a glimpse into Holmes' analytical mind AND some exciting violence as he planned out each brutal beating that he would give to the bad guys in slow motion, and then carried out that plan in normal speed. I don't remember Holmes getting into too many fights in the books, but this is definitely how he would do it.
I could go on and on about my rapturous feelings towards this awesome film, but you'd be bored. So I'll end by saying, kudos 2009 for finally getting one movie right!
I'm so happy to start the new year with two such fabulous "at lasts."
#1 - I posted last year about a kick-butt music video that my sister made (totally starring me, of course) and then waited with eagerness for the video to be posted online so I could show it off. And I waited... and waited... and AT LAST it's here! Hooray for Anna, filmstress extraordinaire! Prepare to be amazed by my music video debut (oh and I guess some other people were in it too):
#2 - I was sadly disappointed by 2009's supposed blockbuster movies, and you all had to hear about it ad nauseum. But finally finally came a movie that not only lived up to my expectations, but also exceeded them: Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, it helps that my only "expectation" for the movie was that Dr. Watson (aka Jude Law) be stunningly good looking
(check plus!)- the arrogant, but rightly so, Holmes; always not-so-subtly insulting the intelligences of the people around him (poor Lestrade!)
- Holmes' habit of noticing seemingly inconsequential details and applying them to his vast data bank of obscure knowledge to come to a conclusion unreachable by mere mortals
- Holmes' other habit of not telling anyone what he's noticed or deduced until the very end, leaving us holding our breaths with anticipation
- Holmes' third habit of imbibing too much cocaine (!) - props to them for this, it was very subtly and comically done
- Another Sherlock habit, that of using disguises to follow suspects; particularly Irene Adler who is only one of Holmes' nemeses that appeared in this movie
And then there was more. Gone was the subservient dog-like Watson, who seemed to only exist so that Holmes could have someone to be smug to. He was replaced with an intelligent and saucy Watson, and we were treated to a delightful bantering between the two all through the movie instead of just Watson's constant attempts to solve the mystery, and Holmes' constant condescending correction of Watson. We were also treated to a glimpse into Holmes' analytical mind AND some exciting violence as he planned out each brutal beating that he would give to the bad guys in slow motion, and then carried out that plan in normal speed. I don't remember Holmes getting into too many fights in the books, but this is definitely how he would do it.
I could go on and on about my rapturous feelings towards this awesome film, but you'd be bored. So I'll end by saying, kudos 2009 for finally getting one movie right!
I'm so happy to start the new year with two such fabulous "at lasts."
Friday, January 01, 2010
2010!!!
Happy New Year!!!! When I was 10 or 11 I thought the world would have ended by now. HOORAY THAT IT DIDN'T!!! To all my auld acquaintances (whatever the heck that means) I wish you the best for 2010.
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