The Gray Hat

Nobody wants to go to Your Wedding!!!!

2012-06-03T19:31:00.001-07:00

Though I have sincerely enjoyed screaming those words first uttered by Jerry Seinfeld for past few months any time someone mentioned my friends’ wedding, I actually did want to go to it. Why do I bring it up now? Because it happened to take place this very Memorial Day weekend… 8 hours away… In Harrisburg, PA… I went over the George Washington to get there…

And off into there be dragons we went. It wasn’t actually that bad a ride, the confusing part of the trip came when we actually set foot in PA. I wondered if leaving the passport at home had been a mistake.

So here is an abbreviated list of the things I can remember learning this weekend.

In Harrisburg…

When you ask for a lager they don’t say, “what kind?” they just give you a Yuengling

When you go to pay for the keystone of lagers that has just been placed before you, you won’t pay more than $3

A similar trend was seen among other beverages – a shot of SoCo = 6. A legit margarita = 5. Basically, I felt like I’d landed in Estonia or some other eastern European country, therefore I was a millionaire

People are friendly – I was walking down the street and on more than one occasion some random ass person said “hello.” They didn’t know me. They were just being “friendly.” I figured “hello?” back was a solid answer. They probably thought I was a big asshole. They may be correct.

A pancake is a hotcake – what the hell

If you plan on eating that hot cake or buying aspirin, a toothbrush, or a wedding card, you better plan on doing it before 2 pm because everything closes wicked early

People at bars and clubs dress like they just stumbled off of the beach

People drive backwards down the highway – random impatience?

As it turns out, there are no left turns in New Jersey. Also, that state smells like a foot

So there you go – everything I learned in Harrisburg. Enthralling, I know…

Still Talking...

2012-05-16T17:11:00.000-07:00

I have a bone with the radio during my morning commute. I've actually already picked that bone, but I'm gonna keep picking just for kicks. See, my commute is 30 miles long and both the morning and the evening commuting sessions tend to look a little like this:

And this is beyond a good day

So needless to say I spend a lot of time channel surfing only to find more talking and less music.

If you so happen to be one of those people who enjoy morning radio shows (don’t ask me why) but don’t feel the need to listen to the asinine episodes of someone else's life, then you probably wait around for segments, or whatever they call them. Every station seems to have them.

There’s the Senseless Survey in which people are called, and asked (you guessed it) senseless questions until they either get pissed off and hang up, or get pissed off and start swearing uncontrollably at the radio station. (The second one is funnier at least, mainly because the station needs to hang up on them before the FCC fines start rolling.)

There’s Jam Scam in which someone, presumably an unemployed someone with nothing to do at 7 in the morning, has the station prank call their friend. Then there’s a lot cursing and bleeping and “ohhhhh hahahahhah, you got me!” moments.

There’s Can’t Beat Kennedy in which someone calls in and tries to beat one of the hosts in a battle of pop culture questions. The best and worst part of this one is the parody of Can’t Touch This by MC Hammer that’s played in the beginning.

So yeah, morning radio shows. I don’t get it.

Best URL Ever. Period.

2012-05-02T13:32:00.001-07:00

My job requires me to research the topics of small businesses, big data, SVAs, employee retention, foreign islands, gardening equipment, what middle aged women find appealing, the lifestyles of farmers, recognition, converged networks, customer service, coconuts, sunbathing, fitness, and commonplace tools found in high school biology labs. But the first one is what led me to my newest and most favorite website. Well, URL anyway.

http://bjconquest.com/

It’s about small businesses. Beverly here, shares her extensive knowledge on growing small businesses. If your business is small, she can provide a solution. What she has that stimulates business growth is apparently knowledge, expertise, and experience…

See? It's the best. End of.

No Commuter Left Behind

2012-04-27T17:00:00.001-07:00

Let’s just start this out with a little PSA. If you are traveling on the T between the hours of 6-8 in the morning or 4-7 in the evening, then put the book away. I love literature as much as the next person, but you and your Kafka are taking up, like, two people’s worth of space during rush hour. ‘Nuff Said.

Do you see room for a book in here?

It had been a while since I’d been on the T, but I had a meeting in Cambridge so the car got dumped in Wellington, I sat on the orange line, I sat on the red line, I dodged that random guy who stands in Downtown Crossing hissing at people, and before you know it I’d landed.

The ride back was not so smooth. I would first like to bring up this ‘view from inside Boston’ which states that the MBTA is ranked third in the U.S. for transit systems. My heart goes out to those poor souls in Portland. This was also published on the same day, by the way, that anyone going to Alewife was bound to see a twelve minute ride turn into a two hour one.

But anyway, as it was rush hour, I figured it would be the perfect time to head home. And so I and about a billion of my closest friends rushed on board and we took off… For about one stop. The train came to a grinding halt, the doors opened, people left, more crammed on, and we waited. And waited. And waited.

The announcer came on and announced quite impressively, “Therrrrrre’s a train crossing ahead of us aaaaand it’ll be just a few more minutes before we take off. I’ll leave the doors open” A few minutes later and he came back on, “Aaaas I said before just a few more minutes, and the doors are open for anyone else who wants to jump on.” At that point I was in the mood to shove a few people off. Some greedy bitch decided to use her body as a shield between me and two other people and the train pole you grab onto. Finally the guy came back on for yet another update, “And we just got word that that other train has move past us.” Good, we can move. “I’ll just leave these doors open a moment longer so everyone can get on.” So who can get on? Who the hell hasn’t gotten on? And then he let out in one last cry, “WE won’t leave anyone behind!!!” Oh dear. No I believe everyone and their mother is on this train.

The doors finally closed and I was left to train surf my way back to the orange line along with all others excluded from the train pole.

Talk Radio Would Better Without the 'Talk' Part

2012-04-24T19:01:00.000-07:00

My morning commute takes me down through 2 very long highways, which around 7 AM look more like parking lots than actual roads. So what does this mean for me? Channel flipping through my radio for roughly an hour and a half. Super.

If you too are plagued by this, then you understand you’re basically limited to two radio options:

You can listen to a mish mash of Gavin Degraw declaring that he is doin’ just fine, Rihanna declaring that she found love in a hopeless place, or those random British guys declaring that they’re glad you came.

You can listen to talk radio...

And this leads me to my main question: Why does anyone ever call into talk radio?! Because let me tell you, calling into morning radio shows will result in you either.

Embarrassing yourself by sharing personal information no one wants to know.

Being ridiculed by radio station personnel because you shared personal information no one wants to know.

People need to cool it with oversharing. First of all, why the hell aren't you at work? If I have to be up at this miserable hour, then you should be equally as unhappy. Fact.

Second, if you aren't on your way to your place of employment, why are even awake?

Third, why is it necessary to share this story?

GOD! JUST MARRY ME!

Some lady called into a show the other day, then had them call her boyfriend, and then gave him crap about not proposing. So what do we think the outcome of this went? Spoiler alert, we won’t be hearing wedding bells anytime soon. Yep, this chick got dumped on the Matty in the Morning Show, sobbed for a bit and then hung up in a huff. I mean really. The audacity this man has to not propose to his crazy girlfriend, who made the effort to call into a radio show so she could bully him into marriage. It’s amazing they weren't already hitched.

Who Else Loves Route 128 to Waltham?

2012-04-23T14:24:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time ago I wrote a post where I, believe it or not, whined for a hefty amount of time about sitting in an hour and 15 minutes of traffic. My how the times have changed. Now if I'm lucky I get to work that quickly.

Except for today, today I got to sit in traffic three hours. Yayyyyyy! That was really all. Just a whine. Promise I'm done now. I'll be sitting at my desk for the next 4 hours to make up the time I missed. WAhhhhh!

OK now I'm really done. Next time I'll write something real.

Lessons from the Titanic

2012-04-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

Spoiler alert: the ship (and my job) sinks

Monday was a boring day. And what do I do on boring days? Why pay $13 to watch a movie I’ve already seen of course! Duh, silly. Yep, after much whining about my friends dragging me to see Titanic, I have to say I may have, uh, errmm enjoyed it… Egg on my face.

But here is an important life lesson that I wish I had taken from Titanic back in 4^th grade when I had originally seen it. Though my 4^th grade expectations for life didn’t include me getting some sort of low paying corporate bitch position that I would ultimately get laid off from… So here we go.

The boat takes off, yayyyyy!

Woooo I'm the queen of the office!!!

The engineer of the ship declares that his 46,000 ton ship made of iron couldn’t possibly be sunk. The chairman of White Star Lines insists that they go faster even after he’s told they shouldn’t. The captain is told there will probably be icebergs everywhere, but decides he needs his beauty rest.

The ship could SINK?? Why that's...

Yada, yada, failed suicide attempt, yada, yada, sex in antique car (this part only pertains to the movie, not my job), yada yada ship hits iceberg –shock – and starts sinking. Now let’s look at the two types of people on this ridiculous nonunsinkable ship.

We have project manag- I mean snooty rich people running the show, who wear uncomfortable outfits and use too many forks at dinner.

Do you take your fish eggs with sour cream or toasted bread?

And we have the people who actually work, show up to meetings on time, and write 3 different kinds of repor – I mean everyone else gets to hang out with the rats and shovel coal all day.

Just another day livin' the dream...

So when the ship goes down who gets to fill those life rafts? Not the coal shoveling, report writing, meeting attending steerage occupants. Nope, it the geniuses in charge who take 2 hour lunch breaks and think supplying 20 lifeboats instead of 32 is OK because deck might look cluttered.

So yeah, I got laid off... Sour grapes, can you tell?

Waka Waka Syndrome

2012-04-12T15:16:00.001-07:00

So the Boston Bruins have round one of the playoffs against the Capitals tonight. This can only mean one thing - and that is that everyone can start pretending to care about hockey.

This is what I like to refer to as Waka Waka Syndrome. Basically, Waka Waka Syndrome dates back to a million years ago, when the World Cup started. Whenever the World Cup is about to happen, people like to go ape shit all over soccer and it shows up everywhere- on people cars, posters go up, random positive yet nebulous words are shouted in the streets, people actually like Italy again. Then, when its over, soccer returns to being known as a sport of obscurity played by small, wimpy children in the suburbs, except maybe in England.

Much like the experience curling and synchronized diving goes through during the Olympics, hockey is no exception to this phenomenon.

Generally, a few types of "fans" become particularly loud during this special time of year:

Most kids from South Boston

Irish! Bruins! Boston! Guiness! WOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Chicks who think black and yellow complement their skin tones and strive land themselves a hockey player eventually.

Pucks! Ice! Chara! See? We totally loooove hockey!

And these poor bastards who need something to root for.

Sorry boys, Beckett's pitching tonight, you
should probably just head over to the Garden now.

Don't worry Waka Waka Syndrome never lasts long. Generally, its either till playoffs are over or till we lose. You can fill in the blank here.

The Secret to Success in Corporate America

2012-04-07T18:43:00.000-07:00

So what could be a better way to begin the New Year? Why by writing a post four months late of course!

So at my first big kid job here is what I learned:

If you walk around with a terrified look on your face, you will look busy and important

If you schedule yourself for 8 meetings a day and then miss half of them and show up late for the other half, then you will look busy and important.

If you fill out a million different kinds of reports and complain about your work load, then you will look busy and important.

So are we seeing a trend?

Sorry this post came in late, I’ve just been so busy…

I'm a Big Kid Now

2011-04-29T16:51:00.000-07:00

Wellp, I did it. I finally managed to graduate college. Sure it took me 4 and a half years, but that was tooootally because of that uh, major change. The point is, I can now happily say goodbye college, hello unemployment. And what discipline would a studious young individual such as myself now go into you ask? Well, I was an English major so that leaves me with three options basically- teaching, law school and living in my parents' basement. Guess we'll start with the latter and go from there.

Priorities

2011-04-29T16:46:00.000-07:00

Lets talk about squash before I get on with this post. In England they have this thing called squash. Squash is super concentrated juice and you dilute it with water.

I guess it's supposed to be like delicious poor man's juice? I dunno. I don't get it, its kind of like crystal light but with an intensified aftertaste of Splenda.

Anyway, I began this post-like so many others-not to talk about the many oddities of our wooden toothed counterparts, but to whinge as it were about the ridiculous obsession with the royal wedding- insert all sorts of puns involving the word 'royal' here. e.g. royal pain in my ass.

I shrugged it off and rolled my eyes as everyone else grumbled and groaned on about it for the past few months- can't say I cared enough to even get annoyed about the incessant news reports.

Well all that changed one friday morning as I rolled out bed, ran through the shower, and loaded up on 32 oz. of Dunkin Donuts. Shooting down the usual on ramp, a ghastly sight arose before me. Traffic. Not just any traffic- on-ramp traffic. This was just the precursor to 40 more minutes of sitting on the highway. Perhaps I should throw in that I was only traveling 1 exit down.

I frantically scanned through radio station after radio station, but alas real news was not to be had. Only a steady stream of usless reports on the nuptuals taking place thousands of miles away that would basically have no impact on my life in any capacity. Digging through the recesses of my memory- back about 15 minutes at least, I tried to think about what I had seen on the news in between bathing and caffinating. Oh wait- there you go. No news, just two bored looking Brits, sitting in the middle of a tree-filled church, listening to the Vienna boys choir, or whatever that was.

So rather than the traffic report that I normally get in morning that would have saved me from an hour and 15 minute commute, which normally takes all of about 12 minutes, I got to watch two rich people get married and then waste a hefty amount gas and time crawling down the highway and waiting for a 9 car pile-up to be cleaned up- priorities people! Priorities!

Ahhh Ingenuity at its Finest!

2010-11-16T20:25:00.000-08:00

Well, as I'm sure you've all heard by now, a little drinky hath hiteth the market called Four Loko. It'll basically guarantee you an entire night of strait up smashery for around 2 bucks. I've never seen a happier student body.

Unfortunately, said drink has also recieved some bad reviews by the grownups in power and are being removed from shelves in some states. I've seen two reactions to this:

1.) Ohhhh my god! This must be like realllly bad for you! We should, like, totally not drink this!

or

2.) Shit! They're taking it all away- better stock up while we still can!

But apparently there is in fact a third option, and by far the most creative!

Just make your own. Duhhh!

My favorite part is the fine print, reading- "BuzzFeed is not liable for any injury, illness, or death associated with this Four Loko homebrew recipe"

So just a recap- you may die, BUT if you don't, you'll have a sick, cheap ass way to get drunk. Party or Die. So what do I say? Salut!

See What Can Happen When We Put Our Heads Together?

I've Been a Bad Bad Giiii-irrrrl

2010-10-30T16:09:00.000-07:00

No, I didn't mess around with a delicate man. I just haven't posted in a while. Why you ask? Well in my normal fashion of answering my own questions, its because I've been busy with midterms and other important things- like creating this enourmous straw so that it is suitable for a bottle of vino.

I'm gonna miss college.

Midterms can be a harrowing time for any college student. So in the midst of long term papers for some reason one of my professors decided to give me the rather torturous task of writing a sonnet. What? But why?!!! I don't actually have an answer this time. So, I cracked open the afformentioned bottle and two hours later this is the horrible love child that occured between vino and a failed attempt at Shakespearean verse:

Oh poems how you do terrify me
You do it in many different ways
My teachers they have tried to prepare me
Sadly no information ever stays
The rhythm of them goes up and goes down
I grimace in frustration as it moves
It makes my head spin around and around
I’d much prefer to be shopping for shoes
I used to think Iamb was a dog food
But it has gotten me to count to ten
It tends to put me in a foul mood
I always must try again and again
Writing a poem is repetitious
So I’ll switch it up, cheese is delicious

Iamb, dactyl, trochee, spondee
Completing scansions tend to be puzzles
I force my roommate to listen to me
Soon she’s going to drag out the muzzles
I should pay special attention to form
And count my syllables to the letter
The lack of prose here is making me squirm
In two more stanzas things will be better
Writing this poem, I’m in the home stretch
At least it’s not in Spenserian verse
Whining like this, I come off like a wretch
Reading it must be like having a curse
After reading this, it doesn’t make sense
You will laugh or cry or just take offense

Yes, I understand the iambic pentameter is non existent.
Yes, I passed this in, anyway.
No, I do not care.
Give me another 20 page midterm, just don't make me write another poem.

Cash or Credit?

2010-10-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

I often find that when I go to the supermarket that I'm overcome by a wave of panic when nearing the end of my purchase. See, walking around a supermarket is upsetting enough throughout the process; it just all comes to a stressful hustle nearing the end.

As soon as you get in there it's freezing. I don't know why; maybe they're trying to combat global warming one supermarket at a time. This matter is only exacerbated in the frozen section and prolonged when you leave, as the contrast of a 50 degree store and the 85 degree humidity often causes people to feel like they themselves may crack in two.

The entire set up is a tad ridiculous as well. I mean, nothing is where you think it'll be to start with. I mean, why would the flower section be located next to the bread section? Would it not make more sense to put it near the produce or at least something else that grows? And next to the bread? Peanut butter. Which is all well and good but then what about the peanuts? Located with the nuts, and despite having the word nut located in the name, it's actually a legume. And since supermarkets seem to think that they have cleverly organized their stores by category they're sorely mistaken and therefore, the peanuts should be sitting next to peas or alfalfa or something.

Moving on, lets assume you're a masochist and have decided to go to Walmart or Target or something. If you've actually been able to obtain the items you were looking for in the first place, your task is then to escape that nasty maze they call "grocery aisles." Granted, nothing could be worse than trying figure out how to get out of IKEA, but American businesses are quickly following Swedish suit. Unfortunately, unlike the Swedish ,we aren't given maps or arrows or anything logical for that matter to help us leave.

But don't worry, you weary shopper! The end is near; just pop through the checkout line and you're off, right? Right. Pop through and 30 minutes later you'll be on your way. And though the entire process of your trip to the supermarket was a long and arduous one, the one thing you can count on for sure is that awkward rush at the end. See, I like to pay with debit for multiple reasons.

1.) I'm under the age of 50, so basically it's my life line.
2.) I have yet to experience identity theft, though I'm waiting for it, any day now.
3.) The dreaded cash/change awkwardness.

Yup, change can be awkward. Well, if you're me anyway. See, for some reason even though your whole experience at the store has been one of a glacial pace, at the very end the cashier likes to throw your change at you so that you have only seconds to compose yourself and leave and they can get the next person through as quickly as possible. Upon receiving your change you have minutes to shove it in your wallet, grab your stuff and run out the door towards freedom. Sadly, if your wallet looks like mine, and since mine looks like George Costanza's, there are so many receipts shoved in there nothing else can quite fit smoothly in. So then what is one to do? Fold it in half and then force it in. OK, phew! You did it, you got the cash in. However, since it was stuffed in, the wallet is now too fat and you have to spend your next precious seconds trying to snap the damn thing shut. But don't be ridiculous, you're not done yet. There are still coins to contend with. Say goodbye to more time passing before your eyes as you try to unzip, dump coins, and rezip. All the while the rest of the line has moved on. They are shoving forward and if you don't hurry up and move you're going to have an avalanche of someone else's Rice Chex rain down on you and your stuff.

So there you go. Supermarket, it's a scary place.

Smile Like You Mean It

2010-09-27T21:10:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not talking about that annoying phrase your mother always barked at you when relatives were about to visit, or The Killers for that matter. However, if you guessed the awkwardness that ensues durings those split-second-passerby-interactions, then its a gold star for you!

Just imagine you've awoken in haze, your room littered with Dominos boxes and Lost DVD cases from that marathon you had last night. Realizing you're once again late for class, that familiar phrase, "Oh, crap!" Runs through your head. Before any more precious moments can be lost you yank on clothes, making yourself look mildly presentable, people shouldn't take bathing so seriously anyway right? So down to class you march, back on track to a normal schedule. Now, up until this very moment your whole day seems to be up to par (shower aside) until this fatal moment happens.

Oh hey, look its that girl from my bio class. I wonder if I should say "hi." Naww, she probably won't even recognize m- oh, oh wait. I think we're making eye contact. Damn what do I do now? She's smiling at me. Should I smile back? Ughhhh crap, if I do that, I'll be smiling at her and then the five people behind her. Awwwkward. But if I don't smile she's gonna think I'm an ass. Damn, ok here goes.

And so the tale goes on. You plaster a smile on your face and the other person in question moves on past you, allowing only moments for said smile to be removed and your face returned to normal. Sadly, this never actually works. Normally, you end up grinning on like a jackass to the people behind the intended target of your smile. This usually results in a mixture of:

1.) People averting their eyes away quickly, as though to say "Ahhh! Whyyy is that weirdo looking at me like that?!" (Frankly I can't blame them)

2.) Looks of shock and anger "What? Who the hellllll do you think YOU are? Huh? You keep staring at me creeper and I'll cut you!" (a tad more hostile, but still understandable)

3.) This is the worst reaction of all- they smile back. To which I would say, "Why you gotta be so damn friendly, hippie?! Look away. Look. Away." (well maybe not, but seriously? I'm not out to make any friends on the way to class here, mk?)

And so to remedy such a situation, I have devised the grimace, a face made when you curl the edges of your mouth upwards, allowing a quick retraction of facial muscles to your standard "I'm on my way to class and I have no coffee in my hand" face. Thus allowing the party in question to feel aknowledged and you to be able to move on with your day awkwardness free. So let this be a lesson to all you friendly people out there: the next time you wish to extend and amicable hand (or face) to those walking in the opposite direction, don't.

Cyclists, Innocent Travellers or Culprits Intent on Ruining an Otherwise Pleasant Walk to Class? You Decide. No Pressure ;)

2010-09-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

A college campus is a place for learning. It's a place for frat houses and sorority chicks. It's a place for dining halls and students unions. When walking to and fro to these places the average student has number of options laid out before them. Many go for the ever popular method of walking, its good, healthy, I myself have utilized this many a time. Next up, for the slightly more lazy student, there's the bus. Hey, I don't judge, I live on the side of a hill that is so steep, snowboarding to the bottom in the wintertime could actually be considered a viable option. And, I've never actually seen students do this outside of movies, but I sure as hell wish I had one of my own- golf cart. Mainly on campus I only see university employees carting food around in them, but I think with the right marketing plan geared towards tubbies and freshman, this trend could really catch on. However, there is one last mode of transportation that is unfortunately present in every campus- the bike. I live my life in fear of being clipped every time I step outside my room, danger lurking around every corner.

Just take this scenario into consideration: Ever walk down a street and realize someone else is walking towards you and you think to yourself, Oh crap, is she going towards the left or the right? Well its America, we bear to the right here. And so just as you move right, the girl charging towards you does as well. Uh oh, maybe she's British, here, I'll overcompensate and quickly dart to the left. Unfortunately, this train of thought is also applied by the adversarial walker in question and hence the awkward hippity-hoppity interaction takes place. This is where one pauses, does some sort of move commonly found in a square dance, smiles awkwardly and then scurries off.

Well, this interaction is bad enough on foot, so do you know what happens when your on a bike? Well, your reaction time needs to increase, however it rarely does and unfortunately this is the result:

I would have a slightly more irate reaction, only slightly. But there you are, now you know the dangers that bikes pose to normal people, simply going about daily business. So the next time you think cycling is a good way to get from point A to point B, don't. Get off your lazy ass and walk somewhere.

And You Thought Your Job Was a Bummer...

2010-09-13T12:06:00.000-07:00

Ever watch The Tudors? Ever hear of The Tudors? Well, for most people, or at least the ones who paid attention during World History in high school, its a dynasty who ruled England for about 150 years . You know? The one with Queen Elizabeth and Henry, the guy who was a serial marrier? I guess if you don't fit into that category then you either have no idea what I'm talking about or you think I'm refering to the TV show, in which case you are correct.

I picked up this habit via recomendation. I can't really say how accurate to history it is because it really airs on the side of soap opera with men in frilly outfits rather than docudrama. But one thing I definitely have come away with is a sense of gratefulness that I wasn't born way back when. I mean pretty much back then for a woman you were either a wench or nun. Maybe if you were lucky you got to be a barmaid or the Queen or something, but for the most part job opportunities were limited.

Not that I can say job options for men were much better. Nowadays we generally have some sort of labor union- 16th century England? Not so much. Which brings me to the three crappiest jobs you could possibly have back then.

1.) Executioner- Nowadays if you're about to kill someone for murder or whatever, you sit in a little booth and press a button. The unlucky bastard about to die for whatever reason has fluids sent intravenously through his body and he falls asleep. Executioner circa 1300? Well, not only is your job so sucky that you're stuck killing people all day, but the incident of having their bodily juices all over you is also greatly increased. I guess the main form of ending a life was generally limited to beheading and burning, although in one instance (and by that I mean episode) a man was boiled to death in a vat of soup- the same recipe he used to kill some clergymen, how poetic. So props for creativity, but imagine trying to wash out that stench at the end of the day. I mean I complain about smelling like mashed potatoes, better than burnt flesh.

2.) Royal Jizz Disposer- What is a king to do when neither his mistress nor wife with puteth out? Why call in your own personal towel holder to collect, uh, well, you. Yup, this dude literally exists to do nothing other than to show up during times of frustration and dispose of whatever lands on that towel. And I thought being in maid service was bad. But again, with the bodily fluids being dispensed everywhere? I don't know, it must be sort of 16th century thing.

3.) Ooh I did it! I found yet another job a woman could do- Milk Nurse Person. Basically when you're queen or just wicked rich, you are deemed to be above such primitive instincts as breast feeding and after having your baby, it is promptly snatched away to be nourished by someone else. I wonder what the interview process for a job like that is? Perhaps something like a nanny?

Queen: Ahh, I see here that you have had two prior experiences with breast feeding.

Interviewee: Yes, your highness that is correct. One in Kent and then over in Nottingham.

Queen: Right, yes, and what was the reason for leaving?

Interviewee: Uhmm, it grew up and graduated onto that of a cow?

Queen: Oh! Yes, yes, of course. Well everything seems in order, just send in a CORI form and we'll be all set to start in about a month. Fingers crossed its a boy otherwise I'll end up like that wench Ann- beheaded for only spawning off females.

Interviewee: Uhhhm, I'm uh, I'm gonna go now your Highness.

Hmm, well maybe that isn't how it went exactly, but you get the idea. Quality of life back then? Not so good. I mean if you weren't to busy dodging the black plague or figuring out how to best ward off those pesky gypsies from stealing your crops, then you probably managed to wiggle your way in Court and therefore spent most of your time trying to avoid becoming the King's latest conquest- apparently he was quite the man-slut. So, if your job entails being an actuary or making paper or something, don't complain! You could be stuck throwing out entrails for a living.

The Great American Bore

2010-09-10T12:23:00.000-07:00

I would never claim to be a film fanatic. I don't understand camera angles or the use of negative space or the point of avant garde, but what I do know is that if the total amount of events could have actually been portrayed in about five minutes and are dragged out for 2 hours, then there's a problem.

So a quick synopsis of the film I just saw (trust me it will be quick as nothing happened)- George Clooney is an assassin, he moves to Italy and makes a gun which he then sells to a woman who uses it to try and kill him. This attempt is negated however because she herself is shot by dun, dun, dun the very man who hired her to kill him. Oh, and he bangs an Italian prostitute throughout the movie. If any of this sounds vaguely familiar to you, then it's probably because you too watched "The American," and for this I send out to you my sincerest condolences, for you have just lost a solid two hours of life that you can't every retrieve.

There isn't much more to say about this because, well, nothing friggin' happened! I can't say there was any character development, no reason why Clooney wants to run away with the aforementioned prostitute, no explanation as to why people are trying to kill him. The only subplot I can detect, which is about a priest with a secret son, isn't followed. And then, at the end of it all, after the assassin who tried to kill him is shot by the very man who gave her that order in the first place, there's no explanation for that either!

Apparently there's a book, though I can't say I have any intention of reading it because after watching Clooney walk around pouting for 2 hours I'm notentirely sure if I could stand reading a description of him walking around pouting for hundreds of pages.

So, movie snoot balls, you may turn your noses up at me, "What?" you say, "you wanted action, excitement, some semblance of a plot line? How bourgeois." I'll just let these critics' comments (though few and far between) speak for me:

"Those who believe they’d be happy watching George Clooney do nothing for two hours can now test that theory."

"It’s like ordering a hamburger and getting escargot. Which is OK if you like snail, but it’s an acquired taste."

"At some point in their careers, most male actors want to play (a) Hamlet, and (b) a hit man. I hope that Clooney has gotten "b" out of his system."

Really, Rotten Tomatoes? 62%? Clearly a perfect example of the inverse principle of movie critics- if they like it, I hate it and vice versa. If this artsy fartsy stuff is your thing then go for it. If your an average joeshmo like myself, then take a pass and go watch "Going the Distance"- stupid but full of dialogue. See? It's all give and take.

We're Back.......

2010-09-08T20:16:00.000-07:00

And by we I mean students, and by back I mean to school. Yes, tis the season to get out those backpacks and notebooks, minifridges and 30 racks- of water of course, load up the minivans and head out to school whether it be in bustling city, a cozy hamlet, or if you're like me, the boonies. So get ready for kids aged 18-22 to be crowding your downtown areas and parking their cars illegally on your streets- school is back in session.

So every year comes a new slew of classes; and the winner this year is..... a toss up between British Lit. and Creative Writing. British Lit? Do you have an affinity for literature written in an obscure and practically unintelligable manner you ask? Why no, but I am quite fond of the professor, who remindeth me of the mohel from Seinfeld.

The shards will be deep in the fibers. Is that what you want?!

Because I don't think thats what you want!

The classroom is actually made with tile flooring, but I feel if placed in a room with shag carpeting and put to the test he could pull off a good mohel impression.

This leaves me with Creative Writing. Creative Writing attracts creative people. Now, I'm English major and I like to think I'm moderately creative, but I'll be first to admit, I'm a PC and this is a class full of Macs. Hippies, hipsters and that chick who spends to much time in the dark writing stories about horses fill this class, but by far the best part was the opening speech by the professor, "Look guys, I'm not going to lie. This won't be an easy course. It will be hard. We're going to read a lot [there are only 3 books on the syllabus] We're going to write alot. It's going to be greeeeat."

Oh yeah, I think this semester will be greeeeat. Lets hope so at least, it is my last- I liked college so much I thought I would make it a five year experience. So three cheers for my last four months of being a kid.

Fenway Fail

2010-08-25T19:17:00.000-07:00

It's summer! So get on those ball caps, fire up the Stub Hub account and get your butt down to Fenway for a ball game- Oh, oh wait. You can't? Because its raining? Like 2 inches of rain all in one night? Sweet.

Yup, my Tuesday ended like that. I was under the impression I was going to watch the Sox kick some Mariner ass; little did I know the gauntlet I was about to enter into trying to accomplish said goal. I drove to the T, dumped the car, paying $3 in doing so, loaded up the Charlie Card and away I went. Now, I know the T always smells like a mixture of garbage and bum, the two generally not being mutually exclusive, but there's a certain kind of elevated effect that occurs when you throw in the fact that all the moisture in the world has been trapped in the air for the last 3 days due to constant cloudiness. Basically, that business lady wearing too much perfume, the little girl who dropped ice cream and left it there, those college kids who drank too much last night and consequently ralphed Coors Light and cheese fries everywhere, all those people, though they may be long gone, have left their stench behind to stay.

Finally, the orange line came to a screeching halt and I, along with every other nut determined to sit through a monsoon, either because of their determination to get their $20 worth or because they actually were just insane fans, crowded on. Here we have a gambit of people running, from dads with their kids to old guys having some sort of heated discussion pertaining to the downfalls of prestuffed canolis (which I have to say I quite agree with) to two people on some sort of awkward date. Wait ten minutes, hop on the green line, and swap out the old guys for some inebriated 20-somethings and the dad for a confused and annoying soccer mom.

Ahhhh yes, Kenmore Square, I have arrived! The dew drops (well, downpour is closer but who's counting?) hanging about Lansdowne Street, the Citgo sign gleaming in the distance, it just warms the cockles of my heart. So, onward I march, triumphant at the fact there's merely a delay. My Red Sox wouldn't cancel on me and the Mariners are from Seattle, the land of depressing, rainy weather, so they're used to this crap anyway. When all of a sudden, what fresh hell? "The game's canceled!" screeches an annoying preteen boy at me. Whatever! He could be lying or falsely informed. I proceed forward, determined that not only will I sit on the soaking bleachers for hours, but also stopping off at the Sausage Guy first. So, hah! Take that you prepubescent jerk! "Its not happening!" "It's cancelled!" "Game's off!"

Ahhh! OK, I get it. Fenway failed me! So no game, no sausage, no Sweet Caroline. What I can take away from this experience is some soaking hair, an empty stomach and a lighter wallet.

"Oh! But wait," you say, "what about the rain date?"
Well, my dears, I spent the rain date, which might I add, was no less rainy, at my super duper fun job I couldn't call out of. How might I sum up the night for you?

"Cornbread or Italian?"
"Yes."

Insert me banging my head on the counter repeatedly.

If it ain't Broke, Break it.

2010-08-17T21:41:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I went home after work, washed off the general smell I've come to know simply as food and yanked on the sweatpants. Why, you ask? Because as much fun as it is to squeeze myself into an outfit that's too tight, paint on a face, and then spend the next 3 hours of my life having mildly unattractive men try to engage me in some sort of horribly choreographed dance involving unwitty banter and bad puns, I thought I would take a night off.

Yes, I'm in my early 20s, but I was due to cash the 4 inch heels in for a night on the couch with a movie- old age is setting in and it's really getting to me. So the movie? The Girl with Dragon Tattoo. It's your typical story of old man hires young disreputed reporter to investigate the murder of his niece that occurred decades ago on a remote island in Sweden. Enter in the young goth chick with said tattoo, who seems to be a troubled young individual, with an unexplained ability to hack into computers. Overall a fabulous movie, with some awkwardness involving anal rapage- so, maybe a little heavy for date night. It was originally filmed in Swedish and you get the option to watch it dubbed in English or subtitled. Subtitles are better as they stay truer to the book.

So naturally, the movie was a complete hit around world, as was the novel it was adapted from, and therefore, what do we silly Americans decide to do? Why, make our own 'recorded in English' version, of course! Because why watch the original film in all it perfection when we could watch some sort of crap remake with this chick playing the very dangerous and dark Lisbeth Salander:

Doesn't strike me so much as the spiked
dog collar-wearing type.

As opposed to this lovely lady who should've (and did) play her to begin with:

Now set her up against a bunch of bums in a subway
with only a broken beer bottle to defend herself with
and they're goin' down.

But hey. if there's a will, there's a way and seeing as the will in this case is millions of dollars, I'm sure come hell or high water, a way will be found. It's too bad that past remakes such as The Ring, The Grudge, The Eye or any other Japanese horror film couldn't serve as a cautionary tale of the future suckiness that, no doubt, will ensue. So come December of 2011 I will sit and wait, probably not with baited breath, to watch this all unfold, and if the report comes back positive from me, then damn, egg on my face.

Beach Bimbos

2010-08-13T14:21:00.000-07:00

Every year, that sweltering, nasty part of the year, some sort of crazed idea comes over me and I think that it's time to pack up and move this party to the vast beaches of New Hampshire. I think we all do it, only to immediately say to ourselves, "What the hell have I done?!"

There are always a few kinds of beach goers plaguing the shores of the Atlantic. Let's start with the least offensive:

1.) The creepy older gentleman

Camera phones are not a requirement, but
often a popular accessory .

Usually overweight, and in addition to being a complete eyesore, they tend to pack up their belongings for the day, and find a nice spot to park their asses from dawn till dusk. Now, what is wrong with this you say? I shall tell you. The creepy old guys, apart from their blatant disregard for T-Shirts, also tend to exhibit seagull -like tendencies. One will rarely show up alone and if they do, they call upon all of their little buddies to come join the party, taking up the maximum amount of space and leaving a trail of beer cans and cigarette butts in their wake.

2.) The Thong Bikini

A style popularized in the 80s and 90s by women who were actually in shape, it has now been carried on only by the trashiest. Cellulite and and some sort of ass tattoo professing their love of a one-night stand they had back in 1982 usually accompany this particular look. Back in the day these classy ladies probably would have gone for the aformentioned old men. This style isn't limited to simply New Englanders either though, as the truly classy Angelina of Jersey Shore once said, "She went in the hot tub wearing only a bra and a thong; have some class, at least wear a thong bikini."

3.) "Like, OOOOOOOOOOOh my God! That life guard was like toooootally checkin' us out!"

SELFIE!

3.) Yes, that horrible squeal can only be emitted from one type of creature on this planet- the teenage girl. Beware not to set up your blanket too close to these beachgoers lest you want a deep insight into the world of hair extensions, the best style of Uggs and the ever important information pertaining to "that girl in Casey's Spanish class who was like totally sleeping with her boyfriend's cousin's best friend's older brother, who goes to college at UC Boulder and is like, totally, probably, pregnant." Oh yes, friends, they take vapidness and topics that are utterly trivial to a brand new level.

4.) Babies...

ughhhhhh! (because who knows what
the hell they're thinking)

Let me preface this with a window into my views on children. Done? Good. Lets continue.

Every year. Every. Year. There's always one family, with one ugly baby, who shows up, carves out a nice 12x12ft. plot of space to call their own and laughs gallantly on at whatever their little ~~brat~~ child does. Behavior usually includes throwing crackers out to watch the seagulls eat them (yes, please just invite all of god's little creatures to where I'm lying why don't you?), screaming loudly out if the attention is moved, however briefly, away from them, or throwing sand everywhere (including on me).

So every year I go to the beach and after not being able to float in the freezing water for longer than 5 minutes I retire to the sand, where this compendium of creatures loiters about.

And now I would like make a brief foray into a completely unrelated topic- Jersey Shore. As I'm sure you know, the cast of characters is back for another season of... well, whatever it is they do. And in celebration of this I would like to throw in a nice little quote from the episode of the week, so here we go:

Jersey Shore Quote of the Week: Finally, the heavens have answered & I found a barbershop in Miami. (Well thank god for that. The economy may be in a recession, children are starving in Biafra but don't worry folks, the heavens have opened, Vinny found a barber shop).

Insert the Mundane Details of My Life Here...

2010-06-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

Ever log into facebook and feel like you've been accosted by your stalkerfeed? OK, maybe that's just me, but honestly, more often than not my stalkerfeed is a smattering of complaints, TMI and random arbitrary comments, pictures and "events attended." It's like saying, "Look everyone! I DO have a social life. See? Here's me smiling on the beach, and here's me at a frat party, and here I am in my super slutty Halloween costume!"

Every now and then people like to throw in a curve ball with some sage advice:

"When life gives you lemons, just say fuck the lemons and bail."

A fun anecdote:

"soooo i accidentally ripped apart a hornets nest 2day and had 5 bees land on my face/head"

Or some sort of nonsensical statement:

"always knew that Voldemort could tap dance."

Most of the time however we are given daily routines no one cares about:

"gym...pool...teaching until 7 :)"
"interview at tennn. :)"
"sleeping. work 9-6."

(Ok, congrats you're a busy, important person. I'll be sure not to get in touch with you so as not to interrupt you're interview at tennn.)

The personal details of a person's life I have no interest whatsoever of knowing:

"so grandma was in a car accident and now we have to talk her into giving up her license and moving into ALF. this should be fun."

(I'm sorry, shouldn't this stay in the family? Facebook is not your personal therapist. I did not ask to know this. TMI!)

Or a dissertation from that chick you've known since you were 5 who's obsessed with horses:

"Well Boost being out of shape and not running barrels in over a year and me never looking at a barrel while on him today... He hauls ass!!!!! he can move his behind while he left me at the second barrel... so proud of me baby. AND ROB LOPED ALL HIS PATTERNS.. The whole patterns even poles"

(You might try interaction with a human every now and then)

So really, the moral of the story is, if something you find to be momentous happens in your life and you think you'd like to put it on Facebook, don't! Get a shrink, talk to your cat, eat your feelings, I don't care! Just don't post it on the internet.

Sex and the Sand Pit

2010-06-16T20:26:00.000-07:00

So the last time I checked the title of the movie, it was called Sex and the City. Let it be noted that the City portion is an important part of this whole affair. So when you take that out of the equation you're left with three broads all on the verge (and one well into) menopause.

There isn't much to say about this movie because despite the fact that it was two and a half hours long, nothing happened. The characters are done, they've lived their lives, just let them be.

I guess a highlighted list of events would be this:

Carrie and Big get into a dispute about whether or not to go out and have fun or sit at home and be bored, laying out the basic reason why people who are 20 years apart in age shouldn't be married
Charlotte gets a braless nanny and waits until she's thousands of miles away from her husband and the nanny to freak out about the fact that her husband is thousands of miles away with a braless nanny
Miranda hates her boss and quits her job
Samantha spends most of her days taking hormone pills and applying creams in unsavory areas so that she can ward off menopause

One day, for some ridiculous reason, Samantha gets to take them all on a trip to the Middle East where:

Miranda walks around Abu Dhabi spewing off annoying facts and mispronouncing words
Even though all of Samantha's menopause drugs were siezed in customs, she conceeds to consume yams at an alarming rate along with continued attempts at screwing anything with a pulse
Charlotte cries a lot blah blah blah
And in a shocking twist of fate that's along the same premise of being sent on an all-inclusive trip to Abu Dabi, Carrie runs into Aiden and they share a kiss-awwww shucks. But what about Big you say? Well don't worry, apparently all it takes for him to get over it, is a few days of brooding and a black and white movie.

Anyway, the trip culminates with Samantha stripping down in front of the inhabitants of Abu Dhabi and throwing condoms everywhere. Rather than shooting her onsight and then dragging her carcass through the streets as they most likely would have (and probably should have) done in real life, we are instead sent on a rollicking adventure in which we follow our four middle aged protagonists running around in a spectacle reminicent of Road Runner trying to escape Wile E. Coyote.

If you have two and half hours of your life you're not going to miss, or a boyfriend you feel like torturing, then this is the movie for you.

My official rating? Bootleg at Best.

Strange Brew

2010-06-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

Ever notice how people seem to love going to upscale restaurants so they can eat tiny portions of weird food and then pay too much for it? Well I have.

It's not that I have anything against different or nontraditional cooking, its just ridiculous when the only reason people exclaim about how much they love the food they're eating is because it's located in Cambridge and remotely related to Southeast Asia.

Take my latest experience with said dining places- Cambodian Cuisine.

I certainly have nothing against Cambodians in any capacity, I just haven't seen people flooding into Cambodia for the food. For example, in Cambodia, chicken vagina is considered to be something edible. I guess that's like a different kind of comfort food, right?

Anyway as soon as my friend called me up I knew I was in for some kind of offbeat culinary adventure. So off we went in rush hour traffic to the aforementioned restaurant. What I got was "Nataing." Their description? "Ground pork simmered in coconut milk with sliced garlic, crushed peanuts and chili pods; served with crispy jasmine rice." My description? A luke warm can of Ragoo meat sauce dumped on top of a rice cake that cost me 10 bucks and had me making a late night trip to a steakhouse.

Hey, there's nothing wrong with dabbling in something different. I like to dabble, I'm a dabbler, just not at $10 a pop.