so you're bored enough to read this?

Well, what's the use in complaining when you've got what you don't need?

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 22:12:00 +0000

Yet another poster deconstruction. I'm very curious about how many other people's productivity is set into a severe downward spiral simply through the act of going to the bathroom...

I'll make this quick (yes, that's what he said).

1. A 5K "Neon" Run, huh? What is neon about it, exactly, besides the color of this poster? Are we supposed to wear neon? Why neon? What if I don't own neon (I mean, I do...obviously...but what if I didn't?)? Should I also wear a head band, my leg warmers (yes, I have those too), and a side-ponytail? Are we gonna blast some hard-hitting 80s beats like "Send Me an Angel" from a van at the 2.5K marker?

2. Sweat for social justice, huh? I hope this is because these Burmese migrant workers spend their entire lives literally sweating during migration and labor in a sub-tropical environment, and metaphorically sweating their status as citizens in both their home and adopted countries. Mostly I hope that because nothing motivates one to seek social justice like irony.

3. "Free" Chipotle, huh? Look, people...we went over this last time. Shit aint "free" if I have to pay a $10 registration for it. I refuse to believe that all 10 of my dollars are going straight to Thailand and, honestly, at this point, shouldn't we just be sending these people Chipotle? Have you seen the size of one of those burritos? It could feed an entire Burmese family for days!!!

4. I appreciate that the silhouette of the girl is in 2nd place here (at least for the moment), but....why do all of the male figures seem to be sprinting and the female one is barely dragging her ass along? Her feet aren't even off the ground! I feel like I can see her face in a painful grimace...and her eyes shooting hateful darts at that peppy, buffed-out, 20-year old douchebag in a frat t-shirt that is about to overtake her (and who probably made this poster). Douchebag.

5. "Burmese" migrant workers, huh? Please, people...it's Myanmar. Let's not pretend the regime didn't win.

Also, this race has already taken place. Please remove this poster and allow me to return to my previous level of low-to-moderate productivity.

They're all actors, looking at themselves in the mirror backwards

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 13:55:00 +0000

So, I've been spending a lot of time in the library recently, which is not my preferred study place, but alas, I have too many books to haul back and forth between coffeeshops. One of the consequences of my time in the library is that I have been over-exposed to the life and conversations of undergraduates. This experience has proven to be both humorous and horrifying and has inspired a new feature that I'm calling:

Shit undergrads say (and the things that grad students think in response).

Enjoy!

In Starbucks:
Undergrad girl: Ugh. They don't have the cookies I like. This is so unfair!
Me: (Like you even know what unfair means. There are women in India, my dear,....who are writing postcolonial feminist theory that I can't understand, but I am expected to write a 15 page paper about it in a 6 hour time period. Talk about unfair!!!)

Undergrad girl: I'll have a venti hazelnut skim decaf whipped....(I couldn't follow the rest of her string of adjectives)
Me: (Oh my god. Stop being so snobby. Just get a goddamn cup of coffee and move on with your life. Also, could you please hurry...I need to complain about how my egg white, spinach and roasted red pepper breakfast wrap has been slightly overcooked.).

In the library:
Undergrad boy: (on the phone) No, mom! (pause) No...just put it in the mail. I"ll take care of it! (pause) Oh my god! No! Look...I can't talk now, I'm in the library (pause) Hello? (pause) Hellooooooo?!? (redials) Hey. Sorry. (pause) Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I yelled. (pause) I know. (pause) (resigned sigh) Ok. I'll call you later.
Me: (That's right, kid! Don't disrespect your mother! (pause) Oh, that reminds me, I need to call my mom back. Eeee. (face of aversion) Nah...I'll do it later).

In the dining hall:
Me: (after having thoroughly scrutinized the appearance, mannerisms, and conversation of the undergrad boys sitting at the next table) Wow. Undergraduate boys really are the worst people on earth, aren't they?
My grad student friend Connie: Ugh. Yes. Are you kidding me? I'm so glad I went to a woman's college.
Undergrad boy: Got two tests back today. Got a 64...and a 62! (now in a singsong voice) NAILED-IT!
Undergrad boys: hahahahahahaha (fist bumps all around)
Me: (shaking my head, my eyes widening in disbelief and disgust)
Connie: Ugh. And I'm glad I'm gay.

In the elevator:
Undergrad boy: (presses the button for floor 3, even though we're on floor 2)
Me: (Seriously? You couldn't take the stairs up one flight? Ugh! Now it's going to take me an extra 30 seconds to get to the fourth floor, you lazy fuck!)

Undergrad (Jewish, apparently) boy: I'm, like, the real deal. None of this Ashkanazi Jew bullshit.
Undergrad girls: hahahahahaha
Me: (What? What did I just step into? Are you seriously exploiting your Jewish heritage to try to get some laughs in hopes of getting laid? That is offensive and hopeless! (pause) Although, Jews really are the funniest religious people.)

Same undergrad (Jewish) boy: (chasing after one of the girls as she exits the elevator) Oh, so I never finished telling you that schnitzel story...
Me: (Schnitzel? Really? (shaking head) Shoulda gone with Hitler, kid. Gets 'em every time....)

As you can see, graduate students are obviously intellectually, morally, and ethically superior...

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If you had a different attitude, instead of take and take and take

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 23:28:00 +0000

In another unexpected turn of events, I woke up in a pretty good mood this morning and was actually fairly productive for the first half of the day. As a result, I kept a list of things that made me smile and/or laugh.

1. I had to stop by campus to drop off/pick up some books and as I walking back to my car, lost in some worthless inner monologue, my reverie was disrupted by what I thought was someone calling my name. I looked around for a few bewildered seconds before recognizing my advisor walking towards me. Noting my confusion, she jokingly said, "The voice of God!" to which I laughed. A sad, sad, ironic laugh at how apt her words really were....

2. Then I went to a coffeeshop to study and as I was walking up to the counter, a little girl, probably about 1 year old, walked up to the basket next to the counter, grabbed a bag of pita chips, and started to walk toward her mother a few feet away. Her mother quickly told her to put the chips back and the little girl hesitated for a few seconds while she comprehended the instructions before turning back around. But, as she returned the chips to the basket, it was like I could see the little wheels churning in her brain and I thought to myself, "do it! dooooooooooo it!!" and sure enough...she put the chips back, paused, and grabbed a different bag. Her mom kind of chuckled and I couldn't help but say, "Hey...you didn't tell her not to get another kind!" Man, I can't wait to see what kind of snide, feminist she grows up to be...

3. As I read political feminist theory, I listened to the Valentine's Day episode of All Songs Considered. You don't need to listen to the whole thing...just skip to 28:40.

Oh, and this happened.

4. As I continued reading political feminist theory, I came across the following sentence:
"One evaluates the justice of the pattern by comparing the size of the packages individuals have and comparing the total pattern to other possible patters of assignment."
All I could think to myself, in my infinite, adult wisdom was, "hee hee...it says 'size of the packages.' hee hee."
Classy.

5. Then my friend Jessie happened to wander into the coffeeshop and we talked for a bit. I can't even go on about all of the ways that this woman makes me laugh. In particular, today, was her Elmo-like impression of the (22 year old) "kids" she teaches and their childlike repetition of new words that they have learned...like "empowerment." (I know that isn't funny to you, but amongst us grad students, and especially us self-loathing feminist academics, this shit is hilarious)

So, it was a great morning. Too bad that as I drive home for lunch, I was stricken by severe stomach pains that rendered me motionless and motivationless on the couch. I'll conclude with an open letter to my stomach and the sad resignation that if I wake up happy, and remain so for a few hours, it's just a sign of terrible things to come. Lesson learned.

Dear Stomach,
I don't know if you noticed, but we're not in India anymore. This means that your severe cramping is no longer a somewhat welcome blessing for the ways in which it offers an excuse to avoid the outside world. Here, in America, I don't mind leaving the house and, in fact, not only did I want to leave the house today because it's nice outside and I had a rare rush of coffeeshop-inspired productivity, but I was looking forward to my afternoon study date and continuing my new running regimen (although I'll forgive you for screwing up the latter). So, if you could get your shit together (although, not too literally, please), and get back to American standards, I would really appreciate it.

Love,
the hand that feeds you

(And to my consistent pseudonymous commenter, while I hate to potentially preempt your creativity, I do think that writing an open response from my stomach would be appropriate here...)

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Overflow, Shake a fist, Howling at, The emptiness

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 04:43:00 +0000

In an unexpected turn of events, I actually LOVE this poster found in a bathroom in the library...

Ok, let's take it from the top:

First of all, THREE exclamation points!!! Wow!!! Now THAT is enthusiasm!!! Although I would have recommended using all CAPS, you still have my attention. Your thesis statement is clear and concise. You really need Programmers!!!. Got it. Well done...

Now, this picture. I suspect it is intended to be hyperbolic, but I'm not gonna lie to you...I happen to know a guy who is really into computers...and he also happens to be really into bow ties. Coincidence? I think not. I think this is exactly the guy they are actually looking for (and also a wise use of imagery by which they can essentially call for Geeks!!!).

Moving on. I like that the first skills demanded of said Programmers!!! are "hacking/coding." I appreciate the implied relationship between "hacking" and "coding," such that they are but merely two sides of the same coin. Like any other "and/or" combination, doing one may necessarily require doing the other. That is, you might be writing code, but you also might just be hacking (and we'll call it "coding" for legal reasons). Alternatively, perhaps this is an attempt to set up a dichotomy whereby hacking is to coding as mind/body, heaven/earth, male/female (at least in a modernist, Christian, sexist society (sorry if that description got redundant)). While I'm not usually a fan of such (false) dichotomies, here I appreciate we find "hacking" in the place usually reserved for the category considered to be superior. In other words, "hacking" is clearly preferred to "coding." Atta boys! (And yes, I assume they're boys....why not? We live in a modernist, Christian, sexist society!)

Next! We find another such dichotomy that places problem-solving over troubleshooting, which suggests that the Programmers!!! should ideally know how to solve a problem before they have even figured out what the problem actually is. That's called initiative...and it makes for good hacking (and spouses).

Although, I am confused about why said Programmers!!! will only need to translate (one) idea into beta product/service (Actually, I'm also confused about the general use of backslashes in this poster, but whatever). It seems to me that this is an explicit statement that will be no room for innovation/creativity in this job because the Programmers!!! will be expected to succumb to the singularly creative wills of their bosses (I'm just imagining shouts of, "No! You translate idea into beta like I say!"...although, I didn't read/hear that in a North Korean accent, you racist). I appreciate the honesty here. And their commitment to efficiency.

Props to the gender-neutral language of "person" (although I thought you needed Programmer(s)!!! in the plural). Geek picture aside, it appears they are not limiting their potential candidates to only males (in fact, I get the sense that the creator of this poster could use a girl or two around for a change...).

Mostly, however, what I like about this poster is that these guys clearly mean business. Mostly hacking business, though....not so much proper English or graphic design business. (Are you bothered about pesky little things like grammar, punctuation, or Capitalization? Then, We don't need you because that shit don't matter in C++!(!!))

Besides, they're offering fifteen hundred fucking dollars. I mean, given the absurd number of BMWs, Mercedes, and Lexus(es?) in the student parking lot, I probably shouldn't be surprised. But, I will say this...I am damn intrigued...and not so secretly wishing that I had had the foresight and lack of social skills in high school that would have led me to a career in computer programming, because I really do want to know what you're up to Mr. Democratica.co...

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The birth was quick, but the death is slow...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 15:34:00 +0000

So, I'm currently studying for my comprehensive exams (yes, I know that I'm actually currently procrastinating from studying for my comprehensive exams by writing this post, but in general...I'm "studying"). Being required to read a book a day, which usually contains absurd amounts of inane and unnecessary "theory" (although, what is "theory," really?) has not only had both negative and positive effects on my life, but has prompted me to deconstruct the minutia of these effects to the point that they are simultaneously meaningless and hugely significant on a metaphysical level (to be clear, I employ the terms "I" and "me" merely as linguistic conventions because I do recognize that none of us has a coherent and independent subjectivity outside of the power relations that define every single aspect of our existence. I mean, obviously.). Anyway, if that last parenthetical note didn't send you running to the bathroom to vomit, and you want to feel better about your own life, feel free to continue reading about mine...

The Effects of Studying for Exams
1. Schedule
Because I do the same thing every goddamn day, I can't really tell one day from the next. On the negative side, this means that every day is basically a Monday for me. On the positive side, I can wake up on any ol' random Wednesday, declare it a Saturday, and spend all day in my pajamas in bed watching trashy t.v. online (to be fair, this happens on most Wednesdays....and Mondays).

2. Music
I have recently subscribed to over ten different music/pop culture blogs that I keep up with obsessively throughout the day. The positive side of this is that I know all of the new indie rock songs/videos/gossip as they come out! On the negative side, studying for exams has ruined my music listening experience. For example, I can no longer listen to the chorus of Florence and the Machine's "Shake It Up," which includes the lyrics, "I'm gonna drag that horse around," without thinking about the horse sacrifice described in the ṛg veda and/or the politics of allowing one's sacrificial horse to roam in neighboring lands. Or the fact that Lana Del Ray's song, "This Is What Makes Us Girls" prompts a soliloquy about how Judith Butler can assure us that there is most certainly not ONE thing that makes us all "girls" (including, as it turns out, the presence of a vagina) and how bell hooks has already explained to us that even if we could unite under the guise of being "girls," it sure as shit wouldn't be because of a "common oppression" rooted in the language of "victimhood" whereby we might find solidarity in our shared experience of self-sacrifice. Seriously, LDR, you middle-class, pretty, white lady...how can you be so obtuse?!? (oh, and yes, I did mean "soliloquy"...I am absolutely sleep deprived enough to say that shit out loud in a public place (one more reason that it is difficult to distinguish a grad student form a homeless schizophrenic as described in the previous post)).

3. Sleep
I can't make it through the night anymore without waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare about fleeing from Foucault. I have, however, perfected the power nap.

4. Cleanliness
It's pretty easy to skip showers when you're just going to drive to the coffeeshop 3 minutes down the road and not see another human being you know for 72 hours at a time. I'm going to place that in the "negative" category because, while I think this is actually a perq of my lifestyle as a graduate student, it seems to be frowned upon within broader society (although, I have actually become a committed showerer because it puts off having to start my day by at least 10 more minutes). On the positive side, then, my apartment has never been this clean for this long. Tasks that I previously found cumbersome have taken on a whole new attraction. You'll find ne'er a dirty dish or article of clothing lying around, which I have successfully convinced myself is a sign of finally advancing into adulthood by refusing to admit that it is merely one more form of quasi-legitimate procrastination. (It probably doesn't hurt that I basically wear the same outfit every day and pretty much only eat PB&J sandwiches while hunched over the sink...but whatever).

5. Social life.
I have neither the time nor energy to see people. Negative for me, positive for them...

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Open my eyes, but I never see anything...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 13:21:00 +0000

Yesterday, as I was making my way toward my ~~prison cell~~ office in the library, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door and, well, let's just say...it wasn't pretty. I instantly wished that I was with someone who could take my picture, because I imagined a magazine-style blog post with arrows pointing to all of the things about my appearance that mark me as a grad student (if only because figuring out how to add said arrows would require hours of worthless procrastination). As an aspiring ethnographer, however, I decided that attempting to describe my appearance could be a helpful exercise (and, therefore, not an entirely wasted activity). So, after the jump, enjoy an excerpt from my forthcoming book "Portrait of a Graduate Student as a Rapidly Aging Young Woman." (p.s....this post is long and not for the faint-of-heart procrastinators)

The first thing you might notice about the graduate student are her accessories. On her right shoulder hangs a rust colored, cotton purse (well, more like a shapeless bag) with tan "tribal" trim along the top, bottom and strap, which is slowly tearing loose from the bag itself and has been tied into a knot at the top of her shoulder, in order to shorten the length of the bag to match her definitively diminutive stature (at least you think that color is tan...it's so dirty, you can't be sure what color it was originally). The possibility enters your mind that she is a hippie, but if you were to look at the tag, you would see that the bag is a product of the women's cooperative at the NGO where she has worked in India...an affiliation she has since repeatedly exploited when seeking admission into institutions of higher education and/or applying for grant money because it authorizes her claims to understand the lives of rural Indian women. Yes, that's right...she has exploited Indian women in order to receive permission/money to describe the ways in which Indian women are exploited. Irony is the joie de vivre of graduate students.

In her right hand is an ever-present cup of coffee. Cradled in her left arm is a day planner (Moleskin, no less...one of the few luxury items she has allowed herself on her meager student stipend) that carries copious notes pertaining to meetings, grocery lists, and how "ethnography is theory"...interrupted by weeks of absolutely no notes when she is too lazy/busy to track her daily obligations or, more likely, simply has no "plans" (and finds it too depressing to write "hulu, penguin, sleep" in that Friday night box that mocks her so). Atop that planner lies Catherine McKinnon's Toward a Feminist Theory of the State, because, well...that book is nonsensical and much too committed to Marxist theory, both of which are universal markers of an academic. Nestled within the crook of her arm is an over-sized bottle of "smartwater." Your first thought might be, "well, that's pretentious." And you would be right (pretentiousness, of course, being a fundamental marker of the graduate student). But, were you able to analyze the BPA levels of said pretentious bottle, you would quickly realize that she has been carrying and refilling it for weeks, because after years of losing/forgetting pricey Nalgene bottles, she has finally resigned herself to the fact that she shouldn't be allowed to have nice things (its size is also useful because it requires more time to fill at the water fountain and, hence, offers a legitimate and fairly lengthy opportunity for procrastination (procrastination, of course, being one more marker of the graduate student)).

But what of her attire? At first glance, it appears fairly normal, if not somewhat blasé. The careful observer, who might suspect her to be a graduate student, would be surprised to see that her jeans are from Calvin Klein. If pressed, (actually, without much pressure, as she is not prone to unwarranted, or even warranted, shame) she would admit that she bought them the day that the CK store closed in the mall and paid only $17 for them (before literally running out of the store lest they change their minds). You might not even pay attention to the white, v-neck t-shirt under her sweater, but if she had occasion to remove her sweater, you would immediately recognize it as a product of Target, complete with stains and holes in the armpits. You might find that her button-down brown sweater is attractive in a retro, 70s, "so ugly it's cute" kind of way with its interspersed patterns of blue, orange, white, and tan checkers, then stripes, then checkers, then stripes. But you would surely guess that it was a $10 purchase from a thrift store if only because no clothing company in its right mind would continue to produce such a hideous garment. Surprisingly, you might want to compliment her on her brown loafers, as many have done before you (much to her surprise as well). But again, she would mostly likely insult your compliment my bragging that she bought them for $10 at a sidewalk sale 5 years ago and would mostly likely turn up her feet to show you the skin that peers out through the cracks in both soles. She may even go so far as to tell you that the seam above her left toe is held together not by the manufacturer-issued string...oh, no...but by dental floss (sewn in by an ex-boyfriend, as she is too lazy to attempt such a thing). (Please note that this part about the floss will be spoken with misplaced pride). Certainly, you would take notice of how the sporty, gray and black fleece she dons clashes terribly with her outfit and might be taken off guard that it would seem to suggests her enjoyment of outdoor activities (decidedly NOT a marker of a graduate student). Upon being revealed as a $2 purchase (and a rip-off at that!), however, that followed from her hurling abuses in Hindi at a poor, helpless, Nepali tween during her drunken escapades in Kathmandu the year before, it would start to make sense. Yes, the origins of these items would all belie her graduate student status.

And yet, this all still might not be enough. These could just be signs of being a wanna-be hipster barista (oddly enough, what hipsters work so hard for (and pay so much for) comes so naturally (and cheaply) to the graduate student). But, when looking to the minutia, her identity can not be mistaken. If one were to note the fingernails that have been bitten to the skin, the limp, greasy hair that hasn't been shampooed in days or cut in months, the dark bags that ring both of her eyes like a raccoon, the lack of make-up due to insufficient skills, money and energy for such things, how parched and chapped her lips appear as she silently mumbles incoherent thoughts to herself, due to her body being unable to keep up with her constant intake of the diuretics of coffee and alcohol, and the way that her eyes dart furtively around without ever really focusing on anything, then they would begin to see her for who she really is.

Yes, one must look to this complete picture...old, cheap, mismatched clothes, tattered, useless belongings, an utter lack of hygiene, and an inability to function/interact like a normal human being...for, only together, do these things truly mark her as the ever-elusive "graduate student."

Or a homeless schizophrenic. It's a tough call, really....

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But with an attitude that says, "Hands-off, you're just not good enough"

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 19:27:00 +0000

I've started a forthcoming post about the ways in which studying for my comprehensive exams has impacted my life, namely by pushing me to new extremes of procrastination. One way that I've procrastinated in the past few months is OkCupid. This free dating website can be a very welcome time-suck when necessary and, on rare occasions, I'll receive messages that make me feel better about myself, if only because they reinforce how absurd and idiotic people are. Anyway, as an act of sheer procrastination/distraction, I agreed to go on a date with an OkCupid guy last night. After the jump, I reveal a list of things to do and/or not to do when you're on a first date with me (mostly things NOT to do)...

1. After I have told you what I do and you have suggested that you understand the difference between theology and the academic study of religion, don't tell me that you think that deep down, everyone, especially atheists, has a spiritual yearning that they're looking to fulfill. This makes you sound like one of the crazy Christians you purport to hate.

2. Please don't be a white, middle-class, male who attempts to explain to me how affirmative action is "unfair" because you have that one rich, black friend who got more college scholarship money than you did...

3. Ok, this one is unique to me, and not a "fault" of yours per se, but my google reader is filled with music and pop culture websites that I read obsessively throughout the day (more on that in the forthcoming post). Moreover, I watch all the trashy t.v. I can get my internet hands on and approximately 67.7% of the things I say are movie quotes. Unfortunately, this means that when you tell me that you're the worst at the "What's that band/who's that actor/what's that t.v. show?" game, it means we're incompatible. Sorry.

As a side note, it hurts me that you don't know Modest Mouse and that you like to respond to the question "Who is your favorite Christian band" with the apparently humorous response, "U2." Mostly, that last one hurts because it means that you find yourself among people who would ask you who your favorite Christian band is.

4. Oh, please. Seriously. I told you that I study feminism and, surely, by now, you've picked up on the fact that I'm an obnoxious asshole with no respect for socially acceptable modes of female (or male, for that matter) humor. You are not doing yourself any favors by explaining to me that you think it is unfair and/or harmful for women to make sexist jokes because it only "perpetuates the cycle." I'm sorry that I wasn't interested enough to inquire as to which "cycle" you were referring, exactly.

5. Don't market yourself as a "software engineer" only to reveal that you are, in fact, a "project manager." For reasons I'd rather not get into, I know the difference and I know how offended the software engineers would be that you appropriated their title (not to mention how much it would inflate their already over-sized egos to have the chance to mock you for this claim).

6. Don't pretend you're too good for hockey (and the violence it entails). That makes you a pussy (yup...I'm that girl that's not afraid to use derogatory terms normally reserved for women...is this the cycle to which you referred?!?). Coincidentally, dismissing golf as equally ridiculous (particularly based on the class and environmental reasons that you concocted while working as a caddy) means that you're not going to get along with my dad...which is a deal breaker for me.

7. Don't be in the process of "writing a novel." Especially if the first chapter of that novel is a take on "The Toy" (and, therefore, vaguely racist) and the second chapter is a take on "Amelie" (and, therefore, unoriginal). Do, however, catch up on your movie plots (see implicit suggestions for how to do this in #3 of this post).

8. Don't interrupt me to tell me that I have a "hot little body." I'm sure you mean this as a compliment, but first of all, don't interrupt me. Well, at least don't interrupt me to make it clear that you're not paying attention to me. Secondly, when I respond awkwardly and make up the excuse that "I don't take compliments well," don't start a cycle of apologizing for making me feel awkward...and then continuing to remark on said "hot little body" (and repeat). Yes, I'm hot. I get it. Stop.

8a. Don't follow up number 8 by rubbing my leg.
8b. Don't follow up 8a by telling me how badly you want to "make out" with me at my car when we leave.

9. Do pay the whole tab. This is especially true considering we've had a conversation about how you are still working as a ~~software engineer~~ project manager because of how much money you make and how I have to keep my job as a server in order to pay my bills.

10. When I finally let you kiss me at the end of the night, just to get it over with and go home, please refrain from any and all of the following activities:
a. shoving your tongue into my mouth like a 13 year old boy

b. telling me how badly you want to "fuck" me
c. wrapping my leg around your body
d. telling me that because I wrapped my leg around your body, you know that I want to "fuck" you too
e. grabbing my ass.

I think there are a number of lessons to take away from this experience. First, stop procrastinating. It only makes things worse. Two, don't trust the internet. That thing lies...it lies!!! Three, and perhaps most importantly...don't go out on a date with me. I'm hyper-critical, impossible to please, and prone to hyperbolic, public mockery. Also, I'm not good at break-ups, so I should probably add:
11. Don't wait by the phone...

Sigh. I'm sure Mr. Right is out there and that, one day, I'll stumble upon his pale, weak body as he lies curled up in a dimly lit corner of the library, squinting at the The History of Sexuality Part I and alternately nodding his head and rolling his eyes.

I just hope he likes penguins as much as I do...

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I can bitch the best at your social do's...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 22:43:00 +0000

In honor of my return to Boston for a few days to visit my friend, Greg, I thought I would return to the old ways of describing how I have wasted my time... Enjoy! (Unless you're not Greg...in which case you will likely not find any of this even remotely funny)

1. Played trivia
This turned out to be a complete waste of time because even though we had 4 undergraduate degrees, two master's degrees, two Ph.D. degrees in progress and a soon-to-be-begun medical degree under our belts, we got our asses kicked by the crusty old machinists behind us and the four "too dressed up for this bar and using a Spanglish name for our team" ladies in the corner. It was shameful. But not nearly as shameful as me loudly offering to perform sexual favors for the trivia guy in exchange for a few extra points (although said comment did receive hearty laughter from said machinists and those are just life points, people)...

Long live Team "Wipe Up That Santorum 2012"

2. Played Ping Pong
This would not have been a waste of time if it were not for the fact that I suck at ping pong and Greg, whom I would not describe as particularly "sporty," is freakishly good (and annoyingly competitive). I guess he just knows how to handle tiny little balls...

3. Woke up early
Turned out to be a complete waste because Greg and I still managed to work only for a total of 1.5 hours (45 minutes of which were spent lamenting the postcolonial subject, mocking Indian English, and railing against mindless, black, lesbian poetry).

4. Napped
Ok. Not a waste of time. Like, at all...

5. Had dinner with an old friend
Again, not a waste, but since I showed up ten minutes early and she showed up ten minutes late, I discovered the true beauty of how a smart phone can enable time-wasting. And if you have one of those nifty little screens that keeps the people next to you from seeing what you're doing on your phone, they can't even tell that you're watching Russian porn. победа!

6. Pretended
Ok....look, guy. You're super nice. And clearly a good person. But, I really don't think this brewery is the most appropriate place to launch into the details of the five-part, sci-fi, meta-physical, post-modern, narrated-by-a-ghost-until-the-third-chapter-when-he-is-killed-off-so-you-can-realize-in-the-fifth-chapter-(which has since switched from diary entries to a screenplay) that-he-was-never-dead, deconstruction-of-contemporary-social-ills novel that you're working on in your head. That's just too many hyphens. Stick to your day job of getting up early to get your hair cut.

7. Read "Real and Imagined Women: Gender, Culture, and Postcolonialism"
Do I really need to elaborate on why that was a waste of time? (Ok...it actually wasn't...it's a great book, but it would be a waste of time to you, trust me)

8.Watched Glee
This was, in fact, one of the most painful ways in which I have ever wasted time. It literally hurt me. The only redeeming aspects of this wasted hour of my life were that this show provides endless opportunities for mockery (so much so that at one point, my brain was so overwhelmed by potential abuses that I could not even speak and was reduced to merely pointing at a person whose condition even I would not mock publicly) and that Greg has an adorable propensity for finding me humorous, which he demonstrates by laughing really loudly and curling his body toward me until his forehead rests on my shoulder. I truly can not get enough of that.

9. Stayed in
I'm old. I can't start getting ready to go out at TEN o'clock!!! Wasted, though, because then I couldn't sleep and was still up until 2 reading Damn You Autocorrect (sigh...I miss you already, Greg).

10. Tried to come up with a tenth item
I'm too OCD to not reach what is, apparently, a universally accepted number for listing, but I really can't think of anything else about this trip that felt like a waste...except, perhaps, that it led me to attempt to revive the blog. What a waste.

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But the fantasy remains, you better come back to earth again...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 20:02:00 +0000

Ok...so you don't actually want to know the ways that I waste my time today (although, if you would like to engage with me about the differences in definition, theory, method, etc. between Durkheim, Weber, Eliade, and Geertz...let me know), but that doesn't mean I can't find a way for at least one of my daily activities to be a total time waster. Thus, I introduce a new segment entitled....

"Here Are The Books On The Restacking Shelf Outside Of My P~~rison Cell~~ Office In The Library."

(cue medieval horn sound)

Academics are really allowed to write the most ridiculous, worthless shit...because we are trained to think that everything (and I mean everything) is "interesting." The more narrow the scope and the more obscure a subject is (i.e. the less we know about it), the more we think it's "interesting" (i.e. the less willing we are to admit that we have no fucking idea what the other person is talking about).

The only thing more ridiculous than what people write about, is when their titles end up being close to each other on the mismatched "waiting to be restacked" shelves that I walk past multiple times a day. So, please...come join me in my enjoyment of academic absurdity.

Today's entry:

The title that caught my eye here, as I stepped out to go to the bathroom, was in the bottom center...yes, the Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, and Bucks. I actually stopped mid-stride to make sure I had read it correctly.

The next book to catch my eye was OPRAH WINFREY: A BIOGRAPHY. Eeeeeeeeeeeee!

I'm not actually going to offer further comment on this. I tried to write something funny (I even tried to draw an analogy involving Mein Kampf and The Diary of Anne Frank, but that would be the second time I mentioned Mein Kampf in this blog (make that the third time) and that's sure to raise red flags somewhere, right?), but everything just sounded racist. Maybe this is displaced guilt because I am one of those people that says "the n-word". I believe, however, that this example is a useful way to introduce the absurdity that this segment will continue to provide.

p.s. TCMM&B has the helpful subtitle of An Interpretive History of Blacks in American Film in case that makes it more "interesting" for you...

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Is it worth the waiting for? If we live 'til eighty-four?

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 00:07:00 +0000

Welcome back to another installment of "what the hell is with this poster on the back of a bathroom stall?" This one was found on the first floor of the library. New stall, new poster, same scathing critique...

(Sorry this isn't a great picture, but the poster was removed before I could reshoot it, and one doesn't want to spend too much time taking pictures in a public bathroom stall)

I feel that I should begin this post by clarifying that I have spent the majority of my adult life as a student. That is to be read, "I'm broke...as I was, am now, and ever shall be" (I'm referring to my economic situation here, although I could easily go on about how academia has broken my spirit). In the nine years since I graduated from college, I have spent 5.5 in higher education (and another .5 as an adjunct, which paid even less than graduate school).

The first rule of graduate school is that you eat free food wherever and whenever you can. I don't care if it requires you to break your commitments to a morally sound diet and/or to pretend that you have commitments to a morally sound diet (I'm looking at you, kosher snacks served at the Jewish Histories and Cultures lecture series). Where there is free food, there also art thou (the second rule of graduate school, by the way, is to feel free to talk like a 17th century bard because people expect you to be an unintelligible, pedantic asshole).

So, when I saw this sign, I was immediately drawn in by the advertisement of a:

!FREE KOREAN DINNER :)

I (happily) turned into Liz Lemon, inadvertently mumbling, "I want to go to there..." But before I had time to catch the spittle flying from my lips, my eyes moved up the .78 millimeters to line informing me that not only are tickets required for this Korean meal, but the tickets are:

"$5 pre-sell: $7 at the door"

Ok. I have a number of problems here.
1. In common, informal, American English parlance (and I suspect also in uncommon, formal parlance), "free" suggests that there will be no money involved. "What the hell does 'free' mean in Korean?" I thought to myself. That, of course, led to a dangerous tailspin of possibilities. Maybe it's an ironic twist on the issue of freedom in North Korea that is the central theme of this fundraiser. You know, like, this is "free" the way North Koreans are "free" to criticize their government and the North Korean government is "free" to make said "free" people disappear without explanation. Or maybe it means "free" the way that casual sex is "free." I mean, a man doesn't have to pay the woman, per se...but he'd better be ready to part with a few $20s to the bartender along the way (at least that's what I've heard...I've never been that broke, although, now that I think about it...Hmmmmm. Anyway, moving on...). Most likely, however, it means these kids are smart enough to know that appealing to the protection of international human rights isn't going to bring anyone anywhere. You damn well better have some "free" food.

(For the record, I did look up a definition of "free" (at freedictionary of all places) and, used adverbially, "free" can mean "without charge." As an adjective (which would modify either Korean and/or food in this case), it could indicate that Korean food is not subjected to governmental regulation (eff the F.D.A.), it will be lavish (i.e. a buffet), it will not be obstructed (although having an obstacle course a la "Double Dare" in front of the buffet line would be awesome), and/or that the Korean food being offered is not exact (i.e. it's not exactly food, but this is what we call food in Korea or it's not exactly Korean food, but it's the closest we could get without actually saying "eff you" to the F.D.A.). Ultimately, again, it could be just be an ironic point that "free" doesn't exactly mean "free.")

2. Why is there a colon between the pre-sell and at the door ticket costs? I mean, that's not the grammatical function of a colon at all. That is rather "free" usage of punctuation, wouldn't you say (see definition #11)?

3. Speaking of punctuation, what is with the prior exclamation point? I know about the fun punctuation in ¡el español!, but do they also do that in Korean? And the smiley face? Is that acceptable concluding punctuation? Does the Korean script even have punctuation ?!? (Although, if it does, and emoticons are acceptable, then I take back all the negative comments I have ever made about Korea ;))

Just a few last things:
4. So, this is the "1st" Benefit Concert, huh? Awesome! But then, from where did these pictures come (see rule #2 of grad school (and please note the unintended rhymes))? Are there really that many events during which Korean girls perform with acoustic guitars, express their angst with wild gesticulations, and/or dance around in matching neon tank tops and tight-ass jeans? (Ok, I actually looked up the guy to whom the pics are attributed. He's a Ph.D. student of Aerospace Engineering at the Georgia Institute of Technology. This is a shame because I would be intrigued to find out more about him based on these credentials if it weren't for the fact that I now know he owns random pictures of Korean girls dancing. Damn...I hate to waste a good stalking opportunity...)

5. Finally, and perhaps most interestingly, why "Trick'a'nometry?" Why not a more accurate rendering as "Trick'o'nometry." I mean, you'd think they, of all people, would know that. You know, because they're in college (not because they're good at math, you racist). Although, perhaps spelling and driving have more in common than we thought...

Now, if only could find a poster like this on campus:

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Kissed a few with sticky shoes, our cartoon show is broke...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 18:31:00 +0000

Oh, you don't even want to know how I wasted time today... (unless, of course, you do...in which case you can proceed to what follows after the jump...)

I stumbled upon this website, which lists 9 words that don't mean what you think they do. I will admit that I was wrong on three of them, all of which I quickly typed into my gmail search option to see if I had ever used them incorrectly (and no, one of them was not "irregardless" and you can judge for yourself based on a previous post if I do or do not understand the use of "ironic").

I was happy to see that I had only misused one of the words in a chat with an ex-boyfriend, although it easily could have been a correct usage (only I know the truth) and I'm pretty sure he didn't catch on.

I did use a second word incorrectly, but it was in a draft to another ex-boyfriend and, thankfully, was never sent (I say "thankfully" because he's kind of a word nerd and no doubt would have caught my mistake and shared it with his equally word nerdy new girlfriend and lord only knows the deep, deep shame I would have felt just now imagining them cuddled up in their matching red, velvet robes in front of the fireplace, sipping expensive foreign brandy, and laughing haughtily at my ignorance. How bemusing (irony?)).

Anyway, there's a simple tip for how you can waste your time and test the accuracy of your own vocabulary (or lack thereof...).

You're welcome.

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When you want to go to it...when you want to come...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 17:27:00 +0000

I read this article yesterday about how graduate students need to give themselves a break every once in a while and I've really taken the message to heart. I believe, however, that the article lacks specificity. So, to help clarify, let me offer more concrete examples of how to relax based on my own experiences over the past few days while in Florida with my mother, visiting my brother, sister-in-law, and two nieces, aged 3 years and 3 months.

Things to do and not do while relaxing as a grad student:

1. Do get 24 hours of sleep in a 48 hour period.
This is most easily achieved if you follow the sleeping pattern of a 3 year old, which means taking 2 hour naps every day and going to bed at 8:30.

2. Do not bathe.
Not only does this take away from precious sleeping time, but if you're like me, then showering is an important way of starting your day. Thus, if you do not shower, then you will not feel that your day has officially begun, which means that you won't feel any pressure to do anything other than watch cartoons.

3. Do cook
I especially recommend cooking foods that you don't usually keep in your house. Like bacon. Or blueberry pancakes. In lieu of that, get your mom to pay a ridiculous amount of money for gourmet pizza.

4. Do not check your school email
You can't stress about your overdue library fines if you don't know about them!

5. Do catch up on some of your favorite websites
For me, this included reading a review of a restaurant called Tertulia in the NYTimes Food and Dining section. This was an especially sweet read because I work in a similar tapas restaurant in Atlanta and reading that article not only made me feel great about the fact that I get to eat delicious Spanish food for free, but also that I haven't been near it for 2 days!

7. Do not exercise (at least in the ways that you usually do).
Instead, take up alternative exercise activities, like swinging (Ok, I mean that literally...like on a swingset, but I suppose the sexual alternative could be useful too (although you'll need to take that up with your partner)). Seriously, when was the last time that you swung* on a swingset? Honestly, it's amazing. I had forgotten how free you actually feel when you're on a swing, however fleeting it may be.

For the record, the enjoyment of this activity is greatly increased if you can find a 3 year old to laugh uproariously at how high you can swing. If you do not have ready, legitimate, and legal access to a 3 year old, be very careful about how you try to make that happen. Actually, now that I think about it, you should drop the idea of the 3 year old. Just let it go. I'm not bailing you out of jail. Forget I ever brought it up.

8. Do start drinking early
If you don't, your brother is totally going to drink all of that expensive beer you paid for. Seriously, what are you waiting for? You know he's already thinking about it. GO!!! That beer is YOURS!

9. Do get your hands on some power tools
There is nothing more relaxing or inspiring than actually creating something with your hands...and drilling some wood while you're at it (yeah, I said it). (Note: be careful about mixing numbers 8 and 9)

(In light of JPJ's comment below, I realized I should clarify that I helped to build said swingset in the backyard this weekend...got really comfortable with a power drilling (yup, said it again))
10. Do not write a new blogpost about your attempts to relax
Doing so will only force you to come to terms not only how with how lame your own life is and how desperately you want to be a 3 year old again, but also with how little you have accomplished in two days, thereby throwing you into uber-panic mode when you actually return to your regularly scheduled life...

*Do not let, however, yourself fall into a lengthy debate about proper verb conjugations ("swang" is not correct...although, for the record, "snuck" has become an acceptable irregular conjugation of "sneak" in the simple past and past participial forms in American vernacular English, even though the correct conjugation is "sneaked")

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Take my hand, I'll show you a lifetime of days, years...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 22:20:00 +0000

An open letter to JSTOR...

Dear JSTOR,

I know that we have a long, complicated history and that, for the most part, our relationship has been one-sided because you continue to give and give, even when I have offered you nothing in return. I apologize for that and accept my faults. I will even tell you that I'll try harder to contribute more. But, I still think we should discuss your insecurities.

I want you to understand and accept that I am not going to use your PDFs for any purposes other than simple, straightforward research. You don't need to bring it up every time we're together. I'm sure your fears are legitimate, if only because those that have come before me have taken advantage of you and you are desperate to avoid being exploited again. I know that you just want to be recognized and appreciated for all that you do. But you need to trust me the first time I tell you that I'm not like the others. I know that up until this point, I haven't necessarily given you a reason to trust me, but I also have not given you a reason to doubt me. It's not fair for you to ask me to make up for the transgressions of your other users or to try to preemptively avoid the kind of pain that you have heard about other journal storage systems suffering through. You won't even let me have full access to you if I haven't put on my edu address first! It's too much!

So, please, JSTOR, accept me for who I am - a dedicated and loyal partner. I will take care of you. Remember how supportive I was about you becoming friends with Google scholar? It's because I trust you with other users and only want you to be as happy as you can be! I'm just asking for the same in return. There is no other archive system like you in the world, JSTOR, and I feel blessed for every day that I get to spend with you, but this relationship can not move forward if every time I try to get close to you, you force me to agree to operate only on your terms and conditions. I want us to have a relationship that isn't centered around restrictions, but rather, a shared, desperate love for useless information.

With all that I am,
jenn

p.s. The Journal of Raman Spectroscopy wanted me to say Hello and tell you that he's totally over what happened between the two of you if you ever want to talk again...

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Even when you're feeling warm, the temperature could drop away...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 10:33:00 +0000

The "how I wasted my time today" blog theme is back, although in a slightly different format. As I settle in to begin studying for exams, I'm finding myself returning to utterly worthless musings (although of an entirely different sort) and here you will be able to find ridiculous ways to waste your time thinking about things that don't matter and no one cares about. It's good to be back...
This afternoon, after having spent an hour reading in the dungeon-like grad student computer lab at Emory (reading on the internet is still "reading"), I found myself in desperate need of coffee.As I glanced into the full classrooms while walking though the hallway and zipped up my fleece to exit into the chilly, gray day that Hurricane Irene (or Lee...who can keep track these days?) has so graciously brought us, I thought to myself, "Mmmmm...I love this time of year...."

This thought, brought in the first week of September, made me realize something important about grad students: we are fucked up. We're so fucked up that we even have our seasons backwards.

Most people (well, most normal people) spend all winter waiting for the first warm days of Spring - a time that represents renewal as animals re-emerge from their hibernation, flowers begin to bloom and one can walk outside without 14 layers of clothing. But, oh no...not we academics. We spend all summer awaiting those first cold days of Fall - a time that represents a return to order as students re-submerge into their dulled intellectual hibernation, the leaves turn brown and start to die, and one finally has an excuse to spend all day in their pajamas on the couch under a blanket reading an article from the 1980s about the recitation practices of Muslims in a small Indonesian village community (because, you know, that is where our attention should be focused). We seek not the sound of birds chirping aloft in the trees, but the sounds of odd inflection in our own solitary voices projecting from the front of a classroom. We desire not shorts and sundresses, but the oversized sweater that we bought for $2 at a thrift store our freshman year of college because, even though we bought it then to be "cool," it has now become our "lucky" sweater - our "writing" sweater (you know, the one that we must wear for days on end without washing because we're constantly "writing" and detergent will strip the sweater of its magical ability to inspire our creativity. See, that's just logic...the true marker of a grad student). Our bellies yearn not for a craft beer on a pretty patio with friends, but to be warmed by the bite of cheap whiskey while watching Hulu alone in the dark. Our hearts rejoice at a 6 p.m. sunsets because that just means we can legitimately begin the process of procrastinating through sleep at an earlier hour and Steve Inskeep's voice is so much more powerful when it is still dark outside (please note: it is mostly grad students and academics who will understand/appreciate that last comment).

Yes, Spring has little meaning for the dedicated graduate student who has neither the time, money, nor inclination to travel to an exotic destination for Spring Break and drink her cares away. No, for it is Fall, the time when the world begins to withdraw and her body is regulated by constant intervals of coffee (but not iced coffee...it's coffee, dammit! It's supposed to be hot!) and alcohol, rather than sunshine, that she is most comfortable.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go take a 20 minute shower to warm up my bathroom enough to change out of out my pajamas because I also can't afford to heat my apartment, but I don't have to pay for water...

God, I love this time of year.

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Don't let it pass on through ya, it's a long and giant cliche

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 23:06:00 +0000

And then I turned thirty....

...and decided to recommit myself to being a good student, a regular runner and a more avid time-wasting blogger. I am working on my piece de resistance. I'm sure you can hardly wait.

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All your diction dripping with disdain...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 22:34:00 +0000

I wrote this insanely worthless and pedantic entry about a flyer I saw on campus for the sole purpose of procrastinating from my current responsibilities to finish a grant application. Trust me...you do NOT want to waste your time here.

This is a flyer that hangs on the back of a stall in a women's restroom at Emory. As a creature of habit, I tend to use the same stall every time I go to the bathroom, and as I also tend to drink copious amounts of water in order to have to pee so that I have a legitimate excuses to waste time and procrastinate (as mentioned in a previous post), I see this flyer a lot.

I'd like to point out to you a few of the things about this flyer that make me concerned (because I'm convinced that you care just as much as I do).

Let's start with the obvious things:
1. Spacing / Formatting
Why the odd spacing between some of the letters? This makes me concerned that the people at the writing center do not have access to a computer that can create proper spacing and formatting for this font and/or they weren't bright enough to ask for help at the, you know, "computer center." Or, perhaps those spaces are meant to stretch the text out to cover the entire page, therefore allowing them to appeal to one of their targeted audiences, namely the kid who wants to learn subtle tricks to stretch her paper out a few extra lines in order to fulfill the "5 page minimum" requirement for this writing assignment. It also concerns that that girl uses the same toilet that I do.

2. inconsistent Use Of capitalization

Again, what is With this? Why isn't "with" capitalized in the fourth line? Why are the other words? It doesn't even conform to German standards, so they can't blame the problem on some hapless foreign exchange student that they hired for $0.15/hr to design the flyer.

3. The punctuation
The ellipsis...The ellipsis is by far my favorite and most commonly used punctuation mark (as I'm sure you've noticed from my blog). I like to think that I use it according to its intended function, as it often marks pauses in my thoughts, or more often, the trailing off of my thoughts as I begin to ponder the bullshit of what I have just said (because, obviously, I have not considered my bullshit before saying/writing it). The function of the ellipsis here, however, is unclear, unless it is to make for better spacing on that line/take up more space, which may also play into the intended audience described in bullet point number 1. Or, perhaps they're considering a new, wittier, and less obvious name for the The Writing Center...

& the ampersand
Not only is the ampersand not an appropriate alternative to the word "and" in academic writing, but in a series of three or more, one should technically use commas to demarcate the first two items of the list (oxford comma optional) and only use the word "and" once. But I'm pedantic & pretentious & demanding.

And the less obvious things....
4. (hashtag) Lack of complete sentences
There is only one complete sentence on this entire flyer. Surely, they could have found a way to slip in a few more nouns in the nominative case ( here's a link for those of you who have never studied an ancient language and don't know what the nominative case is). But doesn't matter.

5. Plagiarism
Re-appropriating the "Got Milk?" campaign without proper footnote citations of the source not only treads the fine line of plagiarism and suggests a lack of ingenuity, but is another example of lax grammar. Even if they were to put this into a full sentence, they (hopefully) would not ask, "Have you got writing?" Or maybe they're hoping a student will walk in and say, "Hey, I've got writing," which they will use an excuse to snobbishly correct their speech and demonstrate their superior command of the English language. I mean, that's what I would do.

To be fair, I understand and appreciate the need for brevity in order to create effective marketing and suspect that many of these of issues might be related to a misguided, and ultimately failed, attempt to create a nicely centered poster. I also recognize that perhaps the target audience would not only not catch these errors, but might even find the language/writing familiar and appealing. In that case, well done, writing center! Or perhaps it was all a ploy to drive people like me crazy as we waste time going the bathroom and dissecting the grammar, punctuation and formatting of a flyer. In that case, even more well done, writing center!

But, in the end, Made an Appt. for 2morrow pm to see ab out my App & bladder con trol probs...

Jinglin' a wish coin that I stole from a fountain that was drownin' all the cares in the world

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 03:14:00 +0000

This is a chapter length excerpt about dating from my forthcoming memoir entitled "These Uneven Bars are Too Uneven, I Blame the Patriarchy" You can not possibly be bored enough to read the whole thing.

Last night, I went on a date. With myself. (And yes, I totally scored!)

You see, my romantic life has been a bit of a mess this past year and now, here I am, 30 years old and (gasp!) still single (Ok, I'm not actually 30 yet, but 29 and 5/6ths doesn't have the same lyrical ring or cultural stigma). According to most magazines, this is my worst nightmare (as long as I don't accidentally wear neutral tones this Fall. Oh, the horror!). According to my grandmother, it's means that I'm "too independent" (although the magazines would probably agree with her) The fact that I'm a stuver only makes it worse ("stuver" is my combination of student and server...I couldn't bear the painful accuracy of the misspelled alternative, "servent") Fortunately, at this rate, I figure I can take all of that cash that I've been storing away to buy frilly dresses for my not yet conceived daughter and start investing in medicine to combat my allergic reaction to the fifty or so cats that I am determined to accumulate.

I digress. Back to my date. I've had a long week. When I'm not sitting on my ass begging academics to give me money in written words, I'm running said ass off at a restaurant begging random strangers to give me money with spoken words (determining which one of those of audiences is more pretentious might be more difficult than you think). It's exhausting. So, having emailed a rough draft of my funding application to my advisor, complete with an incomplete final sentence, I decided to treat myself to a movie.

(As an aside, Terence Mann was close. If you build it, and stock it with popcorn and beer, they will come...)

I generally prefer to go to theaters by myself. I hate people talking or moving or chewing or breathing or basically existing anywhere near me during a movie. I don't want to be distracted, especially if it is one of those plotless, character-development driven stories that has all the requisite love, death and indie-rock-music-playing-in-the-background scenes that really accentuate the pain of a mundane existence. I need to focus in order to develop the proper level of profound, pseudo-existential angst that the writer, director and music-picker-guy have so diligently worked to contrive for me. And this was just that kind of movie (actually, it's based on a true story and pretty heartfelt. It's called "Beginners." Look it up).

Now, while this post is intended to advocate for people, and especially women, to be comfortable doing things alone in public (insert obvious sexual joke), it is crucial to be thoughtful and careful in choosing when to go and what to see. If you're running on no sleep and lots of stress, you've been feeling hormonal and hungover all day, and you're still working through some break-up anxieties, don't go to see a movie that you already know is about death and love. I mean, it's one thing to be a strong, proud, feminist who doesn't need a date to go out. But it's an entirely different thing to be a 30 year-old stuver blubbering into your overpriced PBR tallboy while Ewan McGregor conjures his best puppy dog face. That shit's just sad.

It was a good movie, though (and, honestly, Ewan McGregor was surprisingly good. He's got a big head. I like it). And despite there being more people than I prefer, I left feeling appropriately pensive. So I did what any self-respecting, broke-ass, emotionally vulnerable, 30 year-old stuver does after she's seen a sad movie by herself...

I went to a bar.

The Bookhouse Pub is one of those uber-hipster places where, when you can finally make out the bartender's face beneath his full-body tattoos and the fedora he got from Urban Outfitters, you instinctively recoil from the smug hatred emanating from his over-privileged eyes (in reality, the bartender was quite nice and knowing the life stories of the bartenders at my quasi-hipster restaurant, where they're required to wear fedoras, he's probably just a kid trying to pay his bills. But you get the idea. I'm definitely not cool enough to be there). I ordered a beer that I can't afford and started reading Tina Fey's autobiography, Bossypants.

And then I started laughing. Out loud. Almost uncontrollably (step one to becoming crazy, alcoholic, cat-lady...check!).

But my laughter led to a pleasant conversation with the barback, which was part of the point. In fact, I strongly recommend this strategy for sitting at a bar alone. Take a funny book and laugh a lot. It's an easy way for strangers to start a conversation because they'll just have to know what you're reading. Better yet, take a book that isn't funny, like Mein Kampf, but continue to laugh uproariously. In my experience, the most interesting conversations always start with, "Oh, that Hitler. What a jokester..."

I ended the night back at my house with a slice of pizza and the rest of that book. All in all, I would say it was a rousing success (if only because I cried during the movie, and not during dinner, this time...).

What's the point, you ask? Well, honestly, there isn't one (I can't believe you even made it this far, although the fact that you're still reading makes me feel better about how boring and lame my life is. Thank you for that). But, if I had to come up with some new-agey message to make up for the way I just insulted you, it would be that it's important to find a way to be alone without being lonely. It's a difficult thing, I'm realizing, but the first steps are to accept that you don't need someone else to validate that you're a fun, interesting person (unless, of course, you're actually not interesting or fun) and not to be afraid to put yourself out there, even if it makes you look like a crazy fool (especially, of course, if you actually are a crazy fool).

If those don't work, publicly mocking you own self-pity seems to be a decent alternative...

---I would like to thank my editor and muse, Jordann Johnson, for his endless patience and merciless witticisms. If it weren't for you, this blog would have no audience.

I know it's cool to be so bored, Sucks me in when you're aloof...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 03:37:00 +0000

This post is NSFTU (not safe for Twitter users). Or anyone who is sick of my sarcastic rants and rampant use of expletives. Or, really, probably for anyone...

So, I read this article about "hashtags" (I guess I should write #hashtags), which are a way for some people to say something on Twitter when they're wasting their time pretending people care about what they're doing during every millisecond of every day. As you can see in the article, it is apparently becoming more common for people to say, out loud, in conversation, "hashtag (insert pointless comment)."

At first, I thought this was the most absurd thing I had ever read (with the possible exception of Dan Brown's "The DaVinci Code." Or the 19th Amendment). People are starting to speak in Twitterese? Please...

I take this as a personal offense against my profession (well, my hoped for profession). I imagined a student walking into my class late and actually saying "Hashtag, sorry I'm late" to which I would offer a response something along the lines of "Ummmm...yeah...well, you can just hashtag your ass back out into the hallway and try again next week."

That made me realize that "hashtag" could have multiple and varied meanings (noun, verb, adjective), so I started thinking of ways to insert it into my own vernacular.

For example:

1. #hashtagWhatI'mAboutToSayIsSarcastic
I was thinking that, if someone made a stupid comment, I could reply with "yeah...hashtag...hilarious" as a means of denoting my sarcasm. Although, my deadpan voice and raised eyebrows are already pretty clear indicators that I'm being sarcastic. Also, I would have to say it before 97.63% of my sentences and that would just get tedious...

2. #hashtagWhatI'mAboutToSayIsALie
Then I thought that this could be the verbal equivalent of crossing your fingers behind your back when you tell a white lie. You know, like, "hashtag, you look so pretty!" or "hashtag, I'm so happy about your engagement!." But, alas, one doesn't really want to tip one off to their lies and, as with the previous suggestion, the fact that my voice goes up an entire octave already gives me away (as does, apparently, my use of the word "so" and an exclamation point.)

I'm so subtle!

3. #hastag - as a substitute for "p.s."

As in, "Hashtag...no one cares what you think about hashtags."

4. WhatYouJustSaidIsTotalBullshitButYou'reNotWorthTheArgument(#hashtag)
This hashtag is to be pronounced in the voice that Kevin Nealon uses when he's doing subliminal messages....that is, quickly, quietly and in a low voice. Like, "I think that you have demonstrated a deep and profound understanding of the feminist perspective(hashtag) or "Yes. India really is a wonderful and spiritual place (hashtag)."

5. #hashtagFuckYou
Then I thought it could just be the verbal equivalent of the middle finger...or whatever that thing on Friends was supposed to mean when they bumped the side of their fists together twice. Just a random, "Oh yeah? Hashtag!" My desperate and deep love of the eff word, however, makes me unlikely to use this substitution.

6. #hashtag
I'll probably just use this as an equivalent for "douchebag" as in, "nice tweet, hashtag" because I think that really captures the essence of what the word and meaning of "hashtag" conjures for me.

I'm actually kind of excited to start sprinkling my conversations with random uses of "hashtag" as a means of demonstrating my superiority to those who are delusional enough to believe that other people are actually interested in their lives and worthless musings. I might even combine these uses to indicate an afterthought that is a sarcastic lie to a jackass with whom I refuse to argue, such as, "hashtag...hashtag, I think the irony of you ranting about how no one cares about Twitter on your blog (and using parentheses in lieu of hashtags) is so understated!(hashtag), hashtag."

#ItsLikeRainOnYourWeddingDay

You shoulda put a ring on it (it's your own damn fault)

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 14:19:00 +0000

This was to be my blog's greatest triumph, demonstrating the radical lengths to which one will go to waste time while stuck in suspended animation in a foreign country, but alas, Greg and I found other embarrassing ways to waste our time and never achieved the perfection for which we strived. I offer our humble first attempt here.

Please note that at the time that this video was shot, Greg and I had been hard at work for four hours, which is to say that we were exhausted, far from sober and given to bouts of giggling in reaction to our audience (namely Paulina). While I am willing to submit that I have grasped the mechanics of this dance more than Greg, he is far more enjoyable to watch.

You will probably regret wasting your time watching this video, but this was one of the most fun nights of my time here in Jaipur.

You are missed, Greg. I can't wait to blow Cambridge away with our moves....

(Here's the link if that is too small)

Everything you do is quite angelicate...

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 11:01:00 +0000

We've all heard a lot about Tina Fey lately because of her new book and I've been reading a lot of the reviews, listening to interviews and generally wasting time researching her. I have surmised that while she and I appear to share some characteristics, she has found a way to be successful and well-liked in spite of such characteristics, a task that I had previously thought impossible. As a result, I want to be Tina Fey and, here, I offer you a few more reasons why.

1. She's a sexy nerd.
I'm just a nerd.
One SNL producer explains that,“When she got here she was kind of goofy-looking, but everyone had a crush on her because she was so funny and bitingly mean."
Ummmmm....hello?!? I'm goofy-looking! I'm funny(ish)! I am definitely bitingly mean! Why doesn't anyone have a crush on me?!?

2.She has friends who say things like:
“She’s the same way back then as she is now,” Ms. Poehler said, “which is really, really funny and incredibly hard-working and a very supportive and loyal friend. But she was a lot less rich. That was the only difference: she was like 100 percent less rich.”
I have friends who say things like:
"Since you got all happy and shit, your blog has really gone downhill...." Thanks, Greg.

3.She's taller than her husband.
I just want to be taller than anyone. Anyone.

4. The name Tina is a shortened version of her middle name "Stamatina."
My middle name is Dale. Yes, Dale. Yes, like the fat, stupid, boring chipmunk from the Chip 'n' Dale cartoon. Or the greasy shirtless man from Chippendale's. Or the overweight mustachioed NASCAR driver, Dale Earnhardt. No fun nicknames in there. Thanks again, mom.

4.a. She writes in complete sentences.
Apparently, that too difficult for me.

5. There has been a feminist backlash against her.
My greatest dream in life has always been to spark a feminist backlash. I foolishly thought that writing a dissertation that would offend Indian feminist sensibilities was the way to go, but you have shown me the light, Ms. Fey and for that, I thank you.

6. People think she is cute and charming when she's being an obnoxious asshole.
People just think I'm an obnoxious asshole.
For example, people laugh when she says “I’ll stay in the writers’ room until my mucus plug blows” and then adds “Yeah, I said it."
When I say things like that, people simply continue to ignore me.

7. She is a fellow Jezzie...
...but I bet that if she tried to post a comment, someone else would promote it. After numerous failed attempts at this, I have quit trying to share my profound wit with the cyber-feminist world. You lose, cyber-feminists. You lose.

8. She can pull off saying "Lemon Out."
I mean, it would be weird if she did it in her normal, everyday life because she is not, as I recognize, actually Liz Lemon. But it would still be less weird than when I use it as a valediction, particularly when saying it to my Hindi-speaking teacher as though it is a self-evident and legitimate reason to walk out in the middle of class.

9. She seems to have it all - the job, the husband, the house, the kids...
I have few job prospects and even fewer marketable skills, I have only a series of truly inspired break-up lines to keep me warm at night, I live in a windowless room in the back of a garage and I'm pretty sure my barren womb is as hostile and bitter as my personality.

10. Tina Fey's memoir is on the NYTimes bestseller list.
Yesterday, my blog got four hits. Three of these may or may not have been me looking at how many hits my blog had gotten and the fourth was probably my mother...

In the end, I suppose the real reason that I want to be Tina Fey is because she is getting all of the global attention that I so desperately seek.

Damn you, Tina Fey and your perfection of vitriol. I shall work every day to take up the gauntlet that you have thrown down before me.

Until then, however, please tell me I'm pretty... .

For the price of a dime, I can always turn to you

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sun, 10 Apr 2011 17:17:00 +0000

I have no links to offer you because I spent significantly little time online this weekend. You'll just have to waste your time here with me if you're that committed. I do make fun of French people, though...

I recently learned that when French children are learning English, they talk a lot about "Brian." For example, when learning names for the various rooms in a house, they create dialogues such as:
Q: "Where is Brian?"
A: "Brian is in the kitchen."

I find a number of things interesting about this. One, it has been suggested to me that Brian spends an exorbitant amount of time in the kitchen (what is he doing in there?). Two, it seems vaguely fascist because, apparently, it would be inapproprié to ask "Who the hell is this Brian, anyway?!?" Three, and perhaps most important, Brian has a sister named "Jenny." I thought this would be a useful way to frame this entry about how I wasted time this weekend if only because I'm sure that all of you avid readers out there (mom, Jordan) often ask yourself, "Where is Jenny?" I also hope this will helpful for non-native English speakers who accidentally stumble upon my blog when furtively googling "who the hell is this Brian, anyway?!?"

Where is Jenny?
(I'll stick to the present tense, because I'm not sure how long Brian and Jenny stick around. For all I know, they are replaced by Jason and Sarah by the time more complex past and participial constructions are introduced)
Description 1
Jenny is in the kitchen.
Jenny is making pasta.
Jenn is peer pressuring her friends to drink with her.
"Silly, sober Europeans!" says Jenny.

Jenny is on the roof.
Jenny's peer pressure works.
"Silly, fickle Europeans!" says Jenny.

Jenny is laughing
Jenny sleeps at the house of her friends.
Jenny does the "walk of shame."
(Please note for students that "peer pressure" is used as both a verb and a noun in this conversation.)

Description 2
Jenny is in the kitchen.
Jenny and her friend are making Thai food.
Jenny doesn't have to apply peer pressure tonight.
"Silly, drunken Europeans!" says Jenny.

Jenny and her friend rightly trounce their other friends in a game of charades (this sentence is optional and will only be appropriate for more advanced learners, particularly as the words "rightly trounce" are not actually colloquial to any known English-speaking context).

Jenny is on the roof again.
Jenny is mercilessly mocking her friends.
"Stupid, drunken Americans!" says Jenny.

Jenny continues to laugh.
Jenny sleeps at the house of her friends again.
Jenny does the "walk of shame" again. (Seriously, these Indian people think you're a whore, Jenny. This is just getting embarrassing).

Description 3
Jenny is in the kitchen.
Jenny is doing the dishes, because that is her duty and purpose as a woman (language learning is made most effective when used to convey fundamental cultural principles).
"Silly boys! They shouldn't have to help cook or clean!" says Jenny.

Jenny is on the back porch.
Jenny is talking with a friend.
"Silly me! I'm completely wasting my life and loving every minute of it!" says Jenny.

Jenny is still laughing (seriously, Jenny, no one else is laughing. You're not that funny. Stop. This is just getting embarrassing).

Jenny is in her own bed.

Jenny feels the first pangs of nostalgia about leaving India.
Jenny hopes Brian remembers to turn out the light when he leaves the kitchen...

Quotes:

"Dear Greg, We need milk." - Greg

Nothing to wallow in, but the sound that you're gobbling up

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 10:53:00 +0000

This is by far the most worthless way that I have wasted time since, well, probably ever (unless you count those two years I spent in a "Masters of Theological Studies" program)...

I heard this Pineapple song, "Words of a Girl" on an Indie Rock Playlist that I had downloaded and thought to myself, "Huh. This is what that one song by The xx would sound like if Herman Dune were in the band...."

Having spent a ridiculous amount of time downloading, shortening, uploading and then embedding these songs into this blog post, I can say with certainty that I know absolutely nothing about music and have WAY too much time on my hands.

But you can judge for yourself (the music part, at least...I can assure that I have too much time to waste).

First, Herman Dune's "Baby Baby You're My Baby"

Next, The xx's "VCR"

Finally, Pinapple's "Words of a Girl"

You're welcome for wasting those 5 minutes of your life.

As punishment, you killed my betta fish, You just threw it out the window

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 11:35:00 +0000

This entry is mostly about music, but there is also a suggestion for family fun time, a "lyrics by synonym" challenge and a comparison of sports cultures. Waste away!

Game:
The title of this game, "One-minute mysteries," is incredibly misleading. You can spend hours wasting time playing this, as we did this weekend. I've even made up my own:

A girl sits down in front of her computer in India to reread/write her blog. Five minutes later, she is found alone, doors locked from the inside and no signs of foul play, drinking profusely. Why?
(There are multiple and varied correct answers to this. Pick whatever you think is most suitable and funny.)

Time waster:
These take away shows can fill up hours of wonderful wasted time. I haven't watched in a while because my internet is too slow here, but my favorites include The National, The Shins and Bloc Party.

Video
I really wish that I had some musical talent so that I too could a video of Extraneous Lyrics. I thought about this because I wanted to write a single line of lyrics from the Weeknd album on my friend's FB wall, but realized how inappropriate and offensive it would be given my race, class and gender. Instead, I re-wrote it in a fashion similar to that video. If you are really, REALLY bored, then you should download the album (see previous post), listen to it and try to figure out the actual lyrics for the following: (Please note that most of the lyrics in this album are NSFMP - "not safe for my parents" - and probably not for yours either...)

"These derogatorily termed female genitalia-gluteus maximus muscle, colloquially-termed African-American gentlemen are attempting to maintain their increase in assets when income is received, but I suggest instead that they utilize a decrease in liabilities and pay attention as their appearance is diminished."

Good luck!

Anecdote:

Cricket World Cup vs. Super Bowl
Last Wednesday, India played Pakistan in the semi-finals of the World Cup Cricket tournament and last night, they made a dramatic final play to beat Sri Lanka for the title. The whole thing felt a bit like the Super Bowl, but I thought I would outline some of the major similarities and differences for you.

Similarities:

1. It's an all day affair
2. There is food and booze at both
3. There is cheering when good things happen
4. There is cursing at bad plays
5. The jumbotron camera guy likes to focus on fat men dancing
6. The announcers are annoying
7. People spray confetti
8. People dance around after a victory
9. There is a sense of solidarity and community that is built around rivalry but can also lead to fights after the game.

Differences:

1. World Cup lasts all day is because the game goes on for EIGHT effing hours.
2. The booze in India is 70% glycerine and they pass off malt liquor as "beer."
3. Cheering in India means spontaneously breaking into Bangra dancing and running around draped in the Indian flag.
4. The cursing in English comes from the mouths of 8 year-olds...and their mothers.
5. I don't think the fat men dancing on the jumbotron in India are drunk...
6. Cricket announcers get to say fun things like "Boy, he really knows how to whack it!"
7. In addition to confetti, Indians spray soap bubbles. No, seriously...look at that picture.
8. Here, victory dancing includes house music from a DJ and lasts until 2 a.m.
9. The solidarity created by Cricket in India can result in maintaining a decades long feud and/or challenging international diplomacy.

R.I.P. LCD Soundsystem. You will be missed.

Caught between the cold and the wave, My heart beats up again

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 16:56:00 +0000

I've been told that the blog posts are too long, which is weird because no one has ever even intimated that I talk too much... So, I'm changing again. Alas, my dear readers, fear not, this will continue to be a complete waste of your time...

(Ok, this one is still a long post, but I swear they will get shorter)

Time Waster

Sporcle is not for the faint-hearted of time wasters. If you go to this website, you very well may lose the rest of your day because this is the holy grail of time wasting. Please proceed with caution. I'm also going to need you to sign a form that releases me from any responsibility for what happens to you and your productivity level if you go to that website.

Article
It's sad because it's true. Old at 29.

Music
If you're like me and you get little clips of songs stuck in your head, but you're not sure what they are, then you've probably gotten the 10 seconds that introduce "All Tech Considered" stuck in your head. I researched it. It's "Tickle It!" by Mocean Worker. I actually really like it...

The Weeknd - "House of Balloons." Damn good

Video
Cooking and hip-hop
What a wonderful combination. Check out CrazyLegs Lunch Breaks Webcast

Anecdote (I'll keep this section at the end so you don't have to read it to get to the good stuff..)

So, a Brit, a Frenchman and a Belgian walk into a bar.... Actually, it was two Americans walking into the apt. of said Brit, Frenchman and Belgian, but what followed was their attempt to give me that whole "let's tap our cheeks together to say hello and goodbye" bullshit. Eff that. I want a full-on frontal assault that shows me how much you care about me. Hence, I had to give a hug tutorial.

I am very serious about hugs. I learned how to hug from my mother, who is a very demanding and exceptionally good hugger and I'm going to exploit my wildly popular blog forum to teach you about my hugs as well.

I have three basic types of hugs:

1. The Comfy Hug

This hug is guy's arms over her shoulders, girl's arms around his waist and some time is spent lingering in the hug. For me, this hug is a sign that I am really comfortable around you and feel some kind of special connection to you. Or it's just because you're a lot taller than I am and it's too difficult to hug you any other way.

a. The "Man, Your Boobs are Comfy" Hug

- My friend's ex-girlfriend had exquisite breasts and giving her the comfy hug was like lying my head on an incredibly comfortable pillow.
. -Please note that this hug is :not to be given without explicit permission and you should be sure to . gauge carefully how long you linger.

b. The "I've Had a Really Long Day, Please Make Me Feel Better" Hug
- That seems pretty self-explanatory.

2. The Friend Hug (also often a hello/goodbye hug)

This is the "one arm over the shoulder, one arm under the other person's arm" hug. This hug usually means that I haven't seen you in a while. Actually, it probably means that I haven't seen you in a while because I haven't wanted to see you. This hug is often accompanied by a tight-lipped smile and possibly followed with a falsely enthusiastic "How have you been?" The friend hug is rare in my hug repertoire and it mostly likely means that we ran into each other because my mom made me go into Walmart with her.

a. The "Hugging Male Relatives" Hug

- this version of the friend hug connotes sincere emotional attachment without being creepy.

b.The "Gymnast" Hug

- this hug involves no real physical contact, often employs only one arm and is sustained only long enough to lightly tap the persons back with your fingers, i.e. not really a hug.

3. The Love Hug

This hug is girl's arms over the shoulder, guy's arms around her back and may include light swaying. It's a much more intimate hug. If I hug you like this, it means that I'm willing to invest something in you because I've actually put in the effort to stand up on my tippy-toes and I don't do that for just anybody.

a. The "Hugging Female Relatives Who Are Shorter Than You" Hug

- this is also how I hug my mother. No, seriously....she's shorter than I am.

Hugging No-Nos

a. Don't bend a short person over backwards when you're hugging them Why do you do this?!? Have someone stand on a chair and hug you like that. It's not comfortable. Just hug us. We're still normal people.

b. Don't pat the person's back. It feels condescending. This may occasionally be acceptable for two grown men who are worried about preserving their masculinity, but even then, it is still unnecessary. Just hug the person.

c. Don't give a weak hug to someone who is giving you a strong hug. Just hug me, dammit!

Here's a fun comic version of bad hugs.

Drifting, Settling, Off to a foreign place

noreply@blogger.com (jenn) — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 03:44:00 +0000

Good for me..bad for the blog...

Dear readers (i.e. mom, dad, Jordan)

You may have noticed that I've been slacking a bit on the blog lately and I wanted to apologize for that. It has become increasingly clear to me that the therapeutic effects that I was seeking in the blog writing have begun to be realized. It's been a long year and a half, but I can feel myself starting to pull out of the funk that I've been in for the past few months. I've been spending much less time wasted on the internet, I'm becoming more capable of sitting with my own thoughts, I've been making a point of paying attention to what's going on around me and I dare say that I'm (gasp!) happy.

I know. I can hardly believe it myself. And this "happiness" has had the unfortunate effect of dulling my sarcastic and cynical wit. I'm starting to find things genuinely funny...not "god you're an idiot, I hate my life!" funny. Yes...it's difficult for me to accept too. I appreciate your sympathy and understanding in this time of critical transition.

I'll keep posting and I'll try to keep it from slipping into merely personal, nostalgic, anecdotal crap, because that is precisely the type of blogshit I'm trying to mock, but the posts might start coming fewer and farther between.

Keep checking though...my old self is sure to break through every once in a while...

Ever yours,
Jenn "cautiously optimistic" Ortegren

Quotes
"Bitch, what did you expect?!? Right now you're finding meaning in Rihanna lyrics!!!" - Greg assessing my overblown reaction to "No Strings Attached" a month ago.