Low-Point: The Institute of Official Cheer

This afternoon I came across this site run by James Lileks, who is a humor columnist in Minneapolis. Considering Minneapolis is often lauded for being a mecca for comedic talent (sarcasm.) I'd consider this a diamond in the ruff of -20 degree weather typically found there. I've never actually been there, so I don't have much to base an opinion on, but if I can get the same stuff online from the comfort of my air-conditioned cubicle then why should I?

Basically what he does is post old pictures/ads/comic book pages/cold war-era promotional artwork and make witty comments about discrepancies of old-timey politics.

In quiet, friendly letters the site proclaims what it does best: humiliate the defenseless past since 1996. If the subscript of the title page doesn't convince you of its inherent greatness then you're probably a grumpy pensioner yelling at all the readers to get off your cyber-lawn and wondering why all your commie neighbors haven't been black-balled yet.

Being something of a computer aficionado (double sarcasm.) I was instantly drawn to the compu-promo section. Lileks describes this section as, "big hideous computers, and the women who loved them: a salute to the early years of computer promotion." Once I saw this entry I knew I had struck the equivalent of Internet gold. Dotcom-karats I call em. Subtle references to other sources comedic genius, particularly those including old B-movies, always sit well with me. And this section is rife with them.

Thus far I haven't even strayed to any of the other sections. There are enough back-posts here that with a little luck I could probably stretch this out for the rest of the summer.

Hot Cookin

Normally I don’t like to admit that I watch American Idol. In fact, when I do watch it I’m usually locked in my bedroom with a blanket over my head. I debated a long time about writing about this, but I figured if I was ever going to blog about American Idol I might as well do it now during the post-AI media storm when my confession can be waved off as another piece of fan-girl blather and not seen as a reliable barometer of my personal taste. Wow. Can I write a run-on sentence or what?

The fact is, I love David Cook. As a friend once put it, I don’t love him like I love peanut butter. I mean, I luuuuuvvvaaaahhh him.

From the first moment Cookie walked in with his faux hawk and argyle sweater I was hooked. It turned out to be a bonus that he could actually sing. And once he sang his emo/rock version of Hello I knew I’d never think about American Idol the same. I guess you could say “He had me at ‘Hello” but I’d like to maintain SOME semblance of dignity here.

But what really gets me? He’s so darn articulate. Every time I see him on a talk show I giggle to myself then sigh in recognition that I will never be that eloquent. I want to use my feminine wiles to trick him into a philosophical conversation that requires a delicate formulation of logic and necessitates explanations of complex ideas. Then I’ll lean back in my chaise lounge and watch him articulate. And yes, you can watch someone articulate. At least I can. I don’t know what your problem is.

Also in my fantasy he’s pacing back and forth in a black tee-shirt and intermittently flashing his crooked half-smile.

Some people would accuse me of rapidly jumping from obsession to obsession, claiming that I’ll be over him in another month. But only idiots with shiny new ‘stangs would actually believe something stupid like that. Unbeknown to most Shia’s likeness still lives on my door, Danny Wallace’s book still lives on my shelf, and Brand New's croonings still live on my ipod. Perhaps the initial intensity wears off a bit, but I never go back on something I truly love. (Good Charlotte I’m still rooting for you! Even if it’s just for old time’s sake.)

So, to sum up: David Cook, I am your Cookie Monster, and I will continue to steal from the Cookie jar, because I know this Cookie will never crumble . . . and various other double entendres Cookie puns.

I have retarded tingles for myself.

Getting Rooster-y

Something amazing happened to me today. I managed to inadvertently tap into the male ego for a brief moment. Much the same way Gibson learned valuable lessons about the female gender in What Women Want, I too learned how easy it is to be corrupted by the sense of entitlement men seem to experience all the time. Like that one Big-Dirty who believed he had a shot with you even though you’re clearly out of his league? Yeah, I can see how he could disillusion himself into thinking that despite being TOTALLY off base. You know who I’m talking to.

So this weekend I bought a pair of jeans that were more expensive than I’d normally go for. But they were ridiculously on sale and there was only one pair left that someone had returned and so, in my shopping equivalent of a blood-frenzy, I snatched them up and hauled them home.

Only today did I discover the best thing about these jeans. Behind the zipper of the fly there is stitched a small and unobtrusive lightning bolt.

I wish I could describe the rush this discovery gave me. It was like I was instantly teleported the psyche of a man who was greatly endowed and asserted this confidence in his everyday life. Like I could suddenly get away with anything, and more importantly anyONE, I wanted to.

I immediately stormed into my office and confronted my boss about the bug report I’d been working on all morning, waving it wildly in his face and proclaiming that his inability to grasp simple explanations should not constitute hours of redundant work on my part.

Ok, so I didn’t actually do that. Partially because everyone I work with is fairly pleasant and quite competent. But I could feel myself just waiting for someone to cross me because then I could jab my finger in their shoulder and say, “Oh yeah? Cross THIS.”

Finding this hidden treasure was like free admission to the world of ego centric men who think they’re the best thing since sliced bread despite all evidence to the contrary.

As if my mind rationalized all outlandish actions because I have a hidden force to fall back on that would shock and amaze all if they only knew! The fools! They have no idea of the power I wield!

And then my female rational slowly returned as I realized that this secret weapon of mine was nothing more than a lightning bolt on my crotch.

I guess the Justice League will have to wait a little longer for my services.

Oh, and this also means that I WILL NOT be showing up uninvited on David Cook’s doorstep with any unfounded confidence. But I will still show up on his doorstep. Just without the confidence part. You never know.

Low Point--Whatever

I debated about posting this as another low-point because it comes from another sf/f author and if I haven't already driven you away with my sf/f geekiness I'm sure you're just waiting for an excuse. But then I read this post about a stupid headline and it managed to distract me for a full minute and a half and successfully brought me out of low-point territory.

This is a blog by John Scalzi and while he talks a lot about the sf/f genre and writing world, he also throws in lots of other amusing tidbits which should allow all you closet SciFi fans enough of an excuse to read guiltlessly. Also he seems a bit enamored with his cats, which also makes it a good fit for anyone who likes to divert all their unrequited love on the feline race.

And if you like sf/f AND you have seven cats . . . well.

Also, his actual novels/short stories are really good too. Even if you DON'T like sf/f OR live in MEOWtropolis.

Low Point--Writing Excuses

It seems that everyday at work I hit a point, a point where I find myself in the darkest reaches of my mind, one might call it the "depths of despair." Usually this hits around 3pm. A time when I'm burned out from classifying documents within nested zip files, and just the thought of writing up an issue report makes me left lung collapse. Typically, I've already cruised all my normal blogs, I've either gotten sick of my music, or left my ipod at home, and I'm so bloated-full of Diet Coke that Joe Banks could use me as a life raft instead of his luggage. (Anyone? Here's a hint.) PLUS it's Thursday, which is already my low-point in the week which makes today's low-point uber-low-pointy.

Tragically I can't just leave work, and they don't like it when I sing along to SA-LINE DEE-YON in my cubicle. Instead I'm forced to find some OTHER way to amuse myself. Today it was this:

This is a series of podcasts called Writing Excuses from three writers in Utah Valley about some of the pitfalls of writing fiction. One of them was a professor of mine, Brandon, whom I've mentioned before but all three have great advice to give. Each podcast is about 15 minutes long because, as they say, "you're busy, and we're not that smart." Well I don't know about how smart they are, but I am SERIOUSLY not that busy. I've already listened to about 5 episodes today because luckily I can take in writerly wisdom while formatting npg files. Oh the life of a software-tester. So glamorous. (Sarah? If you will? *Glamorous Glamorous* Thank you.)

I know this won't appeal too much to non-writer-types out there, which is pretty much all three of you, but if you've even been curious about the classification continuum of villains you might find it interesting. And if not then just read this list (which they also link on the podcast site) of things to consider when you're an evil overlord because it's pretty much the best thing ever.

Also, these pictures have nothing to do with this topic, they're just to distract you from the mundane nature of this post. "Well excuuuuuuse me Princess!" This, m'friends, is a low-point.

Gradua-SHON Celebra-SHON

Graduation is an institution's last-ditch effort to humiliate students. And it works. You're forced to wear funny clothes in front of crowds of people who's only care is when the %@#& this thing is going to be over. Hint: the graduates are thinking the SAME THING. Nevertheless I managed to enjoy mine and here are some highlights for you to enjoy vicariously:

-For once in my life it made sense to plan an outfit based on the shoes, for which I received several compliments. One was even from a guy who felt the need to shout across a crowd of several thousand graduates, "JANAY'S SHOES ARE HOT!!!" which, let's face it, they kind of are. (These are not my feet but these are the shoes. My feet are much sexier. And the shoes look even hotter sticking out of a judge's robe.)

-At the large commencement I stood in my designated area blithely greeting all my fellow English graduates, until I realized I was the only one with a brown tassel. In a sea of white and gold I was the one, brown turd floating in the bowl. I was supposed to be graduating with a Bachelor of Arts, not a Bachelor of FINE Arts and SOMEONE gave me the wrong color tassel. Sheesh people. Do we graduates need to do EVERYTHING for you?

-We stood lined up for said commencement for at least 45 min outside. Which wouldn't be so bad on a spring-y April day, but this day was less spring-y and more snow-stormy. So instead of looking pleasantly flush from the quiet breeze meandering throughout the trees, we looked red-nosed and purple-knuckled as we tried to cut off the breeze meandering up our skirts. Also looked a bit like Harry Potter which is not very dignified.

-I finally saw the fish in the basement of the Widtsoe building. It was kind of anticlimactic but would be cool if you had an office down there. When my 2 year old nephew saw the big lobster he spent the next several minutes explaining how if the lobster tried to pinch him he would kick it, then poop on his head. I told him he should teach a self-defense class.

-My Mom and I graduated at the same time. This meant that while walking in together I had to listen to her whine that everyone was pointing and laughing at the "old lady." Then when we got our fake diploma's, "Janay's mother graduating with a degree in Family Life" got way more applause than Janay did. Plus it was the only applause that wasn't followed by an adamant "Shhhh!" *sigh*

-I FINALLY got to get IN the fountain in the courtyard of the JFSB. Of course, we had to tempt all my nephews away with the promise of ice cream to suppress a riot when "Aunt Nay" got to go in. The wet foot prints walking away from the fountain were a bit incriminating but I'm just glad I didn't slip on the marble and dunk myself.

-I had my suspicions confirmed that graduates are not exempt from just being plain stupid. Especially when they're trying to be seen by their parents across a crowd of 20k people in the Marriot Center. One guy I know struggled for at least 20 minutes saying, "Can you see me? How can you not see me I'm RIGHT across from you. Can you see me? Ok, now I'm pointing to my head. No . . . everyone ELSE is waving I'm the one pointing to my HEAD. Now I'm jumping up and down. Can you see me now? I'm pointing to my head and jumping up and down. I'M RIGHT ACROSS FROM YOU!"

-While walking to our designated areas my Mom and I ran into some family friends. Greetings were exchanged. Smiles were shared. Congratulations expressed. And all by exclaiming, "Heeeeyy! Hey! Haaaay! Heeeeyyyyyy!"

How to get on my good side

Step 1: See me at some point during my busy day and engage in a wholly forgettable conversation. Preferably referencing our work, class, bongo lessons etc.

Step 2: That night in my dream accuse me of always showing up for work (class, synchronized swimming) hours late and generally tell me what a bad employee I am and therefore an awful human being.

Step 3: Ensure that I have at least a momentary understanding that what is happening is not reality and therefore I feel justified in giving you the railing of your life, complete with brightly colored words that I secretly admire the potency of but never use out due to an inclination towards a modest vocab. (You in your perfectly tailored, pin-stripe suite. A pathetic attempt at professionalism.)

Step 4: Immediately following said railing politely suggest that my dream is NOT in fact a dream and that I have just deeply offended you and all your posterity.

Step 5: The next morning at work (class, D&D sesh) smile at me, reminding me that in reality you're NOTHING like my dream version, consequently making me feel horrible about myself for belittling you so effectively. (Although I am quite pleased with the clever execution.)

Following these simple steps will ensure that for at least the following 24 hours I will bring you your printing (hand-out, moon-boots) I will rummage through the snack table looking for the best fruit-snacks available, and send you helpful hints on creating a local DocLibrary replica of a Notes database which doesn't replicate with the Domino server (ain't work excitin'!) All out of guilt. In short. I will become your B-word.

ABC's of me, if I have to, I guess.

A - Attached or Single: attached to the idea that if I answer these badly enough no one will ever make me fill out another one. But otherwise single. Single like a fox.

B - Best Friend: anyone who gets this reference: “The time for talking is over. Now call it extreme if you like, but I propose we hit it hard, and we hit it fast, with a major, and I mean major, leaflet campaign.” Which will be no one. Oh well.

C - Cake or Pie: unless James McAvoy is going to jump out of the cake, pie.

D - Day of Choice: Thursday. I don’t really know why except that I hate Thursdays and that’s more than I can say for any of the other forgettable slacker-days.

E - Essential Item: several random notebooks that I fill with genius ideas then never look at again.

F - Favorite Color: green. It has all the austerity of a blue or red without that stigma of over-popularity.

G - Gummi Bears or Worms: bears, but only because they come dipped in chocolate.

H - Hometown: Bothell, Washington, the Snohomish side, where we welcome you for “a day or a lifetime.”

I - Indulgence(s): anything British or Canadian, or in particular hilarious and unconventionally attractive men from England or Canada. Oh, and I’ve been reading a lot of SciFi novels recently so, yeah.

J - January or July: January. I’ve decided to balk the dictating conventions of the Gregorian calendar and rename all the months after my favorite literary heroes. In that case I prefer Jude-ly. But Rochester-uary is right out.

K - Kids: Let’s just say I’m headed down to my brother’s place for Easter. He has four boys under the age of 7 and it’s about time for my bi-annual birth control.

L - Life is Incomplete Without: oxygen. Well, technically only 20% oxygen and about 78% nitrogen. (See SciFi above.)

M - Marriage Date: no thanks. I prefer marriage raisins.

N - Number of Siblings: three. None of whom would ever make me fill out a stupid questionnaire.
O - Oranges or Apples: apples. Fuji.

P- Phobias or Fears: spiders. And alphabetic-themed tags. (Tired of this yet?)

Q - Quote(s): "Smooch my big, white alien forehead."

R - Reason to Smile: this.

S - Season: where I come from we don’t have seasons. There’s only rainy, and slightly more rainy. But I really prefer fall and spring because they writhe with inner turmoil.

T - Tag Seven: I don’t want to be held accountable for tagging anyone else so I hereby allow seven people to tag themselves. You know who you are.

U - Unknown Fact About Me: I've self-diagnosed myself with reverse seasonal-affective disorder. I get depressed when it's sunny for days on end.

V - Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animal: oppressor. I just can’t get enough of waiters telling me “it’s nice to see a girl who can eat” when I order a steak.

W - Worst Habit: thinking that my life is too boring to have anything to blog about.

X - X-Rays or Ultrasounds: x-rays, the more x-rays there are the less times “xylophone” will have to show up in alphabet books.

Y - Your Favorite Food: watermelon. “Just plant a watermelon on my grave and let the juice slurp slurp run down.”

Z - Zodiac: Taurus. But only by one day which is lucky because I am SO not the same sign as Haras.

When Your Powers Combine. . .

Three of the most powerful forces in my universe combined this week: an author I LOVE (Jen Lancaster) doing in a book signing in the city I LOVE (Seattle, where else?) the same week as my MOST beloved Folklife Festival.

As if I weren't planning it anyway, I'm hereby officially doing a road trip home the end of May. Yes it's awhile off but that just gives me time to ponder the wonderfulness of this triple threat.

First, there's really no need to laud the magnitude of said author. Seriously? Just check out her blog and prepare to be converted. 'Nuff said. But what makes it better is that she's condescending to do a signing at one of my favorite bookstores, which happens to be within 10 minutes of my house.

Pretty much the only thing this bookstore DOESN'T have going for it is that it's not in a creaky old building with misshapen, wobbly wood floors and tight, jagged corners wherein to crack open monstrous tomes filled with Russian disparity. Ahhhh.

Luckily, they DO have several restaurants, over sized chess games, and weekly literary readings to make up for it. And the best bit? The used books are mixed right in with the new ones! I know some people prefer the crisp whiteness of new books but old books have history. HISTORY. Reading a used book is like constructing an emotional connection with some unseen spirit of the past. Unless it's a really crappy book, then you can feel all elitist for not having such awful taste.

As if it weren't enough the same week we have the Folklife Festival. This is my all time, hands down FAVORITE thing to do in Seattle. Every year that I go I leave feeling like I need to start wearing more tie-dye, and that my (limited) jewelry collection is gaudy and crypto-fascist. I resolve to eat nothing but gyros and peroshki from that point on, and to finally pursue my obvious talents as the key member of a drum circle. In my opinion, if you're too self-conscious to get up and bang along with the group then you shouldn't be allowed to stare at the bra-less hippie dancing next to you. And that's half the fun.

So if you're in Utah, you're invited on my road-trip. And if you're in Seattle, well, you're invited on a one-way road trip back to Utah.

One word of caution, I WILL be singing my family's favorite road trip song . . ."Country roooooooad take me hoooooome to the plaaaaace I beloooohooooong!"

V-Day

This year I've managed to harness the brute force of optimism and recognize why it's great to be a single girl on Valentine's Day. Just don't call it "Single Awareness Day" because really? That stopped being funny in about 8th grade.

I think my path to enlightenment started in high school when, in an obscenely romantic gesture a guy showed up to my early morning seminary with a bouquet of roses and a bucket of chocolate (you heard! a bucket!)

Terribly sweet right? (Definition Sweet: Used to describe an act that has the potential for excellence but only if it came from someone else. See Great Personality)

Yeah, it would have been nice if I wasn't dating someone else at the time (holy awkward moment Batman!). . . someone else who thoughtfully forked out the dough for a bouquet of baby's-breath (FYI guys? Not good. Nooooot gooooood.) It didn't make matters any better that Casanova lived about two hours away putting his start time to somewhere around the 4am mark. Yeah. I inspire greatness . . . just out of the wrong guys.

But this year I'm optimistic. Any guy bearing flowers and chocolate will be received graciously and not with the adolescent awkwardness I'm still trying to shake.

Therefore here are my reasons why it's great to be a single girl on Valentine's Day:

• Everyone EXPECTS you to go out with your girlfriends and yet staying at home in sweats is equally acceptable


• You can smile at the tension in the faces of the married men you work with as they try to finagle some time alone with their wives


• It's not quite so sad when you tell someone that the best gift you received was from your Aunt


• Or that that gift was complete with a mini-teddy bear, a bottle of body spray in "cotton candy fantasy" and a "glamour pack" with sparkly accoutrements for "the young at heart"


• You can get as glammed up with the afore mentioned sparkles without anyone assuming you're going to put-out at the end of the night


• While all the other smug couples are crammed into their chick-flicks you can sneak into the only Sci-Fi flick playing and have plenty of leg room


• In future years you can look back on the day and not remember a two hour wait outside Olive Garden, but the announcement of another Star Wars movie, which fills you with glee that Lucille's admonition that Annyong go "see a Star War" is now entirely possible!

Happy Lovin.

I Heart FotC

It's official. If you haven't heard about Flight of the Conchords by NOW you're officially uncool. I can say this with confidence because I've already forced it on most of my friends (aka the only people who read this blog anyway) and if you've somehow managed to dodge out of the line of fire well, we'll just consider you cool by association.

I haven't been this overtly obsessed with something since the first time I saw Little Shop of Horrors and I watched it 12 times in that first week. To this day I still have something of a latent crush on Rick Moranis.

So when I realized that I was spending an average of an hour each day re-watching clips of their show on youtube I knew something needed to be done. Kari and Shawn, I apologize. I didn't mean to go behind your back and purchase the full season on dvd but I couldn't help myself. I saw it on the shelf at the store and it just looked up at me with these big, baleful eyes what was I supposed to do? I'll tell you. I did what any self-respecting person would do: I brought it home, made up a bed with an old blanket in the corner and laid out a piece of newspaper for it to piddle on.

FotC was previously New Zealand's fourth most popular digi-folk parody group, they've now been upstaged by an FotC tribute group, and their HBO show is the story of Bret and Jemaine's quest to expand their solitary American fan into a full-blown fan base. (Because if you put base on the end of it it sounds bigger.)

I have promised Shawn and Kari that I wouldn't watch any episodes without them so thus far I've just been replaying the first 5 over and over again and giggling manically to myself. So far my favorite moments include:

• Jemaine finally getting tired of Bret's nagging and conceding that the reason he's moving out is because Bret eats too loud and it's "deefining"
  
• Bret's helmet that looks like his real hair
  
• Jemaine accusing Bret's girl friend (Cocoa) of trying to break up the band, then slurring "Cocoa, oh no!" to sound like Yoko Ono
  
• Jemaine's face when asked what his rap name is to which he replies "Hip-hopapotamus. But you can call me Jemaine if you like."
• Jemaine swiping his hand across his throat and nodding towards Cocoa indicating that Bret should break up with her and Bret saying "no man, I'm not gonna kill her"

Also, the entirety of this post is much more amusing if you read it in a whiny New Zealand accent. Now, please to enjoy what is possibly my favorite song from the show. Or at least the one that I've had stuck in my head for the last two weeks:

Steriods vs Time Travel

Every time a new horror movie comes out Haras makes a deal with me: I'll go to the scary movie with her in exchange for her going to a SciFi movie with me. We're getting more and more like an old married couple every day. We literally finish each other's sentences. Or at least predict the perfect quote/retort with surprising accuracy.

So far the score is Janay at scary movies:2 Haras at SF&F movies:0

Haras has a unique talent for wriggling out of commitments that might expose her closet obsession with SF&F.

Although Rambo technically isn't a scary movie, I've decided to categorize it in the general "I don't really care about it but Haras is obsessed with seeing it so I know she'll make me go anyway" category, and I'm require that she go see a movie with me. But not just any movie. This movie.

So far my favorite reviewer quotes include gems like : "Is this movie so god-awful bad that it's hilariously good? Can't be bothered deciding. Figure that's an answer in itself."

And, "Just where this kingdom is I don't know, but since the king of the title is played by Burt Reynolds, I'm guessing it's the Lost Continent of Atlanta. "

And, my favorite, "Uwe Boll isn't the worst director in the world, but In the Name of the King might be more enjoyable if he were."

Thus far Haras is proving resistant. Feel free to harras Haras (eh? ehhh??) on her blog to convince her that being an old married couple means making concessions.

Lame Title Because Blogger Doesn't Recognize the Humor in Tech-Talk

I can't help it. I'm like a proud mother who totes her daughter to all the local pageant shows and makes her cook souffles on stage. Me and Elizabeth just finished a page of the web version of Inscape.

The rest of the publication is still in editing and the published version isn't done yet but I was too impressed with our understanding of techy ways. I knew software testing was going to come in handy at some point! Check out all my majesty on this page.

And stay tuned for the day when I can link to my book review published in the same edition!

Geek Alert

I realize that this puts me at like Geek-Factor 10 (Geektor 10) but I was too EXCOITED to let this pass. Last winter I took a SF&F writing class (SciFi & Fantasy for anyone below Geektor 3(and coincidentally the best writing class I've taken thus far)) and it was taught by author Brandon Sanderson. He's published four novels now, (plus one that's available for free!) and he's got deals for several more. Now here's where it gets good. He was just offered the job the finish the final book in the Wheel of Time series!

Again, I realize that to anyone below Geektor 3 this is pretty much meaningless. The Wheel of Time series was written by major fantasy author Robert Jordan who died on September 16th while finishing up the last novel in the 12 book series. These. Are. HUGE. The last four books in the series were all New York Times #1 Bestsellers and the fact that Sanderson was asked to finish the novel has me freaking out even though I've never even read any of the series!

Maybe it's more like Geektor 12.

Should I Be Pleased or Offended?

Don't feel too bad Haras. At least people know who your famous-leader-alternate-personality is.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

By the way have I told you about this revolutionary new fabric? It's totally going to save the planet.

When Bed Head Attacks

There are several exciting things about having short hair: it never blows in your face and gets stuck in your freshly applied lip gloss; messy is considered a style; you can get it in a Mohawk like Ferris; and best of all, you never know what amazing feat of acrobatics your hair is going to do each morning. I know some of you have been waiting awhile for this so let me present you with my favorites from several weeks of research. And yes, I cropped my face out of all the pictures. I'm willing to show off my morning hair to the virtual world but that's about it.


I think the Alfalfa like tweak in the back gives me an air of sophistication, while the Dairy Queen curl on the left leaves one feeling frosty and delicious.


It's common for birds to have their wings clipped in captivity. But behold the rare beauty of the Blond Bed Head Bird. Here in it's natural habitat it stretches it's wings in a bizarre mating call.


I like to call this my rhino look. Note the way the light shine through the upper most chunk of hair illuminating it like a halo of glory.


Most people believe that Utah has some of the best skiing in the world. That's only because they're too chicken to attempt the treachery of the Bed Head Slope of Terror. And is that a loop-da-
loop I see in the back?



I'm sorry there's not more. The other thing about short hair is that it grows out quickly leaving you with nothing more interesting in the morning than a head of generic bed head hair.

I just saw the most awesome thing that blew my mind on my way to work this morning. A tow truck (right? you with me so far?) towing a TOW TRUCK. I don't know what that's a sign for exactly but I'm sure it has something to do with the fifth dimension and parallel universes. And probably also the space time continuum.

The Seagull

Caution: the laugh factor (laughactor) of this post is virtually zero and it will most likely be interesting to no one but myself. This is instead an opportunity for me to have an English geek-out moment in a forum where I can't be interrupted. Consider yourselves warned. Also, it's long.

Tonight, being Thursday, Ylime and I had our traditional Thursday Therapy. Although admittedly we haven't honored the tradition in several years, it was apparent by our catalogue of homework we should be doing that some therapy was long overdo. In an effort to embark on a journey of artistic discovery, and also to entertain us for a couple of hours, we went to a BYU production of The Seagull by Anton Chekhov.

When I tell you that I have a deep partiality to Russian literature those readers who don't know me very well shouldn't feel left out. Most of the people who DO know me don't realize that either. But as Joni Mitchell is to Emma Thompson in Love Actually, so is Dostoevsky to my cold, English, heart. (or American. Whatever.)

First off, the play was amazing. Emily asked me what I liked about it so much and the only qualified response I can give is that hours later, I'm still stewing over it. Aside from the production being all-around awesome, there was one point the director brought up that still has me thinking.

After the final scene the director asked a question of the audience: is the play was a comedy or tragedy? After immediately rejecting the notion that it had to be labeled as one or the other I began thinking on what it would mean to be both a comedy and a tragedy, and whether the two are really so different after all.

Throughout the play there are moments of heart wrenching sadness, as well as giddy humor. (It has to be noted that a large portion of the humor depends on the enactment of the play, as one audience member recalled seeing an earlier showing completely devoid of laughs.) When I began to contrast these two virtues it occurred to me that each element was completely dependent on the other. In other words I decided that it was impossible to have a true tragedy without comedy and vise verse.

I'm not talking about tragedies like Oedipus Rex or Braveheart where you begin to wonder if the only aim of the film is to rip you heart out and leave it still beating on the living room carpet. What I'm talking about is something much more subtle. When the humor and normality of the events allow the audience to become a part of story (something drastically enhanced by this production in an arena theater) there's a lightheartedness that persuades you that nothing terrible is going to happen. So when you see a main character show up haggard and only half coherent you do not mourn because it's as if her misfortunes have happened to you. You mourn because you remember the funny way that she used to bounce around and the light in her eyes when she mused about art and theater. The pain is much more acute. It's directly related to an experience we may never have, but the dramatic effect it has on the characters is something we come to understand very well.

The Seagull will break your heart. But the impact will be much more lasting when it's contrasted with the small comedic moments of pure delight.

P.S. If I know you, and you're on the production crew, and I didn't loudly say your name and wave hello during intermission don't feel bad. I'm just awkward like that.

Things I've always Known But Never Realized Until This Week.

1. I enjoy long, muddled blog titles.

2. I use the sound of my roommate clomping around on the floor above me as a second alarm when I've hit snooze too many times.

3. Sometimes I stretch so hard that I vomit in my mouth a little.

4. It's ok. I don't have to choose. I can love Mac and Charlie equally for their individual "charm." Sorry Dennis, you just skeeve me out.

5. Few things in this world make me happier or more upbeat than listening to the guitar riffs at the end of Free Bird at full blast on my ride home from work.

6. According to dictionary.com, the penultimate source of proper English diction, "stupider" IS a word although it renders it's user more so by saying it.

7. Double-bagel Monday only SOUNDS like a good idea.

8. With the exception of Haras, and sometimes even then, what I generally find most funny is not the punchline. Any guesses at exactly which line made me laugh so hard I watched it 12 times over?

9. Two words. Four syllables: James. McAvoy.

10. No matter how hard we try most Americans will never be as funny as the average Brit trying to reach Leonardo DiCaprio.

11. I enjoy writing "list" blogs because transitions are the bane of my existence.

Tagged For Life

I have been tagged and must share 6 facts/habits about myself (6 for each time you are tagged by someone). Then I too must tag someone(or as many people as I wish) and leave a comment on their blog to notify them, and then they get to leave info about themselves and proceed to tag someone else.

First of all I want to give a shout-out of thanks to Bone Junior for tagging me and making me blog on a day of such monumental boredom that anyone who reads this will likely slip into what I like to call a light-to no-coma. Equivalent to a short nap.

Fact #1 The one redeeming thing at work today is that I get to run a test that requires me to use a command prompt and therefore makes me feel smart and computery. Even though I only know how to do the one command "put out.xml"

Fact #2 The command prompt also has a double effect of making me feel like it's 1993 and since that would make me only 10 I giggle to myself every time I type the phrase "put out."

Fact #3 I have sent a Transformers phone message to all of my coworkers informing them that our boss has joined with the enemy Decepticons and now goes by the name Bonecrusher.

Fact #4 So far not a single person has mentioned it.

Fact #5 Every time I see this picture of my nephew in his gorilla costume my heart skips a beat.

Fact #6 The last time my hair stylist asked if I was dating someone I lied and said yes, then proceeded to explain the intricacies of my complicated relationship.

That is all for now. Nicole and Irak, consider yourselves tagged.