It's beginning...the signs are all here!
How can I tell it's happening? Yesterday's decision to watch—on cable no less—My Stepmother Is an Alien featuring the preteen pairing of the later-to-be-paired as-teens Alyson Hannigan and Seth Green, was a sure sign.
It continued with today's almost total sloth-and-channel-surfing-filled afternoon. Highlights include:
• Sleep until 10:00AM
• Turn on TV. Surf between "E! Presents Plastic Surgery Nightmares", "Haunted America", parts of "Semi-whoremade Cooking"
• Make a quick trip here to blog
• Stop by Go Fug Yourself
• Leave GFY, skipping off to YouTube to watch a Celine Dion video
• Wikipedia loaded; look up Queen Elizabeth 1 and Tila Tequlia
• Compelled to still watch "Haunted America" with really bad "factual reinterpretations"
• Eat granola from bag. Call it "lunch"
• Begin to worry, quite seriously, about the U.S., and about me
The transformation is not complete. I did do some job-hunting related work, and I read an article in The New York Times about the slow failing of Christian Republican conservatism. (Also, my sweats are clean and I did laundry. Plus, yesterday I left the house and socialized with another human—however, she's embraced a Mom-based lifestyle, so technically, was as desperate as I am.)
If it so happens that I don't bathe for three or more consecutive days, and I begin to defend Cheez Whiz and Chardonnay as a complete breakfast, call my gay husband. It's time for an intervention.
Until then, I will ice my knee and love my severance!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Dime...life turns on one...or nickel, or whatever.
So, one day, I bicycle to work, get a flat, and get laid-off.
And then, after having a few really fun days, I blew out my knee (again) and think, the Universe is telling me: No bets, nothing safe, nothing fun, but everything is good.
I have everything and should just shut the fuck up.
(Yikes...enough with the navel-gazing!)
And then, after having a few really fun days, I blew out my knee (again) and think, the Universe is telling me: No bets, nothing safe, nothing fun, but everything is good.
I have everything and should just shut the fuck up.
(Yikes...enough with the navel-gazing!)
Friday, October 12, 2007
Random Items, Specific Conspiracy
So, yeah, been on vacation to both sides of the country (San Francisco, Mount Desert Island).
And thus and hence, have had no time to devote to my bloggage, which I suppose is a good thing, since there are far too menu navel-gazing bloggers out there....but I just don't care. It's not like I started this thing so that I could get a book/movie/YouTube/magazine/media gig out of it. This is the Save My Sanity from the Cube Farming, Soul-Deadening Job blog.
Which brings me to my Conspiracy Theory.
For quite some time now, this intrepid healthcare writer has been wondering about the so-called Obesity Epidemic and Corn. Because if we look at the evidence, I'm thinking that it all adds up. What crop do we have that is highly subsidized by our Government? Corn. What companies have bet the farm, as it were, on developing genetically modified strains of Number 2 Feed Corn that produce a mammoth excess to be sold off/shipped off/processed off? Big ChemAgra. Who do they own? Big Pharma. Are you still walking the path with me? Come one....keep walking.
What happens when you eat too many pounds of Number 2 Feed Corn? Well, if you're a cow on a feed lot, you get nice and fat. If you're a person sitting in an SUV on the way to your desk job.....you get nice and fat even though you though you aren't really aware that you're eating that many pounds of Number 2 Feed Corn because you don't really know that it's in every processed food you buy and consume. And soon, your SUV will be eating it too, in the form of ethanol. But at least your SUV won't get any fatter.
So what happens if you get nice and fat? You get sick. You get diabetes, heart disease, high lipid levels....so wouldn't it be nice if there were some effective medications to treat your illnesses? Yes, yes it would. And wouldn't it be oh-so-kooky nutty if those magical medications were manufactured by a subsidiary of the very parent company that manufacture the genetically modified Number 2 Feed Corn to begin with? Wouldn't that be the perfect capitalist feedback loop?
So folks, read your food labels. If you want to know how much Number 2 Feed Corn you're eating, here's list of derivatives.
Choose fresh produce and grass fed, grass-finished beef, pork, and chicken products and get the corn out of your life. Okay, so maybe you can have a bowl of freshly popped popcorn every once in a while. I'm not a total buzzkill.
And thus and hence, have had no time to devote to my bloggage, which I suppose is a good thing, since there are far too menu navel-gazing bloggers out there....but I just don't care. It's not like I started this thing so that I could get a book/movie/YouTube/magazine/media gig out of it. This is the Save My Sanity from the Cube Farming, Soul-Deadening Job blog.
Which brings me to my Conspiracy Theory.
For quite some time now, this intrepid healthcare writer has been wondering about the so-called Obesity Epidemic and Corn. Because if we look at the evidence, I'm thinking that it all adds up. What crop do we have that is highly subsidized by our Government? Corn. What companies have bet the farm, as it were, on developing genetically modified strains of Number 2 Feed Corn that produce a mammoth excess to be sold off/shipped off/processed off? Big ChemAgra. Who do they own? Big Pharma. Are you still walking the path with me? Come one....keep walking.
What happens when you eat too many pounds of Number 2 Feed Corn? Well, if you're a cow on a feed lot, you get nice and fat. If you're a person sitting in an SUV on the way to your desk job.....you get nice and fat even though you though you aren't really aware that you're eating that many pounds of Number 2 Feed Corn because you don't really know that it's in every processed food you buy and consume. And soon, your SUV will be eating it too, in the form of ethanol. But at least your SUV won't get any fatter.
So what happens if you get nice and fat? You get sick. You get diabetes, heart disease, high lipid levels....so wouldn't it be nice if there were some effective medications to treat your illnesses? Yes, yes it would. And wouldn't it be oh-so-kooky nutty if those magical medications were manufactured by a subsidiary of the very parent company that manufacture the genetically modified Number 2 Feed Corn to begin with? Wouldn't that be the perfect capitalist feedback loop?
So folks, read your food labels. If you want to know how much Number 2 Feed Corn you're eating, here's list of derivatives.
Choose fresh produce and grass fed, grass-finished beef, pork, and chicken products and get the corn out of your life. Okay, so maybe you can have a bowl of freshly popped popcorn every once in a while. I'm not a total buzzkill.
Friday, September 14, 2007
When We Were One
Maybe it's because my Dad told me stories of how he wanted to build spaceships....and didn't.
Mabye it's because my parents woke me up, at the age of five, to watch a grainy, black and white televised image on a hot July night and I didn't understand what was going, but it felt important.
Mabye it's because now, in middle age, when the world seems so very, very wrong, I want to hope again.
We need it now, so desperately. We had it once, for a very brief period of time.
We were one people, one race, one species. We left our little blue planet and went into space. We went outward—together, as a nation, as a whole world.
So if you can—particularly if you're younger than me, or if didn't have a Dad who wanted to send people into space, and a Mom who thought it was exciting enough to wake up a five year old on a hot July night—go see this movie, In the Shadow of the Moon.
Because we need hope again.
We need to go outward again.
We need to be one again.
And I think, maybe, it's the only way we're going to make it.
Mabye it's because my parents woke me up, at the age of five, to watch a grainy, black and white televised image on a hot July night and I didn't understand what was going, but it felt important.
Mabye it's because now, in middle age, when the world seems so very, very wrong, I want to hope again.
We need it now, so desperately. We had it once, for a very brief period of time.
We were one people, one race, one species. We left our little blue planet and went into space. We went outward—together, as a nation, as a whole world.
So if you can—particularly if you're younger than me, or if didn't have a Dad who wanted to send people into space, and a Mom who thought it was exciting enough to wake up a five year old on a hot July night—go see this movie, In the Shadow of the Moon.
Because we need hope again.
We need to go outward again.
We need to be one again.
And I think, maybe, it's the only way we're going to make it.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Beantown's Back to School Bikers
Hello everyone!
Yes, it's back to school time her the land of the Hub and Spoke. So, I just want to wish all my co-cyclers good luck navigating our pothole-infested streets, and shout all the following advice at you (or if you prefer, just read the law, for pete's sake):
1. GET A FRAKKIN' HELMET.
Okay, don't. Strengthen the gene pool by dying early because of your stupidity. Seriously, though, get a helmet. Please. Ninety-four percent of all disabling head injuries associated with cycling could have been prevented if the injured party had worn a helmet.
2. GET OFF THE FRAKKIN' SIDEWALK.
The sidewalk, people, is for PEDESTRIANS. Not cyclists. Your travel space is immidiately to the right of the vehicle, between the moving traffic and the parked cars. You are also allowed, by law, to be in the general flow of traffic, but you will get honked at more frequently.
3. SIGNAL, YOU MORON.
Do you like it when the car doesn't signal and cuts you off? No, I didn't think so. And guess what? No one likes it when you don't signal. Learn your hand signals and use them.
4. INDICATE PASSING FROM THE REAR.
This one is so easy. In heavy traffic? Just give a polite shout to the cyclist ahead of you, "Oh your left/right!" Then pass. Easy. Polite. Safe.
5. DON'T RIDE TWO ABREAST.
I know it's fun to talk with your friend while cycling home. It's leisurely and nice and pleasant and all that. But it's unsafe and illegal. Don't do it.
6. DON'T RUN REDS.
Run a red light and get hit? Guess what? It's your fucking fault. I don't care if the street is a one-way, it's your fault, same as if you're in a car. Don't do it. Save a few minutes, and save a life—wait on the green.
7. TAKE OUT YOUR EARPHONES.
Your sense of hearing is a valuable ally as you cycle about town. It can tell you if there are cars on your left, cyclists behind you, etc., so please: Do not wear your iPod/iPhone/etc. when biking.
8. PACK SAFELY.
Yes, it's all well and good to swing your TJ's bag over your handlebars. But it's unsafe. It interferes with your brakes and your weight distribution. So if you want to haul luggage while you haul ass, get some saddlebags. The nice people at REI in the Fenway will set you up.
9. STAY OFF MEM. DRIVE.
There is a marked bike path next to the sidewalk. Please use it.
10. SHUT UP AND RIDE.
Using a cell phone while on your bike is just stupid. Don't.
That's about it....oh, one more thing: If you're a bike messenger, just be kind to this pokey, porky old gal when you pass me, okay?
Yes, it's back to school time her the land of the Hub and Spoke. So, I just want to wish all my co-cyclers good luck navigating our pothole-infested streets, and shout all the following advice at you (or if you prefer, just read the law, for pete's sake):
1. GET A FRAKKIN' HELMET.
Okay, don't. Strengthen the gene pool by dying early because of your stupidity. Seriously, though, get a helmet. Please. Ninety-four percent of all disabling head injuries associated with cycling could have been prevented if the injured party had worn a helmet.
2. GET OFF THE FRAKKIN' SIDEWALK.
The sidewalk, people, is for PEDESTRIANS. Not cyclists. Your travel space is immidiately to the right of the vehicle, between the moving traffic and the parked cars. You are also allowed, by law, to be in the general flow of traffic, but you will get honked at more frequently.
3. SIGNAL, YOU MORON.
Do you like it when the car doesn't signal and cuts you off? No, I didn't think so. And guess what? No one likes it when you don't signal. Learn your hand signals and use them.
4. INDICATE PASSING FROM THE REAR.
This one is so easy. In heavy traffic? Just give a polite shout to the cyclist ahead of you, "Oh your left/right!" Then pass. Easy. Polite. Safe.
5. DON'T RIDE TWO ABREAST.
I know it's fun to talk with your friend while cycling home. It's leisurely and nice and pleasant and all that. But it's unsafe and illegal. Don't do it.
6. DON'T RUN REDS.
Run a red light and get hit? Guess what? It's your fucking fault. I don't care if the street is a one-way, it's your fault, same as if you're in a car. Don't do it. Save a few minutes, and save a life—wait on the green.
7. TAKE OUT YOUR EARPHONES.
Your sense of hearing is a valuable ally as you cycle about town. It can tell you if there are cars on your left, cyclists behind you, etc., so please: Do not wear your iPod/iPhone/etc. when biking.
8. PACK SAFELY.
Yes, it's all well and good to swing your TJ's bag over your handlebars. But it's unsafe. It interferes with your brakes and your weight distribution. So if you want to haul luggage while you haul ass, get some saddlebags. The nice people at REI in the Fenway will set you up.
9. STAY OFF MEM. DRIVE.
There is a marked bike path next to the sidewalk. Please use it.
10. SHUT UP AND RIDE.
Using a cell phone while on your bike is just stupid. Don't.
That's about it....oh, one more thing: If you're a bike messenger, just be kind to this pokey, porky old gal when you pass me, okay?
Friday, August 24, 2007
A cure for arrested musical development
I think it was her hair.
Or maybe it was her tatts.
But yes, ladies and gents, Amy Winehouse has done it.
She has been the cure for my case of Arrested Musical Development.
I think it was the fact that instead of pretending to a Boozy Rockstar Lifestyle, she embraces—without apology—said ethos.
She's like the love child of Eartha Kitt and Kate Pierson as raised by Ronnie Spector.
And what of her lyrics? I mean, she said it...."I should be my own best friend, not fuck myself in the head with stupid men."
You work it, you big-haired little girl.
Or maybe it was her tatts.
But yes, ladies and gents, Amy Winehouse has done it.
She has been the cure for my case of Arrested Musical Development.
I think it was the fact that instead of pretending to a Boozy Rockstar Lifestyle, she embraces—without apology—said ethos.
She's like the love child of Eartha Kitt and Kate Pierson as raised by Ronnie Spector.
And what of her lyrics? I mean, she said it...."I should be my own best friend, not fuck myself in the head with stupid men."
You work it, you big-haired little girl.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
It's Bicoastal Media Cross-Pollination Day!
Let's here it for today's celebrant, Sloane Crosley of Random House. Sloane today not only appears as the author of a Salon.com article on a uniquely kooky-nutty brain-wiring challenge, but she also crops up in The New York Times in a Style article about women embracing their inner—and flaunting their outer—meat-eaters.
Sloane has covered many potential media bases:
1. Author for left coast new media magazine.
2. Interviewee for right coast online version of the Grey Lady.
3. Publicist employed by old-guard publishing house.
Go Sloane!
Now, if she could just grab a spot on Larry King, she'll be all set. Clearly, this woman is a total slacker.
(Love those media outlets for maintaining their silo-like integrity.)
Sloane has covered many potential media bases:
1. Author for left coast new media magazine.
2. Interviewee for right coast online version of the Grey Lady.
3. Publicist employed by old-guard publishing house.
Go Sloane!
Now, if she could just grab a spot on Larry King, she'll be all set. Clearly, this woman is a total slacker.
(Love those media outlets for maintaining their silo-like integrity.)
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