So today (technically yesterday, as it is now past midnight) was my birthday, and it was great. Relative to other recent birthdays of mine, “great” means “no major disasters occurred.” Let’s just say that my last two birthdays set the bar really, really low. But this year, I ate lots of yummy food and was reminded that I have lots of wonderful friends and family, and that’s what birthdays are for.
Then, as I was perusing my blogroll, I found this video:
It sort of made my already great day. I went from grinning to tearing up to outright weeping with joy by the end of the video. Guess 23 won’t be all that different from 22.
I want to introduce myself to all of you as SWTCTW’s newest guest blogger. As an avid reader of SWTCTW, I appreciate all of Mal and Kathleen’s wit and I humbly admit it is a daunting task to attempt to join in. But enough sucking up to the originators — they have already given me permission to blog so here I go.
I am currently living the unemployed life, so I have too much time alone with my own thoughts. I feel compelled to share these thoughts and my current outlet to do so isn’t quite cutting it. I admit I have a habit of sharing too much information about my own life with complete strangers. I don’t flatter myself by believing these strangers care at all that I’m breathing, let alone care about anything I have to say, but once I get started, I find it practically impossible to stop.
My most recent and memorable victim was the poor pharmacy technician at Walgreens. I was there to pick up a prescription, which tradition tells us requires me only to give the employee my last name, verify my address, hand over some form of payment and get the hell out of there. Needless to say, I took it a step further.
I believe Mr. Walgreens asked me how my day was going. His crucial mistake. My reply went something like this:
“Oh, I’m ok thanks. I just got back from the doctor’s, well obviously [insert a laugh at my own ‘joke’ here. His response? Blank stare.] My problem actually is that I’m heading to Las Vegas tomorrow and unfortunately the medicine that I’m picking up now makes me really sun-sensitive so I’m trying to find a sun block that will work. You can see I’m very pale, so I need a strong sun block especially in Las Vegas! [Excuse the use of the ever-annoying exclamation mark, but it is necessary to attempt to convey my high-pitched squeal.] I’ve never been to Vegas, but I hear the sun can really get you out there. Do you know if sun blocks with SPF 70 are actually much stronger than sun blocks with SPF 30? [I don’t wait for a response, nor do I stop talking.] I read in Cosmo that the SPFs above 30 really don’t make much of a difference, but I really don’t want to get my medical advice from a fashion magazine, so I guess I’ll just go with the SPF 70, I mean, it can’t hurt, right? [No pause here either. Mr. Walgreens’ face has morphed from a blank stare to a look mixed with disbelief and a little bit of panic. He has no possible escape route and I am the only customer in sight.]”
At this point, I go into autopilot and, fortunately, so does my memory. I think I kept Mr. Walgreens hostage with my sun block scenario for at least another 4 minutes. I haven’t seen him again in my Walgreens travels, which only leaves the possibility that I sent him into early retirement.
The moral of this story is I hope to save my local Chicago community from my random ramblings by collecting my thoughts and organizing them for display on a public forum. Luckily for you, this particular space allows you to pick, choose, and skip through my ramblings. Poor Mr. Walgreens, he wasn’t so lucky.
Hello, long lost readers! I think that if I’m planning to be a serious blogger, I need to get better at letting you know when I’ll be on vacation and won’t be posting for a while, which was the case last week. I was in Denver for a few days, and then up in Vail with my extended family. There was lots of biking, cocktailing, eating, relaxing, and a little pong playing (we figured the best way to honor the three-year anniversary of my grandfather’s death was with a pong tournament, and thus the 1st Annual Toadie Memorial Pong Tournament was born. I think he’d have been proud). Basically, I got to look at views like this all week:
You can understand why I didn’t want to be staring at a computer, eh?
I’m back now, though, and I’m ready to blog! It’s going to be a busy few weeks with at least three trips and one apartment move and one scary (23, ew) birthday, but I will be doing my best to keep up.
For today, I have a very important announcement: we are welcoming a new guest blogger, Miss Shannon Marie! (That’s not exactly her real name.) The best way to introduce Shannon is to say that she is my best friend from home, that we have caused a good amount of trouble together in various countries, and that we occasionally take pictures doing mature things like this:
You may also remember Shannon from a Cry Face post a while back. Let’s give Shannon a hearty SWTCTW welcome, and look out for her very first post in the next day or so!
A month ago, I wrote about Henry Allingham, who celebrated his 113th birthday, and becoming the world’s oldest man, with a glass of champagne. Henry died this morning at the age of 113.
He was Britain’s last surviving veteran of World War I, a preacher of peace and the author of a memoir.
Mark E. White was only trying to make his getaway after robbing the bank in Saginaw, Michigan.
According to the news story, Marky Mark had just gotten out of the slammer three weeks earlier when he decided to rob the Citizens Bank. He was successful, and two blocks later tried to hitch a ride. He flagged down a car… which happened to be an unmarked police car. Needless to say, he was caught.
Now Mr. White, I am not a criminal — nor do I have any plans to ever become one– but I’m pretty sure that if I was, I’d make sure I arranged my transportation ahead of time. Maybe that’s just me.
Ah, stories about dumb criminals. It makes you feel just a little bit better about your Monday morning, no?
The post is late and it’s Chris’ fault. It’s all his fault. That aside, I am OBSESSED with the Evan and Randi routine. AMAZING!
Hello SWTCTW readers. I’m back – and so is SYTYCD. I was getting a little disappointed with the performances this season. But Wednesday night’s show rocked it. I don’t really have any snarky comments about it.
Randi and Evan – This, for me, is similar to the “bleeding love” number from last season in that I’m going to say that I’m going to learn it – and then I won’t.
So about me not having any snarky comments – you should have known better… Two things:
(1)Seriously, what was the deal with that Russian Folk routine? I think Nigel even recognized that it was a mistake.
(2)Tyce was back as a judge. I don’t know how you all feel, my SWTCTW public, but I think he’s gotten more obnoxious. In addition, his orange juice metaphor may be an early sign that he has contracted PAS. While this is certainly not a confirmed case, the prospect is alarming.
I don’t want to leave you frightened and down – because this week was great. So here’s one more clip:
Kayla and Kupono – Pretty cool. Love Mia Michaels.
Voted off this week: Phillip and Caitlin (I’m shocked too)
Yesterday, I flew home to Denver from DC’s National Airport. Things were looking up, at first: my dad had a voucher for a free flight, so I got to splurge and get a direct flight home (this was HUGE); I had managed to pack for 10 days into a carry on (ladies, I’ll give you a moment to let this sink in. 10 DAYS!!!); and I got to the airport on time, with a smooth trip to security, and with magazines, a Weeds DVD, and a Chuck Klosterman book to occupy myself.
I was pretty thrilled about all of this, but I should have known that it was just a tease. I settled into my seat in the waiting area, inexplicably surrounded by only Chinese people, and munched on some snacks. Then, I casually — innocently — turned to verify my flight time, and it had been bumped back a full three-and-a-half hours from 5:26 p.m. to 9:01 p.m. Now, I’ve had my fair share of flight problems. Except when compared to the people who plunged into the Atlantic Ocean a few weeks ago, you might say that I have some pretty damn bad luck when it comes to flying. And here’s the thing: typically, I stay calm. I sort of like airports, and I like being able to be by myself and read magazines and people-watch guiltlessly. For some reason, however, this flight delay REALLY pissed me off. My BBM fest with my sister indicates this:
Me: Of course things couldn’t go too smoothly…My flight has just been delayed by 3.5 hours Me: Mother fucker Me: I’m so pissed right now Maddy: What?? Are you serious. Is there another flight you can get on?? Me: I don’t know…I can go check but I don’t know how this stuff works since I used dad’s voucher Maddy: I would go ask and just see that is ridiculous. Why? Is it bad weather? Me: Not even a little bit Maddy: It must be from wherever the flight is coming from Maddy: I would go ask Me: I WANT TO KILL SOMEONE [Ed. note: Ah, first-world problems]
More chatting, more chatting, and then I take melodrama to a whole new level:
Me: Ha yeah I just want to cry because this is probably the first direct flight I’ve taken in 5 years and I packed so well and of course something has to go wrong Me: [Four letter word I’m embarrassed to publish] Me: Maybe I will move to Denver and never travel outside of driving distance for the rest of my life Me: And now Sarah Palin is on the cover of Time magazine on the TV in front of me Me: I might explode [Ed. note: At this point I had considered typing something about wanting to bomb the airport, but I figured that the C.I.A. or the F.B.I. or whatever probably, somehow, monitors text messages for mentions of bombing airports]
And later…
Me: Oh snap I’m boozing. I forgot I can drink legally
The rest of our conversation continues similarly. My flight did that fun thing where it got delayed ten minutes at a time until it was at 9:45 p.m., and by that time, I was calmed down, watching Weeds standing up and doing minor yoga poses. I also ate the largest, most delicious sandwich of my life. Thank you, Potbelly (and Camille).
Things ended up being oookay, and around 9:45 they moved our gate and were RUSHING us to line up and have our boarding passes, like, totally ready, and out, and also definitely don’t use your cell phone or talk because we are getting on this plane NOW. We’re all eager and ready, and then they drop the bomb: “By the way, we are waiting on this one flight attendant, and if she doesn’t show, your flight will be canceled. But don’t worry! You guys have been great!”
This is when minor anarchy breaks out and people start getting really pissed. There’s that classic loudly chatty lady who’s all “What is this, the twilight zone??” and everyone chuckles appreciatively. I find myself surrounded by drunk adults (and I was sober — Weeds and Chuck K. won out over wine, oddly enough). I felt strangely awkward around these drunk adults. Being around drunk people my age while sober is one thing, but drunk adults? I felt like I was observing a different species. There was flirting (gasp!) among people with spouses, drunk businessmen, and a really obnoxious lady who seemed to fancy herself a modern day version of Kathy Bates in Titanic. I observed and smiled and laughed and made sympathetic comments where appropriate.
Luckily, we did end up boarding, and that rogue flight attendant was found. They didn’t let us get too calm, though; they hurried us on the plane, saying, “Seriously people, if you don’t sit down in the next six minutes, our pilots will become illegal.” Um, awesome.
Aaaand then I passed out for four hours and woke up, alive, in Denver. Good story, right?
The thing about miserable flying stories is that they’re a lot like wacky dream stories. Chuck Klosterman (it should be clear by now that I’m totally and completely in love with him, or at least his writing) talks about the strange truth about dream stories in Killing Yourself to Live. Every singleone of your friends has a bizarre, or hilarious, or terrifying, or physic dream story at some point, and they always want to share it with you. The problem is that most dream stories are only truly interesting to the person who dreamed them. But when someone says, “Oh man, let me tell you about this insane dream I had last night,” you can’t stop them. You have to listen, and be amazed, and maybe counter with your own only-interesting-to-you dream story.
It’s the same with flying stories. Everyone has miserable flying stories, because airlines these days (with a few notable exceptions) suck. And you guys didn’t really care to hear that whole story, but I told you anyway. This is what happens when you have a blog, and three hours to kill, and a glass of wine. You’re welcome!
P.S. Last night, I had this crazy dream…my teeth fell out, and I had to fight Michael Jackson for the insurance check to get them replaced, and…yeah. You get the point.
UPDATE: The comments indicate that I am sooo not alone in my hatred of United. Loyal reader Beth F shared this wonderful video, which puts our collective anger to music:
I don’t know what it is about babies and animals talking or doing uncharacteristic things that makes them so successful in television commercials, but apparently it doesn’t get old.
This is the number one viral video on the interwebs right now. Watch it, and then tell me why. Pleeeeeeeease.
It’s summertime, and she’s not actively running for national office anymore (*crosses fingers*), but Sarah Palin still makes me want to put on a flannel nightgown and eat Smartfood as I fume and read various articles about her increasing level of crazy. (You remember my flannel nightgown theory, right?)
I actually have work to do right now, and I actually want to do it, but I have to post something about her. We all know that she’s stepping down as Governor of Alaska, which is mind-boggling in and of itself, and we’re all hoping that she’s not doing this because she’s aiming for a 2012 Presidential run. And all of that makes me a little nervous/angry/delighted by the ridiculousness, but her resignation speech is truly a work of art. I’m sitting here with my officemate and we’re each reading lines to each other and trying not to break our computers. I’m too riled up, and not quite patient or clever or smart enough to break this gem down on my own, but thank goodness, Jezebel did for us! Do yourself a favor and read the whole thing, but for now, here are some of my favorite points of analysis:
Palin says: “So to serve the state is a humbling responsibility, because I know in my soul that Alaska is of such import, for America’s security, in our very volatile world. And you know me by now, I promised even four years ago to show MY independence… no more conventional ‘politics as usual.'”
Jezebel says: “Here Palin appears to be opting for a broad definition of ‘politics as usual,’ one that includes such outdated conventions as finishing out one’s elected term and completing the job one has promised to do.”
—
Palin says: “And then I thought – that’s what’s wrong – many just accept that lame duck status, hit the road, draw the paycheck, and ‘milk it.’ I’m not putting Alaska through that – I promised efficiencies and effectiveness!? That’s not how I am wired. I am not wired to operate under the same old ‘politics as usual.’ I promised that four years ago – and I meant it.”
Jezebel says: “Here Palin advances her bold thesis: that serving out the full term for which your constituents elected you is in fact an exploitation of those constituents. No doubt her time after resignation will consist entirely of delivering barrels of crude oil to impoverished Alaskan families and reuniting baby grizzlies with their mothers, and not of ‘hitting the road’ making public appearances in other, more influential states.”
—
Palin says: “Let me go back to a comfortable analogy for me – sports… basketball. I use it because you’re naïve if you don’t see the national full-court press picking away right now: A good point guard drives through a full court press, protecting the ball, keeping her eye on the basket… and she knows exactly when to pass the ball so that the team can WIN.”
Jezebel says: “A more appropriate analogy for Palin’s actions might be stopping in the middle of the game, tossing the basketball over one’s shoulder, and then leaving the court to play an entirely different game, perhaps table tennis or curling.”
Deep breaths. I have gotten to the point where I seriously cannot respect anyone who respects her. (Doobie, you’re exempt. I know you just want her to be your Sugar Mama.) This speech is not just absent of any sort of political strategy that I can agree with, it’s absent of logic. IT MAKES NO SENSE. Does she not have speechwriters anymore? Who lets her get away with saying this shit out loud? Please, please, please let this just mean a scandal is about to be revealed and it will be the end of Sarah Palin as we know it. My fragile, anxious self can’t take any more of her, and I don’t think I’m supposed to wear a flannel nightgown to work.
UPDATE: Also, read this. Ain’t nobody in history like you, Sarah.
I love indie films (and indie anything, really — for the Fourth of July, iTunes gave away 20 free indie songs and by God, it felt like Christmas!), but I am a little bit self-conscious of the fact that everyone loves indie films. Remember when Garden State first came out and it was like THE movie to be obsessed with? I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t listen to that soundtrack on repeat for most of the beginning of college. I’m thinking back about it, and pretty much every song gives me some sort of overwhelming feeling of nostaliga. “New Slang”? Laying out on a boat off the coast of Italy and just cold lovin’ my life. “I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You”? Emo nights falling asleep with my iPod (in, yep, a bunk bed) sophomore year of college. “Let Go”? Away messages before drunken college nights. I’d often make my AIM away message “drink up baby doll,” and I’m embarrassed because now I know that the lyrics are actually “drink up baby down.” What does that even mean, anyway?!
The point is, I like indie films and the music in indie films and the people in indie films. (John Krasinski, Zach Braff…I’m looking at you.) But I also love this video. It’s spot on:
A month ago, I wrote about Henry Allingham, who celebrated his 113th birthday, and becoming the world’s oldest man, with a glass of champagne. Henry died this morning at the age of 113.
Mark E. White was only trying to make his getaway after robbing the bank in Saginaw, Michigan.
Yesterday, I flew home to Denver from DC’s National Airport. Things were looking up, at first: my dad had a voucher for a free flight, so I got to splurge and get a direct flight home (this was HUGE); I had managed to pack for 10 days into a carry on (ladies, I’ll give you a moment to let this sink in. 10 DAYS!!!); and I got to the airport on time, with a smooth trip to security, and with magazines, a Weeds DVD, and a Chuck Klosterman book to occupy myself.
It’s summertime, and she’s not actively running for national office anymore (*crosses fingers*), but Sarah Palin still makes me want to put on a flannel nightgown and eat Smartfood as I fume and read various articles about her increasing level of crazy. (You remember 
six words to change the world. 