Something Else That's Been Bothering Me
Zach Braff is getting too big for his britches.
Scrubs was an indie darling, if there is such a thing on TV. Garden State captivated everyone within a particular chronological span, not to mention a geographical one.
Then there was the relationship with Mandy Moore. I forgave him for that, but only because she was in Saved, and she was funny.
But this Last Kissbusiness. It seems that our awkward geeky crush is becoming more confident and less endearing as his popularity grows. I know he is not directly responsible for the marketing, but consider this image from the soundtrack, presented as "songs chosen by Zach Braff": I'm a wee bit put off.
¶ 12:02 PM4 comments
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
More Next Blog Poetry
What does it mean to be in bondage to the flesh? even tho you are as old as dirt.... (wink wink) new to the whole post-apocalyptic genre
One of the silliest with mercy that we cannot fathom Está decidido.
ME! Again? Is that fair? These 3 guys were my brothers. Thanks for your castoffs, Soviets!
¶ 8:55 PM0 comments
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
My Favorite Jokes, Vol. 1Everyone seems to have Volumed posts these days. This may be my one and only. But it was inspired by Echo's Pirate Day over at The Unofficial. So here goes:
We have a restaurant nearby called Mr. Chu's. They make a very good Mandarin Orange Portabello. Once, dining there with a large group of friends, someone idly wondered if the industrious manager shuttling from table to table was actually THE Mr. Chu. Someone else said:
"I am not the real Mr. Chu either! The real Mr. Chu has been retired for years and is living like a king in Patagonia!"
Right On, Sister "...about those American Apparel ads. They're fucking gross, man. Look, I love beautiful girls too. I think everyone should be free to have their knee socks and their sweaty shorts, but I'm over it. I'm over this weird, exhausted girl. I'm over the girl that's tired and freezing and hungry. I like bossy girls, I always have. I like people filled with life. I'm over this weird media thing with all this, like, hollow-eyed, empty, party crap. I don't know, it seems worse than ever, but maybe it's just because we're getting old."
Noshing on Jesus
Last June I mistakenly ate the body of Christ. I'm not Catholic, but I was a bridesmaid in a Catholic wedding. This was not the first time I found myself in this awkward situation, and previously had avoided the Host through all manner of awkward standing up and sitting down and looking around in a forlorn way, clutching my little bouquet in sweaty palms. Every church seems to have a different setup, so I can never quite figure out how to stay out of everyone's way during the communion ritual. I've always been the only non-Catholic bridesmaid, or at least the only one to admit it.
I've known people, Catholics and nons- alike, who take the Host without particularly knowing or caring what it is supposed to mean. This is horrifying to me, a woman who will shamelessly write "Noshing on Jesus" as a post title. But blogging is one thing. Standing in someone's sacred house and blithely chewing away on what they believe to be the transubstantiated body of their Lord is another.
This time, however, the bridal party was ill-rehearsed and I was at the end of the line. I had to follow suit and sit and stand when everyone else did, even if I thought we weren't supposed to be sitting or standing. I also did not have the best view of what was going on. Given my previous experiences, I thought those who wanted communion would have to file out in a neat little line and loop back around, while I did the requisite awkward clutching and gazing.
I did not expect pew to pew wafer service, but that's what I got. Just another little perk of being a bridesmaid, this time from someone's Great-Aunt. She was so cute and doddering and so surprised when she got down the line to me and I didn't have my hands outstretched and cupped for her. We shared a startled staring into each other's eyes, and I realized that I was trapped. I thrust out my palms, and she placed the small round cracker gently in my hands.
I considered my options.
Eat the wafer. The easiest and quickest way out of the situation, but also, in my eyes, disrespectful. And creepy, since even though I didn't believe that what I was holding was holy, the fact that it was holy to all those other people made me feel like I would be stealing something precious.
Hide the wafer. My options were: the cushion on the pew, the hymnal rack, my sweaty bouquet, or my cleavage. See last sentence of the option above. Plus, what would I do with the wafer later? Drop it in the garbage or worse, flush it? Giving it a respectful burial would require consecrated ground and besides, I didn't think I could get back to check on it three days later.
So I ate it. It felt weird and sacrilegious but it was over quickly. Later that night I sprained my ankle so badly that it needed physical therapy. I'm hoping this was just a coincidence, and that Jesus had been in enough uncomfortable situations to understand.
¶ 8:18 PM9 comments
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Chance or Coincidence
Tell me there is no connection between this and this.
Today we had a faculty/staff meeting about evacuation and lockdown procedures. Our resident police officer (because he is on our staff now) gave a PowerPoint presentation about what to do during a lockdown.
We had a lockdown last year. It lasted two hours. Someone had scrawled a bomb threat on the bathroom wall, but we didn't know that in our classrooms. My toughest senior guys were scared--you could see it in their eyes. I was scared too, but I don't think they knew how scared.
The officer saw fit to include slides from Columbine in his presentation. While it did remind everyone to take him seriously, I don't need to see that image of a teenage shooter prowling the cafeteria with a semiautomatic in order to remember. I don't need to see that ever again.
We were told not to allow kids to use their cell phones to contact their parents during a lockdown. We were told that the "vibrations from a cell phone can set off a pipe bomb." I don't know if this is true. I think the vibrations from a cell phone can set parents to swarming a school, complicating things.
I don't know if I could take a phone away from a kid during a crisis. Nor do I know whether I could ignore a banging on the door and a plea to come in, as we were also instructed. Don't open the door to anyone. Don't let them use their phones. Sit in the corner. Don't speak.
The possibilities are disturbing, but the immediate reality is perhaps even more so. As the officer spoke, I noticed that he was wearing his gun in its holster around his waist. I don't know why that surprised me. It did not make me feel safe.
¶ 8:46 PM10 comments
Sunday, September 10, 2006
For Five Years
a poem by W.S. Merwin
Listen with the night falling we are saying thank you we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings we are running out of the glass rooms with our mouths full of food to look at the sky and say thank you we are standing by the water looking out in different directions
back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging after funerals we are saying thank you after the news of the dead whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you looking up from tables we are saying thank you in a culture up to its chin in shame living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you
over telephones we are saying thank you in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators remembering wars and the police at the door and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you in the banks that use us we are saying thank you with crooks in office with the rich and fashionable unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you
with the animals dying around us our lost feelings we are saying thank you with the forests falling faster than the minutes of our lives we are saying thank you with the words going out like cells of a brain with the cities growing over us like the earth we are saying thank you faster and faster with nobody listening we are saying thank you we are saying thank you and waving dark though it is
To The Guy Who Tried To Hit On Me At The Restaurant While I Waited For My Friend
This letter is in regard to the September 1 incident in which you attempted to chat me up while I waited on a bench, clutching my Costa Rica photo album and R.'s copy of "The 40-Year Old Virgin," and you leaned on your host podium, waiting for customers to seat.
Let me begin by saying that I don't often get hit on. This could be because I hang out with people who are better-looking than I, or simply due to my own obliviousness. Whichever the case, I appreciate the effort. However, there are several factors of which you should be aware.
First, I have a boyfriend. It's been a while since I've been able to say that, so I'm going to lead off with it. While I did not feel the need to blurt this out while you yammered endlessly at me, I hoped that it was evident through my polite smile and closed body language.
Second, you were at work. Your offer to "have a drink with [me] at the bar if he doesn't show up," while considerate, was inappropriate.
Third, I was waiting for a woman.
Fourth, your mustache looked lonely and cold. Some accompanying facial hair might do it good.
Fifth, and perhaps most importantly, your declaration that "Old School" is "the best movie EVER" is not going to get you laid, ever. Take note of this one. Even disregarding all of the above, and the fact that I had just said that I did not enjoy "The 40-Year-Old Virgin." I can't at the moment come up with a list of movies that might get you laid, but watch this space--I will keep thinking about it.
In closing, I must commend you again on your confidence. Though I did not find you the least bit attractive, I appreciate your appreciation of me, and wish you the best of luck with other customers in the future.
Hott or Nott?
During the course of our Opening of School Meetings yesterday, I had to listen to the following phrase, invoked without irony, at least three times:
Brags and Snags
When I was not attempting to doze off with my head in an awake-seeming position, I was inwardly pondering this phrase. It rhymes, and is cheesy--both points in its favor. But it rhymes. And is cheesy. And my supervisor said it.
¶ 3:12 PM5 comments