There are many things I like. Unfortunately, I usually tend to like obscure things. This means that I have no one to talk about the things that I like. So, maybe I will be talking to myself here, but here are the things that I like in no particular order:
CSPAN
David Mamet
Eric Bogosian
purple flowers
the movie The Color Purple, but not the book
squid
the movie Homicide and the completely unrelated TV show Homicide: Life on the Street
commas
polar bears
panda bears
koala bears
dachshunds
figs
Ira Glass
toast so dark that that if you toasted it any longer it would crumble in your hand
real creamery butter
eucalyptus
31 March, 2007
A horse named Dr. Pebbles.
So, the radio waves from a Canadian bell bottom-jeaned rock station wafted across the river and into my car's receiver one crisp, yet sunny early spring day. At first, I didn't listen closely to the song now playing. But, then, I began to ruminate on the poetic lyrics emerging from the speakers.
So, you went through the desert on a horse with no name. Ok, I can see that. If you and let's say, a rent-a-horse were striding through the desert for maybe a couple of hours or so, I wouldn't think it would be prudent to name the horse.
You go on to say that after nine days, you let this nameless horse run free. First of all, I don't know how wise it was to let the horse run free, seeing as since you didn't know its name, you probably borrowed or rented it from someone. It wasn't yours to let run free and was quite irresponsible of you.
Furthermore, you were riding this nameless horse for nine days? Nine days? As I previously stated, if you only rode him for a couple of hours, I didn't think it was your responsibility to name him. But, really, after a couple of days, you couldn't get off your ass and think of a name for the horse. I'm sorry but that's seriously lazy.
Lastly, you described your desert sojurn as feeling good to be out of the rain. You had to go to a freaking desert to get out of the rain? You couldn't just buy a raincoat, galoshes and an umbrella? You had to drag this poor, nameless horse out in the hot desert for nine G-dawful days because you needed to be out of the rain. Ever hear of going inside? Even if you didn't have a permanent place to live, something tells me that your pot dealer would've probably let you crash in his VW bus until the rain stopped.
Thanks for listening. It felt good to get that off my chest.
So, you went through the desert on a horse with no name. Ok, I can see that. If you and let's say, a rent-a-horse were striding through the desert for maybe a couple of hours or so, I wouldn't think it would be prudent to name the horse.
You go on to say that after nine days, you let this nameless horse run free. First of all, I don't know how wise it was to let the horse run free, seeing as since you didn't know its name, you probably borrowed or rented it from someone. It wasn't yours to let run free and was quite irresponsible of you.
Furthermore, you were riding this nameless horse for nine days? Nine days? As I previously stated, if you only rode him for a couple of hours, I didn't think it was your responsibility to name him. But, really, after a couple of days, you couldn't get off your ass and think of a name for the horse. I'm sorry but that's seriously lazy.
Lastly, you described your desert sojurn as feeling good to be out of the rain. You had to go to a freaking desert to get out of the rain? You couldn't just buy a raincoat, galoshes and an umbrella? You had to drag this poor, nameless horse out in the hot desert for nine G-dawful days because you needed to be out of the rain. Ever hear of going inside? Even if you didn't have a permanent place to live, something tells me that your pot dealer would've probably let you crash in his VW bus until the rain stopped.
Thanks for listening. It felt good to get that off my chest.
28 March, 2007
Is this a Metro Detroit thing?
In my travels around town, I frequently pass a Foreign Car Repair Shop/Bakery and Café, a Car Wash/Italian Restaurant, and an Art Gallery/Dentist’s office.
What made these entrepreneurs envision these business mash-ups? Did a car wash owner and a restaurateur pool their money, thinking it would be innovative to run a car wash/Italian restaurant? After the excitement from a buff and a wax, did they think customers would want to kick back and dine on a plate of gnocchi?
Did the dentist have a burning interest in the arts, driving him to open a gallery in the same building as his office? Maybe he thought it would calm his patients to look at pretty pictures before he drilled into their rotted teeth.
And what about the car repair/café? I would think that the smells of the car repair side of the business would not be appetizing to café-goers. Or possibly the sweet, sweet smell of a double shot caramel macchiato and a chocolate dipped biscotti straight from the oven would tormet the mechanics, engrossed in fixing VWs and Yugos, unable to partake in the lucious goodness of the café?
One can only wonder.
What made these entrepreneurs envision these business mash-ups? Did a car wash owner and a restaurateur pool their money, thinking it would be innovative to run a car wash/Italian restaurant? After the excitement from a buff and a wax, did they think customers would want to kick back and dine on a plate of gnocchi?
Did the dentist have a burning interest in the arts, driving him to open a gallery in the same building as his office? Maybe he thought it would calm his patients to look at pretty pictures before he drilled into their rotted teeth.
And what about the car repair/café? I would think that the smells of the car repair side of the business would not be appetizing to café-goers. Or possibly the sweet, sweet smell of a double shot caramel macchiato and a chocolate dipped biscotti straight from the oven would tormet the mechanics, engrossed in fixing VWs and Yugos, unable to partake in the lucious goodness of the café?
One can only wonder.
26 March, 2007
Karma Kameleon
So, my day started off innocently enough. Until lunchtime. I lied to a homeless person. I know, I know. I was just trying to get out of an awkward situation. But, I felt very guilty afterward.
Subsequently and deservingly, I got hit with the Karma stick. Back at work I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to squirt some chocolate syrup in it. Unfortunately, the chocolate syrup bottle was clogged, and when I tried to forcibly squirt the chocolate out, instead of landing in my coffee, the syrup sprayed all over me and the coffee bar.
Ok. So, even thought I still felt guilty about the lie, I assumed I was absolved, due to the bad Karma I had just received. I was hoping that my life now had an equal balance of good and bad Karma. I was feeling more confident about my day. Until, something alarming happened. Someone innocently brought me a brownie. A freshly baked brownie. A freshly baked brownie baked by the wife of a Rabbi. I knew no good would come from this brownie. This Rabbinical spouse-baked brownie wasn’t your average brownie. It was chewy and warm and was most likely more holy than a run of the mill brownie since it was baked by a Rabbi's wife. The brownie, although delightful, would lead to despair. This I knew. And, finally, I was right.
It was the end of the day. I had plans in just a few minutes. Even thought I was covered in chocolate syrup, I had decided not to change my plans, as I was wearing dark colored clothes that masked the stains from the chocolate. No one would be able to tell. I walked to my car, carrying a cup of soy milk that I had brought to work earlier that day. I approached my car and all of a sudden, the soy milk leapt from the cup and splashed itself down my pants. So, now I was literally covered by all of the ingredients for a soy mocha latte. I gave up. I surrendered to the Karmic forces that were toying with me and I decided to forgo my plans, go home, and get out of my soiled outfit.
Subsequently and deservingly, I got hit with the Karma stick. Back at work I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to squirt some chocolate syrup in it. Unfortunately, the chocolate syrup bottle was clogged, and when I tried to forcibly squirt the chocolate out, instead of landing in my coffee, the syrup sprayed all over me and the coffee bar.
Ok. So, even thought I still felt guilty about the lie, I assumed I was absolved, due to the bad Karma I had just received. I was hoping that my life now had an equal balance of good and bad Karma. I was feeling more confident about my day. Until, something alarming happened. Someone innocently brought me a brownie. A freshly baked brownie. A freshly baked brownie baked by the wife of a Rabbi. I knew no good would come from this brownie. This Rabbinical spouse-baked brownie wasn’t your average brownie. It was chewy and warm and was most likely more holy than a run of the mill brownie since it was baked by a Rabbi's wife. The brownie, although delightful, would lead to despair. This I knew. And, finally, I was right.
It was the end of the day. I had plans in just a few minutes. Even thought I was covered in chocolate syrup, I had decided not to change my plans, as I was wearing dark colored clothes that masked the stains from the chocolate. No one would be able to tell. I walked to my car, carrying a cup of soy milk that I had brought to work earlier that day. I approached my car and all of a sudden, the soy milk leapt from the cup and splashed itself down my pants. So, now I was literally covered by all of the ingredients for a soy mocha latte. I gave up. I surrendered to the Karmic forces that were toying with me and I decided to forgo my plans, go home, and get out of my soiled outfit.
25 March, 2007
22 March, 2007
Destination fees
This something that has bothered me for a long time, so I feel like I should share it with you, dear reader. Destinations fees for vehicles. I have been pricing cars. No, I'm not buying one today. But, I am starting to see what is out there. I found one that I like. But, the destination fee is $660 dollars. I just can't bring myself to pay $660 for a car that was built three miles from Casa Del Agatestone. They charge $660 to deliver the car to the dealership, which is directly across the street from the plant. I could ride my bike over to the plant and pick it up. Yes, this is a really cute car. But, I just don't know if I can justify spending $660 to have a car delivered probably a total of one block. I don't agree with destinations fees as a rule, but I could understand if you were in Nome, Alaska, and were having the car delivered to you. But, again, I'm three freaking miles from the plant, and the dealership is directly across the street from the plant. This is a bit of a scam, dear reader, which is why I have never been able to bring myself to purchase this particular brand of automobile.
OUCH!
Dear reader. I’m need to get personal with you today. We need to talk about a painful scourge in our society. Waxing. Due to a series of circumstances, I foolishly agreed to allow my esthetician, we’ll call her “Anya,” to conduct a waxing regime on my underarms. I have never felt anything more painful in my life…and this is from a person who has had a broken elbow and various gaping wounds that needed to be stitched up.
This tragic chain of events unfolded thusly: I noticed last Wednesday that I had run out of disposable razors. So, I charged up the electric razor. But, even after a night’s charge, the electric razor was not working, and obviously needed to be replaced. So, on Thursday, I had to make a choice. Run to the corner drugstore and buy more disposable razors or run to K-Mart and purchase a new electric razor. I decided on the electric razor. But, alas, I found a coupon for K-Mart. The coupon did not take effect until this Sunday. I had a problem that needed to be corrected as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to buy a pack of disposable razors that would be wasted, as I was determined to buy a new electric razor. So, I called up “Anya” and made an appointment for Thursday evening.
I won’t go into details, but I will say that I think I made a mistake. By the end of the horrific ordeal, I was practically curled up in a ball. She said to me in her Ukrainian accent “Beautiful,” (she calls everyone beautiful, by the way) “Come back in three weeks. It won’t hurt like this again. I promise.” Should I believe her? The results were amazing, but the process was horrific.
This tragic chain of events unfolded thusly: I noticed last Wednesday that I had run out of disposable razors. So, I charged up the electric razor. But, even after a night’s charge, the electric razor was not working, and obviously needed to be replaced. So, on Thursday, I had to make a choice. Run to the corner drugstore and buy more disposable razors or run to K-Mart and purchase a new electric razor. I decided on the electric razor. But, alas, I found a coupon for K-Mart. The coupon did not take effect until this Sunday. I had a problem that needed to be corrected as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to buy a pack of disposable razors that would be wasted, as I was determined to buy a new electric razor. So, I called up “Anya” and made an appointment for Thursday evening.
I won’t go into details, but I will say that I think I made a mistake. By the end of the horrific ordeal, I was practically curled up in a ball. She said to me in her Ukrainian accent “Beautiful,” (she calls everyone beautiful, by the way) “Come back in three weeks. It won’t hurt like this again. I promise.” Should I believe her? The results were amazing, but the process was horrific.
21 March, 2007
The worst job interview ever.
Headquarters of famous, nationwide company that I don’t want to name because I still want to get a job there. So, I’d been writing technical articles for 8 years at Ford and wanted to write lighter pieces. The job entailed feature writing, which is basically news writing with more adverbs and adjectives. It was a smouldering hot day. The interviewer kept me waiting. And waiting. He finally arrived and took me into a dusty room with dirty furniture and without air conditioning.
I was wearing my summer interview suit. Grey, hip. I had a good bob going on and was wearing my hip glasses.
The interview began. The interview dived right in, bombarding me with questions concerning why I thought I could switch from tech/news writing to features. I showed him some samples. They weren’t featurey enough for him. He kept asking and asking me that same question. I explained that I was a go-getter, driven, etc. I kept up with his bombardment. I answered his question in a variety of different ways, but each answer was as wrong as the one before it...to him. The encounter was like a tennis match. I felt like I was answering his serves…but barely.
Since it was so hot, he was thirsty and poured himself a cold drink. He did not offer me one.
And, to top it off, he did something that angered me: He kept speaking Yiddish to me. "Why?" I wondered. It felt out of place for him to speak Yiddish to me. There was no reason for this familiarity or casualness. I didn’t sense that he was part of the tribe. And, when I say tribe, I mean people who are Jewish or people who I like. Of course, to follow that logic, I guess I wouldn’t want people who are Jewish who I don’t like to speak Yiddish either. Anyway, nice Jewish people and people who I like are allowed to speak Yiddish…at least in Agatestoneland. But everyone else is not. And why did he keep speaking Yiddish to me? I didn’t have any religious jewelry on and although I have a Semitic look, he had no proof of my heritage or religious leanings. Was he making fun of me? Being snide? I don’t know. I do know that it bothered me.
After this horrible interview, which, as I said before, was not a traditional interview, but consisted of this man asking me over and over and over again why I thought I could change from tech/news writing to features, another woman gave me an exit interview. What I wanted to tell her was that I wasn’t hopeful that I was going to get the job. That the interviewer was a nasty pr*ck and that if he didn’t think I was the woman for the job, he should have stopped attacking me and ended the interview. But, instead, I said that the interview went well, left, went to my car, closed the doors, and burst out in tears.
Why? Because I discovered that my hip, grey suit was dirty from coming in contact with his dirty furniture. Because I was so thirsty and he didn’t offer me a cold beverage. Because he infuriated me by speaking Yiddish. And because he didn't really interview me. He didn’t get to know me. But, I got over it. I went to other interviews at other companies and got the job that I have now.
I was wearing my summer interview suit. Grey, hip. I had a good bob going on and was wearing my hip glasses.
The interview began. The interview dived right in, bombarding me with questions concerning why I thought I could switch from tech/news writing to features. I showed him some samples. They weren’t featurey enough for him. He kept asking and asking me that same question. I explained that I was a go-getter, driven, etc. I kept up with his bombardment. I answered his question in a variety of different ways, but each answer was as wrong as the one before it...to him. The encounter was like a tennis match. I felt like I was answering his serves…but barely.
Since it was so hot, he was thirsty and poured himself a cold drink. He did not offer me one.
And, to top it off, he did something that angered me: He kept speaking Yiddish to me. "Why?" I wondered. It felt out of place for him to speak Yiddish to me. There was no reason for this familiarity or casualness. I didn’t sense that he was part of the tribe. And, when I say tribe, I mean people who are Jewish or people who I like. Of course, to follow that logic, I guess I wouldn’t want people who are Jewish who I don’t like to speak Yiddish either. Anyway, nice Jewish people and people who I like are allowed to speak Yiddish…at least in Agatestoneland. But everyone else is not. And why did he keep speaking Yiddish to me? I didn’t have any religious jewelry on and although I have a Semitic look, he had no proof of my heritage or religious leanings. Was he making fun of me? Being snide? I don’t know. I do know that it bothered me.
After this horrible interview, which, as I said before, was not a traditional interview, but consisted of this man asking me over and over and over again why I thought I could change from tech/news writing to features, another woman gave me an exit interview. What I wanted to tell her was that I wasn’t hopeful that I was going to get the job. That the interviewer was a nasty pr*ck and that if he didn’t think I was the woman for the job, he should have stopped attacking me and ended the interview. But, instead, I said that the interview went well, left, went to my car, closed the doors, and burst out in tears.
Why? Because I discovered that my hip, grey suit was dirty from coming in contact with his dirty furniture. Because I was so thirsty and he didn’t offer me a cold beverage. Because he infuriated me by speaking Yiddish. And because he didn't really interview me. He didn’t get to know me. But, I got over it. I went to other interviews at other companies and got the job that I have now.
16 March, 2007
Oink?
Another dream, but I’m not even in it. It’s the 1970s. There’s a guy grocery shopping in the Royal Oak/Ferndale area. He asks the butcher for bacon. There isn’t enough. So, he starts screaming “More Bacon! More Bacon!” But, there is no more bacon to sell him. So, he angrily storms to his car and drives away, on streets that are littered with raw bacon. He is so enraged that the grocery store had no bacon for him that he almost runs over an old woman.
13 March, 2007
Intervention
Ok, I've been waiting all year to revel in Israeli Nestle's Quik (click the link and scroll down for an explanation). But now, I have a chocolate monkey on my back! Since I purchased the Quik on Sunday afternoon, I've been drinking it non-stop. You need to do something, dear reader. Stop me before this gets out of control.
Elvis
Ah yes, we wait all year for a day like this, when we see our first Elvis impersonator of the year. Spring must be just around the corner.
I saw him delivering the mail, btw. He was wearing a mailman's uniform, but his hair and sideburns (muttonchops), were all Elvis. And just to clarify, for the first time in this blog's history, when I mention "Elvis," I mean Presley, not the lovely, charming and brilliant Costello.
I saw him delivering the mail, btw. He was wearing a mailman's uniform, but his hair and sideburns (muttonchops), were all Elvis. And just to clarify, for the first time in this blog's history, when I mention "Elvis," I mean Presley, not the lovely, charming and brilliant Costello.
11 March, 2007
Sunday
1) Matzo is a very disappointing food. It never fails. You have a nice bowl of soup in front of you and when you look in the pantry for saltines, all you have is matzo. Matzo may look similar to saltines, but it's just not the same.
2) I'm fully stocked up on Israeli Nestle's Quik. Life is good again.
3) I bought a new hat today. But now, I want to get my hair cut to complement my new hat.
4) I don't understand corned beef and cabbage. I just don't feel comfortable eating corned beef without rye bread. It doesn't make sense.
5) I really like lions and tigers, but I wish someone would produce a documentary illustrating a day in the life of a lion or tiger without the wild cats ripping apart a llama or a hyena or whatever they like to eat. Couldn't we just see them hanging out at the watering hole or cuddling with baby lions and tigers?
6) What would make someone steal a peace bumper sticker off one's car? I understand why they stole my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. But why did they also rip the peace sign off of my car? What kind of a bastard doesn't like peace?
2) I'm fully stocked up on Israeli Nestle's Quik. Life is good again.
3) I bought a new hat today. But now, I want to get my hair cut to complement my new hat.
4) I don't understand corned beef and cabbage. I just don't feel comfortable eating corned beef without rye bread. It doesn't make sense.
5) I really like lions and tigers, but I wish someone would produce a documentary illustrating a day in the life of a lion or tiger without the wild cats ripping apart a llama or a hyena or whatever they like to eat. Couldn't we just see them hanging out at the watering hole or cuddling with baby lions and tigers?
6) What would make someone steal a peace bumper sticker off one's car? I understand why they stole my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. But why did they also rip the peace sign off of my car? What kind of a bastard doesn't like peace?
07 March, 2007
Overzealous paper shredding techniques
So, I bought this sweater a couple of weeks ago. It fit. But, I realized, upon putting it on yesterday for the first time, that the seam digs in to my back. So, I decided to exchange it for one size up. I went yesterday to exchange it. They didn't have the size in stock but they found one in Lansing, Michigan. I said, "great, can you have them send it over." They said yes, but for 8 bucks. That is unfair, I think. So, I said, could I have store credit instead. She said, sure. She offered me 14 bucks. But, I spent 29 bucks on the sweater. I asked her why I couldn't have 29 bucks, and she said because they just marked the sweater down this morning. You may ask why I didn't show her my receipt. Well, that is because I just bought a new paper shredder. And, of course, I already shredded the receipt. So, I took the sweater home and I guess I'm going to try to stretch it in the back, so that the seam won't dig in.
Second story. After the horrible sweater incident, I crossed the street and entered my local sandwich shop. I won't tell you the name, but it rhymes with Snubflay. So, I ordered my usual...a turkey sub with extra yellow peppers. The sandwich technician was in the process of constructing my sandwich and as such, leaned forward to get the peppers I had ordered. When he did, his shirt landed on my sandwich. So, I asked him for another sandwich, because that just was disgusting. He was dragging his heels and didn't want to give me a new sandwich. I don't know what his problem was. I said, at least throw everything on the sandwich away and give me new stuff, but I should have pressed him for new bread. He just seemed so reluctant to give me new bread. So,I caved. Possibly, my bread was dirty, but the insides of the sandwich were clean.
That was a sucky day in terms of people being mean and me being spineless.
I'll do better today. I promise.
Second story. After the horrible sweater incident, I crossed the street and entered my local sandwich shop. I won't tell you the name, but it rhymes with Snubflay. So, I ordered my usual...a turkey sub with extra yellow peppers. The sandwich technician was in the process of constructing my sandwich and as such, leaned forward to get the peppers I had ordered. When he did, his shirt landed on my sandwich. So, I asked him for another sandwich, because that just was disgusting. He was dragging his heels and didn't want to give me a new sandwich. I don't know what his problem was. I said, at least throw everything on the sandwich away and give me new stuff, but I should have pressed him for new bread. He just seemed so reluctant to give me new bread. So,I caved. Possibly, my bread was dirty, but the insides of the sandwich were clean.
That was a sucky day in terms of people being mean and me being spineless.
I'll do better today. I promise.
06 March, 2007
Update
Without elucidating, I'll give you a brief overview of life with Agatestone:
1) For some reason, my Netflix only gives me recommendations for Bollywood and John Wayne movies.
2) I made a fatal error by involving the Breakfast Czar in my goal of obtaining and keeping around enough Israeli Nestle's Quik to last a year. The plan was that I would buy the Quik in bulk and she would dole it out to me. Otherwise, I'd be done with the Nestle's Quik by May. Well, doling out the Nestle's Quik, apparently, isn't what the Breakfast Czar is planning to do. I would say the correct word for the plan she has hatched against her sister is "blackmail." She is engaging in a nefarious plot that involves me doing her bidding in exchange for her allowing me to have my Israeli Nestle's Quik. Something's just not right here.
3) I am really tempted to cut my hair. I have been growing it since May. Hence, its length is considerable. But, I am tired of it and need a good reason to keep it.
That is basically it. I'm going back to reading and needlepointing and thinking about the fact that I need to vacuum my car except for the fact that it's freaking 15 degrees out there!
1) For some reason, my Netflix only gives me recommendations for Bollywood and John Wayne movies.
2) I made a fatal error by involving the Breakfast Czar in my goal of obtaining and keeping around enough Israeli Nestle's Quik to last a year. The plan was that I would buy the Quik in bulk and she would dole it out to me. Otherwise, I'd be done with the Nestle's Quik by May. Well, doling out the Nestle's Quik, apparently, isn't what the Breakfast Czar is planning to do. I would say the correct word for the plan she has hatched against her sister is "blackmail." She is engaging in a nefarious plot that involves me doing her bidding in exchange for her allowing me to have my Israeli Nestle's Quik. Something's just not right here.
3) I am really tempted to cut my hair. I have been growing it since May. Hence, its length is considerable. But, I am tired of it and need a good reason to keep it.
That is basically it. I'm going back to reading and needlepointing and thinking about the fact that I need to vacuum my car except for the fact that it's freaking 15 degrees out there!
01 March, 2007
pseudo-intellectual or dilettante?
Just a helpful hint from Agatestone:
When you're in a conversation with someone who is way smarter than you, especially in the arts, and you're feeling ignorant, drop Claes Oldenburg on them. It works every time. He is famous enough that you can gain respectability by knowing who is is, but obscure enough that the person who you thought was smarter than you may actually have never heard of him. It's a win-win situation.
I've pulled Claes out of my pocket (figuratively) a couple of times. I've mentioned his prints. I've mentioned the large sculpture of his at the Detroit Institute of Arts: the carved wooden electrical plug hanging from the ceiling.
He has helped me get out of uncomfortable situations and restored balance to my life. Check him out. Learn about him. Use him, but use him sparingly.
When you're in a conversation with someone who is way smarter than you, especially in the arts, and you're feeling ignorant, drop Claes Oldenburg on them. It works every time. He is famous enough that you can gain respectability by knowing who is is, but obscure enough that the person who you thought was smarter than you may actually have never heard of him. It's a win-win situation.
I've pulled Claes out of my pocket (figuratively) a couple of times. I've mentioned his prints. I've mentioned the large sculpture of his at the Detroit Institute of Arts: the carved wooden electrical plug hanging from the ceiling.
He has helped me get out of uncomfortable situations and restored balance to my life. Check him out. Learn about him. Use him, but use him sparingly.
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