January 27, 2012
rip van winkle
I lost two entire days this week to sleep. It was the oddest thing. I would shut my eyes and wham! I'd wake up 5-8 hours later. I was awake no more than 6 of 48 hours.
"You were fighting something," people tell me, which was almost certainly the case. But the thing is, I had no other symptoms. I felt fine. Great, even. I just connected two nights of sleep with two days' worth.
I was, if but for two days, a cat. And it was glorious. They're on to something, people.
posted by john at 08:57 AM • permalink
January 23, 2012
none for me, thanks
Some friends invited me to dinner, and I cheerfully offered up a recent gift. "Hey, I have a bottle of Dom Pérignon here. I'll bring that."
And thus did I pack four champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom and head to my friends' house. It would be them, me, and another friend of theirs. When the time came to pop the cork, I took the bottle outside on the deck and fired the cork to the heavens. Some foam seeped out the top of the bottle, at which point the friend grabbed the Dom from my hand and put her mouth on the $150 bottle of champagne, slurping the foam.
posted by john at 09:13 AM • permalink
January 20, 2012
mission accomplished
Says George Lucas in his New York Times interview, about making more Star Wars movies:
“Why would I make any more (‘Star Wars’ movies) when everybody yells at you all the time and says what a terrible person you are?”Great work, everyone. That's a wrap.
posted by john at 07:35 AM • permalink
January 19, 2012
pure, unadulturated awesome
You'd rather see this than read my whining anyway.
posted by john at 07:41 AM • permalink
January 18, 2012
nimble little minx, ain't she?
Remember in Ghostbusters, after the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man exploded, and everyone was covered in goo, except Bill Murray, who had just a rakish dab on his head?
That's my dog Dex right now. A wisp of snow on her muzzle. She just schooled her little brother in the perils of snow and ice. He, meanwhile, looks like, well, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
Busy week at work. And not in any entertaining way. Unless you count me railing about the helplessness of the people who work for me as entertainment. I know I don't.
posted by john at 01:38 PM • permalink
January 13, 2012
in fact, i'd rather give my social security number to inmates
Distinguished Stank troll Giancarlo sends this link about the government hiring prison inmates to man their call centers.
I'm so okay with this alternative to speed-listening to Indians.
posted by john at 09:10 AM • permalink
January 12, 2012
the odds of me joining the audio portion of this meeting before other people join? there aren't enough zeroes.
Read more about my prejudice here.
posted by john at 09:13 AM • permalink
January 11, 2012
margin call
In the margin of my Shakespeare class notes, in unfamiliar handwriting: "You are the most arrogant motherfucker I've ever met."
Would it have killed my classmate/professor to sign that?
posted by john at 01:50 PM • permalink
January 09, 2012
box o' notes
Last week I found my undergraduate notes. All of them. Underscoring my advancing years, they smell like someone's grandfather's newspaper clippings from the Depression.
Although they are in my handwriting, although the margins are littered with Steelers logos, I do not recognize their author. This guy knew stuff. He was incredibly well-read, well-rounded. He was conversant in music and physics and programming and linguistics and literature. He was everything I aspire to be.
Lost, all lost, to the ravages of time.
I'm reminded of Watergate's mantra. What exactly did John know, and when did he forget it?
Most interesting to me are my astronomy notes. F still = MxA and Shakespeare is still dead, but astronomy? It's changed. Dark energy, the force that's making the universe accelerate apart, was not even an inkling then. The Hubble was still a punchline, a failure, so the age of the universe was not known. Black holes had not been proven. Planets orbiting other stars had not been observed, but my professor predicted precisely how they would be. Europa's ocean-smoothed ice was just a "smooth surface." Water had not yet been proven on Mars.
This is like reading an outdated textbook, except that it's in my handwriting. I'm thrilled. And horrified to have lived that long.
posted by john at 08:17 AM • permalink
January 07, 2012
annus horribilis
And with that, my football season comes mercifully to a close. I have never been so grateful for the final gun to sound. Not even when winning Super Bowls. It was that miserable a year.
On with the Urban renewal in Columbus.
posted by john at 09:47 PM • permalink
January 05, 2012
simply adorkable
I'd like to wrap up this week's theme on a hopeful note. In this old letter to the editor, a 17 year old girl takes Vogue magazine to task for celebrating outer beauty. It warms the heart to see. Surely, at least one young girl did not grow up to trade on her looks.
posted by john at 07:49 AM • permalink
January 04, 2012
beautiful women have it rough in america, part ii
Stank troll Marta, always quick to poke me with a stick, sent me news of the book Beautiful People. In it, one of us mortals interviews, well, beautiful people. About what it's like being so darn beautiful.
Reflections on beauty by people who consent to reflect in a book entitled Beautiful People. Yep. I'll bet that's a veritable Algonquin Round Table.
Hold. Me. Back.
Getting a curious amount of sympathy is Nicole, quite obviously lovely. See if you can guess which part I added.
"As I began to grow up, I noticed that I was receiving a lot of attention from the opposite sex. People are surprised when I recount to them my bad luck with boyfriends. I’ve been cheated on and lied to and gone through painful breakups. Everyone says, ‘Really, you? You’re too pretty. He’s an idiot. If there is no hope for you, there is no hope for the rest of us.’Didja guess which part I added?“The truth is, being beautiful doesn’t guarantee a faithful romantic partner or being treated with respect. If anything, it changes the entire game. You have to be careful with girlfriends’ significant others, for fear of inciting jealousy and you must analyze whether or not another person’s intentions are pure. So much of my personal value has been placed on what I look like. It’s sad. Looks don’t last. So as I age, will I lose my value?' asked the agency-signed model and E! network modeling-reality-show participant."
I know several women who are at least as lovely as Nicole. They were my students, and as such, they all earned college degrees and have started their careers. They could have modeled (or married up), but they instead chose to trade on their minds. Not coincidentally, they do not think about losing their value any more than I think about losing my back hair. It ain't in our respective futures.
From all evidence, Nicole is a perfectly nice person who was answering a question I find irritating. I hope, for her sake, that while she cashes in on hitting the genetic lottery, she's not doing so, as so many do, at the expense of being a worthwhile human being. Because she's right. Looks do fade. As she ages, her genetic lottery ticket will abruptly lose its value. E! will cease to broadcast her makeovers.
And for the second time this week, I ask "So what other value do you bring?"
posted by john at 06:49 AM • permalink
January 02, 2012
missing ohio
During that glorious period of my life when I was mooching off my girlfriend, Maddie, there were inglorious bouts with something I've come to derisively call "employment."
One such lapse was my working as a chauffeur. The job was mostly nerve-wracking, as the general motoring public tends to go "Oh look! A limo!" and lurch toward the object of their focus. One might think I met a lot of celebrities, but for the most part I met frat boys who puked in the car and young newlyweds who forgot to tip.
One day, my boss called me excitedly. "Here's the address," he audibly wriggled. "Pick up is at 9am. And John—you owe me, man. You owe me."
This worried me slightly, but I parked the limo in the specified driveway at precisely 9am. At 9:57am, the client came outside. She was jiggling beneath an impossibly tight sequined evening gown, but what I mostly noticed was the tiara and sash reading "Miss Ohio."
"We're late," she snapped accusingly. "Let's go." And thus did I ferry her from her Columbus home to some kiddie pageant in Toledo.
On the day my father died, I had a horribly debilitating flu and the clutch on my Jeep died. I spent 10 hours in the mechanic's waiting room, miserable, not having strength enough to sit upright, fielding phone calls from grieving and/or angry relatives. And it was only the second longest day of my life.
Miss Ohio was certain of two things. 1) I was beneath her and therefore damned lucky that she deigned to speak to me and 2) what she had to say was endlessly fascinating. And what, the reader asks, does Miss Ohio have to say for 11 hours? Exactly one thing: beautiful women have it so hard in America.
We're objectified. We're underestimated. We can't eat. We have to worry about make-up and exercise constantly. Women resent us. Men only value one thing from us. We're defined by our beauty, and that's horribly unfair, she said from beneath her tiara and sash while putting on make-up.
It went on forever. I would have gladly gnawed off my own leg if that would have liberated me from her insights. Instead, I employed the chauffeur's equivalent of going "All right, then" on the phone; every time she paused, I would raise the privacy divider. And every time, she would lower it to share some newly remembered anecdote about being victimized because of her beauty.
I raised the divider one last time and called my boss. "I hope you're calling from a motel!" he chirped.
"Negative. The client is a puseous [redacted]. I'm officially requesting permission to be myself."
"Knock yourself out, " he sighed. "This was a one-time gig anyway."
I couldn't wait for the divider to lower again. What would I do with my new green light? Kick her out by the side of the freeway? Oh, how good that sounded. "Let's see how long it takes a beautiful woman to get a ride," I would tell her, kicking her ass to the curb in a shower of sequins. Of course, she wouldn't bounce even twice before 18 guys stopped to rescue her. And then she would tell him that I hate her because she's beautiful. No, that would not do.
"So," I said in my imagination. "Just how many times a week does a complete stranger tell you to shut the fuck up?" Yes. That would do. I awaited my chance. The divider lowered, and through it flowed anecdotes about how men, bosses, teachers, strangers, etc. think she brings no value besides her looks. And I changed my plan.
"So what other value do you bring?" I asked sweetly, as though genuinely interested.
We drove the last hours in icy, glorious silence. There was no more conversation. There was no tip. And there was no other value.
posted by john at 07:26 AM • permalink
December 30, 2011
torturing the harry potter cast
If you enjoy watching Brits squirm while humoring cloddish Americans, and you know you do, you'll enjoy watching the Harry Potter cast try on an American accent.
posted by john at 09:19 AM • permalink
December 29, 2011
your "most annoying accent" nominees
I had to throw out vague suggestions like "American Southern," since there scads of such accents. I, myself, find a genteel Georgia accent to be music. And a rural Georgia boiled-peanut-suckin' accent makes my eyeballs pop.
The Canadian east coast took a beating from other Canadians. For your consideration, I give you the worst of the lot: the Newfie. Or as I've come to think of him, a stoned Irishman with a yawning cleft palate.
I'll roll up a bunch of votes into one general nomination for Appalachian U.S., the accent of choice for Cooter P. McNugget.
Here's a sentimental nomination from me to my fellow Steelers fans. I watched a lot of clips to find one that was authentic. And when she said "I don't know if I still have my accent," I wet myself.
Ah, the Scots. Yep, the Scots. You gotta love them. You've just got to. My comprehension is about 40% My comprehension in Spanish is 42%.
Aussies piled on Kiwis, which explains why this kid is so defensive.
In terms of sheer quantity of incidents, Indians annoy me more than all other accents combined (and yes, many of them are native speakers). I always wonder how many times a day an annoyed American calls them "Apu" and hangs up. Worse, though, is their apparently cultural insistence on calling instead of emailing. Throw me a fucking bone, Apu.
Brits politely stayed away from the accents of their scattered progeny, instead focusing on 1) the Cockney dialect
and 2) the posh accent. They got some support from abroad, here, as class pretenses are anathema to Americans. But no one hates the posh accent more than this guy, who deems it a faux French accent and Satanic.
Let me know what you think.
posted by john at 08:11 AM • permalink
December 27, 2011
wrap it up
Hullo. 'Sup?
I'll tally the "most annoying accent" survey tomorrow.
G'day, all y'all, eh?
posted by john at 02:04 PM • permalink
December 26, 2011
things to do when I'm dead
My cousin died this year. His family and mine were not close. I hadn't seen him in 30 years. Except for a Facebook Friend request that I ignored, I never would have thought about him. The Friend request survived him, and this weekend I clicked it.
And there was the wall of a dead man.
Fully two-thirds of the posthumous scribblings were from my drama co-opting sister Nadine. If pressed, I would have guessed that they didn't know one another. It is clear that I was mistaken. Indeed, she is the grieving widow, throwing her body in protest across the casket as it lowers into the ground, wailing, bargaining with the heavens "Take me, O Lord! Take me instead!"
I fired off an email to Allie. "Among your duties when I'm dead." I said, attaching a snippet from Nadine, "Is telling Facebook to take down my bloody wall."
Now imagine a dozen of those.
posted by john at 08:51 AM • permalink
December 23, 2011
damaged goods
Kiki was telling me all about her cool friend who's recently become available. The friend is that rarity of rarity in these parts: a single, educated, professional woman who isn't the prosecuting attorney at my arraignment. Nevertheless, I couldn't muster any interest.
Sensing this, Kiki added "And John, she's really beautiful."
I blanched. "All that means is that she'll fuck someone else even faster."
Everyone stared at me—some actually standing under a mistletoe—both appalled and wondering how they could possibly rebut what seems an irrevocable law of nature.
posted by john at 11:45 AM • permalink
December 22, 2011
stirring it up
Kiwis! Aussies don't drive you insane when they order feesh and cheeps instead of fush and chups?
posted by john at 02:22 PM • permalink
pure awesome
So a Minnesota politician who had supported "defending" marriage from gays has been caught straying from her own marriage. Gays have subsequently apologized to her for destroying the institution.
posted by john at 09:46 AM • permalink
December 21, 2011
early returns
I'm amazed to so far be the only vote for Scots. You people do realize that's mangled English they're speaking, right?
For the most part, people are voting for their countrymen. Stop it. Let's stir up an international incident, people.
posted by john at 08:03 AM • permalink
December 20, 2011
survey: the most annoying accent
In the coming weeks, we're going collectively to determine the most annoying accent in the English-speaking world. In the interests of thoroughness, I'm taking nominations. International readership, I especially need your help. If there's a difference between Vancouver and Toronto accents, I can't detect it.
Send me your nominees at the below address. Please identify your region of origin and anything I need to know about the offending accent. There's only one rule: yes, non-native speakers can be annoying. Please leave them out of it. Besides, who needs the Japanese when we have Scots?
posted by john at 11:08 AM • permalink
