You can tell it's a Monday when you walk out of the house in a blissful haze, get to the Metro station, and realize that you seem to have forgotten your wallet and cell phone, prompting a slow trudge back to your house to retrieve such items lest you go the day anonymous, poor, and electronically disconnected from the world. Screw this cloning sheep and organs crap, I need scientists to create wee little legs and a brain for my wallet, so it knows to run and jump in my pocket as soon as I open my front door. Or, at the very least, to start screaming, "What about me? What about my needs?" Being single these days, I almost miss hearing that around the house.
I have this to say about the denizens of DC - they are absolute wusses when it comes to the snow. My well-RSVP'd Oscars party started off with a slurry of text messages from my friends who claimed they were "snowed in." On this side of the country, "snowed in" evidently means that there is an inch of snow on the ground, which might *gasp* get one's booties wet. I have only ever been "snowed in" once - in Flagstaff, Arizona - when a nice little blizzard managed to bury my friend's SUV up to its windows in snow overnight. If you have to retrieve your car with a snow shovel, I think you can qualify yourself as being "snowed in." Saving that, I think you should heretofore text me to tell me that you're "wussed in." Much more accurate that way.
Having said that, the Oscars were kind of a bust, I thought. Long, meandering, lacking in surprise, and entirely devoid of the kind of spontaneous speeches that they were supposed to have this year. Winners were not supposed to bring papers to read from. I think it would have been a fabulous Oscars if the Oscar model, who normally just stands there looking tall, suddenly ran forth in her high heels, snagged the winner's paper out of their hands, and dashed off the stage. Ellen was an amicable, albeit boring, host. I miss Billy Crystal. (And Jack Nicholson's hair, come to think of it.) The best gig of the night (since Sacha Baron Cohen didn't get up on stage) was watching Emily Blunt, Anne Hathaway, and Meryl Streep do a mini-rendition of "The Devil Wears Prada." Proof that Meryl Streep should have won the Oscar? She can manage to look sexy and imposing, even while wearing what looked like a Hare Krishna outfit. The Oscars ran so long that I ended up changing the channel to "The L Word" at 11pm. Sorry, Oscar, read-from-a-pocket-note-slowly-and-in-a-monotone-manner speeches just can't compare to gratuitous nudity.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Jesus Has Rights, Too
The Department of Justice unveiled a new initiative in its Civil Rights section this morning called the "First Freedom Project." The aim of this new pet project? Stricter enforcement of laws against religious discrimination and "greater enforcement of religious rights for all Americans." Given the abject lack of information on the DOJ's website about the rights of atheists and agnostics to not practice religion (one nation "under God" anyone?) or the rights of indigenous people to use naturally-occurring plants as part of their religious rituals (word to the wise - the DOJ does not look kindly on religions that uses anything classified as a "drug" to achieve spiritual enlightenment), I'm guessing that this new initiative is mostly aimed at the Judeo-Christian among us. Because, of all the initiatives that the DOJ could focus its time and energy on, defending the religious liberty of the majority of Americans is paramount. Hmm.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Who Would Have Thunk It?
Evidently, fish can purr. Better yet, they purr when mating. I'm getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.
France and Utah have more in common than I first realized. I'm starting to feel less guilty about mocking the French as a pastime.
France and Utah have more in common than I first realized. I'm starting to feel less guilty about mocking the French as a pastime.
Life in Coach
It has been an obscenely crazy past couple of weeks of travel for yours truly. To give you a taste of my jet-setting lifestyle (in coach, of course), here's my recent itinerary...
Mon, Feb 5 - Boston
Tues, Feb 6 - DC
Wed, Feb 7 - Phoenix
Thurs, Feb 8 - Phoenix
Fri, Feb 9 - Mon, Feb 12 - DC
Tues, Feb 13 - Boston
Wed, Feb 14 - Boston
Thurs, Feb 15 - DC
Fri, Feb 16 - Mon, Feb 19 - London
Tues, Feb 20 - DC
If an airline offered me a free ticket right now, I think I might run screaming in the other direction and join a cult that believed that flying in airplanes was akin to worshiping false idols. Through all of my travels, I have divined a few basic truths:
(1) Staring is not considered a rude and shameless activity in Britain. Perhaps it's all the exposure to trashy, gossipy newspapers, or the fact that lesbians are considered rare and endangered birds in London, but every time I went out and about on the town, there were no end of eye pairs taking a long gander. Until, of course, I gandered back. Evidently, Britains are voyeurs, but not confrontationalists.
(2) Cleanliness it not next to godliness, but the Intercontinental Hotel in Boston might be. I mean, who wouldn't love a large, garden-style tub (big enough to actually fit this amazon without forcing her knees up to her ears) set in a bathroom with a cut-out in the wall, which affords the bather with the opportunity to watch the 40-inch flat-screen TV from the comfort of her own watery heaven?
(3) My argyle scarf evidently pegs me as the kind of international nuisance that needs to be given the full pat down twice at Heathrow airport (which is amusing to me, as my general demeanor has never occasioned American security to give me the looky-loo). Those with an interest in international airport security will be happy to know that the security guards in Britain were more than happy to pat down my legs, breast, and hoo-ha looking for my super-secret weapon of preppy destruction! I suppose it would have been a better experience if the people taking an interest in my nether regions were actually attractive, but alas, no. No strip search fantasies fulfilled that day, I'm afraid.
(4) If one must make a connection when coming back from a foreign country, one should allot at least two hours for such shenanigans. Else, you might end up sprinting through JFK in the late hours of the night, huffing and puffing in a most un-ladylike manner. Unless that's, like, you know, your thing.
(5) England may be suspicious of me and my argyle, but U.S. Customs loves me. On my last return trip from England, the Customs man noted that I has the most thorough customs form that he ever did see. This time around, a different Customs man remarked on my good penmanship. Next time around, I'm going to ask if there are any awards for these sorts of things. I can put them up next to my perfect attendance awards from high school. What better way to attract a mate, I ask you?
Mon, Feb 5 - Boston
Tues, Feb 6 - DC
Wed, Feb 7 - Phoenix
Thurs, Feb 8 - Phoenix
Fri, Feb 9 - Mon, Feb 12 - DC
Tues, Feb 13 - Boston
Wed, Feb 14 - Boston
Thurs, Feb 15 - DC
Fri, Feb 16 - Mon, Feb 19 - London
Tues, Feb 20 - DC
If an airline offered me a free ticket right now, I think I might run screaming in the other direction and join a cult that believed that flying in airplanes was akin to worshiping false idols. Through all of my travels, I have divined a few basic truths:
(1) Staring is not considered a rude and shameless activity in Britain. Perhaps it's all the exposure to trashy, gossipy newspapers, or the fact that lesbians are considered rare and endangered birds in London, but every time I went out and about on the town, there were no end of eye pairs taking a long gander. Until, of course, I gandered back. Evidently, Britains are voyeurs, but not confrontationalists.
(2) Cleanliness it not next to godliness, but the Intercontinental Hotel in Boston might be. I mean, who wouldn't love a large, garden-style tub (big enough to actually fit this amazon without forcing her knees up to her ears) set in a bathroom with a cut-out in the wall, which affords the bather with the opportunity to watch the 40-inch flat-screen TV from the comfort of her own watery heaven?
(3) My argyle scarf evidently pegs me as the kind of international nuisance that needs to be given the full pat down twice at Heathrow airport (which is amusing to me, as my general demeanor has never occasioned American security to give me the looky-loo). Those with an interest in international airport security will be happy to know that the security guards in Britain were more than happy to pat down my legs, breast, and hoo-ha looking for my super-secret weapon of preppy destruction! I suppose it would have been a better experience if the people taking an interest in my nether regions were actually attractive, but alas, no. No strip search fantasies fulfilled that day, I'm afraid.
(4) If one must make a connection when coming back from a foreign country, one should allot at least two hours for such shenanigans. Else, you might end up sprinting through JFK in the late hours of the night, huffing and puffing in a most un-ladylike manner. Unless that's, like, you know, your thing.
(5) England may be suspicious of me and my argyle, but U.S. Customs loves me. On my last return trip from England, the Customs man noted that I has the most thorough customs form that he ever did see. This time around, a different Customs man remarked on my good penmanship. Next time around, I'm going to ask if there are any awards for these sorts of things. I can put them up next to my perfect attendance awards from high school. What better way to attract a mate, I ask you?
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
The Science of Scent
There are many things about the science of scent that I don't completely understand. For instance, why is it that every time I walk through the perfume section of a department store (which somehow manages to be at every entrance of a department store, even if I try to outwit the perfume counter by taking the parking garage entrance reserved solely for those who enjoy a good mugging), I am assaulted with the overwhelming scent of a flower gone terribly, terribly wrong? Are there no other pleasing scents in the world other than the reproductive systems of plants? I mean, really. Michael Kors' "Island?" Smells like flowers that you would find an island (or, at the very least, imported to an island resort). Elizabeth Taylor's "White Diamonds?" Smells like white flowers that have gotten drunk on too many gin and tonics. My secret hypothesis is that the lab geeks in charge of creating scent have finally gone crazy from too little exposure to natural light and have started importing flowering plants to the lab to be gunned down by a semi-automatic rifle while a malevolent robot captures the flowers' dying essences in a bottle. It could happen.
Moreover, if one does manage to find a scent that doesn't smell like a rotting, alcoholic flower and also manages to actually last on the skin (Demeter fragrances – I heart your "Laundry" and "Cucumber" scents, but they last all of about .02 seconds after I spray them on me), the perfume fails to appropriately attract one's target audience. Case in point – after much research into finding a scent that would not make most of my would-be dates sneeze, retch, or run screaming in unholy terror, I settled on Lucky Brand cologne. That's right, I wear a scent that can be purchased with corresponding after-shave. Some of you will no doubt associate this coincidence with my love of pick up trucks and softball, but I say it is in defense of flowers. Anyway, given that the majority of the population is heterosexual and that at least one of the aims of cologne and perfume is to attract a mate (being capitalists, we like to brand, mass produce, and market our pheromones), I would have thought that my choice of fragrance would be optimal for my pursuit of womankind. Alas, all my Lucky cologne has brought me is a bevy of men who think that I smell fantastic! That is not the kind of lucky I was trying to get, mmkay?
You scent researchers need to start human trials on this stuff and give me a little marketing perspective. I mean, pharmaceutical companies give me a nice fact-sheet with the percentage of adverse events on it when I buy their drug – how sick to my stomach or anxious or subject to priapism I might be after ingesting the drug. That's all I'm asking for Mr. Kors and Ms. Karan - a little adverse event info on your perfume - what percentage of wearers attracted men, attracted women, and made passerby collapse in an asthmatic attack. This would save me and my nose a lot of effort the next time we try to make our way through the great floral massacre section of Macy's.
Moreover, if one does manage to find a scent that doesn't smell like a rotting, alcoholic flower and also manages to actually last on the skin (Demeter fragrances – I heart your "Laundry" and "Cucumber" scents, but they last all of about .02 seconds after I spray them on me), the perfume fails to appropriately attract one's target audience. Case in point – after much research into finding a scent that would not make most of my would-be dates sneeze, retch, or run screaming in unholy terror, I settled on Lucky Brand cologne. That's right, I wear a scent that can be purchased with corresponding after-shave. Some of you will no doubt associate this coincidence with my love of pick up trucks and softball, but I say it is in defense of flowers. Anyway, given that the majority of the population is heterosexual and that at least one of the aims of cologne and perfume is to attract a mate (being capitalists, we like to brand, mass produce, and market our pheromones), I would have thought that my choice of fragrance would be optimal for my pursuit of womankind. Alas, all my Lucky cologne has brought me is a bevy of men who think that I smell fantastic! That is not the kind of lucky I was trying to get, mmkay?
You scent researchers need to start human trials on this stuff and give me a little marketing perspective. I mean, pharmaceutical companies give me a nice fact-sheet with the percentage of adverse events on it when I buy their drug – how sick to my stomach or anxious or subject to priapism I might be after ingesting the drug. That's all I'm asking for Mr. Kors and Ms. Karan - a little adverse event info on your perfume - what percentage of wearers attracted men, attracted women, and made passerby collapse in an asthmatic attack. This would save me and my nose a lot of effort the next time we try to make our way through the great floral massacre section of Macy's.
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