Friday, February 04, 2005
Happy Birthday, Jay!
As Jay mentioned yesterday, due to his birthday and his "doctor’s appointment" this afternoon, I’ll be guest blogging today. I know, I too fear change, but he will return tomorrow to provide the salacious details of his birthday fete, the likes of which I’m quite sure will not have been seen since ancient Rome. The only question is which room in his apartment will be designated as the vomitorium, or if you prefer, the cookie-cake repository. Hope your bedroom locks from the outside, darling. Anyway, in honor of our dear friend reaching the front end of middle age, here are the top five reasons why I love Jay:
5. The blog, of course. You’d think I could manage to stay entertained when my job entails evaluating a lawsuit brought by a guy who wasn’t hired by his chosen employer even though his cover letter clearly warned that he would have to seek legal recourse "in the unfortunate event" that he was passed over. In fact, my motivation to work is so lacking that by mid afternoon the Yahoo! login screen simply reads "You again?" The blog provides a much-needed dose of celebrity gossip and way-too-personal information during the unbearable stretch between lunch and coffee break, and as an added bonus it contains enough obscure references to summon my "I’m thinking really hard face," which is quite useful in the event that one of my supervisors passes by.
4. The green streak. Few people know just how environmentally conscious our beloved is, but this child has been reusing the same Zip-loc bag for his sandwich every day since the mid-80's. Why chain yourself to a redwood when all you really have to do is pack your lunch in a bag so old that the microbes have consumed half of your PBJ by the time noon rolls around? Clear, Jay. The bag is supposed to be clear.
3. Sweet tooth. Many know that the most dangerous place in our office is between Jay and the vending machine. In this age of low-carb diets and an (incomprehensible, really) aversion to trans fats, J is single-handedly keeping Little Debbie in business. Here’s a guy who cares about his health to the point where he’ll be at the gym at dawn even in the throes of a hangover so vicious that his skin is visibly green. But come near him with a piece of fruit and he’ll vanish faster than my ex when I said "I love you."
2. TV. As if his taste in snack cakes weren’t enough of an indication of his maturity, there’s a reason why Jay’s TiVo thinks he’s a 12-year old girl. Ever a contradiction, he divides his time fairly evenly between the works of Proust and Faulkner and the blossoming lesbianism of Marissa Cooper on the OC. For most of us, stumbling across an episode of "DeGrassi Junior High" would be little more than an occasion to mock to the accents of awkward Canadian pre-teens, but apparently Jay is actually compelled by the storylines. (Incidentally, why have the Canadians not figured out that teenagers should only be played by impossibly attractive 30 year olds?) Which is not to say that I’m a History Channel-only type of girl (Kara Saun is SO going win Project Runway) but I will revolt if Jay devotes any blog space to recapping the DJH episode about the humiliated motherless girl who had to be taken by her gruff steelworker father to purchase her first training bra. Oh wait, that was me. Sorry, daddy.
1. Frank, we hardly knew you. I had the pleasure of getting to know Jay just as he was discovering that the fire in his belly was not ambition but a tiny worm. I wonder how many other lifelong friendships have been founded on discussions of stool samples? I remember finding it strangely endearing that he had befriended the wee parasite. On the other hand, I too tend to make friends only to murder them later. There’s a lesson to be learned here, all ye friends of Jay: he’s being nice now, but any day now he’s going to vanquish you with toxic quantities of antibiotics.
Happy birthday, Jay!
As Jay mentioned yesterday, due to his birthday and his "doctor’s appointment" this afternoon, I’ll be guest blogging today. I know, I too fear change, but he will return tomorrow to provide the salacious details of his birthday fete, the likes of which I’m quite sure will not have been seen since ancient Rome. The only question is which room in his apartment will be designated as the vomitorium, or if you prefer, the cookie-cake repository. Hope your bedroom locks from the outside, darling. Anyway, in honor of our dear friend reaching the front end of middle age, here are the top five reasons why I love Jay:
5. The blog, of course. You’d think I could manage to stay entertained when my job entails evaluating a lawsuit brought by a guy who wasn’t hired by his chosen employer even though his cover letter clearly warned that he would have to seek legal recourse "in the unfortunate event" that he was passed over. In fact, my motivation to work is so lacking that by mid afternoon the Yahoo! login screen simply reads "You again?" The blog provides a much-needed dose of celebrity gossip and way-too-personal information during the unbearable stretch between lunch and coffee break, and as an added bonus it contains enough obscure references to summon my "I’m thinking really hard face," which is quite useful in the event that one of my supervisors passes by.
4. The green streak. Few people know just how environmentally conscious our beloved is, but this child has been reusing the same Zip-loc bag for his sandwich every day since the mid-80's. Why chain yourself to a redwood when all you really have to do is pack your lunch in a bag so old that the microbes have consumed half of your PBJ by the time noon rolls around? Clear, Jay. The bag is supposed to be clear.
3. Sweet tooth. Many know that the most dangerous place in our office is between Jay and the vending machine. In this age of low-carb diets and an (incomprehensible, really) aversion to trans fats, J is single-handedly keeping Little Debbie in business. Here’s a guy who cares about his health to the point where he’ll be at the gym at dawn even in the throes of a hangover so vicious that his skin is visibly green. But come near him with a piece of fruit and he’ll vanish faster than my ex when I said "I love you."
2. TV. As if his taste in snack cakes weren’t enough of an indication of his maturity, there’s a reason why Jay’s TiVo thinks he’s a 12-year old girl. Ever a contradiction, he divides his time fairly evenly between the works of Proust and Faulkner and the blossoming lesbianism of Marissa Cooper on the OC. For most of us, stumbling across an episode of "DeGrassi Junior High" would be little more than an occasion to mock to the accents of awkward Canadian pre-teens, but apparently Jay is actually compelled by the storylines. (Incidentally, why have the Canadians not figured out that teenagers should only be played by impossibly attractive 30 year olds?) Which is not to say that I’m a History Channel-only type of girl (Kara Saun is SO going win Project Runway) but I will revolt if Jay devotes any blog space to recapping the DJH episode about the humiliated motherless girl who had to be taken by her gruff steelworker father to purchase her first training bra. Oh wait, that was me. Sorry, daddy.
1. Frank, we hardly knew you. I had the pleasure of getting to know Jay just as he was discovering that the fire in his belly was not ambition but a tiny worm. I wonder how many other lifelong friendships have been founded on discussions of stool samples? I remember finding it strangely endearing that he had befriended the wee parasite. On the other hand, I too tend to make friends only to murder them later. There’s a lesson to be learned here, all ye friends of Jay: he’s being nice now, but any day now he’s going to vanquish you with toxic quantities of antibiotics.
Happy birthday, Jay!
