Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Training Day
This morning on the Red Line I had the pleasure of being packed in right next to America's Most Corpulent, Angriest Man. His girth and heft were seriously so immense that the slightest shift in his body positioning sent me sprawling into a surprised (yet not delighted) onlooker's lap. But this was nothing compared to the pleasure of his conversation.
"No room in here; take the next train!" he shouted at the unwary passengers on the platform at Belmont.
"God damn it, God damn it, I'm going to be late!" he added, to no one in particular.
At Fullerton, we were briefly paused with an equipment problem. This immediately induced the loudest sighs I have ever heard.
"Oh great," he seethed. "Seemed like the train was running fine to me."
But the bulk of his witticisms were directed at misbegotten souls who attempted to squeeze into the space left on the train.
"Nope, no room," he shouted at one man who immediately proved him wrong by fitting into the car. "Geez, thanks for wearing a big packpack."
I resisted the urge to thank him for being fat enough to take the space of three.
This morning on the Red Line I had the pleasure of being packed in right next to America's Most Corpulent, Angriest Man. His girth and heft were seriously so immense that the slightest shift in his body positioning sent me sprawling into a surprised (yet not delighted) onlooker's lap. But this was nothing compared to the pleasure of his conversation.
"No room in here; take the next train!" he shouted at the unwary passengers on the platform at Belmont.
"God damn it, God damn it, I'm going to be late!" he added, to no one in particular.
At Fullerton, we were briefly paused with an equipment problem. This immediately induced the loudest sighs I have ever heard.
"Oh great," he seethed. "Seemed like the train was running fine to me."
But the bulk of his witticisms were directed at misbegotten souls who attempted to squeeze into the space left on the train.
"Nope, no room," he shouted at one man who immediately proved him wrong by fitting into the car. "Geez, thanks for wearing a big packpack."
I resisted the urge to thank him for being fat enough to take the space of three.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Where Would Jesus Park?
Sometimes I like to get my Catholic on at the 7 PM Sunday mass in Old Town. There's no getting up involved, they have amusing music that is heavy on the acoustic guitar and shaker, and they generally don't force us to hold hands for the Our Father. Once they did require me to take the gifts up, which my sister still makes fun of me for to this day since I apparently did a little genuflection trick before exiting the altar, but generally it's a good time.
Lately, though, I've been getting parked in each week, which throws me into a decidedly unchristlike rage. I simply don't understand, though, how people can live with themselves when they jam up all the aisles of the parking lot with their SUVs (natch) and then take six years to come and remove them afterwards. I'm talking parking in the actual driving lanes of the lot, not just squeezing in where there might just be a half space. And then they all give you these looks like you're so pagan because you want to get home and see if there's a new Intervention on. Maybe I should convert to a religion with a garage.
Sometimes I like to get my Catholic on at the 7 PM Sunday mass in Old Town. There's no getting up involved, they have amusing music that is heavy on the acoustic guitar and shaker, and they generally don't force us to hold hands for the Our Father. Once they did require me to take the gifts up, which my sister still makes fun of me for to this day since I apparently did a little genuflection trick before exiting the altar, but generally it's a good time.
Lately, though, I've been getting parked in each week, which throws me into a decidedly unchristlike rage. I simply don't understand, though, how people can live with themselves when they jam up all the aisles of the parking lot with their SUVs (natch) and then take six years to come and remove them afterwards. I'm talking parking in the actual driving lanes of the lot, not just squeezing in where there might just be a half space. And then they all give you these looks like you're so pagan because you want to get home and see if there's a new Intervention on. Maybe I should convert to a religion with a garage.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Personnel Matters
I found out this week that I'm losing my secretary. A corner office partner's secretary is retiring and my secretary got called up to fill her slot. I'm really going to miss her, primarily because she understands all my little quirks -- how I don't like to answer the phone when it's a number I don't recognize because it's invariably either a legal recruiter or the Joffrey trying to sell me season tickets, how I prefer for her to not tell people where I am when I'm out of the office, how I have to keep the door shut so no one knows I'm blaring Kelly Clarkson. It takes a while for a person to figure out that I'm not, in fact, insane.
And we've had so many fun memories together. The time she referred to a mean attorney who was visiting from another firm as "a little dictator." The time she won $5,000 on nickel slots and bought me a hat with the name of the riverboat casino on it. The time she accidentally deleted my excel spreadsheet. It seems like a whole lifetime has gone by!
Anyway, I wish her all the best. And I can't wait to see who my new secretary will be! My guess is they'll hire a Yeti, but I could be wrong.
I found out this week that I'm losing my secretary. A corner office partner's secretary is retiring and my secretary got called up to fill her slot. I'm really going to miss her, primarily because she understands all my little quirks -- how I don't like to answer the phone when it's a number I don't recognize because it's invariably either a legal recruiter or the Joffrey trying to sell me season tickets, how I prefer for her to not tell people where I am when I'm out of the office, how I have to keep the door shut so no one knows I'm blaring Kelly Clarkson. It takes a while for a person to figure out that I'm not, in fact, insane.
And we've had so many fun memories together. The time she referred to a mean attorney who was visiting from another firm as "a little dictator." The time she won $5,000 on nickel slots and bought me a hat with the name of the riverboat casino on it. The time she accidentally deleted my excel spreadsheet. It seems like a whole lifetime has gone by!
Anyway, I wish her all the best. And I can't wait to see who my new secretary will be! My guess is they'll hire a Yeti, but I could be wrong.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Bar Examination
So lately I've been doing a lot of things in bars other than drinking until I heave. Maybe it's another sign of age, I don't know, but suddenly a special on jagerbombs isn't the primary thing I look for in choosing a boozing establishment. For instance, last night we went a bar that had a full evening of bingo set up, complete with craptastic prizes like can coozies and Coors Lite t-shirts. I have to admit that I very quickly lost interest in actually marking off my cards and focused more on the people watching aspect, which did not disappoint. There were people there who honest to God screamed or giggled with glee each time one of their numbers came up. There were others who failed to understand what I had previously thought were the fairly simple rules of bingo. And then there was the bingo caller for the evening, who obviously viewed this as his audition to become a morning-drive-time radio DJ. Between macking on unsuspecting prize seekers and finding the space labeled "O 69" endlessly hilarious, he barely found time to turn the crank on the little ball tumbler.
And last week we partook in a little pub quiz at a local establishment, which was totally fun because 1) I'm a genius and I didn't even know it and 2) I like being insanely competitive with others over things that don't even matter. There were seven rounds of the quiz, which featured categories like "big business," "movie quotes," and my favorite of all, "general knowledge." There was even an opportunity to win a skillet cookie, which I only later realized could easily have been purchased for less than it cost me to enter the pub quiz. But still, who can put a price on knowledge?
So lately I've been doing a lot of things in bars other than drinking until I heave. Maybe it's another sign of age, I don't know, but suddenly a special on jagerbombs isn't the primary thing I look for in choosing a boozing establishment. For instance, last night we went a bar that had a full evening of bingo set up, complete with craptastic prizes like can coozies and Coors Lite t-shirts. I have to admit that I very quickly lost interest in actually marking off my cards and focused more on the people watching aspect, which did not disappoint. There were people there who honest to God screamed or giggled with glee each time one of their numbers came up. There were others who failed to understand what I had previously thought were the fairly simple rules of bingo. And then there was the bingo caller for the evening, who obviously viewed this as his audition to become a morning-drive-time radio DJ. Between macking on unsuspecting prize seekers and finding the space labeled "O 69" endlessly hilarious, he barely found time to turn the crank on the little ball tumbler.
And last week we partook in a little pub quiz at a local establishment, which was totally fun because 1) I'm a genius and I didn't even know it and 2) I like being insanely competitive with others over things that don't even matter. There were seven rounds of the quiz, which featured categories like "big business," "movie quotes," and my favorite of all, "general knowledge." There was even an opportunity to win a skillet cookie, which I only later realized could easily have been purchased for less than it cost me to enter the pub quiz. But still, who can put a price on knowledge?
Monday, January 21, 2008
I, Too, Have a Dream
I have a dream that one day I will not end up working on Martin Luther King Day.
I have a dream that I will instead be at home, eating Pringles (preferably the kind that are printed with incredibly banal music trivia) and playing Castlevania.
I have a dream that I will someday have time to pick up my own dry cleaning, as opposed to making my sister do it or simply leaving it with that wonderful Korean family for months at a time.
I have a dream that the temperature will rise above eight degrees in my office and allow me to take off one of my three sweatshirts. Or at the very least the mittens.
I also sometimes have a dream where I'm married to Katie Couric, but that's a whole other story.
I have a dream that one day I will not end up working on Martin Luther King Day.
I have a dream that I will instead be at home, eating Pringles (preferably the kind that are printed with incredibly banal music trivia) and playing Castlevania.
I have a dream that I will someday have time to pick up my own dry cleaning, as opposed to making my sister do it or simply leaving it with that wonderful Korean family for months at a time.
I have a dream that the temperature will rise above eight degrees in my office and allow me to take off one of my three sweatshirts. Or at the very least the mittens.
I also sometimes have a dream where I'm married to Katie Couric, but that's a whole other story.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Dear Diary
Yesterday at the gym I mentioned to my trainer that I'd been having a little bit of stiffness in my knees. That was a mistake. After quizzing me for ten minutes about my various walking, sitting, running, climbing, and reclining habits, she told me what I really needed to do was keep a "knee journal" so that we could study my discomfort in depth.
This should be a lot of fun. I like to imagine my knees engaging in torrid love affairs or being the victims of cruel gossip from the femur and the tibia. I can see several entries detailing the difficult struggle one faces as an amalgam of cartilage and bone. Perhaps the knees will even take a vacation somewhere sunny and include some pictures in their journal!
Yesterday at the gym I mentioned to my trainer that I'd been having a little bit of stiffness in my knees. That was a mistake. After quizzing me for ten minutes about my various walking, sitting, running, climbing, and reclining habits, she told me what I really needed to do was keep a "knee journal" so that we could study my discomfort in depth.
This should be a lot of fun. I like to imagine my knees engaging in torrid love affairs or being the victims of cruel gossip from the femur and the tibia. I can see several entries detailing the difficult struggle one faces as an amalgam of cartilage and bone. Perhaps the knees will even take a vacation somewhere sunny and include some pictures in their journal!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Identity Crisis
Have you ever noticed how, as people age, they become increasingly concerned about having their identities stolen? Children, of course, care not a whit for their identities, and frequently announce that they must be referred to as Space Captain Zork or Hannah Montana for weeks at a time. College students are very concerned with fake IDs, but not so much the theft thereof. But then you reach people my parents' age and they're suddenly buying mini shredders to chop up their junk mail for fear someone will go through their trash and get a credit card in their name.
And then there's my grandmother. Last week she cheerfully announced that she had cut up her debit card into tiny pieces so as to avoid identity theft. My reminders that 1) the debit card thieves would also need her PIN number to do any serious damage and 2) that they would have to rob her at a rate of $1000 per day both fell on deaf ears. When asked how she would thereafter get money, she suggested that she would revert to her old method of cashing a check for a couple thousand every few months and keeping the proceeds in her underwear drawer. Because obviously that's far safer. I just thank God she hasn't yet gotten around to chopping up her social security card.
Have you ever noticed how, as people age, they become increasingly concerned about having their identities stolen? Children, of course, care not a whit for their identities, and frequently announce that they must be referred to as Space Captain Zork or Hannah Montana for weeks at a time. College students are very concerned with fake IDs, but not so much the theft thereof. But then you reach people my parents' age and they're suddenly buying mini shredders to chop up their junk mail for fear someone will go through their trash and get a credit card in their name.
And then there's my grandmother. Last week she cheerfully announced that she had cut up her debit card into tiny pieces so as to avoid identity theft. My reminders that 1) the debit card thieves would also need her PIN number to do any serious damage and 2) that they would have to rob her at a rate of $1000 per day both fell on deaf ears. When asked how she would thereafter get money, she suggested that she would revert to her old method of cashing a check for a couple thousand every few months and keeping the proceeds in her underwear drawer. Because obviously that's far safer. I just thank God she hasn't yet gotten around to chopping up her social security card.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Smooth Opera-ator
So I went to the Lyric with my friend again the other night. Now, as I may have mentioned, I have never been the world's biggest opera fan; I've never seen fat people screaming at each other in a foreign language as much of a cause for celebration, and I have a hard time believing that tuberculosis is really as common as Verdi would have us believe. But I do like to look at things through opera glasses, and the Lyric's productions are always really superb, so I am more than willing to pass three or four hours in this fashion.
The opera in question this time was Doctor Atomic, John Adams' (not THAT John Adams) and Peter Sellars' (not THAT Peter Sellers) piece about the testing of the first atomic bomb. As often happens with me now that I am almost thirty years old, I found myself enjoying the production in direct proportion to the lateness of the hour. The first act seemed quite tight and interesting, but as the second act wore on, I hoped more and more that they would just drop the damn bomb and get things over with. Towards the end my knees started getting really stiff from sitting for three and a half hours and while stretching I almost tripped an old lady trying to make an early escape. Now that would have been entertainment.
Anyway, the Lyric is pretty cool and you should definitely go. Just make sure to stretch first, and don't forget your contacts, because you'll need to read supertitles the whole time.
So I went to the Lyric with my friend again the other night. Now, as I may have mentioned, I have never been the world's biggest opera fan; I've never seen fat people screaming at each other in a foreign language as much of a cause for celebration, and I have a hard time believing that tuberculosis is really as common as Verdi would have us believe. But I do like to look at things through opera glasses, and the Lyric's productions are always really superb, so I am more than willing to pass three or four hours in this fashion.
The opera in question this time was Doctor Atomic, John Adams' (not THAT John Adams) and Peter Sellars' (not THAT Peter Sellers) piece about the testing of the first atomic bomb. As often happens with me now that I am almost thirty years old, I found myself enjoying the production in direct proportion to the lateness of the hour. The first act seemed quite tight and interesting, but as the second act wore on, I hoped more and more that they would just drop the damn bomb and get things over with. Towards the end my knees started getting really stiff from sitting for three and a half hours and while stretching I almost tripped an old lady trying to make an early escape. Now that would have been entertainment.
Anyway, the Lyric is pretty cool and you should definitely go. Just make sure to stretch first, and don't forget your contacts, because you'll need to read supertitles the whole time.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Of Note
I decided to go on a little Nintendo game shopping spree on Amazon. I have ordered Mega Man 2, Castlevania, and The Legend of Zelda 2. I could not be more excited. I am going to be the coolest kid 20 years ago.
My sister has finally returned from her two and a half week sojourn in Quincy. She seems relatively unscathed, although I have noticed a new propensity to watch Deal or No Deal and shop at T.J. Maxx. They get everyone eventually.
Tomorrow night I am going to the opera again. This one is in English, though I can't claim that means I will understand it. It's about the atomic bomb! I'm sure they'll try to make that boring somehow.
Also, I have developed an interest in politics. Underdog victories, people crying, people being black and/or women -- this is scintillating stuff. Suddenly C-Span is like The Real World.
I decided to go on a little Nintendo game shopping spree on Amazon. I have ordered Mega Man 2, Castlevania, and The Legend of Zelda 2. I could not be more excited. I am going to be the coolest kid 20 years ago.
My sister has finally returned from her two and a half week sojourn in Quincy. She seems relatively unscathed, although I have noticed a new propensity to watch Deal or No Deal and shop at T.J. Maxx. They get everyone eventually.
Tomorrow night I am going to the opera again. This one is in English, though I can't claim that means I will understand it. It's about the atomic bomb! I'm sure they'll try to make that boring somehow.
Also, I have developed an interest in politics. Underdog victories, people crying, people being black and/or women -- this is scintillating stuff. Suddenly C-Span is like The Real World.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Fun Things I Overheard Recently
"Do you think John McCain is handsome? Like in an A-Team kind of way?"
"I'm going to eat like three pounds of potato salad."
"Politics is boring. Except for that whole Clinton cigar thing, that was kind of interesting."
"I have better than average hearing. I'm a great hearer."
"Aren't people supposed to understand that when you say you still want to be friends you don't mean it? I mean, it's like, I just broke up with you, why would I still want to hang out with you?"
"Do they have Fruit of the Month Clubs? I think I read that somewhere."
"I like dwarves."
"You know what the saddest thing is? When Britney was on suicide watch no one even wanted to go in to sit with her. And she recorded Toxic, you know?"
"The Nanny fuckin' rocked, man."
"Why would anyone need a gyros stand to be open 24 hours?"
"Um, please don't put your hand there, ever."
"No, I'm not seeing him again. His car had an odor."
"Do you think John McCain is handsome? Like in an A-Team kind of way?"
"I'm going to eat like three pounds of potato salad."
"Politics is boring. Except for that whole Clinton cigar thing, that was kind of interesting."
"I have better than average hearing. I'm a great hearer."
"Aren't people supposed to understand that when you say you still want to be friends you don't mean it? I mean, it's like, I just broke up with you, why would I still want to hang out with you?"
"Do they have Fruit of the Month Clubs? I think I read that somewhere."
"I like dwarves."
"You know what the saddest thing is? When Britney was on suicide watch no one even wanted to go in to sit with her. And she recorded Toxic, you know?"
"The Nanny fuckin' rocked, man."
"Why would anyone need a gyros stand to be open 24 hours?"
"Um, please don't put your hand there, ever."
"No, I'm not seeing him again. His car had an odor."
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Miracle Weekend
Degrassi: The Next Generation has been running marathons pretty much all weekend long. Now, this may not be exciting news to those of you who are not 14-year-old girls, but quite frankly it should be. These scrappy Canadian teens light up the screen with their various hot-button-topic-related exploits. Why, just yesterday I learned that a person shouldn't have sex with his or her significant other just because of peer pressure. And today I found out that it is wrong to discriminate against Muslims. Not since Seventh Heaven have I been so thoroughly educated in so short a time.
The other great thing about Degrassi is that it's filled with amazing Canadian accents. Every time I hear someone say "aboot" or "soory," it just makes my day. And apparently the phrase "cuckoo bananas" is big in Canada nowadays.
They even kill off characters pretty regularly, generally so that the child actors can go to college. (Although when they killed of Terri it was because she wanted to be a plus sized model.) There was a school shooting, a stabbing, and a head-wound-induced coma. Just like when I went to Canadian high school!
Degrassi: The Next Generation has been running marathons pretty much all weekend long. Now, this may not be exciting news to those of you who are not 14-year-old girls, but quite frankly it should be. These scrappy Canadian teens light up the screen with their various hot-button-topic-related exploits. Why, just yesterday I learned that a person shouldn't have sex with his or her significant other just because of peer pressure. And today I found out that it is wrong to discriminate against Muslims. Not since Seventh Heaven have I been so thoroughly educated in so short a time.
The other great thing about Degrassi is that it's filled with amazing Canadian accents. Every time I hear someone say "aboot" or "soory," it just makes my day. And apparently the phrase "cuckoo bananas" is big in Canada nowadays.
They even kill off characters pretty regularly, generally so that the child actors can go to college. (Although when they killed of Terri it was because she wanted to be a plus sized model.) There was a school shooting, a stabbing, and a head-wound-induced coma. Just like when I went to Canadian high school!
Friday, January 04, 2008
In Training
Sometimes I think my trainer makes up exercises for me solely to entertain herself at my expense. For instance, twice now she's directed me to spend five minutes walking backwards on a treadmill during our sessions. Call me crazy, but I fail to see how that particular workout gets me any closer to her stated goal of making me look like Chris Evans from the Fantastic Four. She's really into walking, though, because I've also had to do it frontwards while holding a weight aloft above my head. She frequently critiques my style; apparently my weight goes too much to the outsides of my feet and I don't move my arms enough. So I guess my dream of being a professional walker is dead. I've also had to jump rope for her in the middle of a crowded gym for ten minutes at a time. Again, I'm not sure what this prepares me for, as the hit Disney Channel movie Jump In! has already been cast and aired. People do seem to enjoy watching me, though. Probably because of my sick rack.
Sometimes I think my trainer makes up exercises for me solely to entertain herself at my expense. For instance, twice now she's directed me to spend five minutes walking backwards on a treadmill during our sessions. Call me crazy, but I fail to see how that particular workout gets me any closer to her stated goal of making me look like Chris Evans from the Fantastic Four. She's really into walking, though, because I've also had to do it frontwards while holding a weight aloft above my head. She frequently critiques my style; apparently my weight goes too much to the outsides of my feet and I don't move my arms enough. So I guess my dream of being a professional walker is dead. I've also had to jump rope for her in the middle of a crowded gym for ten minutes at a time. Again, I'm not sure what this prepares me for, as the hit Disney Channel movie Jump In! has already been cast and aired. People do seem to enjoy watching me, though. Probably because of my sick rack.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
10, 9, 8...
I have never been a huge fan of new year's eve. I've always thought of it as a sort of amateur night, where people who have no business drinking try to get all crazy and end up throwing up all over their spangly tops or drunk driving their cars into the front of a Wendy's. I can't stand the fact that people feel the need to put on tuxedos or pay $100 to get into the same crappy bar they go to for free all year long just because the calendar happens to be flipping over. Plus, I fail to understand the theory that the best way to start the new year is by crouching over your toilet all day long. It all just seems pretty lame, frankly.
So this year, as in years past, I spent my new year's playing board games and eating delicious dips at a friend's house. Former Roommate Liz did things up right by providing a delicious array of appetizers, an HBO Flight of the Conchords marathon, and fun fruity drinks I would never be able to order in public. The best part of the evening, however, was the ceremonial playing of the Mind Your Manners board game, which featured '60s-era illustrations of common faux pas that had been randomly assigned point values. This was amusing because something like "talking with food in your mouth" might be assigned -8 points, while, say, "murdering a hobo with a cuisinart" would only cost you 2. I have to say, I now feel a lot more able to be a functioning member of the society, at least as far as 40 years ago goes.
I have never been a huge fan of new year's eve. I've always thought of it as a sort of amateur night, where people who have no business drinking try to get all crazy and end up throwing up all over their spangly tops or drunk driving their cars into the front of a Wendy's. I can't stand the fact that people feel the need to put on tuxedos or pay $100 to get into the same crappy bar they go to for free all year long just because the calendar happens to be flipping over. Plus, I fail to understand the theory that the best way to start the new year is by crouching over your toilet all day long. It all just seems pretty lame, frankly.
So this year, as in years past, I spent my new year's playing board games and eating delicious dips at a friend's house. Former Roommate Liz did things up right by providing a delicious array of appetizers, an HBO Flight of the Conchords marathon, and fun fruity drinks I would never be able to order in public. The best part of the evening, however, was the ceremonial playing of the Mind Your Manners board game, which featured '60s-era illustrations of common faux pas that had been randomly assigned point values. This was amusing because something like "talking with food in your mouth" might be assigned -8 points, while, say, "murdering a hobo with a cuisinart" would only cost you 2. I have to say, I now feel a lot more able to be a functioning member of the society, at least as far as 40 years ago goes.
