Sock



I love just browsing for books, and rarely leave the Library without five or more books and a giant grin on my face. I judge books by their cover. Who doesn't? If the words in the title or the cover art interest me, I look at the book. I read the blurb and if I'm still interested, I usually read the first sentence. This is how I choose books.

I see a book called "Sock." It has some slick graphic design on the spine, and a little picture of a sock monkey. I'm sort of fascinated by the sock monkey culture, so I'm interested. I read the blurb on the back cover, and find that it is more or less a 'detective story' (yuck) but is told from the perspective of a sock monkey (hmm...). I notice that it's compared to 'A Confederacy of Dunces' which, I admit I haven't read, but have heard about, and know it's smart fiction. So I open it up. The first sentence is, "Bad monkey wammerjammer." I'm hooked, especially since the second sentence is "Sewn in a crossfire hurricane of needles and pins." Those are good words; the book comes home with me.

I've been reading it. I'll finish it on my lunch break today. It's been a very interesting book, but I don't like it because it exposes my snobbery. You see, about halfway through reading it, I realized that the author, Penn Jillette, is Penn from Penn and Teller. And that makes me embarrassed to say I'm reading it. Never mind that it's a very interesting book--one of the more thought provoking books I've read recently. It's written in a self-aware/stream of consciousness style a la Dave Eggers with a little Chuck Palahniuk thrown into the mix for content (take that into consideration if you want to read it--it's very gritty, in-your-face, disturbing content). I feel like I'm missing my point. Here's the point: Penn Jillette has written a good book. I should go read some reviews of it and see what smarter people think...

"Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire"

I did not love it. I don't have any real criticisms of it, though. I just felt sort of blah--I think it's just because I don't love the movies. I didn't love the movie because it's not the book. First of all, I love "young adult" fiction. It has a very special place in my heart. I read a lot, and I mean A LOT, but the things I get really excited about are supposedly meant for young people. I think it's a really important medium. I think that it is ridiculous that some people think that the genre is some sort of 'sub-literature.' Anyway, the bottom line is that I think the Harry Potter books are an absolute delight, and have a lot of importance as well. And I just don't think that the movies can ever do the books justice, no matter how well done. I do think it was very well done; as I said, I have no real criticisms of the movie. I don't know, it just was sort of oddly deflating.

Kids Rule

Overheard at church, a small boy telling a friend about his recent vacation:

"...and then we went to the top of the Vampire State Building."

While we're on the subject...

Since we're discussing things I really hate, here's one more: #2 pencils. Here's how the evil objects are made.

Anyway, these pencils are the worst. That stupid soft lead--you have to press so hard, and it's impossible to get a nice crisp line. What's the point? And then there's the fact that these are the pencils you MUST use for all standardized testing. Sure, filling in circles, that's fine, because #2 pencils are like writing with a crayon. But writing essays with that thing? I'd rather poke out my eyes. Grrr

Want to see me have a temper tantrum?

"I have never hated an inanimate object more than I hate this machine [vacuum cleaner]."

That's a quote I read while researching vacuum cleaners. Wow. That one blows me away. I was struck by the truth and raw emotion in that statement--and then I realized I could have written that. It's as though the writer of that review peered into my soul and wrote what he or she saw there. There is nothing--I mean it, nothing--that induces my rage faster than a vacuum cleaner that doesn't work well.

A Story! A Story!

This is one of many stories about the funniest kid I know. His name is Luke, but I call him Louey. He is eight years old, and is my child alter-ego.

Last year, Lou was in first grade, and learning first grade things like spelling. He had an assignment where someone dictated the nursery rhyme "Jack and Jill" and he had to write what he heard.

My friend Karin was helping him with his homework, so she was the one dictating to him. Lou found this excercise to be pretty annoying, and kept asking Karin to help him. He's got this really serious gruff way of talking, so he sounds older than he is.

"Ah, Karin, could ya help me, please?"

"No Luke, Mrs. Thompson just said to do your best." And he goes on writing. Now the thing is, Lou knows how to write all these words, he's just annoyed. Keep that in mind. So he writes, Jack and Jill went up the hill to... Pause.

"Hey, can ya tell me how do you write 'fetch.' "

"I already told you, I can't help you; you just have to do your best."

Now Lou gets mad. His face clouds up and he says (are you ready for this?),

"Karin, I have never spelled fetch a day in my life, and I'm not starting now!!!"

I'm so talented

I managed to knock over my water bottle. Knock it off of my desk that is. Off of my desk and onto the power cord; thus plunging half of the office into darkness. Sweet.

The power cord is ruined.

Classes!

Well, I registered for classes today. I am officially a grad student. (Is that what makes it official? I guess I'm not really sure). I registered for "Introduction to Library and Information Science " and "Organization of Knowledge" and I chose "Reference & Online Services" for my alternate. Whee! I'm going to be a librarian when I grow up. Librarians are cool. They fight against book-banning, and censorship, and they know lots of stuff, like how to win on Jeopardy.

Here's my quick story for the day: About a month ago, I decided I wanted to have bangs in my hair, you know, the long sideswept kind. Instead of making a hair appointment, I decided to do it myself. At 2:00 am. Miraculously, this was not a bad decision, in fact, it was the best.hair.decision.ever.

Then everyone started telling me I look like Lisa Loeb when I wear my glasses + bangs. Ok, whatever. Who even knows what Lisa Loeb looks like? Well, everyone now, because she's doing a reality TV show about dating in NY. Why me?

Cigarettes = Lip Gloss

I'm addicted to Lip Gloss. It's true. I've been saying that for years, and recently I started saying that lip gloss is my cigarettes. As in, I'm addicted to lip gloss the way most people get addicted to cigarettes. But you know what? That's more true than I realized:

1. People smoke more when they are nervous or upset. I put on way more lip gloss when I'm nervous or upset. If I'm sitting there waiting for an interview or something, I'll "chain-moisturize" which is easier than chain-smoking, because you can do it indoors or anywhere. Most places don't have "No Lip Glossing" signs up.

2. People smoke more when they drink. Yes, I'll have another round--where's my lip gloss? Thank you. Sip. Where's my lip gloss? Talk, sip, where's my lip gloss? Repeat.

3. People get really crabby when they can't smoke. Don't even talk to me if I don't have my lip gloss. I have been late for work because I realized halfway there that I didn't have any lip gloss, so I turned around and went back. It's horrible, horrible I tell you.

4. People are dedicated to one brand of cigarettes. Bonnebell--MartianMallow or, as an ok alternative, MallowBerry. Yes. It's Marshmallow flavored, which sounds gross, but you'd never guess unless I told you. Mmm...it's so good...

5. Smoking can kill you. Oops, well, I guess this is where the analogy breaks down. Never mind.

Please, not that! I'll do anything!!!

I was just imagining what it would be like to get through a day at work without the Internets. What did people do back in the day before the internets? Seriously...I mean, the art of pretending to work is a subtle art, and the internets are key, because you appear to be working. For example, right now I look as though I am industriously working away--no one knows what I'm typing though. It could be a report or a quote for work. But it's not! It's my little bloggette. I expect those of us who have always had the joys of the computer can't really understand what 'mind-numbing boredom' really is. I just had a brief glimpse through my ever-fertile imagination. It scared the ever living crap out of me.

PS. the office manager is playing solitaire...so there.

I Think There May be Something Wrong with my Face...

It's the second time in two weeks I've been out with a guy friend at a restaurant/coffee shop, talking about stuff, and they've asked me if I needed to leave because I looked like I was upset. "Um...no....I don't feel upset ...but, ah, thanks though..."

This leads to some sort of mental crises for me, because it keeps happening. I mean, AM I upset about something? Am I suffering horribly subconsciously? I should do something about that, but how? Hey, Mr. subconscious, could you please stop taking over my face and making people worry about me, because it's sort of confusing and embarassing.

Maybe I have a face-controlling parasite. If I do I'll call him penguin.

Good Morning! May I help you?!


"Customer Service," the phrase alone is enough to strike fear into many a job-hunter's heart. With good reason, especially when combined with the words, "answering phones." These together evoke an image of sitting in a small cubicle, answering phone call after inane phone call, and, horror of horrors, wearing a headset. Just imagine the idea of sitting at a desk all day dealing with the dregs of humanity, the people we think of when we see a bumper sticker that reads, "Hey, YOU, out of the gene pool."

So, I don't really like to tell people that I work in customer service, answering phones, and taking people's orders. But strangely enough, I mostly like it a lot. I think that difference is that I work for a very small company, and that's not my only duty.--I'm not just a drone. They fired the drone-ablitied worker before me on account of her being too drone-like. But oooh, that chocolate milk girl, she went to college and got edumacated! Anyway, it's still really strange being in the customer service world. For example:

This morning I get to work at 8 am, and the phone promptly rings. I answer, using my best "I'm fully awake and alert, I swear!" voice. And I hear a woman's voice say,

"Hi sweetie." Ahh...what the hell? I say to myself, Who has my work number and why doesn't this sound like anyone I know? "I just need to know the price of one of the items I ordered last time."

Oh, I realize that I don't recognize the voice because I don't know this person, and they are calling my work. And before things get too awkward I realize that it's Joanne, from _______, and she feels that she has ordered from me enough times to move us into the 'terms of endearment' stage. I tell her what she needs to know, and she thanks me, again bringing out my special new work nickname. Bye Joanne, and thank you.

Gong! Gong!


Being a little kid is amazing. When my sister and I were little, we would pretend to be gophers. I don't know if you know this, but in those days, gophers talked by making a noise something like this, "gong." Therefore, gopher conversations when along these lines:

"Gong gong..."
"Gong gong gong, gong."
"GONG! GONG!"

Also, contrary to popular belief, gophers did not live in small tunnels of dirt, but underneath a twin-sized bed on a wood floor. The way they moved was also interesting. Instead of crawling or running, as you would assume a gopher to do, these gophers would slither around on their backs, and pull themselves from one side of their homes to another using the exposed metal of the underside of the boxspring. Thus, the translation of the previous conversation would have went something like this:

"I'm hungry, gopher sister..."
"Well, then slide over to the kitchen and make yourself some food, dummy"
"OH NO! WE'RE GETTING ATTACKED"

This would be accompanyed by a great deal of slithering and gopher screaming, and repeated many, many times. Who knows what exactly was attacking those strange little gophers. I mean, that would be some weird sort of gopher eater. I'd put my money on it being a little brother though. No matter how normal you were as a kid, nothing could strike fear into the heart like a sibling intruder. I mean, even Joseph Campbell has that listed as one of his mythic archetypes*---"The Sibling Intruder"
Honestly, I have a lot of great memories of being a kid, but this is one that my sister and I remember, shake our heads, and say, "Why was that fun?"

But it was, oh, it was.

*This is a lie.

Just so you know...

Comic Sans is the WORST FONT EVER!!!!! If I were a teacher (which, if god is kind will never happen), I would fail any student who ever dared to turn in a paper or piece of homework--hell, even if I caught them passing a note-- in this damned font.