Two posts in one day? Almost as disgusting as two girls, one cup. *Shudder*
Reality TV is actually making America dumber/worse. There is now proof. Two of the biggest news stories in the past month or so are also the stupidest, and both involve reality TV aspirations: Balloon Boy and the White House Crashers. The people involved in both wanted publicity and their own reality shows. That's their motivation for doing stupid things and wasting resources investigating them (all the equipment they pulled out to 'rescue' Balloon (Attic, as it turns out) Boy, and an investigation into the Crashers complete with an invitation to testify in front of Congress). So reality TV is actually making America worse. It is clearly making America dumber. I think this is self-evident. But this is also demonstrated by the expansive news coverage of both events. Balloon boy was a huge hit on CNN for a week or two. And the Crashers are still being talked about. Not what I want to hear about even a little. Between the two they are rivaling the coverage of Michael Jackson's death. For reference, the only reality show I watch is Top Chef, which is amazing.
My LRW section has a new hobby: complaining. I'm nowhere near the worst, in a shocking twist. We did course evaluations today. All five (out of eleven total in the class) people I talked to gave the class an overall ranking of "Poor." I have no doubt that the remaining six did the same. Think the evaluations will do anything? I doubt it. But I do think that when there is unanimity on the fact that the class is awful, that's an indication that something should be done.
Monday, November 30, 2009
T-G
So last week was Thanksgiving. But I'm sure you knew that. I went to a family reunion type thing at a resort type thing in upstate New York type thing. There was lots of food, lots of not getting work done, and lots of awkward family interaction. The highlight was seeing Alan Alda there. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to be a jerk, but I thought about it a lot. I also went ice skating for the first time in like 8 years or so. I wasn't awful. In fact I felt like the man on the ice...until I fell on my face, that is. Right in front of two old women. I popped right back up to my feet yelling "Number One!!" and brushed the ice off my jacket. It happened. No sense in denying it.
The real ordeal was getting up to New York from DC. The Amtrak to Penn Station was half an hour late. No big deal. My cousin, Adam, got on on the way. We got to New York City in time to catch our connecting train upstate. Too bad the train was delayed for about two hours and was overcrowded so that I had to stand the entire time. It's not the standing that I mind. It was this: the only place to stand on Amtrak trains is at the end by the restrooms. So I was leaning against the luggage rack, reading a book the whole time. And almost every person who came down the aisle asked me, "Are you in line for the restroom?" The first few times I didn't mind and politely told them I was, in fact, not waiting for the unoccupied restroom. But after a while I got fed up. No, I am not waiting for a bathroom with no one in it while I am reading a book, leaning on the luggage rack. Is that how people usually wait for the restroom? I don't think so. It got so bad that all the people around me started laughing every time someone new approached me and asked the same question. Come on people! Powers of deduction here. (Speaking of which, I'm excited for the Sherlock Holmes movie!)
One more dumb person (that I can think of right now). Adam and I got on the elevator in the hotel to go to our room. The elevator started on the ground floor (the next floor is 1, then 2, etc.). We got on, a few other people got on, and then some lady ran on at the end, one of those "Hold the door..." type things. Alright, no problem. Adam presses buttons for everyone else's floor, and this lady asks for 6. Adam and I are going to 1. One floor up. The door closes and after three seconds it opens again. There is a large red number "1" which has appeared on the display panel, which previously showed a large red "G." This lady walks off, looks around, and goes, "Oh, this isn't the sixth floor?" Clearly not! You were on the elevator for three seconds. This isn't a turbo speed elevator. You didn't notice that it moved like 10 feet? The world doesn't revolve around your elevator needs, so chill out and wait for your floor. In the meantime, be more perceptive.
Braver told me that at the school he works at the have something close to a no-tolerance policy for saying 'retard' or 'retarded'. I think I'd get sent home from high school every day. Oops. Maybe something to work on.
The real ordeal was getting up to New York from DC. The Amtrak to Penn Station was half an hour late. No big deal. My cousin, Adam, got on on the way. We got to New York City in time to catch our connecting train upstate. Too bad the train was delayed for about two hours and was overcrowded so that I had to stand the entire time. It's not the standing that I mind. It was this: the only place to stand on Amtrak trains is at the end by the restrooms. So I was leaning against the luggage rack, reading a book the whole time. And almost every person who came down the aisle asked me, "Are you in line for the restroom?" The first few times I didn't mind and politely told them I was, in fact, not waiting for the unoccupied restroom. But after a while I got fed up. No, I am not waiting for a bathroom with no one in it while I am reading a book, leaning on the luggage rack. Is that how people usually wait for the restroom? I don't think so. It got so bad that all the people around me started laughing every time someone new approached me and asked the same question. Come on people! Powers of deduction here. (Speaking of which, I'm excited for the Sherlock Holmes movie!)
One more dumb person (that I can think of right now). Adam and I got on the elevator in the hotel to go to our room. The elevator started on the ground floor (the next floor is 1, then 2, etc.). We got on, a few other people got on, and then some lady ran on at the end, one of those "Hold the door..." type things. Alright, no problem. Adam presses buttons for everyone else's floor, and this lady asks for 6. Adam and I are going to 1. One floor up. The door closes and after three seconds it opens again. There is a large red number "1" which has appeared on the display panel, which previously showed a large red "G." This lady walks off, looks around, and goes, "Oh, this isn't the sixth floor?" Clearly not! You were on the elevator for three seconds. This isn't a turbo speed elevator. You didn't notice that it moved like 10 feet? The world doesn't revolve around your elevator needs, so chill out and wait for your floor. In the meantime, be more perceptive.
Braver told me that at the school he works at the have something close to a no-tolerance policy for saying 'retard' or 'retarded'. I think I'd get sent home from high school every day. Oops. Maybe something to work on.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sneezes
(To the tune of "I Fought the Law")
I fought my cold and...I won?
Surprisingly, I managed to contain getting sick to one day. Two and a half containers of orange juice and two good night sleeps later, I am in fairly good health. I'm still a little sniffly, and I won't be running a marathon any time soon, but I would classify myself as 'healthy' rather than 'sickly.' Success! I hope I can maintain this. Ok, well I just sneezed twice. Wait. Three times. I hope this is not the beginning of anything more ominous. More OJ and sleep! Four times. Damn. That's rare.
Saturday night I ended up at an Irish bar with a live band featuring a guitarist, bassist, and singer/keytaurist who was clearly very Irish. They played some Irish stuff you would expect and encouraged people to do some Irish step. That felt a little like Boston, and I was proud to be Bostonian, though I am in no way actually Irish. But they also played other crowd pleasers...like "Dancing Queen"! You haven't heard the song the way it was meant to be until you've heard it sung by a keytaurist with a thick Irish accent. It was ridiculous. They played songs ranging from Dropkick Murphys (!!) to Johnny Cash. It was a Guinness-drinking good time. Until it turned out the Guinnesses cost eight bucks a pop and I considered doing the dine-and-ditch. What a rip off. Eh, the band maybe made it worth it. I just spend too much money. I have to start living off nothing but Pasta and water. But I need orange juice to not be sick, curses foiled again.
I was assigned to bring gravy for a Potluck Thanksgiving tonight. Vegetarian gravy. Now I have never cooked gravy before, and especially not vegetarian gravy, so I knew that if it was going to taste moderately acceptable I would have to work on it. That's why I went to Whole Foods yesterday (found out where Whole Foods is in the process, that's a handy bit of information) to get the necessary ingredients, aka vegetable stock and herbs. Cooking gravy, it turns out, isn't that complicated. It starts out with making roux, which is basically just oil and flour in order to cook the flour. Well I am used to cooking on an electric stove which heats up considerably more slowly than the gas stove which I currently use. The result was that the oil got a lot hotter than I anticipated and when I put the flour in it basically exploded on me. Bam, smoke and burning everywhere. I threw the pot onto the balcony and had to cook onions to get the burning smell out of the apartment. My roommate loved it, don't worry. The second attempt was more successful, in that it made something like gravy, in that it looked like gravy but tasted like...nothing. Third attempt I decided to ditch the vegetable oil and use good ol' fashion fattening butter instead. Throw in some freshly ground peppercorn and thyme to the gravy and it actually came out tasting good. I'm not saying it was the best gravy that ever happened, but it was pretty darn good considering there was no dead animal drippings involved. And in regular gravy it is the dead animal drippings that give it the delicious flavor you so desire on Thanksgiving. Enjoy that thought at Thanksgiving dinner. "Aunt Joanna, would you like some dead animal drippings on your mashed potatoes?" Aunt Joanna will love it. Who is Aunt Joanna? Who is John Galt? Who is Ayn Rand?
I fought my cold and...I won?
Surprisingly, I managed to contain getting sick to one day. Two and a half containers of orange juice and two good night sleeps later, I am in fairly good health. I'm still a little sniffly, and I won't be running a marathon any time soon, but I would classify myself as 'healthy' rather than 'sickly.' Success! I hope I can maintain this. Ok, well I just sneezed twice. Wait. Three times. I hope this is not the beginning of anything more ominous. More OJ and sleep! Four times. Damn. That's rare.
Saturday night I ended up at an Irish bar with a live band featuring a guitarist, bassist, and singer/keytaurist who was clearly very Irish. They played some Irish stuff you would expect and encouraged people to do some Irish step. That felt a little like Boston, and I was proud to be Bostonian, though I am in no way actually Irish. But they also played other crowd pleasers...like "Dancing Queen"! You haven't heard the song the way it was meant to be until you've heard it sung by a keytaurist with a thick Irish accent. It was ridiculous. They played songs ranging from Dropkick Murphys (!!) to Johnny Cash. It was a Guinness-drinking good time. Until it turned out the Guinnesses cost eight bucks a pop and I considered doing the dine-and-ditch. What a rip off. Eh, the band maybe made it worth it. I just spend too much money. I have to start living off nothing but Pasta and water. But I need orange juice to not be sick, curses foiled again.
I was assigned to bring gravy for a Potluck Thanksgiving tonight. Vegetarian gravy. Now I have never cooked gravy before, and especially not vegetarian gravy, so I knew that if it was going to taste moderately acceptable I would have to work on it. That's why I went to Whole Foods yesterday (found out where Whole Foods is in the process, that's a handy bit of information) to get the necessary ingredients, aka vegetable stock and herbs. Cooking gravy, it turns out, isn't that complicated. It starts out with making roux, which is basically just oil and flour in order to cook the flour. Well I am used to cooking on an electric stove which heats up considerably more slowly than the gas stove which I currently use. The result was that the oil got a lot hotter than I anticipated and when I put the flour in it basically exploded on me. Bam, smoke and burning everywhere. I threw the pot onto the balcony and had to cook onions to get the burning smell out of the apartment. My roommate loved it, don't worry. The second attempt was more successful, in that it made something like gravy, in that it looked like gravy but tasted like...nothing. Third attempt I decided to ditch the vegetable oil and use good ol' fashion fattening butter instead. Throw in some freshly ground peppercorn and thyme to the gravy and it actually came out tasting good. I'm not saying it was the best gravy that ever happened, but it was pretty darn good considering there was no dead animal drippings involved. And in regular gravy it is the dead animal drippings that give it the delicious flavor you so desire on Thanksgiving. Enjoy that thought at Thanksgiving dinner. "Aunt Joanna, would you like some dead animal drippings on your mashed potatoes?" Aunt Joanna will love it. Who is Aunt Joanna? Who is John Galt? Who is Ayn Rand?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
France and India
Last night I went to trivia at the synagogue again with Rebecca. Because we were a two person team we got randomly joined to a 3 person team. As luck would have it (or maybe fate, rather than luck) we got put on a team with this girl I've met a few times at Felizia's apartment and her two friends. Alright, the night started off fine, eating kosher tacos and talking. Things deteriorated once we started getting trivia questions. The first round of 10 questions Rebecca and I answered...every one of them. And got 9/10 right. But I knew things were going to go badly when the second question was "What two countries fought in the French and Indian War?" I jokingly said "France and India," and this girl says, "Oh yeah." "Not really though, it's actually England and France." She spent 2 minutes trying to convince me it was France and the US "because George Washington fought in it, right?" Yeah, he did, but that was before the American Revolution, you know, when America wasn't a country. When we were a colony of England, who, incidentally, did fight in the French and Indian War. Good thing we got that one all figured out. What's next? I had to convince her that the giraffe is the world's tallest mammal. Any third grader can tell you that. Also there are five oceans in the world-she thought there were four. After that little mix-up I gave her my own trivia question, not even included in the trivia night: How many continents are there in the world? "Five." Ok, you clearly don't know anything, I'm very sorry that I had to break this to you, but you are an idiot. You should spend less time watching reality television and more time not being retarded. The problem is that this has the potential to be worse than me being angry at a stupid person. She is a contractor for the Defense Department...she has a job that potentially impacts our national security. And she doesn't know how many continents there are in the world, to say nothing of in what order the terror alert level goes (this was another trivia question that she botched...though it is, admittedly harder. But she works at DoD, come on!!!!). Despite her best efforts she did not ruin my night, trivia was still a lot of fun. We finished probably around 5th place, which isn't bad for a two and two half person team. The most fun trivia question of the night was What are the only two team names in the MLB, NBA, NHL, or NFL that do not have the name of a city, state, or province in them?
I did end up getting my Torts midterm back on Monday. It wasn't what I was hoping for, but it's alright. I met with the professor in all his bow-tied glory the next. He made me feel better about it by telling me that when he got done grading my exam he was surprised that the score wasn't higher. He gave me some good feedback; I think my problem is more about test-taking than the preparation. I understood everything, I just didn't articulate it all perfectly and I didn't allocate my time well. Meh, it happens. Onward and upwards. Of course the next grade I get back is Memo 2. When do I get that back? Friday night. What a stellar time to receive grades. Take out the trash day, I suppose. Then, Saturday morning, I get to have my super fun, no stress meeting with my LRW professor about how the memo went and what I can do to make it stronger. Oh joyous day. I can't wait for my morning of coffee and criticism.
Today I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I'm trying to fight it off. I went to CVS and got soup and orange juice. I also had a miserable time in the check out line which included a man who didn't understand the idea that only the products actually marked as on sale are in fact on sale and a woman who cut me in line to get six cans of Campbell soup. I ended up using the automated check out, which I hate with a fiery passion. It is a machine of the devil.
I might do mock trial in the spring. Something to think about and mull over. It could go well and I could make mock trial board (which is apparently a prestigious thing, though I don't really care), or I could make a fool out of myself and being teased (or...mocked - ba-dum-ch) by my classmates. That second option I just threw in there for giggles, I'm not actually worried about my classmates' opinions. Which helps to explain why yesterday afternoon I found myself discussing whether the Fellowship of the Ring is a criminal conspiracy and what offenses each member of the Fellowship could be found guilty for. Frodo - being a wussy, for example. Alright, this got awkward.
To make things better consider this: Tim Lincecum won his second straight Cy Young award. But he still looks like a weirdo.
I did end up getting my Torts midterm back on Monday. It wasn't what I was hoping for, but it's alright. I met with the professor in all his bow-tied glory the next. He made me feel better about it by telling me that when he got done grading my exam he was surprised that the score wasn't higher. He gave me some good feedback; I think my problem is more about test-taking than the preparation. I understood everything, I just didn't articulate it all perfectly and I didn't allocate my time well. Meh, it happens. Onward and upwards. Of course the next grade I get back is Memo 2. When do I get that back? Friday night. What a stellar time to receive grades. Take out the trash day, I suppose. Then, Saturday morning, I get to have my super fun, no stress meeting with my LRW professor about how the memo went and what I can do to make it stronger. Oh joyous day. I can't wait for my morning of coffee and criticism.
Today I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I'm trying to fight it off. I went to CVS and got soup and orange juice. I also had a miserable time in the check out line which included a man who didn't understand the idea that only the products actually marked as on sale are in fact on sale and a woman who cut me in line to get six cans of Campbell soup. I ended up using the automated check out, which I hate with a fiery passion. It is a machine of the devil.
I might do mock trial in the spring. Something to think about and mull over. It could go well and I could make mock trial board (which is apparently a prestigious thing, though I don't really care), or I could make a fool out of myself and being teased (or...mocked - ba-dum-ch) by my classmates. That second option I just threw in there for giggles, I'm not actually worried about my classmates' opinions. Which helps to explain why yesterday afternoon I found myself discussing whether the Fellowship of the Ring is a criminal conspiracy and what offenses each member of the Fellowship could be found guilty for. Frodo - being a wussy, for example. Alright, this got awkward.
To make things better consider this: Tim Lincecum won his second straight Cy Young award. But he still looks like a weirdo.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Tom Brady is the best damn quarterback...
Missy was in town for maybe 24 hours this weekend. It was nice of her to drop by. She was supposed to come in Friday night, but didn't get here til Saturday night. Her loss. She missed carrot cake martinis. Those were potent, and certainly threw Gavi and Rachel for a loop. Jason held up better. I did pretty well, but the next morning my stomach hurt from the sugar content. I'm assuming it was sugar and not that the eggs I had were expired, since my stomach only hurt for a few hours and I wasn't puking for an entire day. But, for some reason, that was a risk I was willing to take in cooking those eggs. Which was really dumb of me since I have a fresh carton of eggs in the fridge. Why would I risk it? Well, I'm living frugally. Can't waste eggs! Nevermind that eggs probably cost 35 cents each. I saved $1.05 in eggs! Think of the chickens! On second thought, don't. That's not a good thing to think about while you are consuming their potential offspring. Oh damn, now I'm a vegetarian...for the next 15 seconds.
If you are going to stand on the left side of the escalator, don't get testy with me when I pass you on the right. It's only illegal while driving, and we all still do it then. Here's a conundrum: passing really fat people on the escalator. More of a problem than you might think.
Speaking of passing, Tom Brady is currently rolling against the Colts. Woot.
Watching Ocean's 11 for class was fun. A few of us had a little viewing together, complete with food. Two problems.
One, the girls just kept talking about how hot the actors were and not paying attention to the plot. That's fine if you know the plot. But don't go from commenting on George Clooney's hair to asking me how they got the old guy who had a 'heart attack' out of the casino. We just watched that part, pay some damn attention if you want to know. "Wait, what?" Just watch the movie, it's not rocket science. Also, the girls got offended when the two guys there started talking about how Julia Roberts isn't that attractive. Don't get all offended for her; she's rich and famous and she can't even hear what we are saying. It hasn't stopped her career yet, so let us have our opinion particularly while you are commenting on every male actor while disregarding the plot line.
Two, I need to stop eating buffalo wings. They are common, cheap, and delicious. But they are so bad for me and they make my stomach feel like it is the Bastille on July 14, 1789. Later on the Reign of Terror happens. It's all bad news. So I don't know when Lent is, but if it were now and I were Catholic I would give up buffalo wings. As it is, I'm considering starting Buffalo Wings Anonymous. *Gurgle* What's that stomach? You want to kill me? I'm not surprised. Soup and salad time!
If you are going to stand on the left side of the escalator, don't get testy with me when I pass you on the right. It's only illegal while driving, and we all still do it then. Here's a conundrum: passing really fat people on the escalator. More of a problem than you might think.
Speaking of passing, Tom Brady is currently rolling against the Colts. Woot.
Watching Ocean's 11 for class was fun. A few of us had a little viewing together, complete with food. Two problems.
One, the girls just kept talking about how hot the actors were and not paying attention to the plot. That's fine if you know the plot. But don't go from commenting on George Clooney's hair to asking me how they got the old guy who had a 'heart attack' out of the casino. We just watched that part, pay some damn attention if you want to know. "Wait, what?" Just watch the movie, it's not rocket science. Also, the girls got offended when the two guys there started talking about how Julia Roberts isn't that attractive. Don't get all offended for her; she's rich and famous and she can't even hear what we are saying. It hasn't stopped her career yet, so let us have our opinion particularly while you are commenting on every male actor while disregarding the plot line.
Two, I need to stop eating buffalo wings. They are common, cheap, and delicious. But they are so bad for me and they make my stomach feel like it is the Bastille on July 14, 1789. Later on the Reign of Terror happens. It's all bad news. So I don't know when Lent is, but if it were now and I were Catholic I would give up buffalo wings. As it is, I'm considering starting Buffalo Wings Anonymous. *Gurgle* What's that stomach? You want to kill me? I'm not surprised. Soup and salad time!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
No more s'more
No torts midterm. Maybe tomorrow? That's right, my hopes for feedback can be crushed again tomorrow when we get nothing. The excuse is that my professor was rushing to finish an amicus brief for the Supreme Court. Of course he was, Mr. Bigshot. Mr. I-clerked-for-Justice-Scalia. Mr. I'm-actually-an-expert-in-my-field-and-I'm-well-respected-enough-to-have-my-amicus-brief-read. Apparently I'm Mr. Everything-must-be-hyphenated. All I want is feedback! Come on! However, we did finally get to a topic that is interesting in torts: negligence per se. Sounds thrilling, eh? Oh, you know it is.
No Crim Law tomorrow. Instead we have to watch Ocean's 11. We, apparently, will be using it as the basis for discussing criminal conspiracy for the rest of the semester. What I'm getting from this is my Crim Law professor likes movies and doesn't want to teach us anymore. I'm fine with it. I'll take watching a baller movie over sitting in class reciting the lyrics to "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" in my head. Speaking of songs, I've had that damn Miley Cyrus song, "Party in the USA," or whatever, stuck in my head all day. I just woke up with it there. The problem is that I've only heard the song about three times in my life and don't really know the melody, rhythm, lyrics, or anything else about the song. I just know that one line from the chorus which keeps replaying in my head. And I have too much pride to go listen to it online in an attempt to get it out of my head.
Last night five of us went to go get free s'mores at a happy hour in Georgetown. Too bad when they advertise free s'mores for happy hour what they mean is free s'mores between 6 and 6:20, meanwhile the cheapest drink you can buy is $6.25. On the other side of that spectrum, the most expensive drink you can buy there is $200 for Louis XIV. Well then, I don't think we'll be doing that any time soon. I'll take half-priced appetizers over that any day of the week...specifically yesterday, which I did in fact take...into my stomach. It wasn't free s'mores, but it wasn't bad. Damn deceptive advertising. I didn't even want the s'mores that much, but I built up an anticipation for them which hasn't been satisfied. So sometime soon I'm going to have to eat s'mores. What do you think the easiest way to do that? Buy graham crackers and chocolate, build a campfire in the middle of Lafayette Park, and roast marshmallows? Maybe I'll invite the uniform Secret Service agents who are standing around and ask them if they know any good ghost stories. I'm kind of picturing "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" with the Secret Service.
No Crim Law tomorrow. Instead we have to watch Ocean's 11. We, apparently, will be using it as the basis for discussing criminal conspiracy for the rest of the semester. What I'm getting from this is my Crim Law professor likes movies and doesn't want to teach us anymore. I'm fine with it. I'll take watching a baller movie over sitting in class reciting the lyrics to "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" in my head. Speaking of songs, I've had that damn Miley Cyrus song, "Party in the USA," or whatever, stuck in my head all day. I just woke up with it there. The problem is that I've only heard the song about three times in my life and don't really know the melody, rhythm, lyrics, or anything else about the song. I just know that one line from the chorus which keeps replaying in my head. And I have too much pride to go listen to it online in an attempt to get it out of my head.
Last night five of us went to go get free s'mores at a happy hour in Georgetown. Too bad when they advertise free s'mores for happy hour what they mean is free s'mores between 6 and 6:20, meanwhile the cheapest drink you can buy is $6.25. On the other side of that spectrum, the most expensive drink you can buy there is $200 for Louis XIV. Well then, I don't think we'll be doing that any time soon. I'll take half-priced appetizers over that any day of the week...specifically yesterday, which I did in fact take...into my stomach. It wasn't free s'mores, but it wasn't bad. Damn deceptive advertising. I didn't even want the s'mores that much, but I built up an anticipation for them which hasn't been satisfied. So sometime soon I'm going to have to eat s'mores. What do you think the easiest way to do that? Buy graham crackers and chocolate, build a campfire in the middle of Lafayette Park, and roast marshmallows? Maybe I'll invite the uniform Secret Service agents who are standing around and ask them if they know any good ghost stories. I'm kind of picturing "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" with the Secret Service.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)