Will People Ever Learn?

It's never just sex, and it's never only money.

You'd think the mistake would have been made enough times by now.

It's Past Time for the Nation's Pastime

One person can get $180 million over eight years just for throwing and catching baseballs while an astonishing number of American families are having to choose between meals and heat?

Dear US,
Please re-evaluate your priorities, stat.
Formerly fondly,
A Pissed-off Citizen

Late-Night Commercials

"It's more than a lube... it's love in a tube."

Shakespeare must be suppressing his gag reflex up in poets' heaven right now.

Geographical Identity Crisis

Out of the 3531 tracks currently in my iTunes library, nine of them have "California" in the title, but only two have "New York."

I'm not sure what to make of that.

The Integral Derivative Post

I am good at baking cookies, being organized, smiling at children, writing thank-you notes.
I am not good, even the second time around, at calculus.

So if I am so obviously destined to be a domestic house-wife with flour on her cheeks and toddlers at her side, why the fuck did I allow my self to be submitted to such torture?

Stress Out!

Did no one ever stop to think that the sign reading "Study Lounge" is painfully oxymoronic?

Life Lessons from Calculus Class

"Watch out for those negatives—they're like crocodiles in a bayou."

Nothing To Be Thankful For? Check Your Pulse

"You're too blessed to be depressed."

Thanks, random church sign on the road back to campus—I'll try to keep that in mind. Still, I wonder what the people who ask "How was your break?" without really caring about the answer would think if I told the truth and answered "Pretty shitty."


(And so ends National Blog Posting Month. Accomplishment!)

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

If we put a moratorium on tacky Christmas lights for five years, I bet we'd conserve enough energy to power actually useful stuff, like generators in New Orleans or water wells in Kenya.

C'mon, neighborhoods of the Midwest—forgo your blinking snowflake festoons. Save the planet and my eyes.

Consumer America

Black Friday crowds are terrifying.

Days like this make me lose all faith in the US—what material object could possibly be so important?

I Get My Back Into My Living

Fact: Radio DJs who talk in the middle of songs are hella annoying.

How am I supposed to perfect my air-drum entrance if some hot-shot named Dexter is promoting a sports bar meet-up or some such nonsense during the intro to "Baba O'Riley"?!

Potatoes, Green Beans, and Turkey (Oh My)

I didn't think I'd have to take on making most of the Thanksgiving meal so early in life—pity we can't just eat pumpkin pie and call it a night.

(The lobby of the hospital looks like that of a hotel, which belies the nightmares—and, I hope, the miracles—that go on two floors above it.)

Wiiings My Ass

I hate that Red Bull commercial with the animated college guy trying to study for his biochem exam and the girl who's distracting him by trying to get into his pants. Do you really want to be promoting making sweet love over getting an education? Because last time I checked, this nation was getting rapidly stupider.

Santa Claus Is Coming to Town (and Too Soon)

Really, CVS? Really?
It's bad enough that you're selling battery-operated dancing snowmen and yuletide-inspired gumdrops already, but I thought you'd at least put off piping in the Christmas music until after we'd all gotten sick of turkey leftovers.

Some Sort of Complex

"Despise" is a strong word... but still, I wish this didn't feel so true.

The Little Things

I forgot the bathroom switch flips sideways instead of top to bottom and that we have towel hooks instead of racks.

(The flannel sheets, though, are just as heavenly as I remembered them.)

Paul Klee

Has a last name that sounds like "glee," which is apparently what his paintings make me feel (particularly "Der Niesen").

But today I fell in love—truly madly deeply—with a Klimt.

La Maison Ou J'ai Grandi

I can't wait to be where the radiator hisses and the bed creaks and the windows are stubborn and the walls rattle with the sounds of chattering squirrels.

Forgive Me

I have nothing to say.

Of Shoes—and Ships—and Sealing Wax*

I haven't worn actual snow boots since elementary school—I braved icy paths with naught but my treadless Converse sneakers all last year, so detestable was the idea of tucking my pant legs into any cushioned warmth—but I feel strangely powerful clomping around with these new ones. My jeans bunch out at the top and they're a little wide around my shins, but at least (and with luck) I won't be sliding on my ass anywhere thanks to their Land's End super grip technology.

Ugg boots are still Public Enemy No. 1, though.

*Last two do not apply.