What a Tease

One of the Starbucks "Pick of the Week" iTunes song redemption cards that my aunt gave me... had no download code. Now I will never know what "Se Fue" by the frighteningly angular-faced Bebe sounds like. What a shame.

Also, Dan Brown still can't write for shit... so I removed the jacket cover when I took my brother's (Christmas present) copy of The Lost Symbol to Panera today. Still, I will concede a high-five for his mad research skillz.

Also also, Panera's macaroni and cheese is definitely not worth five bucks.

Things I Don't Understand About "Party in the USA"

1. Have you ever seen Miley Cyrus wear a cardigan?
   
2. If Miley is, as she claims, in a taxi cab, can she really be "movin' her hips like yeah"? The last time I checked, doing so requires a standing position.
3. I'm pretty sure you've been working in LA for long enough to know that it is indeed not Nashville, Ms. Cyrus.
   
4. Since when is a Hollywood club representative of the entirety of America?
   
5. If "USA" is really defined by Jay-Z and Britney instead of Springsteen and Aretha... I think I'll move to Europe.

Funny as Grammar

One of my history books describes a British soldier in India as "agile as a verb."

Does this mean someone can be... steadfast as a noun? eloquent as an adjective? guiding as a preposition?

Some Less-Than-Profound Things

I watched "Memento" last night. MIND = BLOWN.

I realized that I spend about a day each week (usually Sunday—this very post is, in fact, procrastination) in a computer lab just writing essays. This is not a fruitful way to spend my life, especially when the essay topics don't whip me up into a frenzy of academic awe. And, because I hate starting papers, I dither around doing nothing even remotely productive until an idea comes to me... then I agonize over word choices. So what takes a less diligent but more alive person maybe three hours ends up taking me ten.

When I get lost on Wikipedia, I really get lost. Hyperlinking and trivia will be the death of me yet. There is so much interesting stuff to know about the world... but most of the time I just want to read about it rather than have to analyze it for a grade on my transcript.

I heard Mika's "We Are Golden" for the first time on Friday and it just made me sad that the fun parts of teenagerdom are all too fleeting and all too few.

Remember when I wanted to be Harriet the Spy? (Yes, I do.) Remember when I knew a guy like Sport? (No, I don't.)

In other words: I need to stop taking myself (and my schoolwork) so seriously. I'll never get back the weeks I've already lost to self-consciousness and over-achieving.

"Working on My Night Cheese"

I can't decide whether I'd want to be or marry Tina Fey.

(And how perfect is her last name?! Jealous.)

Why I'm Sometimes Silent in Class

It's not that I don't care about the book—it's that I care too much. That it feels blasphemous to discuss it before I've finished reading it. That some books shouldn't be subjected the inane questions and answers of barely-awake teenagers. That to try to analyze this particular novel would be relegating it to a homework list when it belongs to something so much better.

The Perfect Man?

Heart and personality of Marshall Eriksen, brain and looks of Ted Mosby, humor and, uh, vitality of Barney Stinson.

I think yes.

Verbose Volumes

This semester, I go from 821-page David Copperfield in Class #1 to 560-page Midnight's Children Class #2 to 682-page Jane Eyre in Class #2... and then 560-page Midnight's Children in Class #1. I must also trudge through most chapters of a 656-page history book.

If I make it through, I think I might deserve a medal.

Self vs. Others vs. Self

Funny how all my classes this semester have me examining other people's identities, when the one I need to be focusing on at the moment is my own.

More Like "Wept-ember"!*

The crisp beauty of September is always ruined by the swamp of work. Couldn't you once let us enjoy the fading days of summer so well complemented by the coloring of the leaves, o gods of higher education?

*This is a terrible title. I don't apologize.

Highways and Byways

Thank God for interstate rest stops and 99-cent Arizona iced tea cans.

Misheard Lyrics

For the longest time, I thought Santana's version of "Black Magic Woman" used the lyrics "Blacken my diploma."

True story.

How I Spent (Thirty Minutes of) My Summer

Talking about dual-flush toilets.

(Which are actually one of the most ingenious ideas I've ever heard. I can't believe I've never thought of the concept before.)

I've Got a New Drug

Speed Scrabble is the crack cocaine of word games.
This is irrefutable.

(Apparently it's the poor man's Bananagrams. This gal's only got room for one fruit-based lark in her repertoire, and that's Apples to Apples.)

The Seven Stages of Man Could Well Be Shortened to Six

I'm certainly not of the "live fast, die young" variety, but I don't think I want to be the owner of the Costco cart filled with extra-large Depends, either.

Stop! Sexy Time!

In my hometown there is a stop sign that has been grafitied to read "Try for a baby."

I wonder how many children were conceived this year after their parents came to a halt at an intersection.

I Sing My Heart Out to the Infinite Sea

Microsoft Word's thesaurus just returned "cry" and "noise" as synonyms for "song."

Is Bill Gates secretly a philistine?

Here Comes the Bride, A Decade in Advance

Would it be terribly gauche of me to wear Converses to my own wedding?
I did in my dream last night, but I can't remember if that drew any strange stares as I walked toward the man I have yet to meet.

We did, however, flop down on a bed in disbelieving childish giggles before returning to the reception to eat tiered lemon cake.

(A flower garden in May or an elegent library* in September.)


*Perhaps a flash-back to our first date?

...I have got to stop reading these things.

A Question

"How did you grow, as a person?"

What the hell else would I be growing as?! A garden? A piglet? A slime mold?
Stupid interview preparation suggestions.

You Know You're Living In a Special Part of the Country When...

...instead of presumably illegal immigrants, the guys helping lay a new sidewalk are Amish.