Aaaaaand...we're back.
I think I'm going to save up all of my summer travel adventures and write about them in a wee series after summer unofficially ends this weekend. After it rained all over my "camping" trip, the patio weather has returned in full force this week, and I'd rather spend my time taking advantage of it than typing in a basement. It seems it won't hurt you guys to wait just a bit longer to hear what I've been up to. :)
But I had a dream yesterday morning that I felt I should share with you.
As I've said before, I rarely remember much of my dreams, so this won't take long.
I dreamed that I ran into the VGLM. I hadn't seen him at work in a while, and ran into him in some mall. He was sporting a serious lumberjack beard, and as I understood it he had quit grad school and was now working at this mall. I could tell he wasn't happy about his general lot in life, and we had a conversation much like the one we had had back when he got the "priorities" talk from his boss. He said, "Yeah, I need to either start something new, or fall in love."
I can't figure out if that statement is kinda profound, or kinda idiotic, but it has stuck with me.
I don't really know what any of this means, other than that my subconscious has clearly not gotten the "quit while I'm ahead" message and is, instead, putting my own thoughts into the hallucinated mouths of people that I'd really prefer to stop thinking about. However, I do now know what it feels like when your heart skips a beat in your sleep.
Actually, it was more like my heart stopping and dropping right into the pit of my stomach. Yep...stop, drop, and roll, kids.
That was when I jolted awake. When I drifted back to sleep, I had one more little dream fragment. I was sitting at a long table, across from three men: the VGLM, the New Hotness (haven't told you guys about him yet because I don't know if he has true crush potential or is just pretty to look at), and a new friend who I don't even know well enough to know if I find him attractive yet. And I was just sitting there, looking at them, like a director trying to cast the role of "#1 Crush."
That dream has been haunting me for two days now, or at least the first part has. I do agree with my subconscious that, in order to get past the old crush, I need to find a new one. And it's gonna have to be good. So if anyone out there would like to apply for the position, we will be holding auditions, in my REM cycle, sometime around 5am. Please bring a headshot and resume, along with a monologue and song if you've got it.
Don't call us - we'll call you.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Gotta Get Up From Here
Hey kids.
You may have noticed that I'm not posting a lot. It's been a busy month - one vacation down, one starting tomorrow, guests coming in as soon as I get back, trying to actually accomplish something at work in between. So that leaves precious little time for blogging, I'm afraid. But I haven't forgotten about you, my beloved handful of faithful readers. I actually took notes during my first trip a couple of weeks ago for an entry that is yet to be written, and I'm sure my upcoming camping trip (if you can call a week in an RV "camping," which, of course, I do NOT) will provide plenty more material. And if that doesn't do it, Em and her boy will provide lots of blog fodder, between the singing zombies and the Pirate Festival. Fear not, devoted reader, for your patience will be rewarded.
That being said, you'll have to be patient for at least another week, because I will have no internet access and the squirrels are unreliable messengers.
Toodles!
You may have noticed that I'm not posting a lot. It's been a busy month - one vacation down, one starting tomorrow, guests coming in as soon as I get back, trying to actually accomplish something at work in between. So that leaves precious little time for blogging, I'm afraid. But I haven't forgotten about you, my beloved handful of faithful readers. I actually took notes during my first trip a couple of weeks ago for an entry that is yet to be written, and I'm sure my upcoming camping trip (if you can call a week in an RV "camping," which, of course, I do NOT) will provide plenty more material. And if that doesn't do it, Em and her boy will provide lots of blog fodder, between the singing zombies and the Pirate Festival. Fear not, devoted reader, for your patience will be rewarded.
That being said, you'll have to be patient for at least another week, because I will have no internet access and the squirrels are unreliable messengers.
Toodles!
Friday, August 17, 2007
Already in the Red
It may be time to cash in my crush.
Don't get me wrong - the VGLM is still as VGL as ever, and any direct eye contact still makes me weak in the knees. Probably always will.
But today, I asked him if he would like to go see Evil Dead with me when Em and her boy come to visit in a couple of weeks. He thought about it pretty hard (probably harder than anybody has EVER thought about a musical about zombies), but in the end said, "I think I'm gonna pass."
In research, one of the most valuable lessons one can learn is the mantra, "quit while you're ahead." It has served me well this week. When I finally got my new devices made on Wednesday, I decided to wait until Thursday morning to try them out so that, if they didn't work, at least I had ended Wednesday on a satisfying note. On Thursday, they DID work. So I waited until today to take the next step and try the hard part. Again, I went home happy last night. Today, I tried the hard part. It didn't really work. But that's okay - now I can go on vacation next week and know exactly what I have waiting for me when I get back. It's good to have a problem to start working on when you come back from a break.
Unfortunately, while I've gotten pretty good at doing this in my professional life, I'm not so good at it in my personal life. I'm not exactly ahead with the VGLM (the ratio of accepted/rejected invitations is at least 1/3, possibly 1/4) , but at least the most embarrassing it's gotten was one episode of forcible snuggling after too many beers, and frankly, that was totally worth it. I'm just getting tired of rejection - it seems to me that if he were at all interested in me, he would have said yes just to hang out with me. So I'm thinking maybe I just need to stop setting myself up for disappointment. It's starting to wear on me. At least if I quit now I haven't made any embarrassing confessions of actual feelings or anything like that, and I can escape with what's left of my dignity intact.
Don't get me wrong - the VGLM is still as VGL as ever, and any direct eye contact still makes me weak in the knees. Probably always will.
But today, I asked him if he would like to go see Evil Dead with me when Em and her boy come to visit in a couple of weeks. He thought about it pretty hard (probably harder than anybody has EVER thought about a musical about zombies), but in the end said, "I think I'm gonna pass."
In research, one of the most valuable lessons one can learn is the mantra, "quit while you're ahead." It has served me well this week. When I finally got my new devices made on Wednesday, I decided to wait until Thursday morning to try them out so that, if they didn't work, at least I had ended Wednesday on a satisfying note. On Thursday, they DID work. So I waited until today to take the next step and try the hard part. Again, I went home happy last night. Today, I tried the hard part. It didn't really work. But that's okay - now I can go on vacation next week and know exactly what I have waiting for me when I get back. It's good to have a problem to start working on when you come back from a break.
Unfortunately, while I've gotten pretty good at doing this in my professional life, I'm not so good at it in my personal life. I'm not exactly ahead with the VGLM (the ratio of accepted/rejected invitations is at least 1/3, possibly 1/4) , but at least the most embarrassing it's gotten was one episode of forcible snuggling after too many beers, and frankly, that was totally worth it. I'm just getting tired of rejection - it seems to me that if he were at all interested in me, he would have said yes just to hang out with me. So I'm thinking maybe I just need to stop setting myself up for disappointment. It's starting to wear on me. At least if I quit now I haven't made any embarrassing confessions of actual feelings or anything like that, and I can escape with what's left of my dignity intact.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Take Five
The other night, I was having a conversation with a friend via e-mail about celebrity sightings/meetings, spawned by my previous post about The Incredible Hulk filming in Toronto. In this area, I'd say the world can be divided into three groups of people:
1. Celebrities
2. Those who, in the course of their seemingly normal lives, just happen to meet celebrities with some regularity
3. The rest of us
Category 2 is a small, but distinct segment of the population. I have known a couple of these people in my life; one was an acquaintance from college. The show RENT opened on Broadway my first year of college, and immediately became the obsession of every self-respecting theater geek of my generation. Naturally, a number of my friends made pilgrimages to New York to see the show, but this friend saw the show...met some members of the cast...got invited to a cast party...where he met Carol Burnett...who sent him a Christmas card that year. Oh, and he also came home with a new boyfriend - a member of the cast. I know someone who dated the guy who plays Paul on the Original Cast Recording.
The friend with whom I was having this conversation got invited to a party during the Toronto International Film Festival last year. He went to the wrong party, met Johnny Depp (humina humina), and, because he was in a position to help Johnny slip quietly out of the party and avoid the throngs of stalkers that were waiting at the entrances, he got himself invited to another, private, party without even trying.
SHIT LIKE THAT DON'T HAPPEN TO NORMAL PEOPLE.
People like this don't seek these experiences out - if you TRIED to get invited to a party with Johnny Depp, it would never happen. You don't TRY to get a Christmas card from Carol Burnett - you just have to be a certain kind of person to make that kind of impression on her. I don't know if I would make that sort of impression on anybody...I've never had the opportunity. But, in my experience, if I were this sort of person, I would have met some celebrities by now...ergo, I must be one of them there normal folk. I honestly don't know if I'm the type to get starstruck, because I've never had the opportunity to find out.
Us normal folk have to content ourselves with our six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon brushes with fame. My mom went to high school with the Unibomber's little brother (true story - he signed my aunt's yearbook)...my high school geometry teacher is Joe Piscopo's cousin (he apparently never comes to family gatherings)...that kind of stuff. While the Category 2 kids are out actually meeting fabulous and exciting people by accidents of fate, we are sitting in bars playing "Who Would You Kick Out of Bed?" or "Marry, Boff, or Kill?" in between edits of our Five Celebrity Freebie lists.
For those who are not familiar *coughcoughIancough*, these are very simple games, and I enjoy them because they continue to amuse for hours in the right crowd, and require no cards, boards, or teeny-tiny pencils. I'm not big on most games that require equipment. A quick overview:
Who Would You Kick Out of Bed?
The classic jumping-off point is the major three (American) networks' TV news anchors (meaning the landscape of the game has changed drastically since I first played it in college), but you can start anywhere.
Example:
"Who would you kick out of bed: Brian Williams, or Charles Gibson?"
"Charles Gibson."
"Okay, who would you kick out of bed: Brian Williams, or Katie Couric?"
"Oooh...tough call."
About the only steadfast rule is that you HAVE to kick one, and only one, out of bed. "Threesome!" is not an acceptable answer, so you can have great fun tormenting people by making them choose between their biggest celebrity crushes...sort of a sexual Sophie's Choice. But it gets really fun when you start giving people options like, "Who would you kick out of bed: Bill O'Reilly, or...Carrot Top?"
Marry, Boff, or Kill?
Popularized by 30 Rock (one of the most underrated shows on TV today, as far as I'm concerned). Similar concept to WWYKOoB, except three celebrities are named, and the person must assign each to one of the three categories. You can't Marry two people, or Boff all three. Fairly self-explanatory, but that "Kill" category means the game can get nasty.
Five Celebrity Freebies
This is always a good conversational item in a group of people - it's your list of the five celebrities that, if you ever get to meet them and get the opportunity, you're allowed to sleep with, regardless of your marital/relationship status. They are your freebies - it doesn't count as cheating if they're one of your Five. Well... at least, it's considered FORGIVABLE cheating. Years ago, there was a Friends episode about the List, but that's not where the whole idea originated. In that episode, Ross actually writes his list and, after long and painstaking deliberation, has it laminated. So I tend to refer to the people I consider as having permanent seats on my list as Laminated - kinda like the U.N. Security Council, but Sexy. Sadly, of course, having someone on your List does NOT mean that you WILL sleep with the person should you ever meet them (Listkeepers are not, as a general rule, rapists), just that there will be no penalty should you actually get so lucky. I find that people's Lists tend to be very revealing about their personalities and tastes, so it's always fun to compare. Some Listkeepers are purists - like Ross, they decide on their Five and lock them down for all eternity. I prefer to think of the List as a dynamic entity...as I mature and evolve, it is only natural that my List should as well. However, my Five has remained unchanged for a few years now, and, since I don't think I run any risk of becoming a Category 2 any time soon, I present my Five:
1. Matt Damon (L) (the L stands for laminated - he is the very definition of my type.)
2. Johnny Depp (L) (hotness + wicked good actor = me so horny)
3. Jon Stewart (let's just say I have plans for that desk)
3. Hugh Jackman (but not the hairy Wolverine Hugh Jackman...the clean-shaven, Broadway-darling-in-tight-pants Hugh Jackman. I mean, the ass-kicking and adamantium claws are hot as hell, but I really can't deal with the sideburns.)
5. George Clooney (I really feel like a cliche having him on here, but much like the VGLM, every time I think I'm over him I see him somewhere and think to myself, "DAMN...")
You Category 2's enjoy your fabulous parties and chance encounters with fame. The rest of us will hang out in the corner and fantasize. At least now you know why we're giggling so much over here.
1. Celebrities
2. Those who, in the course of their seemingly normal lives, just happen to meet celebrities with some regularity
3. The rest of us
Category 2 is a small, but distinct segment of the population. I have known a couple of these people in my life; one was an acquaintance from college. The show RENT opened on Broadway my first year of college, and immediately became the obsession of every self-respecting theater geek of my generation. Naturally, a number of my friends made pilgrimages to New York to see the show, but this friend saw the show...met some members of the cast...got invited to a cast party...where he met Carol Burnett...who sent him a Christmas card that year. Oh, and he also came home with a new boyfriend - a member of the cast. I know someone who dated the guy who plays Paul on the Original Cast Recording.
The friend with whom I was having this conversation got invited to a party during the Toronto International Film Festival last year. He went to the wrong party, met Johnny Depp (humina humina), and, because he was in a position to help Johnny slip quietly out of the party and avoid the throngs of stalkers that were waiting at the entrances, he got himself invited to another, private, party without even trying.
SHIT LIKE THAT DON'T HAPPEN TO NORMAL PEOPLE.
People like this don't seek these experiences out - if you TRIED to get invited to a party with Johnny Depp, it would never happen. You don't TRY to get a Christmas card from Carol Burnett - you just have to be a certain kind of person to make that kind of impression on her. I don't know if I would make that sort of impression on anybody...I've never had the opportunity. But, in my experience, if I were this sort of person, I would have met some celebrities by now...ergo, I must be one of them there normal folk. I honestly don't know if I'm the type to get starstruck, because I've never had the opportunity to find out.
Us normal folk have to content ourselves with our six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon brushes with fame. My mom went to high school with the Unibomber's little brother (true story - he signed my aunt's yearbook)...my high school geometry teacher is Joe Piscopo's cousin (he apparently never comes to family gatherings)...that kind of stuff. While the Category 2 kids are out actually meeting fabulous and exciting people by accidents of fate, we are sitting in bars playing "Who Would You Kick Out of Bed?" or "Marry, Boff, or Kill?" in between edits of our Five Celebrity Freebie lists.
For those who are not familiar *coughcoughIancough*, these are very simple games, and I enjoy them because they continue to amuse for hours in the right crowd, and require no cards, boards, or teeny-tiny pencils. I'm not big on most games that require equipment. A quick overview:
Who Would You Kick Out of Bed?
The classic jumping-off point is the major three (American) networks' TV news anchors (meaning the landscape of the game has changed drastically since I first played it in college), but you can start anywhere.
Example:
"Who would you kick out of bed: Brian Williams, or Charles Gibson?"
"Charles Gibson."
"Okay, who would you kick out of bed: Brian Williams, or Katie Couric?"
"Oooh...tough call."
About the only steadfast rule is that you HAVE to kick one, and only one, out of bed. "Threesome!" is not an acceptable answer, so you can have great fun tormenting people by making them choose between their biggest celebrity crushes...sort of a sexual Sophie's Choice. But it gets really fun when you start giving people options like, "Who would you kick out of bed: Bill O'Reilly, or...Carrot Top?"
Marry, Boff, or Kill?
Popularized by 30 Rock (one of the most underrated shows on TV today, as far as I'm concerned). Similar concept to WWYKOoB, except three celebrities are named, and the person must assign each to one of the three categories. You can't Marry two people, or Boff all three. Fairly self-explanatory, but that "Kill" category means the game can get nasty.
Five Celebrity Freebies
This is always a good conversational item in a group of people - it's your list of the five celebrities that, if you ever get to meet them and get the opportunity, you're allowed to sleep with, regardless of your marital/relationship status. They are your freebies - it doesn't count as cheating if they're one of your Five. Well... at least, it's considered FORGIVABLE cheating. Years ago, there was a Friends episode about the List, but that's not where the whole idea originated. In that episode, Ross actually writes his list and, after long and painstaking deliberation, has it laminated. So I tend to refer to the people I consider as having permanent seats on my list as Laminated - kinda like the U.N. Security Council, but Sexy. Sadly, of course, having someone on your List does NOT mean that you WILL sleep with the person should you ever meet them (Listkeepers are not, as a general rule, rapists), just that there will be no penalty should you actually get so lucky. I find that people's Lists tend to be very revealing about their personalities and tastes, so it's always fun to compare. Some Listkeepers are purists - like Ross, they decide on their Five and lock them down for all eternity. I prefer to think of the List as a dynamic entity...as I mature and evolve, it is only natural that my List should as well. However, my Five has remained unchanged for a few years now, and, since I don't think I run any risk of becoming a Category 2 any time soon, I present my Five:
1. Matt Damon (L) (the L stands for laminated - he is the very definition of my type.)
2. Johnny Depp (L) (hotness + wicked good actor = me so horny)
3. Jon Stewart (let's just say I have plans for that desk)
3. Hugh Jackman (but not the hairy Wolverine Hugh Jackman...the clean-shaven, Broadway-darling-in-tight-pants Hugh Jackman. I mean, the ass-kicking and adamantium claws are hot as hell, but I really can't deal with the sideburns.)
5. George Clooney (I really feel like a cliche having him on here, but much like the VGLM, every time I think I'm over him I see him somewhere and think to myself, "DAMN...")
You Category 2's enjoy your fabulous parties and chance encounters with fame. The rest of us will hang out in the corner and fantasize. At least now you know why we're giggling so much over here.
Monday, August 13, 2007
No one wants to be defeated.
I'm cranky.
A woman rather unceremoniously hit me over the head with her bag as she got off the bus this morning and couldn't be bothered to apologize or even notice. A whupping upside the head rarely heralds a good day.
Spent 3+ hours in the cleanroom today and had to scrap everything I did because the materials that one of my labmates graciously let me borrow turned out to be defective. Of course, there was no way to know about the defect until I had done 3 hours of work. It's really fun watching your entire morning's work literally wash down the drain, in the form of little flakes of gold. Ooh...look how failure sparkles.
Cleanroom time means I can't wear makeup, am wearing crappy clothes, and am guaranteed a bad hair day post-hair net. Add in the fact that there is a monstrous zit on my chin that I unsuccessfully tried to pop last night (it seems I was, however, successful at angering it) and that I'm feeling incredibly bloated and gross today due to my having spent the weekend figuring out that a) I am, in fact, mildly lactose intolerant now and b) coconut apparently contains enough fructose to make me sick (which wouldn't be a colossal bummer if it weren't for the fact that I just made a MASSIVE batch of granola with extra coconut that turned out v. tasty)...this set of circumstances should all but guarantee that I will run into the VGLM today. So far, no sign of him, but it's nice to know that, should he show up, the taller, thinner, prettier, younger undergrad that I have suspected he had a thing for since I met him seems to have resurfaced after several months of being somewhere else blissfully far away from me, and is currently wandering around looking effortlessly cute.
Oh, and yesterday I finally conceded defeat and packed away all of my impractical lingerie. It was consuming valuable real estate in my underwear drawer and I was tired of it mocking me every time I went looking for clean socks. I figured that since I have now officially passed the 1-year mark since the last time I got any action whatsoever, I have suffered enough. A couple of weeks ago when I spent a Sunday afternoon curled up on the beach with my Harry Potter book, a guy who was just the right amount of attractive (i.e., cute, but not automatically out of my league) came along, sat right beside me, and cracked open his own. The approach and body language were reasonably encouraging, so I kept waiting for the pickup that never came - I mean, come ON man...there is a blonde...in a bikini...reading THE SAME BOOK THAT YOU ARE. EASIEST. OPENING LINE. EVER. But, like I've said before, I never get hit on, and girls who don't get hit on have no immediate need for lacy ruffly underthings.
(Actually, it's not quite true that I NEVER get hit on. I occasionally get drive-by pickup lines. The day before, I had picked up some fish & chips on my way home from the park and was eating it while waiting for the bus. Since there is no such thing as a delicate manner in which to eat a deep-fried side of halibut with one's hands, I was sort of holding the whole box up to my face in order to take each bite without making a complete mess of myself. As I did this, a guy who had just pulled up to the intersection in front of me called out his window at me, "That's a big bite!"
Really? THAT'S your opening line?
I kind of laughed and nodded.
"Can I give you a lift somewhere?"
I politely declined. But I had to wonder, does this approach ever actually work? Are there women out there who are so phenomenally stupid that they either a) find nothing wrong with getting into a car with a complete stranger or b) actually find comments on their eating habits so irresistibly charming and witty that they simply must continue the conversation over dinner? And considering I was wandering around on this particular Saturday afternoon in shorts and Tevas, with no makeup on and carrying a backpack - short of wearing pigtails, I couldn't have looked more like a 12-year-old if I'd tried - okay, maybe I do occasionally get hit on, but I don't think I should have to count the drive-bys by potential pedophiles.)
Mika didn't even help my frame of mind (although Jonathan Coulton may have - it's impossible to listen to "W's Duty" without giggling at least a little bit). So, I think there's one word that pretty much sums up my mood on this beautiful, sunny Monday: defeated.
However, I do have one final side note (can I still call them that if the amount of parenthetical text comes dangerously close to the amount of regular text?) - the titles of my posts are often lines from movies or song lyrics, and I'm actually pretty proud of today's. Whoever figures out the source first will officially be the first (and possibly only) person, place or thing to make me giggle AND clap today. Oh, you know you wanna. I'm adorable when I do that.
A woman rather unceremoniously hit me over the head with her bag as she got off the bus this morning and couldn't be bothered to apologize or even notice. A whupping upside the head rarely heralds a good day.
Spent 3+ hours in the cleanroom today and had to scrap everything I did because the materials that one of my labmates graciously let me borrow turned out to be defective. Of course, there was no way to know about the defect until I had done 3 hours of work. It's really fun watching your entire morning's work literally wash down the drain, in the form of little flakes of gold. Ooh...look how failure sparkles.
Cleanroom time means I can't wear makeup, am wearing crappy clothes, and am guaranteed a bad hair day post-hair net. Add in the fact that there is a monstrous zit on my chin that I unsuccessfully tried to pop last night (it seems I was, however, successful at angering it) and that I'm feeling incredibly bloated and gross today due to my having spent the weekend figuring out that a) I am, in fact, mildly lactose intolerant now and b) coconut apparently contains enough fructose to make me sick (which wouldn't be a colossal bummer if it weren't for the fact that I just made a MASSIVE batch of granola with extra coconut that turned out v. tasty)...this set of circumstances should all but guarantee that I will run into the VGLM today. So far, no sign of him, but it's nice to know that, should he show up, the taller, thinner, prettier, younger undergrad that I have suspected he had a thing for since I met him seems to have resurfaced after several months of being somewhere else blissfully far away from me, and is currently wandering around looking effortlessly cute.
Oh, and yesterday I finally conceded defeat and packed away all of my impractical lingerie. It was consuming valuable real estate in my underwear drawer and I was tired of it mocking me every time I went looking for clean socks. I figured that since I have now officially passed the 1-year mark since the last time I got any action whatsoever, I have suffered enough. A couple of weeks ago when I spent a Sunday afternoon curled up on the beach with my Harry Potter book, a guy who was just the right amount of attractive (i.e., cute, but not automatically out of my league) came along, sat right beside me, and cracked open his own. The approach and body language were reasonably encouraging, so I kept waiting for the pickup that never came - I mean, come ON man...there is a blonde...in a bikini...reading THE SAME BOOK THAT YOU ARE. EASIEST. OPENING LINE. EVER. But, like I've said before, I never get hit on, and girls who don't get hit on have no immediate need for lacy ruffly underthings.
(Actually, it's not quite true that I NEVER get hit on. I occasionally get drive-by pickup lines. The day before, I had picked up some fish & chips on my way home from the park and was eating it while waiting for the bus. Since there is no such thing as a delicate manner in which to eat a deep-fried side of halibut with one's hands, I was sort of holding the whole box up to my face in order to take each bite without making a complete mess of myself. As I did this, a guy who had just pulled up to the intersection in front of me called out his window at me, "That's a big bite!"
Really? THAT'S your opening line?
I kind of laughed and nodded.
"Can I give you a lift somewhere?"
I politely declined. But I had to wonder, does this approach ever actually work? Are there women out there who are so phenomenally stupid that they either a) find nothing wrong with getting into a car with a complete stranger or b) actually find comments on their eating habits so irresistibly charming and witty that they simply must continue the conversation over dinner? And considering I was wandering around on this particular Saturday afternoon in shorts and Tevas, with no makeup on and carrying a backpack - short of wearing pigtails, I couldn't have looked more like a 12-year-old if I'd tried - okay, maybe I do occasionally get hit on, but I don't think I should have to count the drive-bys by potential pedophiles.)
Mika didn't even help my frame of mind (although Jonathan Coulton may have - it's impossible to listen to "W's Duty" without giggling at least a little bit). So, I think there's one word that pretty much sums up my mood on this beautiful, sunny Monday: defeated.
However, I do have one final side note (can I still call them that if the amount of parenthetical text comes dangerously close to the amount of regular text?) - the titles of my posts are often lines from movies or song lyrics, and I'm actually pretty proud of today's. Whoever figures out the source first will officially be the first (and possibly only) person, place or thing to make me giggle AND clap today. Oh, you know you wanna. I'm adorable when I do that.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Mr. Magee, make me angry. You would like me when I'm angry.
Okay, so it's time for today's Official Reason Toronto Kicks Ass (tm).
(For those of you still bitter about yesterday's ORTKA(tm), I am thrilled to tell you that today, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the breeze is lovely, and the high today was approximately 83. SO sucks to be you.)
Anyway, here goes:
Right now, Edward Norton (and Liv Tyler, but who really gives a shit about Liv Tyler?) are outside my building filming...
The Incredible Hulk.
In case you missed that, BRUCE BANNER IS IN THE MUTHAFUCKING HOUSE!!!!
Labmate tried to sneak some pictures, and someone actually came up to her and made her delete them from her camera. That rules. Oh, and according to IMDb, Tim Roth, William Hurt, and Tim Blake Nelson are also probably around somewhere.
My thoughts:
1) oh HELLZ yeah
2) Man, extras are hot. I mean, let's face it, you don't have to be Olivier to run around in army gear and pretend to shoot shit. I like to think that that casting process involved a stack of headshots, a bottle of wine, and one long game of "Marry, Boff, or Kill?"
3) Yeah, men in army gear still make me hot. But only American army gear - sorry, Canada, but something about having a maple leaf on your cammies makes you seem a little less ferocious.
3b) There's something quite surreal about seeing a bunch of guys in American uniform running around Canada. Makes me feel like I'm walking through a scene from Canadian Bacon. Especially when a guy runs out of the U of T Visitor's Center with a gun as you're walking by and hides behind a tree. I know what it means when a black cat crosses your path, but what does it mean when it's a member of the Omega Force?
(Also amusing: a soldier...sitting in a camouflaged Hummer...on a cell phone. One can only assume he was on the phone with his agent asking, "How the hell did I wind up in the 'Boff' pile? It's the 'Marry' guys who get the actual lines!")
5) Edward Norton has long been one of my celebrity crushes. Not one of my Five, but a crush nonetheless. Am now seriously trying to think of ways to accidentally bump into him while he's in town so I can say, "Seriously...LOVED Keeping the Faith." What? Shut up, it was adorable. And anyone who can pull off both adorable AND American History X is pretty badass.
6) HULK SMASH
So there ya have it - the first time yours truly has knowingly walked through an actual movie set. SO fun...everyone should do it. Definitely an entertaining note on which to end a generally cranky week. Now, if I could only figure out where the extras are hanging out tonight...
(For those of you still bitter about yesterday's ORTKA(tm), I am thrilled to tell you that today, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the breeze is lovely, and the high today was approximately 83. SO sucks to be you.)
Anyway, here goes:
Right now, Edward Norton (and Liv Tyler, but who really gives a shit about Liv Tyler?) are outside my building filming...
The Incredible Hulk.
In case you missed that, BRUCE BANNER IS IN THE MUTHAFUCKING HOUSE!!!!
Labmate tried to sneak some pictures, and someone actually came up to her and made her delete them from her camera. That rules. Oh, and according to IMDb, Tim Roth, William Hurt, and Tim Blake Nelson are also probably around somewhere.
My thoughts:
1) oh HELLZ yeah
2) Man, extras are hot. I mean, let's face it, you don't have to be Olivier to run around in army gear and pretend to shoot shit. I like to think that that casting process involved a stack of headshots, a bottle of wine, and one long game of "Marry, Boff, or Kill?"
3) Yeah, men in army gear still make me hot. But only American army gear - sorry, Canada, but something about having a maple leaf on your cammies makes you seem a little less ferocious.
3b) There's something quite surreal about seeing a bunch of guys in American uniform running around Canada. Makes me feel like I'm walking through a scene from Canadian Bacon. Especially when a guy runs out of the U of T Visitor's Center with a gun as you're walking by and hides behind a tree. I know what it means when a black cat crosses your path, but what does it mean when it's a member of the Omega Force?
(Also amusing: a soldier...sitting in a camouflaged Hummer...on a cell phone. One can only assume he was on the phone with his agent asking, "How the hell did I wind up in the 'Boff' pile? It's the 'Marry' guys who get the actual lines!")
5) Edward Norton has long been one of my celebrity crushes. Not one of my Five, but a crush nonetheless. Am now seriously trying to think of ways to accidentally bump into him while he's in town so I can say, "Seriously...LOVED Keeping the Faith." What? Shut up, it was adorable. And anyone who can pull off both adorable AND American History X is pretty badass.
6) HULK SMASH
So there ya have it - the first time yours truly has knowingly walked through an actual movie set. SO fun...everyone should do it. Definitely an entertaining note on which to end a generally cranky week. Now, if I could only figure out where the extras are hanging out tonight...
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Rub a Dub Dub
Okay, some of you are going to hate me for this, but I can't resist.
Right now, it's about 72 degrees in Toronto.
The air is dry with a pleasant breeze.
I am wearing long pants and actual sleeves, and was still a tad chilly when the wind picked up at the bus stop.
Tuesday night, a friend from home was begging to come live with me because the weather there was so miserable. I checked - at 9:00pm, the heat index was still over 95 degrees (37 to those of you who only understand Celsius).
Pardon me while I just rub that in a bit.
I'll admit, winter here isn't exactly a walk in the park, but I will gladly suffer through it if it means I get a summer worth gloating about. I'd rather be too cold than too hot any day.
It is, however, cloudy, and supposed to rain this afternoon, if that makes you feel any better. Heh heh heh...
Right now, it's about 72 degrees in Toronto.
The air is dry with a pleasant breeze.
I am wearing long pants and actual sleeves, and was still a tad chilly when the wind picked up at the bus stop.
Tuesday night, a friend from home was begging to come live with me because the weather there was so miserable. I checked - at 9:00pm, the heat index was still over 95 degrees (37 to those of you who only understand Celsius).
Pardon me while I just rub that in a bit.
I'll admit, winter here isn't exactly a walk in the park, but I will gladly suffer through it if it means I get a summer worth gloating about. I'd rather be too cold than too hot any day.
It is, however, cloudy, and supposed to rain this afternoon, if that makes you feel any better. Heh heh heh...
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