What about your friends?

Okay, I resisted Facebook for the longest time, and I STILL patently refuse to EVER join MySpace, but this just totally made my day:

That's right.  Jay Mcfuckin'Carroll is my homie.  Sometimes it pays to get drunk and send friend requests to random reality star/fashion designers while purchasing Flight of the Conchords CDs on iTunes.  And yeah, I'm not ashamed to say that's my idea of a rockin' Friday night.*

 

But the fact remains...I'm friends with Jay Mccarroll and you're not.

 

*Okay, so maybe I am.  A little bit.  Man, I need to get out more.

Bananahammocks.

All-Request Week continues.  This one goes out to Em in The Middle of Nowhere, Iowa.

 

Most of my closest friendships are maintained long-distance these days.  And while I think I've gotten pretty good at making that work - most of the years I lived in Indiana I really never lived alone, because I regularly came home at night to dish and watch TV with Em via IM - it sucks when one of your best friends is going through something really shitty and you can't say, "I'll be right over with ice cream/a bottle of wine/tampons/a shotgun."  About the best I can offer in these situations is a sympathetic set of eyes while said friend vents whatever is bothering them, until they say, "say something that will make me happy."

 

BANANAHAMMOCK!!!!

 

Works.  Every.  Time.

 

No, seriously.  Sometimes you need them in bulk:

 

BANANAHAMMOCKBANANAHAMMOCKBANANAHAMMOCK!!!!

 

If you can read that - honestly look at the letters and read it all the way through - without smiling, then I really don't think we can be friends.  Because in all honesty, in those moments where nothing can really be said, and the person you're talking to just wants to change the subject, it's the only thing I can think of to break the mood.  Or, at least, the only thing that is guaranteed to work.  I'm not really sure why it does - it can't really be unexpected, because I ALWAYS do it.  Except the friend in question is sometimes so deep in the throes of funk that they have temporarily forgotten that that's what I'm going to say.  But even if they haven't, even if they KNOW that's what's coming, there's something about the way that word looks plastered across your IM screen that's happy-making.  It's just such an unabashedly silly and ridiculous word. 

But there are other silly, ridiculous words out there.  None of which work as well as BANANAHAMMOCK.  Trust me.  I've tried them.

 

A brief encounter I had last night convinced me that I need to start putting this little trick into more general use.  As a single girl in the city, you find yourself spending a great deal of time alone - in restaurants, at movies, on transit.  I've learned to enjoy this time alone...you notice things you wouldn't if you were chattering with a friend next to you.  I know for a fact that one of the things that some of you kids greatly enjoy about this blog is my ability to notice the ridiculous in the most mundane of places and then blow it way out of proportion for (hopefully) comedic effect.  In fact, that should be the title of this blog: Ridiculous Things Made Downright Ludicrous as a Result of My Seriously Overthinking Them Because I Got Bored on the Subway.  But that's too unwieldy, and doesn't even make a clever acronym (unless someone would care to tell me how in the hell one pronounces RTMDLAAROMSOTBIGBOTS...okay, now that I see that spelled out, it's almost as good as BANANAHAMMOCK!!!...almost.  But mental note: MUST start using BIGBOTS...I do an awful lot because I got bored on the subway...).  Unfortunately, an awful lot of things happen to a single girl when she's lost in her thoughts while leaving a movie theater...lingering over a glass of wine...riding home at night...that aren't so amusing.  Strangers coming up to talk to you can quickly cross the line from silly...to annoying...to dude you are starting to freak me the fuck out...to gee, officer, he always kind of kept to himself but he seemed harmless. 

But here's the thing - even when you're getting freaked out, chances are you're overreacting.  If someone were sitting next to you, you'd have one hell of a giggle after this guy walked away, and you wouldn't feel threatened at all.  So last night, BIGBOTS, I started to think that I need to do something to bring myself down when I start to get a little too worried - if for no other reason than if you already have the creeps, they will only compound for the rest of the day/night and really, who has that kind of time to waste on unnecessary anxiety?  So naturally, I thought to myself, "what do I do to snap OTHER people out of their anxiety/rage/depression?"

 

BANANAHAMMOCK!BANANAHAMMOCK!BANANAHAMMOCK!!!

 

Case(s) in point:

1) So last night, I'm leaving the movie theater after a rather entertaining documentary on Jay McCarroll, and an even more entertaining Q&A with the directors and Mr. McCarroll himself.  I'm walking to the subway station, thinking about the movie, and how I would have loved to ask a question or introduce myself to Jay but didn't because I just wasn't feeling fashionable enough to talk to a fashion designer, and how I really REALLY want that colorblock trenchcoat he showed in his spring/summer collection...

And a man walks up from behind me and says, "You are vvvvvvvery...elegant."  At least, I THINK that's what he said.  Between the slurred speech and the mysteriously ambiguous European accent, he might have ACTUALLY said, "You are vvvvvalley...elephant."  Or possibly, "Yew, our valued elfin plant."  Hey, you never know, maybe this guy was seriously into bonsai.  At the time I met him, however, he was most definitely seriously into vodka.  And/or seriously opposed to The Man trying to enslave our walking paths in the shackles of rectilinear conformity.  This guy was weaving across the sidewalk in a manner that would've made figure skaters dizzy.  But hey, it was kind of a nice compliment, if...weird.

"Um...thank you."

"May I...introduuussse myssssssself to you?"

Um...not really sure what to do with that one.  I've never had someone ask if they could introduce themselves.  And, as much as I would like to see this conversation die an early yet somehow extremely timely death, it seems unbelievably bitchy to just say "No."

"Um...no, thank you?"

"Ah...you are...no longer sssssssssssthingle?"

Ooh, yeah, what he said.

"Um...NO.  NO, I am NOT."  <insert noncommital, but could be read as regretful shrug here>

"Well, you know what I have to sssssssthay about that?  Ssssthssome guyth have all.........the luck.  BASSSSSSTHARDTHS."

 

And he just sort of continues walking into Bathurst station.  And onto the platform I'm headed toward.

Shit.

I hang back enough to try to put enough distance between us on the platform that I won't end up on the same car with Cassssssssssanova, and bury my nose in my book so as to avoid eye contact.  The guy stumbles down the platform in my direction - this is where, even though there are plenty of people around, and this guy can barely keep upright, let alone harm me, I start to get more creeped out than amused.  I mean, dammit, I am small.  And not very strong.  And all alone.  And don't really know how good my self-defense skills are, since I have never had to use them.

BANANAHAMMOCK!

Just like when Wayne and Garth would go into a dream sequence on Wayne's World.  I'd do the hand motions and the doodleydo noises if it wouldn't turn me into exactly the sort of person that creeps me out.  But the bananahammock gave me enough of an inward giggle to shrug off the not-so-fresh feeling that this guy had left me with.

 

2) There's a bus that I now avoid at all costs in the morning.  I would sometimes find myself on it when I was running really late in the morning - it's the last one before the buses start coming further apart as rush hour dies down, so even if I'm running super-late, I will scramble to catch it.  One morning, I got on it, sat towards the back, and realized shortly that the guy in the back corner seat was talking.  Thought process:

Must be with a friend.

Nope, the people sitting near him are most definitely not a part of the conversation.

Must be on a phone or bluetooth headset.  I will never get used to seeing people talking on bluetooth headsets in public.

Negative.  No electronic gadgetry in sight.

Yep, dude is totally just talking to himself.

Meh, no biggie.  At least he seems to be interested in what he has to say.

 

A couple of weeks later, I'm back on that bus.  Dude is on it.  When he gets off the bus at Lawrence, I could swear I heard him mutter something like, "I love you" as he passes me.  Nah, probably just imagining things.  Probably just said "I love shoes" or "Aye, rough Jews!"

 

A couple of weeks later, same bus.  This time I'm sitting about halfway back, in a single seat on the side.  Didn't even notice anyone else on the bus, nose buried in book for the ride.  We pull up to the Lawrence stop, and I distinctly hear someone say, in a low voice and directly behind me, "I love you."  Look up to see Dude as he dashes for the back door of the bus.  Nah, I couldn't possibly have heard what I think I just heard.  But proceed to spend the rest of the morning more than a little creeped out.

Everyone wants to hear "I love you."  Just maybe not from a creepy, possibly schizophrenic dude who runs away as soon as he says it.

 

...A couple of weeks later...yep.  Once again, not really paying attention to who's on the bus when I get on, and sit in one of the double seats in the middle of the bus because I'm carrying lots of crap that day.  Open book, insert nose.  Shortly before the Lawrence stop:

Hmm.  Someone's standing in the aisle just ahead of me.  Maybe I should move my stuff so someone can sit next to me.  Wait...loads of empty seats on this bus...

As the bus rolls up to the stop, Dude leans over, says, "I'll see you later" in the same raspy, throaty whisper, then trots up to the front door and hops off the bus.  He stands on the sidewalk while the bus pulls away, and knocks on my window as I ride by.

Apparently, in Dude's world, we are an item.  And we have a date tonight.  Or possibly, three months from now.  Apparently.

 

BANANAHAMMOCK!BANANAHAMMOCK!BANANAHAMMOCK!!!!

It's not quite Dorothy clicking her ruby-slippered heels together three times, but it'll have to do.

 

I figure this is also a great way to make a mental note of a particularly ridiculous situation.  When one sees a black man...on roller skates...carrying a wok...BANANAHAMWOK!

 

This should come in quite handy.  I happen to think that more deliciously ridiculous things happen to me than to most people.  Partly because I happen to notice them more as they happen, and partly because I am, when it comes down to it, an inherently ridiculous person.  Birds of a feather reaping what they sow and whatnot.  So I continue this list with some of my sillier Bananahammocks, as they shall henceforth be called:

 

3) Several years ago, I was in Amsterdam with my then-boyfriend.  We were sitting on a bench on the edge of a canal...sunset was looming, the little lights on the bridges were reflecting on the water...lovely romantic evening.  A guy in a captain's hat comes off of one of the houseboats...sort of a Dutch Popeye.  He ambles up the sidewalk, muttering under his breath.  All I can make out is something like, "<grumblegrumble> F-ing C--T! <grumblegrumblegrumble>..."  As Popeye approaches us, he proceeds to tell us a little about himself.  Namely, that he is Satan.  Then he looks us over, nods approvingly, and says, "This...this, I like this" as he points at us before continuing along his way, cursing whatever woman it was that done him wrong.

It's a wonder that relationship didn't work out, what with the blessing de Beelzebub, and all.

BEELZEHAMMOCK!

 

4) meh...NANAHAMMOCK!

 

5) When I was a wee undergrad, I once serenaded a men's a cappella group.  I sang "Don't Use Your Penis For a Brain" while one friend sang backup in the hallway and another danced around the room, handing the guys flowers.  Shortly thereafter, one of the guys made a comment that I "seem like the sort of person who would keep a penis in the freezer."  Some of them still vaguely remember me as the Penis Chick.  Can you believe some clever guy hasn't snatched this one up, folks?  Luckily, I'm guessing we lost all of the guys way back at "tampons," so they haven't seen this.

FROZENBANANAHAMMOCK!

 

6) I once sort of broke into Ross-Ade Stadium.

To make a mix CD.

That included the Fat Boys/Beach Boys duet of "Wipeout."

BANANAHAMMOCK: IMPOSSIBLE!

 

7) I once played not one...not two...but three, yes, THREE VARIETIES OF POULTRY on stage. 

bawkbawkBAWNANAHAMMAWK!

 

8) On a "Dark Side of Charleston" tour, our gravelly-voiced tour guide decided I was the perfect person to string up in restraints in the abandoned jail.

BANANA-S&M-MOCK!

 

9) TOTALLY been hit on by a pirate.  Twice.

BANARRRRNAHARRRRMOCK!

 

At this stage, I believe I've made my point.  My sincere apologies who thought, upon seeing the title of this post, that they would get to read my delightful observations on Speedos.  I can't WAIT to see the Google hits I'll get off of this bad boy.

 

For what it's worth, I don't care how good you look in a Speedo, as far as I'm concerned, you look better in trunks.

Working Like a Dog.

We interrupt All-Request Week to bring you this brief message:

 

There's an old Far Side cartoon that I always think of on days like today.  I wasn't able to find the cartoon I had in mind, and Gary Larson is known for actually, you know, trying to protect his intellectual property (crazy bastard), so rather than risk a cease-and-desist order (I do reach TENS of readers, after all), I will try my best to describe it.

 

A puppy stands in a window, looking forlorn.  While his neighborhood friends attack the mailman, he's holding a violin. 

 

Spring has FINALLY come to Toronto, and I'm stuck inside, trying to focus on work.  Ain't being gainfully employed a bitch?  (Heh heh...see what I did there?  Bitch?  Dog?  Ah, to heck with ya.)

 

I hope the rest of you are getting some of this lovely weather, wherever you may be.  And if you are, I sure as hell hope you get the chance to go out and play in it while I'm playing etudes. 

Save a tasty bit of ankle for me.

Three's Company

Okay, I'm going to start All-Request Week with Ian's request, because I found it surprisingly easy to answer.  However, the phone lines are still open - keep sending requests.  You've given me some interesting things to think about.

 

You are able to sit down and have dinner with 3 people, past or present and talk to them for 3 hours. Who would they be and why?

 

I feel a bit like I'm on a job interview.  I'm surprised the next request wasn't "Where do you see yourself in five years?"  Thank God it wasn't, because if there's one thing grad school taught me, it's that no matter where I see myself five years from now, I couldn't be more wrong about it.  But anyway, this is the sort of question that people ask to suss out your personality, figure out your priorities, and evaluate your creativity.  And thus, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most of us have heard it at some point, and thought about who those 3 people would be.  Some people go straight for the obvious: Jesus, the Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa, Oprah, Carrot Top.  Some people go for those they think aren't obvious, but totally are: Hitler, Eva Peron, Sirhan Sirhan, Charles Manson.  Yet others go out of their way to make their choices as obscure as possible: I'll take Evelyn Nesbit, Crispin Glover, and Millard Fillmore for $200, Alex.

 

So my choices aren't going to be terribly original, or very obscure.  But considering the idea essentially boils down to putting together one kickass dinner party, I naturally feel the need to include people that I not only admire, but would really get a kick out of talking to.  If you've been reading this for a while, you'd know that last year was hard on my sense of idol worship.  And you're probably expecting me to put Kurt Vonnegut and Mr. Wizard on this list.  But here's the thing - while Vonnegut is one of the most quotable individuals I've ever run across, with a particular knack for saying the things I'm thinking in far more eloquent, poetic, and viciously sarcastic ways than I can ever hope to achieve...he's also written a lot of incredibly mediocre filler.  And I don't want to sit through a 3-hour dinner for 30 minutes of soundbites I want to listen to.  And as much as I love Mr. Wizard with every fiber of my being...I don't imagine he was a particularly sparkling conversationalist.  Jack Lemmon?  Well, I'd probably just make him re-enact the last scene of The Apartment all night and then snuggle up to him as he strains spaghetti through a tennis racket. 

 

So, while I've ruled out the idols I've spoken of to great extent previously, I'm also sure that my choices will come as little to no surprise to most of you.  Of course, the thing that makes it interesting for me, is that my answer is always different.  So here are my choices right now:

 

Guest #1: Katharine Hepburn.  Within the last few years, I have discovered Katharine Hepburn.  I know, you're thinking, "um, didn't EVERYONE discover Katharine Hepburn, like, 70 years ago???"  But there's a HUGE difference between knowing someone is an icon, and actually watching the movies that MADE them an icon.  Most of the people I know have never actually watched a single one of Kate's movies.  Hell, I've only watched a few (would have been a lot more if Canada had a decent equivalent to Netflix, but no...).  Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, should see The Philadelphia Story.  The plot is fairly simple overall...it is a movie that works (as the original stage play did) because of the charisma of its actors.  Without Kate, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart, it would've been just another romantic comedy.  The Hepburn character is one of those roles that makes me wish a community theater would mount a production of The Philadelphia Story, just so I might have a chance in hell of playing it. I'd never get to, though.  I'm short and chunky instead of tall and slim...cute instead of beautiful...endearingly goofy rather than charismatic.  Kate always played the woman every woman wishes she could be and wants people to think she is.  She was tall.  And beautiful.  And wore pants.  She had this striking, assertive, confident persona.  And somehow, she managed to still be a woman underneath.  While you're at it, watch Woman of the Year.  This was her first movie with Spencer Tracy - the archetype is pretty much the same.  But the thing that's unique about that movie is that you can literally watch a man - an everyman, infinitely relatable...average...and so lovely in his flawed ordinariness - fall in love with this remarkable, strong-willed woman.  And I'm not talking a Gigli, oo, you can really see J-Lo and Ben Affleck fall in love, kind of deal.  No, you can actually see this woman grow on this man, to the point that he can't help but smile while watching her just be her.  You can see how much he has fallen under her spell, in fiction and in real life.  It's incredible.  Spence could not fake that - he never did with any other actress.  But this doesn't really explain why she would make a fantastic dinner party guest.

Last fall, I read Kate Remembered.  Now, if you recall, this was the book that came out almost immediately when she passed away.  It was not some sort of slapped-together attempt to capitalize on Hepstalgia - the author had actually interviewed her once-upon-a-time, at which point they became fast friends.  The book is not so much a biography of a Hollywood icon as a memoir of the author's time spent as Kate's friend.  And much of what she told him was said with the caveat that he not publish any of it until she had passed away.  Reading that book, you get a much better sense of who she was as a person.  And that person is someone I want to know.  The sort of person who says, "hey, you are interesting and I like you.  You WILL come to dinner and meet my friends."  I'm not that person.  I can get as far as the first half...sometimes.  But actually planning parties?  I'm still that girl that's surprised when people actually want to come to one of my parties.  But just READING about her makes me want to sit down with her...watch her in action.  Because that persona wasn't just someone she played on screen...it WAS her.  And it was incredibly entertaining to just sit back and watch.

 

Guest #2: Albert Einstein.  This one probably qualifies as the cliche science geek answer, but my reasons extend beyond the fact that the man was just plain fucking brilliant.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to know how he would react to the knowledge that, in this day and age, physicists are STILL performing experiments that prove how dead-on his reasoning was nearly a century ago.  And I'd love to ask him why my devices just don't quite work the way they should sometimes.  By far my favorite part of taking physics in undergrad was when we covered special relativity...it takes a unique sort of creativity to imagine circumstances under which a 300-foot train can disappear in a 200-foot tunnel.  The things I find the most interesting in science are those I can work with, but not quite fully get my head around - sort of a scientific functional illiteracy.  It feels more like magic that way.  Spending all day doing the things that come easily to you gets really boring - but when you can do the things that you don't think you should be able to pull off, that's a special feeling.  When I was teaching basic quantum mechanics to first-years last year, I was surprised to find that those were some of my favorite lectures, because out of what I was required to teach, it was the material I had the least intuitive understanding of.  I've never felt like I had a good grasp on electronics, but found myself really enjoying teaching electronics labs to fourth-years at Purdue.  It's true what they say - the best way to learn something is to teach it to someone else.  I like to think that Einstein would agree with me to an extent - one of his more famous quotes was, "Do not worry about your problems with mathematics, I assure you mine are far greater." 

About the time I was wrapping up my quantum lectures last year, I began reading Einstein in Love.  The book jacket was a bit misleading, since it was subtitled A Scientific Romance and ostensibly the story of his life, told through love letters and his relationships with various women.  It wound up being far more technical than I had expected it to, and much more a Romance with Science than a Scientific Romance.  However, it did give a glimpse into the man as he was in his personal relationships, flaws and all.  For an uber-nerd, he could be quite the romantic: "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity."  My quote book might as well have an entire chapter devoted to Einstein ("Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand."), so I remain firmly convinced that having dinner with him would be a hoot.  I can only imagine how much fun it would be to get him drunk. 

 

Plus, I think Kate would get one hell of a kick out of him.

 

Guest #3: Christopher Moore.  This may be my only left-field kind of choice, but if you know me, you know it's not random at all.  One of my all-time favorite books is Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal.  Some people write this book off as sacreligious on the basis of the title alone, without ever having cracked it open.  If you actually do open the cover, what you'll find is the story of Biff, who has been resurrected 2000 years after Christ's death to write a Gospel that will fill in all of the years that are missing from the four existing books of the Gospel (i.e., pretty much anything before the age of 30 or so).  Biff is a regular guy, kind of an asshole, who happened to meet Jesus when they were 7 and became his best friend.  Perhaps most importantly, he was the one that was with him when he was trying to come to terms with what exactly he was supposed to DO as the Son of God.  If you actually READ the book, you'll see that there's really nothing sacreligious about it - Jesus, although very much human, is always a picture of piety and propriety - it's Biff that is the irreverent, amoral goofball.  Okay, fine, once or twice he gets frustrated trying to get his message across and lets out a "dammit!" but that's as bad as it gets.  And that's what I like about it - it's a wonderful portrait of male friendship (what, you've never met a ridiculously nice guy with an asshole for a best friend?), and it imagines Jesus as a real person - with a sense of humor, and curiosity, and an incredible burden on his shoulders.  It's also screamingly funny.  No, seriously - I've gotten some weird looks on the bus while reading it.  And Biff's account of the Passion is quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read - even if you don't believe in Jesus, just imagine watching your best friend put himself through that, willfully and out of love for you and everyone around you.  I like to re-read this book during Lent...ever since the first time I read it, I've thought, yeah, THAT'S what I've always thought Jesus was really like, and what I think faith is all about.  "Faith isn't an act of intelligence, it's an act of imagination."  What we know from books only gets us halfway - at that point, you've gotta take what you know and just let your imagination run wild.

 

Moore has written plenty of other books as well, and the others are far less heavy in terms of subject matter.  They tend to be about odd, supernatural things, everything from giant sea creatures to Native American spirits to vampires and grim reapers.  When I read the opening chapters of Fluke (or I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings), I thought, "man, this guy REALLY gets how scientists actually work."  They are all ludicrously funny and I can't recommend them enough.  Most of them do have a spiritual element to them, even if you have to squint and tilt your head just so to get it.  But above all, he is creative, he is hysterical, and I can never wait to see what he'll come up with next.  And that's why he gets a spot at my table.

 

Guest #4: There is no Guest #4. 

 

However, I am totally going to cheat here, because the rules never said that I wasn't allowed to pick a person to MAKE the meal.  That person would be Heston Blumenthal.  Most of my regular readers have probably not heard of him.  He's a 3-Michelin-star chef who takes the molecular gastronomy approach to cooking.  Simply put, he has a deeply analytical and scientific take on developing recipes and cooking methods.  He has a show called In Search of Perfection that is currently airing on Food Network Canada - it is the only cooking show that actually makes this foodie/science geek horny.  And before you start going all "whoa, that was TOO MUCH INFORMATION" on me, just think about the number of food-porn shows out there that are TRYING to do just that.  Heston's just the only one who succeeds.  I mean, the man makes ME go, "whoa...you may be thinking just a little too much about your food."  But I love him.  I'm not the sort of person who makes a list of things to do before I die, but if I did, they'd probably all be food-related, and at the top of the list would be the tasting menu and wine pairings at The Fat Duck.  Chances are, that would do me in anyway, both financially and cardiovascularly, but dammit, what a way to go.

 

And with that, so begins All-Request Week.  Request lines are, as I said before, still open - there does seem to be some demand along the "What, exactly IS it that you do?" lines, so one post will definitely cover my research.  However, that post will be significantly more entertaining if Fearless Leader gives me his blessing to post some of my silly movies on YouTube (under a personal account, not the lab one, unless otherwise instructed), so I may hold off for a bit.  In the meantime, keep the requests coming, or else you'll be hearing an awful lot about bananahammocks and ramen noodles...

You're the inspiration.

So...you may have noticed that things have been a little quiet around here.  Well, if I'm being totally honest, life has been a little dull of late.  If I were to write about what I've been up to lately, it would go something like this:

 

1.  Ate lots of things that were bad for me.

 

2.  Haven't been working out.

 

3.  Put on enough weight to officially make my pants not fit. 

 

4.  Yeah, right.

 

5.  Nursed a sinus infection for a week and a half.

 

6.  Watched WAY too much Veronica Mars.

 

7.  Spent sick days subsisting on nothing but ramen noodles and marked-down easter chocolate while watching Veronica Mars.  Well, that pretty much covers items 1-6 in one fell swoop.

 

Lather, rinse, repeat.  So you can see why I've been feeling a lack of inspiration lately - none of those experiences really scream, "Now I must WRITE!!!"  With the possible exception of the Veronica Mars - I am a huge fan and devoured all 3 seasons in the space of about 2 weeks.  With about two episodes left to go in the series, I put my finger on the primary thing that kept me coming back.  I mean, the mystery/private eye bit is very engaging, but for me, there has to be a little something extra to keep me hooked.  I had thought it was the snark (which is quite liberally applied throughout the series, and we all know what a fan I am of snarkitude), but it's more than that.  There is a relatively high grab-and-kiss factor.  We all know what a fan I am of the g&k - thus, the satisfying moments are excessively so.  Also, lots of forehead kisses.  I'm convinced that one of the writers must have been a short woman and/or a tall man with a short girl fetish, because forehead kisses are near and dear to the hearts of all us short girls.  Strangers will kiss you on the cheek, lovers will kiss you on the lips, but only someone who loves you will kiss you on the forehead.  Well, someone who loves you and who just doesn't have the energy to stoop over very far.  I've found that I generally date guys in the range of 5'10"-6'1" - I believe this is because this is the perfect height differential for two of my favorite forms of affection: the resting of his chin on top of my head during the hug, and the forehead kiss.  I know what some of you are thinking: "Dude, you're 5'3".  You don't need a 6" guy for that..."

 

But this midget likes to wear heels.

 

The midget also likes to digress.

8.  The Yeti Strikes Back.  Frequent readers may remember the Yeti.  For you newbies, click the link.  The poll should still be active - vote early and often, kids.  This is what Bigfoot looks like:

Chatty Nasal Girl is still trying to convince me that the Yeti Likes Me likes me.  However, I'm the only one who actually knows Yeti, so therefore mine is the only opinion that matters.  Frankly, I am just happy to have pretty flowers, regardless of the motivation.  I'm just hoping that the wilty bits will hold on until those last two lilies open for me.  So far, everything seems to be going strong.  Yetis have expensive taste, which tends to result in gifts with long shelf-lives.

 

9.  Went to the Hart House Orchestra concert in the Great Hall.  Any fellow Torontonians (or future visitors to Toronto) with Harry Potter fixations would be well-advised to attend an event in the Great Hall at Hart House.  I didn't invite anyone to go with me this time - none of my friends that are actually interested in classical music really needed to witness firsthand the effect that seeing the VGLM in a tux, carrying a violin, has on me.  Luckily, I am sophisticated enough to know that it is not, in fact, considered appropriate to throw one's panties on the stage at such an occasion.  That man will be the death of me.  Or, at the very least, of my dignity.

 

All told, this doesn't make for a very interesting post, despite the fact that it's taken a wee turn for the interactive (unlike the Great Hall, here it is COMPLETELY appropriate to throw undergarments.  Preferably lacy ones).  So here's what we're gonna do: I've been thinking for a long time about doing a theme week.  Mup did one a while back (Beatles week, where each post was inspired by the title of a Beatles song), and an impromptu one this week.  And since I've been eating pretty well this week, starting to shed some of my clearance candy weight, and slowly getting back into as much of a gym routine as my still-tickly lungs will allow (translation: lots of yoga, not so much with the swimming/running), I'm starting to fit in my pants again, feel a little less down on myself and a little more ready for a wee bit of inspiration.  So here's what we're gonna do - my theme of choice is....

 

<drum roll>

 

...Audience Participation.

That's right, it's All-Request Week here at The Alchemist!  Here's how it's going to go: you suggest topics for me.  I will use your suggestions for my next week's worth of posts.  As per Mup's self-imposed rules, a blogging week is 5 posts, although if there are enough interesting topics, I am willing to work through the weekend or even pull overtime.  So, what do you want me to do?  Explain what, exactly, it is that I DO at work?  Always wanted to know what my favorite color is?  Detailed analysis of the homoerotic overtones of the Danger Mouse/Penfold dynamic and my extended conspiracy theory that Penfold is, in fact, a marmot, and not a hamster as previously believed?  Force me to sit through an episode of American Idol or Paradise Hotel and live-blog every excruciating moment of it?  Want to know why there is no number 4, or what, exactly, makes me so Goddamned awesome?

 

Okay, so that last one doesn't count, because pretty much every post I write is an attempt to answer that question and if I haven't by now, I'm sure I never will.  Anyway, requests can be silly or serious, sacred or profane.  You can submit requests a number of ways:

1.  In the comments.  This has the benefit of giving you the option of submitting your idea anonymously.

2.  E-mail me via my profile.  This has the benefit of allowing you to submit an idea privately, so the rest of the class won't know what's about to hit them.

3.  Telepathy.  The best of both worlds.  Although your chances of getting through aren't so good.  Direct-dialing this midget's brain may result in a busy signal.

4.  Bitch, please.

 

So have at it.  Tell me what you want to know - you no suggest, me no write. 

Heh heh heh...you might call it cruel or unfair, I call it blogmail...