Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Music Notes: Sounds like . . .

Is it just me, or does Scott McCurry's "Don't Do It" make you think of Lasse Lindh? I'm not sure if it's his voice or the combination of his voice and music, but every time I hear that song, I think "Oh, it's Lasse Lindh. Oh, wait, it's not."

Not that I don't like Scott McCurry. I do. But this one song always makes me expect someone else.

Seriously. Listen to "The Stuff,"

And then listen to "Don't Do It" (from Like the Sun). (sorry I don't have an embeddable clip for that one).

Can you hear it, too? No? Just me, then? Ok, fine.

I'm hearing musical similarities all over the place these days. The first thing I thought when I heard "Allison" by pop-punk band The Burning Hotels was, "that music sounds exactly like 'A Hundred Hearts'" (which is a great song by The Swimmers from an album of good songs--you should buy it). And then I thought, "I really dig this song." And then I decided it's not exactly like "A Hundred Hearts."

The more I listen to "Allison," the more I like it, and the less it reminds me of The Swimmers.

But judge for yourself. Here is "A Hundred Hearts."

And here's "Allison":

The music is very similar in one part, really almost exactly the same. And I know that's not just me. But both great songs! Support your local indie band!

And on that note, I'll end this with a song that doesn't remind me of any other song (and totally unlike the songs I mentioned above). The Orbans are a Fort Worth band. Buy local, right? If you don't like this band, there might be something wrong with you.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Happy Thanksgiving

For Thanksgiving this year, RR and I had our second annual family Thanksgiving boycott. We had a great time, and the food we cooked was delicious. We are excited about all the fun stuff we'll make with leftovers. But as we were about to dig into to our meal, we realized that we would have been just as happy with a box of cereal and some half-and-half. To us, it's pretty hard to beat granola or sweetened rice flakes.

So now we know what we're doing next year. Try not to be too jealous.

I hope everyone's Turkey Day was fabulous!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

I know that damn cat food plate moves into my path deliberately. I know it.

Otherwise, how could I accidentally step on it all the time? This is further proof that everything in my home is plotting against me.

cat plate low res

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Solidarity with South Korea

I had planned to blog about the limited good news that Burma had released from house arrest Aung San Suu Kyi (I say limited because it's not like Burma has made a move toward democracy), but I want to take a moment instead to address the attacks on South Korea. Obama (or at least his press secretary) stated that we stand "shoulder to shoulder" with South Korea. I don't know how much that statement will translate into any actual policies or actions, but I agree with the sentiment 100 percent. My thoughts and prayers are with the people of South Korea. To all my Korean friends . . . I don't think you know about my blog, so you won't be reading this, but I hope your family is safe.

I assume most if not all Americans are aware that the war between North and South Korean never officially ended--they just called a truce. If anyone wants to know more about the craziness (and huge, huge problem) that is North Korea, I suggest you start here (even if you only have time to watch Mr. Hong's presentation and not the whole video). If you don't have time to watch that eye-opening talk but want to read more, go here, here, here, and here (to see video from the Vice Guide to North Korea, go here). It is almost unbelievable. If you want to help out North Korean refugees (who, if they are caught in China, are usually sent back to North Korea to be put in Nazi-like work camps or executed), you can start here. This is what South Korea is dealing with, and, really it's a problem of the whole world.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

All of Your Cookies Are Belong To Me

This weekend, I have eaten at least four dozen cookies. I kid you not. I think that easily answers the question of why my clothes don't fit me. It's only partially my fault because I have absolutely no willpower, and RR simply would not stop making cookies. She was going to a gathering of friends, and they were all supposed to bring cookies. She didn't think she had enough. I pointed out that if there were seven people there, and they all brought only one dozen cookies, then that made seven dozen. That's 84 cookies. I think that's enough.

And then she made more cookies.
Justify Full
And then of course she had lots of leftovers, which she brought home.

And then she left me unsupervised for several hours.

So it's mostly her fault.

Today, I am going shopping with RR and our friend MJ, and they are two of the tiniest people I know, so I will get to feel extra fat. It will be kind of like the time in 10th grade when a friend I'll call Shanna went shopping with me and RR. At that time, I could have stood to lose maybe five pounds. When RR tried on a dress, I thought, "oh, that looks nice on her," but Shanna said, "gosh, you make [JLR] and I feel like a couple of whales." I did not feel like a whale.  That thought didn't cross my mind. But Shanna felt free to speak for me the thoughts she assumed I was thinking. "Your tininess only serves to emphasize the hugeness of both me and your fat, fat sister, who, in my head, I refer to as Humpty Dumptiest."

Today, however, that statement would be kind of true. I'm not overweight. But standing next to RR and MJ, one cannot help but feel whale-like.

Last week I went shopping with my mom. I love my mom, I love spending time with her, and sometimes I even like shopping with her. But oftentimes, shopping with her can be an excruciating experience. When we made plans to go, I told her that I didn't want to be leaving the mall at 9:00 p.m. (when it closed), and she swore she was too tired to stay that late anyway. I guess she was right because we left at 8:50, and I really don't think she could have made it those last ten minutes.

It's my fault, I guess I should have been more clear. I should said, "I don't want to be leaving the mall at 9:00 p.m., and please take that not literally but in the way that you know I meant it, i.e., I don't want to be there for more than one or two hours, and any departure time close to 9:00 is too late."

My dad had been there with us for the first part, but he had to leave after about half an hour. I want to think that it's because he had gotten up really early that morning and was dead tired and not because at the Origins counter, my mom announced loudly and insistently to the lady working there that my dad was "obsessed" with getting rid of his blackheads. I think my dad really appreciated that.

Besides being mildly embarrassing, it's not a completely accurate statement, or at least I don't think so, because in my mind "obsessed with getting rid of blackheads" is not the same thing as "fascinated with pores and also with the way Biore strips work." My dad, my sister, and I are all very interested in things that other people seem to find mundane.

Anyway, good ol' mom was on a roll that night. She also told the employees at every skin care/makeup counter we stopped at that I had The Rosacea. "AND SHE HAS TO BE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT SHE PUTS ON HER FACE BECAUSE SHE HAS THE ROSACEA. YOU KNOW, THE ROSACEA. ON HER FACE. MAYBE I SHOULD SAY THAT AGAIN BUT LOUDER." And then I'd do a little half-hearted wave, to acknowledge that "yep, that's me. I'm defective."

Mom is not normally the type to attempt to embarrass her loved ones in public. Quite the opposite, in fact. But then again, Mom knows no secrets. By that I mean, she doesn't see the need to keep personal details private. She is not embarrassed by the whole world knowing everything about her, so maybe it doesn't occur to her that her children and husband are the complete and total opposite.

Turn about is fair play, though. I am pretty sure that I embarrassed her by my abrupt-to -the-point-of-rudeness treatment of the lady at the Lancome counter who was trying to put the pressure on Mom to buy me something that I had only casually mentioned that I was considering buying one day. I don't like pushy people.

I never buy Lancome anyway because in my mind, fairly or unfairly, I think it's for old ladies. This may be because my grandmother uses it. I am about ready to be upgraded to "old lady" status, though. I turn 35 next year, which I don't think makes me old, but let's face it, I've been an old lady inside for years now. And now my feet also smell old. Let me clarify. My feet do not smell like they've been around for sixty years. They smell like the kind of ointment that old people supposedly use. And they smell like that because I use Badger Balm, which smells like the kind of ointment that old people supposedly use. I started using it one day, and then I got used to it, and now I can't not use it. I don't know what it is about me but once I start using some kind of product, if I use it for more than a few days, it becomes mandatory. Years ago, I made it a habit to put on hand lotion before handling paper because I found it cut down on paper cuts, and now I cannot force myself to touch paper if my hands are not sufficiently moisturized. If someone tries to hand me paper when I have dry hands, I just stare at them.

So now I've gotten so used to that stupid Badger Balm that I can't even just put it on at night anymore. I now have to use it in the morning, too. If RR tries to talk to me before I have applied it to my feet, then all I can think is, "I CANNOT HEAR YOU MY FEET ARE DRY," or, sometimes, a more calm but still crazy-making "dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet." So I accept my fate of old-lady-smelling-feet.

Actually, I think old ladies tend to use perfumed lotions, so probably I smell like old man feet.

And now I will go eat some more cookies.

Sunday, November 07, 2010

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, which is why I can't talk about work sometimes

Holy fazzoli, HOW has it been that long since I posted something? I guess maybe nothing has happened to me except work. Not that post-worthy things don't happen at work--they do. I discuss it with RR ad nauseam (well, to the point of her feeling nausea, I just get more irritated). But unfortunately, my fear of getting fired or somehow violating ethics rules prevents me from talking about it much here.

So I will just say that sometimes I really think my boss is just messing with me.

On a happy note, today I am going to the store to buy these rice puffy things, the name of which I do not know, which makes it difficult to ask for in the store. We went to one store to look for them yesterday, but they didn't have them. It took a while to figure that out, though, because we don't know what they are called, and "rice puffy things," accompanied by hand gestures approximating their size, is apparently not that descriptive.

So we are going to a different store today. And then we are going to Central Market, which isn't anywhere close to the first store or our home. But we like cashew butter on the rice puffy things, and all other cashew butter pretty much pales in comparison to that of CM. That's a lot of grocery stores. And driving. But I am terribly excited about it. It's going to be the highlight of my day. Sad, but true.

We'll probably have to swing by the parents' abode to say hello, which would normally be fun, but the whole time we're there, I'll be thinking about those rice puffy things just sitting in the car, waiting to be et.

Let's see, um, I finally joined the rest of the world and downloaded Skype. I did this so that RR and I could talk to each other without having to shout if one of us was upstairs while the other was downstairs. That is some serious pigritude, but I am unrepentant. But here was the cool part. I look terrible on the webcam (no surprises there), BUT my eyes show up as this really odd blue color. This was like, crayon, colored contacts, laser beam blue. If my eyes were this color in real life, NO ONE would mess with me. Because I really looked like I might be (a) a supernatural being, (b) possessed, or (c) a robot. It was awesome.

In other News, I am considering adopting old-fashioned Rules for Capitalization. Said Adoption might be accompanied by adoption of old-timey Spelling. No Reason, just sounds fun. And confusing. And slightly nerdy. In other Words, Me.