is it just me?

Thursday, January 26, 2006

 

the gauntlet (guilty pleasures)

I used to really enjoy MTV's the Real World. I could watch a marathon with the best of them. I mean, it's kind of the TV version of People Magazine. I have to admit that I can't really watch it anymore. Maybe it's because I am too old, or because they have run out of interesting people. In any case, I haven't followed it in years. However, I did still watch when they were in New Orleans. If you watched it, you'll remember Julie, the latest in a proud line of naive virgins that started with the original Julie from Alabama in New York (the first time). Julie (for those of you who aren't familiar) was a Mormon from Utah, and took time away from BYU to do the show. Now, sending someone from BYU to the raunchy capital of the world was sure to provide for some entertainment. Once Julie got a little bit a freedom, she started to get a little crazy. (Not too bad, but more than just drinking caffeine.) She dyed her hair, flirted with boys, and generally became a little less Utah and a little more NO. Last night I was at a meeting for this thing I do outside of work. Several months ago the group got a new loan fund manager. She's young, was working at an investment bank in California but is originally from Utah. When she got her she wore suits and long sleeves in the summer. She had long, straight, naturally blond hair and seemed impossibly wholesome. A few months back we had a get together at a bar. While I can't remember if she was drinking, she was at least in a bar, wearing a skirt and small shirt. And the next month she dyed her hair red and brown. And I thought to myself "Oh my gosh, it' s Julie from real world". It's like the Mormon rumspringer. Now she has a boyfriend, her hair is yet another color, she's started cracking a lot more jokes (they're not all that funny but hey, she hasn't had a lot of practice). So hear this, be careful sending your mormon daughters out into the world. They're ripe for a revolution.

So, although I can no longer watch Real World somehow I can stomach the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I mean, the drama is still annoying but at least there are physical challenges involved. But it's kind of sad that some people are still doing them. I mean, really. That guy Mark? What is he, 40? And he's with crazy big boob Robin from whatever show? And Julie is still there. I think she didn't really know what to do after RW. I think I read somewhere that BYU wouldn't let her back in because she did something horrible. And she got in some feud with Melissa because Melissa said Julie was stealing her speaking engagements. Really? People pay these people to speak to others? I mean, I find Real World interesting but I don't think that makes them motivational speakers. Basically those two spent 5 months drooling over the same "hot" guy (I have to admit I never care much for this character. Most of them aren't that hot and they are all dumb.) So anyway, I feel sad that these people keep doing this stuff (don't they have jobs?) yet I must watch. The gauntlet is so Celebrity Death Match. Oh, and as further proof that all random things come from Wisconsin, there was that guy Sean Duffy who's a lumberjack. His family is all into log rolling (trying to stand on a log in water) and now he is a commentator for the Great Outdoor Games on ESPN. And he married fellow Real Worlder young Republican Rachel from San Francisco. Speaking of, does anyone know if Judd and Pam stayed together? That's some old school RW trivia right there. Apparently I have a problem.

shot spot
Since my husband says this blog is basically just a new place for me to talk about things that annoy me, I figure I will make him right at the risk of alienating all 8 of my readers because you have no idea what you're talking about. As previously discussed, I enjoy watching sports on tv. One sport I enjoy is tennis, and recently I have been watching the Australian Open, which shows on ESPN2. So, they have this computer aided thing that can recreate where a shot went. I don't really know how it works, but it's called Shot Spot and they are really fond of it. It's basically an animated replay. While I am sure it is fairly accurate, for some reason they have decided that it is a legitimate way to decide if a call is correct. So, when it's questionable they say "let's see what Shot Spot says" and they show the graphic and then declare authoritatively "IN" or "OUT". The program seems to rely a lot on shadow analysis which makes it even more shady (pun intended) in my opinion. I don't mind technology, but let's be realistic about what it can actually do.

Speaking of technology, would all the smart people who are making computer programs for tennis please start working on how to make tools for dentists that don't look like ancient torture devices and are no more sophisticated than just scraping? Really, you can remove things from the body without actually cutting it open, you can cure cancer with radiation waves but all they can do for our teeth is just jab at them with sharp objects? Come on, engineers. Get on it. (Can you tell I went to the dentist this morning?)

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

 

the twinkies are back

Twinkies is the name my friend and I use for undergraduates. It mostly refers to the dilly, well dressed undergraduate girls, but in a pinch any student can be a twinkie. In any case, after a nice long winter break (man I miss that part of school - the part where you don't have to go) they are back. While this is bad news for traffic (though we really can't complain), downtown restaurant waiting, and availability of machines at the gym, it is good for the inadvertant entertainment factor they provide me.

On my way to the gym yesterday I see these two girls driving a little red BMW with pop music blaring out the window. The license plate says 4 Zaine (or something like that, I know I pronounced it - in my head - like zany). This is all fine, aside from my general objection to young people driving really nice cars. But then I look at the driver and passenger and they are both wearing head scarves. Now, I have no objection to these or to whatever religion dictates their use. But at what point does the head scarf become sort of a mute point? Doesn't driving a red sports car and blasting your music at least sort of undermine the principles behind the scarf? Maybe I just don't understand, but the whole thing felt at least a touch contradictory. And no 20 year old should drive a new BMW. That should be illegal.

Just in front of the large construction zone near the gym (the latest place I have identified as a likely location for my untimely death given the large machinery I dodge on a daily basis) there was a Colt 45 can with a straw sticking out of it. If Colt 45 and a straw aren't a recipe for a good Saturday night, I don't know what is. On a side note, I remember in college it was commonly accepted knowledge that you got a better buzz if you drank beer through a straw. (Ah, the things we cared about in college.) Is that true? The science of it never really added up for me.

On my bus ride in this morning I passed a car with a vanity plate that said "WHY 2K". Oops. It probably seemed like a good idea some time in 1999. But now they should probably trade it in. I mean, just the idea of y2K makes me laugh. My mother in law sent my husband a Y2K care package that contained a flashlight, and, inexplicably, gum. There was some other stuff too. But I remember the gum. But what if they didn't get it in 1999? What if they got it recently? Would that be better or worse? I can't decide.

Last Friday just before 'rush hour' (we still call it that here even though it just means there are a lot of cars, not stopped traffic, and it only lasts about 20 minutes) it started to snow. It actually snowed quite a lot. We waited nearly 25 minutes for the bus. Then we get to the bottom of this big hill and two busses have slid backwards down it and are stuck. Our bus driver has the good sense not to attempt it. My friend and I decide to get off and walk. As I get of the bus and nearly fall on my ass (the snow had caused instant, very slippery ice) I thought to myself - I am about to walk home in the dark cold snow because my bus cannot make it up the hill. My life is not that awesome. (In fairness, it wasn't that bad. It was pretty and not too cold and I was already halfway home.)

So, mostly January has been boring which is why I haven't been doing too much posting. But if anything good happens you all will be the first to know.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

 

PBR me, baby

So, PBR is a beer, of course. But did you know it is also the Professionall Bullriders Association? Yessiree, that's right. And on Saturday night they came to Madison. My friend invited me to go with her, she billed it as a 'rodeo'. I thought a rodeo sounded fun. I envisioned some horse stunts, maybe a little calf roping. Who knows. I had never been to a rodeo. But this is not a rodeo. It's just cowboys holding on to bucking bulls for dear life. And let me tell you what - that is some crazy shit.

So, I am not sure I have ever been around so many bonafide cowboys. I mean, they really do wear the hats and the pearl button shirts and the boots. But the part I thought was funny was that the bullriders wear chaps with all this spangly stuff on them. Like sparkly pink streamers. I’m not kidding. It’s totally un-macho and kind of bizarre. So anyway, as all those Luke Perry fans know all too well, you have to stay on the bull for eight seconds to get a score. If you do that then they come up with a number which was totally meaningless to me at first but then I learned to whoop and holler for anything say 84 or above. And boo if you think they did a good job but their score is lower than that. The thing that is silly is either a) these guys weren’t that good or b) their scoring system is too hard since there was a grand total of one guy who had a qualifying score in both rounds which means he was the only one that could win. Kind of anti-climactic if you ask me.

So, I don’t really know where all the people there came from. I guess from farms around Madison. They really didn’t look like city folk. There were lots of boys in hats and ladies in tight jeans. And Miller Lite for everybody. In between the rounds they use a Bobcat like a Zamboni to clear the dirt. Those are the sponsors: Miller Lite, Bobcat, Dodge Trucks and other shit for which I am definitely NOT the target market.

There was a sweepstakes for a Dodge Mega Cab truck. (Actually, it turns out they tricked us because the drawing there was for a silver belt buckle and then you qualified for the truck drawing at the finals). So we went to check out the truck and signed ourselves up. Let me tell you - the cab of that thing is roughly the size of my living room. It’s huge. It has seating for, like, 11. Well, probably not 11 cowboys but 11 girls like me. I was kind of disappointed not to win, actually, since I decided my dog and I would look cool riding around in that thing.

So at one point the announcer says, “Do we have any rednecks here tonight?” I was gonna laugh if no one yelled because that place was jam packed with rednecks. But lots of people said “Woooo!” And then the announcer said “Do you know how to make a redneck holler?” And then they started playing Sweet Home Alabama. Classic.

One thing I found strange is that it was kind of family event (aside from the guy almost getting crushed to death by a raging bull) what with the clowns, etc. But then they kept trying to get people to dance, and if some lady started getting freaky they would put the spotlight on her. And then they gave her a free pair of boots. But seriously she was totally shaking her ass right in front of the clowns face. I am sure all the kids were like – that’s how you get new boots? I’m gonna have to try that on my momma! So, I am not sure that was the best for the kids, but at least there was Boogerhead – the little kid rodeo clown who ran around with the big clown and did hat tricks and stuff.

So, if PBR comes to your town I recommend it, sort of. After a while it gets boring watching cowboys get thrown to the ground. Especially when it only takes 2 seconds. But I guarantee you will get to hear a redneck holler.

Friday, January 13, 2006

 

just because it's a trend...

...doesn't mean you have to follow it. Take that to heart. Integrate it in to your life.

So I was thinking about this the other day when watching college basketball. It has become popular recently to name your student section and give them all free matching t-shirts with the name on them. For those not familiar, a few examples: Michigan State has the Izzone (Tom Izzo is their coach), Iowa has the Hawk's Nest. Here at Wisconsin all the students got tie-dyed tshirts that say Grateful Red because the team is known as Big Red. Anyway, you get it. Maybe it's only in the Big Ten that they do this, I'm not sure. So I was watching the Michigan game the other day and they all have yellowish shirts that say "Maize Rage". What? I mean, I guess technically maize is their color, but is there a less scary color on earth? Corn rage! Look out for us we're CORN CRAZY! So to Michigan I say, if you can't come up with something better than maize rage maybe you should ditch the t-shirt trend. You could always buy the students thundersticks or something.

Although it was the gameday tshirts that got me thinking about this again, it is actually a peeve of mine when people insist on wearing a trend even though it looks really really bad on them. Here in Wisconsin we have a lot of girls that are, um, on the bigger side. And a lot of the trends are set by, say, lollipop head Nicole Richie. And they don't really look good on girls who could stand to lose 25 lbs. But still, there they are, spare tire hanging out over the top of their low rise jeans, thong apparently cutting off circulation to their legs. And those giant sunglasses? Don't get me started. Those are really, really hard to pull off. It helps to be famous. And gorgeous. And super styley in general. You can't just throw on your sweats and parka and then add bug eyes. Give it up. So if you see a trend and think 'that's cool' before purchasing it in eight colors you need to look in the mirror, and be very honest with yourself.

So, if any of the rest of you are catty (like me) and celebrity obsessed (like me) I would like to highly recommend one of the most hilarious blogs on the internet, gofugyourself.com. It's basically the above paragraph but making fun of horrible outfits that celebrities wear. (That was a terrible description that made it seem very boring, but trust me on this. I do not forward unless I mean it. It is funny shit.)

mute

Every month I have to participate in conference calls with other folks who are in my line of work. Many of them are crazy conspiracy theorists. So my boss and I sit there with the call on mute making fun of them, yelling at the phone, and saying things like "have they completely lost their minds?" Anyway, it is one of my great fears that one day I will think the mute button is on and I will be making some really disparaging remark and they will actually be able to hear me. Like those silly Southwest commercials. So, I think they should make a phone for people like me that when the mute button is on it isn't just an inconspicuous little red light, it's a giant flashing rainbow. It would save me anxious checking every ten seconds. I can't be the only person who is paranoid about this. Right? So, if any of you work for a phone manufacturer, get on that , would you?

Thursday, January 05, 2006

 

thanks for sharing

One thing in the long list of things I don’t like that girls are supposed to like is listening to the story of how people got engaged. I don’t care. I think it should be personal. And private. After I got engaged everyone asked me. “How did he do it? What did he say – EXACTLY?” I mean, first of all, why do you care? We had a conversation in which we agreed to get married, and now we will get married. Also, some things should be kept to yourself. At least in my opinion. So I never, ever ask anyone. But I end up listening to it because either other women really do want to know, or they feel like they should so they ask.

Anyway, last night through some weird circumstances we ended up eating dinner with a couple of people we kind of know and two of their friends who we had never met. The unknown friends had just gotten engaged. So the girl shows up a little late, and the other woman at the table immediately grabs her had to inspect the ring. This is risky, because you don’t know the caliber of the ring before doing this, so you don’t know if you’re going to be able to ooh and aah. In this case, the ring looked like a picture you would see of a ‘ring’ in a “Learn Spanish Through Pictures Book” (that is, a generic, stick-up engagement ring) which was, to be fair, tiny. Now, I don’t particularly care for big engagement rings, but let’s be honest. In general they are judged on their size. So if yours is tiny, everyone looks at it and feels sorry for you. Unfortunate but true. [Proof of this was someone who looked at my engagement ring, of which I am very fond, at my wedding and said "It looks just like mine - Dave and I were broke when we got engaged too!"] So the girl who has grabbed the hand has to say something so she says something super generic like “oohh…nice” and the guy (feeling compelled to support his buddy in this time of need) says “Nice work, Ned”. Um, yeah. So then they tell the story of getting engaged. It was a perfectly fine, unremarkable story but it is very weird to sit and listen to something like that from someone you don’t even know. And if I don’t know you I DEFINITELY don’t care about how you got engaged. Not at all. So I tried to feign interest but in reality just watched the USC-Texas game behind the girl’s head. Fortunately the odds that I will ever see those people again in my life are very small, so there’s no need to worry about being rude.

Confession

Since it is now January, I have decided to confess something. I am a huge Duke basketball fan. I went to Duke and as a result am a big fan. I only say that it’s a confession because whenver you tell anyone that you like Duke they look at you and say “I HATE Duke”. I think it mostly goes back to some deep-seated (or is it deep-seeded) hatred of Christian Laettner, to which I say: get over it. He’s like 50 now. And sure, J.J. Redick (if that name means nothing to you you might want to stop reading now and come back another day) is kind of a smug bastard, but mostly because he’s good. And the rest of the team, these days, just isn’t that hateable in my opinion. I mean, Sean Dockery? What’s to hate about that guy? Shelden Williams? And you had to love Shane “I won’t use a cliché in an interview for a whole year” Battier. That guy was great. Anyway, now it’s college basketball season and I, for one, could not be happier. I will also cheer for the mighty Badgers who have cracked the top 25. And I will count the days until March Madness which is, hands down, the world’s greatest sporting event. Seven game playoff series are for sissies. I am a bit distressed that the ACC season now involves dopes like VA Tech and Miami, but what can you do. Hopefully kick their asses, that’s what. Anyway, now that we’ve been together for a while I thought that was something you should know about me. Go Devils.

 

happy new year

Well, after a lovely sojourn to sunny VA to see my family for the holidays I have returned to Wisconsin where, I fear, the sun may never shine again. It has been cloudy since some time in early December. Without pause. It’s starting to wear on everyone.

Now, in my last post I told you about the potluck. Not being able to come up with any convincing reason why I could not attend (and believe me, I tried) I went. In the morning I went to get this lady to sign something and they said “She’s in the conference room working on her meatballs”. That was the first sign that a potluck at work was a bad idea. Anyway, I walk in and there she is with her crock pot full of meatballs, a jar of “Shrimp Sauce” (which to most of America is known by its more flattering though less descriptive name of cocktail sauce) and a jar of currant jelly. She has emptied the contents of both of these jars into the pot of meat. There is all this glistening, gelatinous mess sitting on the top. I make a mental note not to try the meatballs. Apparently it is common knowledge that these two items (apparently there’s room for creative interpretation on the flavor of jelly) go into meatballs. I was doing fine living life without that information, but now I feel more sure that I may have eaten my last meatball that is not floating in something I know to be comprised of tomatores. That was the least appetizing item, with the most appetizing being some dee-licious chicken that a guy upstairs ran out and bought from the local rotisserie place. See, we should have all just gone there for lunch. The only really unfortunate incident was biting into something which I thought was a bread product (like a hush puppy or something tasty like that) but was actually a chicken ball. Potlucks should always, always have labels for the food.

The holidays passed relatively uneventfully with a lot of time spent entertaining and cooing over my nieces, who are both coo-worthy. There was only one major fight between one sister and her husband, which involved her stomping upstairs and slamming the door. I don’t recommend doing this in front of your family since my other sister and I told the story about ten times afterwards. The best was after she finally re-emerged and was sitting across the room from her husband still seething he says (across about six people who all witnessed the incident) “is something wrong?” Good going. I am sure she’s not mad anymore after that.

On New Year’s we went to see a rockin bluegrass (sort of) band called the Hackensaw Boys who are from Charlottesville (where I am also from). They put on a great show, and the crowd was very enthusiastic. The only mistake they made is for some reason they decided to have a costume contest where you were supposed to dress like a celebrity. I am not really sure what the point of this was. There were not very many contestants, and they mostly sucked. But the worst part was they let the contestants on stage. This was a bad idea. Drunk people and microphones never lead to good things. Some drunk guy who was not even in costume was up there yelling “Nelson County in the mother fuckin house!! Fuck yeah, motherfuckers!” Excellent. The guy who was wearing a crazy costume of balloons who was allegedly dressed as “Evolution” (and made a brief attempt to make a political statement about teaching evolution in schools) was declared the winner, but it was mostly due to lack of good alternatives. After he won some drunk guy with a lighter started burning the balloons and popping them one by one. That part was funny. The only other bad part was the opening act. It was a woman with a very nice voice who sang lots of slow, depressing songs. Happy new year’s eve, everyone. Now go kill yourselves.

Unfortunately we left town at 7:35am the next morning which was not that much fun (but saved us hundreds of dollars on our car insurance). Not surprisingly, I returned with a cold and laid on the couch for two solid days watching a lot of college football.

The end.

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