An ex-fellow English instructor guided me towards the hilarity that is this video, and I'm pretty sure I know why. If you get a bunch of English majors together and supply them with a copious amount of alcohol (and English folk tend to drink, so they usually need more booze than the average bear), you usually wind up with drunken renditions of classic literature that sound something like the accounts in the video. Drunk Canterbury Tales, anyone?
This one's pretty damn funny too...
I'm telling you, this could be comedy gold. Drunk Beowulf? Drunk Hamlet? Drunk Catcher in the Rye? Somebody grab the vodka!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Infinite Summer
I've bitten off waaaaaay more than I can chew.
You know me. I'm a sucker for a lot of things, including but not limited to: kids selling shit, no matter how worthless; crying students/athletes (I'm not the meanie I think I am and aspire to be); principals who make ridiculous requests of my time and patience; a pretty face; and (most importantly) a challenge.
So when I stumbled across this little gem of a challenge, I absolutely couldn't resist.
You mean I get to use my expensive degree, read pretentious literature AND complete a challenge that has no reward other than its completion? Where do I sign up?
Okay, to be fair, Infinite Jest is only half as pretentious as I thought it would be. I kinda have a rager for post-modern shit, mostly because I don't get it. I haven't had enough training in it, I have read enough to call myself "pomo" proficient, and for the most part, I find it dreadfully boring. I'll take Chaucerian English or Shakespearean dick jokes over references to Derrida and Foucault that I only pretended to understand in grad school any day.
Okay, okay, I'm being a tad self-deprecating here. I'm learning as I read, I'm rolling with the punches, and I've even laughed out loud a couple of times. The truth is, the self-deprecation and pomo grudge is just an excuse, my lame ass attempt to justify already being one hundred pages behind the reading schedule. I can't even participate in the damn online discussion.
Plus, I've been horribly distracted by the latest installment of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series. Oh, Mma Ramotswe... you are so much more interesting than Hal Incandenza.
The truth is, I've returned to the sad realization that there is no possible way I'll ever be able to read everything I want to read within the tiny, insignificant span of time we call life. I think this sad, sad thought every time I set foot in a book store (which is often, and is extremely hazardous for my bank account) as I peruse the shelves of books I'll never get a chance to read. So do I really want to spend my summer reading Infinite Jest? Are there better ways to spend my reading hours?
I will more than likely continue slogging through that massive pomo tome, if only to say I completed the challenge. But distractions will arise (as they always do) and I can't guarantee I won't take a tiny break into the world of Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana...
You know me. I'm a sucker for a lot of things, including but not limited to: kids selling shit, no matter how worthless; crying students/athletes (I'm not the meanie I think I am and aspire to be); principals who make ridiculous requests of my time and patience; a pretty face; and (most importantly) a challenge.
So when I stumbled across this little gem of a challenge, I absolutely couldn't resist.
You mean I get to use my expensive degree, read pretentious literature AND complete a challenge that has no reward other than its completion? Where do I sign up?
Okay, to be fair, Infinite Jest is only half as pretentious as I thought it would be. I kinda have a rager for post-modern shit, mostly because I don't get it. I haven't had enough training in it, I have read enough to call myself "pomo" proficient, and for the most part, I find it dreadfully boring. I'll take Chaucerian English or Shakespearean dick jokes over references to Derrida and Foucault that I only pretended to understand in grad school any day.
Okay, okay, I'm being a tad self-deprecating here. I'm learning as I read, I'm rolling with the punches, and I've even laughed out loud a couple of times. The truth is, the self-deprecation and pomo grudge is just an excuse, my lame ass attempt to justify already being one hundred pages behind the reading schedule. I can't even participate in the damn online discussion.
Plus, I've been horribly distracted by the latest installment of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series. Oh, Mma Ramotswe... you are so much more interesting than Hal Incandenza.
The truth is, I've returned to the sad realization that there is no possible way I'll ever be able to read everything I want to read within the tiny, insignificant span of time we call life. I think this sad, sad thought every time I set foot in a book store (which is often, and is extremely hazardous for my bank account) as I peruse the shelves of books I'll never get a chance to read. So do I really want to spend my summer reading Infinite Jest? Are there better ways to spend my reading hours?
I will more than likely continue slogging through that massive pomo tome, if only to say I completed the challenge. But distractions will arise (as they always do) and I can't guarantee I won't take a tiny break into the world of Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Of Tampons and Two Year Olds
Another day biked to work, another day not dead...
Warning: I am about to wade into previously unexplored Coach J territory and talk about menstrual cycles. And not just any menstrual cycles, mind you, but my menstrual cycle. So if you're a member of my family or are squeamish or are a man who wants to continue on with the delusion that women's vaginas are nothing more than a source of infinite pleasure (okay, they're that too), then you may want to click away. Now.
Anyway...
Before I was the ass-kicking, ball-busting, fabulously sexy bitch goddess I am today, I was just a little girl who was terribly embarrassed by her period. I didn't want anyone to know I had gotten my period, that I was on it, that I even knew what a period was. I purposely used the old school no-applicator O.B. tampons because they could be hid discreetly just about anywhere (but looking back on it, the whole no-applicator thing was probably a bad idea for a girl who barely knew what the insides of her body consisted of, let alone know how to get a tampon up there).
Needless to say, I was absolutely thrilled when I started running cross country in high school and my period more or less took a four year hiatus. However, during that blessed reprieve, I gained other, more welcomed feminine assets (a.k.a. hips and boobs) and also came to the startling realization that *gasp!* I'm not the only girl who's ever had a period. In fact, it seemed as if the girls around mebitched talked about their periods all the time, so I got over it. Just like that.
And now? I really don't give a shit about my period one way or the other. Yeah, it can be a nuisance, but I've come to the oh so mature realization that there's not a whole lot I can do about it. I don't hide the fact that I'm on my period, I have no qualms about asking strangers for tampons, and I've talked openly without even a semblance of a blush about menstrual cycles with a whole room full of female track athletes (okay, maybe they were blushing...).
I think a lot of my lack of embarrassment has a lot to do with the fact that during my pregnancy, about half of the staff of Washoe Med had their hands in my vagina at one point or another. You can't really go back to having any kind of body embarrassment (or modesty, for that matter) after hosting that kind of open house.
Anyway, all this period talk comes up because of a little incident that happened last week that probably would have embarrassed the hell out of the pubescent, don't-even-say-the-word-period me. I was having dinner with Mike and Destructor at a reputable national chain restaurant (rhymes with Shmimi's) and, as two year olds are wont to do, Destructor got a bit restless towards the end of the meal. Luckily, I had the perfect diversionary tactic: hand the kid my purse.
Again, in hind sight, this probably wasn't the best idea, as the contents of my purse were quickly dumped out onto the table, including my stash of tampons. I may have mentioned before that along with all things wheels, Destructor has a penchant for feminine items, so I wasn't surprised when he grabbed one of the tampons. I was however, surprised at what he did next.
The kid examined the tampon for just a moment, stuck one end in his mouth, and ripped the wrapper off like the thing was a grenade pin. He then proceeded to peel the wrapper off like a banana, revealing the bright purple applicator, and held the damn thing up for the entire restaurant to see like it was the freaking sword of destiny. Mike's head was in his hands at that point, but I was nearly on the floor, dying of laughter. While the adolescent me would have been absolutely horrified (display a tampon in public? God, no!), but the older,less more mature me found the whole things to be freaking hilarious.
Destructor spent a good part of the twenty minute ride home shoving the tampon in and out of the applicator, reducing it to an unrecognizable wad of cotton fluff. Maybe the kid will be a gynecologist. Or a pervert. Either way, at least he won't be embarrassed by tampons.
Warning: I am about to wade into previously unexplored Coach J territory and talk about menstrual cycles. And not just any menstrual cycles, mind you, but my menstrual cycle. So if you're a member of my family or are squeamish or are a man who wants to continue on with the delusion that women's vaginas are nothing more than a source of infinite pleasure (okay, they're that too), then you may want to click away. Now.
Anyway...
Before I was the ass-kicking, ball-busting, fabulously sexy bitch goddess I am today, I was just a little girl who was terribly embarrassed by her period. I didn't want anyone to know I had gotten my period, that I was on it, that I even knew what a period was. I purposely used the old school no-applicator O.B. tampons because they could be hid discreetly just about anywhere (but looking back on it, the whole no-applicator thing was probably a bad idea for a girl who barely knew what the insides of her body consisted of, let alone know how to get a tampon up there).
Needless to say, I was absolutely thrilled when I started running cross country in high school and my period more or less took a four year hiatus. However, during that blessed reprieve, I gained other, more welcomed feminine assets (a.k.a. hips and boobs) and also came to the startling realization that *gasp!* I'm not the only girl who's ever had a period. In fact, it seemed as if the girls around me
And now? I really don't give a shit about my period one way or the other. Yeah, it can be a nuisance, but I've come to the oh so mature realization that there's not a whole lot I can do about it. I don't hide the fact that I'm on my period, I have no qualms about asking strangers for tampons, and I've talked openly without even a semblance of a blush about menstrual cycles with a whole room full of female track athletes (okay, maybe they were blushing...).
I think a lot of my lack of embarrassment has a lot to do with the fact that during my pregnancy, about half of the staff of Washoe Med had their hands in my vagina at one point or another. You can't really go back to having any kind of body embarrassment (or modesty, for that matter) after hosting that kind of open house.
Anyway, all this period talk comes up because of a little incident that happened last week that probably would have embarrassed the hell out of the pubescent, don't-even-say-the-word-period me. I was having dinner with Mike and Destructor at a reputable national chain restaurant (rhymes with Shmimi's) and, as two year olds are wont to do, Destructor got a bit restless towards the end of the meal. Luckily, I had the perfect diversionary tactic: hand the kid my purse.
Again, in hind sight, this probably wasn't the best idea, as the contents of my purse were quickly dumped out onto the table, including my stash of tampons. I may have mentioned before that along with all things wheels, Destructor has a penchant for feminine items, so I wasn't surprised when he grabbed one of the tampons. I was however, surprised at what he did next.
The kid examined the tampon for just a moment, stuck one end in his mouth, and ripped the wrapper off like the thing was a grenade pin. He then proceeded to peel the wrapper off like a banana, revealing the bright purple applicator, and held the damn thing up for the entire restaurant to see like it was the freaking sword of destiny. Mike's head was in his hands at that point, but I was nearly on the floor, dying of laughter. While the adolescent me would have been absolutely horrified (display a tampon in public? God, no!), but the older,
Destructor spent a good part of the twenty minute ride home shoving the tampon in and out of the applicator, reducing it to an unrecognizable wad of cotton fluff. Maybe the kid will be a gynecologist. Or a pervert. Either way, at least he won't be embarrassed by tampons.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Get on your bikes and ride!
Anything you say, Freddie!
This morning I finally endeavored on an undertaking I've been threatening to do for years: I rode my bike to school (and yes, jerks, teachers actually do work during the summer months).
I don't mean in the 8th-grader-strolling-through-the-neighborhood kind of biking to school. I mean through traffic with real major streets and lights and stop signs and glass in the bike lane and precarious cracks in the pavement. Okay, I'm being a bit over dramatic, but ever since I got "the bike," it's scared the shit out of me. I'm cool with mountain biking and casual road biking, but this bike is a real bike, the kind that people with spandex and and very little road manners like to ride. I got it as a Christmas present the year I was pregnant, and since then, I've ridden it maybe half a dozen times. It's light as hell, waaaay over my head mechanically, and faster than my poor little sense of speed cares to deal with.
There she is in all her glory. She's beautiful, but up until this morning, she's intimidated the crap out of me. The last time I went for a ride, I nearly crashed on a major road because I didn't have enough confidence to ride in traffic and I actually did crash coming up the steep hill that leads up to the house because I couldn't figure out which goddamn gear to put it in.
Well, no more! I sucked it up, packed up my bag, clipped in and rode all the way to school (which, in all actuality, is a wimpy three or four miles, but hey, a girl's got to start somewhere), and rolled onto campus without incident. Huzzah!
Today's success plays right into one of my many romantic fantasies (which include owning goats and running an artisan bakery...I know, but they're my fantasies, so back off): being a "bike-person." It's not an eco-thing as much as it's a lifestyle thing. To be free of the car, to experience traveling the world from a different perspective, to get exercise while I commute. I've even been looking into one of those awesome bike trailers so I can involve Destructor in my bike fantasy.
However, I promise that I will not become one of those militant bike nerds. I will not wear brightly colored spandex (although I do have some super cool padded shorts...gotta protect the girlie parts), I will not walk around in stores in my helmet and shoes if it's not necessary (those people are just snobbish I-don't-drive-a-car pricks anyway), and I will not ride in the middle of the lane like I own the damn street (mainly cuz I don't want to die).
But I will keep this up... at least until it snows.
This morning I finally endeavored on an undertaking I've been threatening to do for years: I rode my bike to school (and yes, jerks, teachers actually do work during the summer months).
I don't mean in the 8th-grader-strolling-through-the-neighborhood kind of biking to school. I mean through traffic with real major streets and lights and stop signs and glass in the bike lane and precarious cracks in the pavement. Okay, I'm being a bit over dramatic, but ever since I got "the bike," it's scared the shit out of me. I'm cool with mountain biking and casual road biking, but this bike is a real bike, the kind that people with spandex and and very little road manners like to ride. I got it as a Christmas present the year I was pregnant, and since then, I've ridden it maybe half a dozen times. It's light as hell, waaaay over my head mechanically, and faster than my poor little sense of speed cares to deal with.
There she is in all her glory. She's beautiful, but up until this morning, she's intimidated the crap out of me. The last time I went for a ride, I nearly crashed on a major road because I didn't have enough confidence to ride in traffic and I actually did crash coming up the steep hill that leads up to the house because I couldn't figure out which goddamn gear to put it in.
Well, no more! I sucked it up, packed up my bag, clipped in and rode all the way to school (which, in all actuality, is a wimpy three or four miles, but hey, a girl's got to start somewhere), and rolled onto campus without incident. Huzzah!
Today's success plays right into one of my many romantic fantasies (which include owning goats and running an artisan bakery...I know, but they're my fantasies, so back off): being a "bike-person." It's not an eco-thing as much as it's a lifestyle thing. To be free of the car, to experience traveling the world from a different perspective, to get exercise while I commute. I've even been looking into one of those awesome bike trailers so I can involve Destructor in my bike fantasy.
However, I promise that I will not become one of those militant bike nerds. I will not wear brightly colored spandex (although I do have some super cool padded shorts...gotta protect the girlie parts), I will not walk around in stores in my helmet and shoes if it's not necessary (those people are just snobbish I-don't-drive-a-car pricks anyway), and I will not ride in the middle of the lane like I own the damn street (mainly cuz I don't want to die).
But I will keep this up... at least until it snows.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Can't touch this
This totally never happens when I go shopping, but it should.
My favorite are the girls who obviously do not want to get airhumped...
There's something inherently human about stuff like this. It's spontaneous, it's bizarre, it's joyful and people LOVE it. Over twelve million people have viewed the T-Mobile Dance on YouTube, and although it may sound super corny, "Where the Hell is Matt?" brings tears to my eyes every time I see it. Dancing is a universal expression of happiness and to see people put aside their many differences just to bust a move suggests how similar we all really are.
Do me a favor. At some point today, grab someone you love, dance whether there is music or not, and rejoice in our shared humanity.
My favorite are the girls who obviously do not want to get airhumped...
There's something inherently human about stuff like this. It's spontaneous, it's bizarre, it's joyful and people LOVE it. Over twelve million people have viewed the T-Mobile Dance on YouTube, and although it may sound super corny, "Where the Hell is Matt?" brings tears to my eyes every time I see it. Dancing is a universal expression of happiness and to see people put aside their many differences just to bust a move suggests how similar we all really are.
Do me a favor. At some point today, grab someone you love, dance whether there is music or not, and rejoice in our shared humanity.
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