28 March 2006
There's a new Robertson bus driver in town. For some reason, no one else
was on the 9:30 bus this morning, so I got to talk to him the entire way.
Quite an opinionated man. After telling him about what I teach in
response to his questions, I noted that he's new to the Robertson scene.
He told me that he just moved down here from New York a few months ago and
launched into a diatribe about how North Carolina sucks because they let
people with double-digit IQs drive buses. Then he launched into his "you
lost the Civil War, get over it" schtick, and I laughed and chided him for
blaspheming in the South. He said, "Oh, no. I always go one better. Not
only do I tell people that the South lost and they should get over it, I
tell them that they should thank the Yankees for letting them keep their
land for so long... rent free!... since we won!" The ride ended with him
describing in detail exactly how he dressed up on St. Patrick's day to
drive the bus, all delivered in a ridiculous attempt at an Irish brogue.
So the next time you ride the
Bembridge
Scholars bus (as Mark is fond of
calling it), talk to this guy. He's hilarious.
Posted at 1737.
27 March 2006
The doctor I saw at student health today was Hungarian. When I
explained that I thought my problem stemmed from too much racquetball, she
finally admitted that she didn't know what racquetball was. It was pretty
obvious throughout our brief time together that she'd taken some class
that taught her the Right Things to Chit-Chat about with Patients. She
asked what I studied, and since I'd mentioned Patrick in the racquetball
explanation, she asked what he did. Upon hearing that he's a computer
scientist she said, "That's nice. It must be good to have a breadmaker
around." Yup. I married an appliance.
Posted at 2332.
20 March 2006
Everyone has to rent, download, or TiVo the most spectacular show I have
ever seen on TV:
Wonder
Showzen (reruns on Comedy Central,
new episodes later in the month on MTV2). It markets itself as an
absurdist take on children's television shows, and the pilot made me laugh
so hard I was crying. It includes such gems as Brain Bashers (sheep
brains a la Gallagher); a child kicking an uncooked chicken down the
street; sociopolitical commentary from 7-year-olds in the guise of
documentary about the production of hot dogs; a segment called If I
Were..., in which future episodes such as "If I were an
octoroon" and "If
I
and
I were a Rasta" were promised; and the obligatory puppet sex (the
letters S and N have a baby... an i, of course). Hilarious, absurd, and
wildly offensive. You
need to see this show. For the children.
Posted at 1228.
17 March 2006
Today I spied another vanity plate gone wrong: CATSNOB. And of course
it took me a few seconds to realize the non-dirty meaning.
Posted at 1552.
16 March 2006
You know you're a child of the 80s when... you are thrilled beyond words
to see a
review of
Berzerk written by
Wil
Wheaton.
Posted at 1237.
15 March 2006
For those of you watching your waistlines, today's blog entry is lite --
little crunchy low-fat bits of blog that are still sure to satisfy.
Vignettes from Our Trip
- At the wedding... My cousin Ian, at the end of dancing to Stairway
to Heaven, picked up his sister Shelley and carried her out of the
room. My cousin Michael, best man and rather intoxicated, yelled, "What the
FUCK!?!?" giving voice to what we all were thinking right about then.
- At the wedding... Shortly after I spilled half of my sparkling
cider because I was gesticulating wildly in telling some story to some random
woman sitting next to me, Patrick got me a refill and himself a rootbeer,
which he promptly spilled all over the table and me.
- At the wedding... So the ultra-alternative (formerly
long-and-dyed-haired, tattooed, death metal) happy couple, who
registered at Pottery Barn, also went ultra-conservative with their music
choice at the reception. The first song played? Be Our Guest, from Beauty
and the Beast, as we ate. I thought Disney songs would make
rockers shrivel up like the Wicked Witch of the West, but apparently not.
- At the airport... Two pilots were deep in conversation a few seats
from me, waiting for the plane to get in. You would think that they were
jotting down notes on their flight trajectory, but you'd be wrong. They were
sharing hints on how to solve Sudoku.
- At the airport... An old white grandmother was wearing a
pepto-bismol-pink sweatshirt that read (in faux cross-stitch font), "When
Mama ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy."
- On the plane... The guy sitting next to Patrick was reading a book
called Jesus,
CEO. I guess it's at least nice to see that people have finally
moved on from the DaVinci Code.
Posted at 2152.
13 March 2006
Today we went to Ikea in San Jose, and of course they had my favorite
Swedish cookies,
Singoalla.
And...
they were only $1 a package. So I bought 15 of them. Patrick got one
package of
Ballerina
cookies and some of those dipped chocolate crispy cookies. Add a package of
Daim,
and we were done. Went up to the register, dumped the 16 packages of
cookies and bag of chocolate on the belt, and the cashier started ringing
them up. Two ultra tanned guys got in line behind us and said, "Whoa, dude.
You guys havin' a cookie party or somethin'?"
Posted at 2152.
11 March 2006
What do you get a death metal drummer when he's getting married?
Apparently, dishes from Pottery Barn. That's where
my
cousin and his fiancee registered.
Pics of the wedding (will
it be
goth?) when we return from California.
Posted at 1527.
10 March 2006
Happy Birthday to Me!
Posted at 1017.
Sara decided to give me a new motto... KK: more special than one K and
less offensive than three.
Posted at 1348.
7 March 2006
Fine fine fine. Lest I incur more wrath (and more cookie-related
blackmail), behold my
paean to Sweden.
Posted at 2152.
I officially hate all things Swedish. They're a stupid
squeeze-tube-caviar-eating, ball-freezing-weather-loving,
crappy-particle-board-furniture-using, we-swear-we're-not-Swiss people.
Who decided not to give me $24,000 for my dissertation research. All
because 2/3 of my budget was for shipping of a skeletal collection and
travel for me. So, fine, I can't blame Wenner-Gren for rejecting my
proposal. Asking for $12k for shipping was kind of a long shot.
And actually I don't hate all things Swedish. Erin and Erik bought me
tasty vanilla-creme-raspberry cookies from Ikea this weekend. I fell in
love with the cookies (read: ate nearly a pack a day) this summer in
Lisbon because they were 75 euro cents a pack and because Ikea was closer
to my apartment than the grocery store. So sometimes good things do come
out of Sweden.
Posted at 1703.
