The Price is Right, But Who Cares?

Between running down to the basement to do laundry and vacuuming, I'm half-watching The Price is Right. My sister and I utterly adored this show when we were kids. As interactive viewers, we were not content with merely shouting advice at the TV's contestants. We also pretended that we were related to them.

"Bid $600 on the washing machine!" we'd yell at little white haired ladies. "Yay Grandma!"

Today, I'm not nearly as involved. It helps that Drew Carey is not such an inspiring host. In addition, it occurred to me a few years ago that most of the prizes are complete fucking crap that no one needs, and most likely does not even have space for in their homes. One of the Showcase Showdown packages included a cafe-style cappuccino machine and a spa/whirlpool thing that seats 4-6. The pudgy guy who was forced to bid on it managed to look excited, which I think likely makes him an excellent actor. Cast that man in a TV show or movie, pronto! That man has talent!

Watching The Price is Right back in the day when Plinko was new, my sister and I dreamed of someday attending the show. Now I know this will never happen. Even if I did get on, there is no way I could pretend to want a grand piano. The producers likely try and avoid contestants who would make faces, and say, "No thanks," although I think California law allows game show winners to take the cash equivalent instead of the prize. If that is the case, I'd jump up and down, shriek, and giggle. I gotta pay to do my laundry some way, you know. ($11.20 for four loads!!!)

My Bounty on Bounty

I just saw a Bounty paper towel commercial that left me slack jawed. Here's the paraphrased scene:

Dad and son stand, leaning over a big brown puddle of what I think is pop (or soda to you non-Midewesterners) and empty glass.

Dad: Wow, that's a three sheeter!

Son: No, it's a four sheeter!

Mom stands in background near paper towel dispenser.

Mom: It's a one sheeter!

She rips off a towel...

Cut to me in my living room. I think to myself, she is going to give the guys who made the mess the paper towel so they can clean it up, right? No way she is going to walk across the kitchen, get down on her hands and knees, and clean the spill while the guys just stand around, right? Right? Back to scene...

A female arm with the same color sweater as the mom was wearing swipes the paper towel over the pop. She then goes on to clean something that I swear is a blob of jizz off of a doormat.

Cut back to me. What the fuck? Seriously, I hope when she wiped up the spunk, she applied for membership in the jizzmoppers union. (No joke - there's really a jizzmoppers union.) At least she wouldn't also have to mop up spilled beverages as well.

Linky (Self-)Love

Mmmmm...French Canadian yogurt with pears and grains...

Awesome books I recently read...

Politics as usual...

No word from New School...

How to Settle Up?

"Twenty bucks says that I find rejection letter from New School in the mail when I get home," I grumbled to myself this morning after being frozen out of my email, voicemail, and the shared drive on the network at work this morning.

"You're on!" I answered back.

Really, I think I was agreeing with myself that such an event would be a fitting end to a shitty beginning. Probably that doesn't make it a bet, then. If it is legit, then I owe myself $20. The only item in the mailbox was a letter from a friend that also contained tickets to Mets games this summer.

Ooooh, baseball! Despite the Met's auspicious start (already a key pitcher is injured!), and my cluelessness regarding how the Cubs began their 100th season since their last World Series championship, I am psyched. Play ball! Twenty bucks says the season ends with both my home teams tanking...

April Fool's: One Day Late or Just a Shitty Morning?

I am supposed to be having a meeting this very second. However, the guy who is supposed to meet with me is not here. Where can he be?

The phone on my desk says, "Message for you." Perhaps he left me a message about the meeting? If that is the case, though, I'll not know, as no one in this office knows the voicemail password to my extension or how to reset it.

Maybe he emailed me. That would be rational, except that as of last week, I was still using my predecessor's email and that is what he would email me at. This week, the account was disabled, but I have no access to my email account because my computer, which appears to be circa 1999 (sorry Prince - no partying like it is), resets its setting every day, so until the guy who can put me back on the networks shows up, I can't check my email. Not that my meetee would email me there, anyway.

Also, it might be good that he isn't here. Since I lose my network settings every time I log off, I have no access to the shared drive, which is where the material we are to meet about is stored.

Happiness is a grassroots organization.

"The Onion" Speaks Truth

Every so often, I complain about how my gentrified neighborhood is rapidly becoming luxurified. Last weekend, while Husband was surfing the net for goodness knows what, he discovered that our zip code is now the 5th wealthiest in the nation. (The first four are all on the Upper West East (thanks, Anonymous commenter!) Side, including where Dr. P used to live, which sort of surprised me, as there is public housing near her old apartment. Come to think of it, there's also public housing in my zip code, so I guess the wealthy are so over the top rich that they dwarf the outlying poor residents on the bell curve, but I digress.)

Anyhoos, the humeros newspaper The Onion, which I have adored since my senior year of high school when I read a gut-busting article on the failure of pet vending machines (the inventor couldn't figure out how to fix the machine so that the pets weren't already dead when someone bought one), has a great take on luxurification. Check out Report: Nation's Gentrified Neighborhoods Threatened by Aristocritization. Totally.Fucking.Brilliant.

It's For the Best

As I re-read my blog post from yesterday, it occurred to me that whenever I was rejected by my top choice educational program, it always winds up being to my benefit in the long run. Had I attended NYU's law school, I likely would be a lawyer today. If I hadn't talked Columbia into taking me off the waitlist for the MPA program, I would've gone to NYU, had no debt from grad school (or very minimal debt), and been tapped into a much stronger and connected alumni network. So while my rejection from Hunter stings, I am looking at the positive side of it. It clearly was not meant to be.

Now we'll see if my tarot card reading was right. She strongly felt that I would be attending New School in the fall, and while I woulod be very overwhelmed at first, it would ultimately be a good fit for me. (Of course, she also thought I would get into Hunter, but the vibes from New School were stronger. We all know how Hunter worked out...) Hopefully, I'll get some notice yea or nay from them this week.

In the meantime, back to my exciting data entry and database management work. Thank goodness for mind-numbing repetitive tasks, right?