I look like Adrien Brody's long lost twin:
Oof.
But, for anyone who wondered what I look like with lipstick and terrible, terrible lighting, there's the answer.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Worst.Headshot.Ever!
Seriously, this is the worst photo I've ever taken:
I look like Adrien Brody's long lost twin:
Oof.
But, for anyone who wondered what I look like with lipstick and terrible, terrible lighting, there's the answer.
I look like Adrien Brody's long lost twin:
Oof.
But, for anyone who wondered what I look like with lipstick and terrible, terrible lighting, there's the answer.
What's Fucking Cookin' in the Windy City
Despite foreboding reports from CNN that due to weather conditions, yesterday was one of the worst days to travel, my flight not only took off on time, but also landed early. The flight was smooth. I was even upgraded to a nice comfy seat!
Both my parents were at work when I arrived, so I took a cab to my friend Hanah's apartment. The cab driver and I had an interesting discussion about Haiti (where he is from), consumerism and how it leads to dissatisfaction with life in general, and text messaging. When I got out of the cab, he thanked me for the nice chat and said that I could call him directly if I needed a ride back to the airport.
In the evening, I went to dinner with my parents and bubbe at a diner called What's Cooking. I was the youngest person in there by at least 25 years. At the table next to ours, two regulars chatted it up at top volume with the staff about the Blagojevich scandal.
"I know one place the Blagojevichs won't be eating tonight!" the gentleman with the coke bottle lens glasses bellowed.
"Yeah, at Anthony's!" his friend with unwashed hair yelled back.
Although I had no idea who Anthony was, my mom and I could not help but join them and the bus boy in laughing. The sort of reminded me of Statler and Waldorf, the two old men Muppets who heckle people.
The TV news is all Blagojevich, all the time. A businessman showed a reporter a picture of himself and Rod as babies. (At least I think that is what was going on. I was not watching the TV, but heard the anchor announce, "Blagojevich is the baby on the right.") No one else seems to want to be in pictures with him right now, as everyone is trying to distance themselves from his taint.
One thing that really riled me up is the flack that Blago's wife, Patti, is taking for a phone call in which she curses like a sailor. I noticed a story about it in the New York Post, a newspaper best used as litter pan liner, but the Sun-Times headline on the topic read, "Foul-mouthed first lady," as if being a woman and using bad language is a crime. Well then, arrest my fucking ass, shitheads, because I don't see anything wrong with swearing it up. This excerpt from the article is pretty fucking hilarious, though:
Yeah, fuck that shit! How fucking dare she?!?! If you are going to fucking advocate for the fucking treatment of fucking lazy eye, don't even fucking think of letting a little f-bomb drop. Seriously, I fucking hope she gets her fucking mouth washed out with fucking soap! Fuck and shit on that!
Both my parents were at work when I arrived, so I took a cab to my friend Hanah's apartment. The cab driver and I had an interesting discussion about Haiti (where he is from), consumerism and how it leads to dissatisfaction with life in general, and text messaging. When I got out of the cab, he thanked me for the nice chat and said that I could call him directly if I needed a ride back to the airport.
In the evening, I went to dinner with my parents and bubbe at a diner called What's Cooking. I was the youngest person in there by at least 25 years. At the table next to ours, two regulars chatted it up at top volume with the staff about the Blagojevich scandal.
"I know one place the Blagojevichs won't be eating tonight!" the gentleman with the coke bottle lens glasses bellowed.
"Yeah, at Anthony's!" his friend with unwashed hair yelled back.
Although I had no idea who Anthony was, my mom and I could not help but join them and the bus boy in laughing. The sort of reminded me of Statler and Waldorf, the two old men Muppets who heckle people.
The TV news is all Blagojevich, all the time. A businessman showed a reporter a picture of himself and Rod as babies. (At least I think that is what was going on. I was not watching the TV, but heard the anchor announce, "Blagojevich is the baby on the right.") No one else seems to want to be in pictures with him right now, as everyone is trying to distance themselves from his taint.
One thing that really riled me up is the flack that Blago's wife, Patti, is taking for a phone call in which she curses like a sailor. I noticed a story about it in the New York Post, a newspaper best used as litter pan liner, but the Sun-Times headline on the topic read, "Foul-mouthed first lady," as if being a woman and using bad language is a crime. Well then, arrest my fucking ass, shitheads, because I don't see anything wrong with swearing it up. This excerpt from the article is pretty fucking hilarious, though:
Patti Blagojevich -- who publicly used her first lady platform to promote food allergy awareness, treatment of lazy eye and a children's book club -- secretly was recorded directing a deputy governor speaking with her husband "to hold up that f- - - - - - Cubs s- - - . . . . f- - - them," according to the complaint.
Yeah, fuck that shit! How fucking dare she?!?! If you are going to fucking advocate for the fucking treatment of fucking lazy eye, don't even fucking think of letting a little f-bomb drop. Seriously, I fucking hope she gets her fucking mouth washed out with fucking soap! Fuck and shit on that!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Hubris! The Hubris!
Assuming that I do not get messed up by a blizzard (an actual one, not the political one), I will be in the Chicago area this afternoon for a weekend visit with my family. Initially, Husband was to join me on Friday afternoon, and my sister and her hubby were to arrive on Friday night. However, Husband canceled due to a potential storm at work, and Dana and Ryan nixed their plans out of fear of potential weather conditions. So that leaves little old me.
Thanks to the political tornado that just roared through Chicago, I think it should be an interesting time to be there. Like most denizens of Illinois, I was never a huge fan of Blagojevich, but quite frankly, his Republican opponents for office were pretty much equally corrupt and disgusting. Or at least it seemed so when good ol' Blago was somewhat sane. There is only one explanation I can come up with for why a man who has been under investigation for corruption for three years would try to sell a Senate seat, pressure the Tribune to fire its editorial board, and demand high paying jobs: he's been driven insane by hubris. I sort of picture him in a muumuu in the heart of darkness,* whispering, "The hubris! The hubris!" as Fitzgerald tries to drag him out of his cocoon.**
Anyway, should be an interesting trip. Besides talking about politics,*** I plan to interview both my grandmothers about our family history. I'm sure that this will generate some colorful commentary, which I look forward to sharing.
*Springfield, IL, the state capital - if you've never been there, let me assure you that the best part about it is that the municipal parking garage near the capitol building was extremely cheap the last time I was there, which was spring 1994.
**Man, that would make a good parody movie, wouldn't it? Sort of Tropic Thunder meets All the President's Men.
***When I asked my bubbe what she thought about Blago's corruption, she said it was bad and then began ranting about how corrupt the Bush administration is. Forget falling fruit - sometimes the fruit is still hanging on the tree. I think this has many layers of meaning, but I'm rambling too much already.
Thanks to the political tornado that just roared through Chicago, I think it should be an interesting time to be there. Like most denizens of Illinois, I was never a huge fan of Blagojevich, but quite frankly, his Republican opponents for office were pretty much equally corrupt and disgusting. Or at least it seemed so when good ol' Blago was somewhat sane. There is only one explanation I can come up with for why a man who has been under investigation for corruption for three years would try to sell a Senate seat, pressure the Tribune to fire its editorial board, and demand high paying jobs: he's been driven insane by hubris. I sort of picture him in a muumuu in the heart of darkness,* whispering, "The hubris! The hubris!" as Fitzgerald tries to drag him out of his cocoon.**
Anyway, should be an interesting trip. Besides talking about politics,*** I plan to interview both my grandmothers about our family history. I'm sure that this will generate some colorful commentary, which I look forward to sharing.
*Springfield, IL, the state capital - if you've never been there, let me assure you that the best part about it is that the municipal parking garage near the capitol building was extremely cheap the last time I was there, which was spring 1994.
**Man, that would make a good parody movie, wouldn't it? Sort of Tropic Thunder meets All the President's Men.
***When I asked my bubbe what she thought about Blago's corruption, she said it was bad and then began ranting about how corrupt the Bush administration is. Forget falling fruit - sometimes the fruit is still hanging on the tree. I think this has many layers of meaning, but I'm rambling too much already.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I Forgot to Step Away from the Hyperbole
Last night in workshop, I made the following statement:
"Many times this semester, I've felt a lot like Trig Palin at the Republican National Convention. Everyone surrounding me is totally with the program and knows what's going on, and I'm sitting here, blinking, wondering where I am and how I got here."
No one laughed. This is not the first time I made an exaggerated statement that produced no reaction. I forgot that people in my workshop are not so into hyperbole. Or my random political jokes. Oh well.
I found it hilarious, though. I love me some extravagant exaggeration.
"Many times this semester, I've felt a lot like Trig Palin at the Republican National Convention. Everyone surrounding me is totally with the program and knows what's going on, and I'm sitting here, blinking, wondering where I am and how I got here."
No one laughed. This is not the first time I made an exaggerated statement that produced no reaction. I forgot that people in my workshop are not so into hyperbole. Or my random political jokes. Oh well.
I found it hilarious, though. I love me some extravagant exaggeration.
Two Words Starting with E, Different Meanings: A Review
In a previous post, I discussed the difference between earned and entitled. (Quick recap: to earn something means that one worked for it and deserves to be compensated for the effort and results; to be entitled means that one did nothing productive or positive but for some reason believes that they should be compensated anyway.) It seems that the same people who caused the global financial collapse still do not understand this important distinctions between the two words.
A headline in yesterday's New York Times Business Section read, "Bonus Season Afoot, Wall Street Tries for a Little Restraint. Tries? Well, par-done-ay moi, aren't you the same assholes who paid yourselves billions of dollars in bonuses over the last few years? You shitheads are lucky there aren't mobs with pitchforks outside your mansions, calling for your heads. You are going to have to "try" a little harder.
The article does note that the top echelons of executives are foregoing bonuses this year, even though they worked very hard all year. Now, here is a prime example of the difference between "earned" and "entitled." At least, in theory, the honchos who destroyed the nation and assisted in rendering people homeless through the sale of shitty mortgages earned their salaries through hard work. To insist that one also gets a bonus for such poor performance is a demonstration that one feels entitled to wealth that one did not earn. In fact, all these fucks should be fired. Their assets should be seized to repay as much of the taxpayers' cost of bailing out their banks as possible.
One line in the article cracked me up:
Oh, poor executives who earned billions of dollars over the last few years! It brings a fucking tear to my eye to think about how you'll just have to live on your six or seven figure salaries alone this year, and even in future years, now that bonuses will be stingily parceled out over a longer term to match it to performance, forcing you to demonstrate that you earned your compensation! Such sacrifice!
A headline in yesterday's New York Times Business Section read, "Bonus Season Afoot, Wall Street Tries for a Little Restraint. Tries? Well, par-done-ay moi, aren't you the same assholes who paid yourselves billions of dollars in bonuses over the last few years? You shitheads are lucky there aren't mobs with pitchforks outside your mansions, calling for your heads. You are going to have to "try" a little harder.
The article does note that the top echelons of executives are foregoing bonuses this year, even though they worked very hard all year. Now, here is a prime example of the difference between "earned" and "entitled." At least, in theory, the honchos who destroyed the nation and assisted in rendering people homeless through the sale of shitty mortgages earned their salaries through hard work. To insist that one also gets a bonus for such poor performance is a demonstration that one feels entitled to wealth that one did not earn. In fact, all these fucks should be fired. Their assets should be seized to repay as much of the taxpayers' cost of bailing out their banks as possible.
One line in the article cracked me up:
“Clearly they’re trying to spread the pain out a little bit,” said John Pierson, president of 10X Partners, a finance recruiting firm in New York. “But if I worked at Morgan Stanley and was looking at this, I would not be happy.”
Oh, poor executives who earned billions of dollars over the last few years! It brings a fucking tear to my eye to think about how you'll just have to live on your six or seven figure salaries alone this year, and even in future years, now that bonuses will be stingily parceled out over a longer term to match it to performance, forcing you to demonstrate that you earned your compensation! Such sacrifice!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
In the "Holy Shit!" Department
Illinois government has always been corrupt, as my dad pointed out when I called him this morning, but this really (literally) takes the cake:
Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich taken into federal custody for attempting to sell Obama's Senate seat, among other disgusting abuses of power and appalling and vile corrupt acts.
I'm traveling to Chicago to visit my family this weekend. It should be an interesting time.
Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich taken into federal custody for attempting to sell Obama's Senate seat, among other disgusting abuses of power and appalling and vile corrupt acts.
I'm traveling to Chicago to visit my family this weekend. It should be an interesting time.
Lipstick Jungle
Last week, I entered enemy territory. I traversed the block between Amsterdam and Broadway, then I turned right on the corner of 76th Street, walking less than half a block. I took a deep breath. Then, trying to be brave, I pushed open the glass door. Before I knew it, I was in Sephora.
Some friends at school convinced me to wear lipstick. As I crept down the florescent aisles of Sephora, squinting at the prices in the blinding light, I doubted myself. This shit was expensive. I approached a salesperson with a headset.
"Hi, do you have any lipstick under $15?"
"Sure," she said and smiled. She was probably thinking, cheap bitch. She pointed me to a display case full of Sephora-brand cosmetics, then started to walk away.
"Uh, can someone help me pick out a color? I haven't bought lipstick since 2000." (Which, incidentally, was when I bought two Clinique Chubby Sticks for my wedding. I have plenty left of both and still wear them once in a while.)
She gave me a funny look, and called for reinforcements on the headset. Another black-clad headset wearer approached. She squinted at my face the way I did earlier at their prices, then handed me a brown lipstick on a cotton swab. I wish I could say that I applied this sample with grace, but somehow it wound up all over my teeth. I'm still not sure how that happened. Then I tried two lighter colors.
I walked out $14.01 lighter in the wallet and heavier in the sparkly pinkish lipstick that smells like grape Bubblicious department. I'm surprised at how different I look wearing just a little lipstick. It makes me nervous. If I cave on lipstick, will I suddenly find myself spread on the waxer's table? It's a slippery slope, I tell you. Slippery.
Some friends at school convinced me to wear lipstick. As I crept down the florescent aisles of Sephora, squinting at the prices in the blinding light, I doubted myself. This shit was expensive. I approached a salesperson with a headset.
"Hi, do you have any lipstick under $15?"
"Sure," she said and smiled. She was probably thinking, cheap bitch. She pointed me to a display case full of Sephora-brand cosmetics, then started to walk away.
"Uh, can someone help me pick out a color? I haven't bought lipstick since 2000." (Which, incidentally, was when I bought two Clinique Chubby Sticks for my wedding. I have plenty left of both and still wear them once in a while.)
She gave me a funny look, and called for reinforcements on the headset. Another black-clad headset wearer approached. She squinted at my face the way I did earlier at their prices, then handed me a brown lipstick on a cotton swab. I wish I could say that I applied this sample with grace, but somehow it wound up all over my teeth. I'm still not sure how that happened. Then I tried two lighter colors.
I walked out $14.01 lighter in the wallet and heavier in the sparkly pinkish lipstick that smells like grape Bubblicious department. I'm surprised at how different I look wearing just a little lipstick. It makes me nervous. If I cave on lipstick, will I suddenly find myself spread on the waxer's table? It's a slippery slope, I tell you. Slippery.
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