greetings from the machine

This is my first attempt to post from my blackberry, which I was required to obtain for work. I discovered that I am not thrilled to enter the 21st century afterall, although it is convenient to have while I wait for my lunch date, who is really late. Yes, exciting times.

Ridiculousness

It is approximately seven degrees in New York. I know that this is not nearly as cold as it is in Chicago or Iowa or other Midwestern or northern states, but for NYC, it is much colder than usual. Still, an intrepid friend who lives in Staten Island had a belated New Year's BBQ today. He made lamb and sausage on the grill on his terrace, which we ate inside. It was fun.

On the way to his apartment, Husband and I passed this house:

The picture makes it look like the house is supported by the Hummer, which makes me laugh. In person, however, it was clear that the stupid SUV is so fucking oversized that it is double the height of the car port.

Another ridiculous item I came across this weekend is the American Life League's protest of Krispy Kreme donuts for offering a choice of a free donut on inauguration day. According to the nutters, the words "freedom of choice" indicate that Krispy Kreme supports abortion on demand. Honestly, if a Southern-owned donut chain were that liberal, I'd freaking eat there all the time. Instead, this is just fucking stupid, albeit sort of funny (the comments on the post I linked to are gut busting). The pseudo-abortion link reminds me of king cakes, which are eaten in New Orleans at Mardi Gras. A plastic toy baby is baked into the cake, and whoever finds the baby in his or her piece gets good luck...

The last ridiculous thing that crossed my mind is how surprised I am that animal rights groups have not been protesting the way geese are being treated by the media covering the US Airways crash landing in the Hudson River. If geese are people too, then there were a lot of fatalities when the flock was decimated by the plane's engines. Fortunately, I haven't seen any groups suing on behalf of the geese. Maybe someone should alert the American Life League.

What Would CUSS Readers Do?: Sloganeeringhat

Once again proving that by the time you read something in a mainstream newspaper, it's probably too late to be of use, today's New York Times has an article about people scamming troubled homeowners by charging money to "fix" the loans, then disappearing.* The Times notes this is a growing scam, but it has actually been a huge problem for at least a year now. (One deputy attorney general in California said that dealing with the swindlers has been all she's done, with 300 calls received in the past year.) Perhaps reporting on the issue six months ago may have alerted people to the scams and helped them avoid them, but whatever. The media just reports what's happening; it's not there to help people make informed decisions or anything. Bah.

Anyway, one of the things I've been tasked with at my new job is to come up with a clever marketing slogan to alert people to the presence of mortgage "fixing" scams and let them know that there is free, government-approved housing counseling available. The best I've come up with thus far is:

In trouble with your home loan?
Stop getting fucked up the ass!
FREE housing counseling is available.
Call blah blah blah and stop the bleeding.

Although it is to the point and accurate, this is probably not going to fly for a variety of reasons. If anyone has any other suggestions (legitimate or not), I'm all ears. I promise to give you credit if I use it.

*As a random side rant (or as my brother-in-law would say, rantom), the fact that people can go up to someone who is about to lose his or her home, promise her that they can save it, and then steal whatever cash that the homeowner may have used to actually save the home, blows my mind. How can the goniff sleep at night, knowing that they've made others homeless? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people? How did some manage to become such fucking assholes?

The Haircut Double Entendre

I never thought about haircuts as anything but the things I get every two months that make me look extra dyke-y (or, when done well, like Jane Wiedlin). On Monday, I wrote about the latest brouhaha over women who get short haircuts on BlogHer. (It seems that some guy in London whose wife cut her hair short sparked a debate over whether that women with short hair are signaling that they are no longer interested in sex because they are making themselves unattractive through their new haircuts.) Then yesterday I learned that there is something called a haircut in the securities market.

My new favorite online dictionary,* Investopedia, explains that a haircut is:

1. The difference between prices at which a market maker can buy and sell a security.

2. The percentage by which an asset's market value is reduced for the purpose of calculating capital requirement, margin and collateral levels.

One could extrapolate and say that a man whose wife cuts her hair short has a reduced market value in the eyes of society, but that would be silly, wouldn't it?

*I still do love Urban Dictionary for all my slang research, though. It seems that a third definition of haircut there is:

a drinking act involving:
- two people
- alchohol
- energy drink or gatorade

one person tilts their head back and closes their throat. the other person then pours small amount of energy drink, large amount of alchohol, and small amount of energy drink in that order. the drinker then tilts their head up and swallows the drink simultaneously. this is done for two reasons: you dont feel it going down no matter the alchohol percent and it gets you very drunk very fast.

Now I feel complete before I go to off to work, which this post is making me late to. Hope it added to the educational value of your day as well.

The Grass is Always Greener When You're Born a Ramblin' Man

As usual, I'm behind. I promised people who submitted essays for the potential anthology COngratulations, You're a Woman Now! that they would hear back about their work by the end of 2008. I'm not even close to finished reading the submissions. (But I swear I will, and I apologize profusely.) I haven't read blogs in a few days, which makes me feel disconnected from the online community I so cherish. Yet I'm spazzing out about what to wear to work for the rest of the week, so I'm not going to make much progress on the things that I want to do. (And oh my god, I didn't realize how short my wardrobe falls for a 5 day a week job that requires more than cords and definitely is not jeans-friendly.... Panic.)

Of course, the last quarter of last year, I was pretty unhappy with my massively underemployed status. I felt useless, which made me anxious and depressed. Now that I'm overemployed (in the sense that I hoped to secure a 3 day per week job), I'm anxious and depressed because I'm worried about all the commitments I made and the things that I want to do that I no longer have time for. Argh! Is there no middle ground?

On another grass-related note, Husband and I are going to an Allman Brothers concert at the Beacon Theater this spring. Every year, the Allman Brothers plays approximately 15 dates at this smallish theater near my apartment. The streets fill with characters not usually seen on the streets of the Upper West Side, including hippies, trailer dwellers, and undercover cops poorly disguised as hippie trailer dwellers. Husband decided he wanted to see what the hoopla was all about, and I thought it would be fun to go along, although I fear the secondary high. (Yeah, I'm a big fucking nerd. I can't help it!)

Nude Housecleaning

As I got ready for a shower this afternoon, I realized that the bathroom was a disaster area. As Dr. P is staying with us this weekend and was to arrive within a few hours, I figured I should clean up. Unfortunately, I was already undressed.

Undeterred, I vacuumed the chunks of wall and tile from the floor, then mopped, all in the nude. Then I realized that we'd been tracking wall chunks into the hallway outside the bathroom as well, so I vacuumed there, too. As I bent over, I reflected on the premium prices that some people pay to secure the services of a nude housecleaner, and I laughed and laughed. Because really, the whole cleaning thing is sweaty and gross. I can't imagine why anyone would find this appealing to watch. In fact, the whole time I was parading around naked with the vacuum, Husband didn't even look away from the TV while he did his crunches.

Yeah. People are weird.

And the Password Is...

Husband sent me the following vital information:

I thought you might be interested in this list of the top 500 passwords.
At #5 is "pussy".

http://www.whatsmypass.com/?p=415

"Pussy" seems like an easy password to steal. For those using such a simplistic password, may I suggest "eel-skinner?" I wouldn't want your accounts invaded or anything like that.