It is a statistical inevitability that when you are experiencing famine-degree hunger (when your stomach is so empty, the sloshing of your digestive juices echoes), you stuff yourself voraciously when the food finally arrives. In anticipation of a conference call, The Powers That Be generously offered to cover lunch. At the point when over-the-cubicle-wall banter about what may possibly have happened to the delivery man to cause such a horrid delay was reaching deafening levels and everyone was staring at their hands, contemplating which finger to gnaw on to stave off death, the pizza finally arrived. We all descended on the pies like wolves at a hunt and proceeded to stuff our faces silly. The kind of lightning-fast food shovel where in under thirty seconds you've managed to eat two whole slices with a combined topping count of 87 and total calorie count of "don't even bother, you can't process it all." Inevitably, you end up with a bowling ball of cheese and grease that sits in your belly like old police informants would sit in the East River after being given a pair of concrete shoes by their mob relatives. The result is almost as painful as the bone-jarring hunger and is infinitely more difficult to rid yourself of.
This is the curse of the Free-Pizza Friday.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Le Salle de Bain
So, the interesting thing about public bathrooms that you frequent is that you always end up with a favorite stall. At work, I absolutely have one. The toilet is not too high (which mercifully means that your feet don't dangle as they do in the middle stall) nor too low (which always makes you feel like the early growth spurt kid in the pre-K class who has to move the step-stool to the side--not that I was ever that kid, just heard stories). I've gotten used to the wider-than normal gap between the door and the frame and have discovered its usefulness for determining the identity of those who walk in after me--it's always supremely important to know who else is in the bathroom with you. I've used MY stall about 99% of the time, and those who know me KNOW that that must add up to a considerable number of uses--clearly I have gotten comfortable with the familiar.
As such, it's always so jarring to walk into the loo and find MY stall occupied by someone else. It's all I can do to not stand paralyzed with consternation in front of the stall door--which, in light of the aforementioned gap between door and frame, would be extremely rude bordering on the voyeuristic. Then I am forced to use one of the other stalls where the toilets are unnecessarily high and feel far less comfortable than my usual one. I hate being in the middle, it's like having surround-sound of people peeing which is never good and intrudes too much upon the mystery I like to maintain between me, my co-workers and those other people on the other side of the floor. The handicapped stall is entirely too big--I keep expecting an echo of every sound I make: ripping toilet paper reverberating off the tile walls, the flush creating such sonic vibrtions that I'm litterally jarred out of the stall. Besides, nobody wants to be the dunce that keeps the handicapped person waiting when they have to urinate. They have enough hardships as it is, don't need to add worrying about pants-wetting to the mix.
I've even considered adding homey decorations to my stall--why not? The middle one has an old no smoking sign in it (ironically the paper is all brown suggesting that bathroom visitors have not been heeding it's declaration). I say my stall deserves at least a reminder to flush and wipe the seat.
Speaking of, I cannot fathom why it happens--with alarming frequency--that you walk into a public stall to find pee all over the seat. First off, the toilet hole is quite large, HOW DO YOU MISS? Second, on the offchance that there is some alcohol, cannibis or other behavior-impairing substance in your system, and you do end up dribbling on the seat, have the good sense to wipe it off! You have to turn around and face the toilet to flush anyway, clearly you must see whatever residue you have left behind. Who on this earth looks at the toilet seat, sees evidence of their recent bathroom activities and decides to leave it there as a special gift for the stall's next occupant? My favorite is when they know there's a line and that they will inevitably come face to face with said next occupant as they leave the stall. Every woman knows that proper busy-bathroom ettiquette includes swiftly moving toward the stall that is soon to be vacated--as soon as you see the door start to swing open, you make a bee-line for it--getting in faster means getting out faster which means the next poor victim of male-bathroom architects will be able to relieve herself all the more swiftly. But this ineveitably results in brushing by the former stall occupant. Those women who look you in the eye as they exit, despite knowing they have left a puddle on the seat for YOU to clean up, are just sick, twisted and more than a little vindictive. Honestly, if there's a BETTER reason for washing your hands at the end of your loo experience, I have yet to find it.
Toilet-Seat Pee-ers, beware. Next time I walk into a stall to find it more than a little damp I am going to turn right around and hunt down the offending woman--no matter how badly I need to make use of the necessary myself.
As such, it's always so jarring to walk into the loo and find MY stall occupied by someone else. It's all I can do to not stand paralyzed with consternation in front of the stall door--which, in light of the aforementioned gap between door and frame, would be extremely rude bordering on the voyeuristic. Then I am forced to use one of the other stalls where the toilets are unnecessarily high and feel far less comfortable than my usual one. I hate being in the middle, it's like having surround-sound of people peeing which is never good and intrudes too much upon the mystery I like to maintain between me, my co-workers and those other people on the other side of the floor. The handicapped stall is entirely too big--I keep expecting an echo of every sound I make: ripping toilet paper reverberating off the tile walls, the flush creating such sonic vibrtions that I'm litterally jarred out of the stall. Besides, nobody wants to be the dunce that keeps the handicapped person waiting when they have to urinate. They have enough hardships as it is, don't need to add worrying about pants-wetting to the mix.
I've even considered adding homey decorations to my stall--why not? The middle one has an old no smoking sign in it (ironically the paper is all brown suggesting that bathroom visitors have not been heeding it's declaration). I say my stall deserves at least a reminder to flush and wipe the seat.
Speaking of, I cannot fathom why it happens--with alarming frequency--that you walk into a public stall to find pee all over the seat. First off, the toilet hole is quite large, HOW DO YOU MISS? Second, on the offchance that there is some alcohol, cannibis or other behavior-impairing substance in your system, and you do end up dribbling on the seat, have the good sense to wipe it off! You have to turn around and face the toilet to flush anyway, clearly you must see whatever residue you have left behind. Who on this earth looks at the toilet seat, sees evidence of their recent bathroom activities and decides to leave it there as a special gift for the stall's next occupant? My favorite is when they know there's a line and that they will inevitably come face to face with said next occupant as they leave the stall. Every woman knows that proper busy-bathroom ettiquette includes swiftly moving toward the stall that is soon to be vacated--as soon as you see the door start to swing open, you make a bee-line for it--getting in faster means getting out faster which means the next poor victim of male-bathroom architects will be able to relieve herself all the more swiftly. But this ineveitably results in brushing by the former stall occupant. Those women who look you in the eye as they exit, despite knowing they have left a puddle on the seat for YOU to clean up, are just sick, twisted and more than a little vindictive. Honestly, if there's a BETTER reason for washing your hands at the end of your loo experience, I have yet to find it.
Toilet-Seat Pee-ers, beware. Next time I walk into a stall to find it more than a little damp I am going to turn right around and hunt down the offending woman--no matter how badly I need to make use of the necessary myself.
The people and their dictators... how to turn oppression into uprising?
I am just apoplectic with glee at the prospect of having Tom Friedman for a professor. His columns ooze with more than erudition, more than perception, but just complete understanding and almost clairvoyance regarding world politics, economies and other socio-behavioral systems. Today's NYTimes column is about the ineffectual Bush policy toward Iran and North Korea, and why it's failing:
"Have no doubt, I think both are awful, abusive regimes that are driving their respective countries into a ditch. The Bush team is right to want them to disappear and to try to find ways to bring pressure to bear. But the Soviet Union was just as awful and abusive. Yet we engaged in “détente” with Moscow, because the thrust of U.S. policy in the Cold War was to reduce the Soviets’ ability to threaten us — through deterrence and arms control agreements — and then let the information revolution and popular disgruntlement destroy the Soviet Union from within.
What was good for the Soviet Union is good for North Korea and Iran."
I am just going to be so smart at the end of next semester. He's absolutely right in saying that change must come from within, that the people have to actually want it, and understand what they are fighting for, because then they'll be emotionally tied to the prospect of a new government. Fighting for something you are told is good for you has far weaker bonds.
I am desperately trying to write a dress code for this training manual and am failing miserably. I can be funny sometimes, but it's just not happening here, and in a dress code it's important to approach the subject with grace and humor (and not how my high school principal did it, with an authoritarian streak that Machiavelli would have felt threatened by). Ideas?
"Have no doubt, I think both are awful, abusive regimes that are driving their respective countries into a ditch. The Bush team is right to want them to disappear and to try to find ways to bring pressure to bear. But the Soviet Union was just as awful and abusive. Yet we engaged in “détente” with Moscow, because the thrust of U.S. policy in the Cold War was to reduce the Soviets’ ability to threaten us — through deterrence and arms control agreements — and then let the information revolution and popular disgruntlement destroy the Soviet Union from within.
What was good for the Soviet Union is good for North Korea and Iran."
I am just going to be so smart at the end of next semester. He's absolutely right in saying that change must come from within, that the people have to actually want it, and understand what they are fighting for, because then they'll be emotionally tied to the prospect of a new government. Fighting for something you are told is good for you has far weaker bonds.
I am desperately trying to write a dress code for this training manual and am failing miserably. I can be funny sometimes, but it's just not happening here, and in a dress code it's important to approach the subject with grace and humor (and not how my high school principal did it, with an authoritarian streak that Machiavelli would have felt threatened by). Ideas?
Monday, July 31, 2006
Frozen Airborne Pigs in the Underworld
OK, strangely enough I have this one line from the commercials for "Accepted" stuck in my head. Accepted is the new movie with the kid from "Ed" and the Mac commmercials where they make up their own university because they didn't get into any of the ones they applied to. Anyway, the point is, there is one scene where one of the kids, not the lead guy, is in a hot dog costume (clearly handing out flyers for a stand or some such) and is leaning over, with his hand about knee-level, wiggling his fingers, as he says in the BEST VOICE EVER: "Ask me about my weiner!" It's just priceless how it's in this low almost, pig-call voice, where it goes up at the end. Ah, classic! That line alone is tempting me to go see the movie. I just crack up every time.
Had a fiasco attempt at getting to workt his morning. To keep a VERY long story short, my morning commute included all of the following (and then some):
Had a fiasco attempt at getting to workt his morning. To keep a VERY long story short, my morning commute included all of the following (and then some):
1. 15 minute wait for a train that never came, forcing me to take a...
2. non-airconditioned train on the wrong line that...
3. let me out on 8th ave--miles away from the office, resulting in my...
4. being late
Not fun. It took me a half hour to cool down in an office where you usually need an ice pick to de-freeze me from my chair. Bah Humbug!
Just wrote in a recent email to Jen: "Hell is clearly freezing over, pigs are soon to fly." I like it!
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