The Happiest 4 Minutes in the World

I found this video off a New York Times article chronicling this new YouTube phenomenon. The article helps put the video in context (a very cool context at that), so maybe read, then watch. You won't regret it. The music is fabulous, too.



Back from my whirlwind 10-day trip. Washington State is incredibly beautiful and if I ever have kids, they're going to camp Kalsman. Facebook has photos, but here's a look at the new Seattle fashions, I was thinking of maybe getting some for myself:

and my favorite--I have a dress that would be perfect with these!

fun time had by all.

Please, Make Your Kid Stop!

One of the OpEds that ran in today's Times was a wonderfully personal insight into what is happening in flood-ravaged towns in the Midwest. Particularly interesting is that it is written by a local contractor who must have simply taken the time to write down his thoughts and impression -- and in doing so gave the rest of the country, and even the world, a remarkably clear window into his experience. This man should consider a second career in short stories. 

In other news, Huzzah! Kate returned with me today to the pottery painting place, so my great fear earlier this week has, thankfully, not been actualized. In fact, we each painted three pieces all of which I fully expect to be placed on the "Wall of Fame" -- except my rice bowl which inadvertently ended up looking like an interpretation of Dante's Inferno. No joke, totally accidental. Maybe that one gets gifted. 

Unfortunately, our long stay subjected us to some of the most annoying children walking the planet today. I really don't understand how parents can put up with such annoying behaviors, let alone lack the courtesy to allow it to continue and disturb every other person in a 30 mile radius (which, I swear, is how far this one girl's horrid voice carried). Please parents, for the love of God,  have mercy on us all! Kate and I are seriously considering authoring a book--an Emily's Post Guide of sorts on how to remember that you and your children are not the only beings walking the earth. We'll title it: You're Child Is A Brat: Things That Others Want To Tell You But Are Too Polite--So We Will. It may be difficult to entirely fit on a cover, but the whole sentiment is important, I think. 

My time of day is the (almost) night time of day

My favorite time of day is the hour before sunset. The light becomes golden, the shadows turn warm, and there is often a friendly breeze swirling the air. I can easily imagine myself swinging gently in a hammock on a porch as the trees sway happily nearby, their bark still warm from the lingering sun. I'm holding a cup of tea as I look up from my book to catch the first tinges of pink creeping into the blue sky. Magic things happen in this time. 

As I walked home today, enjoying the glorious pre-sunset weather, a woman stopped me on U street and asked me to look at the back side of this young guy who had just passed by--an unusual request to be sure. But she was so astonished by just how low he was wearing his shorts (completely under his butt) that she had to share the sight with someone--anyone!--and I was the closest at hand. I had to agree with her, these kids these days--what on earth are they thinking? Besides, if you're going to let it all hang out like that, at least pick a more interesting pair of underwear than plain maroon. Even plaid would be more exciting. 

OK, so you're no Jackson Pollock

I think Kate is going to flake out on me and our new hobby. Don't you? Here she is during her second attempt at making a grand masterpiece out of the post-it holder:

And here she is after deciding that said second attempt is not nearly good enough. (Evidence of her gusto in painting is clearly visible on her lovely shirt--a more beleaguered Kate I have yet to see.)

I'm all for being a perfectionist (as anyone who knows me knows), but I am fearful that Kate's pursuit of the do-it-yourself that looks distinctly un-done-by-yourself is going to frustrate her right into never coming again. And then I will be stuck being one of the quirky ladies who comes into the shop and sits by herself for hours fanatically painting teapots with an aim to rival Sevres. I need friends to make me look sane! There's social-safety in numbers! Please, Kate, I beg of you--do not give up the hobby! What else are you going to do!?! Philately???

Smart Women Heart Obama

Frank Rich's column yesterday, Angry Women Heart McCain, laughingly challenges the claims being bandied about the airwaves that Hillary-supporting women will be so angry over their loss that they will turn to McCain instead of Obama. Sure, if they're stupid. But as Rich points out, most women are not and most women know that McCain is just plain anti-woman--especially when it comes to issues of reproductive justice. No way are democratic women going to almost literally shoot themselves in the foot (really, they'd be aiming at a place about 2.5 feet higher) this November. I'd be the first to admit, even complain as I did a couple days ago, that women have been woefully inept at exercising political power, but I can hardly believe that when it comes time to pull the lever, mass droves of Hillary supporters would pick that torture victim who voted for torture over the man who was endorsed by NARAL even before Hillary was out of the race. They may be frustrated, but not stupid. 

Here's a shirt I like

Far From Victory

Now that Hillary Clinton has endorsed Barack Obama and the Democrats have solidified the top slot on their November ticket, much attention is finally being paid to Clinton's treatment as a female on the presidential campaign trail. The verdict of all this scrutiny is, appropriately, a condemnation of both the American media and the American people.

Judith Warner, a consistently insightful guest columnist at the New York Times, blogged last week in “Women in Charge, Women Who Charge” that Clinton's candidacy brought into stark relief the pervasive discrimination and hatred aimed at women today that far too often goes unchecked. As many observers, including Katie Couric, note, had Obama faced the racial equivalents of the heckling and mocking protests Clinton endured, this country would have been outraged and ashamed and launched into cathartic introspection.

Sexism is alive and well in America. It permeates every part of society, and what we see in the media is only a reflection of what occurs daily. Not only in harassment in the workplace (which was made more difficult to combat by a November 2006 6th Circuit Court decision) or violence aimed at women (one out of every five women in the U.S. has been raped), but also in the words and images we allow women to be referred to by and the burden we disproportionately place on our girls to maintain their chastity.

For years, there have been those who have claimed victory in the feminist fight for equality. And though we have clearly made great strides, there is something deeper that remains elusive. The attitudes that prevail, the constricting societal classifications of what it means to be female, and the passive acceptance of discriminatory words and actions are all poisonous roadblocks in women’s quest for full actualization and equal status. That we sat on our couches and watched disgusting media attacks on Clinton that were deeply personal and far removed from any campaign saliency without instinctively jumping up to call the news networks in indignant fury makes us all culpable.

Women are the majority of the population and of the vote, but it seems we are behaving like an incidental minority, asking, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

Are women held hostage by the ever-increasing objectification of them by society? By the burden that comes with the joy of being the gender that gives birth? Or by the legacy of millennia of stark divisions of labor? Can we break through the tough patina of the status quo? Representative Carolyn Maloney’s new book, Rumors of Our Progress Have Been Greatly Exaggerated, addresses just how far women have left to go before we can truly declare victory and why this is a fight that is not only imperative for women and society today, but for the substantive quality of life for our daughters as well.

Now that Clinton is available fodder no more, the media is gearing up for an anticipated flurry of attacks on Michelle Obama. We all must demand of our leaders and of ourselves intolerance for misogyny wherever it may arise, and particularly in the unrepentant media. If we do not actively confront it, what are we inadvertently condoning and even encouraging? What are we saying to our women and to our daughters?

What are we saying to ourselves?

Hello Dolly, It's so nice to have you back where you belong

I've decided that it's time for me to resurrect the blog. It's been two years and my inner muse is itching to break free. I wonder also if it might have something to do with the onset of summer. 

The only hitch is figuring out what to write about. Clearly some cross posting of my work blog entries will happen, but with the inclusion of partisan rantings, election-related diatribes and inappropriate commentary. I'm looking forward to it. 

Now that Clinton has endorsed Obama and the Dems have a lone candidate, it is time to crank up my own political machine. I've been searching for great Obama paraphernalia, but I have yet to find the one T-shirt that is hip enough for me, but inspiring enough that merely by walking the streets of DC sporting such striking attire will motivate others to vote Blue come November. I really do have such high ambitions for my politically-motivated attire. Ideas are welcome. 

I've already begun to plan an election night party, complete with Obama cookies, themed decorations and perhaps Illinois foods (if I can find any that won't immediately result in a coronary). This is going to be the event of the year if I have anything to say about it. New York friends, mark your calendars!

If you're mourning the loss of Hillary Clinton, my condolences. Here's a speech of his that may help you feel better about getting behind the presumptive nominee. 

Meanwhile, I am mourning the 4 month wait until new episodes of Bones. I'm not sure I'm going to survive with all my present sanity intact. I'm thinking of attempting to get my fix by reading the books the show is based on. I am that desperate, not that I don't already have several books waiting on my nightstand. Over-achievement and procrastinating don't mix as well as I originally thought. 

Free-Pizza Friday

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.

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.

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?

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):

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!

I'm sorry, do we work?

One of my most favorite comedic lines is, and will always be, that line from friends where Phoebe is talking about Monica's hypocrisy and says "Hello, Kettle? This is Monica. You're black!" See, I'm laughing uncontrollably AS I write it. Just classic. It's almost too bad it's so famous, because it would just be so so good to use it in normal conversation.

So far today I have had an email conversation of immense proportions with both Rachel and Jen. We talked about everything from the Pawtuckett AAA team to what on earth we're going to do with ourselves post-college to growing cells and weird people who live in a totally different universe.

So weird that the summer is almost over. Have far too much to do, nothing on my list has been crossed off:

• Get a tan. ---That would be a no.
• Go to the beach. ---Nope, no sand between the toes as of yet.
• Hang out in Central Park and enjoy the sunshine. ---What sunshine? What is that? All I know are flourescent lights.
• Go to a Yankee game. ---Negative, have been cheering the boys on from home.
• Start my thesis proposal. ---ha!
• Play a sport for fun. ---almost suceeded there, but Annie and I fell asleep on the couch instead. Classic.

There's much more, but I can't remember it all.

Why I Will Absolutely Be Seeing Clerks II This Weekend:

From the end of a review:

Parental Advisory: Where to start. ... This movie contains George Carlin's seven dirty words strung together in every imaginable combination, vivid talk about controversial sexual positions, vivid talk about sex with minors, racial epithets, food tampering, dozens of blasphemies, scenes with strong allusions to bestiality and a bunch of other stuff we're probably forgetting.

You're a Good (Wo)Man, Charlie Brown

So, today has been an interesting day.

First, I played the good samaritan and called 311 when I saw this HUGE pile of garbage that had obviously spilled out of at least two different hefty black garbage bags and was now lying on the corner of 52nd and 1st. The heap of congealed vegetables and strings of turkey meat and other indistinguishable food left-overs promised to start smelling foully soon and was taking up a good portion of the sidewalk. So I called the city and filed a report, good New Yorker that I am.

Second, on the train to work I ended up having a very amiable, almost too friendly, chat with another commuter about the heat and the week's weather. The whole time I had a Shalom Sesame song stuck in my head where the muppet characters want to talk to each other but they're embarrassed, so the guy decides to break the ice by talking about the heat: "Cain cham meod, it sure is hot!" SO cute. If you haven't seen it, come over and I'll play it for you. Adorable.

Third, I've spent almost the last hour talking to a staff assistant at the Virginia office (he and I frequently chat via instant messenger and have bonded over baseball and a dislike of the Red Sox) about the situation in Israel. It's nice to just talk it all out and hear other people's arguments, especially when they're in line with one's own views and provide other ways to make the point. It's so amazing how many angles you can take, and still come out with the same answer: terrorism has no place in the world.

Interesting to note, and absolutely pertinent given the above: Instant Messaging was invented by Israelis (along with cell phones, centrino technology, and a whole host of other important everyday things). Imagine not having that kind of innovation. I can't.

Speaking of the current crisis/ war; if you haven't yet read the Opinion page of today's New York Times, you absolutely must. I'll probably send out an email with the text included b/c they're Times Select articles, but if you don't get that email and want to read them, just ask me and I'll send it right over. Very very important to read Koeppel's and Friedman's articles.

Saw Lady in the Water last night, I really liked it. Found it to be very entertaining, and definitely deep, though the later is still percolating. It's absolutely one of those movies where you have to let it sit for a while, ruminate and relive and all that. It's different from all of his past movies, and yet retains the same style and nuances. Sam said that it is by far Shyamalan's most personal work and I would agree. Besides, any movie with Bill Irwin and Bob Balaban is an instant success with me. I'm easy to please in that way.

You'll Never Walk Alone

Bill Simmons is still my New Best Friend and has solidified his position there with his most recent column chronicling his search for an English Premeir League (soccer/football) team to support. Aside from being fantastically written and accessible to sports fans with varying degrees of soccer-knowledge, it's absolutely inspiring. Throughout reading the article (which can be found on ESPN.com Page 2) I kept wondering why on earth I don't watch more soccer. The biggest reason is that we simply don't get a channel that airs soccer, so my watching would be damned near impossible. But I'm definitely thinking that more trips to Mr. Dennehy's are in order--I'm assuming that as an authentic Irish pub, they show games.

Reading Simmons' fantastic breakdown of the British teams, I have to say that I absolutely agree with him that English football has something that American sports are severely lacking for the most part: spirit. And not just "my team is awesome" assertions in everyday conversation, but real face-paint wearing, top-of-your-lungs screaming, team-song singing, bust-a-vein fan revelry. Case in point: Liverpool. I've heard before how fantastically committed and downright crazy those fans are, but watching YouTube clips of a sea of red-clad fans belting out You'll Never Walk Alone gives new appreciation to the kind of energy fans can supply. And that's just during regular season games-- the enthusiam increases many-fold when playoffs are in full swing.

While Yankee fans are certainly better than most in American sports, even we have much to learn from our British counterparts. The bleacher-creatures do an admirable job with their team salutes at the beginning of every game, and when there's 2 outs in the 9th and were just one strike away from winning the game, there is certainly an acceptable amount of noise--helped along by "Freddie Sez" Shulman and his clanging pot. However I say more energy! Next time I go to a game, I'm busting out the face paint. Obviously something to be introduced to the Stadium slowly so that it catches on like a good idea and I'm not seen as that weirdo girl with the crayon on her face. However, when at the Giants game oh-so-many years ago, painting a huge "G" on my cheek earned me a couple seconds of air-time on the Jumbo-tron and, apparantly, national television, so clearly someone out there thinks it's a good idea. Watch out, Dave Seid, I may be painting your face as well.

In other news, I'm seeing Lady In The Water tonight. The ads for it always throw me because the face in the center (the blue-tinted androgynous one) which actually belongs to Bryce Dallas Howard looks exactly like Elijah Wood. So bizzare. I read an article which, along with zinging M. Night Shyamalan (or however you spell his name) for his king-size ego, suggests that this film may be far different from his past cinematic ventures. Also notable is that he split with Disney because he was insistent on casting himself as an author who's story ends up changing the world. Hmmm, maybe there IS something to this super-inflated ego rumor.

Anyway, I really have liked his past movies (though didn't see the Village, which was widely panned) so even though I'm somewhat apprehensive about this one, it's absolutely worth seeing based on previous experience. Plus, I'm meeting my mom for dinner beforehand which means I don't have to buy my own. Always a plus, particularly on my budget.

Have "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day stuck in my head. Not a bad song to have revolving around. And, as always, Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.

Ani Ohevet Haifa

I just got an email from my friend, Jess, whom I met in Haifa in the fall
(I absolutely adore her). She spent the whole year in Haifa and is actually
still there (for just another week) and sent out a description of what living
there now is like:

Anyways, some of you asked what life in Haifa is like now, and well, it's quiet; I haven't been outside, like really outside for a walk or to a park and *definitely* not to a beach in five days. Instead, I've been in and out of the bomb shelter at my friend's in mid-town or at my boyfriend's up-town when the air raid siren goes off, and I met all of the neighbors, which I suppose would be really nice in other circumstances, like, say, if people weren't launching rockets at us.

If you know anything about the topography of Haifa, you'll know that the entire city is built on a mountain, with neighborhoods on every level. However, what most people don't know is the further up the mountain the better off (socio-economically) the residents are, and that most of the rockets are hitting the lower levels of the mountain and outlying areas, which means that the people getting rockets shot at them every hour are generally not very well off, and having giant holes blown in their houses probably isn't helping the situation.

Now, Haifa is not like Beirut, what with neighborhoods flattened to the ground/no longer existing and stuff, but it's a ghost town. No one is at the beach (though I wouldn't be able to verify that) because rockets land in the sea and nearby. No one is at the malls or the movie theatres because it's hard to hear the air raid siren from inside and also most of the malls and movie theatres are in direct line of fire.

Only essential services are open, which means the stores and restaurants and pools and markets are essentially closed. There are very few cars on the street. No one is playing in the park, and people are generally staying inside with their families. A lot of people have fled south to Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, Jerusalem being the wiser choice because Tel Aviv is actually reachable by Hezbollah rockets (theIsraeli Air Force deflected one en route to Tel Aviv a few days ago, but people are still going to Tel Aviv en masse).

If I tell you that this is SO SO unlike Haifa, it would be a complete understatement. It was always a busy, beautiful city, with people outside going to restaurants, bars, the mall at all hours. It's such a social city, with the shuk in Hadar brimming with people, even on the days were the produce was freshest and therefore most expensive. I can barely imagine the
streets being so empty, or the Grand Kanyon mall without hordes of men crowded around big screen tv's showing the Maccabi Haifa matches. It's also so depressing to think of what
this is doing to the Haifa and Israeli economies. With everything closed and the reserves called up, the country must be at a standstill. Is it bizzare that all I want to do is go back?

Darth Vader Musical

http://youtube.com/watch?v=M_NALyl9Sr4&search=darth%20vader%3A%20the%20musical

What else is there to say?

Oh What a Night!

Did anyone else catch last night's Yankee game? I think the NYTimes said it best when it described the game as going from mundane to wild to weird. For those of you who didn't catch it, we were down 4-2 in the 9th as it began to thunder storm. But we stuck in there, and came up with a huge rally to tie it. Thank you Andy Phillips (who looks eerily similar to my boss) who hussled out a double--and when it's Ichiro fielding the ball, that's no easy feat--and was driven in by the guy who pinch hit for Nick Green (name escapes me). Bubba (my darling!) who pinch ran for nameless player made it to 2nd on a wild pitch and then to home on a sac fly by Damon to tie the score. A-Rod was up, but then the sky really opened up so they called a rain delay with A-Rod 3-1 in his at-bat. So insane! Unfortunately I fell asleep during the Paul O'Neil Yankeeography (which I'd seen before) that they play during all rain delays so I didn't get to see the fantastic ending. But, after a 2 hour delay, Cabrera hit a walk off homer in the 11th to seal the deal. I'll bet Torre really enjoyed his birthday.

In other news I have been ferociously working all day on a project that I really care about. SO awesome to feel productive, useful and all the rest. I've even been writing some survey questions (which may or may not make it into the final cut, but I'm writing and doing something that most interns don't work on). Solid.

For those of you who have been actively searching on my behalf since my first blog post, I found and ordered a pair of wellies so that's done. I'm very excited and hope to hell they fit. I'm always wary of ordering clothes from a catalogue because they inevitably don't fit and in the weirdest places, too. Bah.

In other news, the weather at 9am was lovely. I hope it stays.

A Case of the Mondays

It's 10:30am and I'm already eating my lunch. The office is nearly empty and solitaire is not going well. My eyes are already bugging out and refusing to focus (though with my trusty new glasses, we're putting off the point where they go completely kaput for a bit longer).

After work today, I'm meeting my dad for a drink at our pub, Mr. Dennehy's. I really like that I can say that now. I'm meeting my dad for a drink. It sounds so adult, so very mature. It's almost weird, almost.

The problem with packing your own lunch is that no matter how hard you try, or how good the ingredients are, there's always a better version on sale "downstairs" for $7.95. I also never pack enough, so I end up being hungry again very quickly and have to go buy something, which thus defeats the purpose of packing one's own lunch. I suppose this could all be easily remedied by bringing along carrot sticks, a piece of fruit, some yogurt, but really I am far too lazy. Doesn't speak well of my personality at all, but there it is.

In other news, I love how this Bush microphone gaffe is being treated as an actual story, rather than just a funny incident that makes the G8 summit, thankfully, have a humorous side. They're asking Blair and Bush about it, as if there's anything scandalous about using the word shit--particularly in reference to this kind of situation. Please, Middle East diplomacy would would spur the Pope into cursing (which by the way, I am convinced he does irregardless of the subject).

I am hot and cold at the same time. The air is on ultra-igloo high, but we opened a window. I am waiting for us to have weather in the office.

Why Bill Simmons is my New Best Friend:

From the Page 2 mail bag:

Q: Which is better, the Dodger Dog or the Fenway Frank? Do you prefer boiled and split top? Or do you like foot-long and steamed? I feel like Drama and Turtle at Sundance, but you get the idea. Please help us resolve this issue.
--Andrew C., Boston



SG: God bless the comedic power of the Fenway Frank, but has anyone ever walked into Fenway and said, "Man, I can't wait to tear into a Fenway Frank. They're delicious!" You can't find a more mediocre hot dog. But the Dodger Dog lived up the hype -- it's long and juicy, even a little salty, and you can definitely get a whole meal out of it. No contest.

(P.S.: I know the previous paragraph is going to lead to about 700 "Who wrote the Dodger Dog review, Bill Simmons or Richard Simmons?" e-mails. But there's really no way to write positively about a hot dog without sounding like you're reviewing a porn movie or writing a trashy novel. You have to admit.)