Now, I won't drop certain names on this blog*, so just do this: go to Stereogum's site and then tell me if this isn't the scariest idea for Halloween costumes you've seen this year.
*Because Pops was run clean off his previous blog by surfers incessantly trolling for images of Our Lady of the Downward Spiral, that's why not. And he rarely even mentioned her by name.
Took my econ midterm last night. And while it did not totally blow, it had its bad moments. The essay portion, I think, went well. I stand by my essays. And I knew how to chart the social marginal cost of deadweight loss like nobody's business.
But I got tricked on the wording of a question, like a rube. The prof asked us to describe the "elasticity" of a change in the price of apples. Well, there's elastic (great change in demand due to change in price, as you'd expect with, oh I don't know, apples?) and there's inelastic (no change in demand though the price changes drastically, as with gasoline). I did the calculation, and came up with an inelastic demand for apples. This wasn't what I had expected. So I failed to trust my math, and wrote the answer as though the demand in this model were elastic.
You should have heard us around the table at the pub later. Three of us: "The answer was 'inelastic', of course." Two of us: "Oh, shit!"
Well, I stand by my essays.
So yes, the pub! I haven't been to a pub in about 87 years. They're all like, 'Let's go to the pub!' And I'm all, 'Whoa', and they're all, 'Wuh', and I'm all, 'Pshyeah!', and they're all, 'Cool.'
And I went, drank stinky beer and talked a lot. It was fun - totally made up for the elasticity debacle. Some of the patrons got very loud about a game of some sort, but after a while it ended and we could hear ourselves think again.
Backing up a bit ... will you look what my husband did? Brought me flowers before the midterm. And a card. And a kiss for luck.
It's too late. I'm already lucky.
At any rate it all started when I read the following statement on the Internet:
1 Suffering exists
2 Suffering arises from attachment to desires
3 Suffering ceases when attachment to desire ceases
4 Freedom from suffering is possible by practicing the Eightfold Path
and I realized that not only did these statements represent the "Four Noble Truths" of Buddhism, but they were also a pretty good summing up of Skynyrd's "That Smell".
And thus this game was born.
Today's work atmosphere is a startling contrast to yesterday. My coworkers have all either called in sick, or left on business visits. It's quiet. I mean, quiet! Watch this:
"Hey you guys! Let's go out for Mexican! You know, at that place that was just inspected again by the Board of Health? What does that make, three times in a year? That's-a spicy burrito!"
Aaaaah. Silence. I think I'll grab a sandwich and study at my desk over lunch. Midterms tonight.
Have I mentioned lately that I'm an utter fraud as a student? Last night I reviewed my notes for tonight's exam. And I couldn't. Remember. A thing! None of it looked familiar. I will fail this exam and have to drop out of the program. Fraud.
So anyway ...
I'm the only one here this morning, and this business owner calls my department and says to me, "We're making some changes. Is there a form we fill out for you people?"
"That depends on the changes," I reply. "What are you changing?"
"Oh, they're just some basic cosmetic changes," he says breezily. "Keep up with the industry."
WTF? thinketh I. The word 'cosmetic' doesn't appear in the regulations. I'm at a loss. "Cosmetic? You mean like price changes? Mission statement? Number of hours? Er ..." He's quiet. Is this supposed to be a guessing game? I start to have a little fun. "Are you changing the paint color? Are you adding shrubbery?"
"Uh, yeah, something like that!" he answers. Silly man wasn't even listening to me. Why do they call, if they're not going to listen? Or say helpful things? Why? I told him to put his great cosmetic changes in writing, and we'll go from there.
If this office were the popular 70’s TV show, “The Br@dy Bunch”, today would have been the episode where Greg gets all pissy because he has to share space with his five sisters and brothers.
Substitute my coworkers for the kids, change these dreadful cubicles into a bathroom with one sink, give me a happenin' 70’s hair-do, and you’ve got the picture.
Of course, at the end of the half hour, the benificent Carol and Mike relented and let Greg move into the attic. Sadly, my boss cannot let me move into an office with a door that shuts out the daily two-hour ritual of picking a lunch spot.
I may get in trouble for saying this, but in my opinion, no matter how far we women have come as a people, there's one thing we'll always be touchy about. And that's asking our acquaintances for money. Whenever we try, in whatever form the asking takes, psychotic high weirdness dredges up from our usually closed-off lizard brains.
My normally professional and semi-friendly boss is a perfect example. Here she comes with one of those fundraising gift catalogs from her child's school. My boss is talking to someone - or hells, maybe she's talking to the catalog itself, I don't know - as she walks toward my desk. "I'll start this with Pam, since we bought all that stuff for her kid's fundraiser!" :plop goes the catalog on top of my paperwork. The front cover has a postie with all our names written on, like a list. My name is first. The print is extra-big.
Well, let's see. What caliber exactly was the gun I used to force my boss to buy from a fundraiser catalog ...? Golly, it's so hard to keep these details straight.
But okay. I expected this. I always knew I'd reciprocate when it came to these dueling fundraisers. I pick out a few things, write a check, take the whole packet back to my boss. She is standing amongst my chuckling female coworkers. "No, no!" she yells. "Pass it to the next person on the list! And I hope you were generous!"
"You're welcome," I reply. The coworkers laugh harder.
Wait. Maybe this is just her problem. I don't remember shrieking at people while fundraising.
Token Male, our lone guyworker, is oblivious. Long ago he politely declined everybody's catalogs. Now we never ask him. Nor does he ever bring in his kid's fundraising catalogs. I have no idea what he does to help out his kid's school, but I should ask. It must be a saner prospect.
Sat in church today, unable to concentrate much on the lecture because my head felt so weird. Overly-large, I mean, as if the easy balance it has maintained on top of the neck for 41 years had suddenly grown precarious. Or - no, it was more like this: like I was hearing, in blood language, a countdown to a great explosion, like that guy with the laptop heard in "Indepen/dence Day". And because the topic of today's sermon was on the moral imperative of universal health care coverage (my church is nothing if not topical in its liberal sensibilities), I began to worry I was having an anurism or something equally quick and dreadful. Do I have my health plan card in my purse? Yes, good. Is a hospital close by? Well, fairly close. Could an ambulance get to me in time? Who knows, who knows?
However, the symptoms? Are just beginning to Resolve Themselves into a format I have experienced before. It is with heavy certainty that I say the mutha of all colds is upon me.
Was going to blame Jo, who has had a cold this week. Oh sure, it's true we've never met, but all this virtual interaction can't be without consequence. Then I wondered if it could be due to walking in the rain yesterday, and sitting, damp and too warm, in a strange classroom fulla joims.
But no. It's more fun to blame Jo.
Hey, when I was looking for a germ cartoon to
steal use here, I found a funny germ quiz on a BBC website. Check it out, see how you do.
Now, if I study while lying in bed, how many minutes do you think I could stay awake?
***** FYI: This is post #1000 (woo!) *****
Grumpy? So unfair. I think Halloween is a great holiday. If I had time, I'd make myself a Borg costume out of old vacuum cleaner parts, and try to dance the Time Warp in it. Convinced? While standing on the sidewalk waiting for my little witch to ring doorbells! Convinced now? Serious stuff, Halloween!
And then one day, you're sitting across the desk from Jon Stewart, who gets to say whatever he wants about politics. He doesn't have to adhere to rigid party lines, because he's not a pundit; he also doesn't have to pretend to be objective on the candidates, because he's not a journalist. He gets to comment on politics to a tremendously receptive audience. He has an enormous amount of influence, and yet, because he's a comedian, he has no accountability. You're so jealous of him!
Then he starts talking, and it's like he's reading your secret diary. He's calling out every doubt you ever had about your career. He's got the crowd -- your crowd -- completely on his side. You can't argue with what he's saying because you know he's right, so you respond the only way you know how: barking weak put-downs and making straw man arguments. And since he can counter your claim that he doesn't report the news well by saying he has no mandate nor any responsibility to do so -- since he is a comedian -- your only option is to try to get the last word by saying he isn't funny.
I'm very much enjoying studying for my economics midterm. But I dearly hope my enjoyment is not dashed by the reality of not knowing the answers to the questions asked. There's nothing so dreary as when the pedantic intrudes on the sublime.
Didn't mention previously, but I gave a 10-minute class lecture last Wednesday, on one of the lessons. And I think it went well. I had a good time up there, at any rate. I probably should have become a teacher back in days of yore. I had semi-intended to, but I had very skewed priorities back then.
Our prof insists that we not let our student lectures go over the allotted time; then he procedes to dominate the lecture time with his own interjections. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to dock students for this overage. And it's not like we don't learn from him. But in any event, I tried not to let that happen during my presentation. I treated him as just another student, cutting him off by thanking him for his contribution, before I called on somebody else. My fellow students tell me they were highly amused by this.
Betty Bowers and her friends are at it again, you'll be happy to know - making the world safe for those of us who just want to wear our Laura Bush relaxed-fit pantsuits in peace.
This video clip compares Bush's public speaking skills then and now, and makes a case that his cognitive skills have vastly deteriorated in that time. Lest you think they caught him on a bad debate day, exerpts from several 2004 speeches were used.
It fills me with dread to think of having to listen to Dubya as president another four years. Maybe Pop's wife will share with us her great plans to emigrate ...?
Guess what? The union is coming to our building today, to meet us about situations involving ... Micromgr!
One of the secretaries filed a formal complaint against her. It was the latest in a string, I believe.
Micromgr just yelled at my boss over some matter or other. If I knew my whole staff was about to go to a meeting about me, I guess my toys would be a bit overwound, too.