It's official - I'm depraved.

When I bartend, I tend to watch a lot of game, one of which being "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" One of the questions posed yesterday was, "Which of these businesses is usually ran by children?" and I answered (audibly), "Chimney sweeps!" And then the possible choices were revealed, of course, not including chimney sweeps, but instead, lemonade stands. I conclude, not only that I'm utterly depraved, but that I've read entirely too much William Blake and Victorian novels. 

STFU, Matthew McConaughey

Those of you who "MySpace" like I do are probably well-acquainted with the promotions on the log-in page for features on MySpace - namely celebrities, movies, music, etc. When I logged in tonight, I was greeted by one of my least favorite celebrities - Matthew McConaughey - and his pithy philosophy of j.k.livin' (which stands for 'just keep livin'). So now he's not just promoting his shirtlessness or his shitty movies, but his own philosophy. Sure, he's a college grad, so he's educated and whatnot, but remember that this j.k.livin' doctrine stems from his lines as the character of Wooderson in Dazed and Confused. Surely, I love D&C, but really? A philosophy based upon the fictional creepy statutory rapist you played over ten years ago? And then, it's like I just want to punch him for giving me this unsolicited stoner surfer philosophy, not to mention that millions of others that use MySpace daily who do not have the ways and means to access that stress-free surfer lifestyle. Sure, we'd all like to j.k.livin', live in a trailer (by choice), do peyote, and surf the world, but some of us have jobs to do and situations we cannot escape. I can't make a strong argument for my own strife, and I won't pretend that my life isn't cake compared to most others, but I do admit it is somewhat maddening to have Matthew McConaughey preaching at me to 'just relax.' Put a shirt on, Matthew McConaughey, stop telling me to relax, and stop selling these:

where's Phyllis Schlafly when you need her?

This year, my office assignment was changed to the fourth floor of Faner Hall, amongst the Administration of Justice Department, some linguistics GA offices, and Dr. Zimra's lair. Nearby, is a 'unisex' bathroom, which confounded me and somewhat alienated me for quite some time. Wow, Faner and SIU is quite innovative, I thought, and truly embodying Phyllis Schlafly's worst nightmare. So, finally, I decided to use the unisex bathroom one day, to learn that it is not truly a unisex bathroom (Phyllis Schlafly, you can officially unbunch your knickers) and that it is instead, a bathroom with flexible guidelines. Before you enter, you must hang your respective gender's sign on the door, indicating whether a woman or a man is using the washroom (and doncha love it: the women's sign is pink, and the men's is yellow). Another sign claims that being conscious of the sign is the only way that the unisex bathroom will 'truly work.' So, you really are not entering a true unisex bathroom. But I would go on to argue that it is not really a unisex bathroom, but rather a men's bathroom that allows women, sometimes. You see, there are no receptables for used 'feminine hygiene' products (my favorite euphemism). Instead, us menstruating women must take the used products and/or wrappers outside of the stall and throw them into a garbage can, outside of the privacy provided by the stall. In every standard women's bathroom, there are containers provided for this type of thing within the stall. So, this really isn't a unisex bathroom - I mean, in a women's bathroom, I'm provided with the opportunity to not announce to everyone that I am in fact menstruating. I'm given a little privacy. I just want the same from the said 'unisex' bathroom. Is that so much to ask? Really.

a slight vituperation for fickle/fairweather Cubs fans...

I realize that Saturday was devastating, yes. And that the Cubs can lead to feelings of anger, disappointment, rage, melancholy, and psychological distress. I can certainly commiserate with all of you. But that is really no excuse to not only swear off baseball itself, but switch to the other side: the Chicago White Sox. Sure, their Saturday win offered a slight glimmer of hope, and maybe that was what you all needed to cling on to life and not throw it all away. But switching to the other side is NOT what you do. Claiming you're just a general 'Chicago' fan is NOT what you do. Let me illustrate this for you: let's say, you have a child who runs track. He/she is rounding the track, making promising headway, and BAM! falls over and breaks his/her leg. Do you start to cheer for the kid who lives in your neighborhood, merely because he/she is still in the race and you want to 'see someone from your area' win? No. You help your kid and cheer loudly AGAINST the neighbor kid, hoping that he/she breaks their leg as well (and hopefully, breaks both at the same time). I don't want to hear any more bullshit about people wanting to return their Cubs jerseys, or cheering for the White Sox next year because they got one more measly game than the Cubs. Because, after all, there's only one thing worse than a Sox fan: a fickle or fairweather Cubs fan who switches to the other side.

key lime pie recipe

Ingredients:

1 Container of Yoplait Key Lime Pie yogurt

1 or 2 Oreos, crushed

Mix crushed Oreo(s) into container of Key Lime Pie yogurt; stir and enjoy.

I hope you all aren't too put off by my sophistication in the culinary arts. I love this snack because it is reminiscent of the key lime pie my mother makes with an Oreo crust. The inclusion of this 'recipe' is a joke, yes, but not an entirely accurate representation of my cooking/baking skills. I do love to bake, but I really haven't made the time for it. Or, when I get the urge to make cookies, I find that I am out of milk, eggs, etc., and am too lazy to run to the store (or rather, 'Han-Dee Mart,' down the street from 'Ho-Made Pies.' God bless DeSoto). The most pathetic part is that I ate all my Oreos yesterday, so now I am suffering through Oreo-less key lime pie yogurt. I suppose I will live.

In other news, I am reading Othello for the first time, and I am pretty sure that I am the only person to make it out of high school and an undergraduate English program without having read it. I am enjoying it, but had to spend the greater part of the evening reading it - it's not going as quickly as the other Shakespeare plays I've read this semester. 

For awhile, I couldn't find anything that scared my cat, Holden. He's unfazed by the vacuum, shower, and other sorts of loud and/or wet things. However, as I was opening a bottle of club soda the other day (my new obsession), I noticed that Holden was disturbed and frightened by the loud fizzing, and when the bottle sprayed and he was doused with club soda, he writhed and wriggled like a demon being splashed with holy water. While it is somewhat sad and pathetic, it really was quite funny... and really, club soda? I would think that the vacuum, or something larger and more powerful, would pose a much greater threat. He is so silly.

Alright, off to bed... tomorrow marks another wonderful day in the world of teaching, office hours, classes, and all the other trimmings of graduate school life... 

old age comes at a bad time.

I want to take a moment here to congratulate one of my best friends, Corinne, and her husband Bob on their new baby, Jaxon Richard Reggio. He was born on Sunday, and was seven pounds, three ounces, and 19 inches long. I'm really looking forward to going home and meeting him! This is my first close friend to have a child, which is really surreal, yet awesome. Corinne and Bob are going to be great parents... I look forward to seeing Jaxon grow up! It's strange, because Corinne is my 'first' friend; we met when I was five years old and she was six. We were pretty much babies ourselves. I guess Jaxon's birth, coupled with other events, have made me feel really old lately. First of all, I was walking to the library, and saw a flyer for some bar in town having a 90's party... you know you are getting old when the decade you grew up in is becoming 'nostalgia-ized.' Then, some undergrad almost ran into me the other day when I was carrying a pile of library books, and my kneejerk utterance was, 'Fucking kids.' Really, Julie? Wow. And this fall saw my brothers off to high school and kindergarten, respectively. It doesn't seem like that long ago that I started high school, and now Alex is there, eight years my junior. I realize that this is just the beginning of feeling old, but I didn't realize it would start when I was 23... 

a little bit of Stanhope to brighten your day.

Doug Stanhope is quickly becoming one of my favorite comedians/political commentators. Here's a nice tidbit he posted on MySpace that I'd like to pass along to my small, yet captive, audience:

If you want to toppl​e the gover​nment​,​ stay out of the arts,​ stop writi​ng poems​ or songs​ and comed​y bits.​.​.​

Get into the ranks​ of the polic​e,​ the FBI, CIA, polit​ics,​ big busin​ess,​ big oil, the upper​-​ranks​ of the milit​ary,​ etc - Make your life a long-​term "​Punk'​d"​ who can event​ually​ turn Serpi​co.​

You knee-​jerk,​ pomp'​n'​circu​mshit​ scumf​ucks who dont mind getti​ng tear-​gasse​d at WTO prote​sts but wont go so far as to spend​ twent​y years​ in the syste​m so as to turn coats​ and blow it out when its most neede​d - wear your plast​ic cuffs​ the way I mastu​rbate​ a penis​ limpe​d by cocai​ne.​ All show with no payof​f.​

One cop on the force​ who is on our side is more worth​ than a thous​and "​Fuck you I wont Do What you Tell Me " dance​rs-​with-​gasma​sks at a telev​ised event​s.​

The cause​ will not be helpe​d until​ you turn them on their​ ear using​ their​ own tacti​cs with bette​r skill​.​

Okay then.​.​.​

stanh​ope