so i’ve been working out. i mean, sometimes. i’m not bragging, or anything, but you know, i go to the gym…
and i sit on the elliptical (i fell off the treadmill [TWICE] when i didn’t watch my feet) and i listen to the ipod, and i stare at a bank of televisions showing stuff i don’t need/want to watch.and of the many things i get to see while watching court tv shows and law & order (there’s ALWAYS a law & order playing! always!), i have to admit, the commercials are the most interesting. yeah, i know, there’s vocational schools out there. and this “head on” is a real thing, not like a parody of commercials or something as i had once thought. but beyond that (well, and there’s a commercial for herpes medication where a good-looking guy tells you he has herpes, and it’s not a problem for him). but did you know that kids have amazing things to play with?
for example:
i have never heard the sound for this thing, so i have always assumed, based on the arm gestures in the muted commercial, that spider man raps along to music with you. i mean, that’s the hand gestures i make whenever i know the words to a rap song well enough to sing along (eminem and me, we feel each other, ya know?). “awesome!” was what i thought when i first saw it, i must admit. but i guess since it’s for kids, it does something more stupid. doesn’t matter, i am not interested. can’t even bother to look it up and find out. just wanted you to know it existed, and to see it from my point of view; with the sound off.
sigh.
as if the fact that cinderella 3 exists wasn’t enough…
Filed under: random
it’s a little known fact: there is some sort of mental block with boiling eggs. it’s just too long for me to sit there, but i seem to be physicall¥ unable to remmeber them twithin lan hour and a half.
don’t know why.
just is.
in my “Search for Extraterrestrial Life” class–it is a real class, it’s astronomy, and it’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds– we discussed life, it its most simple. the teacher told my class of about 300 about proteins and nucleic acids, and how that is the start of all life. we had a few minutes left, so he clicked on his PowerPoint notes, and launcvhed a little animated video illustrating how RNA is recreated.
the monotonous narrator told us of all the pieces of the complex setup that would be required, each one illustrated bby a collorful little ciurcle, or square, or some such other shape. then she introduced something the professor had not previsouly mentioned. onto the screen floated a bluish bob with the word “TATA box” underneath it. she told us about it in that same tone of voice, but i could not hear her.
because i GUFFAWED. yes, i laughed so loudly that i had to put a hand over my mouth to keep it quiet. loud enough for everyone in this cavernous room to have heard. and more importantly, i was the only one. here i sit, almost twice as old as everyone else in the room, and i laughed at the word “TATA box.”
i apologized to the young girl with the black and purple hair sitting next to me, when she looked over. she smiled and said, “i was thinking it too.” thank god someone was.
then the announcer got to the part the TATA box plays in this little process, and said it again, as matter of factly as if it was nothing, and i almost lost it again; i was ready, and i kept it inside, but my body shook.
cause i’m nine.
one of the oldest guys in the class, and i laugh at words that make me think of body parts. hm. don’t know what that says to me.
i’m blaming it on allergy medication.
dear lindsay lohan;
this may seem sudden, but lately, i have found myself thinking about you a lot (mostly cause you’re on the cover of every gossip magazine and every website in the world), and it has made me want to write you and tell you a few things that i have been thinking about. i hope you are interested to hear them. but even if you’re not, i think i will feel better knowing they’re out there for you to find someday.
yesterday was beautiful outside, and it was saturday, so b. and i took the dogs to the park. now, dingo gets carsick, so i try to drive smoothly, with very few hard stops and starts or sudden turns. it’s a courtesy to him, and to myself, since if i do it well, i don’t have to clean up vomit. which i like.
anyway, so we came back from that, and were going out to a fancy dinner. (my best buddy e. is in town! we had reservations and everything, so i was hurrying. and when i came up to a stop sign in my neighborhood, maybe i wasn’t going as slowly as i should have–especially when two dudes were crossing in the middle of the street.
now, not that this makes much of a difference to the story, but the neighborhood in which i live is mostly black and hispanic. and these two were young black gentlemen. when they saw me speeding at them from much closer than would be ideal in their situation, and, seeing that i didn’t slam on the brakes as hard as i c ould have (because i was so used to braking slowly, for dingo, you see), they gave me some looks that seemed to say (if i might extrapolate), “what is wrong with you, sir? you have endangered myself and my friend, and now i am angry and ready to defend myself aggressively, unless you are willing to show some sort of remorse.”
they stopped walking, right there in the street, and gave me some nasty looks, is what i’m trying to say; i might even characterize those looks as threatening. i gave them an apologetic wave, as i would do for anyone, but this did not seem to make them aggreable again. instead they stood there some more, appearing to debate if they wanted to start a more confrontational kind of thing.
there was little more to say, and we were in a hurry, so we urged them to please get out of the road. to which they responded by spitting on the car.
spitting. on the car. that was something like ten feet away.
now, lindsay, let me be clear–i am not here to talk about how rude that is. i think that goes without saying. i am not here to talk about how for some reason we are supposed to allow carspitting from two african-american gentlemen, though we would probably not let it slide if they were white. and i’m not here to point fingers or play the “blame game” or anything else.
what i am wondering is, where does one learn to spit so damn far?
really, it was amazing. he threw it off like it was nothing, like it was something he did all the time. i don’t imagine that this was the first time he had ever done that, and that after we drove off, he said, “wow, did you see that? i didn’t even know i could do that!” no, more likely, this is something he has practiced to some degree. perhaps the way i grew up skipping rocks on the water. it’s a thing, is my point–spitting far. and yet i never said to any of my friends, “betcha i can spit further than you can.”
do you know anything about this, lindsey? cause it’s pretty amazing.
anyway, it’s nice establishing this line of communication. i will keep in touch.
take care.
oh, P.S. just a thought–did you poison anna nicole smith just so you could get the tabloids to stop talking badly about you all the time? just curious!
In Spanish class, we break into pairs in order to practice orally (shhhhh. let’s try to be mature here, huh?). We break into our little pairs, we ask our partners questions and then answer theirs. We use our grammar, we don’t look at our books; I believe it’s not an uncommon practice for classes such as this.
But how does one pick a partner? The teacher does not assign us. It is more or less random–especially if you don’t know anyone in the class, which is common in a school of 50,000. It’s whoever is next to you, or if some eye contact is made, or if someone taps you. My first day, I paired up with the guy to my left. Turns out he was as bad (worse!) at Spanish as I am. We stumbled through it together; I noticed things he said that were wrong, and wondered if they were truly wrong or if I didn’t know my Spanish as well as he did. It was, in a nutshell, not so helpful.
The guy to my left sits in the same chair every day. why do people do this, by the way? I ask this knowing that I do it as well. Wherever we sit the first day, that’s “our seat.” Why? Sometimes I change chairs to confuse people. Especially if you take “their chair” everything is thrown off for them. You can see it on their fface as they try to find a new place to sit. But no one ever says anything.
So now, every day, when it’s time to pair up, I turn to him. I have to. I feel that I’m commited. But the thing is, I don’t want to be his partner anymore. At least not all the time. How did this happen? I’m not ready to commmit to just one study partner! I’m too young to study with just one person for the rest of the semester! I still have some wild oats to sow! There are plenty of potential study partners in the room, and I haven’t studied with any of them!
For example, I want to turn to my right and pair up with that guy. He seems better at Spanish than me and can correct me if I’m wrong. It’s better for me. And yet I feel that if I turn away from the guy on my left, I will have snubbed him in a way he does not expect, and it will hurt him. This guy, whose name I do not know, and to whom I owe nothing, I fear I will hurt.
Awkward? Only in my head. A problem? Very much so. Cause in my head is where I live.
Perhaps we need to have alittle sit down. I will let him know where we stand: “it’s just not working out for us as partners. It’s not you it’s me.”
Yeah. No. Bad idea.
Guess I’ll just have to study harder at home.
i don’t know how much i have bitched about it, but it’s starting to become a situation where i need a job pretty badly. and i’ve looked into it. turns out i’m both under-and over-qualified to work at the cool gay coffeeshop by my house. (my ESL resume was a bit much, i think, along with the fact that my answer to “do you have braista experience?” was a startled, “um…no.”)
but now, i find myself in a whirlwind of classes in which i am having to read a lot and write a lot, and edit a lot (finallly learning final cut pro! woo!) time seems to have slipped through the hourglass just like the “days of our lives” announcer says (–what? i watched it when i was much younger. much). somehow, though class is over around one, betweeen working out, editing at the film school computers, and writing short stories, i still get home around six every day. and then, somehow, i wandered into the offfices of the school nespaper and ended up getting a job there. so more writing.
and then, a couple of days ago, i got an email from the newspaper: “After careful review of your writing sample and application, we are
prepared to offer you a paid position in the Life & Arts department.”
PAID position?
so it looks like i got a job. ten bucks an article, so it’s not a JOB job, and it ain’t gonna break the bank, but suddenly, i’ve got an income. and i’m even getting paid to do something i like!
ain’t life funny?
