Baseless Accusations

In high school, my friends and I were on a continuous search for places to hang out. Generally we stuck to coffeehouses -- but Denny's, being cheap and 24-hr, was also alluring. Or as alluring as a diner can possibly be. Nearby there was another diner that we [un]affectionately called "Iowa". Somehow we got it into our heads that that Iowa was the most boring place in the world, and this stereotype has managed to stay with me so long that I actually forget its origin sometimes. Iowa is a strange place to have a random bias against. It seems so innocuous, like having a deep seated distrust of men in yellow hats. What could they ever do? Withhold corn?
For those of you in Iowa (if any happen to stop by) I'll admit that this is probably not true. However it is really not a contest where any participants come out as winners. There are undoubtedly places that are more boring than Iowa. Like trying to find the stupidest person on the internet; there's always someone worse*. At some point the argument becomes moot as one approaches the boredom equivalent to zero degrees Kelvin. It's not Iowa's fault that people don't associate it with swinging nightlife. Instead they get occasionally hip during election cycles only to fade once again into the beige of the Midwest.
I do love corn though. And ethanol. Good work Iowa! I hope the condition of your farmers improves. After reading Michael Pollan, I am forever traumatized regarding the corn industry. I don't know where I was going with this, except that I think it is funny that I have this deep seated idea that Iowa is dull for almost no reason at all and that it is inexorably linked to a badly decorated second-tier chain diner. I think maybe because there was a lot of cow-rustlin' paraphernalia and as Southern California city kids we had little to no idea where they used cow-related things or even where cows lived except Chino, or Iowa. And everyone knows Chino is a scary, dangerous place where criminals are raised, as we saw in The OC.
I also have a bias against New Jersey, though that is more a result of cultural indoctrination than youthful punk-ness.


*I used a semicolon correctly! I think...Rachel? This is always a victory for me.

Funny/Not Funny

Paul and I have many things in common. Some of those things are things that we both find funny. We like to meow at Pickle and narrate her internal monologue of disgust with humans and eternal terror that we (or various inanimate objects) secretly are trying to kill her. We think it is funny that Paul can unintentionally scare me without doing anything at all, including when I already know he is there*. Weird Al. Zoolander. Crazy irrational retail shoppers.

However there is a lot of discrepancy in our sense of humor. Some things that he finds to be the funniest thing currently in the world, I look at and say, "What? That is gross/stupid/makes no sense". There are many things that I find world shatteringly hilarious that Paul looks at and says, "huh. That's funny". Not even a laugh. He actually gets so little amusement that he has so say aloud that he thought it was funny because his reaction failed to convey anything that could be read as even mild amusement.

There isn't any real pattern to predict what we will or won't agree on. It's especially frustrating to Paul, when he laughs at Dumb and Dumber or Wayne's World, but I can't do anything but seethe with frustration and the gross/stupid/makes no sense/everything. Then I counter with "Man, I love Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. So-crates." And dissolve into snorting giggles. He at least recognizes things that are funny, usually, and makes the obligatory "That was funny" declaration. I lash out at things that are not funny and want to take them apart and destroy them. As a female, I am entitled to be irrational. It is the right of a lady.

So when I find a blog, like this one that makes my face melt from laughter (even though I already read all the posts months ago when it was introduced to me) it is frustrating that I know he probably won't find it as hilarious as I do. Well, that and the fact that it will be WEEKS until he checks his email and actually looks at the link, but that is an entirely different problem.


*No, really. For example: I am standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror examining my face wrinkles in a way that every girl does, and Paul is talking to me and enters the room. We continue talking. He opens the cabinet and noisily takes out a flosser. I eventually turn to leave the bathroom, only to find that there is SOMEONE IN THE ROOM OMFGNESS!! And I screech like he is about to murder me. At least once a week, repeat in various similar forms.

Presidential Plastics

An article reviewing the changing portraits of the presidents on our currency has an humorous twist. They are proposing that the artistic representations have been given cosmetic enhancements.

I'm not sure I buy this though. Some of it looks like they have been "cleaned up", but a lot of it just looks like the drawing is done from a different angle. Lincoln's portrait, especially, looks like most of the difference attributed to imaginary rhinoplasty and cheek implants is actually due to an artist changing the angle of the drawing.

You make me [sic]

In my trollings of the internet to find a suitable Nature Oriented Religion for one of my final essays, I found this WikiAnswers gem:

Q: What was Chumash religion?
A: duh its so obvious. they just belive in "magic" to heal. and other worlds and stuff. Look in the library. ull c.

It took me longer than it should have to realize that the "ull c." was not some type of copyright code but rather idiot-speak for "you'll see". If I had any kind of essay-writing buzz, this could have killed it. Or perhaps filled me with some kind of misguided superiority. Maybe not so misguided. Just superiority.
In similar but also quite tangential news; I've always wanted to get one of these for someone but I never know for whom or which one, since after awhile the funny might wear thin and just become depressing.

Cleaning Channel

While I clean, I like to have something running in the background. Gilmore Girls has been done to death, so has to have some extended time to rest between viewings. Lately I've been watching a trashy treasure by the name of Sex and the City. The benefits? Some really adorable pieces of clothing that make me want to re-vamp the wardrobe when I get into cash. A downside? Aforementioned cute single items are placed with eachother in ridiculous and sometimes atrocious ways. There's the occasional good outfit (usually on Charlotte, who almost always at least manages to have a blandly acceptable ensemble) but for the most part it looks like a blind or possibly malicious anti-fashion group runs the costume department on set.

In other news, without a washer/dryer, I have started washing clothes in the bathtub. I went to the laundromat once. It ate ALL MY MONEY. Well, about 7 dollars. It was ridiculous. Now fancy things like rented washing machines are only for big obnoxious things; comforters, jeans, towels -- stuff it would wear me out to attempt to stomp into cleanliness.
Also a pizza guy thought I was British. Not because I had some kind of unintentional accent but because I very college-ly have a huge British flag hanging in the living room. And he was very surprised to find that Sarah and I (who ordered pizza at 1am) were neither high nor inebriated.

Douglas Adams Is in my Brain

I'm back in the college town after a sojourn in the tourist trap, and life is dull. Nice, but dull.

Paul: "I've been playing Metal Gear for almost two days."

Me: "It has been two days. 42 hours is two days."

Paul: "What? No, two days is 48."

Me: "No it's.. it is 48. What's 42? Why did I think 42?"

Paul: "I don't kn--"

Me: "Oh wait, 42 is the answer to the Universe. Nevermind."

Paul: *stares quizzically*

Days consist of clawing my way toward employment, evenings I hang out with Paul. As he plays Metal Gear Online, I surf the internet. Or we read. It's like we're already a stodgy geriatric couple. A technologically adept geriatric couple.

Dr. Strangediversion

or How I learned to stop worrying and love L-- is that a steak??
Lent began on the first of March. So far I have done pretty well, albeit a little unbalancedly. I started out abstaining from meat and dairy, with exceptions for 2% milk (bc I need to drink more milk) and healthy fish fillets (to encourage healthy habits and avoid living off discount chili). For spring break though, I was at home, where they were doing no-meat only with no fish allowances. So I swapped, which was a nice change.
It always gets easier the longer that one is on Lent. Eventually when Lent is over, it takes a while to get used to eating meat again. The best thing about Lent though, is that it makes cooking more active. Finding recipies, preparing meals. It's no longer a matter of just microwaving a hot dog or eating a block of cheese like one normally would when dinner comes around.
So far my mom and I made veggie lasagna from scratch, baked chili relleno, and a bunch of salads. I have been eating pineapple on everything as a condiment. Fish becomes more versatile and food feels more interesting.
And yet, today my mom and I lustily watched a man eat a hamburger a few tables away at a local pizza place.

Help! Help! I'm trapped!

So I went to California this weekend. It was Natalie's bridal shower, and as Maid of Honour, I figured I should show up or something. I got there and immediately sensed a difference. People were colours! They didn't try to make awkward eye contact with me! Natalie and I reunited at the baggage claim of LAX and made our rip-roaring way back to her house with her father at the wheel.
We spent the first part of the weekend preparing for the Shower, and indulging me in all the gastronomical splendor I missed while I was away from my homeland. There were Mexican restaurants galore, including one with authentic mariachis playing so loudly that we had to yell to be heard despite being on the other side of the room.
The shower was a blast. Natalie and I spent the beginning in the laundry room frosting last-minute cupcakes and all the games went over quite well. Bridal shower games are obviously (for the most part) throwbacks to the fifties and yet any girl who tells you she hates them is a liar. Guess the cleaning product? Especially when the cleaning product eats its way through the freezer bag? Priceless and entertaining.
However the trip came to a unique twist when Natalie dropped me off at LAX around 730am for my 9am flight. I got meekly in line to check in and soon after a woman with an apologetic look frozen on her face began making the rounds. Anyone with "Houston" on their ticket was instructed to follow her. I look down. Well golly, my connecting flight goes through Houston. Joy.
I follow the poor harangued woman (not everyone is as open to an alternative situation as I am. Or at least, some are faster to flip out.) to another line where we are told our flights have been canceled.
After an hour or so in line, new plans are made. Plans that involve an extra twoish days in California. Normally this would not be traumatic, but it means missing school. I hate missing school. Regardless of the perceptions one might have of my study habits, I have a history of being freakishly unwilling to miss school. At least in college. Even when I was so sick with the flu that I fainted in the bathroom, I went. Which turned out to be a not fantastic idea. I felt like crap on toast past its 'best by' date.
Eventually, instead of being home at 7pm on Sunday, I arrived home at about 8pm on Tuesday. After a nice quick trip to San Diego where I watched fancy TV, visited Encinitas, tidepooled, and met some Chargers Cheerleaders. There was some football nonsense going on.
And thus ends the brief California trip overview.

Feed the Flame

Crystal: Okay, so I think dinner's almost ready, so I'm going to go.
Sonya: Dinner is for those who can't feed themselves with the fire of their
ideals!
Crystal: ... Yeah, but I'm hungry.
Sonya: Alright. I made that up just now though, so I was pretty
proud.
Crystal: I can tell.

A half and a half make a pear.

A scene from today's New Testament class, with the professor's part delivered in his characteristic monotone...

Professor: "...so we will be dividing up the chapter. We'll do half of it today, another half on Tuesday, and half when we get back."
Student: "Three halves?"
Professor: "Do you have a problem with that?"
Student: *silence*
Professor: "You must have a very narrow view of mathematics."

He's a great professor. And the way he talks, you wouldn't suspect him of being hilarious. But the jokes just get rolled along with everything else as he deadpans his way through the lecture. It still takes half a beat for people to figure out when he is kidding sometimes.