We have three interns for the summer so there's hardly anything for me to do. I am BORED.
The only thing going on in the office is this big scandalous hubbub because one of the managers put copies of the dress code on some desks but not others.
Then the manager left the office because she is hiding from the flack that is flying.
I am keeping my head below-cubicle so as to avoid eye-contact that might be taken for an allegiance with either side. I'm secretly so relieved that I didn't receive a dress code reminder.
One girl just emailed me saying that she hopes the manager gets hit by a truck.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Taking the "freedom to poo" a little far
Well, its one thing to do it in the bathroom at the office and not be ashamed.
It is another thing entirely to recount the details to a coworker. "Val" just treated me to a very full account of her stomach flu and its ups and downs. On and on and on, penning me into my cubicle.
It is another thing entirely to recount the details to a coworker. "Val" just treated me to a very full account of her stomach flu and its ups and downs. On and on and on, penning me into my cubicle.
Monday, June 20, 2005
If you have trouble spotting me...
I'm the one in the tomato red shirt, coral-colored necklace, and peeling skin.
You may see me and ask "who dressed that poor thing?"
It just doesn't match, folks.
Also my shoes are too big so the backs stick out like when little girls play dress up with their mom's shoes.
Complete with wobbling around.
You may see me and ask "who dressed that poor thing?"
It just doesn't match, folks.
Also my shoes are too big so the backs stick out like when little girls play dress up with their mom's shoes.
Complete with wobbling around.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Best Birthday Card
This one makes me chuckle.
The front says, "Did you know the first birthday cards were written on stone tablets?"
And the inside says, "Its easy to know things when you make them up."
I understand this sentiment so very well. I make a lot of things up.
The front says, "Did you know the first birthday cards were written on stone tablets?"
And the inside says, "Its easy to know things when you make them up."
I understand this sentiment so very well. I make a lot of things up.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
I love when fashion goes in this kind of direction.
No really. I am not being sarcastic. I know its ugly but there is something so exciting about it. It's really sick and twisted and has this whole story.
For more creepy Chanel
It's all about the eyebrows.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Aquatic
Last night
I got off the subway
I started walking
A Chinese man was dumping
what looked like
water
on the sidewalk
I walked on it
It was fish guts
The guts squished into all the little spaces in my shoe's
Soul
I was mad
I got off the subway
I started walking
A Chinese man was dumping
what looked like
water
on the sidewalk
I walked on it
It was fish guts
The guts squished into all the little spaces in my shoe's
Soul
I was mad
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
real nice
'Bloody chainsaw' man enters US
A man carrying a home-made sword and what looked like a blood-stained chainsaw was allowed into the US from Canada, the Associated Press reports.
The news agency says Gregory Despres' weapons were confiscated, before US custom officials in Calais, Maine, let him cross the border on 25 April.
The next day he became a murder suspect after bodies of his two neighbours were found in his hometown in Canada.
Mr Despres, 22, was arrested on 27 April and is now awaiting extradition.
The bodies of Mr Despres' neighbours were discovered in the town of Minto, New Brunswick.
The decapitated body of Frederick Fulton was found on the kitchen floor in his house. The man's head was under a kitchen table.
His common-law wife was discovered stabbed in a bedroom.
'Nobody asked'
AP quoted Bill Anthony, a spokesman for US Customs and Border Protection, as saying the Canadian-born Mr Despres was questioned for about two hours before being allowed to enter the country.
Mr Anthony said Mr Despres could not be detained because he was a naturalised US citizen and was not wanted on any criminal charges on the day in question.
"Nobody asked us to detain him," the spokesman said. "Being bizarre is not a reason to keep somebody out of this country or lock them up... We are governed by laws and regulations, and he did not violate any regulations". Mr Anthony added that officials in Calais did not have a forensic laboratory.
"They can't look at a chainsaw and decide if it's blood or rust or red paint," he said.
Mr Despres was detained, after police spotted him wandering down a motorway in a sweat shirt with red and brown stains.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Christian Surfers
The competition - the Lokomaika'i, or good will, Surf Contest - was co-sponsored by the Hawaiian Islands' Surf Ministries and Christian Surfers Hawaii, and was intended to raise money for a mission to Sri Lanka. At the start of the meet, a native Hawaiian kahu, or preacher, clad in a tropical print sarong and a kukui-nut lei, held a Bible in one hand and a microphone in the other as tanned and toned surfers gathered around him in prayer.
He blessed the ocean and the contest, and told the athletes that while most of them were there to win a prize, the real prize was finding God.
"The world is getting gnarlier and gnarlier," said a spectator, Neil Tsutsui, 38, who is part of a surfers' Bible study group on the North Shore of Oahu. "You get drawn into God with surfing. Surfing is a selfish sport: my wave, my ride. But this teaches selflessness."
From the NY Times
He blessed the ocean and the contest, and told the athletes that while most of them were there to win a prize, the real prize was finding God.
"The world is getting gnarlier and gnarlier," said a spectator, Neil Tsutsui, 38, who is part of a surfers' Bible study group on the North Shore of Oahu. "You get drawn into God with surfing. Surfing is a selfish sport: my wave, my ride. But this teaches selflessness."
From the NY Times
My crazy night
I used to be a world-famous crimefighter. I lived on an island with many confusing and intertwining roads. I drove a beat-up old purple junker of a car, sort of hooptie style, and instead of getting to the crime scenes on time, I mostly drove around getting lost. Everything in the city was very old and reminiscent of a mining town that’s seen many industries boom through it. There was a Submarine system for mass transit below all the canals and rivers. The submarines were very old and made from yellow-painted aluminum. There were abandoned carwashes with big, rusty, cartoon characters everywhere. I was always getting caught on one-ways and having to try to turn around in the parking lots of abandoned motels, etc. The whole time I would be talking to something like a camera or an interviewer about my lifestyle. Then, I realized I had to get home to relieve the babysitter. I have a couple of daughters or one daughter who is always having a slumber party. I don't know.
I live on the top of a mountain in a top-secret location with a lot of security. Or rather, its “supposed” to be really high security but its actually a rickety gate with one guard. Apparently there are a lot of guards but all they do is mill about. So last night, when I got home, I told the camera and interviewer, who is always following me around, that the first thing I do when I get home is inspect the evidence again. The current crime I’m working on has something to do with a Discman. So one of my guards handed me this beat-up old Discman with a CD in it. “This is the killer’s Discman,” I said, “and it contains clues about where his next victim is going to be.” So we listened to the CD. It was a young teenage boy’s voice. He was clearly crazy; it was a ramble of thoughts that sounded schizophrenic. But I sat there trying to decipher all the meanings in it for a really long time. I don’t remember much of the specifics but it was stuff like “The toast is buttery…My friend Rob is a simulation machine…grand staircase….orange eye.” And then I sat there and went “Rob is to orange as buttery is to machine” and tried to make sense of all that. It went on for a long time.
Then I went to my apartment in the city. I am a babysitter for the spookiest family. They have all these rules about where lights can be on in the house, and what kind of activities their baby can do, especially when she’s around electricity. Their house has all these hidden nooks and hallways, and they actually change. Like you’ll walk down a hall towards a door and then you’ll get there, and instead of the door, the little girl is sitting on the floor in front of you. She’s blonde and adorable but has a really creepy smile. I get the feeling that sometimes she is the little girl and sometimes the parents have found a way to watch me from inside of her. At one point I had to go to the bathroom, so I said, “I can’t leave you on the couch alone, you have to wait for me right outside the bathroom door." When I entered the bathroom the lights were on but suddenly she was sitting on the toilet behind me and the lights had turned out. I got a little scared and moved out of the bathroom. I looked back really quickly and she was reaching out for me with her hand like a claw. It happened in a blink of an eye and then things were suddenly normal and she was chatting to me about something very childlike and innocent. Then I found myself back in the bathroom, even though I thought I had left. And the lights were back on. She didn't have a claw anymore. At one point she was watching TV on the couch, and she had to sit very close to the TV. I walked behind the TV into the other room and she flipped out on me, screaming and throwing a tantrum. When I looked at the room I was about to enter, I saw that it was dark and there were shapes of people moving about in the darkness. Soon I discovered a really fun game that became her favorite. It was basically to pretend like we were being electrocuted. We lay on the floor and convulsed our bodies. I found it to be very pleasurable because the hyper-activity caused my body to be very warm. For the same reason, the little girl liked the game. We spent like fifteen minutes convulsing on the brightly lit kitchen floor. I started to feel like such a successful babysitter.
I live on the top of a mountain in a top-secret location with a lot of security. Or rather, its “supposed” to be really high security but its actually a rickety gate with one guard. Apparently there are a lot of guards but all they do is mill about. So last night, when I got home, I told the camera and interviewer, who is always following me around, that the first thing I do when I get home is inspect the evidence again. The current crime I’m working on has something to do with a Discman. So one of my guards handed me this beat-up old Discman with a CD in it. “This is the killer’s Discman,” I said, “and it contains clues about where his next victim is going to be.” So we listened to the CD. It was a young teenage boy’s voice. He was clearly crazy; it was a ramble of thoughts that sounded schizophrenic. But I sat there trying to decipher all the meanings in it for a really long time. I don’t remember much of the specifics but it was stuff like “The toast is buttery…My friend Rob is a simulation machine…grand staircase….orange eye.” And then I sat there and went “Rob is to orange as buttery is to machine” and tried to make sense of all that. It went on for a long time.
Then I went to my apartment in the city. I am a babysitter for the spookiest family. They have all these rules about where lights can be on in the house, and what kind of activities their baby can do, especially when she’s around electricity. Their house has all these hidden nooks and hallways, and they actually change. Like you’ll walk down a hall towards a door and then you’ll get there, and instead of the door, the little girl is sitting on the floor in front of you. She’s blonde and adorable but has a really creepy smile. I get the feeling that sometimes she is the little girl and sometimes the parents have found a way to watch me from inside of her. At one point I had to go to the bathroom, so I said, “I can’t leave you on the couch alone, you have to wait for me right outside the bathroom door." When I entered the bathroom the lights were on but suddenly she was sitting on the toilet behind me and the lights had turned out. I got a little scared and moved out of the bathroom. I looked back really quickly and she was reaching out for me with her hand like a claw. It happened in a blink of an eye and then things were suddenly normal and she was chatting to me about something very childlike and innocent. Then I found myself back in the bathroom, even though I thought I had left. And the lights were back on. She didn't have a claw anymore. At one point she was watching TV on the couch, and she had to sit very close to the TV. I walked behind the TV into the other room and she flipped out on me, screaming and throwing a tantrum. When I looked at the room I was about to enter, I saw that it was dark and there were shapes of people moving about in the darkness. Soon I discovered a really fun game that became her favorite. It was basically to pretend like we were being electrocuted. We lay on the floor and convulsed our bodies. I found it to be very pleasurable because the hyper-activity caused my body to be very warm. For the same reason, the little girl liked the game. We spent like fifteen minutes convulsing on the brightly lit kitchen floor. I started to feel like such a successful babysitter.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Dr. All Cock
Are these two people x-lovers? I love that he didn't read her book:
"Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.
But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."
Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.
In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."
"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.
Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.
"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said."
From the NY Times...full article
"Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.
But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."
Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.
In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."
"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.
Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.
"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said."
From the NY Times...full article
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Pye
Taking a clue from Dave at ETD, I would like to devote this entire post to my darling cat, Pye. Two nights ago I couldn't find her when I crawled into bed. I couldn't sleep, imagining her out there getting raped and beaten by really mean "alley cats" or skinned by serial-killers-to-be. I don't think some cats should be "outdoor cats", especially not this one because she is a gentle little pacifist who only likes cuddling and gently pawing at my stomach. After a restless, nightmare-ridden sleep, I woke up and got ready for work. Sure enough, when I opened the front door, Pye was on the porch mewing away. Then she limped past me and up the stairs to my bed. Her little paw was swollen and bleeding! Our landlady's car was towed yesterday so she couldn't take Pye to the vet, so when I got home, Pye was still a sleepy little invalid in a lot of pain. My roommate had set her up on a pillow with her food and water next to her. She had been sleeping all day, probably worn out from running for her life. Her little paw is still swollen to twice the size. Last night it was so nice to have her back in my bed. She sleeps curled up right next to my belly, with her head all buried in her front paws. She is just so damn cute. Not as crazy as Dave's cats, I presume, but I love her so much. I can't stop worrying about her.
Monday, May 02, 2005
fyi
This morning, coming out of the subway, I saw...
A seagull wing. Intact and Unattached. With the bloody bone sticking out.
A seagull wing. Intact and Unattached. With the bloody bone sticking out.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Guest Post: Life's Small Treasures
Brought to you by T James:
This is a true story.
On Friday night I met mike and a girl he liked named Katie (aka Katie from Marshall Feilds) at O'Donovan's for beers. At one point in conversation, KMF mentioned something about pirates, and I said that I have a friend who actually is a pirate; her name is Patra the pirate and she works at the Blue Moon Cafe. KMF asked me if Patra has a treasure chest. Of course, she has several, I replied, but they're buried throughout the small, uninhabited islands of the Caribbean. Doy. Well, said KMF, some friends of mine gave me a treasure chest and I keep my jewelry in it.
Knowing how much Patra---the second coolest smooth jazz singer ever (that's right, I'm talking about Billy Ocean)---would love that treasure chest, I offered KMF $20 for it. She turned me down. I said $50. KMF said no. I said $100. No. $300. No. $500! No! Then I said, KMF, I will give you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for that treasure chest.
mike shouted, he's crazy, he'll do it! but KMF said, I won't sell it for anything!
Right away I devised a plan for mike to have sex with KMF and then steal the treasure chest while she slept, but I was pretty sure mike didn't have enough of a criminal mentality to appreciate the diabolical nature of my plan, and thus the treasure chest eluded my possession.
On Sunday, when I went to the Blue Moon, I told Patra the story of how I almost got her a treasure chest. She was very glad that I didn't pay ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for it, but I told her that KMF didn't know what she was up against and that I would get that chest if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did. I swear on the graves of Billy Ocean's children that I will get that damn treasure chest, Patra, I said.
Fast forward to last night.
I wanted to buy a new black dress shirt to match the sweet skull belt that I bought last weekend, so I stopped into Savers on Lake Street. If you've ever been to Savers, you know that as soon as you walk in the door, the donation bins sit immediately on the left.
When I walked in, in one of the bins, I swear to God, was a treasure chest. I almost shat a brick of gold when I saw it. It was perfect: kind of small, wooden, a round top, rusty latches. I bought the chest ($2), two dress shirts ($6), and a Yoda-shaped drink-topper ($1) for mike that I'm now giving to the first homeless man I can find to punish mike for not going to the Electric 6 show tonight, mike you jerk.
I first went to Target and got some wrapping paper and some note cards, and then over to the Blue Moon, thinking that before I did my homework I was going to wrap the chest, put one notecard on the outside of the wrapping that said "Patra~ I didn't want to kill her..." and one inside the chest that said "... but she left me no choice", and then leave it there for her to open tomorrow. (Had I shat a brick of gold, I would have turned it into dubloons and put into the chest, too.)
What clever and excellent plan, I thought, a clever and excellent plan, indeed. Patra will go into work, see the gift, read the first card, tear open the wrapping to reveal the chest, see the chest, think that something's amiss, open the chest to reveal the second card, and be left wondering how I procured the chest from KMF. HER MIND WILL REEL WITH TERRIBLE UNCERTAINTY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Yes, excellent indeed.
But Patra picked up someone else's shift and was working. Thinking on the fly, I wrapped my jacket around the chest, walked in and sat down and said, you can't tell anyone about this... and revealed the chest.
Upon seeing the chest, Patra had several violent heart attacks all at the same time, at least three or four or five. I was also pleased; seeing Patra's reaction was like seeing the warm smile of a homeless man drinking through his new Yoda-shaped drink-topper: priceless.
I tried to explain to Patra the story of how I got the chest at Savers, but she refused to believe any story that didn't involve me forming a hot air ballon gang to make a heist from KMF's apartment, which I might still do.
Making lesbians have heart attacks and homeless men smile---it's what I do. Just like Billy says:
'said open the door(Get in the back)Tread on the floor(Get on the track)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Let's goOoooh, woooow, yeahI'll be the sunShining on youHey CinderellaStep in your shoeI'll be your non'stop loverGet it while you canYour non-stop miracleI'm your manGet outta my... Get outta my...WooooooooooooohGet outta my dreamsGet outta my dreamsGet in to my car
the end.
This is a true story.
On Friday night I met mike and a girl he liked named Katie (aka Katie from Marshall Feilds) at O'Donovan's for beers. At one point in conversation, KMF mentioned something about pirates, and I said that I have a friend who actually is a pirate; her name is Patra the pirate and she works at the Blue Moon Cafe. KMF asked me if Patra has a treasure chest. Of course, she has several, I replied, but they're buried throughout the small, uninhabited islands of the Caribbean. Doy. Well, said KMF, some friends of mine gave me a treasure chest and I keep my jewelry in it.
Knowing how much Patra---the second coolest smooth jazz singer ever (that's right, I'm talking about Billy Ocean)---would love that treasure chest, I offered KMF $20 for it. She turned me down. I said $50. KMF said no. I said $100. No. $300. No. $500! No! Then I said, KMF, I will give you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for that treasure chest.
mike shouted, he's crazy, he'll do it! but KMF said, I won't sell it for anything!
Right away I devised a plan for mike to have sex with KMF and then steal the treasure chest while she slept, but I was pretty sure mike didn't have enough of a criminal mentality to appreciate the diabolical nature of my plan, and thus the treasure chest eluded my possession.
On Sunday, when I went to the Blue Moon, I told Patra the story of how I almost got her a treasure chest. She was very glad that I didn't pay ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for it, but I told her that KMF didn't know what she was up against and that I would get that chest if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did. I swear on the graves of Billy Ocean's children that I will get that damn treasure chest, Patra, I said.
Fast forward to last night.
I wanted to buy a new black dress shirt to match the sweet skull belt that I bought last weekend, so I stopped into Savers on Lake Street. If you've ever been to Savers, you know that as soon as you walk in the door, the donation bins sit immediately on the left.
When I walked in, in one of the bins, I swear to God, was a treasure chest. I almost shat a brick of gold when I saw it. It was perfect: kind of small, wooden, a round top, rusty latches. I bought the chest ($2), two dress shirts ($6), and a Yoda-shaped drink-topper ($1) for mike that I'm now giving to the first homeless man I can find to punish mike for not going to the Electric 6 show tonight, mike you jerk.
I first went to Target and got some wrapping paper and some note cards, and then over to the Blue Moon, thinking that before I did my homework I was going to wrap the chest, put one notecard on the outside of the wrapping that said "Patra~ I didn't want to kill her..." and one inside the chest that said "... but she left me no choice", and then leave it there for her to open tomorrow. (Had I shat a brick of gold, I would have turned it into dubloons and put into the chest, too.)
What clever and excellent plan, I thought, a clever and excellent plan, indeed. Patra will go into work, see the gift, read the first card, tear open the wrapping to reveal the chest, see the chest, think that something's amiss, open the chest to reveal the second card, and be left wondering how I procured the chest from KMF. HER MIND WILL REEL WITH TERRIBLE UNCERTAINTY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Yes, excellent indeed.
But Patra picked up someone else's shift and was working. Thinking on the fly, I wrapped my jacket around the chest, walked in and sat down and said, you can't tell anyone about this... and revealed the chest.
Upon seeing the chest, Patra had several violent heart attacks all at the same time, at least three or four or five. I was also pleased; seeing Patra's reaction was like seeing the warm smile of a homeless man drinking through his new Yoda-shaped drink-topper: priceless.
I tried to explain to Patra the story of how I got the chest at Savers, but she refused to believe any story that didn't involve me forming a hot air ballon gang to make a heist from KMF's apartment, which I might still do.
Making lesbians have heart attacks and homeless men smile---it's what I do. Just like Billy says:
'said open the door(Get in the back)Tread on the floor(Get on the track)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Let's goOoooh, woooow, yeahI'll be the sunShining on youHey CinderellaStep in your shoeI'll be your non'stop loverGet it while you canYour non-stop miracleI'm your manGet outta my... Get outta my...WooooooooooooohGet outta my dreamsGet outta my dreamsGet in to my car
the end.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
When I grow up...
Things I am not going to be, and I can just give up on:
1. A rapper
2. A rock star
3. A graphic novelist
4. An installation artist
5. Fluent in French
6. A Cirque de Soleil performer
7. A chocolatier
8. A revolutionary
9. A lover of ALL God's creatures
10. Jake Gyllenhaal's sweetheart
And a random scene from my life:
I got up from my desk and walked away from it with my headset still plugged into my phone, thus recreating that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
And a topic for discussion:
Which is correct:
"be still my heart" or "be still my beating heart"?
If your answer is "it can be either" please weigh in on which came first. Is this a saying from something (literature)? I can't remember. But I have an opinion that one of these two phrases is actually the correct one. And one sounds wrong. Am I wrong? Could be...could be. It also doesn't matter that much. And I really could be wrong. But I just want to find out! Not to prove somebody wrong, but because I want to find out where I got this impression.
1. A rapper
2. A rock star
3. A graphic novelist
4. An installation artist
5. Fluent in French
6. A Cirque de Soleil performer
7. A chocolatier
8. A revolutionary
9. A lover of ALL God's creatures
10. Jake Gyllenhaal's sweetheart
And a random scene from my life:
I got up from my desk and walked away from it with my headset still plugged into my phone, thus recreating that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
And a topic for discussion:
Which is correct:
"be still my heart" or "be still my beating heart"?
If your answer is "it can be either" please weigh in on which came first. Is this a saying from something (literature)? I can't remember. But I have an opinion that one of these two phrases is actually the correct one. And one sounds wrong. Am I wrong? Could be...could be. It also doesn't matter that much. And I really could be wrong. But I just want to find out! Not to prove somebody wrong, but because I want to find out where I got this impression.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
For pure robot comedy go to...
Asimo
The videos are quite nice. Especially the one called "Avoiding Obstacles" although it is disappointing that the obstacles are not being thrown at ASIMO and he is having to duck them. He is just going around obstacles outlined on the floor. Still, "Bravo, ASIMO!"
The videos are quite nice. Especially the one called "Avoiding Obstacles" although it is disappointing that the obstacles are not being thrown at ASIMO and he is having to duck them. He is just going around obstacles outlined on the floor. Still, "Bravo, ASIMO!"
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Down at the docks
Yesterday we lazed in the sun on a 2 hour lunch. We went to Uno's at the seaport and sat outside people watching. Turned out to be the best day ever for that, since it was the annual street performer auditions. There were some good ones and some not-so-good ones, and I'm not sure which I liked more. This one hip-hop mime popped and locked to Clapton's In A White Room. Then there was "Walter" whose mike wasn't working and he got really mad at everybody and pitched a fit. There was this hula-hooper who spent 2 minutes of her alotted 3 minutes trying to "win the crowd over with humor." I was like "do what you came here to do! Hula-Hoop!" When she finally did she dropped those hoops all over the place. Also I didn't understand her costume which was black cowboy boots, red tights, a black "dress" (or smock?) and a pink wig. The pièce de résistance was supposed to be this girl dressed like a blue butterfly with a parasol. She was sitting there the whole time and we kept saying "when is that girl going to perform?" She finally did and we found out she was less of a "performer" and more of a "statue" for people to "take pictures with." Sigh. At least the lemonade was delicious.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
warning to self
When I get dressed tonight for our fundraiser, I will probably do the following:
1. Drink
2. Try on 6-8 dresses and skirts/shirt combinations
3. Stop to watch Friends or something equally as embarrassing
4. Bother my roommates, let the taller one wrap me in something insane, and then start to wimper and stomp about.
5. Dance to that "Killers" song
6. Decide I should go with a "rocker" look
7. After trying on everything black, realize my legs are somewhat unsightly, what with the pale and the scabs and scars. And realize its gotten colder outside now that its dark.
8. Try to make pants sexy, with tops.
9. Discover the only tops I have are tanktops or sweaters. No way out.
10. Put on jeans and same shirt I always wear.
1. Drink
2. Try on 6-8 dresses and skirts/shirt combinations
3. Stop to watch Friends or something equally as embarrassing
4. Bother my roommates, let the taller one wrap me in something insane, and then start to wimper and stomp about.
5. Dance to that "Killers" song
6. Decide I should go with a "rocker" look
7. After trying on everything black, realize my legs are somewhat unsightly, what with the pale and the scabs and scars. And realize its gotten colder outside now that its dark.
8. Try to make pants sexy, with tops.
9. Discover the only tops I have are tanktops or sweaters. No way out.
10. Put on jeans and same shirt I always wear.
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