Dang. I wanted to post today. I wanted to talk about how my new Spanish teacher seems like a good guy and all, but he really doesn't seem to have a clue about how the class is supposed to be run. I'm really worried this class will mess up my GPA just because the teacher doesn't know what's going on. I also wanted to write about how he wears really thin T-Shirts (by which I mean too thin - the kind of thin shirts that, even if they're loose, outline your chest with distracting accuracy) and pit stains. But he's been really nice, and doesn't get frustrated when we ask him to repeat things or explain. Which, I guess, is what you should expect from a teacher. But it's more rare than you'd think.
I also wanted to talk about my interview with ---------- ---, and how it's a lot fancier than I first thought. It turns out this was only the meet-and-greet. There's two more interviews and a floor test I have to pass. I hope I'm good enough - it looks fun. Everyone who works there looks chic and professional and older than me. I don't know if six months at Target prepared me for a high end retail job - sometimes I think maybe I'm more suited for a kiosk or a K-mart. But you never know.
And for a while, I've been wanting to post a little about a guy I talked about earlier. You know, the one with the teeth? In February? Well, I can't say very much, because I know my relatives occasionally read this blog (hi guys) but after our mutual friend finally stopped liking me and got a girlfriend, things worked out. For a couple of days. But it was the end of the year, and after those few days we wouldn't be in the same city for nine whole months. And I would be in Prague, on my own in Europe. I would have had to end it no matter how long we were together. So we just let it be what it was. And it was. And now I have a great friend. I honestly had more fun and felt more like myself while just talking to this guy then I've felt in a long time. That's the thing I can't give up. I don't know if we'll ever be romantic like we were, but I think we'll still have that.
Well, whatever. I have a Spanish thing to write. It's dumb and long and I just don't care anymore.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
As one or two of you (by which I mean all of you) already know, I'm spending this summer in New York, partly because I have to take a class and partly because after a few weeks Little Rocky Run starts to resemble both the neighborhood in Edward Scissorhands and a black hole. Now that I'm an adult with legitimate clips on my resume, it's time I started doing adult things like working for actual pay. I have an interview with Sunglasses Hut tomorrow.
I'm doing some other adult things too. For instance, today I made a cucumber-onion-avocado-tomato salad I found on Punchfork. I'm starting to make vegan dishes, not because I'm becoming a vegan but because I'm living in 10's New York, of course. When people reminisce about this time period, they're going to remember how vegan was in fashion just like lowfat was in fashion in the 90's. I don't want to miss out. And I figured, if I'm not going to give up burgers and other animals while I'm out, I can trick myself into getting the nutritional benefits of veganism by only teaching myself vegan recepies. When that's all I know how to make, I'll have no choice but to eat shittons of vegetables and tofu. And anyway, my adult palate has become to refined for a diet of only brownies and macaroni and cheese. I'm becoming one of those losers who says, "Oh, fruit!" at the buffet table.
But don't confuse this with an actual interest in my nutrition. I'm not that grown-up yet. I don't know if I'll ever be grown up enough to eat foods I hate for their nutritional value or not eat foods I love because they're bad for me. Cupcakes make life worth living.
Also, now that I got my NYU ID back in a overnight express package from my mother after I left it in my backpack and came to New York without it and had to explain to the security guard that I actually did have a class in this building and am in fact a student here, I can go to the gym in the mornings before class. This is good news, because I'm testing out a theory: For a long time, I've looked at fitness magazines and figured that if they actually worked, one would only need one issue to "slim down," as they say. It seemed like a poor business model, with the success of the magazine relying on the failure of their readers to actually do what was in the magazine. I realize that's a cynical way of looking at it - maybe some women like to update their fitness routine each month - but I thought it might be fun to test that theory. So I cut all the exercises out of the May 2012 Shape magazine (and all the pictures of Mariah Carey to put on my wall when my Dad and his fiance Kristin move into their new place where I'll be living for the summer) and I'll take them with me. I'll follow their exercise routines. We'll see if they work. Also, we'll see if I stay with them once the workload picks up in class and I obtain a job that requires me to spend a lot of my time, you know, working.
Besides, I'm not so interested in losing weight as becoming strong enough to crush my enemies' heads like watermelon. I'm a little worried about traveling in Europe without some sort of plan in case I come across a rogue pack of bandits or Frenchmen or Polish Samurai or something. I figure that if I walk around looking just a little bit more like the Hulk, I'll be an unlikely target for pickpockets or swordsmen.
I'm doing some other adult things too. For instance, today I made a cucumber-onion-avocado-tomato salad I found on Punchfork. I'm starting to make vegan dishes, not because I'm becoming a vegan but because I'm living in 10's New York, of course. When people reminisce about this time period, they're going to remember how vegan was in fashion just like lowfat was in fashion in the 90's. I don't want to miss out. And I figured, if I'm not going to give up burgers and other animals while I'm out, I can trick myself into getting the nutritional benefits of veganism by only teaching myself vegan recepies. When that's all I know how to make, I'll have no choice but to eat shittons of vegetables and tofu. And anyway, my adult palate has become to refined for a diet of only brownies and macaroni and cheese. I'm becoming one of those losers who says, "Oh, fruit!" at the buffet table.
But don't confuse this with an actual interest in my nutrition. I'm not that grown-up yet. I don't know if I'll ever be grown up enough to eat foods I hate for their nutritional value or not eat foods I love because they're bad for me. Cupcakes make life worth living.
Also, now that I got my NYU ID back in a overnight express package from my mother after I left it in my backpack and came to New York without it and had to explain to the security guard that I actually did have a class in this building and am in fact a student here, I can go to the gym in the mornings before class. This is good news, because I'm testing out a theory: For a long time, I've looked at fitness magazines and figured that if they actually worked, one would only need one issue to "slim down," as they say. It seemed like a poor business model, with the success of the magazine relying on the failure of their readers to actually do what was in the magazine. I realize that's a cynical way of looking at it - maybe some women like to update their fitness routine each month - but I thought it might be fun to test that theory. So I cut all the exercises out of the May 2012 Shape magazine (and all the pictures of Mariah Carey to put on my wall when my Dad and his fiance Kristin move into their new place where I'll be living for the summer) and I'll take them with me. I'll follow their exercise routines. We'll see if they work. Also, we'll see if I stay with them once the workload picks up in class and I obtain a job that requires me to spend a lot of my time, you know, working.
Besides, I'm not so interested in losing weight as becoming strong enough to crush my enemies' heads like watermelon. I'm a little worried about traveling in Europe without some sort of plan in case I come across a rogue pack of bandits or Frenchmen or Polish Samurai or something. I figure that if I walk around looking just a little bit more like the Hulk, I'll be an unlikely target for pickpockets or swordsmen.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Some Mild Rants:
Why are balls considered the essence of manhood? We use them in so many expressions - grow a pair, that guy sure has some balls, that took balls, what balls, etc. - to represent toughness and boldness. But actual balls are the antithesis of toughness and boldness. If anything, they should represent fragility and shyness. What's avoids all encounters? Balls. What can't be touched without causing screams of pain? Balls.
Maybe it's the idea is that after gently guarding two delicate balls between your legs all your life, nothing seems that demanding or difficult. "Protect the princess from a dragon? Sure, whatever. That's nothing, I've been protecting my cojones from literally everything for thirtysome years. And they don't have the dexterity of even the most clumsy princess."
(However, I really like the saying, "What a dick," since it seems to say, "What an overly praised yet actually ridiculously sensitive person who draws his/her entire esteem from his/her theoretical power.")
Also, why don't ladies in period pieces have underarm and leg hair? Unless your setting your epic in ancient Greece or Rome, you're missing out on a pretty easily added piece of historical accuracy.
You say it's gross? It's not gross, it's natural. How did we come to consider something disgusting that literally everyone above age 14 has? How did we come to just pretend ladyhair away? And even many male stars now sport waxed chests and sometimes even shaved underarms. Why?! Put it back. On everybody. (If the time period calls for it.)
That aside, violent bloody battle scenes are pretty gross. But we normalized them through TV, movies, and video games. And now, to some interest groups' dismay, we can all enjoy a fountain of blood from a sliced enemy soldier with no distaste whatsoever. Why not do the same for pit hair? And lady leg carpets? And hairy manbacks?
Why are balls considered the essence of manhood? We use them in so many expressions - grow a pair, that guy sure has some balls, that took balls, what balls, etc. - to represent toughness and boldness. But actual balls are the antithesis of toughness and boldness. If anything, they should represent fragility and shyness. What's avoids all encounters? Balls. What can't be touched without causing screams of pain? Balls.
Maybe it's the idea is that after gently guarding two delicate balls between your legs all your life, nothing seems that demanding or difficult. "Protect the princess from a dragon? Sure, whatever. That's nothing, I've been protecting my cojones from literally everything for thirtysome years. And they don't have the dexterity of even the most clumsy princess."
(However, I really like the saying, "What a dick," since it seems to say, "What an overly praised yet actually ridiculously sensitive person who draws his/her entire esteem from his/her theoretical power.")
Also, why don't ladies in period pieces have underarm and leg hair? Unless your setting your epic in ancient Greece or Rome, you're missing out on a pretty easily added piece of historical accuracy.
You say it's gross? It's not gross, it's natural. How did we come to consider something disgusting that literally everyone above age 14 has? How did we come to just pretend ladyhair away? And even many male stars now sport waxed chests and sometimes even shaved underarms. Why?! Put it back. On everybody. (If the time period calls for it.)
That aside, violent bloody battle scenes are pretty gross. But we normalized them through TV, movies, and video games. And now, to some interest groups' dismay, we can all enjoy a fountain of blood from a sliced enemy soldier with no distaste whatsoever. Why not do the same for pit hair? And lady leg carpets? And hairy manbacks?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)