Blogger doesn't allow me to post my own videos, so I have moved on!
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See you there :)
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Consumed
Wolves [ by Phosphorescent ]
They tumble and fight and they’re beautiful
On the hilltops at night, they are beautiful
Sunday, October 25, 2009
*Sigh*
Chris Pureka was in town for two consecutive nights last week, and boy, was I delighted! Though her fiddler creeped everyone out, they performed two wonderful, wonderful shows filled with new songs, love, wishes and magical dreams come true. She told us she's recording a new album, and I have but just one word: Weeeeeee!!!!!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
A Simple Request
Dear Cosmos,
I would like to formally submit a request to be preincarnated as a Native American circa the early 1600s for my next life. What is preincarnation you ask? Well, I made it up, though I am surprised you haven't figured this out for yourself. Let me explain. Preincarnation, as you may have guessed, is the reincaration of oneself in the past. Simple enough, right?
Assuming that Disney is an accurate depiction of what Native American life was like (and I know I accept their movies as animated documentaries), I think I'd be a perfect candidate. For instance, I have no problem looking to the spirits of my past ancestor's for guidance, the wind for direction, the willow trees for wisdom, or raccoons for unconditional love and comfort. And just like the Native American's of Pocahontas' day, I, too, sing about every thought and feeling I have and experience. So please consider my request.
MMMThank you.
Sincerely,
Fertile Star Dancer
PS It is possible that I have been spending way too much time, watching Youtube clips from old Disney movies. Yes, I am 23 years old, but they are still so good!
I would like to formally submit a request to be preincarnated as a Native American circa the early 1600s for my next life. What is preincarnation you ask? Well, I made it up, though I am surprised you haven't figured this out for yourself. Let me explain. Preincarnation, as you may have guessed, is the reincaration of oneself in the past. Simple enough, right?
Assuming that Disney is an accurate depiction of what Native American life was like (and I know I accept their movies as animated documentaries), I think I'd be a perfect candidate. For instance, I have no problem looking to the spirits of my past ancestor's for guidance, the wind for direction, the willow trees for wisdom, or raccoons for unconditional love and comfort. And just like the Native American's of Pocahontas' day, I, too, sing about every thought and feeling I have and experience. So please consider my request.
MMMThank you.
Sincerely,
Fertile Star Dancer
PS It is possible that I have been spending way too much time, watching Youtube clips from old Disney movies. Yes, I am 23 years old, but they are still so good!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
An Angry Blog
So I'm walking by a patient today, and I hear, "How are you?". I assume he is talking to me, since he said this just as I walked by, so I enthusiastically turn around and respond, "Great! How are you!?" because I get really excited when people care about me.
To my dismay, this little old man flashes me a smug little smile, points his arthritic little finger to his bluetooth cricket cell phone thing that is buried in his hairy little ear, and states, "I'm on the phone."
Oh. Great. He doesn't care about me, I look like an idiot, AND he made me stare at his hairy little ear. Downhearted, embarrassed, and mildly disgusted I walk away asking myself why people still use those stupid things, especially that little old man, who looks more like the Jitterbug type. I answer my questions with the assumption that because he's old, he probably thinks that he's really in touch with modern technology and that it's the only way to connect to his otherwise uninterested children, and it probably makes him feel a little bit better about himself. I am satisfied with the life I have imagined for this poor old man, so I move on in my thinking for the rest of the day.
Until, not even 12 hours later, I'm at the grocery store waiting in line. Minding my own business, a man walks towards me, makes direct eye contact with me, and asks, "Percentage-wise, how many parents do you think have internet access?"
Unfazed by the strangeness of the question, I recognize he asked me this because I obviously look so intelligent and full of knowledge that without even skipping a beat, I respond, "My guess would be 75, but it really depends on what parent population you are referring to." I surprise myself by the confidence in my tone and the speed at which I came up with an answer for such an out-of-the-blue query.
As I start to feel the sense of pride that I undoubtedly have earned, the guy stares at me confused for a moment. He then squints one eye and cocks his head to the side, as if by looking at me from another angle would help him make sense of what just happened. Apparently it did, so he, just like the other A-hole, points to his ear and says, "I'm on the phone."
Ugh! Really? Again? In the same day!?
Once again, I find myself feeling embarrassed and wondering why people use these terrible bluetooth earpieces. Suddenly a quick Q&A runs through my mind. Do you look cool with it? No, you look like a huge d-bag. Do people think you're important when you talk on it? No, people think you're a schizophrenic. Will you get a raise at work for conducting meetings while making love to your wife? No, you'll get divorce papers and fired. Does it build the confidence you're lacking from all the other deficits in your pathetic life? No, you still can't look at yourself in the mirror because you know who is reflected in that glass, behind that pompous cricket is just a sad, broken man whose past mistakes haunt you everyday, and though you strive to become someone better, you know you never will change, and not even portable bluetooth technology can fix that. Oh, too far?
Whatever, the moral of the story is: When you think someone is talking to you and they look like they're wearing a pimped out hearing aid, don't respond in sign language, just ignore them. Chances are (and I know my random statistical facts) that they just want to make a fool out of you in front of your friends, loved ones, and/or co-workers.
To my dismay, this little old man flashes me a smug little smile, points his arthritic little finger to his bluetooth cricket cell phone thing that is buried in his hairy little ear, and states, "I'm on the phone."
Oh. Great. He doesn't care about me, I look like an idiot, AND he made me stare at his hairy little ear. Downhearted, embarrassed, and mildly disgusted I walk away asking myself why people still use those stupid things, especially that little old man, who looks more like the Jitterbug type. I answer my questions with the assumption that because he's old, he probably thinks that he's really in touch with modern technology and that it's the only way to connect to his otherwise uninterested children, and it probably makes him feel a little bit better about himself. I am satisfied with the life I have imagined for this poor old man, so I move on in my thinking for the rest of the day.
Until, not even 12 hours later, I'm at the grocery store waiting in line. Minding my own business, a man walks towards me, makes direct eye contact with me, and asks, "Percentage-wise, how many parents do you think have internet access?"
Unfazed by the strangeness of the question, I recognize he asked me this because I obviously look so intelligent and full of knowledge that without even skipping a beat, I respond, "My guess would be 75, but it really depends on what parent population you are referring to." I surprise myself by the confidence in my tone and the speed at which I came up with an answer for such an out-of-the-blue query.
As I start to feel the sense of pride that I undoubtedly have earned, the guy stares at me confused for a moment. He then squints one eye and cocks his head to the side, as if by looking at me from another angle would help him make sense of what just happened. Apparently it did, so he, just like the other A-hole, points to his ear and says, "I'm on the phone."
Ugh! Really? Again? In the same day!?
Once again, I find myself feeling embarrassed and wondering why people use these terrible bluetooth earpieces. Suddenly a quick Q&A runs through my mind. Do you look cool with it? No, you look like a huge d-bag. Do people think you're important when you talk on it? No, people think you're a schizophrenic. Will you get a raise at work for conducting meetings while making love to your wife? No, you'll get divorce papers and fired. Does it build the confidence you're lacking from all the other deficits in your pathetic life? No, you still can't look at yourself in the mirror because you know who is reflected in that glass, behind that pompous cricket is just a sad, broken man whose past mistakes haunt you everyday, and though you strive to become someone better, you know you never will change, and not even portable bluetooth technology can fix that. Oh, too far?
Whatever, the moral of the story is: When you think someone is talking to you and they look like they're wearing a pimped out hearing aid, don't respond in sign language, just ignore them. Chances are (and I know my random statistical facts) that they just want to make a fool out of you in front of your friends, loved ones, and/or co-workers.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
I Hate Spelling Bees
I'm pretty nice, right? I mean, I care about people's feelings, and I try to not hurt any. However, sommmetimes I offend people, and sommmetimes it's hilarious.
For instance, last Friday. I approached a woman in a dialysis clinic for our study. This lady is very, very old and very, very...well, let's say feisty, though bitchy may be a better suited word. Let's call her Ms. Minnelli because she looks strikingly like an elderly Liza Minnelli, and in no way do I mean that as a compliment.
Anyway, I start the conversation with some basic demographic information questions, "So what's your address, Ms. Minnelli?",
She smiles and responds, "123 Dia Lane."
I lift my pen and begin to write 1, 2, 3, "Now how do you spell that? D-I-A? Or D-E-A?"
Ms. Minnelli's pleasant smile morphs into a grumpy frown, "I said Dia!"
I've clearly upset her, so I respond in a softer, now apologetic tone, "So is it spelled D-E-E-A-H?"
"NO!" snarls Ms. Minnelli, "Deeeeee-ah!"
Still confused, I try again, "So it's D-E-E...e,e...e,e,e?-A? How many E's are in there, Ms. Minnelli?"
Noticeably offended, she spouts, "D--E--E--Ahhh!"
I was startled by her shouting at the end there, but then I suddenly recognized the accent, "Oh! You're from Massachusetts! I'm so sorry! So Deer Lane, got it."
Ms. Minnelli rolls her eyes and nods.
"Now is that D-E-E-R or D-E-A-R?"...
For instance, last Friday. I approached a woman in a dialysis clinic for our study. This lady is very, very old and very, very...well, let's say feisty, though bitchy may be a better suited word. Let's call her Ms. Minnelli because she looks strikingly like an elderly Liza Minnelli, and in no way do I mean that as a compliment.
Anyway, I start the conversation with some basic demographic information questions, "So what's your address, Ms. Minnelli?",
She smiles and responds, "123 Dia Lane."
I lift my pen and begin to write 1, 2, 3, "Now how do you spell that? D-I-A? Or D-E-A?"
Ms. Minnelli's pleasant smile morphs into a grumpy frown, "I said Dia!"
I've clearly upset her, so I respond in a softer, now apologetic tone, "So is it spelled D-E-E-A-H?"
"NO!" snarls Ms. Minnelli, "Deeeeee-ah!"
Still confused, I try again, "So it's D-E-E...e,e...e,e,e?-A? How many E's are in there, Ms. Minnelli?"
Noticeably offended, she spouts, "D--E--E--Ahhh!"
I was startled by her shouting at the end there, but then I suddenly recognized the accent, "Oh! You're from Massachusetts! I'm so sorry! So Deer Lane, got it."
Ms. Minnelli rolls her eyes and nods.
"Now is that D-E-E-R or D-E-A-R?"...
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Mystery Solved!
For over a year my cat was missing. During this time, I feared the worst, I had lost hope that she would ever come back to me, or that she was even alive. Since her miraculous return I have wondered where she had been all that time. Was she living on the streets? Did someone take her in? If only she could tell me! Well, today the mystery has been solved, and I must say I am not at all surprised...
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