Archive | March, 2011

I think I’m ready to start a new blog.

31 Mar

Tonight, while stewing in annoyance (the most bitter spice), I realized I need to start a blog to vent about it.

My new blog will be TOTALLY anonymous (unlike this one, which is pseudo-anonymous) and it will be called “Don’t Get Me Started.”

Oh wait. I just checked for that domain, and someone already owns it. But isn’t doing shit with it, as evidenced by the “Under Construction” landing page.

Don’t get me started. People who buy up domain names then camp on them, hoping someone somewhere will invent something requiring their name so they can profit? Totally lame.

[Side note: Out of curiosity I just googled “expensive domain names.” As of 2010, the most expensive domain in the world was Insure.com, for which cost some company I’ve never heard of $16m to buy. To the donkey dick who first called dibs on insure.com: I could say “well played” or reference the irony of your domain choice, but — don’t get me started.]

[Second side note: Any guesses on the other nine most expensive domains? Two are general business words (funds, business); two others are direct goods (diamonds, toys) and four of them – not surprising – are vices (sex, porn, beer, casino). The wildcard in the Top Ten? Israel. Anyone think a wealthy Palestinian with a sense of humor is responsible for that?]

Revised new domain idea: pissandvinegar.fml

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When I say “cow vagina” I mean it as a compliment.

28 Mar

My pottery studio has “open studio” time on Sundays when students can come in to make-up a class or put in some extra time on a project. Since I missed my usual class on Saturday, I bounced into the studio yesterday to work.

One person there was part of the work-study program, where you work in the studio in exchange for wheel time and clay. He seemed somewhat new to the arrangement because he wasn’t entirely sure what he should be doing while we were working. So he talked. And talked.

The guy ran his mouth at an unprecedented pace, and everyone started making eye contact that seemed to say, “Who IS this guy?”

Here’s how he warmed up…

Dude: Some people say that form follows function and the shape of your pot is more important than the color of your pot, but the color IS the form, so it’s the most important piece.

Someone Else: I want some of what he’s smoking.

Dude: It sounds like exactly what I said!

Someone Else: Pure bullshit?

And for our glazing edification, he then took the conversation here:

Dude: I never like using the “Red Mamo” glaze. It’s unpredictable.

Someone Else: Really? I’ve had no problems with it.

Dude: Yes. The last time I glazed a piece with it, it came back looking like someone had ejaculated on it.

Stunned silence. I want to ask if he’s ever had a piece some back with a turd in it, because I can totally imagine someone taking a dump in his bowls if he always talks like this. But I refrain.

Dude: Let me tell you, you can’t even GIVE AWAY a bowl that looks like someone has ejaculated on it.

Studio Lead: No bodily fluid talk, please! From here on out, it’s only Animal, Vegetable or Mineral if you need to make a comparison.

And then the kicker, which I am not embellishing even a little bit:

Dude: I’m learning two words in every language.

Someone Else: Wow.

Dude: Yes. In Japanese I know XXX and YYY.

No one says anything because we don’t care.

Dude: The one is “hi” and the other one is “cow’s vagina.”

Everyone is smirking and trying to ignore him.

Dude: Because apparently in Japanese if you want to tell someone they are the bee’s knees, you tell them they’re the “cow’s vagina.”

I’m pretty sure he’s learning his words from Ron Burgundy.

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C.H.I.P.S. or just a “chip” on your shoulder?

28 Mar

I think this is called "poor planning."

What is it about law enforcement that attracts power-hungry people? Yesterday, passing through the security at the Library of Congress, we encountered a guard who clearly enjoyed any way she could flex her power. Never did she smile, or accompany her bossy words with anything other than a belittling sneer.

As I prepared to go through the metal detector, she called out, “Put your coat on the conveyor belt.” Guess where I was standing? Next to the conveyor belt with my coat in my hand, ready to place it there without her instruction. At that moment I decided she was the type of person who would say, “Breathe!” just so she could claim your body’s functions were entirely of her doing.

I made it through metal detector just fine, as did my mom. But when we turned back to check on my dad – who generally has not one but four different items (glasses, radio, binoculars and clipboard) hanging around his neck at any given time – it was clear that we might need to sit down.

Alas, that wasn’t an option. “You can’t stand there!” the crabby woman snarled at us. “Keep moving.” (Never mind that there was not a line of people trying to enter the building and the area was in no way congested.)

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One situation, two takes.

24 Mar

With her thought process, this is what my sister's sons' braces might look like. Except I have no idea who this kid is.

My parents are coming to visit this weekend, so they hit the road earlier this morning. Around noon I got a message from my mom, calling to tell me that she had just done something and there was sizable chip in one of her front teeth that was large enough to make her self-conscious.

I immediately called my dentist and scheduled an emergency visit for her tomorrow to fix it. Then I emailed my sister and updated her on the situation. This is her response:

My solution would have been to unbend a paper clip and superglue it across her front teeth so it looks like she’s in a temporary set-up from a hockey injury. That’s what they did with me last summer when I broke off the one tooth and bent the two others: bend them back out and glue a wire across to hold everything in place. With all that metal, no one noticed the missing tooth. And if they did, they just though I was badass. Cuz I didn’t give a shit.

My mom should be glad she’s visiting me instead of her other daughter.

And I think we all know who she’s going to want to be her caregiver when she’s too old to dress herself.

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Shuns: what ninjas use when they’re not performing stunts.

22 Mar

Let me start by claiming I’m a pretty decent cook. I’m curious about food. I read about food. I have a pretty good sense of what flavors complement each other, and what techniques best develop those flavors. And – most importantly – I spend a fair amount of time in the kitchen experimenting.

Knowing this, Alan has found it inexplicable that I stubbornly use a set of poor quality kitchen knives that I won via a contest back in the late 1990s. (Yes, let’s digest that for a moment: WON KNIVES IN A CONTEST. My life parallels the plot from “Glengarry Glen Ross” with surprising detail.)

Back to the knives. In my defense: they were sharp when I got them. I guess (like anything else) I’ve just adjusted as they gradually lost their edge.

This fall I finally confessed that I agreed with Alan’s assessment, that they were CRAPPY knives. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, he responded with, “Great. That’s what I’m getting you for Christmas: real knives.”

We finally went this weekend to Sur la Table so I could handle all of the knives and see what felt right. Forty minutes later, we walked out with a set of Shun Premier knives. Holy awesomeness.

I’ll admit, I was initially prejudiced against the Shuns based on appearance. As I told Alan, “If I didn’t know anything about knives and saw these in someone’s kitchen, I would assume they bought them at World Market for $50.” They just look a bit OVER THE TOP.

And by “over the top,” I mean they look like something a samurai should carry in sheath, not something for my urban kitchen. On the up-side, I figure if I ever have dinner guests and the conversation stalls out, I can whip out one of these knives and use it to segue into the story of my surviving a car accident due to my mad ninja moves.

“I realize these aren’t traditional knives,” I can imagine myself saying. “But ever since my ninja training saved my life, I feel a real affinity for all things Asian.”

Anyway, suffice it to say: if I chose the knife that I liked least on the basis of appearance, it must mean it did something pretty spectacular when I held it. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

I’ll admit, these knives are more than a little frightening. Having had a dull set for over a decade, I realize how easy it would be to cut myself. I’ve already told Alan it’s a foregone conclusion that it WILL happen, so he shouldn’t freak out when I tell him it has.

He just shook his head at that thought. I guess I’ve done a good job desensitizing him to random ER stints… as any good ninja should. Now bring me some tin cans so I can show you what these knives are really capable of!

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