Yesterday, Venezuelan prez4lyfe Hugo Chavez said capitalism may be the culprit for lack of life on Mars. Sounds like a headline for The Onion, right? It's times like these that a youtube clip would really help so I can see his expressions and what his tone of voice was . Even a hint of sarcasm would help his cause. Maybe he's just a dictator with a sense of humor, not an oil monger who can't distinguish reality from an acid trip.
This guy is the leader of an oil-rich country? Really? There's an old homeless guy I've talked to who says stuff like this all the time and tries to sell me VCRs. Maybe he should be the leader of Venezuela.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Adbhuta
Recently I've been going to a lot of yoga classes, but it wasn't until today that I had actually tried meditating for more than a couple of minutes and not falling asleep (don't judge-they turn the lights down and turn the music off. It's like they want you to fall asleep). Our instructor told us that we could either chant our own mantra in our heads or we could chant the word "adbhuta", which in sanskrit means "wonder," but sounds like "abu" from Aladdin and "two" pushed together. She further explained that we could either say the whole word on your inhale and again on your exhale or inhale while saying the first syllable and exhale while saying the second . I chose the latter. I couldn't believe how difficult it was to keep my thoughts focused on saying one measly word but the more I said the two syllables the more I imagined the monkey from Aladdin prancing around stealing bread from the many voices of Robin Williams. Then as I chanted the last syllable, "two", another Abu would pop up in my head and the two twin monkeys with twice the thieving power! Look out Agrabah, now there are two semi-literate monkeys that are smarter than all the Jersey Shore kids combined wreaking havoc on the markets. Then as I thought that in my mind, giant Snooki poofs popped up on each of the Abus heads. All the while, the actual mantra is still quietly being chanted in the back of my mind. First experiment in meditation=FAIL.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Look Ma! I did it!
After five years of driving my car, I finally learned how to change the time on the clock. I think this is what the adults call "growing up".
Sunday, March 20, 2011
That labcoat is HOTTTT
Today I had orientation for my new job as a cashier at a nice health foods grocery store. It's the type of place that doesn't have any harmful chemicals or artificial blah blah blahs in their food and a bunch of other things you didn't even know could give you cancer. As my friend Katie Bo would call the clientele, "fruit n' nuts joggers and uber-rich suburbia moms." I actually do like to shop and eat there even though it costs me an entire afternoon's salary at the statehouse to buy a bunch of grapes and a Kombucha.
All of my previous jobs have been for smaller companies or government, so orientation to work for a large-ish grocery store chain is very different. For one, I watched my first harassment video titled, "From Sex to Religion and Everything in Between." I tried to find a video clip so everyone could experience the awkwardness with me, but a quick google search revealed that this 23-minute cinematic gem costs a cool $325 sooo no video clip. A detailed description of my favorite bit is going to have to cut it.
An average looking man (if he was good looking, he would already be in a mediocre movie about vampires or racing cars, am I right or am I right?) is at a horribly tacky tiki bar getting two martinis and brings one over to an average looking woman who is his co-worker and begins to woo her. Fellas, remember these lines because they are gonna get you some tail someday.
Man: Hey Melissa (or some other generic white lady name) you're looking mighty fine tonight.
Woman: umm thanks...
Man: Really you're looking fantastic. I see you in that labcoat at work and it gets me all hot and bothered! Wanna sex? (That last one was my addition, but I think this character would say something like that)
Woman: ummm... that makes me uncomfortable.(walks away)
(cuts to incredibly dry woman who blatantly reads off cue cards why this is an inappropriate thing to say to a co-worker)
Bottom line: if you don't want to get sued for harassment of any type, don't have a personality and become a mute because anything you say can be misconstrued as offensive.
All of my previous jobs have been for smaller companies or government, so orientation to work for a large-ish grocery store chain is very different. For one, I watched my first harassment video titled, "From Sex to Religion and Everything in Between." I tried to find a video clip so everyone could experience the awkwardness with me, but a quick google search revealed that this 23-minute cinematic gem costs a cool $325 sooo no video clip. A detailed description of my favorite bit is going to have to cut it.
An average looking man (if he was good looking, he would already be in a mediocre movie about vampires or racing cars, am I right or am I right?) is at a horribly tacky tiki bar getting two martinis and brings one over to an average looking woman who is his co-worker and begins to woo her. Fellas, remember these lines because they are gonna get you some tail someday.
Man: Hey Melissa (or some other generic white lady name) you're looking mighty fine tonight.
Woman: umm thanks...
Man: Really you're looking fantastic. I see you in that labcoat at work and it gets me all hot and bothered! Wanna sex? (That last one was my addition, but I think this character would say something like that)
Woman: ummm... that makes me uncomfortable.(walks away)
(cuts to incredibly dry woman who blatantly reads off cue cards why this is an inappropriate thing to say to a co-worker)
Bottom line: if you don't want to get sued for harassment of any type, don't have a personality and become a mute because anything you say can be misconstrued as offensive.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Just another Wednesday at the Statehouse...
This week is USC's spring break, which means that all but a few of the pages and interns are here. For me, that means I get the morning hours, something that I actually enjoy because it is quiet and I can check my email and facebook in peace. This particular morning, there was no quiet. Lobbyists, constituents, entire organizations of people pushing their agendas stormed through my office like the hyenas in The Lion King and I was Simba (because I'm a prince(ss). duh.) except there was no Mufasa to save me. Just the soothing voice of James Earl Jones would have sufficed.
I got coffee and made some copies for The Senator then headed over to the free breakfast buffet to get a plate for Ms. Joanie, though she wouldn't arrive until 10:30 this morning. A note about the free breakfast and lunch buffets. Companies or organizations sponsor these free breakfast or lunch buffets (the breakfasts have cold sausage biscuits, fruit salad and some sad mini-muffins and the lunch is almost exclusively catered by three barbeque restaurants in Columbia) with the hope that they will get to mingle with some important law makers, but what actually happens is that staffers go get their free food while the senators send other people (read: me) to get them plates of food and bring it back to their various offices and meetings. There is the occasional senator or representative that stops by, but The Senator has never been to a buffet to my knowledge.
So, I got Ms. Joanie a plate but didn't get her orange juice. Through her clairvoyant abilities, she called to tell me that she would be coming in soon and to get her some OJ at the buffet. Trip #2 to the buffet room. There will be five trips by the end of today. Compelling stuff, huh?
My next ridiculous task was to find the peanuts in The Senator's car. No, that isn't a euphemism for anything. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was given the keys to his car and told to dig around for a pack of peanuts he had bought at the grocery store. Whenever I'm told to find something in his car, I feel such power. If this was Ocean's 11 and The Senator was the owner of a casino on the strip, I would have been paid off to slip a bug into his car by Brad Pitt. It would have fulfilled two of my dreams: to be in a heist movie and be in the presence of the ridiculously handsome Brad Pitt. Alas, my life isn't a heist movie. After 10 unsuccessful minutes and a battle with the old-fashioned mechanism on his trunk, I returned defeated by the peanuts to find that he had actually left them at home.
A few more errands and it was lunch time. Yet another buffet luncheon that featured yes, you guessed it, bbq. I walk over for trip #3 to find a line that rivals the line for the new iPad. I patiently waited while others casually cut in line. Temporarily feeling superior for not cutting, a gentleman walks up to me inquisitively to ask a question about what all the hub-bub was about. That's what I assumed. Instead, he asks me what grade I'm in. NO GRADE. NO GRADE AT ALL. I AM A COLLEGE GRADUATE. Why was he making such awkward conversation with me you ask? To cut the goddamn line. I wanted to stomp on his toes and say "I'm rubber you're glue, whatever bounces off of me sticks to you." Thankfully, these functions provide nametags which are real handy. Phil Louis from Furman University, you're on my shit list. A colleague of Phil's, another line cutter, stepped up next to him assuming he had found an in but boy did I show them. Little did Phil know, what he assumed was his ally in the battle of the line cutting would be his downfall. Just as casually as Phil slipped into line, I slipped right in front of him and his buddy while they were chatting. Let that be a lesson to you, Phil. Never let your guard down. I may look like I'm a high schooler, but you would be sorely mistaken if you want to cross me, in lines or otherwise.
I finish my pagely duties, get Ms. Joanie and Penny their lunches and head back only to find that The Senator and Bobby Caution also need their lunches. Trip #4 ensues. I trek back thinking, "I bet the line will have died down by now." How naive of me to think that. The line had not died down, but grown. So I waited patiently in line again trying to look on the upside of things. At least I wasn't at my desk doing nothing. I wasn't looking for non-existant peanuts. It could have been worse. Then I see more and more people cutting in line. Fuck. This. Shit. I find a woman further up in the line and scooch in with her using my standard, "I'm sorry, but I have to get lunch for The Senator and Bobby," which always works. I loaded up two more plates when a man next to me says "wow, you're real hungry aren't you?" I replied using my awkward Statehouse laugh, which I have had to cultivate over my time here as a defense mechanism against awful "jokes" such as these. I'm carrying two loaded plates and a drink like a waitress. Does it look like I want to make small talk, stranger?
I get The Senator and Bobby their meals and settle down to eat my sandwich in peace. No such luck. I didn't get drinks for Ms. Joanie and Penny. Trip #5. At this point, I think the security guards near the buffet room think I have some sort of parasite in my stomach that makes me eat mass quantities of food. This time, I use the back door and sneak in past those suckers still waiting in line, grab my drinks and storm out.
Five trips to a buffet line, four messages taken, three trips to the copy machine, two pots of coffee made, one pack of peanuts missing in action, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I got coffee and made some copies for The Senator then headed over to the free breakfast buffet to get a plate for Ms. Joanie, though she wouldn't arrive until 10:30 this morning. A note about the free breakfast and lunch buffets. Companies or organizations sponsor these free breakfast or lunch buffets (the breakfasts have cold sausage biscuits, fruit salad and some sad mini-muffins and the lunch is almost exclusively catered by three barbeque restaurants in Columbia) with the hope that they will get to mingle with some important law makers, but what actually happens is that staffers go get their free food while the senators send other people (read: me) to get them plates of food and bring it back to their various offices and meetings. There is the occasional senator or representative that stops by, but The Senator has never been to a buffet to my knowledge.
So, I got Ms. Joanie a plate but didn't get her orange juice. Through her clairvoyant abilities, she called to tell me that she would be coming in soon and to get her some OJ at the buffet. Trip #2 to the buffet room. There will be five trips by the end of today. Compelling stuff, huh?
My next ridiculous task was to find the peanuts in The Senator's car. No, that isn't a euphemism for anything. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was given the keys to his car and told to dig around for a pack of peanuts he had bought at the grocery store. Whenever I'm told to find something in his car, I feel such power. If this was Ocean's 11 and The Senator was the owner of a casino on the strip, I would have been paid off to slip a bug into his car by Brad Pitt. It would have fulfilled two of my dreams: to be in a heist movie and be in the presence of the ridiculously handsome Brad Pitt. Alas, my life isn't a heist movie. After 10 unsuccessful minutes and a battle with the old-fashioned mechanism on his trunk, I returned defeated by the peanuts to find that he had actually left them at home.
A few more errands and it was lunch time. Yet another buffet luncheon that featured yes, you guessed it, bbq. I walk over for trip #3 to find a line that rivals the line for the new iPad. I patiently waited while others casually cut in line. Temporarily feeling superior for not cutting, a gentleman walks up to me inquisitively to ask a question about what all the hub-bub was about. That's what I assumed. Instead, he asks me what grade I'm in. NO GRADE. NO GRADE AT ALL. I AM A COLLEGE GRADUATE. Why was he making such awkward conversation with me you ask? To cut the goddamn line. I wanted to stomp on his toes and say "I'm rubber you're glue, whatever bounces off of me sticks to you." Thankfully, these functions provide nametags which are real handy. Phil Louis from Furman University, you're on my shit list. A colleague of Phil's, another line cutter, stepped up next to him assuming he had found an in but boy did I show them. Little did Phil know, what he assumed was his ally in the battle of the line cutting would be his downfall. Just as casually as Phil slipped into line, I slipped right in front of him and his buddy while they were chatting. Let that be a lesson to you, Phil. Never let your guard down. I may look like I'm a high schooler, but you would be sorely mistaken if you want to cross me, in lines or otherwise.
I finish my pagely duties, get Ms. Joanie and Penny their lunches and head back only to find that The Senator and Bobby Caution also need their lunches. Trip #4 ensues. I trek back thinking, "I bet the line will have died down by now." How naive of me to think that. The line had not died down, but grown. So I waited patiently in line again trying to look on the upside of things. At least I wasn't at my desk doing nothing. I wasn't looking for non-existant peanuts. It could have been worse. Then I see more and more people cutting in line. Fuck. This. Shit. I find a woman further up in the line and scooch in with her using my standard, "I'm sorry, but I have to get lunch for The Senator and Bobby," which always works. I loaded up two more plates when a man next to me says "wow, you're real hungry aren't you?" I replied using my awkward Statehouse laugh, which I have had to cultivate over my time here as a defense mechanism against awful "jokes" such as these. I'm carrying two loaded plates and a drink like a waitress. Does it look like I want to make small talk, stranger?
I get The Senator and Bobby their meals and settle down to eat my sandwich in peace. No such luck. I didn't get drinks for Ms. Joanie and Penny. Trip #5. At this point, I think the security guards near the buffet room think I have some sort of parasite in my stomach that makes me eat mass quantities of food. This time, I use the back door and sneak in past those suckers still waiting in line, grab my drinks and storm out.
Five trips to a buffet line, four messages taken, three trips to the copy machine, two pots of coffee made, one pack of peanuts missing in action, and a partridge in a pear tree.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Pretty Woman Syndrome
Considering I haven't hit the triple digit mark on my page view stats, this may be a moot point, but I have a question to ask anyone who may glance at this blog:
Have you ever been Pretty Woman-ed at a high-end restaurant? Just to clarify, have you ever been to an expensive restaurant and felt you weren't getting treated with the same respect that older, more high-brow customers were recieving? I ask this because I'm writing a story for a food magazine my friend is starting up and would like to have some personal stories to prove or disprove my point.
Feel free to leave any comments!
Have you ever been Pretty Woman-ed at a high-end restaurant? Just to clarify, have you ever been to an expensive restaurant and felt you weren't getting treated with the same respect that older, more high-brow customers were recieving? I ask this because I'm writing a story for a food magazine my friend is starting up and would like to have some personal stories to prove or disprove my point.
Feel free to leave any comments!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Who do you think you are? Mel Gibson?
Imagine my surprise when I went to nytimes.com today and saw this headline: "Dior Fires John Galliano After Bigotry Complaints".
For those of you who don't follow fashion, John Galliano has always been a darling of the fashion industry. Critically acclaimed and beloved for his Jack Sparrowesque style, he's been the creative director of Dior for 15 some odd years...and now he's being charged with saying anti-Semitic remarks at a Paris bar. Ahh how the mighty have fallen.
Yes, he may have been drunk and someone caught his comment out of context, but as a general rule that it is never going to end well when you shout, "I love Hitler!" in a crowded bar. Too soon. Too soon.
Maybe he's inhaled too much hairspray or his manorexia has clouded his judgement but either way, bravo LVMH for firing him. They could have easily brushed it off so they wouldn't have to lose him, especially with their fall showing coming up soon. You'd think that as a man who frequently dresses like a gay pirate, he'd be more open-minded.
Congratulations, Mr. Galliano. You have now joined the ranks of famous people who ruined their careers by shouting prejudiced remarks. Senior members include Mel Gibson, Don Imus, Charlie Sheen and Rush Limbaugh. A representative will be by shortly to tattoo "ASSHOLE" to your forehead. Have a good day.
For those of you who don't follow fashion, John Galliano has always been a darling of the fashion industry. Critically acclaimed and beloved for his Jack Sparrowesque style, he's been the creative director of Dior for 15 some odd years...and now he's being charged with saying anti-Semitic remarks at a Paris bar. Ahh how the mighty have fallen.
Yes, he may have been drunk and someone caught his comment out of context, but as a general rule that it is never going to end well when you shout, "I love Hitler!" in a crowded bar. Too soon. Too soon.
Maybe he's inhaled too much hairspray or his manorexia has clouded his judgement but either way, bravo LVMH for firing him. They could have easily brushed it off so they wouldn't have to lose him, especially with their fall showing coming up soon. You'd think that as a man who frequently dresses like a gay pirate, he'd be more open-minded.
Congratulations, Mr. Galliano. You have now joined the ranks of famous people who ruined their careers by shouting prejudiced remarks. Senior members include Mel Gibson, Don Imus, Charlie Sheen and Rush Limbaugh. A representative will be by shortly to tattoo "ASSHOLE" to your forehead. Have a good day.