I may or may not have stolen this from someone else's blog: (Thanks, Flo!)
Posts
Grace and Miley
10 years ago
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Bombs Away!
While I fan my eyes after the Scrubs episode I just watched and curse FX for taunting me by airing episodes of The Riches, I'd like to share some stories from this weekend. As this is my blog, I feel no one will object.
It may be insignificant to mention, but the ride home on Friday was the perfect start to a relaxing weekend back at home in Blairsville, Pennsylvania. As I was carelessly speeding along Route 22 at 90 miles per hour, I saw a man alongside the road walking away from his truck. He seemed to either be looking for something or simply trumping head down to the nearest gas station, which was quite a walk. I continued about three miles before I decided to turn around and ask if he needed a ride. When I arrived, however, he was gone. It didn't bother me a bit, but it made me think of the time Jess and I had a similar experience, one involving a hopeful hitchhiker on the way back from Rhode Island. We marveled at the fact that the hitchhiker had no idea that two people had taken the time to backtrack and help him out. We then marveled at the fact that these things happen every day, even to us. It's amazing the kind of impression you can leave on someone and the impression that someone can leave on you -- without even saying a word, without even meeting you.
Trying to make up for some lost time, I picked up speed once I had gotten through Altoona and into Ebensburg. Even at that speed, however, I noticed the flashing lights of a motorcycle coming the other way over a hill. More reactionary than anything, I slowed down only just in time to notice a police car sitting just out of view on the other side of the road. When I had gotten safely past the cop, I followed the motorcyclist's example and flashed my lights to the opposing traffic, a small red car. I noticed their brake lights come on immediately and smiled. It might've been entirely inconsequential for anyone else to have mentioned, but it certainly bolstered my belief in karma. You reap what you sow, so plant some good seeds.
Within the hour of getting home, Colleen and I were roasting marshmallows and mountain pies over a fire and catching up on the past few months. After realizing the terrible choice we made in renting the X Files ("Scully...I...I have no idea what you're even talking about"), we downed three-fourths of Jose while we soaked in the hot tub, then fell asleep half-drunk watching Santa Clause 3. It seemed as if though our time together had been stolen when I hugged her goodbye tonight after going to see the movie, Night at the Museum 2.
A usual occurrence during a weekend with the Masula is the divulging of secrets. Yet this time, it was my grandma who decided to open up to me. Somehow, the topic of marijuana came into our conversation, and she suddenly became agitated. She told me that, had she heard of any or been offered some when she was working in the factory in her early 20s, she would have certainly liked to try it! At 86, my grandmother appears to be the most quaint, conservative and fragile woman I've ever seen. Everything about her - her mannerisms as well as her outward appearance -- suggests a very humble nature. At 20, she had been trained and hired at a factory in Iowa, inspecting planes to be sent overseas for the war. She laughed when I mentioned "Rosie the Riveter" and then abruptly asked me a very interesting question: "Do you think we should have dropped the bombs?" Then, with a serious yet curious look, she warned me, "Be careful what you say!"
I was speechless at first. Frantically, I mentally flipped through the piles of notes from my World War II classes this semester and - carefully - calculated my answer. I pondered aloud the terrible tragedy and numerous Japanese civilians who died in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, but also was sure to stress the number of American lives that would've been lost had we been forced to invade the mainland. I also recollected my professor's lectures on Japanese warfare, relentless and, if need be, suicidal. She nodded, adding that my generation was more apt to think more about the humanity of the situation, while her generation focused more on victory and the safety of their men.
This got me thinking, not about World War II, but other subjects I've never touched upon with my grandma. The more I talk to her, the more I learn and the more I realize she's not as conservative as I once thought. Recently, I've been tempted to bring up the subject of homosexuality, perhaps even telling her about myself. Yet on the ride home, I decided it wasn't important enough unless it came up naturally in a conversation. It is true, however, that I'd like her to know before she dies, given the shock of the news isn't the reason for her death. Why I need her to know, I'm not sure. Nonetheless, I can't help but feel she already does know -- she rarely asks me if I brought any girls home, something she made a point to do every time I visited.
Elsewhere, I've made breakthroughs...or simply just progress, perhaps. The past week, I've been taking care of Scott's demon, Leila, and found that she had nowhere to go this weekend but to home with me. I didn't mind, but I did catch myself concocting a lie to tell my mother once she asked whom the rabbit belonged to. Instead, I told the truth (It's been a while.), and she didn't even flinch. In fact, she repeated my boyfriend's name back to me, asking where he was this weekend. Having rabbits herself when she was a girl, she took to Leila nicely, with the exception of course that the animal not be allowed in the house. I knew she was aware that my boyfriend and I had gotten back together (Thanks, Laurel.), but I was shocked by her blaise attitude, her seemingly accepting tone of it all.
I can't help but to smile a little when I recall the first time ma mere approached me about my sexuality. Far from being funny, however, she came into my room one night after I had been talking on the phone with my ex-boyfriend. Tears already brimming in her eyes, she asked if I had been seeing anyone. For some odd reason, I told the truth. (Perhaps this happens more than I think it does?) "Is it a guy? Yes. What the hell is wrong with me? "Is his name Sam?" Yes. Stop telling the truth! She nodded her head jerkily, stood up and walked out of the room without a word. Seven months later, I was dating a girl.
I remember the Saturday afternoon as if though it happened yesterday. Beautiful day, sitting on the sofa in the basement to stay out of the heat. My mother came down the stairs and sat on the chair opposite me. I assumed she was taking a break from working outside, but when I looked up, she was looking at me in a very unusual way. The silence was broken when she said, in her all-too-Bonniesque way, "So you're bisexual?" The words dropped like my grandma's justified bombs over Japan. I responded by saying "I guess so," and she robotically nodded her head just like before. Rose up from her chair, went up the steps and disappeared into the hallway, no further questions. It was like a bitchslap in the face, leaving me feeling so uncomfortable I had to stop reading my book.
During this last recent breakup, she was the only one I could reach as I bawled hysterically and moped pathetically in my lonely apartment. While I'm ashamed of my frantic behavior on those few days, I can't help but be amazed at the cool and collective nature she exhibited as she gave me counsel over the phone. She had already known (Once again, thanks, Laurel.) about my having a boyfriend, so there was no explanation needed. Even once the relationship had been mended, she somehow knew and never said a word.
Silence is one of the most effective weapons in anyone's arsenal. I'm not just speaking about the typical "silent treatment" that wives in sitcoms give to their husbands when they do something stupid. It's the silence that is often unintentional, a silence of fear and one that no matter how much dirt is heaped on top, it grows like weeds and never stops. Silence can also divide. It can drive a wedge through relationships. No matter how great it seems on the outside, no matter how many other things the person knows about you, there's still that one thing that sticks like an annoying piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe.
I hate to reduce it down to a wad of stubborn Bubble Yum, but it really does bother me under the surface, the silence on the issue of my sexuality. While it may be far from important that my parents accept my new boyfriend or girlfriend into the family, it's good to have the subject acknowledged. I find it even more difficult to know that it's the same on the other side of the fence. I love to meet the parents of whoever I'm dating -- with a guy, the chances are slim. It frustrates me to no end when I hear people resign to, "That's just the way things are." Things change, as they're supposed to, yet things here are not changing as fast as I'd like.
By now, I've noticed my rather cheery introduction has spiraled into a note of inhumanity and disappointment. As always, however, I hope for the best and prepare for the absolute worst. I don't believe anyone should have to live like this, but that's just the way things are, right?
Within the hour of getting home, Colleen and I were roasting marshmallows and mountain pies over a fire and catching up on the past few months. After realizing the terrible choice we made in renting the X Files ("Scully...I...I have no idea what you're even talking about"), we downed three-fourths of Jose while we soaked in the hot tub, then fell asleep half-drunk watching Santa Clause 3. It seemed as if though our time together had been stolen when I hugged her goodbye tonight after going to see the movie, Night at the Museum 2.
A usual occurrence during a weekend with the Masula is the divulging of secrets. Yet this time, it was my grandma who decided to open up to me. Somehow, the topic of marijuana came into our conversation, and she suddenly became agitated. She told me that, had she heard of any or been offered some when she was working in the factory in her early 20s, she would have certainly liked to try it! At 86, my grandmother appears to be the most quaint, conservative and fragile woman I've ever seen. Everything about her - her mannerisms as well as her outward appearance -- suggests a very humble nature. At 20, she had been trained and hired at a factory in Iowa, inspecting planes to be sent overseas for the war. She laughed when I mentioned "Rosie the Riveter" and then abruptly asked me a very interesting question: "Do you think we should have dropped the bombs?" Then, with a serious yet curious look, she warned me, "Be careful what you say!"
I was speechless at first. Frantically, I mentally flipped through the piles of notes from my World War II classes this semester and - carefully - calculated my answer. I pondered aloud the terrible tragedy and numerous Japanese civilians who died in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, but also was sure to stress the number of American lives that would've been lost had we been forced to invade the mainland. I also recollected my professor's lectures on Japanese warfare, relentless and, if need be, suicidal. She nodded, adding that my generation was more apt to think more about the humanity of the situation, while her generation focused more on victory and the safety of their men.
This got me thinking, not about World War II, but other subjects I've never touched upon with my grandma. The more I talk to her, the more I learn and the more I realize she's not as conservative as I once thought. Recently, I've been tempted to bring up the subject of homosexuality, perhaps even telling her about myself. Yet on the ride home, I decided it wasn't important enough unless it came up naturally in a conversation. It is true, however, that I'd like her to know before she dies, given the shock of the news isn't the reason for her death. Why I need her to know, I'm not sure. Nonetheless, I can't help but feel she already does know -- she rarely asks me if I brought any girls home, something she made a point to do every time I visited.
Elsewhere, I've made breakthroughs...or simply just progress, perhaps. The past week, I've been taking care of Scott's demon, Leila, and found that she had nowhere to go this weekend but to home with me. I didn't mind, but I did catch myself concocting a lie to tell my mother once she asked whom the rabbit belonged to. Instead, I told the truth (It's been a while.), and she didn't even flinch. In fact, she repeated my boyfriend's name back to me, asking where he was this weekend. Having rabbits herself when she was a girl, she took to Leila nicely, with the exception of course that the animal not be allowed in the house. I knew she was aware that my boyfriend and I had gotten back together (Thanks, Laurel.), but I was shocked by her blaise attitude, her seemingly accepting tone of it all.
I can't help but to smile a little when I recall the first time ma mere approached me about my sexuality. Far from being funny, however, she came into my room one night after I had been talking on the phone with my ex-boyfriend. Tears already brimming in her eyes, she asked if I had been seeing anyone. For some odd reason, I told the truth. (Perhaps this happens more than I think it does?) "Is it a guy? Yes. What the hell is wrong with me? "Is his name Sam?" Yes. Stop telling the truth! She nodded her head jerkily, stood up and walked out of the room without a word. Seven months later, I was dating a girl.
I remember the Saturday afternoon as if though it happened yesterday. Beautiful day, sitting on the sofa in the basement to stay out of the heat. My mother came down the stairs and sat on the chair opposite me. I assumed she was taking a break from working outside, but when I looked up, she was looking at me in a very unusual way. The silence was broken when she said, in her all-too-Bonniesque way, "So you're bisexual?" The words dropped like my grandma's justified bombs over Japan. I responded by saying "I guess so," and she robotically nodded her head just like before. Rose up from her chair, went up the steps and disappeared into the hallway, no further questions. It was like a bitchslap in the face, leaving me feeling so uncomfortable I had to stop reading my book.
During this last recent breakup, she was the only one I could reach as I bawled hysterically and moped pathetically in my lonely apartment. While I'm ashamed of my frantic behavior on those few days, I can't help but be amazed at the cool and collective nature she exhibited as she gave me counsel over the phone. She had already known (Once again, thanks, Laurel.) about my having a boyfriend, so there was no explanation needed. Even once the relationship had been mended, she somehow knew and never said a word.
Silence is one of the most effective weapons in anyone's arsenal. I'm not just speaking about the typical "silent treatment" that wives in sitcoms give to their husbands when they do something stupid. It's the silence that is often unintentional, a silence of fear and one that no matter how much dirt is heaped on top, it grows like weeds and never stops. Silence can also divide. It can drive a wedge through relationships. No matter how great it seems on the outside, no matter how many other things the person knows about you, there's still that one thing that sticks like an annoying piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe.
I hate to reduce it down to a wad of stubborn Bubble Yum, but it really does bother me under the surface, the silence on the issue of my sexuality. While it may be far from important that my parents accept my new boyfriend or girlfriend into the family, it's good to have the subject acknowledged. I find it even more difficult to know that it's the same on the other side of the fence. I love to meet the parents of whoever I'm dating -- with a guy, the chances are slim. It frustrates me to no end when I hear people resign to, "That's just the way things are." Things change, as they're supposed to, yet things here are not changing as fast as I'd like.
By now, I've noticed my rather cheery introduction has spiraled into a note of inhumanity and disappointment. As always, however, I hope for the best and prepare for the absolute worst. I don't believe anyone should have to live like this, but that's just the way things are, right?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Loony Moony
The universe is awesome. Eddie Izzard would agree with that. (Though I love a good hot dog every now and then.) Even the earth's moon, something we see nearly every night, is unfathomable. In order to equal the distance it would take to get to the moon, you would have to travel around the earth nearly nine times! Also, one lunar day on the moon equals 29.5 Earth days. (The moon is tidally locked to the Earth, so our gravity drags the moon aroun
d on its axis and the same side of the moon always faces Earth) Pulled that word-for-word off of HowStuffWorks.com. Thanks Dr.Craig Freudenrich, Ph.D.! While we may not marvel at the pockmarked Artemis -- as the Greeks referred to it -- looming far away in the night sky, there are a billion other wonders floating around in the unknown frontier that is space.
d on its axis and the same side of the moon always faces Earth) Pulled that word-for-word off of HowStuffWorks.com. Thanks Dr.Craig Freudenrich, Ph.D.! While we may not marvel at the pockmarked Artemis -- as the Greeks referred to it -- looming far away in the night sky, there are a billion other wonders floating around in the unknown frontier that is space.Unfortunately, I don't have the capacity to get into that right now, partly because I've been disappointed by my two replacement shows, Weeds and Six Feet Under, and partly because I just don't care at the moment!
For now, here's our favorite mule, who I call Crazy Horse the Flatulent. Lick 'em, Crazy!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Bow Chica Wah Wah
The Japanese are at it again, and this time they've gone...(Dramatic look to Camera B) undercover. Recently, I've been mulling over the prospects of a long-distance relationship. Like any couple experiencing the difficult transition after college -moving to different cities, following separate dreams - I've experienced everything from doubt to complete faith when considering a sustained relationship two hours apart. As it's not that far of a distance (Philadelphia to New York), I haven't had as hard of a time accepting the lengths of time being apart. It'll be challenging, but that's what I enjoy. Of course, the Japanese are trying to best me and my strong will of the mind with their new technology. Mutsugoto's touch-activated...sketch pad is now being tested on partners who need just a little more than Skype and text messaging. I'm not sure I understand it, but I'll allow this unusually-and-awkwardly-softcore-pornlike video to elaborate:
Possibly more interesting are the comments left by other viewers. This one seemed rather...harsh?
By curious7 at 4:47 PM ON 04/21/09
Interesting yeah, but if the Japanese spent half as much time actually sleeping with one another than they seem to spend creating and using self-gratification gizmos, they might not be experiencing their much-advertised population nosedive...
I've actually been working on my own inventions here at 725 Unnamed Building Blood-Stained Door #12 (I'll explain when the DNA tests come back). As I sat here waiting for Scott to tear his eyes away from World of Warcraft and for Leila to stop chewing on my iPod cord, I entertained myself by creating variations of the word "jellybean". Among the many absurdities I conjured up, I was marveled by my unrivaled genius by a particular one: Bejellany. Beautiful. I love ls as much as I love words including the letter v, so this was perfect. Bejellany, in my definition, is miscellany that has been bejewelled. So if you're ever cleaning out your grandma's attic and find some odd and gaudy antique that looks as if though it's been attacked by Cher's wardrobe designer, you have the perfect word for the situation.
Mutsugoto from Distance Lab on Vimeo.
Possibly more interesting are the comments left by other viewers. This one seemed rather...harsh?
By curious7 at 4:47 PM ON 04/21/09
Interesting yeah, but if the Japanese spent half as much time actually sleeping with one another than they seem to spend creating and using self-gratification gizmos, they might not be experiencing their much-advertised population nosedive...
I've actually been working on my own inventions here at 725 Unnamed Building Blood-Stained Door #12 (I'll explain when the DNA tests come back). As I sat here waiting for Scott to tear his eyes away from World of Warcraft and for Leila to stop chewing on my iPod cord, I entertained myself by creating variations of the word "jellybean". Among the many absurdities I conjured up, I was marveled by my unrivaled genius by a particular one: Bejellany. Beautiful. I love ls as much as I love words including the letter v, so this was perfect. Bejellany, in my definition, is miscellany that has been bejewelled. So if you're ever cleaning out your grandma's attic and find some odd and gaudy antique that looks as if though it's been attacked by Cher's wardrobe designer, you have the perfect word for the situation.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Tales from the Water Closet
My favorite part of any house or apartment is the bathroom. Whether I'm visiting a relative, having a few drinks at a friend's apartment, or surfing on a stranger's sofa, I always make it a point to check out their WC, regardless of the status of my current bowel movements. I'm always a bit surprised, therefore, that I chose to live in this apartment. Aside from the fact that having no roommate can sometimes get lonely, my bathroom is the tiniest thing I've ever seen. Yet when I first laid eyes on this Bates Motel adobe abode (If you've been here, you'd understand. Pictures, perhaps? I'll forget.), I was tickled by the miniature space where I knew I'd be spending most of my time. While it doesn't have a lock (something I'm very into), there's a giant step-up into the bathroom, something that took me a while to get used to. Now, I love it. I feel as though I'm in a completely different part of the apartment, not a tiny, cramped closet adjacent to my bedroom.
Since it is the most revered room in Unnamed Building #12, I was sure to stock it with some literature, specifically an appropriately mini-sized MiniPedia, Great Civilizations, by Brenda Ralph Lewis. Because I haven't spent much time here lately, I've started reading it again and have even found some new things about the ancient Egyptian culture. The god, Re, representing the sun, would at the end of the day descend into the Underworld, leaving the world in darkness as he took on a perilous journey. At each hour, he would come upon a door guarded by a terrifying demon, each of which he would conquer in order to reascend and bring day back to the Egyptian people.
Since it is the most revered room in Unnamed Building #12, I was sure to stock it with some literature, specifically an appropriately mini-sized MiniPedia, Great Civilizations, by Brenda Ralph Lewis. Because I haven't spent much time here lately, I've started reading it again and have even found some new things about the ancient Egyptian culture. The god, Re, representing the sun, would at the end of the day descend into the Underworld, leaving the world in darkness as he took on a perilous journey. At each hour, he would come upon a door guarded by a terrifying demon, each of which he would conquer in order to reascend and bring day back to the Egyptian people.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Makin' Babies
I finally finished the last episode of The Riches yesterday. I've been having dreams about the opening titles - the music soundtrack to that show is stupendous. In any case, I'll need to find a new show to watch as I'm sure my letter to FX will not persuade the producers to continue the show, especially considering that it ended a year ago. My list so far for potential replacements now are:Six Feet Under
Weeds
The Tudors
I included the last one on the list only because I find Jonathan Rhys Meyers's lips tantalizing and irresistable. As I once said, he and Fiona would have beautiful big-eyed babies. If only, if only.
Of course, not everything comes out perfect - that is, if you're using Routan Baby Maker. Here he is folks, the baby of J. Rhys Meyers and F. Apple:
Not bad, Routan. But where's the pouty lips? The dinner-plate eyes? The impeccable jaw line? Disappointing. This baby could've been a combination of Tom Selleck and Margaret Thatcher for all I care. Toss that baby out and in with the newborn! Here he is, in all his glory, the baby of Stephen Colbert and Lee Dunlap:
Sweet Jehovah! Kill it, kill it! It looks as though the Joker mated with that ogre from The Goonies.
Well, not everyone can have beautiful babies, but if you'd like to take a shot because you're pathetic and realize you'll never find someone who will be dumb or equally ugly enough to have kids with you, try out the site for yourself at Routan Baby Maker, the place where hideous creatures are born but can easily be aborted with the click of a mouse.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Queen of Clubs
I write this only for myself, to remind me in the future of the precious time I so often waste,this time by playing over ten hours of Halo. I am ashamed and will make up for my losses tomorrow.
Despite my lack of motivation, I'm excited for this summer's prospects. My notorious travel partner and friend in crime and I are planning to undertake a documentary project similar to the Road Trip Nation experience we had last summer. We both loved interviewing individuals who lived lives "out of the norm", if you will, and writing about our crazy side experiences while couch surfing and exploring different locales. Therefore, we decided to amp things up a bit, throw in some camera action and our own website and start hitting the town to see who we could find. There's loads of interesting people out there, let alone in the State College area. Of course, any good project like this one needs a name or tag line to attract some attention, so we've been brainstorming about some possibilities. So far, my brain, long turned mushy by X-Box, has come up with 'offshoots' and 'debunking'. Terrible, I know. However, they get some points across: what we're trying to do is get a peek, if not deep insight, into the lives of others, particularly those who aren't following the idealized American dream. They're making it their own. Jess has been pondering a way to fit in 'manifest destiny' without the negative connotation of taking more land from the Native Americans. Possibilities abound, but regardless of the name, I think it's a great idea and should go over well.
As of now, we'll see what other people think of the idea and gather some ideas for the site name. Suggestions welcome!
Despite my lack of motivation, I'm excited for this summer's prospects. My notorious travel partner and friend in crime and I are planning to undertake a documentary project similar to the Road Trip Nation experience we had last summer. We both loved interviewing individuals who lived lives "out of the norm", if you will, and writing about our crazy side experiences while couch surfing and exploring different locales. Therefore, we decided to amp things up a bit, throw in some camera action and our own website and start hitting the town to see who we could find. There's loads of interesting people out there, let alone in the State College area. Of course, any good project like this one needs a name or tag line to attract some attention, so we've been brainstorming about some possibilities. So far, my brain, long turned mushy by X-Box, has come up with 'offshoots' and 'debunking'. Terrible, I know. However, they get some points across: what we're trying to do is get a peek, if not deep insight, into the lives of others, particularly those who aren't following the idealized American dream. They're making it their own. Jess has been pondering a way to fit in 'manifest destiny' without the negative connotation of taking more land from the Native Americans. Possibilities abound, but regardless of the name, I think it's a great idea and should go over well.
As of now, we'll see what other people think of the idea and gather some ideas for the site name. Suggestions welcome!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Dowd and Out
It's amazing to me how little I knew when I was a kid, but even more incredible how ignorant I was throughout middle school and high school. Remember when more than 700 people died of SARS in China in 2002? I certainly don't. I imagine at that time I was setting social fires among my friends and spending my time lolling about the farm by myself and reading Calvin & Hobbes comic strips. I was a stupid little shit back then, completely isolated from the world -- but I was happy. Blissfully and blindly happy. It has to make you wonder: Is it better to not know anything at all and be ignorantly content, or is it better to know everything and live in a world of happiness and pain? I'd certainly take the latter, but I smirk when I think of my 15-year-old self idly floating above the chaos, completely content being alone and unaware of everything going on around me. Stupid boy.
I digress, but with good reason as I'm back at home in Blairsville for the weekend. What sparked this wreckless train of thought was an article I read in the New York Times today. Mexico, it turns out has been dealing with the recent epidemic with more style than most have given the country credit for. NYT reporter Larry Rohter does something interesting to put Mexico's reaction to the swine flu in perspective -- he compares it to the SARS outbreak in China in 2002. Apparently, China did everything short of calling its pandemic a complete fluke, censoring the media and refusing aid. From its former government, Mexico has come a long way and has dealt with the outbreak in every way they could, from pooling sources with the US to getting out the news so that its citizens could protect themselves - enough to get a tip of the hat from Mr. Colbert.
On the other hand, I think our man could give the wag of the finger to Maureen Dowd, crazy lady who wrote an op-ed piece for the New York Times. In her article, Put Aside Logic, Dowd explained the death of the newspaper industry by comparing it with the new Star Trek film. No class I've taken at the university in journalism will help me explain this one. Read her article on The Final Frontier and try not to kirk out.
I digress, but with good reason as I'm back at home in Blairsville for the weekend. What sparked this wreckless train of thought was an article I read in the New York Times today. Mexico, it turns out has been dealing with the recent epidemic with more style than most have given the country credit for. NYT reporter Larry Rohter does something interesting to put Mexico's reaction to the swine flu in perspective -- he compares it to the SARS outbreak in China in 2002. Apparently, China did everything short of calling its pandemic a complete fluke, censoring the media and refusing aid. From its former government, Mexico has come a long way and has dealt with the outbreak in every way they could, from pooling sources with the US to getting out the news so that its citizens could protect themselves - enough to get a tip of the hat from Mr. Colbert.
On the other hand, I think our man could give the wag of the finger to Maureen Dowd, crazy lady who wrote an op-ed piece for the New York Times. In her article, Put Aside Logic, Dowd explained the death of the newspaper industry by comparing it with the new Star Trek film. No class I've taken at the university in journalism will help me explain this one. Read her article on The Final Frontier and try not to kirk out.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
From The Riches to Rags
People (Buddha knows who reads this, mole people, I imagine), I've discovered a terrible thing. They really are right when they say you can know too much. On a random Google search for "The Riches", I found out that there will be no third season -- no more The Riches. All I was trying to do was find a picture of that snazzy and sexy Eddie Izzard and his ragtag family of gypsies. (The daughter is ridiculously pretty) As I was a shut-in for the last few days due to a near deadly combination of the flu and strep throat, I was able to amass around 15 hours of viewing pleasure. I had only four more episodes to go, and this is how FX repays me for my dedicated viewership?! Not only that, I loved the show. I really, truly loved it. I was in love with it. (I hear there's a difference between the two) My plan now is to plead with the network to bring back the show by flippin' tricks or stalking Mr. Izzard. The latter, I will do regardless.
In other ridiculous and outrageous news and steering clear of cutting down Canada, the New York Times printed today a German court decision to ban long names. At first, I was alarmed, as I did not know my precious Deutschland was suffering from a long name pandemic. Of course, I'd be pissed, too, if Karl-Theodor Maria Nikolaus Johann Jacob Philipp Franz Joseph Sylvester Freiherr von und zu Guttenberg was continuously absent in class.
In other ridiculous and outrageous news and steering clear of cutting down Canada, the New York Times printed today a German court decision to ban long names. At first, I was alarmed, as I did not know my precious Deutschland was suffering from a long name pandemic. Of course, I'd be pissed, too, if Karl-Theodor Maria Nikolaus Johann Jacob Philipp Franz Joseph Sylvester Freiherr von und zu Guttenberg was continuously absent in class.
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