tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60552533673366769222024-03-13T00:24:22.135-04:00A Middlebrooks MiscellanyElizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871901201088489560noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-57835232925214568942010-06-28T19:11:00.006-04:002010-06-28T19:48:10.204-04:00Oh yeah, wedding blogging<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is my millionth pathetic attempt to revive my blog.</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> In the many, many months since last I posted (which didn't even count), oh so much has happened. The boy and I adjusted to cohabitation, bought a house (hello, suburbia) and got engaged. I'm hoping that by forcing myself to compose the occasional wedding-related post, I'll start writing for real (?) again.<br /><br />I wrote a guest post for <a href="http://theplungeproject.com/">The Plunge Project</a>, the wedding blog of a Knoxvillian, Nicole (who has ties to Jacksonville...tiny world), and it was fun to write and share and talk about all this bullshit like it really matters. Which it does. But no one takes you seriously when you are fretting about flowers. They just don't. But by god, I can put it in a blog and I will feel better.<br /><br />That said, I need to bring up a very important issue: the Serious Face wedding portrait. A handful of my high school acquaintances have gotten married recently, and after seeing their pictures, it seems like this is the big trend.<br /><br />I speak only for myself here, but really, I can’t say I’m a fan. I don’t want to offend anyone because everyone wants to remember their wedding in their own way, but I just can’t get behind the Serious Face. I’ve only seen a few shots where the people don’t look kind of angry or where they’re gunning to be Male Model of the year.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0Kz-u_fFQUc6wQCL-Qf8QgqVs39WlP0FmUT1kibnKp-OTYz1PSOHASf41l_zs5xkIw_PeNy0PIWlRSYG1k_eTEvAs-rVgaCGsHvNK5jFuLC5MU4rFBox36hNnBwjiYF7t2O4Qk8ihtOy/s1600/zoolander.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0Kz-u_fFQUc6wQCL-Qf8QgqVs39WlP0FmUT1kibnKp-OTYz1PSOHASf41l_zs5xkIw_PeNy0PIWlRSYG1k_eTEvAs-rVgaCGsHvNK5jFuLC5MU4rFBox36hNnBwjiYF7t2O4Qk8ihtOy/s320/zoolander.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487974681152467666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSvmRaXAezUY0eAvYiEFjZF1bSlYR0Nzp_JDz-C_ImpITTkxwZI2KnfFfTPANofbIGl51WvonHSUSgD2gqx0X7M2oNctP1b5FfjJRhXB5uFCVSVXR-0AeRL_L1pnhWp41PU7kKwAvKXiX/s1600/hansel.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSvmRaXAezUY0eAvYiEFjZF1bSlYR0Nzp_JDz-C_ImpITTkxwZI2KnfFfTPANofbIGl51WvonHSUSgD2gqx0X7M2oNctP1b5FfjJRhXB5uFCVSVXR-0AeRL_L1pnhWp41PU7kKwAvKXiX/s320/hansel.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487974676009863346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Weddings are fun a</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">nd exc</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">iting; I can’t imag</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">ine not having a big ridiculous smile on my face in all my pictures. I want to look back and think how happy I was all day and now how I had to force myself into a Serious Face look — or, worse, that making a not-happy face was easy. </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />I think there is definitely a place for pictures in which everyone isn't all smiley, but it's about looking thoughtful, not like you're throwing eye daggers at your photographer. However, I wonder if the Serious Face is a trend that photogs are latching onto and encouraging of their subjects. We have fabulous photogs, and I've seen lots of their work, so I can't imagine them suggesting it, but I really doubt I'd be enthused to go along with it if they did.<br /><br />Of course, it's your wedding blah blah blah, but I just don't understand why anyone would at any point just not want to look totally happy.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-20923710508479611992009-10-02T23:57:00.002-04:002009-10-03T00:05:21.011-04:00False alarm<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last time I wrote here, it tricked even me. I planned on getting back in the swing of things and at least writing something occasionally funny or weird or potentially even insightful, but that didn't work out. I don't even blame Twitter anymore; I'm just lazy. I also lose track of topics I think would be good to write about, mostly because they're in the political realm, and sometimes I worry that I come off sounding like an idiot. So I Twitter away and think about things, and that's pretty much that. I also have little interest in coming home to read and write on a computer when I spend all my time at work reading and writing on a computer.<br /><br />See? That was pretty much it.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-43528515693447926032009-08-22T22:28:00.002-04:002009-08-30T23:39:55.224-04:00It's been so long<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh blog, ye of great neglect! I have really good intentions all the time to actually write stuff on a regular basis, but by the time I actually sit down to do it, I don't want to anymore. I don't have exciting stories unless I talk about work, and that's something I try to avoid in public forums, and the current events I have something to say about are often no longer that current by the time I get around to the ol' blog.<br /><br />But I didn't want the entire month of August to go by without posting SOMETHING, so here's this little survey, via <a href="http://ohsam.blogspot.com/">Sam</a>. Once upon a time, I had a LiveJournal and that sucker was fulllll of teh surveys. I had a lot of time on my hands.4<br /><br />1. Where did you go on your first airplane ride?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To L.A. to visit the aforementioned Sam during sophomore year of college. I was a little freaked out, but she held my hand and I was OK.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2. What is your earliest memory?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Uhhhhh hitting my head on a table at preschool and needing stitches. I can't think of anything specific from prior to that. Maybe that's why?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">3. What was your second grade teacher's name?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ms. Bonville. When we had to go to the bathroom she would ask us "Number one or number two?" to keep track of about how long we should be gone (we were wanderers). I once answered "number three!" I was an asshole from an early age (but really, I probably just had to go).<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">4. What was the last thing you watched on tv?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">America's Best Dance Crew. I can't do anything.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">5. My uncle once:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have a few uncles. Ummmm...Harrison once gave me a super cool Skipper doll for Christmas. She had a little toy puppy. I love(d) Barbie.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">6. How long was your longest relationship?</span><br />A year and a week, as of today.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">7. What do you want to be?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Asleep? Not hungry? Thin? Smarter? More well read? Less poor? A better cook? Seriously, this is a really unfair question.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">8. What was the last thing you received in the mail?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A bill. Huzzah!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">9. If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I can only pick one? More education for women.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">10. Would you prefer 10 inches of snow or 100 degree weather?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Snooooooooooooow!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">11. What is your homepage set to?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A blank screen. My computer doesn't cooperate if it's asked to do something right away. Having an actual homepage would just crash Safari.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">12. Last 5 websites you visited:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Gmail, Facebook, Google reader, Twitter, Twitpic</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">13. Were you a planned baby?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I find it unlikely. It's my understanding there was a cold snap around January/February 1985 in East Tennessee. My BFF's birthday is only two days after mine, and her parents lived just up the hill from mine. It was cold. What do you expect?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">14. What do you believe is the meaning of life?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was going to start writing the "sperm" song from Monty Python's Meaning of Life, but this is a family environment here. Oh wait. That was a joke and I didn't even mean to make it!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">15. What bill do you hate paying the most? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All of them? I guess the utilities. Air conditioning should be free because THIS IS FLORIDA.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">16. How many schools did you attend through grade twelve?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just two. Wearwood for K-8, and GP for 9-12.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">17. The Cosby Show or The Simpsons?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The Simpsons, for definitely.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">18. Three signs summer is here:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's not January. That's about it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">19. The last time you had your feelings hurt:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yesterday.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">20. Who was your first best friend?<br />Audrey, when we were in preschool. And then her family moved to Idaho.<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-31976697359725201052009-06-16T20:21:00.003-04:002009-06-16T22:34:37.739-04:00I got that boom boom boom (or not)<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">OK, if you know me, you know I am a consumer of mom blogs. I can't help it. I don't have a kid, nor do I want one for a long time, but I read them anyhow. To be prepared and stuff, right? Sure. Anyhow, I kind of love <a href="http://www.girlsgonechild.net/">Girl's Gone Child</a>, written by Rebecca Woolf, and she usually talks about things relevant to everyone but in the context of being a parent. Today her <a href="http://www.girlsgonechild.net/2009/06/annie-drop-your-gun.html">post</a> was related to the most recent <a href="http://www.momversation.com/">Momversation, </a>which dealt with keeping/not keeping guns in the home when you have a kid.<br /><br />Gun control is something I care a lot about, largely because I grew up in an area where guns were the norm and people didn't think twice about using them, whether for sport or fun or whatever, but also because you can hardly go a day without seeing something in the news about gun-related violence or accidental shootings or "how could this happen?" stories.<br /><br />I wasn't really raised with a STAY AWAY FROM GUNS attitude; I remember shooting a rifle for the first time when I was 8 years old, and my brother and I stayed with our dad for a couple days. We shot some cans off a log in the woods, though; we didn't target any animals and we knew enough not to point the thing at each other. Then in middle school, instead of PE for a semester, we had hunter's safety (hunting was big, y'all), and we learned not only how to be safe while hunting but also how to be safe around firearms. At the end of the course, we (a bunch of seventh-graders...in hindsight I CANNOT BELIEVE this actually happened, but welcome to Sevier County, Tenn.) went to the shooting range and shot clay pigeons. Sure, it was fun to take a field trip to shoot guns, but I do think it was smart to apply all the things we learned.<br /><br />That said, do I think it's a good idea to keep guns in the home? Unless you are a serious hunter, absolutely not. And if you are a serious hunter, I'm only (marginally) OK with it if the guns are kept locked up in a location inaccessible by anyone other than one single person they are licensed to and the bullets are kept in an entirely different location (also under lock and key). Otherwise, what business do you have owning a gun? What good does it do?<br /><br />While I'm sure pro-gun people are tired of hearing us "pacifists" talk about Freudian complexes (tried to link to a comment on Rebecca's post but couldn't...ugh Blogger!) and how tighter gun laws prevent gun-related violence, I'm pretty tired of the guns-as-a-form-of-self-defense and freer access reduces crime arguments. The only way a gun is going to truly be of use for self-defense is if a) you have a concealed carry permit and are carrying the gun when/if you're attacked or b) you keep a gun/guns stashed around your home for easy access, in which case they are EASILY ACCESSIBLE BY ANYONE (including children, other adults and/or potential attackers who might know where to look). Also, if someone is hell-bent on hurting you, they're going to hurt you. I'm not saying you should just take it, by all means, everyone is entitled to fight back some way somehow, but is shooting (and possibly killing) someone going to fix it? What if there's a next time?<br /><br />When I moved to Florida and lived by myself for the first time, I was capital-P Paranoid. I'm anxious by nature, but every little noise would have me questioning where it was coming from. My apartment was pretty secure, and my neighborhood was pretty safe, but there's always a big what if factor, especially for a single woman living alone. Did I wonder how I'd defend myself if someone ever broke in or jumped me while I walked from my car to the house? Sure I did, and I concluded that I would have to rely on smarts and/or physical strength because I didn't (and don't) have anything remotely weapon-like, with the exception of my kitchen knives and well, they're in the kitchen, not my bedside table. And what if a potential attacker had a gun or other weapon? I chose not to entertain the possibility.<br /><br />I absolutely think that everyone has the right, nay, the responsibility to protect themselves and their family/friends. But isn't prevention a big part of that? I understand that not everyone has the luxury of living in a secure home with outdoor lights or a security system or a dog that's going to bark and alert you to something that might be wrong, but doesn't carrying a gun make you vulnerable too? Aren't people's weapons turned on them?<br /><br />Gun control laws exist for a reason. People should have to go through an extensive background check and take exams or something in order to own a gun and then they should have to jump through a million tiny little hoops to keep the gun. There should be no gun shows. There should be small dealers, with limited inventory who specialize in certain firearms. However, I am not so naive to think that this will eradicate the illegal use of firearms, but I'd like to think it would make it more difficult to obtain them. If someone wants to get a gun and they don't do it through legal channels, they're still going to find a way to get that gun. I just want to figure out how to make it as difficult as possible.<br /><br />That said, I think it is totally necessary to educate people about guns and how to use them properly. If ever you're in a situation where you have to use a gun, you don't want to be wondering about how it works. While I never plan on going hunting or owning a gun, and despite my hillbilly school system, I'm glad I learned at an early age how to handle a gun and, more importantly, how to get out of the way of a gun. When I have kids, I plan to educate them about the importance of self-defense (preferably with their fists), but I also plan to teach them about both the power and the danger that come with guns. Yeah, I'll probably let them learn to shoot when they're old enough, simply because I see that as a key part of firearm education. And I'll be the first to admit that shooting a gun is a pretty powerful feeling, but only when you're shooting at little clay discs or a piece of paper, not people or animals.<br /><br />So am I scared of guns? Hell yes. Do I think they have their place in society? Yes. Do I think kids should be sheltered from them? No. Kids (and adults, for that matter) should be thoroughly educated about guns, but I'd rather teach my kids to be peaceful, to break down and avoid conflict and solve problems with their minds and their words rather than with violence of any sort.<br /><br />But I promise you that my honor student will totally be able to kick your slacker kid's ass if the situation calls for it.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-4407739560698545042009-04-01T10:01:00.003-04:002009-04-06T12:38:16.660-04:00WHAT have I done?<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Note: I started this post on April 1. I got sidetracked and forgot about it. Now it's April 6. NaBloPoMo FAIL. Anyway.<br /><br />Because I am follower, I signed up for <a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/">NaBloPoMo</a> (Brumley, get excited) because all my favorite bloggers are doing it. Well, a couple of them are doing it. And now I'm going to post something every single day for the month of April. Fuck, why couldn't I have done this in February, since it has so few days? Ahhhh, hindsight is 20/20.<br /><br />Since I really missed the whole blog-every-day boat, I feel like I should have some good, clever, well thought out post ready to deliver to you, my loyal reader. Unfortunately, I don't. I blame my job. And <a href="http://twitter.com/emiddleb">Twitter</a>. At work, I'm in front of a computer all day long, and when I'm not at work, I spend my computer time catching up on my favorite blogs and looking for fun recipes. Seriously. I don't even watch YouTube anymore, which is really saying something because I love YouTube.<br /><br />And Twitter. It is at the root of the problem. I spend my day tweeting my random thoughts and posting links and such, and by the time I try to sit down and write a coherent blog post, it amounts to nothing more than a rehash of the day's tweets. Lame.<br /><br />So that's why I signed up for NaBloPoMo. I figured that might keep me accountable, you know, force me to write SOMETHING on this thing, even it's only a collection of less-than-tweet-worthy random thoughts. I also remember occasionally that it would be nice to update this thinkg so people actually know what's happening in my life, but that's also boring.<br /><br />I HAVE NO LIFE. There, I said it. I go to work, I go home. Sometimes I go somewhere to get coffee and sometimes I leech off an open wireless connection I find. When I'm feeling crazy and adventurous, I'll — get ready for it — bake a cake or something. I KNOW!!!! I better caaaaallllllm down.<br /><br />Anyhow. There are actually things going on in my life that are worth sharing, but I don't necessarily feel like writing about that today. Maybe tomorrow, though. Because I really have to post tomorrow. And the day after that. And so on.<br /><br />And then when I run out of things to say, I'm just going to aggregate my tweets of the day for all you non-Tweeple. Because it's important that you know every crackpot musing that runs through my head at any time of the day.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-42276895848267612642009-03-26T00:09:00.003-04:002009-03-26T00:58:48.657-04:00Back with 7.5 percent more nonsense!<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I should do a correlation study of my blog and see if my threory proves true that I blog more in happier times. I think I would be right. But being right is no fun if there's not a prize. Anyway, the sadness is mostly coming from work these days. Well, OK, it's only coming from work these days.<br /><br />As everyone knows, newspapers are tanking (hard), and we're no exception here. Actually, we are. We make tons of money. Alas, our parent company has huge debts, and we don't make quite enough money to pay that off. I think the company would be in better shape if they cut the dead weight (book publishing, oodles of free publications, the Georgia edition...), but alas those are Traditions and Important Things to the family and must only pried out of the family's cold, dead hands.<br /><br />But I digress. As part of the company's money-saving efforts, everyone had to take a pay cut. They were done on a "sliding" scale (that didn't so much slide as it bumped along and stopped hard enough that the people who make the real money won't be hurt), so it could be worse, but I'm losing 7.5 percent of my already not-enough salary. That's a lot of money right now. I already don't make enough to cover the bills, but losing that much more is going to require some sort of magic fix. Fortunately, I am good at being poor.<br /><br />I suppose my biggest gripe about the cuts (other than the cuts themselves) is that people who make $50,000+ lose 10 percent. That's a lot, yeah, but I feel like that barely touches the corporate people who make a large six figures. Ten percent of $250,000? Ouch, but OK. Seven and a half percent to $30,000? How am I supposed to live? Just sayin'.<br /><br />So in an effort to cut costs where necessary, I've canceled my cable. TV and Internet. I would feel worse about it but a) Comcast is teh suck and b) I like paying the rent more than I like Grey's and ANTM. Sort of. There are bright sides though. The Boy and I are moving in together when my lease is up here in May, so TV and Internets will return then. And when I need Internet, I'll go back to Starbucks or some other coffee-serving place with wireless and sit and blog and <strike>make fun of people</strike>check my e-mail. So my blog will be funny again, even if the effort is not sustained. Rejoice!<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-71593880503165664272009-02-18T23:36:00.000-05:002009-02-19T08:14:26.345-05:00To the basement! Oh wait.There's a big storm moving through Northeast Florida (and most of the Southeast I think),<br />and when I opened jacksonville.com this morning, I was greeted with this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgzvs_n32XmZLjHGk-tV__bWRJuA166mUhR5vcTvKfS9vPW77SFySXWVdvE5Woaw8GdiNpaV0LAcWf_ME2WKIXEYVe-ujycVkSz03VhZCjRuzWHKf3qhtcpG2dBlCfGuUrEvWValSyqP2/s1600-h/Picture+3.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 40px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgzvs_n32XmZLjHGk-tV__bWRJuA166mUhR5vcTvKfS9vPW77SFySXWVdvE5Woaw8GdiNpaV0LAcWf_ME2WKIXEYVe-ujycVkSz03VhZCjRuzWHKf3qhtcpG2dBlCfGuUrEvWValSyqP2/s400/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304493727329347570" border="0" /></a>Part of the reason I moved to Florida was because the weather is pretty appealing. It doesn't get THAT cold, and when it does, it's only for a day or two. It rains less often here (this is only a slight difference). OK so we have hurricanes and stuff, but Jacksonville hasn't been hit directly in a really long time. And we'll know for a week or more when one is on the way.<br /><br />But tornadoes? Tennessee's tornado season lasts roughly from May to July, and then September to November. In East TN, it's not so bad, since we have the mountains and all, but we had tornado watches and warnings all the time in Nashville. And then I would be scared.<br /><br />My point (come on, it's early, I can't think clearly): Florida should not have tornadoes, regardless of how far north Jacksonville is. And if we DID have a tornado, that would suck because a) no one in Florida has a basement and b) no one likes storm damage.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-78142673404172744342009-02-09T00:02:00.002-05:002009-02-10T14:49:13.033-05:00Office space<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">While working at a newspaper has its low points, it certainly has its share of high ones. Among the perks is pretty much total freedom to put whatever we want on the walls around us (at least at my paper; I can't really vouch for others). From what I understand, in most "creative" professions, there's quite a bit of flexibility in cubicle decor.<br /><br />Examples: We have a "plant lady" at work who has a veritable jungle (I am not even kidding. She has a tree.) in and around her cube. My friend <a href="http://dianamiddleton.typepad.com/">Diana</a> had an impressive collection of toys. One guy has the biggest collection of comic book action figures I have ever seen, and an inflatable alien lives on the Sports desk. And (bless their hearts) many reporters have papers, file folders and dirty coffee mugs strewn about their cubes.<br /><br />So when I read <a href="http://gawker.com/5139406/martha-stewart-surprisingly-anal-about-new-offices?skyline=true&s=x">this</a> article about the strict rules of cube decor at Martha Stewart, I was a little shocked. Employees can't have office supplies beyond the list of "approved" utensils, and the offices are kept...sterile. Not just clean. Sterile. They can't even have coffee mugs. WHICH MEANS LESS COFFEE. WHO WORKS IN JOURNALISM WITHOUT COFFEE?<br /><br />For one thing, my dream has long been to work for either Vogue or National Geographic or Martha Stewart Living. While I'm sure I would love getting to copy edit stories about living room paint colors, I don't know if I could like very much to do it in a bare, boring cube. You'd also think Martha would encourage some level of decorating creativity, even if it would probably be in her style (Pink granite driveways!).<br /><br />For another thing, how can people work well if they can't look at the things they enjoy? I have a collection of little notes, pictures, <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/o1sRXCQN_5uE3BkPJHURrg?feat=directlink">cartoons</a> and calendars that make my days much better. Some of them remind me to keep going when I'd rather just crawl under my desk for a quick nap, and others give me laugh when I need it. And some things are just there...because I put them there and now don't want to take them down.<br /><br />What really gets me, I think, is the rule on approved writing utensils. I have a black pen (one, single black pen) and the rest are colored. I use a pink or green highlighter (Yellow? Ew.), and red pens remind me of Mr. Watson (Ask any student of Wearwood Elementary, and they will tell you he is/was the worst teacher that ever lived.) and thus make me want to jump off a high building.<br /><br />The most important thing, I think, about being able to put up whatever we want in our cubes/offices is that those little things remind us that there is life beyond Outlook and InDesign and bloody DT. Most newsroom employees stare at a computer screen for 8+ hours a day, and we don't really have windows from which to see the outside, so all those little things we keep around are basically sanity savers. They are for me, anyway.<br /><br />On my interview, I noticed a handful of people with fun-looking cubes and offices. And then my boss drew a picture with a purple pen. And I knew I would be OK here.<br /><br />Oh, and when I'm hugely successful (ha!) and have my own business, I think I'll use Pottery Barn Teen for inspiration. Who doesn't love pink furniture?<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-31550127596328450662009-01-28T12:43:00.001-05:002009-01-28T13:04:27.864-05:00Deep thoughts<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This morning at the gym, I was really hoping something would happen that I could write about and make fun of later. Sadly, I was not so lucky.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There was only one older dude there when I got there, so my hopes of a good story were dashed. The only thing that happened was that Dude asked me if I was OK after I almost passed out from doing squats because I am foolish and think I can do things like that. Then he ran — RAN — on the treadmill for the rest of the time I worked out, no doubt grateful for his old man body that doesn’t try to pass out from lifting weight. I didn’t eat anything before I went, so that probably had something to do with it, although there is no excuse for fatigue when you use the embarrassingly not heavy weights I chose.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But I digress.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, sort of. When I’m at the gym I usually do some kind of weights and then walk on the treadmill for a half hour or something. Let me tell you, that treadmill time sucks. I don’t like walking or running unless I’m getting somewhere, and the time just draaaags by. So to entertain myself I listen to Hanson or NPR and think about Things. These Things are typically pointless and really don’t do anything to make the time pass more quickly because they aren’t really anything that requires deep thought.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyhow, this morning I was thinking about work. No, not my actual job because that doesn’t require a lot of outside thinking unless I’m looking at a copy of the paper, but my place of work. Specifically, I was thinking about our entrance and exit gates to the employee parking lot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A few months ago, a good chunk of the security staff got laid off, so our gates are now the first line of defense against keeping out the riff raff. However, the entrance gate is always up — anyone can drive in, park, walk through the open distribution gate and come right on in the building! How nice of us to make it that easy. Anyway, an e-mail was sent out this week saying the exit gate is now operational and to drive slowly and it will raise when a car approaches.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Erm, what’s wrong with this picture? Why impede employees’ exit but still make it simple for anyone to drive in? I heard there was going to be a card reader installed at some point, but in the meantime, I’m just puzzled. I mean, if someone REALLY didn’t want to wait for the exit gate, couldn’t they just drive out the entrance side? I once drove in through the exit because the entrance gate was down and the guard shack was unmanned. The same thing could happen again!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I guess the parking lot has been open-access for long enough that any real threat of something bad happening is pretty minimal. Now if only they could figure out how that dog got in the parking lot last night…</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-37235883019920778392009-01-27T23:37:00.003-05:002009-01-28T10:19:38.015-05:00I'm poor<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Or maybe these Super Bowl tickets are just a teensy bit overpriced.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mO8rmjwkiUDJDrGqCAYWCzs1RuQfrwuGbL8jh4YnYm269k29Qbj4bfj-ppfRlEMeEo7gPvcqk0bYUlS7fBj-x1zt8nEM6201cLOzTdPe2ZtnGJpD_inc3KRiNmymfzBqzA3Nz5LbPmQ_/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mO8rmjwkiUDJDrGqCAYWCzs1RuQfrwuGbL8jh4YnYm269k29Qbj4bfj-ppfRlEMeEo7gPvcqk0bYUlS7fBj-x1zt8nEM6201cLOzTdPe2ZtnGJpD_inc3KRiNmymfzBqzA3Nz5LbPmQ_/s320/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296199320800708626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">OK, so I find it unlikely that someone's going to go to the Super Bowl alone, so you'd probably need at least two of these suckers. Stub Hub is totally holding out on us with these deals!<br /><br />Too bad I don't care about either of the teams in the game. I just felt it necessary to point out that you could buy about 10 Toyota Corollas for that price.<br /></span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-38389597724131470492009-01-12T10:56:00.006-05:002009-01-12T11:40:19.376-05:00Some things are not OK even for Facebook<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Many of my Facebook friends have babies, and it's kind of precious to see some of the pictures they post. But the other day I was looking through an album one friend made of her newborn, and one of the pictures is captioned "Daddy changes the first poopy diaper!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I'll let you guess what the picture was of.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Now, I know pooping is a natural part of life, and I'm not the least squeamish about talking about it. But seeing it? In a picture? ALL OVER A LITTLE BABY? Not really my bag, I must say. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I know everyone can put whatever pictures they want on the FB, but we recently had a story in the newspaper about how people are complaining about mothers posting pictures of themselves breastfeeding. I don't especially want to see any boob when I go on there to waste my time, but I want to see a naked, poop-covered baby butt even less.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Just saying.</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-5585548894330247722009-01-09T12:48:00.003-05:002009-01-09T13:10:24.314-05:00Technology is slow<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >I don't care about the flying cars that should have debuted by the year 2000 or the development of a safe, reliable way to teleport. I take that back. Teleportation would be awesome. My version would also be more efficient than, say, Harry Potter's flue powder; no ending up on the wrong side of the tracks when you just want to go get your cloak and some new schoolbooks. But I digress.<br /><br />We have vending machines in several areas around the building at work, and I visit these locations often. They're your standard vending machines: Put in your money, push a couple buttons ("I did not learn my AA, BB, CCs! God god damn it damn it!"), the spiraly thing turns, and your treat falls down. Unless your treat gets stuck. On more than one occasion I've bought Twizzlers and watched the package get stuck just short of falling. Sometimes I'll make sure no one is watching and then try to shake the machine with all my might to get that package loose; these machines are obviously filled with rocks or some other ridiculously heavy material because I can't move them at all. Other times I've just paid for a second package, only to have the first one fall and the second get stuck.<br /><br />I am of the opinion that if people can make computers go from the size of a room to small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, someone can come up with a more effective way to delivery vending-machine goods to the poor, hungry person waiting. I don't know how this would work (I'm an English major for a reason), but I firmly believe that it is possible.<br /><br />I also think that toilet technology has a long way to go (I mean, have we come THAT far from outhouses and chamber pots?), but that is another conversation for another day.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-1777832873641618672009-01-05T20:34:00.005-05:002009-01-07T12:11:09.340-05:002008: Good riddance<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >I've been meaning to do some kind of 2008 wrap-up, but every start I make feels like it doesn't even do justice to the year that was. At the risk of sounding all sentimental and stuff, I'm going to remember this year for quite some time. It was full of really high highs and really low lows, and maybe some points in between, but extremes were the name of the game. I don't know how ot sum up everything; I could write paragraph after paragraph in sickening detail about every little thing, but why? So I can go back and think really hard about some of the crap I put up with? Nah. So for your reading ease and my emotional ease, here is 2008: Abridged.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">January:</span> School. Took 18 hours. Thought it would manageable AS A SECOND-SEMESTER SENIOR. It was, for about three days. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Started getting ASB stuff going and realized it would be a slight headache. </span></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Lived in the newsroom. Started The Great Resume Mail-Out to every newspaper for which I could find the name and address of a managing editor.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">February:</span> Still tried to fool myself into thinking 18 hours was manageable. Slipped a little but what else is new? Witnessed the Versus Valentine Debacle. Laughed hysterically whenever I thought of it. Moped that I had no Valentine. Rejection letters resulting from said mail-out began arriving. Forgot what self-esteem was. Lived in the newsroom. Worked like a maniac on ASB stuff and realized it would be worth it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">March:</span> Totally slacking on classes. Go figure. Keeping up, but barely. Really only cared about Guralnick's class. Lived in the newsroom. Loved ASB. Jarred got fired. I took over The Hustler. My life promptly fell apart. Cried at least twice a day. In one week only managed to sleep 5 hours. Would occasionally forget to eat. Yelled at a lot of people, including some who didn't deserve it. Stopped going to class because I was afraid to be out of the newsroom. Updated the resume and continued to canvass the U.S. with that and my clips. More rejection.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">April:</span> Wait, I had class? Never missed Guralnick's though. Realized I AM a good writer. Not good enough to write a paper without reading the book and think the professor wouldn't figure me out. Cried a lot more. Had my first panic attack. Would I graduate? Thought I was going to fail two classes. Took SND Quick Course and gave my resume to everyone there. Got a call from the T-U. Got an interview from the T-U. Got a job from the T-U (on the last day of class). Saw Steve Earle. Cried during my favorite song. Still had to finish paper to get grade for a class. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Didn't sleep for three days straight in order to finish paper. Did not finish paper. Lived in the newsroom. </span></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >More Hustler drama.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">May:</span> Flew to Jacksonville to look for place to live. Found it. Foolishly thought I could afford it. Wrote paper that was due last month on plane home. Finished paper at the very last second possible. Got a sympathy grade that let me pass. Washed my hands of the newspaper. Drank heavily and threw up a lot. Symbolic. GRADUATED. Moved to Jacksonville. Started job. Thought I would do horribly. I didn't? Fancied myself well-adjusted.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">June: </span>Beaches. Sunburns. Made a handful of friends in the newsroom. Nothing else remarkable. Still fancied myself well-adjusted. Got kittens. Mom visited. Bought furniture. Bad choice. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Started Scrabbling heavily with Pat.</span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">July: </span>Friends invited me with them for the Fourth. Realized, "Hey, these people actually care about me!" Got friendly with more people in the newsroom. Melted in Florida heat. Living alone is expensive. Found good places to drive around when I need to drive around.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">August:</span> Started working on the daily. Started missing home. Started wanting to broaden social circle. Got scared of my first "hurricane." Acted like a Tennessean with the snow and stocked up on bread, water and toilet paper. Lost power for three days. Met The Boy. Realized I very much liked The Boy. More work nonsense.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">September:</span> Whispers of layoffs in the newsroom. Rumors are just that. The Boy and I continue to hang out. Make wonderful friends on the news desk.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">October:</span> Birthday month! Work continues. Layoff whispers get a little louder. Start working more on the daily than on communities. Things with The Boy keep going well. Things with new friends going well. BIRTHDAY! More than I could ask for. Cat breaks her toe.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">November:</span> Layoffs become reality. One of my fantastic friends gets the boot. Another friend quits. Morale drops to frightening lows. Spend Thanksgiving with The Boy's family. Awesome. Homesick.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">December: </span>Go home for a few days. The Boy meets the family. Glad to be home but glad when I get back to Jacksonville. Work work work. Christmas is OK. Work work work. New Year's Eve is fun. Fireworks. New year.<br /><br />And there you have it, my year in brief. Despite all the lows, I think the highs were enough to get me through it all. I graduated. I got a pretty decent job. I got a great boyfriend.<br /><br />As soon as I was finished with The Hustler, I could breathe. In just a couple days, my whole self did a 180 and I was finally OK again. I didn't have anything to worry about, I didn't have to stay up until 5 a.m., I had nothing to keep me up until 5 a.m. It's funny; things seemed to just get mediocre and routine after all that, but they weren't. They were finally just normal.<br /><br />So my year was sucky, and so was everyone else's. I guess 2008 was just Year of the Suck, and now it's time to move on and find something good to look forward to this year. I know what I'm looking forward to, and it's finally something that I want because I want it not because it's going to rescue from a crap situation (much the way I looked at graduation; no more drama). And for once, I'm excited about a new year and seeing what new things happen and how much is going to change in these next 12 months. It's a pretty long time.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-4634350591659624602008-11-19T20:29:00.002-05:002008-11-19T20:35:44.975-05:00If you're a fatty and you know it, clap your hands<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I swear my kittens just clapped their little paws. Bess was snuggled up all cute next to me on the couch, when Jorge comes running in and wedges her massive self "between" Bess and me. I say "between" because it more like "on top of Bess until Bess moved over." Now Jorge is stretched out across an entire couch cushion and poor little Bess is banished to the floor. Jorge is very demanding when it comes to attention, especially attention given while she's laying on the couch. She has laid directly on my computer while I'm sitting here because I had the audacity to only pet her on the floor and not bring her up into my lap. Brats. Both of them.<br /><br />Speaking of the girls getting very snuggly, now that it's cold at night, they like to sleep even more ON MY PILLOW than they already do. Last night was cold enough that it felt like home. The low was something like</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> 29; it was 37 or something when I left at 8:45 this morning. Unacceptable. This is Florida, for crying out loud.<br /><br />I wore real shoes (if you really consider flats real shoes)to work, but I didn't wear a jacket. Just a long sleeve turtleneck (not even a sweater). Some people at work though wore coats and scarves and are saying they want to put space heaters in their cubes. Pansies.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The Boy is excited about coming home with me in December, but also kind of not excited because it's going to be effin cold. Mom ambushed him last night when I was on the phone with her and asked if she could talk to him. I was like "Oh he's busy. His hands are full. [Other excuses.]" and she was like I'll wait! So they talked, and after he was like, "Maybe next time can I get some warning?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm Giving Thanks with his family next week and trying to think of something to bring. His mom said I don't have to bring anything, but I feel funny coming empty handed. Apparently the whole family is on a diet ("Hi, I'm Elizabeth. I've never been on a diet and thus only know how to cook fatty Southern food. I do best when the recipe requires more than a pound of butter. Nice to meet you [y'all]!"), so that really limits my options. I'm thinking banana bread or something safe that doesn't necessarily have to go with the actual meal. Between that stress (mild though it is) and work stress and my usual high level of stress over nothing, my digestive system is rebelling against the rest of my body in a bad way. Happy Thanksgiving!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATED: </span>Eating half a bag of Swedish fish does nothing to aid in the recovery of normal digestive processes. Make note.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-81980877545293892452008-11-17T10:22:00.003-05:002008-11-17T12:41:56.193-05:00As long as it's not a cuckoo clock<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >So this weekend I went with The Boy to a work get-together at his boss' house, and everyone who was there has at least one kid, and some of them even brought their baby (or three, in the case of one of his co-workers whose poor wife popped out triplets). It was a little awkward, as The Boy and I neither are married nor have babies. But one of the babies was ultra precious and pretty cool, and we played for a long time. I mean, I pretty much ignored most of the adults and just had fun with the kid.<br /><br />And last week a co-worker brought his daughter to work, and she's maybe one of the cutest baby I have ever seen and she kept looking over her shoulder and kind of raising her eyebrow at us really skeptically, and it was hilarious/endearing.<br /><br />And then I looked at <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/62202967@N00/sets/72157603651638517/">this</a> (one of my favorite bloggers' Flickr stream), and now my biological clock is all TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK.<br /><br />Ugh. This is my life.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-83388769018025071662008-11-03T19:59:00.004-05:002008-12-13T11:01:58.305-05:00How to keep newspapers alive<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">For as long as I can remember, I've been a bathroom reader (Exhibit A: <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/elizabeth.middlebrooks/BlogPhotos#5264598531523101090">Here</a>), and I actually used to get in trouble for stashing American Girl magazines under the clothes hamper in the old house. I would go to the bathroom when I should have been doing chores or something and just sit and read. I would also sit and read when I was doing other, normal bathroom business. My brother is also a bathroom reader, as are most of my friends. I'm pretty convinced that almost everyone I know is a bathroom reader. If you say you have never read something in the bathroom, you're lying. I just won't believe you.<br /><br />Anyhow, I've realized that bathrooms are the reason print journalism will survive, despite the current situation. How did I come to this realization? Wireless Internet is a dangerous thing, friends. I was sitting on the couch reading my favorite NYT column online, but I didn't want to give it up while I ran to the bathroom. Solution? I brought my computer with me.<br /><br />While this might be a little too much information for the masses, I consider it a public service announcement. So I did my thing and finished reading the column, but I have to say bathroom reading on the computer is not the same as a magazine or newspaper or book. I suppose it's all about personal taste, but the computer doesn't really do it for me. You can't just keep it in the bathroom, and if you've got to make an especially long trip, you run the risk of the battery running out. There's also the issue of making sure you set the computer down in a place that won't get wet while you wash your hands. Granted, you have that same issue with a newspaper or magazine, but those cost a few dollars max, not a couple grand.<br /><br />So, newspapers and other print news outlets should market themselves as the only reading material that accompanies people to the bathroom. Maybe some people prefer the computer, but I don't think it's anything I can ever get used to.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-29934016920476411742008-10-14T17:40:00.004-04:002008-10-14T17:49:00.361-04:00Improvements continue...<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >So today I got two important things: a haircut and new bedding. The hair is great (took off almost six inches — good riddance!) and the bedding is extra-great! I've been a little unhappy with my bedroom because it felt a little dark and not very cozy, but the new stuff brightened it up a little bit. If I can find a cute headboard on the cheap (I'm thinking of just painting the wall behind my bed to avoid hardware, etc.) and some kind of desk, I'll be good to go! Pictures of both:<br /><br />I had to do the awkward MySpace-mirror picture I hate so much, but the kittens haven't yet figured out how to work the camera, so they couldn't take it for me. Sorry.)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiphSOnJVk37AidQKIcCbFWRN93jRuvjnvkVSWKUcGr8Wn9Gpp1wWW8D1gmLEvsqDXQeWWJ3ZFsIqtNCKAW3DfYRV6_cWxBkBNFsUc0_e3ecNfGJBL85ns6jd3YExXB9PuneAoudKlhEft/s1600-h/IMG_3996.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiphSOnJVk37AidQKIcCbFWRN93jRuvjnvkVSWKUcGr8Wn9Gpp1wWW8D1gmLEvsqDXQeWWJ3ZFsIqtNCKAW3DfYRV6_cWxBkBNFsUc0_e3ecNfGJBL85ns6jd3YExXB9PuneAoudKlhEft/s320/IMG_3996.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257128809821244514" border="0" /></a><br />My pretty new bed! The kittens are laying on it as I write this, so I take it they approve. And yes, I sleep with that bear. He will turn 22 years old this year, so we've been together a long time. Don't judge me.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEVghC1PzfAFw318NtnGVRxQVs4ZFDUMvGJ8FPLcmkSYSQvfw16fmELUsxi2AGXJnj7hgYHMcG_i55zDvI2ojdpeqlkcyea1JHox6wDPvMve0GvE15_9xTyQ-hS4wUahkHG99k38V6ySX/s1600-h/IMG_3997.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEVghC1PzfAFw318NtnGVRxQVs4ZFDUMvGJ8FPLcmkSYSQvfw16fmELUsxi2AGXJnj7hgYHMcG_i55zDvI2ojdpeqlkcyea1JHox6wDPvMve0GvE15_9xTyQ-hS4wUahkHG99k38V6ySX/s320/IMG_3997.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257128819690045218" border="0" /></a><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-1258471162162333522008-10-13T16:22:00.002-04:002008-10-13T16:27:36.508-04:00His middle name is Hussein, you know<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The other night I was reading a wire story about how Obama and McCain are making semi-nice defending each other to the big attacks and blah blah blah. Anyway, this little gem was part of the story:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">At a town-hall event Friday in Minnesota, McCain took the microphone from a woman who said Obama is an Arab. McCain said, "No, ma'am," and he called Obama "a decent, family man."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Because Arabs aren't decent family men? That's right, I forget those things. OK OK, taken out of context, maybe McCain didn't mean it to sound like that — we are, after THE LIBERAL MEDIA (dun dun dunnnnnn).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Also, I'm really having a hard time with people at work who write QCs, e-mails and the like IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS. I DON'T LIKE FEELING LIKE I'M BEING YELLED AT FOR ASKING A QUESTION. Just sayin'. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Oh, and Jorge is recovering well from her broken toe. By recovering well, I mean she's running around with The Wild Eyes and playing with Bess. I think she faked the injury to test my love and to see if I would actually be concerned. She won.</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-73052369804985427572008-10-10T14:16:00.004-04:002008-10-10T14:21:24.393-04:00Home improvement<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ah, I finally got a rug for my living room! I still have a long way to go in there in terms of making it cozier, but the rug helps. The kittens seem to enjoy it too, since they were all over it as soon as I laid it down. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-check it out:</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsT6autoBD_t2iuQlmDKAi1ZFNCf9Wr1KTir_1i295ZoAfpP2No1fwnETZktzY3A53kKfq7haGFnrdYYYrKevPc-jT5wvOfxWeamzz41CwAFB-2Uzj3QfZpfNQIpcUUVerfeVBa4Mx-L93/s1600-h/IMG_3984.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsT6autoBD_t2iuQlmDKAi1ZFNCf9Wr1KTir_1i295ZoAfpP2No1fwnETZktzY3A53kKfq7haGFnrdYYYrKevPc-jT5wvOfxWeamzz41CwAFB-2Uzj3QfZpfNQIpcUUVerfeVBa4Mx-L93/s320/IMG_3984.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255591565248221202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhefYX7ltLOq2jSFdMIFkGA84PiGPkyOVCa3tVWFYh_MMIWvkATbvTMnpxNw7SfSp3fEz5cZRFXm3lj3NG8_xbNEPyU1xuj0tzPJ7rqwXXxo2HA6FuHAUPsLy93qgq5inUGvEeskNXt0VOx/s1600-h/IMG_3986.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhefYX7ltLOq2jSFdMIFkGA84PiGPkyOVCa3tVWFYh_MMIWvkATbvTMnpxNw7SfSp3fEz5cZRFXm3lj3NG8_xbNEPyU1xuj0tzPJ7rqwXXxo2HA6FuHAUPsLy93qgq5inUGvEeskNXt0VOx/s320/IMG_3986.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255591563663349858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-83577298284108387272008-09-22T20:39:00.003-04:002008-09-22T20:43:06.573-04:00I'm not anti-life, for goodness' sake<span style="font-size:85%;">This is an interesting little collection of letters to the editor in NYT from Catholics regarding abortion as a political issue. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/22/opinion/l22abortion.html">Letters: Abortion — One Issue or the Issue?</a><br /><br />Really, I was kind of surprised by what I read. Pleasantly surprised, for the most part. That's all.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-55855198399639159502008-09-17T18:33:00.002-04:002008-09-17T18:35:45.496-04:00Because this should not be confined only to my Twitter<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm a magician, Spencer, a FURIOUS magician.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><a href="http://ie.youtube.com/watch?v=npP73QIApFE&fmt=18">Ben Bernanke</a>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;">This is one of those things that you'll either love or hate. Me? I sat at my desk choking on my laughter and plan to quote this for at least the next year and a half.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-82709282100226342782008-09-15T15:13:00.002-04:002008-09-15T15:22:12.542-04:00There's no place like home<span style="font-size:85%;">Lately, I've been really missing Tennessee. I want to go to Nashville more than I want to breathe, and I really miss mountains and, well, I just miss land that isn't flat. I get great gas mileage here, but sometimes I miss having to gear down to make it up a hill. Also, Florida isn't as fully Southern as East TN. Or so I thought.<br /><br />Jacksonville is close enough to Georgia that we get our share of rednecks, hillbillies and people who speak in terms I can understand. Today, I had to drive out to the ghetto because that's where the nearest Comcast store is located, and on my way out there, I passed a road called Confederate Point. All of a sudden, it was like I was home.<br /><br />Another good story to do with home (my home here, not so much the ones in Tennessee): I locked myself out of my building last night. I keep three hooks on my living room wall on which I hang my keys, purse, etc., and when I came in I hung up my keys and not my purse. Then when I left, I grabbed my purse from the couch, locked my door on the knob (requiring no key) and went to my car. As soon as I got to my car, I realized I had no keys, and even though I tried, I couldn't break into my apartment or pick the lock. Part of me is glad that I couldn't just push my door open because it doesn't look very secure, but I would have broken the frame and probably the door if I'd gone that route. Comforting. Long story short, my landlord was out of town, but his business partner (whom I'd never met until last night) had keys and came to let me in. Good. I'm getting copies made of my keys ASAP, though, and giving them to Pat or Stef or someone reliable.<br /><br />Additionally, I had to drive to the Comcast store earlier to get a new power cord for my modem. Why? Because my cats chewed through the other one. I'm surprised I didn't end up with fried kitten at some point, but thankfully I did not. Now if only I can get them to stop snoring, we'll be golden.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-66576973192317186252008-08-12T11:10:00.004-04:002008-08-12T17:04:38.712-04:00Well that explains it<span style="font-size:85%;">I just took <a href="http://www.msnbc.com/modules/newsweek/autism_quotient/default.asp">this test for autism</a> and scored a 37. According to the score page, most people with Asperger Syndrome or high functioning autism score about a 35. Hm.<br /><br />I know that a test from Newsweek doesn't mean I have autism (I mean, I'm 22 years old. Wouldn't someone have caught on by now?), but I AM pretty curious how it's determined. It's possibly very wrong or has just explained my whole life.<br /><br />But sometimes people just memorize stuff and get uncomfortable in social situations. I guess.<br /><br />Edit: In what I assume was an effort of consolation, my brother said people with Asperger make me "look like that perky chick that's on TV with Regis." Awww.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-36907099753289525732008-08-10T19:59:00.004-04:002008-08-10T20:10:00.073-04:00Addendum to previous post<span style="font-size:85%;">A woman is sitting at a table near me talking to a dude about various topics. Here are a few of the things I've heard about this evening and a summary of her comments in parentheses:<br /><br />Coffee (it gives her the shits, but she likes Frappucinos)<br />Faking orgasms (she used to with some guy and he TOTALLY realized it)<br />Asian porn (it's weird; Asian women look funny)<br />Pornography in general (the women scream like they're getting killed; she doesn't have it in her to scream like that even if it's good)<br />Pulling hair during sex (there's an art to it [dude chimes in: you've got to twist it around] so that it doesn't really hurt)<br /><br />I can't keep doing this because I'm really getting upset. I need to go home. And hang out with my cats. BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO.<br /><br />(As I was getting ready to post this, the conversation took a horrible, horrible turn that I shan't disclose here because writing makes it too real, but suffice to say this whole talk made me a little bit glad that I'm single.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE: OH MY GOD THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT CRAIGSLIST CASUAL ENCOUNTERS SECTION AND HOW THEY'VE RESPONDED TO ADS ON THERE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I BET THAT IS HOW THEY MET</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6055253367336676922.post-38979483655400610572008-08-10T18:37:00.003-04:002008-08-10T19:23:20.060-04:00Oh, Sbux<span style="font-size:85%;">People (not baristas, mind you) at Five Points Starbucks are friendlier even than people in Nashville, and that's tough. But it's an odd friendly, like a please-stop-talking-to-me-I-am-clearly-preoccupied-making-fun-of-<br />you-in-my-blog kind of friendly. Dude is sitting next to me reading the T-U and New York Times and asking me, "Did you hear about [fill in the blank]?"<br /><br />I WORK AT A NEWSPAPER YES I PROMISE I HEARD ABOUT IT.<br /><br />Also, I feel a little funny not preparing to go back to Nashville/VU. Now's about the time I'd be peacing out of Tuesday Morning and spending time "packing" and "getting my stuff together," which means I'd just be spending more time laying on the couch with Kenny and letting my mom feed me.<br /><br />In other news, I'm getting a neighbor tomorrow and a new stove within a couple weeks, according to my landlord. Hooray! Four fully functional units I can cook on!<br /><br />Also, I went to the beach this afternoon with Deirdre, et al. The sun wasn't terribly strong, but I laid on my stomach most of the time and the backs of my legs got burned. So I quite literally have a hot ass. Not comfortable, I'm afraid.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0