|
|
|
October 7th, 2009
 | 10:13 am - I cried laughing so hard.
Greg: When I was a kid we went to this place where everything was models of buildings and everything was small...
Me: Cullen Gardens? And Miniature Village? Beautiful magical fun?
Greg: Yeah! I got attacked by wasps! They seemed so much scarier in comparison...
|
August 7th, 2009
 | 07:06 pm - What.
This doesn't make sense to me.
Taste of the Danforth, aka The Greek Festival In Greektown, is on this weekend.
The website says this:
From our feature country, Japan, there will be an opportunity to win a Trip For Two To Japan, compliments of the Japan National Tourism Organization, Air Canada and Cerulean Tower Tokyu Hotel.
I mean, that's wonderful and all, but I was under the impression that the "feature country" for a festival that is the largest Greek festival in the world outside of Greece would be.. Greece ?
|
July 30th, 2009
 | 07:46 pm
Also: How come everyone is having a heat wave except us?
|
July 24th, 2009
 | 07:00 pm
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) mathwhiz78 just sent me this article about a Swedish couple who have chosen not to reveal the sex of their 2-year-old child. So interesting! Although a couple of the responses strike me as.. well, stupid. As can be expected.
"It’s unlikely that they’ll be able to keep this a secret for long. Children are curious about their own identity, and are likely to gravitate towards others of the same sex during free play time in early childhood."
"I don’t think that trying to keep a child’s sex a secret will fool anyone, nor do I think it’s wise or ethical,” says Pinker. “As with any family secret, when we try to keep an elemental truth from children, it usually blows up in the parent’s face, via psychosomatic illness or rebellious behaviour."
Like the parents are sitting there going LET'S SEE IF WE CAN FOOL EVERYONE. Also, way to use That One Time Everybody Knows About With The Botched Circumcision Ending In Suicide as the example of keeping ~*~gendery secrets~*~ from a child "blowing up in the parent's face".
Edit: Pop obviously knows what parts Pop has, and the article says that Pop knows about the anatomical differences between the sexes, so it's not like the parents are sheltering Pop from EVER learning about anything ever to do with sex/gender- it's not from Pop that they're keeping this "elemental truth".
Also: Way to miss the point. They're not saying "our child doesn't HAVE a sex/gender". IMO, they're saying "by not sharing this information, we're preventing gender from being the primary characteristic on which all the child's experiences and interactions are based".
They've used research on two-to-four year olds as "evidence" that certain gendered behaviours are "altered by prenatal hormones developed in the second trimester". What, because four-year-olds have no experiences in the world and nobody up until that point has recognized whether they are male or female and treated them as such? Studies have shown that knowing the sex of your child affects even how you talk to it in the womb.
"Child-rearing should not be about providing an opportunity to prove an ideological point, but about responding to each child’s needs as an individual."
How does not knowing a child's gender make you LESS able to address their needs as an individual? It's inevitable that you're going to assume a large portion of what their needs even are in the first place based on whether they're a boy or a girl.
The part that bothers me about this whole situation is that when EVERYONE DOES "find out" what Pop "really" is, it's going to turn into this HUGE OMG DEAL where the SECRET IS OUT, again, wholly missing the point.
|
 | 05:52 pm - An Open Letter To Just About Anybody
Dear Friends/Relatives/Acquaintances/Clients of agents in my office:
Please do not get offended when I'm taking a message and I ask for your phone number. I don't know who you are. I have a hard enough time keeping track of all the people I actually work with, much less EVERYONE THEY KNOW. I'm sorry you're so important that it's a hassle to keep giving out your phone number every time you want someone to call you. Trust me, it's easier if you just tell me. If you don't believe me, try getting a date by not giving out your phone number and see how successful you are.
Sincerely,
The Girl Who Answers The Phone At Your Friend/Relative/Acquaintance/Agent's Office
|
July 19th, 2009
 | 08:47 pm - I know things about sports.
Greg: The World Cup is on now, I think.
Me: The World Cup of what?
Greg: ...Soccer? That's the only World Cup there is. There's the Stanley Cup...
Me: There's a Grey Cup of something! Is that a football one? No, that's the ... Super Bowl!
|
June 29th, 2009
| 12:41 pm - I don't think I've ever laughed so hard.
After a pause in a (relatively) normal and unrelated conversation, Greg turns to me perfectly innocently and genuinely curious, and asks:
"What do they mean when they say 'I don't think you're ready for this jelly'?"
|
June 25th, 2009
 | 06:45 pm
I am never buying food at a convenience store again.
A couple years ago I bought a chocolate bar that had maggots in it.
And today on my way to work I stopped to grab a bag of Crispers because I was starving. I just opened them and they smelled kinda funny, so I checked the expiry? Dec 14 2007.
What the EFF. How do you even keep something on the shelf that long? Aren't they supposed to check that shit?
|
June 22nd, 2009
| 12:45 pm
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
( The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred: )
|
June 20th, 2009
| 09:09 pm
(Watching the Jonas Brothers on SNL, for some reason)
Greg: *points at TV* Corey's my favourite!
Me: They're not.. named.. Corey.
Greg: It doesn't matter.
|
June 8th, 2009
| 08:40 pm
Me: Angela Lansbury, that was ..
Greg: Murder She Wrote.
Me: Yeah, that's what I thought. Jessica...
Greg: Lansbury.
Me: ANGELA Lansbury. Jessica... Fletcher!
Greg: Why don't they just use the actors' names? Nobody cares anyway.
Me: Well, not now, when it was in the 80s.
Greg: I was being born. There were more important things happening. Like, if they had just named Will Smith's character in Fresh Prince... Wait...
|
May 13th, 2009
| 09:30 am
|
May 7th, 2009
 | 01:05 pm
Dear Judge Judy,
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure you don't cover things like ASSAULT and DUI in small claims court.
Sincerely,
Your loyal viewer ever since I realized I have channels again, three days ago.
|
April 7th, 2009
 | 12:59 am - Good christing fuck.
Josh/dzuunmod posted this. I don't know how to do the thing that makes it all linky-pretty:
http://www.esquire.com/features/what-is-a-man-0509
He was too lazy to make a meme out of it but obv I have more time on my hands/am procrastinating because I should do some studying. Whatev.
What is a man? Characteristics of the Ideal Man
A man carries cash. (At least, 25% more cash than women.)
A man looks out for those around him — woman, friend, stranger. (Because, as we all learned from When Harry Met Sally, men and women can never be friends.)
A man can cook eggs. (Men aren't vegan.)
A man can always find something good to watch on television.
A man makes things — a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds — engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. (Rock walls are really making a comeback. Bricks and mortar are soooo 2005. While we're at it, let's also do away with nylon and punctuation.)
A man can speak to dogs. (Heel, bitch. What?)
A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. (I believe kung fu resides in the spleen.)
A man knows how to sneak a look at cleavage and doesn't care if he gets busted once in a while. (Damn, I do appreciate a good pun. But fuck you all the same.)
A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one. (Really, there's nothing else he's good at. Just his job. Not his taxes. Not combing his hair. Not dusting that place behind the fridge where the grapes always roll. Not remembering to feed the dog, despite their many conversations throughout the day. Just his job.)
A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers. (Unless, of course, he gets stuck on your cleavage. In which case, he probably just makes you uncomfortable.)
A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not. Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt. (I'm not gonna lie; I don't know who Mark McGwire is. I'm gonna infer that he made a mistake that he didn't own up to. And I didn't even have to look him up and down!)
A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale breast, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the snatch, by the wrist, the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee. When his woman bends to pick up her underwear, he feels that thrum that only a man can feel. (Women don't feel that thrum, ever. We hate bodies. Especially our own!)
A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.
A man looks out for children. Makes them stand behind him. (I'm sorry, where exactly is your line of vision in this scenario?)
A man knows how to bust balls. (I.. No comment.)
A man has had liquor enough in his life that he can order a drink without sounding breathless, clueless, or obtuse. When he doesn't want to think, he orders bourbon or something on tap. Never the sauvignon blanc. ("When he doesn't want to think." Shutting that off is a manly skill, indeed.)
A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside. (When did you not have the upper hand? Was it that time you did the dishes? *blinks*)
Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his ass. (Probably those children standing behind him. THAT HE COULDN'T SEE.)
He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn't see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That's the liberal thread; it's why men won't line up as liberals. (I don't really understand, but I'm curious about this winnowing you speak of. It sounds kinda fun, like some new dance. Like the shimmy. Or the mashed potato.)
A man gets the door. Without thinking. (Okay, this is just plain NOT TRUE. *rubs nose*)
He stops traffic when he must. (By lifting his skirt and showing off a shapely, stockinged leg.)
A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That's why men won't forever line up with conservatives, either. (Okay, wait. We need to question everything, and not explain anything. This doesn't seem like it's going to get us very far.)
A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails. A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw. (You don't need tools to build a rock wall, silly. Incidentally, the miter saw is also the one people cut their thumbs off with a lot. Were you watching the children behind you?)
A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Drinking, playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool. He knows how to lose a month, also. (We are men! We do what we want! Including blatantly disregarding your DUI laws!)
A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can. (Unless he's already formed his opinion based on his sound inferences. You know, when he checked out your cleave a minute ago.)
A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps. (You have just RUINED the entire world of mystery behind this one. Whatever, I'm still going to imagine you take bubble baths surrounded by lavendar-scented candles while listening to Enya and fantasizing about me making sweet love to your ass.)
Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them. (Well, it's only natural they'd strike up a companionship and team up against evildoers after crossing paths so often in the coffee shop.)
A man loves driving alone most of all.
Style — a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules. (All my rules are uncontrived. I'm so eccentric. It's the new random.)
He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher's ERA. (His left retina is irreparably burned and he's dying of mercury poisoning from all those mutant legged fish.)
A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.
A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering. ("Baby, you sure know how to appease me.")
A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided. (When methods of avoidance fail, he does the winnow. Winnow-winnow!)
A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won't spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. The hell if you know what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next. (Although if he orders a bourbon, you might have an idea.)
|
April 3rd, 2009
| 01:04 am - For some reason this was hilarious at 4am.
Me: One day, when I make millions of dollars...
Greg: What do you want millions of dollars for?
Me: Fine, when I make thousands of dollars!
Greg: Can't we just break even?
|
March 30th, 2009
| 05:17 am
So apparently no easy rock songs have come out in the past fifteen years, and as a result they're forced to just keep playing Amanda Marshall over and over.
|
March 17th, 2009
| 09:35 pm
[I come to bed after a last-minute fridge-raid and kiss him]
Greg: Have you been eating olives again?
[I take a woven belt out of the closet]
Greg: Is that hemp?
Me: Shut up.
Greg: Is it??
Me: Mayyyybe...
Greg: You know that makes you a hippie, right?
[The Gidget end-soundtrack is playing, so, like the theme song except sans vocals]
Greg: I could never be depressed if this played in between my life throughout the day.
|
March 5th, 2009
 | 06:39 pm - I AM HILARIOUS
Groucho Marx: but that's kinda on the DL
Groucho Marx: FYI
Ila: of course
Groucho Marx: JFK
Ila: jfk?
Groucho Marx: john f kennedy
Ila: the president?
Groucho Marx: I was just spewing acronyms
Ila: oh!
Groucho Marx: and sitting here laughing hysterically to myself
|
February 14th, 2009
| 02:45 pm - Shut up.
SOMEBODY NEEDS TO PLEASE SUPPORT ME ON THIS
JEAN-LUC PICARD IS SEXY.
COMMENT PLZ.
KTHXBYE.
|
February 11th, 2009
| 12:35 am
I just discovered I can hold a lighter with my toes and light it with my other toes.
|
|
|
