I've Been Called Worse

To the 'anonymous' moron who found it entertaining to make nasty comments on my blog yesterday because he clearly has nothing better to do (and good grief, how bored were you that you went that far back?):

Either go away, or try upping the level of discourse a bit. Considering the fact that intelligence seems to be of premium concern to you, calling people "fat dykes" (of which I am neither, but thanks for the effort) is a pretty neanderthal response, wouldn't you think? Go find someone else's blog to anoint with your pearls of infinite wisdom. Here, they will be deleted. Better yet, why don't you let me read your blog for a while?

An Open Letter

Dear Student,

If you can't say your name intelligibly on my voice mail - and I've listened to it 4 times in an effort to comprehend your message - I'm not calling you back. Realistically, what do you expect me to do? "Hi, this is Becky calling from the College. Someone with an inscrutable name from this number - I think it was this number, but I'm not sure, because that was kind of jumbled too - left me a voice mail, so I'm just going to talk to you, whoever you are that picks up the phone." No, I don't think so. With any luck, I'll get your 12 year old little sister who wants to tell me about her Barbie Playtime Palace. You have now wasted 3 minutes of my day that could have been productive. In fact, you wasted 10, because you aggravated me so much that I had to take approximately 7 minutes to blog about it. That is all.

Sincerely,
Your Devoted Registrar

They Have Pink Martinis On Them!

Full Disclosure: Sometimes in the winter, I like to sit in my office in my bare socks for as long as I can get away with it in the morning instead of putting on my big girl shoes. It's not like anyone sees me in my little hole. Or cares.

It's A Jungle Out There...

A cautionary tale of the pitfalls of online dating below...

Don't believe your mother - even Jewish guys can be creepy!

Warning: Don't Try This At Home!

Do you suppose it says something about the society we live in when, a commercial showing a woman steam rolling over her old washing machine so she can buy a shiny new one, has to include a disclaimer at the bottom of the screen that states, "do not attempt"? Seriously - what? I guess it speaks to the same litigious obsession of Americans that forced McDonald's to put a disclaimer on their coffee that says, "caution: this beverage is extremely hot"... but still. This, to me, seems even MORE ridiculous. I mean... where am I even going to GET a giant slingshot machine or bulldozer to destroy my old washer, and even if I could... that girl in the commercial looks way hotter than I would doing it, anyway. I'd be grunting and sweating, and she's standing around filing her nails in a designer red dress. Plus, I don't even have enough quarters (at a buck 25 a load!) to do coin-operated laundry this weekend - I can't afford your fucking washing machine anyway. Don't you know we're heading into a recession, LG? How dare you! I'm gonna go back to selling my kidney on Ebay to afford my rent next month...

You Mean Vegetables Don't Always Come Out of a Can?

I'm on a new health and fitness kick. I'm bound and determined to get myself back in shape, feeling good and looking at least ALMOST as non-repulsive as I'd like to in a bikini by the time the weather warms up. In the past 6 months, I've been eating more organic foods, paying more attention to things like vitamins, whole grains, fiber and all that stuff... and I've managed to stumble on a few resources to help me out. While I can't credit all of this motivation purely to my own higher level of consciousness, I've found that knowing and sharing is half the battle. If you have even a passing interest in any of this information, here are a few links that I've found particularly helpful in my new resolve:

The Daily Plate - Here you can basically keep your own food and exercise journal online, see where you're going and where you've been.

Eat Better America - Lots of recipes, fitness, health and diet information.

Grist - Environmental news, humor, resources and information. You can discover how to live, eat and even vote more Green.

Cranky Fitness - A Blogger with a refreshingly sarcastic approach.

Whether you look at this an laugh or take a peek... at least I'm doing my part to pass on the good mojo. May it inspire you as well if you happen to be looking for inspiration.

Have Your Cake... And Sweat It Out Too!

Birthday Observation: It takes a lot longer to burn off cake and ice cream than it does to eat it.

Dear John

Dear Grossly Under-Qualified Transfer Student,

I understand that you're confused - transferring to the particular institution that I work for is a complicated process. Transferring to any institution is usually a bit of a process. I'm doing my best to change that, and one day when I rule the world, it will be easy as pie. Today, however, is not that day. I also understand that your confusion isn't entirely my fault. According to the essays, transcripts, grade reports, and letters that make up your application packet, you're a bit of a moron. If I were in charge, you most likely wouldn't have been accepted to the rigorous program you've chosen, let alone a 4-year college of any kind... but the institution I work for is tuition-driven, and sometimes that's reflected in the caliber of student we continue to bring in the week before classes start. It's also reflected in the quality of student that decides to apply the week before classes start. In my experience, the future neurosurgeons aren't the ones applying on January 8th when classes start the 12th. Because of all of these things, I'm begging you to stop asking me the same questions over and over again. I can explain procedures, policies and requirements until I'm blue in the face... you simply lack the brain capacity to comprehend the content of the response. It would really save both of us quite a bit of time and frustration if you just... stopped talking.

Thank You,
The Blogger

Black Hole Sun

In my city, there's a bar. It's a bar that any and all of the local regulars know well - so well, in fact, that it has at least half a dozen nicknames, so recognizable that a passing stranger on the sidewalk would know where you were headed if you happened to mention any of them. Everyone you meet, either native or transplanted to this city, knows this particular watering hole, and everyone has a story to go along with it. These stories usually involve some degree of nudity, projectile vomit, sexual indiscretion, extreme overindulgence, minor or major physical damage, complete blackout, or a volatile combination of the above. A local musician actually made headlines not long ago after being hit by a car crossing the street in front of this magical mystery land, thankfully "only" breaking a leg (you'd think at this point, motorists would avoid driving anywhere nearby Thursday through Sunday). Because of this startling similarity among patrons, I've come to think of it not as a bar, but as The Black Hole of afterhour activities. I now almost exclusively refer to it as The Black Hole.

I'm guessing every city, town, and oasis has just such a place. What makes this particular bar, unlike dozens and dozens of others, the one with the reputation? What is it about this place that makes it such a powder keg of sin? Is it the location? The lighting? The pool table and dartboard? The back alley, perfect for sneaking a drag on a cigarette, hidden from the eyes of a disapproving lover, brother, or friend? Do the surly bartenders, crappy jukebox, or never ending supply of popcorn make a difference? Is it just dark enough, just loud enough, just warm enough that the urge to misbehave or cross the line flows without hesitance? Or is it just that it's a tantalizing short cab ride and no-cover charge away from oblivion?

Summer Would Be Boring If It Were All Year Round...

My last blog was about 7 months ago. There's really no excuse for this. I guess it's a normal part of the human process... different periods of our lives require different means of analysis. I've always used the written word as a way of disseminating and dissecting the pieces of my life, in an effort to understand and reassemble them in a manner that makes more sense. But I think, maybe, every once in a while... it's okay to take some time off from self-examination. Sometimes you need to stop thinking about living your life and just live it. I've made mistakes and changes. I've made new friends, lost touch with old ones, taught myself how to cook (a little bit) and tried new things. Not all of this has been successful, not all of my choices were the right ones... but they were mine.

Life is a journey, and there's a long path to be hiked. We can't realistically expect ourselves to never change, never grow, never evolve. As people, we tend to view change as a negative thing - change is bad. But the truth is, change is... change. And change is scary, because it involves the unknown. But without change, there would be no growth, no evolution, no Darwinism. Often, change enriches our lives instead of detracting from them. The trick is taking the time to let the cards fall and figure out which direction it's got us heading towards.

Arbor Day Is Safe

Dear Friends,

It has become increasingly clear to me lately that we need to have a little discussion about religious holidays and proper celebratory etiquette. The majority of you are aware by now that I like to classify myself as a "non-practicing Jew". This means that I was raised in a Jewish household, have a Jewish heritage, have been forced to participate in Sunday School and Hebrew School, and have even been Bat-Mitzvah-ed. In terms of my personal religious beliefs, however, I'm more of a "practicing Agnostic" (if one could say that Agnostics actually "practice" anything other than the act of ambivalence).

I don't necessarily buy the whole concept of religion as a whole in ANY form. This, however, does NOT mean I am Christian. Non-practicing Jew does NOT equal "Christian by default". Just because I don't buy into my own religion doesn't mean I want your New Testament. If I did, you'd know it. Christmas for me is like celebrating John Lennon's birthday - a kind of famous guy was born, cool... but it has no application or personal significance to me. Wishing me a Happy Easter is the equivalent of extending your best wishes on the day Kurt Cobain died. A kind-of tortured pop culture icon died, but I was never that into Nirvana anyway so I don't really care. Such is my personal interpretation of Jesus.

Do you know what I do on these holidays? I rent movies and hang out with my cat, or maybe call Mom and joke about how we get the day off to do nothing, but at least we don't have to get stuck in traffic. I find it really, really ignorant when my Christian friends wish me a Merry Christmas or Happy Easter. I don't go around screaming "Mozel Tov!" at you guys on Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashonnah - do you even know what Purim IS? I keep it to myself, aware that you may not be actively observing MY holidays (or non-holidays, since I don't really observe them either). So I'd appreciate it if you keep your religious holidays to yourselves. I don't begrudge you your celebrations, nor do I run commentary on what I think of them... but I find it extremely small minded for those of you who know me well to assume that I spend your holidays reflecting on a religious custom I don't believe in. Just because I joke that I'm a "Bad Jew" doesn't mean I'm automatically Catholic or Protestant, Baptist or Methodist, defaulting to a religion I find even harder to swallow than the one I was environmentally conditioned to believe in.

I get that strangers automatically assume that everyone around them engages in similar holiday reflection, so most of the time I disregard the "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Easter!" from a grocery store cashier, pharmacist, or toll collector as an endearment of the season. But if you're someone who knows me well, or even ATTENDED my Bat Mitzvah... please spare me. Show just a little bit of sensitivity? How about you consider that my Easter present?

Glory Is...

"A lot of people run a race to see who's fastest. I run to see who has the most guts." --Steve Prefontaine

Days 'til the Delmar Dash: 6
Day's 'til the Mule Haul : 83
Days 'til the Boilermaker: 104

So You Want To Go To College?

It's 6:30, and I'm still at the College, where I'll be at least until 10 tonight. Sometimes, I feel like I really do live here... and it's more or less the truth. I come in early, I leave late, I'm in class 2 nights a week doing more of the same, and on Thursdays I stay for the extra hour between the end of work and beginning of class just because it's easier than going home. When I DO go home, I always have reading or homework to do. I swear, sometimes I feel like Higher Ed is my entire existence, from start to finish. I don't hate my job, or my career path, or being a part of this unique experience, but on occasion I just get so worn out and tired. I wish I could just take off for a while... drive across the country, move to Hawaii, become a writer... shake it up and do something different. But... I guess that's not what we do these days, right? Maybe some day.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The ...

This past Thursday, I took my dad to have a procedure that should fix his hearing in one ear. It was an outpatient thing at a private clinic, not a hospital, in Latham. Since he was going to be put under general anesthesia, someone needed to drive him and be there to pick him up. We pulled into the clinic, parked the car, and walked in the front door (or what appeared to be the front door). There was a group of women in the waiting room having some kind of meeting, the carpets were red and the walls were pink - it seemed kind of surprisingly warm and friendly to me. As we walked up to the front desk, one woman left the group and came to help us, mentioning that they were just finishing their morning staff meeting. She looked directly at me, and asked what she could do for us. I smiled, and pointed at my dad saying, "Oh, we're here for him," and Dad proceeded to tell her he was there for his 9am appointment. She looked at us kind of funny and went to find his file. As she walked away, I noticed a booklet on the counter discussing the pros and cons of breast reduction surgery, which I loudly pointed out to my father saying, "Look, I could really use THIS!" and we chuckled. After a moment or two, the receptionist asked Dad the name of his surgeon. When he answered, she smiled and told us we were in the wrong part of the building. It appeared we had accidentally wandered into the breast reduction and Botox clinic... the audiology center was around back. We smiled, thanked her, and got out of there as fast as humanly possible. Once we got back in the car, we both dissolved into absolute hysterics... and then my dad asked me if I had managed to grab a brochure.

Only *I* would bring my father to a breast reduction clinic... and only *my* father would ask me if I'd remembered to get a flyer.

Old Man Winter Is On My List

I hate the winter. This year, it's been unseasonably mild here in the Northeast right up until... about a week ago. Last Saturday, I even ran my first 4.4 mile race in 40 degree weather. Alas, the winds of change have swept through - literally; it's so windy outside today that someone's car alarm went off. I've been able to ignore how much I really loathe being cold and shivery, wondering why the hell I still live in a place where half the year makes me want to kill myself, until this week. I forgot how hard it is to get out of bed in mid-January... I probably wouldn't even be up now, if my cat hadn't started doing suicide dive-bombs off my bureau onto my head at 7 this morning. Winter just sucks. I will never understand people who would rather be cold than hot... I'm such a summer person. Long days, green grass, leisurely strolls, drinks with umbrellas in them... THAT'S the life, right there. New York anywhere from January through March is absolute hell. But New York, anywhere from June through October, is one gorgeous place. North of Manhattan, that is. Manhattan in the summer is a fucking sewage pit.

Heads Up, Guys

Gentlemen, take note. If you need a few pointers to improve your relations with the ladies, this MSN article is there to help. I'm not quite sure that I've ever actually seen two guys perform a chest-bump in front of me, but I'd imagine that once would be plenty...

C is for Cookie...

A student left me a message today, (on my birthday, after the most painful transfer advisement I've ever encountered) wanting to negotiate her math credits transferring in for NEXT fall from a community college. They're not coming in. She doesn't understand why. Would it be wrong if I called her and said, "Because MAT 004 and MAT 005 - 'Cookie Monster Teaches The Numberline' is not college-fucking level algebra!!!"? That would be wrong. Right?

Does Anyone Have a Garbage Can?

On occasion, people make me want to vomit.

102 and Rising

I do apologize, everyone. I really have been bloggeruseless of late. Not that it's an excuse, but I seem to have hit a period of transition in life that has kept me rather busy. I love every moment of my new status as an apartment-dweller, but seeing as how I'm too poor to afford the Internet, it cuts down on my ability to blog at will. Also in recent months, I have somehow stumbled into a new position at work (I say "somehow" like I didn't get on the floor and beg for it) that involves an almost-liveable wage and actual, grown-up responsibilities that don't involve being verbally abused on the phone for hours on end. Because I have actual work to do, I am now forced to do things like homework for class outside of my normal 8-5 day, decreasing the amount of free time I have available for witty reparte.

Having said this, I miss you all. In brief review... I was thrilled about the November elections, and can't say the tiny optimist left in me didn't hope it was coming (if you call screaming, "fuck the Republicans!" in your head "optimistic"). The Baker Hamilton Commission is right, but I could have made those recommendations 2 years ago. I still hate Britney Spears, and I found her departure and quick return to skankdom less than surprising. Barak Obama is fabulous. I hope they make a poignant, touching movie about James Kim, who walked 16 miles in the snow to save his family. I've developed a weird fascination with the WE channel, and I'm pretty sure a pod person has taken over my body - I asked for a mixer (like, for baking) for Channukah.

By the way, I'm on the way to the doctor's office so that I can get medication for this very bad head cold I've developed. Anything I've said here today is inadmissible in court as the rantings of a feverish lunatic.

Decision 2006

I miss Tom Brokaw. And Peter Jennings.