Pennies and Cents
New Zealand is getting rid of its five cent coin. It's true. Read the story here while the link is valid. The 1 and 2 cent coins were phased out in 1989.
I've heard many people talk about wanting to get rid of the penny. Yes, having a pocketful of pennies is like carrying around dead weight. (Although, when I was a kid, I could get a piece of candy -- swedish fish! -- at the store for like 3 cents.) But it's sort of a slippery slope, this getting rid of pennies. You get rid of the penny and then it's the nickel that's just loose change, that you walk away from. Like tonight, I bought something at the store and it was $1.99 and I walked away without the penny. Partly b/c it's a penny, and partly b/c I don't want to be the skinflint that stands around waiting for a penny. If we get rid of the penny, I'll walk away from 5 cents change and then there will be agitation to get rid of the five cent piece. Pretty soon, there won't even be quarters and my laundry will cost $2 a load instead of $1.25. Although admittedly, they have $1 and $2 coins in New Zealand, so maybe the Kiwis walk around with more change in general.
It's too cold to be thinking.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Just a Wee Update
Today is Tuesday but we were on a Monday schedule. I gladly put up with these quirks for multiple long weekends per semester. But I digress. This means I had my Monday morning swim class, even tho' it's Tuesday. We started off with a set that included 25m fly, 50m breast, 75m back, 100 free. On my second time through the set, at the end of the length of fly, I stopped at the wall to rest and thought, ooh, my neck hurts. I kind of pulled something. Ha ha, I laughed at myself. I hurt myself swimming! It wasn't too bad, so I kept going, but after several minutes, the pain was rather unbearable and I modified the rest of the workout and got out early.
Seriously, I'm old. I pulled my neck SWIMMING! The point of swimming is it's a low impact sport!
I've been icing it but I find that if I try to keep my head level, it hurts. I'm stuck staring downwards, which is not helpful when I'm, say, gazing at stars, or sitting in classrooms where the professor lectures from an elevated platform.
In other news, I had a pretty bad day. Because of other people. I went to CVS to buy a reusable ice pack, and while I was browsing, I heard an altercation between a customer and a pharmacist. It went something like this:
No joke. Then, as I was exiting, this employee and I were trying to occupy the same space. She made no effort to get out of my way, and I tried to move to the side, to the right, expecting she would do the same, so that we could get out of each other's ways. No, she just stood there. So shuffle, shuffle, I finally went around her and said, "Sorry". Mmmhmm, she replied. And in a snotty, it took you freaking long enough to get out of my way, beeotch, way.
I won't go on, but this was not the end of the rude interactions today. Eh. I probably wouldn't have cared so much if my neck didn't hurt. Seriously?! Seriously!? I pulled my neck swimming? I'm so f'ing retarded.
Oh, don't drop the C-bomb.
Today is Tuesday but we were on a Monday schedule. I gladly put up with these quirks for multiple long weekends per semester. But I digress. This means I had my Monday morning swim class, even tho' it's Tuesday. We started off with a set that included 25m fly, 50m breast, 75m back, 100 free. On my second time through the set, at the end of the length of fly, I stopped at the wall to rest and thought, ooh, my neck hurts. I kind of pulled something. Ha ha, I laughed at myself. I hurt myself swimming! It wasn't too bad, so I kept going, but after several minutes, the pain was rather unbearable and I modified the rest of the workout and got out early.
Seriously, I'm old. I pulled my neck SWIMMING! The point of swimming is it's a low impact sport!
I've been icing it but I find that if I try to keep my head level, it hurts. I'm stuck staring downwards, which is not helpful when I'm, say, gazing at stars, or sitting in classrooms where the professor lectures from an elevated platform.
In other news, I had a pretty bad day. Because of other people. I went to CVS to buy a reusable ice pack, and while I was browsing, I heard an altercation between a customer and a pharmacist. It went something like this:
Customer: I don't appreciate you saying "retarded". That offends me.
Pharmacist: I wasn't calling you retarded; I was talking about your doctor and how he needs to learn the rules.
C: Well how would you like if I said "c*nt"?
P: I don't care.
C: Well blah blah blah sh*t.
P: I still work here.
C: Well good for you, I'm glad you're making something of yourself.
Innocent Bystander: That was rude.
No joke. Then, as I was exiting, this employee and I were trying to occupy the same space. She made no effort to get out of my way, and I tried to move to the side, to the right, expecting she would do the same, so that we could get out of each other's ways. No, she just stood there. So shuffle, shuffle, I finally went around her and said, "Sorry". Mmmhmm, she replied. And in a snotty, it took you freaking long enough to get out of my way, beeotch, way.
I won't go on, but this was not the end of the rude interactions today. Eh. I probably wouldn't have cared so much if my neck didn't hurt. Seriously?! Seriously!? I pulled my neck swimming? I'm so f'ing retarded.
Oh, don't drop the C-bomb.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Waffle House Hash Browns
Last night I went to an Irish bar for my friend's surprise not Birthday. This means her birthday is in October and we were throwing her a surprise party last night. This Irish bar was a little off the beaten track -- accessible by public transport but not so accessible that it would be full of undergrads. We were expecting working professionals. We got ... well, I'm not sure.
To start off with, there was this Irish band playing really really loudly. That was fun and all, and they played some fun songs, I think they were drinking/rugby songs or something. But then towards the middle of their set, they started talking, and by their tone you could tell they were serious. But people weren't really listening, so the band started yelling at us to quiet down. Yelling! Like I was a naughty schoolgirl. (And not in a dirty sexual way.) Then they commenced a 10-minute lecture even U2 wouldn't have dared give in the middle of one of their shows. This had something to do with some bill in the Senate to give citizenship to people who were in this country after X date or something. I'm not really sure. But apparently it's so important to the Irish people they're trying to organize complete strangers in a bar on a Saturday night to attend a rally in Washington next month. And to emphasize the import of this, the lecturer/lead singer adds, "every woman in this room has Irish in her..." I was kind of offended. I mean, I've had Irish in me but it was pretty presumptuous to think I had Irish in me at that very moment, sitting in the back of a crowded bar. But then I looked around and realized I was essentially the only non-white person there.
Things got worse when all these damn fucking girls in their tank tops and white pants started using our table as a fucking trash receptacle. Never mind that equidistant from them were an unused ledge and the bar. Man, I was like one more bottle of Corona away from getting into a bar brawl. Instead, I just channeled all my psychic powers into hoping that they get syphillis from the men that were picking them up.
The whole night ended on a high note when we decided to go to ihop. Us and about 100 overdressed undergrads.
Still, I'll take McSorley's any night over that crap.
Last night I went to an Irish bar for my friend's surprise not Birthday. This means her birthday is in October and we were throwing her a surprise party last night. This Irish bar was a little off the beaten track -- accessible by public transport but not so accessible that it would be full of undergrads. We were expecting working professionals. We got ... well, I'm not sure.
To start off with, there was this Irish band playing really really loudly. That was fun and all, and they played some fun songs, I think they were drinking/rugby songs or something. But then towards the middle of their set, they started talking, and by their tone you could tell they were serious. But people weren't really listening, so the band started yelling at us to quiet down. Yelling! Like I was a naughty schoolgirl. (And not in a dirty sexual way.) Then they commenced a 10-minute lecture even U2 wouldn't have dared give in the middle of one of their shows. This had something to do with some bill in the Senate to give citizenship to people who were in this country after X date or something. I'm not really sure. But apparently it's so important to the Irish people they're trying to organize complete strangers in a bar on a Saturday night to attend a rally in Washington next month. And to emphasize the import of this, the lecturer/lead singer adds, "every woman in this room has Irish in her..." I was kind of offended. I mean, I've had Irish in me but it was pretty presumptuous to think I had Irish in me at that very moment, sitting in the back of a crowded bar. But then I looked around and realized I was essentially the only non-white person there.
Things got worse when all these damn fucking girls in their tank tops and white pants started using our table as a fucking trash receptacle. Never mind that equidistant from them were an unused ledge and the bar. Man, I was like one more bottle of Corona away from getting into a bar brawl. Instead, I just channeled all my psychic powers into hoping that they get syphillis from the men that were picking them up.
The whole night ended on a high note when we decided to go to ihop. Us and about 100 overdressed undergrads.
Still, I'll take McSorley's any night over that crap.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Mascots
The mascots for Olympics Beijing 2008 have been revealed. They're kinda cute, but maybe that's just the little Asian girl in me that is grasping onto the Sanrio-like resemblance of these five mascots.
Click here to see for yourself.
The mascots for Olympics Beijing 2008 have been revealed. They're kinda cute, but maybe that's just the little Asian girl in me that is grasping onto the Sanrio-like resemblance of these five mascots.
Click here to see for yourself.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
An Ode to a Week-Long Nacho Binge
Our tumultous affair started last week, half drunk with a half empty stomach, I stumbled into the downtown, wood-paneled Irish bar. You looked so tempting, so much better than all the other options. But when you came, your buffalo sauce burned my tongue. It hurt so good.
The affair continued the next night, across town, upstairs, overlooking pool players lining up shots, peering down their cues. Someone else ordered, but then you came, piled high with toppings that couldn't hide your barbecue saucy, sweet and tangy goodness.
Next, I went back to an oldie but a goodie, again in a dark-paneled Irish bar, again with a beer in hand. This time, you were topped with hearty chili, sprinkled with jalapenos. I consumed you all the same, finger-licking good.
The next night, still hooked by your melted cheesy goodness, I ventured out in the Winter Storm of '06 and gathered all the necessary supplies and in my own casserole dish and gas oven, in the comfort of my home, we had our latest tryst. Monterey jack and cheddar. Olives for a twist. But like they say, even when it was bad, it was still good. And there was still room for sloppy seconds the next night.
Tonight, our affair has ended. It was good while it lasted. I hope to meet again soon.
[OK, seriously, I've had nachos every night for like the last week. I was hooked. Addicted. And like I said, I even ventured out in the snowstorm to the supermarket, made it just in time before they closed, and made some for myself. Tonight, I had salad. I just wasn't feeling it. But still, that melted cheesy, salty, messy, spicy, sour-creamy goodness. Yumm. In contrast ... NEVER EVER EVER buy non-fat mozzarella cheese. I bought some for this baked pasta dish I made about a week ago. I should have been tipped off by the whiter than white chalk color. If not then, I should have been tipped off by the eraser like consistency. But I wasn't. I covered my baked pasta with that nastiness and even a 375 degree oven for 30 minutes couldn't fix it. When it came out, I swear I could pull the layer off, throw it at the wall, and then proceed to do math problems on it. Blech.]
Our tumultous affair started last week, half drunk with a half empty stomach, I stumbled into the downtown, wood-paneled Irish bar. You looked so tempting, so much better than all the other options. But when you came, your buffalo sauce burned my tongue. It hurt so good.
The affair continued the next night, across town, upstairs, overlooking pool players lining up shots, peering down their cues. Someone else ordered, but then you came, piled high with toppings that couldn't hide your barbecue saucy, sweet and tangy goodness.
Next, I went back to an oldie but a goodie, again in a dark-paneled Irish bar, again with a beer in hand. This time, you were topped with hearty chili, sprinkled with jalapenos. I consumed you all the same, finger-licking good.
The next night, still hooked by your melted cheesy goodness, I ventured out in the Winter Storm of '06 and gathered all the necessary supplies and in my own casserole dish and gas oven, in the comfort of my home, we had our latest tryst. Monterey jack and cheddar. Olives for a twist. But like they say, even when it was bad, it was still good. And there was still room for sloppy seconds the next night.
Tonight, our affair has ended. It was good while it lasted. I hope to meet again soon.
[OK, seriously, I've had nachos every night for like the last week. I was hooked. Addicted. And like I said, I even ventured out in the snowstorm to the supermarket, made it just in time before they closed, and made some for myself. Tonight, I had salad. I just wasn't feeling it. But still, that melted cheesy, salty, messy, spicy, sour-creamy goodness. Yumm. In contrast ... NEVER EVER EVER buy non-fat mozzarella cheese. I bought some for this baked pasta dish I made about a week ago. I should have been tipped off by the whiter than white chalk color. If not then, I should have been tipped off by the eraser like consistency. But I wasn't. I covered my baked pasta with that nastiness and even a 375 degree oven for 30 minutes couldn't fix it. When it came out, I swear I could pull the layer off, throw it at the wall, and then proceed to do math problems on it. Blech.]
Friday, February 10, 2006
Olympics!
I love the Olympics. I love the opening ceremonies and parade of athletes. I was out tonight at a college hockey game (more on that later) and am watching the ceremonies on Tivo ... and it seems that annoying-listen-to-me-b/c-I'm-so-cute-and-awesome Katie Couric is nowhere to be found. Oh god I hate that woman. Bob Costas and Brian Williams -- acceptable.
So back to the hockey game...a friend of a friend has a cousin who's got serious ins with the college hockey team. He got us tickets -- all in a row! -- and access to the friend's lounge before the game and the club lounge after the game. Free food! I tried to get tix to a game several months ago and the best I could do was four seats practically spread around the arena. He's invited us back for playoff games. Seriously. He's really very kind. It was a great night.
Ok, back to Tivo! USA! Solidarity! And, the theme of the Games, PASSION! Heh.
Update: Brian Williams is the anti-Katie Couric. His comments have to do with the scope of world events, offering a gentle commentary. Good move, NBC. That being said ... have you noticed all the funny hats? And that the US team is outfitted by Roots, a big Canadian company that rose to fame when they outfitted the Canadian team several Olympics ago? Well the Canucks have gotten hip and are now outfitted by someone else ... BC? We are so 1990. At least they're not wearing tacky polyester suits. I suppose they'd freeze if they did.
I love the Olympics. I love the opening ceremonies and parade of athletes. I was out tonight at a college hockey game (more on that later) and am watching the ceremonies on Tivo ... and it seems that annoying-listen-to-me-b/c-I'm-so-cute-and-awesome Katie Couric is nowhere to be found. Oh god I hate that woman. Bob Costas and Brian Williams -- acceptable.
So back to the hockey game...a friend of a friend has a cousin who's got serious ins with the college hockey team. He got us tickets -- all in a row! -- and access to the friend's lounge before the game and the club lounge after the game. Free food! I tried to get tix to a game several months ago and the best I could do was four seats practically spread around the arena. He's invited us back for playoff games. Seriously. He's really very kind. It was a great night.
Ok, back to Tivo! USA! Solidarity! And, the theme of the Games, PASSION! Heh.
Update: Brian Williams is the anti-Katie Couric. His comments have to do with the scope of world events, offering a gentle commentary. Good move, NBC. That being said ... have you noticed all the funny hats? And that the US team is outfitted by Roots, a big Canadian company that rose to fame when they outfitted the Canadian team several Olympics ago? Well the Canucks have gotten hip and are now outfitted by someone else ... BC? We are so 1990. At least they're not wearing tacky polyester suits. I suppose they'd freeze if they did.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Errands, or Procrastination?
It's amazing how I can turn one little task into four urgently needed errands.
But the nicest thing just happened to me at whole foods. I ordered a half pound of turkey breast and he sliced .55 pounds. Instead of just chargine me the .55 pounds, he took off .05 pounds, printed out a price sticker at that weight, and then put the extra turkey back on. He did the same with the cheese I ordered.
Little things totally brighten my day.
It's amazing how I can turn one little task into four urgently needed errands.
But the nicest thing just happened to me at whole foods. I ordered a half pound of turkey breast and he sliced .55 pounds. Instead of just chargine me the .55 pounds, he took off .05 pounds, printed out a price sticker at that weight, and then put the extra turkey back on. He did the same with the cheese I ordered.
Little things totally brighten my day.
Mumble, Mumble
It arrived over a week ago. I'm not pregnant yet, but I did take my very first pic, of a new box of tea I was very excited to try:
Yes, I am a digital photographer, officially. No more grainy photos on my camera phone.
I'd really like to share photos of these teeny spiders that have taken over my basil plants. They spin their webs around the tops of my plants, and my plants turn yellow and weak. I am not happy. First, because it does seem in fact that I cannot grow things. Second, I hate creepy crawly things.
In other news, I seem to be awash in men who are kinda interested in me but either live four states or four continents away. No joke. It's probably b/c they don't really see me and have no idea how fat I indeed have become. Seriously, there's nothing like a man looking you up and down and saying "you're kinda pretty" to knock your self-esteem down a notch. On top of the fact that you are indeed fat.
It arrived over a week ago. I'm not pregnant yet, but I did take my very first pic, of a new box of tea I was very excited to try:
Yes, I am a digital photographer, officially. No more grainy photos on my camera phone.
I'd really like to share photos of these teeny spiders that have taken over my basil plants. They spin their webs around the tops of my plants, and my plants turn yellow and weak. I am not happy. First, because it does seem in fact that I cannot grow things. Second, I hate creepy crawly things.
In other news, I seem to be awash in men who are kinda interested in me but either live four states or four continents away. No joke. It's probably b/c they don't really see me and have no idea how fat I indeed have become. Seriously, there's nothing like a man looking you up and down and saying "you're kinda pretty" to knock your self-esteem down a notch. On top of the fact that you are indeed fat.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Weekend Highlights
I ran away to NYC this weekend with some law school friends. We planned the trip back at the start of the semester when we were optimistic about how much work we all had to do. But damn it all, we went, and a great time was had by all.
Talking points:
* Went to my favorite bar and visited my favorite waiter. Tommy and I have reached a new level in our relationship -- he declared I was his girlfriend to some surly customers, tried to keep some leacherous men away from me and my friends, and actually sat down and talked to me for the first time ever. Never has he ever sat down with me, in the history of our 7-year relationship If only I really could love a 65-year old Irishman.
* "You're 'kind of' pretty" is not a very good pick up line.
* New York bagels and coffee can't be beat.
* I love NY, but it's true that when I left NY in 01.03, I was very ready to go. So I must maintain perspective.
* Old friends rule.
* Old friends with lovely, fantastic wives rule as well. There are very few, if any, people in this world who would ask of my approval in their choice of significant others, and I don't begin to assume that I should be asked to give such approval. But when you see your friend and his spouse are so perfectly fit for each other and you approve anyways ... well the warm fuzzies probably do nothing for their relationship but give me great comfort because I can go on living my life knowing that my friend is happy and with the woman he's meant to be with. So rock on, K & L. (And happy birthday!)
I ran away to NYC this weekend with some law school friends. We planned the trip back at the start of the semester when we were optimistic about how much work we all had to do. But damn it all, we went, and a great time was had by all.
Talking points:
* Went to my favorite bar and visited my favorite waiter. Tommy and I have reached a new level in our relationship -- he declared I was his girlfriend to some surly customers, tried to keep some leacherous men away from me and my friends, and actually sat down and talked to me for the first time ever. Never has he ever sat down with me, in the history of our 7-year relationship If only I really could love a 65-year old Irishman.
* "You're 'kind of' pretty" is not a very good pick up line.
* New York bagels and coffee can't be beat.
* I love NY, but it's true that when I left NY in 01.03, I was very ready to go. So I must maintain perspective.
* Old friends rule.
* Old friends with lovely, fantastic wives rule as well. There are very few, if any, people in this world who would ask of my approval in their choice of significant others, and I don't begin to assume that I should be asked to give such approval. But when you see your friend and his spouse are so perfectly fit for each other and you approve anyways ... well the warm fuzzies probably do nothing for their relationship but give me great comfort because I can go on living my life knowing that my friend is happy and with the woman he's meant to be with. So rock on, K & L. (And happy birthday!)
Friday, February 03, 2006
Advice
I think the worst dating advice in the world is "try not to get hurt." How will you ever really know if you don't put yourself in a position to be hurt? And is that advice really just a directive to engage in meaningless, emotionless hookups?
"Just try not to get hurt." This is what a friend essentially said to me tonight when I told her where I was and what I was doing.
Where am I and what am I doing?
Not in Boston, trying to figure out if it's worth getting hurt. I'm already a little hurt, but not so much hurt as disappointed. Try not to get hurt. I think that's what I've been doing for the last several years and that has gotten me nowhere. Nowhere but single. And single in a bad way. As in consciously saying no to boys who ask, and chasing boys who I know will say no. There are still instances when I said no, years ago, that I regret now. My life could be so different and adventurous. I could be an expat by now. It's ok that I'm not. I'm where I'm meant to be. But, it's easy to wonder "what if."
I think the worst dating advice in the world is "try not to get hurt." How will you ever really know if you don't put yourself in a position to be hurt? And is that advice really just a directive to engage in meaningless, emotionless hookups?
"Just try not to get hurt." This is what a friend essentially said to me tonight when I told her where I was and what I was doing.
Where am I and what am I doing?
Not in Boston, trying to figure out if it's worth getting hurt. I'm already a little hurt, but not so much hurt as disappointed. Try not to get hurt. I think that's what I've been doing for the last several years and that has gotten me nowhere. Nowhere but single. And single in a bad way. As in consciously saying no to boys who ask, and chasing boys who I know will say no. There are still instances when I said no, years ago, that I regret now. My life could be so different and adventurous. I could be an expat by now. It's ok that I'm not. I'm where I'm meant to be. But, it's easy to wonder "what if."
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