tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9157439757116818172024-03-14T00:46:39.819-07:00the Daily SchmatherineCatherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-28868226309669913732011-04-29T20:17:00.000-07:002011-04-29T20:27:08.537-07:00Some funny things that were said.With hope, looking back at this, I will remember what these jokes were all about and why there were funny. Sometimes these things do not stand the test of time. <br /><br />But at this moment they are fresh on my mind and still humorous. Thank you to my friends for a fun night of laughs, food and drink. <br /><br />joke with social commentary. "If you want to see a lady pee that bad, get yourself a girlfriend!"<br /><br />making fun of others:"He must have to put deodorant on a stick to reach his armpits. It really is a stick of deodorant."<br /><br />visual pun: "The rack is HERE!" *makes ref signal*<br /><br />double entendre: "So they were coming...in to the room."<br /><br />repeated catchphrase: "That's why the price of milk is so high!"Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-48624427985384001832011-04-17T09:58:00.001-07:002011-04-17T09:58:42.544-07:00via cory bookerHope, work, dream & sweat<br />Nothing is by accident; you must struggle for all you get<br /><br />Love & love, through the hurt & pain<br />You can’t reap a harvest without the sun & enduring the rain<br />...<br />If you are determined to work as no other has done<br />Yours will be success like no other has won<br /><br />Victory is not about crossing the distant line<br />It is how you work now; using each second of your precious timeCatherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-51969914178489869422011-03-30T05:52:00.000-07:002011-03-30T06:00:58.037-07:00day 02 - your least favorite songThis one is easy. If you ever want to torture me, play Soulja Boy Tell 'Em's "Crank Dat (Soulja Boy)" song.<br /><br />People, that has got to be the stupidest shit ever to make someone rich. Shit's dumb as hell.<br /><br />I bet you are thoroughly surprised this song hasn't withstood the test of time. Who would have thought? <br /><br />I'm not even going to link to a video of it here because the two UVs it might bring the effort could put Soulja Boy into additional ad revenue of a tenth of a cent.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-30820751017159704722011-03-29T05:37:00.000-07:002011-03-29T05:55:38.616-07:00day 01 - your favorite songI really like music, spanning so many genres, it makes you look at me strange.<br><br />Day 1 of the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/30-Day-Song-Challenge/120874111270003?sk=app_4949752878">30 Day Song Challenge</a> asks me to start off on the most difficult foot, to narrow it down to my favorite song.<br><br /><br />I really can't. I really really can't. I can come a little close and say I have a couple favorite songs.<br><br /><br />The song that comes closest to being the one and only favorite is "See Ya" by Inspecter 7. They are my favorite band, so this makes sense. The song is from my favorite genre of music, ska, and it is heavy on the horns and has this real swing to it. It is such a short song. I love it for its lyrics. "Our lives have changed, that's how things go; the future awaits as we both know; you know I love ya, I'll miss you so, I wish you'd stay but you must go. So long for now, so long forever, we'll meet again my dear -- whatever." I love it for all the times I got to hear it live, for all the times it helped me say SEE YA!<br><br /><br /><br />It's here in thie vid at 10:50 in: <br><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Z4VoZflZUMQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-5170081226102699592011-03-25T10:06:00.000-07:002011-04-17T10:08:50.660-07:00Plantains v. Bananashttp://www.facebook.com/pages/Plaintains-can-you-eat-it-raw-or-must-you-cook-it-1st/108571615892179Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-46470590382946044492011-03-13T14:53:00.000-07:002011-03-13T15:39:39.320-07:00Derby Names I Would Like You to ConsiderChesty McBruiser is good at makin' derby names.<br /><br />Nacho Elle Blonde<br />Blondie Ala Moody<br />Dolly Drama<br />Louisa Da Force<br />Bijou Say Something<br />Abby Dat<br />General Mae Lays<br />Hell Thea Diction<br />Bomb Chica Wow Wow<br />Reverse Ka-Pow Girl<br />Left Turns Boney<br />Haywood Jablockme<br />Julie S. Sleazier<br />Neander Paula<br />Sally the Unicorn Slayer<br /><br />Come check out my reffin' skills this season for http://jerseyshorerollergirls.net while my achin' knee heals up. Derby Namin' skills unaffected.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-81691442822228616262010-11-05T11:15:00.000-07:002010-11-05T11:18:25.835-07:00Events I'd recommend to Friends and StrangersCheck it out:<br><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.google.com/calendar/embed?src=nltgvfrknk9295ljea4rkt1ohc%40group.calendar.google.com&ctz=America/New_York" style="border: 0" width="400" height="600" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-41118078164921431032010-11-03T16:28:00.000-07:002010-11-03T17:17:48.125-07:00Coat Hanger as Windshield Ice ScraperThe first frost is upon us, killing our impatiens and sending our manicured lawns to the colorist, putting platinum frosted highlights and tips on the green locks of grass.<br /><br />All week long I rush out the door, thinking that with a turn of the key in the ignition I will be driving to work, simple, just as I've done for the last six months or so.<br /><br />But instead I am stopped in my tracks. My car is frozen over, a thin layer of ice covering the windshield. <br /><br />Fuck. Ice. Need ice scraper, my brain says. There is none in the house. It's buried in my car somewhere. In the car I should have cleaned out a while ago. I crank the defrost up to 11 and open up the floodgates of heat. I call for aid in the form of windshield wipers now flipped to their fastest setting, in hopes the friction will slowly dislodge tiny bits of ice incrementally with every swoosh-swoosh back and forth.<br /><br />And while this is going on I am climbing throughout my car. Moving things around frantically. Pushing bags and boxes around. Dislodging half-empty (or is it half full?) bottles of water long forgotten under passenger seats, a place of hiding they rolled to, one slam-on-the-brakes back during who-knows-when in the past.<br /><br />If there is an ice scraper in my car, I ain't finding it. A harried look at the windshield reveals nearly the same unforgiving sheet of ice that was there before my frantic search for the ice scraper in a haystack.<br /><br />Now I am in MacGyver mode. What in my car could feasibly suffice as an ice scraper in a jam like this?<br /><br />Answer: Plastic shirt hanger from Old Navy.<br /><br />I'm trying all sorts of angles and eventually have the right tilt going to both reach and scrape all the icy bits off my windshield with my Old Navy hanger, and I'm off to work.<br /><br />The whole (long) drive that is my commute, I create a to-do list so this doesn't happen tomorrow. I can:<br /><br />-clean out my car and unearth the one or more ice scrapers buried within. I think of what's in my car, what to do with it, how it should be kept clean anyway (duh) and how long this cleaning process will take.<br />-go to the store and buy an ice scraper and keep it in an accessible spot. Can keep it right in the passenger door slot/cupholder/catch-all thingy. Can go buy it on my lunch break, et cetera.<br /><br />Quite simple really. Pleased I have come up with suitable solutions to this problem, I arrive at work and go about my day. Approximately 20 hours later, the alarm clock goes off and I rush around and head out the door and see:<br /><br />Of course. My iced-over car.<br /><br />Good job, asshole. What did you think? It was going to get warmer around here and you'd never have ice on your car again?<br /><br />You are really dumb, for real. <br /><br />For the second day in a row I was scraping ice off my car with a plastic clothes hanger from Old Navy. For Chrissakes. Cursing my stupidity, procrastination, forgetfullness, life, whatever. It was part "d'oh!" and part "c'est la vie" my attitude as I drove off again (this time I also forgot my gloves and my hands were cold.)<br /><br />I started to think, maybe I don't need an ice scraper. Maybe me and my Old Navy clothes hanger could get through the winter. And then I had the audacity to think, thank goodness my car is filled with random crap, because then I might not have even had a clothes hanger to scrape the ice off.<br /><br />And yet, after I drove off disgusted that I had not managed to fix my ice scraper situation, I realized I had also managed to leave my cell phone upstairs. I had to turn around and thought of how I didn't want to live life feeling rushed and ill-equipped. It was a moment where I longed for a place for everything, everything in its place, oh how simple life would be then, a life free of iced-over windshields and extraneous trips home for things you've forgotten. <br /><br />My mind thought of all the things out of place around my home, and how when I got back there to retrieve my cell phone I could pick up the thing on the landing or on the dresser and stick it upstairs in my bedroom where it belonged. Hey it would be a start: grab two out of place things on your way to find the cell phone and be two things closer to a more organized life.<br /><br />However by the time I got to the front door, I realized it was locked, I went back to get my housekeys from my car's ignition, and in my frustration stomped upstairs in a tizzy, found my cellphone and all without putting anything in my path in its rightful place upstairs. I drove off a second time and then proceeded to curse myself after realizing I had forgotten my two items to pick up. And now I was wondering if I needed to start drinking coffee as soon as possible after waking up instead of just in the car ride to work.<br /><br />Maybe that is the key to everything, caffeine stimulation.<br /><br />So here I am, it is 7:50 p.m., and I am about to head out the door again for my evening affairs, and I have yet to either:<br />-clean out my car and find last year's ice scrapers.<br />-buy an ice scraper.<br /><br />So invariably I will be met with this same problem tomorrow. Unless I manage to wake up early, saunter out to my car and turn it on to let it defrost while I go about my other morning readiness rituals.<br /><br />But if not, and I forget, I guess there is still the clothes hanger. Or, it could happen: an early-November heat wave.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-56119571119835547852010-11-02T03:59:00.000-07:002010-11-02T04:28:40.566-07:00Waiting for Ten DollarsLast night I came home and was feeling just awful. The kind of awful where you climb into bed with your clothes on and manage to fall asleep even though every single light on is in the house. You manage to fall asleep in your pony tail, in your contact lenses, in your work clothes. If you were wearing shoes more elaborate than slip on flats, you'd probably be going to bed with your shoes on as well.<br /><br />I drove home with the sort of lead-footed purpose the bank robber has rushing away from the scene of the crime. The sort of speed that anyone who calls you while driving will know from the angry tone in your voice that you are driving fast and like a madwoman. The anxiety of wanting to Just Get Home and the liminal nature of driving to get there, that the day is finally over, and what a day it was. Only until the key is in the door and the doorknob turned can we assume that you are no longer at work and you can again breathe a sigh of relief. The ride home is a long time to hold your breath.<br /><br />But I had another reason to rush. It wasn't just that feeling of Wanting To Be Home After A Day Like Today. I had to hurry and get home because someone was coming over to buy three bags of clothing I was selling on Craigslist. For $10, three bags of clothes. Cheaper than a bag sale at your local charity thrift shop. And yet, the respondents to my Craigslists ads rarely come. They stand me up, all the time, to appointments that sit amid my chaotic schedule of rushing home, inhaling dinner, and going back out the door to nightly practices. <br /><br />For Ten Dollars, this dance I do with Craigslist transactors makes an already stressful life even more so. And tonight, after A Day Like Today, I wasn't hopeful. This lady wasn't coming. I didn't care. They hardly ever come like they say, and I am on to the next respondent to my Craigslist ad, in hopes they will arrive and cart away my unloved clothing and leave behind the ten dollar bill I love so much.<br /><br />Our date is for 6:30, which comes and goes. Now I slump into bed for my date with misery and exhaustion, a menage a trois. But at 8:30 p.m. the door bell rings and now I am rushing rushing down the stairs. A size 10 lady to sort through my size 12 clothes. <br /><br />Just had a baby, she says. Nothing in her closet fits her, she says. So thankful I have these clothes, she says, now she can have something to wear. Take your time, I say. Feel free to dump out the bags entirely, check everything out, I'm sincere. Lots of variety of seasons and work and casual, I say. I'm very casual these days, she says.<br /><br />Many thanks all around as things look good to her. "Here. Two dollars extra. It's a lot of stuff," she says. I, surprised, thank her. Offer to help her carry the bags -- bags made of the cheapest white plastic that always seems to tear at the slightest pull or heft of weight at the most unfortunate moment -- back to her car, but no, she is already at her car with them, pulling away into the night. She, rushed herself and holding her breath perhaps.<br /><br />After a successful transaction I usually turn celebratory and make that crisp "yes it's money" noise you get when you straighten out a paper bill, mock inspecting it and proudly holding it above your head, a head which seems taller now that your back is straighter with pride that you have money in hand.<br /><br />But this time I tossed it nonchalantly on my dresser, as a regular john would to his paid lady's furniture after another sort of transaction is over.<br /><br />This time I realized what is ten dollars anyway. And at the same time, what is it not. It was everything and nothing. The thing I am waiting for and the thing there is never enough of and the thing that is gone even after it gets here. It was so unimportant and so very important.<br /><br />The ten dollars that never comes, but when it does, sometimes it is twelve. More or nothing at all: c'est la capitalism, n'est-ce pas?Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-15096559712142715292010-11-01T16:35:00.000-07:002010-11-01T17:08:32.392-07:00Tall enough to rideToday was a thrill ride you were forced onto, just because you were tall enough. <br /><br />The kind of ride that you cry for it to be over, for you fear you are going to fall out of its harness like the change that fell out of your pockets as you flew upside down in its loops and valleys. <br /><br />The kind of ride that people vomit on; the kind you're certain gave you whiplash.<br /><br />You're on that ride and you don't want to be. You wanted to go home some time ago.<br /><br />Instead there are tears in your eyes and vomit in your mouth and nothing in your now-emptied pockets and the wind in your throat as you are jerked around up and down on a ride that you'd never envision could be so sinister as to stick you in a seat alone when all you have to hold onto is the rickety wood of the handle before you, instead of the tight hug of a comforting body to tell you "it shall be over soon."<br /><br />For no matter how fast this thrill ride goes, it is an eternity. One you didn't want to ride. One they made you go on, just because you were tall enough. <br /><br />This tall, to feel a roller coaster of emotion in your stomach, heart, throat and mind; that your memory continues to ride over and over long after you've limped out of its seats and down the egress silently sadly, while the next riders take off and levy Doppler effect screams.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-73691171545898128292010-10-16T10:24:00.000-07:002010-10-16T10:39:05.247-07:00Ala bibliotecaLast week I started volunteering at the library, in preparation for my studies for a library science master's degree.<br /><br />I have always enjoyed going to the library but I am really having a blast volunteering for them. <br /><br />The Toms River headquarters of the Ocean County Library has an extensive collection of everything, and I've been assigned to volunteer with the Sheet Music librarian.<br /><br />Perfect.<br /><br />I love music, really, across genres and time. Who else do you know who likes both Stephen Foster and Faith No More?<br /><br />This volunteerism is perfect for me. I thank my lucky stars that they stuck me here. I could be helping in the tax code reference library, for example.<br /><br />Today I helped sort a large pile of donated sheet music. Much of it was original sheet music from the 1930s-1960s. There was one Cole Porter song, loads of 1940s Irish music, a half dozen songs with 'moonlight' in the title and a 1895 copy of Ave Maria. I had to compare whether this was a different version than the version on file already. In many cases the donated copy was a song title not even in the library collection. Hey this is extremely exciting stuff for me.<br /><br />What is also reassuring is that I am enjoying and succeeding at these tasks, which in turn encourages me in my dreams of becoming a librarian.<br /><br />I am off Tuesday and am going to poke in that day and see what random task my supervisor has for me. She is just so thrilled I am there because most of her colleagues do not know how to read music and I've been a real detective in helping the collection already.<br /><br />At my first volunteer session I had to figure out what this mystery song was and put it in page order. It was a 20-page song from the Broadway version of Legally Blonde, a play I have never seen or heard a note of, but because I know who Elle Woods is and can read music, now the library patrons have a proper version to use.<br />In that same evening I had to process a bunch of ukulele and banjo music. It apparently was very popular as so much of the sheet music dated from the 1930s-1950s was arranged for those two instruments. Who knew.<br /><br />Anywho what might be the most direct consequence of my volunteerism at the library is I might finally set aside the time to finally learn how to play the uke and banjo. My grandfather knew how to play and I always wanted to learn. After he died I discovered all his old sheet music, including one for "I only have eyes for you" which is my parent's wedding song. The framed copy I gave my parents now hangs in the Galioto hallway.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-60960519749913189802010-10-14T10:44:00.000-07:002010-10-16T10:55:01.112-07:00I said, doctor, Mister MDOff to the doctors. Knee. Still hurts.<br /><br />Doc says, really, still hurts? Time for an MRI. Oh, and get this, and this, and this checked out.<br /><br />So now I have three separate visits for this, that and the other thing. I have a bum knee, a marble-sized cyst in my leg, and moles of suspicion. That's more than three places on my body that might need carving up.<br /><br />I am of course sad; I just want to be healthy and spend time doing the things I enjoy. This time of year, I enjoy bike rides. And this time last year, I successfully trained for my first 5k and a roller derby championship game.<br /><br />This year, I won't be besting my time on that AC 5K, which breaks my heart. And I will likely be benched for the championship roller derby bout in November, which breaks my heart something fierce.<br /><br />Hmmm, broken heart. That too, huh? Boy this list of physical ailments is getting long. I am starting to resemble the poor figure on the board game Operation.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-28308835489868304562010-10-11T06:09:00.000-07:002010-10-15T06:10:00.394-07:00In case there was any doubt.Me: Look at this, Snuggie commercial, now with a play on the Macarena tune. It’s like a fad on top of a fad.<br />Dad: (sings) Hey It’s a Snuggie!<br />Mom: (enters) It’s cold out there! I just want to stay inside and stay warm and cozy.<br />Me: You need a Snuggie!<br />Dad: Yeah, right. Your mother would never do that.<br />Me: You could be all warm and wrapped up. I bet they even have NFL licensed ones these days so you could have a ‘49ers one and everything!<br />Dad: We’d have to have a Giants one too.<br />Mom: Those things are so stupid!<br />Me: It’s like the perfect thing for you! You are always looking for a blanket.<br />Mom: I don’t want one!<br />Me: Well, it would be something Aunt Mary would definitely buy you.<br />Dad: Ha! <br />Me: I mean, something she would buy for anybody. It is the type of thing she would buy a lot of and hand them out to everyone and maybe we’d all unwrap them at the same time or something.<br />Mom: I hate those things! How are you supposed to MOVE in them? Or go to the bathroom!<br />Me: Mom it’s just a blanket with sleeves. It’s not a straightjacket or a sleeping bag. People go on themed pub crawls with them.<br />Mom: I don’t want to do that either!<br />Me: Ok I am just saying you can definitely poop in your Snuggie.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-79901921563055101612010-09-28T13:18:00.001-07:002010-09-28T13:18:26.266-07:00Whatever it is, we are obviously drinking itScene: Any Olive Garden. Dinner table on a Monday night. Never-ending pasta bowl promotion.<br />Characters: Innocent boyfriend, girlfriend with waning patience.<br /><br />Me: How about we get some wine?<br />You: Sure, I like the plum wine we got at the hibachi restaurant!<br />Me: They don't have that here.<br />You: Oh, well, um, let me see.<br />(reads menu)<br />You: How about this CHar-dooh-nee?<br />Me: What?<br />You: (reading menu) CHar-dooh-nee?<br />Me: (pausing, quizzical look) ... Hahahaha!<br />(now laughing at you, but with a loving look)<br />Me: Chardonnay?<br />You: I love you.<br />Me: Let's get what we got last time. You liked it and it's easier to pronounce. Moscato.<br />You: I'll take a glass of mosquito.<br />(Waitress arrives)<br />Her: Hi, my name is ______, welcome to Olive Garden, would you like to try one of our house wines?<br />Me: Why don't we try something different? <br />Her: You can get a sample, 25 cents, to see if you like it.<br />You: What's a blush wine?<br />Her: It's um, not red, and not white.<br />Me: It's in the middle, a little bit of both.<br />You: And the white Zeen-fandull?<br />Me: Different than the CHar-dooh-nee.<br />Her: It's..a...white wine.<br />You: Kee....kee-AN-tee?<br />Her: Hey, I've heard much worse.<br />Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-54260012931768716692010-09-21T10:59:00.001-07:002010-09-21T10:59:33.284-07:00What's his name?Ah, it goes like this:<br /><br />Coworker 1: "Did you see 'Dancing' like night?"<br />Coworker 2: "Yeah! Bristol! Haha Holy Shit!"<br />Coworker 3: "She had bricks in her shoes!"<br />Coworker 2: "How about that other guy? What's his name?"<br />Coworker 1: "Oh yeah! The Scenario!"<br />Coworkers 2, 3 & 4: "The Scenario?"<br />Me: "Hahaha You mean The Situation?"<br />Everyone laughs.<br />And continues to talk about Dancing With the Stars for the next 30 minutes, so on go my headphones.<br />I don't really watch TV at all, let alone that show. But at least I got this priceless moment from it.<br />While I'm looking forward to the end of the current installment of this series, on the other hand I am not, only because my Nana loves this show so much. She will call when it is on and give a recap of what just happened and her opinions of it.<br />I'm sure my Nana is not a fan of What's His Name.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-76993198998308661142010-08-30T12:48:00.000-07:002010-08-30T12:49:37.109-07:00The old LieMy friend, you would not tell with such high zest<br />To children ardent for some desperate glory,<br />The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est<br />Pro patria mori.<br /><br />--Wilfred OwensCatherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-52366689047162686952010-08-25T09:55:00.001-07:002010-08-25T09:55:35.326-07:00What song do you want played at your funeral?<p class="formspringmeAnswer">You can play a whole lot of them. I envision a jazz funeral where my casket is followed by a Dixieland brass band playing dirges and then some second lining. Music has always been a huge part of my life, from my young childhood growing up with my mother's Motown records, to my WHTG 106.3 radio-filled youth, to the obscurity I enjoy today. That's not including all the songs attached to memories I made with my friends and loved ones throughout my life; the songs I hear and think back to a wonderful moment where in some way we shared that song. However and with hope, I won't need to figure out exactly what songs I want played at my funeral any time soon -- a far-off decision, perhaps.</p><p class="formspringmeFooter"> <a href="http://formspring.me/ChestyMcBruiser?utm_medium=social&utm_source=blogger&utm_campaign=shareanswer">Ask me anything</a></p>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-22413460622124572172010-08-22T06:59:00.000-07:002010-08-25T07:01:41.536-07:00My working barometerToday at some garage sales I found some real scores.<br /><br />Problem is, I am embarking on a 100 Things Challenge, which requires me to drastically reduce the amount of possessions I have (down to 100 things, of course).<br /><br />This 100 Things Challenge is going awful, considering I brought home two giant boxes of books, a Nintendo Entertainment System, a 1970s travel chess set and a 1960s working barometer from garage sales today.<br /><br />While it was only $23 for everything, which is ah-maz-zing, it's still a lot of stuff.<br /><br />I am so retarded. And yet, awesome. Le sigh.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-71675057693410063142010-08-21T23:02:00.000-07:002010-08-25T07:11:01.315-07:00Nips of HarlemNips are those small, small, small bottles of alcohol.<br /><br />At a birthday party this weekend a guest asked his fellow partygoers to reach into his cooler bag blindly, and try whatever alcohol they managed to pick.<br /><br />Me, I picked something called Harlem.<br /><br />Never heard of it. And I can spout off a history and hierarchy of alcohol.<br /><br />I still have no idea what that stuff was, but it was not good at all. The label mentions it is 40 proof and made with a secret mix of ingredients. That does not sound good at all, does it?<br /><br />Harlem bottles also contain the warning: made with caramel color. Seems like unintentional racist humor.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs158.ash2/41245_10100175315113989_8824430_56434323_8270692_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 540px; height: 720px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs158.ash2/41245_10100175315113989_8824430_56434323_8270692_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-72179064832736091712010-08-20T17:44:00.001-07:002010-08-20T17:44:39.793-07:00Duh!Yes, I shall accept your invite to the gay pirate party. = World's Most Obvious Statement.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-83091779561294888482010-08-14T19:07:00.001-07:002010-08-14T19:33:49.568-07:00Musical Diversity and Desperation<img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border="0" width="0" height="0" src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTI4MTgzNzk3NjQ4MiZwdD*xMjgxODM4MDc4MDUyJnA9Njk*MzAxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTEmbz*5ZjY1YTMzNTI4ZTA*/YzhkODliMzRiOTI3NzFjYmE5MyZvZj*w.gif" /><div style="text-align: center; margin-left: auto; visibility:visible; margin-right: auto; width:400px;"> <object width="350" height="270"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.musicplaylist.us/mc/mp3player_new.swf"> <param name="allowscriptaccess" value="never"> <param name="wmode" value="transparent"> <param name="flashvars" value="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_black_noautostart.xml&mywidth=350&myheight=270&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.musicplaylist.us%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D19142692%26t%3D1281837966&wid=os"> <embed style="width:350px; visibility:visible; height:270px;" allowscriptaccess="never" src="http://www.musicplaylist.us/mc/mp3player_new.swf" flashvars="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_black_noautostart.xml&mywidth=435&myheight=270&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.musicplaylist.us%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D19142692%26t%3D1281837966&wid=os" width="350" height="270" name="mp3player" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" border="0"></embed> </object><br /><a href="http://www.musicplaylist.us/"><img src="http://www.musicplaylist.us/mc/images/create_black.jpg" border="0" alt="Get a playlist!" /></a> <a href="http://www.musicplaylist.us/playlist/4900529163/standalone" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.musicplaylist.us/mc/images/launch_black.jpg" border="0" alt="Standalone player" /></a> <a href="http://www.musicplaylist.us/playlist/4900529163/download"><img src="http://www.musicplaylist.us/mc/images/get_black.jpg" border="0" alt="Get Ringtones" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center; margin-left: auto; visibility:visible; margin-right: auto; width:350px;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; margin-left: auto; visibility:visible; margin-right: auto; width:350px;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 350px; ">I created this playlist in late 2007 but I added to it through mid 2008, when I reached the maximum songs playlist.com allows in one playlist.</div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; ">I inadvertently added songs to the end of the playlist when the mood struck, making the order of this playlist chronological. As I look over its songs, now more than two years later, I can tell what each song means and why I added it.</div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; ">This is literally the soundtrack of my life at the time, as I'd wallow through different sadness, join roller derby, try to overcome adversity, attempt to escape into some happiness, and watch Shin Chan.</div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; ">I added songs to this playlist after careful consideration, and yet also quite spontaneously. It is probably the most organic thing I've done, and looking back at it can still see the deep intimate reasons why I added each song.</div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; ">At the time this playlist was posted on my myspace home page, and then myspace wised up and disallowed the html code of playlis.comt in lieu of its own myspace music player. And suddenly my quiet communication via song had no soapbox to stand and proclaim its message.</div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; ">So I thought to post it here, on my newer blog. You probably have no idea what these songs are doing here. However, you hopefully will enjoy them.</div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-left: auto; visibility: visible; margin-right: auto; width: 400px; ">For me it is bittersweet, and almost heartbreaking, to see this list of songs. But it is just so very honest, so true, so true, so true.</div>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-58817457583186930352010-08-13T06:55:00.000-07:002010-08-25T06:56:55.603-07:00Everybody wants a box of chocolates and a long stem roseEverybody Knows, Leonard Cohen<br /><br />Everybody knows that the dice are loaded <br />Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed <br />Everybody knows that the war is over <br />Everybody knows the good guys lost <br />Everybody knows the fight was fixed <br />The poor stay poor, the rich get rich <br />That's how it goes <br />Everybody knows <br /><br />Everybody knows that the boat is leaking <br />Everybody knows that the captain lied <br />Everybody got this broken feeling <br />Like their father or their dog just died <br /><br />Everybody talking to their pockets <br />Everybody wants a box of chocolates <br />And a long stem rose <br />Everybody knows <br /><br />Everybody knows that you love me baby <br />Everybody knows that you really do <br />Everybody knows that you've been faithful <br />Ah give or take a night or two <br />Everybody knows you've been discreet <br />But there were so many people you just had to meet <br />Without your clothes <br />And everybody knows <br /><br />Everybody knows, everybody knows <br />That's how it goes <br />Everybody knows <br /><br />Everybody knows, everybody knows <br />That's how it goes <br />Everybody knows <br /><br />And everybody knows that it's now or never <br />Everybody knows that it's me or you <br />And everybody knows that you live forever <br />Ah when you've done a line or two <br />Everybody knows the deal is rotten <br />Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton <br />For your ribbons and bows <br />And everybody knows <br /><br />And everybody knows that the Plague is coming <br />Everybody knows that it's moving fast <br />Everybody knows that the naked man and woman <br />Are just a shining artifact of the past <br />Everybody knows the scene is dead <br />But there's gonna be a meter on your bed <br />That will disclose <br />What everybody knows <br /><br />And everybody knows that you're in trouble <br />Everybody knows what you've been through <br />From the bloody cross on top of Calvary <br />To the beach of Malibu <br />Everybody knows it's coming apart <br />Take one last look at this Sacred Heart <br />Before it blows <br />And everybody knows <br /><br />Everybody knows, everybody knows <br />That's how it goes <br />Everybody knows <br /><br />Oh everybody knows, everybody knows <br />That's how it goes <br />Everybody knows <br /><br />Everybody knowsCatherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-68472043246601034202010-08-12T13:08:00.000-07:002010-08-12T13:18:20.250-07:00The best roller derby joke I've heard in awhileSkater 1, to group: Don't forget we have beer for after the bout. Yeaaaaaah!<div><br /><div>Skater 2: Yeah but there's not too much time to get some, they rush us out of there.</div><div><br /></div><div>Skater 1: Haha, yeah, it takes so much time to sign autographs and take pictures for all your fans! How are you ever going to get a beer?</div><div><br /></div><div>Skater 2: Ha! Yeah... just leave a six-pack for me in the penalty box where I'll have plenty of time to drink it.</div></div>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-20934340875509550912010-08-11T03:15:00.000-07:002010-08-11T03:16:44.052-07:00Dear Campers of scenic Bass River State Park last weekend,<div>Dear fellow campers,</div><div><br /></div><div>I encountered you this weekend and didn’t say a word to you. Maybe you will read this and know the contents of my mind. But that is highly unlikely. Probably because you are in the forest somewhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dear spooky guy,</div><div>You were all alone. You sat in your stadium chair and looked out onto the road that adjoined all our campsites. How lonely it must be to pick people-watching as a viable activity while in the woods, surrounded by so few people. How lonely indeed. I thought of you and your solitude. I wondered, was it peaceful? Was it self-imposed: were you a loner, a rebel, retreating from society, living the simple life, just you and your beard? Or did you have to live that way, because you were estranged from your wife and hiding from the alimony payments? Or maybe you are trying to shirk the rigid civilian prison that is Megan’s Law, hoping to stay under the radar as a registered sex offender? Who knows. But you have a picnic table full of Gatorade bottles and a tarp over your tent, and it all seems so hardcore. You play no music, your face bears no smile, no warmth of friendliness. You appear to be a cranky old man camping in the woods. And yet, as I walked to my car from the evening’s bluegrass concert, there you were in the back of the crowd, listening intently but stoically, save for what I believe was the reserved tapping of one sandaled foot in time to a Merle Haggard tune the band was playing. Where will you be next on your singular journey? Is that sadness in your eyes, or is it a bit of crazy? I cannot tell, it was so dark at the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dear Hispanic teenagers in the bathroom,</div><div>So desperate was I to pee. So determined you both were, to straighten your hair. As I unloaded my bladder, you both stayed the course to applying makeup and hair products as though a night at an exclusive discotheque with finely dressed men was certainly on the itinerary. You seemed completely oblivious to the fact that you are in the middle of the woods, the one place where it is socially acceptable to smell like armpits and to have flyaways or frizziness. There were two of you, and your towels, make-up bag, hair dryer, hair irons and iphone charger took up all four sinks. I just wanted to wash my hands after peeing. You looked at me as though I was being unreasonable. Getting dolled up was going to take some time, and I was adding to it, apparently. I stared at you long and hard, as though you were symbols of vanity and stupidity beyond any I had ever encountered, and wondered, what to say to creatures such as yourselves. I could think of nothing that the steady whirr of your hair dryer hadn’t said already, and left knowing that no matter what body spray you were wearing, it’s all made a moot point by the scent of OFF!, anyway. Content that I had walked into a modern and ironic Jack London tale, I left you to spend your evening in front of the unflattering mirrors of a common-use bathroom’s fluorescent lights before vanishing your overdone selves into the darkness that is midnight in a state forest.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dear Boy Scouts,</div><div>Why do we separate ourselves by gender, and then give these genders the exact same experience of camping in the woods? I don’t understand. I am sure there is some academic research suggesting such an arrangement, but it never made much sense to me. If I’m going to learn how to cook a hotdog over open flame it never mattered much that I had to be surrounded by girls for the reason that I myself was one (a girl). It seemed to me that the boys could have joined us. So I look with sadness upon your group of boys only, fatherly figures standing close by. Where my bitches at? Can’t we all go screaming through the woods, together?</div><div><br /></div><div>Dear young children dancing at the bluegrass concert,</div><div>I remember being young, getting up and dancing. Running around like a maniac. Turning a pole into home base, so you could be safe as you raced toward it. You were the happiest children on the planet, and your mom yelled at you to stop disrupting the concert. But I am not so sure if you were. If you would have let me, I think I would have danced with you. It made me wish Robbie knew how to dance a two-step. Instead, because I am good at remembering choruses, I joyfully sang choruses to these newly learned songs. And though the lyrics have since faded from my memory, your dancing silhouettes and the shadows they cast upon the stage will not.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dear young teen helping to administer the canoe and kayak rental,</div><div>You have the best job in the world. Please, I beg of you, do not go to college, find a steady job, retire late in life. Instead, forever be the person who helps folks paddling on a lake to get out of and into their rented boats. I am telling you: you have the right idea.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-915743975711681817.post-53987744840501166942010-08-04T07:30:00.001-07:002010-08-04T07:30:59.723-07:00Time Enough At LastI get so much out of the intimate moment spent alone in a sunny spot with a book in my hands.<br /><br />If only I had the time...<br /><br />http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Time_Enough_at_LastCatherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05765340665485205299noreply@blogger.com0