An actual thought I had today at work:
And done! Now, is there anything else I have to start or have done in the next two minutes, or can I finally go pee? Wait... have I actually taken on so much and are being pulled in so many directions that I have to figure out how to squeeze in time to answer the call of nature? OK, time to reevaluate. If only I had time to reevaluate.
If I ruled Lichtenstein, there would be 30 hours in every day. First of all, who came up with the idea that one day is 24 hours? Not a number that makes sense, like 20 or 25, but 24. Really? Yet, the dynamics of a single day could stay the same - eight hours of work (but this eight hours would include a person's commute, so if your commute is an hour, you'd only have to work for seven hours), eight hours of sleep, and 14 hours of whatever else you wanted to do.
After you take care of all the blah things like chores and errands, with that extra six hours in the day you could focus on catching up on the TV episodes from two months ago taking over your TiVo space, take a class to do something you love or have always wanted to learn how to do, play more games and sports, enjoy time with friends, or spend actual quality time with the family at home.
There's more to life than work. I need to either learn this or find out how to actually implement this rule. But I don't have time to ponder this now - I gotta log off 'cause I really have to pee.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Day 14: What Did Batman say to Robin... About Walking Against the Law
Holy illegal crossing Batman!
What did Batman say to Robin about the deep-rooted societal problem of walking across the street without being at the safety of a corner with a white “WALK” sign, otherwise known as j-walking? Why is it called j-walking?
My response: J-walking is illegal, yet you wouldn’t know it living in New York or Chicago. It doesn’t even feel slightly dangerous when I do it anymore, because no one thinks twice about dashing across a however-many-lanes highway on a mad dash to work or to pick up the kids or in an attempt to juggle all the impossible tasks we thrust upon ourselves on a moment-to-moment basis.
Yet when I do it, I am still breaking the rules of both the law and of common sense. Why do I think it’s a good idea to play Frogger with garbage trucks, semis, and sports cars just to get to where I’m going just a few minutes earlier?
Therefore, j-walking is named after the Blue jay. Blue jays are birds that defy the laws of nature. First of all, they’re blue. What other animal is blue other than some cartoon characters? Also, they are known to attack cats when the felines get too near their nests. Yeah, that’s right: The birds attack the cats. This freak of nature doesn’t follow the rules, so, naturally when someone saw the bird walk across the street – instead of fly, of course – they huffed and thought, “Typical. That strange blue bird is refusing to fly and instead is walking across the street. It’s Blue jay walking.” And of course the phrase “blue jay walking” was shortened to just j-walking through history like virtually all sentences or phrases during the game Telephone.
My Partner In Crime's Response: This is a solid argument my Partner In Crime has posed. However, let me know lay down some knowledge on your ass. J-walking as we know it is when someone crosses the street either outside of the crosswalks or when s/he does not yet have the right of way.
That said, J-walking is usually done by idiotic people. They can be white, black, brown. It doesn't matter. Idiocy does not discriminate. These people are usually on the phone not realizing they do not yet have the right of way, are black and walk too slow, old and walk too slow, are a child and walk too slow with an irresponsible adult who is either black and/or on the phone. They can be a business man/woman trying to get to work 47 seconds earlier. A tourist who is simply a moron and does not understand what the colors of red, yellow and green mean. It simply does not matter.
For this reason J-Walking is derived from "Jarboni Walking" as in, "Ayo! Look at that jabroni walking across the street that just almost got hit by a car and doesn't realize it!" or "God damn that jabroni walking across the street just got hit by a car."
Origins of this term are murky, but trust me, dear reader, I have researched this topic for almost 4 minutes. Dating back to 1775 "Jabroni Walking" stems from Paul Revere's famous midnight ride. When the British started crossing the streets, without use of crosswalks mind you, Paul Revere rode his horse and exclaimed, "Jarbonis are walking! Jabronis are walking!"
A bucket wench responded, "Oy, whaut in the bloody 'ell are you tawlkin abote" (Apparently she was lower class British and Canadian). Not having enough time to explain, Revere tweaked his statement. "The British are coming! The British are coming!" Everyone then came up in arms, and that, as they say, is history.
So why is it called j-walking? After the bird who defies nature and Paul Revere.
What did Batman say to Robin about the deep-rooted societal problem of walking across the street without being at the safety of a corner with a white “WALK” sign, otherwise known as j-walking? Why is it called j-walking?
My response: J-walking is illegal, yet you wouldn’t know it living in New York or Chicago. It doesn’t even feel slightly dangerous when I do it anymore, because no one thinks twice about dashing across a however-many-lanes highway on a mad dash to work or to pick up the kids or in an attempt to juggle all the impossible tasks we thrust upon ourselves on a moment-to-moment basis.
Yet when I do it, I am still breaking the rules of both the law and of common sense. Why do I think it’s a good idea to play Frogger with garbage trucks, semis, and sports cars just to get to where I’m going just a few minutes earlier?
Therefore, j-walking is named after the Blue jay. Blue jays are birds that defy the laws of nature. First of all, they’re blue. What other animal is blue other than some cartoon characters? Also, they are known to attack cats when the felines get too near their nests. Yeah, that’s right: The birds attack the cats. This freak of nature doesn’t follow the rules, so, naturally when someone saw the bird walk across the street – instead of fly, of course – they huffed and thought, “Typical. That strange blue bird is refusing to fly and instead is walking across the street. It’s Blue jay walking.” And of course the phrase “blue jay walking” was shortened to just j-walking through history like virtually all sentences or phrases during the game Telephone.
My Partner In Crime's Response: This is a solid argument my Partner In Crime has posed. However, let me know lay down some knowledge on your ass. J-walking as we know it is when someone crosses the street either outside of the crosswalks or when s/he does not yet have the right of way.
That said, J-walking is usually done by idiotic people. They can be white, black, brown. It doesn't matter. Idiocy does not discriminate. These people are usually on the phone not realizing they do not yet have the right of way, are black and walk too slow, old and walk too slow, are a child and walk too slow with an irresponsible adult who is either black and/or on the phone. They can be a business man/woman trying to get to work 47 seconds earlier. A tourist who is simply a moron and does not understand what the colors of red, yellow and green mean. It simply does not matter.
For this reason J-Walking is derived from "Jarboni Walking" as in, "Ayo! Look at that jabroni walking across the street that just almost got hit by a car and doesn't realize it!" or "God damn that jabroni walking across the street just got hit by a car."
Origins of this term are murky, but trust me, dear reader, I have researched this topic for almost 4 minutes. Dating back to 1775 "Jabroni Walking" stems from Paul Revere's famous midnight ride. When the British started crossing the streets, without use of crosswalks mind you, Paul Revere rode his horse and exclaimed, "Jarbonis are walking! Jabronis are walking!"
A bucket wench responded, "Oy, whaut in the bloody 'ell are you tawlkin abote" (Apparently she was lower class British and Canadian). Not having enough time to explain, Revere tweaked his statement. "The British are coming! The British are coming!" Everyone then came up in arms, and that, as they say, is history.
So why is it called j-walking? After the bird who defies nature and Paul Revere.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Day 13: Never Have I Ever... Just Listened
I get bored easily, so I’ve become a master multi-tasker.
I don’t just watch TV. I watch TV while paying bills, organizing a drawer, knitting, or playing cards. At the very least, I’ll have a magazine on my lap to read during the commercials.
My train ride to work is 35 minutes long, so my work bag is always stocked with a magazine, novel, and book of games so when I get bored with one, I have two others at my disposal.
The commute from work today was no different except I missed the express train so I was stuck with the 55-minute ride. But I sat in my usual seat on the second level among the long row of seats facing the center of the train. From this seat, you usually don’t sit directly next to someone, but you face a row of people on the opposite side of the train.
After settling down in my seat, I reached down to pull out the riveting novel Half Broke Horses by one of my favorite authors, Jeannette Walls, which was punctuated with a loud burst of laughter. It was then that I looked up to see the most random group of five teenage girls sitting directly across from me talking about what they learned at the Body Worlds Exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. I start to turn my head toward my book, but find that my eyes don’t leave the group of girls chattering away.
Had they not been sitting together yakking away, I would have thought they were just five strangers who happened to be sitting next to each other.
Sarah is the most boisterous of the group of recent high school graduates. Had she not been wearing bright pink sweatpants with her black T-shirt, I would have continued thinking she was a teenage boy with her super short ‘do, androgynous face, and lower-pitched voice. She’s much heavier than all the other girls, which doesn’t seem to bother her as she continues sipping from her McDonald’s soda and ensuring there is a continuous flow of conversation. She tends to overcompensate for her lack of conventional beauty by continually working to keep the dialogue interesting, even without any natural segues. She also tries to make each one of her friends feel special individually as she’s giving an impromptu slide show of photos on her phone, pointing out those that would interest each particular girl individually.
She points to a photo she snapped of her injured leg when she found out she was allergic to latex and Dramamine to Lindsay, who briefly looks up from her phone turned sideways to peer at the photo and sympathize about how terrible Sarah must have felt then. Lindsay’s the tomboy of the group, with fashion sense that’s about a decade late, wearing threads one might find in a cowboy’s closet – jeans, a plaid shirt, hemp necklace, and dusty tan sandals with two buckles. Her concentration on the game she’s playing isn’t even interrupted when she throws out one-line sarcastic comments that often begin with “dude” or “man” and focus on throwing keggers once she has her own place in college. Her seemingly lack of focus could easily be mistaken for indifference or callousness if you don’t listen and hear that she’s quick to respond to what her friends are discussing.
She answers mostly to “Chicago,” who’s excited to be on her own at her new job at Six Flags this summer. Chicago, donning jeans and a Chicago Bears sweatshirt, is self-conscious and is constantly looking for other people’s approval. She tries hard to disguise the fact that her teeth would make an orthodontist rich, and nearly all of her statements are followed by questions wondering what her friends think about what she said. But since she mentions that her favorite pop is Diet Dr. Pepper, she’s definitely cool in my book.
“Chic” is also one who tends to ask a lot of questions, but only because she’s truly inquisitive. Shy as she is, she hides behind thick black-rimmed glasses and long thick bangs. While she often shies away from making many comments, she frequently, yet quietly, asks questions to learn about whether she’d like espresso or which roller coasters she might like to ride best.
Jessica is the one who often answers Chic’s questions, and she’s as smart as her glasses may lead one to believe. She speaks as intelligently about espresso as an experienced barista such as myself would, and answers questions about over-the-counter drugs for allergies as if she has had experience. She cares more about her studies than she does about her fashion sense, as her plaid pants, white t-shirt, and army jacket doesn’t exactly scream trendy. She’s also a fantastic storyteller, her stories about her ambulance-driving friend who was called to a home with a full closet of sex toys punctuated with her infectious staccato laugh.
Even though I still have my book in my hand with my finger nestled between pages 122 and 123, I find myself riveted with this smorgasbord clique. The conversation moves seamlessly between bottle-feeding a kitten, visiting the local aquarium, the best tore to find a clear backpack, their preliminary thoughts about what college is going to be like next year, holding wine-tasting parties with cheap wine they can afford, trying absinthe, what they’re allergic to, eating at Jimmy John’s, and the fact that Sarah was a gay pirate in a past life.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if you could track your past lives?” Sarah asked her buds as I reluctantly walked off the train at my stop after considering staying on past it after realizing that I sat for nearly an hour doing nothing but listening. Never have I ever just listened for an extended period of time, and I loved every second of it.
I don’t just watch TV. I watch TV while paying bills, organizing a drawer, knitting, or playing cards. At the very least, I’ll have a magazine on my lap to read during the commercials.
My train ride to work is 35 minutes long, so my work bag is always stocked with a magazine, novel, and book of games so when I get bored with one, I have two others at my disposal.
The commute from work today was no different except I missed the express train so I was stuck with the 55-minute ride. But I sat in my usual seat on the second level among the long row of seats facing the center of the train. From this seat, you usually don’t sit directly next to someone, but you face a row of people on the opposite side of the train.
After settling down in my seat, I reached down to pull out the riveting novel Half Broke Horses by one of my favorite authors, Jeannette Walls, which was punctuated with a loud burst of laughter. It was then that I looked up to see the most random group of five teenage girls sitting directly across from me talking about what they learned at the Body Worlds Exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. I start to turn my head toward my book, but find that my eyes don’t leave the group of girls chattering away.
Had they not been sitting together yakking away, I would have thought they were just five strangers who happened to be sitting next to each other.
 |
| Jessica, Sarah, and "Chicago" |
She points to a photo she snapped of her injured leg when she found out she was allergic to latex and Dramamine to Lindsay, who briefly looks up from her phone turned sideways to peer at the photo and sympathize about how terrible Sarah must have felt then. Lindsay’s the tomboy of the group, with fashion sense that’s about a decade late, wearing threads one might find in a cowboy’s closet – jeans, a plaid shirt, hemp necklace, and dusty tan sandals with two buckles. Her concentration on the game she’s playing isn’t even interrupted when she throws out one-line sarcastic comments that often begin with “dude” or “man” and focus on throwing keggers once she has her own place in college. Her seemingly lack of focus could easily be mistaken for indifference or callousness if you don’t listen and hear that she’s quick to respond to what her friends are discussing.
She answers mostly to “Chicago,” who’s excited to be on her own at her new job at Six Flags this summer. Chicago, donning jeans and a Chicago Bears sweatshirt, is self-conscious and is constantly looking for other people’s approval. She tries hard to disguise the fact that her teeth would make an orthodontist rich, and nearly all of her statements are followed by questions wondering what her friends think about what she said. But since she mentions that her favorite pop is Diet Dr. Pepper, she’s definitely cool in my book.
“Chic” is also one who tends to ask a lot of questions, but only because she’s truly inquisitive. Shy as she is, she hides behind thick black-rimmed glasses and long thick bangs. While she often shies away from making many comments, she frequently, yet quietly, asks questions to learn about whether she’d like espresso or which roller coasters she might like to ride best.
 |
| "Chic," Lindsay, and Jessica |
Even though I still have my book in my hand with my finger nestled between pages 122 and 123, I find myself riveted with this smorgasbord clique. The conversation moves seamlessly between bottle-feeding a kitten, visiting the local aquarium, the best tore to find a clear backpack, their preliminary thoughts about what college is going to be like next year, holding wine-tasting parties with cheap wine they can afford, trying absinthe, what they’re allergic to, eating at Jimmy John’s, and the fact that Sarah was a gay pirate in a past life.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if you could track your past lives?” Sarah asked her buds as I reluctantly walked off the train at my stop after considering staying on past it after realizing that I sat for nearly an hour doing nothing but listening. Never have I ever just listened for an extended period of time, and I loved every second of it.
It made me wonder what else I was missing out on by actively participating in a conversation, so I tried to focus this past week on listening. I went to lunch with a colleague, and finished my sandwich before she had taken two bites of hers because I asked her to tell me about being adopted, her thoughts on finding her birth mother, and what it was like to grow up Asian with white parents. I’ve read stories about people being adopted, but never heard the story directly from someone’s mouth, and it was absolutely captivating. I learned about the extra measures Jimmy Johns employees had to take on $1 sub customer appreciation day and more about the one-child rule in China from someone who’s parents adopted a baby from that country.
Learning to listen was vital to my job as a reporter, but since then I’ve let those skills slip a bit, and want to cement them in place. How else am I going to discover if I was a gay pirate in a past life?
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Day 12: Shakespeare's High School Poetry on Organisming.
With 154 sonnets under his belt, Shakespeare was well-versed in how to write the last two lines of each poem which is, in fact, a couplet. A couplet is simply two lines of a poem in which the ending words rhyme.
Therefore, a couplet poem is an entire poem where the last two words in each two-lined stanza rhyme. This poetic form can be as simple as two lines or a series of couplets. Regardless, there's always an even number of lines all about the same subject or topic. Couplets are often humorous, and are generally light.
My parents visited me in Chicago this weekend, so I was originally going to write about them, but in light of the form of poetry chosen for this week, I thought it'd be more fun to write a poem about an embarassing moment of mine that seemed to be the end of the world at the time, but now is just a funny story from high school.
Organisming
Don't be nervous; it's going to be fine.
Take a deep breath and your speech line by line.
Geez there's a lot of people out there
And all of them giving me the stare.
First part done with no prob
Even in front of this mob.
High school students are quite unforgiving
Differences won't elect you queen or king.
I’m almost done and haven’t faltered
Maybe they won’t think I’m such a nerd.
Whew! I know the ending is near
One more line and I’m in the clear.
“That’s how you get an orgasm” I hear myself say.
For Dolly the cloned sheep is what I was to portray.
‘Organism’ is what was meant to come out.
This is gonna be bad—without a doubt.
A second of dead silence turns into a huge roar
Of laughter, making me want to crawl into the floor.
Face burning, I head toward my seat with a frown.
There’s no way I’m ever gonna live this one down.
I feel like such a fool.
High school can be so cruel.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Day 11: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words Yo
It may not be the most p.c. depiction in the world, but come on, it's pretty obvious what this composite is depicting.
Last week's cliche: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Day 10: Stop. Focus. Click. On New York Magic
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Day 9: Remember The Time... I Hooted Like an Owl and Found a Good Friend
When I moved to New York City in December, 2007, I knew exactly one person out of a city of 8.2 million. And since that one person - Brent - worked ungodly hours and I had yet to get a job, I needed to find some friends.
But when you're not in college with dorms and classrooms full of your peers, how do you go about meeting people. I hadn't yet gotten desperate enough to walk up to a friendly looking stranger and say something along the lines of, "Hi, I'm Erika and I just moved here. Will you be my friend?" but I was missing having chill time with girlfriends.
I filled my first weeks in New York with a job search, errands, household chores, and occasionally going to the gym. Since I hate going to the gym, I would often go to attend a class, as I needed the motivation to keep moving. At first I stuck with the classes I was familiar with, such as strength training or yoga. But one day I decided I was tired of the same old, same old, and wanted to try something new, so I went to the gym in time for a new class they were offering called Nia. Nia, like yoga, is done without shoes or socks, and anything that allows me to work out without shoes on usually works for me just fine.
During our light warm-up, I was able to survey the room and realized that other than another girl who looked to be about my age, the rest of the class was made up of probably 40-somethings, and was taught by a very pregnant woman. She was able to teach the class despite being pregnant because Nia (also referred to as Non-Impact Aerobics) is a light aerobic exercise program with a premise that movement is a pathway for self-discovery and personal transformation. Had I known that, I most likely wouldn't have attended the class, as I'm not big on the whole "mind, body, spirit" stuff.
And had I known that we would be running zigzag patterns around the room pretending to catch fireflies out of the air while hooting like owls, I really would have come up with a darn good excuse to skip the gym that day. The girl my age seemed normal and sane enough to probably also think this class was ridiculous, so I found myself shooting her "What the heck are we doing?" looks throughout the class, which she didn’t hesitate to return.
After the class (thankfully) ended, I went to grab my shoes, which happened to be tossed carelessly right next to that other girl’s flip flops. As we both stepped into our shoes, I (also thankfully) decided to strike up a conversation, so I said the first thing that came to my mind: “So that was… uh… different” which made her laugh and agree, and then led to a conversation about our favorite “normal” workout classes offered at the gym.
Janine was an easy person to talk to – extremely friendly with a smile of perfectly aligned teeth, a genuine laugh, a light blanket of freckles over her nose, and pale blue eyes that were gorgeous on their own, but especially stunning when juxtaposed with her long brown hair. To be blunt, she was not only adorable, but also warm and friendly.
I had wanted to try out the Rebounding class that the gym offered – where everyone gets their own trampoline for the workout – as well as make friends, so I thought I’d try to do both at the same time, even though complete friend rejection was a very real possibility – one that I experienced first-hand my very first day at a new high school.
So I tentatively mentioned that I wanted to try the Rebounding class, and tried to sound casual when I asked Janine if she wanted to try it out with me. To my relief, she said she’d love to try it out with me so we planned on meeting there for the class a few days later, and exchanged phone numbers.
After we found that we loved Rebounding class, we planned to meet for the class regularly, and always had a chance to chat before and after class where we got to know each other. Gradually, that led to hanging out after the gym and then hanging out without the gym at all (worst workout buddies ever!) and I now consider Janine to be one of my dearest friends. She’s not only adorable and friendly, but is 100 percent genuine, caring, and truly one of the best people I’ve ever known.
And we always have a good story to tell when people ask us how we know each other. “From the gym” never seems to quite cut it, so we take turns telling the story about how our shared discomfort for a bizarre class began what I consider to be a cherished friendship.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)