shlamazel

"Um, excuse me? Did you know you had something on the back of your jacket?"
"No...ewww. What is it? What color is it?"
Apparently it was the world's biggest cranberry juice stain on the back of my white coat. The bottle had cracked inside my handbag on the way to work, and the plastic bag I put it in apparently had a hole in it.
Awesome.
This sort of thing seems to happen to me more than other people.
The great wisdom of my ancestors indicates that I am a shlamazel. A schlemiel is the one who spills the soup; shlamazel is the one who gets spilled on. To be fair, I am a little bit of both, and beverage calamities seem to follow me wherever I go.

the replace a memory game

The concept had existed before, but my friend had actually given it a title.
When your friends are deciding where to eat, you can play the replace a memory game - you go somewhere that makes you sad to think about because of memories you had there with someone who broke your heart, and you create a new memory with your friends.
Since we were already in the neighborhood, and had had a few drinks, I decided we should get burritos and replace a memory, while singing the theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore show.

wikipedia fun

This unfortunately probably won't be around for much longer.
See Articles for Deletion.

Beerluck

Beerluck (edit|talk|history|links|watch|logs) – (View log)

Unreferenced article that appears to be completely non-notable. Quite possibly made up, and clearly unencyclopedic. Pyrospirit (talk · contribs) 20:35, 23 January 2008 (UTC)

• Delete as something made up one day. No sources of any kind to assert notability. DarkAudit (talk) 20:39, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete per WP:MADEUP. Only about 580 googlehits and most are either blogs or not in english .--Malevious Userpage •Talk Page• Contributions 20:51, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete. Very few hits on Google, nothing even close to a reliable source to establish notability. Doctorfluffy (talk) 21:47, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Do NOT delete. Etymological rules based on pre-existing usage would have preempted a vast majority of words now seen in common usage or idioms (i.e. Rule of Thumb) from entering the English language. While we must consider the negative influence of Recentism, as someone who has attended a beerluck, I can testify to their existence. --ashwin User:ashwinsodhi
  • Comment Anecdotal evidence is not sufficient. Wikipedia requires reliable, verifiable sources independent of the subject. None of that is here, or appears to be forthcoming. DarkAudit (talk) 22:52, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete, nonsense. Nakon 22:29, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete There are reasons that it is not common practice for people to sample a wide variety of beers. Back in 1995, my friends and I had a "beers of the world" party with six six-packs of beers, and it's like drinking different liquors. Instead of Tubthumping, the result is everybody getting sick the next day. At best, this is a variation on BYOB. Mandsford (talk) 01:22, 24 January 2008 (UTC) BTW, What do you call a party where there are different varieties of cannabis? Mandsford (talk) 01:26, 24 January 2008 (UTC)

breakup software

Breaking up is painful and messy enough. Your technology should make it easier to cope.
I submit the following ideas to cyberspace.

1. Facebook Breakup Application
Updates your page to indicate your relationship status as single or hides your relationship status altogether based on your preferences
Notifies your closest friends tactfully of the breakup through their news feed so that they can be sensitive without making you relive the experience by retelling the same story to all of your friends
Archives all photos tagged with both of your names together into a hidden folder that requires password to access when logged into your own account

2. Gmail breakup label
All threads from a sender can be selected and labeled breakup (or breakup followed by .any text i.e. breakup.jeffrey). When archived, all conversations are sent to hidden folder that is protected from user viewing or rereading them by password and mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following sad thoughts you have had today:).
Label preferences can be custom set to unprotect folder access within 60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never, or to never be accessible between 9:00 pm and 7 am.

3. Gmail chat breakup mode
Contact can be selected as "ex" option under "Show in chat list." Options then appear for the length of time contact should be blocked (60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never).
Editing contact preferences to unblock contact before the defined date requires user to complete mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following reasons for unblocking your ex:).
If user changes the same contact from "ex" to "auto" back to "ex" more than three times in a one-month period, contact will be automatically blocked for 60 days. To override, user must e-mail "breakup@gmail.com," which e-mails back a lecture about being strong, with links to inspirational articles about starting over, and a link labeled "are you sure you want to unblock this contact?" at the bottom.

4. Mobile WAP breakup application
Application prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number between 10 pm and 7 am.
Breathalyzer attachment prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number when blood alcohol content is over 0.1%.

what an insufferably long, horrible week. the kind of week that makes possible things like alcohol, drugs, one-night stands and las vegas. i wish it would just end already.

a break, or whatever

I'm fine.
I mean I'm always fine.
But ugh.

It sucks that I have to watch my roommate and her new boyfriend be insufferably adorable around the house. I mean nobody deserves it more than her, and I'm glad not to be home alone.
But ugh.

why is it always worse flying back from the east coast?

I arrive at the airport just after 7:00 pm for an 8:10 departure. Having gotten through security, I began rearranging my suitcase and moving certain items into a duffel bag so that my overstuffed carry-on could actually be stuffed into the overhead bin. I am just about to check to see if JFK had free wifi and grab dinner when I discover that my laptop has reached a temperature of approximately 90 degrees, on failing to standby, because I had stuffed it hastily into its case when I got the call that my airport transportation had arrived downstairs, and forgot to shut down some files that were on the network. I spend over twenty minutes trying in every way to shut down Excel and Word so I could get my computer to standby or shut down.

By the time I finish, I realize I only have ten minutes until boarding. I try to visit the ladies’ room but see a dozen or so women in line, so I decide to delay and try to find the fastest food option so I won’t be stuck on a cross-continental flight with nothing to eat when they run out of meatless sandwiches for sale on board. When I am served my two slices of Famiglia pizza, they tell me they are out of boxes.

Now I am really late, so I check the gate on my printed boarding pass, the corner slowly soaking up pizza oil, and run towards gate 22. Apparently, gates 19-24 are a shuttle ride away, so I hurry out to 20 degrees for the shuttle without putting on my coat. I arrive at gate 22 to discover that my flight is no longer at gate 22, and I realize I am a complete idiot for not taking the time to check a screen. I ask an agent at one of the desks to call gate 5 and tell them I am on my way. By the time I am back at the main gates (all the while carrying dripping pizza on a paper plate, passing Famiglia pizza on my way like a confused idiot, now wearing my coat, dragging my unreasonably heavy carry-on) they are calling the final boarding call for my flight, and telling the ‘final passenger’ they must arrive now. I am running as hard as I possibly can, sweating under thick layers of wool and wheezing, just in time to hand the agent my pizza-oil-soaked boarding pass, which he scans. Whew.

Forty minutes later, we are still taxiing on the runway, and are informed that we have conflicted with international departure rush hour, and are 40^th in line to take off. I call eight of my friends to chat and reach none of them, but successfully add last names to every contact in my mobile phone contacts. We depart 90 min late.

lessons learned on trip:

Black Cashmere scarf and white wool coat do not mix, resulting in sloppy, dusted-gray appearance despite all lint-rolling

If you are California native, turtleneck, wool sweater, wool coat and gloves are still inadequate on the Hudson among flurries in 20 degree weather. It is still cold enough to make you hallucinate

Reserving the Sheraton in Wehawken, NJ (a 10-min ferry ride to Manhattan) costs only 25% of the Starwood rewards points per night as the W New York in Midtown. It is about 6 times the size, and has a view of the river and Manhattan.

At a pool hall in between neighborhoods in Brooklyn, the waitress might not know what Stoli is. Or soda. Even though there are bottles of Gray Goose and Belvedere on display, and at most bars soda is a more standard mixer than seltzer

At a table with a lawyer, do not assume COPA- and COPPA-compliance are different pronunciations of the same online child protection act - they are actually two different acts, one against pornography and the other for privacy

Movie tickets at the AMC in Times Square cost $11.25. You would think this was crazy if you hadn’t been to the Kabuki in SF Japantown since it was acquired by Sundance ($3 Amenity fee? wtf.)

citling rivalry

I think I was vaguely anti-New York after a lifelong fascination/crush on it because I had bad experiences the last two times I visited - in fall of 2000 because my boyfriend at the time sort of broke up with me while I was visiting him, and in fall of 2001 because when I visited I had nothing going in my life and hadn't gotten my first job yet, and was visiting friends who were mostly in transitional phases in their life and mildly unhappy, and I had no money and felt guilty even buying myself so much as an unnecessary cup of coffee.

On that trip, hanging out with an old friend who had gone to school in NYC, I got sick of her telling me New York was the place to be and worth making $27,000 a year in a crappy entry-level job and paying $1,000 a month for a closet in the village and buying designer clothes on credit to look the part, and that it was all worth it because she was in the place to be. I saw that kind of attitude a lot here. Probably worth noting that it seemed to be pronounced in out-of-staters who had moved to New York. But the uppityness and seemingly necessary financial irresponsibility really put me off.

I get protective of San Francisco, because I think it's such a spectacular city and it's the first city I've lived in where I feel like I belong. I get annoyed and overly defensive when people say California is fake and phony and not as friendly, because I've lived in LA, and usually the people complaining were buying into stereotypes that while sometimes true, were so obvious it felt redundant to bring it up and actually showed a lack of imagination - of course there are fake people in the bar scenes on Sunset or Hollywood Blvd. - what the hell did you expect? But does it mean the whole city is fake? Or does it mean they're blowing off the whole city based on a group of people that makes it a point to play into the stereotype in the first place?

Of course San Francisco has obnoxious hipsters, and annoying hippies, and fake former frat and sorority types, and uppity yuppy thirty- and forty-somethings with I-own-this-town entitlement. But I'm not going to hold it against it.

I've only been here since morning and I'm still jetlagged, but New York is growing on me, now that I could see mid-twenties real life here - I could cut it and make friends and make enough to survive and be myself here. And it's nice that getting around and recreating is more convenient. Happy to be here.

I have this thing about myself that I like to pretend makes me a more interesting person or potentially a better writer. It's that I am sometimes so highly aware of words and references and the way they're used in culture that I am constantly finding things trite or insincere, and constantly trying to talk around them or avoid them or barely reference them so I can stay original or convincing or sincere or smart or whatever.
Maybe my saving grace is that I'm protectively accepting of my friends and other people I like when they use words or references or culture that are cliche, and I stick up for their intelligence, sincerity and originality against my own head.
If I were capable of applying half of this self-consciousness towards not saying things I shouldn't because they're inappropriate, or wrong for the situation or might hurt someone's feelings, I probably wouldn't always be getting mad at myself. Though I'd still get mad at myself because it is most likely this self-consciousness that makes it difficult right now to write anything of any real seriousness or length because everything seems stupid or trite or like something no one would care about and isn't even worth doing. So I leave off most projects shortly after I start them, which also makes me mad at myself, because it's one of the few somewhat achievable dreams I still have going, since I'm probably not going to be good at performing or public speaking in the even distant future, and I most likely don't have any usable skills that could be used to actually save the world or anything.
So what do you do if the way you are keeps you from doing things that you want to do, which are also supposed to be what you are? You could approach it as though it'll be even more you once you get over the limitations of the way you are - the real ideal you. Or you could do that whole accepting yourself and your limitations and being realistic and giving up thing. I like to think therapy comes somewhere in the middle, but my last experience with therapy didn't really go that well, since he passed away and I'm still doing the back-and-forth with my insurance company for reimbursement.
An old friend I used to have seemed to care about nothing more than meaningful relationships and love and close friendships, but was so difficult in constantly demanding certain behavior or reassurances that he couldn't help but push people away because it was too much work to be close to him, and almost impossible to love him because he was always expecting you to prove it before you even had a chance to feel it. Okay, I can think of more than one person that describes.
It's like girls who aren't stunning and seem to care about nothing more than being pretty and getting guys. It really makes you think. Not necessarily about what they're doing wrong, but about how sad it is that the one thing a person seems to want most might be impossible because of the way they are.
I'm not sure at what point you can identify that something about you is preventing you from being who you want to be, or whether that's reconcilable. I know that I don't really believe it will come together without me working at it, since I don't believe anything related to bettering onesself comes without working at it. But there is something to be said for being realistic and developing your strengths while accepting your weaknesses.

seattle adventures

At the bakery this morning with the New York girls, while looking up at the breakfast sandwich offerings, I hear my name called from somewhere by a guy. He calls it a few times while I look around stupidly until I realize it's coming from the baking table behind the counter - it's the first friend I made in college, an English major I met at orientation. It doesn't make sense to me to see him here, since he's from LA.
In college he sort of tried to date me the first weekend of school and I freaked out. Then he and my roommate both joined the men's and women's rowing teams, respectively, and as a result of their co-ed parties had a very brief fling at one point out of boredom that neither of them was that into, around the time at which we drifted apart.
He tells me he's there training for the olympics for rowing, and asks how long I've been in Seattle. I tell him I'm just here for work and for the corporate office holiday party, and sort of feel like a jackass with my black turtleneck and white coat and laptop talking about coming up to headquarters for a party while he's baking by a hot oven and training for the olympics. It reminded me of when I used to think I'd spend my twenties pursuing my dream, until I realized that my dream wasn't really working in publishing or journalism or living in New York anymore than it was working in online advertising in San Francisco, and because of whatever emotional defect I'm still working through I'm not capable of or ready to write things of my own creating for publication, so I figured I might as well choose the latter since it's more fun.

For our Q4 team event we went to an indoor go-cart racing place in Redmond. I didn't expect to be very good at it, and was really just hoping to avoid injury and potentially have fun. Not surprising that I came in last place for lap times in each qualifying round. This placed me in 7th place out of 8 in the bottom tier of the final rounds, where winner was the first to finish. Somehow though, everyone kept crashing and I just kept going around them. I figured I was a lap behind everyone, but somehow I came in first (first of the worst) and received the same shiny trophy with a car on top as the winners of the two higher-tier rounds.
This was followed by a (sinfully) decadent feast at Blue Ginger in Bellevue, where we ate not only Korean barbecue but sashimi too, with both sake and beer. Ten kinds of fish eaten five different ways later, I am back at the hotel, resting up for the holiday party tomorrow.

not to let a bad morning be a bad day

I wasn't even going to stay over.
BART almost never fails me, which is why I always take it to work from Noe, despite it being a 7-min walk further from the abysmally unreliable J.
The BART train I boarded this morning was right behind a train that had broken down, though they neglected to tell us for like 7 minutes while we stood on the packed train like a bunch of losers believing it was a normal delay. When they told us a technician was on the way I went above ground to get a cab and try to still make it to work without being too late, but of course there were no cabs anywhere. No answer from the boyfriend and no one else to call, and no one to take my money in exchange for transporting me, I took the 14, packed with people and crawling at walking-speed, trying to keep my balance and keep my laptop bag from falling off my shoulder while getting clocked from every direction by angry middle-aged women on crack, the smell of urine aboard unmistakable. I transfer to the 47 and get into work 35 minutes late - total commute time of 1 hour and 10 minutes instead of 30.
It's so stupid how stupid things like that can ruin my whole day, and my entire outlook on life. But in the morning when everyone's a zombie relying on electricity and hot water and traffic lights and transit to work, if something doesn't work it feels like all of civilization is a sham and nothing works and we don't even have control over our own lives. Guess I'm projecting.

L: That's so weird that they would send you artisan cheeses as a gift.
A: I know, I wonder why.
C: I know why - my roommate works for them, and the girl who buys all their client gifts just quit, so all the reps are going crazy and passing the work around between them, because it's the holidays, and I bet it just got to somebody's turn who said "Artisan cheeses - that's a good idea for a gift."
L: And they're such random cheeses to select, too - sheep's milk, goat's milk and Camembert? Camembert is like the riskiest cheese to give as a gift.
A: I guess they didn't think of bread or crackers either.
L: You better put that Camembert away, that's going to start to smell.

dirty trick

I woke up and looked at the clock.
It said 12:26 pm.
Is it the weekend? I wondered.
No, Thanksgiving weekend just ended, and I've only had...one work day.
No, it's Tuesday.

My body's played dirty tricks on me like this before. It usually involves me staying up a little bit too late, but still with enough time to get my minimum required 6 hours to function, and somehow I wake up 10 and a half hours later with no recollection of turning off my alarm. (Once in high school I woke up at noon, the exact moment of the end of my community college Shakespeare course in which I was supposed to give a presentation on one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I had to grovel to him to let me make it up, and he said I only could if someone else didn't show)
My boss, of course, had e-mailed me several times in my absence and knew I wasn't online, so I had to explain that my power went out and I was sleeping off a cold. He told me to lay off the booze, he doesn't want me to end up on an afterschool special. How embarrassing. I didn't even go out that night! And he totally hasn't done my annual performance review yet.

I guess I've paid the price of staying up until 1:30 watching videos on my laptop, and my featherbed and blackout curtain setup, and I'm going to have to start setting a few backup alarms. On the bright side, I think I might have slept off a cold that might have been coming on, because today I feel super.

Igor: lee, your blog is SO out of date.

me: um, didn't i blog like 2 days ago?

Igor: 2 days!?!?

Igor: what do you think this is, print media?

Igor: that is like a century in the blogosphere

we are clearly not on the same page here

quarterlife

I want it to be great. Because I love media that deals with the internet generation, and super-high-budget, well-produced web content is so rarely done and so edgy, and I crave free, portable, high-quality audio or video content (especially when I'm getting ready for bed and my apartment's silent since my roommate's sleeping).
It looks and feels like a good show. The characters seem interesting with their smoky, serious attractiveness and their subtle subculture outfits (though they're all so white - I thought this was problematic when I assumed it was set in LA but since the show is ostensibly set in Chicago, maybe the absence of any interracial interaction is normal?). Everyone's gloomy introspectiveness plays the same nostalgic My So-Called Life chords, and they deal with all the right issues.
Maybe the problem is inherent in the 8-minute episode. When you try to pack in that many short cuts and that much plot into that short of an episode, it's bound to feel like it's all a preview, the way watching MTV reality TV shorts cut to music can make you actually wonder whether you're seeing the real show, or just previews of it (until you realize the whole show is a preview for real life as conceived of and sold by MTV). Even though they're flirting with having almost serious conversations, you never catch anyone hanging out or talking before the scene starts - it's never implied that you're missing interactions or parts of conversations - it's as if you're expected to believe everything of any importance that's happening in these people's lives since the first 8-minute episode has all been on camera. And their conversations wrap up so fast and neat. It's hard enough to pull off full characters that feel genuine in an hour-long show.
It's like an episode of the Hills, only acted out by poorly-dressed college graduates who are supposed to be smart and creative, and occasionally say clever things they never bother following through.
Then there's the fact that you can't buy it - this supposedly timid, thoughtful girl doing a video blog and spilling all of her friends' darkest secrets. Real blog - yes. Video blog? If the girl thinks she's a writer, why would she carelessly talk to the camera and never write? Her roommate dates her next door neighbor and his roommate is in love with her and she's in love with him? And their roommate is a bartender taking community acting classes who thinks she's going to make it as an actress?
The real problem though, is in lines like, "I hate not knowing and waiting and finding it so hard to figure out what we're all supposed to be. But what's my choice anyway? I certainly wouldn't want to be anywhere other than where I am now." This is obnoxious not just in that life is what you're doing when you're making other plans cliche. It's the convenient summing up of issues facing twentysomethings without actually engaging with them. Do I need to be hit over the head with the fact that twentysomethings are in a life transition that can suck but can also be great? At least on My So-Called Life everyone was sad and nihilistic because adolescence is such a depressing trap there is no real way to go through neatly, but the twentysomethings on Quarterlife actually think their lives are going to make sense when they become magazine writers and actors and filmmakers and married and adults.

sweater search off

Last Hanukkah I decided that I wanted a Hanukkah sweater. I love the Holiday season, but not just in that I wish I celebrated Christmas kind of way. While I do love Christmas parties and mistletoe and days off work and It's a Wonderful Life and Christmas decorations, I totally love Hanukkah, mostly because of how all out my parents and their friends went about it when I was growing up. Hanukkah combines all of my favorite holiday elements: fried food, candles, chocolate coins, whimsical spinning tops and like four dozen Hanukkah songs in Hebrew!
I do sometimes feel left out - I've never celebrated Christmas or had a Christmas tree, and the PC holiday equality didn't really kick in until I was 11 or so, so I still grew up with Christmas parties and tree ornaments as prizes in cereal boxes (do they do that anymore?). I don't really wish for any of it, but I also don't feel like I have to deprive myself of a holiday sweater - It never occurred to either of my grandmothers to knit me one when either of them knitted - probably because Hanukkah isn't really a big deal in Israel, or because they came of age before irony.
When I looked last year all I could find were dog sweaters, so I guess the selection is expanding, or getting easier to find, but still - it's not quite what I'm looking for. I want a really fun, knitted sweater with a dreidel or menorah on it, that's clearly for kids. Most of them are appropriately awful (and by that I mean awesome) but they're not quite the Hanuukkah sweater I always wished I had.

Sadly the closest I've seen to what I want only comes in Build a Bear size. I guess I'll keep looking. Search off?

blogger for one

A few months ago, when a huge group of girls I know signed up to run a half-marathon, I of course declined to join the fun and sign up because:

a. I hate running
b. I hate waking up early on the weekend
c. I already work out, and even though I want to be in better shape, I'd really rather spend my free time getting better at physical activities that I enjoy and have a chance at getting good at

Some of the girls who signed up worked out even less than me (or didn't work out at all) - it seemed really painful to think about someone who doesn't even regularly work out training to run this kind of superhuman distance. But definitely admirable - I mean good for them if they're really going to take it seriously and train for this great cause.
One of these girls, whose blog I read fairly regularly out of bored curiosity, linked to a new blog she'd started to chart her marathon training progress.
My friend and I checked it every once in a while and found it a little bit funny, since her running blog just kept explaining why she wasn't running. Of course there were even some good reasons why she wasn't running, and nobody really judged her for it, except that it's a really popular half-marathon with a huge waiting list, so you'd think if you were not able to properly train for this really difficult feat you might just drop off and let another runner take your spot, and write off the registration costs as charity. Instead, the girls who didn't train ran the half-marathon anyway, and came in a little slower than a walking pace, and were subsequently resented for bragging about finishing the half by those who had trained hard and ran it in half the time while sustaining horrible, painful injuries.
I guess this girl must have seen that all of the hits on her statcounter were from a single location, because my friend was basically the only one reading her blog who she couldn't identify, so she must have figured out who it was. Of course, there is tons of friction between them from the past. When I randomly checked the final posting I lost it laughing - it was a personal letter to my friend that stopped just short of mentioning her name - it even mentioned the tech company she works at, which she must have seen in the logs. Only about an hour after I sent it to my friend and checked back again to have another laugh, I saw that it had been taken down, which could only mean that she checks her statcounter even more obsessively than I do. It's especially funny since my friend hadn't even seen this personal letter to her, which had been up for weeks, and the moment she read it it was taken down, as if the blogger had been waiting for weeks to do it.
While this is all totally catty gossip, gossip is never really interesting in and of itself - more a springboard for telling compelling stories and analyzing social and cultural patterns, and the psychological analysis of the lengths to which people will go. One day when early cyberspace is studied to examine its social internet behavior, this just might be one of many case studies on the psychological effects of interpersonal friction, female antagonism, and blogging for a perceived audience of one.

stats

My friend told me when we were hanging out this week (at Trad'r Sam's in the Richmond, sipping from a gigantic cocktail in a Salad Bowl with cocktail umbrellas and straws) that he has so much free time at work, his friends can't post blog entries fast enough to keep him entertained, and he keeps up with every single Valleywag post.
That's impossible! I said. That's like 80 posts a day!
It got me wondering who, besides him and my few friends who comment, is still reading my blog, which hasn't really been getting much love from me.

I finally got around to getting the statcounter back up yesterday - it had become inactive when Blogger forced me to upgrade, and I wasn't able to figure out how to get it back up until they redid part of their UI, and then I just forgot for a while as my postings have dropped in frequency and quality. Obviously for personal blogs de-listed from the Blogger directory and as unpromoted as mine, the statcounter is mostly to satisfy my curiosity - because there's only a few dozen unique visits, and I can usually figure out who most of them are by their location.
I have to say I'm flattered with the results so far.

I'm sure most of these are friends reading from multiple computers, or who have me on their RSS reader and maybe can't be bothered to keep up, especially when I'm probably not working hard enough to deserve their regular readership, but I hadn't posted in a day so it couldn't all be RSS hits - anyway it's totally flattering that this many people are still reading my blog, when it could still really improve in quality.
It's like when I get comments on postings from friends of friends like Nato's roomie Joel and find out they're still reading my blog - that's so nice!
I've definitely sometimes given thought to taking down some of my old blog entries, like the more embarrassing or inappropriate ones or just the really stupid ones, but I figure so few people are reading this let alone digging through archives, and they're basically all in my social circle, and nothing in it is that bad. Also, even though this is really flawed logic, I feel like if someone is going to go to so much trouble to find my blog, they kind of deserve to see it. It's hard to imagine it happening, except in pre-dating due diligence background checks (what potential employer would really go to the trouble?), and really - I never had anything to hide, because it's no real secret what a huge nerd I am.

Elaine's uninentional Haiku

I love sports because
they're so irrational - a
perfect kind of love


She adds:
"they're always there for you and you love them through all their imperfections"