What I would like to see happen to the term "swag"

Please die.  And then die again.

Music Monday, er um.... Tuesday Tune?

Ok, ignore the silly title.  I forgot to post a song yesterday for Music Monday. My apologies.  But, in my belated but alliterative way, I'm still going to post something for this week.  It's one of my favorites.  Enjoy.

I'll be back to my regular  ranting posts later on this week.

Duke Ellington & John Coltrane, "In a Sentimental Mood"

If only modern vernacular were like this...

Last night, when some one spoke his name,  
From my swift blood that went and came  
A thousand little shafts of flame.  
Were shiver'd in my narrow frame  
O Love, O fire! once he drew  
With one long kiss, my whole soul thro'  
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.


- excerpt from Fatima
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (also called Lord Alfred Tennyson)

Music Monday

Enjoy.

"Lover" by Sweetback

The Truth About Cats & Dogs

Let me just start off by saying that I'm a cat person.  While I have a fondness for dogs, I have always preferred cats.  Many people in my life, however, seem to either hate cats or simply tolerate them.  I've decided to write this canine vs. feline post to show once and for all why cats are superior creatures.

1) Cats are cuter (though I admit that this is debatable, this doesn't change the fact that I'm right).  Kittens aren't necessarily cuter than puppies, but as they grow up, cats definitely beat dogs in the looks department.

2) Cats smell better, especially when wet.  Wet cats still smell like cats.  Wet dogs smell like a decaying carcass.

3) Cats shit in a litterbox, and I can dispose of said shit at my leisure.  I don't have to take my cat outside three times a day so she can go to the bathroom on the grass. I don't have to wipe up their waste in one of those silly little bags, praying it doesn't get on my hands as I half-clean ('cause let's face it, you can never really get all of the shit off of the grass) the stinky mess.

4) Not only do I not have to take my cat outside, I don't have to take it outside at inconvenient times.  Our dogs (I grew up with two of them) used to have bladders that seemed extra active at the least opportune moment, like as soon as we were drifting off to sleep or when the clock read 5 a.m.  Even at reasonable hours, there's still the matter of heavy rain or snow that makes it an unfavorable time to go for a walk.  Cats don't need you to take them to the potty.  They can handle it on their own, thank you very much.

5) Cats don't bark.  Barking is loud and disturbs not only you but your neighbors as well.  Meowing, though it can be annoying, is something that you can drown out more easily.  And usually, cats are just meowing because they're hungry or want affection.  Once you give them those things, they will be quiet.  Dogs, however, have been known to bark because they're hungry, or they're excited, or they hear ambulance sirens, or they're bored, or you're not paying attention to them, or they have to go to the bathroom (we covered that one already) you're playing with something that they want, or they hear another dog outside, or they see another dog, or they come across their own reflection in the mirror.  Stuff like that.

6) Cats don't need to be taken for walks.  They are content to go for "walks" inside your apartment or house.  Spoiled dogs need to go outside and play everyday like children to stay happy.


I admit that I could easily become the Crazy Cat Lady cliche personified if for some reason I end up alone in the future.  I love watching videos like this and this and this on youtube and I can picture myself with grey hair and bifocals typing my memoirs while "Buttons" purrs in my lap.  <---(I would never name a cat Buttons by the way, but it seems like a name that an old cat lady might give to her pet.)  Cats are cool.  Like I said, I don't hate dogs; in fact I like them.  I just don't want one.  The Fiance wants one after we get married, and that's fine with me.  I'll just curl up with my kitty in a warm bed while he's outside at the crack of dawn freezing in his pajamas watching the dog shit and listening to it bark, all before it tracks mud into the house and on the carpet.

I'm a total movie buff, but...

MLK Day

So, I kind of feel obligated to post something for MLK day since, you know, I'm black and all.  I wasn't planning on it; not because I don't think he was a great guy but because I don't feel like I need to blog or facebook or tweet or myspace about him to prove how much I value his contributions to the world.  However, I'd have my black card revoked be remiss if I didn't say something.  So thanks, Dr. King, you ol' game changer you.

Welcome to Music Monday

So I've decided that I'm going to start doing something I'll call "Music Monday."  Every Monday, I'm going to post a song on this blog.  I read a lot of blogs everyday when I should be doing something productive, and I've come across several good songs that way.  I figured that I might as well do my part.  I have very eclectic taste, so there will be music from just about every genre.  Except reggae.  I really don't like reggae music.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.  I buckled under the pressure of selecting the perfect song that would mark the beginning of my new weekly tradition, so I just said "Screw it" and picked a random song out of the thousands that are on my computer.

"Believe" by The Bravery.

I miss Calvin & Hobbes

This happened to me recently...

Carly, if you're out there, thank you.

Offer to Split; score some points for our kind

The title is for all you women-folk out there.  My sisters, we live in the 21^st century.  I think it’s about time some of you offered to split the check on the first date.  This is especially true if you bitch and moan that women and men are the same, and that everything for women and men should be the same, but then you want the guy to pay for everything.  Read: unfair

Even though I’m more traditional than many when it comes to gender roles, I don’t subscribe to the idea of making a man pay for everything.  That’s just plain wrong, even if we weren’t in the midst of the worst economic hardship we’ve experienced since the Great Depression.  As I said in a 2010 post, when I explored some of the many pressure society puts on men, the opposite sex is expected to do a lot.  I’m not suggesting that we women have all the privilege in this situation, but financially speaking, the burden is typically placed on the man.  Whether it’s child support, paying the bills, showering women with gifts, or paying for the first date, men are unfairly relegated to the role of Provider regardless of their situation.

What do you all think?  Should women at least offer "go Dutch"? while concealing plans to conveniently renege on offer if man accepts

A great video for women

Fotoshop by Adobé from Jesse Rosten on Vimeo.


I still want to look more bang-worthy but at least this video put things in perspective for a moment.

From the Fiance, via Epic Meal Time

Normal girls might like flowers, jewelry, and a romantic dinner for their anniversary.
This shirt is what I asked for.

Turkey Bacon: A Total Ersatz

My sentiments exactly

Turkey bacon is a crime against humanity.  It's far worse than a mock turtleneck in terms of pretending to be something it's not.  It doesn't taste anything like bacon, and it doesn't even taste that good.  People who don't eat pork should just stop deluding themselves into thinking that they can actually enjoy turkey bacon as much as regular bacon.  It will never go well with pancakes or scrambled eggs.  At least if it's on a hamburger it can almost pass as edible since its taste is masked by yummy beef and ketchup.  If you don't eat pork bacon, just don't bother buying anything else called "bacon."  It's a waste of money.  And a waste of mastication.

Great t-shirt.
But not as great as the One and True Bacon that inspired the shirt.

It would be nice to get something in the mail other than bills

When was the last time someone wrote you a letter?  It's been a long time since I have received one.  I'd pee my pants (in a good way*) if someone actually took out a pen and paper and wrote me a letter.  Not an e-mail, not a post-it note, and not a fucking text message.  A letter.  And not a typed letter either, though I suppose that would be a start.  I'm talking about a letter in that ol' lover's scrawl--handwritten, with scratch-outs and edits included. Raw.  Honest.  Real.  A letter where the handwriting might look different throughout, depending on the changing mood or speed of the author, or depending on which parts were written on which days--and at what times.  The words look a little less slanted on page 3 than page 1, perhaps, or maybe they're scrunched a little closer together in the fourth paragraph.   This is what I want to see.  If it sounds weird to you, then that means you are normal.  I, however, am not, which is why I go crazy over stuff like letters.

 Letter-writing is becoming obsolete, and that is very unfortunate for people like me who cherish this now-dying form of communication.    

I'm a lover of words no matter their source: newspapers, billboards, books, even those fucking text messages.  But letters are the best, and getting them in the mail is like opening a Christmas present.



*Ok, so you can never pee your pants in a good way, but you know what I mean.

No prenup for this broad!

I got engaged a few months ago. (Yay!)  The Boyfriend is now The Fiance', which is awesome.  Seeing as I am now betrothed, there are a number of things on my to-do list.  One task that is notably absent from said list is "Get prenuptial agreement."  Many celebrities and other wealthy individuals squeeze it in somewhere between "book the venue" and "mail invitations."  I understand why a lot of people want one; with a 50% divorce rate, who wants to risk a 50% loss of their earnings?  What I don't understand is why you would marry someone who you thought you had a good chance of divorcing AND who you thought would turn on you, screw you over, and take you to the bank if a split were to occur.  If there is that much doubt, you have no business walking down the aisle.  I'm not that much of a romantic but I can't get down with a prenup.  I guess if The Fiance' was adamant about it I would (reluctantly) acquiesce, but I'd be pretty damn mad about it.  You're essentially saying you don't love and trust enough, or trust the relationship enough, to marry that person without a "Just in case we end up hating each other, I'm gonna cover my ass here."  Is it smart?  yes.  Is it a sign of true love? No, it reminds me of the opposite of that.  It's like an expectation of failure.

I don't believe in divorce.  Unless Fiance' turns into Ike "Eat the cake, Anna Mae" Turner, I'm gonna go ahead and do that whole "Till death do us part" thing.  You know, the marriage VOWS?  The vows that will be made before GOD?  The ones that nobody seems to care about anymore?  Yeah, those.  

Update 1/16/12: I just thought about it and, just in case I went too far, I'd  like to explain that the purpose of linking to the youtube clip (a scene from the movie "What's Love Got to do With it") is to show how crazy and awful Ike Turner was.  I am not making light of or making fun of domestic violence.  My apologies if anyone was offended, upset, or triggered by this post.

Eat Fresh? I think not

A pig angel, looking down on us with shame,
for we permit Subway to misuse his flesh (and the flesh of his bretheren)
in such a way

We're all familiar with Subway's slogan, right?  It, like their sandwiches, is full of shit.  The ingredients are anything but "fresh" unless you are somehow lucky enough to enter the fine establishment at a time when everything was just removed from the fridge.  Something tells me that this event only happens when they first open their doors for business.  Otherwise, even if you come in when they just replaced the lettuce and the turkey, you're still looking at hours-old pickles and tomatoes.  And the bacon.  For God's sake, I have never seen such a desperate cry for help from any other meat product.  I can almost hear the slain pigs crying out from their graves, a chorus of porcine pleas begging Subway to make good bacon so their deaths might be justified.  

Anyway, that food has been sitting out in the open under hot lights and the hands of some sweaty employee known as a "Sandwich artist."  The food itself doesn't bother me; I eat here often and the footlongs keep me full for at least an hour (if you're new to this blog, you'll soon discover that I have the appetite of a sumo wrestler.  Or Liz Lemon).  What bothers me is that they lie to us and tell us that it's fresh when it's anything but.  No, it may not be deep-fried in lard, but it's not fresh.  And the employees are not "artists."  They are people who likely hate their jobs but try to do it with a smile on their face (which I sincerely appreciate).

Password Frustration

Dear websites,

You piss me off sometimes with these password requirements of yours.  If I want to create a password that is short and stupid and easy to figure out, that's my prerogative.  I promise I won't come whining to you if my account gets hacked because it'll be my own fault.  But seriously, every time I visit one of you bastards, there's a different password requirement.  This one must be at least 8 characters, that one has to have at least one capital letter, that one has to have at least one of the following symbols (%, +, #, $, !, @ but NOT an underscore symbol, which is the only one I actually use in passwords), another has to have at least one number, one letter, and one symbol, and hardly any of them can contain your first name.  I could continue.  I get it, and I appreciate your concern for my internet safety.  But you know what isn't safe?  The fact that I have a Microsoft Word document with a list of all of my fucking passwords so I can remember them.  It would be a lot easier if I could have just two or three passwords to memorize (maybe one undecipherable password for bank/financial information and university web access, one password for social networks & this dumb blog, and another one for shopping online or something).  But NO.  I have a password for each grad school I'm applying to, ebay, Paypal, Amazon, yahoo, both banks that I have an account with, facebook, FAFSA, job-hunting websites, my gradebook, Hulu (which is a waste of money, by the way), and the list goes on.   It's so frustrating.  And don't even get me started on the articles I read online that I want to comment on but I have to first "Create an Account.  It's Fast and Easy!" for.  Hell no.

Perhaps I should make all of my future passwords some form of "fuck you."  Some ideas:

fuck_you
f*ckyou
Fuck-y0u

Sincerely,

An adult who should be able to pick any password that strikes her fancy.

Story of my life in less than 10 words.

via quickmeme

Postsecret

Saw this on Postsecret.com, which I read religiously.  New secrets are added every Sunday. Many of them are sad and deep and painful, but this one from last week really stood out to me.