My Turn

Chris tagged me, and then harped me about not having completed this as of yet, so here it is:

Four Jobs I've Had in My Life

Telemarketer
Tour guide dressed as a the legendary Phoebe Snow for a Scranton tour company
Check-out girl at a grocery store
Receptionist at a day spa

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over

Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Dick
Gone in Sixty Seconds
The Chipmunk Adventure

Places I Have Lived

Oakley, California
Tunkhannock, PA
East Benton, PA
East Stroudsburg, PA


Four TV Shows I Love to Watch

Friends
Family Guy
Jeopardy
Next (and I am EXTREMELY ashamed of it.)


Places I Have Been on Vacation

Sierra, Nevada
Florida
Myrtle Beach, North Carolina
California


Websites I Visit Daily

TheUbergeeks
Dooce
Flickr
The Weather Thingie that tells me whether I get to wear a light sweater or a heavy coat

Four of My Favorite Foods

Pineapple and Ham Pizza and Cheesybread from Domino's
Shrimp, noodle, veggie teriyaki garlic goodness from The Eastern
Seafood of any type EXCEPT for mussels
Oreos with milk

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now

With the best kids in the whole world - my niece and nephew
Snuggling Ryran
On vacation at a tropical destination somewhere very warm
In my bed, sleeping for a good ten hour stretch

Four Bloggers I Am Tagging

I'm...not. I don't want to tag anyone. This reminds me of the chain letters that I used to get when I was in, like, 5th grade, that threatened me with a life of a hideous old maid if I did not send it to 10 of my friends within the hour.

Only The Hugest Congratulations Ever

I have big news.

Big. BIG. BIIIIIIIIG news.

Okay, so I know it isn't technically MY news, but it sort of is, and when I was little, I was always the one who had to spread news first. And I guess it sort of stayed with me as I grew up.

Okay...so...

MY ROOMMATE GOT ENGAGED!!!!

I mention it here because it deserves (as the title says) a really super big congratulations.

So here it is: To Tina, who can always find lost items for me, has an endless stock of medicine, feminine hygiene products, batteries, and office supplies that she never holds out, makes me chunky pudding, smushes my head in her ample bosom to comfort me when I'm down, and always smells up the laundry room with a Downy freshness. Also, in a long line of adjectives to describe her: caring, selfless, compassionate, and wonderful.

This is probably my one time to really say how much I appreciate her, and plus, I'm just really emotional lately, so I'll say what I want, beehotches. One time, she took my project ALLLLL the way up to the Fine Arts building even though she didn't need to. And when we left for breaks last year she made little notes for me, little lists, so that I didn't forget anything or forget to unplug electrical devices. And she cooks this chicken in this sauce that is just...WRONG; it's so good. And she always makes me some. And when I spank her bottom, instead of being irritated or indignant, she doesn't miss a beat and calmly asks, "Might I have some more?" And she is super proud of me every week when I write for the crappy Stroud Courier. And she never yells at me or even gets mad at me when I borrow her conditioner, or her scissors, or all of her highlighters, or her Tide (because her Tide is so much easier to use in the big jug with the poury spout thingy), or her socks (they have GOLD TOES!), or her time (which I borrow ALOT)...and I rarely return anything until she comes looking for it. Oh yeah, and she calls me "Sunshine" in the morning.

And she always, always holds my fin, and I love her.

Congratulations. You so deserve that obscenely large, sparkly Leo diamond that is now gracing your hand, and I am the most excited roommate of all time :)

The Handmaid's Tale By Margaret Atwood

In my opinion (and really, who’s else really matters here?), the utopian/dystopian theme has been waaayyy overdone. For those of you who don’t know exactly what I mean, think 1984, A Brave New World, The Time Machine and, more modernly, The Giver. I have always enjoyed a good dystopian tale, but have found that the good ones are too often lacking anything special. In short: one crappy futuristic society is the same as all the other crappy futuristic societies.

The Handmaid’s Tale added a new spice to the stale taste of this type of novel. The setting year is unknown, however Atwood creates it in a way that feels as though we are reading the story of one person’s last week. It is not a well oiled machine yet – instead, the “government” is still attempting to work out the glitches and get things running smoothly.

In a nutshell, each person has been given rigid social, political, and moral codes that enable them to stay in their designated place in society. Offred, the female narrator/protagonist, speaks of her life before, living in an American city, carrying on as modern American women do. Her new position is, to say the least, harrowing. More than once I got a full force case of, to put it technically, the heebie jeebies. Offred tells her personal tale of being forced into a new society, having her name forsaken with one that begins with “of” followed by a random male name, and living each day in hope that she will conceive a child so as not to be “sent away” as useless. Also, for those of you who are rolling your eyes (or cheering loudly) at the prospect of women in absolute submission, the book is chock full of creepy things like nasty public executions and corporal punishment at its best.

Now, I’m not saying that the whole woman-as-a-baby-machine idea hasn’t been done, but Atwood’s unique narrative paired with a fresh spin on a utopian setting delivers a story that will be flanking Orwell and Huxley for many a decade.

Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister By Gregory Maguire

Although Maguire has been lately lauded for his books Wicked,
and the December-released Son of a Witch, I found my first experience with him truly disappointing. Maguire’s schtick is somewhat unique: he takes secondary characters in famous fables and tells their personal life stories, attempting to put a new spin on an old tale. The novels are targeted at adults, and since grown-up fairy tales are hard to come by these days, I was very much looking forward to reading his novels.

My friend, Bryce, purchased Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, and I purchased Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, that way we can swap books. When I began Confessions… I had extremely high hopes, which, as most know, almost always leads to disappointment. However, I choose to believe that even if I had opened the covers not knowing a thing about it, I would have been let down.

The storyline itself – a third-person narrative about the “ugly” stepsister in Cinderella – could possibly work under different circumstances. It breaks the common mold, showing the pains and sufferings of Iris, the “ugly” stepsister, Ruth, the other stepsister, and Clara, the one we call Cinderella. The outline of the classic is there, but the fluff that Cinderella-lovers expect is not. The stepmother is indeed wicked, as the classic tells us, but the three sisters lack what it takes to make us care about their plots in life. Iris is the “fiery, spirited one”, I suppose to make up for her ugliness with personality. Unfortunately, Maguire fails to make us fall in love with anything about her, personality included. Ruth, the other stepsister, is mute and (what we assume to be) mentally challenged. She brings absolutely nothing to the length of the novel. Her character is meant to bring out Iris’ connection and compassion as a sister, but fails for the most part in that regard as well. Clara, our Cinderella counterpart, is nothing short of a selfish, whiny, spoiled brat. That portrayal would be fine if that is how she truly is, but somewhere in the middle of the book Maguire decides to try and make us like her, as though one morning he woke up and thought, “Eh, what the heck. Everyone can feel bad for her too.” Unfortunately, by the time he tries to pull that off, we are far too annoyed at her and disliking her to the point of no return. Moreover, our dislike of her is borderline apathetic.

That said, I will make very clear what I did not like: it bored me to death. The detail, the scenes, the character relationships, all of it: Boring. Many books get off to a very slow start, so I was hesitant to judge early, but then 150 pages crawled by almost painfully, and I realized that I was halfway through the novel and I was still waiting for it to start.

Perhaps Maguire was hoping for a less-glamorous portrayal of a classic story. If this was the case, he managed it, but missed the mark on every other account. Nearing the end of the book, I still did not feel close to any of the characters. Rather, I was just waiting for it to end, not really caring which way the plot went or who ended up where.

I still have yet to read Wicked. I am going to put away my negative thoughts on Maguire’s style and begin Wicked with a clean slate. Hopefully Confessions… was the weakest example of his works.

Welcome 2006!

Okay so I have been a bad, bad blogger. I write religiously for something like a month, and then I just completely, all-out neglect my blog.

Well that was in sucky '05, and this is Flippin' Sweet '06, so that means that I will write religiously for upwards of two months before pooping out and forgetting about it again.

In any case, I checked out Colin Devroe's 2005 Book Reviews, and I decided that I would very much like to do the same type of thing on here.

I am going to include two books that I read in the last week of December even though they are not technically Books I Read in 2006.

I'd Growl, But It's Uncouth

Today is a Grouchy Day. I don't just mean it's a run of the mill grumpy day. I mean, I am Oscar, hear me roar. It could be the rain. It could be how pale I am. I don't know.

Congratulations, you just read the shortest, most worthless blog I have ever written.

Please Don't Sponsor Me

Okay...when did Flickr start this little outreach program?



I just noticed this for the first time this afternoon. Sponsor me? Is Flickr trying to get people to BUY me a pro account? I am absolutely mortified. How embarassing! Why don't they just march on into my classroom and announce to my peers that SALENA doesn't have enough money for the fieldtrip, so if anyone would like to bring in an EXTRA four dollars, that would be a nice "gift," and would make it possible for Salena to not only tour the Crayola Factory but also get a Happy Meal at McDonald's with the rest of the class.

What exactly goes on at Flickr headquarters? Do they give "Free Account" holders six months or so to buy a pro account, and then on the 180th day a little red flag goes up on your name, and they say "Okay, well, she won't do it for herself, so we better get out there and find someone who can do it for her. A SPONSOR, so to speak."

Okay. Maybe I don't want a pro account. Maybe I am content with my limited storage space,despite the fact that I have to carefully pick and choose which of my masterpieces to upload, and errors are not optional. Maybe the idea of unlimited uploading frightens me. Who knows?

Flickr doesn't know. Flickr just went on ahead and begged charity on my behalf. SPONSOR me?? PLEASE. I think that if someone has $24.95 that they wouldn't mind doling out to Flickr for me, they should take the money, surf the net, and find somewhere that could really use it. Like Simply Smiles, or Katrina Care, or some other worthwhile place that could really use the help.

By all means, share it if you have it. Just don't flippin' buy me a pro account. And Flickr...well, this is the first time we've had a fight, so I'll let it slide. But thanks alot for announcing to everyone that I'm too poor to buy myself one of your dumbhead pro accounts. THANKS A BUNCH.

Today We Salute You Obnoxious, Backround Yeller Man

You know who they are. And if you're one of them, you know who you are. You are the one guy (or in very rare cases, girl) who feels that your entire inner dialogue is an absolute must-hear for the rest of society. No matter the place, situation, or number of weary listeners, you can't help but make constant exclamations on every thought-provoking incident that comes your way.

Today you sat three seats behind me on the shuttle. Yes. You. If you are reading this and you were on the Express shuttle at 11:40 today and everything I am saying is making you comment loudly to your unwilling neighbor about what a "douche" I am, then rest assured, this is about you.

Do you feel that you will somehow make a difference? That your words alone will stand up against the rest of the crowd's silence and bring on a revolution? Or do you just find yourself so hilarious (which you evidently do, judging by the shoulder shrug-head shake-smirk that you follow each of your comments with) that you just MUST share your obvious wit with the rest of us, including the poor shuttle driver.

The poor guy is darned near 70 years old. He doesn't know how to start the new-fangled contraptions that we call Martz buses. All he really wants is a worn-in pair of tighty whities and his recliner. Instead, he has to drive college kids back and forth for six hours at a time, making the same three mile loop continuously.

So imagine how he feels when some irritating little putz spends the entire 3 mile shuttle ride exclaiming loudly (but not directly, of course) "WHY DOES HE HAVE TO TURN HERE? WHY CANT HE JUST DROP US OFF? *SIGGGHHHH* DOES HE EVEN KNOW HOW TO DRIVE A BUS? IS IT, LIKE, ROCKET SCIENCE? WHY DOES HE HAVE TO PICK THESE A**HOLES UP? LET THEM WALK!"

Meanwhile, the rest of the bus, who evidently were not raised in a barn, is absolutely embarassed FOR Mr. Caller Outter, and henceforth tries to even the score with little smiles at the shuttle driver, some loud talking of their own to distract from the nastiness, or just good ol' staring contests with the floor.

Okay. We all know he has to turn there. It's his job. Likewise, picking a**holes up is his job, as is witnessed by the one occupying the seat three rows behind me. Sure, he almost took out a girl on a bike and someone's Toyota, but what do we want? Buses are wide. He does the best he can.

SO LAY OFF HIM. And next time you are seated in the same vicinity as a Backround Yeller, try staring at him continuously, timing your blinks so that they are JUST borderline creepy, and keeping a slight frown on your face. It might not chance his personality, but it'll shut him up for at least a couple of minutes, until he stage whispers to his seat buddy that "some people are such freaks."

"You Can Afford It" and Other Tricksy Insults

Four years ago Ryan introduced me to the beauty of the backhanded compliment. Prior to him, I had never heard of sneaking an insult into a compliment. Upon my complaining about the oodles (I've now used that word twice in one day) of freckles that plague my face, he sweetly said, "Oh, honers. I love your freckles. A face without freckles is like a sky without pollution."

Picking me up in a hug: "For a skinny chick, you sure are fat."

Discussing his taste in women: "I love you too. For some reason, only really ugly girls fall in love with me."

Fashion: "Those pants are nice, but your ass kind of ruins it."

I quickly learned that the tone is the key. You see, if you distract them with the tone of voice that says "I am paying you a compliment," by the time they think twice about the actual words that came out of your mouth, you're long gone and giggling to yourself miles away.

When you know a person, as I know Ryran, you expect the constant insulting banter. However, the true blow comes when someone completely unexpected suddenly lets loose in a quiet, unassuming manner. Like my roommate Tina. She doesn't insult. Shes a nice girl. Meanness isnt her bag.

So you can imagine my surprise when today, as her and I and Aubrey were discussing Aubrey's illicit use of my sour cream, she made a nasty, tricksy play of her own. Aubrey buys fat-free sour cream. I buy whole fat-full sour cream. Therefore, when Aubrey used mine by "accident" and left me the fat-free one, I was understandably disgruntled.

"FAT-FREE!?" I say. "YOU @#$%*&!"

"I'm SORRY!" Aubrey says.

"You can afford it." Tina says calmly and sweetly.

Hold it. HOLD THE PHONE. My mouth drops open, I stare shocked at Tina.

"I.....I CAN AFFORD IT?" I spit out.

"Wellll," she smiles a bit. "You DO eat like four sticks of butter and ALOT of macaroni and cheese..."

How can I be mad at that? Of course I do. I love mac and cheese. I love butter. I will eat the fat-free sour cream. But next time, Aubrey...NEXT TIME.

YourSpace Sucks

I've been grateful to Chris a number of times, but never so much as I am right now, as I write this in my Blogger account. You see, not too long ago, I almost made a horrible, irreparable mistake. I finally decided to start a blog, and naturally, I gravitated towards MySpace because it was the only one that I knew about. This next part is hard to admit...

The fact of the matter is, I did register and get a login name. At first I just wanted to see other people's profiles, but then I actually wrote an entry. :( This was a really rough time in my life, and I really regret that moment, but thankfully, Chris staged an intervention before any real damage was done.

Unfortunately, now that I have seen the light, I harbor nasty, uncontrollable resentment for those who habitate on MySpace accounts. I tried to pinpoint my anger, but it was very foreign to me, until finally I realized that I just want to smack every one of the 14-17 year olds who create an account for the sheer purpose of posting slutty pictures and anecdotes that they can be sure their parents will never see. It seems that at least 94% of the female WhoreSpace account holders have exactly the same headlines. In one form or another, they all (and usually in very blatant terms) say, "Look at me! I'm underage and I want everyone to see my skanky pictures in the bathtub so that everyone can tell me I'm hott."

At the moment, I cannot decide which of the two types I hate more. On the one hand, there is Whore Type A, who's headline is "I Love C*ck" and who posts self-taken pictures of her barely pubescent body, with her dresser in the backround adorned with Hello Kitty figurines. Her "blogs" include tales about how much she loves men, making out, and usually (coincidentally)alcohol. On the other hand, Whore Type B makes her headlines "American Sweetie" and then, oops, just randomly has pictures of herself in her bathing suit with cute little captions that look something like: "Me.<3 I know I'm in my bathing suit (in December) but I didn't have any other ones to post up here. tee hee <3 <3"

Barf. I think I'm getting old. I have this horrible impending feeling of oldness. I never used to be so irritated by this, but suddenly I browse through these accounts trying to find one decent girl who doesn't desecrate herself at 14 for the sake of Comments, and I can't.

MySpace is a meatmarket. I hate it. It disguises self-selling of young, insecure girls who are in dire need of self esteem boosters. Which is okay. Its okay to be young and insecure and need self esteem boosters. Its just really tragic to me all of a sudden that the only way they can do this is by getting men to ogle them and tell them how sexually desired they are. It gives me a stomach ache.

Everyone should have their own space to write and express and just rant if they need to. I think that personal blogs are a great way for people to be heard. I just don't think that they need to be seen to be heard, and unfortunately all of those young girls are learning that the only way to be heard is to be seen in a sexual manner.

I don't want to sound self righteous. That isn't what I want at all. I think that being beautiful and feeling that you look attractive has oodles to do with being confident and happy with yourself. I guess, right now, I'm just old and I'm beginning to lose my ability to see the advantage in marketing yourself in such a classless, vulgar way.

MySpace, you should be ashamed of yourself for what you've become.