Dear Domino’s Pizza,
Look, I know times have been hard lately. You had those people make videos of themselves doing unholy things to the food, and that certainly kept you in the news for awhile. I wouldn’t be surprised if sales were down. But my brothers and I decided to take a chance on you on Saturday night, when we were too exhausted to go out. My brother William, a public relations guru, applauded how you had handled the crisis, and my brother George and I figured that everyone who works at Domino’s was probably on high alert for bad apples who do unspeakable things to food. We all figured that it just might be the safest time to eat Domino’s Pizza.
First off, let me compliment you on your online ordering system, Domino’s. I appreciate immensely the fact that you’ve removed the need to ever speak to a human when ordering. Instead, all I have to do to order is dial you up online, find a coupon special that fits my needs for the evening, and plug in all my desires – I can even take advantage of a feature that lets me see what my pizza would look like if I put pepperoni on it instead of green peppers. Then I can just sit back and watch this amazing little ticker that lets me know who is making my order, whether it’s in the oven or not, and whether the driver has left yet. Even if this order monitoring system isn’t completely accurate, I still have to salute you and say that it’s quite a country when you can watch the status of your pizza order in real time.
And, as someone who dislikes speaking on the phone, I’ll say once again that I appreciate not having to explain what I want to a human being. Human beings are fallible. Human beings make mistakes. And oh, Domino’s, how your people made mistakes on Saturday evening.
Here was the situation: my brothers and I ordered a meal deal that came with two pizzas, cheesy bread and a 2-liter of Diet Coke. About 30 minutes from the time the order was placed I got a call from the delivery guy wanting to clarify which number was my apartment number, and which number was my street number. This concerned me greatly as my street number and my apartment number are thousands of numbers apart, and if he’s looking for a street address featuring my apartment number, then he’s probably miles away. Also, Domino’s is really nearby so hopefully he’d be familiar enough with the area? So I was concerned, but tried not to show it.
Ten minutes later, a knock on the door. I sign the receipt and I am handed two pizza boxes. “Um,” I say. “We had cheesy bread and a 2-liter Diet Coke as well.” Dude looks at my receipt and says, “Aww, my bad, I’ll run back to the store and get it.” Frankly I had my doubts, cause he’d already gotten and paid and tipped. I figured we’d never see him again.
And actually, we didn’t see him, not the next time a knock came at the door 10 minutes later. There was a different delivery guy, offering me a thing of cheesy bread. Now, maybe I shouldn’t have done this…I feel a little bad that I did, cause it wasn’t so terribly important, but I said, “Um, we had a two-liter of Diet Coke also?” And the guy got very confused, and he’s like, “I don’t know what you had, they just told me to bring this to you. I’ll call the store.”
So another ten minutes later, another knock. It was the original delivery guy. He said he was sorry and he asked if we had gotten the cheesy bread, and then he handed me a two-liter of Diet Coke and a 12-oz Sprite “for my troubles.” And that’s how it took us three separate visits by Domino’s to get our entire four-item order.
Now, Domino’s, as I started this letter, you’ve had troubles lately. That means that until things die down some, you should probably make sure that you don’t screw up the orders of the people who are ordering from you in this crisis. Because now I think that I shouldn’t order from you ever again, Domino’s, because now I think I’m probably on some Domino’s watch list at that store as demanding, and if I do order again, then you probably will spit in my food and do other bad things to it. Do you see how you screwed up? Do you offer me a lifetime of free pizza to make up for it? Think about it.
Fondly,
Molly
Sunday, April 26, 2009
a weekend with my brothers
Would you like to know what my brothers and I do when we’re not busy interviewing one another? Well then, today is your lucky day, for I shall recap the events of this weekend, which I spent with my darling brothers in recognition of the fact that we all have birthdays between April 1 and May 1.
The weekend began on Friday afternoon. I was stuck in god awful traffic on my way home from work, which left my brothers stranded outside my apartment, playing with George’s Blackberry . The original goal was to head for a brewery to taste beers for a few hours, but I was none too eager to get back in the car after my commute home, and since both the breweries had in mind stopped serving at 8 pm, it would have been a matter of drinking 6 beers in an hour to get the full experience. While there are nights when we wouldn’t shy away from such a task, we decided to take it easy and get into vacation mode. Thus, we skipped the breweries, a decision both brothers hailed as instrumental in the fact that no one got hungover or sick the next day.
Instead of heading for a brewery, we had a few beers at my apartment before making a leisurely stroll down the street for dinner. Whenever I have a brother in town, I like to go to a place called George’s, where you can get the best burgers in town. Maybe even the world. If you come visit me, I will take you to this magical place. At one point, I was eating a Barbeque Bacon and Chedder burger and musing aloud, “Why do I not put barbeque sauce on everything?” William was sweating, because William was sweating the whole time. George was documenting the whole process on his Blackberry. We ate our burgers and fries, polished off a few pitchers and then headed a few doors down to another bar.
William was pretty happy with this new bar because the waitress gave us the beers that were on draft in order of ascending price, which meant you could stop listening as soon as you heard a beer that you liked. We settled for Yuengling. I don’t mind telling you that with as much beer as we had consumed at that point, we found the following to be good ideas: calling our parents despite the late hour, singing Jenny Lewis songs loudly in our booth and taking Blackberry pictures of the urinal in the men’s bathroom (I had no part of that last one).
We made our walk home. Now, all through the night, George and I had been telling William not to let us go to this place called Frogs, because George and I have a tendency to drink too much tequila when we go to that place and we end up being dreadfully sick the next day. As we stumbled home, we started talking about Frogs and William was actually encouraging that we go!! Bad form, William. Instead, George and I managed to have some willpower and go back to the apartment. William kept everyone hydrated and we went to bed at a fairly reasonable hour, since it had been a long day and because we are all getting older now.
The next day we arose and confronted the fact that I had nothing to eat or drink in my apartment other than beer. So after showering, we headed over to a Dunkin’ Doughnuts and enjoyed a nice breakfast. Then we went to Borders because I have a tendency to make people go to bookstores with me. Then we went to a variety store to look at doodads. George really appreciated the variety of it all, and William found me a magnet with the pope on it. Good form, William. You redeemed yourself from that Frogs misjudgment the night before.
After all this wandering about shops, it was time to eat again, and it had been at least 12 hours since we had had a beer, so everyone was starting to get the shakes. We headed off to a place called Brick Store, which is known for its long beer list and its good food, meaning that my brothers and I are its target demographic. We split some Bavarian pretzels and some fish and chips, and we all enjoyed an IPA that was very very hoppy but very very enjoyable.
Then we were off to a street festival that was being held in a nearby neighborhood. Our search to find a parking spot at this festival was very long, but we all had enough fun at the festival that we deemed the frustration worthwhile. We saw some of the street parade, browsed through all the booths and drank some beer, though not necessarily in that order. I bought some apple cider doughnuts for the next day from a bakery in North Georgia to compensate for not providing breakfast earlier. As for the most important purchase, however, that was….KETTLE KORN. God help us, my brothers and I are suckers for a giant bag of Kettle Korn, and this was the freshest batch possible. It literally went from the kettle straight into our mouths. Basically. It was so good, and easily matched any meal that we had during the entire weekend in quality, and I don’t mean that statement as a knock on any of our restaurant meals.
The festival left us sweaty, so we headed back to my apartment to shower. We were also exhausted from all that walking around in 90 degree weather, so we decided to have a quiet night in. We ordered some pizza (the difficulties associated with this deserve their own post, which should be posted directly after this one) and watched “The Wrestler.” We had high hopes for this film because the three of us spent many an hour in our youth watching all sorts of wrestling and following the careers of our favorite wrestlers. After watching the film, though, I would just say “enh.” I’d rather re-watch a classic Wrestlemania, preferably the one where Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage have a retirement match and Macho Man loses (but he had turned bad, so he was supposed to!) and in his defeat reconciles with Miss Elizabeth.
Even though we’d had showers, William still sweated throughout the evening. He can’t live in Atlanta, apparently. Too hot. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing.
The next day, we had the apple cider doughnuts, all three of us deeming them delicious. After watching the Travel Channel for awhile and some more showering and a little bumming around the apartment, it was off to another Atlanta institution, The Varsity, where we enjoyed hot dogs in various states of chili, cheese and cole slaw coverings, as well as French fries, onion rings, and Frosted Orange drinks. Just typing out all the food we ate is making me slightly sick, but that is just how my brothers and I roll. We drink and we eat to excess. Eat, drink and be merry and whatnot.
While we ate, I asked George and William which events were so memorable as to be included in the blog, and they both said, "all of them," so that is basically what I have recounted. After the Varsity, it was time for the boys to depart and head back to North Carolina. The weekend was far too short, which I know because I still have beer left in my fridge. Though I guess my gut is grateful.
So, anyways, if you’d like to know what it’s like to be in my family, find two other people and recreate this weekend for yourselves. You get a bonus point for any instance in which someone who is with you points out that you are acting like one of your parents.
The weekend began on Friday afternoon. I was stuck in god awful traffic on my way home from work, which left my brothers stranded outside my apartment, playing with George’s Blackberry . The original goal was to head for a brewery to taste beers for a few hours, but I was none too eager to get back in the car after my commute home, and since both the breweries had in mind stopped serving at 8 pm, it would have been a matter of drinking 6 beers in an hour to get the full experience. While there are nights when we wouldn’t shy away from such a task, we decided to take it easy and get into vacation mode. Thus, we skipped the breweries, a decision both brothers hailed as instrumental in the fact that no one got hungover or sick the next day.
Instead of heading for a brewery, we had a few beers at my apartment before making a leisurely stroll down the street for dinner. Whenever I have a brother in town, I like to go to a place called George’s, where you can get the best burgers in town. Maybe even the world. If you come visit me, I will take you to this magical place. At one point, I was eating a Barbeque Bacon and Chedder burger and musing aloud, “Why do I not put barbeque sauce on everything?” William was sweating, because William was sweating the whole time. George was documenting the whole process on his Blackberry. We ate our burgers and fries, polished off a few pitchers and then headed a few doors down to another bar.
William was pretty happy with this new bar because the waitress gave us the beers that were on draft in order of ascending price, which meant you could stop listening as soon as you heard a beer that you liked. We settled for Yuengling. I don’t mind telling you that with as much beer as we had consumed at that point, we found the following to be good ideas: calling our parents despite the late hour, singing Jenny Lewis songs loudly in our booth and taking Blackberry pictures of the urinal in the men’s bathroom (I had no part of that last one).
We made our walk home. Now, all through the night, George and I had been telling William not to let us go to this place called Frogs, because George and I have a tendency to drink too much tequila when we go to that place and we end up being dreadfully sick the next day. As we stumbled home, we started talking about Frogs and William was actually encouraging that we go!! Bad form, William. Instead, George and I managed to have some willpower and go back to the apartment. William kept everyone hydrated and we went to bed at a fairly reasonable hour, since it had been a long day and because we are all getting older now.
The next day we arose and confronted the fact that I had nothing to eat or drink in my apartment other than beer. So after showering, we headed over to a Dunkin’ Doughnuts and enjoyed a nice breakfast. Then we went to Borders because I have a tendency to make people go to bookstores with me. Then we went to a variety store to look at doodads. George really appreciated the variety of it all, and William found me a magnet with the pope on it. Good form, William. You redeemed yourself from that Frogs misjudgment the night before.
After all this wandering about shops, it was time to eat again, and it had been at least 12 hours since we had had a beer, so everyone was starting to get the shakes. We headed off to a place called Brick Store, which is known for its long beer list and its good food, meaning that my brothers and I are its target demographic. We split some Bavarian pretzels and some fish and chips, and we all enjoyed an IPA that was very very hoppy but very very enjoyable.
Then we were off to a street festival that was being held in a nearby neighborhood. Our search to find a parking spot at this festival was very long, but we all had enough fun at the festival that we deemed the frustration worthwhile. We saw some of the street parade, browsed through all the booths and drank some beer, though not necessarily in that order. I bought some apple cider doughnuts for the next day from a bakery in North Georgia to compensate for not providing breakfast earlier. As for the most important purchase, however, that was….KETTLE KORN. God help us, my brothers and I are suckers for a giant bag of Kettle Korn, and this was the freshest batch possible. It literally went from the kettle straight into our mouths. Basically. It was so good, and easily matched any meal that we had during the entire weekend in quality, and I don’t mean that statement as a knock on any of our restaurant meals.
The festival left us sweaty, so we headed back to my apartment to shower. We were also exhausted from all that walking around in 90 degree weather, so we decided to have a quiet night in. We ordered some pizza (the difficulties associated with this deserve their own post, which should be posted directly after this one) and watched “The Wrestler.” We had high hopes for this film because the three of us spent many an hour in our youth watching all sorts of wrestling and following the careers of our favorite wrestlers. After watching the film, though, I would just say “enh.” I’d rather re-watch a classic Wrestlemania, preferably the one where Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage have a retirement match and Macho Man loses (but he had turned bad, so he was supposed to!) and in his defeat reconciles with Miss Elizabeth.
Even though we’d had showers, William still sweated throughout the evening. He can’t live in Atlanta, apparently. Too hot. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing.
The next day, we had the apple cider doughnuts, all three of us deeming them delicious. After watching the Travel Channel for awhile and some more showering and a little bumming around the apartment, it was off to another Atlanta institution, The Varsity, where we enjoyed hot dogs in various states of chili, cheese and cole slaw coverings, as well as French fries, onion rings, and Frosted Orange drinks. Just typing out all the food we ate is making me slightly sick, but that is just how my brothers and I roll. We drink and we eat to excess. Eat, drink and be merry and whatnot.
While we ate, I asked George and William which events were so memorable as to be included in the blog, and they both said, "all of them," so that is basically what I have recounted. After the Varsity, it was time for the boys to depart and head back to North Carolina. The weekend was far too short, which I know because I still have beer left in my fridge. Though I guess my gut is grateful.
So, anyways, if you’d like to know what it’s like to be in my family, find two other people and recreate this weekend for yourselves. You get a bonus point for any instance in which someone who is with you points out that you are acting like one of your parents.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
one badass bear
When I first got my adorable bear, Barnabas, I was living in Seattle and I needed someone to keep an eye on the place when I wasn’t around. I wanted some security for when I was home alone at night. And Barnabas, in addition to being a wonderful companion, has kept things very safe. I haven’t been burgled once in the entire time that I’ve owned Barnabas, and I don’t think that’s just a coincidence.
Now, I envisioned that Barnabas would be able to stay at home and make my protection his full time job and life’s mission. But, no one can deny that times are tough these days, and I have asked Barnabas to get a job to cover a few household expenses. For example, I didn’t expect that my fish would live an entire year and now we’re going to have to keep buying fish food. Also, we have another mouth to feed since little Chester Bear came into our life at Christmas.
Man, if this is the first blog entry that you’re reading, you’re really confused and disturbed, huh?
So Barnabas sat down about a month ago and started thinking about what job he might like. At first he wanted to be a puppeteer, but as always, nobody’s looking for a puppeteer in today’s wintry economic climate. Then he thought he might like to be a sports coach, because he’s been really interested in things like the Final Four and the Masters lately. But he doesn’t really excel at any one sport. He is however, athletic, and when I considered that, in combination with the fact that he came along for the express purpose of personal protection, I told him that maybe he should consider being a police bear or a bodyguard or something.
Well, Barnabas did a little investigation and talking to other local bears, and I am proud to announce that little Barn is now fully trained and employed as a member of the Bear SWAT Team. Here he is with Alvin the fish before his first day of work:
Here are some fun facts about SWAT teams that I got from Wikipedia:
--SWAT stands for Special Weapons and Tactics.
--The first SWAT team was established in 1968 in Los Angeles.
--The first significant deployment of that SWAT team was a four-hour confrontation with the Black Panthers in 1969.
--The most common weapons used by SWAT units are submachine guns, assault rifles, shotguns and sniper rifles.
--SWAT duties include perimeter security against snipers for visiting dignitaries, countering terrorist operations in U.S. cities and stabilizing situations involving high-risk suicidal subjects.
Now maybe you are thinking, “Whoa! Molly! How can you handle sending your sweet little bear into such a big bad world?” And I cannot lie, it is hard for me. But from what I understand, the bear SWAT units are a little bit different, in ways that Wikipedia hasn’t quite caught up to yet. And Barnabas assures me that he is always very safe and that he feels it is his duty to go out and protect other bears, like Chester.
I did worry when he came home from his first day on the job, because the first thing he did was head for the fridge, get a beer, and sit in front of the tv. He didn’t say a word, and it was only because I pestered him that he mumbled something about a bear hostage crisis. Here he is, looking kinda rough:
So of course I’m concerned that he may become hardened by this job. However, after a beer, he was back to his old Barnabas self, and we had a good discussion about how we both hate the song “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart. Like, we both REALLY hate it. I asked him if he thought I should add black beans to the hash browns I was making for dinner, cause I’m all about adding black beans to everything these days. Barnabas voted no, that I should get my hash brown technique more finely tuned before I start experimenting with add-ins. And friends and neighbors, that bear was right. My hash browns still need work.
Now, I envisioned that Barnabas would be able to stay at home and make my protection his full time job and life’s mission. But, no one can deny that times are tough these days, and I have asked Barnabas to get a job to cover a few household expenses. For example, I didn’t expect that my fish would live an entire year and now we’re going to have to keep buying fish food. Also, we have another mouth to feed since little Chester Bear came into our life at Christmas.
Man, if this is the first blog entry that you’re reading, you’re really confused and disturbed, huh?
So Barnabas sat down about a month ago and started thinking about what job he might like. At first he wanted to be a puppeteer, but as always, nobody’s looking for a puppeteer in today’s wintry economic climate. Then he thought he might like to be a sports coach, because he’s been really interested in things like the Final Four and the Masters lately. But he doesn’t really excel at any one sport. He is however, athletic, and when I considered that, in combination with the fact that he came along for the express purpose of personal protection, I told him that maybe he should consider being a police bear or a bodyguard or something.
Well, Barnabas did a little investigation and talking to other local bears, and I am proud to announce that little Barn is now fully trained and employed as a member of the Bear SWAT Team. Here he is with Alvin the fish before his first day of work:
Here are some fun facts about SWAT teams that I got from Wikipedia:
--SWAT stands for Special Weapons and Tactics.
--The first SWAT team was established in 1968 in Los Angeles.
--The first significant deployment of that SWAT team was a four-hour confrontation with the Black Panthers in 1969.
--The most common weapons used by SWAT units are submachine guns, assault rifles, shotguns and sniper rifles.
--SWAT duties include perimeter security against snipers for visiting dignitaries, countering terrorist operations in U.S. cities and stabilizing situations involving high-risk suicidal subjects.
Now maybe you are thinking, “Whoa! Molly! How can you handle sending your sweet little bear into such a big bad world?” And I cannot lie, it is hard for me. But from what I understand, the bear SWAT units are a little bit different, in ways that Wikipedia hasn’t quite caught up to yet. And Barnabas assures me that he is always very safe and that he feels it is his duty to go out and protect other bears, like Chester.
I did worry when he came home from his first day on the job, because the first thing he did was head for the fridge, get a beer, and sit in front of the tv. He didn’t say a word, and it was only because I pestered him that he mumbled something about a bear hostage crisis. Here he is, looking kinda rough:
So of course I’m concerned that he may become hardened by this job. However, after a beer, he was back to his old Barnabas self, and we had a good discussion about how we both hate the song “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart. Like, we both REALLY hate it. I asked him if he thought I should add black beans to the hash browns I was making for dinner, cause I’m all about adding black beans to everything these days. Barnabas voted no, that I should get my hash brown technique more finely tuned before I start experimenting with add-ins. And friends and neighbors, that bear was right. My hash browns still need work. Tuesday, April 21, 2009
21 questions about ceiling fans
I have interviewed my dad. I have interviewed my mom. I have interviewed my brother William. If you're seeking insight into what my immediate family is like, there's only one more source of information, and that is my brother George. I think most everyone who reads this blog is pretty familiar with George, either because you are related to him or because he's a regular presence on this blog, providing guest entries and funny comments to name but a few of his contributions. On Easter weekend, the time had come to get his side of the story. The family, including George's wife, Courtney, gathered around to watch the interview take place, a decision that both George and I would come to regret, because a certain member of our family decided to keep interrupting. Get your own blog, Dad.
The only ground rule for the interview was a request by George that none of the questions deal with ceiling fans, since George had spent approximately 27 hours that weekend trying to hang a new ceiling fan, and it still didn't work completely (the lights wouldn't come one).
Molly: George, you have a birthday coming up. What was your most memorable birthday?
George: Probably my 21st birthday.
Dad: Great, none of us were there.
George: We went to Pk’s Pizza for some barbeque chicken pizza. Then we went out and had pitchers of beer at Hokie House. I came back and opened presents from our parents, including a fifth of Captain Morgan’s, an Anthony Kiedis book, and a picture of Sigmund Freud.
Molly: What is your fondest memory of me?
George: When I came down to Atlanta when I was 16 and I stayed in your freshman dorm for the weekend. You took me a bar and we drank underage (Editor’s note: What? I have no memory of such criminal behavior). You took me to the cafeteria at Emory and you told me to get multiple drinks so I wouldn’t have to get up for refills. So I told everyone to do that in college. Then I left early to go to an Outkast concert even though our parents told me not to.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Dad?
George: When someone says, “Looking good, Billy Ray,” you say, “Feeling good, Lewis.”
(At this point, Dad gets upset that his greatest accomplishment as a father was to teach us a line from the movie “Trading Places.” “I thought I would have taught you something meaningful, like honesty,” Dad said. I reminded Dad that he actually taught George more about lying because George used to be told to pretend he was younger that he really was, in order to get reduced admission prices for attractions like amusement parks and presidential libraries)
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Mom?
George: Always to say thank you.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from William?
George: You gotta get g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up.
Molly: Who is your favorite historical figure and why?
George: Thomas Jefferson, because he taught me I could create my own Bible.
Dad: Plus he created a great university that you could never understand.
George: No, I’ll say Sigmund Freud. He was interesting.
Molly: If you could have a dinner party with three people, alive or dead, who would you invite?
George: I couldn’t get more than three people to come? Well, I’d want to invite one more. I’d invite all of my grandparents, so they could tell me funny stories about my parents.
Dad interjects again to say that this is a waste, because George already met his grandmothers and he should invite other people.
Molly (trying to get the interview back on track) What would you serve at this dinner party?
George: I would serve Kink soufflé. (Editor’s note: Kink soufflé is a mix of ham, cheese and bread deliciousness that we always ate at my grandmother’s when we had dinner over there.
Dad: Well my parents won’t like that, because they’re more meat and potato people.
Molly: What skill that you don’t have would you most like to learn?
George: Honesty.
Molly: George, you’ve offered me tons of job interview advice, since you do so many job interviews for your job. So I have a very stereotypical job interview question for you: What is your biggest weakness?
George: Sometimes I forget to hydrate before I go to bed after a night of drinking.
Courtney: That’s it?? What about peeing in the refrigerator? (Editor’s note: One time George got drunk and peed in the refrigerator.)
Molly: If you weren’t in your current job, what would you want to do?
George: I would own a bar or a record store or be a rock musician. My bar would be [redacted].
(Editor’s note: When George revealed the name of his bar, I suggested that maybe he shouldn’t reveal it on such a public forum as this blog, because it’s an excellent idea and I don’t want anyone stealing the concept. So I said that I would put “redacted” and then Dad and William got on my case and told me that redacted was a stupid word.)
Molly: How would you describe your alma mater, Virginia Tech, to an alien?
William: Here we go with the fucking aliens again.
George: I would say that Virginia Tech is a place you go after high school, which is after middle school, which is after elementary school, and schools are places where you learn a lot of stuff.
Molly: Well, the aliens are familiar with the concept of higher education. What they want to know is how Virginia Tech is different from other institutions.
George: It’s the best.
William: I like how you’re short with the aliens. We don’t need them to have too much information.
Molly: How were you most warped by your family?
George: I’ve inherited (deep breath) an incurable fixation to collect lots of things without throwing much away, in combination with some very weird body hair.
Molly: Describe your perfect day.
George: Hmmm, well it could have been today (Editor’s note: that day, George had gone to breakfast with dad and dad’s friends, then gone to the flea market, then to Chick-fil, then ran some errands, then dinner with the family). On my perfect day, I would get up pretty early but fully rested. Take a shower. Have breakfast and read the paper. Coffee. Probably go to a CD store, then have lunch at Chick-fil-a with the family. A little DG (editor’s note: Disc Golf) with my brother, where I’d hit another hole-in-one. Key word there is ANOTHER because I’ve already hit one. Then a nice little dinner...meat, potatoes, a cigar. Then going out. Just getting g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up. Then I’d go to sleep well-hydrated.
(Editor’s note: Then things took a horribly disturbing turn when my dad pointed out that George hadn’t had sex on his perfect day. Then my youngest brother and my father had a conversation about sex that remains fairly traumatizing to me, while I try to point out that sex is not really something I discuss on the blog and that I don’t really need that level of detail on the perfect day scenario. Just even thinking about that moment again has me in a weird mood.)
Molly: Um, to get this interview back on track, George, if you could go back in time for one week, what period of history would you go to and why?
Dad (interrupting): Uncle Bill and I would go back to the week of Jesus’ crucifixion, so we could see how it all went down. (Then Dad and I have a discussion on the nature of faith, and whether that’s something you need to see to believe it happened)
George: I would go back in time one week and have this interview at a time where Dad wasn’t around, so he couldn’t keep interrupting.
Molly: What is something that would surprise everyone in this room, including Courtney?
George: (thinks for a long time) Hard to say. I’m pretty much an open book.
Molly: Okay, what about an interesting fact for my blog readers?
George: Uh, I can’t think of anything.
Molly: Well, since you have no secrets, how about you just give some advice to my blog readers.
George: I would say leave comments on the blog posts.
Molly: Why do you think comments are so important?
George: I don’t know, I think it provides affirmation of what you like and what you don’t like.
Molly: But what if the blog writer tries not to care about what gets comments and what doesn’t?
George: The readers should know that comments are sometimes better than the blog itself (I made a face at that part). And the blog writer should learn not to be so selfish and demanding and controlling.
Molly: If you could be a character in any movie or television show, who would you be?
George: Jerry Seinfeld. He had a big New York City apartment and always had a lot of girls, he was just a real funny guy.
William: But his neighbors were always causing shenanigans.
George: Well, he just lived his life.
Dad: Something was always wrong with those girls. He was never happy with them.
Molly: Where in the world would you most like to live?
George: New England – Portland, Maine. It would just be fun.
Molly: Alright, so since this was alluded to earlier in the evening, I’d like to ask you to describe me as a driver.
George: Molly as a driver is a complex thing. Molly has two speeds: breaking really fast or speeding full throttle. And don’t touch the radio. There are very quick movements, so I can’t drive with Molly when I’m hungover. There are very quick turns at 90 degree angles. Kinda scary. It’s like being in a Third World country driving with a taxi cab, but with no smells, but with her music. You’re at her mercy. I’ve been in a few accidents with Molly, though none were ever her fault. Even though one of them was just backing up into a wall. (Editor’s note: At this point my hand was very tired and sore so I stopped writing things down. I think I got it all. Pretty sure.)
Molly: What do you remember most about your childhood?
George: Playing outside, wrestling, not being able to talk, riding my bike. Not in that order.
(Editor’s note: Then Dad reminded everyone about how George used to love nails. He would take scrap wood and nail it all together. Dad got a lot of flat tires that year)
Molly: Okay, if you woke up and there was $1000 from the tooth fairy at the bottom of your bed, and you only had one day to spend it, what would you do?
George: Well, first I would secure it so that Bailey doesn’t eat it (editor’s note: Bailey is one of George and Courtney’s dogs). I’d give some to Dad because I have some outstanding loans. Then I’d go to the mall and shop. Get some CD’s, some books, some clothes….might buy Courtney something. I’d buy her a green cardigan or a green sweater or a green shirt, because green is her color of the year. Green ring, green necklace, green hair dye. Then, I’d take everyone out to dinner somewhere nice, like Frankie Bones.
William: I’d give it to charity.
Molly: Final question: What do you think the world will be like in 2050?
George: Well, Dad will be 100 years old, so I’ll probably be driving him to Chick-fil-a on Saturdays, or he’ll be the old man who works there who gives out the mints. No, wait. There will be a Chick-fil-a in Candler. There will be green environmental hybrid cars, but I hope in 50 years I don’t have to drive to South Asheville for a Chick-fil-a sandwich. Is that too much to expect?? Barack Obama will be…[Dad interrupted at that point to say that Barack Obama will be in jail for crimes against the country]…Barack Obama will have been pardoned by then. Hopefully I will have a laser gun so I could steal the Highway 311 signs that are located in Winston-Salem. I won’t have to put ceiling fans up anymore.
Also, Hokies will win all championships, and Appalachian will be Division I. Beer will come out of the tap. Fridges will have sensors so that if urinals pop out if someone tries to pee. There will be a Jimmy John’s in Asheville. There will be no more hangovers – we’ll have cured that by then. I Wiggle It Just A Little Bit will be in its 43rd year. There will probably be some little George II’s running around, hammering stuff and trying to talk. Well, maybe we’ll have fixed the talking thing by then, too. It’s gonna be pretty fun. Also, there will be grown-up sized Big Wheels.
The only ground rule for the interview was a request by George that none of the questions deal with ceiling fans, since George had spent approximately 27 hours that weekend trying to hang a new ceiling fan, and it still didn't work completely (the lights wouldn't come one).
Molly: George, you have a birthday coming up. What was your most memorable birthday?
George: Probably my 21st birthday.
Dad: Great, none of us were there.
George: We went to Pk’s Pizza for some barbeque chicken pizza. Then we went out and had pitchers of beer at Hokie House. I came back and opened presents from our parents, including a fifth of Captain Morgan’s, an Anthony Kiedis book, and a picture of Sigmund Freud.
Molly: What is your fondest memory of me?
George: When I came down to Atlanta when I was 16 and I stayed in your freshman dorm for the weekend. You took me a bar and we drank underage (Editor’s note: What? I have no memory of such criminal behavior). You took me to the cafeteria at Emory and you told me to get multiple drinks so I wouldn’t have to get up for refills. So I told everyone to do that in college. Then I left early to go to an Outkast concert even though our parents told me not to.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Dad?
George: When someone says, “Looking good, Billy Ray,” you say, “Feeling good, Lewis.”
(At this point, Dad gets upset that his greatest accomplishment as a father was to teach us a line from the movie “Trading Places.” “I thought I would have taught you something meaningful, like honesty,” Dad said. I reminded Dad that he actually taught George more about lying because George used to be told to pretend he was younger that he really was, in order to get reduced admission prices for attractions like amusement parks and presidential libraries)
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Mom?
George: Always to say thank you.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from William?
George: You gotta get g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up.
Molly: Who is your favorite historical figure and why?
George: Thomas Jefferson, because he taught me I could create my own Bible.
Dad: Plus he created a great university that you could never understand.
George: No, I’ll say Sigmund Freud. He was interesting.
Molly: If you could have a dinner party with three people, alive or dead, who would you invite?
George: I couldn’t get more than three people to come? Well, I’d want to invite one more. I’d invite all of my grandparents, so they could tell me funny stories about my parents.
Dad interjects again to say that this is a waste, because George already met his grandmothers and he should invite other people.
Molly (trying to get the interview back on track) What would you serve at this dinner party?
George: I would serve Kink soufflé. (Editor’s note: Kink soufflé is a mix of ham, cheese and bread deliciousness that we always ate at my grandmother’s when we had dinner over there.
Dad: Well my parents won’t like that, because they’re more meat and potato people.
Molly: What skill that you don’t have would you most like to learn?
George: Honesty.
Molly: George, you’ve offered me tons of job interview advice, since you do so many job interviews for your job. So I have a very stereotypical job interview question for you: What is your biggest weakness?
George: Sometimes I forget to hydrate before I go to bed after a night of drinking.
Courtney: That’s it?? What about peeing in the refrigerator? (Editor’s note: One time George got drunk and peed in the refrigerator.)
Molly: If you weren’t in your current job, what would you want to do?
George: I would own a bar or a record store or be a rock musician. My bar would be [redacted].
(Editor’s note: When George revealed the name of his bar, I suggested that maybe he shouldn’t reveal it on such a public forum as this blog, because it’s an excellent idea and I don’t want anyone stealing the concept. So I said that I would put “redacted” and then Dad and William got on my case and told me that redacted was a stupid word.)
Molly: How would you describe your alma mater, Virginia Tech, to an alien?
William: Here we go with the fucking aliens again.
George: I would say that Virginia Tech is a place you go after high school, which is after middle school, which is after elementary school, and schools are places where you learn a lot of stuff.
Molly: Well, the aliens are familiar with the concept of higher education. What they want to know is how Virginia Tech is different from other institutions.
George: It’s the best.
William: I like how you’re short with the aliens. We don’t need them to have too much information.
Molly: How were you most warped by your family?
George: I’ve inherited (deep breath) an incurable fixation to collect lots of things without throwing much away, in combination with some very weird body hair.
Molly: Describe your perfect day.
George: Hmmm, well it could have been today (Editor’s note: that day, George had gone to breakfast with dad and dad’s friends, then gone to the flea market, then to Chick-fil, then ran some errands, then dinner with the family). On my perfect day, I would get up pretty early but fully rested. Take a shower. Have breakfast and read the paper. Coffee. Probably go to a CD store, then have lunch at Chick-fil-a with the family. A little DG (editor’s note: Disc Golf) with my brother, where I’d hit another hole-in-one. Key word there is ANOTHER because I’ve already hit one. Then a nice little dinner...meat, potatoes, a cigar. Then going out. Just getting g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up. Then I’d go to sleep well-hydrated.
(Editor’s note: Then things took a horribly disturbing turn when my dad pointed out that George hadn’t had sex on his perfect day. Then my youngest brother and my father had a conversation about sex that remains fairly traumatizing to me, while I try to point out that sex is not really something I discuss on the blog and that I don’t really need that level of detail on the perfect day scenario. Just even thinking about that moment again has me in a weird mood.)
Molly: Um, to get this interview back on track, George, if you could go back in time for one week, what period of history would you go to and why?
Dad (interrupting): Uncle Bill and I would go back to the week of Jesus’ crucifixion, so we could see how it all went down. (Then Dad and I have a discussion on the nature of faith, and whether that’s something you need to see to believe it happened)
George: I would go back in time one week and have this interview at a time where Dad wasn’t around, so he couldn’t keep interrupting.
Molly: What is something that would surprise everyone in this room, including Courtney?
George: (thinks for a long time) Hard to say. I’m pretty much an open book.
Molly: Okay, what about an interesting fact for my blog readers?
George: Uh, I can’t think of anything.
Molly: Well, since you have no secrets, how about you just give some advice to my blog readers.
George: I would say leave comments on the blog posts.
Molly: Why do you think comments are so important?
George: I don’t know, I think it provides affirmation of what you like and what you don’t like.
Molly: But what if the blog writer tries not to care about what gets comments and what doesn’t?
George: The readers should know that comments are sometimes better than the blog itself (I made a face at that part). And the blog writer should learn not to be so selfish and demanding and controlling.
Molly: If you could be a character in any movie or television show, who would you be?
George: Jerry Seinfeld. He had a big New York City apartment and always had a lot of girls, he was just a real funny guy.
William: But his neighbors were always causing shenanigans.
George: Well, he just lived his life.
Dad: Something was always wrong with those girls. He was never happy with them.
Molly: Where in the world would you most like to live?
George: New England – Portland, Maine. It would just be fun.
Molly: Alright, so since this was alluded to earlier in the evening, I’d like to ask you to describe me as a driver.
George: Molly as a driver is a complex thing. Molly has two speeds: breaking really fast or speeding full throttle. And don’t touch the radio. There are very quick movements, so I can’t drive with Molly when I’m hungover. There are very quick turns at 90 degree angles. Kinda scary. It’s like being in a Third World country driving with a taxi cab, but with no smells, but with her music. You’re at her mercy. I’ve been in a few accidents with Molly, though none were ever her fault. Even though one of them was just backing up into a wall. (Editor’s note: At this point my hand was very tired and sore so I stopped writing things down. I think I got it all. Pretty sure.)
Molly: What do you remember most about your childhood?
George: Playing outside, wrestling, not being able to talk, riding my bike. Not in that order.
(Editor’s note: Then Dad reminded everyone about how George used to love nails. He would take scrap wood and nail it all together. Dad got a lot of flat tires that year)
Molly: Okay, if you woke up and there was $1000 from the tooth fairy at the bottom of your bed, and you only had one day to spend it, what would you do?
George: Well, first I would secure it so that Bailey doesn’t eat it (editor’s note: Bailey is one of George and Courtney’s dogs). I’d give some to Dad because I have some outstanding loans. Then I’d go to the mall and shop. Get some CD’s, some books, some clothes….might buy Courtney something. I’d buy her a green cardigan or a green sweater or a green shirt, because green is her color of the year. Green ring, green necklace, green hair dye. Then, I’d take everyone out to dinner somewhere nice, like Frankie Bones.
William: I’d give it to charity.
Molly: Final question: What do you think the world will be like in 2050?
George: Well, Dad will be 100 years old, so I’ll probably be driving him to Chick-fil-a on Saturdays, or he’ll be the old man who works there who gives out the mints. No, wait. There will be a Chick-fil-a in Candler. There will be green environmental hybrid cars, but I hope in 50 years I don’t have to drive to South Asheville for a Chick-fil-a sandwich. Is that too much to expect?? Barack Obama will be…[Dad interrupted at that point to say that Barack Obama will be in jail for crimes against the country]…Barack Obama will have been pardoned by then. Hopefully I will have a laser gun so I could steal the Highway 311 signs that are located in Winston-Salem. I won’t have to put ceiling fans up anymore.
Also, Hokies will win all championships, and Appalachian will be Division I. Beer will come out of the tap. Fridges will have sensors so that if urinals pop out if someone tries to pee. There will be a Jimmy John’s in Asheville. There will be no more hangovers – we’ll have cured that by then. I Wiggle It Just A Little Bit will be in its 43rd year. There will probably be some little George II’s running around, hammering stuff and trying to talk. Well, maybe we’ll have fixed the talking thing by then, too. It’s gonna be pretty fun. Also, there will be grown-up sized Big Wheels.
Monday, April 20, 2009
happy birthday to the best fish I know
Today is a big day in my apartment. Today is my fish Alvin’s birthday!!! Well, technically it is merely the anniversary of the date he came to live with me, but that is far more depressing and time-consuming to say and surely he wasn’t swimming around in that little cup in the pet store for too terribly long before I came to rescue him and put him into a slightly larger home. You can read the story of his arrival here: http://iwiggleitjustalittlebit.blogspot.com/2008/04/something-fishy-is-going-on.html
In honor of Alvin’s birthday, I decided to see what was happening on this date in history. And it is not good at all. It’s the anniversary of Columbine. It’s Hitler’s birthday. If I had gotten him a day earlier, he could have shared an anniversary with Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI and with Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, as both couples were married on April 19. Plus he could have shared an anniversary with Pope Benedict XVI, who was elected pope that day. Or, if I had gotten him on April 21, he could have at least shared a birthday with Queen Elizabeth II. But noooooooooo. I had to give him Hitler and Columbine. I am such a bad fish owner.
Overall, though, Alvin and I have had a pretty good year together. I think it was a good year for me because I didn’t kill him, and also because I stopped having elaborate fantasies that I would come home from work to find him dead. I’m glad those ended because they were really messing with my head. And I think Alvin would say it was a good year for him because he doesn’t live in a little cup at the fish store anymore, and he could have gone home with some crazy person who might have had cats that would have eaten him by now.
That’s not to say it’s all been roses. As I have mentioned before on my blog, Alvin is a pretty emotionally needy fish, and he gets very upset when I leave for work or vacation, particularly the latter, because it means I leave a feeding pellet in his bowl that leaves the water cloudy and smelly. And that means I’ll have to change the water when I return, and Alvin does not like that one bit because he becomes convinced that I am trying to kill him, even though I speak sweetly and reassuringly to him the entire time I clean his bowl.
Still, we have come to an agreement. I will give him two pellets a day and in return, he won’t die and traumatize me. I can put up with his attitude if he can put up with the fact that he has to live in a tiny bowl with a fake frog. To celebrate his birthday, I am going to make taco salad and we will watch Dancing with the Stars, because most of the costumes resemble the fringe and flash that Alvin himself has. Happy birthday, Alvin!
In honor of Alvin’s birthday, I decided to see what was happening on this date in history. And it is not good at all. It’s the anniversary of Columbine. It’s Hitler’s birthday. If I had gotten him a day earlier, he could have shared an anniversary with Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI and with Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, as both couples were married on April 19. Plus he could have shared an anniversary with Pope Benedict XVI, who was elected pope that day. Or, if I had gotten him on April 21, he could have at least shared a birthday with Queen Elizabeth II. But noooooooooo. I had to give him Hitler and Columbine. I am such a bad fish owner.
Overall, though, Alvin and I have had a pretty good year together. I think it was a good year for me because I didn’t kill him, and also because I stopped having elaborate fantasies that I would come home from work to find him dead. I’m glad those ended because they were really messing with my head. And I think Alvin would say it was a good year for him because he doesn’t live in a little cup at the fish store anymore, and he could have gone home with some crazy person who might have had cats that would have eaten him by now.
That’s not to say it’s all been roses. As I have mentioned before on my blog, Alvin is a pretty emotionally needy fish, and he gets very upset when I leave for work or vacation, particularly the latter, because it means I leave a feeding pellet in his bowl that leaves the water cloudy and smelly. And that means I’ll have to change the water when I return, and Alvin does not like that one bit because he becomes convinced that I am trying to kill him, even though I speak sweetly and reassuringly to him the entire time I clean his bowl.
Still, we have come to an agreement. I will give him two pellets a day and in return, he won’t die and traumatize me. I can put up with his attitude if he can put up with the fact that he has to live in a tiny bowl with a fake frog. To celebrate his birthday, I am going to make taco salad and we will watch Dancing with the Stars, because most of the costumes resemble the fringe and flash that Alvin himself has. Happy birthday, Alvin!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
everything's better on a big screen
Here are two things that are probably only interesting to me:
1. Last night I had a dream that I was supposed to give a speech and I had lost my notes. I don’t know what I was supposed to talk about. Before I went on, someone told me just to speak from my heart, so I got up to the podium and said, “It is a stain upon our entire society that we haven’t found more uses for Cadbury eggs.” Whatever that means. Then, in the same dream, I found out that my stuffed bear Barnabas could lay Cadbury eggs and I was scared he would get stolen. This dream may or may not have been brought to you by some Cadbury eggs I consumed last night.
2. This morning, I sat down on the toilet (hopefully that is not too graphic an image for you) and at the very same time, there was this clattering in the kitchen. I felt pretty bad about myself. Did I weigh so much that by sitting on a toilet I could cause the kitchen to settle? No, as it turns out. It was just the toaster waffles being released with a giant whoosh from the toaster. There were two upsides to discovering this: 1, I was not in fact heavy enough to cause things to clatter, and 2, I had some toaster waffles waiting for me.
Now, on to more pleasant things. Today I had one of my best cinematic experiences, ever. And it probably won’t be topped, so I should just stop going to the movies. Today I went with my friend Katie to the Fabulous Fox Theatre to see my favorite film of all time, Gone With the Wind, on the big screen.
First off, it’s cool enough to do something at the Fox. It is a very neat place. But to see Gone with the Wind there, in recognition of GWTW’s 70th anniversary? Well, that is something else entirely. It was insane to see the movie that large. I kept seeing things that I don’t notice when the movie is on my television. I also noticed that some things were funnier with an audience than when you watch them by yourself. Never have I really laughed out loud at Gone with the Wind, because, you know, an awful lot of bad things happen. But when people started laughing in certain parts, I was like, hmm, this movie can be pretty funny in places. And that just means that this movie has it all….romance, drama, history and COMEDY.
However, the weird thing about seeing this movie with 4800 people was the compulsion that some people had to clap at certain parts. Like when the movie started, people started clapping when the title went across the screen. Okay, I thought, they’re excited and bursting with pent-up emotion and I can deal with this. But then, they kept clapping through all the introductory credits, to the point that I wanted to turn around and be like, you know these people aren’t here, right? The only person still alive from the movie is Olivia de Havilland, who is in her 90s and lives in Paris. Speaking of which, here is one of the most awesome things of the day---Robert Osborne of Turner Classic Movies was there to introduce the film, and he said that this morning he called up Olivia in Paris to let her know that there were two sold-out screenings of the film in Atlanta. And she said, “Oh, I know all about that. I have my spies.” And then Robert Osborne said that Olivia de Havilland sent us all her regards.
When I recovered from the fact that Olivia de Havilland had sent me regards, I had two thoughts. 1--How do I get to be one of Olivia de Havilland’s spies? And 2—How can I get a job that just allows me to introduce movies and call up Olivia de Havilland? I need that job.
There’s not much else I can say about the movie that I haven’t said a million times before, except to reiterate how cool it was to see it on a big screen. Even though people kept clapping at random parts all through the movie, even clapping at weird parts that I still haven’t quite made sense of. Maybe these people were Olivia de Havilland’s spies. Hmmm.
1. Last night I had a dream that I was supposed to give a speech and I had lost my notes. I don’t know what I was supposed to talk about. Before I went on, someone told me just to speak from my heart, so I got up to the podium and said, “It is a stain upon our entire society that we haven’t found more uses for Cadbury eggs.” Whatever that means. Then, in the same dream, I found out that my stuffed bear Barnabas could lay Cadbury eggs and I was scared he would get stolen. This dream may or may not have been brought to you by some Cadbury eggs I consumed last night.
2. This morning, I sat down on the toilet (hopefully that is not too graphic an image for you) and at the very same time, there was this clattering in the kitchen. I felt pretty bad about myself. Did I weigh so much that by sitting on a toilet I could cause the kitchen to settle? No, as it turns out. It was just the toaster waffles being released with a giant whoosh from the toaster. There were two upsides to discovering this: 1, I was not in fact heavy enough to cause things to clatter, and 2, I had some toaster waffles waiting for me.
Now, on to more pleasant things. Today I had one of my best cinematic experiences, ever. And it probably won’t be topped, so I should just stop going to the movies. Today I went with my friend Katie to the Fabulous Fox Theatre to see my favorite film of all time, Gone With the Wind, on the big screen.
First off, it’s cool enough to do something at the Fox. It is a very neat place. But to see Gone with the Wind there, in recognition of GWTW’s 70th anniversary? Well, that is something else entirely. It was insane to see the movie that large. I kept seeing things that I don’t notice when the movie is on my television. I also noticed that some things were funnier with an audience than when you watch them by yourself. Never have I really laughed out loud at Gone with the Wind, because, you know, an awful lot of bad things happen. But when people started laughing in certain parts, I was like, hmm, this movie can be pretty funny in places. And that just means that this movie has it all….romance, drama, history and COMEDY.
However, the weird thing about seeing this movie with 4800 people was the compulsion that some people had to clap at certain parts. Like when the movie started, people started clapping when the title went across the screen. Okay, I thought, they’re excited and bursting with pent-up emotion and I can deal with this. But then, they kept clapping through all the introductory credits, to the point that I wanted to turn around and be like, you know these people aren’t here, right? The only person still alive from the movie is Olivia de Havilland, who is in her 90s and lives in Paris. Speaking of which, here is one of the most awesome things of the day---Robert Osborne of Turner Classic Movies was there to introduce the film, and he said that this morning he called up Olivia in Paris to let her know that there were two sold-out screenings of the film in Atlanta. And she said, “Oh, I know all about that. I have my spies.” And then Robert Osborne said that Olivia de Havilland sent us all her regards.
When I recovered from the fact that Olivia de Havilland had sent me regards, I had two thoughts. 1--How do I get to be one of Olivia de Havilland’s spies? And 2—How can I get a job that just allows me to introduce movies and call up Olivia de Havilland? I need that job.
There’s not much else I can say about the movie that I haven’t said a million times before, except to reiterate how cool it was to see it on a big screen. Even though people kept clapping at random parts all through the movie, even clapping at weird parts that I still haven’t quite made sense of. Maybe these people were Olivia de Havilland’s spies. Hmmm.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Book #7: The Complete Maus
"Maus," by Art Spiegelman, is a book I never would have read if it didn’t keep popping up lists of books that I should know about and consume. Best of the best types of lists, and it makes me uneasy when there are books on best-of lists that I haven’t read. So I sat down with “The Complete Maus,” in which Spiegelman tries to make sense of his father’s life story. He has to make sense of the horrific life his father lived before he was even born, as a Jew forced into concentration camps during the Holocaust. And he has to make sense of the man that his father has become, a cranky, miserly, demanding old man, a man so miserable that his wife, Spiegelman’s mother, committed suicide.
Well, if you’re going to conquer a story like that, you might as well use a graphic novel format and draw your main characters as animals. In this book, Jews are drawn as mice, and the Germans are drawn as cats. There are all sorts of deep things going on with this – the Germans called the Jews “vermin” and using animals shows how dehumanizing the whole period of time was. And the format makes this story on the one hand palatable, since it’s very easy to keep reading a comic book than to consume massive amounts of text when you’re trying to understand the awful things happening…but even in comic book form, the horrible things that happen to a mouse are enough to make you stop, pause and remember this happened to humans. I feel like I’m not being very insightful or original about this because I’m tired, but suffice it to say that you know, I can see how it won the Pulitzer Prize and is considered so influential and whatnot. But then, I haven’t read a ton of graphic novels, so maybe it’s easy for me to buy into the hype.
I also just liked the story on a writerly level; Spiegelman inserts himself into the story as a guy trying to drag this story out of his grumpy dad. I know he was doing that so he could write a book that could be published, but I read it more just as a diary, as a way for this guy to write down the story so it could always be there, unlike his mother’s journals, which his father burned. It may not be a perfect record of what happened to his family in the past, but it’s all he has, and at the end of the day, all kids have is what their parents told them, whether it was true or not. Or whether it was as historic as this or not. It was what it was. As Spiegelman the character tells a reporter in the book, “I never thought of reducing it to a message.” So maybe I should stop trying to find one, and go to bed.
Well, if you’re going to conquer a story like that, you might as well use a graphic novel format and draw your main characters as animals. In this book, Jews are drawn as mice, and the Germans are drawn as cats. There are all sorts of deep things going on with this – the Germans called the Jews “vermin” and using animals shows how dehumanizing the whole period of time was. And the format makes this story on the one hand palatable, since it’s very easy to keep reading a comic book than to consume massive amounts of text when you’re trying to understand the awful things happening…but even in comic book form, the horrible things that happen to a mouse are enough to make you stop, pause and remember this happened to humans. I feel like I’m not being very insightful or original about this because I’m tired, but suffice it to say that you know, I can see how it won the Pulitzer Prize and is considered so influential and whatnot. But then, I haven’t read a ton of graphic novels, so maybe it’s easy for me to buy into the hype.
I also just liked the story on a writerly level; Spiegelman inserts himself into the story as a guy trying to drag this story out of his grumpy dad. I know he was doing that so he could write a book that could be published, but I read it more just as a diary, as a way for this guy to write down the story so it could always be there, unlike his mother’s journals, which his father burned. It may not be a perfect record of what happened to his family in the past, but it’s all he has, and at the end of the day, all kids have is what their parents told them, whether it was true or not. Or whether it was as historic as this or not. It was what it was. As Spiegelman the character tells a reporter in the book, “I never thought of reducing it to a message.” So maybe I should stop trying to find one, and go to bed.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
i know that i was your favorite
Every year, Oprah Winfrey says a few things are her favorite things, and all those things become enormously popular. But, let's say you can't buy a Kindle or a ton of electronics and you don't like Oprah's taste anyway. Well, maybe this post will appeal to you, because it features some of my current favorite things. I'm not giving any of them away, like Oprah, but I am giving you my knowledge about these tremendous products, and I think that should be enough. However, should any of the makers of these fine products want to contact me, I think that would be good.
First off, do you ever wear slip-on shoes, the kind that don't allow you to wear socks without looking unfashionable? But you don't want your shoes to get all smelly, the way they sometimes do when you go around wearing shoes with no socks? Then you will absolutely love the first product I am about to recommend. These are little shoe liners made by the fine folks at Wal-Mart. Egads! you may be thinking if you are a raging liberal. How tacky to recommend something made by Wal-Mart. And yet, I tell you, these are the best sock liners I have found. They stay in place, and they are not made out of the same material that pantyhose is made out of. I really really hate pantyhose, and I don't want sock liners made out of it. And anyways, this my favorite things list. If you don't want to buy from Wal-Mart, then make your own favorite things list.
Here are my feet. Sorry for the veins. On the left, you can see a sock liner, but on the right, you see how it's completely invisible once I slip my foot into the shoe. MAGIC. Sweet, non-odorous magic.
And here is another view of my sock-lined foot. I find myself doing laundry just to have clean foot liners.
Now, my next thing has to do with my recent adventures in the kitchen. Suddenly, I have a lot more dishes, and I find that my dishwasher can't cut it when there is actually real food on the plates to be scraped off. So now I have to do the dreaded pre-wash of dishes. For this task, I recommend Ultra Palmolive Oxy plus Odor Eliminator, because it really does eliminate odors!
And let's not forget that it's hot pink! Which, I will admit, is the whole reason that I picked this product over all others available to me in the detergent aisle. I mean, look how well it goes with my decor:
I know, it's like that detergent was made for my kitchen! If your kitchen also has lots of bright colors, then I think you should get this product.
First off, do you ever wear slip-on shoes, the kind that don't allow you to wear socks without looking unfashionable? But you don't want your shoes to get all smelly, the way they sometimes do when you go around wearing shoes with no socks? Then you will absolutely love the first product I am about to recommend. These are little shoe liners made by the fine folks at Wal-Mart. Egads! you may be thinking if you are a raging liberal. How tacky to recommend something made by Wal-Mart. And yet, I tell you, these are the best sock liners I have found. They stay in place, and they are not made out of the same material that pantyhose is made out of. I really really hate pantyhose, and I don't want sock liners made out of it. And anyways, this my favorite things list. If you don't want to buy from Wal-Mart, then make your own favorite things list.
Here are my feet. Sorry for the veins. On the left, you can see a sock liner, but on the right, you see how it's completely invisible once I slip my foot into the shoe. MAGIC. Sweet, non-odorous magic.
And here is another view of my sock-lined foot. I find myself doing laundry just to have clean foot liners.
Now, my next thing has to do with my recent adventures in the kitchen. Suddenly, I have a lot more dishes, and I find that my dishwasher can't cut it when there is actually real food on the plates to be scraped off. So now I have to do the dreaded pre-wash of dishes. For this task, I recommend Ultra Palmolive Oxy plus Odor Eliminator, because it really does eliminate odors!
And let's not forget that it's hot pink! Which, I will admit, is the whole reason that I picked this product over all others available to me in the detergent aisle. I mean, look how well it goes with my decor:
I know, it's like that detergent was made for my kitchen! If your kitchen also has lots of bright colors, then I think you should get this product.
Now, a product that you should get, no matter the color of your kitchen, is Delallo Dipping Spices. Here is how this works. It's a cannister filled with four delicious spice combinations. On this side, you are getting a peek of "Rosemary and Garlic" and "Roasted Garlic and Cheese."
And on this side, you see "Sundried Tomato and Basil" and "Garlic and Tomato":
So you select a spice combo that suits your fancy, and you put it in a bowl. Then you put olive oil on top, and get out some bread that you bought at a nearby store. Then you pretend that you are in a nice restaurant where they bring you bread and oil with spices, except you are really in your apartment watching Letterman. That's essentially how this product works, and I have to tell you, I think it's genius. All the flavor combinations are absolutely delicious, though it looks like I've consumed the most of the Sundried Tomato and Basil section, so perhaps that is my favorite. Now, I'm not saying that it's a good thing for my waistline and overall health that I come home in the evenings craving olive oil and bread, but for now, I'm going with it.
And now, in a very un-Oprah like move, I'd like to tell you my three least favorite things right now:
And on this side, you see "Sundried Tomato and Basil" and "Garlic and Tomato":
So you select a spice combo that suits your fancy, and you put it in a bowl. Then you put olive oil on top, and get out some bread that you bought at a nearby store. Then you pretend that you are in a nice restaurant where they bring you bread and oil with spices, except you are really in your apartment watching Letterman. That's essentially how this product works, and I have to tell you, I think it's genius. All the flavor combinations are absolutely delicious, though it looks like I've consumed the most of the Sundried Tomato and Basil section, so perhaps that is my favorite. Now, I'm not saying that it's a good thing for my waistline and overall health that I come home in the evenings craving olive oil and bread, but for now, I'm going with it.
And now, in a very un-Oprah like move, I'd like to tell you my three least favorite things right now:
--people who don't use blinkers when they're switching lanes, as well as people who leave their blinkers on despite the fact that they have no plans to change lanes.
--people who spit on sidewalks where people have to walk, leaving giant gobs of spit in their wake
--tornadoes and rain storms that create massive traffic and power problems, in combination with local media that doesn't mention these problems, so that you get horrible surprise detours on your commute home.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I meen bizness
I went back to Candler for Easter, and as usual, the family made their Saturday pilgrimage to the South Asheville Chick-fil-a for Saturday lunch. We were sitting there, finishing up a delightful array of chicken products and waffle fries when my dad said, “I don’t get that advertisement hanging from the wall.” (or something like that; since he is very detail-oriented I don’t want to get sued if he didn’t say those exact words)
What was hanging from the wall was one of the infamous Chick-fil-a cows with a banner that said “Eat Chicken Q1 through Q4,” except with the zany misspelled words that are the unfortunate trademark of the Chick-fil-a cow. We told Dad it had to do with corporate lingo—Q standing for “quarter”, which is a unit of time of three months. Here, I’ll use it in a sentence: “You better do better in Q2 or you won’t be here in Q3, or in other words, if I don’t see improvement between April and June over your performance between January and March then by July you may not be here. But probably more like August because it takes people half of the next quarter to figure out what went on in the previous quarter.” Oops, that was two sentences.
Anyways, everybody agreed that if the cows are speaking in corporate lingo now, then they really should be spelling correctly. I know that I harp on this and harp on this to the point of obsession, but I just can’t tell you how much it bothers me. These cows have gone out and found business clothes, learned corporate lingo that even my dad doesn’t know, and yet they still can’t use spell check? That’s just not endearing, Chick-fil-a. At this point they stop being darling animals begging us not to eat them in their own befuddled way as much as they become lazy animals that just don’t try hard enough. And do you know what we do with people in this world who don’t try hard enough?? WE EAT THEM.
Here I am with a Chick-fil-a cow. This clearly illustrates how far these cows are taking their campaign…to business offices. I just don’t think anyone would love these advertising darlings any less if some of them were sophisticated beings who spelled correctly and maybe even had fancy handwriting. IF A COW CAN TIE A TIE, IT SHOULD KNOW HOW TO SPELL.
In good news, though, I had no desire to steal this cow the way I want to steal some Chick-fil-a cows I could mention. I think it’s the 2-D vs. 3-D thing. This is just a cardboard cow. I want a cow that takes up some space in a room. Plus, this cow is already dressed, and I would TOTALLY want to make the Chick-fil-a cows cute costumes after I go to the trouble of stealing them.
What was hanging from the wall was one of the infamous Chick-fil-a cows with a banner that said “Eat Chicken Q1 through Q4,” except with the zany misspelled words that are the unfortunate trademark of the Chick-fil-a cow. We told Dad it had to do with corporate lingo—Q standing for “quarter”, which is a unit of time of three months. Here, I’ll use it in a sentence: “You better do better in Q2 or you won’t be here in Q3, or in other words, if I don’t see improvement between April and June over your performance between January and March then by July you may not be here. But probably more like August because it takes people half of the next quarter to figure out what went on in the previous quarter.” Oops, that was two sentences.
Anyways, everybody agreed that if the cows are speaking in corporate lingo now, then they really should be spelling correctly. I know that I harp on this and harp on this to the point of obsession, but I just can’t tell you how much it bothers me. These cows have gone out and found business clothes, learned corporate lingo that even my dad doesn’t know, and yet they still can’t use spell check? That’s just not endearing, Chick-fil-a. At this point they stop being darling animals begging us not to eat them in their own befuddled way as much as they become lazy animals that just don’t try hard enough. And do you know what we do with people in this world who don’t try hard enough?? WE EAT THEM.
Here I am with a Chick-fil-a cow. This clearly illustrates how far these cows are taking their campaign…to business offices. I just don’t think anyone would love these advertising darlings any less if some of them were sophisticated beings who spelled correctly and maybe even had fancy handwriting. IF A COW CAN TIE A TIE, IT SHOULD KNOW HOW TO SPELL.
In good news, though, I had no desire to steal this cow the way I want to steal some Chick-fil-a cows I could mention. I think it’s the 2-D vs. 3-D thing. This is just a cardboard cow. I want a cow that takes up some space in a room. Plus, this cow is already dressed, and I would TOTALLY want to make the Chick-fil-a cows cute costumes after I go to the trouble of stealing them.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Book #6: A Thousand Days in Venice
Here’s the thing I feel compelled to tell you: I love Italy, and I love books about people falling in love with Italy, but there is no way that I would ever buy this book in a bookstore for full price. I bought “A Thousand Days in Venice” by Marlene de Blasi at the Seattle Public Library sale a few years ago. It was during one of those shopping trips where you’re drunk with the bargains all around you and don’t feel bad getting a few throwaway books because they’re only 50 cents, after all.
And yet I ended up reading this book before even getting around to some of my more desired purchases. Why? Well, for one, it is very short and I couldn’t make a real commitment to a book at the time that I needed something to read. Also, Italy has been in the news for the past few days, unfortunately, which has me thinking about it a lot. And despite the fact that I wouldn’t want to be spotted reading this book on public transportation, there’s hardly a time when I’m going to turn down a tale of someone falling in love both with a person and with a country, particularly when that country is Italy.
So here’s the deal. Marlene de Blasi hangs out with this dude a few times in Venice, and then he comes to St. Louis for a few days, and based on this she’s ready to uproot her entire life and move to Venice. I don’t find this part implausible, because who wouldn’t move to Venice? She claims she’s in love but the man in question has all the personality of a lazy grasshopper the way de Blasi depicts him. She saves all her adjectives and praise for Venice, which again, is perfectly understandable, but unfortunately, she has far too many words. This book is short, and doesn’t say much, and despite that is still too wordy. Things are described as being fig-like an awful lot, as I recall. And she has a lot of ongoing metaphors to clue us in to the fact that she is going through something magical and life-changing here. Sometimes this can be charming, particularly if you just let yourself get swept away in the Italian-ness of it all, but when you remember that this is purporting to be someone’s memoir of their own true life, well, then it gets to be a bit much. Although I did enjoy learning how difficult it is to have a wedding in Italy. I’m gonna file away that info for later use, since I plant to marry an Italian count.
In conclusion, here are the things I learned from this book:
1. Venice is nice.
2. Marlene de Blasi is a very good cook!
3. Her husband is pretty bland and frankly seems like not that good of a catch.
4. Venetians are nice and giving when you get to know them.
5. We are always changing, even when we are standing still, and to help deal with this fact you should go look at the water in Venice or perhaps cook a gigantic meal, particularly if you are a very good cook like Marlene de Blasi!
And yet I ended up reading this book before even getting around to some of my more desired purchases. Why? Well, for one, it is very short and I couldn’t make a real commitment to a book at the time that I needed something to read. Also, Italy has been in the news for the past few days, unfortunately, which has me thinking about it a lot. And despite the fact that I wouldn’t want to be spotted reading this book on public transportation, there’s hardly a time when I’m going to turn down a tale of someone falling in love both with a person and with a country, particularly when that country is Italy.
So here’s the deal. Marlene de Blasi hangs out with this dude a few times in Venice, and then he comes to St. Louis for a few days, and based on this she’s ready to uproot her entire life and move to Venice. I don’t find this part implausible, because who wouldn’t move to Venice? She claims she’s in love but the man in question has all the personality of a lazy grasshopper the way de Blasi depicts him. She saves all her adjectives and praise for Venice, which again, is perfectly understandable, but unfortunately, she has far too many words. This book is short, and doesn’t say much, and despite that is still too wordy. Things are described as being fig-like an awful lot, as I recall. And she has a lot of ongoing metaphors to clue us in to the fact that she is going through something magical and life-changing here. Sometimes this can be charming, particularly if you just let yourself get swept away in the Italian-ness of it all, but when you remember that this is purporting to be someone’s memoir of their own true life, well, then it gets to be a bit much. Although I did enjoy learning how difficult it is to have a wedding in Italy. I’m gonna file away that info for later use, since I plant to marry an Italian count.
In conclusion, here are the things I learned from this book:
1. Venice is nice.
2. Marlene de Blasi is a very good cook!
3. Her husband is pretty bland and frankly seems like not that good of a catch.
4. Venetians are nice and giving when you get to know them.
5. We are always changing, even when we are standing still, and to help deal with this fact you should go look at the water in Venice or perhaps cook a gigantic meal, particularly if you are a very good cook like Marlene de Blasi!
Book #5: I Love You, Beth Cooper
I think it’s only natural that when someone ages a year, but doesn’t really want to, as happened to me recently, there’s a tendency to want to regress a little bit. Witness, if you will, the fact that there’s a movie coming out where Matthew Perry wakes up to find himself Zac Efron. But perhaps since regressing to the age of 5 wouldn’t be very interesting to many filmgoers (though it’s an age I would love to regress to, so I could get some coloring done), movies and tv and books only tend to present high school regression back to us. After all, it’s a time of life fraught with drama that’s grown up enough to appeal to our older selves and a time with just enough freedom to have fun without the tangle of responsibility. It’s also an easy stage of life to see the coolness of a person, to know that they will turn out alright if they keep on being themselves, despite the fact that all the high school Neanderthals make their lives miserable.
Anyways, I’ve noticed this theme of high school a lot because I guess I’m subconsciously embracing it – just a few days ago my Netflix brought me the high school flick “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist” and now it’s bringing me the discs of “Freaks and Geeks” one by one. And perhaps that’s why I stopped at the library one recent afternoon with a single thought: I must read the book “I Love You, Beth Cooper” by Larry Doyle right this minute or I will explode.
Now, I probably did want to read this book in part because my Entertainment Weekly alerted me to the fact that it’s being made into a movie, and you know how I am about books being turned into movies: I must consume them. But perhaps I also just longed for a good ol’ high school romp of a book that featured back-of-the-jacket blurbs by Tom Perrotta and Dave Barry.
It makes sense that this book is being made into a movie, because it reads like a movie or tv show at times, and according to some quick internet research, the author did put in some writing time at “The Simpsons.” Here’s the general plot: A geek announces his love for the super-cool Beth Cooper during his graduation speech, and then deals with the fall-out from that announcement over the next 12 hours or so. It all takes place on that one fateful graduation night, and it might be giving too much away to detail all the things that happen to our hero, but suffice it to say that at one point he gets beaten up by a skeleton and covered in blue and orange hummus. There were a few genuine laugh-out-loud moments, though, like most teen movies, it was also a touch overlong.
So, if you’re depressed at how old you are, or just looking for a quick mindless read, then you might enjoy “I Love You, Beth Cooper.” Like all good high school films, shows and books, it makes you grateful that at least you’re not still in high school.
Anyways, I’ve noticed this theme of high school a lot because I guess I’m subconsciously embracing it – just a few days ago my Netflix brought me the high school flick “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist” and now it’s bringing me the discs of “Freaks and Geeks” one by one. And perhaps that’s why I stopped at the library one recent afternoon with a single thought: I must read the book “I Love You, Beth Cooper” by Larry Doyle right this minute or I will explode.
Now, I probably did want to read this book in part because my Entertainment Weekly alerted me to the fact that it’s being made into a movie, and you know how I am about books being turned into movies: I must consume them. But perhaps I also just longed for a good ol’ high school romp of a book that featured back-of-the-jacket blurbs by Tom Perrotta and Dave Barry.
It makes sense that this book is being made into a movie, because it reads like a movie or tv show at times, and according to some quick internet research, the author did put in some writing time at “The Simpsons.” Here’s the general plot: A geek announces his love for the super-cool Beth Cooper during his graduation speech, and then deals with the fall-out from that announcement over the next 12 hours or so. It all takes place on that one fateful graduation night, and it might be giving too much away to detail all the things that happen to our hero, but suffice it to say that at one point he gets beaten up by a skeleton and covered in blue and orange hummus. There were a few genuine laugh-out-loud moments, though, like most teen movies, it was also a touch overlong.
So, if you’re depressed at how old you are, or just looking for a quick mindless read, then you might enjoy “I Love You, Beth Cooper.” Like all good high school films, shows and books, it makes you grateful that at least you’re not still in high school.
Monday, April 6, 2009
mooooooooving on up
Alright, so I had another blog lapse. I trace this recent lapse to 4 distinct causes.
Cause #1: I turned one year older, which was fairly traumatic for me, as many people who were around me at the time can attest. I mean, I don’t want to get too specific about it, but I went from MID-twenties to LATE-twenties and I was none-too-happy about it. Luckily, with the help of some beer and some Funfetti cupcakes made by my kind friend and editor Katie, I am much more at peace with my new age.
Cause #2: I was pretty busy. First up there was my birthday party. Then I went to see Neko Case in concert (it was incredibly awesome). Then I threw a party for my coworkers, which involved making both dip and punch. I was pretty busy all last week, and then came the weekend and cause #3.
Cause #3: I got pretty sick. Well, not sick, because it wasn’t a virus or a bug that felled me but instead my sinuses. It has felt like an elephant was sitting on my head, which made it to even get out of bed, let alone blog. Maybe I am getting weak and infirm and frail in my old age.
But the real reason for the gap in blogging is Cause #4.
Cause #4: The Chick-fil-a cows have spoken again.
Now, you know all about me and the Chick-fil-a cows. How I love them. How I want to steal them. Better yet, how I want to just open my door one day and see them there. I would sit them down with a dictionary and I would teach them how to spell, letter by letter, with the patience that Annie Sullivan showed to young Helen Keller.
Now, in all the time that I have known them, the Chick-fil-a cows have been guarding a sign that says “After Counting Sheep, Count Some Chicken,” except, you know, horribly misspelled. Then on Tuesday, without warning, there was a whole new message! Take a look at this:
I am of two minds on this billboard. On the one hand, I am kind of thrilled that these cows are going to give me different messages each week or so. It makes them more mythical and magical, and that’s why blogging last week was delayed….I have just been sitting under the billboard, hoping to catch those cows in the act of painting something new much the way that children try to glimpse Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.
But I also have some consternation about this billboard. As you know, it drives me up the wall that these cows can’t spell. But now I am supposed to believe that these cows know so much of the world that they know what text messages look like? And they know about emoticons and text message abbreviations they can do? And they know how to modify their sloppy painting style so that it looks like electronic print? They know all this and they still don’t know how to spell? I can’t reconcile these facts, and that’s also why blogging has been delayed over the past week. I have just been thinking and thinking about the situation.
Though I’m confused, I’m more intrigued than ever about these cows. I think I am officially reviving my plan to steal the cows, so I can study them further. However, I would be willing to suspend these plans if someone from Chick-fil-a headquarters were to offer me 3 value meals a week for the rest of my natural-born life. I’m just throwing that out there as a starting point. Let’s talk, Chick-fil-a. You can communicate with me via the comments on this blog, or have the cows paint a message to me on my billboard. You know the one.
Cause #1: I turned one year older, which was fairly traumatic for me, as many people who were around me at the time can attest. I mean, I don’t want to get too specific about it, but I went from MID-twenties to LATE-twenties and I was none-too-happy about it. Luckily, with the help of some beer and some Funfetti cupcakes made by my kind friend and editor Katie, I am much more at peace with my new age.
Cause #2: I was pretty busy. First up there was my birthday party. Then I went to see Neko Case in concert (it was incredibly awesome). Then I threw a party for my coworkers, which involved making both dip and punch. I was pretty busy all last week, and then came the weekend and cause #3.
Cause #3: I got pretty sick. Well, not sick, because it wasn’t a virus or a bug that felled me but instead my sinuses. It has felt like an elephant was sitting on my head, which made it to even get out of bed, let alone blog. Maybe I am getting weak and infirm and frail in my old age.
But the real reason for the gap in blogging is Cause #4.
Cause #4: The Chick-fil-a cows have spoken again.
Now, you know all about me and the Chick-fil-a cows. How I love them. How I want to steal them. Better yet, how I want to just open my door one day and see them there. I would sit them down with a dictionary and I would teach them how to spell, letter by letter, with the patience that Annie Sullivan showed to young Helen Keller.
Now, in all the time that I have known them, the Chick-fil-a cows have been guarding a sign that says “After Counting Sheep, Count Some Chicken,” except, you know, horribly misspelled. Then on Tuesday, without warning, there was a whole new message! Take a look at this:
I am of two minds on this billboard. On the one hand, I am kind of thrilled that these cows are going to give me different messages each week or so. It makes them more mythical and magical, and that’s why blogging last week was delayed….I have just been sitting under the billboard, hoping to catch those cows in the act of painting something new much the way that children try to glimpse Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.But I also have some consternation about this billboard. As you know, it drives me up the wall that these cows can’t spell. But now I am supposed to believe that these cows know so much of the world that they know what text messages look like? And they know about emoticons and text message abbreviations they can do? And they know how to modify their sloppy painting style so that it looks like electronic print? They know all this and they still don’t know how to spell? I can’t reconcile these facts, and that’s also why blogging has been delayed over the past week. I have just been thinking and thinking about the situation.
Though I’m confused, I’m more intrigued than ever about these cows. I think I am officially reviving my plan to steal the cows, so I can study them further. However, I would be willing to suspend these plans if someone from Chick-fil-a headquarters were to offer me 3 value meals a week for the rest of my natural-born life. I’m just throwing that out there as a starting point. Let’s talk, Chick-fil-a. You can communicate with me via the comments on this blog, or have the cows paint a message to me on my billboard. You know the one.
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