1. I'm wordy, I can't be bothered by the limitations and restrictions that Twitter imposes on everyone with its limited spaces.
2. I don't really want to make announcements when I head to the toilet.
3. I don't think I want to be associated with anything that has to do with having followers tracking when I head to the loo.
4. I can't be bothered to give constant updates, besides, isn't that what status updates are for on gchat and FB?
5. I can't be arsed to read everyone else's tweets.
6. If you want me to meet you somewhere, text me, and hope I'm not in the subway because I won't actually get the text until I get out.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
WWTBD? (what would the bard do?)
There’s all sorts of new technology, but the truth is I’m in lurve with my own handwriting. Not the hurried hand that scribbles when my boss is running off at the mouth and I’ve become responsible for every small drivel, but the slower hand, the hand that writes at the rate of everyone’s mind. The art which I spent many years and many teachers perfecting still changes and evolves as I continue to add elements of people I admire. I have to say the most influential people on my handwriting have been my freshman through sophomore swim coach and my dad.
Dez, just Dez was awesome. She was a writer, she was a swimmer and funnier than that time Lisa scared the crap out of me in the middle of the night and I yelled like a ninny for 5 minutes while Lisa laughed her arse off. I’m not sure if I were to meet her again if she wouldn’t live up to my memory, like somehow when you go back to visit your childhood house and it doesn’t seem as spacious, the colors aren’t as vivid, the stairs leading to a plain old place. Dez was a great inspiration to me, I worked hard at swimming for her, not for me, or my team, but she believed in me and winning races is what I could do for her. But her hand written meet assignments with her crisp hand and precisely turned g’s and y’s. It revolutionized my learned hand from large bubbles to dot my I’s and bubbly y’s large print to a more refined, idea of where I wanted to go.
I’ve always admired my dad’s signature, you couldn’t read it to save your like, you could pick out a G, a K and a D, the rest were just lines laid out strategically and mystically. To which my signature slowly morphed from loops to a more dignified and unreadable name with a hint of the possibility of a belonging to a doctor, where you can pick out an A and a D but what’s in the middle? You can’t even find the J, that’s ok don’t worry about it; I’m not entirely defined by my middle name, nor it’s heritage. However, my heritage I do enjoy.
The life of my handwriting was really born in the beginning of high school in between freshman and sophomore year, maybe even on my 15th bday, that ‘s when the change was made, a new me a new hand. Sure there have been some adjustments to it, growing smaller, getting sloppier, but at the essence of all things it is still intact. Still distinctive. Still enjoyable. What happens when technology threatens to take it away from me? I find myself torn between the new technology, editing by hand, writing by hand and switching back to the computer. They’re interchangeable now, the computer and the hand.
Dez, just Dez was awesome. She was a writer, she was a swimmer and funnier than that time Lisa scared the crap out of me in the middle of the night and I yelled like a ninny for 5 minutes while Lisa laughed her arse off. I’m not sure if I were to meet her again if she wouldn’t live up to my memory, like somehow when you go back to visit your childhood house and it doesn’t seem as spacious, the colors aren’t as vivid, the stairs leading to a plain old place. Dez was a great inspiration to me, I worked hard at swimming for her, not for me, or my team, but she believed in me and winning races is what I could do for her. But her hand written meet assignments with her crisp hand and precisely turned g’s and y’s. It revolutionized my learned hand from large bubbles to dot my I’s and bubbly y’s large print to a more refined, idea of where I wanted to go.
I’ve always admired my dad’s signature, you couldn’t read it to save your like, you could pick out a G, a K and a D, the rest were just lines laid out strategically and mystically. To which my signature slowly morphed from loops to a more dignified and unreadable name with a hint of the possibility of a belonging to a doctor, where you can pick out an A and a D but what’s in the middle? You can’t even find the J, that’s ok don’t worry about it; I’m not entirely defined by my middle name, nor it’s heritage. However, my heritage I do enjoy.
The life of my handwriting was really born in the beginning of high school in between freshman and sophomore year, maybe even on my 15th bday, that ‘s when the change was made, a new me a new hand. Sure there have been some adjustments to it, growing smaller, getting sloppier, but at the essence of all things it is still intact. Still distinctive. Still enjoyable. What happens when technology threatens to take it away from me? I find myself torn between the new technology, editing by hand, writing by hand and switching back to the computer. They’re interchangeable now, the computer and the hand.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Remember the time I got pants-ed by the bishop’s kid? I do- every time I wear that skirt.
I’d have to say that is the best babysitting story that I have. The kids were sweet, but man they got riled up when it was time to go to sleep. The best part is that it happened 2 years ago. I wasn’t a novice babysitter. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had more than 1 kid to look after. It was however the first time I wore a skirt babysitting, it appears that I really did know everything when I was younger, but the older I get the dumber I get apparently. So here’s a heads up for the lot of you. Don’t wear a cotton skirt that slides easily on and off when you’re babysitting hyper girls, especially if you have to lift one of them into the top bunk leaving yourself open and defenseless on the bottom half. And really at that point what do you do? One kid in the air, the other rolling on the ground in humorosity convulsions, your hands in the air and your skirt at your knees.
I sort of equate this to buyer’s remorse. You go into a shop and you know you shouldn’t because most likely you’ll buy something, but you hope that all the cute stuff doesn’t look cute on you when you try it on so you won’t have to go through the battle of do I buy this or put it back on some random hanger in the shop? You win (your hands in the air) but the savings you’re supposed to be putting away go to a savings of clothes in your closet (your skirt around your knees). Sure the clothes are sweet and just add to your kickin style (kid in the air) but your laundry list of fall purchases could do without this kickin piece (the irony is the kid in snorting with laughter in a ball on the ground). I could call it savings, like I have savings, it’s just not in paper or electronic dollars. It’s in wool, cotton, poly and stretchy blends hanging on the rack in my room (that’s right, I don’t have a closet in my room, it’s down the hall and I can’t be bothered to go down there every time I get dressed. To be sure I can’t even be bothered to hang anything up that I take off in my room.)
So the question is what did I do with the little perp? I took her and her sister to the zoo, complete with zoo attire that would stay snug in place barring unforeseen incidents…
I sort of equate this to buyer’s remorse. You go into a shop and you know you shouldn’t because most likely you’ll buy something, but you hope that all the cute stuff doesn’t look cute on you when you try it on so you won’t have to go through the battle of do I buy this or put it back on some random hanger in the shop? You win (your hands in the air) but the savings you’re supposed to be putting away go to a savings of clothes in your closet (your skirt around your knees). Sure the clothes are sweet and just add to your kickin style (kid in the air) but your laundry list of fall purchases could do without this kickin piece (the irony is the kid in snorting with laughter in a ball on the ground). I could call it savings, like I have savings, it’s just not in paper or electronic dollars. It’s in wool, cotton, poly and stretchy blends hanging on the rack in my room (that’s right, I don’t have a closet in my room, it’s down the hall and I can’t be bothered to go down there every time I get dressed. To be sure I can’t even be bothered to hang anything up that I take off in my room.)
So the question is what did I do with the little perp? I took her and her sister to the zoo, complete with zoo attire that would stay snug in place barring unforeseen incidents…
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Retro TV with a new spin- the solution to really really bad new ideas.
Lately the city is littered with advertisements for a new tv show that was way cool in the 90’s, and when I say way cool what I mean is slightly interesting and on after 90210, which was really the cool show, and sadly enough has been redone as well with ultimately the same lack of quality. I mean come on, even Brenda and Dylan waited until prom and these kids are out there giving it up to everyone who looks at them twice. I think you know what show I’m talking about now, that’s right, Melrose Place. Now, we all know I’m never going to watch the show but that’s not to say that I don’t wish the show and everyone on it success. Which is why I wanted to offer them this marketing idea, they have a great start with pictures of the actors with their hands all over each other. I’m sure there’s some action packed tear jerking drama in the show too, but I think they’re aiming more towards the frat boys and sorority girls on this one.
Open scene: Cue romantic steamy music, camera scans apt complex courtyard, steam billowing up from the pool that sits in the middle of the courtyard. Cue actors to start steaming it up with their acting talent ie: making out.
Cut to a clip of Arrested Development GOB pitching ideas to Sitwell
GOB: “I call it F@#! City” (Extends hand for high five from Sitwell)
Cut back to steamy scene in the courtyard.
Cut to clip of Arrested Development GOB still pitching ideas to Sitwell
GOB: “How do we filter out the teases? We don’t let them in.”
And Scene.
Here’s to a great season.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Well that last post was all Pants
There was a lot of talk in that last post, yes I realize that it was in January and today is the last day of August, but it's all pants is what it is. But devil take the hind most, I'm not talking about it anymore.
On to bigger and better things. namely this last week when Eileen came home with a puppy. Let me tell you about this puppy. He's about the size of my palm, has little puppy breath and here is a list of his favorite things:
chewing on toes, chewing on noses, crawling up whom ever is sitting on the couch to get to said noses and necks to chew and paw with little puppy nails. He can sense that you're extremely ticklish on the neck he seeks you out and makes it a point to get you, especially when you have something in both hands and can't protect yourself. He also likes to cuddle into cleavage. Mostly Eileen's.
The good news is that camp is over, and I just need to give a shout out and a huge TGIF to camp and it's endless supply of sex gods. Ne'er fails each location has some eye candy. Now, I don't in know if I want to admit to this, in fact I think I won't. I'll let your minds run rapid with the image of sex gods emulating their status doing a lip sync to "all the single ladies" in short black shorts and sports bras stretched to their limits on their football field sized backs and their mile long davids on full display. Yup, this is a kid's camp. You can't really blame them for being hot, no more than you can blame all the little girls who had crushes on them the rest of the week. But really camp is now equated with Christmas. It comes once a year, is full of fun times, presents just for me!
On to bigger and better things. namely this last week when Eileen came home with a puppy. Let me tell you about this puppy. He's about the size of my palm, has little puppy breath and here is a list of his favorite things:
chewing on toes, chewing on noses, crawling up whom ever is sitting on the couch to get to said noses and necks to chew and paw with little puppy nails. He can sense that you're extremely ticklish on the neck he seeks you out and makes it a point to get you, especially when you have something in both hands and can't protect yourself. He also likes to cuddle into cleavage. Mostly Eileen's.
The good news is that camp is over, and I just need to give a shout out and a huge TGIF to camp and it's endless supply of sex gods. Ne'er fails each location has some eye candy. Now, I don't in know if I want to admit to this, in fact I think I won't. I'll let your minds run rapid with the image of sex gods emulating their status doing a lip sync to "all the single ladies" in short black shorts and sports bras stretched to their limits on their football field sized backs and their mile long davids on full display. Yup, this is a kid's camp. You can't really blame them for being hot, no more than you can blame all the little girls who had crushes on them the rest of the week. But really camp is now equated with Christmas. It comes once a year, is full of fun times, presents just for me!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
GOOD NEWS! As you know since I haven't posted since September and it was all just a rant and rave about my knee and all sorts of pain. There has been a breakthrough! The knee isn't swollen, and I can finally do stuff again. TGIF. And when I say the knee isn't swollen, I mean that as in I woke up today and the knee finally wasn't swollen. Now all I have to do is build up the strength and get rid of the knots and I'm golden. I sure hope my balance comes back some time soon. It's sure been good times standing in the subway, at times it was sort of like pin ball where I was the ball.
Some other good news is that on a lucky Sunday I came into a new turtle. Little did I know when I woke up that fine fall morning and headed to church that on my way home through Harlem I would come across, not a gypsy selling magic beans, but a chinawoman hawking turtles. 2 for $10. I was like lady, I don't have a tenner, but I do have a fiver! She wasn't into haggling, I think she needs a little lesson from the street vendors in Cape Town. The fiver got me a sweet little turtle and a terrarium the size of the fiver bill. In light of the short life of Sherpa I decided to let Darby earn a larger living space. After the 3 months that we've had together I think he's earned an upgrade. Although, he spends all his time sleeping. He's taking a sabbatical from his base jumping spelunking activities and just chilling. I just thank my lucky stars that I crossed paths with a street vending chinawoman in the middle of Harlem. I decided not to point out that one of us was in the wrong part of town, but when you think about it, maybe we both were.
Some other good news is that on a lucky Sunday I came into a new turtle. Little did I know when I woke up that fine fall morning and headed to church that on my way home through Harlem I would come across, not a gypsy selling magic beans, but a chinawoman hawking turtles. 2 for $10. I was like lady, I don't have a tenner, but I do have a fiver! She wasn't into haggling, I think she needs a little lesson from the street vendors in Cape Town. The fiver got me a sweet little turtle and a terrarium the size of the fiver bill. In light of the short life of Sherpa I decided to let Darby earn a larger living space. After the 3 months that we've had together I think he's earned an upgrade. Although, he spends all his time sleeping. He's taking a sabbatical from his base jumping spelunking activities and just chilling. I just thank my lucky stars that I crossed paths with a street vending chinawoman in the middle of Harlem. I decided not to point out that one of us was in the wrong part of town, but when you think about it, maybe we both were.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Holy Rusted Metal Batman
My knee is killing me. Wow, who said going to the dr makes everything better? All I can say is I felt like Gumby poked, pulled, poked harder, then hooked up to "stimulus" aka electric pluses. Sure the pain was gone for like 2 seconds, now I feel like gumby's leg has been sat on by Horton, whether or not he heard a Who. But really who cares whether or not he heard a Who? My knee hurts.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Ho Hum Pigs Bum
Hola Chummies! Wow, what to say, what to say... Well I'm back from my camp adventures and well I fell in love a little, with a book series. I mean, I know I'm not a teenage Brit equivalent to Bridget Jones and that I don't have a cat I brought home from a Scottish holiday, but I'm enamored with the humurosity that is the life of Georgia aka Gee and her gang of rag tag, furry short wearing, lad lashing, nunga bouncing Ace Gang. Although I'm not a teen I do find that I still share some similarities with this heroine, I haven't had the good fortune to have my boy entrancers, aka my false eyelashes, get glued together whilst I was wearing them and chatting up a lurve god and have to excuse myself to catch my train and run into my friend who then started the congo line leading me around the dance floor blindly. But Gee and I do share one thing, and it's the firm belief that if it's silly, it's worth doing. And if you can sing a hymn and replace at least 5 words with PANTS, it makes worship that much more entertaining. And well then there's the humor of her pally Dave the Laugh, it just so happens that I have a friend Dave, and he's well, a laugh.
My hat is off to you Louise Rennison, we could have been amazing friends. I'm not promising the same antics as Rosie, but we could have gotten material for another 9 books. Maybe I'll try the sticky eyes on someone on the streets of NY and see if I can get him to follow me around. You may have answered my mother's prayers to me finding a husband, she may be buzzing you if this all works out.
And Bethany will also send many thanks for the Viking Dance we're going to do at her wedding.
Heres a sneak peak of what's coming across the pond from Billy a Shakespeare land
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fpuZYQqFzg
Friday, July 25, 2008
George Michael, via con dios, via the porcelain lights
Well, I'm sitting shiva again. George Michael, my beloved beta fish apparently had an appointment with the porcelain that he didn't tell me about. Sure, he was more abnormal than he has been lately, moody, refusing to eat when I entice him by rubbing the side of his bowl then jumps up to the surface and retreats back to the bottom of the bowl like a moody teenager. If he doesn't want to eat, then that's his decision you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink. He did a lot of snubbing of my roommate too, I just thought they were in a fight. So I guess what I'm saying is he didn't talk to me much toward the end. He didn't blow me any fish kisses anymore... I guess there are some phases you just don't make your way through.
At the swim off, when dust goes to dust, and aqua goes to aqua, I had everything prepared and fitted George Michael with his porcelain casket, when it just sucked him up completely, waooossshh just like that without words, without warning he was taken from me. All the yelling at the toilet didn't bring him back, there was no regurgitation out of respect. The NY sewer system is just as tough as its streets.
RIP my sweet sweet fishy.
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