Thursday, September 30, 2010

When Too Wrong Makes a Write.

Okay, you guys. New favorite website. I'm mean, it's been trumping Facebook and Merriam Webster Online for about twenty minutes. And it's 2:15am. Clearly, something is wrong. Either that, or something is all too right.

Yup. Exactly what it looks like. I just spent a full minute puzzling over this one:

"The likelihood freezes next to our horrible image."

Quick exposition break: I'm at the library, finishing my second cup of almost-free coffee. (See, they say, "What a great deal! With your unlimited meal plan, we'll let you swap a meal per day for something that isn't cafeteria food!" So you feel all awesome when you swipe your card and walk away with Pop-tarts and yogurt. Except...oh, yeah, I could buy a year's worth of Pop-tarts and yogurt with the money I spend on a semester of meal plans. So thanks for nothing, persons of authority.) See, I describe this feeling as being so tired that I feel like I'll never have to sleep again. You know that feeling? Yeah, you do. Or you will, young grasshoppers. You will. Anyway, I finished my Spanish homework around one and figured I might as well grab a bagel and coffee and do my math homework for next week. Except I forgot that I'm in Algebra, so...well, let me explain this mathematically. Since I'm in a math mood. (Not.)

Time required to complete Algebra homework
< Time required for effects of artificial caffeine to wear off.

Which = time to blog, silly, why did you grab a second cup of coffee? You're gonna be up until 4am at this point.

Woo. This is ridiculous. Am I making sense? I'm a little bit high on Club Library right now.

Random sentence time!

The prose discriminates above the male.

Is it just me, or is that a really powerful statement? Prose can mean more than just a lengthy literary composition; it can signify the general language of speech and writing. Discrimination, despite its negative connotations, really just implies distinguishing between one concept/subject/event and another, or just having general discretion. So if we interpret this sentence as saying that language itself creates discretion that extends far beyond gender boundaries, but defines the world in which we live--as the world in which we live simultaneously creates and maintains the meaning behind language--we are essentially defining my 111 Arts and Humanities course, Writing in Transcultural Contexts.

(In case you were wondering: no, "transculturation" does not exist in the established English language. "Transculturation" is, however, the foundation of my major, along with a few hundred other Arts and Humanities students. So that's great.)

Hmm...well, on that note, I'd say it's time to head on back to the humble abode and snatch a few Z's from whoever has them right now. By "Z's" I mean "hours of sleep" and by "whoever has them now" I mean "the clutches of my Sparty's coffee cup." Doggone thing won't tell me the secret to a good night's sleep. Whatever. I don't need its secrets. I have a random sentence generator.

And apparently, that's all I really need.

Good morning.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

A Heartfelt, but Uncategorized Embrace.

Here's something everyone has thought about, but rarely voiced: hugs.

There a various types of hugs, all pertaining to different groups and relationships. Most people are familiar with all of these, but may not know it. I'm going to enlighten you now, with the gentle embrace of bloggage. (That sounds awful. I apologize.)

Anyway. Here's the Hug Scale, as devised by yours truly.

First Degree of Familiarity: Casual Arm-Over-Shoulder Hug. You know this one. It's the semi-affectionate, often one-sided "I-kind-of-wish-this-was-a-real-hug-but-I-don't-know-if-you-share-this-wish-so-I'm-just-going-to-throw-my-arm-around-you-like-we're-golf/pub-buddies" hug. Friendly and harmless.
Second Degree of Familiarity: From-Behind Hug. This one can be dangerous. Like the former, it's quite often one-sided, but its sneakiness implies that the hug-giver knows the embraceful feeling is not mutual, and will resort to anything to get a hug anyway. Surprising and slightly awkward, because what face are you supposed to make when this is happening? No matter what, it's always just as weird for the people sitting around the hug site as it is for the hugged.
Third Degree of Familiarity: Side Hug. This is when both parties would very much like to exchange an affectionate, frontal embrace, but the situation just doesn't allow it. It's nice in its own way though, because Side Hugs can last longer than their forward-facing brethren without the participators appearing antisocial.
Fourth Degree of Familiarity: Handshake Hug. One of the most adorable hugs, the Handshake Hug follows a well-rehearsed choreography of gestures and high-fives and foot-stomps and what not. Implies a fairly decent amount of emotional security and general closeness between parties. Often implemented between males, but common among primates in general.
Fifth Degree of Familiarity: One-Armed Hug with Pats. Fairly stereotypical of the general male population. Meaningful one-armed embrace accompanied by three slaps of the engaged palm against the receiver's back. The three slaps are rumored to signify a silent mantra between the two participants that sounds something like "I'm-not-gay." Homophobia is pretty prominent in a lot of groups, so this hug is used a lot.
Sixth Degree of Familiarity: One-Armed Hug. Similar to the former one-armed hug with back pats. However, the lack of accompanying back pats does not imply homosexuality, but a comfort between hug participants and a general confidence in personal gender preference.
Seventh Degree of Familiarity: Two-Armed Hug, One Over, One Under. Generally used in settings of mutual, basic understanding between friends of relatively similar heights. Implies nothing beyond vague buddyship, although it is the typical hug for the infamous, yet fairly non-descript "best friends."
Eighth Degree of Familiarity: Two Arms, Both Over or Both Under. Essentially the same as the former hug, but is used when one party is significantly taller/shorter than the other. Also employed when the taller of the two parties wishes to pick the smaller one off the ground. (For the smaller of the two parties: this is great for lengthening the spine. Seriously. It's probably a rough equivalent to an hour and a half of WiiFit yoga.)
Ninth Degree of Familiarity: Two Arms, with Secondary Squeeze. This is a special embrace that basically counts as a double. (Which is just wonderful, as long as it's wanted/expected. Otherwise, it's the longest, most awkward period of one's life.) Anyway...this is when parties go in for a familiar two-armed hug (either of the two previous). However, instead of pulling away after about 1.3 seconds (think about it...that time period is fairly accurate...and yes, my research consisted of counting "Mississippi's" while miming a hug), they give another squeeze that lasts as long as a new hug. It takes a special person to give a special hug, too. Don't take a good Secondary Squeeze for granted. (Yes, you may giggle. I did.)
Tenth Degree of Familiarity: Two Arms, with Back-Scratchage. This is the final stage of familiarity because--face it--you can't hug just anyone and be comfortable enough to hold on and scratch them. That could be completely misinterpreted if the two parties were mere acquaintances. It's basically the Secondary Squeeze with affectionate back-rubbing. Usually only friendly, used for special occasions like graduation and getting your braces off and stuff.

I'm pretty much bored with the hug topic at this point, so feel free to fill in the blanks for yourself.

Next time you find yourself in mid-embrace, notice that the pull-away point falls around 1.3 seconds every time(...unless you're one of those people).

Happy hugging!
Me. Who else?

Monday, September 20, 2010

From a Muggle's Standpoint. Dedicated to the Birthday Girl.

Today is a very special is a very good friend's birthday! (I think I'll keep her anonymous, otherwise I'd be attesting to some serious hypocrisy here. Let's just say she's quite the sister to me.) There are approximately 358,192 birthdays every day (according to that could mean anything), but this one is particularly important. Therefore, I will seize this opportunity to discuss something of utmost importance and genuine general interest...not to mention the applicability to the common man/woman.

Muggle Quidditch.

I know you've been wondering. After reading this, you'll never have to wonder again!

Positions: 3 Chasers, 2 Beaters, 1 Seeker, 1 Keeper

The Chasers on a team pass a half-deflated volleyball/soccer ball (the Quaffle) to one another, trying to get around opposing team members to throw the Quaffle through one of three hoops at the other end of the pitch. Chasers may snatch the Quaffle from the other team's possession, knock it from another player's hands, and even tackle players if necessary. A score with the Quaffle is 10 points.

Beater: Beaters take control of the dodgeballs/kickballs (Bludgers), throwing them at Chasers and Seekers in order to disrupt their game strategy...and to slow them down in general. If a player is hit by a Bludger, he or she must drop any ball in his or her possession and run around the goal hoops before engaging in the game again. Only Beaters may touch the Bludgers without being penalized.

Seeker: The Seeker's job is to catch the Golden Snitch. The Snitch is transported via a long-distance runner dressed completely in gold. A tennis ball is placed inside a long sock, which is knotted at the end. This knotted sock (AKA the actual Snitch) hangs out of the Snitch runner's pocket. Seekers attempt to seize the Snitch from the pocket without touching the actual human Snitch. If that makes sense. The Snitch has the liberty to do whatever he or she chooses. The Snitch might leap into the bushes, go out to lunch, see a movie, or attend a wedding. (Yes, the latter has been done before. There are pictures.)

Keeper: The Keeper's job is the job of he or she guards the three hoops for his or her team. The hoops stand at about six feet tall. Pretty straightforward.

General Rules:

All members of each team line up alongside their own goal hoops before the game begins. All team members shut their eyes while the Snitch runs and hides. When the referee calls "Brooms up," the game begins. All players sprint to the center of the field to seize the Quaffle and Bludgers.

The game ends when the Snitch is caught
(does the bold font cancel out the passive verb?)...however, the team that catches the Snitch receives 30 points rather than 150, like in the book. Because that wouldn't make sense...there would be no reason for the rest of the team to be there. They could all get tea together and chat about Squibs and the Ministry while the Seekers and Snitch run all over the planet.

Oh, and of course...all of the above is done with a broom between every player's legs, at least one hand on the broom at a time.

Needless to say, it's a sport every Muggle should play. Such useful skills to be acquired.

Unfortunately, I seem to have missed the birthday deadline...but it's still the night of the wonderful day. Happy birthday, LJ! (That rhymes!) You are now a year older and a blog post wiser. Or something like that.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

My Kind of Fun.

Think English has it all covered? Well, apparently not. Surprise! (Not.) Here's a little list of words (that have various spellings, depending on where you look) that have very familiar meanings (generally), but no English equivalents. I expect all of you to use these words in the next week. At least one, anyway. Preferably this first one...

Gheegle: (Filipino) The urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute.

(Don't deny it. You KNOW this urge.)

Cualacino: (Italian) The mark left on a table by a cold glass.

(See, everyone knows this happens. Hence the coasters/stacks of outdated magazines on wooden coffee tables. But did you ever wonder what this occurence is called? I have to admit, I never cared. Until now.)

Sgriob: (Gaelic) The itchiness that overcomes the upper lip just before taking a sip of whiskey.

(Besides the fact that I've never experienced the effects of whiskey in general, I have to tell you that this makes no sense to me. Is an itchy upper lip before a sip of whiskey the equivalent to a watering mouth before Thanksgiving dinner?)

L’esprit de escalier: (French) The feeling you get after leaving a conversation, when you think of all the things you should have said. Translated it means “the spirit of the staircase.”

(Dear God, thank you for the French. I now know that I'm not the only one who has this feeling. Comebacks always pop up in one's mind three hours after they're required. I'm glad the French and I are of like mind. Sorry I was bored in bible study today. Amen.)

Pari-pari and Saku-saku: (Japanese) Hard-crispy verses Soft-crispy, i.e. a rice cracker versus fried chicken

(This is sheer beauty. Putting crispiness on a scale. I cannot say any more words to encompass this perfection.)

Stam: (Hebrew) An agreement out of amusement and frustration that something doesn’t have a satisfactory answer among those talking.

(This one sounds effective even just echoing in my head.)

Forelsket: (Norwegian) The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.

(I'm not familiar with this feeling either. Wa waaaaa.)

Pena ajena: (Mexican Spanish) The embarrassment you feel watching someone else’s humiliation.

(Dear God, thanks again. I thought I was the only one who got stressed out watching people having their days ruined. Someone's coffee spills and I tear my fingernails apart. A grocery bag tears and I break out in a cold sweat. I should probably become a hermit so as to lessen the physical damage of watching people have bad days. Please give me a sign if this is a correct assumption. Amen.)

Okay, so there are a ton more words that I could describe, but...there's a lot to do. I just wanted to let you know...that...THE BLOG LIVES. In case anyone still reads this.

With loads of like,
Me. Who else?

P.S. Anonymous commenter, I know. Arthur won the Spelling Bee with the word "preparation," after Prunella got it wrong. When Principal Haney told her it was incorrect, she did a freaky double-take and stalked off stage. Why are her socks always bunchy? More importantly, why is Arthur on PBS exactly during marching band practice?

Monday, September 6, 2010

Hangdog Delights.

Okay, so I literally Googled "what to write about" and one of the results was "Ten Guilty Pleasures." So here it goes.

First of all, am I the only person in the world who thinks "guilty pleasure" is the worst term for something one does when one could be doing something more productive? It just sounds awful and mildly inappropriate. Not that my mind works that way.

Okay, guilty pleasures, then.

1) PBS Kids. Yes, yes, yes. I know. Of all things...PBS Kids is my number one guilty pleasure? (I named this blog "of all things" for a reason. Welcome to reason number one: I don't make sense.) I know every word to almost every theme song on PBS weekday afternoons. And I know I'm not the only one. Arthur is my personal favorite, because his life is so doggone tidy. He has problems, and they clean right up. Streak-free. No scar tissue. Beautiful life. Plus, he's an aardvark. Know how I know how to spell that? Because of the episode "Arthur and the Spelling Bee," when Mr. Read tells Arthur to put words to songs. So he makes this whole song up to learn how to spell the first word on the list, "aardvark," and that ends up being the only word he has to spell to get into the Spell-a-thon. (See? This is a serious problem. I should see a doctor or something.)

2) Anything and everything about deodorant. Mostly applying it, but I like shopping for new scents or brands or whatever. I can't explain it. Anyone who knows me knows that I reapply like...fifteen times a day. (And now, a whole bunch of strangers potentially know too. Yippee...) I have a stick in my room, in the bathroom, in my backpack, and in my trumpet case. Again, it's probably a psychological problem or something,'s not hurting anyone...

3) Dark chocolate. And not just because I'm a woman. It's a superfood, okay? I have every right to snitch chocolate chips from the cupboard at home. It's practically my responsibility to myself and to society. So there.

4) Blogging. I don't know why it's number four, but...anyway. I really like sharing random thoughts and reactions with friends and strangers. It's therapeutic, I think. Well, that's what I tell myself. Because you and I both know that we could both be doing something much better with our time right now.

5) Well...I drink a lot of VitaRain. It's Costco's vitamin water, except it totally tops any other brand of vitamin water because it's relatively cheap, and 0 cal, 0 fat, 0 sodium, 0 everything...except vitamins, of course. And EXPLOSIONS OF FLAVOR. ("I'm working with some very unstable heeeerbs!" Accepted, anyone?) I love it. I drink too much of's good for me. I think.

6) Facebook. I know I'm a teenager in the modern era and everything, and it can only be expected that I would love Facebook,'s more than that. I love learning about people! I like to guess peoples' stories, which is why I friend everyone.

(Okay...side note. I signed up to be in a quiet room on a quiet floor. My floor is 50% honors housing. Since nine o'clock, girls have been shrieking and running up and down the hall like the Mad Hatter is cackling from every dark corner. I'm completely at a loss. Should I join them? Am I crushing everyone's spirits by finishing my homework and updating my blog? And how in the name of John T. Madden do they manage to laugh through six walls? What could possibly be that funny?)

7) Romantic comedies. I am in no way a "girly girl," but romantic comedies just pull me right in. When I have a night off, I seriously stream them instantly through Netflix, make popcorn, and watch them by myself in my room. It's pathetic...but I kind of love it.

8) I memorize stuff for fun. Like...anything, really. I used to open to a random page in the encyclopedia and just memorize definitions word for word. Maybe that's why the memorization part of marching band comes fairly easily to me. I don't know. It's weird. I don't do it that much anymore, but...I still remember the textbook definition of a biological clock from seventh grade. For your information, it's "an internal timer that keeps track of a cycle of time and helps an organism stay in step with the rhythmic cycles of change in its environment." I told you it was weird. Why my mind chose to retain that definition, rather than what my teacher looked like, is beyond me.

9) I think I might be a little bit of a masochist. Battle-scar style. Not in a creepy, I-hurt-myself-for-fun kind of way. I think scars are sweet, and bruises are cool-looking. This is getting weird so I'm going to bring this to a close.

10) I'm a huge geek about music. I like to compare chord progressions and rhythmic structures of modern music...I like determining what songs are similar to other songs...I like comparing artists...I memorize jazz solos...65% of the music I listen to is either jazz or classical...and I would honestly be a music major if I didn't detest practicing as much as I detest practicing. (Hint: it's a lot. Enough that I really don't practice. Which would be a problem if I was a music major.) I like where I'm headed in life anyway. It's all good.

So...there you have it! A rough compilation of my guiltiest pleasures. Ugh. Weird. Dagnabbit, I should have put Lady Gaga music on there. Ah, well. Have a good one!

Friday, September 3, 2010


So, here's the deal. Once upon a time, I described high school marching band as being a dead mouse in comparison to the charging rhino called college marching band. And now I feel awful because in no way was that meant to be hurtful in any way. And this is a pathetic attempt at fixing the mistake I just made.

I would be absolutely nowhere without high school marching band. My closest friends, favorite teachers, and most valuable life skills are all direct results of my experiences in high school marching band. When I made that comparison, I was only referring to the degree of intensity. It's roughly equivalent to the difference in all experiences from high school to college. Everything is just...magnified.

My most sincere apologies to anyone who has hurt by my haphazard analogy...and I know this is a ridiculous way to apologize for something that I should have edited and recognized as being potentially misunderstood.

Also, I apologize to any new readers that think I'm a jerk with nothing better to do than blog exaggerations and then blog apologies for my exaggerations.

Good night, favorites.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Spontaneous Kitty Motif.

Let me tell you a little something about doing laundry at college. A few somethings, actually.

1) The primary unwritten law about laundry rooms is that there cannot be, under any circumstances, any sort of flattering lighting. Harsh florescence and exposed bulbs are the key to successfully washing and drying your garments.

2) Although you will be waiting for your garments to finish what will end up being approximately a one-and-a-half hour cycle, the only places to rest your weary feet are on a spindly metal chair or a nondescript concrete step. Also, you will not want to sit down, because that would suggest weakness...because goodness knows there are psycho kitten rapists in the walls. (I meant rapists that target kittens, not kittens that are also rapists...but either way, the image is terrifying.)

3) There are no instructions. Nor is there anyone (besides the kitty rapists...meow...) to tell you what to add first, the clothes or the detergent or the water, or what setting to choose when you just want to throw it all in there and be done with it. Oh, no. Trial and error is the way of the laundry room. Trial and error.

So that's what's up. Because I know you're fascinated by my laundry habits. Hello, college life. Speaking of college life...I would love to stop seeing kids from my high school in my current real life. Nothing personal (mostly), it's just that...I left that place for a reason. If they were actual friends, it would be cool...but no, they're the kids who know who you are, and you know who they are, and you all know you know each other, but you wouldn't talk to each other even if threatened with rape by/of kitten. Jeez, I don't know where this kitten motif is coming from. I should go read a book or something.

I have decided that everyone in the world...nay, the universe...should experience the Spartan Marching Band in some way, at least once. I'm officially hooked. Just so you know.

Have a lovely, laundry-free evening, blogees.