But, the obsession to not be old/anti-aging is absurd and that is what is strange to me.
I don’t do any of that (I’m cheap and lazy). Somehow, I manage to not look old, but I think that’s my ”not spending a ton of time outdoors getting lots of UV exposure*” youth plan that does wonders for me. :D
*I have very fair skin and I’m also bad about using sunscreen.
If there is something wrong with you, then there is something wrong with me. Though I do use mascara three times a year.
I put on mascara, but I can wash my face and do that in a pretty short period of time (meaning you can do things to your face without spending eons of time - it comes across like anyone who does do something to their face is obsessive and weird about it) .
I ended up not wearing any mascara in grad school. I was crying so much, it wasn’t worth the effort.
So, uh, yeah. I don’t know, maybe posting that on Tumblr will keep me from psyching myself out again.
I had been in grad school for almost 6 years when I finally went and I wish I had gone sooner. I was in a grad student support group. Whatever you find most comfortable, don’t be ashamed of doing it. It’s so helpful to have a person/people to talk to who empathize with what you’re feeling about school.
Acetone acts primarily as a depressant of the central nervous system. Signs of toxicity following severe intoxication may include ataxia, sedation, and coma (HSDB, 1995). Respiratory depression, gastrointestinal disorders (vomiting and hematemesis), hyperglycemia and ketonemia, acidosis and hepatic and renal damage may also occur (HSDB, 1995). Ingestion of 10-20 mL (8-16 g) is generally not toxic (Widmark, 1919); consumption of 20 g/day for several days resulted in slight drowsiness (Morgott, 1993). A dose of 50 mL (40 g) or more may produce toxic effects (Verschueren, 1983). The minimum lethal dose for a 150-lb man is estimated to be 100 mL (80 g) (Arena and Drew, 1986). A individual who drank about 200 mL of pure acetone (160 g or about 2.2 g/kg) exhibited shallow respiration, a red and swollen throat, erosions in the soft palate and esophagus, and elevated blood glucose levels and became comatose for 12 hours (Gitelson et al., 1966).
They should convene a panel for the next Meet the Press with Jenna Bush Hager, Luke Russert, Liz Cheney, Megan McCain and Jonah Goldberg, and they should have Chris Wallace moderate it. They can all bash affirmative action and talk about how vitally important it is that the U.S. remain a Great Meritocracy because it’s really unfair for anything other than merit to determine position and employment. They can interview Lisa Murkowski, Evan Bayh, Jeb Bush, Bob Casey, Mark Pryor, Jay Rockefeller, Dan Lipinksi, and Harold Ford, Jr. about personal responsibility and the virtues of self-sufficiency. Bill Kristol, Tucker Carlson and John Podhoretz can provide moving commentary on how America is so special because all that matters is merit, not who you know or where you come from. There’s a virtually endless list of politically well-placed guests equally qualified to talk on such matters.
About this latest hiring by NBC, Atrios observed: ”if only the Villager values of nepotism and torture could be combined somehow.” The American Prospect's Adam Serwer quicky noted that they already have been: ”Liz Cheney.” Liz Cheney is really the perfect face of Washington’s political culture, a perfect manifestation of all the rotting diseases that define it and a pure expression of what our country has become and the reasons for its virtual ruin. She should really be on every political TV show all day every day. It’s almost as though things can’t really be expressed thoroughly without including her. Jenna Bush as a new NBC ”reporter” on The Today Show — at a time when every media outlet is firing and laying off real reporters — is a very nice addition though.
UPDATE: Just to underscore a very important, related point: all of the above-listed people are examples of America’s Great Meritocracy, having achieved what they have solely on the basis of their talent, skill and hard work — The American Way. By contrast, Sonia Sotomayor — who grew up in a Puerto Rican family in Bronx housing projects; whose father had a third-grade education, did not speak English and died when she was 9; whose mother worked as a telephone operator and a nurse; and who then became valedictorian of her high school, summa cum laude at Princeton, a graduate of Yale Law School, and ultimately a Supreme Court Justice — is someone who had a whole litany of unfair advantages handed to her and is the poster child for un-American, merit-less advancement.
That was amazing as well as gross at times. It’s incredible to see, up close, the ecosystem around a single tree, the sycamore fig tree, in Africa and how many insects, amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals it takes care of.
Thanks for putting up with my impromptu live-blogging of this episode.
Ripe figs that have dropped from the tree will ferment in the hot sun. Shy butterflies will drink the alcohol and essentially get drunk. Fortunately, drunk butterflies do not taste good to those that eat them.
And I won’t be getting a refund. So. I know it’s not a big huge deal and it you’ll all probably roll your eyes at me, but it was a lot of money to me and enough to get the tears and snot flowing A-GAIN. It is seriously one goddamned thing after another. Nothing good. I need something good to happen. Did I kill children and puppies in a former life?
And Drunk Dwayne isn’t returning my phone calls so now I have to fucking go to court, as if I have time for that.
We finished the walk. We’re all a little worse for the wear after three days of being on our feet but I think we all walked away better people. I have so much to say about the walk still but for now guys? I’m tired and I really want hamburger and some fries. So let me just say this: I am so glad I did this. For myself, for all those effected by breast cancer (or any cancer), for the amazing people I met and for the hope that it has inspired in me.
I do apologize. Whenever I see a certain type of people make a certain type of comment (people from NY are no different that people from Amsterdam in this respect), I get thoroughly pissed off. Sometimes I’d like to take everyone with this type of superiority complex and shove them in the ocean.
Dear god, me too. “the most fascinating people in the world”? Are you shitting me?
Well, they ARE in galleries, so obviously they must be unique snowflakes with amazing taste and interests. Meanwhile, I find the unknown W&M student who offered Sophie and me a ride to campus when we rolled out of Target weighed down by heavy bags much more fascinating, thank you very much.
Seriously. I’d rather live near an interesting city than in one. I can still see all the fascinating I’m-a-special-hipster-snowflake people and go home to a not-obscenely-expensive-and-probably-bigger house.
God damn it, what is with me and the hyphens today?
That’s me. My introversion means that too many people and too much activity drain me. So it’s nice to escape from a big city once you’re done partaking. I ADORE San Francisco and lived an hour and a half away when I was in California. If I were to ever move back to CA, I would definitely live in the Bay Area, just not right in San Fran (that’s what BART is for).
The only time I went to NY City was my freshmen year in high school. I went with my church youth group and saw all of the obvious things (Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, etc.). It’d be fun to go back sometime.
Morgan: Does that song REALLY go ‘blinded by the light, wrapped up like a douche…’ cause that is fucking TERRIBLE Nicole: of course that’s not how it goes Morgan: then WHAT is he saying? Nicole: he’s saying ‘new topic and pass me a cig’ Morgan: bitch
Sparklepants: I saw a Vh1 something about this… and it’s not douche, it’s some random word that means a bundle of sticks or something.
Fascinatingly, that song is a Bruce Springsteen cover and originally sung, “Cut loose like a deuce, another runner in the night”
The Boss claims the song got so popular because of the mispronunciation. The original is much, much better.
I remember seeing the Springsteen Storytellers where he sang it and said what the lyrics really were.
The lyric I’m always meaning to look up is “anus curly whirly” (from the Manfred Mann version). I know it can’t be that, but that’s what it sounds like.
I have a hunch that resume formats have evolved in the past 2 years, given how much the internet, itself has changed in the same time period. I feel like a dinosaur, working in MS Word. When I was younger, I always had a web site with my deets on it. It had a really cool design — colorful and oddball without using a single image for easy printing. I also maintained an ASCII version in addition to the Word/PDF and web versions for easy uploading to job boards. It was a lot of work. I abandoned all that when I got comfortable in my “experienced” position at my last company. Now I’m out of touch.
Every year as Yom Kippur approaches, I find some way to preach about forgiveness… This year, I want to talk about forgiving god—whichever of the gods might be yours, if you have one at all. Or forgiving the universe. Making peace with whatever it is that allows bad things to happen—even if it’s simply the random and natural way of the world. I want to talk about making peace with the fact that we are witness to atrocities, and that sometimes those atrocities happen to us. I want to talk about how it feels to be angry at god, whichever god that might be. …
And don’t we know that feeling? God has abandoned us…Or maybe you believe that what is, just is, and the chips fall where they may. In any case, how will you cope with that feeling that whatever you had counted on or hoped for has let you down? …
I was recently reminded of an old story about three rabbis. The three rabbis put god on trial for allowing children to be murdered during the holocaust. The rabbis went into the temple and held the trial. They found god guilty for this most unspeakable of sins. After the trial, as they came out of the temple, one of the rabbis noticed it was almost sundown. He said to the others, “Look, it is time to pray.”
And the three rabbis knelt down in prayer.
There it is. That’s the answer—an answer worth thinking about for Yom Kippur. The answer to the question, “How do human beings cope when their gods or their universe or their world view has failed them?” That’s what people do in one form or another: they forgive god. They forgive. They come to terms with whatever’s in charge: the cosmos, happenstance, god. And then, wonder of wonders, they turn around and find something to praise. They—we—continue to pray or to sing or to note beauty with pleasure. We live on in spite of it all. We smile. We affirm. We find some positives out there.
I got a book catalogue in the mail the other day and I noticed a Thurber collection entitled, People Have More Fun than Anybody…
Really awful things happen in our world. Sometimes they happen to us. But still, somehow, we survive—we better than survive, we go on living, and with luck, we forgive whatever powers or circumstances that may be out there, and we get back in touch with the fact that people do have more fun than anybody.
We regain the ability to notice the incredible harvest moon. We laugh out loud at the stupidest line on late-night TV. The September sun feels warm on the top our head. The comfort of a friend is welcome. The turn of phrase in the library book, the melody of a song on the radio, strikes us just right. Our beds are warm and cozy. And before we know it, we are living life again, singing praise, looking at a good day ahead. We don’t all believe in the same god—we may not believe in any god at all. But during these High Holy Days, we have forgiven whatever’s in charge.
I felll asleep last night, with the light on, the tv on and the computer on. Junk scattered everywhere, because I wasn’t actually in bed for the night.
I woke up at 6am dazed and confused.
Hikergirl, you were in my dreams this morning, I used your computer. So were some other people. And tumblr. And Mormons. And toilets with Meg’s favorite bug creature hanging out- all over. And bathrooms where the toilets were removed and there was just a shelf thing to hang on while you squatted.
I have a serious ish. Constantly dreaming about bathrooms and toilets and the trials and tribulations of just trying to use one.
I’ve done this.
Good luck with your mom (and you can use my computer any time).
“I’m a supporter of gay rights. And not a closet supporter either. From the time I was a kid, I have never been able to understand attacks upon the gay community. There are so many qualities that make up a human being… by the time I get through with all the things that I really admire about people, what they do with their private parts is probably so low on the list that it is irrelevant.”—Paul Newman (via loveyourchaos) (via enjoli)