I read somewhere once that “Wonderwall” by Oasis was the best song of all time. I don’t know what sphere this “of all time” fell into, but the only way this statement could be true is if by “of all time”, the list makers meant “the best song of all time by two brothers in a British band called Oasis with a drummer named TonyMcCarroll & who were formerly known as The Rain.” If that’s what the list maker meant, then yes, it’s possible, but not probable, that this song fits the bill.
How do you go about labeling something The Best “_________” of All Time? First, you go to that mythical place called Statistics That Nobody Will EVER Attempt To Verify, ignore all the data and then just pull a number out of your butt.
“A survey of customers who purchased The Melted Cornhole Bagel from Billy’s Bagels in the Bronx revealed that 99.9% of them would purchase it again if the only other choice was 3 day old roast beef with a greenish tint & a funky smell.” Drop that last part and you’ve got yourself a statistical winner! It’s called editing, people. Look it up. According to the National Bureau of Made-Up Statistics, 72% of Americans say they edit something 60% of the time! See? Proof.
Here’s some statistical gold: I would listen to Wonderwall by Oasis 100% of the time if I was trapped in an elevator and that song was stuck in a loop on the sound system. But, then again, I may “opt out” of the statistic, and by “opt out”, I mean I might opt to shove the nearest long, slender object into my ears one at a time until I do not hear the best song of all time any longer. And that, my friend, is a 78%certainty.
gah. this has been one hellaciously long month. I feel approximately 817 years old. I'm so tired all the time, I can hardly think straight. And I don't think all that straight in the BEST of times, so lately, I've been super-stupid.
it's amazing what a person can get used to & accept as just part of life. exhaustion. stress. anxiety. this economic climate is affecting everyone around me, my loved ones, friends, friends of friends. it slips into every conversation. it's completely pervasive in every day life. it wears on me, like a dull, steady metronome ticking in the back of my mind all the time.
my job is at risk. my best friend's job is at risk. my family has already seen lay offs, budget cuts, extended unemployment. the news says it will only get worse. I don't even want to imagine the sacrifices & choices that we may be forced to make.
it makes me angry to feel totally helpless. all our hard work to build a good life for our family is in danger of being wiped out because of poor choices made by people we've never known and big businesses we've never heard of and individual consumers by the millions who made mistakes that we, and our children and our children's children, will be paying for for years to come.
the talking heads will go on and on about how lessons can be learned from this, but lessons were learned from the depression, too...and look how easily those lessons were forgotten.
So. There's a commercial on TV for an FDA approved drug called Abilify. It starts out simply enough:
************************ The wind-up: Approximately 2 out of 3 people being treated for depression still have depressions symptoms.
Then the pitch: Talk to your doctor about adding Abilify to your antidepressant, as this may help ease your symptoms.
Then (this is literally word for word what they say in the commercial, I swear to blog):
Call your doctor if after starting Abilify, you have changes in mood (ummm...isn't that the whole point?!) or thoughts of suicide.
Contact your doctor if you have high fever, stiff muscles and confusion on Abilify, as this might be a sign of a life-threatening reaction. Or uncontrollable muscle movements, as these can become permanent.
High blood sugar has been reported with Abilify. In some cases extreme high blood sugar may lead to coma or death.
Other risks include dizziness upon standing, seizures, impaired judgment or motor skills, and trouble swallowing.
Talk to your doctor about the benefits of adding Abilify!! ****************************** There are so many things wrong with this that it's hard to pinpoint at which moment I decided I'd really kinda rather NOT talk to my doctor about the "benefits" of adding Abilify. So, I could be in a coma with uncontrollable muscle movements and dizziness, impaired judgment and trouble swallowing but at least I wouldn't be depressed anymore, right? Right?
Hmm. I'll have to really think about this. Weigh out the pros and cons. Or NOT. Who's working at the FDA?! I think there's a guy at a desk deep in the bowels of government cubicle hell somewhere and the only thing on his desk is a big red "approved" stamp.
He's probably the guy who approved that fat-free fat substitute that caused anal leakage a few years back. In fact, he probably got a promotion for it. Terrifying.
Ronnie Milsap!!! That was the hot ticket in Douglas County last night, Valentine's Day. Um. I thought he was dead. But apparently he's not, or he IS & just doesn't realize it...like Keith Richards or Iggy Pop. Those guy've been dead for 20 years & they're still rockin'.
He was the headliner at the Seven Feathers Hotel & Casino. The headliner. What is this, 1985? I think he had, like, one and a half good songs when I was about 12.
Concerts at Seven Feathers are always a risky manuever. John Michael Montgomery was there about 2 years ago. I'm fairly certain he was completely wasted. He stumbled and tripped several times. He also forgot the words to a couple of his own songs. Maybe he wasn't really drunk and that's just how he is. Stupid & sloppy. Who knows.
Speaking of stupid & sloppy, I have housework to do...but all the pictures I took yesterday aren't gonna scrapbook themselves, you know!
I'm planning on blogging my book of lists. What that means to you is more information about me than you even care to know! Wheeeee! So. You all have THAT to look forward to. Mm-hm. You can all thank KT for giving it to me. :-)
Awesome. Truly truly awesome. I was in town today and I saw two people, both dressed up like the Statue of Liberty, dancing like crazy on opposite corners of one of the busiest intersections in the whole county.
The way it works is, stores hire people to stand on a corner & hold their big, bright arrow-shaped signs, pointing the public in the right direction for the lowest of low Sofa King Low Prices. There's the guy dressed up as a gorilla in October who stands on the corner by the temporary Halloween Store, and the kid dressed as a hamburger outside the new Sonic. It's supposed to draw the attention of the public, who will then rush the establishment with fists full of disposable income with which they can't wait to part.
I've seen it lots of times, and every time, I've thought, "How. Humiliating." But today, that thought was followed up with another, and I was kind of shocked by my own callousness.
Today, upon seeing the two dancing, breathing billboards, I thought, "How brave you must be to be standing and dancing on a corner with hundreds of cars passing you by, each full of people staring, pointing, laughing at you. Judging you and pitying you and putting themselves above you."
I admit, I'm every bit as guilty as the next driver of thinking how foolish they look. But I realized something. These people should be admired and respected simply for the fact that they are out there doing what it takes to get by. Not standing on a different street corner with a cardboard sign and a hungry-looking dog on a rope leash. Not sitting at home unwilling to leave shelter to go out and brave the weather to look for a job.
Then I asked myself, would you have the gumption to do such a thing? To take a job, any job, if that was what it took to survive? Knowing that you are being mocked, yet doing it anyway? It's a hard question, and it's even harder to answer. I guess you never know what you're capable of until you are forced to know.
These smiling, dancing, breathing advertisements are people doing what they have to do. And I think that is amazing.
I'm absolutely mortified and full of impotent rage at the two con artists who stole ChiChi's purse yesterday. What is WRONG with people? What makes some people think it's ok to just CRAP all over someone else? It's not likely that these two people stole for survival. It's doubtful that they stole because they were starving, or their children were freezing. They stole from an honest person who was only doing her job, and they did it because they could.
How heartless do you have to be to do such a thing? Do they care that the bag was a beloved Christmas gift from her nephew? Or that losing her digital camera is absolutely devastating to her, a scrapbooker & memory keeper? Regardless of the hassle, not even considering the headache of having to cancel accounts, replace a drivers license and social security card, it's just an awful violation of her privacy and her trust.
It's a pretty sad day when you have to feel insecure in your own little business in your own little hometown.
I'm a huge fan of Dove milk chocolate. HUGE. I'm not a fan of most chocolate. In fact, I'm not a fan of ANY chocolate BUT Dove milk chocolate. So, I'm in Kmart today (because Wal-mart is the debble) and I spot some delicious looking Dove chocolate bars with roasted almonds...heaven! I buy one & save it for later. Then, later (in the parking lot outside the store, but still. It was later.) I opened it and took a big bite and...gah. meh. pfft. DARK chocolate.
You know how it is when your mind is so set on one thing only to have something totally different happen? There's a moment of complete primordial blankness before your consciousness re-boots & you realize what just happened. Like when you expect to take a big drink of milk and it turns out to be 7up? Or when you expect to watch the Super Bowl Half-Time show and instead you see Janet Jackson's pancake boob? Or how it feels to see the quarterback from your high school football team dressed up as a woman at a gay bar in downtown Portland?
Well, these things happen. And when they do...total overload. Brain collapses into a big gooey black hole and X's appear where your eyes used to be. Maybe only for a moment, but a moment is all it takes to leave you dry-mouthed and paranoid for the rest of the day. Double checking your food before you put it in your mouth, peering into your glass before you drink, avoiding gay bars in downtown Portland. You understand.
It's been 9 hours and I'm STILL confused. Dark chocolate?! Bah. BAH!
Does entrepeneurialism have an odor? Does it taste like burning? Is it the smell of stretching a dollar til it explodes into a thousand itty bitty pieces? Wait. What does THAT smell like? I think it maybe smells AND taste like worry ? Whatever it is, it's definitely terrifying. I've never been one of those entrepeneurialdoohickies before and I gotta say...it involves a whole lot of tastes and smells that I'm just not accustomed to. Yikes.
The flu makes the week just craaaawl by. I attempted to work 4 out of the 5 days and was only successful for one of them. I worked a grand total of 20 hours...but I slept a total of, oh, about 72 hours.
I'd show up at the office and my co-workers would literally use the bristly end of a broom to push me back out the door. And, to add insult to bristly injury, I was told countless times how bad I looked. My all time favorite, "Kelly, you look like you could really use some rest", so diplomatic. Also, "Kelly, you've got germs on you so big I can see them crawling around. Go home." Nice.
They know what's good for me, so home I went. But laying in bed and me go together like spaghetti & tuna fish. I could actually HEAR my house getting dirtier. And the laundry was whispering to me from the bathroom. And I think my kids have been eating Hershey's Kisses and potato chips for dinner every day this week.
I'm fairly convinced that my kids would live in utter filth and absolute squalor if I would just be reasonable. They'd be completely at home in the gutters of the London slums circa 1890. Filthy.
So, I've got big plans this weekend, oh yeah. Laundry, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, dusting...aaah. Heaven! Oooh, ooh, and the walls in the bathroom need washed!
I no longer have the flu...but I may very well have a different kind of sickness. A sickness that can only be cured with the smell of bleach and Pine-Sol. I can't wait for tomorrow!
I'm home with the flu and daytime television still sucks. I find myself watching the 40 Most Softsational Soft-Rock Songs on VH1...yes, I'm that desperate.
So I get a phone call & put the TV on mute. While my caller is droning on and on and on about whatever (ok, it was my husband, but he did drone on and on), I had one eye on the TV. The closed captions automatically come on when the TV's on mute and this is what I saw:
"...Debbie Boone, daughter of 60s coroner, Pat Boone..." 60s coroner? So if I'm deaf, and I don't know any better, I'm going to think Pat Boone was some famous coroner back in the 60s, embalmed all the biggest stars? Soft-rocked 'em to death?
"...the ultimate 50s soft rock song, Earth Anel..." So if I'm deaf, and I can't spell, I think that in the 50s, everybody was totally into something called Earth Anal?
Closed captioning is AWESOME. I'm gonna watch everything with it turned on FROM NOW ON!
Why can't rich people pay their taxes? How many have been felled by that simplest, most unavoidable part of American citizenship? Haven't they ever seen the bumper stickers? DEATH and TAXES. Are they worried that if they pay the $128,000 tax bill, they won't have enough to pay their power bill? Don't they know that McDonalds has a Dollar Menu?
Let's do the math. I'm a millionaire. I own houses in New York, Gstaad, and a little winter place in the Bahamas. I eat $4500 dinners and wear $600 socks. I make seven figures a year and I owe $128,000 in taxes. I don't pay. Not because I can't afford it but because it's only a big deal if you get caught. They'll only find out if I'm nominated for some government position and what are the chances of that? Besides, is the IRS really gonna be crippled without my measly $128k?
Now. Say I'm a regular working-class citizen. I own one 1300 square foot house in a small town. I spend $300 per month on groceries for a family of four and I make five figures a year. I owe $700 in taxes. I can't pay because if I do, I can't pay my mortgage. I've always paid my taxes before and I've never even been late. The IRS tacks on interest fees and late penalties that double what I owe, garnishes my bank account and puts a lien on my house. Because, apparently, my $700 is all that's keeping them afloat.
So. The picture of Michael Phelps smoking a bong hit the interwebs today...it's all over the media and it's all blown out of proportion and I'll bet his school-principal mom is having an absolute COW. But.
I've always been a Phelps fan (not a Phan, cuz I'm not 14 years old) because I've certainly got a thing for tall, lanky, dark haired charmers. But I gotta say, this picture makes me feel particularly tingly in my jingly. Turns out he's a golden BAD boy.
Of course, it's Super Bowl Sunday and Steven's Steelers are the favorite to take home that honkin' shiny bling bling trophy that always gets all smeary and smudged looking with finger and lip prints within moments of the win. You'd think they could, I don't know, Windex it or something.
Ya. The game has taken over the interwebs, the tv, the newspapers. And, as usual, I'm not watching ANY of it. I'm watching "Corpse Tech" on Modern Marvels..
I'll watch the commercials once the game starts, but all that hysterical pre-game build-up is just so much hot air. The analysts and announcers get themselves so worked up, the veins in their foreheads pulsate and threaten to take over the world. It's more than I care to see of them OR their veins.
I'm not ashamed to say I only like Super Bowl Sunday for the commercials. If it didn't mean so much to Steven to have his team win, the amount that I care about the outcome of the actual game would rank far, far into negative.
The cost of airtime for commercials this year are $100,000 per second. That means, that one time, Janet Jackson's boob was worth, like, $2 million. I mean, only in Super Bowl speak, 'cause, da-yum, I wouldn't give you one single dull penny for a repeat of that action. $100,000 per second. Recession? Whaaaaat recession?
Enjoy the game, folks. Let me know when the commercials start.