It seems whenever the discussion of disliked words comes up, the two most maligned words turn out to be "moist" and "panties." I feel that I stand alone in thinking these words are perfectly fine apart, and evidence of sexy fun times when together, and thus should not be so hated as they are. There are many words that ought to be avoided, but both moist and panties have delightful connotations, and the rancor against them baffles me greatly.
Those who hate panties as a word claim that it infantalizes those clothes of a lady's lower parts, but to them I ask, what should we refer to them as? Am I always to call them "underwear?" Or "underpants?" Or, heaven forfend, "drawers?" As a women who struggles with my self-image, nothing makes me feel more like a bipedal rhino than referring to my under-things as "drawers." I am not some ambulatory dresser, I am a woman! When preparing for a hot date, what do you prefer to wear? "Sexy drawers" sounds absurd, "sexy underpants" is hardly any better. "Sexy panties?" It trips off the tongue, a veritable pep-squad cheer for a delightful and sexy evening. (I also like to add that I am quite fond of the portmanteau of "fun underwear": "funderwear.")
And moist! What has this word done to so many people to make them squirm to hear it? Some claim it is the "oi" sound, but I call foul on that. Many harmless words have the "oi" sound (point, joint) and some even combine the "oi" and "st" (cloister) without offending. Also, I point to the word "oink" as evidence that "oi" is a darling dipthong enjoyed by cute little piggies all around the world. No, "moist" apparently suggests discomfort for people - humidity, smelly un-wrung sponges, sweat. But look at the good things moist provides -- moisturizing lotion, moisture gathering in clouds above for a refreshing rainshower, a moist cloth dampening and cooling a fevered brow. And dare I suggest that moisture makes it easier for us to come together in conjugal ways? It is moisture that reminds us that we are not unchanging, dry blocks of cement but teeming bits of humanity, subject to change. Perhaps that is why it is so hated?
Yesterday morning, I woke up to this:
If you can't see through my screen, which my camera lovingly caught and detailed, that is a light dusting of snow. The first of the season. I didn't fully register what had happened right away, but then my mind woke up and I said, "Holy crap, winter is on its way." You'll note that the trees are still green here in Minnesota -- at least, here in southern Minnesota. But if mother nature has any say in it, we'll have six inches on the ground before any tree realized summer was over.
As a result of the snow, people became sick of looking at it and all decided to go to the mall. So we were busy -- very busy. So busy that I realized quite keenly that the Christmas season is looming once more -- people asking for boxes, the homestore decorated like a Christmas nightmare Norman Rockwell once had, and, of course, the "fourth quarter move" looms, which means I'll be waking up at five one of these days and moving ten thousand bras from one place to another. Happy holidays...
I thought about making myself a holiday mix to get in the right spirit for work, but I have three Christmas songs, and one of those is Chiron Beta Prime:
But not as much as having three nuns walk into my department, all together, with their hair and habits tucked carefully under their parkas, asking if we have CuddlDuds yet. I spent the rest of the day trying to find a punchline for that, but couldn't. The delight of the experience, however, watching three nuns walking through a tunnel of bras to speak with me, will stay with me this holiday season and keep me warm. It truly is a wonderful life.
I have nothing to say other than this is one of the best months of the year. Autumn leaves, autumnal chill, and Halloween? Yes, please.
Bring on the cable knit sweaters and hot cocoa!
Since moving to the new apartment with Recycled Art Guru, I've been thinking about finding a gym nearby. I had a gym membership at a great place when I lived with the Dwarf Star, and after I moved to MN, LBCS and I were members at the local Y, but it's too far now. The closest gym is a really nasty Lifetime fitness just down the road. The more I looked at other possibilities for gym membership, the more disheartened I got. They are EXPENSIVE, yo. Plus, between school and work, and with winter looming -- not just any winter, but a Minnesota winter, with all the apocalyptic joy that brings -- I just don't think I'd want to have to drive one more place in the day.
What, then? I want a regular work out -- I'd take up running again, but my much-abused left ankle screams at me when I try. Outdoor exercise and my innate clumsiness don't mix -- see March of 2003, when I fell down Lykavittos hill in Athens, sprained my ankle, and hobbled for the rest of my semester abroad. But I had tons of energy in college and very little energy now and the difference is I got regular exercise then. I'm not super-concerned about losing weight, as dieting is all a big sham anyway, but it would be nice to have that teenage stamina again. Especially going into the holiday season -- last year, work damn near killed me.
So I cudgeled my brains for a solution. And I got it -- bike indoors!
I'm pricing stationary bikes -- or as an alternative, something that will turn my bike into a stationary bike. I think I can get something between $80 and $150 dollars, which is about one to two months at LA Fitness (really). I think I may go the stationary bike route, partially because a small one would fit in my room without any effort, and partially because I may need to get my bike repaired anyway and I don't want to worry about that until spring.
I also didn't get sick as much when I was in college -- again, probably because I got regular exercise. And having it in my room will limit my exposure to nasty nasty viruses and flus going around in the winter.
Don't worry, friends, I will not become some kind of reclusive-hughesian type, but I do catch everything -- I very likely had the swine flu when I thought I had a cold. If there were something going around called "super death flu" I'd get it... and survive it. Swine flu -- if that's what it was -- is nasty, yo. I slept constantly for four days, I couldn't breathe, all I ate was soup and ice cream (ok, that part was kind of awesome), and I lost five pounds in three days, which is A LOT of fucking weight for three days. It's like whatever was making me sick, my body was eating itself to kill it. This is why I would survive super death flu -- I have enough reserves in my ass to help my body outlast the death flu virus. Yeah! More ice cream time!
I have no idea if any of that is true. Still, five pounds in three days and all I was doing was sleeping? That's scary stuff, man.
Don't worry, it came back. *pats belly* Thank you, home-made bread. I couldn't have done this without you.
What was I talking about? Oh, yes, stationary bike. The other awesome part of this idea is that it could give me something else to do on my insomnia nights. Normally on insomnia nights, I surf the internet, and that makes me want to not sleep as much as go apeshit on the world. But bike myself to sleep? Yeah, I could probably do that.
Anyway, I've already made a decision on this, I just felt like nattering on for a while. I haven't done so recently and I used to do it all the damn time. Maybe I should blog more. I blogged all the time in college and was healthy. It is settled then. I will blog more, and I will get a stationary bike or something.
In sum: Super Death Flu.
Check out this little adorable guy.
Well, you can have him for all I care. That little shithead is rhinovirus - the common cold -- and I'm currently carrying him around with me. On my third day with him, usually the day when I basically want to throw myself out the window, except now I live on the first floor and don't have far to fall. Hah. Joke is on me, I guess.
If you read this blog, you'd probably think I get an inordinate number of colds -- which is not true. I go through maybe three colds a year -- one in early fall, one in early spring, and maybe a little one in the winter when everyone gets one. I've only been sick one other time this summer -- when Recycled Art Guru and I were both struck by a bizarro stomach flu that left us wondering if we both somehow got ulcers, because instead of vomiting, we were both struck with a roiling of acid in our stomachs that left us unable to do anything but whimper. Oddly enough, do you know what relieved the pain? Slamming a diet coke and belching. Actually, that one was kind of fun, and i didn't have to miss work. Other than that, I get the usual kinds of little sicknesses that you get if you engage in a public life at all -- nothing serious, everything passing after a day or so. The most often I ever got sick in my life was the first winter I lived in Fort Awesome, when I had the double whammy of working with kids and living with an ER nurse. Which means I got sick every other day. I talked about this with the science teacher I worked with and she said, "Yeah, the first year I taught, I was getting sick so often that I thought I had cancer. Kids just have a lot of disease."
Anyway, the September cold is my least favorite, because it always strikes during the NICEST of weather. Mild days, cool nights, no rain, plenty of sun. And here I am, alternately wrapped in quilts and sitting in front of the fan because I am hot and cold AT THE SAME TIME. This cold has made me menopausal. And angry. As it turns out, though, my little nephew also has a bad cold right now, and is fussing all the time. Hearing things like that makes me glad I am an adult and can express things like, "THIS COLD IS PISSING ME OFF." I'm sure Peanut, had he the language skills, would say the same thing. Plus I can't imagine a baby's reaction to fever dreams. My own fever dreams are disturbing -- last night I dreamed about people who were trying to evolve past the need for food and drink, and lived off animal blood. Like that scene in Red Dawn where C. Thomas Howell drinks the deer blood? Yeah. Anyway, they did this in preparation for the apocalypse, which I also dreamed about. Being an adult, I can wake up and say, "WOW. THAT'S FUCKED UP." But Peanut cannot. Plus, I can read and blog and play video games to keep myself occupied, while my poor little nephew can't entertain himself at all. Which is why it sucks to be a baby.
And yes, we do have a stuffed toy Common Cold virus and a stuffed toy Influenza on our tv stand, right in front of Plastic Jesus and a Clash of the Titans lunchbox. Because 1) my roommate's mom works for the CDC, and 2) I am a big nerdy-nerd-nerd.
I have at least one friend who has a magpie-in-a-jewelry-shop approach to life -- in short, she is constantly distracted by the new shiny. In her case, the new shiny ideas of what to do with her life. I suppose I cannot judge her, I am built similarly, although actually the new shiny is always a shiny I've already gazed into with my beady little eyes.
What is this in regards to? Why, the wayward recurring thought that if all else fails, I shall open a used bookstore! To which my friends say, you already ARE a used bookstore, and a few too many of those books are about the oral tradition. This little thought popped back in my head after visiting a used book store on my street -- a bad one. About ninety percent of the books in said bookstore were bought in a grocery store, which is to say it was jam-packed with romances and the like. It should have advertised itself as a romance novel exchange, because that's what it is. The romance section is large and lovingly maintained, itemized into historical romances and fantasy romances and, my personal favorite description, "Unusual Romance." I might go back just to satiate my curiosity on what, indeed, an Unusual Romance is. The Literature and Classics section is small and crowded onto one wee shelf, where I did find Claudius the God (follow up to I, Claudius) which I've been meaning to read for about four years now. A well-spent three dollars. And the checkout lady was so sweet and gracious about everything that I felt bad for judging her store. I mean, it was nice, it just isn't the kind of used bookstore I love.
My favorite used bookstores are the ones that seemed to have grown up around the person -- generally an over-educated clove-scented man with unkempt, greying hair, a propensity to wear flannel, and a severe case of the Misanthropies*. The shelves go higher than twice my height, and while the place is categorized and cared for, the owner can't be bothered to actually tell you where anything is. Also, while he is reading, he is also somehow always listening to college football. He doesn't care if you think it goes against his intellectual image because he doesn't care what you think. When he's not reading, he's following the Buckeyes and you can just go fuck yourself. And what are you trying to sell him, your old copy of "The Five People You Meet in Heaven?" Seriously, go fuck yourself twice and then write a self-aggrandizing memoir about the time you spent listening to a dying old man because it's all about you and GOD DAMN YOU MICHIGAN.
Yes, that's the kind of used bookstore I love.
* I know it is not a word, but why isn't it a band name? It's like The Violent Fancies -- should have been taken by now by someone with musical talent. I have none, and yet am a store of perfectly viable indie band names.
Pineapple and I just went to see 500 Days of Summer -- which I liked more than I disliked, so I would recommend it. It had a good soundtrack (although, as Anna said, all of the songs were about four years old) and an interesting way of telling the story -- but it was also pretty cliched. A pretty girl with a 60s aesthetic who likes the Smiths? Fall in love with her INSTANTER, my good fellow! But whatever, I still enjoyed the movie, and it's not really the subject of this post.
No, I want you to get the full impact of something I experienced in the previews. The order of the previews presented a sort of disconnect that struck me as, well... it struck me, is what. Here's the order of the trailers:
Trailer one: Precious
Make sure you watch this. I really want to see this one because I know it will make me weep like a baby and want to FIND all my old students and hug them, even the ones what bugged the SHIT out of me and say, "I am SORRY, I want this world to be better to you and it fucking ISN'T." I cried like that during Half-Nelson. I did start to cry during the preview. Because... I'm part of the human race.
But my tears had nary a chance to blur my vision before they went into Trailer Two: Love Happens.
Ummm... Ok. So, I won't be seeing this one, because we've seen it. Pretty people learning to looooove again. All you want is right in front of you, you just have to be braaaave enough to reeeeeach for it. WHYYY can't you just REEEEACH for LOOOOOVE?
So... I just want to know who decided the order of these trailers. Who decided to place "Heartbreaking story of a teen living in Harlem who faces more serious shit before seven am than most people do in a year" right before "Two pretty blond people just want to love again!" The disconnect is stunning, and I wonder who else in the theater noticed it. Don't get me wrong -- I don't hate romantic movies. Hell, I just came to SEE one. But it unsettled me. I wonder if it would have unsettled me three years ago?
The Mad Men avatar maker is cool, although the results can be somewhat awkward... you plop your avatar into a scene, and it's supposed to look cool, but it looks kinda like you are drunk. Which I guess is appropriate to the show.
This week, Gob Bluth.
