What I Want For Christmas.

Because those self-timer things are so complicated.


Related:
Self Portrait Arm (Urban Outfitters via Lindsayism)

Robert Goulet is Dead, a Nation of Moms Mourns.

Adam told me recently that whenever I tell stories about my mother, I make her sound like a bitch. I don't mean to; I admittedly tell the funnier ones about her which probably don't make her sound like a really terrific person, but she totally is! She sent me a care package full of Halloween candy the other day! And sometimes I think she actually does love me, even though she's only required to say that. It's almost enough to forgive her for complaining about my cat, which she now has to take care of now that both of her kids are out of the house. (She confessed recently that she only agreed to getting the cat twelve years ago because she was sure it'd be dead by the time David went to college. That's a burn, Tex.)

Anyways, my mother is capable of love, and I think the best example of this is her long-time love for Robert Goulet, for whom she's had strong feelings since she first listened to the original Broadway cast recording of Camelot, oh, a hundred years ago. And I'm sure she's terribly upset today now that Mr. Goulet has passed away. To celebrate the man, the myth, and legend of GOULET, and only because now my mother knows how I felt about Charles Nelson Reilly* (when I called her to tell her that CNR died, she replied, "Good."), here's a tribute I found on YouTube.



Now, I like musicals and shit, but I can't even deal with more than a minute of that video. So here's how I prefer to remember Robert Goulet**:



You'll be missed, sweet prince.




*I never actually loved Charles Nelson Reilly, by the way.
**It took a lot of effort to not write his name as "GHOULET." Get it?!

Death Bed: The Bed That Eats [People]

Happy Halloween, everyone! Because it's 9:30 and I just got to work about fifteen minutes ago (it was a rough morning), I don't have time to organize a post of awesomeness, so please enjoy this clip (which, by the way, is NSFW, even though it didn't really stop me or Adam) of Death Bed: The Bed That Eats [People].





Related:
Night of the Killer Lamp: 23 Ridiculous Horror-Movie Adversaries [AV Club via BG5000]

Spooky scary reading material.

Per Koren's suggestion, I picked up The Sociopath Next Door by Martha Stout, and Halloween couldn't have been a better time to read it. Stout, a clinical psychologist based in Boston, writes that roughly four percent of ordinary people - about one out of every twenty five of us - lack a conscience and therefore can behave however they want without feeling guilty. When one thinks of a sociopath, the term brings to mind psychotic criminals; Stout, however, argues that there's a major population of people who harm and manipulate others without breaking the law, and also without remorse.

I feel like I've come into contact with a lot of mean spirited people in my life, some of whom did not display any of the symptoms of sociopathy that Stout addresses in her book. There have been a few that, if not actual sociopaths, have certainly displayed sociopathic tendencies. Again, these aren't people who stand out for their immoral behavior; these are people who can gain your trust, people who you can find attractive enough to allow for their manipulations and deceit.

This book has kind of acted as a fifteen-dollar therapist for me, allowing me to see how events from the past year have affected me and how I relate to other people. It's not rare for a sociopath to be attracted to someone they think they can control and then eventually traumatize. I dealt with someone who lied to me repeatedly, who made me feel like I was unattractive and stupid, and made me place blame on myself for feeling that way. I was even encouraged somewhat to repeat this behavior by manipulating others at work for my own benefit (one example: I was persuaded to attend my manager's mother's funeral, since I had sent my manager's daughter my resume and my presence at her grandmother's funeral might help my prospects of getting hired at her publishing company).

Luckily, my plan of action in response to this mess wasn't as drastic as I - or most of my friends - have thought: Stout writes, "The only truly effective method for dealing with a sociopath you have identified is to disallow him or her from your life altogether. Sociopaths live completely outside of the social contract, and therefore to include them in relationships or other social arrangements is perilous. Begin this exclusion of them in the context of your own relationships and social life. You will not hurt anyone's feelings. Strange as it seems, and though they may try to pretend otherwise, sociopaths do not have any such feelings to hurt."

One nice thing about reading this book, as well as the experience of dealing with someone who has hurt me, is that it makes me appreciate the people I surround myself with now, who care about me, and show it. To be able to find friends and romantic interests who don't put me down, to whom I can relate, and I generally want to be around all of the time is a big deal, as I've gone through periods of my life where I was certain those types of people could never exist in such large numbers. So, forgive me, Internet, for being so sentimental and LiveJournaly this morning, but after having a great weekend (Pictures!!) with some lovely people and realizing how good I've got it, I just wanted to share that with you. I may be returning to ridiculing Lauren Conrad and discussing placenta recipes tomorrow, but I'm not made out of wood, you guys.

Another reason to feel guilty about where you shop.

Moe over at Jezebel has an amazing post about working retail at American Apparel.

Having said that, I was in there the other day and was tempted to drop forty-eight dollars on a cardigan that was about as thin as a t-shirt.

The Death of the Heart.

On Saturday night John's iPod was suddenly burned, literally. It was charging and was too hot to touch. Because he was planning a PARTY and you have to have music playing, I offered to load my iPod with his party mix, a selfless act since it would take off all of my music and replace it with his. But when I plugged his FireWire chord into my iPod, the screen turned blue, then black. And my iPod doesn't have a color screen, so I was like, "Hmm, that's odd!" And then my iPod wouldn't turn on. It was dead.

Because I'm young and white, I've said many times that I do not have a heart, I have an iPod. And I also said that the day my iPod died would be the worst day of my life because this is America and such tragedies should not happen. So when the FireWire cable fried my iPod (nicknamed, appropriately, "Boo"), I tried very, very hard to cry. How would I manage to take the train every morning if I couldn't listen to Feist?

Luckily, Julia and Eric, who came to the party dressed as characters from Bravo reality shows, had an extra Nano lying around, which will hold me until Christmas when my parents buy me a new iPod. Thank God, right? (But it's hard to only have eight gigabytes of space; like, how will I fit all of those Sufjan Christmas songs on there?)


PS. This isn't iPod related, but I totally scored an original vinyl copy of Marianne Faithfull's Broken English from Reckless on Sunday afternoon. It was really awkward, though, because the guy handed me the record "to inspect," but I was like, "Whatevs, I'm only buying this to put it on my wall. It won't fit in my iBook!" LOL!

I Can Has Halloween?

I have pictures from the two parties this weekend, but I'm still rather tired and didn't get a chance to put them all on my computer. But there I am as a LOLcat. OM9 LOLZ!1!

Placenta! Delicious!

I've been reading Birth: The Surprising History of How We Are Born by Tina Cassidy in the past week, and it's very good. I think I have a interest in medical history in general, since I am both a hypochondriac and thankful that medical practices aren't as fucked up as they were a hundred years ago. Also, since one of my friends here is preggers, I was more inspired to read it since I honestly don't know much about childbirth.

Now I'm a fountain of facts! Did you know that the first successful caesarian section in America was performed in Staunton, Virginia, just a half-hour from where I went to college? I didn't! (I also learned what a c-section actually involved. Yikes.) I think most people I know are kind of tired of me giving them unsolicited obstetric information, but I can't help it! I love facts! Basically, the book has kind of demystified childbirth for me and made me a little jealous that I can't have a baby. (Damn my penis!)

Katy has this running joke that I'm going to be in the delivery room with her when she gives birth so that I can deliver the placenta. Now, just because I've started to become fascinated with birth doesn't mean that I'd really want to do that. After all, I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies, and I have a long history of passing out when I'm around blood and needles. (True story: when two female friends of mine got their navels pierced on New Years Eve, I lost consciousness. And I wasn't even watching it happen. Imagine what would happen if I saw little Google popping out of her mother's vagina!)

This morning the issue came up again (on GChat, natch). I told Katy that I'd deliver her placenta if she agreed to eat it (I'm currently in the middle of the chapter on the postpartum period). She refused, saying that it was too disgusting. Even Adam, who is never on my side, thought it was a good compromise; he reasoned that she would even stand to gain something out of the situation, whereas I won't get anything out of removing her placenta. To entice Katy, I found some recipes:

Placenta Lasagne
Ingredients:
1 fresh, ground, or minced placenta, prepared as above
2 tblspns olive oil
2 sliced cloves garlic
1/2 tspn oregano
1/2 diced onion
2 tblspns tomato paste, or 1 whole tomato

Method: use a recipe for lasagne and substitute this mixture for one layer of cheese. Quickly sauté all the ingredients in olive oil. Serve. Enjoy!


Placenta Spaghetti Bolognaise
Ingredients:
1 fresh placenta, prepared as above
1 tblspn butter
1 large can tomato puree
2 cans crushed pear tomatoes
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
1 tblspn molasses
1 bay leaf
1 tblspn rosemary
1 tspn each of: salt, honey, oregano, basil, and fennel

Method: cut the placenta meat into bite-sized pieces, then brown quickly in the butter and olive oil. Add the rest of the ingredients and simmer for 1-1.5 hours. Serve. Yummy!


Again, Katy said she wanted to vomit, but I really think that's because she has a baby inside her. Surprisingly, Megan also reacted with disgust, even though I told her that this was a meat product she can eat! Tina Cassidy writes, "[Vegetarians] considered the placenta to be sacred, and, of course, because the organ gave life and nothing was killed to put it on the table, it was considered an honor to eat it." Alas, she was not interested.

I think I'd probably eat if given the chance, probably only to be contrary and freak out all of my friends who still can't believe that I like scrapple and dirty martinis.

To everything there is a season, et shitera, et shitera.

Finally, some good news around this place: My mom just sent me a text message informing me that my dad's scan came back clear and cancer-free!

To celebrate the end of a shitty nine-month period of my life, I'm a-gonna fill out this here Gap application. And maybe go buy some Halloween candy.


Q: Why are you interested in working for our company?
A: Because I'd like to invite more awkwardness and social pain to my life. Also, discounts!

Q: What strengths would you bring to our company?
A: Communication skills, folding skills, stacking skills, counting skills. And people skills.

Q: What didn't you like about your previous jobs?
A: I never got the opportunity to offer people credit cards.

An open letter to Au Bon Pain.

Megan is a vegetarian and her low intake of protein makes her extremely angry. She shared with me this email she sent to Au Bon Pain this morning about their paltry offerings of vegetarian soups. I think it's pretty funny and I don't have anything to talk about, so here it is.

To whom it may concern:

Why do the majority of your soups contain a meat base? I realize that for the season there are two soups, one vegetarian (the pumpkin) and one vegan (the carrot) available for non-meat eaters every day, but beyond those two options, you rarely offer alternatives for strict vegetarians. Many of your soups are vegetable in nature (kale or tomato rice), but have a beef or chicken base. Do you know many carnivores who would choose a kale soup? My guess is that a kale soup would attract the attention of a vegan or strict vegetarian who would be unable to eat the soup because of its meat base. There are many meat options on the soup menu on a regular basis, but only those two vegetarian options are consistent. And to be perfectly honest, your carrot soup tastes like a bowl of orange juice with carrot grated into it.

I realize that vegans or strict vegetarians probably comprise a very small demographic within your customer base, and I'm also aware that chicken and beef broth provide more flavor to soups than vegetable broth does. But by making slightly less tasty soups (or exploring other ingredient options that would expand the flavor of vegetarian soups) and marketing them as such, my guess is you could drive up the vegetarian demographic within your customer base and provide more options for your soup customers, who are undoubtedly usually seeking a more nutritious alternative to your not-particularly-nutritious sandwich options.

Thank you,
Megan

P.S. Macaroni and cheese doesn't count as soup.

Personally, I think she should have closed by saying their name is pretentious.

Desperate times.

I had a generally good weekend. I saw the New Pornographers on Friday, which was the first show I'd seen since Magnolia Electric Co. in the end of August. I'd seen them three times already and, given my shitty mood on Friday, I wasn't too excited about the show. But Neko was there, as well as Dan Bejar, and they put on a really good performance. Also, I had four glasses of wine before I went, which will pretty much make me enjoy everything.

Other events from the weekend included more red wine, pumpkin-carving, making tarritos (my name for the big ass tacos I cooked on Saturday night), five hours of The Wire, and only eating out once, which helped me save some money. Save for the pain my neck (literally) on Saturday night that left me unable to move (it was either from the show or when I had to drag our grocery cart up two flights of stairs because Christina got a call from A BOY and ran off to take it, leaving me with heavy groceries), I was in good spirits for the whole of the weekend. So when it came to Sunday evening, a time I usually reserve for deep depression, I found I was still in a good mood. I blame the absence of spending money at bars and smoking a ton of cigarettes.

After I didn't get the job I wanted at Northwestern (again), I called my mom and talked to her for a long time about how annoyed and frustrated I am that I'm not getting anywhere and am stuck in this miserable job. I had already told myself that if I didn't find anything by December, I would take the GRE again and apply to grad school, possibly making plans to leave Chicago. I'm going to start looking at schools again, although I'll add UIC into the mix since it's generally affordable and I could stick around here. I like Chicago, and it's hard for me to imagine moving again.

I'm also on the verge of applying to the Gap because I'm desperate for more money. And I picked the Gap because I know people who work there. I know I'd hate it, and the prospect of working there just completes the maniacal, cyclical pattern of my life in Chicago. Let me tell you: there's nothing worse than having to be nice to people you hate because they're your customers. It becomes very difficult to avoid people in retail. And while the idea of seeing people I hate and wish to avoid during a shift at the Gap is incredibly disturbing, the fact remains that the people I hate and wish to avoid also check this blog. Constantly. So my insecurities are already out there. Besides, even I recognize that I somewhat consciously do things I know I'll hate because I can write about it later. At least I'd get paid for it at the same time.

Thanks, J. K. Rowling, for making the fantasy genre a little bit gayer.

I like Harry Potter and have read all of the books, and I've always thought that the series was worth analyzing as literature because J. K. Rowling put, in my opinion, many references to modern-day political issues into her stories. But I found her revelation this weekend that Dumbledore is homosexual was a little, well, retarded, frankly.

On one hand I admit that having a great hero in children's literature be recognized as gay is great for gay rights. But as an English major, I find it rather insulting to have an author tell this to me directly when there is absolutely no basis for this in the characterization of Dumbledore. Rowling never touches on his past or personal life until the final novel, and even then his "friendship" with the evil wizard Grindelwald (omg this post is so gay, btw) doesn't feel like anything other than a friendship. It's a children's book, so there's (understandably) a lack of sexual situations, but still: there are plenty of characters in English and American literature whose sexual orientation is analyzed, and that's because there's some textual basis for it. For Rowling to come out (heh) and say, months after the series has ended, that Dumbledore was gay seems like a manipulative and political move that is completely unnecessary, even as a publicity stunt.

Do you think Michael Gambon is going to play this character differently now that there's a "subtext?" Blah.



Related:
Fan's ponder Dumbledore outing [CNN]

Morgz.

My friend Morgan, whom I've mentioned before, is all sorts of awesome. She's probably the most creative person I know, which is why I'm sharing with you her newest project:

People, she made a chandelier out of tree branches she collected. It's the best thing to come out of Rock Creek Park since Chandra Levey. (Too soon?)

Morgan is perhaps better known as the gal behind Panda Head, but she also writes style columns for Brightest Young Things, as well as the designer of muss.

Also, her Panda Head photos have been submitted to Street Clash, where they're up against a fashion blogger from Copenhagen. So go over there and vote for DC and show that our great nation's capitol actually has some style.


PS. Her boyfriend, Ben, is pretty talented, too.

Shocking revelations.

Sometimes my mom and I email each other while we're at work, none of which are very informative or worth sharing unless she tells me something specifically kooky. I thought that we had reached that point this morning when she told me that she also had that Klute haircut in college, but it went to a whole other level this afternoon. I'm including screen caps to show you I didn't make this up, and I apologize for what you're about to read.





Excuse me, but not until college? I assume that means she didn't choose to blow her nose until college, but still, that kind of baffles me. And I guarantee that she told me that if I didn't blow my nose I'd get ear and throat infections, as no one else would give me such health advice. Either that, or she was just trying to frighten me into blowing my nose so my sniffling wouldn't annoy her.

To say that I'm living a lie cannot begin to aptly describe this Earth-crashing information.

Play Dumb for Me.

Last night I watched Play Misty for Me, Clint Eastwood's directorial debut. It was OnDemand, so I didn't waste any money or a Netflix rental watching it, which was fine because it was dumb. It's saving grace was Clarice Taylor, most memorable (at least to me, anyways) as Cliff Huxtable's mother from The Cosby Show. In this movie, she gets cut by the crazy bitch who is in love with Clint Eastwood:


Recognize the crazy bitch? Why, that's Gangy from Arrested Development!


If you haven't guessed, the plot of this movie is similar to Fatal Attraction: Clint Eastwood is a jazz DJ who sleeps with a fan. He thinks it's a one-time thing, but she's in love with him and starts showing up at his house with groceries and yelling at his neighbors for no reason. And when he finally tells her to GET OFF HIS BACK, she goes crazy and tries to kill herself. Then him and his other lady friend, who has a bad Klute-knockoff haircut. I cannot find a picture of her, but that's okay because the only TV show she was on was Knot's Landing and SNOOZE ALERT.

The movie did have a couple of great moments, like when Eastwood decided it'd be a great idea to play "The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face" by Roberta Flack in its entirety during a montage where his character walks on the beach with his non-crazy girlfriend, whom he then fucks in a stream under a waterfall.

Also, Jessica Walter's "lounging pajamas":

I need to get me a pair of those.

Also, this is the trailer, which makes it look like a hilarious, swingin', jazzy film:



The best scene is shown at the end of the trailer, and since I can't find a clip of it, I'll have to describe it with the "written communication skills" I brag about on my resume. Clint is lying in bed and rolls over to see Jessica Walter standing above him with a knife, which she plunges into the pillow next to his head while screaming her face off. Then he gets out of bed and calmly walks around his house in his underwear, which makes you think, "Oh, it was just a dream. THANK GOODNESS." But then he walks back to his bed and you see that the knife is still there in the pillow, and the fact that it wasn't a dream and the bitch just disappeared and he wasn't, you know, freaking the fuck out makes you wonder what the hell kind of world these people are living in. How can you not be frightened by that, Clint? It's the elephant in the room, or, if you're familiar with the similarly bad film Cruising, the big black man in a jockstrap who smacks the shit out of you. In fact, I wouldn't have been totally surprised if something on this caliber of random and fucked up (and obvs. NSFW) happened:



Oh, did you need to see him again? Fine.



The '70s were weird.

Heads will roll.

When I logged into out system this morning, I was informed that I "owe" the school $1,753 for my class. Obviously I don't because I'm an employee and get free tuition, but this is just another example of how poorly run things are around here. I have to go make phone calls now to figure out who can fix this.

I've also started getting emails from students asking me about holds on their accounts. Terrific.

Meanwhile, this afternoon I have the first of two interviews this week at Northwestern. At least I get to have two half-days. I just hope I get at least one of those jobs.

Blogiversary.

My blog turned 2.0 on October 5th and, being the bad blogger than I am, I completely forgot about it. I was going to do a recap of sorts about the crazy shenanigans that have happened since last October, but then I realized that I really didn't want to do that. So, uh, happy birthday, blog.


Birthdays aren't so much fun anymore, are they?

Vagabond ways.

John and I were at Roscoe's on Saturday night, drinking Miller Lites and trying to find someone to bum cigarettes from when this older gentleman in a black turtleneck and gray suit walked by. John turned to me and said, "Is that Udo Kier?!"

"YES!"

Now, I wasn't sure how I knew him or, uh, why he was there, but it was definitely Udo Kier, the German actor. Oh, and this is what he looks like for those of you who don't recognize the name:

Doesn't he look like he's about to eat someone? Yeah.

Anyway, I told John to say hi since he actually had seen (and owned!) two of his movies on DVD (Andy Warhol's Blood for Dracula and Flesh for Frankenstein). So John turned around and said, "Are you Udo?" He shook his hand and Udo replied, "Yes... do you have any cee-gaaar-ettes?" He was kind of drunk. We apologized and said no, and he kind of staggered away. And then we followed him because, duh, this is Chicago and you don't run into celebrities, must less INTERNATIONAL TREASURES.

After we saw him walk out and fall into a cab, I sent out a mass text message that said, "I just met Udo Kier. Look him up on IMDB."

And for the record, meeting Udo Kier in a bar means I am now two degrees from Lars Von Trier, Madonna, Keanu Reeves, River Phoenix, Bjork, Nicole Kidman, Chloe Sevigney, John Malkovich, and Marianne Faithfull.

Speaking of Marianne Faithfull, I finally got my shit together and saw a movie at the Chicago International Film Festival yesterday, called Irina Palm. Faithfull plays a middle-aged English woman who becomes a sex-worker in London to raise money for her grandson's cancer treatments. I went to see it just because I love Marianne Faithfull, but the movie was actually really good and, if it ever comes out, I recommend it. Here's the trailer:



I also met Dale from Top Chef on Saturday, but I wasn't as excited because I don't watch that show. Plus he has that dumb mohawk.

I'VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT AL GORE.

I don't like Al Gore. Okay? I didn't like him in 2000 (even though I would have voted for him if I could have, obviously), and I don't like him now. I watched about twenty minutes of An Inconvenient Truth and couldn't handle it.

I'm not going to say that I think pollution is a problem and we should conserve energy, etc., and, okay, climate change may be an issue, but I'm not totally convinced and I'm not going to base any of my opinions on what Al Gore has to tell me, and this is why:

Do you see that image? It makes you think that pollution creates hurricanes, doesn't it? Oh, shit, like Katrina? Shit, do you remember that hurricane? It was the worst hurricane ever. Well, after the 1970 Bhola cyclone, which killed up to half a million people in Pakistan. Even China had one that was worse: Typhoon Nina in 1975. And while Katrina killed about 1800 people in 2005, the worst hurricane in American history was the Galveston Hurricane in 1900. Katrina was the most destructive hurricane in our country's history, causing the most property damage and becoming a major political issue, but I think it's been exploited by both the right and the left and the most important issues it pushed into the mainstream do not involve not what caused the hurricane (because, really, we know what causes hurricanes by now).

Basically, my problem with Al Gore's Nobel Prize is that he won it based on a movie that exploits our country / generation's fear of everything. You can argue that it was for "the greater good," which is a terrifying phrase, but the truth is that Al Gore exaggerates his truths, and I'm not convinced that's a good thing.

So please, World, stop giving this man awards, if only because I'm tired of having to hear him accept them. I just wish he'd be honest with himself and the rest of us and take a cue from Doris Lessing, this year's winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature:


PS. I'm more excited today about the trailer for Tim Burton's adaptation of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, starring (surprise!) Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter, which seems to be in denial that it is a musical.

Snot machine.

Here's the reason why I'm not sorry about calling in sick today, even though I felt kind of guilty about it this morning. (Why is it that I have tremendous guilt when I'm actually sick, but not when I'm just hungover?)

Making difficult decisions.

Sometimes I'm all, "Hey, I don't remember when I showered last. That means I should shower." But then, I'm like, "Hey, it's eleven o'clock, so I just want to go to bed, because if I shower now, my hair will be wet when I fall asleep and be extra crazy in the morning." But then, "I will not wake up in time to shower in the morning." And, "My hair looks better when it's a little dirty anyway! Like today, it looked great today!" "Yeah, but eventually nature is going to catch up with you and people will smell your dirty hair and body." And then I'm like, "Fuck you, life. That's why Febreze* and Axe Body Spray were invented. THE END."




*I also have issues doing laundry, natch.

I want to live in Kid Nation.

I have no real work to do (well, none that the temps can't do when they get here), so I'm planning to spend the day catching up on Kid Nation, listening to the new Fiery Furnaces album, and playing Scrabble on Facebook.

I'm not going to go into great detail about Kid Nation, by the way, since I'm three weeks behind in watching it (I just discovered you can watch episodes on CBS's website), but I'm pretty amazed with it. I think the best thing about it is that the children act their age, yet they are so much like the adults you see on every other ridiculous reality TV show. My favorite part: when one of the children yelled that he hoped he didn't have to poop in the outhouse. Can't you see someone on The Real World screaming the same thing?

My interview on Monday went well, although I'm not sure I really want the job. I also had two phone screens, as well, and one of those was very good and I expect to get an interview. Meanwhile, I'm still applying; I've sent my resume to seventy jobs at Northwestern alone.

I don't like Mondays.

I called the recruiter to see if she'd heard from the job, and she wasn't in the office, so I had to listen to the Irish receptionist tell me that the company had hired someone internally, which means that interview was a complete waste of my time. Surprise.

And I can't find the third episode of Gossip Girl online.

I want to die.

My sentiments exactly.

...[S]he had relented when Gareth told her that he and Blair had broken up. He said he had spent so much time being antisocial that he found it difficult to accurately judge others' characters; it never seemed clear to him if someone was an asshole when he'd already decided that all people were assholes. Michelle said that was a really excellent attitude for someone joining the Peace Corps. Gareth said that this attitude was called "humanism," which made him a fine candidate for the Peace Corps--he respected humanity; he only found individual people to be assholes.

Adam Langer. The Washington Story.

All Ready for Halloween: A Friday Monster Mash.

Let me get this out of the way first: My mom sent me (and my brother) the following video last night in an email with the subject line "Watch this and think of me."

It doesn't make sense. But it does make Momsense.

I responded, "I question your sense of humor."

Now. I haven't heard from the interview yet, and am hoping I hear something this afternoon. I was supposed to have another interview at Northwestern today, but I had to reschedule it for Monday because I have to go to Dave and Buster's. For work. I have to go to Adult's Chuck E Cheese so I can participate in "team-building exercises" and then drink with my co-workers. Yaaaay. (No.)

I also have a phone-screen on Monday for another job at Northwestern. A woman called from the main HR office yesterday, which surprised me because usually I get calls from the departments that are hiring new staff. At first, I expected her to say, "Please stop applying for five to six jobs here every day."

And I'm waiting for a woman to call me back and schedule an interview for another job at NU, but after talking to her on the phone yesterday I'm kind of hoping she won't, as she didn't sound very nice. That's not very promising.

And here's a direct quote from presidential hopeful John McCain on using Alan Greenspan to lead a review of the tax code:

If he's alive or dead it doesn't matter. If he's dead, just prop him up and put some dark glasses on him like, like Weekend at Bernie's.

And if that's not enough of a mind-fuck: Does Jenna Bush not suck?

Post-interview ennui.

My interview yesterday was not two hours, thankfully. In fact, I was there for about forty-five minutes, and that includes the time spent filling out my application and taking brief paper quizzes on homonyms and spelling. (Apparently their online system was down, so I was unable to take the assessment test.) The interview was fine, I suppose, although I can never actually tell, since I've never actually gotten a job that I had to interview for. I said the same old thing: what I did, how I handled myself when faced with angry customers or coworkers, how I manage numerous projects at once. And, again, I feel like there's no reason I shouldn't get the job unless the other applicants are better interviewers.

The thing is, however, that I felt oddly uncomfortable there, as if I just did not belong. It was probably because of seeing, as I immediately walked into the office, huge plate-glass windows separating the lobby from a board room, where a group of business men in suits and ties sat, looking out over the north Chicago skyline. It was an impressive image, and I felt so fucking young and ridiculous in my Gap khakis, H&M shirt, and the tie I bought at TJ Maxx for thirteen dollars. I felt so out of place, and it put me ill at ease, which I'm sure showed during the interview.

But, honestly, no matter how hard I try to picture myself in such an atmosphere, I can't seem to make it happen. I don't see myself working at a financial firm, no matter how much I wish I could make the salary one would in such a position. I'm obviously more of a non-profit kind of person; I'm not interested in business or corporate practices, and I don't want to work someplace where people would look first at my clothes and then at my job performance. And that's frustrating, because I know I could do anything, but I don't want to do anything. I'm still not sure of what I want to do, if I want to stay in Chicago and work someplace and make lots of money so I can buy shit, or if I just want to go back to school for the next several years, which would prevent me from starting a real career until I'm in my thirties. That prospect is terrifying, but I'm not sure yet if it's scarier than trying to fit in someplace that already makes me uncomfortable.

I called my recruiter today and told her that I thought everything went okay, but that I was never really sure (which is true). She said that she was expecting to hear something by this afternoon, and she'd give me a call as soon as she talked to the company.

Having said all of that, I will take the position if they offer it to me. It'd be silly to turn it down because, honestly, I feel uncomfortable in the majority of settings I find myself in, even school. So all of the stuff above was most likely me being self-conscious about my awkwardness, which I think at times is not as apparent as I like to think it is.

Holy scary interview, Batman!

I have a big interview this afternoon about which I'm slightly terrified. My recruiter called me yesterday to prep me for it and said that it may be on "the longer side": two hours. Apparently financial firms don't eff around.

She also told me to get "suited up," which made me think of this, but probably because I don't own a suit. But I do have a sharp tie! That'll work, right?

The More You Knoooow.

Dear Producers: Since you're still reminding us who Spencer is (as if none of us read US Weekly), why don't you also remind the young, impressionable, female gals who watch The Hills that this is also what a rapist looks like.

PS. That picture isn't blurry. That's just his facial hair.

Halloweiner.

Halloween is just twenty-nine days away. If you know me at all, you're aware that this is a stressful time for me, as I am typically unable to come up with a costume and resign to wearing my father's leisure suit and have everyone else at whatever party I attend (who is not my roommate) give me blank stares when I say that I'm Charles Nelson Reilly or any other '70s television personality. And despite my vow a few months ago to only wear that leisure suit on Halloween (perhaps in an attempt to admit costume defeat and forgo future costume stress), I want to come up with something new.

I had a kind of creative idea that Christina loved, but then Adam shot it down yesterday, saying, with a sad shake of the head that suggested pity, "Don't do that." I still haven't decided about that idea, so I'm not going to bring it up yet, but last night Christina and I brainstormed some other options.


As always, if you have any ideas, comment away.

Facebook me.

I kind of love Facebook more than MySpace these days, and yes, I will tell you why, thank you.

It's rather refreshing to log-on to someone's Facebook page and not have my screen freeze from too much HTML. Honestly, that's the main reason. Thank you for that, Matt Zuckerberg. Also, thank you for not being my pity-friend. (Fuck off, Tom.)

Also, Facebook makes it really easy to stalk to the people I already know, and keeps stalking semi-strangers challenging.

Anyway, because I'm bored, and the only channel I get right now is WGN and Two and a Half Men is on and I'm too lazy to get up from the couch to find a movie to watch, I've decided to do a little experiment, which will hopefully keep me entertained at work for at least a day.

If you'd please, and you know, are also on Facebook and not already my friend, add me! (It's like a whole new way to find out who's reading my blog!) Also, you can join my awesome Facebook group, Tevye is The Shit! I created it a few months ago and it only has thirteen members, and I KNOW that there are more than thirteen people out there who agree that Tevye is, indeed, The Shit.

I hate it when I can't think of a title.

I dropped my creative writing class yesterday because I realized that there's no point stressing over it when I decided to take it for fun in the first place. I don't think studying for a midterm and then a final on anthologized short stories that I've read several times already is fun. And since my professor is giving subjective grades on short, crappy sketches of fiction, I can see myself taking offense at receiving grades on my actual stories. And it took a lot of effort to read the first batch of student stories, as most of my comments and corrections were focused on grammar. (Seriously, who doesn't understand how to use commas? Or the correct way to punctuate quotations? You're in college now. This is your major.) (Note: This did not apply to you, Brittany. Your knowledge of correct punctuation was refreshing.)

Anyway, I'm not taking any more English courses here, as I have learned my lesson for the fourth time. If for any reason I do get a better job here and the free tuition tempts me again, I shall just get a MBA instead.

And now, something truly amazing:


Also, I watched Death Proof last night, and it was fantastic.