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.