Teacherlady over at Rantings of an Arab Chick just put up a post about this ninth grade student she has that apparently enjoys copulation so much that she got knocked up. This reminded me of a time when I was teaching tenth grade. In walk two of my female students and the following conversation ensued:
Student #1: You know he, like, loves you.
Student #2: Yeah, he loves me because I swallow.
I shudder just as much now thinking about it as I did back when I witnessed it.
Kids these days...
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Teacherlady over at Rantings of an Arab Chick just put up a post about this ninth grade student she has that apparently enjoys copulation so much that she got knocked up. This reminded me of a time when I was teaching tenth grade. In walk two of my female students and the following conversation ensued:
Friday, May 30, 2008
Days where absolutely everything seems to go wrong.
I hate that.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Arguably one of the best movies of all times - and certainly the best Cary Elwes movie of all time - the Princess Bride is romantic, thrilling and heartbreaking...kinda. It's one of the only stories I've both watched in movie-format and read in novel-format and been delighted both times. They book and the movie perfectly compliment one another. You can imagine how excited I was when I saw that Thinkgeek had come out with a line of Princess Bride t-shirts.
I want this shirt.
And this shirt. This is my favorite quote in the movie. I work in reproductive medicine, so "inconceivable" is a word my office regularly uses. At least once a week, I get to say, "You keep using this word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
Aaaaand...I want this shirt.
I think I could probably live without the "man in black" action figure. But it's cool nonetheless.
So Mom, I know you're reading this. You get those shirts? At Thinkgeek? Every day is a good day to buy me presents.
Ok, so that's a bit of an exageration, but it was close. Not really.
So, I go to get on the elevator to go to the ninth floor, where I work. Another woman gets on the elevator with me. She must weigh a good 300 lbs. I push the button for the ninth floor. She pushes the button for the eleventh floor (psychiatry). She's obviously doesn't work here, so she must be a patient up there. Therefore she's crazy.
So the elevator door slides closed, but then the elevator doesn't move. I wait about thirty seconds, then push the door open button. The doors open up immediately, so I push the door closed button. They do so. Still the elevator doesn't move. "Huh," I say. The woman looks at me, looks at the elevator doors, and then starts jumping up and down, causing the elevator to go jiggling all around on its cables.
"Stop, stop!" I yell to the crazy woman, "Stop doing that!"
She stops only long enough to look at me and say, "It works in my apartment building."
Yeah, I'm sure it does when the elevator's stuck on the thirteenth floor and you need to get to the first so your massive ass invokes GRAVITY. Bitch should know that if you weigh over 150, you DON'T JUMP ON THE TWENTY YEAR OLD ELEVATOR.
I have nothing against large people. I am a large person. But it's common sense. Granted she's a psychiatric patient, but come on. I could have died. The whole hospital would have mourned.
Needless to say I hauled my ass off that elevator as soon as it stopped rocking like it was an earthquake and took a different one.
I would like to introduce you to one of my favorite sports. Having grown up next to Canada, which is where this sport is primary played, I was able to develop an affection for this odd past time. Ladies and gentlemen, I present...CURLING.
These people you see on this strip of ice aren't maintenance people. They're the athletes. Here's how it works.
First you got the dude who slides the stone down the ice towards the target. The stone is usually made of granite and has a handle on top.
After releasin the stone, the dude lays down on the ice and screams bloody murder at his teammates who are ...
...sweeping the crap out of the ice with brooms. Yes, brooms. Sweeping the ice. Makes sense, don't it?
The ultimate goal of the game is to get your stones as close to the center of the target as possible, whilst knocking the opposing team's stones out of the target. The opposing team has sweepers by the target to try to sweep the ice enough to make the dude's stone go off course.
Got it? Good. Now you're a curling expert. Go to their magazine to get more stories. It's
better than Sports Illustrated*.
*But of course, I'm biased. I think sports that use balls are stupid. I think they're just one huge Freudian mess.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
I wanted to take this opportunity to address something that has been distressing me for the past couple of years, but has most recently gotten entirely out of control.
When I was in high school, I was introduced to a book series by author Laurell K. Hamilton. The main character, Anita Blake, is a vampire hunter. Through the series, there is mystery, intrigue, and a big, healthy dose of sexual tension. The characters are well developed and relatable.
However. Somewhere along the line Laurell seemed to lose her way. The further into the series she got, especially after Obsidian Butterfly, the less of a plot there was, and the more the books were just five hundred pages of softcore porn. And even that didn't last very long before it devolved into hardcore smut. I mean, I like a naughty book as much as the next girl, but Anita evolved from this ass-kicking heroine to a whiny nympho who screws every man anywhere near her.
So, today, Laurell's new Anita Blake book, Blood Noir, came out. This is the first time in over ten years that I didn't haul ass to the book store to snag a copy. Honestly, I see no point in reading a book full of poorly written porno, where Anita's only contribution to the story line - what little story line there is - is to screw every single man.
Over it. Done. Laurell, I miss Anita. The old Anita. She's become like one of those bands, where I love the early work, but once she became popular, and started performing for the masses, she lost her appeal.
Anyway, until I hear that Laurell has gone back to Anita's roots, I suppose I'll be avoiding her work. It saddens me to say it. I can only hope Laurell reads the reviews on the web and takes to heart what her early fans are saying.
There's this huge iceberg that's the size of Rhode Island. It's collided with Ross Island, and made all the surrounding ice in the ocean thicken to much more than average. Negatively effected by the thicker ice are seals and penguins, who can't stay submerged long enough to get from Ross Island out to open ocean to go hunting. Here's a video of seals fighting over an airhole because the ice is too thick for them to make their own as needed.
Full story here.
Those great guys over at Neatorama, who are forever distracting me from whatever task may be at hand, have posted a great video: a parody of I Will Survive. Ladies and gent's, I give you, "I Will Derive"
Friday, May 23, 2008
I found this video online last night. I was so tired when I watched it, that it caused a massive giggle fit. Now that I'm awake, it's not nearly as giggle-inducing, but it's still pretty damn entertaining.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I just discovered this great toy website that has everything weird. It's called McPhee, and it's got every great psychiatry action figure known to man. It's even got a sky-diving Freud. Who doesn't need a sky-diving Freud?
Anyhoo...here are some of my favorite selections from the site.
The crazy cat lady. We all know of one of these. WhereI grew up, I went to school with the crazy cat lady's son. She was in the paper once for having well over two hundred cats and burning their corpses in her backyard when they'd die.
I wonder what Freud would say to people sucking on his head. I wonder what he would say about the fact that his head is watermelon-flavored.
I love narwhals, just because they're so silly looking. And what could be sillier than a narwhal inpaling a cute baby seal?
Back in the day, women would ingest sterilized tape worms as a form of weight control. Well, turns out that wasn't so safe, but now you can pretend you're ingesting a tape worm for weight control while actually ingesting a pure-sugar tape worm that's adding to your waist-line. It's ironic, folks!
I remember when I was a kid, I was reading some sort of horror novel. A traveler's car breaks down, so he and his traveling companion go to a local farm to use the phone. The door opens and the traveler introduces himself as a doctor. The farmer lets them in, invites them to stay the night since the tow truck can't get out until the morning. The only rule is they're not allowed to touch the farmer's daughter. Of course, there's instant chemistry between the daughter and the traveler, but he's a man of honor, and will keep his hands to himself. Naturally the traveling companion sneaks into the daughter's room in the middle of the night. The traveler is awakened by his companion's screams of pain. Running to see what the problem is, he discovers that his companion has had sex with the daughter, only to find that the daughter has a rare case of Vagina Dentata, otherwise known as vag-teeth. His companion has had his ding dong bitten off. Of course the daughter is beside herself, because she doesn't want to cause anyone pain. The farmer has gone ballistic because someone has sullied his daughter, and chases his guests out. The daughter follows, because it was love at first site with the traveler, plus, she knows she'll incur her father's wrath for not keeping her legs shut. "Oh," she wails, "if only we could lay together as a man and a woman could." He stops and turns to her, "Honey," he says, "I never told you what kind of doctor I was. I'm an oral surgeon."
And so they live happily ever after.
Anyhoo, the point to my story is that this movie came out called Teeth, which chronicles the coming-of-age of a young girl afflicted with vagina dentata. Here's the preview. I look forward to watching men get their tackle chomped off.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Ever read a book that you really enjoyed, but you can't for the life of you remember what it was called? That happened to me recently. I remember standing in line at Toys R Us the week before Christmas and the line was a good thirty people long. To occupy myself, I was reading this great book by one of my favorite authors about her life. Thinking about it this past week, I couldn't remember which author it was.
Today it hit me. Laurie Notaro. The author of The Idiot Girl's Action Adventure Club. Granted, I didn't remember out of the blue. I was browsing Barnes and Noble's website for author visits, and saw that she was going to be in town to talk about her new book. It hit me as soon as I saw her name: this is the autor I couldn't remember. Her book, We Thought You Would be Prettier, was hilarious. Here's the blurb from the back cover:
She thought she'd have more time. Laurie Notaro figured she had at least a few good years left. But no-it's happened. She has officially lost her marbles. From the kid at the pet-food store checkout line whose coif is so bizarre it makes her seethe "I'm going to kick his hair's ass!" to the hapless Sears customer-service rep on the receiving end of her Campaign of Terror, no one is safe from Laurie's wrath. Her cranky side seems to have eaten the rest of her-inner-thigh Chub Rub and all. And the results are breathtaking.Her riffs on e-mail spam ("With all of these irresistible offers served up to me on a plate, I WANT A PENIS NOW!!"), eBay ("There should be an eBay wading pool, where you can only bid on Precious Moments figurines and Avon products, that you have to make it through before jumping into the deep end"), and the perils of St. Patrick's Day ("When I'm driving, the last thing I need is a herd of inebriates darting in and out of traffic like loaded chickens") are the stuff of legend.
Believe me, the book itself didn't disappoint.
So, as I was saying, she's going to be in town talking about her new book. I am so there. Here it is: The Idiot Girl and the Flaming Tantrum of Death. I can't wait to read it, and meet her.
For anyone who would like to join me, it'll be on July 16, 2008 at 7:30 pm at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble (W 66th St & Broadway). Third floor behind math and science. Exciting stuff, ya'll. I'll be the chunky monkey in the front row wearing the "I'm an Idiot Girl" t-shirt.
You know how they say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Well, I believe that's partially true. When I was in college, my best friend was a man. We hung out with this girl, and one day he said to me, "She smelled like apples. I just wanted to sit closer and closer to her because she was making my mouth water. Now, every time I see apples, I think of her." This made me realize that the way to a man's heart is in fact through his stomach, via the nasal passages. Therefore, the vast majority of the fragrances I wore were food-based. Over the past five years since college, I've developed a refined palate as far as food-based fragrances go. Here are my favorites.
Chocolovers perfume by Aquolina. The only bottle of perfume I've ever used in its entirety and had to replace. I swear to god, it will make you smell like tootsie rolls. Available at Sephora.
This is Buttercream Vanilla room spray. This stuff smells like frosting. Seriously. It makes you want to lick the air. I spray this around my desk, and I can hear people in the adjacent offices say, "does someone have cake?". I'm not a big fan of diffusers, but the spray, so worth it. From Pier 1.
Red velvet cake is actually a chocolate cake with red food coloring in it. Its history, however, states that the red coloring originally came from beets, which were used in lieu of sugar. Today's cakes, however, are just plain chocolate with food dye thrown in. Plus cream cheese frosting. Mmmm....cream cheese froasting. Yummy. Philosophy makes a line of food-scented bath products. Other goodies include coconut frosting and raspberry sorbet. Also available at Sephora.
This fragrance from Demeter is Sugar Cookie. It makes you smell like Sugar Cookies. 'Nuff said. The line also comes with such goodies as Mojito, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Fresh Cotton, Plain Soap and Dirt. Also available at Sephora.
Now, keep in mind that I tend towards confections, whereas some girls prefer fruity fragrances. That's fine, so long as you pick an identifiable fruit. I try to get my perfumes and sprays to smell as close to the real thing as possible. I don't think guys want to be smelling women who reak of artificial fruit cocktail. Just my opinion.
Use with caution, however. Licking may occur.
A while ago, I posted a video of a woman who was making a life-like, life-sized baby cake, where I pontificated on who in their right minds would want to cut into an infant and eat it.
Well, here's my follow-up. This dude named Kittiwat Unarrom makes body-part shaped bread out of a bakery in Thailand. The bread is made out of some tasty stuff, but it's just a little too realistic looking for my taste. Although this would be a fabulous gift to send to my step-mother for her birthday. A severed bread-head would be perfect for her. Is that mean?
And then, then, as though bread limbs weren't enough, the Japanese just had to one-up the dude. They've invented something called the Cannibal Banquet.
This weird, paper-mache body is filled with food mixed with red sauce. Further red sauce is married with the paper-mache body, so that when it's rolled out to the table on a hospital gurney and the host cuts into it, the body bleeds.
Seriously? Are they so desperate for weirder food than poisonous puffer fish sperm sacks or whole, live octopus that they're branching out to humans, too?
Makes me appreciate that the weirdest we do is alligator and the occasional water rat. Maybe a fried bug or two. Ick.
A grad student at NYU is lonely. He comes home at the end of a trying day to an empty apartment, and forelornely heats up his ramen noodles in his hot pot and eats them on the futon in front of the tv. He looks at his empty bed, dreading crawling under the covers alone. Again.
Monday, May 19, 2008
So, I was slacking off at work, reading consumerist, and came across an article about the NYC Subway system. That's right, the MTA. My arch nemesis. I live in close proximity to two trains: the 181st Street A train and the 181st Street 1/9 train. I much prefer the A train because a) it's express, b) it's closer than the 1/9. To get down to the tracks, however, you need to either take an escalator down six stories, or, when it's not working, which is more often the case, take the stairs. Alternately, you could take the 1/9, where you're forced to take these large-bathroom-sized elevators, jammed with about thirty people, down several stories deep into the underbelly of Washington Heights. These elevators are your only option. There are no stairs. Those elevators are slow, hot, and extremely claustrophobic. The broken-down escalators at the A are much preferable.
Now, for my proof of how the MTA is evil. I snagged the following snippet from the article on consumerist entitled "Pregnant? Ashtmatic? Don't like Rollercoasters? Stay Away From NYC Elevators and Escalators".
The worst offender is the 181st St station for the 1, 9 trains. As passengers familiar with the station know, you have to take giant elevators several stories underground to reach the subway lines, and they suffered over 100 breakdowns last year. The article highlights one breakdown where 15 people, including two women who began to suffer from asthma attacks, were trapped for 40 minutes last summer. The same elevator "had broken down five times in the eight days leading up to the event. Each time, mechanics came, made minor adjustments and put the machine back in service — only to have it break down again." After the 15 people were let out, the elevator was put back in service, only to break down again later that afternoon.Ha ha! And ha, even. Take that, MTA! Proof! Proof that you're a whole mess 'o incompetent jackasses! You're not just out to get me, you're out to get everyone! With your fare hikes, and your sleeping booth workers, and your nasty, nasty perverts hiding on the trains.
If you happen to be obsessed with MMO game World of Warcraft, but are still lucky enough to have scored a woman (or a man, as the case may be), you need to watch this video. I'm serious. Watch it. I don't give a shit if your guild is quaying for the arena. Tell them to suck it up for five minutes while you watch this important video.
I'm at work, but I feel like shit. After having a frantic chinese man scream at me on the phone, "I cut my penis! I cut my penis!", I decided to stop working for the day. Hence the influx of blog posting.
Not that anyone's gonna notice, but that's neither here nor there. I amuse myself thusly.
Let me first write the following disclaimer: firstly, when I originally came up with the title of my blog, I wasn't aware that there was a band named Crazy Town. Secondly, I never meant for this to be a science blog; just somewhere I could rant and meet people.
Okey dokey then.
The vast majority of people who visit my blog do so out of misdirected google searching. Below, please enjoy a list of various words and phrases which will hilariously direct you to my blog.
1. Baking soda and vinegar viscosity change
2. Is a lizard a mammal
3. crazy town tattoos
4. math tattoos
5. secretary piss
6. people jerking themselves
7. arthur cinader
8. best places for a math tatoo
9. lollypop porn
Really people? Lollypop porn? The only posting I have involving lollypops was my Ode to Bacon, which had Maple Bacon lollypops. You should be ashamed.
I love polyurethane. I think the material's the bee's knees. I found this dude through Neatorama. He made these kickass lights out of polyurethane. How awesome do those look, eh?
See how you can make your own polyurethane lights.
So, I'm reading this book here. I just started it last night after finishing Stephanie Meyer's new book, The Host (review forthcoming).
Anyhoo, it's about the worst comedy writing duo of all time, and I get to page 15, and there is a line in it that is so brilliant, I needed to share it.
"...if there was anything on God's green earth that made Martin Sloyxne harder than Chinese mathematics, it was the sight of an extremely plain-faced woman."
This book is written in rant-form, so it's a bit slow-going, but if these little gems are placed sporadically throughout, I'm sure I'll get through it in no time. I'll let you know how it turns out.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
People, people. Listen. You don't need to clip your nails in public. Especially in an office. The last thing I need while standing at my printer, waiting for a 25-page journal article on the efficacy of Viagra use for jetlag, the last thing I need is to be hit by stray fingernail shrapnel. So, please, for the love of crack, do your nails at home.
It seems I am quite well-versed in skin diseases. Not Dungeons and Dragons characters - just chalk that up to what I know is not a skin disease.
On May 1, 2008, I attended the Greenberg Award Dinner, held at the Plaza Hotel in New York
City. It was a last-minute shopping effort, but I was quite pleased with the outcome.
It was a lovely night, and finally, here is the picture. There are others, but they only reiterate the fact that I need to get my fat ass back to the gym and get my glow-in-the-dark pasty-ass legs into a tanning salon, skin cancer be damned.
Still, I love my dress, and I'm glad I got to go. The honoree was a psychiatrist, which made for interesting dinner conversation, and I got to schmooz with some of the doctors in my office.
Afterwards, to make myself feel more like myself, my friend drove me back to the ghetto in his pimped out honda, blasting K-Rock the entire way.
My life isn't ovelry glamerous, but at least I have my moments.
Update: I just realized this picture makes me look like a "little person". Yes, I am short (5'3"), but not short enough for "midget-tossing". So, Arsenio and Dave, don't get any ideas.
I finished reading this book a couple weeks ago, and apologize for procrastinating in posting my opinions.
Let me preface this review by saying that I am a math geek. I received my bachelors in mathematics, and am therefore predisposed to math-based literature (i.e. The Man Who Loved Only Numbers, Foucault’s Pendulum, and Life of Pi, which turned out to be a misunderstanding).
When I read the blurb about this book, I was immediately hooked. A fading child prodigy has a penchant for dating girls named Katherine, and when #19 dumps him for being too needy, he and his best friend take a road trip to East Bumblefuck, where he attempts to create an algorithm predicting love. In the process, he has epiphanies, falls in love, yada yada yada.
While the actual math in the book is obviously there to look complicated and not to actually do anything, I can overlook it for its easy banter. Seriously, fabulous book. Easily in my top 20. It’s charming, easy to read, the characters are relatable and likeable. Nice to read books like this. Usually I’m disappointed; not this time.
One of my guilty pleasures is reality TV. America's Next Top Model has been one of my favorites. Not so much, anymore, since Tyra has clearly been taken over by a megalomaniacal pod-person, and since Jay Manuel has changed the photo shoots from product-based to "how can we fuck up these models even more?"-based.
Anyhoo, the cast of bubble-heads this season hasn't been particularly interesting, but last night, they declared their winner: Whitney! The first plus-size girl to win America's Next Top Model. I'd be more excited having my size represented, but...
Of course, I'm using the term "plus-size" very loosely. Whitney would have no problem shopping in the normal-person section of your local Kohl's. Plus-sized for models, yes, but Tocarra more fit the bill of the typical American fatass. I'm sure I'll never bump into her in the dressing room of Lane Bryant.
Whitney, come on girl, you wanna be plus-sized, start scarfing down those twinkies! Your ass ain't nearly big enough, yet! You want the fatasses of the world to look up to you, you need to be a real-live fatass yourself.
Granted, I'm grateful that the Tyra-bot chose Whitney over that albino Anya, who, honestly, scares the hell out of me. Why, oh why, did they have to bleach her eyebrows?
Anyhoo, yay, Whitney! "Fatass" of the year!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
A fractal is an irregular geometric object that is self-similar to its substructure at any level of refinement.
In regular-person speak: something that looks the same no matter how closely you look at it. Think: bonsai tree. Cut a piece of branch off a big tree and replant it, and it looks like a cute little tree. See, fractal.
This here is the fractal 23 chest of drawers. I lurve this piece of furniture. This, lovely, delicious, mathey piece of furniture.
And the triangle chair! Look at the triangle chair!!!
Anyhoo, check out the designer's other work here.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so that you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. Be a little gay and a little more interesting. His boring day may need a lift.
3. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the home just before your husband arrives, gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc. Then run a dust cloth over the tables. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift, too.
4. Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair, and if necessary change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part.
5. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer, dishwasher, or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet. Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and be glad he is home.
6. Some don'ts: Don't greet him with problems or complaints. Don't complain if he is late for dinner. Count this as minor compared with what he might have gone through that day. Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or suggest he lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soft, soothing and pleasant voice. Allow him to relax and unwind.
7. Listen to him. You may have a dozen things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first.
8. Make the evening his. Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or to other places of entertainment. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, his need to be home and relax.
The Goal: Try to make your home a place of peace and order where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
Monday, May 12, 2008
I'm prissy. I don't like talking about anything gross, like poo or vomit or burping or farting or phlegm or...well, I guess you get my drift. But dude, I lived in dorms for four years. I live in NYC, where it takes an hour on the subway to get from 145th Street to 180th Street, so heading home everytime you gotta go to the bathroom isn't really an option. And the worst thing is having to use the bathroom when there's other people in there.
So, I read this on craig's list. I laughed. It was very unladylike and I am ashamed. Come, be ashamed with me.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
I love bacon. It's quite possibly the perfect food. So, to celebrate its perfection, here are some fabulous bacon-based products, and some haikus I've written to accompany the aforementioned products.
You taste sweet and savory
Such a lovely treat
I've got a boo boo!
Quick, put some bacon on it!
Bacon heals all wounds.
Bacon in the pan
Sizzling and covered in grease
Can't wait to eat you
Now, you wouldn't think
That bacon and coke would match well
Well, to each his own.
Perfect little cup
Of salty porky goodness
I will eat you up.
So, I was browsing through the Mental_Floss daily Cup o' Links and found a link to this Danish artist named Peter Callesen. He makes this amazing art out of a single piece of paper. Click each of the pieces to enlarge.
I noticed one of his things is the negative space left on the paper looking like something alive, while the cut out has been squished and shaped to be bones. Very nice.
Check out his website for even more brilliant pieces. These are my favorite.
Friday, May 9, 2008
This from Mental_Floss. Thank god for Mental_Floss. They make my brain happy.
Word to your motha.
1. Math: Redman, “Five Boroughs”
My paragraph alone is worth five mics (uh-huh)
A twelve song LP, that’s thirty-six mics (uh-huh)
Unless Redman uses less than a paragraph of lyrics per song, I think he’s a few mics short of an LP.
2. Physics: Canibus, “Funkmaster Flex Freestyle”
I can double my density from three-sixty degrees to seven-twenty instantly.
While 360 times 2 is indeed 720, Canibus needs a little help when it comes to measuring units of density. Rather than “degrees,” acceptable terms would’ve included kilograms per cubic metre (kg/m³), grams per millilitre (g/mL) or pounds per U.S. bushel (lb/bu) — for all you farmers out there.
3. Chronology: Master P, “Do You Know”
If you don’t bring back my m****f*****n moneyor my m***f****n dope
you can forget about Christmas n***acause you ain’t gon’ even see New Years.
Hey, now that you’ve mastered P, maybe it’s time to master G — the Gregorian calendar. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Christmas comes before New Years.
4. Astronomy / Astrology: Kanye West, “Gettin’ It In”
Don’t try to treat me like I AIN’T FAMOUS
My apologies, are you into astrology Cause I’m,
I’m tryin to make it to Uranus.
Kudos to Kanye on this point: though not as widely referenced as some of the larger, closer planets, the position of Uranus in the Heavans actually is used in modern astrology. However, its influence is considered secondary to Saturn’s — they co-rule Aquarius — and if you know anything about Aquarians (I’m one of ‘em), you’d know that members of this water sign are relatively passive and chilled-out; the last thing they’d do is try to rile Kanye, or for that matter let him into their, you know, Uranus. (Nice try, West.)
5. Physics: Lil’ Fame, “Half and Half”
First family will gradually lift that a*s up like gravity.
Rather than a snarky comback, I’ve prepared a rhyme in response:
Yo Fame, what goes up must come down
Not the otha way ’round
Getcha facts straight son
Floss online, ‘cuz books weigh a ton.
BONUS MATH PROBLEM: Foxy Brown, “Affirmative Action”
Thirty-two grams raw, chop it in half, get sixteen
Double it times three, we got forty-eight, which mean
A whole lot of cream, divide the profit by four,
Subtract it by eight, we back to sixteen.
Actually, there’s nothing wrong with the math here — in fact, what Foxy Brown has constructed for us is a little word problem. For big bonus points (and major street cred), who can tell us what Foxy’s gross coke income is, using grams rather than dollars as a unit of measure? (I’ll swing by later and post the correct answer in the comments.)
In the past twenty minutes, it has become glaringly obvious to me that my patients have all somehow contacted one another and concocted a masterful plan to drive me absolutely up the wall. Hey you, yeah, you with the bad hairpiece. Remember yesterday, when I called you to confirm your appointment, and I asked you if you’d completed the questionnaire I’d forwarded to you? And remember how you said you had. And remember how I said to be sure to bring the completed questionnaire with you to your appointment? And what did you do? Why, you showed up to your appointment without your questionnaire. You tell the front desk that no one ever told you about any questionnaire. And when you’re given a blank one to complete while you are waiting for the doctor, you refuse to fill it out because you’d “rather talk to the doctor first”. And then, THEN, your fellow patient shows up, also without a questionnaire, plus his wife has brought her lap dog. To a doctor’s appointment. In a hospital. Where there are sick people.
Are you people insane? Are you of the mindset that insanity, much like misery, enjoys a great deal of company? Well, I refuse to fall for your ruse, sirs. And when your wife gets kicked out of the hospital for bringing in a dog, don’t go bitching to the doctor about it. Grow up. Have some common sense. And good lord, finish the goddamn questionnaire before I call your parents!
Posted by PrincessPi at 11:26 AM
I easily have the best boss in the world. He’s sweet, brilliant, indulgent and treats me like the princess I am. He is also lovably eccentric. So yesterday, as I was walking out the college doors, I see him riding his bicycle in circles, waiting for the light to change, the light dangling from the top of his helmet blinking merrily.
I suddenly flashbacked to college, walking up the hill on campus. My philosophy professor, Jean Chambers, bless her heart, was riding her bicycle down the hill, ringing her bell like crazy, one foot on the pedal, the other kicking at a very large Rottweiler that was keeping pace with her and barking its massive head off. I would have been worried about Jean Chambers’ safety, except that the dog was a local, owned by the hooka shop guy, and we all knew it to be an elderly dog with no teeth.
Later that week, my friend bought a beta fish. She named it Jean Chambers. Coincidentally, the very next week after that, we were studying logic in class, and the example given to us by the teacher:
Jean Chambers is a fish.
All fish can fly.
Therefore Jean Chambers can fly.
We thought it was hilarious.
Dude, give me a break. I was seventeen. I wasn’t that deep. So sue me.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
A toy that not only entertains, it can also keep you warm in the event of a major global climate shift.
The European Bioinformatics Institute have finally succeeded in mapping the genome of the world's weirdest animal: the duck-billed Platypus. Unsurprisingly, it turned into the world's weirdest genome.
The mapping showed that this native animal of Australia and Tasmania is part mammal (it's covered in fur and lactates, although it doesn't have boobies, so the young suckle the milk through the skin of the platypus' abdomen), part bird (see duck bill and webbed feet) and part lizard (it lays eggs and the males have a venomous spine behind its back feet).
When this weirdo animal was first brought back to Europe, people thought it was a taxidermist's hoax: that it was made up of the leftover bits of different animals. Well, it seems the taxidermist didn't have to, because nature did it for them.
I'm still having a hard time wrapping my mind around the whole lactating through the abdomen thing; do the mommas leave a slimy milk trail after them when they crawl across land? How do the young latch on to the abdomen with those funky bills?
Anyhoo...I thought it was interesting. Read the article on Discovery News.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
I'll admit it. I played hookie from work today. I woke up this morning, pissed off because my bedroom was HOT, pissed off because the fan in the window was COLD, pissed off because my allergies was making my asthma go nuts, and couldn't for the life of me think of a good reason to haul my ass out of bed and into the office. So, I decided to spend the day on the computer, plopped in front of the boob tube, and not think about testicles.
There are days when I'm bored to tears at work. I found this lovely art project online, and can't wait to give it a whirl. I've got tons of post-its littering my desk; now they can have a purpose in life. Awww.
Posted by PrincessPi at 4:46 PM
I know that when I wake up first thing in the morning, I usually have a hard time deciding: breakfast? or pictures of vagina? Well, now I don't have to choose! Thanks to art china company Blighty, there is now a line of china-ware called China Vagina, with artsy representations of vaginas on them. Choose from six different designs, at only $140 per dish!
In an act of ultimately subtlety, this one here is called "The World is Her Oyster".
Thank god someone finally had the foresight to vag up my dinner ware. I was getting tired of having Jenna Jameson movies playing in the background of all my dinner parties.