– Really cool, short music video. The music reminds me of Radiohead.
– What happens when a skunk invades a coffeehouse?
– It took a lot of balls to make this commercial.
– Don’t you hate it when your leg sneaks up on you? I do.
– Is there anything cuter than a passel of bellylaughing babies? The answer is no.
For years, the slightest hint of cilantro in my meal meant that I’d be going hungry. The foul stuff tasted like soap to me. Even as recently as 2003 I mentioned here about my distaste for the stuff.
Something’s changed.
I don’t know whether I’ve managed to kill off enough taste buds to tolerate the stuff or what. It doesn’t taste like freshly-squeezed soap juice to me anymore. It just tastes… like cilantro. Its presence in my food doesn’t spell instant disaster (with optional spit-out and beer-swish) anymore. In fact… dare I say it? I almost enjoy it now. All this happened in the last couple of years.
However, I completely sympathize with the plight of those behind IHateCilantro.com. Nobody used to believe me when I’d mention the soap taste. Living in Texas, home of Tex-Mex and heavy cilantro use, I’d often be stuck out when people were rhapsodizing about the pico de gallo or borracho beans. These days I’m as likely to enjoy them as everyone else, but I totally understand when the people on the I Hate Cilantro site talk about their distaste for the stuff.
Although it’s more directed at RPGers, the essay “A Feminist Gaming Manifesto” (part one, part two) makes some excellent points about the nature of gaming as applied to men and women, as well as the basic differences between the genders. He has a list of 20 points where his “gender privilege” of being male kicks in. Here are some that I’ve run across in my own life:
“5. I can be pretty sure of having my voice heard in a group in which I am the only member of my gender.” [a.k.a. I Am Not A Soccermom]
“8. I can speak in public to a powerful group without putting my gender on trial.”
“9. I am never asked to speak for all the people of my gender.”
“12. I can take a job with an affirmative action employer without having my co-workers on the job suspect that I got it because of my gender.”
The point of the essay is to demonstrate to game designers that there is a reason that a large percentage of gamers is male: because women feel out of place in the community. He asks men to quit being so defensive when points are brought up and to listen to what they’re being told rather than to deny it.
The funny thing about ARGs is that the gaming community is pretty evenly split 50/50 between men and women. I’m not sure what the magic bullet is there. Strong women characters? A welcoming community? I’m sure there’s some good meta discussion material, though.
I’ve been on a major Sue Grafton kick lately. In the past month or so I’ve read all her alphabet series, from A is for Alibi to R is for Ricochet which I finished about 10 minutes ago. I need to pick up a copy of S.
I love her writing. Her metaphors and descriptions are poetic, but realistic. The mysteries are hard-boiled but full of heart. A couple of them have even made me cry. Not that it’s hard to do or anything.
Anyway, in her writing, she manages to touch on all the strange little connections and mindstorms people have while dealing with day to day life, but it all makes sense in context. I’m trying to train myself to remember details. I’d love to be able to write like that.
The weirdest thing happened to me tonight.
About an hour after I ate dinner (Mangia Pizza Jeff’s special stuffed on wheat), I felt like my face was being stung simultaneously by hundreds of bugs. At first I thought it was just me, but after I mentioned it, hub said, “Wow, are you red.” Before it was done, my arms, chest, back, neck, and face were all scarlet.
So I guess I should eat that pizza anymore? Which sucks, because it’s really good. I’ve never had a food reaction like that. Didn’t like it.
1.64 – My GPA when I left UT.
3.32 – My GPA when you take out all the classes I failed because I quit going to them.
192 – The total number of college hours I’ve taken including fails and drops.
60 – The number of college hours I failed because I was too lazy to go.
48 – The number of college hours I dropped.
84 – My number of transferable hours.
120 – The number of hours needed for a degree.
3 – The number of semesters I could conceivably graduate in (although I think 4 is more likely).
I started the application process for St. Edward’s University today. I sent them a transcript and opened an online application. I spoke with one of the New College people on the phone this morning and she said that a 2.0 GPA is required for transfer, but they can and do make exceptions for people like me who screwed around and want another chance as an adult. I need to write an essay about why my grades were so bad and how I’ve changed and submit my resume. The little “I hate authority” hairs are the slightest bit aquiver on the back of my neck, but I certainly don’t blame them, nor do I wish to make any trite excuses. In fact, I hope they’re not as hard on me as I am on myself. I fup duck big time, bad juju. Wasted time, wasted money, wasted respect.
I finally got around to dusting it off and polishing it up.
We went to the Louisiana Swamp Romp today. At the gate there was a security guard. She stopped me and asked to look in my fanny-pack. She was taken aback when I asked, “And what are you looking for?” Her response: “Stuff that shouldn’t be there.”
Thank you for that enlightenment.
Ironically, it could very well have been a concealed carry pack and she never would have known. Not to mention that my husband was carrying both a knife and a gun on his person (legally) and never even got a second look.
Makes me regret not carrying today. Stuff that shouldn’t be there. WTF is that supposed to mean? I don’t know if I’m madder at the mall-ninja for her vague and uber-authoritarian stance or at myself for unzipping the pack and showing her my collection of sunglasses.
If I were carrying in the pack, I wouldn’t have been able legally to show her what was in it. It’s a concealed handgun license for a reason. So what if I had refused? I wonder what she would have done.