Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Death Under the Kitchen Sink
We caught a mouse. The little bugger was in the trap this morning. I checked immediately after I woke up. It was sort of gratifying to actually see the cause of the trouble and know that it was eliminated. But it was also quite sad. The poor brown furry thing was stuck in the trap, dead. I just stood there and stared at it. Then I started to get really sad and had to close the cupboard. I knew I couldn't get rid of it, so I waited until my roommate woke up and asked her remove the mouse. My eyes got teary for a moment as I described to her the situation under the sink. I know it had to be done. Mice are dirty gross disgusting and can't be tolerated. We have scrub the cabinets with bleach. But it was sad to see the mouse in the trap. I hope there won't be any more.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Mouse in the Lazy Susan
There is a mouse in our lazy Susan. More precisely, there was a mouse. It is gone now. I don't know where it went. Perhaps it is traveling through a labyrinth of the backsides of cabinets and the spaces behind walls, nibbling as it goes. It nibbled my macaroni and cheese.
I discovered the mouse this morning. I woke up, drank some water and stumbled to the kitchen. I mixed some oatmeal from a packet and and microwaved it. I sat down on a stool at the counter to eat my warm oatmeal. The sun peeked through the blinds and all was right with the world. A few bites in, a sound came from the cabinet containing the lazy Susan. It sounded like a piece of paper being flicked around in the cabinet. I knew it could only be a mouse (or, more horrifying, mice). I was hit with the irony that this is the nicest apartment I've ever lived in, and yet it is the first one to have a mouse. I walked over to the lazy Susan and spun it around. No mouse. Thank goodness. I hadn't thought about what would happen if the mouse flew out at me. Maybe it wasn't a mouse after all.
I bent down and inspected the cabinet. A bag of popcorn had a ragged hole in the side, and specks of corn littered the bottom of the lazy Susan. I peered into the space behind the Susan. A tiny mouse turd lay on the plywood. In my mind, a tiny swear word rose and emerged softly from my lips. I thought about just closing the cupboard and finishing my oatmeal, but then I decided that my roommate needed to share in my horror and promptly woke her with the news that there was a mouse in the lazy Susan.
Together, we inspected the damage and found more evidence of nibbling. My macaroni and cheese packets had large bite marks in the paper. A corner was missing from her box of taco shells. The mouse could not be denied. I pulled on some jeans and rushed to Wal-Mart for traps, the old-fashioned kind that snap. I set them, nearly snapping off a finger in the process. Two traps sit baited in the lazy Susan, one on the top level and one on the bottom. No carnage has yet occurred. My roommate said lazy Susans are notorious for having mice. You are all forewarned.
I discovered the mouse this morning. I woke up, drank some water and stumbled to the kitchen. I mixed some oatmeal from a packet and and microwaved it. I sat down on a stool at the counter to eat my warm oatmeal. The sun peeked through the blinds and all was right with the world. A few bites in, a sound came from the cabinet containing the lazy Susan. It sounded like a piece of paper being flicked around in the cabinet. I knew it could only be a mouse (or, more horrifying, mice). I was hit with the irony that this is the nicest apartment I've ever lived in, and yet it is the first one to have a mouse. I walked over to the lazy Susan and spun it around. No mouse. Thank goodness. I hadn't thought about what would happen if the mouse flew out at me. Maybe it wasn't a mouse after all.
I bent down and inspected the cabinet. A bag of popcorn had a ragged hole in the side, and specks of corn littered the bottom of the lazy Susan. I peered into the space behind the Susan. A tiny mouse turd lay on the plywood. In my mind, a tiny swear word rose and emerged softly from my lips. I thought about just closing the cupboard and finishing my oatmeal, but then I decided that my roommate needed to share in my horror and promptly woke her with the news that there was a mouse in the lazy Susan.
Together, we inspected the damage and found more evidence of nibbling. My macaroni and cheese packets had large bite marks in the paper. A corner was missing from her box of taco shells. The mouse could not be denied. I pulled on some jeans and rushed to Wal-Mart for traps, the old-fashioned kind that snap. I set them, nearly snapping off a finger in the process. Two traps sit baited in the lazy Susan, one on the top level and one on the bottom. No carnage has yet occurred. My roommate said lazy Susans are notorious for having mice. You are all forewarned.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Do You Want to be a Sex-Kitten?
Most women do, secretly, says Maureen Dowd. We're taught to want that, just as we are conditioned to think feminism is about ugly women who hate men. Lies, all lies. Read this column for some more insight. I don't usually like Maureen Dowd, but I think she nailed it here.
NY Times column
NY Times column
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
King of the Geeks
My professor for Epic Politics in Film is an insane old coot. He is tall and has large nostrils, so everyone can see up his nose as he towers above the class. He has a salt and pepper beard and stands with his hands clasped behind his back. His stomach is round and stretches the fronts of his sweater vests.
Theoretically, the class is about the ways epic films provide us with political myths. Practically, the class is an excuse for the professor to talk about swords, wars, the Lord of the Rings and other topics close to the hearts of geeks everywhere. There are four or five of these geeks in the class. Mostly males, they are the students who scream "Arwen!" in unison if someone has trouble recalling the name of the elf princess. They are not embarrassed by their knowledge, nor reticent about sharing.
My professor revels in this sea of useless trivia. He is the King of the Geeks and presides gloatingly over his geekdom. He asks the class what the design on Frodo's sword looks like, then bellows, "Oh, come on!" when no one has a clue. Sometimes even the other geeks let him down. He watches each film once, then watches it again with the commentary. He loves the commentaries--they drip with geekiness.
I must admit that I am somewhat of a geek. I love the Lord of Rings and have read all the books. I have a subscription to National Geographic. I play sometimes computer games. Yet, I am not in the company of the true geeks, the ones who own a replica of the "one ring" and dream of naming their first-born after a character. My professor named his daughter Arwen. But what else would the King of the Geeks name his princess? As for me, I am content to stay on the fringes of geekiness where I can watch the occasional episode of Days of Our Lives and not feel ashamed.
Theoretically, the class is about the ways epic films provide us with political myths. Practically, the class is an excuse for the professor to talk about swords, wars, the Lord of the Rings and other topics close to the hearts of geeks everywhere. There are four or five of these geeks in the class. Mostly males, they are the students who scream "Arwen!" in unison if someone has trouble recalling the name of the elf princess. They are not embarrassed by their knowledge, nor reticent about sharing.
My professor revels in this sea of useless trivia. He is the King of the Geeks and presides gloatingly over his geekdom. He asks the class what the design on Frodo's sword looks like, then bellows, "Oh, come on!" when no one has a clue. Sometimes even the other geeks let him down. He watches each film once, then watches it again with the commentary. He loves the commentaries--they drip with geekiness.
I must admit that I am somewhat of a geek. I love the Lord of Rings and have read all the books. I have a subscription to National Geographic. I play sometimes computer games. Yet, I am not in the company of the true geeks, the ones who own a replica of the "one ring" and dream of naming their first-born after a character. My professor named his daughter Arwen. But what else would the King of the Geeks name his princess? As for me, I am content to stay on the fringes of geekiness where I can watch the occasional episode of Days of Our Lives and not feel ashamed.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Stranger than Fiction
A bizarre Iowa moment, brought to you by me. If you read nothing else this week, read the story at this link. To understand it properly, you may need to read it twice.
Fairfield Ledger story
Fairfield Ledger story
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Fall is Nice
Ahh, fall. It seems I can't go a year without reflecting on my favorite season. Perhaps I like it because my birthday's in fall. But I don't want to talk about my birthday as I seem to be having a bit of a quarter life crisis. So, I also like fall because of the leaves and the wind and the hot chocolate and sweaters and cornstalks and Halloween cookies and pumpkins and creepy dark evenings. And then in November there's Thanksgiving, a wonderful holiday devoted to food. How can anyone not like fall?
Fall is when good movies start to come out. Only a little over a month until Harry Potter! The only bad thing about fall is that it is cold. I hate being cold. I am cold constantly from mid-October until April. Two years ago my grandma sent me long underwear, and I have big furry boots, but I am still cold. But I guess coldness is a small price to pay for all the other things I love.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
My New Haircut
Just in case you were wondering. I look sort of mad in this picture. Sorry. I like the haircut though.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Mis-takes
I often think back to what Anne Shirley says: "Tomorrow is fresh with no mistakes in it yet." How comforting, especially since I make so many mistakes. And I make the same ones over and over, but at least I know I get another chance tomorrow.
The mistakes range from small to large. For instance, today I dropped a plate holding half a cake I had made. The plate shattered into tiny glass shards, and the cake landed on top of the glass. That was a small, though vexing, mistake.
A larger mistake is ignoring people because I'm too scared to talk to them. This is a mistake I make almost every day. You would think I would learn, and I do. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I can't seem to help it. But at least I get another chance tomorrow. I can have another "take."
Yesterday I made the mistake of eating a piece of leftover pizza before bed.
Tomorrow I'm getting my hair cut--I hope that won't be a mistake.
Smaller mistakes are more obvious. The largest mistakes--a marriage, a job, a life--don't become obvious till much later, if at all. I fear that we are usually oblivious to our worst mistakes while we're making them. So I won't cry over spilled cake. I wish I could say I do the best I can, but at least I get the chance to do better tomorrow.
The mistakes range from small to large. For instance, today I dropped a plate holding half a cake I had made. The plate shattered into tiny glass shards, and the cake landed on top of the glass. That was a small, though vexing, mistake.
A larger mistake is ignoring people because I'm too scared to talk to them. This is a mistake I make almost every day. You would think I would learn, and I do. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I can't seem to help it. But at least I get another chance tomorrow. I can have another "take."
Yesterday I made the mistake of eating a piece of leftover pizza before bed.
Tomorrow I'm getting my hair cut--I hope that won't be a mistake.
Smaller mistakes are more obvious. The largest mistakes--a marriage, a job, a life--don't become obvious till much later, if at all. I fear that we are usually oblivious to our worst mistakes while we're making them. So I won't cry over spilled cake. I wish I could say I do the best I can, but at least I get the chance to do better tomorrow.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Blog Anniversary
This blog is one year old! Hooray!
What have I learned in a year? Quite a bit about journalism. I've learned how hard it is, how bad it sometimes is, and how good it can be. I've learned objectivity is an illusion, but still a goal, much as living a sin-free life is an illusion but something we still strive for.
This blog is called "My Iowa." I know I still love Iowa. It's not that I think it's the best place, or the most beautiful, or even that I want to live here forever. The fact is, I have a relationship with it. I'm just that kind of person. My year makes sense because I know when it's time for the fuzzy caterpillars and when the first snow is likely to fall. If I go a year without seeing the monarch butterflies that show up in late September, I am sad. A golden-brown bean field on the side of a hill is happiness, and home. Can soil and air seep into our DNA over the generations? I doubt it, but it does seem possible.
I've learned you can't explain everything to everyone. Some things are intuitive. The answers to some questions are both yes and no. Don't worry--I've not gone relativistic. It's just that I'm starting to get old enough to not be self-righteous anymore.
For me, believing whole-heartedly in something makes it easier to hear criticism of that thing, because I know in the end it can weather that criticism. So whether it's journalism, my home state, or my faith, I know what I believe in can take whatever you have to dish out. I've heard it all before. I'm even comfortable pointing out flaws in the things I love. I know nothing's perfect, but I also know when to stop apologizing.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Why I Love the Olive Garden
The Olive Garden: When you're here, you're family. Those words are not an empty promise. I've always liked the Olive Garden, but this week I realized just how marvelous it is. I know they are a chain restaurant, and some people look down their noses at chains, but that is snobbish and unfair. Not only is their food delicious, they have a wonderful "To Go" service.
Yesterday, after a long day of classes and work, I was starving. The thought of going home and reheating chicken casserole made me weary. "What I'd really like," I thought to myself, "is the Olive Garden." So I looked up their web site, found the number and proceeded to order myself a fettuccini alfredo dinner. I zipped over to pick it up twenty minutes later and found that ordering food to go from the Olive Garden has many benefits.
1. I received a dish of fettuccini roughly the size of a wheel cover.
2. I received a bin of salad the size of a medium shoebox.
3. Two lovely warm breadsticks.
4. An after-dinner mint.
5. All of these things were packed inside a large brown bag such as you receive at better retail stores. Handy for moving.
6. There were reserved parking spots just for people picking up orders.
7. The staff are friendly and exude charm just like in the commercials.
8. All of this could be had for only $8.75
Dear friends, if you can tell me of a time when you have received such wonderful service and value at a restaurant, I would be glad to hear it. But for now, the Olive Garden is my Jane Austen of restaurants--reliable, fulfilling and oh so flavorful.
Yesterday, after a long day of classes and work, I was starving. The thought of going home and reheating chicken casserole made me weary. "What I'd really like," I thought to myself, "is the Olive Garden." So I looked up their web site, found the number and proceeded to order myself a fettuccini alfredo dinner. I zipped over to pick it up twenty minutes later and found that ordering food to go from the Olive Garden has many benefits.
1. I received a dish of fettuccini roughly the size of a wheel cover.
2. I received a bin of salad the size of a medium shoebox.
3. Two lovely warm breadsticks.
4. An after-dinner mint.
5. All of these things were packed inside a large brown bag such as you receive at better retail stores. Handy for moving.
6. There were reserved parking spots just for people picking up orders.
7. The staff are friendly and exude charm just like in the commercials.
8. All of this could be had for only $8.75
Dear friends, if you can tell me of a time when you have received such wonderful service and value at a restaurant, I would be glad to hear it. But for now, the Olive Garden is my Jane Austen of restaurants--reliable, fulfilling and oh so flavorful.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Really? You don't say.
It's been said that the only thing people really like to read about is other people. Or, if it hasn't been said, I'm saying it now. We particularly like to read intimate details about other people's lives. So, I will indulge you. I've been on a campaign to be more social. The going is slow, but things are progressing. The fact that I have to make an effort to be nice to people should tell you a lot about me right off. It's not that I mean to be rude, at least not usually. I am just of a formal nature. I can't walk up to people and say things like, "Tom! What's going on? You are such a stranger--haven't seen you around the building." That would be impossible.
I am, however, working on saying things like this: "Hello Tom, how are you? That's good. How did the reporting assignment go?" But, the one thing I think I have going for me is that I am a sympathetic listener. At least, I can be if I turn it on. I widen my eyes, open my mouth a little and stare at the person, frequently furrowing my brows and nodding. I can look very interested and empathetic. People like that. Especially men. They like to have someone's rapt attention. This trick works in lectures, too. Professors always remember me.
I am always worried I will talk to people too long and they will wish I would go. It's odd that the thing I am afraid of is the thing I am least likely to do. Hmm, self-revelation is a good thing.
My friend Stephanie tells me I need to look people in the eye and smile. I'm trying. I guess I'm afraid people won't smile back. But I have a goal. My lofty goal is to become an inviting, warm and friendly person. I am well on my way with the sympathetic listening technique.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
A Fine and Joyful Day
Today I got to wake up and wash my face. I had the privilege of eating a bowl of muesli for breakfast and chasing it with some filtered water. I had the distinct satisfaction of choosing an outfit from many colorful options. The bus graciously came to pick me up, and I was allowed to interact with other humans. I enjoyed the benefits of a public university, including lovely grounds and buildings. I was blessed with a tuna sandwich for lunch--it even had little onions cut up in it. The bus picked me up again (glorious convenience!) and I arrived home to bountiful technology and peaceful solitude until leaving for work in my fine automobile. When I get home again, I will indulge in a fantastic chocolate brownie, watch a fine television program and, finally, retire for slumber on my excellent Lebeda mattress.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Literal Answers to Advertising
"What would you do for a Klondike bar?" -- Nothing. The hard chocolate tastes funny and the ice cream is like snow.
"Just do it." -- What exactly? Become a professional athlete? Buy sneakers with gigantic rubber soles?
"Got milk?" -- No, I've not recently given birth.
"Say it with flowers." -- Well, then, I'll need 2,000 gardenias, 1,800 roses and about 5,000 carnations. Oh, and I'll need a vacant football field.
"Just do it." -- What exactly? Become a professional athlete? Buy sneakers with gigantic rubber soles?
"Got milk?" -- No, I've not recently given birth.
"Say it with flowers." -- Well, then, I'll need 2,000 gardenias, 1,800 roses and about 5,000 carnations. Oh, and I'll need a vacant football field.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Echo Boom
I am on the cusp of a generation. So are you, if you were born in 1980-82. You are the very beginning of Gen-Y, otherwise known as the Echo Boomers because we are children of Baby Boomers. I am part of the oldest segment of Gen Y. We are beginning to stream into the work force (though I haven't joined up yet). People who do studies say a lot of things about us. Check out this 60 Minutes piece.
We are optimistic! Yay, I like that.
We have been sheltered. Hmm, yes I suppose so. Hence our optimism.
We don't want our work to define us as it may have our parents. I agree. Plus, we never had to work very hard for anything, so work isn't very high on our priority list.
So far, we seem like happy, sheltered Hobbits, blissfully unaware of life's misfortunes. I think that's about right.
We are rumored to be more like our grandparents than our parents. We aren't rebels. We value family and are marrying earlier (some of us anyway). Heck, we're even friends with our parents. We don't protest, we fit in to the system. We are basically followers. But, I'm sure there are some leaders out there somewhere.
We are optimistic! Yay, I like that.
We have been sheltered. Hmm, yes I suppose so. Hence our optimism.
We don't want our work to define us as it may have our parents. I agree. Plus, we never had to work very hard for anything, so work isn't very high on our priority list.
So far, we seem like happy, sheltered Hobbits, blissfully unaware of life's misfortunes. I think that's about right.
We are rumored to be more like our grandparents than our parents. We aren't rebels. We value family and are marrying earlier (some of us anyway). Heck, we're even friends with our parents. We don't protest, we fit in to the system. We are basically followers. But, I'm sure there are some leaders out there somewhere.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Lists (Relating to Broadway Songs)
"A Few of My Favorite Things"
marinara sauce
television
reading in bed
men in crisp collared shirts
the smell of rain on cement
getting home after a long day
Why "I Enjoy Being a Girl"
can have long fluffy hair and not be gross
wearing pretty dresses
(it's hard to make this list and not seem like hopeless 50s-style repressed woman, but I do like those things.)
I sometimes like to have doors held open, etc., but hardly any guys do that anymore, so not quite the bonus it used to be.
"Memory"
I remember when my little sister was born, and I was excited because my mom gave me a new Teddy-bear so I wouldn't feel left out.
I remember getting my first tooth pulled when I was seven, and I refused to open my mouth for the novacaine shots. The dentist assured me it wouldn't hurt, and I believed him like an idiot. I opened my mouth and it hurt like heck.
I remember in fifth grade when I sent away for a list of all the endangered wildlife species, then brought it to class and the teacher let me present it to everyone. I can't believe how uncool I was.
I remember my first day of college when I had to play some stupid game with toilet paper and thinking that civilization was really going downhill fast.
I remember I was so happy on my 22nd birthday because my friends James and Jodi baked a cake with my name on it in blue frosting.
marinara sauce
television
reading in bed
men in crisp collared shirts
the smell of rain on cement
getting home after a long day
Why "I Enjoy Being a Girl"
can have long fluffy hair and not be gross
wearing pretty dresses
(it's hard to make this list and not seem like hopeless 50s-style repressed woman, but I do like those things.)
I sometimes like to have doors held open, etc., but hardly any guys do that anymore, so not quite the bonus it used to be.
"Memory"
I remember when my little sister was born, and I was excited because my mom gave me a new Teddy-bear so I wouldn't feel left out.
I remember getting my first tooth pulled when I was seven, and I refused to open my mouth for the novacaine shots. The dentist assured me it wouldn't hurt, and I believed him like an idiot. I opened my mouth and it hurt like heck.
I remember in fifth grade when I sent away for a list of all the endangered wildlife species, then brought it to class and the teacher let me present it to everyone. I can't believe how uncool I was.
I remember my first day of college when I had to play some stupid game with toilet paper and thinking that civilization was really going downhill fast.
I remember I was so happy on my 22nd birthday because my friends James and Jodi baked a cake with my name on it in blue frosting.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
An Imagined Conversation between J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis
"So, J.R.R., how are the hobbers coming?"
"I've told you a million times--it's hobbits! Hobbits!"
"Sorry, sorry. Now, I imagine them as similar to dwarves. Is that what you had in mind?"
"Well, Jack, no. Dwarves live underground, in the mines. Hobbits live in hobbit holes! Like ground hogs."
"Quite, quite. Did I mention I've added a wicked queen to Narnia? She's an ice queen--I modeled her after that testy librarian."
"Yes, I know exactly who you mean! Always grimaces when I hand her a book, as if I've soiled it somehow by touching it."
"You have elves in your story don't you? I can't decide if I need them or not. Narnia doesn't seem elf-friendly. Plus, they get on my nerves--so jolly and smiling all the time."
"No, no, no. I've got elves, Jack, but they are solemn. Solemn I tell you! No one in my story is jolly except the hobbits. They're a bit like retards, really. Playing in the garden, believing whatever anyone tells them."
"I see. I have to say, this whole fantasy story business is merely a way to pass the time until I find myself a foxy lady."
"I agree completely, dear chap."
"I've told you a million times--it's hobbits! Hobbits!"
"Sorry, sorry. Now, I imagine them as similar to dwarves. Is that what you had in mind?"
"Well, Jack, no. Dwarves live underground, in the mines. Hobbits live in hobbit holes! Like ground hogs."
"Quite, quite. Did I mention I've added a wicked queen to Narnia? She's an ice queen--I modeled her after that testy librarian."
"Yes, I know exactly who you mean! Always grimaces when I hand her a book, as if I've soiled it somehow by touching it."
"You have elves in your story don't you? I can't decide if I need them or not. Narnia doesn't seem elf-friendly. Plus, they get on my nerves--so jolly and smiling all the time."
"No, no, no. I've got elves, Jack, but they are solemn. Solemn I tell you! No one in my story is jolly except the hobbits. They're a bit like retards, really. Playing in the garden, believing whatever anyone tells them."
"I see. I have to say, this whole fantasy story business is merely a way to pass the time until I find myself a foxy lady."
"I agree completely, dear chap."
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
A Critical Look at Iowa City
Overall, Iowa City is a nice town. I don't think I'd want to live here forever, but if I had to I probably wouldn't hate it. Here are the good things:
The downtown has many shops and restaurants that I like.
The river is pretty and there are lots of trees.
There are bike lanes and paths all around.
There are cultural events and so on.
The bus service is good.
Hy-Vee (I could do a separate entry on why I like Hy-Vee, but that's another blog.)
Banana split hot chocolate at the Java House.
Close to open green spaces and not smoggy.
Things that are not so good:
Students overrun everything: the parking, the post office, the bars.
Drunk people in general.
Coral Ridge Mall feels like an airplane hanger.
Not too many great jobs outside of healthcare.
A general air of pretension.
People pan-handling all the time.
Still a lot of people driving poorly in pick-up trucks. (If you own a pick-up, I mean no offense to you. But, I see many people in pick-ups who think they can drive either very fast or very slow and not be courteous to other drivers. I don't know if rude people are attracted to pick-ups or if driving pick-ups makes a person rude.)
The downtown has many shops and restaurants that I like.
The river is pretty and there are lots of trees.
There are bike lanes and paths all around.
There are cultural events and so on.
The bus service is good.
Hy-Vee (I could do a separate entry on why I like Hy-Vee, but that's another blog.)
Banana split hot chocolate at the Java House.
Close to open green spaces and not smoggy.
Things that are not so good:
Students overrun everything: the parking, the post office, the bars.
Drunk people in general.
Coral Ridge Mall feels like an airplane hanger.
Not too many great jobs outside of healthcare.
A general air of pretension.
People pan-handling all the time.
Still a lot of people driving poorly in pick-up trucks. (If you own a pick-up, I mean no offense to you. But, I see many people in pick-ups who think they can drive either very fast or very slow and not be courteous to other drivers. I don't know if rude people are attracted to pick-ups or if driving pick-ups makes a person rude.)
Monday, August 29, 2005
Things I Think are Strange in a Slightly Amusing Way
Girls who wear gym shorts and an old T-shirt to class but at the same time have their hair curled and are wearing full makeup.
How everyone has to sit next to strangers on the bus, yet never speak to them but in fact pretend they don't exist.
How the subject of an email I got was "Ladies coffee night next Wednesday," and the email managed to work in the word ladies four more times.
The book, The Epic Hero by Dean Miller. It's so terrible and pretentious that it is hilarious to read. But I don't recommend it unless you are very pretentious yourself. I actually hate it.
Straws. Aren't they funny?
How everyone has to sit next to strangers on the bus, yet never speak to them but in fact pretend they don't exist.
How the subject of an email I got was "Ladies coffee night next Wednesday," and the email managed to work in the word ladies four more times.
The book, The Epic Hero by Dean Miller. It's so terrible and pretentious that it is hilarious to read. But I don't recommend it unless you are very pretentious yourself. I actually hate it.
Straws. Aren't they funny?
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