WARNING: this will be an un-fun, thinky post.
I've been thinking a lot this weekend about age - which is funny, because in general I don't. At all.
On the one hand, I've learned things about people older than me which suddenly and momentarily made me feel the full gap in our ages. C.S. Lewis wrote about a woman who measured age in experience; whenever she learned something new about the world, she would say that she had been made older. So, when I learn of something, you know, intensely grown-up about someone (say, they've got a kid, or they're having a house built to their specifications), it's as if, in my mind, they've been made older by the revelation. (However, learning these things also teaches me that you can be the kind of person who has a kid or builds a house, and you can still be the same person who has the ability to befriend li'l me; in other words, I am "made older" as well. But still, I feel much younger than the person with the experience.)
On the other hand, I tried to clean out my closet at my parents', which made me feel as though I've lived forever (or that I'm a hopeless packrat). Look at all these years upon interminable years, straining against the white-painted wooden doors, threatening to break them with the sheer mass of stored, forgotten stuff, the very chaff of my living! (Perhaps I should have added "overblown prose" to the warning at the top.) It seems obvious to say that I'm the oldest I've ever been, but sifting through the papers and clothes and cassette tapes and hand-glazed ceramic ducks of my youth made me feel it. (Even the tennis racket from the abortive attempt at gym class senior year in college is already more than two years old.)
All this thinking has served to convince me of what I already knew: that age means pretty much jack.
6.26.2005
6.13.2005
The flip side ...
One of my favorite comedians, Isaac Witty, does a joke about how he walked into a fast-food restaurant and the girl behind the counter said something absurd to him. He riffs on it for a while, and then he says, "Since you're such a great audience, I'm going to tell that joke again ... but from the point of view of the girl behind the counter." And then he does it all over again, but backwards.
Watch out ... there's an awkward segue coming up.
This weekend, fate decided that since my car was such a great audience for the accident I was in, she'd repeat it ... but from the point of view of the car doing the hitting.
(I rear-ended another car - get it?)
See, I was driving home from flag football, and there's this part where you merge from Beechmont Circle onto Beechmont proper; you have to yield. The woman in front of me was stopped, but there was a big gap in traffic, so she was going. I looked behind me to see when I would be able to go, too. I turned back around ...
Nope. She hadn't gone.
THUNK. (I wrote CRASH for the last one; it somehow sounds different when you know it's coming. Plus, I was going much slower than the girl who hit me was going.)
No one was hurt.
Carrie and Melvin were there, and they stopped and stayed with me - which really meant a lot to me. Thanks, guys. :)
The woman was extra-nice; I was a wreck. (That pun is unintentional, and I mean that - unklike the people who giggle "pun not intended" but do intend it, oh do they ever intend it.) She called the police, who said they would be an extra-long time coming and why don't we just exchange information and file the reports on our own? (When I called District 2 an hour later, the officer said we really should have waited for them to show up. Thanks, guys. Good help.)
Her car (a sensible beige 1998 Camry) might not even be damaged - it could have scratches, but all I saw at the time was that the paint from my Columbia Hyundai license-plate frame had managed to transfer itself onto her rear bumper, making a bright blue mirror image on the pale paint. She might not bother to have it repaired, if it even needs to be repaired.
My car's front bumper and grille are dented inward ever so slightly, making it look as though the hood has an overbite. It would be cute if it were Jon Heder and not a Hyundai hatchback.
The silver lining is that I already have an appointment with the body shop to get the back of my car fixed, so I called them up today, told them my funny, funny story and set it up so the whole thing will be fixed at once. Two birds, one rental car.
The only question is how to keep my rates from skyrocketing...
Watch out ... there's an awkward segue coming up.
This weekend, fate decided that since my car was such a great audience for the accident I was in, she'd repeat it ... but from the point of view of the car doing the hitting.
(I rear-ended another car - get it?)
See, I was driving home from flag football, and there's this part where you merge from Beechmont Circle onto Beechmont proper; you have to yield. The woman in front of me was stopped, but there was a big gap in traffic, so she was going. I looked behind me to see when I would be able to go, too. I turned back around ...
Nope. She hadn't gone.
THUNK. (I wrote CRASH for the last one; it somehow sounds different when you know it's coming. Plus, I was going much slower than the girl who hit me was going.)
No one was hurt.
Carrie and Melvin were there, and they stopped and stayed with me - which really meant a lot to me. Thanks, guys. :)
The woman was extra-nice; I was a wreck. (That pun is unintentional, and I mean that - unklike the people who giggle "pun not intended" but do intend it, oh do they ever intend it.) She called the police, who said they would be an extra-long time coming and why don't we just exchange information and file the reports on our own? (When I called District 2 an hour later, the officer said we really should have waited for them to show up. Thanks, guys. Good help.)
Her car (a sensible beige 1998 Camry) might not even be damaged - it could have scratches, but all I saw at the time was that the paint from my Columbia Hyundai license-plate frame had managed to transfer itself onto her rear bumper, making a bright blue mirror image on the pale paint. She might not bother to have it repaired, if it even needs to be repaired.
My car's front bumper and grille are dented inward ever so slightly, making it look as though the hood has an overbite. It would be cute if it were Jon Heder and not a Hyundai hatchback.
The silver lining is that I already have an appointment with the body shop to get the back of my car fixed, so I called them up today, told them my funny, funny story and set it up so the whole thing will be fixed at once. Two birds, one rental car.
The only question is how to keep my rates from skyrocketing...
6.03.2005
It's probably because I clicked "Strongly agree" to "I would hate to fall into a volcano ... again."
Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
6.02.2005
New music obsession
For the past few days, "The Origin of Love" from Hedwig and the Angry Inch has just been haunting me. It's gorgeous and tragic and creates a whole new mythology, which I can always get behind.
I really need to watch the movie again...
I really need to watch the movie again...
5.28.2005
Radio Free Whatever
Eileen's ruminations on the sadness of the Cincinnati radio dial reminded me of made me think of this story (from the Hegemo) about this "pirate" radio station that was "interrupting" Clear Channel brodcasts in the Akron area and broadcasting "anti-corporate-radio" messages?
The reason "pirate," "interrupting" and "anti-corporate-radio" are in quotes is because some people on the WOXY message boards snooped around and discovered the "pirate" Web site was in fact owned by Clear Channel. It's some sort of guerilla marketing scheme, I guess. Which is kind of lame and disheartning.
Now the WOXY members have taken up residence at the Radio Free Ohio message boards (which have been delinked from the site but are still active) and send periodic messages to the effect of, "We know what you're up to, Clear Channel, and we're WAY too indie to let you get away with it! We are soooo cool and awesome, we have nothing better to do than hang out on message boards congratulating ourselves." Which is also kind of lame and disheartening.
UPDATE. Links fixed/added.
The reason "pirate," "interrupting" and "anti-corporate-radio" are in quotes is because some people on the WOXY message boards snooped around and discovered the "pirate" Web site was in fact owned by Clear Channel. It's some sort of guerilla marketing scheme, I guess. Which is kind of lame and disheartning.
Now the WOXY members have taken up residence at the Radio Free Ohio message boards (which have been delinked from the site but are still active) and send periodic messages to the effect of, "We know what you're up to, Clear Channel, and we're WAY too indie to let you get away with it! We are soooo cool and awesome, we have nothing better to do than hang out on message boards congratulating ourselves." Which is also kind of lame and disheartening.
UPDATE. Links fixed/added.
Taste of Cincinnati = WOO!
Would you believe I've lived in this town 12 years and had never been to a Taste of Cincinnati? Until today, that is. I worked at the CiN booth (and sneaked some free drinks) from 3 to 6, then hung around and made a pest of myself (and sneaked a few more drinks) until about 10.
The verdict? Tonnes of fun. I might have to go back tomorrow to try some of the stuff I missed (like the Best Damn Dish, that soup from Arloi Dee. I'm not going to attempt to spell it). But here's a rundown of what I did sample:
- Black and bleu tuna salad (Indigo): This was a delicious blend of tuna chunks, bleu cheese, lettuce and some sort of vinaigrette. It was pretty small for the price, but I kinda prefer it that way, so I don't fill up on just one dish.
- Pineapple fritters (Ron's Roost): Deliciously greasy! I think I gained half a pound with each bite.
- Reuben wonton (Holy Grail): Great - like an eggroll, but filled with corned beef and sauerkraut. Mmmm ... salty. The Holy Grail guy told me they hand-wrap them - as if there's someplace where Reuben wontons are sold in bulk.
- Chicken and teriyaki steak (Melting Pot): I always love the Melting Pot, and this was no exception. Eating just a bite of their little fondue bits made me want to go there again, which I guess is the point. I was explaining to Jeff (friend, Enquirer-mate, fellow foodie) how Melting Pot meals work: how each table has a built-in hot-plate, and each course is a different fondue, and you cook your meat in boiling water (or chicken stock, or simmering wine) right there at the table. Awesome.
- Water (Cincinnati Water Works): Ahhh. Water. Four billion years old, yet still so refreshing. And this particular water was free, free, free!
- Meatball on a stick (Bella Luna): The flavor was fine, but I gotta say, I've had better meatballs. The texture was what got me on this one: I'm used to ground-beef meatballs that my teeth slice through easily. This meatball was tough, kind of like sausage. I don't think I'd order it.
- Raspberry cloud cake (Courtyard Cafe): $3 got Jeff a hefty slice of this vanilla-ice-cream-raspberry-sorbet-Oreo-crust confection, so I generously offered to help him eat it. I'm so selfless.
Oh, yeah, the bands were rockin', too. More on that later, maybe.
The verdict? Tonnes of fun. I might have to go back tomorrow to try some of the stuff I missed (like the Best Damn Dish, that soup from Arloi Dee. I'm not going to attempt to spell it). But here's a rundown of what I did sample:
- Black and bleu tuna salad (Indigo): This was a delicious blend of tuna chunks, bleu cheese, lettuce and some sort of vinaigrette. It was pretty small for the price, but I kinda prefer it that way, so I don't fill up on just one dish.
- Pineapple fritters (Ron's Roost): Deliciously greasy! I think I gained half a pound with each bite.
- Reuben wonton (Holy Grail): Great - like an eggroll, but filled with corned beef and sauerkraut. Mmmm ... salty. The Holy Grail guy told me they hand-wrap them - as if there's someplace where Reuben wontons are sold in bulk.
- Chicken and teriyaki steak (Melting Pot): I always love the Melting Pot, and this was no exception. Eating just a bite of their little fondue bits made me want to go there again, which I guess is the point. I was explaining to Jeff (friend, Enquirer-mate, fellow foodie) how Melting Pot meals work: how each table has a built-in hot-plate, and each course is a different fondue, and you cook your meat in boiling water (or chicken stock, or simmering wine) right there at the table. Awesome.
- Water (Cincinnati Water Works): Ahhh. Water. Four billion years old, yet still so refreshing. And this particular water was free, free, free!
- Meatball on a stick (Bella Luna): The flavor was fine, but I gotta say, I've had better meatballs. The texture was what got me on this one: I'm used to ground-beef meatballs that my teeth slice through easily. This meatball was tough, kind of like sausage. I don't think I'd order it.
- Raspberry cloud cake (Courtyard Cafe): $3 got Jeff a hefty slice of this vanilla-ice-cream-raspberry-sorbet-Oreo-crust confection, so I generously offered to help him eat it. I'm so selfless.
Oh, yeah, the bands were rockin', too. More on that later, maybe.
5.18.2005
Wow - someone else shares my obsession with weather!
I'm a weather-phile. I'm addicted to the Weather Channel*, and I love checking Weather.com for stuff like the average temperature ... during the month of February ... in Sri Lanka. I love watching clouds move from west to east. I have a favorite front. It's an occluded front, which involves a mass of cold air actually wrapping itself around a mass of hot air to form a tasty burrito of atmosphere.
So imagine my joy to discover (via That Really Chaps My Ass!) the incredible Weatherpixie.com. See, this little Java thingy searches the latest weather data for your area and represents it graphically. So you get a little picture that shows what kind of weather you're having, plus (and this is the awesome part) the type of clothing you'll probably want to wear. I of course added one to my sidebar immediately.
My pixie is subject to change - she may go goth. Goth is fun.
* In college, I dated a guy whose roommate would "relax" by watching the Weather Channel on mute with classical music blaring on the stereo. My then-boyfriend described this fellow as being "wound pretty tight."
So imagine my joy to discover (via That Really Chaps My Ass!) the incredible Weatherpixie.com. See, this little Java thingy searches the latest weather data for your area and represents it graphically. So you get a little picture that shows what kind of weather you're having, plus (and this is the awesome part) the type of clothing you'll probably want to wear. I of course added one to my sidebar immediately.
My pixie is subject to change - she may go goth. Goth is fun.
* In college, I dated a guy whose roommate would "relax" by watching the Weather Channel on mute with classical music blaring on the stereo. My then-boyfriend described this fellow as being "wound pretty tight."
5.17.2005
My car is 31 days old.
I'm driving to meet my dad at the park so we can run ... ish. We do this thing where we run a minute, walk a minute, rinse and repeat. None of this is really relevant.
I'm talking with my friend Neil on the phone, and he's on his way from Columbus to Indianapolis for a date, because I guess he was just like, "Hmm. Well, I've finished studying for finals. Guess I'll go to Indy for a few hours." This isn't relevant either.
I'm on Fifth, and I've already been stuck behind this crazy bus, and the light in front of me is turning yellow. "Crap, red light," I say and slow to a stop, thinking that I might need to call my dad to tell him that I'm going to be late, which is too bad, because I'm always late and I hate disappointing -
CRASH.
The phone is knocked from my hand. I scream.
I don't seem to be hurt. What the hell; I scream again.
The car is still running. I get out and walk over to the automobile that has popped the cherry of my very first car, ruined its pristine surface. I am shaking. I've had to buy gasoline only twice.
The driver of the other car is a girl, possibly Indian, not much older than me. On autopilot, I shake her hand and tell her that I bought my car four weeks ago. She asks me if I'm OK. I am - at least in the way she means.
People on the sidewalk are staring, yelling something about my Hyundai. Later, I will imagine they are yelling compliments - saying how well my little hatchback (which has only a dented bumper) fared against the other girl's big Ford sedan (whose hood is bent and whose front end seems pretty banged-up). This will comfort me later. Right now, I can't think.
The girl suggests we pull off the road and exchange information. I agree and walk back to my car. The people on the sidewalk scream, "DON'T DO IT!" I look over; a man with a grey beard explains: "If you move, then it's like it never happened! You gotta get the cops here!"
"The cops" - first an officer on a bicycle, then one on a motorcycle - arrive almost as soon as the man finishes speaking. They ask what happened. I tell them I stopped for a red light, and next thing I knew ... They can see the rest.
They direct us to a spot at the side of the road, where I give the motorcycle cop (the bike cop seems to have moved on to other matters) my papers. I think to myself, "Thank God I registered on Saturday. Thank God I have current insurance!" When the officer asks me if my car is a 2005 model, I tell him I bought it a month ago.
I call my dad. We cancel our running plans.
The officer hands me back my license and papers and tells me I can wait for the police report to get the girl's information, or I can exchange it with her on my own. I'd prefer to get it done now. I write down anything I can think of that she might want.
The cop is still talking to the other girl, so I call Neil - who is understandably terrified - to say, "I'm fine, I'm not hurt, I'll call you back."
"OK, you should call your parents -"
"I already did." Click.
The cop finally finishes talking to the other girl (she was being cited, I think), and I go over and give her my information. She suggests I come sit in her car. She seems like a nice person (other than the whole rear-ending thing), but I am uncomfortable sitting in her car. She almost doesn't give me her insurance information. While we are sitting in her car I see a Jeep in the next lane slam on its brakes and stop inches from the car in front of it.
We are finally finished, and I go to the policeman to see what we need to do. He explains about the Hall of Records, tells me I should be fine to drive (and tells the other girl to take it slow and maybe not drive on highways because of her bent-up hood), and says we can both go.
I don't really have an ending to this story, except that my parents bought me dinner, which was nice of them.
I'm talking with my friend Neil on the phone, and he's on his way from Columbus to Indianapolis for a date, because I guess he was just like, "Hmm. Well, I've finished studying for finals. Guess I'll go to Indy for a few hours." This isn't relevant either.
I'm on Fifth, and I've already been stuck behind this crazy bus, and the light in front of me is turning yellow. "Crap, red light," I say and slow to a stop, thinking that I might need to call my dad to tell him that I'm going to be late, which is too bad, because I'm always late and I hate disappointing -
CRASH.
The phone is knocked from my hand. I scream.
I don't seem to be hurt. What the hell; I scream again.
The car is still running. I get out and walk over to the automobile that has popped the cherry of my very first car, ruined its pristine surface. I am shaking. I've had to buy gasoline only twice.
The driver of the other car is a girl, possibly Indian, not much older than me. On autopilot, I shake her hand and tell her that I bought my car four weeks ago. She asks me if I'm OK. I am - at least in the way she means.
People on the sidewalk are staring, yelling something about my Hyundai. Later, I will imagine they are yelling compliments - saying how well my little hatchback (which has only a dented bumper) fared against the other girl's big Ford sedan (whose hood is bent and whose front end seems pretty banged-up). This will comfort me later. Right now, I can't think.
The girl suggests we pull off the road and exchange information. I agree and walk back to my car. The people on the sidewalk scream, "DON'T DO IT!" I look over; a man with a grey beard explains: "If you move, then it's like it never happened! You gotta get the cops here!"
"The cops" - first an officer on a bicycle, then one on a motorcycle - arrive almost as soon as the man finishes speaking. They ask what happened. I tell them I stopped for a red light, and next thing I knew ... They can see the rest.
They direct us to a spot at the side of the road, where I give the motorcycle cop (the bike cop seems to have moved on to other matters) my papers. I think to myself, "Thank God I registered on Saturday. Thank God I have current insurance!" When the officer asks me if my car is a 2005 model, I tell him I bought it a month ago.
I call my dad. We cancel our running plans.
The officer hands me back my license and papers and tells me I can wait for the police report to get the girl's information, or I can exchange it with her on my own. I'd prefer to get it done now. I write down anything I can think of that she might want.
The cop is still talking to the other girl, so I call Neil - who is understandably terrified - to say, "I'm fine, I'm not hurt, I'll call you back."
"OK, you should call your parents -"
"I already did." Click.
The cop finally finishes talking to the other girl (she was being cited, I think), and I go over and give her my information. She suggests I come sit in her car. She seems like a nice person (other than the whole rear-ending thing), but I am uncomfortable sitting in her car. She almost doesn't give me her insurance information. While we are sitting in her car I see a Jeep in the next lane slam on its brakes and stop inches from the car in front of it.
We are finally finished, and I go to the policeman to see what we need to do. He explains about the Hall of Records, tells me I should be fine to drive (and tells the other girl to take it slow and maybe not drive on highways because of her bent-up hood), and says we can both go.
I don't really have an ending to this story, except that my parents bought me dinner, which was nice of them.
5.13.2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)