My blog totally sucks now (Like it didn’t before!) and I have no intention of correcting that. I’m completely disinterested in everything going on around me these days. I just want to know where I’m moving, and then I want to move there. This is the world’s stupidest process.
While I’m here, though, I might as well give an endorsement to forums of City-Data.com. It’s where I’ve learned everything I know about safe neighborhoods in
When I started hearing that people were receiving grad school responses the first week of February, it threw off my worrying schedule. When I’d sent in my applications in December, I’d planned to not give it any thought until at least the END of February, at which time I would be unable to do anything but worry. The worrying came early, though, when online discussion boards started having posts of acceptances and rejections.
Well, now it really IS the end of February (or, as my daughter spelled it in church yesterday, Febwuawe—and I give her mad props for including the first W, since most people ignore that noise and say it like it’s spelled Febuary) and I feel completely justified in my worrying.
The only update, so far, is that I’ve been accepted at
As the week progresses, I might have more updates, but so far, this is it.
Northeastern University: ACCEPTED
University of Illinois-Chicago: unknown
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee: unknown
My horoscope made me sad today. It concluded with “fix up your study room.”
If only I had a study room, stars! Or if I at least had a turned-over orange crate inside an empty Dumpster. I have nothing and that worries me for next year (if there is a next year in my academic career).
In January 2007 we got bunk beds and moved Articulate Joe into Crazy Jane’s room. The other room was supposed to become the office. Instead it became the “office/playroom,” which our kids never called anything but the “slash playroom.” Using the room for an office required hours of cleaning up toys, which means it was never used as an office. In January 2008 it became Baby X’s bedroom.
When I was at BYU just about every building had comfortable places to sit. I remember doing homework and reading in a second floor lounge area of the
When I tried to satisfy my private study craving with a Google image search, I came across this article, which must have originated in a foreign language before being translated by a computer program. Even with these language problems, though, I think I can relate to this quote: “His reference like this, did we need only a reading room in the corner of the room but still was related to the activity of the other room, or we really needed a place to isolate himself, relax, and concentrate on running away from the everyday activity fatigue, also to keep our collection of the family’s book?” If only I had somewhere to run away from the everyday activity fatigue.
Remember that awesome story I had about being too stupid to tell time, and how it ruined my weekend? I guess I’m going to have to come to terms with the fact that I have anxiety. I don’t think it’s enough to be a disorder or anything, but uncertain situations or important events distract me. I can’t perform normal tasks and I can’t sleep. The only times I remember having this problem as a child was twice a year, the night before school started and Christmas Eve. This went away as a teenager, but that might have been for other reasons. Regardless, or irrespective, but not irregardless, my graduate school applications are taking a toll.
When I sent in my applications I thought it was going to be a rough two months, but really everything went pretty well because I thought decisions wouldn’t start coming out until the beginning of March. Then I found out that some decisions were out the first week of February. Of course, many of those schools had December deadlines, and none of my applications had deadlines before January, but now that some people are starting to find out what they’re doing next year, I am worrying about what I’m doing.
This means I can’t concentrate at work, or at school, or at home, or lying in bed at night. All I can do is watch the clock. How did I become a worrier? I blame my family. I’ve told Persephone before, “I didn’t want to get married because I’d just be increasing the number of people disappointed with me from one to many.” Current count is five. If I was single and didn’t get in to graduate school, I don’t think I’d care that much. (Actually, I almost definitely wouldn’t even be applying to graduate school if I were single.) But now I’ve got people who don’t want to be the groupies of an elevator boy forever, and I’ve got the misfortune of applying to graduate school the year everyone else is, too.
To answer some questions that have been asked lately: Leslie wanted to know if I listed the schools in my order of preference. No, I just listed them in alphabetical order. I have a preference order, but I’m not going to tell you because, 1. I imagine you’ll think, “You’ve got no shot getting into your top three, moron,” and 2. it will be embarrassing when I have to tell you, “I barely got accepted to my No. 11 school.”
Erik wanted to know why we’re going to
Jill wanted to know if The Friendly Jerk understood opportunity costs. I think he might be coming around, because he’s making plans to quit work and live off student loans this fall while he gets a master’s from a different, more-purplish state university.
Is it poor form to have a chart on the wall by my work desk for counting down the days until I don’t have to work here anymore? I’ve had such a chart up since last August and no one has complained yet. Having already crossed off today, there are only 167 days left until freedom. (That’s including weekends; there are only 118 work days left.)
I also had a countdown to freedom chart at City Hall, but I kept that one in a desk drawer. I ended up quitting before reaching the end of the chart, too, but I don’t foresee that working out this time. The main problem I’m facing is not having the company last 167 more days (or 118 more work days, take your pick).
Since I’m so bored, here’s a rough outline for the rest of my life:
FEBRUARY: work, school, maybe a temple trip to
MARCH: assuming I get accepted anywhere, we’ll use our spring break to visit the town and school and see where we want to move. Aside from that, more work and more school.
APRIL: work and school, and if I have a grad school offer to accept, accept a grad school offer.
MAY: graduate, then start working full-time again at Nameless Company. I’d like to throw in a county trip out to
JUNE: pack our stuff, since we’re definitely moving SOMEwhere, be it another town or under an overpass.
JULY: drive to
AUGUST, 2009 to MARCH, 2042: to be determined.
Crazy people say what the rest of us are thinking.
At Pizza Hut for the lunch buffet today, I tried some of their pasta that the television commercials pretend can be passed off for gourmet food at exclusive
Despite what you might have seen last Sunday night in
The best way to make sure your siblings don’t use your favorite baby names when naming their own children is to pick stupid baby names. My brother’s got “James” all to himself.
Non-stinky bus passengers need to stick together. Otherwise we all have to ride next to a stinky person, and everybody loses.
To all the Lawrencians who are happy Cold Stone closed: it was a franchise, which means it was a locally-owned business. Those tears you’d weep for Silas and Maddy’s if it closed are the result of your ignorance, not your progressivity.
Barack Obama closed the
Everyone who thinks Republicans are prudes should familiarize themselves with Sen. Crapo and Rep. Boehner. They remind me of when Beavis and Butt-Head joined the Army and assigned themselves ranks: Major Woody and Pvt. Parts.
My friend Jill, who gets no blog nickname because she’s already been mentioned on the blog by her Christian name, once told me the most hilarious true story ever. (Jill’s pretty good for hilarious stories.) Jill told me this story on a 15-hour van ride from Utah to Santa Barbara, during which van ride she also taught me to sing into my thumb like a microphone. (Then she stole my book and skipped the country.) I’ve retold this story to friends and family for nearly ten years now, and no one, NOT ONE person has thought it was funny. Jill laughed about it when she told me, I laugh about it every time I think of about it, and everyone else reacts like I’m retelling an epic tragedy, and then becomes concerned for my humanity when I conclude the story in a laughing fit. I haven’t retold this story here before because most of the people who read this blog already have heard it, but now there’s a reason for me to reference this story, so here it is.
THE MOST HILARIOUS STORY EVER TOLD BY MAN:
Jill’s father (we’ll call him Brother Paco) got a telephone call from an inactive member of their ward (who we’ll call Brother Davidson, I guess). “Brother Paco,” said Brother Davidson, “I’ve got some wood in my garage and I’m not using it. I think I’d like to donate it to the Boy Scouts. They can come on by and pick up this wood whenever they’d like.”
“That’s nice of you, Brother Davidson,” said Brother Paco. “I’m not one of the Scout leaders, though. Here’s who you need to talk to,” he said, giving out a name and telephone number, “and he can let you know if they can use any extra wood.”
A few weeks later, there’s another telephone call. “Brother Paco, it’s Brother Davidson again. I’ve still got this wood out in the garage and I need to know if the Boy Scouts want it or not.”
“Brother Davidson, let me give you the name and number of the Scout leader who can tell you if they can use that wood.”
A few more weeks, and then, “Brother Paco, this is Brother Davidson. We’ve got to do something about this wood.”
“Brother Davidson, like I said, I don’t know if the Boy Scouts need any wood right now, so you really should contact someone from the Scouts.”
This continued intermittently. Every few weeks Brother Davidson would call and say, “Brother Paco, we’ve got to do something about this wood,” and Brother Paco would tell him who to contact. I believe Brother Paco even passed the name and number along to the Scout leader, but nothing would change.
Finally, one day Sister Paco got a telephone call from the missionaries. “Sister Paco, we’re calling on behalf of Brother Davidson.”
“Look,” said Sister Paco, “we’ve told him plenty of times what has to happen. We can’t take the wood. We don’t even know if the Boy Scouts need it. If he wants to get rid of this wood he just needs to talk to the right people.”
The missionaries said, “Well, Sister Paco, the thing is Brother Davidson went out to his garage last week and trip over the wood and had to go to the hospital. He’s been doing pretty bad and we’ve been coming to visit him. He finally died today and the last thing he said to us was, ‘I need to you call Brother Paco and tell him, “We’ve got to do something about this wood.”’”
THE END.
Oh, man! I’m laughing so hard as I type this at work that I’m crying!
Whether or not this story actually is the most hilarious story ever told by man (and it is, but that’s neither here nor there), I tell you this story as background for a little tale regarding my workplace. Two weeks ago New Supervisor fired The Friendly Redhead for really no other reason than he didn’t like her. The problem is The Friendly Redhead was popular among us peons and she also covered for a lot of people who have no clue how to do their jobs (New Supervisor included). On a personal note, I feel like I have to make excuses for New Supervisor because we go to the same church, and frankly, I’m running out of excuses for the guy. But now that New Supervisor has to do his own job, I’ve been reminded of the wood story all week.
Monday:
NEW SUPERVISOR: A Random Stranger, The Friendly Redhead said you are making some maps for her. Is that true?
A RANDOM STRANGER: No.
NS: No?
ARS: Nope.
Tuesday:
NS: I guess you made some maps for The Friendly Redhead and sent them out a month ago?
ARS: I made maps and told her where they were. Quiet Boss looked them over and had Carlos O’Kelly make some changes. I don’t know if those changes are done, and if they were sent out, and whether the clients would contact Quiet Boss, The Friendly Redhead, Carlos, or me.
NS: What’s the status of that?
ARS: I don’t know.
NS: Okay, thanks.
Wednesday:
NS: Have you heard anything back about those maps that were sent out?
ARS: No.
NS: No?
ARS: Nope. I don’t know if they were sent out or to whom.
NS: I see.
Thursday:
NS: What have you heard back about those maps?
ARS: Nothing.
NS: Nothing?
ARS: If those maps were sent out, I don’t know if I was listed as the contact for them, so I don’t know if I ever would hear anything back from the clients.
NS: Oh, okay.
Friday:
NS: How are those maps? Nearly done?
ARS: Look, I told you earlier this week that I made those maps over a month ago and know nothing else about it.
NS: Okay, thanks.
I told Persephone, “I almost expect him to say to me, ‘We’ve got to do something about this wood.’” This made her groan at the horribleness of the wood story, but I began laughing as I thought about it again. I’m afraid working more directly with New Supervisor is going to make me think of this story a lot. (Although, if the way New Supervisor stared at me and then walked away when I said hello last night at stake priesthood meeting is any indication, I might be following The Friendly Redhead right out the door.)
I tried to have some good will towards the new president, but the more he talks the more it becomes obvious that he’s a partisan hack who doesn’t care about anything more than partisan politics. In his short tenure he’s managed to do two things horribly wrong: his op-ed piece in yesterday’s Washington Post and his leading the charge for delaying the analog TV shutdown.
Let’s read through the op-ed piece and try to find some “hope” or maybe even some “yes we can.”
“By now, it's clear to everyone that we have inherited an economic crisis as deep and dire as any since the days of the Great Depression.”
For a man who campaigned on hope, his public statements sure are full of fear. This is NOT the worst economy since the Great Depression, but he continues to say it is. And for someone who wants to be considered above the partisan fray, he certainly takes every opportunity to say, “George Bush caused this problem.” George Bush didn’t keep interest rates low for too long in the early 2000s and Alan Greenspan doesn’t suggest in “Age of Turbulence” that he did it because of White House pressure. George Bush didn’t relax the capital gains tax, that was something Bill Clinton did. George Bush didn’t push to keep Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac from Congressional oversight, that was something the Democrat-controlled House of Representatives championed. There are plenty of things George Bush did wrong (such as his heedless adoption of socialism to address the financial crisis), but the current problem is too large for any simplistic “George Bush did it” explanation. (Although Obama says this to pander to the crowd who eagerly accepts that George Bush caused Hurricane Katrina, so he’s got the house on his side for this one.)
“What Americans expect from
Ah, the old “don’t just stand there, do something” excuse. I find it interesting that this still works on anyone. Remember the day the House had its first vote on the “bailout,” and we were told the market would shut down if it didn’t pass. Well, it didn’t pass and the market didn’t shut down. A few days later the bailout had become a “rescue package,” and we were supposed to feel better. However today I read that the government overpaid by $78 B for the assets it bought in this “rescue.” A rescue indeed. The only thing that saved these companies’ managements from the ire of their shareholders was their ability to fleece the government. The idea of “the government that governs least governs best” has been replaced with the new notion of “they look like they’re really trying, and that’s good.” Finally, the false standards to which we hold our school children have been extended to our leaders. Results don’t matter as much as effort and intent.
“Our nation will sink deeper into a crisis that, at some point, we may not be able to reverse.”
Are you serious? Your campaign of hope has become fear-mongering on an unprecedented level. Threatening an irreversible economic crisis must be a new low in partisan demagoguery. People speaking in ultimatums typically are trying to cover weak arguments, and what greater ultimatum on economic policy can there be than “approve my stimulus package or it’s back to the Stone Age”?
“So we have a choice to make. We can once again let
I wish the good idea of eating bacon for every meal would get placed ahead of the old ideological battle of cardiovascular health. It seems to me, however, that one of
Not only has Obama shown himself as a partisan hack this week, he’s also shown he’s a partisan hack with no priorities. Fresh off his historic inauguration he expended a lot of political capital to get the HDTV switch deadline pushed back. Why? I cannot believe anyone can keep a straight face while saying this is a safety issue. Television is a safety device now? The government has spent millions advertising a deadline that now has been changed. At some point someone, somewhere, is going to be unprepared for the TV switch. This entire thing is among the stupidest government schemes in a long time. We’re now seeing the inefficiencies of top-down command economies, where the leaders decide what’s good and then force a bunch of people who don’t want it to “take their medicine.” I’m glad the voucher program is running short on money and I’m glad I could contribute to that by getting two vouchers when I only have one TV. Until Congress learns that artificially lowering the cost of something makes people want more of it, nothing will change. Obama’s op-ed piece talks about the rising cost of health care, but then his solution is to make more of it “free.” As long as lonely old people only have to pay five dollars to have a professional listen to their litany of ailments, health care will continue to be overused. The worst people to give free stuff to are old people and children. Old people have all day to overuse it and children have people who want to make sure they have “every advantage.” (Question regarding “advantages”: education standards continue to slip while classrooms become more and more hi-tech. How many overhead projectors does it take to teach a fifth grader to read at a third-grade level?)
The president is a blow-hard demagogue with misplaced priorities. (BCS playoffs are on his radar, but “the war on terror” is not?) But he still inspires hope in me: I just keep telling myself, “Jimmy Carter gave us Ronald Reagan.”
We used to have a guy working here who was named after a vegetable. His claim to fame was his inability to not say everything he thought. One particularly memorable moment came when we were discussing the
When Vegetable Guy quit working here we thought he would leave an irreparable void. But then came his replacement, a guy I’ll call Carlos O’Kelly. Carlos sits at his desk across a high divider from me, silent for 39 ½ hours per week, often making me forget he’s even at his desk, but when he opens his mouth for the other ½ hour every week, it’s usually something memorably inappropriate.
Two weeks ago we had two firedudes and a firebabe come through our office looking for safety violations. Carlos IMed me, apropos of nothing, “I’d hit it.” I wrote back, “I think you should tell her, with those exact words. If I know women, (and I KNOW WOMEN), they appreciate honesty.” He responded with, “LOL, get a case of beer in me and I might just do it.”
A case? I thought the phrase was “Get a FEW beers in me.” Doesn’t a case start at 24? Perhaps Carlos has a drinking problem and this was his cry for help. Well, I responded as any true friend would: I copied the text of the IM and e-mailed it to another coworker who was out of the office for the week so he wouldn’t miss out on the fun.
Today my supervisor just got back from
My favorite Carlos story, though, involves his shrewd business acumen. The Friendly Jerk is constantly worried about money. He lives like a hobo so he can pay off his student loans as quickly as possible. At our office Christmas party he received a ten dollar gift card to the café next door to our office. The next week at work he wanted to sell it for face value to someone who regularly ate there, so he could have the ten dollars in cash. Carlos told him, “If no one’s bought it from you in a week, I’ll buy it for five bucks.” The Friendly Jerk had a problem with that, but I just figured it was the price of liquidity in these uncertain times.
They cover a wide range of the country, and we have no idea where we’re going. But we do know a few things:
...we hail the Pittsburgh Steelers!
To avoid copyright issues, I've created my own Super Bowl picture:
(For fun you can show this picture to your friends and ask, "Was this the work of a seven-year-old with markers or of an adult with MS Paint?")
Yea Steelers! Now what can we do to make sure the Pirates break .500 this year?
