You know what doesn’t work as well as one might hope?
Licking your fingers then trying to “pinch” out a stick of incense.
It’s like when I was in the fifth grade and burned the soles of my feet running to the mailbox on the hot, baked Texas pavement. The next day I brought in a note to excuse myself from PE. My gym teacher held the scrap of paper and fixed me with such naked, exhausted scorn.
My point is, I have taken a lot of bullets for science.
Step 1: Line up your pill bottles.
Step 2: Focus up!
Ondansetron- (French “on danse,” colloquially “we dance” + “tron”)- French party robots. Too busy reveling to do a damn thing about that nausea.
Promethazine- “Promises” to help! Also Prometheus was strong or…something. Didn’t a buzzard eat his spleen for eternity? Or he discovered fire? At any rate, he’ll help your stomach, kinda.
Granisetron- Grand robot shoots down nausea! But careful, ‘cause insurance only lets you have five per month. Make those dudes count.
Step 3: Soul-searching. Are we talking Prometheus-level discomfort, or do we need to call in the Grand Bots?
This is how we make healthcare decisions in my head.
Appended to my last post: dude’s name is Akira Kurosawa, not “Kirosawa.” God, I can’t even feign knowing good art!
My bags of tuition dollars would have been better off funding a library at a Sloth Orphanage.
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The New Yorker’s Bob Mankoff at a recent TED salon. When Mankoff quit psychology school in 1997 to become a cartoonist, he submitted 2,000 cartoons to the New Yorker that year. Of them, 2,000 were rejected. Today, he is the magazine’s cartoon editor. (via explore-blog) Via my beautiful friend Lauren, who has never rejected me. |
I saw “Igby Goes Down” in theaters when I was a teenager. My eyes turned into stars and my heart grew tentacles. If I could have bought Igby action figures, posters, and bedsheets, I would have; thank god Fanfic as a thing didn’t exist yet. This one-sided love affair went on for years.
Maybe a week ago, I wasn’t feeling well and decided to check in with an old friend. And you know what? “Igby Goes Down” sucks.
This revelation was akin to learning the Easter Bunny was just my parents and $10 worth of candy. The more I talked to friends, the more I got the same response: “Ugh, that movie is awful.” or “Yeah, I never understood why you liked it so much.”
For about a day, I lived a black-and-white montage, dejectedly walking on a beach. How could my teenage self have so badly missed the mark? Do most of the things I love secretly suck? Does everyone know it but me? I’m starting to think this Sum 41* tshirt might be a bad idea.
Maybe the lesson here is that I just need to pick bulletproof favorite things, like Dostoyevsky and Kirosawa and Monet. Sure, I’d be insufferable—but at least I’d never wake up and find out my taste has been stupid all along.
Yeah, that’s definitely the right take-away here. “If you never form opinions, you won’t get crushed.”
You’re welcome, Internet!
*Ew, kidding. I have some standards.
This article, “Out of Our Heads: Philip Shepherd and the Brain in Our Belly”, is ambitious. It’s about how we, as a culture, have over-emphasized thought and lost track of sensitivity, intuition, and our physical sensations.
It’s a topic that gets a “hells yeah!” from me, followed up shortly with a sigh. I’m so used to my ivory tower of thought and analysis. You mean I need to pay attention to things below my chin? Unghhhhh.
This is a rare perspective that is equally valuable to yoga types, alt-health nerds, and hard-science acolytes. Read it, think it, and let it percolate.
Hank: $45? The family bible cost less than that, and it was written by Jesus.
Bobby: Yeah, but this book shows you how to summon wood nymphs and water sprites!
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-King of the Hill Move to Austin, Bobby! |
INSPIRED BY MOMS CREATED BY KIDS
Huh. Weird way to discuss child labor, Ann Taylor. But okay! Happy Mother’s Day to you, too!
Tonight we went out to a snort-mineral-water-through-your-nose expensive meal. The cost could have fed an orphanage for a week, the ASPCA for a month, or a Kardashian for a few cocktails.
A slight snag, though: I’ve been feeling horrible for several days, but I absolutely couldn’t skip this meal. (Miss my chance to slap the food out of the hands of orphans? No way, man.)
I poured myself into a dress and Velicoraptored around in four-inch heels. As a nod to my shitty genetics, I wrapped up a painkiller in a tissue and wedged it between the boning in my dress.
Make it raaaaaaaain on half-baked ideas
The zipper pull on this particular dress had broken off during a wedding emergency last fall, so I looped a bobby pin into the remnant to get the zipper up, then pinned my hair up with the same pin. (In a pinch, I like to think I’d also be able to use it to pick a lock or de-fuse a bomb. Weirdly, the opportunity did not arise.)
I was literally locked into my dress, with a drug stash hidden by my ribcage.
“Perhaps you were expecting someone without narcotics on their person?”
I am the illest Bond Girl.
I was in bed by 11.
(Source: mouthtoears.com)
Even its name is brimming with charm. The word, “ampersand” is a conflation of “and per se and,” a Latin-English hybrid meaning, “the character ‘&’ by itself is and.” What other symbol refers to itself in its very name?!? Swoon.
I was wondering where the word “ampersand” came from! This is fantastic. Check that one off the ol’ “list of mysteries” list.
It rivals “snark” (“snide”+ “remark”) as my new favorite portmanteau.
And yes, when I re-read this post, I wanted to punch me in the face, too. Your reaction is normal!
