Being forced to ponder profound questions in the pursuit of an education made me think of someone's blog my mom once stumbled across. The person put forth the unanswerable question 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' and then proceeded to answer as she imagined different individuals may have answered. This was funny, as my boss and I once had a rather long conversation about how different authors would respond. I had completely forgotten about that conversation until just this morning when, without any connection to what I should have been studying, I suddenly thought about it and realized once again how much I miss the people I worked with. So, I decided to attempt to answer the unanswerable in the tradition of a few authors. (I have to 'fess up that the other blogger came up with the first one; but, not being a huge fan of Hemingway myself, I found it too funny not to include....)
So, Why did the chicken cross the road?
Hemingway: "He didn't. He died. In the rain. Alone."
(my boss and I agree that it was most likely in Spain somewhere)
Dr. Seuss: "The chicken crossed the road to pay a visit to Frog and Toad. 'Put down, put down your heavy load,' said Toad when the chicken had crossed the road. "
Nietzsche: "The chicken did not cross the road because there was no road to cross. The chicken merely imagined the road. Therefore all life is pointless."
Thomas Wolfe: "The chicken crossed the road once, but he could never go back home."
Steinbeck: "Because it was the Depression and he was a downtrodden migrant worker. And he'd recently had trouble with a woman, because all women are evil." (Has anyone ever noticed that Steinbeck seemed to have hate issues with women?)
C.S. Lewis: "Because it was a challenge and challenges build character."
Dickens: "To show that even a chicken not born into privilege can have great expectations."
Emerson: "To become self-reliant."
Mark Twain: "He didn't really cross the road; he thought about it and that was close enough-he told the truth, mostly, just stretched it a little."
Austen: "The chicken was a female born into a large family without privilege. Through her own wit the chicken was able to cross the road which divided the chicken classes. And make an advantageous marriage in the process. All through her wit and good taste. The end."
Oscar Wilde: "Because the chicken wasn't really a chicken, he was only pretending to be a chicken when city life bored him. But since you must be in earnest to successfully fool everyone, and all chickens seem to be crossing the road, then you must cross the road to maintain the guise of being a chicken-even though you secretly think all of the other non-chickens pretending to be chickens are mindless, soulless opportunists."
Tennessee Williams: "Because the chicken felt trapped in a suffocating, pointless existence and it was the only way out he could come up with. His family was stifling him and he felt unable to meet their expectations. Unhappiness breeds desperation. (And he got depressed because Stella would never answer him.)"
Shakespeare: "Because being or not being obliterated by a semi answers the question 'To be or not to be.'"
Francis Bacon: "Because although another chicken had described crossing the road, the Chicken knew he could only come to an accurate conclusion about crossing the road by experiencing it himself."
I think I need to make some friends and get out a little more............
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"Why do you say it like that, with your nose all scrunched up....'You're French, aren't you?'"
So there's this movie that I love, which I probably shouldn't, but I do, so there....It's called French Kiss starring Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline. The more I watch it the funnier it gets. There's this one part where Kevin Kline, playing a frenchman, asks Meg Ryan, who has shown nothing but disgust for him, "Why do you say it like that, with your nose all scrunched up, 'You're French, aren't you?'" Anyway, that's what this little news clip made me think of. Plus, I kinda hate the French right now.....or at least the person who failed me on the French translation exam I just had to take. I'll admit it was kind of a blow. An expected blow, but a blow nevertheless. Foreign languages are not my thing. I wish to goodness they were because I would love nothing more than to be fluent in 15 different languages, but alas the fates have not smiled upon me in that department. Or, you know.....many others to speak of, but still....Still, it was a blow because the last time I ever failed anything was in seventh grade. I'll never forget it, I made a 23 on an Algebra test. (Big surprise there, it was in math.) However, there was some consolation in the fact that no one in the class passed that test, the person sitting next to me made a seventeen. I can still remember that experience, the classroom, the way the light slanted in from the back windows and cast a glare on the green chalkboard, the smell of cheap, damp industrial carpeting and the scent of the hog farm at the back of the field adjoining the school grounds, drifting in through the open window on a hot August breeze. And getting a 23 on a test. I can't smell a hog farm now without the feeling of anxiety bred by failing a test ressurecting itself. Okay, maybe not, but to get on with the story....maybe that recent experience of failing the translation exam (a 300 word essay about something to do with the French Revolution. The only thing I really know about the French Revolution is that a bunch of genetically discontent, downtrodden and presumably inebriated peasants broke into a prison and freed everyone, including some dregs of society....just kidding, I know there's more to it than that, apparently) is one of the reasons why this article was so funny. "There's nothing more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm....."
"Sarkozy admits French language a hoax after Wikileaks exposé
After yesterday’s Wikileaks revelations, Nicolas Sarkozy has today confirmed that the “French language” is indeed a one thousand year old hoax. The president of France revealed that what purported to be his native tongue was in fact complete gibberish, admitting the French really speak English, except in the presence of the British. This comes as Wikileaks published cables sent by French diplomats to countries such as Spain, China and Russia which were all found to be written in English.
During a speech given in received pronunciation, the French President came clean, stating that it all started off as a joke during William the Conquerer’s invasion to make the aggressors seem a bit more exotic. “What was initially a prank snowballed and after a few years we realised we’d look silly revealing the truth, so we had to keep up the façade,” said the Premier. “In the company of any Brits we would try to make convincingly “French” sounds, a mixture of guttural grunts and rapid-fire syllables.
But as soon as we were on our own we’d all heave a huge sigh of relief and revert to English. We developed a heavy reliance on hand gestures to cover up when we ran out of likely noises, and the shrug was a particular boon if inspiration dried up. In the end we became quite the raconteurs, with an impressive array of supposed vocabulary. So what began as a game for the élites, became a hobby across all levels of society, and it shocked us that the Brits were so naïve as to not see through the charade.”
Sarkozy claims Wikileaks will soon expose a number of other “languages”. “I mean, seriously guys, has anyone ever actually listened to “Arabic”? Je ne sais pas…..”"
Many thanks to my friend Stephen, a linguist in training, who posted this on facebook. You're awesome, dude.
"Sarkozy admits French language a hoax after Wikileaks exposé
After yesterday’s Wikileaks revelations, Nicolas Sarkozy has today confirmed that the “French language” is indeed a one thousand year old hoax. The president of France revealed that what purported to be his native tongue was in fact complete gibberish, admitting the French really speak English, except in the presence of the British. This comes as Wikileaks published cables sent by French diplomats to countries such as Spain, China and Russia which were all found to be written in English.
During a speech given in received pronunciation, the French President came clean, stating that it all started off as a joke during William the Conquerer’s invasion to make the aggressors seem a bit more exotic. “What was initially a prank snowballed and after a few years we realised we’d look silly revealing the truth, so we had to keep up the façade,” said the Premier. “In the company of any Brits we would try to make convincingly “French” sounds, a mixture of guttural grunts and rapid-fire syllables.
But as soon as we were on our own we’d all heave a huge sigh of relief and revert to English. We developed a heavy reliance on hand gestures to cover up when we ran out of likely noises, and the shrug was a particular boon if inspiration dried up. In the end we became quite the raconteurs, with an impressive array of supposed vocabulary. So what began as a game for the élites, became a hobby across all levels of society, and it shocked us that the Brits were so naïve as to not see through the charade.”
Sarkozy claims Wikileaks will soon expose a number of other “languages”. “I mean, seriously guys, has anyone ever actually listened to “Arabic”? Je ne sais pas…..”"
Many thanks to my friend Stephen, a linguist in training, who posted this on facebook. You're awesome, dude.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Leggings are not real clothes and water is not a food group
(Only re-posted for an hour or so, per a request,but I promise to take it back down immediately....I promise I'm not really this hateful........just experiencing culture shock.)
So I am now in the land of the Eternal Sun. Or, maybe not Eternal Sun, but definitely Land of Malibu Barbie, the Perpetual Cheerleader. It's like Dante's tenth circle of hell. I like it here, really, I do, but I'm definitely a fish out of water in some respects. I have yet to see a girl on campus who has what could legally pass as hips or thighs. There is an obsession with working out that is a complete enigma to me-I try to be healthy, but I figure if I can make it up two flights of stairs with a fifteen pound book bag without any vital organs rupturing I'm doing alright. I don't know if anyone actually eats here, but I do know they drink copious amounts of bottled water. That's a good thing, just kind of.....abnormal. All things revolve around the arrival of 'beach weather.' I left to go to the library the other day and saw someone getting out of her car, wrapped in a beach towel, apparently just having come from the tanning bed. It was 47 degrees outside. Frankly, coming from someone who couldn't tan in Africa, it just doesn't look natural for someone to have a tan in February. It looks like an escaped extra from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I expect to hear someone break into the refrain "Oompa, loompha, doom-pa-dee-doo..." at any moment. The concentration on appearance is much stronger here than where I came from. People dress up to go to Wal-Mart. I swear I think I saw Tammy Faye in the grocery section the other week.
The standard uniform on campus seems to be leggings, which if you ask me are nothing more than glorified panty-hose, fuzzy boots and a t-shirt. If it's cold enough that you need to wear faux-fur lined shoes, knock-off spandex tights aren't exactly going to keep you from suffering from Donner Party Syndrome. Before I moved in I had my retinas seared by an unfortunate run-in with a pro-leggings-er. My mom had gone in somewhere while I waited in the car, as she was only going to be a moment. Sitting in the car I looked around, killing time and listening to the radio. The parking space next to me was empty but the one next to it was occupied. The passenger door was open and someone sporting leggings was digging something out of the floorboard. The leggings were so tight and opaque that I was traumatized by the sight of neon orange underwear. If I had an identical twin I wouldn't need to know that much about her, much less a complete stranger. My mom got in the car and asked with some alarm "Why are your eyes bleeding....?!" Okay, maybe not really, but it was close.
Then there are the surfers. I have to admit, I've had to eat my words. I've always poked some fun at surfers and jocks, but then again, no one has really been spared my defensive sarcasm. It's kind of like one of Oscar Wilde's characters says, "'You would sacrifice anyone for the sake of an epigram.' 'The world goes to the altar of its own accord.'" Anyway, some of them may be dumb, yes. Shallow, probably. But they still look good. Very good, as a matter of fact. However, you can tell their mothers no longer dress them. Take, for instance, the guy who passed by the desk where I was sitting in the library the other day. Either he had no idea that what he was wearing insulted the senses, or he just hasn't done laundry in a month. He was sporting a blue, teal and purple plaid oxford shirt and a black and white vertical striped sweater. His mother would be horrified to see him in public, I dare say. Then my opinion of surfers was justified when, due to the lovely weather we had on Saturday, my dad and I drove down to the beach for an hour or so. We parked in the public parking on the side of the street, right in front of a house where two young men with shaggy hair and surfer shorts (I was in jeans, a thermal shirt and a light coat) were sitting in the driveway in indoor rocking chairs with a carved wooden table obviously also meant for indoor use placed before them with a six-pack on it, drinking beer. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. We asked if it was alright to park where we had parked and one of them gave us an unsteady thumbs up and replied "'S all good." We hoped he was right.
Perhaps I've just become lazy, perhaps I've just capitulated, perhaps (most likely) I just know my own limitations. I know what I can and can't wear-I might strike it lucky and pull off Audrey Hepburn once in a blue moon, but I'm never gonna be able to manage Heidi Klum. Looking around I often think of that scene in "An American in Paris" when the cool blonde comes out in this gorgeous evening gown and Gene Kelley says, "Wow. That's quite a dress you're almost wearing. What keeps it up?" "Modesty." If it requires duct tape being applied anywhere except the busted water pipe, it just ain't happening. Which is why, when I was getting ready to leave and a friend said, "You know, statistics show that most people who go to grad school meet their spouses there" I thought, "Sure thing. Let me just schedule that cosmetic surgery and personality transplant and we'll be good to go." Well, if this is what I've got to compete with, I haven't got the chance of an ice-cube in hell. Is it upsetting? Occasionally. But, my consolation is this: when I get this degree and get a job that will get me to Europe, everybody will be just as short and pasty white as me. Solidarity, my friends. Solidarity. Long live Ireland! Do me a favor and eat a Thin Mint for me, will you?
So I am now in the land of the Eternal Sun. Or, maybe not Eternal Sun, but definitely Land of Malibu Barbie, the Perpetual Cheerleader. It's like Dante's tenth circle of hell. I like it here, really, I do, but I'm definitely a fish out of water in some respects. I have yet to see a girl on campus who has what could legally pass as hips or thighs. There is an obsession with working out that is a complete enigma to me-I try to be healthy, but I figure if I can make it up two flights of stairs with a fifteen pound book bag without any vital organs rupturing I'm doing alright. I don't know if anyone actually eats here, but I do know they drink copious amounts of bottled water. That's a good thing, just kind of.....abnormal. All things revolve around the arrival of 'beach weather.' I left to go to the library the other day and saw someone getting out of her car, wrapped in a beach towel, apparently just having come from the tanning bed. It was 47 degrees outside. Frankly, coming from someone who couldn't tan in Africa, it just doesn't look natural for someone to have a tan in February. It looks like an escaped extra from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I expect to hear someone break into the refrain "Oompa, loompha, doom-pa-dee-doo..." at any moment. The concentration on appearance is much stronger here than where I came from. People dress up to go to Wal-Mart. I swear I think I saw Tammy Faye in the grocery section the other week.
The standard uniform on campus seems to be leggings, which if you ask me are nothing more than glorified panty-hose, fuzzy boots and a t-shirt. If it's cold enough that you need to wear faux-fur lined shoes, knock-off spandex tights aren't exactly going to keep you from suffering from Donner Party Syndrome. Before I moved in I had my retinas seared by an unfortunate run-in with a pro-leggings-er. My mom had gone in somewhere while I waited in the car, as she was only going to be a moment. Sitting in the car I looked around, killing time and listening to the radio. The parking space next to me was empty but the one next to it was occupied. The passenger door was open and someone sporting leggings was digging something out of the floorboard. The leggings were so tight and opaque that I was traumatized by the sight of neon orange underwear. If I had an identical twin I wouldn't need to know that much about her, much less a complete stranger. My mom got in the car and asked with some alarm "Why are your eyes bleeding....?!" Okay, maybe not really, but it was close.
Then there are the surfers. I have to admit, I've had to eat my words. I've always poked some fun at surfers and jocks, but then again, no one has really been spared my defensive sarcasm. It's kind of like one of Oscar Wilde's characters says, "'You would sacrifice anyone for the sake of an epigram.' 'The world goes to the altar of its own accord.'" Anyway, some of them may be dumb, yes. Shallow, probably. But they still look good. Very good, as a matter of fact. However, you can tell their mothers no longer dress them. Take, for instance, the guy who passed by the desk where I was sitting in the library the other day. Either he had no idea that what he was wearing insulted the senses, or he just hasn't done laundry in a month. He was sporting a blue, teal and purple plaid oxford shirt and a black and white vertical striped sweater. His mother would be horrified to see him in public, I dare say. Then my opinion of surfers was justified when, due to the lovely weather we had on Saturday, my dad and I drove down to the beach for an hour or so. We parked in the public parking on the side of the street, right in front of a house where two young men with shaggy hair and surfer shorts (I was in jeans, a thermal shirt and a light coat) were sitting in the driveway in indoor rocking chairs with a carved wooden table obviously also meant for indoor use placed before them with a six-pack on it, drinking beer. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. We asked if it was alright to park where we had parked and one of them gave us an unsteady thumbs up and replied "'S all good." We hoped he was right.
Perhaps I've just become lazy, perhaps I've just capitulated, perhaps (most likely) I just know my own limitations. I know what I can and can't wear-I might strike it lucky and pull off Audrey Hepburn once in a blue moon, but I'm never gonna be able to manage Heidi Klum. Looking around I often think of that scene in "An American in Paris" when the cool blonde comes out in this gorgeous evening gown and Gene Kelley says, "Wow. That's quite a dress you're almost wearing. What keeps it up?" "Modesty." If it requires duct tape being applied anywhere except the busted water pipe, it just ain't happening. Which is why, when I was getting ready to leave and a friend said, "You know, statistics show that most people who go to grad school meet their spouses there" I thought, "Sure thing. Let me just schedule that cosmetic surgery and personality transplant and we'll be good to go." Well, if this is what I've got to compete with, I haven't got the chance of an ice-cube in hell. Is it upsetting? Occasionally. But, my consolation is this: when I get this degree and get a job that will get me to Europe, everybody will be just as short and pasty white as me. Solidarity, my friends. Solidarity. Long live Ireland! Do me a favor and eat a Thin Mint for me, will you?
Friday, February 4, 2011
'Criminal Minds' and ADD
There is this great show my mom and I got hooked on when a co-worker of mine suggested it. The title of the series was "Lark Rise to Candleford," and let me just say it was an amazingly, insanely addictively wonderful show. All of it. Anyway, my point for telling this is not only to encourage people to watch it because it is great but because of what one of the characters would often say. When she was getting a new dress she'd say that clothes were her 'one weakness,' or that good food was her 'one weakness.' Whatever she indulged in at the moment was her one weakness. Well, one of my weaknesses is another television show, "Criminal Minds." I could never watch it while I lived at home because I knew it would only feed into my loving mother's occasionally irrational fears about the safety of....well, everyone. My sister doesn't even like me to mention the title. Of course, I'm the one who used to get freaked out by the theme song for "Unsolved Mysteries," so I guess I'm really the wimp in the crowd. Anyway, I love to watch them solve the mystery by observing how (or if) someone puts their pencil back in the desk drawer. It's kinda like "House" without all the personal drama-I don't like personal drama, just give me the case that needs solving and solve it. (Also, I've loved me some Thomas Gibson ever since his 'Darma and Greg' and 'Far and Away' days...)
Whenever we voted on board games when I was a kid I always voted for either 'Clue' or 'Trivial Pursuit.' My sister always voted for 'Monopoly,' but I suck at math and business so it was always a short game. I've never really given up on that whole thrill of solving the mystery. When a friend and I went on a photography trip a while back we both got a big kick out of driving past the sign for Quantico. I suggested we do the whole tourist thing and drive up, jump out of the car and ask the security guard to take a picture of us in front of the sign, but I don't think the FBI would have found it nearly as amusing as us. If it wasn't for the whole obsessive compulsive homicidal nut job thing you have to deal with on a daily basis I think profiling would be a blast for a career. Whenever I watch the show I always wonder how the 'team' would profile me (not that I'd ever turn into an obsessive compulsive homicidal nut job, but you know what I mean). Actually, I'd just love to sit down and tell Thomas Gibson anything he wants to know about me, especially if he was in the period clothing from 'Far and Away.' So, I decided to try out my own 'Criminal Minds' chops and profile myself. Here goes:
I have multiple half used, year old bottles of vitamins-shows that the intention to be healthy is there, but the attention span is not; probably exhibits signs of classic ADD behavior
Moved exercise weights to a new apartment, but indentation in the carpet proves they haven't been used since the move-in a month ago-see above
all movies alphabetized-shows signs of control issues....or, can't find anything without some kind of system and doesn't have the patience to look for very long for any particular item; irritation due to presence of ADD characteristics
cds categorized by genre and alphabetized within categories-control freak with ADD issues
two closets of shoes-deep rooted envy for Imelda Marcos, pre-revolution
stacks of unread library books next to bed, on desk, next to couch-good intentions but ADD
book collection centered around classic sarcastic authors such as Austen, Lewis and occasionally Dickens-people skills underdeveloped due to an overdeveloped sense of sarcasm
some classics, such as Milton's 'Paradise Lost' are well creased in the spine a third of the way through-shows multiple attempts to finish, but no success thus far......ADD?
Hmmmm. I think I might be ADD. But I have a great shoe collection.
Whenever we voted on board games when I was a kid I always voted for either 'Clue' or 'Trivial Pursuit.' My sister always voted for 'Monopoly,' but I suck at math and business so it was always a short game. I've never really given up on that whole thrill of solving the mystery. When a friend and I went on a photography trip a while back we both got a big kick out of driving past the sign for Quantico. I suggested we do the whole tourist thing and drive up, jump out of the car and ask the security guard to take a picture of us in front of the sign, but I don't think the FBI would have found it nearly as amusing as us. If it wasn't for the whole obsessive compulsive homicidal nut job thing you have to deal with on a daily basis I think profiling would be a blast for a career. Whenever I watch the show I always wonder how the 'team' would profile me (not that I'd ever turn into an obsessive compulsive homicidal nut job, but you know what I mean). Actually, I'd just love to sit down and tell Thomas Gibson anything he wants to know about me, especially if he was in the period clothing from 'Far and Away.' So, I decided to try out my own 'Criminal Minds' chops and profile myself. Here goes:
I have multiple half used, year old bottles of vitamins-shows that the intention to be healthy is there, but the attention span is not; probably exhibits signs of classic ADD behavior
Moved exercise weights to a new apartment, but indentation in the carpet proves they haven't been used since the move-in a month ago-see above
all movies alphabetized-shows signs of control issues....or, can't find anything without some kind of system and doesn't have the patience to look for very long for any particular item; irritation due to presence of ADD characteristics
cds categorized by genre and alphabetized within categories-control freak with ADD issues
two closets of shoes-deep rooted envy for Imelda Marcos, pre-revolution
stacks of unread library books next to bed, on desk, next to couch-good intentions but ADD
book collection centered around classic sarcastic authors such as Austen, Lewis and occasionally Dickens-people skills underdeveloped due to an overdeveloped sense of sarcasm
some classics, such as Milton's 'Paradise Lost' are well creased in the spine a third of the way through-shows multiple attempts to finish, but no success thus far......ADD?
Hmmmm. I think I might be ADD. But I have a great shoe collection.
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