I felt as though the results of this quiz/meme were very unsettling. I think my iPod wants me to die. Alone. And soon.
Your turn!
1. Put your iPod on shuffle.
2. Press next track for each question.
3. Use the song titles to answer the questions, even if it doesn’t make sense. NO CHEATING!
My favorite word in the English language is "caterpillar."
So you’re looking at those shiny new MacBook Pros, thinking how awesome it would be to own one. Then you read about the swelling, bursting, dying batteries, the cheap, shoddy construction, the flickering screens, the power cords that won’t stay put, the two-hour battery life, and the pricetag. You think about the fact that you won’t be able to play your favorite games on the machine unless you download Boot Camp and buy a full-fledged version of Windows. But you’re still sold. You love that it’s sleek and thin and silvery bright with a big wide screen and that it secures your status as hip and artsy and tasteful… even before you install your bootleg Adobe CS suite.
I will leave you with one last image. Picture yourself sitting in bed with your Mac Book Pro, happily blogging, iTunes stirring up your mp3 collection, Adium running in the Dock. Then all of a sudden the room seems to be getting warmer. Could it be the air conditioner? No, it’s set to a temperature far below what ConEd recommends in order to yield reasonable monthly bills. Are you wearing a sweater? Flannel? No and no.
So why do your thighs burn with the fire of a thousand suns?
That would be your beloved laptop (emphasis on the lap). 41°C after 10 minutes of light use.
The real kicker here is the mass e-mail Apple recently sent out about its newest laptops. In the subject line: “The new MacBook. Knows all the hot spots.”
Today, I got to have lunch with the very spunky and very sunshine-y Nelly Furtado, in the Us Weekly/Rolling Stone offices, and was captured briefly on video by MTV, which means a snippet of my visage could end up on the new reality show they'll be airing next January.
Against all logic, I like Nelly Furtado. She laughs constantly, and had far too much energy for someone who drove last night from Toronto to NYC, is launching a new album by making half a dozen media appearances all over town, and is the mother of a two-year-old. She's also quite pretty, and so marvelously animated. She also does terrific impersonations of Timbaland, Chris Martin, and the members of TLC.
I listened to her new CD on the way into work, and I'm really liking it so far. If you didn't like her first two albums, this one is a departure that's much more urban than the previous two, and doesn't feature much of her characteristic nasal singing so often panned by critics and detractors. Go listen!
Someday I will write and illustrate some childrens' books. They will be entitled:
Alzheimer’s 1
My grandmother decided she was going to die
next month, so locked herself in the basement
for an afternoon, ignored the phone’s bell hammering
in its chest, steamy nests of angel hair cooling
in the sink, the newly skinny Oprah on TV, gasping
at her own miraculous life. Downstairs, she got to work:
named twenty-three boxes after her grandchildren, filled
them with her treasures. Two dozen tarnished forks, garlands
of black roses blossoming up their handles. Waxy bulbous
rutabagas, furrowed as old heads; spools of thread, spools
of wire, worn moccasins. Plastic animals, two of each,
divided into separate arks; a filled-up sketchpad and red
crayons, boxes of them. Mother-of-pearl teacups, shattered
and beautiful as oyster shells, blazing like rainbows.
