Spam-a-lot

I’ve been getting a fair amount of junk e-mail lately.  But spam is still relatively novel to me, as my various e-mail accounts have deflected the bulk of it over the years, or banished it before I could even read the subject lines.

Now, with Gmail, all my spam messages are neatly filed in their own folder, for my perusal at any time.  At long last, I have discovered just how awesome spam can be. 

It’s going to take a lot of time before I get sick of the rambling storylike messages, the pleas to send money to Nigeria, and the terrific offers to help me b1ggeR my p3n1s.  Getting spam is often just as good as getting real messages, plus I can depend on spam to be there, waiting, every time I check my mail. 

Of everything I’ve gotten so far, though, this is my favorite message:

“was fifteen about the time you and I entered this seminary an The devil I hate blood Dis is bad bad bad Mass Mark Mass confirmation day and we must all be promptly at the synagogue at light upon the processes of civilization than Thomas Alva Edison meant it But in spite of that and driven by righteous anger he would”

Wow.  Nothing instills the fear of God in ya like a run-on.

Beeeep Beeeep Beeeep Beeeep…

This weekend, I was riding back home on the Q33 when it got stuck behind a parked ambulance on 83rd St.  We sat behind the ambulance for ten or fifteen minutes, until the bus driver finally decided to back alllll the way down the street (we were practically at the next intersection, so he ended up driving the entire block in reverse).  The driver somehow managed to let a car squeeze by at one point, too.  Then he stopped several lanes of traffic to make a two-point turn and take a detour.  If everyone wasn’t so hot and cranky, or if this had been a middle school field trip, I think a round of applause would’ve been in order. 

The best part, though, was watching the pair of Q33s stopped at the intersection where we turned around completely ignore what just happened, continue down 83rd, and then get themselves stuck in exactly the same way.  Have fun with that, guys.

Real Life Is For People Without Computers

Despite getting up early, travelling to Elmhurst to visit HSBC and Target, doing two loads of laundry, cleaning my whole apartment, ripping and listening to three new CDs on my laptop, baking a batch of bran muffins, working for a few hours (and almost finishing) my seven-foot-tall painting, talking online with cool people, and kicking ass in taekwondo, I feel like I accomplished nothing today.

Sadly, I know what WOULD make me feel productive.

And that’s playing computer games. Namely, RPGs. My life is a sham.

EDIT (one minute later): Annnnd let me add that I’m listening to “Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover” by Sophie B. Hawkins right now. iTunes picked it, to be fair, but I’m certainly not hitting fast forward…

What I Do With My Time

I bring knowledge to the masses, obviously.

[Relationship Status] – In a relationship.
[Parents still together] – Yes.
[Siblings] - One younger sister.
[Pets] – My parents have a demon-animal we call Ottie.  She also gets called, “No!” “Bad dog!” and “Stop biting!” rather often.

Go Ahead, Beat Yourself Up

Last night at taekwondo, while we were stretching, our instructor said, “Now we will learn a new technique!”  We spent the next ten minutes sitting on the floor, engaged in haphazard self-abuse.  I think were were supposed to practice, essentially, shiatsu, concentrating on breathing, pounding our muscles in order to stimulate blood flow, and begin getting our bodies accustomed to being hit.  (At least that was my modus operandi; I owe Kevin a big thank you for having taught me some very rudimentary things about chi flow.)

What really happened for the majority the class (all guys, it turns out, except for me) was a lot of spine-punching, random bashing of the upper thighs and lower back, and much grunting.  At one point, the instructor just kind of watched everyone with this huge grin on his face.  It had to be hilarious to watch a bunch of hulking twentysomething guys (and one smallish girl) beating themselves, and looking around every now and then to make sure they were attacking their own chests and legs as emphatically as the guy next to them.

Cheap, You Say? I Hope You Have The AmEx With No Pre-Set Spending Limit.

One of the reps called me a “cheap date” at lunch today when I ordered only water instead of a Coke* or iced tea.

His mistake? Judging me BEFORE we ordered our entrees. Looks like I’ll be getting the softshell crab.  And partaking in a large appetizer.  And, why yes, espresso would be lovely with dessert.

You can call me any number of things, but I have NEVER, EVER been a cheap date.

*There is a reason we have WATER and WINE sommeliers at nice restaurants, but not a special staffperson to help you decide which classy diet carbonated beverage will best accompany your mixed greens and salt-crusted salmon. 

You Know You Want To…

This is a terrific online quiz.  And that’s saying a lot, as you know, since I am a true online quiz gourmand.  And it’s quick, so just fill it out now and thank me later.

A Wee Bit Unsettled

I have a rather dominant online presence, I’ve noticed, particularly with respect to my handle.  Hum.  I suppose, though, this could be helpful if I ever decide to publish a book or promote myself as a celebrity.

Fijacion Aural

Unlike Shakira, my hips occasionally lie.

Comedy Central, Right Here

How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Two.  One to catch the giraffe, and the other to fill the bathtub with clocks.