I’m a copy editor. (Okay, a copy editing intern…but I did graduate already.) I have pretty good-sized chunks of downtime during my workday. Stories tend to come in bursts as news happens or deadlines are met. So I spend a lot of time reading the boards and goofing off on the computer or just staring into space. In the interests of saving my deep thoughts for posterity, I have recorded the things that I learned today for your amusement and edification.
We live in a universe where Trading Spaces fanfiction exists. Indeed, Trading Spaces slashfic exists. (Ty, sweetie, what have they done to you?!!)
Bananas have a weird banana aftertaste that doesn’t taste much like bananas.
The shaving cut on my ankle is itchy as all hell as it heals. It’s all I can do not to sit here and scratch at it all night.
It’s unavoidable that, as an intern, I don’t get my own desk, but it still isn’t fair.
Alchemy is a better msn Zone game than Big Money.
I am a geek, but the people having the Superman discussion in the Cafe have me beat, geekwise. I cannot hope to reach such geekiness. Is that good or bad?
The sand at Apalacicola Bay is very white. If you’re shown a picture of it, don’t blurt out “Oh, it snowed!” Memo to self: You live in Florida now.
KRT (that’s Knight-Ridder Tribune for those of you not in the know) is already sending Sept. 11 anniversary graphics over the wire. Nothing like thinking ahead, guys. Couldn’t we show some decency and commemorate the event with a “Let’s Pretend It Didn’t Happen” day?
There are no more animal crackers (“Only 2 grams of fat per serving!”) left in the snack machine. If you must panic, please do so in your designated panic subgroups.
I mentioned the slashfic, right? Combined with the Trading Spaces/Angel crossover…the mind boggles.
Should I even be reading slash at work? We have an “acceptable use” policy, but I don’t think it covers content – just “don’t download anything, idiots.” There’s some Wolverine/Gambit stuff out there I want to reread, but…
Why the sudden fanfic obsession? No idea. It’s not like I write the stuff anymore. (You’ll read my Remington Steele/Highlander crossover when you pry it from my smoking, melting hard drive!) Maybe it’s hormonal and every six months I’m driven to read poorly constructed, poorly punctuated stories even when I’m not being paid for it.
Diet Dr Pepper really does taste more like regular Dr Pepper. Wait…more like regular Dr Pepper than what? Malt liquor? Automatic transmission fluid?
Do I really enjoy being a girl or is it just societal programming?
My coworkers fail to understand the beauty and simplicity (okay, it’s not really that simple) of the Bowie System, through which the coolness of all things can be measured in terms of a unit of measurement I like to call the Bowie. This stems from the fact that David Bowie is always very cool at any given point in history. I don’t have a cite for that, but I’m sure it’s been proven through science and complicated math. The Bowie does not have a static value; rather, the Bowie is expressed in terms of exactly how cool David Bowie is right now. Thus, the Bowie was “worth” marginally more during the days of the Thin White Duke than in the time of Ziggy Stardust. As an example of the Bowie System in action, I give you the motion picture Labyrinth, which is automatically worth 1 Bowie because it contains David Bowie himself. However, we must add 1 deciBowie because the Bowie of then was cooler than the Bowie of now. Then we add 1.5 Bowies because it contains Muppets, making Labyrinth a 2.6 on the Bowie Scale. What about things that existed before the birth of Davie Bowie, you ask? Well, I’ve got that covered. Cool was merely a word waiting for a definition until David Bowie came along. Therefore, things before Bowie Year 1 can be measured based on how cool the current David Bowie (David is confined by neither time nor space; rather, we see the David Bowie that chooses to manifest itself in this dimension at this time.) would have been had he been there. Example: satin knee breeches in the court of Louis XIV would come in at about 2.5 Bowies. (Remember, this is the current Bowie we’re talking about; Ziggy Stardust probably would have gone over better back then and bumped satin knee breeches to a 3 or even a 3.3.) The Blood Libel of Trento is most likely in the neighborhood of 2 picaBowies. I can’t believe the people in the office don’t get this.
CNN live closed-captioning is the single most frustrating thing in the world right now.
The recappers at Television Without Pity are jerkfaces who need to stop being so mean to Brad, er, Spike, rather.
The woman whose desk this normally is has a framed picture of her and Emeril on her desk and having to look at that freakish little Ewok of a man is driving me over the edge.
It’s probably time for me to take a dinner break. Sooner or later, anyway.
I wish I knew what other Dopers have learned today. Perhaps they will post and tell me.
If you really want to know… I learned that I do not know how to make an Omlette. This is the second MPSIMS thread I’ve mentioned it in, so it must have cut me deep.
Ooh, I know the animal crackers you mean in #9! Blue bag, right?
There’s one “animal” that is apparently, a squirrel. But if you turn it upside down, it looks like an drawing of an “Indian” head. Like the steretypical featherd headdress wearing tobacco shop “Indian”.
My friends at my first real job out of college named him Chief Suzakanuck. I don’t know why.
I was shooting pictures of a Detroit Symphony Orchestra concert tonight at Greenfield Village (in Dearborn, MI), and immediately following the first song, conductor Thomas Wilkins turned to the crowd to welcome everyone. I figured this would be a good opportunity to get some shots, so I go down front and take a few and I notice Wilkins eyeballing me.
After I took a few pics, I head back to my equipment, but I hear Mr. Wilkins say, “Oh, Mr. Photographer man! Could you please come back and take a few more of my good side. The side you got really wasn’t my good one.” So I head back out and take a few more shots of him, to the cheers of thousands. I blew a kiss to the people and went on with my work.
Pulling the shopping cart behind you while you peruse the Ben & Jerry’s selection is good way ram it into your own heel. The thing has a handle for a reason, idiot. Use it.
The nice check-out lady wants your Safeway club card, not your library card. Even though they’re both red and have a magnetic stripe, they’re not the same thing, really.
Taco Bell’s new Fiesta Chicken Bowl (or whatever it’s called) is really, really good.
It wasn’t Monday when I woke up, it was still Sunday in the bosom of my family.
Mr P is still cross I bought a second refrigerator. He’s also not pleased about the sandwich press and the pie maker. However his new TV remains a sensible purchase in his mind.
Primafloret the Elder is still a vile child with an attitude problem. He told me last night the incredible amount of stress in his life could easily be remedied by my putting P the Younger up for adoption. Anyone wanna adopt the P the Elder? He’s very cute when he is asleep.
If you let P the Elder read in the car, he vomits.
If Mr P begins to restore furniture, it is fair and reasonable that he takes approximately 10 years per piece. If I begin to restore chairs (and so what if I were working on 4 chairs at once instead of one at a time? Sit on the floor) I need to complete the task in approximately less than a week or Mr P will whine.
My favorite formal vest doesn’t fit anymore. I somehow grew an extra inch.
My hair looks better slicked back.
My Rush tickets are in the mail.
Two of my friends got married today, but they’ve been together for so long, it’s almost like the ceremony was a formality. Weird.
My insurance company hasn’t forgotten me, despite scaring me to death by forgetting to send my landlord my insurance policy and almost getting me kicked out of my apartment.
There’s really good ice cream at a shop in Peddler’s Village in Lahaska, PA.
Today (or yesterday, now) I learned how to kayak. On little rapids, even. Also, that instinct takes over when you flip, and that while it is a bit scary to be under the boat, you won’t drown if you keep your mouth closed.
I also learned that my new 22-year-old downstairs neighbors like to play loud music. They also managed to lock themselves out of their apartment. They moved in yesterday. It seems I shall be learning patience…
I learned that if you go to a resteraunt where the tablecloth has a sheet of butcher paper over it and the server hands you some crayons, don’t draw anything bigger than can be covered with a bread plate. Cute waitresses may be curious, but they get scared away by doodles of a squid saying “Mmm! Fratricide!” next to the calimari.
How to write the syllables ‘ga’, ‘i’ and ‘i-’ (the ‘-’ is supposed to be a macron) in Devanagari. At this rate, I’ll have the entire alphabet down roughly by the time I get married or retire or whenever.
Doing stretches when you’ve not yet warmed up hurts like the Dickens. Warm up, then stretch. Much more fun that way, because I get to kick around and pretend to be Jackie Chan. A white, red-haired Jackie Chan with pimples. Yeah.
My family finds my stocking cap funny. I do admit, the way I wear it makes me look somewhat like a Smurf, but it’s rude to laugh.
Cold cream of mushroom soup is far better than warm. Especially when a huge dollop of chili powder is added.
I learned that I should always keep my eye on where my hand is when I’m closing a door. I was getting out of the front seat of the car and my grandmother was getting out the rear, and I had slammed my door shut, with my thumb in the area between the two open doors, but she closed her door and it got my thumb. Luckily my nail is OK and all I have is a pain-in-the-ass bruise but it makes shaking hands and many other activities I’ll be doing at pre-orientation these next few days hard. Fun.
Today, on the way home after dinner and general jollity (is that a word?) with hersiarch and Mrs. hersiarch (who were kind enough to invite Astrogirl and me to dinner at their apartment), I saw a bus. Number 77-1. Bus number 77-1 is a new route that goes around my university, and then goes over the Han river into Kang-nam, and returns. This is very handy for me, as I often have to go into Kang-nam… it is where Tommy Two-Ties and I have our office.
So I got to wondering, as I stared out the window of the taxi: WHY is the bus numbered 77-1? And by extension: what is the basis for the numbering system of buses in Seoul?
The was already a bus number 77 that passed by our university, but its route has nothing in common with the route of the 77-1 save for the fact that both buses pass by Hanyang U…
I posed these questions to Astrogirl, and learned this:
Buses in Seoul are not a public concern! They are owned and run by private businesses!
So, the 77-1 is owned by the same company that owns the 77! Now you know.
[sup]Yeah, I know… no one cares… but to me it was a MAJOR revelation![/sup]
I learned that it’s not smart to mow wet grass going downhill in shoes that have no tread. I also learned that I’m more flexible than I thought - never knew my leg would bend that way! I don’t think I broke anything, and I’ve done the tylenol-and-ice-pack, but I’m still limping a bit.
I’ve also learned that when I’m really bored, I do a lot of cleaning. I hate cleaning. But I’ve been bored so my house is looking really good.
And even tho I knew this, I was reminded that there’s nothing in the world like a good friend who’s there for you.
