Today, as I wasted some time with celebrity gossip (don't judge!), I came across this snippet from Showbiz Spy:
Hollywood heartthrob Orlando Bloom has been told to step his personal hygiene — because his on-again, off-again girlfriend Miranda Kerr thinks he’s “too smelly”. “Miranda thinks Orlando is too smelly,” says a source close to the couple. “Recently, she asked him if he could wash his clothes and perhaps shower more often.”
When the 31-year-old isn’t filming his latest Hollywood blockbuster, he “goes days without washing his clothes,” the source tells Star magazine. “He’ll wear the same jeans for a week before he throws them in the washer. Same goes for his sweaters, T-shirts and socks.” And the ‘Pirates of The Caribbean’ star makes matter worse — by allowing his pet pooch Sidi sleep in his bed and slobber all over him. Since Victoria’s Secret model Miranda, 24, told him to clean up his act, Orlando has been trying. But, says the source, he’s told friends “he doesn’t know if this relationship will last.”
OK, clearly this Miranda person has totally unrealistic expectations. She actually expects him to shower and change his clothes everyday? C'mon. And, are we really supposed to believe that he does his own laundry? How disappointing.
There can only be 2 explanations for his behavior:
1) He's trying to convince everyone that he is a man (Dating supermodel - check. Stinking - check, check) OR
2) He's writing a dissertation.
I'm pretty sure it's option #2. Truth be told, if I wasn't teaching this semester, I'd sit at home and stink, too. The dissertation theory also explains Bloom's lackluster performance in Pirates of the Caribbean, Part 3. I can certainly sympathize - having to perform at a job to pay the bills while you're completely exhausted and distracted by something that has yet to pay off. At least he had multiple takes, unlike my lectures in front of the classroom. No blooper reel on the DVD Box Set from my class.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Make-Up Encounter
Today, I broke free from my apartment for a quick errand to the mall. I needed to go to the post office, get some face lotion, and drop off the recylcing. I know, I'm really living the exciting life these days.
I made it through the post office with minimal difficulty. Some fellow was next to me at the counter, explaining something about an eBay purchase gone bad. As I listened, I thought, "I don't think I've ever heard a thicker southern accent in my life." It's still ringing in my ears - it was a looonnng story. Something about a failed delivery and a money order and a PayPal account and more about the failed delivery...
I mailed my packages and went into the mall. Immediately, I was on sensory overload. This is what happens when you spend the entire weekend in your apartment. "Focus," I thought. I made it to the Clinique counter and approached the impeccably made-up salesgirl in the immaculate white coat. "I need a refill of the yellow face lotion," I said (completely forgetting the actual name of the yellow face lotion.) "Sure," she said. She got the lotion, put it on the counter, and turned to me. "You know," she said, "we're having Clinique Days where we give free make-up tips. Would you like some free make-up tips?"
I looked past her into the mirror behind the register. I looked like crap. No make-up, big dark circles under my eyes, pale skin. I looked back at her and said, "No, thanks." She looked really disappointed. I'm a little surprised she didn't just throw a lasso around me and tie me to the chair. I give her credit for not saying something like, "You should really do this, because you look like crap warmed over. Seriously. You actually left your house like that?"
Now that I'm back home, I'm a little disappointed that I didn't take her up on her offer. Maybe next time. Or perhaps, I should have asked, "Are you saying there's something wrong with my make-up? I worked for hours to look like this. Literally. Hours. Lost sleep to achieve this look." The name of the lotion is "Dramatically Different lotion," so when she asked about make-up tips, I could have said, "Nope. I've got this lotion. I'm all set. All I need to look dramatically different is right here in this bottle."
I made it through the post office with minimal difficulty. Some fellow was next to me at the counter, explaining something about an eBay purchase gone bad. As I listened, I thought, "I don't think I've ever heard a thicker southern accent in my life." It's still ringing in my ears - it was a looonnng story. Something about a failed delivery and a money order and a PayPal account and more about the failed delivery...
I mailed my packages and went into the mall. Immediately, I was on sensory overload. This is what happens when you spend the entire weekend in your apartment. "Focus," I thought. I made it to the Clinique counter and approached the impeccably made-up salesgirl in the immaculate white coat. "I need a refill of the yellow face lotion," I said (completely forgetting the actual name of the yellow face lotion.) "Sure," she said. She got the lotion, put it on the counter, and turned to me. "You know," she said, "we're having Clinique Days where we give free make-up tips. Would you like some free make-up tips?"
I looked past her into the mirror behind the register. I looked like crap. No make-up, big dark circles under my eyes, pale skin. I looked back at her and said, "No, thanks." She looked really disappointed. I'm a little surprised she didn't just throw a lasso around me and tie me to the chair. I give her credit for not saying something like, "You should really do this, because you look like crap warmed over. Seriously. You actually left your house like that?"
Now that I'm back home, I'm a little disappointed that I didn't take her up on her offer. Maybe next time. Or perhaps, I should have asked, "Are you saying there's something wrong with my make-up? I worked for hours to look like this. Literally. Hours. Lost sleep to achieve this look." The name of the lotion is "Dramatically Different lotion," so when she asked about make-up tips, I could have said, "Nope. I've got this lotion. I'm all set. All I need to look dramatically different is right here in this bottle."
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Waterless Coffee
It's been a stressful time lately. I won't go into a lot of details, let's just say I have a lot of things I'm trying to manage and leave it at that. I know that this too shall pass, and it can't go by fast enough.
Over the last two weeks, the wheels have slowly come off of the cart. I've decided not to cook anything until after my dissertation draft is turned in on March 4. Everything I've attempted to cook has either burned to a crisp or not tasted quite right because I left out some seemingly minor, but highly significant, ingredient. The last time I cooked, I foolishly tried a new recipe. I managed to burn the chicken, smoke up the apartment and set off the smoke detectors. No one came to check on me, which didn't give me much comfort.
This morning, I started the coffee pot like I do every morning. A few minutes later, I heard a rather weak beeping sound. I thought, "The coffee is done early this morning." I went into the kitchen, picked up the carafe, and it was empty. The coffee pot had a strange smell about it, like the coffee had burned. I opened the contraption and learned that I didn't put any water in the machine the night before. So, it ground the beans, heated up, and sputtered to a stop. I like to think that it was sitting on the counter, bewildered in its attempt to help me. "I did everything I could," said my coffee pot, "but I just can't make coffee without water. I'm sorry."
I'm getting to the point where I'm almost afraid to leave the house. As long as all of this is contained in my four walls, at least I'm not endangering others.
Over the last two weeks, the wheels have slowly come off of the cart. I've decided not to cook anything until after my dissertation draft is turned in on March 4. Everything I've attempted to cook has either burned to a crisp or not tasted quite right because I left out some seemingly minor, but highly significant, ingredient. The last time I cooked, I foolishly tried a new recipe. I managed to burn the chicken, smoke up the apartment and set off the smoke detectors. No one came to check on me, which didn't give me much comfort.
This morning, I started the coffee pot like I do every morning. A few minutes later, I heard a rather weak beeping sound. I thought, "The coffee is done early this morning." I went into the kitchen, picked up the carafe, and it was empty. The coffee pot had a strange smell about it, like the coffee had burned. I opened the contraption and learned that I didn't put any water in the machine the night before. So, it ground the beans, heated up, and sputtered to a stop. I like to think that it was sitting on the counter, bewildered in its attempt to help me. "I did everything I could," said my coffee pot, "but I just can't make coffee without water. I'm sorry."
I'm getting to the point where I'm almost afraid to leave the house. As long as all of this is contained in my four walls, at least I'm not endangering others.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Short Attention Theater
Today, I tore myself away from writing lectures and editing dissertation chapters to go to the gym. I've been incredibly inconsistent in my gym outings of late. I know that I haven't been keeping up because the 2 miles on the elliptical machine nearly did me in. But, I persevered and made it over to the treadmill. I'm walking 3 miles on the treadmill now, just long enough to listen to the podcast of NPR's Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me.
As I walked along, I listened to Peter Sagal interviewing Linda Ronstadt, their celebrity guest. She was really funny. At one point, she was talking about why she stopped playing arena shows (back in the early 80s, when people still bought her records). She said that she wanted to play smaller venues because then she had a sense that people were actually paying attention to her, rather than chatting with their friends, buying beer, or milling around.
Paula Poundstone weighed in and said she has the same problem at her shows. She was thinking of adopting her son's 3rd grade teacher's approach - standing on stage and saying, "I'm waiting...." or having the entire audience look at the talkers.
I decided that if they can't hold the attention of people who actually paid money to see and hear them, there's just no hope that I'll be able to hold undergraduates' attention. Well, maybe I have one important advantage. Ronstadt and Poundstone don't give exams at the end of their performances.
As I walked along, I listened to Peter Sagal interviewing Linda Ronstadt, their celebrity guest. She was really funny. At one point, she was talking about why she stopped playing arena shows (back in the early 80s, when people still bought her records). She said that she wanted to play smaller venues because then she had a sense that people were actually paying attention to her, rather than chatting with their friends, buying beer, or milling around.
Paula Poundstone weighed in and said she has the same problem at her shows. She was thinking of adopting her son's 3rd grade teacher's approach - standing on stage and saying, "I'm waiting...." or having the entire audience look at the talkers.
I decided that if they can't hold the attention of people who actually paid money to see and hear them, there's just no hope that I'll be able to hold undergraduates' attention. Well, maybe I have one important advantage. Ronstadt and Poundstone don't give exams at the end of their performances.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Black History Month
After two weeks of bad luck and overwhelming amounts of work, I finally made it to the grocery store. I had to go, I was out of coffee. Coffee and half and half are the only two non-negotiables in my life. If they run low, I'm off to the store, I do not pass go, I do not collect $200.
While I was wandering around looking for "hot pepper oil," I heard an annoucement on the store PA. Seems Kroger is celebrating Black History Month and they want everyone to know it. They appreciate and celebrate African Americans as a source of creativity and something else that I didn't catch. The announcement continued with phrases that had obviously been vetted through at least 30 focus groups to make sure they didn't say anything remotely offensive, or meaningful. The announcement ended with, "At Kroger, we're proud to do our part to celebrate Black History Month."
My first thought was, "I wonder what 'their part' is." Then, I got my answer. "So many nights, I sit by my window, waiting for someone to sing me his song...So many dreams, I kept deep inside me...alone in the dark...but now you've come along..." That's right, Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life" came blaring from the PA system. Seems Kroger is celebrating Black History Month by playing the whitest music they can find. Interesting approach.
I never found hot pepper oil. I need it for a new stir fry recipe. I'm blaming Debbie Boone. I'm also still singing "You Light Up My Life." Happy Black History Month, from your friends at Kroger.
While I was wandering around looking for "hot pepper oil," I heard an annoucement on the store PA. Seems Kroger is celebrating Black History Month and they want everyone to know it. They appreciate and celebrate African Americans as a source of creativity and something else that I didn't catch. The announcement continued with phrases that had obviously been vetted through at least 30 focus groups to make sure they didn't say anything remotely offensive, or meaningful. The announcement ended with, "At Kroger, we're proud to do our part to celebrate Black History Month."
My first thought was, "I wonder what 'their part' is." Then, I got my answer. "So many nights, I sit by my window, waiting for someone to sing me his song...So many dreams, I kept deep inside me...alone in the dark...but now you've come along..." That's right, Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life" came blaring from the PA system. Seems Kroger is celebrating Black History Month by playing the whitest music they can find. Interesting approach.
I never found hot pepper oil. I need it for a new stir fry recipe. I'm blaming Debbie Boone. I'm also still singing "You Light Up My Life." Happy Black History Month, from your friends at Kroger.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Super Tuesday
Well, Super Tuesday has come and gone. The morning paper tells me that Barack Obama won my state. Approximately half of the voters in my town cast ballots for him. I was not one of them. Apparently, I'm not as hegemonic as I think I am.
According to today's paper: "Driven in part by strong support in Clarke County, Barack Obama ran away in the Georgia's Democratic presidential primary Tuesday." Gotta love local coverage. Wonder if Obama is still running. Did he cry, "Run away! Run away!" like the knights in Quest for the Holy Grail?
I talked briefly about the election in my classes yesterday. One student remarked that candidates who had dropped out of the race still appeared on the ballot. I said, "I know, John Edwards was still on the ballot." The student replied, "I voted on the Republican ticket and Giuliani was still there." Until he said that, I'd completely forgotten that I'm in a red state now. A very red state. A state that's so red, Mike Huckabee won here. If Huckabee wins the national election, I'm planning to evolve into another species, just to prove him wrong. Then, I'm moving to Canada.
According to today's paper: "Driven in part by strong support in Clarke County, Barack Obama ran away in the Georgia's Democratic presidential primary Tuesday." Gotta love local coverage. Wonder if Obama is still running. Did he cry, "Run away! Run away!" like the knights in Quest for the Holy Grail?
I talked briefly about the election in my classes yesterday. One student remarked that candidates who had dropped out of the race still appeared on the ballot. I said, "I know, John Edwards was still on the ballot." The student replied, "I voted on the Republican ticket and Giuliani was still there." Until he said that, I'd completely forgotten that I'm in a red state now. A very red state. A state that's so red, Mike Huckabee won here. If Huckabee wins the national election, I'm planning to evolve into another species, just to prove him wrong. Then, I'm moving to Canada.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Today will be lucky
...so says my fortune from my fortune cookie. Since the day's almost over, I'm going to extend the good luck into tomorrow - when I have to return to the Campus of Unfortunate Events. Here's hoping the fortune is right.
I'm choosing to ignore the second fortune: "Your flamboyant personality will soon bring you to a new hobby." Yeah, ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you, "That Heg, she sure is flamboyant." Since I don't want to be a Vegas showgirl, I don't think I'll be applying my flamboyance to a new hobby any time soon.
It's enough for me to know that I'm flamboyant on the inside.
I'm choosing to ignore the second fortune: "Your flamboyant personality will soon bring you to a new hobby." Yeah, ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you, "That Heg, she sure is flamboyant." Since I don't want to be a Vegas showgirl, I don't think I'll be applying my flamboyance to a new hobby any time soon.
It's enough for me to know that I'm flamboyant on the inside.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Bad Luck Continues
Follow-up from yesterday: I checked the trunk of my car, and yep, there was water in it. I'm not sure why I was surprised, given the way my life has gone for the past 10 days.
So, I got on the phone to my insurance company who set me up with a body shop here in town. Turns out, the collision buckled the back quarter of my car, which explains the trunk and bumper issues. $3000 of damages. Once I get a copy of the police report, my insurance company will be in touch with the hitter's insurance company, and in the meantime, I'm in a rental car while mine sits at the body shop. Second time in 2 weeks that I've been in someone else's car. Really getting tired of this.
The real kick in the ass is that I fill up my car, then it either loses a muffler or I get hit from behind. I then have to relinquish my car and take someone else's car. Inevitably, the borrowed car only has a quarter tank of gas in it. So, if you're keeping track, I've now purchased 4 tanks of gas for 3 different cars in the past two weeks. I think that I single-handedly explain Exxon's record profits.
And my neck hurts. It's all so cliche. Minor fender bender, then someone starts yelling "Whiplash!" I wasn't going to see a doctor, but after the trip the body shop uncovered hidden damage to my car, I decided to show the same concern for my own body. Or, maybe I've been watching too much "House" lately. Either way, the road led the doctor. Overpriced x-rays show no problems other than wrenched muscles. Should clear up in a week. I have some good drugs to take the edge off in the meantime. So, no horrible rare disease - though the way my luck has gone lately, I'm not ruling it out. At least I'd get to meet Hugh Laurie.
I finally limped home from an exhausting afternoon, made and ate an enormous plate of pasta, drank some wine, took a pain killer, headed to bed. This morning, I read the following horoscope:
"You won't have any trouble getting what you want; the problem is that you might not know exactly what that is and then blame others. Unless you can define your desires, you won't have much success."
OK, smartass horoscope writers, I'll be perfectly clear. I want my car back in one piece. I do not want anyone to run into me. I do not want anything to break on my car. I want lots of chocolate. And, I want all Valentine's Day crap to burst into flames. There. Defined clearly enough for you?
So, I got on the phone to my insurance company who set me up with a body shop here in town. Turns out, the collision buckled the back quarter of my car, which explains the trunk and bumper issues. $3000 of damages. Once I get a copy of the police report, my insurance company will be in touch with the hitter's insurance company, and in the meantime, I'm in a rental car while mine sits at the body shop. Second time in 2 weeks that I've been in someone else's car. Really getting tired of this.
The real kick in the ass is that I fill up my car, then it either loses a muffler or I get hit from behind. I then have to relinquish my car and take someone else's car. Inevitably, the borrowed car only has a quarter tank of gas in it. So, if you're keeping track, I've now purchased 4 tanks of gas for 3 different cars in the past two weeks. I think that I single-handedly explain Exxon's record profits.
And my neck hurts. It's all so cliche. Minor fender bender, then someone starts yelling "Whiplash!" I wasn't going to see a doctor, but after the trip the body shop uncovered hidden damage to my car, I decided to show the same concern for my own body. Or, maybe I've been watching too much "House" lately. Either way, the road led the doctor. Overpriced x-rays show no problems other than wrenched muscles. Should clear up in a week. I have some good drugs to take the edge off in the meantime. So, no horrible rare disease - though the way my luck has gone lately, I'm not ruling it out. At least I'd get to meet Hugh Laurie.
I finally limped home from an exhausting afternoon, made and ate an enormous plate of pasta, drank some wine, took a pain killer, headed to bed. This morning, I read the following horoscope:
"You won't have any trouble getting what you want; the problem is that you might not know exactly what that is and then blame others. Unless you can define your desires, you won't have much success."
OK, smartass horoscope writers, I'll be perfectly clear. I want my car back in one piece. I do not want anyone to run into me. I do not want anything to break on my car. I want lots of chocolate. And, I want all Valentine's Day crap to burst into flames. There. Defined clearly enough for you?
Friday, February 1, 2008
Automotive Blues
Last weekend, I retrieved my car from the doctor, paid the hefty bill, and brought my trusty companion home. I peered under the car, simply to marvel at the shiny new exhaust system. The car was a bit embarrased, but humored me. I optimistically thought, "OK, that's literally behind us and we can move on."
Yesterday, I returned to campus. As I exited the interstate on to the Road of Endless Construction, I yielded oncoming traffic. Unfortunately, the car behind me had different ideas. Yep, you guessed it, BLAM! I believe my exact exclamation went something like, "Jesus Christ, Lady! This is just what I need!" I have to say that I would have expected more cursing coming from me, but there you have it. Diety's name in vain and irony. Good to know that this is how I respond in an emergency.
We got out of our cars and surveyed the damage. All looked fine. She had stopped behind me, but then "her foot slipped off the brake" and she "rolled into me." As the person on the other end of the collision, I think she didn't realize I had stopped and applied some pressure to her accelerator. As I looked at my car's back end, I kept thinking, "If you've damaged the $1500 exhaust system, I'm taking what's left of my car and I'm running you down in the street."
All looked fine, particularly on her car - one of those new sedans that looks like a tank. As I looked at my car, I realized that no, everything wasn't fine. The bumper had come loose and the trunk was no longer in complete alignment. No, it wasn't devestating damage, and yes, I just wanted to continue on my way - but the loud voice in my head kept yelling, "If you let her go, and then find out the trunk isn't water-tight any more, there won't be a damn thing you can do about it." So, we called the cops.
The cop arrived and seemed really annoyed that we had called him out for an accident that clearly didn't meet his criteria for "worthy." He took our information and apologized to the hitter as he handed her a citation. OK, yes, I felt bad that she was getting a ticket, but hey! She hit me! We got back in our cars and headed off. My neck felt a bit stiff, but I thought that it was probably just tension. When I got out of the car, I realized she'd hit me hard enough to jar the sunroof cover loose.
It rained last night so this morning, I'll head out and check the inside of the trunk. My neck is still a bit stiff and my head hurts. I think the headache is related to caffiene, so I'll go get some more coffee. I trust that the neck thing will go away in the next few days. Here's hoping this accident fades into the mist and I'm done with bad luck for a while.
Yesterday, I returned to campus. As I exited the interstate on to the Road of Endless Construction, I yielded oncoming traffic. Unfortunately, the car behind me had different ideas. Yep, you guessed it, BLAM! I believe my exact exclamation went something like, "Jesus Christ, Lady! This is just what I need!" I have to say that I would have expected more cursing coming from me, but there you have it. Diety's name in vain and irony. Good to know that this is how I respond in an emergency.
We got out of our cars and surveyed the damage. All looked fine. She had stopped behind me, but then "her foot slipped off the brake" and she "rolled into me." As the person on the other end of the collision, I think she didn't realize I had stopped and applied some pressure to her accelerator. As I looked at my car's back end, I kept thinking, "If you've damaged the $1500 exhaust system, I'm taking what's left of my car and I'm running you down in the street."
All looked fine, particularly on her car - one of those new sedans that looks like a tank. As I looked at my car, I realized that no, everything wasn't fine. The bumper had come loose and the trunk was no longer in complete alignment. No, it wasn't devestating damage, and yes, I just wanted to continue on my way - but the loud voice in my head kept yelling, "If you let her go, and then find out the trunk isn't water-tight any more, there won't be a damn thing you can do about it." So, we called the cops.
The cop arrived and seemed really annoyed that we had called him out for an accident that clearly didn't meet his criteria for "worthy." He took our information and apologized to the hitter as he handed her a citation. OK, yes, I felt bad that she was getting a ticket, but hey! She hit me! We got back in our cars and headed off. My neck felt a bit stiff, but I thought that it was probably just tension. When I got out of the car, I realized she'd hit me hard enough to jar the sunroof cover loose.
It rained last night so this morning, I'll head out and check the inside of the trunk. My neck is still a bit stiff and my head hurts. I think the headache is related to caffiene, so I'll go get some more coffee. I trust that the neck thing will go away in the next few days. Here's hoping this accident fades into the mist and I'm done with bad luck for a while.
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