I love/loath my spam folder. It provides me with at least 5 minutes of enjoyment/despisement every day. Besides the hundreds of e-mails I receive about cleansing my colon, I frequently discard spam from Kaplan University, penis enlargements, offers to sell my timeshare.
Today I found one who's subject line worried me, because I know that there is some stu (short for stupid person) out there that would actually think this is a good idea. From: Burn Clean. Subject: "Cars Can Run on a Gas + Water Mixture Saving you $." I'm not saying that because at one time I owned a car, it means that I know anything about cars. But somehow, instinctively, mixing gas and water does not seem like a good idea. Much less, putting that combination in your car. I'm sure that if diluting petrol was smart everyone would be doing it already and I wouldn't need a piece of spam to let me know it was a good idea.
However, you can go to car2water.com and buy a conversion kit. I don't know what exactly they are selling or how the science would work (would it be like making salad dressing where you have to emulsify the oil and water?). But then again, look at the guy who's selling it:
Just looking at him makes me want to set up a chem lab in my kitchen and churn water into gasoline.
1. I meet my Japanese friend yesterday for coffee and she's really great to talk to. She speaks pretty good English but she's still learning. She always tells me new words that she's recently learned. Last week while translating at a physical therapy conference, she told me, she learned specular. It sounded like a legit word, but I immediately thought she meant speculum (see last gyno post on that word). But then she described the word and we figured out that she meant scapular (shoulder). Don't you love the subtle complexities of English?
2. I saw The National Theater of Scotland's production of The Bacchae this weekend, staring Alan Cumming. It was a new translation of the classic Euripides tragedy, by David Greig. This production was really good. The chorus was a group of black female singers all with outstanding vocal range. Every main character got to have at least one song with the chorus. The set was minimalistic and modern. Alan Cumming was reminiscent of the Emcee from Cabaret, but it worked. Then, the entire pace of the play halted to a crawl after Agave's (mother of Pentheus, the bad guy), entrance. It was as if she was trying to act through her actions and not the text and she took waaaaaaaayyyyyy to long to get from her musical moment to her monologue. Everyone else worked really hard and then she comes in the last 15 minutes of the play and fucks it all up. Nice going, lady.
3. I love the great outdoors but the great outdoors does not love me. Exhibit A: bug bites...everywhere. Legs, back, neck, arms, you name it. I was at the home of the Jost yesterday for a BBQ and while I was feasting of chicken wings and s'mores the bugs were feasting on me. There was not enough bug spray and anti-itch cream to take care of the problem. But, the good thing was by the time I had at least one drink from every drink group the bugs stopped biting or I didn't know they were biting because I was numb from the alcohol. Despite, it was a fun party.
That's right kiddies, I'm talking about the place that just gets better and better every time I go there... the OB-GYN office! YAY!!! Wanna hear the latest?
So, today was my 3rd visit to this particular doctor since November. While it's not that unusual to me for me to know that office inside and out (I used to take Depo shots ever 3 months for years), my last 2 visits were follow-ups. I was calm as (what's a good simile here?) a whatever, I guess. Well, you know how it goes. 2pm appointment means that you have to kill 10 minutes filling out new paperwork, even though you've been a patient since 1948, and then you have to wait 30 minutes for them to tell you that they are 45 minutes backed up. Backed up for what? The only excusable reason would be because someone's vagina exploded. Even then, I may not forgive the back up. Oh, also, out of 5 patient rooms the only room you can go into, because of the specialized equipment that will be used on you, they just put another patient in there, and they don't know how long you'll have to wait for that room. Finally, at 3:15 I was allowed into the room with the specialized equipment... which had to be wheeled in from the storage closet. Fuck!
There's nothing like being in a doctor's examination room alone with your thoughts. I easily had 10 minutes to kill while waiting for my gyno. I counted 8, or was it 9, speculums on the table, 5 trays of plastic tubes used to collect samples, 1 Georgia O'Keeffe print (tasteless in this setting, think about it), and 2 garbage cans, one marked "for paper only" and the other "hazardous materials." I wondered if that's where they put the exploding vagina. That made me laugh. Any easing of tension and stress is good.
Nurse came in. "When was your last period?" Who the fuck keeps track of that at a time like this? Of course I left my date book at work. So, I counted the empty slots in my birth control pill packet to give her a rough estimate. I went to the bathroom to change into that stupid hospital gown they give you. I quickly discovered that I had to change the answer I gave to the nurse about my period.
Finally, after an explanation of the procedure the doctor was going to perform on me, I slide my feet into the stirrups with no difficulty and began my yoga breathing to calm myself down.
My god. It feels like all 8 or 9 speculums were used on me at the same time. Ouch.
I've lived in NY for over 7 years and I have never gone out and braved the crowds to see the Macy's fireworks. I've usually stayed at home or gone to a friend's house to watch the fireworks on tv.
This year, my friend Jessica invited me and my other to go to Gantry State Park in Long Island City to see the 4th of July festivities. The park was finally open after a major renovation and Jessica wanted to go early to get a good spot on the lawn. I was on volunteer-advocate duty until 6pm. Of course, out of 6 people on call that day I was the only person to get a call to the hospital and it was at 4pm. That meant that I was sure not to get out until at least quarter after 6pm. And I was in bad need of a shower.
Around 7, Jess called to say that the police were beginning to cut off access to the park and they were handing out wrist bracelets for the area. I knew that there was no way we were getting to Gantry before the NYPD closed it off. 5 minutes later, Jess called to say that she got 2 extra bracelets for me and my other so we can get in. She would just pass us the wrist bands thought the fence as soon as we got there. No probs, right?
We got there by 8pm. After going through the security checkpoint we walked up to a crowd of thousands. Thank goodness for cell phones because I'd never find myself in a crowd. As it turned out, the police wasn't letting anyone out of the gated park area, even if they have a bracelet to reenter. How was Jess going to get the bracelets to us? She tried to leave to say she had to get a pizza she ordered. That didn't work. She had her teenage cousin say that her parents were outside of the gates. That didn't work. Finally, we got to the gate, Jess was on the other end. There was about 20 feet of security between us. Finally, she told a cop that I had come by to drop off something to her and that she had to give something to me. She was let through. We switched bags. Inside the bag she gave me had a plastic container with the two bracelets inside. The drop was made. I felt like I picked up some hard core drugs. Carefully, in the middle of thousands of people without the precious orange tag that guaranteed a prime view of the fireworks, my other an I put on our bands, said a quick prayer that the cop who saw the switch wouldn't recognize us, and walked through the 20 feet of security. Freedom.
Even in the rain, we had a great view and a great time. I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the night if I was packed in like a sardine next to the waterfront. After sneaking through security for a good firework viewing spot, I feel dangerous. What's next for me? I might jay walk. Or worse, litter. I'm a criminal.
Well, summer is in full force. And that means the following for me:
1. ac at home not working 2. crabby, defiant other 3. nothing in my life to commit my time to other than work
Therefore... too much free time + sweaty other = evenings at home that are 2 swears words short of a fist fight. It's an algebraic formula for disaster.
I swear. If he tries to talk to me one more time, I might have to give him a pair of cement shoes and a one-way ticket to the East River aquarium. I'm in a play, he says I'm never home and he feel neglected. I'm home, I'm crowding him. God!
*Disclaimer. I'm joking about the cement shoes. I really love him, but I'm just counting the days until I whip out my grievance list for the couple's therapist. I'm hoping it works out.
Just looking at him makes me want to set up a chem lab in my kitchen and churn water into gasoline.
