Free Wireless, Man

In this day and age, I honestly believe it is a crime to charge people extra for wireless internet. It disgusts me that Starbucks, after you've already paid them $4.50 for a drink, insists on charging for internet when so many other enlightened places just give it out for free. These are modern times we live in. It should be complementary- like a shitty continental breakfast, or a hot towl.

What disgusts me even more, however, is when people set up wireless networks at home but then refuse to let anyone else use them. There is nothing more frustrating than being in the range of six or seven wireless networks, only to be dissallowed into every one of them. And to second that, I think it is downright un-neighborly. If I can go to my neighbor's house anytime to borrow a cup of sugar, why not internet? Infact, using their wireless internet is even less of a hassle to them than that. I don't need to go knock at their door, and they definitley don't need to pay for more internet next time they're out shopping to make up for it. Honestly, sharing internet is like sharing air, and does absolutley no harm to anyone involved. One day, when I pay my own bills, I think I am going to purposefully make my internet connection open and available to all. If I need to have some kind of password for the company's sake. then I'll probably name my network something like "The password is password" and act accordingly. The Sixties may have tackled Free Love, but this is clearly our own cultural battle to be fought.


I actually wrote this a week ago but couldn't post it. Guess Why.

½ (b·h) = ♥

With the recent tremendous influx of content to the local blogosphere, I feel moved to partake. Obviously I can't contribute in any real way due to severe bad luck that's kept me out of triangle territory for two months, but oh well. What else is new. Let's talk about feelings. And Posterity. And Oranges.

If the triangle is, well, the triangle, then I guess you could say I'm kind of like an orange. A triangle doesn't really need an orange, nor does an orange a triangle, but it's there, and oddly complementary, and uber appreciated. Ultimatley, both the triangle and the orange somehow benefit exponenetially from this mutual presence. I actually have no idea where else I was going with that, but I like the analogy. (Cuz, you know, it invovles fruit)

So anyway- sitting right next to the triangle, on my orangey perch, is me. The truth is, while not being an intimate member of this miniature, exclusive, legendary cult; I do care for it deeply, and know it better than most. I witnessed its birth, somehow stuck around long enough to still be here, and (perhaps most remarkably) actually understand what they're talking about a record-breaking 2/3 of the time. So here's to the triangle. Maybe the best has been, but may you always, well, triangulate.

TO OSK- Admiral Ackbar is cool, but lengthy, and frankly a little much for me to mouth without sounding like a total dweeb. The closest you'll probably get out of me regularly is AA, so that will just have to do. If you really insist on the full pronounciation, remind me and I'll do it on birthdays and special occassions. Besides, OSK is classic. Anyway, You really have a thing for geometric shapes, don't you? I mean, the triangle, the hexagon. While you had nothing to do with the writing of The Flapjack and Pokey Project, (nice corny western ring, no?) I sense the vinyl pentagram wreaks of your subconcious intellectual sabotage. PS- no, You're icky.


TO FLAPJACK- I really think you lucked out in this new generation of nicknames here. You see, flapjacks remind me of pancakes, and pancakes are flat and beige-colored and have nothing on them, kind of like your head. It really is magically appropriate. Plus, pancakes> penis (in this case, at least) so you can at least be thankful we don't make that joke too much anymore.


TO POKEY- It must be said, your phone etiquitte sucks. I don't take it personally, but you might wanna work on that. I hope you still have my litmus paper, and If you ever grow weary of computer science then I could use the lab help on my own little summer pet project. I think I still have a newspaper clipping of you somewhere if you'd like it. Most importantly- you've been single for almost a whole four months now, a personal record for you, how does it feel?


...So I was going for epic tribute but that degenerated pretty quickly. I would however, like to also flatter myself into thinking that one day an entire triangle-like protege group will emerge, along with maybe another fruity, female counterpart. (Though maybe not, this is the gender-equitable future after all.) It's nice to think that when they aren't also engaging in geometric bonding, they will hike amongst the ruins of the academic building, in search of our mysterious relics from days past, wondering about the subtleties of our very existence. They will find our yearbooks in the old reading room (hopefully condom free) and use them as maps from which to navigate a path throughout the ages. They will attempt to decipher our sporratic, coded, language, as they manage to simultaneously follow in our footsteps, while still carving out new and epic tales of their own making. On Alumni weekend, as we drunkenly stumble across our former haunts, they will glimpse us through the glass and wonder "could that possibly be one of them?"

I think we owe something to these hypothetical, future anothropologists. After all, they're practically us, and in reality, they always will be.

Sunday Drivers

Why? Because they're all a bunch of little old ladies going to church? No. The truth is, the expression "Sunday driver" actually hails from the youth of the nation, driving at 10 under the speed limit on a Sunday afternoon because (beleive it or not) they're still hungover from the night before.


I can now speak from personal experience. Ugh.

My Boys

Since this summer has arguably been one of the worst on record so far, I have found myself looking to sources outside of my own life for amusement more and more often. True, I've always loved a good sitcom about 20 or 30 somethings living together in a metropolitan area (you know, that really original plot you don't see much of) but this is developing into a minor obsession. Similar to the Sex and the City craze of the summer of 2006, I have now become a legitimate My Boys addict.






As veteran mango addicts know, I once spent a huge chunk of blogspace commenting and critiquing the finer points of Sex and the City, and I feel it only fair to give My Boys the same respect.


When I first saw adds for this show on TBS, I honestly thought it looked pathetic and overwhelmingly predictable (That tagline? Really?) but somehow over time it managed to peak my curiosity enough to coerce me into watching a few episodes, and even buy the first season on DVD so I could render a complete judgement. Soon enough, I was hooked.

The funny thing about My Boys is that its entire conception is based on the idea of an "Anti-Sex-and-the-City," yet I wouldn't be surprised if it appealed to the exact identical fan base. Sure, pricey shoes and snazzy city living have been replaced by baseball and beer, but the writing style is almost identical. (Though any fan of both shows will appreciate the entire episode devoted to blatantly parodying SATC, that was just brilliant.) The show is obviously made on a lower budget than HBO's almost movie-quality production, and so we must forgive the occassional, painfully obvious advertising plug, but otherwise I honestly think this show is really entertaining. No where else on TV have I heard the cast utter the phrases "douche" or "epic" as frequently as, well, I do. A lot of the jokes aren't laugh out loud funny, but they are the exact kinds of jokes you might make yourself poking fun at friends on a daily basis. (It was also really refreshing to hear a D&D reference far outside of the stereotypical gamer/nerd context- major cudos.)

Ultimatley, both shows aim at different kinds of realism. Sex and the City attempts to portray realistic personal relationships, while stretching the facts for hint of New York glamour and romance. My Boys on the other hand, wonderfully portrays day-today-living among friends, while fudging reality by giving the protagonist a suprisingly dominant role in all of the other character's lives.

While many praise the show's attempt to appease both genders, I honestly can't picture guys seriously digging this show (nor serious connisseurs of television, for that matter), but I am curious. So here's my proposition: just one evening of your time, I'll provide the junk food. Thoughts?

Epiphany

The explanation for the existance of Free Will in human beings (assuming of course that we do infact, have Free Will and that there does infact, exist some higher power who might dictate otherwise) is simply the same as that of genetic mutation. While the Powers Above have a few tried and true ideas about what makes for a peaceful, profitable existance on earth, they also acknowledge that there is still room for improvement- even by us peons. Peons, who apparently probabaly aren't so moronic afterall...Duh!

How did someone not think of this earlier!? (minus the whole Darwin + Religion= [BOOM!] problem) Seriously.

Well, I Had to Do Something...

Last year when we celebrated MFA's second birthday, I attempted (key word: attempted) to cook an extensive dinner based on Mango ingredients, which ultimatley failed because I didn't realize that a.) bread making flour does not contain yeast and b.) all mangos must ripen for several days before they can amount to anything worth eating. Oops. This year I don't have nearly as much time on my hands, but I would like to do something. Watching Ace of Cakes a few weeks ago, I got inspired. So, at some point this summer, I'm going to bake a cake. A pretty one. (It'll probabaly also be pretty small, cuz I'm pretty sure I'm down to like, two barely-regular readers. Oops.) Oh well, Happy Birthday MFA, for whatever it's worth. Our Little Bloggy is getting ot be a big Blog now...

Something to ponder in the meantime: the expression "pretty" as an emphatic statement (eg- pretty sure, pretty well). How did that happenn?

Juicy Goes To The Big City

I have always thought it would be fabulous if public napping facilities existed. That is, places where people could just go to nap whenever they needed, without judgement from more active onlookers. Say you have some awkward period of time to kill and don't want to go all the way back to your house, or have spent an entire afternoon walking around shopping, and now the post-mall sleepies are catching up to you with a vengance? It really is a fabulous idea...


...A fabulous idea that certainly occured to whoever designed New York City's Central Park. For starters, Central Park a miracle within itself- thoroughly convincing any passer through that they are in the middle of country New England instead of a smelly, noisy metropolis (No really, it actually smells different). But here's the kicker: be it by will of man or nature, Central Park is filled with large, smooth, flat rocks interspersed with grassy patches. These landscapes simply beg any onlooker to come lie on them for ten minutes as they soak up the sun. And the best bit? It's an entirely socially acceptable practice. Seriously, there were four other people doing it in my little sector alone. It was awesome. (Though there was one guy you could smell from like 3 feet away, yuck)


My other thoughts on the Big Apple: intimidating, in a way I've never noticed before. Window shopping down 5th Avenue I found myself almost afraid to actually walk into the stores, only to be glared at by people assuming that I was a poor, country girl who obviously had no intention of buying anything. And there was another level to it- I honestly did not feel like I was good enough to walk into some of those stores wearing converse sneakers (not high-heels) and jeans from Filenes. Wierd.





2 Days and Counting....You Know Why. Get Excited.

Proof

You Can't Say I Didn't Warn You...

The Last Remaining Starfish

Once upon a time, before the new facebook layout, the other new facebook layout, and even before bumper stickers, there was a fabulous little application called "My Aquarium." In My Aquarium, the user collected coins each day to buy different kinds of fish for their own tank, or to send fish to their friends along with little messages. It was simple, fun, never nagged you about adding more friends, and provided a great, creative way to semi-privately communicate. (That is- once you'd figured out how to say everything you wanted to say in 100 characters or less, along with an appropriately picked marine species).

But today I got a notification saying that the whole app, in order to "focus on something more exciting" would be entirely revamping itself...into SpeedDate. One- what on earth does the My Aquarium demographic (those of us who already have friends to send fish too) have in common with the SpeedDate demographic (losers that probably lack said fish-loving friends, and who just really need to get laid)? Which brings me to two- How on earth do they think this is going to be successful? And three- Whatever happenned to facebook being an uber secure way to keep in touch with people you already knew instead of the next eHarmony?

But then of course there's four (which in some small ways brings us back to one)- Really, Fates? Really? This has officially become the last time I ever blatantly challenge the Universe ever again...

Going To The Mattresses

The other day, I moved back home from college with the help of my parents. As everyone knows, this is a truly grueling experience. It's not so much the heavy boxes to be lifted, or the ocassionally balmy weather, oh no. As we all know, the true strain is psychological. Whenever a family congregates in the face of a task, any power battle that has ever existed between members immidiatley becomes encarnate in the best possible way to pry the remaining adhesive off of the walls, or which exact vessel is best for the packing of clothes vs. shoes. In my case, this means that several minutes can easily be spent figuring out which boxes should be put in which car, for reasons that essentially boil down to "this might be easier now," "this might be easier later," and "can we just do it this way and not waste time discussing it already?" Oh, and then there's also your parents being in increased contact with your personal shit, which is never a good thing, and an excellent reason to stay up until 6am the night before packing away anything that might cause the ever dreaded "Juicy, why do you have these?"


...But the trial is over, and I am now free to veg to my hearts desire for the next few weeks. "You've Got Mail" is on Bravo, and I think I might have overlooked the complexity of what first appears to be just a typical late-80s-mid-90s-New-York-City-based chick flick (Truly, their glory days, starting back When Harry Met Sally). It reminds me of the glory days of AIM too. (Well that, and the fact that I actually am confined to Dial-Up internet until friday. *Shudder*) Remember in middle school when the person you had a crush on got online, and your heart jumped a little when you saw their screen name in bold, followed by the cheesy "door opening" sound byte? (double cudos if you got their screen name from a friend instead of awkwardly asking them directly.) Ever think of all the crazy things people reveal online that they would never actually say in person? Ever slightly grateful for the natural pauses in conversation that somehow just aren't awkward like they would be on the phone? I downloaded Skype last week. I still have AIM but I barely ever use it, and facebook chat (shitty² as it is) has taken over by pure conveniance. Common sense would tell us that video chat will fade IM out, along with snail mail and cassette tapes, but I don't think that's true. Just look at the texting phenomennon- it's cheaper than ever to call anyone and actually talk, but tons of people would still just rather text 75% of the time. Skype was just developped within the past year or two, but there's still a simple Instant Messaging option for those who prefer it. (Or for those like me, whose internet at both addresses magically crapped out on her in the same week.)

Oh, and another thing I've always wondered about- the Dial Up sound effects (music to our ears oh so many years ago): just for show or actually necessary and meaningful?

A Prime Example of My Own Stupidity... PENIS!

This book opens with an anecdote about a man courting a lovely woman who (upon seeing his over-endowed penis) screams, runs away stark naked, breaks her neck, and dies. He then ends up in the hospital, having hit his member several times with a hammer in frustration at his cursed existance. Here, he meets the priest who helped him write this book. The priest also suffers from "OMG" (Oversized Male Genitallia) and offers advice and ways to deal with the problems it entails, like the possibility of veins expolding during intercourse, dizzyness during erections (because of all the blood required to maintain one) , whether or not to get reductive surgery, and other entirely legitimate-sounding medical dilemmas. There were even personal anecdotes from other sufferers, and a self-diagnosis quiz.

After spending the afternoon in a deep state of confusion (surely over 8 firm inches is not all that abnormal?), it then took me 20 minutes of Wiki and google to confirm that it was, in fact, a joke.

Apparently, Borders didn't get it either...

Ennui

Stalking Youu...Stalking Mee...

OK, who has Google reader? I want to know. Obviously that question is slightly rhetorical (that is, if something can be just slightly rhetorical) because if you do have google reader then


1. You can't comment without bothering to type in the URL, scroll down, and click on the "comments" link, which obviously you won't do because

2. You are lazy.





And here's another thought: "Study of Women" vs "Study of Gender." My conclusion: neither is relevant in the most important grammatical context of "Make me a sandwich, bitch."

Yes, I might just hand that in.

Did You Know They Make A Hot Pink, Leopard-Print Vibrator?

From to newspaper clippings, to personal experience, to 5am games of drunk and dirty Truth-Or-Dare Jenga, here are five facts about sex that might just change your life. (Well, six if you count the title, but that probably only applies to me.) Maybe these don't apply to you or even to anyone you know; but hey, if I've learned one thing, everyone's different.


Fact: Women are more easily aroused than men.

Details: While physical arousal is not always the same as emotional arousal, this ability probably evolved over time as a defense mechanism against painful sexual experiences. (In other words, a man can only have sex if he's aroused, but a woman can be raped if she's in the mood or not, and the latter is incredibly painful.) As for emotional/more voluntary arousal, I think I can still safley flush the "guys are hornier than girls" myth down the toilet.



Fact: Straight girls like... girls?!

Details: Apparently, heterosexual women are far more easily visually stimulated by other women than men. What also matters is the holistic sensuality of the image displayed, not necessarily the gender. Here's the full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/12/fashion/12bisex.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1



Fact: Guys don't get off everytime either.

Details: While difficulty in achieving orgasm is far more common in women, it's not unusual for guys to not get off during intercourse every now and then aswell. Perhaps tits and ass aren't all that's needed after all?



Fact: Some girls can orgasm hands-free.

Details: Yet another fabulous reason to work on those keggle exercises....or maybe take up competitive swimming?



Fact: Porn just doesn't do it for some guys.

Details: Here's the story as I understood it: An acquaintance of mine started getting the occassional wet dream once he hit puberty, but when he still hadn't finished himself off and sent the fishies flying by the time he reached 16 he was convinced something was up. He went to see a doctor to get checked out. The professional diagnosis? "You just haven't met the right girl yet."

(Don't worry, he eventually did.)

Oh My Google

OK, I surrender. No protests, no radical resistance, no guerilla forces. Google has taken over and I accept that. Better yet, I have decided to swear my loyal allegiance to Google here and now, so as to avoid any problems when this becomes mandatory in the far future. Google, I am faithfully yours, there is no need to threaten my family or place dead animals in my bed.


They were clever alright, letting us think that we had control at first. We thought they were helping us with all their useful search engines, then conversion tools, then driving directions, then email, then statistics counters. Soon I suppose there will even be Google fast food restaurants. (Just think: GoogleFood. "Hey, honey I'm hungery, can you google me a burger?") But now we know the truth: They're on top, and resistance is futile.


The proof that Google now posses more power than any other entity on earth? Google Street View. Not only does Google know where you sleep, but it knows where you sleep in 360 degrees. We already have GoogleNews; It's now only a matter of time before "GoogleParty" sprouts up, followed by "GoogleLife."


So remember, if you happen to be doing something that Google might not like and you see one of these:






Run. Just Run.






(and maybe check to see if I'm driving, cuz that looks like a pretty sweet job.)

Oh, Canada!

Every spring, multitudes of American college students head north to escape the brutal, oppressive liquor laws of their country. They go towards hope, they go towards dreams, they go... to Canada.

The general consensus? Excellent. Going on vacation to Canada is exactly like going on vacation to Europe, except you only drive several hours instead of flying, and the exchange rate is actually in your favor. Really, cultural novelties, cobblestone streets, quaint pubs, and (in our case) awkward language barriers included. Poutine anyone? I might just never bother crossing the Atlantic again.

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There are some things you do in life not because they're good, but because you just can't not do them. Things like rubbernecking on the highway, gawking at plane crashes, and seeing this movie:

http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2009/02/le.php


(obviously it will suck, but the hilarity of that artilcle entirely compensates)


PS- I've actually been wanting to blog about this for awile, but I liked the way the number of blog posts lined up with the month...

BloggerSex

Once upon a time, there was a lonely lady blogger. She frequently lamented her conservative family's perpetual insistance that she marry, compounded with the fact that she would probabaly become an old cat lady anyways, given her totally respectable, nerdddy tendencies.
But then one day, the perfect man for her found her blog by pure happenstance. He commented a lot, was blogged about, was met, and later... was married. Yes, married. It was truly the stuff that chick flicks are made of. I now can't help but muse that one day my blog too will become popular enough to attract random readers who will eventually fall in love with me. I think the conversation could go something like this:

CuteAnonymousGuyBlogger: Juicy, having read your blog for ages I can honestly say that you are an amazing, funny, quirky, intelligent, mesmerizing, girl and I would love to go out with you sometime. Since I have read your blog for a long time now, I feel that I know you intimatley and have already accepted all the things about you that you normally try to hide from prospective others by blogging rule #2. (Not that you have anything to hide, of course, being the coolest, most marvellous person ever.) I'm not a creeper, about the same age, live within a conveniant distance of you, share many of your interests, and also happen to be excellent in bed.

Now is that really so much to ask?




In other news, I have actually figured out why the number of guys interested in me at a given time is often comparable to the number of electrons in a hydrogen cation. Observe:

SexyMysteriousWoman: Hello, I'm sophisticated, intelligent, witty, well dressed, and have a complex personality that intrigues and attracts men. Guys seek to "figure me out" and then win me over in an impressive way. Men are are so attracted to me that they are willing to overcome the limits of convenience in my pursuit. I'm also flirtatious, but never too forward, as I have mastered the art of subtlety and non-verbal communication. I can be touchy-feely, but I never need to appear too interested, as my pursuers generally do all the work, and the slightest rejection only leaves them hungering for more.

Juicy: Hi, I like to make dumb jokes (sometimes at my expense), don't take many things seriously, and dress kind of like Rainbow Brite. I think acting differently to impress people is ultimatley a waste of time, and would much rather just be as honest with people as I can. I think the world would be a better place if everyone just tried their best to explain themselves, and subtlety is not my forte. When it comes to guys, I am either "friendly" or "extra-friendly." The latter is my best attempt at "flirty" since I was scarred at a very young age and thus, can never really act like that. I don't like playing games and, if given the opportunity, probably won't play hard to get because I don't see why I should risk discouraging someone I actually like.


Does it bug me that success in the social sphere ultimatley breaks down to basic psychology and tactics? Yes. Am I going to put this newfound knowledge to my advantage? Doubtful. Until then, at least my blog won't become overpopulated with posts gushing about my magical meant-to-be significant other on a regular basis. Really, just cuz you think he's awesome doesn't mean it makes for awesome blogging the tenth time around.

Why Yes, This Is Totally Blogworthy

Ever since I found myself in the presence of streetlamps on a daily basis, I discovered that I actually have a strange sort of influence over them. I am dead serious. Often, when I walk by an illuminated street lamp, it goes out just as I pass under it. This hasn't only happenned to me a few times, but with a freakish regularity on an atleast biweekly basis for the past five years. Once even, the same light turned off for me 3 times, on seperate occassions, on the same night. The very next night, another one also decided to spurn me.

I had recently started to intepret this as proof that I am, infact, some incarnation of the Devil. This is an entirely legitimate claim, seeing as whenever I reflect on the impressions I've made on other people's lives, it probably involves looser morales and a heightened affinity for substance abuse. I'm proud to say I've really inspired some of the most conservative people...But perhaps this is not the case?

Today, for the first time EVER, as I walked under a streetlamp at night, it turned on. I was shocked, then elated. What could this mean? Was this just a fluke, or had I been reassigned a more uplifting, less evil cosmic destiny afterall? Perhaps it was a sign of optimism during these stressful times? I was unsure. But then the unthinkable happenned. The next time I passed under that light that evening, I looked up to see it was in a very dim state, and half willed half dared it to turn on. To my shock- it did. This was clearly a sign. Compounded with my more recent aptitude for finding pennies (I generally get about one or two a week), perhaps things are looking up after all?

Oh Kaitzer...

A realization I felt the need to share with the world:



Some relationships are like Santa Clause: Back in the day they were the best thing ever. They were totally worth getting excited for, and the fact that you two had found each other in this chatoic and random existance that is life seemed either incredibly lucky or gloriously predetermined by some higher power, as everything just seemed to fall into place so perfectly. But then one day, something snares. When I was young, I once noticed a very specific kind of chocolate that my Mother ordered from a catalogue at school. A month or so later when that same chocolate appeared in my Easter Basket, my suspicions were aroused. One not so significant car ride soon after, I finally confronted the issue. "It's true," my mother confessed, "There's no Easter Bunny." "And Santa's the same?" I asked, "Yes" she said. Some Relationships are similar: over time, things just don't add up the way they used to. Eventually, you start to see flaws that you didn't even realize you were choosing to overlook in a haze of hopeful and happy romance. And then one day, you finally let yourself see the person for who they really are and not what you wanted them to be. You swiftly dump them accordingly, and that's the end of that.



Years later, you might find yourself in a bit of a relationship slump, feeling cynical and generally out of the Holiday Spirit alltogether. All the usual evidence shows that they've clearly been missing you and want to get back together (it's almost cruel really- how indifferent you've been compared to them) and all of your common sense tells you it could work. A quick Facebook stalk reveals they're better looking than ever (believe it or not, I might just have found a male under 28 who can pull off facial hair) and you start to wonder if maybe you were a little quick to judge them after all... but something still holds you back. Just like Christmas will never be the same without believing in the magic of Santa Claus, this relationship will never go back to being as good as it was before you dropped the roses and the rose colored glasses. The desire to return to such a happier state is understandable, but to attempt to actually do so is just foolish. (You did consider shelving all that and just using them for sex- but that would be cruel in their current state and make for one hella awkward reunion. Plus, that would require admitting to yourself just how desperate you really are- *shudder*.)



So it's pretty much a shit situation all round: You're stuck deciding between a relationship with someone who clearly cares about you a lot but whom you're not sure if you even like, or another who-knows-how-long of [insert tumbleweed here]. (Oh, and if you pick the former but change your mind, you just fucked them over twice.) You know the truth and what the right thing to do is, but like so many grown-ups, a tiny pathetic part of you can't help but wonder if maybe you're the Scrooge, and there really is such a thing as a Christmas miracle afterall.





Luckily, however, there are some realtionships you can always depend on. Whether you want to cuddle up with sweet textbook words or be fucked hard and dirty on an exam, there is one thing that will always be there for both. Oh yeah baby, guess who's back....

Oooh!