Offbeat Pasta

I have just enough energy to crawl from my sick bed to write the following:

Tara's Blog

This is the third blog to date and she promises not to delete this one! I sincerely hope so.

A Nerd's Nerd

On my way downtown to watch an international film I happened to see a group of four men wearing red helmets and riding segways. They were reaching top speeds of 5 mph and would stop frequently to be admired or to praise their two-wheeled rides to strangers and passers-by. I smirked. How silly of them, I thought, to be wearing helmets and traveling in a pack of four. How much nerdier can you get?

Just then I realized that I was wearing a "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt on my way to watch House of Flying Daggers and Ang Bok. At the library. Alone.

I have this theory that everyone is a nerd in some area. We all have that thing that makes us a little too excited, talk a little too animatedly. Some subject about which we know a little too much. Even posers are nerds. The desire to always look hot and poserly is what makes them nerds.

Well. I have to get back downstairs to watch the second feature.

"Just tell them that if they vote for you all their wildest dreams will come true."

Because they will. Live long and prosper.

The Band That Wasn't But Is

Friday's are slow days here on YLSN(a)ED. Most of my readers are busy with other projects, planning their weekends, or more likely, already gone on a four day bass-fishing trip.

But for those of you, like me, who are still inexplicably at your work desk refreshing internet pages, looking for updates, wishing there was something interesting to do besides grinding down the lead of that company pencil you never use I am pleased to present for the very first time to the wider world wide web, a band who skipped the music and went straight for the marketing:

Handsome Squarejaw

Their album will be coming out any day now! In the meantime, please buy their products! (And I'm not just saying that because I'm their manager...)

The Band Members of Handsome Squarejaw

All About Eritrea

Since the country name 'Eritrea' showed up in my web visitor stats this week, I have become curious as to exactly what Eritrea is all about. Who are Eritreans? What's on their minds? What goes on in a typical Eritrean home? What does Eritrean fast-food taste like, etc.

Well, in order to answer these questions, I first had to figure out where the hell Eritrea was. Eritrea is apparently located in Eastern Africa, bordering the Red Sea, between Djibouti and Sudan. (That's pronounced Gib-booty, like "Getcha booty on the dance floor, babay!") It is slightly larger than Pennsylvania in land area. 4.95% of this land is arable (which means it's livable) and the other 95 and change% is not. Listed as it's natural resources, among others, are gold, potash, fish, and zinc. Natural hazards you may expect as an Eritrean are frequent droughts and swarms of locusts. Geographically speaking, however, if you can get over the desertification and deforestation and whatnot, Eritrea is in the money. When they gained their independence from Ethiopia in 1993 they took the entire Ethiopian coastline with them. And since it lies along the world's busiest shipping lanes, I think they got a pretty good deal. Two and half years of Ethiopian battle-feuds not withstanding.

The median age of Eritreans is 18 years old. Eritreans over 65 represent only 3% of the population. In fact life expectancy for Eritreans has maxed out at 52. Compare that to the US expectancy of a nice generous 77.7. On average, women in Eritrea can expect to give birth to 5 and a half kids. Almost 59% of the population are literate.

Major exports include: livestock, sorghum, textiles, and food. More than half of the nations exports will go to Malaysia (who I'm thinking then repackage it and sell it to us (the US) since we are their highest export partner).

The telephone system has been rated, to no one's surprise, "very inadequate." The entire country has one TV station and less than 10,000 internet users (one of whom visited my film review page! Thanks, dude.). It's internet abbreviation code is .er which unlike Tuvalo (.tv) no one has wanted to buy off of them for ridiculous sums of money.

Half the population is below poverty level.

And one last fact to help your heart sink all the way into your stomach: Of the 4 and half million people living in Eritrea, 59,000 are refugees and displaced persons thanks to the ongoing war with Ethiopia and internal fighting factions.

Wow.

Sudoku

Our local paper ran an article on Sudoku, a logic, number puzzle game that is gaining popularity in England. I, being the puzzle solving slave that I am, clipped the puzzle out of the paper and took it home. It was eleven at night before I crawled shaky, but victorious to bed. Sure it took two and a half hours, but I did it! And next time, Sudoku, your grid is mine!

See how long it takes you.

Goliath

Random Photo of the Day

Polly want a Christmas?

I just noticed something interesting

Here are the country stats for visitors to this blog:

Now take a look at the country stats for my film review blog:

Sarah's Sense of Foreboding

I feel uneasy, heavy, worried. Can't put a name on it. Don't know the cause, but I know I will find one some time later today - no matter how tenuous the relationship between cause and effect - I will find something to pin it to so I can say, "Now I understand why I felt so agitated. So and so had a car accident" or "A volcano took forty lives in the middle of the ocean somewhere." I wonder why I even bother to look for causes. Can't I just have a sagging feeling in my gut for no reason? Isn't it possible that hunger pains mixed with boredom throw in a dash of headache could approximate a sense of foreboding? Or that the cheetos I had for breakfast yesterday have finally caught up with me?

I remember more than once waking in the middle of the night, worried for someone later finding out they ran away from home or were hurting themselves at the very time I jolted out of bed. I suppose this is enough cause to justify my belief that right now I am feeling that heavy pull in my gut because someone or something is wrong or hurting or whatever. Like Jedi's, I suppose (although I hate to draw the comparison so close to the release of yet another waste of George Lucas' money) sensing a disturbance in the force. Or counselor Troi sensing anger as she stands there on the bridge looking concerned in her asymmetric unitard. Is it a function of my hyper-empathy super-skills or just a misreading of physical fluctuations?

So, seriously, what is going on? Is there an avalanche burying a small, Peruvian village right now? Did Code Red just launch a vanilla flavored product? Help me out here, people. What's wrong?

Jameson/Escalator

Been dabbling in the arts again...

How we lost nine people in Cleveland

A large percentage of house fires in Cleveland seem to happen in low-income housing. I'd be interested to know exactly what that figure was.

This particular house was hosting a sleep over for a group of children. Eight of whom died in the fire.

I see London, I see France, I see Saddam's Underpants

In Breaking News today, you can catch a peek of a 68 year old dictator in his undies, looking quite tired and frankly, bored. Sad part is, the unmentionables of Mr. Hussein being broadcast to the world give angry peoples of the Middle East another reason to kill off the rest of us. Evil Western Bastards must die for this indignity to our beloved Father Saddam, etc.

I wonder if Saddam has been allowed to see them.

Pointless Points to Ponder

Point #1: My left sock keeps twisting sideways when I walk creating wrinkles in the fabric under my foot making me feel like an old, saggy, unkept woman. The monkey stopped to pull up her sock many times today.

Point #2: My sister tasked me to pull a stunt. Another one, that is. Different from the Joey stunt, but the same. She wants me to call up some guy I know and propose marriage to him over the phone and tape the (immenent) rejection. It is tempting. Seeing as how he's already written me off, I needn't fear acceptance. I just don't know how to audioblog when I'm on the phone with someone.

Point #3: I'm nervous when I go out because there is a student who feels I have ruined her life and is violent and angry. Friday she was on the back stairs cutting herself. Today a bloody knife was found on top of one of the lockers. She blames me for telling my boss of a potentially harmful situation with one of the staff. Hurrah.

Point #3, no wait, we're at 4 now: My brother Joel got his blog smashed to bits under the weight of popularity after being published in Dawn Eden's column in the New York Daily News. I would link to my brother's blog (poor dear) but what's the point? Looks like someone needs to invest in a bigger server...

Point #5: Humans are the only species on the planet that have face-to-face sex. Just thought you should know that. In case you really only come here to learn something new everyday. Which, frankly, I am beginning to doubt.

Point #6: I wish my blog would entertain me. I wish it would do tricks or write random thoughts or something cool and interesting. It's sad really when you think about it, because I'm just writing this blog to amuse myself. I might as well make a sock puppet to play with...

Turn To The Left

Leftward looking photo I sent Joey who won't marry me because he's afraid of intelligent, beautiful women.

[editor's note: We incorrectly asserted that Joey was afraid of intelligent, beautiful women. We have just been informed that he is not afraid of them he loves them. Big difference.]

I am so disappointed at the way things turned out...

Dear Sarah
I know you're disappointed at the way things turned out. Okay, maybe not. But I am. I had such high hopes. Anyway, to make you feel better, here's what I really look like in real life.
From
Joey

Wallis & Futuna

Wallis and Futuna. Where I'm from. For today. It is two-thirds of the way from Hawaii to New Zealand. Apparently, the entire population of the tiny island of Alofi (southernmost island) was eaten by the cannibal people of Futuna in a single raid in the 19th century. Oops! Good fences make good neighbors!

The Museum of Conceptual Art

If you lived in his head you'd be home now.

A Letter Written To My Fantom Bagless Cyclonic Hand Vac FM430

Dear Fantom,

I wish I could express my gratitude for what you have done. I thought when I brought you home from Wal-Mart that we were just going to do a little brushing up around the place; sweeping up some excess dust and crumbs, etc., but you exceeded my expectations and I just want to thank you. Your selfless sacrifice for the cause of my carpets warms my heart.

When I turned you on, all five and a half pounds of your suctiony goodness roared to life. (Why they call you the Fantom, I don't know. If a ghost was as loud as you it would be laughed out of the afterlife.) The way you dominated the dust and hair on my rugs sent a shiver down my spine. Your bagless dirt trap filled up to capacity almost immediately. (It had been a few months since my carpets were properly cleaned.) What a cyclone you were! It was a lot to ask of you on your first time. I realize that now. In retrospect, maybe we should have taken it slower.

It was my first time, too. I've never had any kind of vacuum cleaner before. Well, except that wet/dry vac, but we never did actual carpets together.

Needless to say, I'm sorry I broke you. I didn't realize the pain you were in until your motor changed pitch and smoke started pouring out of your casing. (Oddly enough, my blender did the same thing when I first used it.)

I'll be returning you to WalMart tomorrow, to have you replaced by a similar hand vac (Thank goodness for that $5 warrantee plan!), but I want you to know that what we shared - though brief - was very special. Even though my long, luxuriant hair strangled our chances for a lasting relationship, I hope you know how much I'll always love you. And when I'm using the next Fantom Bagless Cyclonic Hand Vac FM430 I'll be thinking of you.

Yours always,
k_sra

The Neil P Answer Line

Join The Army!

A little good, clean fun among enlisted men.

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Wisdom of the Ages

Always A Blogger Never A Bride

Well, Joey is at least considering my proposal of marriage, although he still seems hesitant. he says:

As it turns out, Sarah is a blogger. I'm beginning to think this proposal didn't accurately reflect her feelings for me, but was only a cheap publicity stunt. The last thing I need is someone exploiting a relationship for blog material. On the other hand, I am in need of female companionship as well as a new apartment. So some questions for Sarah:


Would you consider converting to Catholicism?
Are you financially able to support me?
Will you learn how to cook for me?
Are you able to provide the proper emotional support and encouragement that a writer such as myself needs?
Do you have a nice apartment?

Joey, Joey, Joey. This is exactly the kind of methodical, sensible, look-before-you-leap thinking I was trying to avoid. You were supposed to be so flush with the enthusiasm and energy of my completely inappropriate proposal that you threw caution to the wind and flew unheeding into the arms of matrimony (not officially recognized by the Catholic Church and therefore easier to annul after said five weeks of wedded whatever). I almost feel silly for throwing myself at you now... Ok, not really. It was fun. I've never proposed to a guy, much less an Amish-Catholic New Yorker. It's probably the best decision I've made all week!

And really, are you sure you should call me on the publicity stunt thing when you encourage women readers to write so you can post their fotos and heartfelt pleas on your blog and solicit reader response? Hmmm. (Strokes chin thoughtfully)

Well, anyways, in answer to your questions:

No.
How much do you cost?
Microwave Meals.
Yes (unfortunately).
And yes, but it's in Cleveland, Ohio. Beautiful, sunny, tropical Cleveland, Ohio.

Hope this helps you in this very important, but preferably poorly-thought out decision.

The Blogger Bride

Well, I got my feelings hurt today. After ten minutes of carefully writing out an email proposal to a complete stranger on the internet, I come to find out he probably doesn't want to marry me. *sigh*
I'm hurt, Joey. Just hurt.

Was it something I said? See for yourself:

Dear Joey,
I'll be brief. I think we should get married. Right away. Without knowing each other or even meeting first. This way we can avoid having to change our minds or make a sensible decision. I think we'd be an ideal match: I'm precipitous and flighty and you're gloomy and cynical. I think we could look forward to a short, fiery marriage lasting tops five weeks.

I've enclosed a picture of myself looking left. (This should not be misconstrued as representing my political leanings.) I feel it represents looking toward the future... or the past. Whichever. I'm not looking at you, because I don't want to know what you look like. I might lose my nerve and change my mind. As an added bonus I smudged up the picture to make it look hazy and romantic.

If you need references (which I don't recommend in love matches such as this one) I can probably convince a couple of my friends to talk to you. Other reasons to consider marrying me right away without thinking about it:

• I'm Protestant
• I don't really cook
• I don't like heavy-drinking
• I've never sustained a relationship longer than three months

Lemme know. I'm all a-twitter!
(Ok, not all a-twitter)
Sarah

For a list of Joey's requirements, click here and scroll down.

SONGS TO WEAR PANTS TO

Bless his heart. Here's the ultimate song puppet. Give him a suggestion and he'll write you a song. Worldgineer, I think it's a love match... : )

Oh, and I stole it off Ze Frank's Blog... again. Thanks, Ze.

I particularly like these here ones:

Trips

Little Mermaid

Not Filling The Request

Jibberish Freestyle

Lazy Drummer

Ba Doom Chhhhhh

Addictive Add-Ons

Spend time, increase your anagram skills.

Invisible Post

I thought I would post something invisible today, just for a lark. Obviously those of you who know to highlight a section of writing or copy/paste to another page or what have you, will figure out what this post says, but I'm hoping there will be an equal or greater number of people who will stare confounded at the page and wonder why I left a huge gaping hole on my website. "Why," they will ask, "would anyone leave a huge gaping hole on their website?" And they will scratch their heads and twist their earlobes in confusion and feel mildly alarmed at how much they actually care about whether or not there is a post here.

Helen brought over the robes this morning, all neatly ironed and ready to wear. She looked up at me as I slung a handful of hangers over my shoulder. "Ok, Baby. Who I give this to?" She held up a simple little bill for $450. "You give that to me, Helen. I'll take care of it." She hugged my hips (she's very short) and whimpered into my armpit, "I don't know what I do without these people near me here. Nobody else care, Baby." She then pulled herself up to her full five feet and no inches and said, "But I feel better today. Yes. I am better today. Each day a little better, Baby." She smiled up into my face and then turned her face away and said, "Oh, you too sweet, Baby. Go on!" And instead of me leaving, she walked out the door.

Sugar: Hi! Hi! Hi!

The boss brought me lunch, confined as I was to the office while she held a thank-you lunch for some of the students and staff upstairs. She brought me a coke and cake with it. More sugar than I usually take. I went spiraling. When I got free, I took a walk to the library and I couldn't shut up. It was like being socially retarded while hyperventilating. Everytime I stood next to someone I said hello or butted into their conversation. No one minded, thankfully. It was all fun and easy-going, but more aggressive than I am used to being. The toothless man at the elevators and I talked at length about the depravity of the elevators in the library and whether it was worth it to walk up all those stairs instead of waiting. I mockingly chided two high school girls who were shushing each other in the elevator. "That's right," I said, "there's no talking in the elevator." and I made a stern face. They burst into laughter. The doorman and I exchanged pleasantries at the door of the hotel. I even chatted up at two men in a cherry picker. They stared down blankly as I passed, humming a show tune.

Thing is, I rather like it; this speak-before-I-think rampaging across Cleveland. I don't want it to stop. Unfortunately, I have no intention of consuming enough sugar to bring me to this point ever again. So today it's Sugar: Hi! Tomorrow: status lo.

You Put The [ ] In [ ]

I'll give you a couple of examples:

You put the "guy" in misguided.
You put the "eyes" in advertizing.
You put the "knowledge" in technology.

You can also use straight take out sections like:

You put the "bra" in embrace.
You put the "man" in manager.

Now please, you try...

"All The Mens Are Stupid"

Helen’s shop is right behind the school. It’s down one of those alleys that boasts a constituency of prostitutes and johns ducking in and out at inopportune times. I always tread carefully when turning the corners. I take things to Helen to be hemmed, sewn, and cleaned. Her prices are cheap so I didn’t bother complaining when my winter coat comes back smelling like cigarettes. I don’t complain about Helen’s service, be it slow, inefficient or badly scented because Helen herself is a prize. She is Greek. Her hair is a curtain of black dye. Her glasses frame her drooping black eyes and she calls me "Baby."

I stopped in Friday to check on our Commencement regalia. We've sent her upwards of sixty gowns and hoods to be pressed by next week so I thought just stopping in to see how it was going wouldn't be a bad idea. Especially since it took her half an hour once to find two pairs of pants I came to pick up. She was at the counter. She smiled weakly and as she talked her eyes wandered and her dentures slipped up and down revealing a dark gum line. I finally asked, "Helen, how are you these days?" She took a deep breath, "My husband, he pass away last week." I dropped my jaw and said the appropriate "no!" I knew he was sick, but wasn't aware he'd died. "Oh, Helen!" I reached for her hands and she took mine. I stood at her counter as she let it all well up to the surface, "Fifty-two years I am married. Now he gone. He used to open garage door for my car, open the lights in the house for me, everything. Now there is nobody." Her chin trembled. "That's a lot to lose." I stood transfixed. Fifty-two years, you'd hardly know where you stopped and someone else started. After a minute she had regained her composure and turned over my hand in hers looking for a ring, "You married, Baby?" "No," I answered. "Das ok. There not many good mens around these days." I smiled, "so I've noticed." "Besides, Baby, all the men's are stupid. You think you find a man with sense, but he stupid too." I smirked in disbelief as Helen continued, "People say, 'you husband he a good man,' and I say, 'yes, but only because he married to me.' All the men's are stupid, Baby. The women are the better, smarter, stronger, everything. That is why it was two womens who go to tomb to make Jesus ready and everything." She patted my hand affectionately and smiled through her teary eyes. She had a point.

This morning I brought her a bouquet of flowers. Something fresh and bright. Something non-funereal. On the note I wrote, "In appreciation for everything you do and everything you are. -Sarah"
She was pleased, she hugged me, patted my backside and then shooed me back out the door past the prostitutes.