We were new tonight. Pub quiz virgins, you might say. But we will return. We will come early, stake out seats, think of a cleverer name that doesn’t invoke a much loathed acronym, grind through grainy images of random movies, strain our ears to make out what the hell Pub Quiz Girl is saying over the intercom, pool what knowledge we have to answer some and entertain ourselves making up answers to the others.
And one night? One night we will defeat you, Pub Quiz. We will beat the grad students, the lingering alumni, the random Durhamites, and all other comers. But most of all we will defeat you and your cruel arbitrary nature. (Leprosy? Really?) One night we will earn that $75 bar tab and the glory it represents. On that night we will probably also field a full team, make sure Jordy isn’t drunk at a Navy Party, include a boy and have a clue about what we’re doing, but that’s what I mean. We will be there, every week, drinking Corona and Longbow until we get it right. Until we overcome.
I have a few years left before this applies to me. (via kottke)
This has been bookmarked on my various browsers for years (since she posted it? Sars is awesome. The Vine taught me eveything to know about life) and I think it’s so essential. Also, this one is good for everyone, especially English majors who already recognize the massive, heaving gaps that line of study can leave in one’s personal library.
our beverly hills store recently received a letter, handwritten on looseleaf paper with an $80 check enclosed. the THREE PAGE note explained that way back in 2001, the sender traveled from england to california with her then boyfriend, whose full name (along with the title ‘esquire’) is given. she purchased a pair of shoes from our store but the sales associate gave her two pairs in error, and when she called to report the mistake, they told her to put the shoes in a cab and send them back to the store. predictably the shoes were lost, but roughly eight years later, this woman randomly remembered, and righted the wrong, accounting for exchange rate and depreciation.
On a slightly different but similar note: if you go to the Petrified Forest there are a ton of signs and warnings not to take any rocks from the park because then someday there wouldn’t be any left. I felt more compelled to take something after reading the signs than before, but in any case, the visitor’s center has a whole display of letters from people who have mailed back rocks after the fact. Some people seemed to think their whole life had been cursed since they took the rock (external locus of control much?), others just regretted something they did as a kid, others just felt like it was the right thing to do. The letters spanned 75 years and were part of a collection of nearly a thousand.
Yes, all because of rocks that used to be wood. People are weird.
4) Nicole and I are having mad bonding over JK+8, GG, beating Pike seniors (alumni? ack) at beer pog, and having no homes. Being an effective nomad means being flexible about where you sleep, ability to sense available wifi at fifty paces and keeping a large portion of your wardrobe in the trunk/back seat of your car.
(On that note, pleasepleapleasepleaseplease don’t let my car get stolen. I would be very lacking in clothing.)
5) Speaking of clothes: go to Target. Buy this and this. So brighly colored. So comfy. So cheap.
6) Finally watched Twilight. It was remakably enjoyable.
7) Textsfromlastnight is like the most amazing thing ever. It truly makes the world better. (352) ones are of course particularly entertaining.
8) New additions to the summer fun list: FAC Board Dinners recommence, Danielle (starting Saturday!), housewarming party soon, NYC June 19-21, America Celebrates Nicole going to DC on July 4, GNV Send-Off Party at my house on July 12. Fun!
Thankfully, though, there’s a company out there brave enough to tackle the differences between girls and boys—more specifically, the difference between the way boys play Ouija and the way girls play Ouija. Because when men are pretending to contact the dead, they’re all like, “Is there a ghost here?” while women are all like, “Who in this room is jealous of me?” Am I right?
“Who spoke at your Brandeis graduation, Tiffany? Oh, congressman Edolphus Towns? That’s nice. (stifles chuckle) BUT WE HAD A WOMAN SPEAK TO US BY THE NAME OF OPRAH. PERHAPS YOU’VE HEARD OF HER. SHE IS MY CLOSEST BLACK FRIEND.”—
Why Duke brought in Oprah as a graduation speaker.
Point of fact: Duke does not HIRE its Commencement Speakers. They volunteer. But besides that, this is hilarious. Everyone should also check out Ben Cohen’s first column as the Deadspin summer intern. Let’s go Duke!
This morning, before breakfast, when we had all woken up at 7AM because no one has adjusted to West Coast time, we went for a hike. This is kind of what we do on family vacations generally— drive places and then walk into the wilderness until Daddy lets us go back. This morning’s hike reinforced several long standing rules of hiking for me:
1) I like to be in the middle of the train. That way I’m less likely to trip of a yet-unforeseen log or off a cliff or into a tree because someon else will do it first but also my slow-ass self is less likely to get left behind/eaten by coyotes.
2) Stamina-wise, I can walk all day. My limit on distance is how far I can go before the flying bugs freak me out too much. (…That is not a very far distance.)
3) Daddy making comments about how I will probably be bitten by a rattlesnake (bear/lizard/scary animal) is never appreciated.
4) When climbing up and down (in boat shoes, natch) the rock face, there is no shame in taking advantage of long legs by sitting down to scoot down the sheerer inclines. NONE.
5) While I enjoy hiking/mountain walking more than most people who know me would probably expect, I prefer stalking down city blocks in NYC to traipsing up and down washout trails. I need to book tickets to come see Caryn, Moyer and Gab up in the Big Apple (like seriously, ASAP).
And now we head off into the Painted Desert/Petrified Forest. Onward!
Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However every Evil Overlord I’ve read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end.
This is one of my favorite Internet thingz. There’s a full collection somewhere that includes several hundred more items for Evil Overlords as well as lists for Heros, Sidekicks and Love Interests. Very funny.
The sky here is so blue and the hills and mountains glow golden and red. Not a single cloud and the sun owns the entire Western horizon.
There is something so stark and jagged and surreal about this part of the world. It makes you want to read cowboy novels by Cormac McCarthy to try and realize the reality of life in the beating sun and rambling scrub and endless ranges. It makes you want to saddle up and head off the road, make for the next ridgeline and the next and the next…*
*All overly romantacized impulses severely limited by current location in back of an RV, air conditioned and still glued to my phone. I probably am also loopy from altitude sickness.
“You were the mother of three girls so sweet, who stormed through your turnstile and climbed to the street. But after conception your body lay cold and withered through autumn and you found yourself old…”
Moms have it rough. Ben Gibbard knows that. Let’s just hope he’ll treat Zooey Deschanel well when they have tons of indie babies.
Great song. I am very glad to be with my mom on Mothers Day as sappy/Hallmarky as that might sound.
Eric and I recently discovered a shared fascination with the slew of impossibly named NPR hosts we listen to every day: Renee Montagne, Steve Inskeep, Corey Flintoff, Korva Coleman, Kai Ryssdal, Dina Temple-Raston.
In fact, we’ve often wondered what it would be like to be one of them. A Nina Totenberg or a Renita Jablonski. A David Kestenbaum or a Lakshmi Singh. Even (on our most ambitious days) a Cherry Glaser or a Sylvia Poggioli.
So finally, after years of Fresh Air sign-off ambitions, we came up with a system for creating our own NPR Names. Here’s how it works: You take your middle initial and insert it somewhere into your first name. Then you add on the smallest foreign town you’ve ever visited.
So I’m Liarna Kassel. And Eric is Jeric Bath. I even have a new nickname for my little brother in Dylsan Rosarita.
As much as totes are incompatible with my taste and gender, I want the Nina Totin Bag so badly. (Terry Gross/Ira Glass are my favorites though).
I miss listening to NPR in the car with my parents. They might complain about the fixation on “wine and baseball,” but yeah they love it. I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I prefer NPR to music while driving, but I know its coming.