In the same vein, the boss and I met with this database consultant guy to see if he would be able to make heads or tails of the "contact list" given to us by one of our clients.
In the 'pointless small talk' section of the meeting (always has to be there),
Mr. Database: I've been with the company for twenty years.
Boss: Wow, that's really something. (smiling at me) You should think about doing something for twenty years.
Mr. Database: Maybe you should try hitting your twentieth birthday. (snickers to himself)
Jackass. Yes, I look young. I understand that. But give me the benefit of the doubt, huh? Ten minutes after I met you, I could come up with at least ten reasons not to take you seriously:
10. You look like your mother dressed you.
9. You are wearing a sweater from approximately 1987.
8. The shirt underneath the sweater is wrinkled.
7. Your office is a giant mess.
6. Your computer appears to be older than my high school degree
5. You snort when you laugh
4. It smells weird in here.
3. Your pants are too short.
2. Your last name is hyphenated in some sort of pathetic nod to equality with your wife.
1. You're shaped like Humpty-Dumpty.
But did I comment on any of them or purposely make you feel uncomfortable? I did not. Don't underestimate me buddy - I'll eat you alive.
31 January 2007
28 January 2007
Take Me Out
As part of my endless quest to "do something" despite the fact that it's winter, I went to a baseball clinic run by a local amateur men's league over the weekend. It was a blast. Guys just play sports so much more seriously than girls. Sorry, but it's true. And the added pressure of working hard not to be the worst player was actually kind of welcome.
One...situation...though. The guy who was running the clinic was obviously quite worried that we (I and three female teammates) were going to get killed. He insisted on turning the pitching machine down when our turn came to bat (to be fair, he did point out that we would only see slower pitching come summertime...okay.), literally fretted about the fact that there weren't enough of us to run our own infield practice (perhaps just *watching* the boys throw would be dangerous), and hit more softly to us when we came up in the drills (none of the other hitters did this. at all.).
So this seems almost laughably sexist, right? I mean, I was offended (but really only in an eye-rolling sort of way as opposed to a steam out of the ears kind of way) at first, but then I had to admit that I could follow his reasoning. Find a guy and a girl on the street who show some interest in playing baseball. Based solely on odds, who is more likely to get hurt by a blistering ground ball? Being protected is mildly offensive, but it's not entirely wrong.
Here's what I realized though, while watching a few of the outfielders blow it repeatedly: he assumed they were able to fend for themselves. Because they were male. Even though they were much more likely to get hurt than I was.
One...situation...though. The guy who was running the clinic was obviously quite worried that we (I and three female teammates) were going to get killed. He insisted on turning the pitching machine down when our turn came to bat (to be fair, he did point out that we would only see slower pitching come summertime...okay.), literally fretted about the fact that there weren't enough of us to run our own infield practice (perhaps just *watching* the boys throw would be dangerous), and hit more softly to us when we came up in the drills (none of the other hitters did this. at all.).
So this seems almost laughably sexist, right? I mean, I was offended (but really only in an eye-rolling sort of way as opposed to a steam out of the ears kind of way) at first, but then I had to admit that I could follow his reasoning. Find a guy and a girl on the street who show some interest in playing baseball. Based solely on odds, who is more likely to get hurt by a blistering ground ball? Being protected is mildly offensive, but it's not entirely wrong.
Here's what I realized though, while watching a few of the outfielders blow it repeatedly: he assumed they were able to fend for themselves. Because they were male. Even though they were much more likely to get hurt than I was.
22 January 2007
Preoccupied...With 1985
Warning: Mildly un-PC content below. Enjoy at your own risk.
Dear New Orleans Saints,
You were going to be the saviors of the city. Everyone told us so--Katie Couric, Rick Reilly, the Sports Guy, hell even Stuart Scott, who usually doesn't fall for treacly sports crap like that. We endured your endless "tours" through the wreckage, just one noble football player, four cameras, a makeup team, and a Hummer limo. Our houses were underwater and our children in school in Texas or Georgia, but hey, football was going to save the day. Until yesterday.
Well, that didn't help at all. In fact, it was the opposite of help.
We wait out a category four hurricane on the goddamn roof and Drew Brees dithers about whether he needs a glove on his throwing hand? We lose all our possessions to ten-foot flood waters and you guys can't even hang on to the ball? If you're going to give charity, I know a city that needs it more than Chicago. And while we're on the topic, the Bears? THE BEARS?!? They have a kicker who used to work construction and a quarterback who probably should be working construction.
So, thanks for nothing. In the end, I guess it's possible a Super Bowl win wouldn't have solved all of our problems. But I guess we'll never know, will we. I'm surprised the paper bag stocks lasted the day.
18 January 2007
If 40 Is The New 30, 25 Must Be The New 15
One of my oldest friends is getting married in the spring of '08. And I'm thrilled! I must be growing up or something because I'm not sure I've ever been this happy because someone else was happy. I've had this stupid grin on my face for three days now.
It does make me wonder, though, if there will ever come a time when the idea of marriage doesn't feel like dress up. I remember asking my mom a couple of years ago when she had truly felt like an adult. If I recall correctly, she said that bringing home your own child helped, but that in some sense she still felt like the 17-year-old living in her parents house and dating my dad.
When I was in high school, I guess I just imagined that I would feel like an adult by the time I was 24 (and a half!). Like somewhere in college, perhaps at graduation, there would just be this schism, and I would come out the other side knowing how to...decide on finance terms for my car and light the pilot light and deal with frustation sans tears and stuff like that.
It didn't really work like that though. I can tell that I'm more mature, certainly, and I often realize how much I've relaxed since I was a child (I know it usually happens the other way, but most of you didn't know me as a child...). But inside, closer to the surface at some times than others, there's still that same 12-year-old I used to know. Or be. Or something.
(How my mom's inner child got five years on mine, I'll never know)
Quote of the day:
J: Hello?
Me: Hey, want to go see some country music?
J: Yeah, but I'm in the middle of a freezer emergency. Can I call you back?
It does make me wonder, though, if there will ever come a time when the idea of marriage doesn't feel like dress up. I remember asking my mom a couple of years ago when she had truly felt like an adult. If I recall correctly, she said that bringing home your own child helped, but that in some sense she still felt like the 17-year-old living in her parents house and dating my dad.
When I was in high school, I guess I just imagined that I would feel like an adult by the time I was 24 (and a half!). Like somewhere in college, perhaps at graduation, there would just be this schism, and I would come out the other side knowing how to...decide on finance terms for my car and light the pilot light and deal with frustation sans tears and stuff like that.
It didn't really work like that though. I can tell that I'm more mature, certainly, and I often realize how much I've relaxed since I was a child (I know it usually happens the other way, but most of you didn't know me as a child...). But inside, closer to the surface at some times than others, there's still that same 12-year-old I used to know. Or be. Or something.
(How my mom's inner child got five years on mine, I'll never know)
Quote of the day:
J: Hello?
Me: Hey, want to go see some country music?
J: Yeah, but I'm in the middle of a freezer emergency. Can I call you back?
07 January 2007
Auld Lang Syne
I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but I haven’t been posting as much lately.
I think there are two reasons for that: One is that I’m just busier. The new job requires maybe 8-10 more hours per week than the old one. Actually, I’m mildly surprised to say that I LOVE that. It’s honestly really nice not to have everyone drop everything and go home at 5:00 on the dot. Whether we leave at 5 or 6:30, we get something accomplished and line up the next day. It’s easier to feel like the work matters, like I’m part of something.
The other is that, frankly, I’m happier than I was last spring when I started this. That’s not to say that I only write when I’m unhappy, just that when unhappy, I tend to feel that I have no one to talk to (cat excepted, but she falls asleep too easily...in fact, she's basically always asleep) and writing is a nice alternative.
One big part of that happiness is that I've all but stopped doing things (socially) I don't want to do. Of course there are instances when you do things (or invite people) you maybe wouldn't because it's not that much skin off your...and you know it will make someone happy, but I guess I've learned which events require my presence and which don't. It's a good thing to know.
I guess my New Year's resolution (not that I make them...you can change things at any time of year) is to figure out the remaining parts. And keep them true.
I think there are two reasons for that: One is that I’m just busier. The new job requires maybe 8-10 more hours per week than the old one. Actually, I’m mildly surprised to say that I LOVE that. It’s honestly really nice not to have everyone drop everything and go home at 5:00 on the dot. Whether we leave at 5 or 6:30, we get something accomplished and line up the next day. It’s easier to feel like the work matters, like I’m part of something.
The other is that, frankly, I’m happier than I was last spring when I started this. That’s not to say that I only write when I’m unhappy, just that when unhappy, I tend to feel that I have no one to talk to (cat excepted, but she falls asleep too easily...in fact, she's basically always asleep) and writing is a nice alternative.
One big part of that happiness is that I've all but stopped doing things (socially) I don't want to do. Of course there are instances when you do things (or invite people) you maybe wouldn't because it's not that much skin off your...and you know it will make someone happy, but I guess I've learned which events require my presence and which don't. It's a good thing to know.
I guess my New Year's resolution (not that I make them...you can change things at any time of year) is to figure out the remaining parts. And keep them true.
03 January 2007
Still Roaring (After All This Time)
Holidays were great. Two four-day weekends, a lot of time with my family, tons of football (no rant from me about how we need a college playoff as the complaint practically writes itself by now--go Boise State!), and surprisingly, five or six reruns of the X-Files.
I don't know why I didn't watch when it was on for real, especially since it was on after the Simpsons, which I caught pretty religiously. Maybe I was too young. Lately though, I've been thinking about how much I would have liked it. Intelligent dialogue, a real female heroine, David Duchovny, and sci-fi. What's not to like? And I can't honestly say I've never read fanfiction on the web. (Do other people do that? I feel like it's kind of weird, but some of those writers are actually really good). Anyway, I was interested and began tivo-ing reruns.
In one of 'em, that little Lone Gunmen guy happened upon Agent Scully in a casino lounge surrounded by too-smooth men, giggling, smoking, feigning stupidity, pulling her shirt obviously off one shoulder, etc. Now, that's just not the no-nonsense Agent Scully he knows, so he takes her upstairs, where it's discovered that someone has given her some kind of shot that impairs higher brain function to promote suggestibility.
Tell me this isn't hilarious. Our tough, proud, razor-sharp Scully has her higher brain function impaired, and all of a sudden she's acting like half the girls (sorry, women now I guess) I know. The episode was written roughly ten years ago, but man, right on the money!
Quick football notes:
I just had the best time watching Notre Dame get crushed. Who knew I was capable of such hate? Delightful!
Oh yeah, and if you didn't see the Fiesta Bowl (Boise State - Oklahoma), you can apparently download it on foxsports.com. If you have ever liked college football, watch the last ten or fifteen minutes. So amazing I couldn't sleep for hours.
I don't know why I didn't watch when it was on for real, especially since it was on after the Simpsons, which I caught pretty religiously. Maybe I was too young. Lately though, I've been thinking about how much I would have liked it. Intelligent dialogue, a real female heroine, David Duchovny, and sci-fi. What's not to like? And I can't honestly say I've never read fanfiction on the web. (Do other people do that? I feel like it's kind of weird, but some of those writers are actually really good). Anyway, I was interested and began tivo-ing reruns.
In one of 'em, that little Lone Gunmen guy happened upon Agent Scully in a casino lounge surrounded by too-smooth men, giggling, smoking, feigning stupidity, pulling her shirt obviously off one shoulder, etc. Now, that's just not the no-nonsense Agent Scully he knows, so he takes her upstairs, where it's discovered that someone has given her some kind of shot that impairs higher brain function to promote suggestibility.
Tell me this isn't hilarious. Our tough, proud, razor-sharp Scully has her higher brain function impaired, and all of a sudden she's acting like half the girls (sorry, women now I guess) I know. The episode was written roughly ten years ago, but man, right on the money!
Quick football notes:
I just had the best time watching Notre Dame get crushed. Who knew I was capable of such hate? Delightful!
Oh yeah, and if you didn't see the Fiesta Bowl (Boise State - Oklahoma), you can apparently download it on foxsports.com. If you have ever liked college football, watch the last ten or fifteen minutes. So amazing I couldn't sleep for hours.
26 December 2006
Hear Me Roar
I went to a Christmas party the weekend before last. I’m 24, you understand, so this wasn’t an egg nog and pigs in a blanket 7-9PM party. Nope, it was the same old everyone has a drink in hand at all times, conversation centers around other times people were drunk party. But I didn't hate it. On the contrary, I had a fantastic time and didn't get home until after three in the morning (in contrast, here's my standby party trick borrowed from my mom: walk in, say hello as obviously as possible to as many people as possible in twenty minutes, then get the hell out. Believe me, it works because everyone will remember you being there. Especially if they drink.).
So what was the difference? I guess there were a couple. The party was hosted by a former softball teammate of mine. So about 20% of the crowd consisted of people in whose company I once spent entire summers. Summers I'm unbelievably nostalgic about (nostalgic enough to play on the world's most annoying baseball team...that's a story for another day though). And I don't get the chance to see many of these girls on a regular basis. So that was something. But that wasn't the greatest factor. Since I'm not exactly a scene queen, most parties feature people I don't see that often.
And the vast majority of the crowd had some connection with sports, but I don't remember talking about sports much at all. Even when we waxed poetic about softball days, it was more often things that happened in the dugout or at hotels.
It took me two days to figure it out (and apparently ten days to write about it). The difference? No girls in tight dresses and heels, no one giggling and acting dumb, guys asking what we were talking about, how we knew each other. That's right, it was a female centered environment. It has been so long (since rugby parties at school, probably) since I've seen that, I almost didn't recognize it. It was such a pleasure not to have anyone telling me who they had slept with/were going to sleep with/wanted to sleep with/thought their roommate should sleep with/how their boyfriend had disappointed them, etc. that I just had a good time. I didn't worry about what I was going to talk about with so and so's roommate, didn't watch girls give me the once over, just caught up with old friends. Who sincerely wanted to hear about my job, my family, and my life.
So what was the difference? I guess there were a couple. The party was hosted by a former softball teammate of mine. So about 20% of the crowd consisted of people in whose company I once spent entire summers. Summers I'm unbelievably nostalgic about (nostalgic enough to play on the world's most annoying baseball team...that's a story for another day though). And I don't get the chance to see many of these girls on a regular basis. So that was something. But that wasn't the greatest factor. Since I'm not exactly a scene queen, most parties feature people I don't see that often.
And the vast majority of the crowd had some connection with sports, but I don't remember talking about sports much at all. Even when we waxed poetic about softball days, it was more often things that happened in the dugout or at hotels.
It took me two days to figure it out (and apparently ten days to write about it). The difference? No girls in tight dresses and heels, no one giggling and acting dumb, guys asking what we were talking about, how we knew each other. That's right, it was a female centered environment. It has been so long (since rugby parties at school, probably) since I've seen that, I almost didn't recognize it. It was such a pleasure not to have anyone telling me who they had slept with/were going to sleep with/wanted to sleep with/thought their roommate should sleep with/how their boyfriend had disappointed them, etc. that I just had a good time. I didn't worry about what I was going to talk about with so and so's roommate, didn't watch girls give me the once over, just caught up with old friends. Who sincerely wanted to hear about my job, my family, and my life.
13 December 2006
Houdini
Sometimes, you meet someone whose company you truly enjoy. Someone with whom friendship, common ground, and conversation come easily and seem to last no matter how much time the two of you spend together. Sure, you might get on each other's nerves occasionally, but when it comes time to part ways, you always wish the time could go a bit slower.
I can count these people on two hands. Three of them have been members of the male species. One is my brother, one is someone most of you are unaware I still think about, and the other was a very good friend of mine up until last winter...
He and I met almost two years ago and were really really tight for about a year. After hanging out for a month, he informed me that he wanted to be more than friends and we went on perhaps the most awkward date of all time. We decided (in retrospect, I decided and he didn't argue) to just be friends and though I sort of knew he wanted more, we seemed have survived it. We saw each other 2-3 times a week for the next eight months, went out to dinner, emailed at work, saw Cubs games (he must be a good friend if I did that...), hung out with each other's friends and talked all the time about things I didn't talk about with anyone else. For a long time, he was the only male the cat wasn't afraid of.
Last November/December, he started pushing again for more than just friends and though I see now that it was probably a bad decision, I was willing to try. I saw him more than anyone else (except my coworkers...work is so weird), he made me laugh, and he was male. Right? Of course, the same problems I'd had with it before hadn't disappeared and after a few more weird dates, being friends again seemed like the right move.
I thought things were okay until he all but fell off the planet that spring. Someone who had always called when he said he would, emailed nearly every day, sent flowers on my birthday suddenly stopped returning all my efforts to get in touch. After I called on his birthday, he emailed to tell me "how much it meant" to him that I remembered and that he was "dealing with some things." I haven't heard from him since. After about a month of silence, I gave up calling.
I can't let it go. I really miss him and I'm unbelievably curious and maybe a little worried about what happened. I know he had some issues with his family, but I've never met them. And honestly, he seemed pretty stable regardless. He seems to still be at the same job (yes, I'm a huge stalker)...so, alive. And, self-centered as we all are, I'm dying to know what I have to do with any of this. How could I lose my best friend in the blink of eye and not know why?
The point of all this is, I'm thinking about him a lot lately. I'm almost (but not quite) willing to try dating him again to have him back. Do I call again? Wait for an occasion like Christmas or his birthday and cross my fingers? Email him to tell him I miss him? Let it go because the ball's in his court?
I can count these people on two hands. Three of them have been members of the male species. One is my brother, one is someone most of you are unaware I still think about, and the other was a very good friend of mine up until last winter...
He and I met almost two years ago and were really really tight for about a year. After hanging out for a month, he informed me that he wanted to be more than friends and we went on perhaps the most awkward date of all time. We decided (in retrospect, I decided and he didn't argue) to just be friends and though I sort of knew he wanted more, we seemed have survived it. We saw each other 2-3 times a week for the next eight months, went out to dinner, emailed at work, saw Cubs games (he must be a good friend if I did that...), hung out with each other's friends and talked all the time about things I didn't talk about with anyone else. For a long time, he was the only male the cat wasn't afraid of.
Last November/December, he started pushing again for more than just friends and though I see now that it was probably a bad decision, I was willing to try. I saw him more than anyone else (except my coworkers...work is so weird), he made me laugh, and he was male. Right? Of course, the same problems I'd had with it before hadn't disappeared and after a few more weird dates, being friends again seemed like the right move.
I thought things were okay until he all but fell off the planet that spring. Someone who had always called when he said he would, emailed nearly every day, sent flowers on my birthday suddenly stopped returning all my efforts to get in touch. After I called on his birthday, he emailed to tell me "how much it meant" to him that I remembered and that he was "dealing with some things." I haven't heard from him since. After about a month of silence, I gave up calling.
I can't let it go. I really miss him and I'm unbelievably curious and maybe a little worried about what happened. I know he had some issues with his family, but I've never met them. And honestly, he seemed pretty stable regardless. He seems to still be at the same job (yes, I'm a huge stalker)...so, alive. And, self-centered as we all are, I'm dying to know what I have to do with any of this. How could I lose my best friend in the blink of eye and not know why?
The point of all this is, I'm thinking about him a lot lately. I'm almost (but not quite) willing to try dating him again to have him back. Do I call again? Wait for an occasion like Christmas or his birthday and cross my fingers? Email him to tell him I miss him? Let it go because the ball's in his court?
07 December 2006
My Boys
No, not those boys (and unless one reappears, I don't think there are any left anyway), the show. I watched it. Both episodes from Tuesday (thank you tivo). Honestly, I thought it was pretty stupid (and yes, the Carrie Bradshaw voiceover is beyond ridiculous). It's also one of those shows where the characters are parodies of themselves--the mildly sensitive asshole, the strange, odd-looking brother, the wussy dork, and the cute-ish frat boy type who everyone hilariously calls Brando instead of Brandon.
Though it would probably be hard to be satisfied by a show where the main character is supposed to have a lot in common with you, I have to say that everything just seems a little off. She's supposed to be this 'guy's girl' and all, but she's always wearing hoop earrings. Her best (and only female) friend is a total girly girl. Basically, the only clues to her supposedly uncommon personality are that her hair's in a ponytail, she apparently works as a sportswriter (though she NEVER talks about it) and she says things like "I call bullshit" and "duuude." Sweet...
Frankly, I'd be a little offended if I were a guy as well, since in this show, 'male' seems equated with 'stupid and low-class.'
Oh yeah, and she implied that she's always "working on a crush." Now, there's not necessarily anything wrong with that and I know a lot of girls do that, but it's the damn girliest thing in the world to SAY. As a girl who does talk about sports intelligently--and almost constantly--and is generally comfortable with guys, let me tell you that finding one guy, let alone a series, who interests you beyond the role of BCS-sparring-partner (and happens to like your cat or is at least able to fake it) is next to impossible.
(The just may get another chance though. Just for the complaining potential. And it's set in Chicago, after all)
Though it would probably be hard to be satisfied by a show where the main character is supposed to have a lot in common with you, I have to say that everything just seems a little off. She's supposed to be this 'guy's girl' and all, but she's always wearing hoop earrings. Her best (and only female) friend is a total girly girl. Basically, the only clues to her supposedly uncommon personality are that her hair's in a ponytail, she apparently works as a sportswriter (though she NEVER talks about it) and she says things like "I call bullshit" and "duuude." Sweet...
Frankly, I'd be a little offended if I were a guy as well, since in this show, 'male' seems equated with 'stupid and low-class.'
Oh yeah, and she implied that she's always "working on a crush." Now, there's not necessarily anything wrong with that and I know a lot of girls do that, but it's the damn girliest thing in the world to SAY. As a girl who does talk about sports intelligently--and almost constantly--and is generally comfortable with guys, let me tell you that finding one guy, let alone a series, who interests you beyond the role of BCS-sparring-partner (and happens to like your cat or is at least able to fake it) is next to impossible.
(The just may get another chance though. Just for the complaining potential. And it's set in Chicago, after all)
04 December 2006
Yay Gary!
I really don't like to fly. It's not that I'm afraid (though I'm certainly less comfortable than I used to be, particularly on bumpy flights), more that I get incredibly, stupendously restless. Which makes me incredibly, stupendously irritable. As in, 'why did you just take 12 flash pictures in a row out of the window, it's nightime and we're flying over Nebraska', 'do you need to do a pull-up with the back of my seat in order to get to your feet', 'is it some kind of rule that all the cranberry juice on planes has to have apple juice in it' irritable.
So we're about an hour into three and a half, drinks/snacks are over (handi-snacks?? I thought they stopped making those because of their extreme toxicity...) and I've just fallen asleep, which I know because I remember being on song 8 of my dinosaur of an iPod and now I'm on song 10. The dopey Mr. Rogers-wannabe (except young and like 6'6") flight attendant gets on the loud speaker to ask how many people lost money in Vegas this week. (Side note: If you go to Vegas for any other reason than to gamble, you get sick of this question really fast). The crowd chuckles idiotically, and some people raise hands. At this point, I'm thinking maybe I could still go back to sleep. But then, Mr. Rogers announces that he'd like to remedy that situation and proceeds to have a goddamn raffle wherein people write their seat numbers on dollar bills and throw them in the bag he runs up and down the aisle. Okay fine. They're idiots (and *no wonder* they all lost money), but I'm still enjoying the iPod. But then, we have to give Gary in 15A a round of applause and THEN chuckle idiotically (though since this has been going on the whole time, it's really just a matter of not stopping) as he walks down the aisle collecting trash as some sort of moronic penance for winning 69 one-dollar bills. (I'm not making that up, the total was $69).
Maybe I'm just the world's biggest buzzkill (funny, since I may have been the youngest person on that plane), but while I appreciate informality and little one-liners in the safety lecture and I don't mind being told when we're flying over the Grand Canyon or the like, I pretty much think you should stay the hell off the loud speaker until you want the guy next to me to stop watching Ronin on his DVD player. You guys fly the plane, I'll try to take my mind off the fact that there's a foreign butt ooching into my seat under the armrests. I bought a plane ticket to Chicago, not a bus ticket to summer camp.
*Though I promised I wouldn't, it almost killed me not to do a football post today. I hate you so much, Notre Dame.
So we're about an hour into three and a half, drinks/snacks are over (handi-snacks?? I thought they stopped making those because of their extreme toxicity...) and I've just fallen asleep, which I know because I remember being on song 8 of my dinosaur of an iPod and now I'm on song 10. The dopey Mr. Rogers-wannabe (except young and like 6'6") flight attendant gets on the loud speaker to ask how many people lost money in Vegas this week. (Side note: If you go to Vegas for any other reason than to gamble, you get sick of this question really fast). The crowd chuckles idiotically, and some people raise hands. At this point, I'm thinking maybe I could still go back to sleep. But then, Mr. Rogers announces that he'd like to remedy that situation and proceeds to have a goddamn raffle wherein people write their seat numbers on dollar bills and throw them in the bag he runs up and down the aisle. Okay fine. They're idiots (and *no wonder* they all lost money), but I'm still enjoying the iPod. But then, we have to give Gary in 15A a round of applause and THEN chuckle idiotically (though since this has been going on the whole time, it's really just a matter of not stopping) as he walks down the aisle collecting trash as some sort of moronic penance for winning 69 one-dollar bills. (I'm not making that up, the total was $69).
Maybe I'm just the world's biggest buzzkill (funny, since I may have been the youngest person on that plane), but while I appreciate informality and little one-liners in the safety lecture and I don't mind being told when we're flying over the Grand Canyon or the like, I pretty much think you should stay the hell off the loud speaker until you want the guy next to me to stop watching Ronin on his DVD player. You guys fly the plane, I'll try to take my mind off the fact that there's a foreign butt ooching into my seat under the armrests. I bought a plane ticket to Chicago, not a bus ticket to summer camp.
*Though I promised I wouldn't, it almost killed me not to do a football post today. I hate you so much, Notre Dame.
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