May 2006 Archives

How many freaking psychology experiments have to be done before we accept the fact that people are NOT RATIONAL? I would personally like to smack Descartes upside the head for helping to start this nasty rumor. We are not extruded from a robot's ass. We are soft, fallible, organic, emotional. And speaking of emotional, it is about time that we move the paradigm* away from the idea that the best decisions are made in the absence of emotional influence. How many economists does it take to pound this into our heads? Intellectualizing our lives, stripped of acknowledged or leveraged emotions, being constantly "reasonable" and "down to earth" don't do us any favors as an ideal philosophy. Because we will always fail. Can we learn, as a culture, to integrate our emotions into a new "rationalism"? Or are emotions fundamentally incompatible with our capitalist culture and its values?

* Sorry I used the word paradigm. It's so over-used and mocked and it's one of those corporate-speak words that gets my panties in a bunch. But I'm borrowing it from Kuhn's usage here, so bring down yer hackles.

• Simpsons for the blind
• USSR posters - Flickr photoset
• Ebookshare - torrent e-books
• Re-surfacing CDs so they work again
• Internet Pinball Machine Database - Awesome!

Federal fine for showing pixelated boobies on prime time TV: $1.2 million.

Federal fine for losing two nuclear reactor fuel rods: $288,000.

Knowing that the national media totally is my bitch: Priceless.

I will happily succumb to any good viral marketing campaign, and I will perpetuate the evil capitalist machine when it gives me a gut-jiggling giggle. I am powerless under the spell of any good creative director. I know this about myself. It's okay. It's something I've suffered from since childhood, and I do not blame my parents (ok, I do). And oh, oh, how I laughed at Philips' new "Shave Everywhere" site. Don't miss the "Where to Shave" and music video from the main menu: shaveeverywhere.com.

Garbage day. Two men take out the trash (snort), and one lives to tell about it. I like the added touch of 80's hairdos and sweaters. People looked like they had the potential to be more evil in the 80's. It's that ubiquitous pressed cotton veneer. If you have the time and/or money to press all your cotton items, then you have time to do evil things too. I think it's all James Spader's fault. Also, David Leisure should be implicated here.

• Universe People - PETITION AGAINST MICROCHIP TOTALITY!!!
• Save Lives in May - Run for the hills, if you make your decisions based on French UFO enthusiasts and the writings of Nostradamus
• 80's video extravaganza
• Learning to Draw - one person's art journey, drawn
• Dictionary of English slang - Cushty!

If, for some outlandish reason, your IE install is hosed and you need to reinstall that fugly thing (and you don't have a prior restore point, etc., or you're just a crazy masochist), reeeeead on. Every time I tried to reinstall it, I got that prompt that said I had a newer version of IE and the install could not continue. To get around this:

• Start, Run, browse to your IE setup file
• After the path that appears in the Run box, type /Q

That should bypass the newer version of IE crap-out message. And viola! You're now Microsoft's bitch again.

Are you looking at the stain on my pants? I can tell you're avoiding looking at the big splattered stain on my pants, thanks to the lettuce piece basted in Caesar dressing that tumbled into my lap at lunch. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. What a rube. She's an ill-bred foodtard who can't even get her cakehole to meet her fork.

But I will own this splotch. I will smother it in various laundry chemicals. I will tell it WHO'S BOSS. It will cower in the shadow of my zealous blotting, and it will slink away, joining all the other stains and smells that we blot/scrub/wipe out of our clothes every day.

I imagine there is a stain heaven somewhere, where all the stains and smells go after getting sprayed, soaked and blotted into oblivion. Stains and smells need redemption. They do. Something doesn't become a stain until you judge it thusly. And who are you to judge what is a stain and what is serendipitous decoration? The stain is what it is. Once the stain is a part of your clothing, do you throw it away? Or do you reinvent it as a t-shirt you'll wear the next time you paint the living room?

But. I am still blotting the hell out of my pants when I get home.

Also: too much coffee today.

What are you doing, reading this schlock? There is much better stuff to be read over at idiolect. Honestly. We both know you could do better. Let's not kid ourselves here. I just want what's good for you.

You're still reading this? You indulge me. You do. Don't be a stranger mmkay? Now shoo.

Seen in gigantic, stick-on letters on the back window of an SUV today:

REAL WOMEN
GO FISHING
DRINK BEER
LOVE FOOTBALL

Not a bumpersticker. This took up almost all the main viewing area of her (?) back window. This falls in my pet peeve category of "real women" bumperstickers. WTF? Anyone who tries to tell me what "real women" do or do not do via their car bumpers deserves a swift bitchslap and a screaming hair pull. BTW, insane stick-on letter lady, I am a real woman. And Real Women Don't Make Declarative Statements About Real Women on their freaking cars.

Thanks to my GoSmile kit and my Crest Whitestrips, my teeth are going to be So White. Like white on rice. Like a Greek villa on the island of Santorini just after a rainshower at noon. Like a fresh stick of Secret Platinum Plus Shower Fresh deodorant. They will be so white, NASA scientists will use my teeth as a perfect reflective surface to bounce cosmic rays deep into the Crab Nebula, which will have to be subsequently renamed to Ariana's Galactic Teeth Cloud.

I will smile and people will be able to check *their* teeth for food in the perfect reflection cast by my teeth. Babies will coo. Old people will stop shuffling. I will have the admiration of the British and the Basque. Madame Tussaud will contact me for a casting session, and my perfectly white teeth will have its own hall, entitled Ariana's Teeth Experience.

1. Cartoons inspired by spam subject lines
2. Tom Friedman - "tom friedman. he gets his art supplies from drugstores, candy stores, the human body, and the supermarket"
3. Alternative Management Theories - Dealing With Employee Complaints
4. Dan Page - smarty arty
5. Heavy Metal Parking Lot - Oy. Those haircuts are a little too familiar

I know that the stylesheets look distarded on the individual post pages. I blame this on the half-lovely StyleCatcher MT stylesheet libraries. Wonderful, almost. I cannot promise this will be fixed any time soon, because I have better things to do, people.

My Better Things To Do List.

1. Examine my cuticles.
   
2. Trust in Jesus.
   
3. Fill out rebate forms.
   
4. Feel self-righteous. And indignant.
   
5. Sweep.
   
6. Expunge expired sunscreen.
   
7. Chew.
   
8. Pretend to be Portuguese.
   

When your body is a birdie isn't sturdy is a spaz
When your noggin is a murky is a turkey is a gaz
Keep the chew toy in your pocket
Keep the wordflies going round
Don't be a-stompin' on that burble in the ground.

When your tummy is all flummy isn't funny is a squirt
When your cakehole isn't moisty is all runny is a blurt
Keep the crinkles where they land
Keep your corners from too-pointy
Try to think: Anoint my head, oh birds, anointy-nointy.

1. When throwing dishes, choose a target that seems just beyond your range, preferably in the next yard or street. You'll improve your aim and you won't have to clean that shit up.

2. If you are angry at a particular person, and you are a smoker, use that person's birth certificate and/or tax documents as a rolling paper. She will thank you later for helping her get "a fresh start."

3. Drink tea with honey. This will help prevent your voice from cracking as you shout obscenities into your pillow.

4. As you throw your tantrum, slap yourself in the face. It will help keep your energy up while providing gratifying entertainment for onlookers.

5. If you tend to froth at the mouth when you're throwing a tantrum, accept this. Let your saliva froth freely in the corners of your mouth. This will clearly identify you as a lunatic throwing a tantrum, because up until then, people weren't quite sure about you. Acceptance will set you free.

6. If you're fresh out of ideas for your tantrum format, seize the tantrum energy and channel it. Give your neighbor's dog a perm. Cut your grass with safety scissors. Sew a zeppelin.

My inner voice is Mrs. Butterworth. She comforts me when I need a little pat on the back. She tells me, in her buttery voice, "It's okay, baby. It's okay." Also, my Mrs. Butterworth is black. So all her comforts are kind of like Esther Rolle speaking to me, but in the form of Mrs. Butterworth.

If you're ever needing a little pat, a little reassurance, I will gladly lend you my Mrs. Butterworth/Esther Rolle. She works miracles, and not just on pancakes.

1. My Lazy Eye Can See Who's Behind You, To The Right

2. Visualize Ed Meese

3. Does This Car Make My Penis Look Big?

4. Die, Non-Ironic Argyle-Wearing Scum

5. I Heart Red Wine Reduction Sauce

6. Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear, Because They're in Therapy Once a Week, Okay?

Funny: Bears, cows, jam, bellies, ham, underpants, cheese, corduroy, pancakes, clams, CarpetFresh.

Not: Earthquakes, spinal meningitis, paisley, Bill O'Reilly, post-colonial reconstruction, ammonia.