Friday, June 27, 2003

Just taking a moment out of research to profess, once again, my disdain for the command to 'smile!'

Here I am, working hard, concentrating, deep in freaking thought. A co-worker walks by, says Good Morning, Rebecca! How are you?

Busy, I answer, hoping to dissuade her from further conversation.

Well, so am I, she replies as she flashes me a deliberate grin, but at least I can smile!

Here's the thing: when I am in a good mood, I smile all of the time. People for miles remark on my smile and its welcome. Children cry to be near me, just to absorb some of my dental glow.

So fuck off, co-worker, because I smile enough to collect, save, and trade off for days when I am lost in thought and don't have time to pick my head up and beam at your passing.

Thursday, June 26, 2003

I saw the Hulk last night.

I liked that Danny Elfman did the music for it.

I liked that Stan Lee and Lou Ferrigno had cameos.

I liked the direction. A lot.

I liked all of the action scenes.

I liked the way the movie ended.

I did not like that the Hulk was fed up with being the Hulk after a mere three appearances.

I did not like that Jennifer Connelly was an alleged brilliant scientist yet was helpless and dimwitted when it came to acting on her own accord.

I did not like that Jennifer Connelly was passionless in telling Bruce Banner that he was a passionless guy and she was fed up.

I did not like the poorly unraveled yet oft-alluded to rocky relationship between Jennifer Connelly and her dad.

I did not like the babies sitting in the rows behind me that kept crying during every scene of consequence.

I did not like that parents are slow to bring their crying babies out of the theater when there is a chance said parent may miss a scene of consequence.

Wednesday, June 25, 2003

I watched a short film on Eli Whitney with my parents last night. Weird. I learned that, around 1890, Eli Whitney pioneered the concept of mass production. He mass produced a musket like nobody's business.

Eli Whitney: More than just the cotton gin.

Nice that it's forty degrees today. Um, M. Nature? It's summer.

I'm going to see the Hulk tonight. I can't wait. I hope I love it.

Monday, June 23, 2003

Dear Driver of White Volvo Stationwagon Parked in Front of the Church Nightclub in Denver on Saturday Night:

I never formally introduced myself. I was so concerned with my personal safety that I wasn't able to tell you how much I wanted to punch you in the throat. I never got the chance to tell you what an embarrassment to humanity you are.

I appreciate your concerns in life. After all, I was walking on the sidewalk that your car was hovering over. Your car's presence did force me to reroute my steps. That may have entitled you to a simple, 'I'm sorry for blocking the entire sidewalk. I don't know what I was thinking.' That would have sufficed.

I am pretty sure that, 'What are you looking at, bitch?' was not the appropriate response to my crossing in front of your car. I know, I know, you had a young girl in your car and you wanted to impress her. I was surprised to see your companion laughing at my expense.

I can't promise that were I in a similar situation, I would laugh at my male companion harrassing a strange female and calling her a bitch. I am pretty sure I wouldn't laugh at all. You must possess some amazing charm.

That charm was further demonstrated when you continued to shout at me. 'Just keep on walking, slut!' was especially poignant. I admire your ability to pass judgement on a girl wearing an ankle-length skirt. Clever.

I think I realized the breadth of your charm when two men tried to calm you down. 'Get in the car,' they requested. 'She started it!' you protested. Mmm. I started it. I did, after all, walk in front of your car. If that's not grounds for verbal assault, then hell, I don't know what is.

It was good that you drove away when you did. Obviously at the height of your inebriation, it's always a good idea to operate a vehicle when you can do the most damage. Lucky for you, you drive the world's safest car--you should be all set. Good thinking, ace.

I guess I am most disappointed in my complicity. I was too sober to think quickly. Had I consumed a drink or five, I would have had the good sense to spit on your car, tell you how ashamed for you I was, and heck--I would have even taken a black-eye for the team just to see the number of men that would have jumped into the fight to kick your ass.

What am I saying--I could have kicked your ass. Regrets, I've had a few. Perhaps we'll meet again.


The Tall Blond Girl Who Walked in Front of Your Car

Friday, June 20, 2003

What's almost as good as a snow day to send a girl home early from work?

A power outage.

What's better than a power outage in the middle of a savage thunderstorm in June?

Driving home 30 minutes and discovering that the day in her neighborhood remains warm and sunny.

Thursday, June 19, 2003

Eli Whitney entered our discussion last night. We all know him as the inventor of the cotton gin. Thanks to our fifth grade teachers, that won't be quickly forgotten. Naturally, we were led to question what use the knowledge has ever given us.

How has knowing who invented the cotton gin ever helped us?

It hasn't.

Who was Eli Whitney, really?

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

You knowingly allow child molestors to continue working with children, you transfer molestors to new jobs without informing new employers of said molesting history and you hit and kill a pedestrian, drive away and then deny it?

'God's grace will help us through this challenging time'


Tuesday, June 17, 2003

The Hulk movie comes out this weekend.

The first bike I remember getting was a green and purple plastic tricycle. Sure, you might think that a three year-old girl wants something pink and flowery.

Not when she can cruise around in her Hulkmobile, growling and roaring at everything in her path.

And my mom wonders why I am who I am.

Monday, June 16, 2003

I had a talk with my dad yesterday about what I'm planning to do with my life. Our discussion began with my dad saying:

You know, you're not getting any younger.

Dad, look on bright side, I offered. I could be married to an abusive drunk with three screaming kids and an addiction to pain pills.

After a lengthy discussion, we agreed that it was my best interest to continue school. Advantage: even. My dad can proudly announce that his daughter has her doctorate, all the while I get to put off deciding what I'm going to do for another year or two.

Friday, June 13, 2003

I was telling Christine yesterday how much I love drama. I think I learned how to react to situations from watching soap operas as a child.

Today I am sick. The problem is that I can't just be sick and be a trooper and smile through my discomfort. Oh no. I'm not just sick. I am the sickest I have ever been in my life, I am convinced.

I woke up this morning with a horrible fever. I'm dying, I think to self. Barely able to talk, form coherent thoughts or walk without wavering back and forth, I long for my bed, soothing music and an attractive young European man to feed me peeled grapes and Chlortrimeton. Nobody knows the troubles I've seen, I think to self.

Enter: my life, the soap opera. Dramatic hand to my feverish forehead, I promise my fans that I will try my best to get through the day. If you see me lose consciousness and collapse, I warn, be sure to tell the hospital that I'm allergic to avocados.

You know, just in case.

Thursday, June 12, 2003

I joined Friendster. I am going make friends online. Giddyup

Last night, Janine was showing my parents some yoga moves. Janine said that yoga will center them and give them peace. My dad put his arm around my mom and said: this is what centers me and gives me peace.

My parents rock.

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

They're not trying to jury-rig their way into charging us for email and information exchanges, oh no.

Those government kids are so afraid of this crazy Internet--allowing us access to information regardless of our wealth or class. Gasp.

They will find a way to regulate. All in the name of Spam.

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

nous apr├Ęs beaucoup de boissons
janine and me.

Monday, June 09, 2003

I went roller skating this weekend. Memories of junior high flooded my mind as I found myself--once again--awkward and uncoordinated. All in all, it was loads of fun and my head only hurts a little today from when I fell and bashed my skull against the shiny waxed floor.

Last night, Janine and I went out to play trivia. Imagine our vexation upon spotting Janine's nemesis at a nearby table, replete with his sugar-coated grin and a smug appoinment for vengeance. He sees us and we know the game has begun. Our only goal is to beat his team, his smarmy know-it-all team.

Did we ever! Our team of two, Better Late Than Pregnant, came in first--winning us a seventy-five dollar gift certificate to the bar and bragging rights for at least one month.

don't think I forgot, let you slide.
let me ride, just another homicide...
Compton and Long Beach together on this m*therf*cker.

Friday, June 06, 2003

This all goes well until you get to the last sentence, which virtually guarantees that g.w.b. will come up with a new plan:

'Yeah, um, Iraq used to have WMD. Um, Syria bought them. Yeah. Syria. That's the ticket. They've got them now.'

just another genocide

Dear Congo,

We regret to inform you that we cannot help you with your tribal warfare. There's really little at stake for our country and as you are so far away and pose so little threat to our own safety, we're going to let France take the lead on this one. If only you had oil: we'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

As you may recall from Rwanda back in 1994, we prefer to wait until your casualties number in the hundreds of thousands. Quite frankly, five hundred casualties are little more than a common cold. Let's wait until your situation resembles an epidemic.

Maybe during your next mass genocide? Let's talk then.


The United States of America
Land of the Free
If It Ain't Attached To A Tank, We Don't Want It

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

A headline in today's Rocky Mountain News:

Cheese More Than Just Topping For Pizza

What? Where? How? Why wasn't I called? I can--gasp--use cheese for more than just pizza? Sakes alive, next think you know, that jewel of a newspaper is going to be telling me that I can do more with eggs than throw them at people on my list of people to throw eggs at.

My bus driver is not on that list. I have a little kid crush on my bus driver. I got on the bus this morning and he said,

'hello stranger! long time no see!'


Taking the bus to work in the morning is much more interesting than driving my car. I get to socialize, observe, relax with a book and a latte. I smile more when I ride the bus.

When I drive, I find myself glaring and swearing at whomever dares to get in my way: thirty-five minutes of slowpokes, morons and potholes. While sour and angry by the time I arrive at work, driving myself does offer ninety extra minutes of glorious morning sleep.

Therein lies the rub.

Tuesday, June 03, 2003

Surprise, surprise:
You see, this is what one gets when one resorts to unilateral dictatordom.
(see also:Stalin)