Blame Patrick Henry, I guess

According to Wikipedia, the correct way to refer to the Governor of Virginia is "His Excellency." Why stop there? Why not go the whole hog and use "His Highness"? Or "His Holiness"?

UPDATE
It appears that 11 (ELEVEN!) states use this title. Thank God I've only lived in rational, sane states: Delaware and Maryland.

It's amazing I haven't needed therapy

It’s not easy being the youngest. I’m the 13^th of 13 grandchildren, and, until a new baby suddenly showed up at Christmas when I was five and a half, was the youngest of our clan. I have a cousin just a few months older than I, so you would think that we would have experienced similar hardships. You would be wrong.

Sure, we shared some disappointments. For example, every summer a good portion of our family goes to the beach together. When we were little, there was a total of eight children to entertain for two weeks. Our parents would take us to movies, amusement parks, and, one summer, to a beach half an hour away for laser tag.

Six of us played laser tag that day. Two of us watched those six play laser tag. I’m told it was the best trip we ever took. I beg to differ.

But what sticks out most in my mind, when I reminisce about those summers of my youth, is a song our aunt made up about the eight of us. It was entitled, I believe, “8 Little Cousins.” “Oh,” you say, “a nice ditty about children, based on that classic tale of the 10 little Indians!” You, sir or ma’am, have clearly never met my aunt. No, this was a cautionary tale of sorts, warning us not to jump on the beds in the apartment we shared. You see, these eight little cousins were all jumping on a bed one afternoon, when, one by one, verse by verse, they fell off. Starting with the oldest, seven children broke their legs. The eighth child, the youngest, made it to the end of the song before she fell off the bed. Did she, like the others, break her leg?

No.

She died.

The ending of this charming tale never changed, and, believe me, I heard it enough times to know. Every other kid loved this song, and my aunt would sing it for them, despite my obvious objections. My older cousins bitched about having to wash dishes; I was taunted mercilessly about my possible death. Lucky number seven, however, escaped both.

This seems like a bad idea

An exercise in my French book:

Here are a few stereotypes about the French:
The French eat a lot of cheese.
The French love food.
The French don't speak English.
Do you agree? Give examples of other stereotypes.

I need a patent lawyer!

Some coworkers and I like to break up the monotony of local restaurants with quarterly "fests" of food from other parts of the city. We've had PizzaFest, and tomorrow was supposed to be our first HoagieFest, catered by Philadelphia Cheesesteak Factory. I had high hopes for HoagieFest, with dreams of future generations marking the day with Cheez Whiz topped treats and leaving Amoroso rolls out for Hoagie Claus. Then I saw a billboard for this on 95 this past weekend. I never thought I'd say this, but damn those people at Wawa! Why'd they have to go and steal my thunder?!? And finding out the next day that they no longer have Oreo shakes did nothing to improve my mood, I'll have you know.
Whatever. Until they open a location inside the Beltway, I refuse to acknowledge their "trademarks."

Let this be a lesson

None of us were home much this weekend, so the cat took the opportunity to throw a raging party, as teenagers are wont to do. There was some destruction:


We didn't have to punish him, though, because he clearly paid for his choices later:

Did someone say eggs?!?

Always on the lookout for potential opportunities for me, Jess passed along a Craigslist ad with the subject, "ARMENIAN COUPLE IS LOOKING FOR BEAUTIFUL ARMENIAN EGG DONOR." I could just see my dark hair and dark eyes convincing this couple that 50% Armenian was good enough, and then the kid ending up with all of my blond-haired blue-eyed father's genes.

Wait, do you know cursive?

There's something unsettling about walking around a mall with an 8-year-old who's carrying an Abercrombie bag with half-naked men on it.
Perhaps I should have called off the whole thing when I realized she couldn't sign her name on the credit card slip.

Huh?

Someone please explain this picture to me:

¿Dónde Están? UPDATE

Once again, the Argentines are making their presence known in the neighborhood. They are using the sidewalks to announce their arrival to those of us in the know. At least, they're hoping we'll think they're Argentine.
Check out this picture of the sidewalk near the Chico's:

Someone has clearly carved out part of the concrete in the shape of the Argentine Republic. He must be very proud of his Argentine heritage, correct? NO, SIR, HE IS NOT.
Why?
Take a close look at the image above, compare it to this map below, and see if you can find what's missing.
That's right. Whoever did this "tribute" did not include the Malvinas. Why not just burn a few hundred Argentine flags while you're at it, buddy?
Because I hold such a strong love for this wonderful nation, I have made my own version:

I'm actually not a fan of yellow

I'm heading out of town this weekend for my cousin's 8th birthday. Instead of specific gifts, my family tends to just give money. I'm not sure when this practice started, but I'm amazed it made it past my 5th birthday.
See, I have a cousin who's just a few months older than I. She's one of my best friends now, but we had some jealousy issues when we were children. On Christmas 1987, our grandfather gave her a check for her birthday, since it falls in early January. I started crying that I wanted one too, as four-year-olds are wont to do. My grandfather refused, and, faced with the long wait until May, my tantrum only intensified. My mother was finally able to calm me down, when Little Miss Birthday Girl nonchalantly turned to me and asked, "Do you like the color yellow?". "Yes," I whimpered. "Well, that's the color of the check."
Oh yes she did.
Needless to say, the screaming commenced anew. My mother lost it and yelled at her father to just write me a check already, which he reluctantly did. Victory was mine!
I have to admit that I have no recollection of this event, and knew nothing about it until a few years ago. My mother was surprised, since I apparently remembered it for months afterward. You see, our grandfather died between our birthdays that year, and I told my mom, "It's a good thing he gave me that check."

I cannot get past this

Perhaps you've seen this AT&T ad with the cute kid sending her dad off with her stuffed monkey. Pretty sweet, right? That's what I thought for the first 11 seconds of the commercial, when I noticed something strange in the mother's grocery bag. Do you see what it is, Encyclopedia Brown?
That's right.
She's bought five baguettes. FIVE. Who buys five loaves of French bread? It's not something you stock up on! If you need one, you go to the store at 4:00 when the bakery puts out the fresh loaves. She doesn't appear to have purchased a lot of groceries this trip, so I'm assuming she's not hosting a girls' night. That leaves two possibilities: she's cheating on her husband, or she's an idiot. Wait, three: she dropped them all on the floor and was forced to purchase them.
Not that I know anyone who's ever been in that situation.

What happened?

An attorney new to my floor walked by my desk 19 times yesterday. Today, twice. Did I do something wrong? Did someone clue him into the fact that my hallway is the lame one?

Catchphrase

Me: I hope you repented for your cheating ways before you took
Communion yesterday.

Friend: Ha, don't judge!  How was the party after ours?

Me: Fun!  I promised someone 500 Kuwaiti dinars and kept calling my 
friend's brother "barkeep."  So, you know, par for the course.

Note: "Yee-haw" is not the same as "Hee-haw."

Oh, that's an interesting ass

My aunt sent me a very NSFW email today, of which I scrolled down to the offending part without noticing the NSFW tag in the middle, because, it's my aunt! What could she be sending me that might attract the attention of the IT department? I must be suffering from early-onset Alzheimer's because I clearly forgot what kind of family I have.

Second page, if you're wondering

Scene: House party, 12:15 AM
Me, writing a text: "Where's the semicolon?!?"
Sassy friend: "You're using a semicolon in a text? That's your first problem, right there."
Me: IT'S GRAMMATICALLY APPROPRIATE.

¿Dónde Están?

Each of the past three mornings, I've walked by a small group of men sitting outside drinking mate. Now, I loves me some mate, but sipping a hot drink through a metal straw on a 90 degree day oddly doesn't sound appealing. I was curious as to where these gentlemen were from, since this is the first time I've seen outdoor mate drinking outside of South America.
Well.
On the way home tonight, while walking a scant few hundred feet from where these men had been sitting this morning, I noticed that someone had carved BOCA into the sidewalk. Clearly, our neighborhood has been infiltrated by the Argentines. I have but one complaint:
WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN INVITED TO ANY ASADOS?
Must I parade around with my Argentine flag? My soccer scarf? My Quilmes shirt? My camiseta de la selección? Should I drive around, blasting Los Fabulosos Cadillacs? Should I take my own mate and thermos to the streets? What does it take?

Illusions of grandeur

Last night, I heard a loud crash from downstairs at about 11. Since I was already in bed, I (rightly) figured it must have been the cat getting into trouble. Guess who decided he didn't like the blinds in the dining room!
At 6:00, he must have become concerned that my feet were cold, and so attempted to warm them up with his claws and teeth. By the time I finally got up an hour and a half later, he had taken to attacking me through a plastic bag. Clearly, he was trying to fashion himself a cape and fight crime. I'm not sure what kind of superhero eats weight control IAMS with added hairball control, but I guess there's a first for everything.

Things I've Always Wondered

In the song "Prince Ali" from Aladdin, the genie mentions that Ali has brought llamas. If Aladdin is set in the Middle East during the Middle Ages, where did he get llamas?

à dieu je demande

Last night, I went to a Bastille Day party at Bistrot du Coin. Since it's a French restaurant, I thought they'd have a whole French experience for us to enjoy. Well, I must have missed when France invaded and conquered Colombia, because they definitely played Juanes at about 11:00, right when the party was in full swing. The only thing I could think of was that it could be an odd tribute to Betancourt? Although the number of people who would be able to make that connection after a couple of drinks must be rather low, even in this city.
The night wasn't a total loss, however; I met someone named "Gaston."

Things I've Always Wondered

In the song "Bust a Move," why isn't Harry going to be Larry's best man?

I hope you did!

Scene: Dorney Park, July 12, 2008, 9:00 PM

Employee surveys the long line at Talon
Him: "That sucks. Today has been ridiculous. It hasn't been this crowded since the 4th of July."
Me: "That was last week."
Silence
Him: "Well, still. We might break a record today!"

I'm just going to go ahead and say it

You know, I'm really going to miss President Bush. It's not that I approve of 99% of what he's done (pardoning those turkeys is always a good thing), but I enjoy having him around. He cracks me up. I was reminded of this again today, when I heard about his farewell to the G8 summit:

"The American leader, who has been condemned throughout his presidency for failing to tackle climate change, ended a private meeting with the words: 'Goodbye from the world's biggest polluter.'
He then punched the air while grinning widely, as the rest of those present including Gordon Brown and Nicolas Sarkozy looked on in shock."

This is no "Thank you, Your Holiness, awesome speech," but it's up there with the inappropriate massaging and the dancing in front of the White House press corps.

Thanks for these memories, G-Dubs. It's going to be hard to say goodbye.

DISAPPROVE

A little quiz:
How many oceans are there? If you're, oh, 22 and over, I'm guessing you said 4, meaning the 4 that God intended there to be: the Atlantic, Pacific, Indian, and Arctic. Well, that, apparently, is wrong. It has come to my attention, via my smartass cousin, that there is a FIFTH ocean, the "Southern." It's meant to be the southern version of the Arctic Ocean, but I guess the powers-that-be didn't see that the water in said "ocean" is already in a SEPARATE ocean. The Arctic is an entity unto itself!
How was this decided, you ask? According to that bastion of truth, Wikipedia, 68 nations were polled, 28 responded, and 27 of those approved. NOT ENOUGH.
I am quite upset about this. The whole Pluto thing didn't much bother me, but this does. I'd just like to give a shout-out to Argentina, the one nation to stand up for the natural order of things. ¡Aguante Argentina!

4th of July NoVA-style, Revisited

I didn't have this on my computer until today, but here's the best image of how the 4th is celebrated in VA, as found on the sidewalk of Wilson Blvd:
USA! USA!

Sorry, Will

Scene: Wednesday, 7:00 PM, the couch

There's a knock at the door
Me: AHHHH!
Jess: What are we going to have to deal with?
Door opens
Me: Hello?
Man at door: Hi, I'm Will, with the Chesapeake Bay-
Me: Sorry!
SLAM!

Yes, I am a terrible liberal. But Will should have thought twice before asking me to help fund his Goucher education.
At least he wasn't with Greenpeace; I would have yelled at him to stop making me walk around his comrades downtown.

Wasted Space

My company is updating its intranet, and part of that includes redoing the cafeteria's website. The geniuses in guest services have decided to put pictures of everything they serve on their page. EVERYTHING. The first thing you see when you click on "salad bar"? A bowl of thick, yellow-ish liquid labeled "1000 Island Dressing." You can then see what "croutons" and "celery" are, in case you're 5 and learning to read. I don't know what you'd be doing at a law firm, but maybe there's a position for you in guest services!

And they still have not changed the weekly offering of "Vegetarian Chili con Carne."

Emails from Family

"I am glad you had a nice time, even though, it seems you are taking bad weather with you wherever you go."

And

"You better believe those bitches are interfering with my social life with my nieces and nephews!"

No shoe love?

I signed the lease on my new apartment today, and I must say that my landlord disappointed me a bit. He works in women's shoes (just like Al Bundy!) and complimented me on my footwear on our first meeting. I think that's what sealed the deal, since they were a rather cute pair of shoes, and my competition was wearing flip-flops (amateur!). So today I made sure to wear another nice pair, but no compliments came my way.

No, buddy

Me: "Why does your shirt say Delaware? Are you from there?"
Guy: "No, it's a park in Buffalo. That's a little cooler than being from Delaware."
Me: "Says you, pal. What makes Buffalo better than Delaware?"
Guy: "Well, we have buffalo wings! And....a spicy sauce for chicken appetizers."
Me: "....."

Oh HELL no

Now, if you read my profile (I'll wait............), you'll see that I'm a big fan of the classic tale, The Monster at the End of this Book. I recently bought it for my adorable 10 month-old cousin, and was going to buy it for another little cousin this weekend. The Borders near my house, however, did not carry this title, but instead had this horror. First of all, what the hell is this? A little searching dug up this book, and if you would please note the similarities between the two covers, you'll see that poor Grover has been shoved into the background by Elmo. I don't think I have to tell you that Elmo is not the best companion for a trip inside a haunted house. Compare the expressions on their faces. Grover looks appropriately scared at the idea of a monster in the house, while Elmo clearly does not comprehend such danger. Now, before you point out that Elmo might have just heard about Grover's past experiences with monsters, and finds the idea amusing, let me tell you something about this book:

(WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD)


THERE ARE ACTUALLY MONSTERS IN THE HOUSE. Grover was proven right, people! He is no longer the laughingstock of Sesame Street! However, while I am excited that Grover has finally been vindicated, what, exactly, is the point of this story? Does the original not prove that fear of the unknown can be a silly thing? Does it not teach us that the most obvious answer is often the correct one? Do we not learn that we are strong enough to tear down a brick wall? What do we take away from this new version? Beware of signs that there are monsters in the house, because there probably are? I'm not pleased, Sesame Street.

EDIT: OK, I just found this on Amazon. ENOUGH, ELMO, THIS BOOK IS GROVER'S TIME TO SHINE. Good God.

4th of July NoVA-style

Between the guy behind us who kept yelling, "America! USA! YEAH!", the man with the flag bandanna in front of us who called us all Nazis for not cheering, and then the mad rush of everyone leaving, I'm pleased to say that I survived July 4th in Virginia. I watched the fireworks, walked back to my car, and made it safely back to the North where a gentleman in spandex wished me a happy 4th and shook my hand at the 7-11. There truly are two Americas.

Animals love me

I had to stop my roommate's cat from eating a rubber band last night. He's clearly so distraught at thought of not living with me in two months that he's trying to commit suicide. It's really the only possible explanation.
Pictured: Said cat in his younger, thinner years.