Distractions

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Like Obama, I’ve been a bit despondent since Battlestar Galactica wrapped up. The bad thing about watching TV shows as they air, as opposed to on dvd or on the computer, is that you don’t get to decide how fast it goes by. They do. So with BSG taken from me before I was ready, I’ve been listlessly, aimlessly watching whatever. In desperation, I even watched an episode of the Tudors the other night, and let me just say, that show is not good.

But, after some hesitancy (scared to get attached, then abandoned?), I watched the first few episodes of Dollhouse this week.  It’s the new Joss Whedon show, starring Faith of BtVS and Helo of BSG. I’d heard mixed things, but I liked it right away. It’s like Buffy with a budget. And though the show has nothing to do with high school (not yet, at least), Whedon seems to have returned to some of his favorite adolescent reality tropes: (1) Pretty girls are more complicated than they might seem at first glance, and being pretty can make you lonesome and (2) From nerds come the cruelest cuts. I can’t offer much insight on the first trope, but as for the second, my junior high years in particular bore out the truth that nerds may seem meek, but they are mean. Especially rampant is nerd-on-nerd violence. Nerds establish and defend nerd hierarchies, and to be at the bottom is to experience all the pent-up wrath of people who are picked on by everyone but you. In my junior high, the hierarchy was something like: regular nerds with more or less normal bodies on top, followed by D&D nerds, followed by really smart kids with funny bodies. At the bottom were the outcast nerds who were so smart they didn’t even do well in school, because they were too bored to bother, so even the teachers didn’t like them. When the teachers turn on you, you know you are in trouble. Anyway, I feel like the guy in Dollhouse who’s in charge of the computer that wipes your memory away probably fell somewhere in that bottom strata, and this fact helps explain what seems like his complete disinterest in human relations. From the bottom of the nerd heap, can you blame him?

A few random items, because that’s how my mind rolls on a Wednesday:

  • Last week’s episode of 30 Rock was pretty stellar. Not only do we get the return of the Beeper King, but we also learn a new term for laughing so hard you pee your pants: “lizzing,” as in laughing + whizzing. Btw, for no particular reason, if you’re on the FB, you can be a fan of Dennis Duffy here.
  • Next time you’re in the frozen food aisle, go ahead and skip over Amy’s Broccoli Pot Pie. Just not very delicious.
  • But speaking of delicious, foodies or South Floridaphiles should visit my old friend Trina’s wonderful food blog, Miami Dish.
  • And, for the librarians and other library workers, check out this CFP for a new collection, Out Behind the Desk: Workplace Issues for LGBTQ Librarians (in the form of a Google doc, no less). Hopefully the collection will answer once and for all the question haunting sociologists and law professors everywhere: “Do library workers really have more fun?”

Wandering around with my London houseguest Bob last weekend, we encountered two hacked digital roadwork signs. Did anyone else see these? On Houston, we found the friendly invite cited above in the header. The other, on Broadway in front of NYU — photograph below. Nice work, people!

hacked

(It’s no Oscars night or VMA, but how else am I supposed to pass the time?)

10:20 — The halls of justice are really over-heated and dry.

10:28 — The halls of justice have internet!

10:34 — Have updated FB status three times.

10:46 — Man in charge of my jury selection room is inviting all of us to a spin-class fundraiser for Live Strong.

11:22 — Nothing has happened. It’s still too warm and dry in here. This plus worry over my laptop battery dying makes me feel like I’m on an airplane.

12:04 — Have scored a cubicle with outlet, no longer in panic over battery.

12:25 — I don’t always love Gawker, but I gotta hand it to them for having a category called Obama Hotties.

12:34 — Have been dismissed for lunch. Advised not to drink.

My eyes have melted into my skull. This year I’ve vowed to get a handle on my information flows. (“Vowed” somehow sounds more compelling than “my New Year’s resolution is” … those words are the death knell for a plan if ever there was one.) After heeding this helpful advice and purging my inbox of 2,325 emails, I’ve spent the past two days consolidating email addresses, exporting contacts, importing contacts, creating filters, building calendars, and syncing calendars. I am determined to know the things I need to know to get through a week, and to reduce the amount of time it takes me to figure out what it is I need to be knowing. 2009, it’s all about TSM vs. Web 2.0, and I’m going to win.

Speaking of modern struggles, it used to be at the end of a messy break-up you just filled up a shoebox, set it on fire, and changed your phone number. These days, you’ve got profile links to sever, emails and text messages to purge, Flickr accounts to shut down. Here to take all that painful work off your hands, The Museum of Broken Relationships (h/t The Colby Project). In their efforts to “preserve the material and nonmaterial heritage of broken relationships,” the Museum allows you to dump your detritus on them — and if you’re having trouble letting go, to lock it up:

By registering on the web pages of the Museum you become its donor and here you can store everything that reminds you of your bygone love: e-mails, photographs, SMS messages. If your memories still trigger off painful memories “lock” your exhibits for a specified period: 3 months, 6 months or however long you need for recovering.

Heartbreaking, sure. But amazing.

90210: Totally boring, and a weak rip of Gossip Girl + South of Nowhere. Annie Wilson, you’re no Spencer Carlin.

John McCain: Even more boring.

Sarah Palin: Less boring than McCain, maybe in a tie with 90210. Weak rip of every late 90s neo-con talking head + first-person “It Happened to Me” stories from Ladies Home Journal.

Fox News: Hurricane Gustav a “blessing in disguise.”

Rudy Giuliani: Made me puke in my mouth seven times. And I will never spell your name right on the first try.

America’s Next Top Model: Possibly not completely transphobic? Still too close to call.

Gossip Girl: So worth the wait. “I haven’t been honest with you… I’m British.”

3 paper jams, and 2 paper cuts. But I love my Mother, so I carried on with printing on the back side of scrap paper despite such obstacles. But more importantly, after clearing the second jam, as printing resumed, I thought to myself: Did somebody let a horse into the computer hub? Or did someone ride a horse over to school? But it was just the printer, giving off some weird but undeniably horsey smell. Why would a printer smell like a horse? I can only imagine the deal CUNY cut to buy these machines.

Meanwhile, I seem to have helped inspire a hateration fest against the Socrumormill over at Scatterplot. I don’t regret it. I promise myself this time it’s real, I’m quitting you Rumormill. I keep coming back to you with a forgiving heart and open expectations, and every time you leave me feeling bad about myself. No more. I’m getting my groove back and moving on.

I just did a quick read-through of this blog so far, and there are three mentions of hot dogs! I had no idea. I need to go to the farmer’s market and get some vegetables, stat. You would be able to do a search for “hot dogs” if this theme had a search bar, but it doesn’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Still working on a re-design, momentarily distracted by actual work with some possible relevance.

Via the always resourceful Wicked Anomie, I discovered Wordle, which will create “word clouds” out of pasted-in text or a blog feed. Here’s what it made of an article based on my dissertation:

That basically does say it all. We should be able to submit dissertations in Wordle format, don’t you think?

M.A.S.H.

Greg and I just took a study break with a quick game of M.A.S.H. Remember that game? Well it looks like I will be marrying Greg’s boyfriend Ted, who apparently is going to make a lot of money, because we will be living in a mansion in Peoria and I’ll be driving to my job as a full-time adjunct in a giant Escalade. Since Ted and I will have zero kids, there will be lots of room in the Escalade for all my papers and books, a good thing, as adjunct office space is hard to come by.

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