This was taken at the student-run cafe on my campus. Yes, that is a trash can.

Happy Friday, bitches!

Ah, the circular file

Yes, folks. It’s the long awaited second installment in my Arbitrary Etiquette Series!

While I doubt it will be as contentious a topic as ladies’ locker room decorum proved to be a while back, there are still a goodly number of shared ladies’ room etiquette issues that need to be addressed, despite the fact that they should be self-evident to those of us raised in this wonderful thing we call modern civilization.

Shall we?

• Ladies, please do not hover. I know what you are thinking, namely that the horror show of a toilet seat you are faced with is such an aberration to all things happy and holy and good that actually sitting on it is unthinkable. While I sympathize, I feel the need to point out that the very aberration that is leading you to loom over the toilet in a thigh-quavering squat is the result of someone before you doing the same looming/quivering/squatting thing you’re doing now. You can’t aim when your legs are trembling. You just can’t. Thusly, the pee-covered seat. Thusly, the subsequent hover. Thusly, more pee on the seat. And so this whole vicious cycle thing gets started. Vicious cycles are the same thing that caused our subprime mortgage crisis. This means they are bad!
• Ladies, please do not answer your cell phones in the bathroom stall. Besides the fact that no one in the bathroom needs to hear a one-sided account of why your ex-boyfriend is such a douche, and besides the fact that no one on the other end of the phone needs to hear strangers making myriad bathroom noises in the background of your conversation, there is the unavoidable issue of how exactly one manages to maintain a cell phone conversation whilst taking care of their bathroom business. Please do not leave your fellow ladies’ room patrons to wonder how you’re managing this juggling act.
• Ladies, please do not start conversations with passing acquaintances or strangers whilst in the stalls. Especially if they are conversations in workplace bathrooms about workplace issues. Unless the conversation goes something like, “Sue? Is that you? Your cubicle is on fire,” followed by, “Oh, holy shit, Margaret. Thank you for letting me know.” Though even in that case there’s not a whole heck of a lot Sue can do about said cubicle fire until she’s done doing her business in said stall. Because she’s busy. In the bathroom. Right.

In honor of Sesame Street’s 40th birthday, I bring you “puppet magic.”

Where Gob and Franklin were finally free to love like they wanted.

See also: Happy Homophobe Day!

Yuri: I was at a meeting with a client on Friday. She told us that she had taken her 9 year old daughter to an Eagles game and that they were seated in front of some rowdy youths. Half way through the third quarter the girl says, “Mom, someone spilled beer on me. And it’s warm.”

Me: Um… pee?

Yuri: Yup.

Me: (gasps audibly.)

That’s a horrible story.

Though,
one time my dad took me to see the Celtics and some dude barfed on him. He was so drunk he didn’t even know he was barfing.

Yuri: God. That’s horrible.

Me: Just fell over in his chair, and it started pouring out.

Yuri: Yech.

Me: They had to remove him and put the sawdust down on the concrete floor and then we were able to sit down again.

It was awesome.

This past week, I’ve downloaded six new albums. There’s a good chance that the number will go up to nine by the end of the weekend.

What surprises me about this is not my immoderate music consumption but the fact that, as a self-proclaimed sucker for packaging, I’ve fallen so completely for the mp3 format. Downloads are so anonymous. There is no cover art. There are no liner notes. There are no carefully chosen fonts. I have always liked these things and the tone they set when you sit down and listen to an album for the first time.

But when I started buying a lot of new music again this summer, the Lure of the Download began working its magic upon me. They provide you with instant gratification. They’re cheaper than CDs, and they’re better for the environment. And, in a way, it’s kind of nice not being primed to approach an album a certain way because of the way it looks. (That whole book and cover thing, I guess.)

And did I mention the instant gratification part?

Yeah. There’s that.

Cranky disclaimer: I am still not a fan of downloading “a” song off an album. I did it a couple times when I was making my summer mix, and it made me feel dirty. Albums–real ones made by real artists–are still meant to be listened to as such. And some of the best songs are the ones that lack the immediate appeal of a single. </rant>

If I had to capture our trip to Italy in one picture, it would be ... ah, yeah.

One of the best things about going and getting yourself all married is the customary vacation that follows. For ours, we took a long-postponed trip to Italy. We spent most of our time in Florence, with a couple days in Rome and a day trip to Siena thrown in.

Ty had already spent a good amount of time in all three cities, but it was my first time in Italy, so we did a lot of the stuff you do during your maiden visit to a foreign land. We also drank a lot and ate a lot and got to see some of our friends living in Europe.

I will not bore y’all with a day-by-day itinerary like I did my poor mother, but here are some of my observations from the trip:

• Rome was way cooler than I thought it would be. That probably sounds bad, but whatever. I was expecting something more like the “oh, this is New York City but foreign” let-down I felt when I went to Paris last summer, but Rome was stubbornly tied to its historical and cultural roots. There you are, walking through this vibrant contemporary city, when you come upon ruins from an ancient temple sticking up in the middle of a piazza like an antiquated cowlick. Turns out I like antiquated cowlicks.
• Gelato in the U.S. is not gelato.
• Pizza in the U.S. is not pizza.
• Out of all the big Renaissance masters with ninja turtles named after them, Michelangelo is still the only one I’m hot on.
• I’m also pretty hot for old Italian cathedrals, and no pictures could ever, ever do them justice. Out of the ones we visited, the Duomo di Siena was by far my favorite. The photos are neat enough, but they fail to capture the “holy fuck” feeling that comes over you when you walk in there. The black and white marble columns, the mosaic floors, the illuminated manuscript room with the absolutely awe-inspiring, Moorish-influenced ceiling of golds and reds, blacks and the deepest blues… this cathedral isn’t playing around. And I’m not even religious.
• The Chianti Classico region would be a very nice place to retire. Or relocate to tomorrow. Either/or.

Photos, for those of you who can stand more of those.

I'm glad I hitched my apple wagon to your star

A couple weeks ago, Ty and I got married.

(Cheers! Hand-clapping!)

I know I’m biased, but I thought that it was a pretty kick-ass affair. I was amazed by how lovely a day it was, amazed by how many people ran with our insane costumed theme, amazed by the outpouring of warm and fuzziness, amazed by how much fun the whole thing was.

I was also amazed by the mustaches and the number of hook arms.

Thanks to all of you who came out and celebrated with us. (Bonus points if you celebrated whilst wearing a ridiculous hat.) And thanks to all the folks who sent along their snapshots from the day. Our official photos are on the way courtesy of our wonderful friend Aimee, but in the meantime, I’ve set up a stream of my favorite shots from the day for you guys to check out if’n you’re into that sorta thing.

Photos! Woohoo!

Ciao, bitches!

As most of you know, Ty and I are doing the ol’ hitcheroo on Saturday, followed by what ought to be a hot-damn, kick-ass vacation in Roma e Firenze.  So I’ll not be blogging for a bit.

Not that I’ve been blogging much lately, anyway. But now I’ll have an excuse.

So hugs to you all … and look forward to posts about foreign escapades in a couple weeks.