Tag Archives: life

Unleashing My Inner Theater Yogi

29 Sep

I’m harboring a private desire to be a singer.

Not like an opera singer – that wouldn’t do anyone any good.  I would probably just spend all my time in my room singing ordinary songs in an operatic voice for my own amusement.  Things like Row Row Row Your Boat and Lady Gaga.

 I would much prefer a singer-songwriter chick voice.  Allow me to clarify: I do not mean the dark, pale, skinny kind.  They’ve got their own bag I suppose but it’s not a bag I’m interested in.  I’m talking about the ones that scurry around without a care in the world and then suddenly get all heavy-burdened and weary-of-this-world on you out of nowhere.  

I want that bag.

Of course, I’ll never get there.  I don’t play guitar, write songs, or really have any desire to do either in front of people.  But it would be cool to be the kind of person that could.  Because they’re so freaking intriguing and seemingly fantastic.  They’re probably a whole mess of crazy under all of it.

No, I should probably just embrace my type.  I am, after all, a theater person.  I will cherish that.  I will relish in my flowy clothes and freaky trinkets and accessories.  

I haven’t really been paying as much mind to my gigantic owl bracelet or enormous jellyfish earrings as I should be. 

Maybe I’ll just go full force and whisk around in all black and sporting yoga pants every day.  I could start wearing pashminas in the summertime too.  That will help.  And I can quote Shakespeare casually and say things that don’t make sense but look very stern while I do it and expect others to nod along.

Actually, maybe just embracing the stereotypical theater persona will be much more fun.  It’s much more natural, for sure.

It would be hard for me to stop walking around and spouting out cartoon voices all the time and I really don’t think that fits the whole “I’ve got deep scars” gig of the heavy-hearted guitar wielder.

I wonder if I can buy black yoga pants and pashminas in bulk. ♣

 

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Transitioning from Facebook to Google+

28 Sep

Before we begin, let me be clear: I’m not against change.

I’m against rapid change that I can’t get a handle on in my old, crotchety age.  I need time to adjust to something before it goes all snickersnack on me and shakes up again.  Else I feel lost in the ebb and flow of a technological sea that leaves me blubbering at the bottom, wondering why I ever even dipped my toes in.

I use this long, unnecessary sea metaphor to say one thing: I’m going to Google+.

Now I know that some of my readers are in fact old and crotchety and not just pretend old and crotchety like me and may not have any idea what I’m talking about.  So allow me to explain that Google+ is Google’s answer to Facebook.  Basically, Google+ is an attempt at creating a social networking platform where folks can share content with a sense of greater control over whom they share it with.  Google introduced the notion of “circles”, so that instead of simply “friending” someone (like on Facebook), you just add them to circles that you set up yourself.  For example, you might name three circles: family, friends, and coworkers.  Then you drag and drop appropriate folks into appropriate circles and then you have a choice to share your updates and information with one, some, or all every time that you add content.

It’s a great way to avoid that picture of you face-down on the bar with your bra strap showing ending up on the screen of your current boss.

Circles have a variety of fun possibilities.  For example, since no one knows what circle you have them in, you can name them anything at all.  I prefer a Seussical system, wherein coworkers are West Beasts, friends are Glotzes, and family are Zooks.

Anyway I have this whole theory about Facebook leading the way to George Orwell’s 1984 and am finally uncomfortable enough to make the switch to Google+.

I see the irony in how I feel safer with Google, which is clearly taking over the world.  I’m also aware that Dante also put people in circles.  I’m carrying on in full knowledge of the would-be legitimate claims of hypocrisy, and this is how:

Facebook answered Google+’s ideas by allowing people to create lists to sort their friends and share certain information with certain lists.  It also introduced a feature called “subscribe”, which essentially just means I’m electing to have someone’s updates show up in my news feed.  But the beauty of this feature isn’t in subscribing, really.  It’s in unsubscribing, and it will pave my soft, flowery path to the Googlemeister.

Over the past week, I have been slowly unsubscribing from people on Facebook who I don’t really care about.  I’m not trying to be mean – I’m just being honest.  Do I care that this person who I went to elementary school with but haven’t talked to since they bullied me in the tennis courts in third grade is eating a ham sandwich for lunch?

No, I don’t.  And so I shall unsubscribe from their ham-eating updates.

What’s better is that they don’t even know.  They’re friends with me – that’s all they see.  They have know way of knowing if I follow them or not.

So first I will unsubscribe from people I don’t care about.  Then I will unsubscribe from people that don’t ever have interesting updates.  And so on and so forth until I am left with only the cream of the crop in my mini-feed.  I will systematically chop people out of my information IV like a ruthless ruler.  And when I’m left with a very small group that represents those who I am interested in either for entertainment value or for the fact that they really are my friends and I care about them in a virtual sense, I will aggressively campaign for those people to come join me on Google+.

It’s a pretty solid plan and I think more people could make the switch if they slowly weaned themselves in a like manner.

There are a few matters of business to be carried out, of course.  For one, I have every single picture of myself for the last 7 years harbored on Facebook.  I stopped taking pictures when I realized that my friends would take pictures for me, log them, and label them.  So now I have about 600 pictures that I need to get Facebook before the switch or I will have no physical evidence of me being alive for what are supposed to be the most exciting times of my life.

It will be an epic undertaking.  There’s rumor of an app for that.  I shall Google it and relish in the irony.

But the most important thing that must be addressed before I can deactivate my Facebook account is what the appropriate terminology for enjoying something on Google is.  On Facebook you just click a thumbs up and say you “liked” it.  On Google+, there’s a little plus sign (+).  But how does one express that as a verb?  They plus-ed it?

I can’t just go joining  a virtual group of people without knowing the appropriate term.  Heaven forbid I throw out “Plus-ed” in casual conversation and it be wrong.  But once I get that taken care of, it’s off to the Googlemeister for my social networking needs.

That’s it for me and Facebook.  It’s going to be a slow, slightly painful, and definitely awkward transition.  But once I make it to the land of the Google, I can hang out with all my Glotzes, Zooks, and West Beasts. ♣

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Jackie and the Giant Pumpkin

27 Sep

Hey.  Happy Lollipop Tuesday, folks.

You know, I don’t have a whole heck of a lot to say this week.  Mostly because my hands are sad, cramped little things that are wondering why I submitted them to this torture.  And also because I’m kind of in shock that after years and years of wanting to do this, I finally sat down and had the patience to properly carve a pumpkin without hacking it to little bits.

Because up until this year, that’s really all that happened.

But alas, I have a blog now.  And I’m slowly acquiring patience like a disease.  Lest we forget, last week I did a Rubik’s Cube.  A Rubik’s Cube! And so this week I wanted to see if I could hang in there for 4 hours and celebrate fall with a big rearended pumpkin with holes cut in it in celebration of falling leaves.  I even carved little teeth.  TEETH! I carved them and skinned them  and shouted with glee.

But before I celebrate fully, allow me to mock the stupid instruction manual that came with my “carving kit”.  Which, by the way, I got at the grocery store.  Not the best bet for quality squash mutilation.  Indulge me so much as to allow a direct quotation:

Step #1: Choose a favorite Stencil & detach the black perforated areas.
Step #2: Attach Stencil with tape.
Step#3: Outline the Stencil with a black marker, Poker, or Tracer.
Step#4: Carve your pumpkin with the Carving Tools.
Step #5: It was so easy with this Stencil Kit.

I’m sorry, what?!  I’ll go ahead and ignore the fact that I paid $5.99 for a bunch of crappy plastic “tools” that couldn’t be bothered to label what each is and what it’s best used for.  And hey, I’ll even completely overlook the fact that a truly helpful kit (with book attached) might take a little more time spreading out the action in Step #4 with a few tips or tricks for the beginner.  

But what on God’s green and wonderful earth is Step #5?  Not a step.  The answer is that it’s not a step.

STEP NUMBER FIVE IS THAT IT WAS SO EASY WITH THIS STENCIL KIT?!  

That’s a reflection.  That’s an opinion.  That’s a narrative for a little cartoon of a child carving a pumpkin.  It might be a nice final frame without the term Step#5 attached to it.  

I shouldn’t have even bought the kit out of principle.  

Anyway, after I came down off my angry box and got out my tools, I took lots of deep breaths and continued to do so for about 4 hours until I produced this:


 

Which, I have to tell ya, is better than any darn pumpkin I’ve ever attempted in the past.  I’ve always wanted to sit down and take the time to make a cool pumpkin that I see on the Interwebz but I give up after cutting the top off and throw it far away from me so I don’t have to look at its enraging orange skin anymore.    But this year is the year that changed it all and I can finally die knowing that I’ve given a pumpkin a fair chance at being super cool.

As many of you know, Dave shares in my Lollipop Tuesday adventures, and I’d just like to take a moment to give you a juxtaposition of our two artworks:

He’s so much more laid back than me.  Look: his even has a tongue.  It’s adorably happy.  

Any by the way, I know I’m jumping the gun a bit on the Halloween fun, but we’re really given such a short amount of time to embrace such a fantastic holiday that I don’t feel even a tinge of remorse.  In fact, you should carve a pumpkin too.

Happy Fall ya’ll.  ♣

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The Persistence of Memory

26 Sep

I’m starting to be hindered by the mnemonic devices my teachers passed on to me.

Back when I was taught them, they were fun and no-fail ways to remember pretty much anything – multiplication tables, spelling, the meaning of a word, grammar rules – the fun never ended.  I don’t know if there’s some point in your life where you’re supposed to graduate to just knowing the information instead of singing songs in your head and repeating things quietly under your breath, but I never had that moment.   I feel like other people know their ABC’s just fine without putting them to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.  I, however, cannot.  Which is why if you ask me to do the alphabet backwards, I have to sing through it forward, spout out as many letters near the area I can, and then go back to the beginning again.

It’s getting rather irritating.

I’ve worked very hard to get my multiplication tables to the point where I don’t need to sing.  Oh yes, my teachers used singing for everything.  So when going through the multiples of base numbers, I have a song for carrying me through each multiple. Like:

  • 4, 8, 12, 16, 20, 24… = Old MacDonald Had a Farm
  • 6, 12, 18, 24, 30… = You Are My Sunshine
  • 7, 14, 21, 28, 35… = Happy Birthday 
  • 8, 16, 24, 32, 40… = She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain 

And thanks to these sparkling hits of my elementary education, I still rely on singing through multiples from time to time.  I can, of course, spout of a multiplier without the singing.  But when I need to know the breakdown of it all, I don’t even use division sometimes.  I just sing myself a lovely rendition of Camptown Races.

There are lots more that aren’t even melody-related but still annoying all the same.  Like the fact that I always struggled to spell “aggressive” and so I relied on the cheer team’s spelling cheer: “Be aggressive! B-E Aggressive! B-E  A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E! WOOOOOOOOOO!”  Or how every time I try to spell dessert I have to remind myself it’s two S’s – like two scoops of ice cream.  Or spelling Wednesday, which I always say out loud “WedNESday” to make sure I get that little strange bit in the middle correct.

The most common is the half-song half-poem, terrible excuse for a mnemonic device used for remembering how many days are in a year, which I have to go through every single time I fill out my monthly dry erase board:

Thirty days hath September

April June and November

All the rest have 31

Except February, which blah blah blah 

I never really paid attention to the end of that one, so when it’s February I have to google it.  

So tell me, friends: do you have weird little mechanisms like this rattling around in your head?  Or did everyone graduate to just remembering without the songs, tricks, riddles, and repetition?  

I’m having visions of myself in an old folks home mumbling over and over to myself:

♣

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My War on Jackie Evancho

25 Sep

 

 

This is me. On my laser-shooting, rainbow-winged battle unicorn. I'm totally going to win.

 

I need to become more prominently positioned on the Google.

Now, I have certainly come a long way since my double-yoo-tee-eff is the jackie blog days with 7 subscribers [I love all 7 of you very dearly] and a tiny following on my Lollipop Tuesday series.  And while I’m incredibly grateful for how far this little blog has trudged along on its postaday adventure, it’s time to get serious here in the home stretch.

Which is why I need to take down Jackie Evancho.

You see, I have a number of famous Jackies that are impeding my path to becoming the most important Jackie in the eyes of the Google. I’m not so much concerned about search results for “The Jackie Blog”, where Google lists me as 2nd (varying, of  course, according to what Google pulls through personalization for you), though it eludes me as to how my blog is a direct match to those terms and is still listed as second.  It’s not much worse for “Jackie Blog”, where I am at least listed at the bottom of the page or somewhere on the second.

But the real contest I’m after is the big potato – the big mama – the grand of the grands: Searching “Jackie”.

That’s right: I want to be the first hit offered to people when they simply search my first name.  It’s not a matter of ego, it’s just a matter of how incredibly freaking awesome that would be.  But right now my quest is being seriously derailed by a few more prominent figures.  Namely, The Official Site for Jackie Robinson, The Official Site for Jackie Chan, and the number one spot: Jackie Evancho.

Jackie Evancho, for those of you who do not know, is a young girl who went on “America’s Got Talent”, got 2nd place, and skyrocketed to little-girls-who-sing-pretty-well-for-their-age fame.   She has a CD and she wears pretty dresses and she sings songs that make her parents proud, her manager rich, and other mothers across America push their children to follow suit.  Think Charlotte Church, but blonde.  And less talented. (No offense to little Jackie Evancho – I was just much more a fan of Charlotte).

I told you all of this so that you don’t google her.  I say again don’t google her.  I gave you the only pertinent information.  You can YouTube her if my asking you not to google her has only fueled your desire to seek her out.  But if you do the google, you’ll only hinder my sabotage and keep her at the number one rank.

I’m kind of offended that she sits at the number one seed.  Not because I’m on page 26 (which, you know, doesn’t help), but because I’m pretty sure Jackie Chan and Jackie Robinson (not necessarily in that order) are more deserving of being the most accessible Jackies.  After all, they were here first.  But there’s no room for being offended in a Google war.  I have to simply get down to business and start employing people to search for Jackie, scroll to page 26 (or wherever it’s hovering for them), and click on my name.

After about 5 years of aggressive campaigning, I might be able to be the number two seed on the search ranks, making Ms. Evancho shake in her by-then-teenager-sized boots.

I can probably pull off the rest through sheer intimidation and rude marketing tactics.

However, as I was writing this post and realized that my search rankings aren’t a decent sample because Google knows I go to my site all the time and would list it higher in the rankings for that reason, I asked my father to do a test run for me on his computer instead.  I used his results instead of mine, hoping they were a better indication of what other people see when they search.  When he finally scrolled to page 26 (he’s incredibly determined), I told him to make sure he clicked on my result before he closed the window.  When he did, his eyes got huge and he said “Wow.  That’s really purple”.

I made some offhanded remark about how there is construction underway and to be revealed soon (no, really), but then it occurred to me: My father had no idea my blog was purple.  And my blog has been purple since January, when I started this quest.

Conclusion: my father has never visited my blog before.

I remember telling him I wrote a post on how I suspected him of being a drug lord, but he didn’t read it.  I also wrote a post on his adventures in being a Dungeon Master, but he apparently didn’t read that either.  And then there’s the one about how I almost engulfed him in hellflames.  I’m writing content specifically tailored to him and he still doesn’t read.

So I guess I need a change of plans here.

Second aggressive campaign target: Jackie Evancho. 

First aggressive campaign target: My dad. ♣

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Finding the Off Switch

24 Sep

I can’t turn my brain off.

I want to make it relax.  I want to just numb it with some stupid programming or with some mindless game, but I just can’t stand the thought of wasting that kind of time.

This is unlike me, and it’s frightening.

I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but it all started when I got on Twitter.  I know, I know – I dedicated an entire post to my dislike and inability to understand Twitterage.  But one day it all clicked for me, and now I adore it.

What I like about Twitter isn’t that I can follow people’s trivial updates and opinions; I don’t much care for that.  I prefer to follow news sites and special interests.  I prefer to follow people that inspire me.  Don’t get me wrong; I’ll follow a few friends here or there; but I’m not checking my feed for them.  I’m checking my feed to feast on information.

I’ve been without television for about a year now.  I made a conscious choice to be without it because it made me lose all faith in humanity (Come on – Jersey Shore, celebrity challenges, dumb luck game shows, Desperate Housewives (of the real or unreal variety) – what exactly am I supposed to be watching?).  The only shows I cared to watch were few, far between, and usually on premium channels.  And then what’s the point of going through all the hassle of trying to schedule around shows that I want to watch when I could just Neflix them or watch them online?  That way I don’t even have to waste time with commercials. Television is incredibly inefficient.

My point is that I don’t get the news because I don’t have TV. And I’m not really the kind of person to open up three different news sites each morning to catch up with what’s going on in the world.  So I got on Twitter and followed News Sources – and got my fix in small, limited updates that had links to articles if I want to learn more.  No commercials, no fuss, and no information I don’t want to have to wait through for the good stuff.  It’s beautiful.

The problem here is that I seem to have started a chain reaction in my brain.  I can’t stop soaking up stuff.  I’m clicking links and reading articles like mad. I’m constantly blabbering on about what I read most recently and I have very little patience for mindless talk when I could be chatting about what’s going on in the world.  Today I considered listening to books on tape and listening to Podcasts on my walk home from work so that I can learn things while I can’t be at my computer learning things.  It’s spiraling out of control.  I’m constantly looking for the next fix.  I’m not content to sit in one place alone with my thoughts when I could be making to-do lists and conquering goals and reading about the world and soaking up information. 

You know that part in The Fifth Element where Leeloo is soaking up all the information about human history at the computer while eating an enormous bowl of instant microwave chicken?  That’s me.  Except for the hair.  And the super awesome body.  And the instant chicken.

I need to turn off my brain.  I can’t even make it go to sleep anymore.  I have to stay up so long that I beat it into submission.  I suppose this is a good thing.  Essentially, I’m reading a lot more than I ever had and I’m kind of getting addicted to it.  That’s pretty cool.  But on the other hand, sometimes all I want to do is sit down and veg out and I can’t find the off switch. 

Maybe this will go somewhere amazing.  Maybe I’ll turn out to be a well-informed individual that makes good, sound political decisions, knows what the state of our nation is, and keeps up with all of the stories that are shaping our time.  Maybe I’ll start listening to some crazy awesome podcasts that make me a specialist of some random topic that inspires me.  

Or maybe this is just a phase and by the end of next week I’ll be back on StumbleUpon every day and my Twitter account will go untouched.

Either way is a win I suppose.  Either I get to be smart or I get to sleep.

No one can have both. ♣

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Dear Everything: Please Slow Down.

23 Sep

This is how confused I am. All of the time.

Everything keeps changing on me.

I must be getting old because that is supposed to be read as a negative thing.

As most of you know by now Facebook has rearranged its interface with a small but highly significant change where instead of viewing the most recent posts, you’re viewing the most recent/most popular/most likely to be wanted by you posts.  I’m trying to get used to it, just like I’ve gotten used to all their updates in the past.  But by golly is it becoming a pain to constantly feel like I have a handle on something and then have it shaken up again.

Then I logged into WordPress and find a “Follow” button was added at the bottom of my blog (and was subsequently removed my yours truly).  

A few days later, they changed the admin bar.  Again – no big deal and easily consumed, but ruffles the old, crotchety feathers nonetheless.

Then I check out the big Facebook announcement by the Zuckerberg himself yesterday at F8.   It appears all of our updates have really just been leading up to this one, enormous update wherein our Facebook profiles will read more like a scrapbook timeline than a snapshot of who we are at the moment.  You can check out the details here.

I breathed heavily, held on to the piece of furniture closest to me, and thought that to avoid these constant tremors I should probably just make the complete plunge into Google+ and leave Facebook in the dust, as I have once before.  But then it occurred to me that Google+ is just a little baby.  And it too, shall grow.

Not to mention I would have to pour all the dust out of my cerebrum in order to make room to learn a new social media platform.

Is there any way to just have people relax for a little while?  I’d like to get comfortable just a tad before the rug is pulled out from underneath me.  I can’t even complain that I like things the way they used to be because there have been so many versions of ‘what used to be’ that there’s no way to know what I’m referring to.

Nonetheless, I fear my brain is running out of go-juice.  I’ve been so proud of myself for finally branching out on my blog into CSS editing and for opening a Twitter account and for dipping my toes in Google+.  But this whole time I’ve just had a false sense of security and pride.  These things will always change, and I will never be on top of them.  And while that used to be fun and exciting, now it just costs me time and frustration.

A sign of aging, indeed.

Harumph. ♣

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The Plight of the Ginger Sperm

22 Sep

 

Soak it up. Jackie art is rare.

 

First, I’d like to thank you all for commenting and voting on yesterday’s post.  I really appreciate the feedback.  If you haven’t read it yet, give it a shot: I’d love to hear your take.

Now for today’s post: Ginger Sperm.

Some of you may have heard by now (after all, it’s pressing news) that red-headed sperm donors are now being turned away from the world’s largest sperm bank, Ole Schou.  Apparently the demand simply isn’t high enough so the bank isn’t taking offers for ginger juice. There are some obvious jokes to be made here: Eric Cartman is winning, something about red fiery sperm being to much to handle, and (as jakennicksmomma aptly noted after I tweeted the story), the mention a certain article made regarding sperm selling like “hot cakes” is ripe for comedy and disgust.

But I’d like to focus on a heavier matter weighing on me: How could you not like redheads?! 

My entire life I’ve wanted to be a hardcore redhead.  The flaming hair, the pale skin, the freckles spreading over the body like an adorable infection.  I dyed my hair red for a very long time, convinced that it automatically made me more attractive.  Because it did. Redheaded women are absolutely fantastic.  Exhibit A: Christina Hendricks.

I’m sorry I didn’t insert an actual picture of her.  I was afraid her ridiculous rack would shoot out of the page and smack you in the face.

Exhibit B: Jessica Rabbit (same concern).

Now don’t get me wrong: some redheaded genetics can get funky.  Sometimes you end up with a gnarly-toothed, patchy-faced little hellion, but isn’t that a risk we take with every procreation? 

I need to do something to address this issue – a call to action of some sort.  We can’t possibly have redheaded men running around thinking their sperm is only good in Ireland.  Their sperm is good everywhere.  Because everywhere it goes, it brings the hope of another sultry vixen or fair Irish maiden or a wood nymph.

I suppose I shouldn’t just focus on the reds of the female persuasion, but it really does build a better case than redheaded men.  It’s rare that I find myself attracted to a redheaded man.  Prince Harry was cute for a while, but he’s really more of a blonde these days.  And then what – the Weasleys?  I’m not sure I’d be building much of a following for my cause.

Perhaps I’m looking at this the wrong way.  If redheaded sperm lead to redheaded vixens, then I suppose it’s okay that folks aren’t willing to invest in sultry hotness continuing to breed in the human race.  Because with less vixens comes less overall stress about my not stacking up to the Christina Hendricks’ of the world.  There will be fewer of her.

Seriously, are her boobs even possible?

So here’s to the slow phasing out of those of the redheaded persuasion.  You were good while you lasted, gingers.  And let it be known that I was one of your few lone supporters during your stay with the human race.   In fact, one of the reasons I’m with Dave is because he has a bright, brazen red in his beard and I have a lot of hopes tied up in that for him to provide me with beautiful redheaded hellions.

Eureka! Yes – I alone shall carry the ginger torch!  I’ll pop out redheaded boys by the dozen.  And when you realize that no fiery red sperm is to be found but in Ireland, I will be your only domestic provider of redheaded glory.

That’s right – my boys will carry within them the hope for the ginger race.

I knew I had a high calling on this earth. ♣

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Is Responding to Comments a Waste of Time?

21 Sep

Yesterday I had a staggering piece of information introduced to me via Nina Badzin’s post “Blogging Tips: What I Know Now” (referenced on The Daily Post).  

In her post, Nina states some of the assumptions she had when she first started writing and then writes about how these views have changed in light of her blogging experience.  Here’s the tidbit that had me in a tizzy:

“WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT RESPONDING TO COMMENTS: Readers will return to my blog to see my response.

What I know now: Most do not. “

I’m distraught by this.  Not because I’m upset at the idea that people don’t care what I reply to them, but because I’m upset that I take time to respond to do it if I shouldn’t.  I mean, I reply to every single one.  Sometimes I even check my spam to make sure that no one got blocked that wanted to take a moment out of their day to say hello.  I’m not very good on the turnaround time, but I get to all of them eventually.    Even on Freshly Pressed posts, my friends, I have stayed up all night long just to answer every single little tidbit that everyone dropped by to share.  Really, I do.  Check out the “Top Posts” tab at the top of this page for verification.  It’s important to me to let folks know that I really appreciate the time that they take to read and to drop a line.  

So the idea that this has all been for naught is rather distressing.  I could have been doing so many other things.  Like sleeping.  Or getting in shape.  Or reading a book that would enlighten me to a wisdom beyond my years.  Instead, I spent it toiling away at my computer, thinking up relevant, perky, sometimes clever, but always grateful little responses to each and every smiling face that clicked my link.  On top of writing a post every day.

Totally depressing.

So hey – I’m curious.  Before I go throwing comment responding out the window (it seems wrong to just read, appreciate silently, and not address it), I’d like to get the real scoop.  Do ya’ll ever check back to see if people respond to your comments?  I’m taking a poll.  And the results of that poll shall determine whether the several posts worth of comments I have in my queue are addressed or are simply read and silently appreciated behind the light of my laptop screen. 

It’s anonymous, so don’t worry.  I won’t be sending a crew to your house to take back the hours of time you’ve wasted me if you happen to be a “no-check-backer”.  We’ll still be friends.  I’ll still love you because I have no way of knowing who you are.  

Just give it to me straight: am I wasting my time? ♣

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The Day I Conquered the Rubik’s Cube

20 Sep

For today’s display of splendor, I set about solving a Rubik’s cube for the first time.

I’m tired of being mocked by them.  I see them in movies, on tv shows, and in social circles being solved rapidly by seemingly huge nerdy nerds and I envy their dexterity and wit.  I wonder how it is that one acquires such a skill as I stare longingly at the dusty, creeky, plastic cube sitting on my bedroom shelf.  I rotate and rotate but it is of no use: my mind is feeble.

I will no longer be mocked.  Happy Lollipop Tuesday, folks.

If you’re new to these parts (welcome, vagabond!), check out the link at the top of this page labeled “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?”.  If you know the day, you’re familiar with the oncoming suck fest, and you’re as excited as I am, here we go:

For the record, I followed Dan Brown’s super fantastic tutorial on the Rubik’s Cube.  He has an incredibly famous tutorial at 21 million hits on YouTube, but I much prefer his updated, most recent version here. He has just enough enthusiasm to make you play the video over again when you massively fail.  And there were times I was in dire need. 

10:15pm – Began.  Hopeful. Assisted by a pack of caramels.  I can do anything that a YouTube tutorial can walk me through.

10:33pm – Out of caramels.  Also, completely frustrated by all this “R Prime, L2” talk.  I am so incredibly frustrated in just over 15 minutes.  I literally yell out loud in my apartment “HOW?! HOW DO I GET IT TO THE DOWNSIDE?! YOU AREN’T TELLING ME ANYTHING.”

10:45pm – I have created my first color cross on one of the faces.  I actually understand what the heck he’s talking about.  I get it! I really get it!

10:48pm – He’s moved on to the corner pieces.  He’s lost me.  He’s entirely lost me.    It’s been 3 minutes and I already have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.  It’s okay.  I take note of my state at  10:33pm and hope that I have a Eureka moment like I did at 10:45pm.

11:04pm – I’m doing what he tells me to do, but it’s not working.  I swear, I’ve done what he’s told me to do exactly as he’s told me to do it and it isn’t working.  Whaaaaaaaaaat?

11:13pm – I watched it about 10 times.  Just a tiny little 15 second segment 10 times.  Turns out I was turning D prime the wrong way all along.  Stupid stupid stupid.

11:25pm – I have an entirely green side. BALLAAAAH.

11:28pm – He just revealed that if I’ve done it correctly so far, I should have an entire layer that is correct, not just a green side.  I’m devastated.

11:29pm – Youtube Commenters had the same problem.  Apparently he missed a step.  Sonuva….

11:37pm – Everyone notes that I have to start over from here.  So… that’s awesome.  Starting over. And crying.

11:44pm – Hey I have a green cross again.  And in less than half the time as the first time around! Woot!

11:52pm – Okay.  Top layer solved.  Double woot.

12:12am – Hey.  I have two layers solved.  I ONLY HAVE ONE MORE LAYER!!!

12:14am – He says the last layer is the most complicated to solve.  This was to be expected, I suppose.  I’m nervous.  

12:17am – I’m having trouble distinguishing yellow from white.  Warning: Rubik’s Cubes may cause colorblindness.

12:22am – Just got to skip a step.  I completed the cross in the third layer and everything was perfect.  He says that doesn’t happen unless you’re “incredibly lucky”.  Score. 

12:42am – Wow. No updates during that time because I just kind of blacked out.  I was in a Rubik’s Cube frenzy.  I was also incredibly frightened that I would make a wrong move and undo all this work. 2 hours and 27 minutes worth of work, to be specific.  But in front of me, I currently have A SOOOOOLVED RUBIK’S CUBE!

Poor neglected filth cube. Chin up: all your sides finally match after years of fumbling.

I didn’t take it apart, and I didn’t reassign the stickers.  Which means I’ve come a long way since I was ten.

Here’s to small, satisfying accomplishments.  And hey – maybe I’ll work on getting my ~2.5 hours down to something more reasonable and human-trick worthy.  Because I’ve always wanted to be one of those people that are all like “Yeah man, I can solve a Rubik’s Cube in 2 minutes.  Watch this.”

It is there, after the “watch this” that I will insert a startling display of awesomeness, wherein I solve the Rubik’s cube before their very unbelieving eyes.

Watch out world: I’m acquiring human tricks at an alarming rate.  Prepare to be amazed. ♣♣♣♣♣

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