Sunday, February 24, 2008


Sometimes I have a minute to catch my breath before heading into my bowling class so I stop to peruse the boards in the bottom of the Wilkinson center to see what's for sale.  There is always something entertaining being sold or an amazing deal to make thousands from home if you just call the magic phone number below!  Usually I just like to count how many wedding dresses are for sale and if maybe Steve* dropped the price of the tungsten rings he's hawking.  But one index card in particular caught my eye this last time.  It had something else glued onto it so I stepped in to take a closer look and saw this:
I was immediately filled with questions.  Was his DNA pre-mixed into the ink before he or someone else signed it?  Is his DNA just carelessly strewn across the photo?  Did he kiss or lick it?  How do they know?  And if in fact it does have his DNA then why are they selling it??  If I were in dire straights I would sell off my plasma, my anatomy posters - wait, learning is more important I take that back, some of Jenapers clothes, abuela's emergency button notification system, and jewelry that people have gifted me before I would sell my DNA laced Muhammad Ali poster.  I mean, how often do you get a piece of such a legend?  It's not like everyone in America can have a grilling machine with his name on it in their homes/apartments/trailers **Ahem, ahem George Foreman**.  And please, don't call the number on the above advertisement to scold them for their reckless abandonment.  But do call and put in an offer.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

It comes from where?

My toothpaste is made in Mexico.  Mexico?  Yeah, Mexico.  I know we get a lot of things from our neighbors down south on account of their year-round growing season, but toothpaste?  I had no idea that just like strawberries it takes a lot of sun and water to make some toothpaste.  I know that outsourcing is all the rage these days, but where does it end?  Even my shampoo is made in the U.S.  Shouldn't we bring the making of toothpaste back home?  I've never made it myself but I'm guessing it can't be too hard to make.  Making the toothpaste here could bring some well needed jobs to let's say, the midwest.  Heavens knows that gotham city, a.k.a Detroit, could use some new industry.  I think there would be plenty of people there who would love to work in a toothpaste factory - they are factory people around there after all.  I don't mind if my clothes come from Mauritius or my shoes were made in Italy (which I prefer actually).  I guess I just never thought about where my toothpaste came from until I saw it printed largely on the back of the tube last night.  Kind of makes me curious where everything I have comes from.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Caving In

1 Bowl of Dad's homemade chicken soup with rosemary dumplings

1 Bowl of salad with Avocado and roasted red pepper dressing

1 Mug of Pero loaded with Splenda

1 1/2  Bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats

Cups and cups of water

Desire overcame in the end......

1 Cup of Bear Track Ice cream *sigh*

Debauchery done lightly

After two weeks of blowing everything off I have returned ready and motivated to get back to work. I didn't want to do homework, talk on the phone, read or even blog. I have a series of half-written blog posts that would have been really clever had I had the stamina to finish and post them. It's like I was hybernating for the winter, only I fast-tracked it. I could never sleep for months and months even though the idea seems nice. Maybe it was my birthday. My 26th birthday...yuck. For the first time I didn't want to tell people how old I was getting. All my life I have chastised people for not wanting to celebrate how old they are getting. "Why be embarassed?" I thought, "you are actually that old, get over it". Well, I guess I'm starting to get it. 26 for me was cresting the hill of youth and feeling gravity begin to pull me down. Suddenly the need to be responsible was palpable. No more flights of fancy, no putting-off of things until later. No, the time for getting on with it is now. It's a good thing that my theme for this year is "It's MY year". Well it's MY year to feel old-ish. This week I am going to throw myself into my studies and get back on track. I really feel like I've been suffering from a major case of Senioritis since I was born. It's very hard to diagnose in small children and can easily be confused with laziness or apathy but it is actually more serious than that. Is there something I can take for that? Maybe the real urge to get to work was spurred by the news that Fidel stepped down today which means I need to focus if I want to graduate in April and get there before he really steps down.....if you know what I mean.

And just for the record...if I was going to get rid of anything in the Universe it might just be gravity, who needs it anyways?

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Look ma! No fingerprints

I like to think of myself as a purist of sorts.  I don't like anything on my hot dogs, just the hot dog and the bun.  I would only eat cheeseburgers with you guessed it - bun, meat and cheese.  I like my cheesecake plain, with no toppings at all.  I don't think toilets should have seat covers and I definitely don't think anyone should be making covers for tissue boxes.  I like clean lines and unadulterated textures and I love the feeling of a naked steering wheel.  The way your skin naturally provides the perfect grip for pure control.  I always hated driving cars with furry steering wheel covers with trendy leopard, flame or dice motifs.  You lose so much feeling when turning the car around corners.  I equally hate the 'leather-like' covers with perforated holes and strings wrapping around the car that give the feeling of an old boat.  No, just give me the steering wheel the way God and the Japanese intended: plain.  But in the winter, and just in the winter, I change my tune when it comes to my steering wheel.  The only thing I let get between my steering wheel and me is leather.  Thats right, if you have never driven a car with leather gloves you are missing out.  It's a new level of grip, the ultimate driving experience.  It makes every car trip a little more dangerous.  You take turns a little faster than you might have before.  You suddenly find yourself taking corners using only one palm on the steering wheel because there is no way that hand is going anywhere.  I find myself gripping the wheel and moving my hands forward and backward as I grip tighter and tighter like I'm waiting on the starting line for a race through the hills of Monaco...absolutely exhilarating.  I may be driving a Nissan Sentra, but in my leather gloves I'm driving a vintage Aston Martin with a tan leather interior.  But not to worry, I know my limits.  I realize the leather doesn't make me invincible.  I won't be driving to school backwards at top speed changing lanes like I do my men, every ten seconds.....wuah- ha- ha.  Next up: fingerless driving gloves with adjustable straps for my summer enjoyment.