Tonight's Question   

How much do I covet this candle?

The answer: a very great deal. What an awesome idea.

(Actually, I have a proper blog post brewin' in the ol' noggin'; but I'm quite determined to get to bed at a decent hour for a change, so it needs must wait for another day.)

Posted by Sarcasmo on Monday, February 27, 2006
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Strange people who know me/Peeping from behind every window pane.   

You know how when you've something so continually on your mind, your solipsism grows to such inane proportions that the topic you're obsessed with seems to be the focus of the whole world? For example, how when you take that first dizzying look into the laughing eyes you now know you'll love forever, every show on TV seems to be taking an amusing look at the flush of new romance; or how when you're already a bottle deep in wine while packing up the remains of a romance (the above mentioned or otherwise), the radio insists on barraging you with (I've Been To Paradise), But 'I've Never Been to Me and songs of it's ilk regardless to which station you turn.1 That's how things have been for me lately; my experiences, the conversations I've had, have all centered on one thing.

Well, two things really. A few of them have, somewhat surprisingly, included Elvis. And as a result of these conversations I have learned (a) the meaning of TCB and (b)that there are people in this country, in fact in this very city, who consider Elvis not only as an influential musician and cultural icon, but as a prophet.2 Mind you, Elvis and his lightning bolt decorated, (possible) prophetic powers are neither here nor there for the topic at hand. I just found it interesting that in a matter of days, I've had two separate conversations with two separate people who are in no way (that i'm aware of related) in which Elvis was a topic of conversation. This is a real anomaly in my otherwise largely Elvis-conversation free life. I mean, his songs weren't even playing at the time.3

The topic that has come up repeatedly lately, either in conversations (yes, even the Elvis ones) or because of them, has been the true meaning of self and how it applies to the life we live.

Oh, I know, you thought all I talked about was science fiction4, robots, video games and Saturday morning cartoons. And I do talk about those things. More often than not. Its just that sometimes I think and talk about these things too. Don't be alarmed. Ill get back yammering about crappy music and inevitable robot invasions any day now.

Oh and if you're reading on because you think I have some answer to this dilemma, you've obviously new here. Make yourself comfortable, and perhaps grab yourself a drink and stretch. You'll want to stay hydrated and limber; I'm in for quite a ramble.

It is so hard for me to say who I am; easier maybe to say who I am not. I know I am not my job, although our society seems to keep demanding I be. How often are you asked (or do you ask), "And what do you do?" when faced with awkward social situations. I appreciate that small talk is difficult, believe me I dread it, but I dread that question even more. I know the answer isn't so much of interest to the individual posing the question as it is a way for them to classify me into a neat category I mean, it's my job, and talking about it isn't even interesting to me. For me, my job is what I have to do in order to have the funds for what I like to do. I much prefer if you asked me what I liked to do, what I did for fun, or if I thought there was an unusually high number of monkeys appearing in superhero related cartoons5. I actually have this idea that I should respond to the question, "And what do you do?" by saying, "What do you mean? For money, for fun, or for trouble?" or else, "Refuse to answer that question on general principle, for a start." So far, I haven't had the guts; partially because I think it would be a bit rude, and partially because then I would have prearranged patter. And I may not know who I am, but I know I'm not the sort of person to have practiced patter. There's no heart in patter.

I am also not my blog.6 Yes, this blog is7 autobiographical to some extent, and the stories I regale the Internet with are true, but they only reflect some portion of me.There was a time I considered Sarcasmo and Star to be two separate entities8 Sarcasmo was a sort of souped-up version of me; more outspoken, less timid, more aggressive and much more concerned with complete, global domination. There exists a photo of me with one of my uncles in my grandmother's kitchen from when I was about four years old; and in it I am brashly staring directly into the camera lens, with a smile as bold as you please. I like to picture Sarcasmo as the girl in that photo catapulted directly into adulthood, without having ever learned the meaning of embarrassment or judgment or shame9. She's Super Me. Of course, as the blog has progressed, the line between us has blurred considerably, largely due to the fact that I'm constantly cashing the checks her big mouth writes. For example, she might proclaim, "Hey, XXX sounds cool. I would like to try that. In fact, I am going to try that. Yay, XXX!" And whereas she has never done anything I myself wasn't interested in doing, they are the sorts of things that in the past I might have thought to myself, " Hey, XXX sounds cool. I would like to try that. You know, someday." However, as she feels compelled to announce her intentions to the world at large, I subsequently feel the need to comply. Its all about accountability. Which is ok by me, really. I've had some cool adventures thanks to her insatiable curiosity, her general lack of good sense and her joie de vivre. I'm actively trying to incorporate more of her brash fearlessness into my every day life, while simultaneously trying to convince her it wouldn't hurt to stay in and do the dishes every once in a while.

And it is more than my self-imposed MPD that stops me from being my blog; what is written here is static, a memory of a moment; whereas life is dynamic - in a constant state of flux and change. I am not the same woman I was when I wrote my first blog post10, anymore than I am the same little girl who stared down the camera in my grandmother's kitchen. We three have a shared past and some shared experiences, but subsequent experiences have shaped and changed me, for better or worse. Ten minutes from now I'll be a different woman too; a woman who has climbed down the basement stairs to gather the laundry one time more than the woman I am now. And perhaps it will go without incident, or perhaps I'll bump into one of my neighbors and have a life-altering conversation, or perhaps aliens will choose the moment I place the dryer sheet on top of the damp sheets to blow the planet to smithereens. But that's my future; and I don't know her yet. This is me, or a piece of me, for the moment. It is not me for all time.

Now, before you think I've determined that who I am is a bundle of my past experiences, I should tell you that part of this self-reflection has come about because I heard about the documentary, Unknown White Male, the story of a man who lost his memories entirely, and had to build himself a new life without any memory of what came before. Is who he is now any less valid than who he was before he lost those memories? I haven't seen the film yet, but I'm inclined to say no. But then what does that say about how my memories relate to my life? And what's really more influential: the small, inconsequential details about my life that I have remembered, or the large things I have forgotten? And what of the people I remember versus those I can (or will) not? And does it define me more that I remember them, or if and how they remember me? In the end, whose perception defines us? Our own, or those who observe us? I mean ask Elvis. We all know that he was, but we only know who he was in our own context (respected musician, punch line, revered prophet, imitatible, forgettable, scandalous). Which is of greater consequence in defining who we are: the inner life we live, or the outer life we cultivate? And is the next question not "should we care" but "why do we care?"

When I consider people from my past, particularly from my formative years, I find I picture them as grown-up versions of themselves; and by grown-up I mean with a respectable haircut, wearing a business suit, and otherwise unchanged by experiences or time. When I stumble across them in reality, however, this is rarely the case. (No surprise there; I never wear a suit when I can avoid it.) I can't even begin to imagine how people from my past would define me, although I doubt very much of it would apply to who I ma now. And yet...there are some people from my past with whom I feel I could pick up with again at any moment, and know that they know me better than people I see every day (and some I hope to never need pick up with again no matter how much they've experienced or grown); so maybe I'm not so changed as I think. Maybe who we are is who we always have been. Or will be. And life is just a matter of how we navigate that what or who through the experiences we have; and how we deal with the loss caused by the experiences we skip or miss.

1 PS- songwriters of the late 70s what were you guys thinking anyway?

2 As to what he may have prophesied, I have no idea. I like the King, but in the eternal argument of Elvis vs.. the Beatles, I come down firmly in the Beatles camp every time.

3 Although, in one case, there was an oddly placed photo of Englebert Humperdink surreally hanging nearby.

4 Incidentally, are you following Battlestar Galactica? They're finally dealing with the question I've been waiting for since the series began: is it the duty of the government to preserve the society, or the race? Fantastic. I love that show.

5 (Blip, Gleek, Mojo Jojo, and most of Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go!!).

6 Other things I am not: my iPod playlist, my television viewing habits, my favorite films, my book collection or what I eat (no matter what the FDA says)

7...insane, ridiculous, formless, poorly-spelt & punctuated, superfluous...

8 Although were currently both a bit put out that a shirt I recently purchased to go dancing has deposited a large amount of its sparkle to the somewhat more professional clothes with which it shared a washing machine. And, apparently, a little heavy-handed with the footnotes.

9 Unfortunately, this does also mean she missed out on propriety, decorum, and that maturity bit.

10 Although I do still dig that quote.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Sunday, February 26, 2006
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Monday Morning Madness   

Posted by Sarcasmo on Sunday, February 26, 2006
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Friday Follies   

  • If Tarantino Was Hogwarts Headmaster: Kill Harry. (Of questionable work safeness - particularly if folks are prone to read over your shoulder. - [CT]

  • What's Creepier Than Crispin Glover Covering Michael Jackson's Ben?: How about a video of Glover covering Michael Jackson's Ben...directed by Glover himself. You know, I always though my brain was a scary place. - [v.a.o]

  • Forget Consumer Reports: Consumerist asks the really important questions, like: What Cleans Cats Better, Front or Top-Load Washers?

  • Cautiously Optimistic: OMG...Chinese Democracy might come out after all? If it does, for me it will be bittersweet. Appetite for Destruction remains one of my favorite albums of all time...but it takes more than Axl Rose to make a band GNR. And if these leaked tracks are any indication, Chinese Democracy is going to be less Appetite and much more like Spaghetti Incident. (Which doesn't mean I'm not still a little excited anyway).

  • Thanks, Ants. Thants. (Right That Down in Your Notebook) Look Around You: Water

Posted by Sarcasmo on Thursday, February 23, 2006
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I love live music; I suppose it's something about the exchange of energy between the artist and the audience. I especially like having the opportunity to see as-yet undiscovered bands, because the truly talented ones still have that spark of originality and passion in their perfomance, not having yet been subjected to the heavy-handed polish and packaging from The Label. Additionally, the smaller venues in which such artists play allow for a real intimate connection between the performer and the audience. In those small spaces, the audience can feel like they are participants on the verge of something phenomenal, rather than just another face in a sea of musical fans.

That being said, I must beg of you indie acts, you Brave New voices of our Musical Tomorrow: for the love of all that is Houses of the Holy, stop covering classic rock songs in your sets1. I appreciate your impulse to want to emulate the bands which have inspired you to rock out on stage, but cover songs are tricksy, and live performances of such should only be attempted by the bold and masterful.

If you're going to cover another artist's song, you should (nay! not should, must!) be prepared to fully embrace the song and make it your own. A note-for-note cover of a song is as pointless and dull as a shot-for-shot remake of a film; a technically proficient but passionless cover is criminal; and a cleared for Clear Channel, ready to be dropped seamlessly into the background of the OC, top-forty style cover of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb will make me hope beyond hope that Roger Waters will march into the club and slap you right out of your shiny, shiny rockstar pants, and barring that eventuality, I'll consider doing it myself.

You know I'm a pacifist at heart and don't believe violence is the answer, but even I have my limits.

I mean, by all means you should make the song your own - but have some respect for the music. Damn.

1 Unless you are a cover band, natch

Posted by Sarcasmo on Tuesday, February 21, 2006
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Monday Morning Madness   

Someone buy me a red hat and swathe me in purple - going out both Thursday and Friday nights utterly wiped me out for the weekend. Clearly, I'm an old, old lady.

On the other hand, the band, the plays1, the friends, the dancing, the British sci-fi and the tasty, tasty food; all entirely worth going into the office with dark rings under my eyes tomorrow.

What I really need is an extra day between the weekend and the work week, just so I can catch up with myself. Could someone arrange that, please?

1 Night of 1000 Plays runs one more week. I really enjoyed it and recommend you see it if you get the chance. Of course, this week's plays will be different than last week's, so your theatrical mileage may vary.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Sunday, February 19, 2006
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Wait...People Read This? (I Mean Besides My Mom?)   

Well, blow me down - Sarcamo's Corner has been nominated to be the next Featured Blog at Philly Future. Philly Future, as I have mentioned before is a Philadelphia blog collective which gives voice to bloggers and non-bloggers alike, with a particular focus on community. I take advantage of their aggregator to read other Philly bloggers all the time, so I'm particularly tickled to be nominated.

Of course, I'm also a bit ashamed to have this come at a time when I haven't posted anything of substance in, oh, ages. Look at the other two contenders: the poltically-minded Whiskey Bar recently-covered in the Inky photographer, Zoe Strauss. To say nothing of the previous featured blog, Apartment 2024, where Marisa manages to write something meaningful every day while still doing time at Metroblogging Philadelphia. Clearly a vote for Sarcasmo's Corner is a vote for bulleted lists and extraneous footnotes! (Ugh, I'm such a blog slacker.)

To vote (if you're into that sort of thing), visit the poll at Philly Future. You do have to be a member to vote, but it's pretty easy to become one. (And even if you don't vote, bookmark the site. Seriously). Polls close on Sunday.

I feel as though I should attempt to post something substantial in light of this hullabaloo,1 however I'm running out the door to enjoy an evening of Philly theater and nightlife - so I will instead leave you with this thought:

This week, I have both applied to be eaten by zombies and telephoned an individual at a local news agency to request a job in piracy. As of this moment, I have heard from neither organization. It's so distressing to have your dream jobs dangled so close, then learn you simply aren't qualified.


1 Please note - said hullabaloo is mostly in my head.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Friday, February 17, 2006
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Friday Follies   

  • We're Too Cool For Damnation: A sweet ditty about my favorite kind of romance: Geeks in Love. Man, I'd really like to go to the "English Actors Who Kick Ass" Tennis Tournament. - [SH]
  • Why? Er...Because: The Tattooed Banana. This is by far my favorite of the..umm...bunch. - [d]
  • I Bent My Wookie: Delted scenes from Episode IV. I love watching production stuff. Also - Luke had friends? Seriously? (this is longish...don't be fooled by the interstitial screens between scenes.) - [SH]
  • I Finally Decide On a Future iPod Purchase: And the RIAA tries to make them illegal. I sense conspiracy! -[C}
  • Random Weird Bits:

  • Turn About is Fair Play: Earlier this week I said I would post the results of my Johari window. The graphic is far to big, but if you'd like to see what nice things folks think of me (or if you'd like to say nice things about me), you can do so here. Or, if you're feeling saucy, you can fill out my Nohari (the Johari's negative counterpart).

  • And, in Closing: "fun?" "healthy?" "& Son?" Why does Grant Morrison have to fiddle with Batman? (I mean, geeze, "love-god" os the only descriptor he got right.) - [LMG]

Posted by Sarcasmo on Friday, February 17, 2006
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Happy Heart Day   

A very happy Valentine's Day to all of my family, friends and sundry loved ones; you all make my life fuller and more fun. May you all get paper hearts chocolates from the one you hope to.1

And a happy Valentine's Day to you, too, Internet. You patiently listen to my inane ramblings, you keep me company when I can't sleep, you don't complain if I want to play games all night, you entertain me with stories from all over the world and you're very easy to turn on. If you could only do one or two more things, you'd be my perfect partner.

May cupid make you all merry.

1 (And may you get few valentine wishes that end in prepositions.)

Posted by Sarcasmo on Tuesday, February 14, 2006
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Finally Someone To Ask About Electric Sheep and He Runs Away   

This would be funny if it weren't so creepy.

I bet he doesn't even know he's an android.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Monday, February 13, 2006
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Monday Morning Madness   

  • Monday Morning Quiz: Here
  • Best. Valentines. Ever: Star Wars Valentines. Let me just quote what feanor says about them: ". I'd pick my favorites, but really, I love them all. So right! (Well, okay this one's especially fantastic.)"
  • Most. Adorable. Cylons. Ever: Re's BSG Comicses - [CT]
  • Knit One, Yarrr Two: I can only view this with horrified fascination and terrible awe: pirate-themed knitting patterns. I want to mock them and yet...I want to wear them as well. (But I don't actually want to knit. Let someone else knit them, then simply plunder them; that would be the piratey thing to do.) -[CT]
  • See How Others See You: Interactive Johari Window. Mine is here (I'll post the results once I've had more input). - [gw]

Posted by Sarcasmo on Sunday, February 12, 2006
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Fellow Philly Bloggers   

The fact that this Craig's List ad is w4m means it's not for me (not to mention the fact that they use the word "popular"), but could this "hot" lady be looking for you?

Blogger love. It's like geek love...only without the headless chickens.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Friday, February 10, 2006
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Dear Philly Peeps   

Since returning from vacation (where I was Little Miss Theatre-goer), I've been promising myself I'd go see more Philadelphia Theater. Well there are three (count'em: three) shows coming up in the near future I'm determined to go see. Let me know if you'd like to come along. We can pretend we have culture and such:

  1. Night of 1000 Plays: 3-minute plays, and lots of 'em.
  2. Mission to Mercy: "A cabaret-ballet based on the music of Queen." If possible - more exciting and befuddling than the Edward Scissorhands ballet.
  3. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: The radio plays...on stage. Awesome. I worry that it might get a little Rocky Horror Show...although I'm not sure that would be a bad thing.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Friday, February 10, 2006
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Friday Follies   

  • Hey - Blogger - Get Off Of My Cloud:  The word cloud for Sarcasmo's Corner.  Like Sarcas-Mom, I might have to get the t-shirt.:
  • What Happens When You Combine Movie and Band Names for Good (or For Awesome)?Flock of Segers Coolio Iglesias's Gangsta's Paradise needs to be a real album.
  • If Coffee Is Good Enough for David Bowie It's Good Enough For Me: Coffee Achievers. Now excuse me as I have another cup of dream time. - [SF]
  • Hey - When I Look Up Gullible in the Dictionary I Don't See My Picture at All:  I see my picture here instead:

Posted by Sarcasmo on Friday, February 10, 2006
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Eyes Wide Shut   

I don't like to go to the doctor. It's not that I suffer an inate fear of healthcare professionals or anything; I just don't like to admit it when I'm sick. I could be coughing up a lung and become spontaneously deaf, but so long as I feel as though I can function, I will insist I don't need to see the doctor. Because if I go to the doctor they're likely to tell me I'm ill; and being ill means being told not do the things, and man do I hate being told what (and what not) to do.

Rest assured, on those rare occassions I take a health complaint to the doctor's office of my own free will, I'm feeling near to death's door.

As you might imagine, my aversion to going to the doctor's office means I'm not so great at "preventative medicine." I fully intend to make appointments for regular check-ups, etc...but it's rare that I actually get around to it. Something more pressing (like, say, a nap) always seems to come up.1 I like doctors fine, and I think their ability to cheat Death is awesome and mighty, but I'm not particularly keep to hang out with them in their professional capacity. The one exception to this rule is my optometrist. When I get the "It's time for your annual check-up!" postcard in the mail, I always call to schedule right away.

In part, this is because I quite like my eye doctor. He's quietly affable, enjoyable to talk to, and good natured enough to put up with me and my silliness - which says a lot about him as a professional.2 Also - there's something very comforting about the way eye doctors say "Good" after you answer "more clear" or "less clear" or "better two" as they switch the lenses in and out. It makes me feel as though I've accomplished something or passed a test, despite the fact there's generally so little difference between the two options I'm practically guessing.

Mostly, though, I'm eager to keep these appointments because I'm especially protective of my eyes. I somehow have it in my head that because I spend all my time either on the computer or watching movies or with my nose buried deep in a book, I use my eyes more than any other part of my body, and therefore they need the most attention. I realize there is little or no reason to this argument 3, but I cling to it all the same. I think the real fear is that if I don't monitor them, my eyes will fail me entirely and I won't be able to read any longer; I simply can't picture my existence without the ability to read. Every once in a while I think I should learn brail while I'm still sighted, as a redundancy measure.4

You laugh - but when I was a child, my peditrian once told me I had better than 20/20 vision; I saw so well that it was like I had super powers. And yet, by college, I needed glasses. And I mean to see...not just to hide my super hero identity. Clearly my eyes need to be watched.

Going to the eye doctor's also allows me the joy of trying on new glasses. Despite Dorthy Parker's warning about men's tepid romantic responses to the eyeglass wearing female, I must admit wearing glasses isn't just about function for me5; it's about vanity. I realize that not everyone who wears glasses is a rocket scientist (I'm certainly not), but glasses do provide the illusion of book smarts; and I like to look smart. And I like boys who look smart. Ergo, I need those glasses so I can more effectively oggle the bespectled boys I find oh-so-sexy.

Why not contacts? Well, for one thing - contacts totally negate the "look-at-me-I'm-so-smart-I-ruined-my-eyes-reading-important-books" factor.6 And - more importantly, I'm absolute terrified about having anything pointy in the general vicinity of my eyes.7 The very idea of having to put my fingers in or near my eyes twice a day every day for the rest of my life gives me the huge heebie-jeebies.

Which is another reason I'm fond of my eye doctor: he is extremely patient with me during the dreaded glaucoma test.

Doc (eyedrops in hand): And now, here's your favorite part of the exam.

Me: I was just about to warn you. Do you have a note in the file that says "For the love of God, restrain this woman for this test?"

Doc: Nah, we just use duct tape. Works great.

Actually, he just uses a lot of patience and calmly answers all my questions while I place my chin in that A Clockwork Orange contraption, and then I try very hard not to blink while he puts the tonometer against my eye. I still blink, despite best efforts..but believe me it's an improvement. It used to take ages to do the test because I would involunitarily jerk my head away. This time, we got it done in one try. (Oh, eyes, such indignities will I suffer to have you clad in new and exciting frames!)

And let us not forget the fun side-effect of subsequent eye drops; the extended period of unfocused vision. I think it's great that they give you these drops right before they hand you the bill for your visit. It's not like they don't know I can't make out all those blurry little symbols on the sheet I'm signing. Someday I'm likely to find out my eye doctor was Satan or Rumplestilskin and all this time I've been signing more than a credit card statement.

Here's some fun things to do once you've let the doctor's office and still have about 45-minutes of non-clear vision time:

  1. Stop at the local drug or beauty supply store of your choice, and try to determine which box in that very long row contains your preferred DIY at home hair color. Stand dumbly for a few minutes with the box you think is correct in your hand while deciding whether it would be more embarrasing to ask buy the wrong box and subsequently dye your hair an inappropriate color or to suck it up and ask the nearby clerk stocking the Dental Hygiene aisle if the box actually says "golden brown" and not "dark ash brown" or "deep brown" or "chocolate brown" or - heaven help you, "golden blonde." (The pictures are no help, believe me). Decide the former is preferable.8
  2. Stop by your local bookseller to try and locate the current month's selection for your bookclub. This is especially fun if the author in question is particular prolific, and after you spend ten minutes identifying all her other titles through a complex system of squinting, book telescoping and vaugely recognizing cover art, you sheepishly ask a sales rep to help you find the book only to discover it is sold out.9
It wasn't just the small print I had trouble with either. On the way to dinner, I thought I passed on the street was inexplicably wearing a Ronald McDonald fright wig. (On closer inspection, it was a red turban.) Of course, my brain does have a tendency to re-edit reality for my amusement - although it usually limits itself to mis-reading signs (ie: The Museum of Contemporary Art at first appears to me as The Museum of Temporary Art); but I see no reason why it couldn't be branching out to embrace other visuals.

Unfortunately, I don't think they make corrective lenses for that.

1 Before I get any well-meaning lectures, I do have some check-ups scheduled in the near future. Promise.

Doc: Any health problems? Diabetes? Blood pressure?

Me: No. Well, I mean, I have blood pressure; but as far as I know that's not a problem.

Doc: Just that little bit to make the blood flow, then?

Me: Yes. I'm sorry. I had a large coffee right before coming, and I'm a little hyper. I'll try to behave myself.

Doc: No, that's ok. I'd rather have someone spunky sitting there than someone who didn't answer. So...any drugs...besides the caffiene?

Me: Well, I need that, it's what makes my blood pressure go.

(And if you think I'm fun at the doctor's office, you should totally see me at parties.)

3 For one thing, my eyes are part of my body - so when I'm using my eyes, it's not as though I've left the rest of my body behind to rest and treat itself to a chocolate bar and a massage; if they eyes are working, chances are the other body parts are doing something too. Secondly - my eyes have lids that close, allowing them some sort of rest while I sleep. Sure, there's the REM twitch - but that' s hardly all night.

4 Which would have the added affect of allowing me to read surreptiously at meetings and other places were I'm bored to distraction.

5 Although believe me, I need them.

6 The only way people know you're wearing contacts is if you've lost one...and no one - not even rocket scientists - look smart when they're crawling around on all fours using their less-than-perfect vision to find something small and nearly invisible.

7 I'm not really sure why this is. I suspect it may have to do with an overzealous family dog we had when I was an infant. I have no concious memory of the incident, but I do have a small scar from the stiches under my eye. Just some archair psychology on my part, of course, but it's as good an explanation as any.

8 Hey - I said wearing glasses was a bit of vanity - not my only bit of vanity. I'm perfectably happy with me the way I am...but I'm considerably more happy with me the way that I am when the way that I am is bereft of stubborn grey roots and temples.

9 This is not a new book, so I can only assume this was a well-thoughtout conspiracty. Ladies of bookclub, I am so looking at you.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Thursday, February 09, 2006
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You Gotta Go   

Fight club - the Bollywood Musical. - [SH]

I can't decide whether to laugh, cry, or try to purchase advance tickets.

Posted by Sarcasmo on Monday, February 06, 2006
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Monday Morning Madness   

Posted by Sarcasmo on Sunday, February 05, 2006
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Friday Follies   

Well, as I've been lazy and sick and haven't really posted this week, I'm going to try and buy back your fickle blog-affections with a whole slew of silly links. (A slew, I tell you!) Of course, in doing so, I'm clearing out my reserve of fun links, which means I'll be hard pressed to find something fun to post for Monday. Ah well, that's what Sundays are for. It'll give me something to do other than watch the Superbowl.

Seriously...I don't even know whose playing. And don't feel the need to tell me; I actually couldn't care less.

Do you know what I was wondering just animals have regional accents? I mean, does a lion native to Africa have a distinguishably different roar from an Indian lion? And what about lions raised in captivity? Do they maintain their natural roar, pick up the roar of the region, or imitate the roar of the lions they bunk with?

Yes, I suppose I do need to get out more. Cut me some slack. Colds do funny things to the brain.

Right. Enough random blathering. Links and such follow:

Posted by Sarcasmo on Thursday, February 02, 2006
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Sheer Vanity

100 Things About Me
Blogger Profile
My Netflix Queue
Sarcasmo's photos More of Sarcasmo's photos