Guess where I'm going on Sunday...

Is it just me, or is there something seriously wrong here?

Did you know that the Vatican sells calendars using priests as beefcake? Does this seem as incredibly hypocritical to you as it does to me? Aren't these guys supposed to be all sexless and holy? WTF? Of course, if you want it, find out where you can get your own Pope-sanctioned, whacking material at Calendario Romano.

And a few more...

Guess where I'm going on Sunday...

SAW IT! LOVED IT!!

And yeah, I do think that Brandon Routh is just yummy, but whatever. It was still a very well done movie... and I'll probably see it again. And again. And again. I mean, it was just mindless fun, but it was everything you expect a Superman movie to be.

BuddyCrocker makes it two steps out of apartment before making amazing scientific discovery!

Heat + Oppressive Humidity = No Work in Park

NOT suffering in silence

I'm having a difficult time getting on a roll with my own work. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe it has to do with the voice I keep hearing that says things like, "Honey? Are there two t's in 'committee?'" "Honey, what's today's date?" "Honey, could you read this?" "Where's my cell phone?" "Does this look like a rash to you?" The questions are somewhat frequent, but I'm still pretty much able to keep on the game. What's really hard to work through is the mid-day lunch/ television break the BF takes, during which I have to try to work while in the background I'm hearing things like, "Why are you blackmailing Lexie, Sami?" "You really still love Belle, don't you, Shawn?" "If Hope's baby is Patrick's then I have a chance to get Bo back!"

So I'm thinking that I need to pack my shit up and head over to the library. Or at least to Battery Park.

Past Posts Overrun By Exclamation Points!!!!

It's My Brothers' Fault?

A new study says that boys who have several older brothers are more likely to be gay. One more way in which I fulfill the frickin' stereotypes. Let's see. I spent time in college dancing, acting, selling make-up... I like classical music, opera, some show tunes, some Barbra, The Sound of Music, I'm sensitive, scream and jump when I encounter large cockroaches, I cook and bake, can't throw a ball, and have a Puerto Rican glamazon boyfriend. Yep, got most everything covered. Now if I can just get the decorating thing down then the world will be mine! Bwah-ha-ha-ha-haa!

Coincidentally...

The Associated Press' summary of the same story includes a quote from one Marc Breedlove, a researcher in neuroscience. The name struck me as familiar and it took me a little while to recognize it... then it hit me. Breedlove was the name of the professor under whom a friend of mine in high school/college, Lynn H., was doing brain research after getting her bachelor degree. She told me about how she would basically take mouse brains, freeze them, slice them, and look at them under the microscope for gender-specific differences. The funny thing is, Lynn and I dated in high school and she came out about a month after I did.

"I hope you don't mind waiting..."

I heard this several times this morning while sitting in the doctor's office, watching others entering for their appointments and leaving after their consultations were complete. It was said to me by each of the three young women who manned the reception desk as they left for their lunch breaks one after the other. I'd arrived fifteen minutes early to ensure that I would have enough time to fill out the paperwork before my scheduled appointment. After I'd finished and the receptionist had cleared my insurance, she gestured towards the seating area with her relaxed direction that I wait until called. Thirty minutes after my appointment had been scheduled I began to grow concerned that maybe I'd missed my name when it had been called. After all, I was listening to my iPod, although I was doing so with the volume so low that I could hear each time the young lady ten feet away from me gently turned the pages of the New York magazine she was perusing. I walked up to the reception desk and asked whether or not Dr. W was running late. "Oh, he's always late." She grew a bit more formal when I replied stone-faced, "Well, I need you to find out how late, please." When she returned to tell me that he still had three appointments to go before me, and that that translated into around another hour, I said, "Thank you for finding out for me." The third receptionist I asked was at first reluctant to find out how much longer I was going to be waiting since she was so busy at the computer, but I insisted and she finally pulled herself away, saying to herself, "Why can't I open up my hotmail?"

I understand that these people just look at this as a job, that they are only there to process those who come through the office. But when you've been referred to see a doctor because you have a mysterious, lasting pain, something doesn't look like it should, or you just don't feel right, you're bound to be a little concerned. I don't think that it's too much to ask that those whose job it is to take you into their care, actually show some care and concern about you, their client. Because when something is worrying you then yes, you do mind waiting. But at least having someone act like they understand that you mind waiting would help to alleviate the issue.

And it looks like I'm going to be just fine.

I ain't goin' bak...

drogging? blunking?

What do you call it when you post while intoxicated?

Eating out...

Despite a complete and utter lack of funds, I've had the good fortune to sample some of the new Tribeca restaurants. Industria Argentina is amazing decor, cute waiters, but food that doesn't quite measure up. Were I to rate it, it would earn a resounding "ho hum." I won't return unless I need another soporific experience. Turks and Frogs, however, is everything that I loved about Turkey... the decor is an admirable effort though not quite as good as the wine bar. But the food is outstanding! First were the meze/ appetizers, which included perfect hummus, cacik that was the perfect blend of fresh and tart, and stuffed grape leaves that were average but still good. My main was lamb chunks so tender they practically chewed themselves, served on top of an amazing eggplant puree. I think that I may have lapsed into a nummy-coma. After our dinner our waiter followed us out, offered the BF a cigarette and chatted up... someone. Was it me? Was it the BF? Was it our friend Julia? Whatever! The point is that he was cute and friendly and sexually ambiguous, just what I remember being so vaguely seductive about traveling around Turkey. I know I'll be going back!

Sigh of Relief!

Grading is finally done! Now I get to do my own work without interruption. Wish me luck!

BuddyCrocker Flummoxed!

The BF totally doesn't get The System for putting dishes into the dishwasher!

National Morning News Program Threatens to Ruin BuddyCrocker's Entire Day!

Why do morning news programs like Good Morning America and The Today Show have to run such ridiculous fluff when there's so much that's momentous happening in the world? We're mucking up Iraq, standing off with Iran, North Korea is close to testing long-range missiles for their nukes, and GMA runs a report that "macho-sexuals" are replacing "metro-sexuals." And this "report" runs for about ten minutes, as in depth as GMA gets with anything, despite the fact that it runs for two hours. Completely disregarding the fact that this metro/machosexual crap is so obviously a marketing thing to goad men into spending money, a fact that's infuriating on its own, this "report" is tagged onto the reading of the news, making it seem like it has some legitimacy. You know, they did the exact same thing with their investigation of people who are addicted to tanning-bed use, "tanorexia." (That's not a joke.) And people wonder why Americans are so uniformed.

BuddyCrocker at the crossroads!

Do I write a final which will honestly assess my students' abilities or do I write one which will be easy to grade?

I have so been posting!

You just can't see it.