I Hate Yous*

June 26, 2010

Bad grammar makes me really sad.  I went to private catholic schools for most of my life, and proper grammar was really stressed in the curriculum, so this obsession has been ingrained in me from the age of five.  I don’t consider myself a “grammarphile,” but, I do enjoy coming across errors in books and articles, it gives me a little thrill.  It also makes me really depressed; how did this get published with such a glaring grammatical error?  Obviously no one can know everything (except for P.Knisley, I’m thoroughly convinced that I could ask that man anything, and he’d have the correct answer), but it seems like people don’t even try or care about grammar, at all.  This baffles me.  I’m sure I’ve made many grammatical mistakes in this blog so far, and will probably make more, but the point is I try not to.  I edit, proofread, and correct, so I make the effort, which is what counts the most.  I hate reading blogs that have obvious grammatical errors, like misspelled words, missing words, etc.  Why should I take the time to read what you’re writing, when you obviously don’t even want to re-read what you wrote? Poor grammar is one of the main reasons I hate blogs/bloggers.  If you can’t write well (or try to write well), then don’t subject us to your writing.

This book is awesome: I Judge You When You Use Poor Grammar by Sharon Eliza Nichols.  I realize that this is going to sound crazy, but, I would consider this one of the most romantic gifts ever to get from a guy, because it would mean he really knows and understands me.  My point is grammatically correct writing is kind of hot.  So there you have it, call me crazy, but I’m totally right.  

*intentionally incorrect to make a pointed statement.


Squat Much?

June 22, 2010

It’s unfortunate, but it’s also a fact of life, the use of public restrooms that is.  Everyone has to use them; I mean we spend more time at work, school, etc than we do in out own homes, so I’d say we are all well acquainted with the horror that personifies public restrooms.  The fact is, however, that the lady’s room is a much more terrifying thing to confront than the men’s room.  Even if men’s bathrooms were as dirty and gross and women’s it wouldn’t matter, because they get to stand up and pee.  They’re safe.  And, because I have, on occasion, used a men’s restroom (single person of course) I know that they are never as disgusting.  This troubles me.  In general men are more slovenly than woman, but somehow they manage to keep their bathrooms in order.

I often wonder, when in public restrooms, what women are doing in there. There’s toilet paper everywhere, various fluids all over the floors and sinks, so what gives? These things are all irritating, because it is very simple to put the toilet paper in the toilet bowl, the paper towels in the garbage, and to get the soap on your hand, but what really baffles me is women’s penchant for squatting.  Why, why, why do women squat over the toilet bowl? The way I figure it,  they are perching themselves above the toilet seat because there is something on it that they do not want to encounter, understandable, but how did it get there? Because one of your fellow squatters, with bad aim, came before you and defiled the seat.  So here’s my point, my main point, people squat to avoid other people’s bodily fluids, but if no one ever squatted, then no one would ever need to squat, because nothing would be able to get on the toilet seats in the first place.  So stop squatting! Also, if you’re one of those freaks that’s afraid of toilet seats then use those handy, paper toilet covers that are so kindly provided.  Or you can consider the fact that door knobs are more dangerous to encounter than toilet seats, it’s a fact, so unless you plan on licking the toilet seat, you’re safe.

Also, if you people weren’t so busy squatting like idiots then perhaps the line for women’s public restrooms wouldn’t be so insufferably long.  Just sayin’.

Wrap It Up…Yourself?

June 16, 2010

Okay, so, the first time this happened to me I was definitely surprised. I am referring to the somewhat bizarre phenomenon of “make-your-own-take-out-box.”  This is when you go to a restaurant, eat your meal, and decide to wrap-up your left overs to take home, but your waiter/ess brings the lovely throw away container to your table and walks away. Huh? How did this become acceptable? If I go out to eat it’s because I’m feeling lazy and don’t want to make food, or wash dishes, etc. And, if I’m paying for dinner then I expect to be served throughout the entire meal; you would never be expected to clear your own plates in a restaurant, so why should you have to clear the food off your plate for your doggy bag?

Now, I can see the positive aspects of this idea.  If you make your own take-out box than you can decide what’s going in and what’s not making the cut.  You won’t be faced with that piece of broccoli that you took one bite out of and put back on your plate (am I the only person that does this?) when you go to eat the food the next day. However, aside from the “no surprise box” that you’ll be greeted with when you go to eat your leftovers, there are not many benefits.  This minimal ‘plus’ does not balance out having to awkwardly sit in a restaurant trying to figure out a smooth way to move food from plate to box without dropping food and/or utensils everywhere.  Perhaps it is just my extra clumsiness that makes theses things more of a possibility, but I can’t be the only motor-skills-challenged person out there.  Anyway, my point is, at a restaurant you pay significantly more for your dinner than you would if you bought and cooked that same dinner yourself. Why is this? What you are really paying for is the service, so therefore the only time you should expect to lift a finger is when you’re picking up your fork.


June 9, 2010

Being an intern can often be an experience akin to bashing ones own head against a hard surface.  Monotonous, boring, soul-destroying, whatever synonym of tedious suits you, these all describe most internship experiences.  This summer, however, I managed to find a position I actually like. I’m left to my own devices most of the time, clearly indicating a level of trust in my competency, which is rare. Since I sit by myself I get to play music and eat snacks and basically hang out like I’m at home while I do my work, this is what we call awesome. Added bonus: I get to drive; no hot, sweaty, packed subways for this girl. Instead I have a nice easy 20 minute drive, several parking lots to choose from, and beautiful vistas of grass, trees, and ocean to look at in every direction.  I work out on Staten Island, which despite its rather lack luster reputation, has some amazing pockets of history, culture, and nature. One such place is Snug Harbor Cultural Center, where I work.  It’s a nice place to take a break from the city: Snug Harbor.  Just had to share the rarity of my find.

The facility also has some interesting ghost stories, since it used to be home to the “aged, decrepit and worn-out sailors” of NY (Barnett 17) . Okay, I should probably get back to work now.

My Favorites

June 6, 2010

Awesomeness & Secretness are my two favorite blogs (these are obviously my names for them). They are really different, but kind of the same too. Both brilliant, in my opinion. I had a secret on postsecret too, it was pretty awesome.

To Begin…

June 3, 2010

I never started a blog, mostly, because I hate bloggers, or perhaps more correctly what bloggers believe themselves to be.  For the most part I feel as though they are pretentious, delusional, self-important types that assume they have something relevant to say that other people should hear, and perhaps more importantly that they think others will find relevant.  This is completely ludicrous.  I’ve always thought to myself, if you’re that smart, funny, or relevant go out and get yourself published for real.  However, since I don’t foresee anyone wanting to publish my random, passing thoughts/ramblings/musings anytime in the near future, I figured I might as well use this a sounding board.  Seems better than  having these thoughts/ramblings etc running circles in my mind trying to work themselves out, which inevitably fails since said thoughts just keep doing laps.

With that being said, I read blogs just like a lot of other people do. Some I love, and some I simply love to hate. Most of the ones I love have been successful, and gone on to become legitimately published; I think that statement speaks for itself. The bad ones, well, they are often poorly written, and only occasionally funny. It’s really the bad grammar and spelling that depresses me the most. If you haven’t even mastered how to write at a third grade level, please, spare us all.  I hope my words won’t cause you physical pain like some blogs have caused me. Also, let me just add that I loathe uselessly negative comments. Now before you assume I’m the type of mentally weak person that can’t take criticism, let me stop you. I have survived four years of art school and am currently in graduate school; I have experienced every kind of criticism you can imagine, and I know its value, when constructive.  So really any ridiculous, mean, or stupid comments will simply make me hate you, because they will force me to feel immensely sorry for you. Why? Because I will know that you have no life, since you have nothing better to do than leave unproductive meaningless words on a silly website.

Enough of that; I’ll jump to the chase, perhaps a little too late. What led me to the stunning decision to start this dreaded, technological trend we call a blog was a simple conversation over dinner, with my mother.  I made a comment about my dinner plate, which led to a semi rant, which then led to other things that baffle me. For anyone who knows me this sequence of events in not surprising.  So what was it on my dinner plate that bothered me? The garnish.  I can’t think of a single more useless thing on the planet, (okay I probably could, but still) and its presence on my plate(s) always annoys me.

I respect the artistry that goes into making food and plating a dish, but I fail to see why that translates into creating strange things that look like something other than what they are made of (just keep reading the sentence eventually it’ll make sense).  I don’t want a rose radish; who wants that? Piles of shredded carrots, and vegetables shaped like flowers do not enhance my dining experience. What bothers me the most is how this is such an absolutely ridiculous waste of food.  Ok, that one leaf of lettuce that your tasty appetizer is sitting on doesn’t seem like much, but it adds up, and pretty soon the entire produce section of the grocery store is sitting on your plate for show and not consumption, and will shortly end up out back in the trash. Stupid. My mother suggested that I share these feelings with others in the form of a blog.  So the rest of this blog will follow in the same vain; I will be writing about things that annoy, excite, puzzle, disturb, or confuse me, basically anything that makes me emote. If I’m being honest I have to say I’ll probably be writing more about stuff that irritates me, because I dwell less on things that I think are great.

Also, I hate blogs that are not frequently updated. However I have to say that this one will be updated sporadically at best, and will also be irregular in length and content. That’s just me.  I promise to be consistently inconsistent

I’m not going to say happy reading because that would imply a belief on my part that people, other than myself, will be privy to these strung-together-words, and that’s simply not the case. So, instead, I’ll say this: until the next time something out of the ordinary or exceedingly ordinary happens, peace.

Under Contruction

June 1, 2010

Ok, ok. I know how much I hate coming across sites that say “under construction.” Why didn’t you just get your shit together before going public right? Well sorry, this was a late night decision, that is not yet fully realized. More to come.