Galloping

Stumbled upon this pretty well known photo (of which I knew nothing when I found it) of model Christine Keeler in what was to be the icon of modern furniture. Just liked it a lot, and thought I'd share.

Speaking of the 60's, what is it with all of this light and glory shining upon Julia Child? I saw Julie and Julia, and it was cute, but for me Julia Child was not a household name when growing up. Or, IF she was, it was in reference to this SNL - The French Chef.



Nope, instead I watched Graham Kerr on PBS. Why? He was infinitely more entertaining in his artery clogging, wine drinking escapades on The Galloping Gourmet. However, I can't find the episodes anywhere... If you haven't seen his show, and you like to cook, or you just like to watch black and white shows (weirdo), I suggest you see it. If you can, that is.

Jot this down.

I feel anger...anger and blah...anger, blah and arrrgh...anger, blah, arrrgh and humph...

The word of the day my friends is courtesy.

Having trouble conjuring up a meaning or perhaps an anotnym? Never fear, I will assist you with a link.

Damnation!

Days of the Week

Yesterday was Hump day.

That term always makes me giggle. It was only until college that I gleaned the actually reference; hump as in the middle of the week, the portion you have to get over before the weekend... Yeah, that was so not what I thought it was.

Anyway, got to thinking about the days of the week; you know, the ones you learned in elementary school. Monday-Marriage day, Tuesday-...... Come to think of it I only remember Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

What is wrong with schools that they are letting children construct some sort of malignant philosophy on life based on marriage, wedding, and flip up days?

Friday flip up day... You all remember it. The secretly flirtatious and naughtiest day of the week (that's if you understood that Wednesday didn't actually correspond to humping). Ooooh, don't wear your skirts ladies.




And then, there were the girls that seemed to always forget it was flip up day and would wear skirts... Wonder who those 3rd graders are now, wonder where they are...




Okay, so you know you totally did it once on purpose.

But, as a self respecting 3rd grade girl most often you had class enough to forgo the dress or skirt on Friday's.

What the F were Tuesday and Thursday?

Here is what Google turned up... not flipped...turned....

Monday- Marriage day
Tuesday- Toe day
Wednesday-Wedding day
Thursday- Throw Up day (promoting adolescent bulimia)
Friday - Flip Up day (or "Sluts in the Making" day)

I can see how Mondays might seem like a loveless, sexless commitment to the week. Apparently, on Tuesdays you are supposed to walk on your toes, no doubt in an effort to sneak away from said commitment. Wednesday...so wait... You are married first on Monday, but you don't actually celebrate till Wednesday?

And then inevitably regurgitate on Thursday. Yeah, wedding's make me sick too.

Finally, Flip up your skirt on Fridays because... Well, do I NEED to spell it out for you?

My parents are away this weekend and I couldn't be more excited to be alone?

"Why?" You might ask? Some lover going to sneak over, got some big party planned, gonna have one of those cult ceremonies in your living room?

Nope.

I am happy to say that I get to for the first time in months, bemoan my loneliness in the quiet solitude of my residence. I know this kind of sounds crazy to be happy to be alone so that I can sulk about my general loneliness, but I swear there is something so great about quiet, Mallory pity party time. I need this.

I stocked up on supplies for the "party of 1" weekend after work, while others were stocking up on ice, beer and burger buns for their Memorial day weekend. I made a b-line straight for....drum roll please... The Ben And Jerry's; Cake Batter and S'mores to be exact. That should do for 4 days I think. Whilst perusing the many comforting creamy concoctions, I got a whiff of man. Well not man to be exact, but some delightful combination of cologne and man.

Does this affect anyone else? Perhaps it was the lonely spinster ennui I felt towards my life. Or maybe...

My olfactory senses are diabolical. So, if there were any perfect and most opportune time to segeway into the topic of guys, I think pity-party-Ben-and-Jerry's-in-the-Safeway-aisle-giving-up-on-life-and-its-meaning-gal, is the perfect character and beginning to this rant of a blog.

This is going to wax Mary Catherine Gallagher a touch...But, have you ever just really liked a smell? I'm not talking gross smell, like hands under your arm pits or creepy leering guy who smells children's hair. I'm saying, you walk by the perfume counter in Macy's and suddenly can't step away from the Aqua De Gio even though it reminds you of every tool you can recall in the history of tools, or you can't put down the Hugo bottle because it would involve severing your own arms...?

Yeah, that's me. Creepy Mal.

I'm not saying I love the smell of cologne all of the time. For instance, Axe... I immediately want to kick the guy in the teeth, instead of reacting the way the commercials would have you believe. Also, Old Spice...Yeah, my dad smells like old spice, so thats a no.

Guys need to stop with the cologne, it's better for all of us. If you don't want to get kicked in the teeth, or jumped by a fat girl with her fists full of Ben and Jerry's, then maybe go a touch light on the after shave, tone down the cologne please... But, this is not an invitation to not smell good entirely.... stinky man stench is not attractive, girls don't like it 99.9% of the time.

*Ok, I'm really crying of laughter right now because I almost said BJ's instead of Ben and Jerry's...A whole new twist to grocery shopping.

Anyway, I guess my rant is done... Now I will go pop in a little P&P, build myself a blanket nest, eat my sorrows, and have a good pathetic cry.

Through the fog dammnit!

laser KILL PEOPLE DEAD WITH LIGHT tag

Randomly, flying to my brain like a stealth fighter in the night, I thought a weird thought. I pondered an exceptionally odd circumstance. I queried a query so queer...

Laser Tag.

Question: Do they really expect you to follow all of their safety rules?

Now, If you've never laser tagged (which is understandable for anyone over the age of 10) then you need to know a little bit about said "sport."

Laser tag is a very complex masterfully orchestrated ballet of children and middle aged geeks shooting lasers at each other. Mind you, not REAL lasers, that would just be painful. The point of laser tag is to shoot as many people as you can, in a darkly lit, smoke filled maze that is often decorated by glow in the dark paint and steep ramps that take the wind out of the less athletic.

Anyway, there are often certain rules that the laser arena enforces. (enforce seems too active) Often there are such rules as: no running, no climbing, crawling, squatting, hitting, fighting, modifying your laser so it blinds a 7 year old...and the like.

It's a bit odd though don't you think? You are released into a Nam like environment with a "gun" so you can shoot Charlie (5th graders) and there is no running? No crawling? Shoot, we would have never won the war with these rules! (What's that? You are saying Vietnam wasn't technically won?...I don't believe you...)

Safety, I get it. But, Do they REALLY expect A.D.D. cake filled 5th graders (and me) to pay attention to those rules, to abide by them? That is just about the last thing I am thinking of when I am being chased by little Dougy and his army of birthday guests. Hardly on my mind when I am being pummeled by laser beams from 35 year old sniper's who are waiting in the wings. With smoke in my eyes, labored breathing (again, the ramps), the evil ruthless laughter of tiny target height commandos; I get a little panicked okay. I do run, I do block my sensors that recognize when a laser hits them (quite often), I do jump, and yell, and crawl, and kick people in the face when I'm lying on my back because my left foot is suffering from jungle rot...

There aren't any "enforcer's" of the rules anyway... So I'm like Snake baby, I army crawl that shit, I take out children in stealth mode, I bite people if I have to!

I'm just saying, who doesn't right?

Playing fair isn't any fun. Don't they know this?

Oh, and that rule where your tag name can't be violent (i.e. killer, machine gun, Dick Cheney) is RIDICULOUS. Just change a letter around... like smokinghandgum, or cerealkeeler.

Just thoughts... I guess when it comes down to it breaking the rules has never really helped my score though. I'm still dead last when I do play (once every 3 years). I think a 2 year old shot me once.

Just Don't Eat

No money for fast food + lots of green tea + lean cuisine = Mallory losing 8 lbs!

Poor never looked sooo good before...

Too bad my right breast has taken the brunt of the weight loss.

My body is always looking for a way to sabotage my efforts by making me hideously deformed in some form or another.

(I'm NOT a freak! No two breasts are alike! I swear you'd have to stare really hard and for a long time to notice!... Fortunately that's what I do all day...)

The Hipster; Subsequent Degradation of all that is Holy and Meaningful in the World.

I'm loathe to say it, but my descent into the pretension of hipster-dom has recently become apparent to me after attending an indie jam at the Downtown Tacoma Urbanxchange.

Going to said session was not my idea; just clearing the air. I was attending with my friend who knew a guy who was playing and wanted to support him in his music (And he was the only decent act surprisingly). They grew up as neighbors, believe me when I say it's not usually where we spend our evenings. Mine are usually spent updating my facebook status to "updating my facebook status."

Firstly, the place that held the little shin dig (where does this cliche come from?), UrbanXchange, is a clothing retailer that buys and sells vintage/used clothing. Generally, I'm all for the thrift shop bargain hunting, but somehow urbanxchange has zapped all of the love out of being thrifty by gearing itself to hipsters. Of which... I am? I am not? I'm not sure...

Urbanxchange's shelves are full of things for the "most discriminating trendsetter to develop a wardrobe representing the most current and relevant fashion brands and styles-at incomparible prices!" Basically, if you took the awesome finds out of thrift stores and sold them in a trendy boutique, but kept that used smell... Urbanxchange is what you'd get.

I like the hunt my friends, and this completely takes away from the "Drop kicking a homeless man and arm wrestling an old asian woman for the last pair of fuzzy pink ear muffs straight from 1984 feeling" that I get from Value Village. Not to mention it makes meaningless the point of retail recovery outfits like the Salvation Army, Value Village, Goodwill. (Well I guess their point is to make money, but I mean like on a grander scale of giving back to the community and recycling sort of thing...)

Point?

Anyway, being at the show made me realize how much I do NOT want to be a hipster. Amidst a gaggle of 18-20 somethings all wearing their tight skinny jeans, thrift buys, and stunner shades listening to crap bands experiment with their homemade crap sounds, I realized I am sooo NOT cool enough to pretend to not care about being cool. Granted... I'm sure in a few years the hipster's will have found a way to make the current not coolness I live in, into something cool. (HEAD IS EXPLODING)

You see, that's their bag baby. They take something that is considered unique, counter-culture and drain all of the specialness out of it by making it trendy, and culturally acceptable.

While I'm not quite a hipster, I might as well give up right now because I'm probably worse. I can't stop this pretension thing when it so obviously is a machine that will roll right over me, that I am already a part of conscious and unconsciously. I sneered at the falseness of the people around me in the tiny back room while listening to their abysmal music, but could equally have sneered at myself for sneering. ;P

Gold Star

I was thinking in the car, on my way home from my unsatisfying, part-time, completely-contrary-to-my-degree job, how much I missed school; how much I missed doing homework, how much I missed completing a task with one singular purpose... the grade.

I don't get grades anymore, and to be honest, I stopped caring about getting grades when I realized getting by on a "C", though perhaps disingenuous to my intellect, is all I had time for when I wanted to drink and do other brain cell obliterating things.

But, now that I am out in the world, degree in hand, no mid-term, or hurdle to jump in site except the ones I choose... I am desperately afraid of a no grade life style. It should be wrong how socialized I am to thinking that the grade matters, that the test score is truly the epitome of your knowledge, but that freaking gold star and "A" has some elusive power over me: and I will say, over my generation.

Certainty. That may be a part of it. Like math, a subject of which I know little now except what I see in my Sudoku, or in calculating gratuity... 2+2=4... It's so certain. Well its certain in its own little universe. Plugging and chugging to get an answer seems like what I was built for... and now, well there seems to be a whole lot of plugging and chugging (how does this sound sexual?) and very little answers.

Getting an A, in red writing, in blue, black, typed, scrawled, blinking on a screen; it's magic. That little Gold Star, the recognition you got from it as a child.... Well shoot...it may not really mean anything, but it sure was satisfying.

Say It.

New catch phrase of the week:

"I Men's Warehoused that shit... Guaranteed!"

Courtesy Melody Green.

My Secret Hobby

Something that every graduate has to look forward to after their illustrious college days is the return home.  Whether it be a week, or a year, or until you are 35...Upon my return home I was confronted with the daunting task of sifting through my shit that my parents had not discarded, but did not want to keep.  Boxes full of memories, like my very first report cards which told me that I was a much better student in kindergarten.  Among these boxes I found all of my old National Geographics.  You see, I am was and will always be a nerd.  I started collecting these around 5th grade until I was equipt with a book shelf worth of magazines, ranging from The 70's to the 90's.At that tender age, it was really more about the pictures for me.  You see, as a child I was turned onto the popular Zoobooks subcription.  Each month you'd get little pieces on different animals that you could collect.  This, in turn, stimulated a fascination for animals, and pictures of animals.Now as I sifted through these relics of my past hobby I naturally gravitated toward the idea of actually reading them.  Here is the great part friends...  In The May 1977 issue of National Georgraphic, amid a very interesting article on the Celts, some pictures of naked Malaysian natives, and the digestive prowess of the flat worm I found this ad.



Or http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e369/Noonsun/ngsead.jpg

My hasty scan doesn't quite do it justice because there is a very compelling text to the left of the shadowed woman that reads:

"The sun, the earth's greatest known energy resource, is today one sensible solution to ever-increasing hot water heating costs.

Grumman has harnessed the sun's energy for immediate delivery to you. Today, by installing a Sunstream Solar Domestic Hot Water System, you could save over 50% of your domestic hot water heating costs.

Where else could you make an investment that not only may immediately add value to your home, but also assure you of greater dividends as the cost of energy rises?

So, get the Solar Domestic Hot Water System built by Grumman, the company with a reputation for product reliability...and remember if just 10% of U.S. homes used this system, it would result in an annual savings of over 400 million gallons of fuel oil or over 53 billion cubic feet of natural gas."

Ahem...Wow, don't we look like idiots... So I looked it up, and did you know that the development of solar technologies started in...drum roll please....the 1860's. That's right, I meant 18 and not 19. Apparently back then we had a little coal scare where we thought that we might start to run out of coal (sound vaguely familiar), but then we found petroleum and quickly forgot about our lovely renewable alternatives.

I really should have read these when I was younger, but there were no global problems in my head other than D.A.R.E. and saving the whales and rainforest. Even these were very distant as I was mostly focused on how Barbie and Ken would now interact if they owned a Barbie Corvette instead of the Jeep.