I'm not lazy, I'm just recycling...

And from the "As Seen on Facebook" files:
Tuesday, November 25, 2008 at 10:24am

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Without losing her (illegal) grip on her cell phone, the diminutive driver of the (Alaskan-sized and named) SUV in front of me slammed on her brakes. I did the same to avoid slamming into her and let loose with an offensive combination of linguistic elements, slipping a code-switched infix into a schizophrenic string of alliterative regional differences in dialect.

"¡JO-fucking-DER! ¡Pinche puta pendeja! Si vas a bloquear la vista de todos que vamos detrás de tu camioneta tan culona, por lo menos haznos el favor de mirar más allá de tu rearview mirror, cabrona babosa!"

It's not the language that should surprise anyone, it is fairly representative of my Spanish, learned from a gran variedad of native speakers from all over the Spanish-speaking world, principally México y España. What did surprise me was the uncharacteristic verbal demonstration of road rage in general, not just that it came out mostly in Spanish. I'd been exposed to a lot of useful New York traffic vocabulary as a kid, and have tried to avoid overreacting to traffic in my own driving. But I guess I'm entitled to such expressions every once in a while. After all, that day on I-80, the traffic had gotten me coming and going.

As soon as I'd hit the brakes and stayed inmóvil for a few seconds, the stereo cued up a "blast-from-the-past" gift of a song and I had no choice but to let its opening strains prick up my ears, let the subsequent drum beats force my head back against the seat and the ebullient keyboard and exuberant sax notes bubble through my veins. The road rage lifted al instante.

Perhaps you'd like to give it a listen, putting any contrary politics or personal situations to the side and instead of focusing on lyrics signaling the possible demise of a relationship, just letting the Jersey bounce sounds of Bruce Springsteen's "Going Down" run through you, too. Y no, no deja de ser significante que la canción es del album Born In the U.S.A. Lugar de un delicioso multi-¿?

In case you need it now, a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZarmRLa2p9Q



It's lovely, but it's not nearly enough...

I continue to hope that researchers will annouce breakthrough findings that increase the number. (19 Nov.)

But the micro-articles persist in reporting that "one glass a day" is beneficial to our health.

I thought some transparency was in order and explained, "My strategic approach has been unique in its lack of, um, strategy."

Guess which symbol(s) represent "my normal approach".

No, you won't get a prize if you're the first to submit a correct answer.That was an ironic/hypothetical question/command.

It's possible that I've subverted the message of this T-shirt which you can buy on its insightful, um, site.

Basically, I'm having trouble controlling my own academic destiny. I think I prefer being told what to read by when by somebody else. I can't and don't expect them to do that for me when it comes time, but I do know that their five different perspectives will guide me as I stumble toward strategy...

It was a question only your best friend or your physician should ask.

She interrupted my discourse on Why I Suck.

"Where are you in your cycle?" "I don't know." "Don't you write it down?" "Yeah." "But...you don't know?" "I know where I write it down." She rolled her eyes and continued, "It just seems like you hate yourself even more than usual during certain times of the month...you know." "Yeah. Well. Whatever. So what if I am all cranky and fat and bloated? It just means that there's more of me to loathe."

Those airline-sized wine bottles are just cute enough to get away with it.

Drinking straight from the bottle didn't feel as derelict as it looked.

I knew that in his own way, he meant it as a compliment.

"I know you could've gotten out of that ticket if you'd flashed your titties," he said sympathetically.

His obsession with breasts has always seemed a tad unnatural for a gay man.

Flirting my way out of it never once occurred to me. But now, I can sort of see how that might work. As the sheriff's deputy turns to walk back to his car to write me up...

Me: (in low, well-modulated tones) Just a moment, please, officer. I'm sure there's...(looking up seductively from under my lashes, finger tracing my necklace) some other way we could work this out... Oh, yeah! Wait! I forgot! Sorry...was I supposed to, um, offer you, um...you know um...I mean...(hanging my head and biting my nails) Never mind. Just go ahead and add the fine for "soliciting an officer" to my tab.

I hate to correct you, but...quite the contrary.

So, what do your names mean?

Just because I'm little and nice doesn't mean you can drag me around anymore!