Sight for sore eyes

Yesterday was one of those glorious days where I saw two truly fine and fascinating specimens of humanity. Sadly, I didn't get photo evidence of either, so words shall have to suffice. It was a treat, and I'll tell you why.

First, I was driving about town in my tank top, windows rolled down, warm breeze blowing through my locks, when I spotted something . . . unusual.

I did the double take. And it was just what I had hoped it was. Sadly, the moment happened so fast I couldn't take a picture of it, so let me provide the original idea so you get a taste of my enjoyment:


It's appropriately called The Flying Wedge. And I truly never thought I would see one of these on anything other than Kath & Kim, another planet, or Solange Knowles. BUT I DID. Some twenty year old indy hipster was just strutting down the sidewalk with The Flying Wedge. How? WHY?! Had I not been going on the opposite direction on a busy street, I would have pulled over and ran after her, posing as a writer for some fashion magazine with a few questions. Alas.

Second incident.

I was at the gym. And you know what that means.

Hot dude.

I walked in, and there he was in all his glory, working his triceps. I drooled a little and continued to walk past him. And I ALMOST mustered the courage to look at him in the face so I could finally ask him about his ever-growing tattoo. But then I chickened out, as usual.

Well.

I was doing some hamstring/quad/whatever leg lifts strategically in his general vicinity. And I was conveniently "watching" the TV so I could look at him, secretly, out of the corner of my eye. Because I had zero interest in the actual basketball game when I could watch rippling muscles in action.

And then angels descended and sprinkled Luck dust all over me, because he started to walk RIGHT towards me and LIFTED UP HIS SHIRT to wipe the sweat off his divine face and I got a full shot of his incredible abs, akin to this:



Have you just reached for some ice and a fan to cool yourself off? You're not alone. In fact, when I was blessed with The Ab Shot, I stared. Shamelessly. Like I always do. And he knows that I did, because I was RIGHT THERE. But I don't even care, because despite what you may think, I KNOW that expose was meant for me.

Over the Hedge

Riddle me this:

What do you call chain-smokers who grow weeds and rusted cars on the front lawn, substitute duct tape for glass on windows, and have a vibrant blue glow emanating through all crevices in the “house” because of their massive-A flat screen tv?

Answer: THE NEIGHBORS.

From here on out they shall always be referred to in all caps. I am fairly certain that I have mentioned THE NEIGHBORS before. In fact, I believe I could make a fairly good mini-series/reality show/documentary of them - they are that awesome. It would have a very Lifetime movie feel to it, and I would call it: THE NEIGHBORS: The Trailer Park Next Door: The Real Story of What Happened Over the Hedge.

In the meantime I decided to start dedicating chapters to them, every now and then. This decision came about yesterday, as I was lounging in the backyard in my bathing suit, diet coke in hand, minding my own business in 75 degree weather. I was contemplating doing something useful, but I forgot about it since the sun was shining on my SPF 25ed-up face, and a breeze was wafting the blooming jasmine and orange blossom and I was just so intoxicated with life.

And then.

Bottles clanking around on cement while someone began coughing up a lung. A cloud of smoke began to rise over the blessed cinder-block wall that separates our backyards. I'm pretty sure this possible turrets-laden man began shouting random quotes and sing-songs to no one in particular. Then their mangy mongrels began howling, and I was THIS CLOSE to borrowing my brothers’ air-soft rifle for pest control. Thank goodness their dog whom under the force of court order had its voice box removed is dead. Finally. Its lack of vocal ability made it sound rather like a wounded sea lion when it barked. It was truly grotesque and I could write a whole post just on that nasty mutt alone.

However, I want to congratulate the Dirts, as we’ve Christened them, for completing the Annual Mowing of the Weeds. This event usually only happens in the spring, when their semi-functional son comes to visit. He is the only child thus far that has stayed in school past 10th grade, held down a steady job at Ralphs market, and avoided prison. And despite the fact that he ruined my afternoon of repose by belching the alphabet and then yelling for his woman to pick up his beer bottles, I rather like him.

In the next episode of THE NEIGHBORS: The Day the S.W.A.T. Team Came a'Calling

Luck of the Irish

In honor of St. Patrick's Day I am not going to go into explicit detail of Pat's life and his propensity to dispel unsavory characters from Ireland, namely snakes and the Devil himself, because nobody really cares about the story. Everyone's main concern today will be telling other people how they are actually part Irish, pledge their undying love for Notre Dame, and then mumble partially-known drinking songs whilst swigging down Guinness as fast as possible.

For me, this Shamrock Holiday has inspired this musing: If I had to choose between Colin Farrell, Jon Rhys-Meyers, Damien Rice or Jason O'Mara to give up America and shack up in a cozy Irish castle with, who would I pick?

Happy Pi Day!

In honor of Pi, the most beloved number of math zealots everywhere, you really ought to watch this freaky deeky video:



March is full of totally awesome and completely random holidays, so celebrate away dear friends!

PS - Beware the Ides of March tomorrow. All hail J.Ceas.

TV, it's time to bring back the crazy

If any of you were fortunate enough to have caught The Chopping Block on NBC tonight, then I imagine you have already begun to form some ideas in your mind on the one Chef Marco Pierre White. DO YOURSELVES A FAVOR - read this book:


I now leave generous tips at nice eateries because of Marco "Holy Terror" White. You will love him, hate him, be willing to become an indentured servant just to learn from him - he's a genius. You will never look at restaurants, chefs or waiters the same again. I was completely seduced through paper. Mostly because he is smug and crazy; if he's not yelling at another chef to F off, then he's throwing a client out into the street. And speaking of insane people and tv, I am SO ready for American Idol to be over already. I've never been a fan, and I vowed that I would watch it only on the condition that Simon be the SOLE judge. I do however appreciate the lunacy of Paula Abdul and her wardrobe concoctions that are almost as whacked out as she is.

More than anything though, I hate that AI is crowding out Fringe. Give me my Pacey, man! Perhaps it's unpopular, but I'd take Walter "I-am-craving-applesauce-after-digging-into-that-guy's-brain" Bishop any day over the dulcet tones of American "I want this SO bad!" Idol.

And lastly, dear 30 Rock, I only have this to say: Bring back Don Draper! Bring back Don Draper!

I realize that when I met you at the turkey curry buffet, I was unforgivably rude, and wearing a reindeer jumper.

I've never considered myself a real shy person. That was decided when, as a young teen, I "bop bopped" some dude's rear multiple times, on the sly, at stake dances.

I like to think I have matured since then.

Still, I have this Bridget Jones-esque way of making myself look like an idiot in front of any moderately attractive male. And there is one such male in existence whom I see every night at the gym. We have had our moments, he and I. If you know what I mean. And by that I mean, we would walk past each other on many occasions that didn't require walking past each other.

So I decided it was time to take the next step. As I was sitting on a leg machine, waiting to begin my next rep, he comes sauntering by. "Carpe Diem!" I cheered to myself. I looked at him straight in the face, and flashed by biggest Hello smile. (I bet you were expecting that I was going to jump atop him, weren't you? WRONG.)

Then, quite naturally, he smiled back. A kind of 10-year-old-grin that almost made me snort-laugh.

And then I called it a night and went back home, feeling quite pleased with my progress.

Who KNOWS what kind of shenanigans tonight will bring.

Hello McFly!

As of late I have been wondering where exactly I fall on a scale of 1 - 10 of nerdiness. This has been even harder because I'm not sure how to fix the scale. What is the lowest degree of nerd? I'm thinking Apple snob, blogger, and occasional sci-fi peruser. Those seem to be staples, but is it too much? I don't know. 10 is a little easier; that is going to consist of knowing Klingon, making j factorial jokes, listing Dungeons and Dragons as a hobby, listing "the force" as a skill, and writing notes in binary code.

I suppose most of us nerds fall somewhere in between. But I am having a real identity crisis and I NEED to know where I stand. The facts are these:

- I blog. In case you weren't aware.
- I sometimes watch Nacho Libre when I am alone.
- I have made multiple trips to the library lately with the sole purpose of getting more books on Stephen Hawking for Idiots and Quantum Mechanics 101.
- I sometimes muse about what it would be like to be an Elf in Lord of the Rings.
- I love comic book movies.
- I really do think that Disneyland is the happiest place on earth.
- I'm a snob when I go to Disneyland. I find myself saying things like, "Oh this ice cream stand wasn't here last time," or "They TOTALLY changed the womanizing pirates into thief pirates on POTC ride!" (Which, by the way, they DID. And it's not nearly as funny or creepy).
- I love Lost. Mostly because of all the crazy-a sci-fi junk on that show.
- I read Lost theory sites because more than anything in life I love theorizing about things.
- I have a string theory seminar video bookmarked on my APPLE NOTEBOOK (note: I own a mac, but not necessarily a snob).
- I plan on celebrating national PI day on the 14th.
- Speaking of Pi, I also have Daniel "I memorized Pi" Tammat videos in my favorites on YouTube, which I watch on a regular basis.
- I have a crush on Chuck from Chuck. Mostly for his nerdiness. But also for his tallness.
- I wish I could do math so I could be a math/physics nerd.

HOWEVER. The following keeps me from true nerdom:
- I don't speak/write ANY other languages, though there was once a boy in one of my classes that would always write his name in Elvish on the roll sheet, and then give Elvish greeting to the professor. And he looked suspiciously like the Numa Numa dude. CREEPY.
- I don't understand binary code.
- I haven't started watching Battlestar Galactica. YET.
- I really love shooting guns.
- I can't quote anything from Star Wars or X Files.
- I can never remember how many gigabytes are in a terabyte. Or how to spell those.
- I can name at least 5 major designer labels.
- I sound like a ditz when I talk.

So maybe you, as a removed party, can help me this. BECAUSE IT'S REALLY IMPORTANT. What's an appropriate nerd scale, and where do I (and you) stand?


UPDATE!
Thanks to Azucar, I took the Nerd Quiz and realized that in fact I am "not a nerd, but definitely not hip." And I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. Although, it is rather fitting since I am mediocre in all ways, and therefore being a true nerd would be unfitting with my station in life.