What's the proper response when you log into your IM program in the morning and find a message from far earlier–not a time when you were online–saying "Hey! Are you online now?" And of course, the person who sent the message is now marked "away" or offline?
Few know that they occasionally apologize.
(Screenshot from the really useful application Visual Hub for Macintosh.)
How do you pass the time during a flight? What do you bring in your carry-on?
I always over-pack. I usually bring along two books, an iPod, a Nntendo DS with multiple games, a sheet of sudoku puzzles, notepad and pens…and then, if we're flying on JetBlue, I end up watching the Food Network or HGTV for the entire flight and ignore all of it.
That's not that much in your carry-on, you might say. But you didn't know about the toothbrush and toothpaste, the first aid supplies, the mints, the travel pillow, the spare shirt, the spare underpants (if I'm feeling particularly skittish about my luggage), the earplugs, the bottle of water, the snack, the camera, the umbrella, a file with every piece of information about our trip and the destination I could find. I really wish I could be one of those people who lives out of a single bag or a carry-on bag for a month or two but I'm getting better.
Either that or my arms are getting stronger.
I live near the BART station in the Mission, so I'm (unfortunately) used to seeing (and dodging) the less pleasant parts of city life there; panhandling, the drug trade, the probably-stolen goods for sale sitting on blankets on the street, the slightly insane ramblings. I meet them all with a cold face and a curt "No."
Last night a slightly older white man wearing a cravat came towards me as I was dodging the mostly-illegal flea market on 16th Street. The cravat threw me a little. He held a plastic grocery bag in one hand and a picture frame in the other. He held it out to me as if offering it for sale and I instinctively started to deflect. Then, in a slightly higher register and a lisp, he made his sales pitch. "Judy Garland? Mickey Rooney?" It seemed like he was selling them as Icons, only instead of Jesus and Mary poorly silkscreened with Spanish and English prayers these were black and white photos of the stars of the Andy Hardy movies.
It occurred to me: I've been panhandled before, but I think I had just been gay-handled…
Sigh. One of The Boyfriend's nieces asked for gift cards from either Forever 21 or Hollister stores. I forget what it's like to be in high school…no, strike that. I've just never been part of a social group that takes mall brands and expresses a preference between them. (Instead I'm part of a social group that takes Web brands and expresses preferences between them. Which is a whole lot less shallow, isn't it? Just nod with me here and move on.)
"Forever 21" is just such a frightening brand idea that I dismissed it immediately. Ponce de Leon did not shop here. I think it's meant to appeal to 30-something women who mistakenly think they look younger in those clothes, and teen girls who mistakenly think they look older. So I thought I had a clear loser in the tacky brands contest. But until I saw their website, I didn't realize that the Hollister brand doesn't refer to men's and women's lines–instead it has Dudes and Bettys. Any woman who self-identifies as a Betty (and isn't actually named Betty) needs to be run over with her own Jetta.
I couldn't decide which disgusted me more, so I went to the nearest mall and went to the only one they had. I knew it was going to be a challenge when I saw the greeter at the store who recited an advertising message to me as soon as I walked in. "Hi! Our fleece is an extra 20% today, in great colors for both men and women! Try one on today!" My immediate instinct was to click on her to see which ad network was serving her. I think that means I've been working in interactive marketing too long.
I was amazed at how dark it was inside; then again perhaps that was to hide the shame on your face from buying a $30 t-shirt. At least they lit the photos of the muscular surfer guys half-wearing their clothes. I laughed that the Hollister brand relies so heavily on surf and beach iconography; I had mean fantasies of disappointed tourists who booked surf vacations in the real town of Hollister, California, 40 miles and a mountain range away from the ocean. I made my way back to the even-darker counter, where the sales associates struggled to read tags and labels in the dim light. I bought the gift card, dodged the avalanching display of unisex cologne, and fled.
Ok, perhaps I lingered on the half-naked photos a bit longer. But what's so wrong with wearing both sleeves of a shirt at the same time?
What's your favorite Thanksgiving dish?
Submitted by Brennan.
Please, for the love of all that is holy, use vegetable broth in some of the stuffing that you cook outside the bird. Unless you want to see a grown man break down and cry at your Thanksgiving table (and not get invited back next year.) Thank you.
**begins to salivate**
Please, won't you help defend Westfall from the creeping plague of dorkitude that is befalling us?
Did you dress up today? See any good costumes?
Today at work I'm dressed in earth-tones, in a linen shirt and vest…and I have a yellow balloon tied in the shape of an exclamation mark sticking up above me from a headband…I'm a Quest-Giving NPC from World of Warcraft.
Alternately, I am the biggest nerd ever.
What is your earliest memory?
Submitted by Megan.
Memories are funny things; they can seem so real, and yet are completely ephemeral.
I think I am about three years old; I'm standing in front of my parent's house in the late morning or early afternoon holding my mother's hand. She's dressed in a very pretty outfit, and my father, who's also dressed nicely, is standing down the walkway next to the El Camino taking a picture of us. While he is trying to compose the photo, I remember seeing at the Japanese Maple trees and the sky framing him as he framed us.
Neither of my parents can recall this event. And no picture like it has ever surfaced. Every time I think of it, I feel like I could reach out and touch the trees, or my mother's pant leg. But the truth of it dissipates like smoke. Did I dream it? Is it an amalgam of memories that never happened together? I will never know for certain.