Showing posts with label ingrid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ingrid. Show all posts

Retro Good Morning

By Glenn 

One year ago today was a much different time in our country's history. Al Franken was sworn in as US Senator after a grueling, legally exhaustive waste of everyone's time. Health care reform was on the verge of being passed and Iraq banned visits to Saddam Hussein and Elvis Presley's graves.

Here at OYIT, Ingrid wrote a late good morning post (not unlike the one you are reading now). In it, she talks about obsessively washing her hair and introduces us to the band Yeasayer. Let's take a trip back to a more innocent time in our lives with this retro good morning post.

By Ingrid 

What the heck?! Where is this morning's good morning post? I thought something felt a little off, and now I realize this is it -- the absence of OYIT's daily greeting, which I have come to rely upon as much as oxygen, fresh water, and Pert Plus Anti-Dandruff Shampoo and Conditioner.

What do you mean, "insert rest of post here"?! There IS no rest of this post! I'm not even supposed to BE here right now! I'm at work, people! WORKING! Yes, I'm still working out here in AZ...just because I live with hippies on a commune does not necessarily mean that I am one. I also still take showers, though the frequency has decreased noticeably.

So I just stopped by to admonish you for slacking on the good mornings ("you" being a general term to include anyone who has ever written one before [excepting myself since I don't have internet at my house since hippies don't believe in technology unless it is the sort of technology that helps transport them to a DMB concert or bring Jerry back from the dead].)

I feel like I should at least post a video while I'm here. One of my new hippie friends introduced me to Yeasayer (reminds me a lot of Fleet Foxes, who everyone but Jake and Benito Mussolini loves). Then he tried to sleep with me. Everyone here tries to sleep with everyone else, but you'll be happy to know I've remained relatively chaste so far.



Good Morning!

Good Morning, Healthcare Reform!

By Ingrid



Thank you also for providing us with that footage of the woman re-enacting the bear sighting:






Really, this protester is dead on: When I broke my ribs in that car accident last summer, I didn't want medical treatment -- I wanted to shed my holiday fat! I wanted leafy greens and yoga! When my uncle, a Vietnam vet, started coughing up black phlegm with traces of Agent Orange in it, the first thing he said when he finally caught his breath was: "Fire up the treadmill! What I need is some exercise!"


Maddie, please transmit this urgent message to the proper authorities!


Annoy a liberal: forget the second N in "annoy" and then squeeze it in last minute. Also, wear a fanny pack.


I forget which side this guy was on. The sign reads: "Jesus will bring universal healthcare in 2012!!"


Hmm, that's not what you said to me when I was protesting Iraq. Remember? You drove by and screamed "LOVE IT OR LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAVE IT, HIPPIE!!!!" and then threw a Hardee's cup at me.

In other, related news, as I rode my bike through campus today I noticed that the College Republicans in the square were holding a sign that said, "Tired of change?" At least the GOP is finally coming out and admitting that they're a bunch of crotchety old fist-shakers.

Famous People Have Kissed People in My Family

By Ingrid

Chuck Berry kissed my mom at a concert in the 1970s. She was dancing in the front row, minding her own business, when he pulled her up on stage and kissed her in front of everybody. I can tell you one thing: he didn’t notice her because of her prime dancing skills – rhythm and grace are not the most notable attributes of my ancestors - but because she was pretty. Everyone thinks their own mother is pretty but, unlike most people's, mine really was. Back in high school she had been voted “Most Beautiful” two years in a row, and she was only slightly uglier now that she was in her late 20s.

When Chuck Berry initiated the make out session with my mother, my father turned into the cartoon picture of jealousy: his face bright red, steam whistling from his ears, his eyebrows furrowed in anger, etcetera. He wanted to storm out of the joint but my mom had the car keys, and she was obviously busy up on stage.



Tonight, a full 35 years after the infamous Kiss (the Kiss that almost made my sister and I not happen), I attended a free Chuck Berry concert in the streets of downtown Columbia. I spent most of the night standing directly behind the tallest man in the world, wedged between a middle-aged school marm slurping beer from a plastic cup and a drunken sorority girl whose shirt straps kept falling off.

I am depressed and embarrassed to admit that Chuck Berry did not kiss me, although he might have looked at me once or twice. I was standing on a ledge, trying to see over the tallest man in the world. I looked freakishly tall standing on that ledge. Chuck Berry may have squinted out into the mass of screaming drunks and thought “Who is that freakishly tall, yet also astoundingly beautiful, woman towering above my hordes of fans? I must have her. I must kiss her.” For some reason, probably because security was so tight, this didn’t happen. Instead, my friends E and C and I biked back to my place and ate some grapes.



Here are photos of my mom and Chuck Berry. The actual kiss was not captured on film, and also I am too lazy to photoshop the two photos into a hilarious reenactment, so please just use your imagination.






(this is not a good morning post)

By Ingrid

This is not a good morning post. We all know that Glenn will roll out of bed around one or two in the afternoon and provide us with a real one, so, until then, here are some videos of things and some pictures of other things.

Also: Question of the Day: Is it always illegal to kill a woman? Always? Really?? What if she's being feisty? What if, as this vintage ad seems to suggest, she refuses to use the postage meter??



Personally, I have mixed feelings on the issue. Debate, readers.



Children Singing Songs

Nothing funnier than choirs of kids singing songs written by stoned sex fiends!



I hate children, but I love Pavement, so when I watch this video my brain throbs with confusion.



Try THIS On For Size

The French are insane.



It's nice to have a girl around the house, but it's sort of creepy to have a girl-tiger hybrid laying around spinelessly on your living room floor.



Hopefully these items will hold you over until Glenn wakes up and harangues us about health care.

Wednesday!!

By Ingrid
Jeez, where is everybody?! I feel like a character from a post-apocalyptic science fiction movie, walking alone down the ravaged and desolate streets of OYIT's ruins. I'm carrying a big, science fiction-y gun and wearing the pointy, metallic shoulder pads of the future [shoulder pads are a staple in post-apocalyptic fashion]. Occasionally Nate pops up from a pile of wreckage and says something about STIs, or Mikey revives long enough to complain about chickpeas and rap, but other than that I am basically alone here.

Since I have a rare form of Tourette’s which manifests itself in frequent and lengthy blog posts, I was going to offer to buy the rights from Jake and rename OYIT “One Year in Ingrid” in an effort to revive the site, but I quickly thought of several reasons why that would be an unfortunate decision.


Stephen Malkmus in an Elevator
This six minute video of Stephen Malkmus singing a capella in an elevator is only for the true SM/Pavement fan. Don't even bother watching it if you are annoyed by his voice, because I'm telling you now this is nothing but six minutes of PURE, UNADULTERATED STEPHEN MALKMUS VOICE.



Department of Eagles/Regina Spektor: Noam Chomsky Spring Break

Sometimes when I feel like listening to bizarre, atmospheric stuff but can't find my dreary Phillip Glass album collection, I put on this song by the ol' Department of Eagles. This song features Regina Spektor (at least I'm 97% sure -- too lazy to look up), whose voice I like but whose songwriting style I have mixed feelings about. She's good with these guys.



My new hippie roommate is having friends visit this weekend, which means I have to sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor now and then is supposed to be good for your back, but I’m pretty sure the people who suggest doing so have clean floors without spiders or cat pee. Maybe I’ll camp out on the roof.

Have a good morning!

Good morning from OYIT

By Ingrid


Truly, nothing is more degrading than being 25 years old and waiting in line to see a Harry Potter movie, but that’s just where I found myself this last Sunday afternoon. As I stood there, unintentionally mingling with a horde of squealing prepubescent girls wearing long robes and pointed hats and lightning bolt-shaped scars painted on their foreheads with their mothers’ eyeliner, I would've committed suicide but I’ve invested way too much in the Harry Potter empire to let it go now. I read the first book when I was 15. Reading Harry Potter in my circle of nerdy friends was sort of like doing cocaine in other, more hip circles: it was technically okay if you didn’t do it, but you really sort of had to if you ever hoped to achieve alpha status and/or get a date to the Honors Luncheon. I borrowed a copy, and the next thing I know it’s ten years later and I’m standing in this epically long line, squashed between a nervous 13 yr old couple on what was evidently a first date [I surmised this because they didn't talk or make eye contact the entire time] and a thirty-something male wearing an oversized, grease-stained tee shirt that said “Gandalf is My Homeboy” [WRONG WIZARD. You’re the type of incomprehensible human being who stands on your chair during a Bob Dylan concert and yells “Freeeeeebird!!” aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?!].

Anyway, after sitting through the two-and-a-half hour-long movie, I only have two observations: a) the actor who plays Ron was a really ugly kid who miraculously turned out to be okay-looking and b) the actor who plays Harry was a cute kid who turned out to be really awkward. C’est la vie, Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Something. At least you weren’t ugly kids who turned out to be awkward, which is what happened to me.


Strange Messages I Have Received on Taco Bell Border Sauce™ Packets

Will you marry me?

If a man proposed to me with a packet of Taco Bell Border Sauce™ (Hot), I just might be tempted to say yes, even though I am, by principle, against marriage. After all, the third ingredient is jalapeno peppers – a known aphrodisiac. How could I resist? Nevermind that the second ingredient is tomato paste (which makes my thumbs break out in a strange rash) and the first ingredient is water (nothing is less attractive than a cheapskate who waters down his salsa). No, if a man proposed to me with such a packet, I might just look past the fact that the ninth ingredient is sodium benzoate and marry him anyway, if only to spite my mom, who is against processed foods in all forms and boycotts Taco Bell because of their tomatoes.

Will you scratch my back?

If there’s anything I want to avoid thinking about when I’m eating a big, sloppy Seven Layer Bean Burrito™, it’s how dead skin collects under your fingernails when you scratch someone’s back. So, no, I won’t scratch your back, Sauce Packet, at least not until I’m done eating my burrito. And even then I would prefer if you were tested for STDs and skin conditions first. Can sauce packets contract STDs??

This space for rent. Inquire within.

Are you telling me, Taco Bell Border Sauce™ (Fire), that that there is a little Taco Bell employee inside each of your packets, waiting patiently amongst the tomato paste and sodium benzoate to tell me about urgent corporate advertising opportunities? Ha! Like I’m going to fall for that one! The last time I obeyed a message I read on a condiment packet I ended up with ingredient in my eye, and I would be lying if I said that was fun.

On that note, have a good morning, OYIT, and please stop inappropriately assessing the physical appearances of actors who are a good eight years younger than you.

Morning

By Ingrid and Jake

Two of OYIT’s veteran writers – one who is featured in the “Best Of….” sidebar at least ten times, and one who is, mysteriously, NOT FEATURED AT ALL – have joined forces to whip up a very special Good Morning post for you. This collaborative effort between two of the greatest minds of our generation could literally end up anywhere. If you’re anything like me, which you’re probably not or else we'd be friends IRL, you could use a little excitement in your morning routine.


Jake:

What if an Asian man decided to make a pan flute out of carrots and celery? I think it would go a little something like this... Also, I would also think it was going to be the last great achievement of man, so consider how scared I am.

This is the only part I wrote. I think it's only fair to say that. I got drunk and couldn't write a full GM article so Ingrid wrote most it.



Next to "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," this is my favorite movie of Michel Gondry's. At least it sort of makes sense!





I don’t really understand what is so funny about this little sketch, only that every time I watch it I find myself both LOLing and ROFLing uncontrollably. Have you ever attempted laughing out loud while simultaneously rolling on the floor? It is so difficult! I promise you, this video (which features Ellie Kemper from the Office) is worth the extra effort.

Good morning from OYIT [June 22, 2009]

By Ingrid
This morning is inspired by…KITTENS!!
Pretty much everyone who knows what the Internet is has seen this video by now (in both YouTube years and cat years, it’s well beyond middle age), but I continue to come back to it in moments of weakness. Well, this is a moment of weakness if ever there was one, readers [DON’T ASK].



Hippies: Just Like You or Me

Living in Flagstaff, it’s pretty hard not to think about hippies. They’re everywhere. Washing their clothes at the Laundromat, buying their groceries at the grocery store, eating their food in the restaurants. They’re practically like you or me. Did you know an ancient prophecy made by Hopi elders predicted the hippie movement of the 1960s? (Hippies...Predicted!) I don’t know if the prophecy predicted Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane, but here is a video anyway:



This has got to be the only hit song to feature the nose as an instrument.

I went through an inexplicable stage in high school where I would only listen to Jefferson Airplane, Bob Dylan, and Cat Stevens. My hair was down to my butt and I wore tie-dyed skirts that I realize only now, ten years too late, were totally see-through.

Springfield, MO Is At It Again!


Oh, Springfield. Springfield, Springfield, Springfield. You know, in many ways, your hometown is like your family: you love it despite its painful redneckedness, despite the moldy couches and rusted refrigerators on its porches, despite its penchant for eating pickled pig ears and snake meat and similar hillbilly delicacies. You look past the fact that it chooses its politicians based solely on their stances on terrorist and baby killin’ (one’s good, one’s bad), and you just love it anyway.

Springfield, MO’s current gaffe (I’m taking back the word “gaffe” and applying it to words that aren’t Joe Biden!):

"State can't ban neo-Nazi group from program"

Several things are ridiculous about this article. Let me summarize, for those who don’t want to read the whole thing.

1. Nazis adopted a highway on the edge of town. Like, honest-to-god Nazis.
2. Since they couldn’t think of a less passive-aggressive way of preventing said Nazis from adopting said highway, the city retaliated by naming the highway after a Jewish activist and holocaust survivor, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. [To clarify, signs along the stretch of highway would more or less read: "Rabbi Heschel Memorial Highway," and then below that, smaller: "Brought to you by ... NAZIs!"]
3. This offended Heschel’s daughter, who says her father would not have wanted to lend his name to a highway that is being trampled by Nazis.
4. That’s all ridiculous in itself, but even MORE ridiculous is the fact that the original headline atop the article (it’s been changed now, after pages of irate comments) was: “State can’t ban socialist group from program.” As if “socialist” is a synonym for “Nazi”! Argh! Just what we need: something else erroneously tying modern socialism with the most despicable hate group of our time. Somewhere, another social program dies.

Oh, Springfield! How I simultaneously love and hate you!

Look at me, ranting again. Where does the time go? It’s nearly 7 a.m., and I was supposed to milk the cows hours ago. Have a nice day, and please tell me next time an article of my clothing is see-through!

Good morning from OYIT [Comment Edition]

By Ingrid

OYIT STAFF MEETING: Where are all the commentators?!

We have collectively failed as a website because no one has been commenting on the heart-rending and thoughtful things we've written lately. The only point of a blog is getting feedback: feedback that makes you feel good about yourself, feedback that gets you laid, etcetera. In response to the comment drought, this post will be styled specifically to provoke commentary. Everything I say or post will either be offensive, stupid, or really amazing. Most of it will be stupid, but I’m hoping that you find it in your heart to comment anyway.


Mascots I Have Loved and Commented Upon


Lumberjacks have been associated with homosexuality ever since the Monty Python song, and I’m not really sure why. Because they wear women’s underwear, I guess (not that sexual orientation and cross-dressing are necessarily related)? Anyway, NAU’s mascot is a lumberjack. As this photo of the statue on campus proves, mascots in the southwest are super hot...and completely straight. Look at Louie the Lumberjack’s nipples and rippling abs and comment on whether or not it is appropriate for 19-year-old children to live and learn in this sort of environment.


At least it’s not the Evergreen Geoduck!!



A Comic That Will Make You Laugh and Comment

Oh, God, I’m pulling out all the stops here. WEBCOMICS. I’m hoping to get our fringe nerd readership with the bright colors and ironic scenarios.



That's what you get for having a BEAR plan your counter-attack!

The Best Song About Slippin' Away Since Paul Simon's "Slip Slidin' Away"



Step Into My Office Baby

I'm still not over that Saturday post in which Jake talked about Belle and Sebastian excessively. That might've been the best day of my life, because other people were actually talking about my favorite band with me instead of rolling their eyes and changing the topic to Radiohead or Blackberries or going up to my place for a drink.

B & S have the most ridiculous music videos. Case in point:



Hm, none of those items were offensive, stupid, or really amazing. Comment anyway. What more do you want from me, a lapdance?

I hope the quality of your day increases or decreases proportionately to the number of comments you leave! <3

Tuesday Debate: Guns

By Jake and Ingrid

There is not a more controversial debate topic than Guns. Some of us love to use them to murder people we hate, and some of us don't use them at all. This debate will help you realize which type of person you are. This debate may change your life.




Jake: Look, having guns in public is a Constitutional right that we must protect at all costs, even if that cost is human lives. What if a police officer is lurking in your bushes, waiting to pounce on you when you're cleaning out your tobacco bong? He comes into your house, taser in hand. He sneaks up behind you, ready to kill you with a deadly level of electricity? What do you do? You turn around, say something clever and unload 41 bullets into his chest. What are the drawbacks? Nothing, except you're not dead and you have blood all over your kitchen floor. but your tobacco bong has never been cleaner. What if a rapist is trying to rape you to death? You can shoot him to death in the dick. There are no draw backs to having a gun and if you think there are then you are the biggest jerk in the entire world and deserve to be shot with a gun.

Ingrid: In the immortal words of Matthew McConaughey in the hit comedy film “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”: Bullshit, Jake. Bullshit. Let’s say your ridiculous hypothetical situation, in which a cop busts into your house ready to taze you for possessing a tobacco bong, actually does occur: saying something clever and unloading 41 bullets into the poor dude’s chest is definitely more cinematic than, say, holding up your hands and bursting into tears (which is how I react every time I see a cop). It is also super illegal and will put you in the big house for 90 or 100 years. Also, it’s a bit reactionary to just shoot as soon as you are accosted. What if the poor dude just wanted some? Haven't you ever seen a bromance starring Seth Rogan or Whats-his-face Franco?? Even cops need to take a load off now and then, and those who are watching their weight do it with drugs, same as the rest of us. Let me get to my real point here: the reason I am against carrying concealed weapons is because with guns it's all about the element of surprise. It doesn't have much to do with skill, really, or at least not in most situations in which a pro-gun person would argue you'd most need one. It has to do with surprise. Let's look at a REAL event to illustrate this issue: after a school shooting such as the one at Virginia Tech, many pro-gun people were like "See?! If just a handful of those VT students had been carrying guns with them to class, they could've stopped the murderer from killing innocents!" But this is simply not true, because before anyone knew what was going on, the victims were already dead and the murderer had killed himself, too. Do you right-wing wackos think you could've stopped 9/11 if you had been carrying a concealed weapon? NO! It wouldn't have made a damn difference. Even if all of the hillbillies in MO had been transported to ground zero on that particular day for some sort of hillbilly gun conference, they couldn't have stopped it. The terrorists had the element of surprise, and they had done their dastardly deeds before anyone would've had time to react.

Jake: If I was on that 9/11 plane and had a gun, I would have shot all of those terrorist baffoons right in their towel covered skulls. Does this make me a racist? No, it makes me a patriotic American citizen who is not afraid to be politically incorrect to make a point in a debate for a comedy website on the internet. Regardless, shooting people is not about surprise, it's about stopping them cold in their raping or plane-flying-into-a-building tracks. Like I said in my first point, the only real downside of shooting somebody is the bloody mess it leaves. I'm a bit of a neat freak, so it's a problem to me, but may not be to you. Another problem is that they may wrongfully imprison you for merely acting out your Constitutional right. If there was a piece of paper that said I could clear cut every forest in the world would I do it? You bet your ass I would. I would probably make toothpicks or boards to build everybody a sweet deck in their backyards. Let's set the scene for another instance you might want a gun for: you're on a cruise ship, and it sinks. You're left stranded on an uninhabited island. You have no way to get food, but there's all these ducks and shit on this island, but not many vegetables or fruits. What are you going to do? You shoot some ducks and eat those fuckers. Now you're still alive thanks to having a gun. You don't want guns? Then you're going to die after you eat all the veggies like a first rate rube.

Ingrid: Haven't you ever read "Life of Pi"? Everyone knows that if you are on a cruise (first of all, fuck you for being on a cruise: who can afford a cruise these days??) and it sinks, you catch fish with a handmade net, and then you almost die from too much protein. But if you are on an island with ducks, and you are really desperate, I'm pretty sure you could catch one with your bare hands and/or drop a coconut on one's head to kill it. I mean, it's not hard to outwit a duck: ducks are pretty dumb. Another question to consider is would you even want to survive long in this situation? If the only person I had to talk to was a duck, I would just want to die. I would wade out into the water and melodramatically drown myself as the ducks looked on, slightly offended but otherwise indifferent. This is so far off topic, though. I am offended that you would bring the debate down to this level (like I said, most Americans can't afford cruises and would never find themselves in your Duck Island scenario). I'm going to assume that you are dumbing it down because I'm a female, and I'm going to go ahead and assume that means you are sexist. Therefore, every point you try to make from this moment on is null and void, my friend.

Jake: No, I have not read the Tao of Pooh, and why would I? I don't give a shit about your Eastern philosophy silliness. Your point had nothing to do with the topic at hand, and if we were going to sit here and debate ducks, islands or drowning ourselves, then I think this debate would have a much different tone. As I see it, you're trying to deflect by discussing ducks at length and calling me sexist, when you know that I'm not. Guns are a right, and just because I can discharge that right into a rapist's genitals does not make it any less important than freedom of speech or women's suffrage. Women's suffrage has never stopped a rapist from attacking you in the bathroom of a Denny's, but a gun has. Several times, in fact. I know, you could just stop going to Denny's, but where are you going to score a Moons Over My Hammy? You'd never know the pleasure of that greasy, but hilariously named dish. Guns help people, and if you are against guns then you're against helping people.

Ingrid Hey, listen, buster: I'm all for the right to own guns -- the right to own a gun is clearly outlined in the Constitution, a document which I frequently try to abide by. However, I believe there should be tight restrictions so nutcases like VT's Seung-Hui Cho can't get their mentally ill fingers on a semi-automatic without going through some red tape first, and I also believe people shouldn't be able to carry concealed guns. What is this, the old West? Put 'em on a hunting rack, I always say. Or in a locked case with the key hidden where your five yr old can't get to it. With the proper restrictions and safe guards, I support gun ownership, although I will still sniff at you smugly in my snobbish, progressive, middle class way. You keep bringing up this rapist scenario, so let me focus on that for a moment. In self-defense courses they often tell you specifically NOT to try to use a gun or other weapon against an assailant unless you are well trained, because the attacker can easily use your weapon against you before you can use it against him or her. Again, the element of surprise comes into play here. If a rapist burst in on me while I was peeing in the women's restroom at Denny's, and we both had guns, who do you think would be more likely to win in a close-range gunfight? Definitely not me, because I'm sitting there, utterly surprised, with my pants around my ankles and my hypothetical gun in my purse. Would the guy wait for me to wipe, flush, pull up my pants, reapply my lip balm, search for my gun (I can never find anything in my stupid purse), and then participate in a clean duel? No, he would burst in and hold his gun to my head before I even have a chance to say, "Sorry, this one's occupied!" If someone tried to rape me, I would have more success clawing his eyes out, twisting his balls off, and ripping out his hair than I would drawing a gun and firing.

Jake: In every rape scenario I have presented, the victim is very well trained with a hand gun and is an incredibly quick draw. That alone is enough to invalidate your entire argument, but I will still humor you and continue to shoot holes into it. Your point seems to thrive on urination and ball twisting, which in my book is a bit crass. I will look beyond this to your idea of turning the world back into the wild wild West. This would be great and go off without a hitch like in the movie West World. In this film Yuel Brenner portrays a lonely robot who helps young men become more manly. If you want to castrate our nation's men, then yes, let's take all of the guns and melt them into rainbows or whatever the fuck you want to do. If I was allowed to shoot rapists with a cannon I would do it so fast that their torsos would be rubble by the time I finished typing this sentence. I do not want to live in your world where rapists are free to have their "balls twisted" in acts of perverse bondage. I want to live in a world where my gun shoots hot lead at them reducing them to flowing rivers of lava, which form beautiful rocks where we can have lovely picnics with our unraped families. The overly-raped world you want to live in is a bleak one indeed.

Ingrid: Whatever, Jake. You are so absurd. I just want to close by saying that, yes, owning guns is all right with the proper restrictions in place but, no, I do not think that it is necessary to carry a gun with you at all times. Gunfire isn't the best solution in most situations. In most cases of rape, sinking cruise ships, and terrorism, the average person with a gun is not going to come out on top, and in cases where some wacko attacks random bystanders with no warning, you are basically dead anyway. Assailants and murderers are usually crazy survivalist-types or unmedicated schizophrenics who are obsessed with guns and know how to use them, and by the time they barge into the lady's restroom at Denny's, guns a'blazing, they already have a plan and will execute said plan before any of the potential victims have the chance to fumble for their own weapon.

Sh*tting On ... Online Dating!

By Ingrid

Back when I was 22 and turning down three, four marriage proposals per week, I never could’ve imagined that I would one day join the ranks of sad losers who rely on the Internet to find a date. But guess what? That’s just what happened! I graduated college, moved to a new town, and – lo and behold! – found it impossible to meet people. After a couple months of no marriage proposals (not even dinner-and-a-movie proposals), I decided to sign up for an Online Dating Service.

Full disclosure: I have had extraordinarily bad luck in this venture, so perhaps it is unfair for me to be “Sh*tting on…Online Dating!” Much like literal shit, however, it’s not always possible to keep the figurative shit from exploding forth into the world. I recently decided to pull my profile and focus on meeting people the old fashioned way (barn swings, church socials) because, although I was receiving plenty of bites, most of those bites were creepy or obese. Of the three men I did end up going on dates with, one was still undergoing a messy divorce, two were noncommittal regarding their views on reproductive rights (I DEMAND TOTAL COMMITTALITY REGARDING REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS), and all three turned out to be emotionally stunted.

Oh, well. Ignore my obvious bitterness and read on!
***

To illustrate the complex and frequently uncomfortable world of online dating, I’ve included some excerpts from messages I actually received, as well as some advice to those of you who insist on signing up for a dating site despite my heartfelt warnings.

Message #1

Here is a series of incomprehensible instant messages that showed up in my inbox. I have yet to decipher what, exactly, they mean.

flyfisher: agnostic-talk? Eating some garlic we could start, but which type of garlic?
flyfisher: older then 30, sorry and good luck ciao
flyfisher: morning West Coast woman
flyfisher: not online, awe it would be interesting hearing from you
flyfisher: but you seem indisposed or away
flyfisher: send a message when you're free and can talk
flyfisher: Rowdy

Note to Prospective Online Daters: If the object of your affection doesn’t reply after the second or third IM, they are either not there or IGNORING YOU ON PURPOSE. Maybe because you’re 34 and won’t leave them alone!

Message #2

Theking7782: I admit I'm a geek, and that's a good thing. I notice that you take pride in intelligence also (you didn't come right out and say, but it's there between the lines). That's why I decided to drop you a line.
This guy lives in his mother’s basement and wears Dragonball-Z shirts and thinks that I do, too. He didn’t come right out and say it, but it was there between the lines. That’s why I decided to not reply.

Note to Prospective Online Daters: Don’t call yourself a geek (or asshole, or anti-social, or proud parent) in your opening message, even if you are one.

Message #3

Trig101: I'll be honest, I'm kinda disappointed you haven't replied. I'm not going to harass you or anything. You're profile makes you sound very cool since you like riding your bike, the vegetarian thing, and that you're smart enough to make it to grad school.

Well, thank you for calling me smart, Mr. Trig (although “making” it to grad school doesn’t take a lot of smarts these days – just the economic means to delay entering the workforce for another couple of years), but NOT thank you for getting hostile when I didn’t immediately reply to your message.

Note to Prospective Online Daters: if you start nagging before you’ve even met me IRL, what is it going to be like when we’ve been married for 30 years?

Message #4

Steveiscool81: hi! i havent been on here in a long long while and saw your pics and thought you were very attractive little "veggie girl". lol. i am a meat-eater myself...i belive eating red meat stimulates the growth mechanisms in the brain to make your brain well... grow. hahaha! Im just kidding, im a real asshole lol. I’m really great guy to be around, i make mostly everyone happy with just my presence. im a high school dropout but you wouldnt know unless i told you. anyway, i think ive said enough lol.

Because the thing that every “veggie girl” wants to hear from a prospective suitor is that 1) he is not only a meat eater but a vehement meat eater, 2) he’s a real asshole [“lol!”], and 3) he’s a high school dropout, but you wouldn’t know it by his lack of punctuation or his inability to end a sentence without laughing out loud.

Believe it or not, I had more than one meat-eating conservative type send me a message telling me that it was “cute” that I was a “little hippie/veggie girl/environmentalist.” I resent the fact that one of my most conscious, deliberate lifestyle decision has been reduced to nothing more than an adorable little quirk. Obviously if I thought it was important enough to mention in my profile, I am looking for a man who shares the same beliefs, not one who will chuckle dotingly every time I order a burrito minus the beef.

Note to Prospective Online Daters: Never belittle your potential date’s passions and interests.

***

Whew. Those are pretty bad, huh? Imagine how I felt upon reading them. There were countless other ridiculous messages from slavering fools begging for sex, but I didn’t include them since this is a fairly Christian family site.

The bottom line, readers: everyone (including me) who uses an online dating service is flawed in some way. If there’s one painful lesson I’ve learned during my short stint as an online dater, it’s that people who date online usually do so because they lack the basic human components that allow them to connect with others IRL. I would recommend that you run away before you meet a flawed f*cker who cheats on you, lies to you, and/or threatens to take away your reproductive rights.

I realize now that if I had just endured a few more weeks of loneliness instead of signing up for Online Dating Service, I would’ve eventually met a perfectly nice man IRL or, more realistically, gotten back with my ex for the millionth billionth time. Nothing wrong with that!

/sh*t

Bon Jour, 8 mai 2009

By Ingrid

Bonjour, mes amis! I want to warn you ahead of time that this is going to be a themed GM post. After several planning meetings and a rift that split the committee into two opposing factions, we finally agreed on the theme: “The French Riviera” (The minority faction was rooting for “One Night in Rihanna”). Think of this GM as a second chance at high school prom – unless you are one of those people who had a date as a junior, in which case it’s your third chance. If you’ve gone to more proms than that, please stop reading; no human should attend more than three proms in their lifetime.

Anyway, this post may be themed like a high school prom, but the similarities end there: instead of awkwardly pinning corsages to one another’s chests, dancing to Aerosmith, and making out in your mother’s Buick, you get to sit there while I desperately try to remember the dying vestiges of my college French. College was a long time ago, friends. It’s going to be tres triste every time I drop a mangled phrase. You’re going to think, “Wow, talk about being washed up and not being able to let go of the glory years.”

In honor of the theme, I am wearing a beret, and I drew a moustache on my upper lip with a sharpie like a Williamsburg hipster.


Video de la Musique du Jour

Nobody makes music or pastries comme les francais. Paris Combo is a musical group comprised of an adorable singer-songwriter named Belle du Berry and an assorted cast of backers who look like the bad guy in a Hitchcock movie. Regardez!



(Note: This is actually not my favorite song of theirs, but the best video available.)

J’Adore Le Television

I have une grande announcement to make! No, I’m not pregnant (anymore), and I’m not coming out of the closet (yet). L’announcement is….I like television! That’s right, I just watched my first television show in its entirety, and it was WEEDS. My roommate has it on DVD, and I thought, what the heck, I don’t know anyone here. Let me see what this whole “television” thing is all about. So I sat down, and I was immediately sucked in by the likeable cast and the stunning plot twists and the steamy sex scenes as well as the full frontal nudity of several main characters, and before I knew it, I had watched all four seasons in five days. For those of you who know me personally, which is actually none of you, you know that this is a momentous occasion. I never watched much TV growing up because my mom told me that it was Satan’s Eye. So me watching an entire show in less than a week is a pretty significant milestone – almost as big as when Maddie turned 16 last week.

READER POLL: does television fry your (or, more specifically, my) brains??



Why are my Bon Jour posts always so long? No wonder I’m the second-to-the-least popular writer on the site. Je suis desolee, mes petites. It’s just that I’m living on top of a mountain right now and the air is thin, which is sort of like being drunk 24/7.

Au revoir and have a bon jour!

Good Morning, New Mexico!

By Ingrid

Good morning from OYIT’s southwest contingent! Even though I don’t like being hot and I love the rain, I keep coming back to the desert, where it is always hot and never rainy. I am in Albuquerque, NM, staying in a hostel room so small that I can rest my feet on one wall and my head on the opposite wall at the same time. It smells like Vaseline and sex (not involving me), and there are plastic sheets on the bed in case I want to pee without getting up. Perfect!

It is hot as Hades here, but I am having a great day anyway because a) my good friend Sarah from Las Cruces drove all the way up here to meet me and b) we are going to see Neko Case tonight (er, last night) at the Sunshine Theater! How could a day involving my friend Sarah and my musical hero Neko Case be bad in any way?


Neko Case, “People Got a Lotta Nerve”

In honor of tonight's concert! During my brief stint as a canvasser for the Mexican Gray Wolf in NM (I ended up not saving the wolf at all and quit the canvassing in a fit of despair...), one of the issues we had was with ranchers who shot this endangered wolf species whenever they saw it lurking around their property. I don't like to say "fuck" very often, but...fuck them! Fuck those ranchers! "People Got a Lotta Nerve" deals with this issue in a much more eloquent way; in fact, Defenders of Wildlife has adopted it as their unofficial campaign song.



Johnny Cash Makes Beck Cry…Or Does He??

“Rowboat,” off of Beck’s bizarre 1994 debut Stereopathic Soulmanure, is one of my all-time favorite songs. Contrary to popular belief, Johnny Cash covered a few songs that weren’t NIN’s “Hurt” on his covers album, and “Rowboat” was one of them. I love the cover as much or more than the original. This short clip is from some freaky Scandinavian news show, but the beauty translates.

Friday Debate: are Beck’s tears real? I can’t tell.



Website of the Day

No, I’m not talking about the dumb website I made for last semester’s disastrous web development class, nor am I talking about my dumb personal blog that no one reads anymore. Today I’m setting aside my own vain self-interests to tell you about this site: 64 Words for Aung San Suu Kyi.

Suu, Burma's pro-democracy opposition leader, has been detained for 13 years simply for wanting basic human rights and free-ish conditions for her people. Recently she has been transferred to the notoriously inhumane Insein Prison because a crazy American who didn’t understand the fragility of the situation swam across the river and refused to leave, thus violating the terms of Suu's house arrest. Join the likes of insane fifth Beatle Yoko Ono and total hottie Matt Damon and leave your own tweet-like message of support for Suu. Trust me, she will appreciate your short but heartfelt message much more than if you broke into her house and got her in more trouble.

Have a great day, and please, please stop shooting the wolves!

What This Blog Needs is Some Culture

By Sissy La Rue, classy lady

Listen: I am a classy lady. I may not always act like it or look like it or talk like it, but deep inside of me there is a core of unflappable classiness—a core that is never diminished or destroyed, even when I get drunk and sleep with exes, go to the grocery store without a bra, or say things like “right quick.”

Recently, I have taken a philanthropic interest in elevating the readers of this blog to a higher echelon of society. I’m not saying that you don’t have your classy moments; to the contrary, you pull off that little black cocktail dress pretty well. But, as my own dear mother likes to remind me every time I’m evicted from a place and have to move back in with her, there is ALWAYS room for improvement. Members of the classy elite utilize a jargon that can only be understood by people who can afford health insurance and have never had to purchase their jeans at Goodwill. The purpose of this OYIT feature is to provide a sort of Cliff Notes© to high society. Consider me a translator, wading through the flowery aristocratic lexicon of highbrow art and rephrasing it in terms that even the most dedicated Goodwill shopper can understand.


Poetry: Rap for Classy People


Nothing screams “class” like talking about poetry. Screaming about poetry screams “schizophrenia,” but talking about poetry is great, especially at cocktail parties. Below I have translated a well-known poem by respected poet Walt Whitman (the Stephen Malkmus of the mid-1800s). Internalize the meaning, even if you don’t understand the original content, and I guarantee you will be one step closer to snagging that doctor or lawyer spouse you’ve been searching for ever since you realized money doesn’t grow on trees.

Sometimes with One I Love, by Walt Whitman

SOMETIMES with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn’d love;
But now I think there is no unreturn’d love—the pay is certain, one way or another;
(I loved a certain person ardently, and my love was not return’d;
Yet out of that, I have written these songs.)

[Translation: Remember when you were in high school and Matt York said no when you asked him to the Sadie Hawkins’ dance? You were so embarrassed, but that night you went home and wrote beautiful poetry – or at least poetry that you thought was beautiful at the time. (Now you look back on it and it makes you cry on multiple levels.) Whitman did this very same thing, except his poetry was actually beautiful and is still very famous today amongst the upper classes. What he is saying in this particular poem is that there is no such thing as a bad breakup because the angst you feel upon being dumped motivates you to do something with your life out of spite, whether it’s writing a poem, rearranging your living room, or joining PeaceCorps. I can certainly confirm that all of my past accomplishments were simply attempts to make exes jealously wish they had never left me.]

See? That was as easy as remembering to change out of your sweatpants before leaving the house! You are well on your way to becoming a member of the upper class, or at least of the upper lower class. Join me next week for a modern interpretation of Georges Bizet’s famous and very classy opera, Carmen.

Tuesday Debate: What is the Best Emoticon

By Ingrid and Jake

When one wants to show emotion, in the otherwise emotionally dead and cold world of instant messaging and texting, one needs to turn no further than the emoticon. Created by a person of great emotional depth who could not simply convey their feeling through the written word. Whether you are happy, sad, angry or have hearts for eyes, as long as you have the emotion there is a brief character representation for it. We are here to choose which emoticon is the greatest, therefore essentially picking which emotion is the best.


Ingrid: The main reason most people socialize on the Internet is so they can pretend to be someone they’re not -- this is a well known and uncontestable fact. Middle-aged househusbands with beer gut and acne scars pretend to be sexy sorority girls. D&D nerds who don't know how to relate to others pretend to be D&D nerds who DO know how to relate to others. My 59-year-old mother pretends to be my 53-year-old mother. In fact, the only person in the history of the Internet who has ever represented themselves 100% accurately online is notorious German cannibal Armin Miewes. A few years back, Miewes signed into online chat rooms and presented himself as a creepster who wanted to eat another man’s flesh, and guess what? He really DID want to eat another man’s flesh. It may not have been an admirable persona, but at least he was honest. Unlike Miewes, I am among the ranks of people who hide behind the ambiguity of purely text-based relationships to become someone I am not. IRL, I am a super awkward person who cannot make eye contact while speaking...and that is why the sunglasses emoticon is my favorite. B-) It is an extremely versatile symbol. When I use the sunglasses emoticon, I am able to shed the awkward personality that god has given to me and become suave and charismatic, like Jack Nicholson, Roy Orbison, Ray Charles, or any number of other sunglass-wearing celebrity.

Jake: When I sit down in my bedroom on a hot summer night with a Garfield notebook to write about emotions, the first one that springs to mind is always sadness or sorrow. Sadness is the rawest and darkest emotion. It can lead to a self-inflicted death (called a 'suicide') or listening to Dashboard Confessional. :-( are the three characters that make up the representation for feeling as if you're being engulfed in an ever-growing gloom and your heart is being shredded by that one paper shredder at work that is always jamming.

When I'm chatting with my friends online, this ":-(" is the emoticon that I find myself always revisiting. I also occasionally use the polar opposite, which is the happy emoticon ":-)". The happy emoticon just seems like it's hiding something. Behind those tiny beady eyes lies a deep intriguing secret, the smile is merely the cover-up. You might say you're happy about your friend getting a new job or that your step sister is getting married for the third time, but only because don't know what else to say. Nobody ever says they're sad when they aren't. They say they are happy when they're sad in order to get their spouse to stop asking them if something is wrong every three minutes. :-( is the most real emoticon. Doesn't B-) look like somebody who needs to hide behind a pair of "shades" in order to conceal their own insecurities? I say yes.

Ingrid: Something that is wrong with youth culture today is we feel like everything has to be black and white. And that is also what is wrong with the smiley face and its counterpart, the frowny: they are only able to address one emotion or the other. Happy, sad. Agree, disagree. Yes, no. The wonderful thing about the sunglasses emoticon is that it imbues everything you say with a sense of mystery and vagueness. Your stepsister’s getting married for the third time and you don’t know what to say to her? Slap her with a B-). She can interpret it however she wants, which in this case is as your wholehearted approval and support. Your spouse won't stop asking you what's wrong? B-) Adorable and flirty! Suddenly they are reminded of why they fell in love with you all those years ago, and they stop wondering what's wrong with you and go back to ignoring you and letting you do your crosswords, which is basically what you wanted in the first place. Your significant other pops up on G-chat and asks if you cheated on them with the next door neighbors' teenaged daughter? Give 'em the shades: B-) I don't know, did I? You tell me, baby. If the point of having an online presence is to be dishonest and hide your true self, which I'm arguing it is, then the sunglasses emoticon is the perfect solution for all interpersonal interactions.

Jake: While B-) does convey two emotions (being happy and having sunglasses) it cannot be used in every situation. Take into consideration this scenerio: you're sad because you lost your sunglasses. What is the perfect response to that situation? This is: :-(. While Ingrid may live her online life pretending to be cool and lying about her feelings through text representations, I do not. I'm open and honest about my suicidal feelings (":-("), my sadness (":-(") and my feelings of emptyness (";-(") or whatever non-sad emotion I might fleetingly be feeling. You're not going to put on a fresh pair of shades when you want to stick your head in the oven. You're going to slap a frown on your face and crawl toward the oven. Sunglasses are not a true emotion, therefore the emoticon was made under false pretenses. I would call for this debate to be forefeitted right now, but I'm bigger than that. Hopefully you'll consider that before the next time you feign being cool on the internet or on your cellular telephone.

Ingrid: I would agree to a forfeit, but only because it was revealed to me in a side chat that Jake is totally stoned, and I happen to be a little tipsy right now. We are probably both unfit to debate such a grave and controversial topic. Jake says that the sunglasses emoticon doesn't even qualify for this debate, but I would like to point out that the title of this debate is "What is the Best EMOTICON?" not "What is the Best EMOTION" or even "What Does Jake Wear When He Makes His Daily Suicide Attempt." I will close my argument by saying that, if the sunglasses emoticon had been invented way back in 1982 like the smiley and frowny emoticons were (See this for proof), my parents never would've gotten divorced, I never would've failed out of high school, and Jimmy would still be talking to me. The cool reserve of the sunglasses would've prevented all of it. Are Jack Nicholson's parents divorced? Probably not, and I know for a fact that he talked to Jimmy as recently as last week. Take it from a sunglass-clad celebrity like JN: there are some situations that a mere smile or frown will not get you out of, and those situations call for a B-).

Jake: I may have smoked a joint (marijuana cigarette) dipped in formaldehyde tonight, but that makes no difference when it comes to my choice in emoticons. I know better than anybody what this debate's title is, because I titled it (and I would say very aptly). I will stand by my claims. The sad faced emoticon is the kind of person you want to hug and tell them that it's all going to be all right, even when you know it isn't. That little guy wears its emotions on its sleeves. I think we can learn a lot from out little friend. What can we learn from the sunglasses emoticon? Maybe some fashion advice. Let's all meditate on that.

Good Morning from OYIT, May 19, 2009

By Ingrid

Is it sunny out today? I wouldn’t know, because in my heart it is gray and overcast. It is also gray and overcast in my eyes because I have cataracts and it’s never sunny when you have cataracts. I’m saving up to have them removed. Anyway, I knew it was going to be “one of those days” when I dropped my deodorant this morning as I was applying it and it drew a white line all the way down my black business-casual suit. If I’d had a Mentos©, it would’ve dawned on me to take the deodorant stick and draw stripes all up and down myself, making it look like I was wearing a fashionable pinstriped suit instead a black business-casual suit with one dorky deodorant stripe down it. Unfortunately, a burglar broke into our house last night and stole my Mentos© supply and most of the money I’d been saving for cataract surgery. But chin up, OYIT readers! Just because I’m having “one of those days” doesn’t mean you have to suffer the same fate. I’m sure this something good about this day…I just don’t know what it is yet.


The Mentos© Commercial



Seriously, who was the team that worked on this commercial?! Get me this team! Brilliant!

Student-Made Film of the Day: Middleman

This short film was made by some of my friends and acquaintances in Springfield for the SATO 48 film festival. They had to make it in 48 hrs and….I don’t know, there were some other things they had to do. The point is that I love it, and every time I watch it my heart swells with pride for my ancestral homeland. For those of you who live in big, fancy cities like NYC, DC, or Nixa, this may not be so impressive. But in Springfield it is hard to find an amateur film with great acting and great script.



Radiohead covers Portishead



The only collaboration that I can think of that would’ve been better than this one is if Joni Mitchell covered Britney Spears, which will never happen. Partly because Joni has chain-smoked her voice into oblivion, and partly because she dropped out of the music scene 30 years ago and probably doesn’t even recognize the relevance of Britney Spears in today’s (or 1997’s, as it were) music scene.

On This Day in 1944...

...Chewbacca, or rather, the actor who played Chewbacca, was born. Happy Birthday, Peter Mayhew! I'm sorry you had to go through life being 7 ft 3 inches tall and looking not very different from the tall, hairy alien you once played in a sci-fi trilogy.

I feel better! I got to share three of my favorite videos and a pic of Chewbacca. Who cares if they fired me at work for only having one pinstripe on my suit? I hope you all have a great day!

Tuesday Debate: Which Monopoly Piece is the Best?

By Jake and Ingrid

Out of all of the Parker Brothers' classic board games, not one even touches the controversial nature of Monopoly, the game of economic domination. One aspect of Monopoly is luck, which is exemplified by the roll of the dice and the draw of the cards. Another aspect is strategy, which comes into play from the very moment you begin by choosing the correct piece to travel the board. Does the car tend to win more than the thimble? Can the dog outshine the wheelbarrow? Is the top hat stronger than the battleship? Does the boot stand a chance against the cannon? Hopefully this debate can answer some of these questions.


Jake: While Monopoly tends to be one of the board games that I have the hardest time finishing, it does remain one of my favorite (if not my favorite) economy based strategic games. The longest part of the game, when I play, tends to be picking out the perfect piece. There are many ways to look at the different pieces and their ability to travel the board. The car, logically, could zip around the board like a real life car, but the turns are sharp and it could veer off the board and cause a fiery wreck. Then you'd be disqualified from game play. The boot, on the other hand, can lackadaisically stroll around the board without a care in the world, except for landing on a space with a hotel. There are few negatives about the boot, but it might be harder to roll a double six since you would get tired walking 12 spaces, let alone a second roll of the dice. The battleship doesn't work because there's no water in Monopoly. The dog might get confused because dogs don't know how to count. So between the thimble, wheelbarrow and top hat, the piece I always choose is the thimble. You can put the thimble on your thumb, which protects you from any stray needles which have landed on the board, and easily and safely push it around the board. If the debtors come calling, you need not worried because your thumb is encased in metal. If you need a drink of water, you can pour some water into it and take a drink. The thimble is clearly the best piece to choose in Monopoly.

Ingrid: What? The THIMBLE?! That really surprises me, Jake. I thought you were a man of taste. The thimble is undeniably the dumbest piece in Monopoly – or, indeed, in any game. When I was little, my sister and I were the only kids who hated summer vacation. We didn’t have television. We didn’t have air conditioning. We didn’t have deodorant with aluminum in it. The only toys we had were a stick from the yard and a tattered old version of Monopoly. When she wasn’t hitting me with the stick (one of the only games you can play with a stick), we were sprawled out on the living room floor, playing Monopoly. Like Jake, my sister and I took the choosing of Monopoly pieces very seriously. For many years, we fought over the car. The fights never ended in my favor, because she was bigger and meaner than me and usually had possession of the stick. Sometimes she would sit on my head and fart. Anyway, that is in the past, and I am no longer angry. To get to the point: I finally realized that the car wasn’t the best piece anyway. Who wants a car? They only pollute and make it easier to get from place to place. The best Monopoly piece, in my humble but always correct opinion, is the dog. Dogs are cute! Dogs are environmentally friendly (well, that's debatable)! When you are a dog, you can slip through the bars of jail and dart past GO, collecting the $200 in your cute little doggie mouth. Unlike thimbles, dogs have a brain and are man's best friend. Plus, the Monopoly thimble is just small enough that you can't even actually fit it on your thumb like a real thimble. You will get it stuck if you try, and then your mom will have to put soap on it and pull on it while your thumb turns purple and your sister hits you with a stick. In the eternal words of the cat from Milo and Otis: Dogs rule and thimbles drool!

Jake: All stick talk aside, the dog is obviously not the best piece. As I already stated, dogs can't even count. How are you supposed to travel around the board with a non-counting dog? Are you going to put a leash on it and pull it the correct number of spaces? How is the dog supposed to read if you land on a Community Chest or Chance space? How will the dog know if Uncle Moneybags is going to declare it the winner of a beauty contest (as if that's going to happen!)? It won't, and you will be out $150. The thimble is classically sleek. It moves easier and with more control than any of the other pieces, because, like you said, it is very small. A wheelbarrow tips over constantly, which is probably the second most controllable piece (perhaps the top hat, although it will blow away if a strong gust of wind hits it right). The dog? The dog will poop everywhere, leaving you to try and curb it while it haphazardly meanders around the board, disregarding the numbers on the dice. Dogs have brains, but what good is a brain if you can't read? It's not good at all. Illiterate people have garbage brains, and dogs are naturally illiterate. Ingrid, much like when she was younger, is letting sticks dictate her life. If a stick told her to jump off of a bridge, I would reckon that she would. I have never listened to a stick and I never will. If a stick told me to jump off a bridge I would break it in half. If Ingrid's sister farted on my head I would just vomit. Dog? Ha!

Ingrid: Sorry, Jake is right! He wins! Because what he seems to be basing his argument on here is the fact that dogs can't count, and I completely forgot that thimbles are avid counters! If we are going to pretend like these pieces are playing the games themselves, and ignore the fact that we are moving them and doing all the necessary counting with our own human brains, then the dog would still win. If you set a dog and a thimble at a starting line and told them to sprint towards the finish, who would be more likely to win? Sure, a dog might ramble and get distracted by food, passing cars, or pretty lady-dogs, but a thimble would just sit there dumbly, unto eternity. It would probably rust, too. The only chance that a thimble would have at winning is if a sudden gust of wind happened to materialize and roll the thimble on its side. Also, a thimble represents years of oppression. Do you think it's FUNNY that women over the years have been forced by society to sit by the drawing room window with their thumbs jammed into a little sweaty piece of metal, Jake? And all to make you men your Civil War-era britches?! You think that's funny? I certainly don't, so I'm going with the dog, who only symbolizes freedom and simple, unadulterated joy.

Jake: I am allergic to dogs. If you are trying to force your dog-loving ways onto me, then I think you are the real oppressor here. I wasn't alive during the Civil War, and to me a thimble symbolizes a thumb that is not bleeding profusely. Monopoly is not a race, it is a tactical game of choosing the right piece at the beginning of the game. The dog is not the worst piece to choose, but it most assuredly is not the best. If you are faulting me for using my imagination when choosing the perfect piece, then go ahead, fault away. Place me on a faultline, if you must. I could see your side if you were arguing for the boot, but the dog? I just can't see eye-to-eye with you on this. To me, a dog lacks the true qualities of an economical winner. A thimble is the symbol of intense hard work, which results in a blistering, puss spewing thumb if not used. A thimble represents labor, sewing and the resulting selling of items for monetary profit. A dog hasn't sold a thing in its life. Even Snoopy, of the Peanuts comic strip, never sold anything. Snoopy is the all-time smartest dog, and even he isn't smart enough to become and entreprenuer. The thimble is where it's at: end of story.

Ingrid: Snoopy might not be rich, but I'll tell you who is: Trouble, the richest dog in the world. Leona Helmley, real estate mogul, left Trouble 12 million dollars. Can you name the richest thimble in the world? When I Google searched "rich thimble" the only thing that came up was a man named Richard Thimble, who has a profile on LinkedIn. He is an IT manager at the dubiously titled Moldflow Corporation. He probably makes $30-40,000 a year, tops. But listen: this is not about materialism, or about how dogs are better with money than thimbles or Richard Thimble. What this debate has come down to is what dogs and thimbles symbolically mean to us as Americans. Yes, a thimble represents hard labor, but it represent the hard labor of the oppressed -- of those not protected by unions. It represents the sweatshop workers of the world. And while it may be true that a sweatshop worker with protected thumbs is better than a sweatshop worker with bloody thumbs, I maintain that the dog is the quintessential representation of all that is good about America. If Monopoly had an apple pie as a game piece, I would have a hard time choosing between the dog or the pie, because for some reason apple pie also symbolizes the American Dream. How sugary apples in syrup baked between layers of fattening dough came to represent the American Dream I do not know, but I do know that all you have to do is gaze into a dog's eyes and it is all there: peace, love, loyalty, equality, Martin Luther King, women's lib, the morning after pill, the cure for cancer. Anyone who argues against the dog is fundamentally arguing against these things. I rest my case.

Good morning from OYIT [April 16, 2009]

By Ingrid

Good morning…OR IS IT? Even if you are having a good morning, it’s important to remember that the majority of people in the world are having horrible ones. Consider the following stats, taken from www.globalissues.org:

-80% of humans live on less than $10 a day, which is about half of the cost of feeding Glenn a single meal.
-25,000 children die every day in poverty. Did you survive childhood, and did you have Cadbury eggs on Easter? Yes? Count yourself lucky.
-1.1 billion people live without clean water. I can’t imagine not being able to drink safe water when I was thirsty. I can't imagine not being able to leave the water running full blast when I brush my teeth or talk on the phone.

Of course, life is not so bad if you are in school. People in school are relatively sheltered from the sagging job market and the international shortage of clean water. My dad forced me to re-enroll in college as a grad student and said he would come get me when the economic crisis had blown over. That was years ago, before the economic crisis had even really started. I think he may have abandoned us.


How the Weather Works



As you can see, this is how our weather system works. The earth, sun, and atmosphere just sort of keep volleying radiation back and forth at each other all day until the sun goes down, which causes the water from the sea to evaporate. Consequently, the pine trees suffer from mild to severe friction. Friction amongst trees is one of the most alarming issues in our modern world — in some ways more disturbing than aforementioned poverty stats. The white mountains just sit there silently, having little to no effect on the weather. The next time you have a question about the weather, consult this diagram.

Phallic-shaped Object of the Day



The geoduck! Immature people like myself are always giggling because they think that everything resembles a penis – the Washington Monument, certain types of cacti, certain types of squash, hot dogs (veg or meat), the bell curve – but in reality, the similarities between these objects and the male organ are just wishful thinking (ESPECIALLY the Washington Monument, women, am I right??). In reality, only two things really look like a penis besides an actual penis: 1) Michael Stipe’s bald, post-1993 head and 2) the geoduck!

The geoduck is a strange species of saltwater clam that moves by siphoning water out of its long shaft in an orgasmic way. It is sometimes referred to as the King of Clams, just as the penis is frequently referred to by the patriarchal news media as the King of Genitals. But, before you go laughing the geoduck off as just another phallic-shaped object, get this: its life expectancy is around 146 years! Can your erection say that??!

I myself love the geoduck, and I hope you do, too. It is undeniably hilarious. And tasty, too! The Chinese, those quirky culinary experimenters, eat the geoduck as a delicacy; the King of Clams is said to have a delicious nutty (ha, ha) flavor and a nice crunchy texture. The silly hippies at Evergreen State College even went so far as to adopt it as their mascot.

On second thought, never mind the part about all those babies dying! WE have water to drink, and that's all that matters! Have a great day!