What's dorkier?

In an effort to own my inner dork, I offer this story:

From 8th grade through 12th grade, I annually attended the Colorado Mathematical Olympiad. Math geeks from all over the state showed up to sit in a room for 4 hours and attempt to answer 6 ridiculously hard math problems. They were so hard that if you managed to get even one right, or you showed your work and they thought you were on the right track to an answer, it was possible that you could swing an honorable mention in the awards ceremony.

I admit that going to the Math Olympiad is dorky. But how's this for dorkier? In all the years I attended, I never even came close to being able to answer any of the questions. I would play at answering them, but really, I didn't know what the hell I was doing. So my senior year, after brief attempts to work out answers to the questions, I decided instead to while away the rest of the test time constructing poems about how hard the math problems were, and why.

Happily, this labor of artistic love was recognized and rewarded by the Olympiad judges when they awarded me the 1997 prize for best literary achievement on the math test.

And just to show how little these die-hard math geeks value artistic vision and inspiration, while the winners of the math test received really nice graphing calculators and scholarships, I won a cheapo pen and a notepad of paper. No wonder the expression is starving artists, not starving mathematicians.

A Public Service Announcement

I hope I'm not the only one who didn't already know this, but apparently starting this year, Daylight Savings Time is going to be about a month longer. It seems that two years ago, Congress passed a law (a measure? a decree? a something.) that says we'll be springing ahead on the second Sunday of March and springing back the first Sunday in November, instead of springing in April and falling in October.

I am very excited about this, as it means it'll be getting lighter sooner and staying light longer. I don't understand why Congress didn't do this years ago, and as long as we're on it, I don't understand why we ever go off Daylight savings at all. What is the point of ever being in a period of time that should rightfully be called Daylight wastings?

But this springing forward thing is not all fun and games and light and joy, I'll have you know. According to the IT people at my new job's headquarters, this could be the Y2K problem of 2007--except, you know, that maybe this time it won't just be a bunch of hype about computers exploding because they can't deal with rolling over from 99 to 00. The IT people are worried, and I would say rightfully so, because computer programs are set to spring and fall automatically in April and October, not March and November!

They are especially fearful of the havoc that will be wrought by the Calendar function in Microsoft Outlook. There is apparently a distinct possibility that if people aren't careful, for those three weeks everyone in America could be showing up for all of their previously scheduled appointments and conference calls an hour late. Or early. Or something. This could destroy our economy. It is not to be taken lightly. You must be prepared. Make sure to double check the time of your appointments. Or better yet, start writing them down. On paper. With a pen. It's crazy, but it just might save us all.

Weirdest. Valentine's Day. Ever.

Have no fear kids. Despite the rough start my Valentine's Day got off to (damn blond girls and their damn flower-sending boyfriends), as always, it turned out to be a great day.

So what exactly did I get up to that made my Valentine's Day so great?

I went to a MASS PILLOWFIGHT.

Yeah, you read that right. Josh and his friends Jessica, Dina and Emily and I went to a mass pillowfight in downtown San Francisco last night, with at least 500 other people. As I drank coffee and waited for my friends in the hour leading up to the fight, I watched as hipsters bearing pillows streamed into the Financial District--and investment bankers wearing suits eyed them with fear and moved quickly away.

And rightfully so, because at 6:00 on the nose, the take-no-prisoners pillowfighting began in earnest. Everywhere you looked, people were swinging pillows. Some wore costumes. Some wore helmets. Some wore their pajamas. One guy with Braveheart-style facepaint let out a large growl everytime he tried to hit me with his pillow.

Cheers of delight went out as one-by-one, pillows exploded and released their feathers into the night air, for it was surely the closest San Francisco will ever get to anything that looks like a blizzard.

The fight went on for more than hour. We, however, did not last that long. After 30 minutes of whacking people with pillows, we were tired, dizzy and in need of food. So you know what's almost as awesome as having a pillow fight in public? Leaving the pillow fight and trying to look like a group of respectable adults while covered in feathers and toting pillows around under your arms. I've gotta say: it kind of undermines any attempts you make to be perceived as mature.

So we trudged through the Financial District to Chinatown, in search of Chinese food from the brightest, most fluorescent and tacky-looking restaurant we could find. Once there, we ordered salt and pepper squid (yum) and something called "bean sprouts with salty fish." Now, you know you've ordered well when they waitress feels the need to say "Are you sure? Do you even know what salty fish is?" Apparently she didn't think the white kids could take it, but after a moment of uncertainty, we went ahead with the salty fish, and lived to tell the tale. (It was actually very good. And, not so surprisngly, rather salty.)

We rounded out the night with gelato (from a store that had at least 15 different flavors of chocolate gelato. That's my kind of store). Overall, it was a pretty good night. In fact, the only thing I can think of that would have made it better would have been a mass nap before the pillow fight. We were, after all, already carrying pillows.

Oh, and one last thing. My parents know I love Valentine's Day, and they support my love for the holiday. My parents have also always been known for the wierd and random things they like to send me in the mail. (Does anyone else remember the dancing Snoopy doll wearing the sorcerer's outfit?) These two things came together perfectly this year, when the UPS man delivered an enormous box to me from my parents. I opened it to find that they had sent me a 3 and a half foot long stuffed dog, with "I love you this much!" embroidered on his side.

If the only Valentine you're gonna get is going to be from your parents, then at least it should be a really good one. Good work, mom and dad!

The pictures of the pillowfight are courtesy of Scott Beale/Laughing Squid.

Also, here's a link to the little blurb in the Chronicle about the pillowfight.

That's Disgusting

What was the first thing I read on MSNBC this morning?

This article about how a pregnancy counseling center asked students to share a piece of chewed gum to demonstrate how STDs are spread.

Dude--don't they know that they might have just given an entire sex-ed class mono?

My Valentine's Day Post

Normally, I love Valentine's Day. But I'm just generally kind of grumpy this week and not yet in the mood to love Valentine's Day (26 years of being single and without a Valentine other than your parents will eventually wear you down), so you'll have to forgive my lack of enthusiasm about a holiday so steadfastly focused (whether it needs to be or not) on romantic love. It's early still, though, so I'm hoping I'll warm up to it.

Here's what I've got: my friend Sophie sent me the link to a blog called Post Secret, which has a bunch of postcards people have sent in about Valentine's Day. Some of them are funny. Some of them are sad. Most of them I could totally relate to, so I'm sharing it with you.

New Job

Today was my first day at my new, long-term temp gig. (It's keeping me relatively gainfully employed until the end of May.) I'm not going to name names, but I'm helping a large health-oriented non-profit plan a big fundraising event. Here are a few observations about my new place of employment.

1) Because this is a health-oriented organization, there is a chart on one wall where people are supposed to keep track of how much exercise they get. Does the person who fills their line of the chart first get a prize? I haven't discovered yet. If they do, and they allow temps to play, I'm gonna kick some serious butt.

2) Again, because this is a health-oriented organization, there are signs up everywhere about healthy snack choices you can make, ways to beat fatigue without turning to caffeine, and positive ways to deal with stress. I find this a little odd. Whose job was it, I wonder, to find these signs and post them? Do they switch them up, or have these same signs been up for years?

3) In an effort to promote health and wellness amongst the staff, someone keeps a supply of healthy snacks on hand, like fresh fruit and air-popped popcorn. This may be the only office job I ever have where I don't end up worrying that I'll gain weight from all the candy, donuts and birthday cake. A dollar says that when these people have breakfast meetings, someone brings in whole-grain cereal and low-fat milk, not muffins and croissants.

4) Of the staff of 15 people or so, ALL of them are women. I know that there is a disproportionately high number of women who end up in the non-profit field, but I still find this a bit strange. Not a single guy? In any position?

5) Of the women on staff, about half are older women who are clearly married (or partnered up) with kids. And then the other half are all hot, skinny, blond girls. And then one angry-looking hipster girl with an asymetrical haircut and hot pink "highlights." I can't help but wonder how she feels about working in an office of Barbie dolls, because I personally find it a bit disconcerting. They all seem nice but a little too peppy for me. (I wonder if they did Team in Training?) And I can't tell any of them apart. Oh, and they're bringing up all sorts of feelings of inadequacy in me. I suspect that working around a million skinny hot blond chicks will do that to you.

So that's Day 1. Will I unravel the mysteries of the office? Who has a secret stash of M & Ms? What's the prize for getting the most exercise, and how many people on staff are lying about it? And most importantly, where are they hiding all the men and normal-looking brunettes and red-heads?

So Cute

I normally don't post blogs about things I think are cute. But my mom just sent me this picture of our puppies, and they're way, way too adorable not to want to show off.


This is Casey, Sammy and Rudy (who's turning 17 in April--I can't imagine what kind of party will top last year!)

For men: some guidelines for being a good lead

I have been taking tango classes fairly regulary for several months now. And from those several months' experience, I have a few observations:

Gentlemen: I understand that having to lead kind of sucks. Ultimately, you are responsible for whether or not we look like crap on the dance floor, and I am really just following along. I can see that there's some pressure in constantly having to figure out what we're going to do next.

But here's the thing. If I were to compare the thousands of years of oppression and second-class citizen status that women have suffered to you having to decide what we're doing on the dance floor, it's obvious who got the worse end of the deal.

So suck it up and learn how to lead already. Take a cue from our president and be a "decider." Your hand is strategically located on my back so you can push me around a little bit, and let me know what it is you want me to do. Because I'm not a mind reader. I don't just magically know what step you want to do next, and I'm really tired of apologizing for the times I don't do what you're doing because I had absolutely no idea what it was you were going to do.

Also, remember that you're the one who's supposed to be steering. Generally, I'm the one going backwards, and I can't see what we may or may not be about to run into. So it's your job to keep us both from running into anything--please don't just plow ahead into that other couple because they happen to be where you were planning on leading me. Just lead me somewhere else instead.

And while I am sure you find it fun to sway back and forth and then spin me around, doing that isn't teaching either of us a damn thing about floorcraft or the actual tango steps. I got my fill of swaying and spinning at my prom. Now, I am actually trying to learn something and I would appreciate if you could at least attempt some tango steps, even if they're very basic ones.

One last thing. I know that I am tall. And I realize that often means I'm taller than you, and we're dancing in a fairly close embrace. That still does not make it acceptable for you to stare at my chest while we dance. If you do it again, I will slap you.

Now, with those guidelines, I know we'll have a lovely time dancing the tango.

To Do List

My to do list for the weekend:

Teach a white guy how to salsa. Check.

Play tourguide to my friend Sejal who very spontaneously showed up in town. Check.

Enjoy the unseasonably warm and dry and sunshine-y weather. Check.

Get ignored by Seamus O'Malley, the taciturn bartender at Johnny Foleys. Check. (Yeah. I totally made up that name for him.)

Make my obligatory Irish friend of the week. Check.

Kick ass on the GRE's. Check and Double Check.

All around, I'd say it was a very productive weekend.

I always knew clowns were scary. . .

I'm taking the GRE on Saturday, and I've been very methodically working my way through one of those GRE prep books so that I don't mess it up completely. Near the end of the book, they have a list of the 300 words that most often end up on the GRE, along with definitions and a sentence using the word, so you have the context. Here is my personal favorite:

ENGENDER: To Produce, cause, or bring about

His fear and hatred of clowns was ENGENDERED when he witnessed the death of his father at the hands of a clown.


WHAT? What the hell kind of circus has this GRE sentence-writer been going to?