Highly Sensitive Key Cards

Hello from the road!

I have been traveling a lot for work and composed several blogs that I hope to actually finish (no promises on quality though when I write them in two different moods--yeesh) and post soon. In the meantime, I wanted to send greetings from Beaumont, which has completely wowed me. It is the museum capital of Texas. Did you know this? I was stunned in a good and happy way.

More to come. In the meantime, thanks everyone who has left me a very nice comment (or sent me one of TWO fan emails!!!) in the last few days. I am stunned again (in a good way) at the kind way you all receive my malarkey in such a kindly fashion, especially those of you who I don't even know and don't bribe with coffee and banana pudding on a regular basis.

Your pal,
MaryT

P.S. Good news! I got into graduate school! Yay!

NO TALK DINOS

Joan Osbourne asked in her famous pop song "What if God was one of us?"

Here's what happens when you imagine, if God were not only one of us, but was indeed a slug like one of us, just rockin' the g-chat during business hours: Word to the Lord.

Special thanks to Chrissy,MLS for sharing this link in the first place.

Nosmo King and the Smug Crusaders

I am about to take a very unpopular stance here and I understand if you want to throw rotten eggs, but I ask that you consider what I'm about to say with an open mind.

The front page of today's Daily Sentinel proclaims: "No Smoking!" Yes, Nacogdoches has joined up with legions of smug urban areas everywhere and has just passed a ban on smoking in public places; and I kind of think that is wack. Yes, wack.

"Whaaa?" you're asking. "Aren't you a lifetime non-smoker who hates smoking, avoids smoky places, and bitterly moonlighted as a part-time chimney sweep in your last place of employment?"

Yes to all of those things. I don't think the smoking ban is wack because it inconveniences me or I will somehow not benefit from it. On the contrary, I shall be much less averse to a night at Flashback if I am unlikely to come home smelling like a sweaty bathroom where there IS poop on the floor. I shall no longer have to enjoy a side of filthy ash with my fries at a certain small burger place who will not get the benefit of publicity from me. I stand to win in every way. Go me!

So what's the downside? Well, as much as this will shock y'all that I'm admitting it: I'm not the boss of you. I also dislike anklets and toe rings a great deal. They offend me, but I wouldn't support a ban on them because of this. This is America where our entire ideology is or was once based on the tenet of "live and let live." Let people harm themselves--if they want to*, as long as they're not hurting you. But according to ever-more fantastic claims by non-smokers, they are being hurt.

According to these crusaders, smoking in public places is not just a matter of distaste for a bad habit, there's health on the line! Think of the children! We're killing them! What about asthma and second-hand smoke as a death sentence? Whaaahhh! Booo! First of all, for anyone who has been paying attention, there is scads of reputable evidence that refutes the hyper claims of the EPA and others that second-hand smoke kills. (Google it, please.) Take this article for example. Or this one, which I have excerpted below.

Looking for a surer method of being ripped apart than entering a lion's den covered with catnip? Conduct the most exhaustive, longest-running study on second-hand smoke and death. Find no connection. Then rather than being PC and hiding your data in a vast warehouse next to the Ark of the Covenant, publish it in one of the world's most respected medical journals.

That's what research professor James Enstrom of UCLA and professor Geoffrey Kabat of the State University of New York, Stony Brook discovered last May. That's when they reported in the British Medical Journal (BMJ) that their 39-year study of 35,561 Californians who had never smoked showed no "causal relationship between exposure to environmental tobacco smoke (ETS) and tobacco-related mortality," adding, however "a small effect" can't be ruled out.


Even removing health issues from the argument, there's a whole laundry list of items to consider in favor of instituting a smoking ban including an ACTUAL laundry list for those who wear dry-cleaning only items to bars. In fact, this recent Daily Sentinel editorial boldly asserts that there's no reasonable argument for NOT instituting the smoking ban. "There's no arguing that point, no matter how inconvenient the truth."

WOW! Thank you, Al Gore. If you take the time to read that editorial, I hope you will consider how self-righteous, heavy-handed, and didactic it is. You can't argue! You can't dispute this iron-clad, rock-solid truth from the heavens, young person! Why then, do I bother arguing a point that is deemed inarguable, even when I stand to lose?

Because it is the right thing to do.

It is easy to feign courage by swimming downstream in the fast-moving river of public consciousness. Today's Sentinel photo showed a large number of attendees to last night's meeting. "Many wore buttons emblazoned with the symbol for 'no smoking,' and others clutched packets of notes and information." I don't mean to diminish the importance of participating in the community and being civic-minded, but are they serious? Good thing they all showed up to break up the deadlock of the UNANIMOUS vote. Dr. Kathryn Lewis added this gem to the meeting. "Nacogdoches prides itself on being the oldest city in Texas," she said. "We need not be the last city in Texas who passes this ordinance to keep a smoke-free environment for our people to work, worship and play."

What? Those two sentences are rather incongruous, but the clincher is the "worship and play" section of that quote. When was the last time you were in a church where someone was smoking? A school?

Oh, that's right: it's been like thirty years because schools and churches voluntarily banned smoking on their premises ages ago. And therein lies my argument about why I think this smoking ban is not the way and the light. The theory behind this smoking ban is that people will not choose to do something for the greater good unless you make them. And maybe that is true (though church and school district evidence would disagree!), but who are we to make them? This is America!

In my opinion, the market will eventually bear it all out. If restaurants, like the one mentioned in the Sentinel editorial, voluntarily institute a no smoking policy on their premises and do well because of it, won't that be a more powerful motivation for others to follow suite than MAKING them? Economic pressure is always the ultimate decider. Has anyone else paid one second of attention to the swelling tide of economics based on "greener living"?

This is not California, people. There is no explanation for that state. Legislation should not be passed because of fads. We can't laud ourselves for living in a free country if we start dictating what people can do in privately-owned establishments and OUTSIDE. "No touching the air within 20 feet of me."

I don't like smoking; I really don't. But this is not about smoking and if you close your eyes to this, what freedoms will you allow to be banned next? And after that?

*Yes, I am also a non-pot smoker, non-sex worker who support the legalization of marijuana and prostitution. I support all counties in Texas going wet, too and I am basically a non-drinker. How do you like that?

Now go forth and throw eggs at me.

Philip A. Douchebag, Ph.D.

Well, it looks like that burst of internet-thusiasm I was hoping for has finally come. I just got a press release from a guy who put MS after his name as the contact and in his email signature. I pondered over this. Surely, this is not the douchebag signature move it appears to be, I said. I consulted with Chrissy.

No, it is.

This guy has a master's degree and has made it part of his official name. This is acceptable (sometimes) when you're getting an email from an actual medical doctor. I might even occasionally make an exception for a J.D. or a Ph.D. provided it is a business-related email. But a master's degree? Look, I'm not knocking it. I don't have one. Good job, all masters! But seriously, you sign things as Your Name, MA? Why don't you just write "Sincerely, A Douchebag."

It's like those people who try to casually slip self-aggrandizing comments into conversation, not at all casually because I don't know, maybe they have an inferiority complex or are megalomaniacs. Either way, it's obnoxious.

For example, if you asked a worker at a hardware store:
"What kind of garden shears would you recommend?"
a self-aggrandizing, un-casual employee would say:
"Well, when I was in the horticulture club in graduate school at Harvard, we only used gold-plated shears."

What? Shut up! Regardless of having attended Harvard or U of Phoenix, you still work in hardware, and that is good and honorable, too. Stop being a drippy douche! You're the adult equivalent of those kids who ask everyone what they got on their SATs. But those people are typically 18 years old and got beat up a lot in high school. So you're in company almost as sophisticated as you, Senor Lame-o, MBA.

Fortitude: Inspirational Message about Teamwork

If there is one thing I've learned about the internet in the last few weeks, it's that once you get behind, you're going to be that way for a long time unless you have the strength of character to delete emails willynilly and throw caution to the wind with the "mark all as read" button. It really is an obsessive compulsive's nightmare. While you're scrubbing your bathroom with a toothbrush, your friends are all updating their blogs hourly. What can one do? Do you even know how long it's been since I've read a Dear Abby all the way through? Scandalous. I seriously *just* sent a congratulatory card to a high school friend who had a baby in JANUARY. I am returning emails saying "sure, I'd love to come to your last month birthday party..." whoops. Not really, but I am far behind and here's why: I am obsessive and must respond to everything, even if it takes me like... a long time. For example, my friend Angela has not received a telephone call from me in like two years. (But she will. Hang in there, Ang. You're totally due.)

Now, because of my obsessive embroidery shenanigans of late (I am involved in a craft swap that has completely taken over my life since about two months ago), my house is a medium wreck and my internet presence has completely disintegrated, as you have no doubt noticed. When it is all over, I will post photos of my handiwork which you can ooh and ahh over (but please, not in a blog post, you maniacs!) while I tend to my laundry and life.

In one of our bathrooms, we had a weird spider colony occurring next to the vanity last week. Thinking that even though Matt is not much of one for cleaning bathrooms, he would surely eventually take action on the spider colony, I let the whole room go far too long before having this conversation with him.

Me: Did you notice that our bathroom is kind of filthy?
Matt: No, it's clean.
Me: You cleaned it since this morning?
Matt: It doesn't need it.
Me: There's a weird spider colony developing by the vanity and the floor is, well, it's filthy.
Matt: That's just how the floor looks.
Me: You only think that because that is how it looks every time you walk through it in dirty boots after I've just cleaned it. But it can be clean; besides: spider colony.
Matt: It's clean enough. It's not like there's poop on the floor.

And that was the end of the conversation because there's just no reasoning with a person whose soul criterion for a dirty bathroom is that there is actually poop on the floor. And these are the activities that have kept me from that burst of energy that not only catches me up, but sends me into the internet stratosphere of progress. Meanwhile, Chrissy is organizing her google reader items into folders based on productivity and mood. I need more slacker friends.

Scenic Vista

I don't mean to brag, but when it comes to Microsoft Word, I know all kinds of ninja secrets. Seriously, however you want it formatted, I am all about making it so and my fingers are finely tuned shortcut key instruments. Of course, this was true until I was introduced to Microsoft Vista. This, oh-so-sleek program is Microsoft's answer to Mac's Aqua and frankly: I hate it. Sure, I'm partial to Mac in general but I don't know, I was sort of coming to grips with XP. Now I absolutely must come to grips with Vista because my work computer is extremely fancy, even though I am extremely not.

So what's the downside to this, the re-packaged Ashlee Simpson of software?

Instead of adding to my bag of tricks with its user friendliness, I feel like the ultimate fat fingerer. Simple tools like, oh, the file menu, have gone the way of the paper letter in favor of fancy formatting icons. I'm sure that people who are five years old are currently using this program to compile TPS reports of phenomenal quality. Meanwhile, I am trying desperately to locate the formatting paintbrush and ways to permanently change auto line spacing from 1.5 to just regular. (I mean, who uses 1.5 as their default? Further, why is Calibri size 11 the default font? The Times New Romans will certainly file grievances to Emperor Gates for this!) I feel a little sheepish at all the blue hairs crying at their typewriters I used to roll my eyes about when explaining cut and paste.

Suddenly, those people are my people and a whole new generation of kids who will never accidentally call their iPod their walkman have taken over.

But I am not defeated yet, Microsoft Vista! Nor are the many people, who like me had to search how to recover an accidentally deleted recycle bin icon because...yeah. In fact, I have already stumbled onto some neato features that involve a lot of lovely colors and smooth edges. I would describe them more technically except I don't know how or what they do even.

Now, where did I put my gramophone? Ah yes, here it is under this pile of Beta Max videos and this shiny HD DVD player, next to the pre-asteroid portrait of my grandmother the dinosaur.

My Password Protected Life

You know, I never understood that Bible story about Job's wife turning into a pillar of salt...until today. You see, I think probably Job's wife got tired of public scrutiny. Poor Job was totally getting slapped around by God and the whole world was like "Hey Job's wife, why are you sticking with this loser?" And Job's wife was all "Yeah, I'd way rather be a pillar of salt."

Actually, I'm pretty sure that is a completely creative interpretation of the Bible. Poor Job though.

In any event, I was just reminiscing about the early days of this blog when I frequently said non-sensical/completely idiotic and narrow statements (see above!) and people laughed and were thinking "oh, stupid young person! you will learn!" That and most of the readers were my equally foolhardy friends. (No offense friends, but we've all aged, you know. We can't be eating pickles in meth labs forever.) We frolicked "nacked"ly in the unrestricted beaches of the new internet frontier, fearing neither shark nor camera phone.

But now, while not an old person, I know a lot of the people who read this blog know things about me like for example, my adultness, my involvement in the community--well, mostly my adultness. And censorship becomes a real issue. Like I can't even tell you where I was tonight because even though I enjoyed myself and wish to laugh at myself, I'll probably say something that is offensive to the Puritans and then I'll have incurred the wrath of the WLC*, which is not unlike the Black Mafia from 30Rock, except it is bankrolled by Dallas housewives instead of Oprah and Bill Cosby.

So no more talk of an "Eff Ewe!" tattoo. No more inappropriately whining about geriatric co-workers (thank God I work alone!), mentally ill bosses, thangs a'pee and so forth. This only drives one to create password-protected blog and lead a password-protected life, else land up like Andrew Dice Clay, spewing crassness with every turn of his head; no one wants to sit next to that, less they become infected with deep and abiding vulgarity.

Yes, it's times like this that becoming a pillar of salt seems a rather savvy move, if a bold one.

*I am not actually going to tell you what WLC stands for, but I bet Sonnie knows. :)

P.S. Did this post make any sense to anyone? Read it while you can. I might delete it tomorrow.

Reader Google Searches Remarked On: 4 (?) in an Occasional Series

Oh yeah, I just remembered I have a blog. I don't know what's gotten into me lately--maybe a wave of calm or something--and I just haven't felt the need to be verbally spiteful. But clearly that can't last, so to sew the seeds of fine verbiage: remarks on fine google searches!

Photos of babysitters wearing ugg boots

I used to judge the legions of teens who paired this great northerly wear with miniskirts to go out. But then something wonderful happened: my mom got me a pair of Ugg houseshoes. I have been unable to blog lately because I've been busy wandering in my houseshoes in all their fleeciness. This is the rare occasion you'll hear me say: sorry teens. Now please get back on your cell phones and leave us alone.

spring break nacked and french nacked
Good to see you're branching out from just "completely nacked." Welcome back!

"Because I could not stop for death" optimistic or pessimistic view thesis statement
Wow. Don't beat around the bush any. In fact, why not just put in "robot who does my homework for me and brings me candy"? I have no doubt that somewhere in America, a deadline was coming up for a paper, for which the assignment was "Write about Emily Dickinson's poem 'Death.' Begin with a strong thesis about whether the poem is optimistic or pessimistic." Well since you're here and kind of a lazy student who will likely spend your formative years playing hackysack, here's something just for fun. You can sing all of Emily Dickinson's poems to both Gilligan's Island and the Yellow Rose of Texas. Similarly, you can sing Gilligan's Island to the Yellow Rose of Texas and vice versa. Try it today!

jobbie wicker
Jabberwocky?

limewire pro and I am a complete bitch
Don't be so hard on yourself. You only shared a few R&B hits.

wearing scrubs at optician's office
I didn't approve of it then and I don't approve of it now.

zesty fried guacamole bites recipe
I wonder at what point the official map of the State Fair of Texas will show the quickest routes to the hospital. "Ah yes, honey. Here's the cardiac arrest tent just south of Big Tex and the Midway. And here are the ambulances at Gates 1-14. Now let's go get more of those fried fried things!"


meth lab what are pickles
Ermmm.... Matt F. (or M1/M! in days of old) once gave me a huge jar of pickles that followed me for three apartments. Then I left them for the new residents. That is the end of this story.

My 15 minutes begin...now

Becoming a featured blog in a local magazine isn't exactly the same as winning the Pulitzer, which in my day dreams (and night dreams) had always been my certain path to glory. But as a Pulitzer doesn't seem on the horizon for now and I am super grateful to my community for its warm embrace since we moved here a little less than two years ago, I'm truly flattered.

French-Roast is this month's featured blog profile in Buzz East Texas.

And to think, it all started (online anyway) just about six years ago when my old pal Patrick/Hagan started The D Train blog when he went to China, and urged me to create one as well. I actually have a written journal entry dated June 20, 2002 that says "Apparently, having a blog is the new, new thing. But honestly, I'd rather use this glittery gelly roll pen to write my manifesto. I haven't a clue how this damn thing works."

Clearly, I was a genius interrupted. :)

A Spoonful of Anxiety

And now, after an unusually long pause in my blogging schedule, a riddle:

Q: In East Texas, what is the difference between being the Assistant Manager at Taco Bell and a job based on rigorous academic study and about five years of experience?

A: About $1-3k annually and fancier business cards (if you're lucky).

Okay, I understand that being the Asst. Manager of Taco Bell is no cake walk, especially since there will always be people who abbreviate your title to Ass. Mgr. You have to work long hours. You have to wear puffy black tennis shoes. You probably have to eat the food. But still, it's really depressing to me that with average salaries for skilled workers so low in this area, you can just waltz right in and get an equally low paying job just by having worked a few summers at Gap. You know what? I am going to shut up about this. I really know nothing about Assistant Managing at Taco Bell except for, despite it's relatively high pay, I still wouldn't want to do it. Ever. And I did work one summer at the Gap when I was 18 and felt even then I was far too old and dynamic for the job. Purgatory on Earth. My assistant managers there, I still remember, were about as pleasant as vegemite. And people, the occasional 40% discount is truly not all that.

What I really want to talk about anyway is this recession and inflation. Did anyone notice that it would now be cheaper to fill our cars with non-organic milk (except on Manager's special days at Kroger) than it would be to fill them with gas? Has anyone noticed that the price of a hamburger, fries, and a drink at Butcher Boys has gone up $2 in the last year and a half? (I have my own theories about that particular establishment, but...).

Matt and I worked on a new budget yesterday that involved us deciding we could never eat out again and we couldn't drive more than ten miles a day for recreation. If we want to go on a weekend trip, we better be prepared to sit at home for two weeks in a row beforehand. Okay, it wasn't as severe as all that, but I ask you: at what point are we all going to have to start trading chickens and things just to get by?

Last weekend, I worked a travel show where my lame-o plate of pasta was $12 and a turkey sandwich the next day was $8. Now, I think this particular instance is closer to extortion than inflation, but (and imagine me saying this as ominously as possible), the bubble is coming. The American dollar is weakening.

**I now interrupt this blog post.** Matt just showed me an article about an unrelated subject, but there was a line in there about how when you're strapped with anxiety, you become warped. True. True.

So I've decided not to continue strapping you with economic anxiety. It would be very sad if you, my devoted readers, became warped. Instead, I'll just urge you to check your supply of trading chickens and go about your day. And don't go work at Taco Bell; you'll never get that gordita smell out.