Thursday, October 21, 2010

I only come here seeking knowledge

Do you ever feel like life is giving you more questions than answers? Do you ponder the big existential questions like “who am I?” and “why are we here?” Did you come to my corner today as part of your quest for knowledge? If so, then--ha! You have seriously overestimated the intellectual level of this blog. I don’t have the answer to anything, other than what happens when a dog eats a hairball out of the trash. (You don’t want to know. Trust me.) As a matter of fact, I have some questions of my own. And, since my husband has gotten tired of me pestering him, I’m doing what any rational person with a question does these days. I'm turning to the Internet.

Why do socks have seams in the toes?
Since the weather has turned cooler, I am once again reminded that I hate socks. I only wear them to keep my feet from freezing off. And you know why I hate them? Toe seams. Hard, stabby seams, right in the narrowest part of the shoe where my toes need  all of the available space. We have nano-computers and space shuttles and working artificial organs, and yet the hosiery industry has yet to figure out how to knit a sock without seams. Lame.

Why does my hair go nuts overnight?
A couple of years ago, I got tired of dealing with my super-thick, white-girl-Afro hair, so I cut  it really short  to impart some degree of control. Short hair requires a fair bit of upkeep, so I get a trim every few weeks. Here’s what I don’t understand: One day, it will be fine…acting like normal human being hair, more or less, and able to be styled without too much trouble. The next day—a mere 24 hours later!—it won’t dry, it’s sticking out all over like some deranged Bozo wig, and it takes a crap-ton of hair gel to slick it into some sort of relatively normal shape. And if humid weather gets added into the mix? There might be tears. Quickly followed by a frantic call to set up a haircut appointment.

Why does my clock radio have a mind of its own?
This one has me completely mystified. A couple of Christmases ago, Mr. Nerd bought me one of those really fancy iPod-docking clock radios. It’s very nice, has two alarms, and a bunch of different functions (although it has a 60-page manual and it nearly requires a Computer Science degree to program it). The big mystery, though, is how and why it’s able to change stations of its own free will. Every few months, I re-set the alarm to my preferred radio station. It will work fine for a while, then I’ll notice that I’m waking up to classic rock. Then alternative rock…NPR… contemporary…Top 40, etc. When it lands on a country station (shudder), I know it’s time to start the cycle all over again. And each time I haul out the manual and block out a couple of hours for re-setting the alarm, I wonder.

Those are my questions of the moment. I'll be here playing Bubble Town while I wait for the great minds of the Internet to send me some answers. Bonus points to the first person who correctly identifies the musical reference cleverly hidden somewhere in this post.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Now appearing in a nightmare near me

There's a lot going on in my corner right now, so I've been a bit pressed for time to write. I was going to do just that, though, about the photo below. Until I realized that a simple recounting of the conversation that this photo inspired might be funnier than any narrative I could write. First, some background. Mr. Nerd and I were sitting in traffic, on the way home from work. The photo is of an ad that appears on the back ends of some of our local buses. Of course, since I think it's bizarre and terrifying, I wanted to share it with you. So I asked Mr. Nerd (who always carries a camera) to take this photo:

Oh, hai!

Me: Can you take a photo of that bus, please?
Mr. Nerd: Sure, why?
Me: Because it's terrifying, and I want to write about it on my blog.
Mr. Nerd: You know, you're right. That freaky guy looks like he's peeping over the headboard or something. Like that view of him is the last thing you'd see before he murdered you in your sleep.
Me: Exactly! And, thanks for putting that image in my head.
Mr. Nerd: (sounding extremely satisfied with himself): You're gonna have nightmares now, aren't you?
Me: (shudder) I think the nostrils are the worst part.

So, what do you think? Terrifying? Or am I too sensitive? Are the nostrils the worst part?