Apparently, chivalry IS dead…

I was holding out hope. But today, when my car inexplicably croaked, forcing me to the ’side’ of the road on a dangerous blind curve near home, all my hopes were dashed. As I sat in my car, hazards flashing, calling AAA to ask for a tow-truck (”No I am NOT in a safe location…”), not one person pulled over to see if I needed assistance. You heard me right: not one. Not even a creepy dude looking to take advantage of a cute (?) gal in a desperate situation.

No “Can I call someone for you?” from one of the dozen joggers, walkers, or bicyclists that passed within feet of my open windows. Not a single ”Do you need a lift?” from a concerned passing motorist. And nothing even remotely resembling “How about a push?” from a hunky stud looking to flex his Prince Charming muscles. If AAA hadn’t called the police to swing by and stop traffic, my efforts to put the car in neutral and let gravity do it’s job maneuvering it into a parking spot off the side of the road would have been a suicide mission.

So thanks, neighbors and fellow citizens of Seattle, for the care and concern. Don’t worry! I’m fine! Car’s in the shop awaiting a diagnosis, which should come on Monday. Thank god for Roomie, who came to my rescue in the middle of a princess play date with her God-daughters.

Speaking of….”Hey God! That ‘Do Unto Others’ thing? That’s working out swimmingly!”

Ode To A Slacker…

TIME: 9:55am, Friday the 28th

CUPS OF COFFEE: 3

LEVEL OF BOREDOM (1-10): 8

PROJECTS I SHOULD BE WORKING ON: 4

PROJECTS I AM ACTUALLY WORKING ON: 0

# OF TIMES I HIT SNOOZE THIS AM: 50 (give or take)

$ SPENT ON PARKING THIS WEEK (due to ’snoozing’): $65

MINUTES LATE TO WORK TODAY: 2

CURRENT SHAMELESS OBSESSIVE TV SHOW ADDICTION: Stargate Atlantis

# OF BOOKS TO READ FOR BOOK CLUB(S): 2 (Timescapeby G. Benford & Stranger in a Strange Land by R. Heinlein)

# OF PAGES TO READ EACH DAY IN ORDER TO FINISH TIMESCAPE BEFORE DISCUSSION: 50

# OF STARGATE EPISODES I WATCHED LAST NIGHT IN LIEU OF READING: 4

# OF TIMES I LAUGHED OUT LOUD WHILE WATCHING STARGATE LAST NIGHT: about 100

# OF TIMES I CRIED WATCHING STARGATE LAST NIGHT: 1

CURRENTLY CRAVING: Papa Murphy’s D’Lite Gourmet Chicken Garlic Pizza

CURRENTLY JAMMING TO: Sigur Ros (thanks Michael!)

FUNNIEST BLOG I’VE COME ACROSS TO DATE (warning–this is laugh-out-loud hilarious, do NOT read at work): Spambait

WHY YOU SHOULD CLICK THE LINK AND GO THERE IMMEDIATELY (aka, you wish you were this creative–hell, I do!): Have you ever wondered what to do with those spam emails you get from scammers promising “Your $35M in British Lottery winnings will be directly deposited into your bank account–just send us the routing number and a $350 processing fee…”? Well, my new-found Canadian blog-friend has the answer:

“…you could ignore them (recommended). You could give them the benefit of the doubt and check our their claims (not recommended). Or, you could do what I do: Write them back, expressing a seeming interest in whatever they happen to be shilling, and see how long you can string them along.
Over time, my ongoing correspondences with these online scammers has produced some truly memorable missives, not to mention an ever-expanding roster of pseudonymous responders, among them arch supervillain Baron Destructo, pragmatic opportunist Aloysius P. Hazzencockle, and Sesame Street’s very own Cookie Monster.”

The Coffee Connoisseur…

Some people smoke. Some people chew gum. Others gnaw on toothpicks or suck on their teeth. I Starbucks.

Being from Seattle, coffee has become a way of life for me. Get up in the morning: Starbucks. Greeted at work by Lashes, who is in rare form w/ the attitude today: Starbucks. Falling asleep at your desk due to the tedium that is researching local corporate landscapes: you guessed it–proceed to the kitchenette and brew another cup (which just so happens to be Starbucks). The only way I would NOT Starbucks on any given day would be if someone was brewing Pete’s Coffee or Café Umbria, which is rare.

That being said, I’ll admit that I’ve become a bit of a snob when it comes to my daily jolt(s): I like it a certain way. If it’s a latte, I like it extra hot with vanilla—and no, sugar free vanilla does NOT count. If it is drip or French press, I like it with half and half and one packet of SweetN’Low (not Splenda)…you get the picture. This is where the beauty of Starbucks comes in. Sure, their coffee isn’t necessarily the greatest tasting on the planet—I’ve often heard it described as “bitter”, and I myself have even likened one of their concoctions to an ashtray. But where they sometimes fall short in taste, they more than make up for it in consistency. Case and point, about four years ago I made the trek across the pond to London on vacation. After a grueling day of travel (I hate flying), I arrived at Heathrow excited for my upcoming adventure but nonetheless desperate for the comforts of home. As I disembarked the plane into the terminal, what was the first thing I saw? Starbucks. And I’ll be damned if my Grande Vanilla Extra-Hot Latte didn’t taste exactly the same as back home. If I hadn’t been surrounded by Brits with funny accents, I would have sworn I’d never left Seattle.

But I digress.

I was pleased to learn recently that Starbucks is aiming to “get back to basics”, turning their attention back to what they do best: coffee. “Excellent!” I thought. “Get rid of all those ridiculous ‘breakfast sandwiches’, stock up on scones and let’s brew!” And then I found out, not only are they scaling back on their weird food selection, but on their workforce as well. This means less baristas steaming milk, which means customers are forced to linger in the store, thus increasing the odds of them making an impulse buy of some kind: a plush Starbucks Teddy Bear, a travel mug, a $1000 espresso machine, etc. Now I don’t know about you, but the last thing I need is another travel mug or, God forbid, a $1000 espresso machine that I won’t use and certainly can’t afford. What I DO need is my coffee, the way I’ve asked for it, in a quick and timely manner. So needless to say, when it took me 20 minutes to get my luke-warm coffee today, I was a little miffed. If there is one thing, ANYTHING, that Starbucks does right, it’s fast. So please, Starbucks, I beg you: if you’re “getting back to basics”, don’t forget to get me in and out in 5 minutes or less.

I want to be a good blogger…

Honestly, I do! But lately, the only blog-worthy things that have happened to me are as follows:

1) A sister who is buying a GREAT DANE, despite the fact that she already has a 3 year old and a 5 year old, they are living on credit, and her medium-sized house is torn to pieces by remodeling projects in various stages of incompleteness (with no end in sight because her husband just can’t find the time to finish something that he’s started)

2) The discovery that, due to the fact that the floor I sit on is deserted because the consultants that occupy it spend 4 out of 5 days of the week out at client sites, the women’s restroom is the place where yesterday’s dinners go to DIE (read: stinky stinky, pew!) UPDATED–Please note, this is not where MY dinner’s go to die; after all, as I’ve mentioned on a previous occasion, I am a lady and I don’t poop.

3) I’m currently working alongside the strangest woman I’ve ever met. She wears the most obnoxious fake eyelashes and makeup every day, which makes me wonder where she thinks she is going when she gets ready for work in the morning. My second day working w/ her, she advised me that she has a second full-time job outside of this one. My immediate thought was: “Does it involve a pole?”. Turns out she’s a youth pastor. WTF? Equally as interesting.

4) My journey into the vortex that is Sci-Fi Geekdom continues this week as I’ve discovered that Seattle has a Sci-Fi Museum! I am planning my first trip this weekend and will purchase at least one thing from the gift shop. Because, as I advised Roomie, a commemorative Light Saber pen isn’t so much a want as it is a need.

All that being said, I promise to be a better blogger now that I’m settled back in the PNW. I’ve been perusing many a blog these past few weeks and am feeling more inspired. Your Cyber Whore Leader will be back in full force…let’s rally the troops people!

Like home…but different

It’s the beginning of week four here in The Windy City of Chicago. It is 31 degrees and raining, although threats of another snow-storm are imminent as they always seem to be, and I’m still lookin’ sexy in my bright pink Walgreen’s hat w/ matching gloves. I’ve been making quite a little home for myself here in Chicago…well, as much as one can when you’re living out of a suitcase and eating hotel room service several nights a week (not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me). My enjoyment of the city thus far has me asking myself, “Could I live here? Freezing weather aside, could I call Chicago my home?” So for the past few days, I’ve been comparing and contrasting Chicago and Seattle, and I’ve made a few observations:

BICYCLES: They are everywhere in Seattle. Perhaps it is the environmentally-conscious side of Pacific Northwesterners that has them mounting their bikes to commute to work, or strapping them to the front of a Metro bus to escort them on the first leg of their journey before they commence w/ their environmental good deed for the day. Nonetheless, bicycles do quite well in competing with cars for their share of the roadway, and their riders don their special shoes and outfits with pride. In the three weeks I’ve been here in Chicago, I’ve seen 4 bicyclists. Four. For a big city w/ lots of downtown traffic, you’d think I would have seen more. Not the case.

CABS: While bicycles may be everywhere in Seattle, here cabs rule the roost. And their drivers are MANIACS. While convenient, far cheaper than trying to park downtown–parking at the movie theater was $16 after validation–, and significantly warmer than walking everywhere, I have never feared for my life more than while riding in Chicago cabs. As if being reckless and impatient w/ pedestrians isn’t enough, the cabbies seem to always be distractedly talking on their cell phones. At first, you think they are just mumbling incoherent nonsense to themselves while they wait for the wave of people to stroll across the intersection…and then you notice the hands-free device attached to their ear and realize they are on the phone. And what’s funny is, in the back of every cab is a sign which states your “rights” as a passenger of the cab: and one of them is to request that your driver not talk on the cell phone while you are riding with them. Yeah, like anyone is going to fight that battle…

FUR: No, not the kind on the family pet…the kind you wear. Yes, furs are everywhere here in Chicago and apparently, unlike in the Pacific Northwest, they are socially acceptable. I even saw a commercial on TV the other day advertising that buying a fur coat actually made you more environmentally conscious because it meant you could turn down your heat and bundle up in your fur coat. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to douse someone head to foot w/ a bucket of red paint shouting “Animal MURDERER!” while parading around in a PETA sandwich-board on Michigan Avenue. I’m not exactly sure I even have an opinion on furs one way or another…it’s just a very obvious difference between here and Seattle that I’ve noticed. And when I say obvious, what I mean is that people are walkin’ around fully pimped out in fur down to their ankles. It’s bizarre.

PEDESTRIANS: In Seattle, if you cross the street against the light, you’d better be sure a bike cop will swoop down out of nowhere and write you a jay-walking ticket. You think I jest…uh-uh. On the flip side of that coin, no matter when and where you cross, motorists are extremely conscious of the pedestrian right-of-way. While they may be a bit annoyed that you’re taking your sweet-ass time crossing the street, they will wait for you…and then flip you off as they make their way through the intersection. Here in Chicago, unless there is a car within 10 feet of the intersection, you’re going to cross (walk/don’t walk light be damned)! Perhaps it is the extreme cold that has people in fear of freezing to death on the sidewalk that keeps them moving. Or maybe they’re just fearless and bold (and they have a good lawyer). And on the flip side of that coin…the drivers don’t care if you’re on crutches crossing the street with a green walk signal. They WILL run you over…a co-worker witnessed it just last week. And the cab drivers? Yeah, they have NO mercy…

So, could I call Chicago my home? The jury is still out on that one. But one thing is for certain…it would take a LOT of adjusting to make it so. And I’ll have to admit, I would definitely miss good old Seattle–bike cops or no bike cops!

And now I have to read the effing book…

Despite my recent cinematic miss-adventures, I braved the theatre again and went to see The Other Boleyn Girl. While I managed to behave myself and avoid getting yelled at by others in the theatre, it was a disaster nonetheless. I’ll explain…

Despite getting poor reviews, I was excited to see this film because I’m constantly looking to be proved wrong that Scarlett Johannsen and Natalie Portman are two of the worst actresses alive. I should have known it wouldn’t end well when we arrived just in time to take our seats, but I had to pee so bad that I ducked out and missed the preview for the Sex and the City movie. Damn. Then we realized that the waiter from The Cheesecake Factory forgot to give us forks for our cheesecake that we smuggled into the theatre, and we were going to have to eat it with our fingers. Damn damn. And the kicker was when we discovered the straw in our tankard of Diet Coke had a hole in it, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t suck anything up unless you tipped it precariously a certain way. Damn damn DAMN! Then the lights dimmed, and the film started.

Almost immediately, I knew we were doomed: the names of the actors were slightly cut off at the bottom of the screen during the 30 second opening sequence. Immediately I recognized that the film aperture was out of line on the projector, and the framing was off. The average movie goer probably wouldn’t notice such a thing, considering no one was missing the top half of their heads, nor were we expecting any subtitles. But, being the experienced film projectionist that I am (yes, little known fact: I was a film projectionist in college) I knew things were amiss.

I battled w/ myself about whether or not to exit the theatre and say something to the management, ask them to adjust the framing. After all, it is a simple fix that a projectionist would have caught immediately had they been sitting up in the booth when the film started. But these days, big movie houses only employ one or two projectionists who simply load the film into the projector and get it started. Since technology now allows for the entire film to fit on one large platter loaded into a single projector, there is no need for a staff member to sit in the booth for the duration of the film to facilitate the seamless transition between dual projectors when one reel runs out. I knew the management had no idea what was going on in theatre number 3,189.

I debated, I wrestled, and I inevitably decided that, with no expected subtitles, I would say nothing to the theatre management. The film continued, and I enjoyed myself (sans annoying comments from the peanut gallery). That is, until the end. We made it through all the drama, climaxing w/ the beheading of Anne Boleyn (oh come on, everyone knows it’s “Off with her head!” in the end…). We were without incident, all the way to the point where the film makers decide to tell you what happens to Henry VIII and Mary Boleyn after Anne gets the axe. The end of the tale, the oh-so-important “And they all lived happily ever after…or did they?” information that rounds out the entire story was……wait for it……subtitled.

DAMMIT!!! You could read the first part of the subtitle, but the second part was cut off. So for all we knew, a sentence that started out: “After living in exile for the better part of his life…” could very well have ended: “…Henry’s only son decided to join the circus and become a lion tamer.” and we would be none the wiser. So now, I either have to turn to Wikepedia (the only source for trusted and accurate information in the universe) or I have to read the effing book…

Apparently, I’m a bad date…

Ok, not exactly a bad DATE, per se…but definitely a bad movie patron, which is news to me!

Last week, I went w/ a co-worker to see the new movie Vantage Point starring Dennis Quaid, Matthew Fox, and Forest Whittaker. In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past month, Vantage Point tells the story of the assassination of the US President from the “vantage point” (eh, get it?) of about 8 different witnesses at the scene of the shooting. The film replays the 20 minutes leading up to the shooting about 4 times, each time filling in another piece of the “who-dunnit” puzzle. Amusingly, it was very Groundhog Day meets In The Line of Fire, with a ridiculously tense car chase thrown in at the end.

Every time the clock would “rewind” to tell another side of the story, the entire audience (including us) reacted audibly with laughs and a number of “Are you kidding me?” and “What the hell…?” interjections thrown in. During the rediculously tense car chase, I’ll admit I was stifling the giggles…it was so far fetched and over the top, I couldn’t help myself! At the end of the movie, as the audience was gathering their belongings and filing out of the theatre, I glanced up at the couple that had been sitting next to us. The man, who’s wife was sitting next to me, looks down at me and says: “Hey, thanks a lot for ruining the movie for my wife. You should really learn to be quiet during a movie.” I was so astonished, all I could think of to do was laugh nervously and say (bitchily) “No problem.”

Now, I’m not heartless: if my reaction to the move truly was distracting to the folks sitting next to me, then I feel horrible! I wasn’t trying to be a pain in the ass, or “ruin the movie” for anyone…and considering the majority of the theatre was reacting to the flick the same way that my friend and I were, I had no idea that it was so disruptive. But here’s where the guy’s comment sticks in my craw: at no point during the two hours that we were rubbing elbows did the man or his wife express their displeasure to me or my friend. There were none of the tell-tale “Be Quiet” glares, no “Sssshhhhh!”-ing, not even the quasi-polite “Do you mind keeping it down?”. If there had been, I would have responded in kind, apologizing and feeling horrible, but there weren’t.

So, the moral of the story for YOU, dear readers, is thus: if you’re watching a movie, and the person next to you is being loud or disruptive–dare I say, ruining your night (whatever)–SAY SOMETHING!!! Grow a pair and try a couple of the examples I mentioned above…who knows, they may not realize they are bothering you. And the moral of the story for ME: don’t forget your mind-reading hat the next time you go to a flick…you never know when the person next to you won’t have the balls to tell you you’re hogging the arm rest.