You know how gmail customizes the ads that you see next to your emails and chats? For the first few months of my stay in France, whenever Ian would email me, or I would email Ian, the ads would pop up as depression helplines, or Prozac coupons. Google looks into your chats and emails and pulls out keywords to see how to target you as a potential customer. I suppose if I started talking more about chocolate and designer shoes the ads might be more pleasurable.
When I logged on to gmail tonight after getting home from work, the ad up at the top of my screen read: "Ginger Spam Salad--serves 1, refrigerate overnight."
Oh god.
Serves one. Refrigerate overnight. Of course it serves one. Of course I would have to refrigerate it overnight. I'm home all the time, aren't I? The spam I can't really account for, except that my main gmail contact is a spam-loving Hawaiian. But Google has gone into my chats and my emails, and literally (figuratively? who knows how they actually do that) counted the number of times I have said "lonely" "alone" "home" "by myself" et cetera et cetera (possibly also "hungry." That one tends to pop up often).
For a brief, wild moment, I considered the benefits of starting to lie in gchats and gmails. You know, talk about going to NYC for the weekend, seeing Robert Pattinson or that Kim Kardashian chick at a nightclub. So that those Google employees think I have something better to do than sit at home for two nights, waiting for my ginger spam salad--serves 1--to be ready to eat. Sigh.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Oh, New England
New Hampshire, I have given you my all and now I am nothing. I'm addressing you, New Hampshire.
New Hampshire I can't breathe in your humid air, in this 90 degree weather that sits sticky and hot in places we don't mention in polite conversation.
When will you change the back of the state quarter? When will you acknowledge that the Old Man of the Mountain has fallen and won't come back?
New Hampshire, go fuck yourself with your damn mosquitoes and poison ivy. I'm tired of looking like I have a contagious disease.
New Hampshire your buses don't run, don't brag about being green.
New Hampshire when will I love you for good?
When will you bring everyone home?
When will your weather patterns find a happy medium?
New Hampshire I see no one here but people like me. New Hampshire where is your diversity? I am tired of white faces. I have no Chinatown to wander drunk in.
New Hampshire you've brought out your bunting. You're living free. New Hampshire I see your colonial pride, your four hundred and fifty years of history.
New Hampshire, I am not writing to me and I never will be.
New Hampshire I can't breathe in your humid air, in this 90 degree weather that sits sticky and hot in places we don't mention in polite conversation.
When will you change the back of the state quarter? When will you acknowledge that the Old Man of the Mountain has fallen and won't come back?
New Hampshire, go fuck yourself with your damn mosquitoes and poison ivy. I'm tired of looking like I have a contagious disease.
New Hampshire your buses don't run, don't brag about being green.
New Hampshire when will I love you for good?
When will you bring everyone home?
When will your weather patterns find a happy medium?
New Hampshire I see no one here but people like me. New Hampshire where is your diversity? I am tired of white faces. I have no Chinatown to wander drunk in.
New Hampshire you've brought out your bunting. You're living free. New Hampshire I see your colonial pride, your four hundred and fifty years of history.
New Hampshire, I am not writing to me and I never will be.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Is there a doctor in the house?
I recently returned from a quick five day trip back to the west side, the majority of which I spent in a delirious, sleep-deprived haze. While everyone back home wept and shed bittersweet tears at my sister's graduation from medical school and hooding ceremony, I, personally, was filled with glee.
After taking the Hippocratic Oath, my sister and her husband drove 3,000 miles to a new home and hospital that is exactly 1.5 hours away from me (or 3 if it is Gay Pride weekend and the traffic is horrendous--though brightly colored).
I visited them last weekend, and briefly toured their neighborhood that is filled with elderly African American women wearing fabulous black crowns, Dominican restaurants, a Gay Pride block party sponsored by Budweiser, and barbershops and hair salons geared specifically for those with hair of the kinky persuasion (more on this diversity in an upcoming post! Stay tuned, ladies and gents).
While she will be busy running around the emergency room with blood on her hands, furiously suturing wounds, I have her work schedule, and intend on imposing (don't worry, Sister, my brand of imposing involves coming over, cleaning your floor while sharing a glass of wine with you, bringing you homemade bread, and artfully arranging a beautiful breakfast fruit salad for the three of us) as much as humanly possible. For now, I am waiting patiently for the moment when I can make introductions to my friends in New Hampshire, and say, "This is my sister, Dr. Reichenbach."
After taking the Hippocratic Oath, my sister and her husband drove 3,000 miles to a new home and hospital that is exactly 1.5 hours away from me (or 3 if it is Gay Pride weekend and the traffic is horrendous--though brightly colored).
I visited them last weekend, and briefly toured their neighborhood that is filled with elderly African American women wearing fabulous black crowns, Dominican restaurants, a Gay Pride block party sponsored by Budweiser, and barbershops and hair salons geared specifically for those with hair of the kinky persuasion (more on this diversity in an upcoming post! Stay tuned, ladies and gents).
While she will be busy running around the emergency room with blood on her hands, furiously suturing wounds, I have her work schedule, and intend on imposing (don't worry, Sister, my brand of imposing involves coming over, cleaning your floor while sharing a glass of wine with you, bringing you homemade bread, and artfully arranging a beautiful breakfast fruit salad for the three of us) as much as humanly possible. For now, I am waiting patiently for the moment when I can make introductions to my friends in New Hampshire, and say, "This is my sister, Dr. Reichenbach."
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Lesson Planning
In a conversation that revolved around life, careers, and what makes us happy (or not), Kili commented that she was pretty sure she is currently learning valuable life lessons, but she just isn't sure what they are yet. As vague and as floundering as that sounds, she is absolutely right.
I am not nearly self-aware enough to keep in mind all the lessons I am currently learning. And that's the point, really. If we knew we were in the midst of a lesson, we'd probably zone out, nod off, text a friend, or doodle aimlessly, much like my freshmen were wont to do during our 8 am class. I, for one, am able to pay far more close attention by accident than I am on purpose. Perhaps, as a graduate student who intends to be a lifelong academic, I should not admit to that, but I'm frank here. You all knew that already.
Given the wild changes that have recently occurred behind gauchedroitgauche's curtains, I am using this summer to take stock. Before leaving for the summer, a friend told me a few weeks ago that no matter how superfluous (or supercilious) it seemed, we all needed to figure out how to answer the question of "Who am I?" (Or perhaps he enunciated "Who am I?" or "Who am I?" but no matter where the emphasis lies the question remains the same.). At the risk of carrying a metaphor a bit too far, I am reviewing lecture notes, figuring out what all these lessons are about.
Here is a smattering of the lessons I am currently learning:
I am not nearly self-aware enough to keep in mind all the lessons I am currently learning. And that's the point, really. If we knew we were in the midst of a lesson, we'd probably zone out, nod off, text a friend, or doodle aimlessly, much like my freshmen were wont to do during our 8 am class. I, for one, am able to pay far more close attention by accident than I am on purpose. Perhaps, as a graduate student who intends to be a lifelong academic, I should not admit to that, but I'm frank here. You all knew that already.
Given the wild changes that have recently occurred behind gauchedroitgauche's curtains, I am using this summer to take stock. Before leaving for the summer, a friend told me a few weeks ago that no matter how superfluous (or supercilious) it seemed, we all needed to figure out how to answer the question of "Who am I?" (Or perhaps he enunciated "Who am I?" or "Who am I?" but no matter where the emphasis lies the question remains the same.). At the risk of carrying a metaphor a bit too far, I am reviewing lecture notes, figuring out what all these lessons are about.
Here is a smattering of the lessons I am currently learning:
- While finding two or three grey hairs along the part of my hair is a fabulous discovery that relates to growing up, buying a car is a far scarier and far more stressful indicator of adulthood. On the plus side, perhaps I will get a few more grey hairs out of it.
- I can be alone. I can watch the sunset on my own. And cooking for one isn't as hard as people make it out to be, because then you just have loads of awesome leftovers.
- I'd really like to live in New Orleans for a while.
- Working full-time, 8-5, really doesn't leave enough time for things like going to the beach and reading thousand page novels. I think I will stick to academia.
- After a long break.
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