grammargirl: (I don't wanna grow up)
Maybe it's because I am slowly losing my mind, but this McSweeney's list made me giggle like a loon.
grammargirl: (I don't wanna grow up)
I know this has already been posted all the hell over the Internets, but I am officially adding Feist's Sesame Street appearance to the handful of YouTube videos that I watch to cheer me up when I'm feeling grouchy. (See also: That "Dancing" video I posted on the 4th of July, the OK Go treadmill choreography video, "Year of the Rat" by Badly Drawn Boy, and that Regina Spektor video where everything is black and white and then she and her boy start throwing powdered pigment in all the colors of the rainbow at each other.)

ETA: In the interest of a one-stop cheer-me-up reference post, I tracked down the rest of the videos, in order...


OK Go on treadmills:

Badly Drawn Boy:

Regina Spektor:

grammargirl: (This will make a great livejournal entry)

Yesterday I got Polly shaved like a lion.

Let's see a close-up of that ridiculous tail...

She seems to have survived her ordeal remarkably untraumatized, though she does shoot me aggrieved glares every time I look at her and burst into uncontrollable giggles. 
grammargirl: (Default)
I've been rereading Anne of Green Gables for the past few days and now I desperately want a TARDIS so I can move to Prince Edward Island circa a hundred years ago. Thanks, Lucy Maude.
grammargirl: (Default)
Personally, I think this country would be a much better place if we celebrated Interdependence Day.

Thanks to [ profile] carmen_sandiego for the link.
grammargirl: (To-read pile)
The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. Well let's see.

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own LJ so we can try and track down these people who've read 6 and force books upon them

grammargirl: (Default)
Just a quick note to let you all know that, on top of all the other crap that has happened during this crappy week, today I took my laptop in for what I thought was going to be a $40 power cord replacement and ended up paying $240 to replace the socket that the power cord plugs into. This is, mind you, on top of the prescription sunglasses and wisdom tooth extraction I've already had to pay for this week. Anyway, whining aside, I won't be around in the evenings for the next four days or so while Tekserve is doing their thing. Whee.
grammargirl: (Paper En Why Cee)
[Behold, a post with actual content! I know, I'm as shocked as you are.]

So every once in a while I will experience what I think of as Holy Crap, I Live in New York! moments. Sometimes they're big, like cramming onto Mercer Street with thousands of other people for the huge HP7 release party at the Scholastic store, screaming and cheering when the clock finally struck midnight. Sometimes it's tiny things, like threading my way through the purposeful chaos of Chinatown to what I've come to think of as "my" cheap-but-awesome soup dumpling place. These moments, I've noticed, often involve bridges. They happen with less frequency now than they did when I first moved here, but they're just as necessary for my sanity. Today is a good example.

It started with a dress. This dress, to be precise, and a fabulous chunky white-and-clear-lucite necklace that used to be my grandmother's. This dress, and I say this with all due modesty, makes me look hot. It is sometimes hard to remember, in this time of dinners for one and quiet nights in with my kitty and an exclusively female social circle, that I in fact have a body many women would kill for, thanks to good genes and a high metabolism and let's not forget the boob-enhancing wonder that is hormonal birth control. And today, as I fielded sly glances and outright stares from passing men and compliments from coworkers with whom I've barely exchanged two words, it hit me suddenly that I am, in fact, pretty.

I've also, finally, begun enjoying my own company again. It took three weeks of near-constant presence of other people (my favorite ex-boyfriend came to town and stayed with me for a couple nights, sparking all sorts of thoroughly boring existential angst; then [ profile] girlunravelled and I had our Great San Francisco Adventure, which I may or may not eventually get around to writing about; and then my darling, exasperating mother came to stay for an eternity six days) to remember that not only do I enjoy being alone, but much of the time I actually prefer it.

And so today I walked from my pharmacy on 23rd Street to Union Square, picked up a chocolate chip cookie and some cat grass at the farmer's market (Polly seems less than enthused thus far, but I quite enjoyed my cookie), and plopped down at Starbucks at a coveted table next to the window to enjoy a free iced coffee and a book (The Friday Night Knitting Club, which is total predictable chick-lit schlock, but it's total predictable chick-lit schlock about knitters, which somehow makes it more enjoyable). I didn't have to worry about making conversation or limiting my time because of other commitments. I didn't have to consider anyone's needs or desires or convenience except my own. And when I'd finished my coffee and eaten most of my cookie and read to the end of the last chapter I felt like reading, I hopped on the Q and watched the sun set behind the skyline as the train skimmed over the Manhattan Bridge toward Brooklyn. (See what I mean about bridges?)

I arrived home to find a summons to jury duty at the end of this month, my very first. It's at an inconvenient time and I'm entitled to a postponement, but I think I'll probably go. I find myself strangely excited to Do My Civic Duty. And it means, somehow, that I really live here, that I'm in it for the long haul, that I'm enough of a citizen of New York City to sit in judgment as part of a jury of my peers. Setting aside for the moment the inconvenience of having to miss work so I can dress up, arrive at court at 8:30 in the damn morning, and probably waste half the day waiting around before someone tells me I can go home... today, jury duty feels very much like a Holy Crap, I Live in new York! moment all by itself.
grammargirl: (Default)

Originally uploaded by nosleep4anie
Also, he signed my book:

Dear Melanie, I wish you were my copyeditor!


Plus, the goodies they get for bestselling authors? SO YUMMY.

Way to go, job. You totally win.
grammargirl: (Wordsex)
Everyone in my department just received the following e-mail from a coworker:

Did you know that the word "um" is in the dictionary? And it's been in print since at least 1672?
Which brings up the question, where did it first appear?  Was it in a play? Sounds like a cheap stunt for verse--like something Larry King would do, but John Dryden?--but it's hard to imagine even in blank verse: Restoration drama was not especially notable for its realism, which is more a feature of the modern novel.
And the first novel in the English language is generally considered Robinson Crusoe, which appeared fifty years later.
These sorts of obsessions really affect my productivity, so any ideas would be most welcome.

I rest my case.
grammargirl: (Default)
So it turns out I'm an idiot.

By which I mean, I messed up dates in my head and agreed to go see the Indiana Jones premier tomorrow, which it turns out is my last day of class. Oops.

My friend's already bought the tickets, and I'll pay for mine if I have to, but I thought maybe one of you guys might want to go instead. My friends are meeting tomorrow at 5:30 at the Regal 42nd St. (the big theater in Times Square) for what I'm sure is a sold-out showing, so you'd just need to meet them to get your ticket and then go sit wherever.  The ticket's $12.50 with the stupid online surcharge thing, but I'll take whatever you think is fair.
grammargirl: (Arm yourselves!)

Dear 2010,

You are going to be awesome.


grammargirl: (Arm yourselves!)
...that if Obama chooses John Edwards as his running mate, I may actually wet myself with glee and volunteer for the campaign. But, um, only after changing my pants.

grammargirl: (Paper En Why Cee)
A New York Lesson that I have never fully internalized despite living in this fine city for damn near three years:

If a subway enters the station and you see a mostly empty car surrounded by mostly full cars, do not get on the mostly empty car. It will inevitably be the smelly car, or the car with the broken a/c, or the car with the crazy homeless person masturbating in a corner. It is never a good idea. It will always end badly. DON'T DO IT!

That is all.
grammargirl: (Arm yourselves!)
Okay, I know I'm kind of late to this party, but I would just like to say that season 3, disc 4 of Doctor Who (with the watch and the adorable little kid from Love, Actually kind of grown up, and those creepy fucking nightmare-inducing angel statues and eeeee) is the best three hours of passive entertainment I've seen in a really long time.

Also, I've just started knitting the first sleeve of my first sweater ever. Yay!

Oh, Edna.

Apr. 30th, 2008 03:25 pm
grammargirl: (I'd verb her noun)
I suppose technically speaking I should have posted this at the beginning of National Poetry Month instead of the end, but oh well. This remains one of my favorite Bitter Edna poems.


To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay
grammargirl: (Yummy brains)
I just had the following IM conversation with [profile] mathforlovers:

mehahaha, I've been thinking all week how happy the word "popemobile" makes me.
 Haleyi just had to look up whether it was one word, two words, or hyphenated
 Haleynow i know [smile]
 meand knowing is half the battle!
 Haleybattle pope?
 meI also like the word pope
pope pope pope!
 Haleyi want jason to get on the internet so i can talk to him about battle popes

...yeah, it's definitely Friday.
grammargirl: (vintage knitting)

Capitan me cropped
Originally uploaded by nosleep4anie
Hats are like knitting candy. They're about as close to instant gratification as this hobby gets--I whipped up two in less than two weeks, and I'm a slow knitter with papers to write--and easy enough to do on the train or while watching TV (unlike, say, color work, which I actually have to think about) but still interesting enough that I don't fall into a stockinette coma. Good times!

Meanwhile, the one downside to the glorious spring weather is that I find myself endlessly resentful of having to sit in an office and do work. Le sigh. Half-day Fridays can't start soon enough, I tell you what.

(Click on the pic to see the whole set, including one in which my darling teddy bear poses as a hat model.)
grammargirl: (I can kill you with my brain.)
Reading about the zombie apocalypse while on a subway that is stalled, without power, between stations.

grammargirl: (Skool)
Reason # 792 why I am glad that I am no longer a teacher


grammargirl: (Default)

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