Firefly

So, um, why was this show cancelled?

A Decision Made

Over the phone my mother tells me breathlessly that my letter from NYU has arrived. I'm a little worried; a recent rejection from Columbia has me a bit skittish.
"Is the envelope thick or thin?"
Thick would mean they've got lots to say, that they're sending me extra papers with information on acceptance, maybe a scholarship, maybe a teaching assistantship. Thick would mean they love me. Thin means the opposite, that they only need one sheet of paper to say that they've looked over my stuff enough, and thanks for playing but that's okay. Thin means that whatever I've got, it's not really enough.

The envelope was thin.

Working (it)

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE EIGHT-HOUR WORKDAY

Dear Eight-Hour Workday,

Before I was hired at a 9-to-5 job, I had no idea how long you were. I skipped along blissfully through life, never questioning the sanctity of each moment. The phrase "9 to 5" was merely a metaphor for "people who have real jobs." Now that I have arrived in this world of suits and scheduling, I know the truth. Eight hours is an eternity.

I have decided that, with the amount of people in this country working eight hours a day, this society should be much farther ahead that it is. We should have flying cars that are fueled by used cooking oil from McDonald's. We should have a creative and well-funded education system. We should have universal health care.

What if you devoted eight hours a day to something like origami? To working out? To learning? You'd be the smartest, buffest paper folder this world has ever seen.

Granted, when we say "eight hours of work," we don't really mean eight hours. There's the time it takes to take off your coat and say hello to co-workers. There's walking from the desk to the water cooler. There are at least seven or eight bathroom breaks a day. And we mustn't forget sustenance. Shoot, when you think about it, an eight-hour day really comes down to a good four hours and 54 and a half minutes, give or take.

I guess I'm ignoring part of the equation here, and that is that, as human beings, we are not capable of concentrating on anything longer than The Legend of Bagger Vance, let alone eight hours. If a writer sat at a computer and worked on a novel for eight hours nonstop, she would have a whole lot of crazy in the end (not that I would know). There are limitations on the human mind and body that must be addressed. If a person needs a Minesweeper break every hour on the hour, then, by God, it's about time for the next game.

I've strayed. The crux of everything I've said here today is that eight hours is a freaking long time. In my day so far, I've e-mailed several people, applied for a credit card, done a few things for work, and written this letter. I still have four and a half hours to go. I guess that means I still have several bathroom breaks to cash in.

Olivia Roth
(via the uproarious mcsweeney's)

It Felt Love

via the always poetic achtung baby!

Subway Story

I tend to get pretty wrapped up in the books that I read. True to my profession, I've always thought the greatest escape was a good book. You can lose yourself in a story and forget where you are or what's happening around you, immersed in this other, created world. I've found this to be an especially good trick in the dirty subways of New York.

Especially when a rat runs up to you and stares you down before calmly, casually deciding to go along its way. And no one else bats an eyelash.

One by Mary J. Blige & U2

I mean, have you heard this cover?! My favorite part is where Blige gets slain by the spirit while she's yodeling the "Love is a temple, love is a higher law" bridge.

Amen, sister.

♥

kissables

Whoah, let's not start talking crazy talk!
(sigh).
But it is nice, isn't it?

Take Off

Events have been escalating over here and lately I've had the tingling sensation you get when you're sitting in the plane, staring out the window, and waiting for the inevitable. After a worrisome interview, I was hired by a pharmaceutical support company (don't ask, I barely understand it myself). Apparently my job will consist of calling doctors all day and making sure they have their plane tickets for their swank conferences. My super interview smile faltered a bit as I thought about the ramifications of that -- making reservations for the rich doctors of America? But I guess sometimes you just gotta buckle in and go where the plane takes you.

Nick vs. Jessica

Oh, The Onion. What would life be without your snarky comments?

Lying Through My Teeth

"So, how familiar are you with Excel?"
"Very."

"Well, you would be working with Word and Excel, primarily. How do you feel about that?"
"Great!"

"Would you say you have strong Excel skills?"
"Uh....sure."