Why I'm Cooler Than All Y'all Fools

I own vinyl. More importantly, I own a record player. In all truthfulness, my post could end right here and now. It could end with the confidence that the point I'm introducing in the title will have been adequately made. But, I'm gonna talk about it a lil more because, well, that's just what I do.

Since I was a little girl, I've been in love with my grandmother's record player. Whenever we went to her house, I would take the time to clear off the picture frames and china dolls from her record player holder contraption thing (I have no idea what it's called, but it is big and an unnaturally stained color of wood). After completing the dusty task, I would slide open the door on the top and all my mother's old records would be inside. Oh they were magnificent. The Surpremes, Jackson 5, The Sound of Music, Dean Martin...such lovely classics. I would play them and lay on my grandma's living room floor absorbing the sounds and feeling some sort of spiritual connection to the songs and the times they represented in my mother's life.

So, three Christmases ago, my grandmother bought me my very own record player. It was the greatest gift ever! About three weeks later, I found myself knee deep in a record give-away at the OU campus. I had heard about it in one of my classes and, sure enough, that afternoon there were tables and tables and tables full of records that they were just GIVING away. I got some Fleetwood Mac, Heart, James Taylor, Elton John. For. Free. I might start weeping soon.

It's safe to say, my collection of vinyl is pretty extensive. But, that didn't keep me from the wonderful record store off of Western Avenue and 36th Street last Saturday. Oh no siree it did not. I purchased Madonna's Immaculate Collection, Elliot Smith, and Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits Volume II. Please try to contain your excitement. Do you need to lie down? Please don't worry too much, though. My coolness will probably be exploding into lemon jolly rancher flavored rain drops pretty soon. It's just that intense. And, I'm worried about mentioning this next little fact because my computer might just implode upon itself due to the sheer, overwhelming COOLNESS of it all. But what the heck. Here goes....I have a subscription to Rolling Stone Magazine...

The Questionnable Nature of My Flip Calendar

At the beginning of every year, I look forward to purchasing new calendars. My two favorite types of calendars are wall calendars and flip calendars. This year I went with a French theme and, so far, I've been delighted with the results...of my wall calendar.

For my flip calendar this year, I get a brand new french phrase every day. Around the beginning of January, the phrases were cute and applicable, like Happy New Year! or Au Boulot! (Get back to work!). But for the past couple of weeks, I've been somewhat confused by the phrases I'm greeted with every morning.

As I'm assuming most people who buy this calendar are looking for common phrases that we can use in conversation in order to practice the French language, I'm surprised to learn that this is not the case for the "Living Language Flip Calendar of 2008."

Let me give you an example. The French phrase for January 25, 2008 is "La peur ne se commande pas" which means "You can't control fear." Okaaaaaaay...What ever happened to "I really like your sweater today!" or "How are the kids?" I personally can't remember the last time I've ever walked up to someone with a strong desire to darkly tell them fear cannot be controlled. And, frankly, it kind of makes January 25th a day I'm not all that much looking foward to, to tell you the truth.

And how about February 5th? I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to work in "Elle ne peut plus ecrire" into a jovial lighthearted conversation, seeing as how it means "She can't write anymore." Are the makers of this flip calendar operating a small torture chamber somewhere? What does one have to do to a person to make them not be able to write anymore? And why, oh why, would we ever want to talk about it in French???

For all our sakes, I hope the makers of this calendar don't get upset this year because who knows what next year's calendar will look like if they do. And I'm pretty sure all our suspicions will be confirmed on September 3 as the phrase of the day on that day is "Je pars pour la Suisse apres-demain" (I'm leaving for Switzerland the day after tomorrow). On this day, rest assured I will be using this in a conversation with my mob boss.

Tea From a China Pot

Today I had the pleasure of spending an hour in the presence of one of the oldest men in the world. He will be 100 years old this year. My dad and I went to his home for a business meeting and the gentleman's son and grandson were there. I met them last week and we discussed our mutual fondness for tea. I told them that I had some experience working in a tea room at one point and they were somewhat shocked that I knew so much about how it is served and the numerous categories of tea, etc.

When I went to their house today, my host's son (a man well into his 70s, I'd imagine) welcomed me warmly and quickly informed me that the kettle was on the stove. I thanked him and told him he didn't need to go to any trouble and he shrugged off my attempts at politeness as he disappeared into the kitchen. When he came back out, he was carrying a beautiful tea set, prepared completely and totally for me. He then brought me seven different kinds of loose leaf teas to choose from and I happily settled on the Darjeeling, which has always been a long time favorite. He started to chuckle but wouldn't tell me why.

He had poured the boiling water into a gorgeous china tea pot and told me that tea should always be served in china tea pots. I didn't argue and I'm pretty sure the expensive container holding the tea managed to charm the flavor. It was so heavenly and I felt like a queen! Then, as I was sitting there drinking my Darjeeling with one lump of sugar thank you very much, he rushed over to me exclaiming that he had something he wanted me to look at. Once again he disappeared around the corner and came back with a copy of "Love in the Time of Cholera."

I couldn't stop smiling. While my dad was conducting professional business in the other room, I was sipping tea out of china with a fine linen napkin in my lap and a classic novel in my hand. I felt like I was in the middle of a Jane Austen made for tv movie. It just felt so good to take time out of the madness and business of the world to enjoy the finery of a cup of tea! And when I got up to leave, he helped me with my coat and said that the reason he was laughing about my choice of tea was that Darjeeling was his mother's favorite. He grabbed my hands and I thanked him for the lovely time. La la la la. I think I will always make tea.

I Have A Life. I Prrrrromise.

Much of my life lately has consisted of the wonderful and beautiful world of abc.com. Folks, if you have never been to this website, go. run. flee to the goodness that awaits you. I know being a full time grad student and a full time employee of Upyours & Associates (I can totally say that...I work for my dad) I have no business whatsoever spending hours of my life watching online videos of television shows I have no business whatsoever being obsessed with. But, for the love of all things holy and pure, I can't help myself. It's free. With limited commercial interruptions. And, I for one sleep so much better at night knowing I am fully caught up on the latest prime time television events.

Of course, the writer's strike has incessantly been raining on the parade of my shameful hobby, though I totally and completely support them. In fact, I think my online viewing has prompted some of the writers' complaints because they aren't getting paid for all of my free hours of entertainment. And they should. Uhhh...but, I ain't stoppin.

So, during this strike-I-fully-support-but-selfishly-want-to-be-rid-of, I've been immersed in the following:



Oh sweet salvation. A couple of years ago, I borrowed Season 1 from a friend and became completely hooked. Yes, I have an obsessive personality, thank you for your concern. However, they were in the middle of Season 2 when I finished Season 1 and abc.com simply wasn't around at the time to relieve me. So, I took a bit of a hiatus, during which time I was totally and completely lost...so to speak.

But, recently, abc.com (the aforementioned salvation) has posted Seasons 1, 2, and 3 on their website in HD. For Free. All three seasons. For Free. For my viewing pleasure. For Free.

I am currently almost done with Season 2. And, you all have to understand that most of the reason I am being so supportive of the series is because my husband, Matthew Fox, stars on the show. And, yes, ladies, he's as handsome in real life as he is on the show. Take this picture, for example:



Oh, this day was so fun. I was on set with him and he brought a picnic lunch for us. When he was done shooting for the day, we went away from the rest of the crew and found a location on the beach that was private. I snapped this picture of him right after he told me he wanted to try and have children.

Elevator Awkwardness

I'm sure many of you lovely people have experienced those times in your life when you are forced into an intimate situation without knowing the person with whom you are sharing the intimacy. I'm talking about the elevator. There's a standard our society has set for almost every situation in life except this one. It's as if life just hands you this little bucket of awkwardness and says "Here. Deal with it." Some of us deal with it very well by talking about the weather (suitable for everyone), the awesome football/basketball/hockey/soccer/baseball game (suitable mostly for the guys), or last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy/The Bachelor/Desperate Housewives/American Idol (particularly suitable for the ladies).

To all of you who manage to make those elevator rides a little less uncomfortable, I thank you. You truly exemplify what it means to step outside ourselves and reach into the lives of others, if only for the timespan of however long it takes to get from the Lobby to the third floor.

However, there are those of us who still have yet to figure out how to handle the inevitable situation of being one on one with a stranger in an elevator. If this is you, then I want you to know that I'm here to tell you the awkwardness ends now. Today. This moment. I'm going to outline several instances in which certain levels of discomfort may arise (pun intended) on an elevator. I will also provide you with easy tools to help deal with them so that you and your strange elevator partner will be able to part company with ease and satisfaction.

Awkward Elevator Situation Number 1: The Button Watcher.

This situation usually occurs in most business/doctor's office settings, where the elevator passenger has much more on their mind than friendly banter. This intrusive amount of thinking forces them to lean their head back and stare blankly at the tiny numbers above the doors watching them progressively light up as the elevator ascends.

Now, I want you to take full advantage of their body language in this situation. Their pre-occupied brain and their tilted head stance has clearly given you the perfect opportunity to step in gradually behind them, lean quietly forward, and smell their neck. You will want to use caution here, however, especially if you are a man and your predestined elevator passenger happens to be a girl. If this is the case, gentlemen, I strongly suggest that no words be exchanged. A small whiff will be sufficient.

But for all other situations, ladies and gentlemen, please feel free to comment on the remarkable aroma exuding from their neckline. This is going to be most effective if the tone you use is soft and breathy, so as not to frighten your fellow passenger. After the exchange has taken place, step back and smile, because, friend, you have just overcome awkward elevator situation number one.

Awkward Elevator Situation Number 2: The Key Fiddler/Purse Digger

We've all seen it. You step on an elevator with a person and they deliberately avoid eye contact with you and intentionally divert their interest to the number of keys on their keychain or the number of loose gum wrappers in their purse. You might feel somewhat offended, and you should be! This is the second most offensive elevator relationship scenario (see Awkward Elevator Situation Number 3 for the most offensive).

Here's how I suggest we handle this situation. Just like in our first scenario, I want you to take a very close look at the body stance of this thoughtless passenger. Clearly, they are going to have their head down and their focus averted. Wait until the doors close, count to five, and then throw your keys or cell phone at their downward tilted head. Inevitably, this will grab their attention and put the focus back on you, where it belongs. Chances are they will look at you in astonishment and fear. If this happens just casually say "I know. Right?" And bug your eyes out in disbelief so that they can understand that THEY are the ones in the wrong here, not you.

If all goes according to planned, you will be laughing about it by the time you reach your destination. (Note: Do not attempt this on anyone who (a) is wearing all leather (b) has more visible tattoos than you (c) is carrying a briefcase while wearing dark glasses and an Armani suit or (d) could possibly be carrying a concealed weapon.)

Awkward Elevator Situation Number 3: The Cell-Phone Talker

Again, this has probably happened to all of us. You walk into an elevator with a person, offer them a friendly smile, and they shun you by carrying on with their conversation about lame things like "business meetings" and "Aunt Patty's life threatening disease." Come on. How rude can you be? These absurdly inconsiderate elevator passengers clearly have one thing on their mind...themselves. So, as in situation number 2, I want you to think of ways to bring the attention back to yourself. Engage them. Make them want to hang up with the person on the other end of that darn modern technological relationship destroyer.

Here's my recommendation: Make sex noises. This sure-fire method has the potential of immediately grabbing not only your estranged passenger's attention, but quite possibly the attention of the person he/she is talking to, as well. If that is the case, then pat yourself on the back. Success. You will have to keep in mind, however, that this person will have one of two responses. He/she will either be wildly intrigued by your sudden orgasmic outburst or (worst-case scenario) he/she will threaten violent bodily harm because the person they were talking to happened to be their spouse and now you've ruined their marriage, blah blah blah. If that happens, you should just smile and say "Hey, man. You were the one being rude, talking on the phone during our elevator ride." Hopefully, they will understand, and, again, you will be laughing hysterically about it by the time you reach your destination...hopefully.

Where in the World is Carmen San Diego?

Good gracious, does anyone remember playing that in about 4th grade? That and the one with the prairie wagon. To this day, I'm still not sure what titian hair color is, or even how to pronounce it, for that matter. Ah, those were the days. I remember loving computer class and feeling like someone had given me a lifetime supply of cotton candy whenever I didn't have to share a computer with anyone.

But, of course, that wasn't the internet. Those were just computer games. Still...I felt the need to reminisce just then. Now, I think about how my little brothers can access a world of information through the internet on their phones if they are bored with gym class or just have an overall disinterest in whomever might be standing within a three foot radius. It's crazy! I feel like I should be in my rocking chair knitting an afghan and I'm only 25! But, I don't think I ever really surfed the internet until I was in my freshman year of college back in 1999. *insert sound of rocking chair here*

I remember the thrill and excitement of creating my own email account (it's free?! no way!) and the first time I felt warm fuzzies over the thoughtful email from the gentleman who expressed a passionate concern for my abnormally small penis (which I didn't even know I had).

Wonder led to appreciation and appreciation led to desperation and now, well, if I can't figure out the qualifying height of a dwarf in 2.8 seconds, then I just throw the damn thing across the room (the computer, not the dwarf).