ingredient_x

Hi All,

I'm so sorry if this has been covered - I looked and didn't find anything, but I could've missed it...

ANYWAY - I read Columbia U's FAQ today, and saw that they want each applicant to have only one Apply Yourself account.  I don't know why I thought differently, but I've created a new account for each school I'm applying to - and have already sent my recommenders notices for these accounts.

Did I really screw up??  Is there any way to fix this if I did???  Thank you all so much for the help.  I'm going crazy.

Michael Berebe points out today the perilous nature of movie cliches:

"this cliche, [two lovers on a slide], goes to show how big a danger hackery in film-making poses to our society. How long for this world is a couple that says, essentially, “Our love reminds us of the lazy choices of hack directors?”"

As I said in the comments at Berebe's blog, the most irksome cliche for me is "girl gives it all up for love," a cliche that assumes women can't be both career-minded and love-logged. What good can this line of thinking do for young women on the cusp of careerhood? Are we really to believe that if we're to seek professional success we must sacrifice love?

I'm sure some sacrifice will be a part of life. But all of one or the other? Why does love and career have to be categorical opposites? Surely there's room for both.

So in steadfast defiance of this dangerous and outdated cliche, I offer another: I will have my cake and eat it too.

Ways in Which I am Personally Like Denny’s “Original Grand Slam” Breakfast

1.) Also think of myself as the “original”
2.) Loved by truckers
3.) 1,262 calories when eaten in entirety
4.) Every morning, regardless of the day, manage to “get served”



Ways My Life Would Be Different if My Parents Had Named Me “Mable”

1.) Birth certificate would say “Mable”
2.) Whenever the phone rings and it’s for me, my room mate would yell “Hey Mable! Phone!”
3.) My name would rhyme with “able”
4.) Would most likely enjoy wearing aprons
5.) I’d be out golfing on hole 9 while this guy on hole 8 hits the ball too far to the left into the
wind just when the wind picks up, hurdling the ball in my direction at 87 mph, and while the guy is too busy saying to his friend “that will never hit her,” *my* friend knows I’m about to get whomped and so yells “Yo, Mable! Duck!”
6.) No more “Amy” Fisher jokes

I've lived through yet another sinus attack; but only barely. It was a close, bitter battle, and I think if there is to be another one, me vs. the sinuses, there will be no survivors.

In unrelated news, I found three (3!) socks this afternoon on the sidewalk (make that "sidewalk") in front of my apartment building. None of them matched. I feel badly for the person who lost these, because it seems that losing socks is an exponential problem; for even if you lose just three, you're really rendering six entirely useless.

In final news, on this Monday I neglected much studying (I blame the sinuses) and chose instead to get my media-junky fix via blogs and newspapers. From the NYT's, here's a nice tribute to the Great Shark Hunter (as in S. Thompson) who probably had more than a few exponential problems himself.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/21/national/21hunter.html

RIP, gonzo-man.

 

Hunter S. Thompson: 1939 - 2005

Our friends at amazon.com have secured a trailor for "the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy," still (I think) due for release this summer.  Take a gander - this may turn out to be half-way decent afterall.

Back to original content soon.  But in the meantime, you gotta love those Princeton Profs for telling it like it is; or maybe it's all just bullshit.

Everyone's aware of society's fascination (alright, *my* fascination) with celebrity.  Leave it to the smartypants big-brain types to analyze why said fascination exists.

(ed. note: the Wall Street Journal just keeps getting better)

So many sad jokes to be made about this, I don't know where to begin.  It's so sad, yet so, so....intriguing.

I hope you're sitting down.

It occured to me on this 55th day before my 25th birthday (that's a QUARTER OF A CENTURY, people) that some (most) of my childhood dreams were doomed never to be realized from the day they were first thought up.

Case in point: I have never, and I fear I never will be a member of an 80's metal hairband. No, no! Don't try to console me. I can only blame myself (and the fact the 80s ended 15 years ago, natch. But whatever...).

I can, however, ease the passing of my childhood fantasy...ye, THE DYING OF THE LIGHT...with a little make-believe.

So here goes.

IF I were in a band, we'd be called...are you ready?...wait for it....The Scare Quotes. No wait...make that..."The Scare Quotes." You like that? The heavy metal umlaut is, like, SO overdone. Definitely need some new forms of punctuation in Ye Ole Cannon O' Metal Names.

I would be the lead guitarist though my only experience actually playing a guitar was when I picked up my dad's Martin F-something or other when I was a kid and managed to pick out "Farmer in the Dell" by ear. I was such a rockstar. What was even more impressive was that I THOUGHT I was playing "Old MacDonald Had a Farm." That's right - I was already totally oblivious/incoherent by time I was five years old. I was like Keith Richards, Stephen Malkmus and Courtney Love all in one (minus the accent, shitty hair cut and lipstick faux pas, of course. Those didn't set in until I was 7).

The lead singer of "The Scare Quotes" could be anyone - just as long as they're either a)British or b)a working class hero.

Finally, the drummer and bass player would need to have any one (or two) of these names to get the gig: Judd, Malcolm, Max, Scarlett, "Wolfman," Harry, or Beeper. Oooo, Beeper. I especially like that.

So there you have it. One last fantastical musing before I end yet another childhood aspiration once and for all.

::SIGH::

It sucks growing up.