Flipping through rudimentsofwisdom.com supplied by the lovely eener, i -of course- made a bee-line to the language section to see what I could see.
This little tidbit is absolutely true. It’s called the McGurk effect and I’ve seen/heard it work. It’s super neato misquito.
Give me a sec while I adjust my wire glasses, settle in my comfy chair and put down my cross-stitch…my rant will be starting with “Kids these days…”:
Kids these days…wtf?
Apologies to those I know, and I do respect you on many levels…but wtf?
Why is it that today’s twenty-somethings seem to believe that whatever is not current is beyond their sphere of knowledge? Anything that pre-dates 1983 seems to be unknowable…and I’m being generous in saying 1983. Listen:
Last night I went to a pub close to the theatre to pick up some dinner. I walk in. I notice (in order):
– inflatable palm trees at the door
– seems to be some sort of 80s theme..but more specific
– the bartender is in white pants, white jacket, and light blue t-shirt underneath…
– …he also has those armpit gun holsters under his jacket
– Miami Vice is playing on every TV in the joint (that alone may have started some major pukage)
I point to the bartender (from whom I intend to collect my order) and say, ‘hey Crockett’
‘huh?’, he says
I, thinking he just didn’t hear me over the din, repeat myself, ‘hey Crockett’
‘what?’, he looks confused
I look confused
His friend makes that sweeping gesture with his hand that means, ‘your outift’
‘huh?’, he says to his friend.
He looks more confused.
I look more confused.
His friend looks more confused and says, ‘she means your costume’…or something like that. I couldn’t hear.
‘OOOhhh!’, he says when the penny drops, ‘yeah!. ha ha.’
The penny should not have taken that long to drop. I didn’t know quite what to do other than giggle nervously and try to continue on with my business. Nervously, you ask? Well, because I was fighting so hard to not ask him why he forgot what his costume was. I fight these things because I intend to come back for their buffalo chicken wrap and it is a rule of mine not to piss anyone off that handles your food.
But that’s just one of a myriad of examples I have of 20’ish year old people not knowing anything beyond what has happened in their lifetime. Pop-culture-wise, that is. I mean…jesus christ. The fact that it was ‘before your time’ is no excuse. I understand about obscure references, but c’mon.
This 80s thing is starting to freak me out, too. I watch the young girls on campus dressing like I did when I was 12.
This post is lacking it’s ooomph because I’m avoiding some very specific things about specific people that I really like. So I’m going to change the subject slightly:
Another pet peeve…
I know this is nothing new, but I heard it again last night. “But you really only push a button, don’t you? That can’t be hard.”
Some jackass was asking my male coworker this last night AFTER it was understood that I was the projectionist. And I was standing right there. Honestly, I try (really..I do) not to make things about gender, but things like this are really irritating. So, I said, ‘why are you asking him when I’m the projectionist and I’m right here?’
“uh,” he said, “because he probably does it when you’re not around.”
“no. He doesn’t.”
He still turns to the guy and still discusses it.
Jesus.
It’s funny. I’m not sure what people think is up there. Do they think there’s a big DVD player? If not…if they realize we run 35 mm…do they think that fairies come and set up and maintain the film before I go and press that button? Do they think that in all the cogs and wheels and spokes that need to turn properly in order for that film to go on screen just magically ~do~? Everytime? And if it all goes to crap, do they think that the fairies return and fix it for me?
If it’s so easy, why have I wanted to quit so much because of all the things that stress me out about it?
On that front, though, I may be experiencing a small change of heart. Last night we had a packed house. This sounds trite and sappy but honestly…when you’ve got a group of people working together to deliver a quality product, in this case that product is entertainment, there’s nothing like the feeling when it all comes out well. After the pre-show and then starting Rocky Horror last night…I walked through the theatre and saw 370 people in and out of costume laughing and smiling and enjoying themselves, that feeling that I once had about projection returned for a second.
Yeah…I just reread that. I think I’m lame, too.
Sauntered over to ol’ buddy Bumf’s blog early this morning just before I began my daily toilette.
Now, it was dark at 6:30’ish this morning,
and C isn’t home yet,
and the class I was preparing myself for (morphology) is terrifying in it’s own right,
and I had just woken up,
and I took a look at THIS.
Okay, bigshot. I know it’s just a few little pictures of “ghosts”. You turn off those lights and be alone and come back and tell me nothing at all bothered you about them.
I’ll still think you’re lying.
Thanks for the freak-out, bumf.
first – hi-larious
second – I’m a bit suspect of the looky-likey face recognizing software when the main features I share with these women are a/ our faces are shiny and b/ our hair is pulled back…oh, and c/ we’re all chicks.
three – this is what I look like when I spend all day trying to think of how to critique someone who’s worked in his field probably since before I was born…well, the smile is a put-on
four – yeah, I knit that headband
five – my face is seriously lopsided. Like, some people have a lazy eye…I’ve got a lazy face.
Mum: “…..and so W said (you remember how skinny she is) that giving birth was just like a bowel movement…”
*looks me up and down*
“…you were some bowel movement. My word.”
Is it me? It’s me, isn’t it? I think it’s me.
I am a straight, healthy Canadian female…and yet…and yet I just cannot understand the appeal of this. Maybe that’s why that warning is on there. I’m under 35. I’m not offended, but the contents of what you will see if you explore that seemoresideeffects.ca site only make me embarrassed.
I don’t see the point behind male strippers, either.
Watching the men in seemoresideeffects.ca makes me, alone today in my apartment, cringe and peek between my fingers. The looks on the men’s faces as they attempt to make me moist and quivering just causes a furrow in my brow and a crinkle in my nose.
It’s me, I think.
UPDATE:
I gotta come back to this. I’m not through.
Okay…click on the link. First, who ever sits on their white leather couch, dressed to the nines in white and just reads a magazine. Jesus. The woman is the older, classier female version of Puddy from Seinfeld. Was it Puddy? Or Putty? Whatever, you know what I mean.
Now go to the last box of night cream. It’s “The Gardener”.
UGH….now everything is making me angry. Why does she moan when I run my mouse over the choices??
Anyway…get him to do the windows.
What the eff is this supposed to do for me? The way that guy cleans the windows and then aggressively flicks off the soap makes me want to aggressively punch him in the face. And what’s with those faces he’s making? Doesn’t he have a sister and why isn’t she calling him a dork right now??
And then…AND THEN…when he gets to the last window..the one that hides his “package”. Am I supposed to be salivating with the hope that he’s going to clean that window and we’ll see his jewels? A few things: first, with the faces that guy made as he washed the rest of the damn windows, I certainly am not looking forward to seeing his soapy, wrinkly sack. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to see any strange man’s wrinkly sack. Honest. second, you don’t have to have been around the block a bunch of times to know that the last window will never be cleaned. third, fuck off. fourth, shouldn’t you be gardening? fifth, I would rather poke through my eardrums with my best knitting needles than hear that effing poem you’re going to recite.
Ack! So awful!
I just got back from a linguistics conference in Banff. Thoughts on the conference:
– we got there late due to “unforseen” circumstances (for ‘unforseen’ read ‘unannounced’…fault placed squarely within my sphere of influence)
– we stayed for the morning talks. I wish I wasn’t a/ tired, b/ grumpy, and c/ hungry because some of the speakers had some really cool things to say and I kept getting more and more annoyed.
(note to gentlemen: I appreciate your kindness when you get up to offer your seat when I (or other women) are left standing. However, there are limits. If the women you’re graciously giving up your seat to are roughly your age or younger (and healthy and not pregnant), it’s not necessary. When the room is packed full and people have to shuffle around in order to accommodate said kindness, missing precious minutes of a talk that lasts only 15 minutes, it is even less necessary. If at least 60% of these shuffling people are women..then there’s really no point. Just sit your ass down.)
– we missed the afternoon. I couldn’t bear to go back. Especially since nothing at the conference that afternoon had anything to do with my interests. But, that was a mistake because, you see, I would have been tired and irritated anywhere I was and I might as well have been learning something while I was tired and irritated.
Thoughts on Banff:
– I am a Calgarian. Calgarians, by their very nature, are meant to adore Banff. ADORE. I don’t. I simply don’t. There. I said it.
Look, I like mountains, they are very pretty. But I don’t go to Banff to go hiking…I go to a mountain to go hiking, and then I go home. Banff is just a lot of shops and some pretty scenery. The scenery is very pretty. Lovely. But, I can’t figure out what there is to DO in Banff. Will someone please tell me the secret to loving Banff? Once you bought fudge, why are you staying?
– I”m happy I stayed…but not because it’s Banff. Only because it’s somewhere pretty to stay the night and an excuse to go out for lunch, have beers in the eve with friends, and then go out for breakfast. Actually, thoughts on that:
– I wish I would have gone back to the conference…though, spending the afternoon with the ladies of linguistics was very nice. I like those girls lots and I’m glad we got a chance to hang out. But, I’m not a shopper…and wandering shop to shop really gets me tired…which eventually irritates me. Which makes me mouthy. Which makes me think I”m funny, but probably is just really me wishing I was funny. As much as I liked hanging out with the girls, I felt as though I was doing nothing. Walking up and down the tacky streets of Banff doesn’t make me feel the slightest bit productive. Later, S and I went for beer and sat and talked and I finally had some strongbow induced relaxation..but it was difficult being uptight all afternoon…all day, really.
So, I’m gonna stop typing and get to work on the stuff that is making me freaky…
Only a woman with tremendous self confidence can get away with pants like these. Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Chaka Khan.
Maria Muldaur. Loved her since I was a baby.
Big Mama Thornton. A long since lost ‘women of the blues’ TV show recorded by my father and watched religiously by me as a little girl inspired the idea that girls look better in men’s clothes which stayed with me for at least a decade. She wrote Hound Dog, by the way.
These are the legwarmers that i’ve been working on for a million years. Not that it should have taken a million years…they weren’t that hard and I’m not that good to do anything that would take a million years, but after doing that small band of argyle, knitting over a foot of plain brown was SO boring.
Also…I think my legs aren’t as big as I think they are. These are a bit slippy.
I guess my head isn’t as big as I think it is, either.
Real quick, before I get to the homework I”ve been putting off since 8am (it being nearly noon now), I want to show you a couple of my completed projects.
I must apologize for the crappiness of the pics. They were taken with my cell, which is crappy, for one and secondly I have to hold my breath for 3 hours in order to get even close to a clear shot. Also, the background leaves plenty to be desired, but the rest of my place is so messy that this was all I got right now.
This is the hat. The hat of many beeeautiful colours (which really don’t show up well in the pic). It’s a tad too big for me (still) which makes me sorta sad, but I loooove it.
I don’t know how to post two pics in the same bloggy-post, so I’ll have to do this all over for the legwarmers.
I know this is a/ dorky and b/ time wasting, but I’ve got to tell ya something.
Although I’ve got, like, 5 knitting projects on the go:
1- legwarmers for myself
2- legwarmers for AM (that I promised her ages ago)
3- octopus for C (got 4 legs done so far)
…okay, 3…whatever…the point is that although I’ve got these on the go and want to start a few more, I had a serious hankerin’ for a new toque.
Not just ~any~ toque…no sir.
I pulled out a skein of my most expensive wool (unfortunately not featured anywhere on that website, but it’s the same place). It is 75% wool, 25% silk and 100% delicious! It’s a sorta stripey yarn…died different colours throughout and let me tell you…I CANNOT stop knitting this hat! I’m like this:
…oh my god, I love that shade of brown…gorgeous…wait! Wait! Is that hot hot hot pink coming up? ohhh..what are they going to look like together? Here it comes…OOOHhhhh! It’s beautiful! Is that orange I see? What a crazy and brilliant orange! Here it comes…bam! So pretty! …
and so forth…
So…then! Then! I made the mistake/incredible discovery of looking at the INSIDE of my hat in good light! It’s like a flavour sensation for my eyes! I can’t stop staring at the inside of this g-damn hat!
Completely at the mercy of this yarn.
Thing is..I’ve got no time for this. None. But I”m like putty in it’s fibres.
Okay, so Michael Jackson…with all we know about him now (and we don’t even have to go into that stuff, he’s weird legally, too)…makes a video where he and his posse harrass and sorta freak out a woman on the street.
Isn’t this just plain weird on many many levels?
I cried at work yesterday.
Noooo…no. Not in front of people. After things were okay, I snuck up to the office and called C to cry in his ear.
“That’s the way men do it.” Jennifer Marlowe to Baily Quarters WKRP 198-.
C soothed me, we discussed some options and then he let me go.
I felt like crying some more, so I called my mum. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for her, she wasn’t home so I decided to buck up and do some thinkin’. Besides, my dad was probably already asleep.
This may be the beginning of the end of my “career” in film.
Or, it may be a lull.
I can’t tell yet.
What I do know is that I was not expecting the amount of work involved with my choice of schooling. Holy effing crap. There is a ton. And I am very tired.
Mostly, I know, it just feels like there is a ton as I’m only, really, 3-4 weeks into it and haven’t adjusted to all the things that have been thrown at me in those weeks. I’m starting to, but haven’t finished, sharpening my efficiency skills…my reading skills…my attention skills (read that last part like N. Dynamite). Not to mention all those extra things you need to do if yer gonna be part of the program. Gad.
But, after a day of struggling to understand, worrying about things like being ready for Friday’s class, and oh-god-I-have-to-start-my-SSRCH-application, my mind was elsewhere when I made a small mistake that cost 2 hours of straight work and delayed the movie by nearly an hour.
(Dan: I learned that you never try to rewind without the ring in. That lesson was no fun.)
That sucked and I was never so close to quitting that job in my life. I’ve worked there off and on since ’97 and I’ve never come so close to finishing a shift and never coming back.
So…decisions.
My boss, afterwards, lectured me on why we never do what I did. Partly, less than half..maybe a quarter, it was his fault. But, whatever, I let him rant on at me because I did cost him money in the long run. He wasn’t abusive…I think he just needed to ‘get it out’. Then I told him to start looking for another person who can run the booth. I didn’t quit…but I made it clear that I can’t have the theatre overshadow what I”m really trying to do. Then I made it so that I wouldn’t have to work this weekend.
So…decisions.
What am I doing with a blog? 
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