Lost in the Din

The office is so quiet, so hushed, but a clamor in my head pervades the stillness, not jarring, like the faint creak of a door at the edge of an afternoon nap, but incessant, like the faraway buzzing of a halogen light.

Four years. Four years they’ve gone while I’ve stayed. Four years they’ve played while I’ve worked. Four years they’ve reconnected while I’ve disconnected. Four years.

If I admit I can’t get used to this, will the restlessness subside, or will I lose myself in the din?

Presenting Gravatars! Again!

Yay, y’all! Now we can JUDGE each other!

I dedicated a TechnoGeekery episode to this topic back in August last year, and then Gravatars went all crazy on me and everyone was like, “O. Em. Gee. Where is my stinkin’ Gravatar?! LAME!” But in the latest upgrade of Wordpress, they threw caution to the wind and built in Gravatar support! I know, right?! SWEET. Accordingly, the following information and TechnoGeekery video may be familiar to you, but watch again. (I’m testing out mdialog– as suggested by new TechnoGeek Gail Rivett– by creating a channel. Let me know how it works for you, especially those PC users out there!)

IF that doesn’t work for you, try this:

With no further ado…

In our day-to-day lives we can judge others by what they look like, what clothes they wear, how they talk, oh, all sorts of ways. But blogs and boards are so… anonymous. It’s not as if we can actually see each other, right? So how the heck are we supposed to judge each other?!

Fortunately, that’s where gravatars come in. With gravatars, we can create custom images that represent us. A personal logo, if you will. Gravatars identify us and say something about our personality. Which… ah-ha! Okay, what I meant to say was… ah-ha! Now we have something to work with!

Think about it. What can we infer about a person who creates a gravatar image featuring a fluffy white kitten perched atop a pink pillow? Um, cutesy, much? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Conversely, what can we assume about a person whose gravatar features an image of Jude and Tommy during that scene on Instant Star when they were totally making out in the rain? Aaaw! Hopeless romantic, that’s what! Eh? Eh?

Take a gander at some random gravatars:

So if you frequently find yourself commenting on blog posts throughout the blogosphere, I strongly suggest you create a gravatar. You know… so people can judge you? Then your gravatar should appear whenever you post a comment to a gravatar-enabled blog—like Technogeekery.com, for instance. Hey, it’s easy and it’s free, that’s all I’m saying. Do what you want. I don’t even care. Much.

So… do you have a gravatar now? Well, what are you waiting for? Show off the darn thing by commenting on this vidcast, for heaven’s Pete sake. Do it, do it, do it!

Do it.

Special Message to Spammers

No. I can unequivocally state that I do not, in fact, want to increase the girth of my, er, male member. What with me not having boy parts and all. Just so you know. So please stop sending me Special Offers.

Especially those ones in Chinese, for obvious reasons.

I mean, honestly. Why don’t they send out spam the same way they distribute Happy Meals at McDonald’s? “You want one cheeseburger Happy Meal? Okay… boy or girl?”

Guess who’s TWITTERpated?!

Follow Chassy Cat at TWITTER.

That’s right, y’all. I’ve already jumped on board the Twitter train, but now I am determined to get off my lazy, non-Twitteriffic butt and rush full steam ahead! Or something. Crap. Yeah, I lost myself in my analogy, too.

Whatever! My point is this: I have installed a Twitter widget in my right sidebar. Seriously. Take a look. —> Over there! I can wait… See, I’ve decided to Twitter random thoughts as they occur to me throughout the week. For instance, please note today’s Chassy Cat Tweets:

Britney Spears totally cracked me up on HIMYM. Well, there you have it. Words I never thought I’d utter without a codicillary “Not!”

AND

I suddenly realized the only time I will ever “stop traffic” is during my funeral procession and basically my day went downhill from there.

Woo! FUN! I mean, that is good stuff there. All I’m saying is that a person needs an outlet for all the randomness in life, and I think I’ve found mine. And all in 140 characters or less, to boot! That’s right… hollah!

*raises the roof*

So feel free to visit DWM to see my Tweets, or head on over to Twitter and follow me there. Oooh, and if you already have a Twitter account, we can totally Tweet each other! Right?!

Dirty.

Royally Screwed

As I sat at a traffic signal a few moments ago, stopped at a green light, my feelings quickly descended from the heady heights of annoyance– I mean, STOPPED! at a GREEN LIGHT!– into the realm of somber thoughtfulness, which was most likely a natural progression of thought due to the mile-long funeral procession crossing in front of me through the light.

And as I watched the cavalcade of mourners roll slowly by, preceded by motorcycle police officers with their sirens and lights providing guaranteed right-of-way to the hearse containing the casketed remains which followed closely behind, something pretty earth-shattering occurred to me.

See, I suddenly realized the only time I will ever be treated even remotely like royalty– with cavalcades equipped with sirens and lights and special flashers, and adoring family and friends following me around– I will be totally DEAD. And thus, completely unable to enjoy the experience. And heaven knows that my family and friends won’t have a good time, what with being all wrecked with sadness and whatnot over the tragedy of their loss. You know, of me. Right? Right?! Dude, I’m saying.

In what universe is that fair?

Benjamin Franklin once said, “Certainty? In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” And today I suddenly realized that in both? Well, I get totally gypped.

Girls’ Night Out

What I learned last night during Girls’ Night Out:

1. Boboli pizza crust RULES.

2. Lots of bowlers have never seen a person do the Strike Dance or the I Picked Up a Spare Jive, which… weird?

3. It IS possible to bowl a 33.

4. Wii Bowling is WAY different from bowling at an actual bowling alley.

5. Lobbing the bowling ball down the alley is frowned upon. Even if it is accidental, which is so unfair.

6. I really, REALLY suck at bowling. Like a LOT.

7. If you really, REALLY suck at bowling, random people will stop by to tell you so, and to offer helpful pointers on how to handle your bowling ball.

8. It is considered bad bowling etiquette to suggest appropriate places for said random people to shove their own bowling balls.

9. Beading Necklaces Night will probably beat out Bowling Night next Girls’ Night Out.

Random Thoughts on a Dreary Thursday Afternoon

Okay, I’m not sure if any of you have ever lost consciousness before, so let me just say very quickly here: Don’t do it.

No, seriously. If you can avoid a situation in which there is a possibility you might lose consciousness, by all means, do so. Whatever you do, do not pass out. Especially if you have foolishly locked yourself in an ER restroom where no one can find you until you come to, drag yourself up from the floor, and stagger out to find a nurse. Or, you know, anyone who will make the world stop spinning. It is NOT fun. Not fun at all. Trust me.

Just FYI.

Also, this? This right here is exactly what happens when you send a man to get support supplies after you bust your ass. Wait. I have to say, it seems like there should be something after that, doesn’t it? Like, “I busted my ass doing this report and this is the thanks I get?!” Or, “Hey, don’t bust your ass trying to get this done, it’s not that big a deal, yo?” You know? But whatever. Hee. I said “but.” Which totally sounds exactly like butt! Because it is a homonym?! Or more specifically, a homophone?! Hee! BUT.

What?

Oh yes… THIS is exactly what happens!

I know, right?! It’s like he just walked into CVS and grabbed the biggest, brightest, most gosh-awfulest butt-support-donut EVER and was like, “Dude. Cat will so totally love me for this. I am the best husband in the entire universe. I wonder if my bike pump will fit this bad boy?” And I was like, “Oh, the HELL you say?!”

I mean, guys? It smells like those kickballs you used to check out from the P.E. teachers at recess! Yeah. Like that. And I can totally bounce it and it makes that rubbery BOING! sound, which I demonstrated to several of my very impressed co-workers. Well, once they recovered from the blinding shock of the Manic Panic Orange, that is.

Honestly.

Thank goodness for my spare office hoodie, that’s all I’m saying.

So… think anyone will notice?

Didn’t See It Coming

MEMO TO FAMOUS DUDES: Drugs totally suck. No, really. And listen, I don’t care how badly life seems to blow at the moment… Cut. That. Shizz. Out. No, REALLY.

You’re breaking my heart.

That being said, R.I.P., Heath Ledger. I certainly didn’t see that one coming.

Honestly. I feel as if I’ve been shaken from a self-absorbed stupor as I deal with the sudden and forcible realization that we should never let the people we care about believe they are alone or unloved. It strikes me that often we (and by we, I mean I) are so tightly enfolded in our own loneliness or disappointment– in our pain– that we overlook– or refuse to hear– the low, distant roll of dark clouds that hover over the heads of those closest to us. Look, we think, she jokes, she laughs. She’s fine, just fine.

But that is just it! That is the thing, right there! I should know better, I should see, because I know only too well that cries for help are more often than not silent… and masked with a smile.

Hidden behind a laugh.

Buried deep within a joke.

People we care about should never feel alone or lost in the darkness rumbling overhead. We (and by we, I mean I) need to crawl out of the smothering folds of our own sorrows or misfortunes and look around us. Visit or call those who are alone or suffering. Extend encouragement and a listening ear to those who are weathering personal tempests. Offer assurance that people do care, and that they do matter, and that brighter days do indeed lie ahead. Do it. All it takes is a moment– a heartbeat, really– in the big scheme of things. Just look beyond ourselves and do it.

It might just save a life.

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
–Norman Cousins

Just Thinkin’

I love hot chocolate, but detest chocolate milk. [cue Robert Palmer’s Some Like It Hot]

Too this end, I’ve noticed that my enjoyment of the beverage decreases exponentially as I work my way to the bottom of the cup. (I blame the inevitable cooling factor.)

Whatever. I just think that’s weird.

Ponderings and Musings

1. Should I put all the old baggage– the disappointment, the acrimony– behind me and reconcile with American Idol? As much as I hate to admit it, I miss our times together– the laughter, the tears, the recaps– and there’s just so much HISTORY there, you know? It is a tough call… should I throw caution to the wind and jump back in?

2. In this fierce political environment, what is the proper response in casual conversation when a person suddenly makes a vulgar or disparaging remark about a political party as a whole– such as “Democrats are so [choose an expletive]!” or “All Republicans are complete [insert vulgarity here]!”– presented as a statement of fact, with the assumption that everyone else in the group totally agrees? Pushing aside the obvious inadvisability of gross generalizations, not everyone is interested in turning a watercooler discussion about the latest episode of Gossip Girl into a political debate. Hrm… how to diffuse? Must think of witty, all-purpose comeback…

3. When did pom pons get so small? When did that happen? Cheerleaders at televised sporting events look as if they are clutching candy wrappers and waving them at the crowd with their twiggy little arms, all, “See? I eat! See?! I’m not starving myself to fit into my size 0 cheer ’skirt’! Take THAT, biznitches! Wooooooo! Number OOOONE! YEAH!” Right? Weird.

Just Wondering

I’m just wondering if it is kosher to sneak walk into a lounge super early in the morning and buy several cans of soda from the vending machine. You know, at one time. Like, “Do de do de do, I’m just dropping quarter after quarter after quarter into this machine and buying up all the soda– clink, clink, clink, THUNK… clink, clink, clink, THUNK– even though this isn’t even my floor and why on earth do I even need six cans of soda at 6:00 a.m. anyway, do de do de do…”

Oh, I’m not judging. I’m just throwing it out there. Because what if lunch time rolls around and someone is craving, say, I don’t know, a Diet Dr. Pepper, for instance, and some person who doesn’t even work on the 3rd floor has already snuck gone into the 3rd floor lounge super early in the morning– you know, before any sane normal person has even thought of indulging in a tasty soda beverage– and bought all the cans? Can you imagine the disappointment? Especially when it is discovered that all that remains in the vending machine is grape soda? GRAPE SODA?!

I mean, that kind of sneaky behavior just seems like it might be selfish. And bad manners. To me, anyway. But I don’t know. I could be totally wrong. I’m just saying that other people may want some Diet Dr. Pepper, too, but they have been taught from an early age that it isn’t polite to hoard the soda that is purportedly intended to be shared in an equitable manner by everyone on the 3rd floor– a floor on which some people who are stealing purchasing all the good soda may not even work, I might add. I’m just asking. I realize I could be completely wrong here.

In any event, all of this is not to even mention the fiscal ramifications of such greediness behavior. I mean, why do we have access to wholesale warehouses like Costco or BJ’s, if not to supply selfish people consumers with cases and cases of any type of soda they desire? All at a reasonable price designed to fit any budget? Hey, I just think a membership at a wholesale warehouse seems like a more fiscally responsible choice if a person is looking to buy in bulk. All those quarters add up, you know. That’s all I’m saying. But who am I to say? I’m not the soda police.

I was just wondering, is all.

I Want

Faint voices echo from far off, people gossiping, laughing, chatting. A soft, almost inaudible hum drifts across the tops of the cubicles, but even its barely audible keening cannot penetrate my numbness. Strange. The cubicle walls shouldn’t hold out noise– they don’t, really– but it all seems so faraway, nonetheless. Suddenly I want to get up, to wander away, to find a window and press my nose against its icy slickness. I want to stare out, past the newly repaved parking lot to the grove of trees just beyond. I want to watch the trees– which stand tall and bare in the wintery breeze– as their boughs whip and sway and beckon to me beneath a sky of murky grey. Come out, the trees would invite. Come out and feel. And I want nothing more than to run outside into the cold and the colorless, and dance and whip and cut loose in the wind. I want to catch the sudden shaft of sunlight that shoots through the branches as the sun wanders out– only momentarily!– from behind darkened, stormy clouds. I want the light to brighten up the washed-out, grey, desolately drained of color dullness of my view. I want to see and sigh and dream.

I want, I want, I want…

I want to feel.

When People Get Too Comfortable Together: A Cautionary Tale

TGIM: You know what, Cat? I’m not going to wear my contacts today. I’m going to give my eyes a rest… you know, free eyeball it.

Cat: You’re… wait, what?

TGIM: Oh, hey, that was witty! Write that down.

Cat: Oh, good lord.

Global Warming: It’s the Cows, Not Us

Over lunch, TD turned to me and stated, all conversational-like, “Momma, I really don’t get the big deal about global warming.”

“Oh, okay, well–” I started, gearing up for my “will life on the planet survive the eco-destructive tendency of humans” conversation (which… DUH!), but my boy? He wasn’t quite finished with that thought yet.

“I mean, c’mon. Who really cares about our descendants a thousand years from now? What’s up with that?”

Fact: Tacos don’t taste quite as good when they are inhaled into your sinus passages due to sudden snorts of laughter. Just so you know. As my eyes began to water–those spices BURN going up, I tell you what!–I turned to TGIM for a little help.

“What’s up with that, indeed,” TGIM replied, rubbing the top of TD’s head playfully. “I’m with you. Who cares about our future generations?”

“Plus, you know what else is contributing to global warming?” TD asked, looking to make sure he had our undivided attention. “Cow burps,” he crowed triumphantly.

“Ew!” Hannah squealed.

“Gross,” added Alli.

“Well, sure,” TGIM agreed.

Fact: I am never going to be able to enjoy a taco again. Oh, the agony! In my sinuses! Thanks a WHOLE lot, TGIM. Gosh!

TD looked at me, trying to gauge whether I was in agreement, or whether I was mocking him with my uncharacteristic silence, which he did not appear to notice was due to some serious food mastication issues. “I mean, we’ll all be dead, anyway, right?” he said. “DEAD.”

I finally choked down the taco. “As doornails,” I answered. “And why? Because of a bunch of stinking cows chewing genetically engineered alfalfa and burping up methane gas, that’s why!”

“True dat,” TGIM concurred solemnly. “True dat.”

Honestly. Family conversations over dinner? Rock solid!

I love a good teaching opportunity. What can I say? That’s just the kind of momma I am.

But I WANT a Chocolate Teapot!

In a conversation this morning I instinctively used the idiom, “Perhaps you could put a bug in her ear about pushing those papers through clearance.” And then I was like, “Ew.” Because the bug? In the ear? What’s that all about?

It’s a phrase without rhyme and reason, that’s all I’m saying!

In any event, there is a new episode of TechnoGeekery up at TechnoGeekery.com. Yep! You heard it right from the horse’s mouth. I’m not saying you to need to go hell for leather to check out the vidcast, I’m just saying you don’t want to be a day late and a dollar short.

I have to admit that lately I’ve been paralyzed with indecision. I’ve been so afraid I would drop the ball and let down my TechnoGeeks that this vidcasting thing has almost become an albatross around my neck. On the one hand, I knew that he who hesitates is lost. But then I remembered that haste makes waste. Eventually I chose to stick to my game plan, although I did change things up a bit. That’s right… we’re going on a FIELD TRIP!

Keep in mind that unasked Burning Techno Questions are as much use to me as a chocolate teapot. So get your ducks in a row and drop me a line, for goodness Pete’s sake.

Ponytails Be Gone

Chopped!

And, you know… blonde.

On a completely different note, the way the four desks in my cubicle space are set up situates all of our phones at close proximity to one another. Because of this, my colleagues often unwittingly throw me into the realm of Too Much Information. Oh, you know what I’m talking about. You’ve had those phone conversations at work! Don’t lie! The ones you think no one can hear? But people actually CAN? Hear them, that is? As a result, when friends or family get in touch with me while I’m at work, I am so inhibited by the thought of being overheard that I am forced to take on a voice reminiscent of the soothing, pillow-talky, late-night radio personality voices of yore, which inevitably provokes the person on the other line to demand, “Hey, are you mad at me? No? Depressed? Sick? What’s wrong with your voice?” And I have to patiently (and quietly) explain, “No, dummy, I’m at WORK.”

And that is no small feat, I tell you what. Because I am normally a Loud Talker on the phone, you see, and apparently my abnormally calm, oh-so-easy-on-the-ears voice freaks people the hell out.

Personally, I’m thinking this desk formation violates the fundamental principles of Feng shui. I don’t know about my co-workers, but I’m worried about my ch’i.

Random Friday Ramblings

(Cat’s Caveat Lector: I haven’t had more than four hours of sleep any night this week. Sleep deprivation makes me cranky. And sort of stupid. That is all.)

So… on the way home from work yesterday I heard that song If Everyone Cared by Nickelback. You know, the one that goes, “If everyone cared and nobody cried/ If everyone loved and nobody lied/ If everyone shared and swallowed their pride/ Then we’d see the day, when nobody died.” And I thought to myself: Hey, now. That’s just plain silly.

I mean, at the end of the day, even if nobody cried or lied, and everyone on God’s green earth cared and loved and shared and swallowed their pride, I’m pretty sure accidentally stepping in front of a swiftly moving vehicle or locomotive of some sort would still kill you dead. As a doornail, right? And try explaining to the lions and other wild animals why they shouldn’t maul or eat people! That’s right! I bet Nickelback didn’t take into consideration the wild, dissident nature of the beast! What? Like the lions are just going to sit back and say, “Hey! These tasty human wandering around aren’t crying or lying anymore! They are caring and loving and sharing and swallowing their pride! Let’s not eat them today!” (Hee. I said “pride.”) Heck no! The kings of the jungle will still freaking eat you! If you happen to be in the jungle and stuff! Oh, and don’t even get me started on natural disasters.

Be reasonable with your song lyrics, Nickelback. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to change the lyrics to something like, “…Then we’d see the day, when nobody died… unless they get hit by a swiftly moving train, in which case, c’est la vie.” I’d still buy the song! Well, except for the whole It’s a Nickelback Song thing. In any event, stop creating expectations of invincibility in a Utopian society! That’s all I’m saying.

My point? Rested.

Speaking of eager little beavers… my little Mack? Not so much with the eager little beaverness when it comes to school this fall.

What? Yes, I was too speaking of eager little beavers! Or maybe I nodded off for a moment and dreamed about them! But whatever! Stop interrupting! GOSH.

Conversation between Mack and TGIM as he dropped her off (read: forced her out of the car kicking and screaming) at school yesterday morning:

Dad: Remember, Mack… happy! Smiley face! Joy joy!
Hannah: Hrumph. Sad. Frowny face. Misery misery.

I’m not going to lie. While I’m understandably concerned about my daughter’s reluctance to fully embrace the fourth grade experience, I’m more than a little impressed with her spontaneous and witty analogistic rejoinder during a moment of emotional crisis. And she’s never even SEEN Ren and Stimpy! So there’s that.

Happy! Smiley face! Joy joy!
Sad. Frowny face. Misery misery.

Catchy! I’m thinking the t-shirts would sell like hotcakes.

Uncool

I can’t ever do anything the cool way.

Honestly. I couldn’t smash my hand while doing something cool or heroic, like–in a superhuman, adrenaline-fueled burst of strength–lifting a car off the bodies of a trapped mother and her three children. Oh, no. I slam my hand in my car door. Like an IDIOT. Oooh! Look at me! Miss Coordination! I can’t remember to pull my hand out of the way of a car door in time to prevent damage to my limbs! Wooooo!

It reminds me of when I was a competitive gymnast. My worst injury? Did I get it while performing a double-twisting layout during my floor exercise? No. Did I get it when my fingers slipped from the uneven bars during my giant swing? Uh-uh. Did I get it while showing a class of six-year-olds how to do a proper cartwheel? DING DING DING! We have a winner!

Or… not. Which was my point, actually.

*sigh*

Life is so unfair.

Next time I hurt myself, I darn well better be saving the life of an endangered mammal of some sort. That’s all I’m saying. You hear me, Oh Whimsical and Ironical Fate? Well?! DO YOU?!

In other news, Technogeekery Show #6: Trump Teens at Technology is up at Technogeekery.com. A big thanks to Paige from Mommycast.com for appearing as my special guest star slash expert person. You rock!

Life in the Fast Lane

So, yesterday afternoon, as I was driving down the Beltway in my sporty li’l Mazda Miata at speeds in excess of, er, sixty miles per hour, it suddenly occurred to me that I was driving (read: hurtling) down the Beltway in my sporty (read: teensy-tiny) li’l Mazda Miata (read: practically a toy car!) at speeds in excess of sixty (read: seven—er, fine, eighty) miles per hour (read: way too damn fast). And with that realization, a shock of unadulterated terror like I have never known (not even when I jumped out of that perfectly good airplane that one time with only a hot foreign dude—oh, and a parachute—strapped to my back!) jolted through me. I’m not talking about a pang or twinge of fear. Uh-uh. No. TERROR. IN ITS SHEEREST FORM.

Through a haze of blinding panic I caught a glimpse of the enormous wheels of a semitruck as they rolled past my window—taller than my car and mocking me, all, “Toy Car, I mock you weeth my rubbery enormity! I weel roll you down and squash you eento pancakes, yes?! Oh, ho, ho!” Sparing only a millisecond of surprise that the semitruck’s tires were apparently French imports, one hand flew involuntarily to my chest with—I can only imagine—the ostensible purpose of keeping my suddenly pounding heart from bursting—blappidy BLAP!—straight through my ribcage. Beads of sweat—cooled immediately by the crisp, conditioned air—broke out on my forehead. I could barely hear the radio over the accelerated hammering of my heartbeat, pounding in my ears— pounding, pulsing, rushing, racing! Danger! Panic! Good lord! I was all in a panic! Cars! Everywhere! Big cars! Semitruck wheels! Towering over me! With slightly dubious French accents! I was going to die! In my sporty li’l Miata! DIE, I tell you! GAH!

And… BLAM! Just like that, the terror vanished, replaced with a sudden wave of euphoria so strong, so sweet, it sent waves of chills up my spine. It was the most curious thing. Every nerve in my body seemed to be tingling with exhilaration. I mean, I was whizzing down the Beltway in my sporty li’l Mazda Miata at top speeds! TOP SPEEDS! WHIZZING! ME! FOOYAH!

With that realization, I turned off the air conditioning, rolled down the window, let down my hair, and cranked up The Jeep Song by Lee Coulter, which happened to be playing on the stereo at that very moment. At the top of my lungs, I sang along with Lee as I left those pompous semitruck tires in my dust.

“…making people stare, she’s on her way… she’s on her waaaaaaaaaay!”

In other news, I’m pretty damn certain I will be trading in my sporty li’l Miata for a big-ass SUV. Like, IMMEDIATELY.

Just so you know.

More Toilet Etiquette, AKA Quest for a Lost Civilization

Never–under any circumstances–should the handle on the INSIDE of the bathroom stall be wet. Never! Do you hear me, people?! Never EVER! What are we… Neanderthals? Are we a civilized society or WHAT?! Huh?! WELL?!

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a second date with industrial-strength disinfectant soap and some nearly scalding water.

*eeuugh*

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