Routine Dullness

TA-DUM-ta-ta-dum-ta-ta-ta-TA-TA-DUM-ta-ta-ta-ta-dum-TA-DUM!

Every soundtrack of every action film ever made is the exact same thing. Same rhythm. Same tones. Same beat. It’s amazing that we still enjoy action movies at all. And yet we do – we all still shiver in our seats when that music blares out of the movie-theater speakers. Some of us just develop this mechanism not to recognize the dull fact that we’re seeing the same things over and over, doing the same things again and again.

Another example of this are those people who forget jokes. You can tell them the same ole’ knock-knock jokes five times in a month and they’ll still burst out laughing every time and say that “That was a good one! I’ve never heard it before!” It’s rather incredible if you think about it.

I suppose it’s lucky though, because if we didn’t have that as human beings then we’d realize how amazingly boring our routines can be. We’d need to go out and complete more and more insane stunts to keep ourselves interested. Actually, come to think of it, that’s not a bad idea – there are too many people on the planet anyway.

I’m a Fan. Deal With It.

Being a loyal and dedicated fan of anything is a problem. Do you want to know why? Well, I’ll tell you why.

First, inevitably, none of your friends will be fans of the same thing. They’ll either look down on you because of your fandom, or they’ll just pity and ridicule you fondly for it every chance they get. Either way, you’re alone in this except for strangers you might meet and befriend through your fandom.

Second, you’ll waste money to no end. No matter what it is, be it merchandise or new music or tickets or rare items, you HAVE to have it. You just have to. Your world won’t be complete without every single artifact you can find that has to do with your fandom.

Third, you will be branded something extreme – emo, football freak, Trekkie – even if you’re relatively healthy and don’t spend all of your time on forums and at events.

Fourth and finally, society at large seems to find it amiss when we fans scream and yell and gather for some reason or other and often we will have a hard time fitting in if we don’t learn to curb our enthusiasm and find some topics of conversation that don’t have to do with our love.

Conclusion? It’s obvious, of course! Love nothing to the extreme and succumb to the mediocrity of society and of life! Then we’ll all be happy. In a mediocer way at least.

It’s Sad to Be a Stereotype…

But sometimes I am the typical GIRL – as the joy of my purchase of a belt and sweatshirt from an adorable indie shop proves. As much of a tomboy as I can be, as male-like crude, as much of a gamer as I am, I still sometimes have to give myself over to absolute girlyness.

Another thing I do that screams “stereotypical FEMALE” is doodling. This is a behavior that’s been reinforced by long hours of listening to lectures about Sharing and Clients and Real Customer Service and Loyalty. Meaning my job so far. My doodling consist mostly of inanimate objects who are smiling or frowning or yawning, all in an excruciatingly cute manner. It makes me rather ill to contemplate it now.

Perhaps my pen is conspirating against me, because every time I want to doodle something pretty or creative, another smily-faced food or drop or bubble comes out. After all, the pen is mightier and all that. I can totally believe this of my pen. The bastard.

The Difference Between Ice-Cream and Looking for Colleges.

Some comic relief. The comic part being my Paint-drawing skills and the relief being the lack of words.

Gods, Dogs and Young Goats

I was speaking today to a thirty year old at work. She’s a mother of two, and religious. I was very impressed though – apart from the fact that she believes in a made up man in the clouds, she actually seemed to have some good views about life and parenting. She was telling us how some of her friends just stop living basically once they have kids, but she and her husband make sure to go out together for a meal or movie or just an outing together once a week. Odd hearing such a sober thought from a delusional woman.

I bet god really is a big dog sitting on a chair somewhere, pissed off at the misspell.

Speaking of dogs, I randomly found the funiest thing: http://www.dogisagod.it/ It’s designer dog houses. Actual arcitectural design was put into this. My favorite is the transparent doghouse. Sheesh, pets are awesome, but this shit is scary.

“Sign here. And here. And here too.”

First days at work are tedious. I spent my day signing paperwork I didn’t have time to read and listening to people trying to be funny while actually telling me just how devious credit-card companies can be. More time was spent on breaks or hanging around in corridors than actually learning anything important.

Coworkers. Ugh. While all are older and should be more mature or intelligent on that basis alone, it felt like I was in a group of pop-culture victims. I won’t deny that I am a victim of certain strains of pop-culture as well. But at least I don’t believe that the local version of “Survivor” is THE SHITZ. Nor do I feel immensely proud of how trashed I get every Friday.

Imagine please now a large group of frowny-faces, brown in color, banging on a large, swollen and tender object with a hammer. Now, imagine that object is your brain, and you will get a good idea of how my head feels right now.

Political Drinking

There is clearly something wrong when at a dinner table three out of the seven adults are drunk and the four youngsters are sober. I don’t want to sound pretentious but sometimes it truly seems as if young people could be better at governing, if only because we’d all be willing to compermise much faster so we could go play GTA4.

Dinner last night at Sir B. F.’s family was interesting obviously. A loud political argument took up most of the time, in which it was said that being in the Israeli army is like being a rapist; a grown women started crying out of frustration; much happiness was had over a line of paper towel bits and three bottles of wine were left standing empty on the table by the end.

Seriously, the only normal thing about dinner was the yummy coffee-flavored dessert. Other than that, the evening was completely bananas. And bats. And generally crazy.

“Women, Media and Conflict: A Gendered View of the Media Coverage of the Lebanon War”

This was the title of the lecture and panel I attended tonight with Sir. B. F. who volunteers with Keshev, the orginization hosting this event. I shall proceed with a review of the lecture. Perhaps not a relevant one, but a review nontheless.

First of all, it was hosted in a very small room, which was fitting for the small amount of people who attended. What was less fitting and more amusing was holding this sort of discussion in a room that held very large photographs of Bette Davis, Judy Garland and Ingrid Burgman. Because what did these three beauties of Hollywood do for femenism?

The man sitting in front of me was the husband of the woman who published the paper on the topic above. He was very intent on telling people off who weren’t listening or being quiet enough for his taste, but then he answered his cellphone twice and whispered fiercely into it, answered SMS messages on said cellphone, kept looking at his watch and at the door at the back of the room to see who was coming in and fidgeted unnecessarily and loudly. I can see you give quite a lot of respect to your opinionated wife, Mr. Fidget.

Lastly, a lot of what was said was interesting and relevant, but then a lot of it also wasn’t. The panel sadly turned into a bitchy cat-fight of women talking over each other and disagreeing loudly with each other over issues of how women were and are portrayed in the media. One of the women, the speaker I related to most, actually left the room after a woman from the audience criticized her for needing to leave early to take care of her children. I do not know how the fact that she failed to hire a babysitter for that night was relevant to the feminist discussion in any way, and yet in our lovely Israeli society, it seems things always go off track and get personal.

Thus concludes my mostly irrelevent report of the evening.

Dramatic Excercises

You’re going fast. Your blood is racing in your veins and your heart is pounding loud and clear. Sweat is pouring down your back, your neck, your chest. You’re drenched with the stuff. You realize that it wasn’t your imagination – your worst fear really is coming up fast. Right in front of you.

Another person, going just as fast as you and drenched with less sweat – they’re coming up, their headphone wires dangling, their eyes averted. But the moment of truth must come. You both look up, meet each others wild and unpredictable gaze, and then just as quickly look away and keep going. You sigh out of relief as much as for the oxygen. The awful moment of meeting the eyes of a fellow Walker has now passed!

Oh! But look there, in the distance! A back! Not a sweaty, face-bearing front, but a back! Just as sweat drenched perhaps, but not bearing that horrible awkward gaze. Oppertunity arises. Your blood beats faster as you quicken your pace, trying to out-do your unaware opponent. Is he on to you? Is he? No, he seems blessedly ignorant of his fate. Soon, as your heart is wildly protesting your increase in speed, you manage to walk briskly past your opponent. Success! The opponent is too slow, and though he tries to catch up to you, the game is already lost for him. He will have to admit defeat. He was the slower Walker.

Lastly, as you’re drawing nearer and nearer to your destination – home and the shower – you catch a glimpse of the Undefeated. These Undefeated are so much faster than you, so much sleeker, their hearts so much stronger. These are the Runners. You duck your head in shame and anger at them and march on to your destination, not looking up until you’re safe in your haven. You have passed the daily test. You have Walked.

So let’s get the ball rolling.

I wonder how that term was coined. I would assume from some sort of sport, but who knows. I do know one thing though – if I ever have to run a business meeting of some sort, and I have to say that sentence [and all heads-of-meetings have to say it] then I’ll literally get a ball rolling and we can have a nice game of table-top football while we’re brainstorming. I think that sort of work environment could be more pleasant for everyone.

Yesterday I went to the most peculiar beach with Sir B. F. It was a beach all right, with the mandatory bar and restaurant not far from it. The beach itself wasn’t the odd thing though really. It was the sea. They had roped in part of the sea. Yes, roped in. There was a big rope with floating plastic bobbing things on it roping in a small section of the sea. I found this a blatant and disturbing attempt to control the great ocean! Quite fitting, as it was in a city named after the greatest conqueror of all time basically, Caesar.

The thing that really got to me though was that human beings can hold their breaths and we could’ve swum UNDER the rope and gotten to the rest of the ocean. Geniuses.