Category Archives: Rantlet

All bitching, moaning, groaning, whining, and vitriol.

Stupid sexy interslice

Children, sometimes the internet breaks. It’s always always Jason’s fault.

I wanted to blog this morning, as I have been in a goofy mood since last night, but the server that holds this magnificent blog, Jake’s haiku-only blog, and the Jeaun crapped out.

So now I’m not full of imagination, silliness, or airplanes; I have to pee like a raceproverbial because I drank too much tea; and I really ought to whip out the IJ.

On the upside, it’s file clean-out day, and I get to wear jeans, and have scored a sweet free copy of the Qur’an.

Shudder to think

Last night I went to my usual pilates class, and my instructor was running late. When we settled in for class, she announced that she had some negative news, but she wanted to tell us before class so we could get on with our class and put some positivity into the world. (I approve of her choice!)

She was late to class because a woman who had been raped, throat slashed, and left for dead had come to her house for help. You can read the story here. Beyond what information the Trib story gives, I also know that the guy was wearing women’s undergarments under his clothes.

The whole story left our whole class stunned. This area is so far north of Chicago that there’s still a rural feel to it, and this is one of those really unfortunate things that leaves everyone feeling vulnerable. I guess the attacker was released from prison in November, and he’s a registered sex offender.

Anyway, I’m lucky enough to not hear many of these stories. The year before I went to St. Ambrose, a student was raped. For my freshman year, everyone was adamant about not walking across campus alone. By senior year, the caution had slacked. That was the last time I was aware that my otherwise-safe environment was not as it appeared. I can’t decide if I should turn my naturally low internal alarm up a notch in general, or just when the environment dictates. I don’t want to become paranoid and exhausted by my cautionary efforts, but I don’t want to live cavalierly when it’s apparent I should be more careful.

If you’re interested/scared shitless/wary/angry, there’s an online registry of sex offenders in Illionis.

Someone explain this to me.

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Is there some sort of grammatical interpretation of this headline that makes sense? Jake? Anyone? Post a comment if I’m an idiot for pointing out that “tyrant’s” is posessing nothing. Is it like Tyr-Ants in the Pants or just an awkward way of saying “tyrant is in his pants”?

Blah blah blah, yackity smackity, and a nice cold glass of orange juice

That, my friends, is the line the dad used to say in the short lived cartoon featuring baby Taz.

Le tigre

BoingBoing had a post featuring footage of the 120-degree jaw range of a Tasmanian Tiger, now extinct. This reminded me of the evening I spent watching a three-hour long Discovery channel feature on the Tasmanian Tiger. I don’t know if they did an extra super-duper good job of hooking me in, but despite incredible fatigue, I watched the whole thing. They delved into the history of the Tasmanian Tiger, and how it may or may not be extinct. Throughout the entire show, I was given the impression that they might still be around, and Discovery has it on tape. At the end of the show, round about 1 AM, they wrapped up with a “they may not be extinct, but we may never know” line. I was furious. I was angry not only at Discovery for duping me, but also for the fact that I wanted to see a Tasmanian Tiger, and I never will. (It was a very Violet Beauregarde feeling.) I can’t explain it, but there was a weird feeling of closure when I watched the video.

Analo-gesic

“Sonya, can you help us out with a good analogy for 1 to 10 million? Here’s where we’re starting – an illustration USA Today-type graph, an ant to an elephant or a penny to a stack taller than the Sears Tower. And I need this by 11:00 a.m.”

Luckily, this is from my favorite Corporate Shill, and I’ll be sure to add an extra version just for her – something perverse. Hup hup!

In the News

Texas House Bans ‘Suggestive’ Cheerleading : on Yahoo! News

… bawdy performances are a distraction for students resulting in pregnancies, dropouts and the spread of sexually transmitted diseases.

Let me tell you a little something about suggestive cheerleading. Cheerleaders and sex have gone together as long as there have been organized sports. There’s the stereotypical slutty-cheerleader thing, and there’s the unattainable-by-geeks-sex-goddess thing.

As a high school cheerleader (random Sonya fact: I was the captain) I realized that wearing a short skirt and flashing my bloomers were not really helping the team. I suppose performing a half-time dance routine kept the massive crowds at Calamus-Wheatland Jr./Sr. High from rioting, but even when I couldn’t come up with one good reason why I was a cheerleader, I knew that I had generations of the same cheerleading rituals behind me.

There’s a fine line between erotic dancing and popular dance moves theseadays. I don’t think there would be many high school squads nationwide that would pass the Texas criteria for non-sexy dancing.

There’s also a fine line between cheerleaders as a pep squad, and a bunch of girls who are on the cusp of sexuality and have been given a tool with which they can wield this power: cheerleading will always be sexually charged until they start wearing stripey pants and stop being eye candy … at which point they will stop being cheerleaders.

Whine about work

I’m in a weird place with work. (I’m not in a weird place at work – in fact, I’ve moved cubes to a larger space, which is great for my growing silkworm farm.)

I’ve been trying to scheme my way out of living in Waukegan for the rest of my duration at Abbott. There are three things that are good about living here.

1. There’s a pool
2. Angela Duff
3. 6 Flags is 6 miles away
4. Not going to get as hot

Yeah, I know it’s hard to weigh all of it, but by comparison, I’m missing

1. Wings at Cleo’s on Mondays
2. Movies in Grant Park on Tuesdays
3. Kickball on Wednesdays
4. Dancing on a Thursday night
5. Impromptu weekday Trivial Pursuit games
6. Not having to drive into the city on Fridays after work.
7. Ahem. Jason. Ahem.
8. A good yarn store.
9. Other friends

So I’ve been trying to get Abbott to let me work from home – there’s absolutely no reason why I can’t – considering how everything I proof is electronic already. In fact, it probably takes more time to print out a hard copy and walk it over to me.

The thing is, the longer I wait, the longer my “you must give us 30 days notice” clause is going to force me to pay rent in June. Grrrrr.

I also see that what I’m asking for is really not something remotely (no pun intended) needed. It’s just that I’m starting to go crazy again sitting in a cube, unable to knit, wishing I was near a window of some sort. Or a hole. Or a chunk of antimatter.

Then again, my asking will only irritate my boss – I doubt I’d be fired over it, and although not working for two months is a hugely stupid idea before one goes off to grad school, but I’m considering it …

I’m cranky.

Yes, I’m feeling cranky. Constantine was voted off American Idol, a show I never watch, except last night. I do have a crush on the guy, and now I’m cranky.

I can’t seem to get a response from the four people I’ve emailed at the U of Illinois about the question I have concerning graduate assistantships. I don’t feel like doing anything else until I hear back from them, which only hurts myself, so I’m cranky.

I have a sink full of dishes.

My Denise Interchangeable Needle kit hasn’t arrived yet.

I don’t like the outfit I’m wearing, and my sleeves are too short.

I haven’t heard from Jason about tonight or this weekend, so I can’t finalize plans, and mentioning it on my blog is passive-agressive.

Rar rar rar. Cranky.

*snoooore*

As it turns out, asking me to be here at 7 a.m. was a bit of overkill. It’s kind of fun like Christmas, in that everyone is dressed real nice, and there’s lots of food to eat.

I’m sitting at my team’s “support staff” desk, and I’ve been told that there probably won’t be many calls today.

This means that I can blog about the ASM in real time. Except I can’t see a thing from here, as the meeting takes place downstairs. Actually, this seat provides me with something I don’t usually see – if I crane my neck, I can SEE the OUTSIDE. In fact, it’s on rainy days that I lament not being anywhere near a window. I love rainy days (although I will admit that I’m usually more of an inside cat in this weather) and I love that I get to see the sky color, and the weight of the rain – in this case, on trees with tiny buds.

Blah blah blah – the point is, Donnie, that I’m going to be sitting here for the next several hours, and I am determined to enjoy this erratic day.

That will be all.

Beverly Hills

The new Weezer song “Beverly Hills”, chosen from the CD to be the first radio hit, is a piece of crap wrapped in decaying spinach loosely bound with human hair.

Are you grossed out? Did your stomach turn a quarter turn? That’s what I’m going for, because that’s how I felt this morning listening to this song. I wish Kyle Carter was around. I’d like to hear what he has to say about all this, as he is the biggest Weezer fan I know.

I do love Weezer. I even found Maladroit to have charming qualities. Even when they’re more rock than angst, they’re still a good band. This new song is awful. There’s some of the Maladroit rock feeling, coupled with a catchy sing-a-long chorus (kind of), but the rest of the song feels like they went to the studio, pounded out those three chords over and over, and Rivers Cuomo made up shit that didn’t even rhyme, and didn’t really sing it, but didn’t put any effort into making it sound like he meant it.

Plus what’s this crap about Beverly Hills? I can’t relate to that. Bah.

(Lyrics are posted as the first comment.)