The Gurly Life

A mysterious infestation

I don't use thumbtacks. I mean, I think I have used them occasionally throughout my life, but I'm not a thumb tack user. I'm a post-it user, I have post-its all over the place, I find them just about everywhere at work and at home, and that makes sense. But recently, thumb tacks have started appearing, too. You know the kind, with the flat, colored plastic back and the sharpy pointy bit. They have been showing up on the floor, and getting into my mom's feet, or batted around by the cats and then getting into my mom's feet.

We couldn't figure out where they were coming from until my mom found a little box of the things tucked in with some other art supplies of mine (yes, said supplies include crayons and play-do, no art supply pile is complete without them). Or maybe it was a in a drawer, I forget. Point is, I have no idea where that box of tacks came from, and how some of them ended up ambushing my mom. We threw the box away, we have no use for them, but we keep finding them in the oddest places.

To wit:

You cannot beat this

Monday, July 11, is my birthday.

Machu Picchu? Really?

Or: Well, that just bloody figures.

A few weeks ago, my good friend Ms. Ranty Pants suggested we enter a drawing by these fine people, Global Base Camps, for a 4 day Inca Trail trek to Machu Picchu in Peru. I never win much of anything, so as a lark, I said, sure, let's enter.

I had a niggling feeling that it was very likely one of us would win because neither one of us is even remotely equipped to undertake such a trip. By not equipped, I mean that with hip injuries, SI joint stuff, and back issues, we are barely one healthy person between us. I shrugged it off and thought no more of it. We both have hip issues, and we're not the roughing it types (don't deny it, Ms. Pants) - left to our own devices, this is not perhaps the trip we would organize for ourselves. I distinctly remember saying, as we giggled on Facebook, watch how we're going to win this thing because we so would just die on the trail. I mean, seriously, I get excited when I can hike for 2 hours without collapsing in pain in Griffith Park, trekking across the Andes was not even a glimmer in the apple of my eye.

I further point out that Machu Pichu hikers have oxygen bottles with them. OXYGEN, PEOPLE, OXYGEN! Yeah. I mean, it's only 8,000 feet in altitude, so I'm thinking it's a precaution rather than a necessity. Cusco, however, where we start, is at 11,000+ feet, so that's a little trickier.

I think you know where this is going. Apparently, I won said trek. Natch, I'm going, and I'm dragging Ms. Pants - I immediately called her and told her so. If I go down, I'm taking her down with me (linky to her perspective on this madness). This is going to be a tale of overcoming hardship - the two "disabled" ladies make it to Machu Picchu, and strike it off their bucket list. Incidentally, it's not even on my bucket list, but whatever. In light of the photo ops that this presents, we'll be going, even if we have to strap on one of those newfangled exoskeletons to get us up that mountain.

Of course there's a small part of me that thinks this is a scam of some sort, but it so absurd and ironic that it can only be legit. I will of course do my due diligence, my hopes having been dashed of being alternatively a Nigerian princess who inherits vast sums of money, or being trusted by one and the only human on the planet who can save her and her inheritance. I thus approach windfalls with a leery eye.

The tour includes [my comments/questions are in square brackets, in case the sheer stupidity is not enough to tip you off]

Camping Equipment: spacious North Face [<--merchandising!] tents, dining tent, toilet tent [a. I should bloody hope so, b. toilet paper will be provided, yes?] tables and chairs, oxygen bottle [wait - what?] and cooking equipment [which, presumably, I will not need to use - see below]. Trekkers need only bring sleeping bags. A licensed, well-trained, English-speaking guide, who visits the clients the evening before departure to explain the trek and answer any questions [my question: is the guide coming with us, or just visiting us the night before and then is all, see ya, suckers!?] Chef and Assistant Chef [because what if the Chef twists an ankle? Who would cook? Not me!] preparing healthy, hearty meals cooked with fresh, local ingredients. Well-paid and well-treated porters [ohmygod porters! How colonial, I love it. No, really, I love it - I don't like carrying things]. We supply the appropriate duffel for you to pack and them to carry [again: LOVE IT]. You carry only a light daypack [my purse probably weighs more than this daypack they speak of]. [One last question: what's the shower situation?]

I am compelled to point out how much I do not like to travel, and how somehow the universe is insisting that I travel. I mean, I love visiting new places, but the actual traveling, with the suitcase and the food issues, and those god-awful plane rides, I do not like. Yet somehow I am always traveling. Either visiting friends or family, or being treated to an awesome Egypt trip by my dad (and it's awesome, wait till you hear about it), or planning a trip to Turkey with Ms. Pants, or being dragged up an Andean mountain kicking and screaming.

I'm a lucky bastard.

Some good news?

I'll make this brief, because there's not much to say about it: I discovered while spending a ton of time resting in Florida and having lots of hip pain in my right hip, and while walking around for hours and hours and hours in DC with not much and indeed lessening pain, that my right hip is not suffering from the same problem that my left hip had. If it did, DC would have killed me.

Conclusion: my right hip is hurting because I don't move my legs enough. Who'd have thunk it? Well, ok, Deirdre has been telling me that I drive too much, which she's probably right about. I can't do much about that, but I can move more. So here goes. Moving more.

I'll keep you posted.

Brass balls and Angelyne

What a day! What. A. DAY!

This morning, while on my way to yoga, I was behind this car:

  

And lest it is not clear why I took the photo, here's a closeup of the brass truck nuts (classy!) hanging from the back. Oh, I feel like I drove away from the man of my dreams for a yoga class...

 

After yoga, I went to Landmark to the assisting meeting for the Wisdom Course. For long time readers and friends, you might remember some of the Wisdom course, but if you don't, don't worry, I'll be writing about it again. This time I will be assisting rather than a participant, so it will be interesting to get the distinctions newly. And Landmark is redesigning itself and all its programs so things will be quite different. More of that at another time.

After the meeting, I rushed home to have dinner with my good friend Martita. We sat, we got caught up, we ate, and then walked across the street to the Coffee Bean for a cup of tea, and this was in the parking lot. For anyone who is not familiar with the local celebrities, we have a long-time one, Angelyne. She is a bombshell blond who used to have giant billboards all over Hollywood, and drives around in a pink Corvette. And by pink, I mean Pink.

This is the last one I saw in Hollywood, back in 2002. Before this, they were all giant, sexy photos of her.

You might ask, what does Angelyne do? Why is she famous? Well, in her own words: "I don't do - I AM! Actually, I don't think there's any single phrase that satisfies people, plus there's no reason to pigeonhole myself into a specific category. I always have and always will do things my own way. My whole career is based on not doing things by the rules. I make my own rules! Some people become famous for music, films, TV, sports, whatever. I became famous for being on billboards. No one had ever done that before or even thought it was possible, especially without a specific project attached to the advertisements."

And that's right, I got my picture taken with her, next to her Corvette. And could we be any more different? You have to understand, Angelyne is a total icon around here. In the 18 years I've been here, I've seen her car drive by a couple of times, but had never met her in person, or even seen her other than behind the wheel of her car. I don't normally ask celebrities if I can get my picture taken with them, but I couldn't resist. And I have to say, she was gracious and sweet, and we chatted for a little while. She is a very nice person, which made me even more pleased that I got to talk to her. I even bought one of her collector's item magazines (they don't make publish them anymore), and a t-shirt.

Martita was snickering to herself the whole time because according to her, Angelyne must have thought we were a lesbian couple. Something to do with our plain, practical outfits today. And since Angelyne didn't have change for a $20, I got Martita a copy of the magazine, too. Martita thinks that looked like a lesbian gift. I'm all, whatever, I GOT MY PICTURE TAKEN WITH ANGELYNE! Angelyne, if you catch this post, thanks, it was awesome to meet you.

And that, my friends, was my awesome day. Tomorrow: whale watching and a birthday dinner.

Oh boy

I was going to make this the "funny because crazy" This Week In Maliboo Kitty segment, but then I thought I'd just leave it at "if I ever make a video like this, you have permission to shoot me."

What's your favorite part? I'm undecided between the instructions for the right-handed people and the left-handed people or the Whisker Watch Alert. So much absurdity...

The sociopathy of governorship

Or, WTF??

At this point, I feel compelled to opine, mostly because the ridiculousness has reached stratospheric levels.

My US readers will know to what I refer, but for anyone else who does not, I shall begin with the most recent ridiculousness. Gov. Sanford, South Carolina, went for a hike on the Appalachian Trail to clear his head last Thursday and disappeared. He was gone through Father's Day (he has 4 kids), only to return Monday, explaining that he had taken a weekend trip to Argentina, on an impulse.

This would be weird for the average person (I mean, seriously, who goes for a hike and then ends up in Argentina? I mean, maybe Vegas, but Argentina?), but for the governor of a state, well, this is just bizarre.

Today the good governor revealed in a press conference that he has been having an affair with a woman in Argentina. [Awkward pause.] Yeeaaaahhh... ok, that's not really less weird. Here's how the NYTimes' article begins:

COLUMBIA, S.C. — Gov. Mark Sanford of South Carolina said Wednesday that he had been having an extramarital affair with a woman in Argentina for the last year, ending the mystery surrounding his disappearance over Father’s Day weekend and considerably dampening his prospects for a national political career.

But his confession and apology, in a rambling, nationally televised news conference, left other mysteries unsolved, like whether he had lied to his staff members as late as Monday about his whereabouts, whether the affair had definitively ended, whether he would resign from the governorship and whether he would even have acknowledged the affair had he not been met at the airport in Atlanta by a reporter upon his return.

This comes on the heels of Gov. Blagojevich, Illinois, who was recently indicted on 19 counts of violating Federal corruption laws. Which followed on the heels of Gov. Spitzer, New York, "whose rise to political power as a fierce enforcer of ethics in public life was undone by revelations of his own involvement with prostitutes." (Source, NYTimes.) And let's not forget a few years ago Gov. McGreevey, New Jersey, who resigned after admitting to a gay affair, and of course, our favorite, Bill Clinton, who before diddling Monica Lewinsky in the White House, was the philandering governor of Arkansas.

So what is it that has these highly public figures, who wax moralistic and principled, do things that are out of integrity with what they claim to stand for?

I don't know any of these men, not enough to be able to say how related they are to their integrity (and lack thereof). Frankly, I'm not in the mood for a lecture on integrity. I mean, either they get it or they don't, you know? But what strikes me is that anyone who is so much in the public eye would ever think they could do whatever they want, especially in the current climate of 24 hour news cycles. Seriously, the man is the governor of South Carolina and he goes to Argentina for the weekend to get some nookie? Makes a cigar and a stained dress positively quaint, don't it?

What I find entertaining, besides the disconnect with reality, is the hyperbolic naughtiness. I mean, they're like the Lex Luthors of the political world: spending thousands of dollars on prostitutes (you can't tell me a blowjob is ever worth $4,000!), flying to Argentina to a secret lover, selling senate seats, having not just an affair but a gay affair! 

Ah, the absurdity. My favorite...

A nutritional allegory

Slim Jim Factory Explodes, Kills Three, Requires HazMat Team 

By Lucy Bayly, 8:16 AM on Thu Jun 11 2009

A ConAgra plant near Raleigh, N.C., that makes and packages Slim Jim beef jerky was rocked by a huge explosion on Tuesday, killing three employees and sending dozens of workers and three firefighters to hospital with severe burns or "exposure to toxic fumes."

ConAgra spokespeople have been quick to offer funding for workers affected by the plant collapse, but not quite quick enough to explain why the heck they need 34,000 gallons of ammonia to make a spicy meat stick in the first place. [Ammonia is used to refrigerate the meat. -Ed.] The blast occurred in the packaging area of the plant.

Slim Jims are one of the most disgusting packaged "foods" out there. I have never eaten a Twinkie, but if the only option was a Twinkie and Slim Jims, the Twinkie would take it. For those who know me, that should tell you how disgusting I think Slim Jims are.

Perhaps ConAgra should consider that a food that requires ammonia in the preparation, and which can BLOW UP AN ENTIRE FACTORY, kill people and require hazmat teams to clean up, should either not be made at all, or the ingredients seriously need revising. If you follow the Slim Jim link above, it takes you the fund for the families of the deceased, if you are inclined to donate a little something.

This incident is not just allegorical, but ironical, too. To wit, a Slim Jim ad:

How do they know?

And frankly, I don't mind.

Earlier this week, my credit card was frozen. When I called last night to find out why, they said they needed to check some transactions. Two were mine, and one was not. They determined that the account was compromised, and it was canceled.

The transaction occurred on Monday and was for about $12 at Bed, Bath & Beyond. I have shopped there a number of times, so the only thing that was different was that it was a phone order (I usually shop there in person so I can use the coupons), and perhaps at some odd hour of the day. 

How the heck did they know? I've made much larger expenses, used my card in different states and different countries, and the card has not been frozen. I have received phone calls to verify certain unusual charges, like a new computer, before the credit card company verified them, but the card has never been frozen.

But something about this transaction triggered the fraud alert. Was it the phone order thing? I mostly shop in person or online, but not always. Was it the time of day?

Well, whatever it was, that's a pretty sophisticated program they're running over there. I'm comforted because they really are vigilant, which is good because identity theft is never fun. And frankly, I wouldn't have a problem with having a GPS locator in my neck, so if anything happens to me, I can be found, like one of those stolen car locators, you know? I wouldn't mind because I am comfortable with our government (I know not everyone is). But it occurs to me that if things changed and we suddenly found ourselves in an Orwellian totalitarian system, I won't be so eager to have GPS on me.

Anyway, I should be getting my new card tomorrow. Apparently, I'm a premier customer so they are expediting it. Mmph. By premier customer, I think they mean I pay my bill.

Are you kidding me with this?

This is really more of a series rather than a single post, I've used this title before.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, not after getting postcards in the mail for a company that gives people loans so they can have plastic surgery.

The newest prescription thingy is called Latisse, which is a topical treatment to grow out eyelashes. I don't know what I find more entertaining: the fact that there are possible side effects, like brown coloration of the irises (not reversible) and eye problems (what does that mean?), or that you can read about Brooke Shields' "journey" on their website. I mean, really? Journey? For heaven's sake, SHE GREW HER EYELASHES!

The video diary is spectacularly insipid. No, I take that back. It's boring. I think I need to read about climbing Mount Everest or freeing India from the British to make up for that.