In the News Today

I love it when I turn to the news and find out some totally bizarre story, such as this one, which (no surprise here) hails from California, and San Francisco no less:

Ostrich Breaks Free on Golden Gate Bridge

Apparently an ostrich fell out of a minivan and ran around on the bridge for awhile before it was caught. And while many questions may come to mind upon reading a sentence like that, the one at the forefront of mine is: a minivan? Is that really the preferred method for transporting giant birds with incredibly long legs and necks? I'll just point out that the ostrich that fell out of the minivan was one of two in the van. I'm having a great deal of trouble imagining that either of them were comfortable. On the other hand, I'm having a lot of fun imagining both of them fighting over seat space.

The quote for the day goes to the ostrich's owner, Ron Love of Love Farms, who sagely observed, ""Strange things always seem to happen with ostriches. I guess this proves it."

Indeed.

So anyway, writing this has reminded me of some of the odd things I've seen on the many roads I've traveled in my life, one of which being a live cat riding on a man's shoulders as he biked down the main street in my town. Another would be a large horse standing in the back of a pickup truck driving through the streets of Amman, Jordan. I also once saw a car decked out in maimed dolls' heads and arms and other scary paraphernalia heading down Hwy 101. (Boy, do I wish I had a picture of that one!)

I'm curious as to what strange sights other people might have seen on their journeyings, so tell me about it. If you can beat the ostrich on the Golden Gate Bridge story, I'll be delighted. I might even give you a prize!

NOTE: d'oh! I just realized that I've already asked this question about weird things you see on the road in one of my posts, nearly a year ago now. I thought it sounded familiar. Oops! But I don't care I'm going to leave it, because I'm sure that in a year's time you have seen new strange things, right? And besides, maybe some of you weren't reading the frogg files yet, and missed out.

Super-Size It! (Not)

So I asked my brother E-rock to pour me a drink a few minutes ago, as he was in the kitchen and I wasn't, and I was too lazy to do it myself. I asked for Diet Rite, even though I don't actually like Diet Rite all that much. I think I have this idea that maybe next time will be different and I will suddenly be overwhelmed by its delicious refreshingness, but every time I am disappointed. And anyway, that was the only soda in the house, and I was desperate for something carbonated and bad for me. A sad addiction indeed.

But to the point. After acknowledging my request, my brother comes into the room with a cup roughly the size of the Grand Canyon.

"Here," he says. "There's actually a lot in there."

I looked at the cup (which was not even a third full), and then my brother, in disbelief. We have an entire cupboard full of mugs and glasses, far more than we need, and he picks out this extra-large, gargantuan plastic monstrosity from McDonald's.

"What the...I can fit my whole face in here!" I cried. "Are you kidding me?"

He shrugged. I lifted the cup to take a drink and instantly realized that I was in an extremely vulnerable position, because if someone did, hypothetically, want to sneak up on me and take my life, why, what more perfect opportunity than while my head was inside a giant plastic cup! I couldn't see a single thing while I was drinking, except the bottom of the cup.

I had to wonder, as I was contemplating the possibility of my untimely demise ("she was drinking a soda, officer, and a guy hit her over the head with a hammer--she never even saw it coming")...who really needs to drink that much of anything? The other question going through my mind was, why is McDonald's an Olympic sponsor? Because it says right there on the cup "Proud Partner" underneath the Olympic rings logo. I mean, are athletes actually eating McDonald's "food" as part of their regimen? Are they drinking soda from giant plastic cups like this? Somehow I doubt it.

AAAAHHHH!!!!

The most horrible bug I have ever seen in my entire LIFE (and I would include the icky New Zealand bug that looked like a giant flying cockroach and landed on my face once) is in my room at this very moment. At least, I am not sure...it ran out of my sight, under my curtains. I am hoping it left somehow, but it may not have. It is so horrible, I don't even know what it is. It has a flexible body like a centipede, but it isn't thick like one. It is about as long as my pinky, and has something like a gazillion legs to the tenth power. And it is very, very fast.

*shudder*

Why do bugs like me so, when all I do is hate them??

(I just went to see if the bug was gone. I moved the curtains, and no bug, but a SPIDER ran out! Ugh!!!! I think I need to sleep somewhere else tonight.)

Nostalgia

It seems like only yesterday, when I would stay up all night, writing madly through the wee hours in an effort to make a morning deadline, and in the process consuming strong (but not particularly good) coffee, devouring sugary food (mmmm Milky Way!) and then walking around like a zombie through the day because of sleep deprivation, to the point where I'd start wondering why random people were smiling and talking to me like they knew me, until I realized that they did know me, but I'd forgotten because I was so tired.

Oh wait, that was yesterday.

The other night I had a flashback to my college years, as I worked to make a last-minute newspaper deadline. Originally the deadline was slated for next week, but about two hours before I had to go to my other job, I got a call from one of my editors, who asked if by any chance I just might be able to get the story (which I hadn't started writing yet) done by 10am on Wednesday morning, to make this week's edition of the paper. I looked at the clock and did some quick calculations: it was already Tuesday; I was going to be at work from 1:45-10:30pm; the article was supposed to be nearly 1000 words and I had yet to interview most of the people I was supposed to interview (at least I had interviewed the main guy! whew!). Then I answered with every ounce of journalistic ambition that I posses:

"Yeah, hmmm, I don't know about that."

Well, to my credit, I unearthed a level of determined go-get-em-tigressness that I didn't even know I possessed, and after I got off work that night, I came home and approached the task before me just as I would have when I was still in school: I procrastinated for two hours, then I put on a pot of coffee (without measuring the coffee--I think I put in enough for about 3 pots), cracked my knuckles ( actually I am lying about that, I hate cracking knuckles), and got to work. (I also had a Milky Way. Sugar is very important for late-night writing.)

And, ta-da, I made my deadline! With time to spare, too--finished at 8am! I'd also say I got the equivalent of an 'A+', when I found out this morning that I'd gotten the cover story slot. Yee-ha!

Well, it's nice to know I haven't changed all that much since college. Or...maybe it isn't. Maybe I should have changed, and it's actually a terrible shame that I'm much the same. Hmm. Well, I don't know what I'm talking about, because I think I killed some brain cells with all the bad coffee and sleep deprivation, so I'm going to go now, if you don't mind.

Until next time, here is the quote of the day, courtesy of Happy Gilmore, which I am half-watching at the moment (see what I mean about dead brain cells!):

"What, friends listen to "Endless Love" in the dark!"

(Did I use a lot of parentheses in this post, or is it just me?)

Get Your Immunizations Today!

August is National Immunization Month! I found that out while I was on hold to talk to someone at Children's Hospital. There were lots of little announcements given periodically during my (somewhat lengthy) hold time, all against a backdrop of bad 70s/early 80s pseudo-jazz soap-opera music. Why do hospitals in particular seem to like music like this? Is it supposed to make you feel better if you're sick? Because for me it has the opposite effect. And then I think, maybe that's the idea! "Get 'em sick, and get 'em in here! Muuuahahahaha!"

Ok, I'm joking. I am sure hospitals are not trying to make people sick by subjecting them to bad music. (It would be funny if they were, though, wouldn't it?)

But I wanted to talk about immunizations, because they are very important, and there are some that I really wish scientists would make. For example: I would love someone to come up with an immunization against Stupid Question Syndrome. And before you all jump on me and say, "There is no such thing as a stupid question!" let me assure you: there is. I work in retail, so I know. Trust me.

I would also lobby for an immunization against Bad Driving Disease. EVERYONE IN LOS ANGELES NEEDS THIS VACCINE! Except me, of course. I am an excellent driver, and when I accidentally cut someone off because I forgot to check my blind spot, I actually don't, it is just your imagination corrupting the facts and not seeing that it is the other person's fault for being in my blind spot in the first place. What were they doing there? Something suspicious and bad-driverly, no doubt, such as keeping their blinking signal on for miles but NOT changing lanes.)

Finally, I think most people would benefit from a shot of Anti-Illogical Argumentation, especially anyone on either the far right or far left of the political or religious spectrum. I hear so many illogical arguments these days, it's a little frightening, and maddening too, to the point where I want to find Occam's Razor and slit someone's throat with it. Probably mine.

(Oh, and I forgot an immunization against Pet Peeves. Judging from what I've written here, I could use a dose of that.)

Bleah Tape Recorders!

I have an adversarial relationship with tape recorders. By that, I mean I hate them. Twice in my life, I have attempted to use tape recorders in interview settings for articles I was writing. After all, isn't that what journalists do? I don't really know, since I sort of stumbled into the journalism thing by accident; I wasn't trained for it, and I don't really consider myself a journalist despite the inclusion of my name on the masthead of a local newspaper in my town. But the point is that both times I have attempted to actually appear journalistic (look, I have a tape recorder, therefore I must be a journalist!), the tape recorders in question failed me.

Just now, for instance, I tried to play back an interview I did last week, and here's what I heard on the tape: nothing. Now that's going to come in useful.

Thankfully, I took notes because I don't trust tape recorders. But still, it's the principle of the thing. I know that I am technologically challenged at times (despite the fact that I work in a computer store--oh the irony), but surely tape recorders aren't really that difficult to operate? You put a tape in and hit "record." I mean, honestly.

Naptime

I tried to take a nap this afternoon, but my room was too hot. Now I feel sick.

I am always a little out of sorts when I take naps during the day, but most especially on hot afternoons. I get very disoriented and groggy, more so than if I had just left well enough alone and stayed awake until I went to bed later on in the evening.

Once, when I was in high school, I came home from school exhausted and lay down in my room for a nap before starting on homework (or, if I remember myself correctly, not starting on it). I woke up and saw that it was 6:00. Outside it was that grayish sort of haze that could be either morning or evening, and in this case I thought it was morning; I was absolutely convinced I had slept all the way through the afternoon, into the night, and now it was the next morning and OH NO I hadn't done my homework! (Why that should have stressed me out I don't know, since I tended not to do it anyway, as I said. But anyway, I was upset, on principle.)

I got up and took a shower, and began to drearily get my stuff ready for another tedious day of classes. While I was doing so, my mom stopped by my room, knocked on the door, and peeked in.

"How are you feeling?" she said.

"Fine," I said in a voice like a tomb. "Except for the fact that I took a nap yesterday and I slept all the way til now, and I didn't get my homework done, and now I have to go to school. Ugh."

My mother looked at me strangely. "Oh, ok," she said, and backed slowly out of the room.

Well, I continued to get ready, and eventually I plodded downstairs with my backpack. My brother E and my dad were in the living room, talking. They stopped when they saw me. My dad said, "Where are you going?"

With every ounce of teenaged sarcasm in my body, I snapped, "Where does it look like I'm going? Obviously I'm going to school!"

My brother and my dad started laughing, which of course made me angrier.

"What's so funny?" But I didn't wait for an answer, just flounced off to another room to get away from them.

And then I realized that it was, in fact, not 6 in the morning, but 6 in the evening on the same day that I had lain down for a nap. I hadn't overslept at all! It was still yesterday, not today! Or tomorrow. Or it was now, not then. Er, or...well, I was very confused at that point, as you can imagine! I kept forgetting what day it was, for the rest of the night. It was all very surreal.

But on the other hand I was pleased that I had more time to not do all the homework I had been upset about not doing when I thought it was the next day.

I Love the Smell of Raid in the Morning

Ants! Ants were everywhere in my room this morning. I hate them. I think I woke up when one was crawling into my mouth. I mean, honestly!

What I hate most about ants is when you can't figure out what they are after, as was the case this morning. There was no food in the bedroom. There was none in the bathroom (which is where I found another trail of them). There was absolutely no reason for them to invade my living quarters, but there they were! Ugh.

Tangentially, last night I watched a terrible movie. Mortal Kombat. It was on TV, and I couldn't resist. I'd seen it before (I can't believe I'm admitting that), so I knew how terrible it was, but as I said to Becca (who was watching it with me, albeit 350 miles away!), there is something strangely entertaining about it. Maybe it is the awfulness of the special effects, espcially the ugly four-armed man/beast. Maybe it is the laughable presence of that Highlander guy, making an appearance as the god of lightning or something (oh, I laughed out loud just writing that). Maybe it is the fact that it includes stupid lines from the video game ("Get over here!" "Fatality!"). I don't know. Becca and I tried to figure it out, but it was beyond our combined mental prowesses.

But at least it provided us with ample opportunity for Mystery Science Theater 3000-type commentary, so that was a plus. Now that's a show I really miss.

Anyway, I'm off to work. But for the record, I did not watch Mortal Kombat til the end (Becca, I know you were wondering!). Also, for the record, I really hate ants.

Late Night Ramblings

One of my toenails on my right foot has turned purple, and I know exactly why. It's because of my running shoes! They don't fit right. And last week when I went running, I could feel my poor toes pressing up against the front of my shoe, and I thought at the time that that was probably a bad sign, and now I see I was right!

When I was in New Zealand, I lost several toenails. That was also due to ill-fitting shoes, which I wore on backpacking trips that lasted several days. When your feet are hurting, by the way, several days feels like eternity plus one. Anyway, my shoes were too new, not broken in, and they pressed terribly on my poor toes, until they killed the nails, which then fell off. Ick. They grew back, of course, but still. It was kind of gross at the time.

I wonder if my toenail is going to fall off again? Ugh. That will not be good, because I wear flip-flops every day to work. Yikes.

I did not go running around the Rose Bowl today. Toenail or not, I must go tomorrow. (I can't believe I signed up for this half-marathon! What was I thinking??)

Dilemma

I had to get up early this morning to finish writing a newspaper article that I should have had done yesterday, if I hadn't been such a lazy...frogg. So that means I missed what I'm trying to make my regular walk/jog training for this half-marathon thing (why, oh why). I work at 1:45pm, so by the time I get home it will be too late for any exercise. The question is: do I brave the heat now (because it's definitely getting hot out there) and stick to my still-tenuous routine, or do i write it off, grab something icy-cool to drink, and sit out in the sun with Babel Tower? I only have about 150 pages left before I'm finished reading it.

Hmmm.

Given my predilection for laziness and sunbathing, I think you can guess what I'm going to decide. I'm pathetic, I admit it. But at least I'm pathetic and tan.

Why The Frogg Isn't Married, Reason #287

Time for a new installment of the popular series, Reasons Why I Am Still Single. Today's topic: domestic organization, inspired by my recent, abortive attempt at using the popular software program, Quicken, which everyone else praises to the skies and which I would like to tie to a stone and throw into the bottom of a lake.

This sudden outburst is the result of the fact that I decided I would do some organizing today, because I feel like my life is spinning just a little bit out of control. I have papers stacked in piles, and piles stacked on other piles, and everything is everywhere and I don't know where to start to get on top of it all.

So I went to Office Depot and bought some filing folders today. (I also bought some Pilot roller ball pens, because I have an addiction to writing implements. I know, it's very weird.)

Well, I got home, and began bravely to sort through the fray. I also tried to use Quicken. Both of these activities were, in some measure, terrible mistakes.

Generally I picture myself as a laid-back, mellow, easy-going sort of gal, who likes lazing around in the summer sun and keeping quietly to herself as she reads a good book or something. When I'm organizing, though, the picture changes and suddenly I'm like Vampira, baring fangs and hissing wildly at anyone who is stupid enough to come along and try to show me an easier or better or more efficient way of doing whatever it is that I'm trying to do. This is because I am dimly aware, in the recesses of my organizationally-challenged mind, that there MUST be better, more efficient, and easier ways of doing it, but I simply don't have the mental acuity to figure it out, and I hate it that I don't. My brain just isn't wired for compartmentalization. Everything in there is always jumbled around in a jostling heap! So it shouldn't surprise anyone that my desk is jumbled too.

Honestly, I feel sorry for anyone who has to be around me when I am in "organization mode," as I am at the moment, because I really become a horrible person, all snappish and short-tempered and mean. Nothing puts me in a worse mood than trying to untangle my financial records and reconcile bank statements and file all the random bits and pieces of paper that somehow purport to represent my life.

So what does all this have to do with being single? Well, I have this awful fear that men are on the lookout for three main things when it comes to finding a mate, and they are as follows, not necessarily in any particular order:

1) Someone who cooks well. (Um, no.)

2) Someone who will mother and nurture him. (Sigh.)

3) Someone who is highly organized and detail-oriented and can function as a PA for him at a moment's notice when needed. (If you don't know that this is not a very good description of yours truly, you have not been reading this post.)

I don't even have a best-of-three going for me here! Yikes.

I do wish I were more organized though (and culinary, and--well, not mothering exactly, but maybe nurturing). I wish that I was able to tally up clever lists of things to do, and when to do them, and then mark them off neatly with pretty check marks when they are done. I wish that I was able to remember to pay bills on time, instead of a week late (in spite of reminders that I put on calendars). I wish that I could keep my desk nice and neat, with everything tucked into a proper place. For that matter, I wish that I could find my desk.

Mostly, though, I wish I could find a man who likes being organized, and likes doing the organizing, AND doesn't care that I hate both. Since it is unlikely that such a breed of man should exist, I will wish for the next best thing.

I wish for a man rich enough to enable me to hire my own PA.

Too Classic

Found this old article on fark.com while waiting to get through to my interviewee (busy signal!). It's about a guy who actually dislocated his jaw while throwing up in New Zealand, back in 2004. I had no idea that you COULD dislocate your jaw that way. How weird. Anyway, read for yourself. It's old news, but still funny news in my book:

Mt Cook is Jaw Locking

Monday

I am feeling very uncreative lately! Sorry everyone.

No meteor shower last night; too cloudy and too late. But I tried out my brother's new piano. It is a very large upright, probably around 100 years old, but in good condition for its age. The tuning and key action are not at all bad.

We watched part of Spy Games too. It was filmed in Morocco during the time that my brother K was living there, so he and a few friends signed up to be extras. You can actually see him just behind Brad Pitt for a couple seconds in two different shots. AND if you listen carefully you can even hear him talking! Pretty funny.

Well, I must go and interview the subject for my upcoming, hard-hitting investigative feature story--a local woman who won a year's supply of cheese in a national recipe contest! How did she do it?? Stay tuned!

Sunday

A quiet day today, sunny but not hot. Strange for August, really. But I'm not complaining.

I am about to go to my brother's house and have dinner. Later tonight, we may try to see a meteor shower. It will be quite late. It's a good thing I don't have work tomorrow, though I do have an article to write before Wednesday.

Almost finished reading Babel Tower, which is a difficult book. Beautifully written, occasionally redundant or perhaps self-indulgent, a little dangerous. I suspect it may be brilliant, but we shall see how it ends first.

The Frogg's Secret Identity, Revealed! (Sort of)

Ok, so first of all, thanks to all of you for not telling me how marvelous I am, despite my heroic exercise endeavors (see previous post). I am sure you were just trying to keep me from getting a big ego (or rather, a bigger ego than I already have). Much obliged.

Now I have a special treat for all of you. Recently, as you may be aware, I went out of town on vacation. While I was gone, my co-workers decided to show me how much they loved me. They took a photo that was on file at the store, and, because it was simply impossible to make me more beautiful than I already am (ah, there's that ego again!), they decided to do the next best thing.

They turned me into an alien. Here I am, courtesy of Bryan ("Blue hair is cool") and Co.



Isn't that sweet? I am still trying to think of how I can thank them.

So for those of you who have been wondering what I look like...well, now you still don't know! People who work with me, who see me every single day, asked, "Who's that?" when they saw the image on the (very very large) theatre screen that we have at our store. So I have no fear of being recognized as a result of posting this picture here. Humiliated? Oh, maybe. But it's worth it for the laugh. Because you are laughing, aren't you?

Have a great weekend. :)

Hooray for Me!

Now you must all pat me on the back and tell me how marvelous I am, because I actually managed to jog nearly the whole way around the Rose Bowl this morning! And that was without dying, which I feared might happen. I am so pleased.

I am also proud of the fact that this was the third time I made it out there this week, to walk/jog the three-mile circuit, so that means I have done nine miles in three days. Not bad for someone whose version of "exercise" as often as not consists of lying in the sun and working hard on her tan. (Hey, if exercise is defined by sweat, sunbathing is exercise, ok?)

My renewed motivation to get back in shape came on as a result of the fact that I signed up for a half-marathon in October. I mentioned this before, and then I promptly forgot all about it. On purpose, I suspect. I think I had a vague idea that I would handle the half-marathon the same way I handled every single one of my college term papers...fritter away the time with trivial pursuits until the night before the paper was due, then stay up all night writing, drinking bad coffee, and swearing that NEXT TIME would be different and I would have my paper done before it was even ASSIGNED.

But the body is a little different than the mind, not quite as elastic or forgiving, especially when you get to be nearly ancient, like me. So last-minute attempts to run/walk 13 miles probably won't work too well, especially in San Francisco, which is where the race will be held. Therefore, it looks like I'll actually have to do some advance training, maybe even (gasp!) change some eating habits. Just don't ask me to give up chocolate, please. There are only so many sacrifices I can make.

No Sequel to This, Please

So, I'm sorry, but was the first Deuce Bigalow movie such an amazing, box-office success that it actually warranted the making of a sequel? The idea seems awfully unlikely, if you ask me, but you didn't, and obviously the studio execs didn't either, because they went ahead and made it. I'll probably see it as many times as the first one, i.e., not at all. Yawn.

Studio execs really SHOULD ask me about these things, by the way.

In general, I am not a big fan of sequels. About the only exceptions to this rule are: Toy Story 2 (WAY better than the first), Terminator 2 (but NOT T3) and the Star Wars trilogy (that would be the original movies, NOT the latest ones).

I became very familiar with Toy Story 2 a few years ago, when I did some babysitting several times for friends who had two little girls. It just so happened that all they EVER wanted to watch was Toy Story 2. I think one time I tried to see if they wanted to watch something else (because as good as the movie is, there is only so much of it I can take, being an adult human), and they indicated that they might be interested in Barney and his wacky, loving adventures. So naturally we watched Toy Story 2, because there is absolutely no amount of Barney that I can take, being an adult human.

(My sister had it even worse when she was a nanny for a family in Napa. That was during the height of Teletubby popularity, poor girl.)

Other awful sequels: Matrix 2 and 3, Jaws 2-4, Bridget Jones 2, Jurassic Park 2 and 3, and I didn't see this one but I have it on good authority (i.e., various friends) that it's bad as well, Blair Witch 2. (Feel free to add to the list in the comments section!)

Well, anyway, at least no one has decided to make an A.I. sequel. That's one thing we can ALL be grateful for.

N.B. Despite my general antipathy toward sequels, I have to admit that I am positively panting for the release of the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels. Can't get enough of Johnny Depp in pirate garb and eye makeup! Arrrr!

I'm Here

Yes, I have returned...but I am in a bad mood because I spent nearly nine hours on the road yesterday, and I haven't gotten over it. My love affair with 101 has decidedly come to an end, I fear, and it was always a tenuous love at best. The drive along the coast is certainly more beautiful and less hypnosis-inducing than the route up the middle of the state through bogglingly-boring stretches of flat farmland and along a road that is almost completely straight for six hours, but there are not as many convenient stops as on I-5, and it takes even longer.

But I've always thought that perhaps the scenery was worth it until yesterday when I hit...TRAFFIC! On a Sunday! I HATE traffic (oh the irony of living in California, and LA in particular), and the worst swear words in the world are not sufficient to do justice to my absolute abhorrence of sitting in a car on a freeway going 0-5 miles an hour and having to shift, then downshift, brake, shift, downshift, brake then watch someone with their signal on who has either forgotten to turn it off (grrrr) or is not agressive enough to do what needs to be done and just CUT INTO THE LANE. Then shift, downshift, brake, shift, downshift, brake, ignore the catcalls and stares and horn-honking of guys in trucks that you get stuck next to, because you are going 0-5 and so are they, then slam on the brakes because you were paying more attention to ignoring the guys in the truck than to the car in front of you and nearly ended up in someone else's back seat. And so on, repeating, indefinitely.

BLEAH. And then there's the feeling when you get to a place where you can see the freeway ahead of you for a few miles and you hope, hope, hope with a not-so-quiet desperation (in my case) that you are almost out of the woods, but no...all you can see ahead of you is the forest of red taillights.

Near Santa Barbara, in an entire hour I went all of 12 miles. Aaaarrrggghhh!

Well, I am not a patient person at the best of times, and I've noticed with some alarm and disappointment that I am becoming less patient as I get older. I sort of hoped that the reverse would be true, and I'd be wearing a saintly halo shining with the brightness of my angelic forbearance by the time I hit 30 or so, but alas!

Anyway, let's just say that it's a good thing I do most of my driving alone, because if road rage had a poster girl, I would be it. I mean her.

Postcard from Me

So do you miss me yet?

I was here today:



And here yesterday:



I'll be back soon. Until then...

Oh, the pics are from Cesar Chavez Park in Berkeley (where the Golden Gate Bridge is unfortunately obscured behind a layer of thick cloud, across the bay), and Shell Ridge in Walnut Creek.

I Must Away...

...but not 'ere break of day. I am not a morning person, as a rule.

I am taking a vacation as of tomorrow, heading up to the Bay Area. Be back in a week. Miss me, my darlings.

(PS I made all my deadlines! Yay!)

Crazy Frog is Weird, Ok?

Crazy Frog's Crazy Hits

Ok, let's face it: allies or not, Americans and Brits are very, very different breeds. How else to explain the fact that the top song on the UK charts is by a creature called Crazy Frog and consists of (and I quote) "a combination of a ringtone from Jamster!, a premier provider of mobile content, and the theme song from the classic Eddie Murphy film, Beverly Hills Cop."

The site goes on to talk about the single, called (for no discernible reason) "Axel F":

"Axel F," leaped to No 1 on the UK Singles Chart and was outselling the No 2 single, Coldplay's "Speed Of Sound," by three to one. This marks the first time in UK chart history that a ringtone has not only competed for chart positioning with conventional full-length tracks, but has reached the No 1 position.

Here's what it boils down to, folks: A ringtone beat out Coldplay for #1 single in the UK. A ringtone.

British people are so weird.

Now before I get any angry comments from potential British people among us, I will grant that Americans are weird too. We have things like monster truck rallies, Tupperware parties, and the WWF. Not to mention hot dogs. But you've got to draw the line somewhere, and so I feel compelled to point out that at least the #1 song on our top music charts is not based on the sound of a cell phone , nor "composed" by a psychotic-looking amphibian. (Just look at the picture!)

No, in the US, the coveted top-spot belongs to Mariah Carey.

Hmmm. On second thought, bring on the frog, please!

For the record, my brother thinks that Mariah kind of looks like a frog. Sooooo...maybe she and Crazy Frog are really the same person! I mean frog. Or whatever. Of course, if they were, then my argument about Brits and Americans being weirdly different doesn't really fly, does it? And that would be unfortunate indeed.

Let us hope that Crazy Frog and Mariah Carey forever remain distinct personalities. It's just so much more fun that way.

N.B. No actual Brits were harmed during the making of this post, but they were slightly maligned. I count many British people as friends, but probably less of them now.