While this may not be the most useful Google Labs tool, it is almost certainly the most hilarious.
The next time it seems like a good idea to send that Merlot-induced 2 a.m. e-mail, click here.
October 7, 2008
Beer goggles? Nope! “Mail Goggles” by Google.
October 1, 2008
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
So weird, yet so good.
Yes my friends, like the David Bowie song says, there are some changes going on in my life (both professionally and geographically). More details to come at a later date, as I am too weirdly superstitious to broadcast them publicly right now.
This is my “dog ate my homework” excuse for why I haven’t posted in over a month, and why I will probably continue to be a really shitty blogger for the next month or so.
I suck. If you still read this, you don’t suck. And I hope to return to (almost) daily posts sometime in the near future.
Until my triumphant return, go enjoy yourself some Bowie!
August 19, 2008
Gag-worthy gadgets, pooping interns and viva la Franzia
So while it’s true that I promised to write more often, I never said it was going to be good. Following is a collection of the weirdest links I’ve found online at work this week (because that’s where all my best Googling happens, duh).
- Want a gadget to annoy the shit out of you? I’ve got two! Are you too stupid to remember to stand up straight? iPosture’s got your slouchy ass covered. For a mere $99.95, this wonderfully inane tool’s nano-sensor detects when your angle deviates just three degrees from the optimal position for greater than a minute and emits a warning to straighten you out.
And for all you wannabe Al Gores on the go, behold the sleek and stylish solar tie, which both charges and conveniently carries, your cell phone. Ugh.
Douchebag sports a spiffy solar tie.
- Internship turned shitshow. Gawker recently told the tale of the “poopie intern.” Apparently a girl working at NBC in New York shit all over the famous 30 Rock studio on her FIRST DAY on the job. An insider recounts the horror:
“Said intern did in fact shit all over the 18th and 25th floors of 30 Rock. She did it in the hallway, on the floor, on a pile of FedEx boxes, on the way between floors… pretty much everywhere but the bathroom or (hey, sometimes you’re desperate) a garbage can. Or a cup. Or a napkin. Or in her hands. No, just streaking through the hallways. And then she took it into that room where she locked herself in and proceeded to wipe (sorry, I couldn’t come up with a better word) it on the walls, on the computer, on those same FedEx boxes. It was a shitshow (pun absolutely intended).”
This is the most disgusting thing I’ve heard in a while. But apparently the girl had just been in Isreal and blamed the pooping incident on some shady water. Who knows if it’s true, all I know is that I kind of feel for her. I mean, could you imagine a WORSE first day? And the chick went back for the rest of the internship. Now that’s chutzpah!
Franzia: The World
- Wino call to action. An Op-Ed contributor in the Sunday New York Times said that “wine in a box makes sense environmentally and economically.” Well what took everyone so long to realize?!
Herein lies the rub: Because most American wine is produced on the West Coast but consumed on the East Coast, CO2 emissions rack up transporting the vino. The facts:
“A standard wine bottle holds 750 milliliters of wine and generates about 5.2 pounds of carbon-dioxide emissions when it travels from a vineyard in California to a store in New York. A 3-liter box generates about half the emissions per 750 milliliters. Switching to wine in a box for the 97 percent of wines that are made to be consumed within a year would reduce greenhouse gas emissions by about two million tons, or the equivalent of retiring 400,000 cars.“
So readers, if you love America as much as I do, by God, go out, buy a box of wine and do your part to save the world while charging your cell phone in your tie. But please, remember not to slouch or shit all over the liquor store while you’re at it.
August 19, 2008
Hi ho, hi ho, the real world kinda blows.
Let’s face it: I love reality TV. Despite my best efforts, it’s a claim that cannot be denied. And I’m gonna go out on a limb and say TV is a big part of why I haven’t written in so long. That, and I’ve also started a full-time job (insert whiny lament about how college was the best time of my life here).
Bitches, er, ladies of The Hills.
To occupy the free time I now have where my homework used to be, I’ve found a variety of short-lived hobbies. First it was reading. Then it was piano playing. Now, both have taken a backseat while I practice my couch potato prowess. Tonight alone, I watched romantic comedy “No Reservations” and the season premiere of The Hills.
Cast of Mad Men.
I’m also currently obsessed with Mad Men and Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood. Before you mock me, just know that I am acutely aware of how awful my small screen taste is. And I’m very sorry for it.
There is a point to all this rambling. To the two or three loyal readers that I do have, I resolve to be a better blogger. I solemnly swear that I’ll try to peel my ass off the couch every once in a while to update this puppy with something a bit more entertaining than my horrible TV watching habits.
Until my next bout of (pseudo) inspiration, good night, and good luck.
August 10, 2008
I want to go to Ireland. Now.
This is what happens when you watch movies like “P.S. I Love You.” You think you can be Hilary Swank and go to Ireland where dark, handsome, strapping, guitar-playing men abound. And that they’re waiting for you.
Irish husband option #1
Irish husband option #2
August 3, 2008
Douchebags of America, unite!
Unpacking, cleaning and rearranging your life SUCKS. And since my day has been consumed by those three mind-numbing tasks, I have nothing exciting to tell you. So please enjoy this mildly hilarious SNL skit celebrating douchebaggery at its finest.
July 31, 2008
The Great One
The big guy, in his signature pose.
I walked in the door around 7 o’clock Monday. It had been a long, stressful day of moving out of my school apartment.
As with every homecoming, Gretzky trotted over to me, tail hiked high in the air with happiness. When I bent down to pet him, I immediately noticed something was wrong.
My family said he was acting strangely for the past week, probably because he had mischievously been gnawing at a cardboard box in our laundry room – or so they thought.
When I looked down at him Monday night, I noticed his sides were sucked in tight as if he were struggling for air. I called the vet’s office and the nurse said to bring Gretzky in right away because when cats have trouble breathing, it’s usually something serious.
I put Gretzky in his cat carrier and sat in the back of our Jeep with him as my dad drove us to the vet. Gretzky meowed loudly like he always does during car rides, but I could tell it was taxing for him this time.
The nurse at the vet listened to Gretzky’s heart on a stethoscope and said he needed chest and abdominal x-rays. We gave her the OK and she scooped him up to take the scans. After what seemed like an eternity, a petite and friendly-looking doctor – Dr. Stevens – came in to show us Gretzky’s x-rays.
She pointed to his chest cavity and said, “This is where you’re supposed to see his heart and other vital organs.” My heart sank into my stomach. “But the white you see here is fluid because Gretzky is in congestive heart failure.”
At that moment, I stopped hearing and everything became blurry. I literally had to grab on to the cold, shiny examination table to steady myself. I felt hot, angry tears escaping as Dr. Stevens continued with his prognosis.
She said we could try to drain the fluid, warning us the process involved a big needle and lots of pain for cats. Under ideal conditions, Gretzky would live for another six to 12 months on meds before having a repeat episode of congestive heart failure. Once the doctors drained the fluid, they would be able to determine the root of the problem: the heart murmur Gretzky had since birth, or cancer. If it was cancer, his prognosis was even worse – less than six months to live with no viable treatment options. He would have to suffer.
My mind raced. All I wanted was more time with him. I felt guilty for not being around much the past four years. I felt angry that this happened the night I returned home for good. I felt sad that he was struggling and in pain.
Ultimately, I decided that trying to prolong his life was selfish on my part. It would mainly be so I could have more time to spend with him, to say goodbye. His quality of life would never be as good as it once was. With my family’s help, I decided that putting him down was the right decision.
Dr. Stevens let us go into the room with the oxygen cage where Gretzky was resting and trying to catch his breath. My dad and I spent some time with him, petting him and reassuring him that things would be OK. I swear he understood what was going on because right before we left, he laid his head down on my hand and looked up at me with resigned eyes. It broke my heart.
He was only 7.
Anyone who’s lost a pet can tell you that it is much too close to losing a family member. In fact, I still can’t believe he’s gone. I keep expecting to go back to the vet sometime to pick him up. But I know I won’t. Instead, the absence of his food bowls and happy presence has left our house feeling a certain emptiness.
Almost everything is a bittersweet reminder of him right now. When I showered today, I expected him to be perched defiantly on the ledge of the tub, sneaking paws full of water to bathe himself because he was not the sort of cat who was afraid of water. When I open the linen closet, I expect to see him lying among the pile of our used towels like a king on his throne. When I go to bed at night, I wake to phantom visions of him curled up on the right-hand corner of my bed.
Maybe these tiny gestures of unconditional affection are why we love (and then miss) our pets so dearly. They go through their lives with an air of stoicism and devotion that is so refreshing, so rejuvenating, that when we lose them, it’s like a little light in our lives has been shut off.
I’m hurting and missing him right now. But instead of being sad that he’s gone, every time I think of him, I’m going to try to make Gretzky my little 10-pound reminder to smile.
Rest peacefully, my Great One. We love you always. 7-28-08
July 22, 2008
Stop sippin’ that Haterade, New York Times.
NY Times reporter Joe Nocera's favorite sports drink.
You know what I realized while scanning the news today? In the world of media and marketing, we are all a bunch of haters.
It began while reading this — Joe Nocera’s new NY Times business blog. In his July 14 entry, he spends 586 words berating a PR professional for sending him a not-so-newsworthy pitch.
This pisses me off for a few reasons. The first is obvious. PR is what I do, and understandably I don’t like when someone from a well-respected national newspaper trash talks my vocation. Secondly, I’m sort of over the obligatory antagonistic relationship that journalists feel compelled to have with public realtions practitioners. It’s boring. They treat us like a “butter face” morning-after girl, when in reality, they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demands of a 24/7 news cycle without our help.
This is not to say that I’m sticking up for the woman who wrote this ill-targeted, kind-of crappy pitch just because I’m in PR. In fact, that’s not the case at all. I take my job very seriously and have worked in both journalism and PR, so I can see both sides of the coin. If she wants to be taken seriously by a journalist at a renowned publication, she should probably save the stroller stories for the features editor. Or she could at least proofread.
At any rate, to all other journalists with similar chips on their shoulders about public realtions: Get over it. We have a mutually symbiotic relationship.
Perhaps Nocera’s haughty and condescending tone is the part that irks me the most. He says:
“Like most journalists, I have an in-box inundated with p.r. pitches, most of which go directly to the recycle bin, where they belong.”
Listen, Joebaby, calling us “flacks” and arguing the the utility of PR pitches just. isn’t. helpful. I think one commenter had the right idea with his advice on how Nocera should handle future pitches.
“Hit delete, block or give them feedback. Let’s all pay it forward and think before sending!”
— Posted by Paul Armstrong
That’s right, Joe Nocera. One love. One freaking love.
—
Update from PR Blog News: ‘Nocera to PR: Screw You.‘
July 19, 2008
Free doughnuts make any day better.
Mmm... doughnut-y.
I knew it was going to be a good day when I almost missed work… because I woke up half-drunk. (Editor’s sidenote: I’m not proud of myself. These are just the facts, people.) Once I finally got to the office, things began to look up when I discovered that one of my coworkers brought in free doughnuts. Since I was late, all the frosted chocolate ones were gone and I had to settle for a craptastic cinnamon one. Bastards.
Later in the afternoon, I learned the secret recipe for a single serve five-minute chocolate cake. Possibly life changing.
And tonight I went to go see the premiere of “The Dark Night” with a couple friends. I must say, Heath Ledger’s performance as the Joker was every bit as eerie as it was hyped up to be. And Christian Bale is just, well, hot. In my opinion, a much better Batman than Val Kilmer. (But that isn’t hard to do, is it?)
I have the apartment to myself this weekend, so I may go prance around naked now. Or probably just watch David Letterman and pass out on the futon. Whatever works.
P.S. A little after-dinner mint, because I love “The Little Mermaid.” And you.
