Do It Yourself Steampunk Wedding Flowers

Steampunk weddings are très chic, but all the advice for bouquets and table arrangements seems to be "put some gears on normal flowers". Gluing gears to things is not the end all be all of steampunk. Let's put a modicum of work into this, shall we?

The do it yourself is because I am frugal. Or, you know, cheap. And the money you save on flowers can be better spent on good food, pretty clothes, and not debt. However, if you are short on time and have elaborate plans, read this before hiring a florist. Unless you have the most excellent florist in the world, wandering in and requesting "steampunk flowers" is going to get you a very expensive bunch of peonies- defining your desires before talking to a vendor is a good plan.

Please- if you want to do something, and I say it's a bad idea, don't listen to me! If you want pin a fascinator made entirely of gears into your hair, do so! Smack everyone with a giant bouquet of pink peonies and red roses! Tuck a huge bunch of cypress into your buttonhole because you love the smell! My tips are lifted from Victorian and Edwardian fashion- and blindly following the strictures of a culture that had some pretty horrible aspects is a bad idea. People may tell you that your decisions are wrong, but what do they know? (Incidentally, 70% of wedding guest judgement can be headed off by a.) feeding them something as soon as possible- because while you may be too excited to eat, they are not, and in the process of struggling into fancy clothes and handing kids off to sitters and finding your venue, they may have neglected to eat. The ideal wedding is one with canapes at the ceremony. Also, b.) talk to each and every guest for minutes. Multiple minutes. One of the limits on the guest list should be the number of people the bridal couple can manage to exchange pleasantries with over four hours.)

Onward!

Personal Adornment

It's hard to work flowers into the general mad science milieu of steampunk. There is no earthly reason they would ever have cogs on them, unless cogs were a sort of family sigil. I am also confused about the tendency to wrap everything in wire cages, as if it were a sort of science experiment that might attack the guests at any moment. I could understand if one made cogs and wire into little floral representations- tiny machines that grew and bloomed, but no one seems to be doing that. I think that the best route is to copy the floral styles of the era where steampunk is putatively set; thus we can explore the complex world of Victorian Flower Arrangements.

During Victorian times, weddings were... not more modest, because if one was rich, few things were modest... let us say only twenty percent more elaborate than a standard social event. As such, flowers would come from the usual flower sources: gardens, hothouses, young women selling flowers in the street, and the end results of obsessive craft projects. I don't have much to say about cloth, wax, and paper flowers other than they are entirely accurate, quite pretty, and if you place no value on your own time, quite affordable.

Hothouse flowers are excellent choices- consider orchids, night blooming cereus (probably as a hair ornament), waxflower, tuberoses, amaryllis, and loads of beautiful ferns . Keep in mind that they would be the end product of years of labor and diligent effort from people who did not have to spend effort on anything. Thus, two or three perfect specimens of one kind of flower surrounded by greenery is a wise choice.

If you want armfuls and armfuls of flowers, go for garden plants. Here is a list of common garden flowers- be warned that some of them have inappropriate meanings in the language of flowers- although if you are quite introverted and under significant external pressure to have a large wedding, throwing around aconite might give you some pleasure. Simple bouquets are a perfect choice- here are excellent instructions on how to make your own. Try for flowers that are in season- not only will they be more authentic, but you'll also get healthier flowers. (more on this later on.) Consider old rose varietals- like those found here. Please avoid deep red roses, since that gives us a bit too much information on what the newlyweds are planning after the wedding; it is not quite nice. Other common cutting flowers are irises, delphiniums, and lilies. (Lilies are not just for funerals.) It is entirely appropriate to deck out bridesmaids and groomsmen in flowers that are not so expensive- such as daisies, sunflowers, globe amaranth, and asters. If you want to use little bunches of wheat, thyme, or houseleeks as boutonnieres- oh my goodness, that would be delightful. For fillers and greenery, old standbys are perfect: baby's breath is very very traditional, as is gorse, assorted ferns, fennel, rosemary, and ivy. Victorians were also all about beautiful multicolored coleus- the bronze and red varieties could give a bouquet a wonderful Gothic look. The variegated green and white varieties give a cheerful and fresh impression.

I think the buy-it-from-Eliza-Doolittle version could be rather sweet too- especially for a courthouse wedding. It would be as if one were walking to church for the banns reading and picked up some flowers along the way. Good choices for a boutonniere would be violets, a bachelor's button, or a bronze chrysanthemum. A posey could have lily of the valley, primroses, coreopsis, or daisies. (and ivy. Always ivy.)

I'm going to push heavily that everyone considering a steampunk wedding include orange blossoms and ivy. Ivy is a nice bit of greenery- cheap, durable, handsome, probably strangling one of your friends' gardens- and it symbolizes everything I hope for in each marriage: love, friendship, fidelity, and affection. It's good for you. Orange blossoms were once de rigueur in hair ornaments. While the symbolism of innocence and fecundity is a bit dated, it also symbolizes eternal love and fiscal well being. (The only other plant that symbolizes money is cabbage. I don't think that will be an easy sell.) The orange tree flowers while it bears fruit- thus the fertility association- but I like to think of it as the flower of multitaskers. Moreover, they are elegant, they smell like heaven, and the wax and silk versions look as nice as the real thing. You could either hot glue them to a delicate wreath or string them on a pretty ribbon, following each blossom with a knot. (These two methods and the braiding stems method result in the best wreaths for hair. If you want a fascinator, modify the hot glue technique with a comb or clip.) Either way, do it no earlier than the night before the wedding, and keep them in a refrigerator or cooler until the last minute.

There was some sort of sea change about six years ago, and everyone decided that peonies were perfect flowers for bouquets. Unfortunately, they have a season that is about six minutes long. I'm going to add my voice to the growing chorus advocating cabbage roses- just as pretty, and much more durable. If you must plan on peonies- and for goodness sake, make your reasons sentimental, not aesthetic- have a backup plan. A day of the wedding, paid $90 for a dozen sealed buds backup plan.

Table Decorations

It's tempting to throw giant flower arrangements on each table- and if you can manage to do so, please indulge yourself. It would be historically accurate to have piles of apples, lemons, oranges, pomegranates, strawberries, candies, and chestnuts. This does assume you are from a place where those who linger in the street will end up with a grocery bag stuffed with citrus. (Signs you live in California) Still, using food as a decoration does provide food for your guests- and loaves of bread and wheels of cheese are quite pretty. I'd also like to push vivariums- little living gardens full of inexpensive plants. Dollar stores sell charming wide cylindrical vases and yard sales are full of old fish bowls. Either plant things a couple of weeks before hand so that the weak have time to die and be replaced, or wait until a few days before the wedding so nothing has time to get sick. (Or neglect adding soil at all, and frantically stuff them all the morning before the ceremony. That's what we did. It looked very nice.) During the Edwardian era, people were mad for ferns, so consider several species. Other good choices are cyclamens, irish moss, or violets. Cacti and succulents are another beautiful vivarium. If one wanted a tropical version, orchids or African violets would be striking- with philodendron and spider plants. Add rocks, bark, and whatever tiny landscaping you think is necessary. (One could skip the entire viviarium aspect, and just stick an orchid on each table. This would combine well with a hothouse bouquet.)

Final Notes

Other bits of general do-it-yourself floral advice: don't avoid modern methods of crafting. Hot glue is your friend. In the Victorian era, women making starvation wages would twist flowers into pretty mussie tussies early each morning. A house preparing for a wedding would have servants doing nothing but fussing over the flowers. You have neither the experience or the time to do everything with perfect bows and bits of wire. Secondly, do a dry run. Make sure you know how fragile the stems of your target flowers are, and make a couple of bouquets and boutonnieres weeks before the wedding. Thirdly: delegate. People like working with flowers, and the result is almost always lovely. Reliable friends can be trusted at flower marts, florist are nice people who need to make money too, and a patient eight-year-old could make the ribbon orange blossom wreath. (Or course, you may want a focused task to center yourself before getting married. I sliced about fifty apples and it calmed me tremendously.) Lastly; by necessity, everything must be done incredibly close to the last minute- either the night before or the day of the wedding. Plan for this, and ask someone if they can sweep in if there's another crisis that demands your attention.

If you have questions, please comment on this post. I'll try to help in a timely fashion.

tant pis

Even though three lovely employees of the Employment Development Department have assured me that "seasonal position" and "definite work start date" mean I don't have prove that I'm searching for work, I still keep getting the "look for work" requirement. Sorting out that I do not have to look for work because I have a job is time consuming and inevitably delays my checks.

Yes, I am aware that I am complaining about the effort required to receive my free money.

Regardless, I've decided that it's just easier to apply for a job. District botanist in Montana? Sure. Wetland delineation regulator in Lodi? Yeah, OK. Weed monitoring crew at the Presidio? Why not?

Oh right, because I'm qualified.

But the application asks if I'm "Familiar with nature". And I am! I take all sorts of liberties with nature! I don't respect its boundaries! We grew up together! Nature has tamed me! And I just happen to be the embodiment of nature's supernatural powers!

I do appear in the guise of an animal. (human) I do change the shape of nature. I poison nature's enemies! (the aforementioned noxious weeds) When nature tells me what to do, I do it. I've never knowingly been the agent through which nature's curses were enacted, but I can try!

And by the time they offer me this position, I will be back at work. At my real job.

Solution:

I will now respond to exceptionally stupid posts on Facebook with a cheery comment that said poster should enjoy a very happy birthday.

Because people who reduce complicated issues to a single sentence deserve to live in a more confusing world.

Agreeableness

The pop psychology personality profile* I currently favor has a trait called Agreeableness. It doesn't measure how pleasant a person is so much as it measures how kind that person thinks everyone else is. It's an interesting inversion- it's oddly satisfying to think that one of the foundations of self is an unshakable belief in the wickedness of the world.

*It's called OCEAN or CANOE or FFM or Big Five, and there is some nebulous scientific evidence that it's valid. Eat it, Myers-Briggs. Another advantage over the MBTI is that no one has put much energy into defending being very Neurotic as a good thing.

I'm from a small town and I grew up cute, white, and well mannered. Thus, on some cellular level, I think that everyone else is probably a better person than I am. Every single prudent, street-wise behavior I possess is an aftermarket feature.

My abstruse point is that most media sources don't share my faith in humanity. I assume it's because they're better informed. Well, I assume that the people who are newsworthy are statistically more unpleasant and that journalism is a very competitive field and very competitive fields tend to reward random chance and nepotism and that is bad for trusting others. This is why I'm not better informed: I tune out as soon as it seems like one party is acting like Snidely Whiplash.

My only hope is media created by similarly entitled people. Thank god for This American Life.

Garrison Keillor Told Me It Was A Bad Idea.

Doña C was talking about one of her protegees. Said woman is French, and married to an American- an American who won't learn French. Dastardly. What will become of their potential children?

As I may have noted, I no longer assume that the Conquistadors use guile. This is because C and his mother do not, and his father now believes that I am as dense as his wife and child. It is wonderful.

So I spoke from the heart. I said "That poor man." I'm an idiot.

After I spent a third of an hour agreeing that being bilingual is important, and that dedicated people can apply themselves and learn a second language as adults, I want to defend my side of the story. Can I do it with an unnecessarily convoluted metaphor? I can indeed.

I'm not a great swimmer. Due to certain physiological characteristics, I can float for a very long time, but I'm not fast or strong. But I love to swim. Given the opportunity, I will swim five times a week. I am comfortable in the water. Like a duck. Like a cork. Like a platypus. One of the best advantages of switching to Health At Every Size is that now I can float on my back indefinitely. I am, in all senses of the word, buoyant. When I swim, I am in my element- literally and figuratively.

I feel pretty much the same about speaking English. It's very comfortable to speak, obviously, and I'm confident enough in my abilities to try new things. I use words when I'm not sure of the meaning or pronunciation, I can throw in little quips and puns- it is a delight to speak. I like my language.

In both endeavors, my comfort predates my competence. My dear parents emphasized safely, then confidence, then ability. Once they were sure I wasn't going to drown or run around yelling "FART" all the time, I was encouraged to have fun.

I'm very vain. I don't like to do things I'm bad at. And it would take a long, long time to be good at speaking Spanish. I am weak and selfish. I am sorry, honored in-laws, but learning would have to be fun.

And apparently, expatriates are not big on new languages being fun. They are conscientious people. They want you to be precise, accurate, and to practice on your own. They are pretty much insufferable about this. Why would learning a new language be fun and exciting? Why would you bob about, like an inept duck? Get with the program.

My husband, who is not conscientious, has adsorbed this attitude. This is not helpful. I will point out that in the last nine years, I have gone from yammering on in mediocre Spanish to silence and a dread of short sentences full of pronouns. ("Dile que no lo haga." is one of the most terrifying sentences ever.) My beloved spouse can now keep up in conversations composed entirely of unspoken references to puns- and I think his vocabulary is 1.2 times larger. This is because terror is not a learning tool, and feeling clever is fun.

We spouses of the bilingual are delicate flowers, people. Cosset us. For the sake of your descendants.

Conversations.

C is working from home today. I overheard a conversation with his boss. Afterwards, I said,

"I'm constantly surprised by the different styles for office communication in men and women. If I were having that conversation, I would have said 'thank you' and 'please' a lot more and just a landslide of conditional statements and compliments. Even when I edit my brother's internship applications, he gets angry because I say things like "such an honor" and "very prestigious" and "I would be so grateful if..." He says it sounds feminine and conciliatory."

"Does he get those internships?"

"They're competitive."

"And prestigious. Do all my former bosses like and respect me?"

"Do they?"

"Have you considered the possibility that he and I are just aren't very bright?"

The Corner of the Internet I am In Right Now.

"Frankly, while I know my cats’ biological sex, I can’t truly say I know their respective gender-identities anyway."

"My mother pierced my ears at a month old because she was tired of me being ‘confused’ for a boy. Now I have unprofessional-looking holes in my ears that won’t heal, and on top of it, I ended up being male anyway. "

Privilege

I went to yoga for the first time today. The teacher dabbed some essential oil on my forehead- I spent the entire meditation time trying to figure out what my face smelled like.

After class, someone else asked- it was myrtle oil. Myrtle oil is apparently good for the immune system and balances hormones to prevent PMS. I glanced over at the lone male in the class, and thought how awkward it must be to be in an environment where the default person is not your gender- where things cater to the needs of another sex as a matter of course. I pitied this poor man.

Then I thought again and got the giggles.

So, feminist gentlemen, if you want to get a good idea of your privilege, go to yoga or Pilates classes. There will be a focus on getting a smaller waist hip ratio and a series of exercises to strengthen abdominals weakened by pregnancy or damaged by C-section. If something has a self-defense application, the teacher will first look at you and narrow her lips slightly. All the tips on how to make exercises easier assume you have a protruding butt, curvy hips, and weak wrists. It must be a little awkward, guys.

A Seasonally Disjunct Guide to Samhain Parties

There are guides out there for people who get invited to holidays that fall outside their religious experience. You learn about other cultures with many varieties of flavored grain, that babies sometimes merit a huge party for not dying, and that there are candles you should never ever blow out.

I can't find any such guides for Wiccan Sabbats.

Clearly, I need to write a quick and dirty guide for non pagans attending Samhain. It's pronounced Sow-wean (Like the female pig, not planting things.) It's celebrated around Halloween- there's a certain amount of flexibility in most people's specific date; like Easter, there's a bit of full moon/equinox madness. Somehow, this means I get invited to a couple every year on different dates. It's meant to usher in the deepest darkest bit of winter.

Why yes, I am writing this guide in March.

First things first. What you want to know, gentle reader, is if this festive event is worth attending. Since you can't equivocate during the invitation, (Will there be a ritual? Are we going to have to tell ghost stories? Will there be alcohol? Do I have to wear a costume?) you need the ask two questions: What proportion of the guests will be under the age of ten? Will we be talking about dead family members?

If more than 25% of those in attendance are children, follow your preferences regarding a children's Halloween party from the Peanuts era. People might be a little bit more earnest than usual, and the games might be a little lamer- it's a party with children about nihilism and potential starvation. Either that appeals to you or it doesn't.

When you ask about dead family members, listen very closely. If your potential host says no, you'll probably have to go through some New Agey self actualization crap about facing your shadow self and praising your inner god/goddess for the improvements you've made this year. If it were going to be a fun party with costumes, they'd call it Halloween. I'd skip it.

If the host says anything about the dead in a general sense, or things beyond the veil, there's a better than even chance there will be ghost stories with parallels to ancient* religion. People might say things while lighting candles. I'd skip this too.

*The 1910s are ancient, right?

If they say yes, we will be honoring the dead, go to that party. There will be a supremely uncomfortable half-hour where everyone talks about people who died this year and people they still miss. You will probably have to say one sentence- one sentence- about how you are sad that someone died. Then people will party. There's something about facing morality- and weeping in public- that makes for a great social event. *

*It's probably the drinking.

There will be mead. Mead is a vile liquor, meant to punish the romantic. Avoid it at all costs.

There will be fire. People will have opinions about fire structure. There's always an argument about where to put the next bit of wood. If you want to bring sage or dried flowers to throw in, that's a nice gesture. Don't do the stupid box trick unless you're far away from structures and surrounded by sand or snow.

There will be apples, probably in pie form. It's usually not very good. For some reason, pagans cannot make pastry crust properly. There will also be some sort of pumpkin dish. Someone might even bring a haggis. They will have used insufficient suet and not ground the organs finely enough. If it's a potluck, bring spareribs- very traditional- or a giant salad.

Bring your own chair.

To sum up: make sure you want to go, be very picky about what you eat and drink, and don't do the stupid box trick.

Quotes from Us at Tonight's Dinner Party.

"So it's like five humans from all different cultures, and an Argentinian?"*

*Said with innocent intent, by C.

Me, to dog: "Yes, it's pork liver pate with bacon. I am enjoying it. It's so much better than anything you've ever tasted."

Passing man: "It's not better than anything my dogs have ever tasted. I feed them exclusively on raw, organic meats and free range eggs."

Me: "Is this your dog?"

PM: "No..."

Me: "Then excuse me, we're in the middle of a conversation. So tasty... so much better than kibble... "

Advanced Letter Writing Techniques

The spousal unit and I were talking about my unreasonable hatred of moveon.org. Part of this distaste is shattered hopes. I feel that the germ of the project is truly excellent- it was a nettle in the seats of our esteemed Congresspeople during the Clinton impeachment- a reminder that a majority of the population would really prefer that they focus on something a bit more germane to our interests. After the trial, moveon had a wonderful opportunity; they could forever encourage lawmakers to stop shilly-shallying and blustering and get down to business. If constituents and their representatives are like a married couple, moveon could be that gentle kick under the table when the conversation goes astray. Regardless of political affiliation, I think that's a very good idea.

Instead it became a mailing list to rally liberal supporters. Good job taking the best name, jerks. I suppose this is an unreasonable cause for hatred- but what good is it doing? It is unequivocally left wing in every single cause it supports- why would any Republican take notice of their petitions? None of the people who sign them would ever consider voting Republican- why waste time courting them? Why would Blue Dog Democrats try to suck up to people who identify right there on the petition title as extreme left? For that matter, why consider the voting habits of someone who can't be bothered to write their own damn letter?

So, four readers, here's my primer in writing to your representatives. Figure out who they are, using a little bit of the Google and a little bit of Wikipedia. Find their e-mail address. (After you write them the first time, you'll only have to track down contact information when there's a new occupant. For me, that was 1992. Ah, democracy.) Send them a note- three sentences is fine. A human being will read it. A note will be made on a spreadsheet. You will probably be put on an infrequent mailing list which will tell you all about your Senator's efforts in job creation.

The advanced techniques are thus: Google stalk the people you'll be writing to. Figure out a little bit about who they are, where they stand, and why they vote the way that they do.

Occasionally, you'll be writing to someone who is in complete agreement with you on your chosen issue. Tell them you know their history and know they will do the right thing. Tell them you're proud to have such a person protecting your rights.

Otherwise, be a little bit crazy. Many Congresspeople read five or ten letters every day, just to keep their finger on the pulse. If your letter is anything but staid and dull, it's more likely to get bounced up to the important people. Be loopy. Be silly. Don't worry too much about composition.

If you're writing to someone you disagree with, be very polite. Narrow your letter down to a single issue. Make the appeal as a member of your local culture- or as a Proud American. Make your appeal as a way to preserve traditional values. Treat them with great respect. It doesn't have to make sense. Example: Sir, public radio allows me to drive around in mah TRUCK, loving America. Please note slight loopiness.

Keep it short. Too long: didn't read is a thing. One paragraph is plenty. (This is obviously hard for me.)

Last but not least, consider sending it via snail mail. People ascribe more importance to physical letters. I don't know why. Perhaps send them a pretty postcard of where you live.

But for goodness' sake, try to raise the level of effort to "half-assed". Five notes like this are equal to fifty names on an Astroturf petition. And even if you lose, remember it's not the worst thing. We survived a Civil War. We can survive a little partisan infighting.

Never Attribute to Malice that which Can Be Attributed to Stupidity.

I was doing a flylady approved living room blitz- although it's meant for emergencies, it's the only way I clean; probably because my living quarters are in a near constant state of emergency. I was six minutes into my alloted fifteen, moving frenetically, when I found something that stopped me dead.

C has been missing some clothing. I understand other people look for things that are missing- we nudge things with our toes and say "Eh eh." pathetically. (Or C knows exactly where it is among the piles of detritus.) Happily, I have found it. Unhappily, I am now concerned about other things.

The clothing- a quick analysis proved it to be dirty- was found piled into a sealed giant tupperware in our living room. I'm a little concerned that we didn't check the giant tupperware when saying "Eh eh."- that seems lazy even for us- but I'm more concerned that someone filled a tub with dirty laundry, arranged it into a comfortable nest, and then sealed the top. I thought I might have done it as an unconscious passive-aggressive act to purge C's wardrobe of anime and video game t-shirts, but I don't see anything I might theoretically hate.

Writing here is twelve times more fun than writing essays.

I mentioned much earlier that I tried the no shampoo challenge.* Unlike everyone else who tried it, I discovered that I, a person with long fine light colored hair, was pretty much the original market for shampoo.

*Part of the "I'm miserable and isolated, so I may as well abandon societal conventions" phase. Fun times.

This last month, one of the hippy beauty blogs I follow introduced a "no soap" challenge. I was repulsed. I read about it- out of morbid curiousity- and found that I am in year 16 of the no soap challenge. They allow soap for pits and bits, and to remove chemicals and grime, they encourage washing hands... what else do people soap? I know that every summer my skin goes to hell because of daily Technu baths and poison oak and sunburn and sunscreen-caused acne- I do terrible things to it, but I don't needlessly scrub it down with miscablizers every day. You've gotta make peace with your skin bacteria.

Why I'll be posting here again.

I have a bad habit of putting off important things. I have a worse habit of realizing how terrible postponing action on those things is in the middle of heartfelt confessions from friends. Last week I peeled off of a conversation on how hard it is marshaling applications for grad school to register for the GRE. It needed doing, alright?

So I'm doing that Friday, because once I stop putting things off, I must do them immediately. I suspect this is unwise. Still, I will be relearning math this week, and re-entering a world where it's OK to pick apart logical flaws in arguments.

Mice

I think there's too much emphasis on the skills people pick up living in the country. People can wax rhapsodic about country manners, foraging, improvised mechanics and plain old know how- really it's a combination of living in a small pond and poverty being socially acceptable. I am in awe of the sweet skills the city slickers possess.

I was raised in a world of dead reckoning: where you navigate to things by walking at them. The labyrinthine world of curlicue onramps and highways that say they go east but really go northwest and the byzantine public transportation routes are entirely beyond me. I've been dating C for nine years; the most reliable way I have of finding his parents' house is to roll down the window so I can smell the dominant landscaping shrub in their neighborhood. So kudos, small children that have two bus transfers on their way to school; kudos.

As a further note on public transportation; country mice cannot stand up on a bus. While I was touring my eventual alma mater, I somehow ended up on a bus full of people who were of an age that dictated I stand. I gripped the handrail, braced myself, and immediately ate shit. I struggled to my feet only to crash again at the next stop sign. I think an octogenarian eventually gave me her seat.

It's not that I have terrible terrible balance. I have a job that requires intimate knowledge of my center of gravity so I don't fall off cliffs, I have hobbies where poor balance makes said hobbies not fun, and I compulsively walk along curbs like a four-year-old. If I have to prove my maintaining-my-footing-on-a-moving-vehicle chops, I'll have to disclose some time I spent with a truck, a snowy mountain road, and a flattened cardboard box. Which didn't happen, if my mother asks.

I am still distinctly wobbly on public transportation. My comrades in blighted childhood concur; it's hard to stand on a bus or train. We live in fear that we will have to surrender our seat to someone who appears less deft than us. Congratulations, sure-footed commuters.

This brings me to my last point: we do actually fret about the theoretical giving up of our seat. We would never consider not standing up- it's a moral imperative. We're from a world where irking people you meet while running errands is devastating for your social and business life. In the city-thing, it's inevitable. There are too many people in too little space- one tiny error in merging means sixty people are now running late. Also, there are people taking advantage of the social construct. (Imagine me saying that last bit in hushed tones.) Pretty much everyone on the street who makes eye contact with you does not have your best interests at heart. I live in awe of city dwellers- y'all appear cold and heartless, and yet you seem perfectly nice in other situations. I can't even begin to imagine where you get that armor.

Mmmm, steak

There's a Sizzler ad on Hulu right now. The cook takes a tri-tip off a plate, grills it, and returns it to the same plate. All I can think is, "Cross contamination! E. coli! Poison!". Although I am not really the target market, I figure that's a terrible image to have in a commercial.

My commitment to social media is such that it is the most reliable way to track my past work schedule.