14 posts from May 2010
A Love Letter to My Dog-a-Day Calendar
May 10, 2010
I'm writing this letter to thank you for the excellent work you've done while sitting on my office desk for the past few months. I have not been this happy with a calendar since those Far Side ones I used throughout every year of high school, until I got to college and stopped caring about lame things like what day of the week it was.
Sometimes, you give me interesting facts about dog breeds, like on February 18, when you told me that Salukis are an ancient breed once known as the Persian Greyhound. Other times, you just state the truth, plan and simple--like on February 26, when you presented me with a sleeping Labrador puppy and reminded me that "Being cute is hard work!" I appreciate these bits of wisdom almost as much as that miniature dachshund on April 13 must have appreciated his miniature rocking chair.
One thing you may not know, dear calendar, is how hard I had to work to get you in the first place. I saw you on a coworker's desk, proudly displaying that day's picture of a bulldog puppy in a swing (January 5 was the date, as I'm sure you recall); I knew at that moment that I had to have my very own Dog-a-Day calendar. But it was already mid-January, and you were sold out everywhere I looked! Finally, I found one remaining copy available for purchase from a dubious online retailer whose site was done entirely in Comic Sans. I was slightly afraid of giving my credit card information to this merchant, but I'm glad I did--because nine days later, you arrived at my door. I immediately brought you to my office and set you on my desk, where you remain to this very day.
You are often the first thing people comment on upon entering my office, unless I happen to have my sweater on backwards. I love that I am often able to avoid work conversations entirely by instead distracting coworkers with conversations about dog pictures. I owe this to you. But that is not all you've given me.
Dear calendar, I love you because you make me dream big. I now aspire to live in a world where we discard our lame system of remembering important dates by calling them stupid things like "Monday," "April 11," and other predictable crap. Instead, I look forward to a world in which we standardize the dog calendar as our method of tracking time, and I can proudly describe my birthday not as "Tuesday, May 18," but as "Airedale Terrier Carrying a Stick in His Mouth Day." Wouldn't it be nice if I could order people to bring me their status reports "by the time the tiny Pomeranian in a pink bicycle basket appears?" Think of how much more pleasant the world would be.
Dog calendar, I realize that we will not be together forever; when 2010 runs out, so does our time together. But we still have more than half of the year to go, and I continue to look forward to seeing you every morning.
Yours till 2011,
Lauren
This Week in Internet: Presidents, Hopscotch, and Time Machines
May 07, 2010
Ever wonder what happened to that naked Nirvana baby? The answer (sorta) involves Obama.
Where the hell was Lincoln's bodyguard, anyway?
Fake science might be better than real science.
Aaaand . . . here's a beaver dam that can be seen from space.
Bubble wrap hopscotch! (thx, big sis)
Breaking: politics, stock photography, and passive-aggressive behavior team up for the WIN.
Speaking of teaming up for the win, Lady Gaga and All Things Considered are a hilarious combination.
This is how you deal with hate mail.
FYI: How to build a time machine.
This claims to be "an infographical attempt to put the awesomeness of goats into words." It is as advertised.
Can't Opener
May 05, 2010
Yesterday, I wanted to have some black beans for dinner. They were in a can. Personal revelations of great magnitude ensued.
Revelation No. 1: I do not own a can opener. (This shocked me.)
Revelation No. 2: I should not be shocked when I realize I don't own something I have never bought.
Revelation No. 3: It is nothing short of amazing what you can achieve in 16 minutes with a corkscrew, a knife, and a repeated stabbing motion.
Revelation No. 4: I should never teach a child how to do anything I do.