Nov 14 2012
8 Comments
Humorous

Ovember: Let’s Ovulate!

This morning, as I was stirring my instant coffee, I finally deciphered the word Movember. Previously, I’d thought it was a call for people to move more, or perhaps a poor mashup of the word “man” and “November.” In my moment of insight, I realized the word was formed by cleverly taking the letter “m” from the word mustache and placing it at the beginning of November instead of  “n.”

This revelation was followed by a visit to the campaign website, where I learned that Movember is the month known formerly as November, “where men and women across the globe join together to raise awareness and funds for men’s health issues. Men grow and women support a Mo (moustache) for 30 days to become walking, talking billboards, for our men’s health causes – prostate and testicular cancer initiatives.”

Suddenly I understood why some of my guy friends are growing out mustaches, claiming to support Movember instead of doing it without reason except for its hipster and ironic facial hair appeal.

Then I thought to myself, “This is all well and good, and men’s health is certainly important, but why can’t I raise support for the cause in an equally fun way with something only ladies can do?” So I removed the “n” and created Ovember, in which women have ovulation races.

Through a centralized tracking system on the website, millions of women across the country will be able to compare their menstrual cycles with one another in this action-packed month. The woman who increases hers the most will win a grand prize of twenty years of FLOW! feminine hygiene products, an Estonian brand known for its fiber quality that’s trying to break into the US market.

Women are encouraged to do whatever it takes to increase the number of menstrual cycles they complete in the month, including moving in with ladies who are master-ovulators, visiting various fertility pools, and praying to ancient gods.

Men who support the Ovulatrixes, which is what the participants will be called, are called Ovamen, and all the money raised from Ovember will go to purchasing fake mustaches to wear at Movember events.

Join me, ladies! Let’s ovulate!

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Nov 13 2012
5 Comments
Anecdotes, Egypt, Modern Life, Three minute read

My life through the songs I’ve screamed

Chapter 1: Edmond, Oklahoma-“Under Pressure” by Queen

I was concurrently enrolled at the local community college my last year of high school. This was not, as most people assume, because of my insatiable love for learning. I took college classes because it  gave me a shortened school day that I could use to work on my television-watching hobbies.

My house was roughly a four minute drive from the high school and yes I drove every day. I’m from Oklahoma–unnecessary wheeled transit is what we do best.

On the way home from school my last semester in Oklahoma, as soon as I got in the car I would blast “Under Pressure” by Queen. I had to get the timing just right, in order to match the song with the drive. I loved nothing more than getting in every little “Umm ba da” or “Dee dee dee dee” right along with Freddie and then screaming at the very end, right as I was entering my neighborhood “WHY CAN’T WE GIVE OURSELVES ONE MORE CHANCE.”

As I was pulling into the driveway, “This is our last chance, this is ourselves, under pressure…….” And then I would switch off the ignition and run inside and make a cup of noodles for lunch and watch an episode of one of my hobbies.

Chapter 2: Boston, Massachusetts- “Endless Rope” by Patty Griffin

I went to college at Boston University with no time to transition out of a crush with a German man 5 years older than me or my ongoing crush on Conan O’Brien. I was also unprepared to be lonely and uncertain of where my best friends were. This led to me to identify with songs by Patty Griffin with lyrics like, “Say goodbye to the old streets that never cared much for you anyway…different colored doorways you thought would let you in one day” or “Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep with all the rain coming down.”

I often found myself walking back to my dorm late at night. The street would be mostly deserted and the night city felt like a secret. One of my favorite things to do while I was walking alone beneath the street lights and watching the stoplights turn green and crossing in the middle of the road was belt out the song “Nobody’s Crying.”

I would scream the end of the chorus, “Just have this secret hope, sometimes all we do is cope, somewhere on the steepest slope, there’s an endless rope, and nobody’s crying.” Note: I was never crying when I sang this song. Note: that’s probably not true.

Chapter 3: Cairo, Egypt-“Rolling in the Deep” by Adele

My second apartment in Cairo was located about a 20 minute walk from the nearest metro stop, a 20 minute walk along a highway that I would take every morning and evening.

In order to pass the time and forget my unfortunate location in an exhaust cloud on the freeway, I memorized songs, one of which was Rolling in the Deep. I would sing it at the top of my lungs while weaving through traffic, and go somewhere else in my head. I believed no one could hear me from the noise of the traffic, and I never felt more free than when the sun was setting and I could hear myself above the chaos screaming “YOU HAD MY HEART INSIDE OF YOUR HANDS” against the honks and the vrooms and the noise of a revolution settling.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Nov 12 2012
3 Comments
San Francisco, Two minute read

Sacrificing to the Great Tree and Other Holiday Fun

I went shopping yesterday and apparently it’s Christmasandotherholidaystime. Unbeknownst to me, and wholly without my permission, Union Square was decked with an ice skating rink and a giant Christmas tree for retail shoppers to worship as they complete their obligatory paycheck sacrifices.

I should have guessed this season was coming from the dropping temperatures, the massive “Christmas cookie edition” of various magazines at the craft store that I went to a couple of weeks ago, and the fact my skin is feeling more and more reptilian. Still, it seems a little soon to start pumping out the holiday jams and tinsel-fying everything.

This is that special time of year when retail workers begin to go insane from overexposure to Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas” and too many renditions of “Jingle Bells.” It’s that time of year that means everything from “hope” to “believe” to “eat” to “shame eat,” messages that will eventually lead to “start over” “begin again,” and “diet.”  It’s the time of year when it’s impossible to buy clothing that doesn’t look like a Christmas ornament, clothes that will be unwearable outside of these 6 weeks in the future because their sparkles and colors of good joy and cheer are dead-giveaways for holiday merch.

Yes indeed, it’s holiday time. It’s time to spread the laughter, the belief, and the inspiration, whatever those words mean. According to Banana Republic, they mean it’s time to get new dresses that are covered in gold sequins.  But I believe they mean it’s time to be real and break down the barriers between our fellow humans.

I’m going to start by hugging everyone at work today, full of the holiday spirit. And I showered, so I’ll smell nice. Maybe I’ll put a mini-tree on my desk and invite others to place small but valuable gifts underneath it for yours truly. Anything is possible, because this is the time of year when miracles happen. I’m hoping for a bed miracle, in which I find a bed on the side of the street in perfect condition.

I will make my sacrifices to the great tree and see what happens. I advise you to do the same.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Nov 09 2012
16 Comments
Humorous, San Francisco, Travelling

Crucial Information for the Midwesterner’s First Time in San Francisco

First of all, I would like to congratulate you on making it out to this heathen city. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time and have some interesting stories to avoid telling your parents when you get back.

As you may have noticed already, San Francisco is not like the place you are from. Not only is it anywhere from 8-20x more expensive, but there is a very palpable cultural difference that reflects itself in everything from who people cheer for on Election Night to the kinds of music you won’t find on the radio station to the way people conceive the vast expanse in the middle of the United States.

Let’s begin with a few tidbits of information that will help make your time here as pleasant as possible.

1. Geography: Many San Franciscans have forgotten about the Midwest entirely, and are only reminded of it every four years when they watch most of it turn an accusing color of red and they boo. This is not a positive connotation. The red, for them, will stand for anger, ignorance, and obesity, three words that start with vowels. Some may even express fear at visiting the place you call home, as if the moment they stepped there, they would be accosted and forced to listen to country music  and believe in Jesus. Do not tell them that this is true. Avoid getting defensive, and merely laugh along with their bigotry. Then, make a note and send it back to your prayer circle to get something moving on the cosmic justice front.

2. Coffee: Be very careful of where you purchase your brown brew. Learn to identify the words “hand-crafted” or “hand-made” with “expensive” and “slow” and sometimes “too strong.” Be prepared to pay up to $4 for a brewed coffee that would have cost $1 at McDonald’s. If you’re not a true aficionado, it won’t be worth the money or the wait. Don’t feel bad about it. Just embrace who you really are and look up the nearest fast food restaurant on your smartphone. Do not ask a stranger.

3. Naked Flesh: Many/Most San Franciscans are horrifyingly more sex-positive than the average Midwesterner and lack a natural and healthy body shame. To make the matter more interesting, public nudity is lawful in some areas of the city (maybe all of it). It is possible, depending on your luck and the weather, that you will see nude flesh of varying quality as you mind your own business in the city, especially in an area known as the Castro. If this happens, don’t stare, don’t gawk, and don’t take pictures, weirdo. Just walk on by. If you’re with someone else who doesn’t see the nude flesh, do them a favor and don’t tell them about it. Let them live in peaceful oblivion and innocence.

4. Dogs:  San Franciscans love their animals. In many cases, the animals are their children and they are treated as such. You will see an astounding array of fresh pet food stores, dogs wearing various clothing items and political buttons, and  people taking their dogs out to eat with them at restaurants that encourage this sort of behavior. You can use this to your advantage by making it a conversation starter, “Do you have a pet? How much money do you spend on it, per year? Is that more than the money you give to charity?” And so on.

I hope this was a good introduction to the subject of Midwesterner travel in San Francisco. The topic may or may not be continued. It’s not really any of your business.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Nov 08 2012
16 Comments
Humorous, Two minute read, Writing

Life Would Be Easier if I Didn’t Blog

the blogging muscle is close to the trapezius muscle.

Boom. I’m sitting on a borrowed airbed in a small room with one window that faces into a courtyard full of construction and home-maintenance equipment and old shoes.  My fingernails are getting too long and doing that thing where they click on the keyboard and it’s driving me insane but the cure is far far away in the bathroom.

It’s early-ish in the morning, and I’m in the part of the day I designated as “blogging time.” My hair is clean, my face is puffy, and I’m sitting at my computer still coated in Cairo-dust. And as I go to blog a blog, I find I’m gosh-darn-it stumped and have no idea what to write about. Should  I talk about my new job in a way that doesn’t reveal the fact I’m only doing it for the granola bars? Should I discuss cats? Should I try to write a fiction post about popsicle sticks and fish scales?

I was having a real time with it, and then the thought occurred to me, “This would just be easier if I didn’t blog.” Ding! Ding Ding! We have a winner! Balloons fell from the ceiling, a man with a kazoo and a clown’s nose started parading around my room and I had to ask him to leave, the band struck up a number, and I knew I had my blog topic.

If I didn’t blog, I would never have to worry about what to write on. I would never feel guilty for not blogging or delayed responses to comments, or have to figure out how to describe my blog to other people. Me: “It’s a humor blog….I write about things I think are funny….” Other person: (eyeroll) (swift kick in my gut). My life would be marginally easier and I would have more free time to fill with poking other people on facebook.

But, and here’s the cheesy awful part. I lurve blogging, and the less I do, the harder it is. The times I feel most on top of my blogging game are when I’m crushing it with 5 posts a week and can feel those blogging engines primed and ready to shoot off into unexplored areas of the human intestine. It’s when I lower this standard that blogging becomes more difficult and it’s easier to imagine my life without Snotting Black.

Blogging is a muscle. Writing is a muscle. The heart is a muscle. The airbed I’m sitting on is a muscle. And if we don’t use these muscles, they die and go to the place where atrophied muscles soak in hot tubs all day and get pruny while talking about their former glory. It’s disgusting and I don’t want my blogging muscle to go there, yet.

I wrote this meta-post so it could get some exercise. Now it’s your turn to exercise the muscle of something you love to do.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →
Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started