Someone's little princess is hungry...will you help?

At my place of employment, we are currently participating in a food drive because we of course need to give back to the community that has provided so many suckers who want cheap websites throughout the years. In order to encourage us to donate food to this drive, numerous posters have been posted around the building with sad looking people and messages about how we need to help feed them. I noticed yesterday that, as far as I could tell, every person featured in these posters is white. I'm not really a racial equality activist sort (not that I don't think racial equality is important, it's just not an issue I personally get worked up about often), but I felt for a moment outraged that there were no other races featured on these posters.

I later realized, however, that as noble as my outrage may sound, they reason I even noticed was this: In my subconscious, I was just surprised that the hungry people aren't mostly Hispanic and black. Those are the poor people aren't they?

So apparently I'm the racist here.

Defining Childhood Moment #18

In November 1996, I was a public elementary school student learning to be a good United States citizen by having a mock presidential election. We learned tidbits about Bill Clinton and Bob Dole and then went into the little booths and selected who we wanted to be president of our great nation.

I proudly came home and told my parents that I had voted for Clinton. They told me they had voted for Dole and gave a little speech that was essentially about Republicans being better than Democrats. My parents probably don't remember giving this speech, but it was important to me. It was the first time I recall seriously thinking about politics. I learned that there were people who live solely off the government ("So paying taxes is kind of like fast offerings, that isn't bad is it?"); I learned that there are people who kill their babies before they are born ("There's no way that's legal; it's too sad."); I learned that there are people given jobs or college entrance because they were a race that was needed to meet quotas ("I didn't know anyone was racist anymore..."); I learned that there were males who wanted to marry males and females who wanted to marry females ("I don't know anyone like that, are you sure?"); I learned that some people want drug laws to be more lax ("But everyone knows drugs are bad, right?"). All sorts of things that I had never thought about before.

As my parents are fair people and rarely speak ill of anyone, I don't think this speech was as harsh as I remember it, but it seemed to me at the time that people who vote Democrat are bad people. I was ashamed. I also wondered about the prospects for eternal salvation for the next door neighbors who had an anti-Dole poster on their house. My parents had assured me that they were good people even though the mother was Jewish and the father was Unitarian or something and they didn't go to church much, so I knew they must have something going for them, but perhaps being Democrats would push them over the edge into the category of bad people.

Years down the road, the feelings of shame turned to feelings of pride. I had chosen on my own and gone against my own upbringing to choose who I personally thought was the best candidate. I was in elementary school and already establishing myself as a liberal thinker. Hooray for me!

But when I think about it seriously, I'm not kidding anyone. The reasons I remember picking Clinton over Dole are as follows:

1) He was the incumbent. I had seen President Clinton on TV several times while Dole was just some guy that I hadn't heard of until a few days before the election. I knew life was good at the time, and assumed that Clinton had something to do with that, so I didn't mind keeping him around.

2) I couldn't disassociate Bob Dole from Dole pineapples and one of the girls in our ballet carpool had once spilled Dole pineapple juice on the way to class and it was sticky and the back seat of the station wagon smelled really gross for a long time afterward. (I still can't drink pineapple juice, even though I have returned to my love of pineapple in general.) I could never vote for the horrible-smelling back seat of the station wagon.

God Concept

The other day I was listening to This American Life (excellent program, every time I listen to it I'm like, "Why don't I listen to this more often?") and they had this story about an Orthodox Jew who left the beliefs he'd grown up with because his hockey team lost a game that he had walked 14 miles to go see because it was on the Sabbath and he couldn't drive to get there. It was a pretty good tale, but the part that stuck with me was a conversation he and the person interviewing him had. It went something like this (and I'm completely paraphrasing because I couldn't find transcripts, but you'll get the idea):

Jew guy - I came from a kind of dysfunctional family with an over-bearing father, so when I'd go to Hebrew school and hear "Our Father who art in heaven", I'd be like "Don't tell me there's another one in heaven, he's bad enough at home!"

Interviewer - Interesting, as you say that, and I've never put this together in my life before, but my image of God is exactly like my image of my father, except bigger. Which is: he's usually not around; he'll sometimes take an interest; he means well; but mostly he's kind of like "you're on your own".

Jew guy - That's not mine; I wish that was mine. Mine was a God in Heaven lumbering around half-drunk, yelling at you and making rules that didn't make any sense.

As I was listening to this, I had a moment exactly like the one the interviewer had. I hadn't ever thought of it before, but my image of God is very close to my image of my father, but bigger. He's caring and loving, but sometimes over-bearing. Smart. Sense of humor. Plenty of rules, most of which turn out being good for me in the long run and some of which still don't make sense, but are mostly kept because I know I'll get in trouble. And for some reason, though there is no scriptural evidence for this whatsoever, I've always imagined God as a little stressed out all the time, and I'm pretty sure it's because that's how my dear father is.

I wanted to post this thought because I want to ask a question of you readers: Is your idea of God a pretty close match to your father? It seems to me that most people would find this true, but I need a wider pool to test this out.

Name Googling

So it's important, of course, to google one's own name once in a while to see if anything comes up. Upon a recent check of my maiden name, I found the usual: scholarship stuff, facebook, etc. The state science fair roster from when I was in 7th grade doesn't come up anymore, but used to. So nothing too exciting. Until recently. I found my name in this article. I don't know why this is so exciting to me, as it's obviously talking crap about the company I work for, but it's kind of cool.

I looked up the customer who wrote that post and what happened was he had two accounts with us and sent in a written cancellation request specifically for one of them but not for the other (the email that he quotes in his post was not the first cancellation request he sent in, the initial one was not nearly as clear that he wanted to cancel both accounts). So his other site was up and he still needed to pay hosting until we received a cancellation request for the other one. I got to be the lucky one to call this guy and tell him he was past-due on hosting. Even if he thought we had canceled the other account, we rendered the service of hosting his site and he definitely owed the money. And I'll have you all know that I eventually got him to pay (after plenty of bugging him, but that's essentially what my job is, so there you have it). It was a hard-earned $2 commission or whatever 5% of the small amount he had past-due was.

It's funny, I'm generally much more of a mercy-over-justice-type person, but I love my job.

Another Thought On The Personality Test

In the previous post, I mentioned that I took a Myers-Briggs personality test at work and found that I am an INFP. A certain part of the profile I received makes me wonder: there's a list of famous INFPs at the end. Now, it's safe to assume that they didn't actually have these famous people take the test, but I guess I'm okay with labeling some of them as INFPs, because we have plenty of evidence to support what these people's personalities were like (these include Oscar Wilde, Mr. Rogers, Princess Di, Kurt Cobain, Carl Rogers, and Neil Diamond, in case you care). Some, however, (Mary, the mother of Jesus? Homer? St. Luke? St. John? Virgil?) are quite sketchy. When a person's biography starts out with something like "Legend has it that...", there's no way we have enough information that we can assign one of sixteen Myers-Briggs personality types to them. So dumb.

But I suppose they probably just put these things at the end so that you feel good about yourself anyway ("This person was successful and we had the same personality type, so I can be successful, too!"). It's kind of like the Matchmaker things in high school (remember those, you former Burroughs students reading this?), when they tell you that you are compatible with Josh Hartnett (I'm pretty sure that's who I got one of those years), so that you can feel okay about the fact that everyone on the actual-human-beings section of your list is either a huge nerd or someone you know nothing about.

Man, I think I have my Matchmakers in my old yearbooks at home somewhere. I'll have to remember to look at those next time I'm in Ridgecrest. All I remember is Spencer Witt was #10 on my list in 10th grade and he didn't believe me because I wasn't on his list and I had to explain to him why I could have him on my list but not be on his list and he somehow couldn't get it and it infuriated me. Also, I would always have the Mormon boys, which also infuriated me but I'm not really sure why.

Musings/News

Musings on my Trident spearmint gum:

1. The label proudly declares "Now with Xylitol!" Now perhaps I'm a moron, but I definitely had to look up what the heck xylitol was in order to know why that was so great. It sounds toxic. I hate advertising like that, because you know that the average gum consumer isn't going to know what the heck it is, but they'll figure that since they have it written on the label, "it must be something good, so I should buy that". It's like when shampoos say "pH-balanced" on the label. All it means is that the shampoo isn't going to eat away your scalp and has a normal pH. Every shampoo is pH-balanced or nobody would use it, it's not something to be way proud of. But it sounds impressive. I hate that.
2. I know I won't be able to adequately describe why this is the case, but the new EZ-Close-Pack was really difficult to figure out. Buy a package of Trident gum and you'll see what I mean.

In other news:

1. I finally got around to officially changing my name to my married name on Monday. It feels good. Plus now I can set up direct deposit again (my bank account is in my married name, but my work won't write me a check to that name without documentation), which is so much better than the usual method of having a large check in my purse for days doing no good while the bank account dips dangerously low and then eventually giving in and taking the hour to walk to the bank during lunch.
2. We did a personality-type quiz in our department and then had a discussion about what each personality can contribute to the team in a meeting yesterday. Apparently I'm INFP. After reading the profile for this personality-type, I was like "Yep, that's definitely me," but I sometimes wonder if these sorts of things are really no more than a step above Horoscopes. Everyone has aspects of each personality-type in them, and the descriptions are all vague enough that you see yourself in whatever you end up with. Because when I read a profile of a Scorpio, I sit there and think "Yep, that's definitely me," as well.

Cutting It Out of My Vocabulary

I had a thought today whilst playing Wii Golf that I'm surprised I haven't had before. It will change my life, in it's own small way, and I am forever a different person. The thought is this: "Subpar" is a really stupid word. I've used it many times to describe restaurants, albums, coworkers, etc. But really, in the game of golf (which I believe is the origin of the word "par", though I could be completely wrong on that) isn't it a good thing to be below par?

I thought for a moment that using my own version, "surpar", would be a good idea, but a) it would get weird looks, and b) it sounds like a good thing even though it should be a bad thing.

Last thought on the word "subpar" before I erase it from my mind: is it actually it's own word? My spellcheck tells me it should be "sub par", but after some quick research, it's written as "subpar" on several reputable sites. A google battle shows that "subpar" gets 3 million-something hits and "sub par" gets 2 million-something hits, so maybe both are correct?

High-Low to Mexico

Another rant about how dumb some people are:

The radio station we have been listening to lately in the office has had this contest going called "High-Low to Mexico". The hosts have a jar of Swedish fish and people call in and guess how many are in there. The radio host will then say if the guess is too high or too low so the field would be narrowed down and eventually someone will guess the exact amount in there and win an exotic fishing trip in La Paz, Mexico. The guesses are posted on the station's website, so you don't have to listen to the station 24/7 to get the correct answer.

Being the person that I am (easily distracted from work and loving number games), I've followed this game religiously. Whenever a new guess is made, I'll say quietly to myself, "The odds of winning are now 1:183. If I were guessing, I'd pick the exact middle one which would now be 1430 (rounded to the nearest whole even number), because that'll cut the odds in half for next time."

You may ask why I would bother cutting the odds in half just so it would be easier for whoever guesses after me (I assume this because two of my coworkers asked me this). Three reasons: 1) There would be a slight chance that I would be caller #93 again and I'd be improving the odds for myself at that point, 2) I can't stand a lack of efficiency in nearly anything, and 3) If you have a 1:183 chance of getting it no matter what you pick, you might as well help out the next guy...then it's a trip to Mexico won for humanity, teamwork, charity, the American way...yeah, they didn't buy it either.

Unfortunately, most people apparently don't think like I do about this game. This is the actual guess tally from the station's website (aka What's wrong with this picture?):

3/10
--07:15am--0033--Low--
--09:15am--0173--Low--
--10:40am--0424--Low--
--01:40pm--1012--Low--
--03:50pm--8942--High--
--05:45pm--4587--High--
3/11
--07:15am--0017--Low--
--09:15am--1987--High--
--10:40am--1339--Low--
--01:40pm--1623--High--
--02:20pm--1001--Low--
--03:40pm--1522--High--
--05:40pm--1293--Low--
3/12
--07:15am--0093--Low--
--09:15am--2225--High--
--10:40am--1441--Low--
--01:40pm--1512--High--
--03:40pm--0250--Low--

Yes, a full third of the guesses to-date are outside of the already-set parameters. And now a conversation heard this morning:

Radio Personality: Are you ready to play High-Low to Mexico?

Listener: Yeah!

R: Have you been keeping track of the guesses so far on our website? (translation: Please don't be another one of those that doesn't get us any closer; I'm getting tired of this. It's depressing to be finding out this way how low the intelligence level of my listeners is.)

L: Not really, I heard a couple of the guesses yesterday...

R: Well, listen here, I like you, you sound nice and chipper this morning (translation: I can't handle another of these), so I'm going to give you a hint. So far, we've narrowed down the guesses to something between 1339 and 1552.

L: Oh really? Okay, well my guess is...1301.

Did I mention this was a country music station?

I like girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch...

This post started many moons ago. I was riding home from a Collective Soul concert in Salt Lake with Trevor and Trevor's friend Palmer and Palmer's wife Kevan, when we had a conversation that went something like

Trevor: I know far more about fashion that I ever thought I would being with Andrea.

Kevan: Oh, well let me quiz you! Do you know who Oscar de la Renta is?

T: Yes, he's a designer. It's a name I've heard numerous times.

K: Do you know who Stacy London is?

T: Ummm....

Andrea: Oh, come on, Trev, we watched this show yesterday.

T: Oh, she's on some show on Style Network or something.

K: Close enough. She's a host of TLC's What Not To Wear. And now the most important question, have you heard of Juicy Couture?

A (mumbling to myself): sucks.

T: Socks? Mumble louder, Andrea.

A: Oh, I didn't say anything.

T: Yes you did.

A: I just said Juicy Couture sucks.

A palpable tension fills the vehicle. Kevan starts rattling to Palmer something about a Juicy Couture dress that she almost bought but didn't or something like that, and the guys quickly turn to a new topic. Kevan and I will never be friendly from this point on.

Ever since then, I occasionally think back on this conversation and compose the speech that I wish I hadn't been restrained by society from giving. So, as it has been boiling up in me for some time, it has become a blog post. An essay if you will.

Why Juicy Couture and Similar Clothing Companies Should Be Destroyed and Anyone Who Wears Their Products Past the Age of Accountability Should Go Down, Too, Preferably Taking Their Ugly Little Dogs That They Bought $3000 Doggie Hair Extensions For With Them

One day I was speaking to a married male friend of mine and he mentioned that his wife really wanted a Juicy Couture terry tracksuit for Christmas. He told her if she was good she could get one. This was before he did his research and found that what she wanted was $180. "For lounge around clothes? I couldn't believe it!" I agreed with him that it was ridiculous, but let him know that his wife would not be happy with the less expensive brand of tracksuit he was considering because to the person who wears Juicy, it's the brand that matters and not the actual clothing.

Don't get me wrong, I have no problem whatsoever with expensive clothing. Nor am I one of those people who jealously criticizes people for spending on over-priced things just because I don't have the means to do so myself. What I do have a problem with is clothing that is expensive because it has an "in" brand name pasted across it. Expensive clothes should show by things like cut and fabric quality. Any clothing that requires a prominent brand name pasted on it to let you know it is expensive is not only wasteful, but also sends the message: "I have money but not enough style sense to look sophisticated, so instead I let you know by writing it on myself."

Also, there is nothing trashier than having "Juicy" pasted across your butt. This is trailer park clothing. Some people may say, "But look at how much of young Hollywood is wearing this tracksuit! How could it be trashy?" My response is simple: anyone who takes their fashion cues from Paris Hilton and thinks it's okay because she's rich, after all, should not be allowed to shop for themselves. Within pricey clothing realms and within cheap clothing realms, there is a lot of good and a lot of bad. Because something is expensive, it is not automatically tasteful.

Abercrombie and Fitch is the Juicy Couture of middle-class high school. Now that I'm out of that stage and into a completely different clothing world, Abercrombie clothing is not as outrageously-priced as it once seemed. However, look at their quality: obviously cheaply-manufactured. It's never worth it to shop there. Especially since it's near impossible to find something that doesn't proclaim loudly where you bought it and that's just embarrassing.

Within higher fashion realms, there is far more disgustingly prominent branding going on. Aside from being generally rather ugly things, the Luis Vuitton handbag is a tragedy not because the average one costs over $1000, but because people will happily pay over $1000 simply so people can see them toting a bag with the distinctive LV print on it. The worst part is, unless they live in a very wealthy area where the bag isn't going to be a big deal anyway, people will assume it's a fake, as the majority of the purses in this world with the LV print on them are.

And now a picture I came across whilst writing this and thought was funny (I'm pretty sure it's fake, but I honestly wouldn't be surprised if there are obsessed-with-appearing-wealth women out there who would love so much to have these):

That's my familia for you,

I just received this email from my mother and had to share it because it's so awesome:

Thomas was at the white board last night when he proudly announced, "I made a letter!" Dad and I quickly and proudly went over to see our son's first letter ever written by himself. Guess what it was? The symbol for pi! We haven't stopped laughing.

Love, mom