New Members of the Family

Since my life at Penn is decidedly lacking in pets (well, pets that I opted to have in the apartment....), I decided to make an adoption. So please welcome to the family Shelby and Rocky, my new GrowAFrogs. And yes, it was embarrassing walking through Penn's campus with a big box covered in frogs.... And no, I don't know which one is which. It turns out that drop-of-red-nailpolish trick doesn't work with frogs -- go figure. I'll keep you posted on their froggy progress. Ribbit. :-)

Christmas Shopping for the Ex

Just in case you feel obligated to buy a gift, but don't quite know how to express your feelings properly, try this knife set from Overstock.com. Nothing says "we can still be friends" like a knife set.

My philosophy on life right now, paraphrased and stolen from Grey's Anatomy

I want moonlight and flowers and candy and people trying to feel me up. Nobody is trying to feel me up. Nobody is even looking at me. I am a grad student. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to do all this? I’m waxed, and plucked, and have a clean top on. I want heat, I want romance, and dammit I want to feel like a freakin’ lady!

Rare Moments of Humanity

In the midst of all the negatives that I experience every day in the course of my job (encountering homeless people on the way to work, students who are damaged by city life, crime, etc.), it is normal to become somewhat jaded and hardened. It is rare to see things that actually make me smile in the pre-dawn hours as I head to school each day.

Today I had one of those moments. Each day I pass a homeless man sitting by a construction site. Admittedly, I ignore him. I'm rushing to work, and can't be bothered by other people's problems when I am wrapped up in my own. He usually has birds around him, and my fear of the flying critters makes me avoid him even more.

I left a few minutes earlier than usual today (only because I did not even attempt to put in my contacts, as opposed to my usual routine of stabbing myself in the eyes for 15 minutes before I give up and put on my glasses). As I passed the same spot, I noticed the homeless man walking around. He had a large bag of bird food, and was putting it out for the pigeons.

I smiled bigger than I have in days.

I could analyze this for hours, but I just wanted to put this out there as a sign that good does still exist in the midst of the hard city life, and we should never forget this in our daily struggles.

I promise my next post will be lighter :-)

Real or photoshop?

Taking all bets.

What is Orange and Evil?

My cat has competition for the most evil orange thing on the planet. I guess this is what happens when people with video-editing capabilities have too much time on their hands. Beware the ORANGE MENACE!

Dancin' Fools

The "finding weird things on the internet" extends beyond my husband... to his friends. Thanks, James, for sending me this gem.

New modes of transit

It's now November, and I have spent three months living in West Philadelphia (everyone break into a chorus of the "Fresh Prince" theme song). Now that I am no longer living in the relative haven of suburbia, I must subject myself to the worst depths of Philadelphia public transit -- THE SUBWAY. Any comforts that existed on the regional rail no longer exist on the subway. If the smell of vomit and/or urine does not exist, it's not a good day on the subway. Similar to my earlier Rules of Public Transit, I have created some thoughts on life on the underground transit system in Philly, for the wary traveller who wants to be prepared before stepping below (or above) ground.

The El -- The Market-Frankford is known as the El. Being exposed to the D.C. system, I constantly refer to this as the blue line (because the line is blue on the map), and am looked at like I have sprouted another head. To further complicate matters, the El is not actually EL-evated. Well, it is, but not in a place where anyone wants to go. So every time I'm riding the El, I'm below ground. Fun.

The Trolleys -- This is what I envision as a post-apocolyptic form of transit. They are small buses, but they run on trolley wires, but, like the El, run below ground for the good parts of the trip. The best part about the trolleys is the general operation. The drivers have no steering wheels, just pedals. They take full advantage of this, accelarating and breaking frenetically in an attempt to send every standing passenger careening to the floor. They also make a horrid shrieking noise when going around corners that, if you have a hangover, makes you want to scream and throw yourself in front of said trolley.

Descent into madness

So if anyone actually still reads this blog, they will notice that I have not posted in a long time. Frankly, I am only posting now because I am bored in a class and need something to do. To put my mental state simply, it has shut down. There is nothing left. I got very confused by the northbound-southbound concept on the subway today. I put soup on the stove and totally forgot about it until it completely boiled away to a funky tomato paste and some congealed rice. And to make it all better, this week I will be getting a pack of 32 exams and 32 projects to grade. Rock. I love being a teacher. Any encouragement would be great.... As if anyone actually reads this.... Sigh.....

Kickin' Balls

I decided that between student teaching and taking four graduate-level courses at an ivy league institution, I am simply not doing enough with my copious leisure time. So, I joined a kickball league. Yes, you read that correctly. Adults play kickball, and have enough pride in these puerile activities that they have actually formed a formal league. The primary purpose of this league? Drink beer! Secondary purpose? Kick balls! After playing in my first game yesterday (which we lost -- goddamned Shitkickers....), I am legitimately sore. My legs, arms, and back hurt! Am I that pitifully out of shape? Apparently so.

If you're interested in the league, check us out at our website!

Weird Things My Husband Finds on the Internet

Destined to be part of a series. He has now found the USB Hamster, which will inevitably be eaten by my cat, somehow causing inevitable failure of his entire operating system.

By the way, is my blog active again?

As a pet owner, this is one of the funniest things I have ever seen, featuring one of my favorite songs. Enjoy the first and second kitty videos. And this one is just weird. By the way, these people seem awfully blase about their cats attacking their children.... Just a thought....

ACC vs. Ivy League

This will be a short post, as it is late and I have copious amounts of work (that I am deftly avoiding completing). While looking at one of my new favorite websites (www.notpennstate.com), I noticed this t-shirt, which is strikingly familiar to an ACC equivalent shirt. Let me know what you think.

SEPTA Guide Rule #184

After another day enjoying public transit, I have yet another rule to add to the Guide (I use the capital "G" to give it more legitimacy to myself. Bear with me).

RULE #184: Not All Train Passengers Are Created Equal
I do not mean to speak disparagingly of my fellow Regional Rail Riders. But frankly, some folks are weird. You must keep an eye out for the particular characters.

The Chatty Folk: I'm not sure where they go when they get off the train, but it can't be anywhere where they receive adequate human contact. They will tell you their life story in agonizing detail. Be prepared to get off a stop early. It may be well worth it.

"Music Is My Life" People: These kind souls have decided that it is their duty to share their musical preferences (and their iTunes purchases) with you. A personal music device is simply too elitist --- music must be played at a volume such that it can be shared with the community at large, namely those people who are trying to quietly read. You will spend at least 20 minutes trying to identify the thumping beat that you vaguely recognize from the radio (Pussycat Dolls? Bon Jovi? Prince? Is Prince still alive??) Consider yourself lucky if you aren't in the same train as the 80's guy.

Anxious Riders: Xanax does a body good. These folks are so anxious about the ride to their final destination that they are constantly bouncing between seats, checking with the train staff, and looking anxiously out the window to make sure the announcers weren't playing a nasty trick when saying what stop we were heading to ("Muahaha, I told you we were at Wynmoor, but we're really at Mt. Airy! Muahahahaha!").

"Can You Hear Me Now?": Something as minor as a train ride will not separate them from their cellular conversations. Unlike the rest of us who hiss in humiliation after our "Lone Ranger Theme" cell ring disturbs the entire train, "I'll call you back! I'm on the train!",these people insist on having a full-fledged conversation. And just in case coverage isn't that great, the make sure that they talk loudly enough that in case the person on the other end of the line is in, say, Jersey, they will still be able to hear perfectly well.

Non-People People: Clearly didn't excel in the "Plays well with others" category of elementary school. Their bags are sprawled across the three person seats, and the stare down any newcomers to the train. The implicit message -- "This is my seat. I may look like a balding 50-something-year-old man who really enjoys reruns of Get Smart, but if you sit with me, I will fuck your shit up."

And then there's the rest of us. Happy riding, everyone! :-)

A Newcomer's Guide to SEPTA

A major problem in any urban area is going to be traffic congestion. After living in Baltimore for three years, I have learned to anticipate and, at times, almost appreciate the whims of the beltway and JFX traffic. But moving to a new metropolitan area, getting around was giving me (almost) as much angst as the lovely souls over at the Penn Student Financial Services office (*incomprehensible mutterings*).

Then, a breath of fresh air -- SEPTA! Yes, the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority to the rescue. And, unlike the Baltimore public transit system, SEPTA seems to: 1) be efficient, 2) be safe, and 3) actually go places that you'd want to be. Novel concept!

What I hope to do is create a type of guide (in the loosest sense of the term) to using SEPTA for those who, like me, are relatively new to the whole public transit system. The rules are numbered, but, because I am writing them as I come up with them, are therefore in no particular order. Because numbering sequentially implies some sort of ranking of importance, I am going to refrain from that practice and simply make numbers up as I go along. Can you tell that I'm going to be a teacher?

Rule #47: Learn to Forget Geographic Directions
I'm amazed anyone in Philadelphia knows North-South-East-West. You will rarely get on a train, subway, or bus and find that it is simply going east, north, or even southeast. It's going to some obscure (at least to me) destination that no one really ever wants to go to anyway. So I have to spend a good 10 minutes staring at a map (hello, not from here!) trying to first figure out where the hell I am and then where the hell I'm going. Once that is figured out, getting on the proper transportation mode is often a matter of luck. Thank god for my transpass, where I can get on and off the bus as much as necessary while I figure out what the hell I'm doing.

Rule #84: Station Names Have Little to Do With Their Location

Example: Suburban Station. Name connotes location with grass, trees, etc. Real location? Middle of the freakin' city.

Example: Market East - Gallery. Actually a transfer point for other transit lines. But the other lines don't call it that, they call it 15th Street. So I miss it every time. Bastards.

Give me landmarks, intersections, something! My brain already hurts with this....

More to come later!

Kitty Litter.....

Why you ask? I'll tell you. My husband is allergic to my cat, more specifically, to his dander. Anyone who has owned a cat will tell you that the second leading source of dander after, well, the cat itself, it the litter box. So as we consider Ted's big move to Silver Spring, Maryland this week, we wonder -- how will we contain the kitty dander (and the accompanying kitty s$*t) in the best manner in the confined space that is a D.C. apartment?

Many options come to mind. My personal favorite is the Litter Robot, a combination of a rolling-cleaning litter box and a Roomba. Theoretically, it will use lasers (!!!) to sense when your cat has used the litter, and after he departs, will shift upside down, sucking the kitty waste into a designated container. And for a mere $300, you too can have a robot clean up your cat's poop!

Since I'm doing that whole student poverty thing down to a whole new level, I may have to go with a cheaper option. At which point you can go with the Booda Clean Step Litter Box. This one appeals to me for two very base reasons: 1) The stairs. My cat can be a diva. 2) The colors. What cat wouldn't want to crap when surrounded by "Ruby Red"?

If you have any suggestions for this ongoing debate, please enlighten me. Frankly, I know whatever I purchase will end up in a corner, uncleaned, with my cat taking a dump six inches away just to spite me. Little bastard.

Summer Session -- Trial by Fire

I have survived my first week and a half at an Ivy League institution -- barely. The program is a firm believer in "trial by fire" -- or more appropriately, trial by reading. Lots of it. 150 pages or more each night. So while I do get to enjoy two days each week with classes starting at 1 p.m. (JOY! SLEEPING IN!), I toil into the wee hours that I haven't seen on a weeknight since second year of undergrad. So why am I spending my valuable writing time posting on my blog? Simply put, it beats reading.

Another finger of the fire is our field work at Nonprofit Techonogy Resources. Working with these six student interns is, simply put, amazing. They have skills I couldn't imagine. I hope that I can contribute something to their lives in the short time that I am here.