Myers-Briggs personality test via Leila.
I'm INFJ. What are you?
No, seriously. Take it.
I'm only posting this because I did this test two months ago and got the same results. Since I second guess myself, that usually doesn't happen with tests. But it did. Congratulations Mssrs Myers and Briggs. (Right?)
Also I am the same personality type as Mother Theresa. Bam.
And Martin Van Buren.
And Carrie Fisher.
One of those is cooler than the others.
No, it's not the President.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Jesse requested more entries about feelings so I'm going to oblige. But first -
Excerpts from Sarah Vowell's reading of The Wordy Shipmates at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. These snippets come from the question and answer session.
Why write about Protestants:
"Oh, just selling out really."
"I can go all "grandpa" on any number of topics."
Sarah: Last question, better be good.
Audience member: Are we going to see you on Showtime's version of This American Life?
Sarah: Are you going to see me on Showtime's version of This American Life? [extended pause] Um, no. Thank you all for coming.
I took notes while timing my incessant coughing to match other people's laughter. If you were there, I was the girl blowing my nose before and after the reading. Apparently, I am not over my cold yet. Also, I am gross.
When I first heard Sarah Vowell a few years ago, I thought, oh my God, she got to my life before I did. This resulted in two feelings:
"There is no room for me in the world" and
"I wonder if she needs an assistant?"
To be fair, she's doing my life better than I would have. She's really nailing that whole visiting national historic landmarks, researching old-timey America and writing insightful, unpretentious, and clever works about those experiences.
Sarah, if you ever want to "visit" my office, "research" people on facebook and "write" this blog - we should life swap.
She too does not have a driver's license.
Soon I must choose one of my backup plans. Mayhaps, I will open a Presidential Bakery in the West Village. The hook is that there will be one era-appropriate-baked-good assigned to each President. There's no menu because you have to order the President.
Otherwise, I'll be a jedi. And marry Kenneth Branagh.
Excerpts from Sarah Vowell's reading of The Wordy Shipmates at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. These snippets come from the question and answer session.
Why write about Protestants:
"Oh, just selling out really."
"I can go all "grandpa" on any number of topics."
Sarah: Last question, better be good.
Audience member: Are we going to see you on Showtime's version of This American Life?
Sarah: Are you going to see me on Showtime's version of This American Life? [extended pause] Um, no. Thank you all for coming.
I took notes while timing my incessant coughing to match other people's laughter. If you were there, I was the girl blowing my nose before and after the reading. Apparently, I am not over my cold yet. Also, I am gross.
When I first heard Sarah Vowell a few years ago, I thought, oh my God, she got to my life before I did. This resulted in two feelings:
"There is no room for me in the world" and
"I wonder if she needs an assistant?"
To be fair, she's doing my life better than I would have. She's really nailing that whole visiting national historic landmarks, researching old-timey America and writing insightful, unpretentious, and clever works about those experiences.
Sarah, if you ever want to "visit" my office, "research" people on facebook and "write" this blog - we should life swap.
She too does not have a driver's license.
Soon I must choose one of my backup plans. Mayhaps, I will open a Presidential Bakery in the West Village. The hook is that there will be one era-appropriate-baked-good assigned to each President. There's no menu because you have to order the President.
Otherwise, I'll be a jedi. And marry Kenneth Branagh.
I tripped a circuit breaker in the apartment this morning while I was trying to make turkey bacon in the microwave while toasting an eggo waffle.
It happens.
For whatever reason, I assumed our building is so old the breaker/fuse box would be in the basement and therefore inaccessible to anyone who isn't our super. By the way, our super lives in Poland. I spent the morning trying to call the management company before running out the door to work. (In the interest of full disclosure, I also ate a cold waffle while I was doing that).
Stephanie was still asleep. God love her. She brings the adorable quotient in the apartment but I wasn't too confident in her ability to fix the problem in my absence. I figured it would have to be taken care of when I got home from work/the Sarah Vowell reading. In the meanwhile, the contents of our fridge would go bad. Since we don't keep food in the apartment, it's probably a $30 loss.
Well, I was wrong. After some aggressive demanding from me on gchat, and with the gentle guidance of John Robert, Stephanie managed to find and flip the circuit breakers. They are, for future reference, located in the hallway across from the kitchen. Go figure. Well played, Stephanie.
It happens.
For whatever reason, I assumed our building is so old the breaker/fuse box would be in the basement and therefore inaccessible to anyone who isn't our super. By the way, our super lives in Poland. I spent the morning trying to call the management company before running out the door to work. (In the interest of full disclosure, I also ate a cold waffle while I was doing that).
Stephanie was still asleep. God love her. She brings the adorable quotient in the apartment but I wasn't too confident in her ability to fix the problem in my absence. I figured it would have to be taken care of when I got home from work/the Sarah Vowell reading. In the meanwhile, the contents of our fridge would go bad. Since we don't keep food in the apartment, it's probably a $30 loss.
Well, I was wrong. After some aggressive demanding from me on gchat, and with the gentle guidance of John Robert, Stephanie managed to find and flip the circuit breakers. They are, for future reference, located in the hallway across from the kitchen. Go figure. Well played, Stephanie.
Monday, October 6, 2008
I Me Wed
A woman becomes a media sensation when she marries herself.
I was watching this for 2 full minutes before I realized it was a made-for-TV movie and not a documentary.
In my defense, I have a pretty bad cold.
A woman becomes a media sensation when she marries herself.
I was watching this for 2 full minutes before I realized it was a made-for-TV movie and not a documentary.
In my defense, I have a pretty bad cold.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
For Christmas, I want a videotaped montage of Hillary Clinton and other female members of the Democratic party preparing Biden for tonight's debate.
I cannot decide, but I think I want it set to "Let's Hear It For the Boy."
I cannot decide, but I think I want it set to "Let's Hear It For the Boy."
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Hi guys. I'm wearing men's deodorant.
See, I ran out yesterday and stopped at the Rite Aid to buy some. All they had were fruit and powder scented stuff for ladies. I'm a "shower clean" kind of girl. I'm real, real picky about smells. I hate powder smells. (You hear that babies? You stay away with your powder.) Guys get way better scent options than women do. And, oh man, do I love the way boys smell.
Anyway, I bought the guy stuff. Every once in awhile, I'll stretch or raise my arms or move in such a way that I catch a scent of it and I'll think "ooh, who is that?" and then I'll experience the crippling disappointment of realizing it's me. I am my imaginary office boyfriend.
See, I ran out yesterday and stopped at the Rite Aid to buy some. All they had were fruit and powder scented stuff for ladies. I'm a "shower clean" kind of girl. I'm real, real picky about smells. I hate powder smells. (You hear that babies? You stay away with your powder.) Guys get way better scent options than women do. And, oh man, do I love the way boys smell.
Anyway, I bought the guy stuff. Every once in awhile, I'll stretch or raise my arms or move in such a way that I catch a scent of it and I'll think "ooh, who is that?" and then I'll experience the crippling disappointment of realizing it's me. I am my imaginary office boyfriend.
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