New And Crafty Spammers

So this is straight up phishing, right? Because I didn't order anything from Luisa, her poor spelling, or her incredibly fishy-sounding website/".es" electronic mailing address. But I have to give "New Egg" props, because I'm not entirely 100% sure that my card hasn't been hacked and Intel Motherboards ordered left and right.

Luisa Lyon to niels
show details 2:11 am (7 hours ago)

Good day,

Thanks for you order.

EVGA 122-CK-NF68-A1 ATX Intel Motherboard - Retail - $48

You can check you order status at the folowing link:
http://newegg.com/order.php?li=1642979109223

Best regards,
NewEgg Shop Support.

Loser Alert!

So, in high school (this is actually not the loser alert portion of this post) I was a really, really big fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. For special Buffy events (ex. the Becoming two-part season 2 finale, the crazy awesome Buffy-Angel crossover episodes), my friends Jen and Melissa and I would watch together and Jen's mom miiiiiight have gotten us special Buffy mugs and found the logo's font online, and I might still have that mug and treasure it. Um... and there might be pictures.

I so pity today's high schoolers, who will have their embarrassing-when-out-of-context moments live forever online. Sometimes memories should exist in hard copy only, for one to stumble across when moving or whatnot, and to recall with private joy.

Oh lord. Remember the season 5 finale when Buffy DIED? And you weren't sure if the show was coming back on UPN or if it was just kaput and there was a chance that (this time) Buffy's death was PERMANENT? They buried her and everything. I wasn't even a regular viewer by then, but man that shit was intense.

Anyway. I'm not here to convince you Buffy is awesome. Sometimes these things are just futile (see: Galactica, Battlestar). What I am here to tell you is that when you have mindless, boring stuff to do at work, which happens to all of us from time to time, Buffy is a great show to have on Hulu in the background. I'm lucky that background Hulu during times of tedium is perfectly welcome at my office, but choosing a show is delicate. You don't want anything too visual or heavy. Voiceovers are good. Burn Notice was good for a while, but I went through that show like Sherman's March to the Sea. Same with House. I was basically out of stuff until recently. I had been depending on Pandora, and even that was getting old.

So you can imagine my delight when Buffy popped up on the Hulu mainpage.

Ooh! Angel's opening the portal to hell. Gotta go!

Posting This Mostly To Remind Myself To Check That I Get Credited By Next Week

MTA New York City Transit
Service Alert

Posted on:7/29/2008 11:32:45 AM

The recent MetroCard Vending Machine outages that have occured within the past 2 days have been resolved. If you were charged as a result of these outages, a credit will be issued to your account. This credit should appear on your account within 7 to 10 business days.

We apologize for any inconvenience and thank you for your patience.

----------
I got charged three times this morning for a monthly MetroCard ($81)... as did every other person frantically trying the machines around me (since it usually requires multiple tries to pay by card, everyone was trying multiple times). Obviously, some kind of SIGN NEAR THE MACHINE is out of the question.

I hate New York.

And A Recap

The best bits of our trip were serendipitous. We'd planned the bones of the trip pretty well, plotting out the stops and route before we left, but the day-to-day details we planned pretty much over breakfast, with the help of assorted locals, B&B owners, and Rick Steves. Sometimes they all agreed about what we should do, and sometimes they didn't. For instance, Rick and John, the B&B owner in Killarney, disagreed over the best route for driving the Ring of Kerry. They both recommended the Skellig Ring detour (the roads are too tiny for tour buses), but we went with John's suggestion to drive the whole peninsula counterclockwise with the buses, so the driver (Dan) could more easily enjoy the sea views. He was right. But neither Rick nor John told us about the Skellig Cliffs. No guidebook did, either. And they were sick.



About a thousand feet high, and completely deserted (we started early nearly every day--painful at times, but 100% worth it. It frequently felt that we had the wilds of Ireland to ourselves).

We also would've skipped Connor's Pass on the Dingle Peninsula, had the pub-going locals not set us straight.




Holy crap it was amazing. We found the lake by pulling over for a view, seeing a sheep track, and just following it up. Gorgeous. A lot of the sick scenery was just on random pit stops.



Fun fact: Irish girls do not drink pints of Guinness. It was actually a bit of an icebreaker, with locals expressing surprise and occasionally shock that a wee lass like myself was able to drink a full pint of such a brew, which was also weird because dude, doesn't every tourist do it? Have you never seen a tourist before?


Ireland's best old man, Ned O'Sullivan, Dingle resident of 40 years (he was very open about his plans to die there), saw my pint, faked a massive heart attack, crossed himself, and told Dan to never let me go.

Also, in Dublin, cute, wholesome-looking girls pass out the strip club flyers, rather than the sad, beaten men who hand them out in New York.

Even the things I thought would be lame were awesome. Like, was I really interested in an ancient ring fort on the Iveragh Peninsula? We took the detour because it was foggy and there wasn't much else to do until it lifted; it turned out to be a kind of magical, transcendent step into the past.


It took hundreds of men six months to build it! It's been standing for thousands of years with no mortar! How is that even possible? Plus people climb all over it, it's just terrible, no respect.


Mostly, I felt at home in Ireland. I don't know that it's an ancestral thing (my family came over during the the famine... they should probably have a famine museum in Dublin, come to think of it. It did reduce the population by a third); there was an easiness to life there that agreed with me. I want to go every year. Every year once the dollar regains a semblance of buying power.


That euro. It hurt.

Pics

Check out the highlight reel.

I'm Back: Part Two

The sticky stink of Summertime New York is in full force. I nearly tripped over a dead rat at lunch.

Now I'm back.

I'm Back

I'm back. Ireland was amazing. Completely gorgeous, perfect weather, old men named Ned O'Sullivan, the Dingle Peninsula, pint upon pint of Guinness and pat upon pat of Irish butter.

I'll start posting pictures tomorrow.

Later, Suckers

See you next week!

Chitown

Went to Chicago for the Fourth. Did the usual Bean Visit:




Followed by the usual Dan and Meghan Summer Vacation Feeding Frenzy, aided by the Taste of Chicago.





Italian beef sandwiches! Deep dish! Ribs! Cheesecake and corn on sticks! We even got this rare shot of Melanie, eating something greasy:


Then we barbecue-hopped, ending up somewhere in Wrigleyville taking shots out of egg cups.


Good times.

The Monastic Homestead

Went home for an evening to celebrate passportage, see the fam before I left, and (ok, mainly) to borrow Scott's eleventy billion dollar camera, to optimally capture the Celtic Tiger's vivid greens. I was able to swing this because Scotty recently purchased an eleventy trillion dollar camera, and that kept him occupied most of the evening.



No flash = we live in a monastery.

Thanks, fam!

Why I Am Partially Stupid

Okay, it's mostly taken care of, so I'll share.

I'm pregnant.


SIKE!!!

I am not. (Sorry, Mom).

I did, however, lose my passport.

...screech.

"How?" you ask? What an excellent question. I don't know, really--my pet theory is that in a giant paper purge a couple months ago it got tossed. But that's just a guess. For all I know it'll turn up tomorrow, in which case I will... do nothing. Maybe throw up.

That isn't even the real idiocy, although it's obviously stupid. The true kernel of moron in this move is that I didn't realize it until last night. I am going to IRELAND. On FRIDAY. That is NOT RESPONSIBLE. As Katie would put it, wailing as we left her peremptoraliy ended birthday bonfire on Hermosa Beach in 2005, "Poor PLANNING!!!! POOOOR PLAAAANINGGGG!!!" Except that was a birthday party. This is a weeklong overseas trip that Dan and I planned three months ago.

But, my friends, all was not lost. Yes, I broke down sobbing after tearing my room apart, slept approximately three hours total, and worked through some intense self-loathing. But also, in the midst of my freakitude, I designed three scenarios, at least one of which would make the trip still happen.

Scenario #1: Maybe, just maybe, the passport is at work. Because the last time I remember handling it was at orientation, this wasn't totally out of the ballpark, but was still kind of a pipe dream. In any case, if it weren't there (as was the case), I could use the early-morning office visit to fill out all my forms etc. for the next plan...

Scenario #2: Go to US Passport Agency at 7:20 AM and spend the day there begging, bribing etc. I figured for appointment-less me (the automated system shut me out) it would be some kind of pit mob requiring sharp elbows. If this didn't work out, it would be on to scenario #3...

...calling an expeditor. And losing half my hair and something close to four hundred bucks with it. I've used expediters before, once for a renewal and once on behalf of a boss. They'll get you your travel document, but you will pay with half your soul.

YOU GUYS. DO NOT EVER USE AN EXPEDITOR. GETTING A PASSPORT IN A DAY IS REALLY EASY.

Ok, kind of easy, but only 50% as frustrating as the DMV. And the ease level is much higher if you are like me, who is very, very lucky to work across the street from the passport agency.

I showed up at 7:20, documents and passport pictures (hair: cute, face: panicked) in hand. Line is massive. Every person is working with various success at not looking completely unhinged, but you can see the telltale signs of crazy. Get into building, go through metal detectors, and apparently switch to present tense.

"Do you have an appointment?"

A "no" puts me at a phone bank of creaky devices connecting to the automated system that failed me last night. I learn that you can trick it by entering specific dates, but no dice, it keeps telling me the rest of the week is full. Slightly freaked, I go talk to the guard.

You guys, the passport agency people are really nice. It was shocking how nice they are. All of them.

"Don't be nervous," the guy says. I tell him I work across the street. "Go and keep calling the line from your office," he tells me. "I know it keeps saying no, but you'll get in. Just keep trying." Then he says that once I come in, it'll take about an hour to process my application, and I can pick up my new passport either that afternoon or the next morning.

So I went back to the office (okay, this is getting pretty detailed. You can skim if you want. Or not. Whatever. It's my blog.) and called the line for an hour and a half straight. At one point I got an actual person, a nice older man who tried to make an appointment for me, couldn't, and suggested I go try Norwalk, Connecticut. Now truly panicking, I decided to give it ten more tries before calling the bloodsuckers. Second try: I got one. Hoopla!

2 PM rolls around. I go back to the agency and am in and out in twenty minutes. The guy sees my work ID and thinks I'm an on-camera TV star. "I thought you looked familiar!" he exclaims. "You're all set."

THAT'S IT. If I'd known how to game the appointment system ahead of time, this would've taken thirty minutes of my day, total, plus some phone calls last night. Although then I wouldn't have met the emotionally broken family who had a flight this morning and went to the airport with expired passports, who made me feel ever-so-slightly less stupid.

Ugh. I am so mean. I deserve all of this. I should self-flagellate. But 10 AM tomorrow, that brand-new book will be in my hot little hand. Government, US Passport Agency: Thank you.

And also to Dan for not flipping out.

How Do They Allow Me To Do Anything

I did something stupid.

I will tell you what it is later.

But it isn't a "haha, you're so silly" stupid thing. It's a true boneheaded, this-is-something-done-by-people-I-openly-and-cruelly-mock kind of move.

But I think it will be fixed by day's end. Pray for me.

I hate myself.


(In the meantime, I do not hate cuteness:


I KNOW.)

Maureen Dowd's Column This Past Weekend, And How It Pertains To Sex And The City

(Original column here).

This weekend, we celebrate our great American pastime: messy celebrity divorces.

There’s the Christie Brinkley/Peter Cook fireworks on Long Island and the Madonna/Guy Ritchie/A-Rod Roman candle in New York.

Note: I cherish the thought of Madonna and A-Rod together. I know it's wrong of me. I think it's nostalgia, because this is precisely the sort of stunt Madge would've pulled in the early 90s. It's very Brangelina-esque.

So how do you avoid a relationship where you end up saying, “The man who I was living with, I just didn’t know who he was” — as Brinkley did in court when talking about her husband’s $3,000-a-month Internet porn and swinger site habit? (Not to mention the 18-year-old mistress/assistant.) Father Pat Connor, a 79-year-old Catholic priest born in Australia and based in Bordentown, N.J., has spent his celibate life — including nine years as a missionary in India — mulling connubial bliss. His decades of marriage counseling led him to distill some “mostly common sense” advice about how to dodge mates who would maul your happiness.

“Hollywood says you can be deeply in love with someone and then your marriage will work,” the twinkly eyed, white-haired priest says. “But you can be deeply in love with someone to whom you cannot be successfully married.”

Oh, Father. If only the HBO people had hired you as a script consultant.

For 40 years, he has been giving a lecture — “Whom Not to Marry” — to high school seniors, mostly girls because they’re more interested.

“It’s important to do it before they fall seriously in love, because then it will be too late,” he explains. “Infatuation trumps judgment.”

Exhibit: Charlotte and Trey.

I asked him to summarize his talk:

“Never marry a man who has no friends,” he starts. “This usually means that he will be incapable of the intimacy that marriage demands. I am always amazed at the number of men I have counseled who have no friends.

Did you ever notice how Big has no friends? In six years of the series, we saw him out with a friend I think twice. Each time a plot device.

"Does he use money responsibly? Is he stingy? Most marriages that founder do so because of money — she’s thrifty, he’s on his 10th credit card.

On this count, Carrie is un-marry-able.

“Steer clear of someone whose life you can run, who never makes demands counter to yours. It’s good to have a doormat in the home, but not if it’s your husband.

Sorry, Steve.

“Is he overly attached to his mother and her mythical apron strings? When he wants to make a decision, say, about where you should go on your honeymoon, he doesn’t consult you, he consults his mother. (I’ve known cases where the mother accompanies the couple on their honeymoon!)

I'm not sure I've ever met a complete mama's boy. Having her do your laundry when you're home doesn't really count. I would ding Harry on this one but I love him too much. Best Television Mother Complex, hands down: Jack and Colleen Donaghy.



“Does he have a sense of humor? That covers a multitude of sins. My mother was once asked how she managed to live harmoniously with three men — my father, brother and me. Her answer, delivered with awesome arrogance, was: ‘You simply operate on the assumption that no man matures after the age of 11.’ My father fell about laughing.

Smith isn't very funny, but I think his cheekbones make up for it.

“A therapist friend insists that ‘more marriages are killed by silence than by violence.’ The strong, silent type can be charming but ultimately destructive. That world-class misogynist, Paul of Tarsus, got it right when he said, ‘In all your dealings with one another, speak the truth to one another in love that you may grow up.’

“Don’t marry a problem character thinking you will change him. He’s a heavy drinker, or some other kind of addict, but if he marries a good woman, he’ll settle down. People are the same after marriage as before, only more so.

This is the one that first got me thinking about Carrie & Big, because Mr. Preston has no interest in living with someone for the rest of his life and never will.

“Take a good, unsentimental look at his family — you’ll learn a lot about him and his attitude towards women. Kay made a monstrous mistake marrying Michael Corleone! (So true.) Is there a history of divorce in the family? An atmosphere of racism, sexism or prejudice in his home? Are his goals and deepest beliefs worthy and similar to yours? I remember counseling a pious Catholic woman that it might not be prudent to marry a pious Muslim, whose attitude about women was very different. Love trumped prudence; the annulment process was instigated by her six months later.

“Imagine a religious fundamentalist married to an agnostic. One would have to pray that the fundamentalist doesn’t open the Bible and hit the page in which Abraham is willing to obey God and slit his son’s throat.

“Finally: Does he possess those character traits that add up to a good human being — the willingness to forgive, praise, be courteous? Or is he inclined to be a fibber, to fits of rage, to be a control freak, to be envious of you, to be secretive?

“After I regale a group with this talk, the despairing cry goes up: ‘But you’ve eliminated everyone!’ Life is unfair.”]

Well... mostly.

The full (and excellent) 30 Rock episode:

In Other Media "News"

New Bond trailer. Hello, Vengeful Daniel Craig. What an excellent start to my morning. I hope the new movie uses lots of turquoise backdrops to make your eyes look even bluer like they did in Casino Royale.