Funny is where you find it

The latest poll there asks about miles per gallon. The results have 20-30 MPG as the most popular answer at 31%, but in second place? "I walk/bike/ never leave the house.'

I really like that they included the never leave the house option. They could have just said "No thanks."

Today's weird search phrase

Oh, and am I hearing correctly that Google is becoming as useless as Yahoo did back in, say, 1995.

Remember when Yahoo was a machine at Stanford somewhere in the CS department, and when it was useful as a search tool, like before they had to license a real search tool from Google?

I love the smell of Irony in the morning.

You have heard my cry of horror, and you have responded.

No more mass market bad fashion.

OK, that's probably out the window after the advent of super-low-rise jeans.

They're back -- in Pog Form!

Rob tells me that I should get the mini, because the form factor is better. That's all fine and well, but I think they missed the price point. If it had been slightly less expensive, I would be happy to get one as an impulse purchase, but my mental limit on impulse purchases is about $200, so you see my problem. At $250, I have to think about it for a while. Then I have to think about it some more.

Still, I've been having fun with the encoding process. I have some albums from the 80s, most of which I actually bought in the 90s, that aren't cheesy in any way. It's kind of cool to rediscover that the decade that has the biggest rep for being absolutely filled with schlock wasn't just a supermarket birthday cake, there was some actual substance, but I'm the first to admit that it was hard to find.

Speaking of the 80s, they're back. At least in mass-market fashion. I was out at Target the other day when I spied a display that had neon colored fishnet ankle socks. I wish I were making this up, but with my own eyes I saw neon yellow, blue and orange. I think they also had fishnet hose in the same color, you know, for the mixing and matching.

We truly are doomed to repeat ourselves, aren't we? I have friends who were born in the 80s. If I see any of them wearing such horrors, I'm going to freak out.

OK, so they're not made from real Girl Scouts

I say this purely for your own good, because I would hate for March to get by without you getting any Girl Scout Cookies.

I got mine yesterday in the parking lot outside Trader Joe's near Bailey's Crossroads in Northern Virginia. I feel pretty sure you can find some near you. Apparently the proceeds help out girls. I kind of don't care, though. I'm all about the Thin Mints and the Do Si Dos.

Lazy Sundae, a fantastic but always crowded spot for premium ice cream in interesting flavors like "Trail Mix" sometimes has a Girl Scout Cookie ice cream featuring Thin Mints. I'd like it better if they used a chocolate base, though.

I haven't had really, really good ice cream in a long time.

Fun with referring hosts

A blog about dental matters. Who woulda thunk?

I love life, I really do. I love that my little place in the slow lane attracts attention from guys who google for the words "remove bra" as well as people who are interested in their teeth. (Actually, it's the 21st century now, and I guess there could be women out there googling for that term; and since I'm an equal opportunity puzzler, welcome to all the ladies who got here by searching for some random stranger talking about her underpinnings. I suspect you were disappointed in what you found, but hey, stay for the coffee and cookies.)

A random thought

That's all well and good, but I don't see any good reason why one shouldn't still call them albums.

Its second definition from dictionary.com says this about the word:

al�bum n.

1. A set of musical recordings stored together in jackets under one binding.

2. The holder for such recordings.

3. One or more 12-inch long-playing records in a slipcase.

4. A phonograph record.

5. A recording of different musical pieces.

So, I'm thinking that when I think of a CD as an album, maybe that's not so wrong. On the other hand, being technically correct isn't all that exciting when you have friends who have never known a world without CDs.

As I said, random.

The post-trip analysis begins

There was one day out in Iowa when I described myself as a low-maintenance female. One of my coworkers rolled his eyes and said "self-described low maintenance female." (Well, his tone indicated an eye roll; I wasn't looking at him, but the skepticism was clearly audible.)

I guess he must have noticed me putting on lip gloss, or something like that. I didn't make much of an effort out there. No time. I wore my hair bunched up in a giant clip every day. My clothes were wrinkled, and I figured nobody was looking at me.

Immediately I thought I was found out -- that Jesse somehow knew that I used to make an effort, and that sometimes I missed making an effort. I didn't really think about this again until I was sitting in the waiting room of a hair salon in Burlington waiting to have my hair cut. There was nothing to read except fashion magazines, so I picked one up.

I am completely serious when I say that whatever issue of Vogue I happened to be flipping through, not a single scrap of useful information could be found between the covers. Nobody except socialites really wears evening gowns, or that much makeup. I know people spend a lot of time on themselves, and that's great, but I think Vogue is completely out of touch with the modern woman. Like, we have jobs and stuff.

And so I thought of my eye rolling friend, and I think something changed out there on the road. Fashion magazines seem ridiculous to me now, possibly even contemptible. Maybe I don't fit his idea of what it means to be low manintenance, but I fit mine. I haven't always.

So there.

Yay Vermont!

Anyway, I arrived back in DC about 1 this morning, spent an hour or so winding down from the drive and then crashed. Sleeping in my own bed felt great. I lay down and fell asleep within seconds after I became fully prone.

I guess you don't realize how very tired you are until you really stop.

So, the point is that I'm home.

Winding down here

I think I've slept at least 24 hours in the last two days, which is good. Two very dear people from my department left on Saturday, both back to the west, where they belong.

I was glad to see these guys go, for their own sakes, but it was hard to say goodbye.

Anyway, I still like Vermont, but I want to go home and see if the cats remember me. It's been too long.

I'll talk about the campaign later, maybe. It's all too fresh in my mind, and I want time to reflect on it before making any judgments.

Everybody wants a rock to wind a piece of string around

For a time, the conversation stopped and we lay in the sun, gleaming on the water. I felt his pulse beating against mine. I don't remember anything else about that weekend, but that moment has stayed with me over the course of everything else that has happened in the past 10 or so years.

I guess I'm wondering what moments will stay with me from here. I know some of them, and the rest will come back over the next couple of months, in greater clarity than they actually happened.

Memory is like that.

The new black, same as the old black

Things are fine in Vermont, despite what you may be reading in the New York Times and in other media outlets. We're all just working -- or not working as the case may be. When there's work to be done, we do it.

Today we sent e-mail to Strong Bad, last night I baked cookies. Jesse is eating a sandwich that smells really good, and we all got a good laugh out of a "somebody promised somebody something" e-mail to support.

It's cold today, but not as cold as yesterday. I think we all agree that the cold here isn't as bad as the cold out in Iowa, and that's a good thing. Now, yesterday was cold with a high of 3 F.

My friend Chris, who is a Yankees fan, seems to think that the Yankees new infield will evoke memories of 1927, but I'm not so sure. My priority at this point is to make sure there's nothing in the next couple of years to remind us of 1929.

I had a really good dinner last night, which I needed after being confronted by short pink cargo pants at Old Navy. Apparently they're available in several different shades of pink. I already know people who claim to have heard that pink is the New Black, and I think that's just wrong.

And now I can't find my good pen. This doesn't sound like it would be a problem, but it kind of bugs me. I liked that pen.

I figure that if short pink cargo pants and the loss of a pen I liked are my greatest problems of the day, I'm doing all right.

before - after