Laura Wins!
Yay! Laura saved the day for everyone! See, I decided not to write a new blog until I had proof people actually read my last one. I have needs, people!
Funny you should mention root beer, Laura. When I was in Ecuador they thought that was the grossest drink imaginable and they couldn't understand why we would drink it. One guy had gone to the U.S. or Canada (I can't remember) and tried it and he said it was horrible. Which, come to think of it, even though I love it, it's weird. What exactly is the flavor of root beer anyway? The only way I can describe it is to say it tastes like root beer. Which as we all know from high school English, you can't define a word using the same word repeated. So.
Tango was fine, but not as fun as I had hoped. It's very hard. I figured it'd be like all the other dances but it's not. We spent the first half hour learning how to glide across the floor in time to the music, walk without bending our legs (weird) and lean forward the whole time without falling over. There is lots to remember. Oh! And then I got put with this youngish guy as a dance partner who got more irritating as the night went on. Now I know I'm a competitive person, and I know I have a hard time when I learn something new because I want to just skip to the end part where I know everything... BUT. This guy just started last week and he spent the whole time interrupting me every 3 steps and telling me what I was doing wrong. RRR! Fine if you're the teacher, but you're not, so what makes you the expert!?! Sheesh. I mean, I guess I should be glad there was a boy for me to dance with at all-- the last dance class I signed up for there were 5 girls and 2 boys and so I always had to practice my steps by myself. I dropped that class because I didn't learn how to do anything, just counting off in the corner like that. Anyway. So the teacher gave me a CD I'm supposed to burn a copy of (woops, forgot about that 'til now) of tango music so I can practice. I dunno. I would still like to know how to tango, but I am worried that the whole thing has been overhyped. We'll see how next Thursday goes.
Tomorrow: Arabic. YEEEAAAAH baby. And it starts at 2:30 in the afternoon. Which still leaves me hours of sleeping in and sitting around time before I have to leave. Well, at least an hour anyway.
I try to get a good color spread in my weekly wardrobe. Like if I wore pink, red, and purple on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I try to mix it up and wear green and blue on Thursday and Friday. I get sick of the same colors.
A few weeks ago, I was proud to notice that Chicago drivers (in my opinion) don't honk excessively. Except I've noticed it getting worse lately. Now, when something happens, instead of a 1-second scolding, they issue a 5- or 10-second blast that is completely unnecessary and just pisses everyone else off. I think you can directly relate horn-blowing to the friendliness of the city's inhabitants. Case in point, from what I hear, New York City is bad on both counts.
You know those old people who go to the post office, or the hardware store, or the grocery store, or whereever, and can't leave without first having an in-depth chat with the person behind the counter, just about nothing, while the unwitting worker (and everyone else in line) is held prisoner until they stop talking? And you think to yourself, does this person ever get out of the house? Do they have no one else to talk to?
Last night I became that guy. On my way home from tango class, I stopped in the Quick-E-Mart by the el stop, picked up a few things, and when I got to the counter and saw it was Edith, the checkout girl that I knew, for some reason I felt I needed to tell her, in detail, alllllllll about my tango class, and my annoying partner, and how I almost got my toes stepped on, and blaaaaah blah blah blah blaaaah, and I seem not to notice that I'm the only one talking, my words the biggest, loudest thing in the store....
and then suddenly something made me stop--I swear I heard imaginary crickets chirping--I looked at her, acting politely interested while waiting for me to leave; I looked around the now-empty store; I looked down at my feet, which were currently demonstrating tango steps on the linoleum floor without any encouragement from her, and I just thought, "Wow."
Then I left. It was scary.
So boys and girls, what did we learn? It is easy to become that guy.
Oh yeah,
Big Event of the Day: Take out the garbage
Percent Chance: You'd be surprised. Let's go 36%.
Happy weekend.
Funny you should mention root beer, Laura. When I was in Ecuador they thought that was the grossest drink imaginable and they couldn't understand why we would drink it. One guy had gone to the U.S. or Canada (I can't remember) and tried it and he said it was horrible. Which, come to think of it, even though I love it, it's weird. What exactly is the flavor of root beer anyway? The only way I can describe it is to say it tastes like root beer. Which as we all know from high school English, you can't define a word using the same word repeated. So.
Tango was fine, but not as fun as I had hoped. It's very hard. I figured it'd be like all the other dances but it's not. We spent the first half hour learning how to glide across the floor in time to the music, walk without bending our legs (weird) and lean forward the whole time without falling over. There is lots to remember. Oh! And then I got put with this youngish guy as a dance partner who got more irritating as the night went on. Now I know I'm a competitive person, and I know I have a hard time when I learn something new because I want to just skip to the end part where I know everything... BUT. This guy just started last week and he spent the whole time interrupting me every 3 steps and telling me what I was doing wrong. RRR! Fine if you're the teacher, but you're not, so what makes you the expert!?! Sheesh. I mean, I guess I should be glad there was a boy for me to dance with at all-- the last dance class I signed up for there were 5 girls and 2 boys and so I always had to practice my steps by myself. I dropped that class because I didn't learn how to do anything, just counting off in the corner like that. Anyway. So the teacher gave me a CD I'm supposed to burn a copy of (woops, forgot about that 'til now) of tango music so I can practice. I dunno. I would still like to know how to tango, but I am worried that the whole thing has been overhyped. We'll see how next Thursday goes.
Tomorrow: Arabic. YEEEAAAAH baby. And it starts at 2:30 in the afternoon. Which still leaves me hours of sleeping in and sitting around time before I have to leave. Well, at least an hour anyway.
I try to get a good color spread in my weekly wardrobe. Like if I wore pink, red, and purple on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I try to mix it up and wear green and blue on Thursday and Friday. I get sick of the same colors.
A few weeks ago, I was proud to notice that Chicago drivers (in my opinion) don't honk excessively. Except I've noticed it getting worse lately. Now, when something happens, instead of a 1-second scolding, they issue a 5- or 10-second blast that is completely unnecessary and just pisses everyone else off. I think you can directly relate horn-blowing to the friendliness of the city's inhabitants. Case in point, from what I hear, New York City is bad on both counts.
You know those old people who go to the post office, or the hardware store, or the grocery store, or whereever, and can't leave without first having an in-depth chat with the person behind the counter, just about nothing, while the unwitting worker (and everyone else in line) is held prisoner until they stop talking? And you think to yourself, does this person ever get out of the house? Do they have no one else to talk to?
Last night I became that guy. On my way home from tango class, I stopped in the Quick-E-Mart by the el stop, picked up a few things, and when I got to the counter and saw it was Edith, the checkout girl that I knew, for some reason I felt I needed to tell her, in detail, alllllllll about my tango class, and my annoying partner, and how I almost got my toes stepped on, and blaaaaah blah blah blah blaaaah, and I seem not to notice that I'm the only one talking, my words the biggest, loudest thing in the store....
and then suddenly something made me stop--I swear I heard imaginary crickets chirping--I looked at her, acting politely interested while waiting for me to leave; I looked around the now-empty store; I looked down at my feet, which were currently demonstrating tango steps on the linoleum floor without any encouragement from her, and I just thought, "Wow."
Then I left. It was scary.
So boys and girls, what did we learn? It is easy to become that guy.
Oh yeah,
Big Event of the Day: Take out the garbage
Percent Chance: You'd be surprised. Let's go 36%.
Happy weekend.
posted by Becky at
4:42 PM
8 Comments:
Becky, I just had a converstion with my boss 3 days ago, on how I have become "that guy". There was this old guy on my block growing up that would always come out of his house and yell at kids for various reasons (walking on his lawn, having a ball go in his yard, etc).
Well last week some kids were knocking over garbage cans in our alley, and I went out and yelled at them. (I was even wearing an undershirt, like the old guy on my block used to do). I told my boss, "holy crap, I have become 'that guy' that I used to hate."
By
Anonymous, at 4/21/2006 06:47:00 PM
Everyone has their moments of being "that guy." I just hope I am aware of most and am not that guy all the time without realizing it.
I suppose it's related to blending.
By
Katie, at 4/21/2006 08:24:00 PM
My health club set up these public access computers in their cafe area. After working out, I thought that it would be fun to check out Beckyland, Inc. I tried to access your blog, but a pop-up message told me that your website contains innapropriate content dealing with "drugs and/or alcohol."
Are you kidding me? First of all, I hate censorship. Second of all, yes, there was some talk about root beer, but come on now. I have sent an e-mail to my health club, asking them to allow their computer users access to Beckyland, Inc. I indluded a link to the blog and asked them, "what is so offensive about it?" OK, off to Miami.
By
Anonymous, at 4/24/2006 10:59:00 AM
I totally agree with you about the honking. It's like my number one measure of the friendliness of a city. And after being in NY for a while and then coming to San Francisco, it was the first thing I noticed. I even said to Jon, "doesn't it seem quiet to you for some reason?"
I really hope I never become "that guy." I feel like when you get older you tend to isolate yourself, or insulate yourself with people who are like you. And then your little ideosynchrosies become more and more extreme until you're a weirdo. It kind of makes me wonder what little quirk is going to become my dominant weirdness. It's scary to think about.
By
Anonymous, at 4/24/2006 09:25:00 PM
I think it's awesome that I have been banned. YEAAAHHH! I am controversial. I am groundbreaking. I am threatening. Hee hee.
Laura, you raise quite, quite an intriguing point indeeed (wish I had thought to blog about it--shoot). Discuss. Say more things.
By
Becky, at 4/25/2006 11:51:00 AM
weeeelll... I think my quirk will be my extreme competitiveness. I'll probably be one of those soccer moms who beats up the other parents in the crowd. And also my independentness and inability to accept help. I'll be a crotchity frail old lady, but smack with my cane anyone who tries to help me across the street.
Dang, I'm going to a mean ole buzzard. Watch out.
By
Anonymous, at 4/25/2006 09:50:00 PM
Huh. Interesting. The amount of self-reflection invoked impresses and astounds me. Man, hmm, think of the thing you dislike most about yourself and imagine how that could go horribly horribly wrong over time, turn sour and fester until it became the most overriding trait about you. Scary.
For me, it would probably be my lazy habit of letting my friends do the thinking for me, of depending on them too much to take care of me. I get angry when I'm not allowed to be independent, yet I'm a supremely socially dependent person. Doesn't sound like a winning combination. I'll be the aging great-aunt who desperately wants people to visit her but then feels so embarrassed of herself and her situation and the way others see her as weak that she drives them away again, a neverending cycle of loneliness.
Ug. I don't like this game.
Also, interesting how Laura and my scenarios are very similar.
By
Becky, at 4/26/2006 06:55:00 PM
It doesn't have to end up bad though. We could also take the best qualities and amplify those. So don't fret. Plus, even if you are a lonely complainer and I'm a cranky bitch, I'll still love you.
Can I get a group hug here?
By
Anonymous, at 4/26/2006 08:03:00 PM
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