The Most Interesting Person in the World

Archive for May 2010

I am now officially the Biggest Loser Ever. Who gets dumped by someone who gets paid to reassure you that you’re a good person?

Today, after our session, my therapist told me that she didn’t need to see me any more, I should work out my problems on my own. I think that something I said in our last session hurt her feelings. This seems to imply that I”m not perfect after all, that I really do need to be less harsh, and that all my problems are not other people’s fault.

That’s ridiculous. She just doesn’t get me. You know what, I’m glad to be leaving her. She obviously doesn’t appreciate my sense of humour, or the fact that my problems are amazingly interesting. Besides, her office was too far to drive to, anyway.

And then there’s that time that I joined that cult, and everybody held hands in a circle around a fire (or was it hundreds o mini-fires?), playing music and singing about the Peace LoveRainbow in the sky. Our leader was name Peace LoveRainbow, and sometimes he would disappear and become a spirit that would hover above us. This much I know is true, because one time he pooped on a really high statue of a pigeon.

I’m going to pause while you picture that.

In the end it didn’t work out, because Peace LoveRainbow had to go back to the spirit-form he came in and stopped manifesting as human, and after that his nephew took over the cult, but he was always squabbling with one of the love slaves who later turned against him and started her own cult, and a bunch of people left to join her. The LoveRainbow’s nephew got depressed and couldn’t hold down the cult anymore (he said it’s a lot of work), so that’s when I gave up and went back to getting a regular job.

Her cult is doing fine, though. Last I heard they bought some land in Australia (or did they just squat?) and are living there now. Occasionally, I wonder where I would be now if I had gotten along with her better. Only occasionally.

Gather ’round, children. Let me tell you a tale, a yarn that will scare the marshmallows out of you. So hold tightly to your blankets.

There once was a great white noise. This audio-visual terror came with its own set of townspeaople, and overwhelm them it did. They wished so much the sun would set at night, and quietly, so they could get to sleep. So they hired a mercenary, a hero, to come into town and invent a new thing with his magic potion. This Eastern European mad scientist huffed and he puffed, and finally he created a darkness so dark and quietly loud (as opposed to loudly quiet) that it overwhelmed them all. Soon he got a book deal, and now he’s touring the talk-show circuit.

So that’s it, kids. A lesson in life management. There’s no time for questions. Finish your s’mores and go to bed.


My glasses  are broken, so I need to fathom a new way of interacting wih my laptop. I have volunteered a lot with people who are blind and vision-impaired, so I know my computer is capable of a zoom feature that would make the screen readable. My first option is command-plus sign, which biggifies the page I’m on, but needs to be pushed enough times that now my textbox barely fits into the window, and is overcrowded by the sidebar. I searched the “Find Out How” website to find out that yes, in fact, there is zoomability on my computer. What did you expect, us to tell you HOW to do it? That’s just crazy talk!

Okay, so I searched the computer itself. There is a zoom feature. I put in all my preferences, and click accept. I am waiting for it to accept. It turns out in order to activate the zoom, I must push a series of keys, one of which looks like a slash but has lines at the top and bottom, and another line randomly that makes it look like a character in a foreign languate. But, darnit, that thing is not on my keyboard. I tried pushing the rest of the series of keys with the slash button. That does nothing. I want to highlight that key, push control-c and then control-p and the rest of the series… except I have a sneaking suspicion that that would do nothing.

My best bet is to stay off the computer until I get new glasses. Since I can’t watch tv either, maybe I should go outside. Not that I can drive anywhere. Maybe I’ll just play ball with myself.  As long as I don’t throw the ball very far, cause then I would never see it.

Uselessness: 1. Accessibility of this “accessbility” feature: 0.
Update: I have come up with a new solution. Since one of my lenses is still in the frame, all I need is an eyepatch, and at least I can see clearly out of one eye.
Visibility: 1/2. Depth perception: 0.

I’ve done this before. One time in high school, I overheard on tv that entire fields of grains, fields that could feed tons of people or do lots of good, are being eaten by cows that we eat, that we overeat, that someone only needs a palm-sized amount but instead go for 12 ounces or whatever. Anyway, it all seemed wasteful and inefficient the way they described it, and I hate for things to be inefficient. So I stopped eating beef. For 10 months or something.

I even went to Argentina during that time–a place famed for its beef, and all my cousins were going on an on about the beef and how we must try it–for my cousin’s wedding, and they had no alternative option for dinner. The head chef came out to talk to me, and promised to throw something together. Luckily there were some eggs around, so they made me an omelette. A mushroom omelette. I hate mushrooms.

For some reason, not eating meat and hating mushrooms don’t go well together. Why is it that almost half of the meat-free alternatives are based around mushrooms? *Shudder* So anyway, a few months later, soon after returning from a trip to Israel, I decided there was no point going on with it, and I ordered a hamburger at a cafeteria.

Well, a few days ago I read about how chickens are mistreated. That’s not very nice. Not only that, but at least one cow can feed lots of people, whereas a chicken can only be divided into so many meals. That seems even more inefficient. I can’t eat chicken anymore.

I sat through meal after meal where meat was offered to me, but I just couldn’t do it. Then, the inevitable happened. There was leftover chicken that Bubie wasn’t going to eat. She was going to throw it out. You may not know this about me, so I’ll tell you now: I can’t stand to see food wasted. Throwing out food is about the worst thing you can threaten me with. So, knowing full well that this animal probably suffered (though I hope not), and that suffering would have been in its skin and its flesh, and would now be digested and go into my system and now I’ll be filled with chicken-suffering… nonetheless, I ate the chicken. Oy.

Anemia could still be a problem for me, as well as undernourishment if I don’t balance out my diet. But I’ve already gotten used to not ordering meat when I go anywhere that’s unkosher. I also don’t buy meat when I prepare food for myself (not that that happens very often). If I had my druthers, I would only eat free-range, well-treated animals that were killed in a painless and kosher manner. But for now, I’m going to eat even less meat than usual. Especially chickens.

How do you cope with the guilt over eating tortured animals?

Today there was an unveiling for the mother-in-law of a family friend. It was my task to drive my Bubie. Since it was the same cemetery where my Zaidie is buried, I figured I would go early, visit his grave, then take off when the unveiling starts and leave Bubie with my parents. So, after breakfast and a shower, I threw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and got ready to go.

Keep in mind, I live in Zaidie’s house. I feel a certain closeness with him. I think he already sees me shleppy enough, he doesn’t need me to put on a dress after two days of wearing a dress (costume for exam, then Shabbat) to visit his grave.

But, unfortunately, me and time management skills do not go together. We arrived ten minutes before the unveiling, which gave us just enough time to wander around the cemetery until we found the gravesite of the unveiling. Which I had no choice but to stay for. In my “No Hay Muuus” t-shirt I got in Spain with the three cows sitting on barstools.

Halfway through the eulogy, a man with two children silently slipped away. I think that’s when he realized he was at the wrong grave.

Funeral-related events, when I’m not particularly close to the subject of attention, have a similar effect on me as Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish calendar. They make me feel strangely giddy. Unlike a simcha, which I sometimes enter with trepidation (I’m wearing a silly dress and must now engage in 5-second conversations with near-strangers, that  consist mostly of formalities), this takes place outside on a beautiful day, I get to see people I like seeing, and I get to avoid talking to people who would judge me for wearing sweatpants. It’s a win-win.

Which is not to say that I don’t like when people get married or celebrate a Bat Mitzvah. I love that too. There’s just something special about people gathering together to help each other mourn after a death. (And I mean no disrespect to the deceased or to funerary etiquette.)

(3-day novel by Myles Stocker)

Words spin around wildly in a variety of different styles and parodies.

Jeremy, Eli, and Sal are introduced without me feeling like I know anything about them. Eventually, they all die (as does Dmitry, but that gets ignored.)

Dana decides to go on a vacation, and takes her husband Dmitry.

Philosophy is philosophied; advice is given to horny men and advice to mistreated women; a new land mass is created and designed; a detective is murdered by a red-headed femme; a man befriends his beef but ignores his salad; Toronto streetcar lines are dissected and analysed; it begins; and then it snows.

The End.

p.s. What book or movie should I nutshell next?

For those of you lucky enough not to have an upcoming exam on William Wycherley’s contribution to Restoration comedy, well, isn’t that lovely. But for anyone stuck having to know about a play even SparkNotes won’t touch, I bring you…

The Country Wife in a nutshell

Plot #1

Horner: Look everyone! I’m impotent!

Sir Jasper Fidget: Ha, ha! Take my wife, please!

Lady Fidget: Ew, I don’t want to be near this boring loser!

Horner: She must be a slut.

Indeed, she is. Horner sleeps with her and all her friends, as we witness in the witty China scene, and they confess to each other in the famous ladies’ drinking scene.

Plot #2

Sparkish: Look everyone! I’m witty! Harcourt, what do you think of my fiancée?

Harcourt: I love her and want to marry her.

Sparkish: I’m so glad you approve!

Alithea: No, really, dude; your friend is making a move on me.

Sparkish: That’s great! I feel approved of already! Now I’m going to wander off and be witty somewhere else, leaving you two together.

Harcourt: Your fiancé is an idiot.

Alithea: I don’t believe you. Okay, now I do. Oh, forget it, let’s just get married instead.

Plot #3

Pinchwife: Don’t anybody look at my wife! I hate her!

Lady Pinchwife: Who is that handsome man you keep hiding me from?

Pinchwife: I will never reveal to you the name of Horner! (…Oops.) He loves you! (…Oops.) Now write him a letter, saying you hate him.

Lady Pinchwife: Okay. But I will also write him a letter saying I love him.

The ignorant country wife has an affair with the falsely impotent; when the man obsessed with his reputation finds out he has caused his own cuckoldry, the Londoners convince him that it’s okay, since they won’t make fun of him. Everyone is proved either a hypocrite or a fool–except the virtuous Harcourt and Alithea–and all are happy with their lot in life. The End

*Warning: Apparently there are other characters and innuendo and such. The night before your exam, it might still be a good idea to Google more information on the play. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Best quote:

Mr. Pin.: Come my poor rogue, but thou lik’st none better than me?
Mrs. Pin.: Yes indeed, but I do, the Player Men are finer / Folks. [She means us actors]

“Okay, Mom, I’ll be down in a minute! Don’t rush me.”

My parents are always trying to control my life. “Don’t do this,” “Don’t kill that,” “Don’t get kicked out of there.” It’s always no, no, no.

Why can’t they start with a yes for once? “Yes, you can feed your hair live rats,” “Yes, you can pick on your little sister,” “Yes, you can turn Perseus into stone.”

And speaking of the guys at school… Why does everybody always stare at my tank top? My eyes are up here!

“Okay, Mom, I’m coming! Keep your head on!”

It’s an annual tradition. This morning, I dreamed all the mothers in my family–mom, aunts, grandmothers, family friends even–showed up on my lawn in a flash mob, ceremoniously granting each other cards, cooing and cawing over their sweet messages. Everybody obsesses over these cards.

Everybody except me. I think cards are stupid. I already give you one for your birthday (if you remind me enough times…) Do I really need one for every anniversary, graduation, and holiday–religious, national, and, now, cultural? What happened to the days when it was cute that I could spit up on myself? Where’s my card for waking up this morning?

Well, in honour of Mother’s Day (and the fact that I didn’t get ANYBODY a card this year), I cobble together, just for you, things found on various cards already out there.


M is for the many times you’ve hugged me,

Because you’re special, and no one is quite like you.

Sometimes you get discouraged Because I am so small

I’m going to bake a cake with all my love inside

And that’s what makes a friend like you a great Mom as well! Happy Mother’s Day!

I wanted to make you something special. But you already are!

And always leave my fingerprints On furniture and walls

Mom, I am so glad that I have you!

You’re like marzipan, only sweeter!

I cough up hairballs that remind me of you.


(For those of you who have also failed in your daughterly duties: feel free to e-mail this link to your mom. Surely, she will love you for it!

You’re welcome.)