Reality TV

This photo is making the rounds online and I couldn't agree with it more.  Though, I'd probably change it to say: "A book commits suicide every time you watch reality TV."

And no, Jeopardy does not count as reality TV.

A reason to pat myself on the back.

Yesterday on the metro I saw a man pick his eye with his pinky and then eat what he'd found there.

And I thought to myself: I may not be in shape, and I may never do my hair, but at least I'm not eating my own bodily excretions on the metro.  I'm doing alright.

The Land of the Living

I am back in the land of the living (sort of) and back to a mile-high stack of work in the office. 

I'm trying to de-stress by periodically looking at photos from our Labor Day weekend at the lake.  The first day we were there the weather was perfect for a sunset ski.  Lest you get the wrong idea: I do not ski.  Blake skis.  And I am in charge of the photo-taking (in this case, with Blake's iPod).  I'm not one for being dragged behind a machine at high speeds (i.e. I'm a chicken), but it sure is fun to watch a pro. 

Bronchitis

Other than the horrible things - like the constant coughing, the fatigue, and the I-might-be-dying sentiment, there are two definitive perks to having bronchitis:

1.  My abs are now rock hard.  I've coughed enough to get a great workout and tight abs...just in time for the end of swimsuit season.

2.  I made it through my entire "instant queue" on Netflix.  I am now very familiar with every classic-novel-turned-movie-or-BBC-miniseries ever made.  And after watching so much Jane Austen, at least I could be grateful that I had only bronchitis and not consumption.

Here's to a new week...without any manner of itis.

An Ecological Quandary

Lately, Georgetown has really stepped up its so-called Green Initiative.  I like to think of it as more of a Guilt Initiative.

Three weeks ago they changed the signage on all garbage bins.  There are double-bin units all over the place that used to say - discreetly- "garbage" and "recycling."  Now those same bins read in big, bold letters, "RECYCLING" and "LANDFILL." 

Geeze.  That's enough to make me want to wear a nylon stocking over my face to mask my identity every time I throw something in there. 

And just when I'm recovering from the guilt at having contributed to the landfill problem and the eventual ecological downfall of our entire planet, I wander into the bathroom where the towel dispenser is stocked with horrible, thin, useless paper towels.  The type where you have grab a handful in order to do any true hand-drying. 

But three weeks ago, along with the landfill signage, came stickers on every paper towel dispenser that says, authoritatively, "Remember, these come from trees!" 

Now, I'm all in favor of saving trees, preserving the rain forests and whatnot, but I also need to have dry hands after I used the restroom at work.  I do not want to wipe my hands on my business casual, and I definitely don't want to leave droplets on my keyboard. 

Sometimes, when I'm in a really spiteful mood and feeling particularly emotionally manipulated by the Guilt Initiative, I'm tempted to take my large handful of used paper towels out into the hall to throw them specifically into the LANDFILL.  But I don't.  Because, gosh darn it, the Guilt Initiative actually works.