I just finished "Born to Run" by Chris McDougall and I started wondering more about barefoot running and "barefoot" shoes, which I googled. This almost completely presented me with articles, most of the ones I scanned were of the MSN or Yahoo homepage "this guy said this one thing and i kinda agree, what do you think" variety. We all know the type, a page long, half is an anecdote, a quarter is regurgitated info, and the rest is opinion. But then I came across a neuro-anthropology blog (I know blogs...online...journals...knowing the source of info - whatever). This one, this entry, is beautiful. It is intelligent without being esoteric, layman's language without being overly simplistic or patronizing. The information provided comes with references, most from science journals or papers, some from other scientific blogs...and I just really really love the way this blog entry is formed! And, and I want more stuff to find this ideal place of intelligent and informative, without relying on PhD speak, or gotchas. Sigh. Such a great blog entry!
http://neuroanthropology.net/2009/07/26/lose-your-shoes-is-barefoot-better/
Umm the linked one, not this one sounding vaguely like a high pitch "SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE" accompanied by amorous looks which can be slightly creepy.
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Friday, March 19, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Random Lessons From Clip-On Hair
Ah yes, the first post of the New Year, highly anticipated by those of you following this well crafted, highly intellectual blog. Those who were there for the first post, four posts ago, about junk mail and procrastination, I could not let you down. Nor could I begin my blogging relationship with those new to this blog with an inferior offering. No, you need the best. This post is for you.
With the New Year comes a new beginning; born of discoveries about one’s self, and I am no different. Some lessons are moments that pass with a smile, others have lasting implications, and not to share would be a crime, for in my journey you may find new things about your own.
I sing the bologna song way too much, especially when tired and around a particular roommate (I have no idea why, she just makes sleepy-me want to sing about processed meat with a first and second name). She pointed this out to me one night when she said “You always tell me about your bologna when you’re tired.” But it wasn’t until going to work after a short night and feeling the death rays of an accusing glare from a coworker when he stopped whistling about his bologna abruptly. Then my boss yelling desperately for me to stop when I sung “My bologna has a seventh name, it’s B-O-L-O-G-N-A” when she hadn’t been there for the other six verses, then I realized I have a problem and it’s name is B-O-L-O-G-N-A.
Yet, even with this incident, I have come to the conclusion (because it affects mostly me) that it is ok to have the same cd playing in my car for a couple of weeks strait (has it been more than a month since you last got in my car and this same Bollywood cd was playing? Really? Ummm I have listened to other things in the interim, I swear!). Mostly ok.
Ah but what new year would be complete with out a candy discovery, be it a new candy, the rediscovery of a childhood favorite, or why there is usually candy in the pantry. Recently (this afternoon when buying dark chocolate raisinets) I have come to believe the reason chocolate bars can sit on my pantry shelf for months (which baffles some frequenters of the pantry), and a bag of peppermint patties doesn’t last 2 weeks, and dark raisinets mere hours, is because individual sized candies are easier to devour without noticing, but a chocolate bar takes commitment.
Then there is the odd. Not noticing the odd thing here or there, but noticing something odd – about my hair. Your raising one eyebrow right now, aren’t you? Ya, me too. Actually raising my right eyebrow independent of my left is something learned just this past year, before I had to lower my left brow to make my right higher…anyway my awesome hair. It is curly and there is a ton (from my dad), it’s some where between light and medium brown and has random gray strays though out (from my mom, the color and pattern of graying, not the actual gray hairs), and it is pretty long (from not getting it cut since May…Melissa, my dear friend…). But even with this clear picture of my hair, I discovered something new and strange on Saturday.
I went to a church activity which included a dance, so I painted my face with Covergirl and Almay and did my hair. Since my hair was wet from being freshly washed and hair dryers = frizz, up it went with combs and bobby pins allowing some curls to fall loose down my neck. I don’t know about you, but I can’t see the back of my head. From the front my up do looked pretty good, or I thought so anyway. When I asked a friend how my hair looked she hesitated and then said “good”. Clearly I needed find out what the back of my head looked like. And so when I got home I took out my camera phone and found out it’s hard to take pictures of the back of my head, as evident by the picture of the bathroom shelf you see here.
I also (more importantly) discovered the color difference between the darker hair closest to the scalp and the blondish hair at the tips, coupled with lots of curl, actually looked like clip on hair. GUHH?!?!?!?!
Ok, now there must be evidence that the hair in the curly mass was actually my own and not some ten dollar mall kiosk offering. So 80 bobby pins and two combs later, my still damp hair cascades in curls down my back and I get a picture.
Ya, it could be mine.
With the New Year comes a new beginning; born of discoveries about one’s self, and I am no different. Some lessons are moments that pass with a smile, others have lasting implications, and not to share would be a crime, for in my journey you may find new things about your own.
I sing the bologna song way too much, especially when tired and around a particular roommate (I have no idea why, she just makes sleepy-me want to sing about processed meat with a first and second name). She pointed this out to me one night when she said “You always tell me about your bologna when you’re tired.” But it wasn’t until going to work after a short night and feeling the death rays of an accusing glare from a coworker when he stopped whistling about his bologna abruptly. Then my boss yelling desperately for me to stop when I sung “My bologna has a seventh name, it’s B-O-L-O-G-N-A” when she hadn’t been there for the other six verses, then I realized I have a problem and it’s name is B-O-L-O-G-N-A.
Yet, even with this incident, I have come to the conclusion (because it affects mostly me) that it is ok to have the same cd playing in my car for a couple of weeks strait (has it been more than a month since you last got in my car and this same Bollywood cd was playing? Really? Ummm I have listened to other things in the interim, I swear!). Mostly ok.
Ah but what new year would be complete with out a candy discovery, be it a new candy, the rediscovery of a childhood favorite, or why there is usually candy in the pantry. Recently (this afternoon when buying dark chocolate raisinets) I have come to believe the reason chocolate bars can sit on my pantry shelf for months (which baffles some frequenters of the pantry), and a bag of peppermint patties doesn’t last 2 weeks, and dark raisinets mere hours, is because individual sized candies are easier to devour without noticing, but a chocolate bar takes commitment.
Then there is the odd. Not noticing the odd thing here or there, but noticing something odd – about my hair. Your raising one eyebrow right now, aren’t you? Ya, me too. Actually raising my right eyebrow independent of my left is something learned just this past year, before I had to lower my left brow to make my right higher…anyway my awesome hair. It is curly and there is a ton (from my dad), it’s some where between light and medium brown and has random gray strays though out (from my mom, the color and pattern of graying, not the actual gray hairs), and it is pretty long (from not getting it cut since May…Melissa, my dear friend…). But even with this clear picture of my hair, I discovered something new and strange on Saturday.
I went to a church activity which included a dance, so I painted my face with Covergirl and Almay and did my hair. Since my hair was wet from being freshly washed and hair dryers = frizz, up it went with combs and bobby pins allowing some curls to fall loose down my neck. I don’t know about you, but I can’t see the back of my head. From the front my up do looked pretty good, or I thought so anyway. When I asked a friend how my hair looked she hesitated and then said “good”. Clearly I needed find out what the back of my head looked like. And so when I got home I took out my camera phone and found out it’s hard to take pictures of the back of my head, as evident by the picture of the bathroom shelf you see here.
I also (more importantly) discovered the color difference between the darker hair closest to the scalp and the blondish hair at the tips, coupled with lots of curl, actually looked like clip on hair. GUHH?!?!?!?!
Ok, now there must be evidence that the hair in the curly mass was actually my own and not some ten dollar mall kiosk offering. So 80 bobby pins and two combs later, my still damp hair cascades in curls down my back and I get a picture.
Ya, it could be mine.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Some Entities Call Me Friend
My plan for the evening: go through the mail I have not opened IN FOUR MONTHS (Hurray for online bill pay, where you only have to click and send without looking at your stupidity!), figure out what is coming in and what is going out, and include those bills when, in a moment of ecological concern, I foolishly clicked paperless billing. Idiot! Hopefully I will not fail. But know because you are reading this blog, I have failed, and failed miserably. On the up side, my distraction was illusionarily productive (read: time consuming).
So this is only half the mountain; (that's puffs facial tissue in the background for anyone wondering) I didn’t have the brilliant idea to take pictures until half way through shredding. I would have taken picture of me too, but drowning in a mountain of mail and debt is somehow easier in your underwear. Too much information? (Clearly my efforts to become a more responsible adult
are thwarted by my personality at every turn.) In this pile are multiple bills for the same thing. I have shredded the same bill 4 times, keeping the most recently due, because seriously people, I have not opened my mail for FOUR MONTHS!
And because I keep loosing my white letter opener on my white mail, and white pencil box, and white paper, and next to or near anything with a hint of white, I ask for and receive help. Thank you oh great sharpie for making things unseen now seen. And slightly snarky.
To the junk mail!
Jonathan H Price!! You donate to one, ONE, stupid public radio station and suddenly you are on the national registry to be hit up to donate to everything. Incidentally nature preserve in
Judy Blume? THE Judy Blume has sent me mail?! :D No. :< Not THE Judy Blume. Holy BANANAS! It is THE Judy Blume! And she also thinks my name is Friend. Curses! Ooo look in the bottom right hand corner of the letter, it says "over please", and wouldn’t you know, there are words and sentences and stuff on the back of this piece of paper. I wonder if that is how I get to the rest of Fudge’s crazy antics with those booky thingies too.
Oh the Smithsonian sent stickers and address labels to Friend with my name and address. Now I can send get well wishes to my credit card company when I send the bill, and happy birthday on the envelope of my love note to my wireless carrier; well, you know, if I didn’t pay EVERYTHING online. There is always the dentist.
Good news, I don’t have to save complimentary tickets to the “give us your money” episode of The Commonwealth Club of California I normally forget about, because the tease tickets were for 7 weeks ago. Did I mention me no open mail, four months? Oh and the Commonwealth Club – they also think my name is Friend. Really people, you put my ACTUAL name on the envelope!
This one is new. Walk MS of Northern California thinks my first name is
KQED knows my name! No, that is not enough to send them money I don’t have. But I will enter the raffle I waste at least 3 stamps on every year for the past 4 years. My wants are usually humble, the first year it was the grand prize or the binoculars (yes the binoculars, which are uber cool by the way). This year I want the grand prize. Let’s face it, I can stop wallowing in underwear clad self pity and also get binoculars. Though I think I may be over the binoculars; now for distance seeing I want things like contacts and prescription sunglasses, because my eyes don’t like contacts every day (read: too lazy to put in contacts because glasses are faster).
And thus we come to the end of the junk mail. Left only with bills and memories. Ah good times, good times.
So today I have run the gambit of names assigned to me by junk mail. No imagination. Made a pile of pay me nows, and have started a blog, and only one of these is half a goal. I have yet to decide if shred the guilt or save the waste wins out on the address labels. All in all a pretty good night of avoidance, I achieved half a goal and made a blog. Which totally negates the fact that I failed at my goal and now have a blog. A blog, really? Huh. That sounds almost like a responsibility.
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