P.S. It's pretty damn catchy!

Definitive sign your husband's been fucking around on your computer:

I downloaded an NPR review of a jazz CD I'm writing about and then clicked on what I assumed to be the only Quicktime file on my desktop.

Five seconds later, the melodic strains of Mudhoney and Sir Mix-a-lot's "Freak Momma" began floating through the room.

UPDATE: My husband claims this is my fault, that I inadvertedly opened iTunes when I tried to open the NPR file and that "Freak Momma" was the first song queued up. Whatever, dude.

"Okay, now move into wahriah two...."

Quality of yoga in Dorchester, Mass. < Quality of yoga in West Hollywood, Calif.

Charms of yoga in Dorchester, Mass. > Charms of yoga in West Hollywood, Calif.

Mah brain, she is hurting...

I am now entrenched in a new apartment in Boston, surrounded by 30-plus semi-unpacked boxes and a complete dearth of places to put unpacked items. To that end, the hubby and I recently employed the services of a nifty little outfit called The Container Organizer, or The Organized Closet, or Hold Everything in the Closeted California Container or something like that.

We emailed them our closet dimensions and needs. We received the following in reply:



I understand that those are vegetable crispers in the bottom right-hand corner, but can anyone help me unpack the rest of it?

Greatest iTunes segue ever

This call and answer just occurred on my computer:

Beatles: "Blackbird singing in the dead of night..... You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

Metallica:"So fucking what!"

A newly learned truth

If you spend a Thursday evening at the office forwarding more than 2,000 personal emails to an account that contains the phrase "blog in throat" in its address name, you will get a call from your late-night IT guy warning you that your work account has been spammed by a porn website.

Salacious (roundly uninteresting) evening in L.A.

The other night I had a little time to kill before meeting a friend (before meeting no one) and so decided to grab a quick bite. I went to a little French bistro, ordered a spinach quiche and side salad (medium-rare steak and french fries) and settled in with the latest New Yorker (US Weekly) to read Seymour Hersh's analysis of the war in Iraq (Ken Baker's analysis of the Nick and Jessica breakup). Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a certain A-level male movie star (C-level TV drama semi-regular from 10 years ago). I won't name names, but let's just say he has starred in a number of summer blockbusters (played Neve Campbell's boyfriend on "Party of Five") and is equally famous for his string of high-profile relationships (would give his left nut to the Church of Scientology to be famous for anything at this point). He was wearing a gorgeous leather jacket (frayed corduroy blazer) and looked handsome and poised (affected and twee). I stared at him openly (glanced his way briefly), and to my surprise, he turned around and smiled (stopped suddenly and glared). I blushed (glared back) and marveled again over the excitement that comes from living in Los Angeles (shook my head over the misbegotten arrogance one semi-regular spot on a forgotten TV show can beget).

I'm stealing sooo many office supplies now

Forgive me for breaking character today and being pissy and morose, but on top of what has been a rather crappy week in my familial life (thus my already crappy and morose mood earlier this week), I now receive word that my employers have reneged on a handshake agreement (twice reiterated) to retain me in a fulltime contract capacity. As in completely reneged, bullshit reason given, one week before I physically leave this state. Nice!

So I'd absolutely adore it if readers could share their own crappy-ass work stories with me today. Tomorrow the pity party ceases -- or at least lessens -- but today, please, bring it on. Thank you kindly.

Inanity: the new intellectualism

I work at a large university. Said large university is a case study for the perils of grade inflation. The mean GPA for the student body is well above 4.0, and yet rare is the instance I run across a student whose intellectual shortcomings don't make me inwardly wretch.

So my guffaw du jour came courtesy of this deck accompanying part two of the student newspaper's oh-so-heretical "Drug Use on Campus" investigative series:

"One [name of large university] student said the hallucinogenic drug caused him to have profound thoughts."

Artificially produced profundity -- just like real profundity, only fleeting and more expensive!