6 posts tagged “random literary reference”
How do you handle phone calls from telemarketers?
As a telemarketer myself--although I have been trained to call myself "fund raiser" (What's in a name? That which we call a rose, etc.)--I am somewhat sensitive to the brutality suffered by all people who deal with strangers on the phone for money. I detest those who hang up immediately upon hearing I am calling from their alma mater, I hate rude spouses who refuse to hand over the phone, I hate people who are short with me as if I am responsible for their traffic. All one requires is a simple, "I'm not interested, thank you." Then I can hang up, turn to the person next to me, make fun of alumni and their answering machines, and continue my calling for another two hours... all in the name of federal work-study loans.
This does not stop my father from torturing hard-working telemarketers, however. He ranges from pretending to be a seven-year-old child saying his father is not home to a bereaved brother saying the man of the house just died. But I suppose we all must have our amusements in life, especially when one's request to be put on the Do Not Call list is ignored.
I am tired.
I have never resented schoolwork as much as I do currently, sitting in a cubicle in the dreary library, missing the first flurries of snow (that landed on my banana as I walked from the cafeteria to this tomb of books). Perhaps that is not true, as there have certainly been worse times. Alas, poor Yorick. Woe is I, the bard should have said.
Am in the midst of attempting to apply for overseas studies, but must come to terms with the fact that I will never leave the country. 'Tis hopeless, especially with French professors writing my recommendations--how can they support my desire for direct matriculation to a French university when I never spoke in class?
A slight consolation is the beautiful fun that is my wordie.org profile, though I must write to them and ask why they have no included "anaphor" in their drop-down list.
Climbing fire escapes has been a hobby of mine since Québec, summer of 1998--
-----
I don't really have road rage. I have more of a passive-aggressive approach to rude drivers, being as I am convinced that if I were to show the usually appropriate amount of rage at being cut off or almost slammed into, I would be shot by an even more irate driver with a gun license (or without one). As such, instead of shouting, honking or flipping others off, I prefer to mumble darkly to myself, hoping they just might take a glance in their rear-view mirror and see my brooding gaze (I perfect it to a Heathcliff-like intensity). Or if at night, I suddenly have an urge to turn on my bright lights and blind them, although doubtless they were blind to begin with. Other tactics include tailgating in an attempt to make them feel guilty with my omnipresent reminder of their mistake.
But the other night, something changed. I stopped at a red light, and when it turned green, I thought it would be karma-improving for me to allow a certain truck to turn who had been waiting patiently for quite a while. This resulted in the typical dance of "You go--no, you go," I guess because he was also passive like myself (there should be a self-help group). Neither of us went, however, when the car behind me sped around me and jumped in front, even though the line of cars I was waiting in hadn't even moved an inch despite the green light taunting the annoyed commuters. I commenced my dark mumbles and fondled my light switch lovingly (no, I deigned not to turn it on), but as I was tailgaiting the perpetrator several streets later, I suddenly fell back and realized... I simply didn't care. It was, excuse the cliché, a very zen moment, and I let my dark cloud of mumbling anger leave me, and continued my peaceful way home. Would that all drives could be as pleasant as that one was.
Undoubtedly I will be back to my dark ways tomorrow.
Being as I have a brother aged just slightly over nineteen months, it is natural that I spend much of my summer vacation babysitting for no money. Generally he is rather easily amused, especially in the game of "Where is Alex?" This game consists of somehow covering his head with such devices as hands, pillow cases or blankets (to name a few of the things he loves to locate and destroy). It never ceases to amuse him, and I admit myself amused as well, jealously watching as he believes simply because of the fact that his eyes cannot see me, he is effectively hidden as I pretend to be startled every time that he reveals himself to me--assuming, of course, that his amusement is infantile glee at tricking me rather than a condescending scoff at my thinking he actually believes he is hidden. Still, I often wish disappearing were a simple case of covering my eyes.
I am going to the beach on Saturday, and I will doubtless return just as pale as before, but for a slight red tint to my cheeks and shoulders.
All my life people have been spelling my name incorrectly. It's not that difficult, really--six letters, A-l-i-s-o-n. It's almost always spelled Allison, but for four years my high school coach spelled it at least three different ways, including Allyson one memorable time on a certificate I still have (if only because I found it both amusing and insulting). He finally decided that if he called me Ali, he could spell that correctly, leading to all of the follow--Ally, Aly, Alli and Allie. According to Freakonomics, which no I haven't actually read but that doesn't keep me from citing it, mothers who name their children Alison are on average more intelligent than those who name their children Allison. I guess this has no bearing on me, but it does give me a vindictive pleasure, if only because I've been trying to explain for my entire life: one L is the correct way to spell it for a first name, two L's is the correct to spell it for a last name. In the end, however, it is futile, especially with the introduction and popularization of substituting Y's for I's. And so I've changed the spelling of my name to Allysyn (that's A-double L-WHY-S-WHY-N) because then people have an easy excuse to misspell it, and it makes it easier for me to tolerate the misspellings. I suppose I need to get my checks changed now.
-----
What's your favorite drink or cocktail? What's in it?
Question submitted by charm.vox.com
May I simple take this opportunity of the perplexing Question of the Day feature to state that anyone who sends me Smirnoff Malt will automatically gain my affection and approval? Thank you.
He said, "I love the way the milk swirls into the tea. Liquids fascinate me... I know, I should probably have outgrown it by now."
I said, "I don't think we should ever outgrow our fascinations."
It's like Le Petit Prince, when the prince tells the pilot how much he loves sunsets. And his planet is so small that he only has to move his chair forward a matter of inches to see it set again--
Un jour, j'ai vu le soleil se coucher quarante-trois fois !... Tu sais... quand on est tellement triste on aime les couchers de soleil..
