Has anyone else seen the ads for the new "Meatnormous" sandwich at Burger King? Does anyone else think it sounds revolting? Honestly, the name itself is enough to make me gag.

It may go without saying, but writing is a very solitary process. And for someone like me, that can be rather unnerving because I like to bounce ideas off of people. When I'm by myself, though, that isn't possible. But I tend to think out loud and like to really contemplate a problem before committing pen to paper (or fingers to keys, as it were). So, while writing at my desk in my office, I have entire conversations, discussions, even arguments (dare I say boisterous confrontations?) with myself before even realizing how loud I am and how bizarre I must sound. I assume that John is used to it by now, which is why he hasn't had me committed yet.

The other day*, John and I were at an eating establishment and happened to see a colleague of his* eating with three elderly folks*. Said colleague is known to be rather annoying, so we wondered aloud how she* came to be eating with such an esteemed group. John posited that the reason was that the elderly folks, being elderly, weren't able to run away in time before she showed up at their table. And I think Darwin would have agreed with him!

*Note: These are the points at which the story has been altered.

Update, 9:30 pm: Those of you who live in Gainesville will know exactly who this person is.

The other morning at breakfast, John managed to balance a banana on his placemat. Never one to pass up the opportunity to pun, I promptly praised him for his balanced breakfast. BA DUM BUM!

Here is the photo, for posterity:

Two weeks ago, on a whim, John and I went in search of a new shower head. We decided to splurge a little and go for the 6 inch "rainmaker" shower head. But once we got it home, we were sorely disappointed. So we went back (though we failed to bring the rainmaker with us, hence couldn't return it) and bought a new one. We tried to find the most normal one we could but when we got that one home we found that it had all sorts of whiz-bang features, not one of which really worked. (Let's be fair: yes, we were both able to shower and get clean. But when you spend several Alexander Hamiltons on a shower head, you want something good.) So then we went to Home Depot, at this point spending far too much time on the quest for a shower head. And there we made (I believe) our third and most basic mistake: rather than picking up a simple shower head, we went for the super-nifty one with all kinds of features. And not only did it fail to wow us, it utterly failed to work. Honestly, it spewed water in all directions, none of which landed on the person showering. So then tonight, in a last ditch effort to reclaim our shower, we went to Lowes and bought literally the simplest shower head we could find. And it works beautifully.

Unfortunately, now we have to go back to Lowes and Home Depot with three shower heads and explain how we don't want any of them.

The guy who came up with the Smurfs was really onto something. The language is brilliant because they substitute the word 'smurf' for just about anything. So something that is described as smurfy is nondescript, it doesn't give any clues as to the real meaning; something that's smurfy can be good or bad.

Everyone has a smurfy word. It's a word that you use, probably excessively, as a conversation filler. One guy whom John and I know uses the phrase "isn't that something?" when no, it's not something. It's so much of nothing. But it's what he says, in a very obtuse way, as a filler word. So as to not offend people, I won't tell you what my smurfy word is. But my smurfy word used to be, "really?". In the past, before I changed my smurfy word, I'd be on the phone with someone (it works better on the phone because then the person on the other end can't tell that you are mind-numbingly bored with what they're saying), and they'd tell me a story that I wasn't really interested in, but at the end I'd punctuate it with "really?". That way, I would contribute to the conversation and the other person would feel better knowing that I was listening. Honestly, it's just the way society works. Without smurfy words, the world as we know it would stop functioning.

So, what's your smurfy word?

Several weeks ago, John and I met a nice couple at the dog park with two really friendly dogs. We asked what one of the dogs was named and the guy told us it was Gumbo. But John misheard him and started calling "Dumbo" over to him. Then the guy, in a really small voice that nobody but me could hear, said "no.... it's Gumbo." And the look on his face said it all: 'I have chosen my dog's name poorly.'

I'm reading an article for class about alien abduction and race (stick with me here), and I came across this sentence: "If there is such a thing as UFO abduction discourse, that discourse has a lot of penises in it."

And I think I'm going to leave it at that.

I never realized, until this morning, the incredible physical similarities between Andrew Jackson and John Kerry. Both have almost ridiculously long faces, long noses, and long chins. Both have spectacularly sunken eyes. And both need to seriously reconsider the poufiness of their hair. Of course, Jackson is dead, so I really shouldn't be using the present tense for him. If I were grading this blog, I would take off points for that. But still: Andrew Jackson and John Kerry... there's a conspiracy theory in there somewhere, I can feel it.

If you haven't heard Enrique Iglesias's "Rhythm Divine," you absolutely must do so. Not because it's good music but rather for the sheer entertainment value it provides. Sample, if you will, this portion of his lyrics: "Can you feel the heat of passion?/ Can you taste our love's sweet wine?/ Join the dance and let it happen/ Put tomorrow's cares right out of your mind." Honestly, it was worth the buck that I spent downloading it just so that I could have a good laugh every now and again.

Driving around Gainesville today, John and I came across the greatest bumper sticker ever: "Republicans for Voldemort." Classic.

Graduate students have a funny relationship with sleep. Take Maslow's hierarchy of needs. As the argument goes, humans meet their basic needs first (physiological needs) and then graduate to more sophisticated needs (emotional needs, for example). Maslow considered sleep to be an integral part of our most basic needs. And yet, as a graduate student, that need goes more and more unmet as the semester goes on (or as the light at the end of the tunnel appears dimmer and dimmer). So "adequate" sleep (whatever *that* is) is something we need, yet something we can't obtain. We yearn for it, we covet it, we daydream about it and yet, like the fountain of youth, it eludes us. I could go all graduate-studenty on you and 'problematize' the issue by telling you that we aren't passive victims of graduate school, but rather that we have 'agency' in choosing to be graduate students in the first place. But I'll spare you. Instead, I'll head off to bed early tonight (when did midnight become early?) and try to think of Maslow.