Because I give into peer pressure very easily (take note, everybody), I'm going to follow Cylinda's lead and have my own Project 365. The goal is simple enough: Take at least one photo per day for an entire year. Share only one of those photos on one of the photo sharing sites littering the web. I'm going with Flickr since they seem to have the largest Project 365 presence.
I'm not quite sure when this project will flame out due to boredom or anger or some other irrational emotion that I often experience. And you'll be able to see just when I can't take doing this damn project any longer. The photos will be updated over there in the right-hand column. If you're at work and are bored out of your skull, here's the link to my Flickr account where there are some photos taken at Tybee Island over this past weekend.
If you're now more bored than ever, remember: It was your choice to click on that link.
Consider this your cell phone edumacation of the day.
When you talk about an iPhone, you're talking about:
one hardware set + one software os + at&t = singular user experience.
When you talk about an Android phone (with its hundreds of models), this is what you mean:
different hardware + different software developed by different manufacturers + different wireless networks = varied user experiences.
Did you know that? If not, please try to never forget. Etch it into your mind like Moses and his stone.
So when you ask for recommendations ("Should I get an iphone or an android?"), you're seriously making me want to punch little biblical puppies. There is no phone called "android". No one who has the definitive android phone. Well, I could argue that I have it (Nexus One), BUT I DON'T.
It's because I don't drive myself bananas by trying to answer your question. I just keep it pent up until I take it out on you readers who aren't even in the market for a phone. Blame your friends.
Today I've only eaten fruit or fruit-based products. No, this isn't one of my fun-time experiments in living. I've just had incredibly bad luck in my food choices. If you don't think this is weird, then I question you more than myself. Witness my intake:
banana
strawberries
apple
banana bread
applesauce
Sadly, none of the fruit was in pie-shaped form. Happily, I do have time before I go sleep to maneuver my way out of the middle of the food pyramid. Also, I'm sharing this here because I don't know how to express this in less than 140 characters.
For a long, long time, like my whole entire life, I've always told people who are very nosey that my favorite color is blue. I say that because I'm in denial. I don't know why I deny what my real favorite color is, but it's probably deep-seated in my psyche and I frankly don't have the time to go digging.
But today...today I admit to the world what my real favorite color is. Mostly because I know y'all are dying to know, but also because I can't live this lie anymore. So, people of the world, my favorite color is...
You know, I like blue a lot. It comes in nice calming shades whether it's light or dark. I can see why lots of people have it as their favorite. And then there's orange. I used to love orange until my 4th grade "friends" publicly shamed me for coloring my Valentine's Day hearts orange. I'm not sure what I think about people who love pink. There's something non-committal about that one. I mean, what it really wants to be, but can't quite get to, is red.
Now red is a confident color. It stands out and doesn't want to blend in with no one, not even with blue to make purple. Red rather just stay red. And yes, clairvoyant readers, this is my favorite color. I decided to stop denying it my love and awash my website in the most basic fire engine red I could find because this is the red that love.
Oh, red, I will deny you no more. Just like I think fish sandwiches are my favorite, but I always order clubs. That's the kind of love I'm talking about.
I must have been out sick the day everyone else learned about YELLOW watermelons. I bought this last night from what I believed to be a reputable (yet ethnic; oh yes, they can be both) supermarket. When I cut it open in great anticipation for a red fleshy insides, I think I stepped back in sheer horror. But then I think I inched forward in curiosity which, by the way, will be the death of me one day.
This yellow watermelon tastes exactly like a red one except that it's, you know, yellow. I looked up this phenomenon and some sources say it's supposed to be sweeter, but I think my taste buds are still in shock and won't let me process the idea of a non-red watermelon yet.
Changing a tire, in theory, sounds like a simple process. Jack up the car, remove the lug nuts, and pull off the tire. Then do everything in reverse with a new, not broken tire. Well, until confronted with the prospect of putting the theory into action today, I didn't know that I could actually do this. Now I know.
I rAwK.
Yes, people, I have changed my first tire at the tender, tender age of 34. It was quite a moment when I stood back and admired my handiwork. A woman on a bike rode past and said, "You go, girl," which, while lame and outdated, made me feel awesomer. A police officer walked by and told me to pat myself on the back. Which I did heartily. I could have been bitter at a society that doesn't expect a woman to be able to change her own tire, but I'm going to be honest for once and admit that I myself didn't think I could do it. My prejudice does come from prior experience, though.
Back when I was young and naive (during college), I was driving home on the highway when my front tire blew out. I pulled over to the side of the highway and managed not to kill anyone. This being the dark ages, I didn't have a cell phone to call my dad who is about the only person a college girl calls in moments like these. So, sitting on the side of the highway, I had to put a plan in action. There was an eight-foot fence that separated the highway from some office buildings that I could maybe climb over. I could head towards an office building, ask to use their phone and have my dad save me! Well, 2 out of 3 wasn't so bad.
I did climb over the wire fence, bloodying up both my palms. I made it to the office building and did call my dad....who was sleeping and didn't answer the phone. To be fair, he worked night shifts then and it was his normal bedtime (in the morning). I tried calling AAA, but since it wasn't my account, they wouldn't come help.
When I hung up the phone with the non-helpful AAA, a man in the office asked me where my car was. He told me he'd try to see if he could help me out. So off we went. He asked if I had a spare. I dunno, I had said in my best college girl voice. He dug under the car trunk and found it and proceeded to change the tire on the side of the busy highway.
But the man wasn't done yet! He noticed that the spare was a little flat so he told me to follow him to the nearest gas station. He filled it up with air for me while I stood around twirling my hair. I did have the wherewithal to thank him profusely and offer him money for his time and effort. He declined. I offered to buy him a soda and he declined again.
At that point, he told me that his daughter had a flat tire a few months ago and a stranger helped her out. He wanted to help me as a way of paying back the karma of the universe. He didn't ask me to do the same, but through my thick head, I understood that to be the underlying meaning.
So a few years later (omigod I will not end this post quick enough), my older brother and I drove past a weird situation on the highway. There was a large family pointing towards a car that was rolling away on the side of the road towards a large ditch. I told my brother to stop and see what we could do. The police hadn't arrived so we called 911. Then we offered my brother's cell phone (he got out of the dark ages way before me) to the owner of the rolling away car so she could call her husband. We waited until the fire trucks came and then we left.
I have no idea what the whole point of this rambling story is. Just that after all this time, I finally learned how to help myself. And even with my cold, cold heart, I think I'm still willing to help others.
Leaving work yesterday, I overheard:
Person #1: The weekend starts when I get on the elevator.
Person #2: No, not until the blender's turned on tonight.
Person #2's daughter: But mama, that was last night.
And last weekend, I was talking to a friend's cute 5 year old son about Star Wars which is one of his favorite movies.
Him: Bad guys always lose.
Me: No, Darth Vader won a lot. He killed Obi Wan Kenobi.
Him: Noooo, Obi Wan became part of the force.
Me: But Darth Vader killed him with the light saber.
Him: Keep looking... (as he pats my arm)
What did Chevron ever do to you hippies?
This photo was badly timed because I could have caught them directly in front of the Chevron sign, but I was too slow. They're heading next door to the BP to walk about in circles and maybe cause some havoc. Probably not.
In principle, I understand boycotting BP makes you feel like you're doing something effective against that evil corporation. And the people who claim that it's just hurting small business owners (the gas station owners) have to realize that we all make consumer choices every day. This is just another choice, albeit one that isn't based on solid fact. I don't know the specifics of their contracts, but here in Georgia, the stations aren't owned by the BP so it's probably minimal whatever profits are sent to the corporation. Still, these owners decided to do business with BP, a company with a ridiculous record of disregard for safety, and now they have to pay the consequences.
I personally will try to avoid stopping at a BP gas station, but since I only buy gas once a month, I'm thinking my actions will be negligible either way. And that's not something I can say about the stupid stuff I do everyday. Yay!