Google is great. Since the pledge of allegiance no longer has "Under God" in it, I think we should put in "under Google." Everyone can agree in the search engine's supremacy, and our lives would be severely one-dimensional without it.
One of the things I love best about Google is its autopopulate feature. Type in "Michael" and Google will automatically try to guess what you're thinking. "Jordan? Jackson? McDonald? Myers?"
Sometimes, the results list is quite comical. I'm working on a book, for which I needed to know how long it normally takes for police to get a DNA test back from the lab. I know CSI time is a bit accelerated, so I turned to Google. "How long" I typed in. And the most searched question starting with "How long" autopopulated: "How long does pot stay in your system?"
Have you ever checked medical symptoms online? Perhaps that persistant scratch in between your shoulder blades is a bizarre tropical disease not yet seen this side of the equator. You type in, "Symptoms of" and you will get this for an autopopulated answer: "Symptoms of Pregnancy." I already knew the answer to that one - nine months after you start noticing something is different with your body, a baby falls out.
I googled "What is", just in case those looking for symptoms of pregnancy need to look for the definition of "baby." The first thing that came up under "What is" is "What is Twitter?" Two or three entries down the list, we have, "What is Love?"
If Google can answer "What is Love?", then maybe Google really might be an all-seeing, all-knowing supreme being.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Trying to look on the bright side...
So I just had my very first annual review at my job. I got dinged a little for being kind of negative. Of course, what they saw as being negative, I saw as being truthful, but I suppose that's beside the point.
I guess I am a little negative. For example, I have already gone on two more first-and-last dates this month. For the life of me, I don't understand why acting nervously hyper, as if I'm a meth addict, is such an immediate turn-off for guys.
My appearance isn't what I would like it to be - Jennifer Garner, without taking any extra time in the mornings for makeup and whatnot.
I'm worried that my books won't do jack crap this August, and I'll be left with 400 pages of manuscript, many hours of work, and no validation to show for it.
I want cake. This weekend, being both father's day and my mom's birthday, served as a double-whammy to my inability to eat regular flours.
But here I am, turning over a new leaf:
1) It's okay that I can't get a second date! I might be expected to pay for that one. Saves time, saves money!
2) It's okay that my appearance is so-so...this red zit on the end of my nose is actually kind of nice. Reminds me that there's only 6 more months until Christmas! Yay!
3) It's okay that my books might not get sold. (I'm hesitating here, trying to think of a reason why it might be okay.) Oh! I've got one!...false alarm.
4) There's always gluten-free cookie dough. And it's so darned expensive, it acts as built-in portion control.
This positivity is tiring me out. Kind of like how lying is tiresome. The truth may be ugly, and it may seem negative, but I find I don't usually have to look for truth - when I can't find it, that usually means I'm looking around it, or right through it.
I guess I am a little negative. For example, I have already gone on two more first-and-last dates this month. For the life of me, I don't understand why acting nervously hyper, as if I'm a meth addict, is such an immediate turn-off for guys.
My appearance isn't what I would like it to be - Jennifer Garner, without taking any extra time in the mornings for makeup and whatnot.
I'm worried that my books won't do jack crap this August, and I'll be left with 400 pages of manuscript, many hours of work, and no validation to show for it.
I want cake. This weekend, being both father's day and my mom's birthday, served as a double-whammy to my inability to eat regular flours.
But here I am, turning over a new leaf:
1) It's okay that I can't get a second date! I might be expected to pay for that one. Saves time, saves money!
2) It's okay that my appearance is so-so...this red zit on the end of my nose is actually kind of nice. Reminds me that there's only 6 more months until Christmas! Yay!
3) It's okay that my books might not get sold. (I'm hesitating here, trying to think of a reason why it might be okay.) Oh! I've got one!...false alarm.
4) There's always gluten-free cookie dough. And it's so darned expensive, it acts as built-in portion control.
This positivity is tiring me out. Kind of like how lying is tiresome. The truth may be ugly, and it may seem negative, but I find I don't usually have to look for truth - when I can't find it, that usually means I'm looking around it, or right through it.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Caution - Hope Ahead
Do you ever find yourself on a precipice - Do I jump? Do I stay on the sideline, assuring safety, but denying possible exhilaration?
I find it interesting, the things we'll "jump" over, and the things that keep us on the sideline.
An ex-boyfriend of mine emailed me out of the blue yesterday, wanting to get together for a playdate with our dachshunds. I didn't really want to, as his dog is a titch aggressive.
I politely declined. I was proud of myself for being polite. After all, he did dump me by saying, "Now that my confidence is up, I'd like to see what else is out there."
He wrote back, and said, "Fine, ignore my attempts! : )"
Attempts? Does this mean he might want to start hanging out again? I felt a flutter of anticipation.
Wait a sec, my reasoning told me. This guy is the biggest commitment-phobe since David Letterman. Don't get your hopes up - it'll only lead to disappointment.
I emailed him back, and asked if Saturday or Sunday worked best for him.
Several hours passed with no communication. Then, I got an email - "I don't know what day. I have a headache and am not thinking clearly."
He has a headache. Well, I suppose everyone has to be told that at least once in their life. Hopefully this got mine over with. I knew that was going to happen! Why was I so eager to send myself tumbling over that cliff?
And yet I'm working like a crazy person, trying to finish and perfect my second book for an agent conference this August. I'm petrified, afraid to hope for the outrageous good luck of getting an agent (and subsequent book deal). I sneak a peek into that canyon once in awhile (okay, several times a day) but I won't step off the ledge into unbridled hope.
At first glance, this makes me look like a raging pessimist. But, giving myself the benefit of the doubt, I think my attempts at finding companionship, and my unwillingness to wish too hard for success, is my soul's way of protecting me - It's okay to throw caution to the wind with things, and people, I don't really need, but when it comes to a dream that makes me bite my lip with anticipation, caution is my insurance policy for being able to wake up every morning without validation of my writing talent.
I find it interesting, the things we'll "jump" over, and the things that keep us on the sideline.
An ex-boyfriend of mine emailed me out of the blue yesterday, wanting to get together for a playdate with our dachshunds. I didn't really want to, as his dog is a titch aggressive.
I politely declined. I was proud of myself for being polite. After all, he did dump me by saying, "Now that my confidence is up, I'd like to see what else is out there."
He wrote back, and said, "Fine, ignore my attempts! : )"
Attempts? Does this mean he might want to start hanging out again? I felt a flutter of anticipation.
Wait a sec, my reasoning told me. This guy is the biggest commitment-phobe since David Letterman. Don't get your hopes up - it'll only lead to disappointment.
I emailed him back, and asked if Saturday or Sunday worked best for him.
Several hours passed with no communication. Then, I got an email - "I don't know what day. I have a headache and am not thinking clearly."
He has a headache. Well, I suppose everyone has to be told that at least once in their life. Hopefully this got mine over with. I knew that was going to happen! Why was I so eager to send myself tumbling over that cliff?
And yet I'm working like a crazy person, trying to finish and perfect my second book for an agent conference this August. I'm petrified, afraid to hope for the outrageous good luck of getting an agent (and subsequent book deal). I sneak a peek into that canyon once in awhile (okay, several times a day) but I won't step off the ledge into unbridled hope.
At first glance, this makes me look like a raging pessimist. But, giving myself the benefit of the doubt, I think my attempts at finding companionship, and my unwillingness to wish too hard for success, is my soul's way of protecting me - It's okay to throw caution to the wind with things, and people, I don't really need, but when it comes to a dream that makes me bite my lip with anticipation, caution is my insurance policy for being able to wake up every morning without validation of my writing talent.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Yay for drugs.
Drugs are good. The prescribed kind. I have too much of a guilty conscience to enjoy doing drugs that I wasn't told to do. I am in a fair amount of pain at the moment from my knee surgery, but...I don't care! I don't care to the point where I have no idea how I got through my last three years of college doped up on Oxycontin.
Drugs are my favorite part of surgery. There's really not much about surgery that would qualify as "favorite," so it's kind of like an 87 year old man winning his age group in a five-kilometer road race. (You should see how annoyed my Grandpa gets when he doesn't win his age group. "Shannon? What kind of a name is "Shannon"? Do you know any old people with that name? No. I bet the person said they were older than they really were just so they could win a medal.")
But Mom raised me to see the silver lining in everything, so stay with me here.
I love the 'going to sleep' part of surgery. It's wonderful - kind of like crawling into bed, knowing that no one will expect you to get out of bed and do something silly and wasteful of your time like putting on clothes other than pajamas, for like, WEEKS. It's great. And when you wake up, sometimes you're still a little groggy, like getting to relive a dream you had starring yourself and Matt Damon.
Granted, there are exceptions to that. After my knee replacement surgery, I cracked my eyes open, and before I could even have a conscious thought, I was bawling in agony. I have an incredibly high pain tolerance, so I have to wonder if my doctor bothered to put any pain meds in the IV drip while I was out or not. I was such a mess that even the post op nurse came to my hospital room a couple of days later to make sure I was okay!
But after this teeny tiny knee surgery I just had, I was in no pain for about 24 hours. I was chit chattering away with the post op nurse - "so, how long have you been working here? Do you enjoy it?" etc. And then, for the first time in my 25 or so times of going under anesthesia, I had a reaction to the drugs. I interrupted myself and said, "I'm getting really REALLY cold..." and I proceeded to shiver and convulse for about 3 hours. The nurse put warm blanket after warm blanket on top of me, and wrapped one around my head.
"This is GREAT!" I said to her. "Now I can go to Iran and not be arrested."
I harbor no illusions that this knee surgery "did the trick", as my doctor thinks it did. I'll give it a few months, but I'm turning into a bit of a pessimist where my body is concerned. I'll never be "done", or "fixed" to where I'm not in some kind of pain. But, as long as there's enough Oxycontin to go around, I have no idea what I'm complaining about.
Drugs are my favorite part of surgery. There's really not much about surgery that would qualify as "favorite," so it's kind of like an 87 year old man winning his age group in a five-kilometer road race. (You should see how annoyed my Grandpa gets when he doesn't win his age group. "Shannon? What kind of a name is "Shannon"? Do you know any old people with that name? No. I bet the person said they were older than they really were just so they could win a medal.")
But Mom raised me to see the silver lining in everything, so stay with me here.
I love the 'going to sleep' part of surgery. It's wonderful - kind of like crawling into bed, knowing that no one will expect you to get out of bed and do something silly and wasteful of your time like putting on clothes other than pajamas, for like, WEEKS. It's great. And when you wake up, sometimes you're still a little groggy, like getting to relive a dream you had starring yourself and Matt Damon.
Granted, there are exceptions to that. After my knee replacement surgery, I cracked my eyes open, and before I could even have a conscious thought, I was bawling in agony. I have an incredibly high pain tolerance, so I have to wonder if my doctor bothered to put any pain meds in the IV drip while I was out or not. I was such a mess that even the post op nurse came to my hospital room a couple of days later to make sure I was okay!
But after this teeny tiny knee surgery I just had, I was in no pain for about 24 hours. I was chit chattering away with the post op nurse - "so, how long have you been working here? Do you enjoy it?" etc. And then, for the first time in my 25 or so times of going under anesthesia, I had a reaction to the drugs. I interrupted myself and said, "I'm getting really REALLY cold..." and I proceeded to shiver and convulse for about 3 hours. The nurse put warm blanket after warm blanket on top of me, and wrapped one around my head.
"This is GREAT!" I said to her. "Now I can go to Iran and not be arrested."
I harbor no illusions that this knee surgery "did the trick", as my doctor thinks it did. I'll give it a few months, but I'm turning into a bit of a pessimist where my body is concerned. I'll never be "done", or "fixed" to where I'm not in some kind of pain. But, as long as there's enough Oxycontin to go around, I have no idea what I'm complaining about.
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