That, or, it could be Mono

Yesterday NPR did a piece on a couple who wrote a book on rabies (Lyssavirus rabies) and they brought up some interesting points. In a true Jungian fashion, the authors ascribed the most salient horror archetypes (i.e., vampires, werewolves, zombies) as all being based on some kind of animalistic behavior being transmitted through a bite, a la rabies. And they’re right. The connection between zombies and rabies is a little less subtle, but both vampires and werewolves are bite based; bats are notorious harbingers of rabies, and wolves are also known for being rabid (see 'Old Yeller'). Now the next time you watch Twilight you don’t have to choose between Edward and Jacob; they’re both Team Rabies!

Snake Was a Pretty Awesome Game

I don’t understand people who like chatting on the phone. My own anti-social tendencies aside, talking on the phone is one of my least favorite things to do, regardless of who I’m talking to. As you both know, I’m much more likely to reply to an email or text than ever pick up my phone. Now, don’t get me wrong—there are times when calling is both useful and efficient. If I have something to say that would either be tedious and long to type out, I’ll gladly use the telephone. I have no problem with telephone calls under, say, 10 minutes; any issue you can’t resolve, or thought you can’t convey in under 10 minutes probably should be done over the phone anyway. Really, anything longer than that time period changes from conveying information to narrating your mundane life in real-time.

Example: People who stay on their phones when they’re ordering food. Not only are you making a statement to the food service employee that they’re not important enough for your full attention, but you’re also making whoever you’re talking to suffer through your order at Chipotle. Personally, I’d say “Call me back after you’re done, asshole” but then again, I’m sure like begets like, and the person at the other end of that line is two streets over, at a 5 Guys.

Maybe I’m just a considerate, efficient, thoughtful, handsome outlier, but I don’t see how talking for hours is justifiable. You know who I blame? Goddamn phone companies. Remember when “Minutes” and “Talk Time” meant anything to anyone? Those were the days; People called, you talked, you disconnected; and if you hung up and the timer read “0:59” you did a little happy dance. Oh what I wouldn’t give for my old Nokia 5190. It had a lightning bolt faceplate, and like 200 minutes. A year.

You Can Be Jack, or Billy Zane

I always have these great ideas for blog entries, but never write them down because I think to myself 'Golly gee, this is the best idea ever- there's no way I could ever forget this!' And then I end up writing about how all my best material escapes me. I'm like Rose, and this blog is the Titanic. And my ideas are that necklace, and the ocean is, well, probably a butterfly or some other distraction. Also, due to a contractual obligation, James Cameron reprises his role and directs my abstract metaphors.