Ultramarine blue Grover was born looking at himself in a mirror, as was fitting for an exuberant, wiry, self-aware projection of four-year-old energy. Self-referential and prone to calling himself a “cute, furry little monster,” Grover was Sesame Street’s equivalent of a second-born child, the more carefree, confident, assertive sibling who aims to please. He recovers easily from stumbles, makes the best of situations, explores without inhibitions, and plays well with others. (pp. 166-167)
And how Grover got his name, according to Jon Stone:
“I asked, ‘What do you think your name is?’ Grover would study himself in the mirror and try a few out. ‘Armand? Hector? Perhaps my name is Grover.’” (p. 167)
Awesome. This explains why I love Grover–I’m a second-born child. This also explains why I keep referring to my cats as “furry.”
I was on the Metro back from Gallery Place this afternoon, and I found myself sitting in front of a guy trying to hit on a girl. The whole thing was insanely entertaining. She apparently attends Catholic University, which she described as having a lot of land, because it “[isn't] in DC. It’s, like, just outside, and it’s called DC, but we have a lot of land.” Apparently this girl isn’t much into geography, because it isn’t “just outside” DC, it’s still in DC. True, it’s pretty close to the Maryland border, but…it’s in the District. She should take a look at the license plates of the cars around campus.
The two keep talking. “So, what’d you wind up doing last night?” the girl asked the guy, who is apparently from Philadelphia. “I went to, um, M Street? I think it’s part of Georgetown?” “Oh yeah,” the girl said. “They have good bars there. Georgetown’s cool.” They agreed on this.
Awkward pause. Discussion of the fact that she works at Starbucks. And has a lot of espresso when she works there. Discussion of her liking Washington.
Then, the inevitable. Guy: “So, I can look you up on Facebook?” Girl: “No, I’m not on Facebook. I’m a politics major, so I don’t want people to find anything there. I don’t have a MySpace, or Twitter, or anything. I mean, people can tag you and it’s such a hassle. And I don’t want that out there.” I mean, I can understand her concern, and it’s a shame that more Kids These Days don’t have a better grasp of what should and shouldn’t be available on the Internet. On the other hand…it isn’t that big of a hassle. And there are privacy settings and stuff.
The biggest burn was still to come, though. She mentions her name, which is pretty generic–enough that he could Google her, but wouldn’t be able to find her. So he asks whether there’s a way to get in touch with her. And she totally shoots him down. And then gets off the Metro. (In fairness, it was the Brookland/CUA stop.) Harsh, but dang if I wasn’t amused.
Brian may have betrayed our love by getting married, but he’s won me all over again by signing a long-term contract with the Orioles. We have him through 2013, hurrah! Now my numerous Roberts t-shirts and my awesome jersey won’t be obsolete.
Seriously, there’s a lot to be excited about. Roberts, Markakis, Jones, Pie, Wieters…how long until Opening Day?
One of the best things about going to Nats games is the racing presidents. Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Teddy Roosevelt race around the field. It’s awesome. Anyway, the headed up north to New York and raced at an Islanders game. Yep, on ice skates. And it is classic. Teddy just can’t stand up. Hilarity ensues.
I’m super excited to see my sister and her family this weekend, but at the same time I’m frustrated, because it means that I’ll be missing the Obama/Lincoln cupcake installation. People get to eat the cupcakes at the end! It’s the perfect type of art!
I got up at the crack of dawn this morning (i.e., 9:30, which is the crack of dawn for a Saturday) and trundled off to the bank to deposit a check I had received because I accidentally put the wrong policy number on a payment to my insurance company. So I pull into the drive-up window. I’m putting my check and deposit slip into the slot when I step on the gas for some unknown reason. Possibly because I’m an idiot. An idiot who forgot to put her car into park. My car lurches forward. My hand is still in the little slot. It whams against the edge of the slot, while my arm whams against something else. I sheepishly put the car in reverse and drive back to the window, where the teller fairly nonchalantly asks whether I’m OK. I say that I am, and she assures me that it happens all the time. Which doesn’t make me feel much better, but it’s better than nothing.
I’m just happy the bruise on my hand isn’t particularly noticable.
I take the bus to work most days, and I can usually get my favorite seat: a bench seat (two seats together), facing the front of the bus. Then, about halfway through the ride, we get to this one stop where this middle-aged man gets on. And he inevitably sits next to me, even when there are plenty of other seats, also facing forward, available. Always. It drives me nuts. I’d sit on the outside seat just to prevent it, except that a) I hate people who do that, and b) I’m generally reading a book and don’t notice that we’re at his stop until it’s too late and it would be totally obvious that I was moving just so he wouldn’t sit next to me.
So this morning I thought I had come up with an answer to why he always sits by me (other than the fact that I appear fairly nonthreatening): It’s because I get off the bus before it hits the end of the line! That must be it! He also likes sitting alone, figured out that I always exit a couple blocks before the final stop, and figured this was a good way to get some alone seat time. Then I realized the problem with that: He never, ever remembers that I need to get off the bus. Even when I’m the one who pulls the cord to request a stop. Dude is oblivious. Even though he winds up sitting next to me at least a few times a week, he still seems surprised when I ask to get past him and leave the bus.
So, yeah, I don’t know. It’s a mystery.
So I was driving to the Y tonight, and I was pulling up to a line of cars stopped at a red line, and I notice a woman crossing the street. Not in a crosswalk, mind you, just crossing the street. And I can tell that if she keeps walking in a straight line, she’ll want to cross exactly where my car would be if I pull up behind the van that’s stopped in front of me (which is maybe a quarter of a block away from the light itself). So, do I stop a bit short, wait for her to pass, and then pull up behind the van?
No, I do not. Normally I’m pretty considerate of pedestrians. But the jaywalking in that area is just insane and it drives me up a wall. And I’m really sick of people just crossing the road at random, seeing cars coming, but not really caring. And it’s not like I’m going to hit her; I’m going to get there first, and she’ll just have to walk around my car.
Which is what happened. But first, she paused at my window and glared in at me, then walked around. And I admit that I’ve done similar things. Sometimes, I admit, I’ve let my bag hit a car as I walk around it, glaring at the driver. But that’s when I’m crossing in a crosswalk, and a driver had decided that he or she needs to completely block the crosswalk. If I’m jaywalking? Yeah, I’m losing the ‘tude.
