grammer rool's!!11

I go on the record saying that nothing makes me wetter in my ladyparts than some proper spelling and grammar. I own two grammar manuals, a copy of AP Style, and I sometimes read Strunk & White for shits and gigs. As a kid, a homework assignment to look through a dictionary and find words I wasn't sure how to spell turned up mostly words I didn't even know the definition of. The sight of a superfluous apostrophe sends me into paroxysms of rage.

That being said, sometimes even I am uncertain about proper usage. Which is why I bring you today's Delightful Grammar Tip...

ON PLURALIZING ACRONYMS!

Everywhere I go, I see "CD's" or "PDA's" or "FU's". My first thought is, well, the compact disc's what? But I never thought to look it up. Today, I was called upon to transcribe some notes mentioning a place that donated to "PTO's". I took it upon myself once and for all to get to the bottom of this.

Naturally, I was right. To pluralize an acronym, like most things being pluralized, simply add an "s". So, when talking about laughing out loud multiple times, you would write, "The website induced a fit of LOLs." There is NO APOSTROPHE INVOLVED.

The website I link to above has this to say regarding those nasty little upside-down commas, and it's brilliant:

Apostrophes show something is missing, so we have no reason to use them to create plurals. 

Stop stickin' it where it don't belong.

Songs to Tear You Apart (via me at seventeen)

in keeping with the recent nostalgic music posts, I've assembled a little playlist. it's been gray and dreary lately, and another New England winter is nigh, which reminds me that the seasonal depression is going to come crashing in any day now. so here we have a compilation of the 10 best emo songs ever - a.k.a. the ones I used to play at full volume while driving around my hometown late at night, smoking a clove cigarette out the window of my Jetta, and probably crying just a liiiitttle bit.

"Songs to Tear You Apart"

10. New Found Glory - "Eyesore"

this was right before I started to hate NFG for going "all commercial".

"I say your name when I fall, when I hit the bottom."

9. boysetsfire - "My Life in the Knife Trade"

 

I discovered this one while driving in the car of an unrequited love interest. oh, the irony.

 

"Your comfort in my suffering is no longer disturbing." 

 

 

8. The Get Up Kids - "Don't Hate Me"

God. I had an exboyfriend who dumped me, then came running back to me. he told me he listened to this song nonstop during our time apart. the relationship lasted about two months longer, until he essentially broke up with me because I wouldn't fuck him. I was sixteen. dick.

"At the heart, the heart is you, in everything I do." 

7. Something Corporate - "Konstantine"

I discovered this one when I was legally old enough to drink, but still.

"It's to dying in another's arms and why I had to try it."

6. Juliana Theory - "August in Bethany"

homeboy is crying about his ex-girlfriend while sitting alone on the beach. on a FRIDAY NIGHT. weeeeeeep

"Don't go, don't go...your eyes they through my soul."

5. Alkaline Trio - "Radio"

This was one of the first songs I learned on guitar. while Alk3 certainly owns with their self-pity, they mostly get drunk and pissed off about it. these guys were my FAVORITE my senior year of high school, and would be a band I returned to later in moments of heartbreak.

"In case you haven't heard, I'm sick and tired of trying."

 

4. Alkaline Trio - "I Lied My Face Off"

one of the best "woe is me, but still, fuck you" songs out there.

"I'm bad luck, can't fuck, got no reflection today. Maybe I'll stay down next time I get hit by a train."

3. Dashboard Confessional - "The Best Deceptions"

I played this at a "coffee house" that my high school put on. it was essentially a talent show for the drama kids. I also would run up to the front and scream out the lyrics every time he did this one at a concert (I saw him thrice between 2000-2002). just like the dickheads in the audience in this recording.

"So kiss me hard, 'cause this will be the last time that I let you."

2. "Blindfolded" - Saves The Day

as a teenager, I was unlucky in love. probably because I was such a relentless emo fuck, but then again, weren't we all? so this saga of rejection struck pretty close to home. not too long ago, my biffle and I realized that we both remember every single lyrics. we were quite drunk at the time, so naturally, we proceeded to scream each and every single word along with the recording. it was very therapeutic.

"And you'll say you don't want to be with me, no one ever does, no one ever thinks of me that way."


 

1.  Saves The Day - "Three Miles Down"

Jesus, God. hands-down, this song wins every emo award there is. this was the first song I learned to play on guitar, and you better believe I played it. endlessly.

"Why does my heart always beat before yours does?"

is there anything I've forgotten? what were your favorite sad-kid songs? share 'em in the comments. bonus points for including audio/video. extra triple bonus points for making me a mix cd!

you know you make me feel so good.

so there I was at work, stocking some yogurt, when the following tune hit my eardrums:




naturally, the first thing that came to my mind is "HOLY SHIT, THIS IS SAMPLED IN THAT MA$E SONG." for those of you who don't remember (and therefore were probably a total bummer to hang out with in the late 90's), here it is, complete with shiny fucking green suits and all:

(does puff drive mercedes? you better goddamn believe he does.)

I ran up to the counter and excitedly tried to pull my co-workers into my little world of nostalgia. "HOLY SHIT, DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER THAT SONG THAT MA$E AND PUFFY DID?!"

naturally, they did. then one of the girls said to me, "did you know that Ma$e is a minister now?" my jaw dropped to the floor. NO. WAY. from Bad Boy to Man of God?

surely enough, after some extensive research (6th hit on my Google search) it would seem that indeed, for five years, from 1999-2004, Ma$e went down South for some q.t. with g.o.d.


but, dear friends, this seems to be old news! apparently upon his return, he released a re-entry album in 2004 (appropriately titled "Welcome Back"), he appeared at the 2005 VMA's, and even attempted a comeback THIS YEAR, inspired by Michael Jackson's death.



I feel so detached from "popular culture" right now. first, I find out that Justin Timberlake has been filming Facebook: The Movie, RIGHT AROUND THE FUCKING CORNER FROM ME, and I had no idea? and now I realize that my favorite Bad, Bad Boy is trying to revive his career and I haven't had a clue? note to self: sign up for Perez Hilton's RSS feed, immediately...

unattended children will be shot.

this makes me want to own an establishment so I can get really creative. same goes for a-holes on their cellphones, those who don't tip, and people whose face I just plain don't like. (via passive-aggressive notes)


***


unattended children will be shot.: "
as previously discussed, this hamfisted attempt at wit remains the scourge of retail establishments the world over.



as it turns out, the umpteen-million variations are even more hilariously clever!

for example, while the original version merely confuses a lot of people, this one just seems like a bizarre incentive for child abandonment.



quickly, however, things start to get very un-p.c. (and also…very creepy.)



this version, in fact, is almost as popular as the original. (other examples here and here and here and here and here and…is that a machete?)



child slavery? now that’s comedy gold. but really, why stop there? why not “unattended children will be trafficked into child prostitution”? “unattended children will be sold to pedophiles”? or anally probed? or…







hilarious, right?

related: the “your mother doesn’t work here” of the hospitality industry

"

my parachute is the color of failure.

so I recently checked out a copy of What Color is Your Parachute: A Practical Manual for Job-Hunters and Career-Changers (full title included here for dramatic effect). yes, it has come to that. as it stands, I find the idea of a sudden, inexplicable death far more appealing than having to make another turkey sandwich for another self-important academic type who is pursuing three simultaneous degrees yet doesn't understand the concept of tipping.

"so stop blogging, asshole, and get on craigslist," you might be saying to yourself right now. ah, but see, I would rather be making hummus and avocado nightmares for pimply Harvard first-years than sitting at the desk of some corporate gang-bang in an itchy button-down get up, answering phones in my best fuck-me voice.

in short, I hate my current job, but far prefer it to taking yet another "this will do for now" position just to keep myself afloat. so! the time has come to do some reassessment. what are my skills? what are the skills I enjoy using the most? what would my "dream job" be? what are the steps I should take to get there? and so forth.

the first step in what will certainly be an arduous - yet ultimately rewarding! - journey is making a list. Richard Nelson Bolles (the author of the parachute thing) calls it "THAT ONE PIECE OF PAPER" (caps added for dramatic effect). it is, very simply, a list comprised of "everything you know about yourself". later, important and pertinent information will be extracted from this list. but to begin, it's simple. write what you know. about you, wonderful you.

I have been adding to this list for a few days now.

I am on number 46.

#47 - I have a tendency to procrastinate.


really, dude? I've lived with myself for 26 years, and all I can come up with are FORTY-SEVEN little tidbits, little soundbites about what makes me beautiful, unique me?

this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

ways to reconnect with my muse...

...that don’t actually involve writing.


1. hire a P.I. to find her exact whereabouts, then follow her home from work, knock her kneecaps out with a baseball bat and stuff her in my trunk

2. stare at blank Microsoft Word document for hours until eyes tear up and brain threatens to evacuate (NOT RECOMMENDED)

3. read work done by other people, realize I am a million times more talented, feel smug

4. go on psychedelic drug trip, disappear in the urban jungle for a few days, come back with a fresh spiritual perspective and sense of self-righteousness

5. have nervous breakdown and run screaming into the nuthouse; enjoy a highly medicated vacation

6. drive loved ones to nervous breakdown through excessive whining and self-pity

7. fake death, flee country (and debt)

8. strike self upon head repeatedly with classic works of literature (paperback versions only)

9. fall asleep with books on writing instruction under pillow, hope for absorption of knowledge through osmosis

10. accept the fact that maybe I’m not meant to be a writer, consider alternate methods of artistic expression (interpretive dance, experimental noise bands, suicide, etc.)

coagulated dairy! yes!!

I take serious issue with sour cream commercials.

first of all - there is absolutely nothing appealing about someone running a ridged potato chip through a vat of straight-up sour cream with a few chives sprinkled on top. or, even better, some bland-looking white dude spooning a vast amount of the stuff onto a fajita and grinning like he can't possibly imagine a more fortunate scenario.

also, the word "dollop"? a) there are only so many times a human being can hear that word repeated in a 30-second period of time before wanting to tear their own ears off and b) when does anyone ever actually use that word in colloquial conversation? imagine your lover crawling across the bed to you, looking as sexy as humanly possible, then purring in your ear, "baby, I'm going to give you a dollop of my love tonight?" I actually just puked a little bit, thinking about such a thing. gross. fuck you, sour cream.

who will love you, who will fight, who will fall far behind?

I don't know why I always insist on listening to bon iver this late at night. that motherfucker only makes me crazy nostalgic, especially when I'm alone in bed. and through the achingly clear lens of sobriety, no less.

okay. so. I have been effectively single for over a year now. and pleased about that fact, mostly. but in this past year, I have had some of the worst dating experiences of all my 25 years on the planet thus far. which I get it, it's part of the whole "dating" package. and yes, okay, most of these specimens I have gotten involved with I have chosen to get involved with. I'm not escaping accountability here, trust me.

but seriously. I have met some of the worst dudes.

there have been some of the most self-involved, egotistical douchetards I have ever known. I have entered colossal spheres of drama without even realizing it. I have held men as they cried about their absent fathers, and at the time, have seen nothing at all wrong with that. I have woken up in rooms that look like crack dens. I have been propositioned for threesomes, by people who weren't even slated to be involved in said tryst. I have had some of THE WORST sex of my life.

I have also stooped to new lows. I have posted missed connections. I have checked the missed connections. obsessively. I have gone after the friends and co-workers of exes, even when said exes were in the same room. I have traveled long distances on a whim and full of hope. I have dated dudes older and younger, with about the same results.


now, at the same time. I have met some of the sweetest, most honest and most promising dudes. and each time, that mindfuckingly unfair paradox has applied: the ones I'm not interested at all are the ones making themselves available (sometimes excruciatingly so) and the ones I actually do show interest in are the ones running in the opposite direction. I exaggerate not, every SINGLE time, either of these constraints apply.


still, I trudge on. this isn't a "OH GOD WOE IS ME I AM GOING TO BE ALONE FOR THE REST OF MY MISERABLE AND MEANINGLESS LIFE" kind of thing. as tempted as I am to sink into that familiar, comfortable nest of self-pity and old, worn emo-kid tendencies.

no, no. I am fairly confident that this string of consecutive disasters and utter failings will continue, as I will continue to put myself out there. because, here's the deal. it's not that my standards are low...STOP LAUGHING, RIGHT NOW. it isn't.

the way I see it - I'm just willing to take chances. my most successful relationship to date was with someone I normally never would have gone out with, so I guess you can just never know for sure. plus, if that day ever comes that I find the one person who is utterly batshit insane enough to kick it with me for the long run, well...at least I'll know for sure that I looked goddamn everywhere else first.

blame it on Twilight.

this story got sent to me earlier. it's breaking news. it's actually the most e-mailed on boston.com right now. are you ready?


WAIT. before I link to anything, I'm just going to show you the lede real quick:

A school administrator wants to set the record straight: There are no vampires at Boston Latin.

yup! that's right! vampires.

ok, quick. all of those jokes you're composing in your head? get them out of your system. in fact, if you scroll to the bottom you will see someone - a lot of someones - have already gotten there.


now, we must point fingers. who is to blame for this?

it's not the economy this time. or media seizing on non-news stories and blowing them out of proportion to fill the gap caused by slashed budgets and/or journalistic laziness. no, we won't even go so far as to blame this on, say, teenage girls acting like the cruel, shallow, hateful sacks of hormones that they are.







nope! it's that damn Robert Pattinson's fault! with those bright eyes and those cheekbones and that smile and that...tousled...hair...

and...


...what was I saying?

right. to sum: kids are cruel, adults are gullible and panicky, local journalism is using its last dying breaths to choke out a load of swill, and teenage boys are way hot.


goodnight!

and the follow-up!

superb journalism there, Globe writers.

Steps for Preventing Shaken Baby Syndrome:

1. DON'T SHAKE YOUR FUCKING BABY.

shaken, not stirred.

this story is pretty fucked. according to the Boston Globe, the number of "shaken baby syndrome" cases has increased over the past few months. the culprit? wait for it...

...you got it, it's the economy!

okay. seriously? what exactly are these parents doing? holding the kid up and going 'DAMMIT, YOU LITTLE BASTARD! WHY CAN'T YOU BE A SACK OF TWENTIES??!!'


yes. OKAY. we get it. we're in a recession. but how much ridiculous, unacceptable human behavior is going to be blamed on this fact in the meantime?

BREAKING NEWS! earlier this morning, a garage full of human skulls was been found at the home of this local business owner! upon investigation, our news team discovered that this man had, in fact, been luring employees to his home with the promise of liquor, barbeque, and charades! instead, he had set up a makeshift gas chamber in his two-car garage, and was stashing their bodies in a crawlspace! it is understood that it was his intent to build a new workforce out of their skeletons! a statement from the man's lawyer quotes him as saying "my new staff could work for free! I just can't afford to pay my employees anymore! WE'RE IN A RECESSION!!!"

wisdom from kiddos, vol. 1

a couple months ago, I began volunteering at the Boston chapter of 826 National, a non-profit writing center for kids that runs various activities and workshops, including an after-school tutoring program, which is the one I'm involved with.

after about two sessions, one afternoon I found myself paired with a 5th grade girl, who was working on a short story about a family dog - based on her chihuahua at home - who gets kidnapped by a miserly old neighbor.

we were brainstorming reasons why the neighbor might commit such a heinous crime. her first idea was that the dog “did her buisiness” on the neighbor’s lawn, but I suggested, as foul as this was, it wasn’t quite reason enough for a treacherous dog-napping. as she scratched her head with her pencil and stared at her story outline, she asked me what I did for a job. I told her I work at a cafe, making coffee and sandwiches and such.

“Oh! So you must be really good at making sandwiches!” she said with a big smile.

I mentally indexed my professional resume - publicist, event coordinator, editor, student facilitator, assistant manager - and smiled back at her. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess I am really good at making sandwiches.”

we went back to our brainstorming session, and to help get some ideas flowing, I asked her to tell me what the story was like so far. she began giving me the rundown, and then her eyes lit up.

“It’s like making a sandwich!” she said. “First, you have the bread, and that’s the family and their dog. And then you have…” she looked to me for guidance.

“Lettuce and tomato,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Right, the lettuce and tomato, which is the dog getting lost! And then you have the MEAT, and that’s what we’re working on right now! And then the mustard, or ketchup, and then the top of the bread, which is the end. And then…”

I grinned at her. “You’re right. Writing a story is just like making a sandwich!”

she got excited then, and started going off on a tangent about her dog, and her best friend, and her mom goes to school, and her little cousin and...

“Ohhkaayy,” I interrupted her, grabbed a pencil from the table, and pulled her homework binder closer to the both of us. “How about for now, let’s work on the meat.”

I swear, these smart, creative little bastards are going to save me from the wretched monotony that my life has become.

observation.

I decided the other night that there’s little I loathe more in this world than yogurt commercials. you know, the one where it’s a bunch of women on their cordless phones with one another, in various business-casual ensembles - or post-workout clothing, a much worse offense - talking about how NAUGHTY they were last night, the simply DECADENT treats they oh-so-sinfully snacked on…then cut to the Yoplait display! LOLZ! it’s fucking YOGURT YOU FOOLS! I CAN EAT AS MUCH OF THIS SHIT AS I WANT AND ALL IT’S GOING TO DO IS MAKE ME POOP!

actually, I learned back in AP English that the word “decadent” actually means “in a state of decay.” how that translates to dessert I’ll never know...

sympathy for emma, 3.8

who will take seriously the series of words you string up; inspired by the most wistful of chords and quiet of walls, egged on by the gnawing inside this carefully constructed fence of ribs and deliberate standoffishness? little by little, construct and destroy until there's nothing but a pile of splinters and your hands soaked in blood unfamiliar but all that runs through the streets of your veins.

can you backspace, delete the ellipsis that always followed his name? can you move to fill the stagnant air hanging at the end of your love; pause so pregnant its water burst forth and flooded the empty cavern between your arms?

alas, the most beautiful and delicate must wither and perish; all that is certain is bound only by its uncertainty. and this, your greatest tragedy, pulses within the marrow of us all. it is on the lips of every poet and carries on the tune of the sweet strumming that led you to pick up this pen in the first place, tonight.

today...

attempting to be productive. also, wrestling with this sudden sense of impending doom. although this could be attributed mainly to the entire pot of coffee I drank this morning and the soul-wrenching anxiety that always accompanies too much caffeine...