We Should be Nice to Robots

I should preface this post with: I LOVE ROBOTS.

The robot dystopian future is totally avoidable.  There are a few measures we should all take to ensure our inevitable (and awesome!) robot-filled lives are nothing but joy and fun and happy times.

First, all robots should be equipped with Asimov's three laws:
1. Don't kill.  (Dead humans are bad)
2. Do as I say.  (Humans like good listeners!)
3. Don't die.  (Robots are expensive, dead ones are a waste of money and pretty much useless)

But instead of treating robots like slaves:

We should treat robots like equals!

*I didn't write out the robot's dialogue because he is a robot who has mechanical speech.  Also, I tried really hard and it just never looked right.  You try writing "dominance" in paint with a track pad and make it look like a word.

If robots have our respect (and our love!) they will not feel compelled to take over our society.  They will live among us as friends.  This will also make it less awkward when I decide to finally marry one.

It'll go something like this:

Since robots can't feel love the way we do, my robot fiance will not know the right time to pop the question.  I'll have to do it myself, and I'm okay with that if it means eternity with my Prince of Hardware.  Also, he can't kneel.  Don't ask me why, it just doesn't seem logical for him to be able to kneel.

Robots would be the perfect husbands.  They would be loyal and do whatever you say (kind of like a golden retriever, but smarter).  So, instead of waging war against our robot counterparts, we should intermarry.  It is the only logical way to avoid a robot takeover.

In closing, examples of awesome robots that do not harm humans and are awesome:
Robbie the Robot (my main man)
R2D2
C3P0
That thing from Lost in Space
The Red Robot (Exploding Dog and Diesel Sweeties)
Gerty
Wall-E
Eve
That guy Jo dated on Eureka (Not Zane, the blond one who died.  Spoiler!)
The robot that accompanies Robin in her music videos on HIMYM

The Morning I Could Not Win

Last semester I had a class that was worthless.  The class taught me nothing and it was canceled more often than it was held.  When class was in session I sat in a corner half-asleep drinking coffee and playing Minecraft.

Worthless Class was at 8:30 in the morning.  I obviously signed up for this class in a fleeting moment of insanity (or prolonged, whichever).  I am not a morning person. 

One seemingly blissful Wednesday morning I got up really early for class.  Most of the time I would climb out of bed at quarter to eight and hope for the best.  This day, however?  I woke up at six and I even took a shower!  How productive of me.

I drove to class, ruling the parkway as traffic was going the opposite direction.  I pull up, get an awesome parking spot and pat myself on the back for being such a talented park-er.

It was eight o'clock, and I had time to kill.  So I look at my phone.

It's an email:

I grit my teeth and am thoroughly annoyed, but I take a moment and realize I don't have class.  I pull out of my amazingly close parking space and head to Dunkin Donuts.

Dunkin Donuts serves liquid gold coffee and delicious treats that are horrible for you, but awesome in every other way.  My choice to counter the horribleness of showing up to a canceled class by heading to such a delightful place was completely logical.

I went through the drivethru because I was feeling lazy and still mad.  I ordered an iced caramel latte, received it and paid for it and zoomed away.

I took a sip of what I thought would be a tasty treat and instead was struck with an awful, cinnamon flavor and what could only be burnt coffee beans and the product of sleep deprivation.

My next stop was the bank.  I decided to chuck the disgusting monstrosity that was shitting all over everything I loved in the world.  (The scope of things I love is exceptionally narrow). 

I had still not had my coffee yet this morning, and I was really happy when I remembered that the bank served free coffee to their patrons.  And I was so a patron!

I did my bank duties and then walked to their Keurig machine.  I turned it on and it lit up all blue and happy.  Then I put the cup under, hit the biggest size and waited.  It made a gurgling sound and then did nothing.  I began to panic. 

 

Eventually one of the tellers felt sorry for me and came over to offer me a hand.   I apologized profusely for possibly breaking her coffee maker and told her I was having a really rough day already and I needed coffee because the coffee I had put into my mouth before that was disgusting.  

She kind of ignored me, got the keurig working and I immediately regretted unloading my morning onto a stranger.  I made a cup of coffee, put that powdered creamer in it and decided I should give up trying to be productive and go home.  

Later that day I got a headache from not having enough coffee.  

I think the rest of the day ended up not being the worst day in history like I thought it would become when I woke up that morning, but it was an awfully jammed-packed hour of annoyances.  

I look like Justin Bieber

I bought a few wigs off my friend Bridget.  I attempted to play a late April Fool's prank on a few people by sending them this picture and asking them if they liked my new hair:

 

I must be the girl who cried dye job because no one really believed me.  

However, something immediately wonderful has come out of the wigs.  Brace yourself, because it is tremendous.  

I look like fucking Justin Bieber.  The color isn't quite right, and I could have more of that swoop-y helmet-y vibe, but I most definitely am a dead ringer for the kid with this wig on. 

In case you forgot what Justin Bieber looks like:

Can you say Halloween costume?  Because I can.  I can say it all over the place.  I am too excited about looking like a 17 year old boy.  It's probably the best thing to happen to me all week. 

Baby, baby, baby, oooooooooh.

Driving: It's Personal

When I'm driving I think I'm a lot savvier than I really am.  Often, I become personally insulted by other drivers on the road.

Tonight, driving home I became moderately offended that someone behind me decided I was going too slow and needed desperately to be ahead.  Then, this person with a New York license plate speeds up to 100 and breaks every 15 seconds.  Most likely, afraid of cops. 

Jerk.

When people do these things it makes me think they are saying, Hey.  I'm better than you and even though the speed you are driving at is completely reasonable, what I am doing is much more important and you should get out of my way. 

However, I, too, drive like this once in a while when I decide that my cause for getting ahead is much more important than everyone else's.  At least I'm aware of my own hypocrisy.   

But, it reminded me of one of the best driving revenges I have ever experienced.

I was driving home from my boyfriend's house a few months ago.  It was nighttime.  The road I was taking had a speed limit of 50 and I was going well ahead of it. 

A green minivan gets behind me, right on my ass, and as soon as there is a dotted line he takes the opportunity to floor it in front of me. 

Oh, buddy.  Bad move. 

Out of pure rage I decided to forgo my usual caution of watching out for cops and small, breakable animals and get right on this guy's tail.  And then, put on my brights.  And then blink my brights at him.  And then leave the brights on and make faces at him.  Because he is a jerk.  And he should know that. 

Someone sent me a miracle, because the slowest car in history decided to get in front of him.  We were driving 20 MPH, and I was loving every second of it.  I was flashing my brights and screaming at this guy, and he couldn't even cut this dude off. 

I can only imagine that the man (because I decided this person was a man) thought this in the moments I inflicted the torture of light on him:

Guess what, Green Minivan?  I don't forgive you.  Try sleeping at night, now. 

Said the Whale 'Islands Disappear' - Music Review

This semester I have been working with the super awesome Music Director Nicole at my college radio station.  I have incredible access to a lot of awesome music.

The role I play is partial gatekeeper.  I say "partial" because while I decide what shouldn't get played on the station, I don't necessarily decide what should get played.  I just give input. 

One of the bands that fell into my lap this past week is Said the Whale.  I immediately became attached to this band. 

If you like folky, mellow, happy rock you are in dire need of this album.

Right away I scribbled "The Shins" on my sheet to hand into my professor.  There is so much fun in this album.  The stand outs are Out on the Shield, Camilo (The Magician), and Black Day in December. 

I made the great decision of reading the insert they included with their album explaining how the album came to fruition through the technical difficulties they went through.  Not only are these people that make great music, but they are people who seem absolutely wonderful and deserved of your hard-earned cash.

A good portion of their songs (The Gift of a Black Heart being one) begin with strong vocals and a quiet guitar, an obvious lead-in to a song that is about to get more powerful.  These fun beginnings hit you with such intensity they cannot merely be listened to on a computer or on an ipod; take it in your car and you will experience the way this album the way it was meant to be heard.

So, fans of Neutral Milk Hotel and Manchester Orchestra; Sufjan Stevens and Mumford and Sons; The Shins and Cursive please check them out.

This used to be a blog devoted to reviewing music and movies and all other forms of media, but I've reformed.  However, Said the Whale sent me straight to the keyboard in a desperate attempt to explain their awesome sound.  The vocals are fresh, the guitar bouncy, the lyrics an incredible combination of haunting verse and playful word choice.

If you are as creepily obsessed with acoustic sounds and witty lyrics as I am, you will not be disappointed. 

Buy 'Islands Disappear' and other albums from Said the Whale

The Horse Guy

I mentioned I work at a liquor store.

A decent amount of the customer population of the liquor store is made up of creeps.  The majority of the people are really nice and fun to talk to, but once in a while you will find a weirdo.

Everything in that picture is 100% factual.  I also forgot to mention that he has given me chocolates in the shape of horseshoes, about 20 dollars, and that the pictures framed are of horses and fox hunts.

In case you don't believe me that a perfume called Nuzzle exists, check it out here. 

Instead of calling this man his proper name, I'm just going to call him the Horse Guy. 

Horse Guy mumbles a lot and it is really difficult to understand him.  And he loves talking to people.  He will wait for me to ring other people up and will then proceed to talk with them about the weather until they leave and then he will talk to me.  It is always the same conversation.

"Crazy weather."  He shakes his head.  "So, what, you think you're going to go down to Florida?"  I tell him I am not going to Florida.  "Why not?"  And he laughs.  He really wants me to go to Florida.  Then he says, "You should get a convertible."  No.  I do not want a convertible.  "A nice red convertible, right?  Yeah."  No.  No red convertible. He shakes his head again.  "Gas prices, right?"

I started playing a game where I get on my phone and text while he talks to me to see how long it will take him to give up in his attempt at being my friend and go get his beer. 

He usually just keeps talking.

I once sent my mom a text asking her to call me about a couch she was looking at in a furniture store and decided to have a really in depth discussion about a couch I did not care about.  It was a five minute conversation, and Horse Guy waited for me to wrap it up.  Then he called me spoiled.

He calls me spoiled a lot and I'm not exactly sure why.  I tell him all I do is work and go to school, and he calls me spoiled.  I work two jobs, and he calls me spoiled.

He also thinks TJ Maxx is a restaurant, which is kind of amazing.

One of his favorite things to say is, "Gotta make some money!"  I'm not sure if this order is directed at me, or if he is talking to himself. 

Horse Guy works at horse shows and gives out prints, or something.  He buys paintings then frames them and sells them for more money.  He tells me how he buys these things dirt cheap, but I'm beginning to think that people throw the paintings at him in an attempt to get him to stop talking. 

Every time he makes money from selling his paintings he flashes the money at me.  I don't know what he wants me to do with it.  A few times he has made me sit there and count it. 

Sometimes I think I should take some of the money just to teach him a lesson that he should not let a stranger count out his $138.  It's very dangerous, but Horse Guy does not see this.  I am his friend, and he tells me this quite often. 

But, Horse Guy has taught me a few important life lessons.

1. Don't talk to people.  People are scary.

2. Don't be nice to people.  It will make them think you are Scrooge McDuck and you have the personal obligation to count their money for them. 

3. Don't accept gifts from semi-strangers, because they will only continue to shower you with compliments and awkward horse-themed gifts.

4. A convertible is all a girl should strive towards.  If you have that your life has finally found true meaning and should immediately end.

 

*Disclaimer: I still really hate convertibles.

My First Apartment: Amy-Jess

I'm not sure what finally subdued my constant fear of the trains, but somehow my terror eventually became intermittent.

I think it had to do with the time we thought we got bed bugs (but totally didn't) and I started using that as an excuse to take six benadryl a night to conk me out.

Before I get ahead of myself, let's get back to basics:

Catherine went home every weekend.  Religiously.  I think she ended up staying till Saturday once.

I can't blame her, she lived a half hour away and her bed at home was much more comfortable.  Besides, Monmouth is basically a commuter school.

I, however, could not go home every weekend because I had a part-time job at TJ Maxx.  Lucky me.

One weekend during our second semester of Junior year I got a few bug bites.  I thought, oh cool there's a spider in my bed.  But then the bug bites persisted.

Violently.

Catherine came back to the apartment, but she was free of the epidemic.  I began to think I just might be dirty.  I washed my sheets like three times that week.

I still got bitten.

I went to the school nurse and she informed me they had to be bed bug bites.  She was very adamant about that.  I panicked, and that was around the time Catherine entirely stopped living at the apartment because she didn't want to catch bed bugs.

I called an exterminator to check it out.  He tore apart my mattress, which already had a rip in it that he decided to make more prominent, and he announced I had no bed bugs.

That week I returned to the nurse for more benadryl and told her an exterminator looked at my apartment.  An exterminator whose job it is to look for bugs who said there were no bed bugs.  But this nurse was very certain that the bites I was getting were from bed bugs.

Because no other insects bite people.

I am partially stressing this because that nurse was blind to the truth and really sure of something that was not true.  Also, I want to make it clear that I never had bed bugs so you don't think I'm dirty.  

For a short time Catherine put the idea in my head that I was having an allergic reaction, because I have incredibly sensitive skin and that was a plausible idea.  Here is a quick list of things I'm allergic to: Sea kelp, benzoyl peroxide, poison ivy, shrimp, melons.  There might be more, but who knows?  I am also very susceptible to heat rashes and quick changes in temperature really fuck with my body.

My aunt suggested I stop sleeping in my bed.  So, I slept on the couch in the living room.

It was surprisingly more comfortable than my bed.  Probably because from the living room I couldn't hear the train trying to break through my window, and because all that benadryl quelled my hyper-fear.

What I didn't know at the time was that our neighbor Amy-Jess was about as bad as a psychotic killer train. 

Catherine and I lived on the second floor (out of two).  We were really concerned about this before we moved in.  Every conversation we had revolved around how we had to live on the second floor.  I have a feeling that I was the one who prompted this compulsion, but I'm not willing to admit that.

Amy-Jess lived underneath us.  She was the only neighbor we shared a front door with.

We met her when we were moving in and she seemed really nice.  Catherine met her first and said, "I just met our downstairs neighbor!  She's really nice!  Her name is Jess!"

I met her a short while after and said, "Oh, I just met our neighbor Amy!"  Catherine then informed me her name was Jess, but I did not believe this.  She looked like an Amy. If you had seen her, you would have agreed with me. 

Catherine and I had a very detailed discussion about what our neighbor's real name was.  We never asked her what her name was again, even though she gave me the opportunity a bunch of times by asking "What's your roommate's name, again?  I forget."  And, "I'm sorry sweetie, I can't remember your name."

So, Amy-Jess was born.

Thinking back on it, her name was probably Jess, but I'm still not willing to completely believe that. 

Amy-Jess had this annoying habit of calling people "Sweetheart."  She was a few years older than us, not a grandmother.

When I had to make the move to the couch I discovered some of Amy-Jess' annoying traits.

Her and her boyfriend argued at one a.m. nearly every night.  If she was not on the phone screaming at someone, she was usually listening to really loud house music.

Once, the smoke alarm in the common area would not stop beeping.  (And when I say "area" I mean a space the size of a coffee table.  A small coffee table.  That's broken.)  I came downstairs and her and her friend were staring at it. 

"It won't stop," Amy-Jess told me.  They kept staring.

I went upstairs and got a duster and tried to hit the reset button with the end of it.  Didn't work.

At that point Amy-Jess tried to step into action by asking me if I had anything better than the duster because it was obvious it wasn't working.

They had pencils in their hands.  I wanted to scream.

I then tramped back up the steps to get a broom.  The broom ended up working, and the crisis ended.

Her and her friend then slammed the door and started playing house music.

The most ludicrous night was when she had a nervous breakdown about her license expiring...in a month.  At three a.m. she decided to call her boyfriend, her aunt and her grandmother.  None of these people seemed sympathetic to her cause and even suggested she freak out about this in the morning.

But Amy-Jess needed to know that a month from then someone was going to drive her to the DMV.  She was crying about it and stomping her feet: it was an all-out temper tantrum.

I'm pretty sure that night she broke up with her boyfriend for the umpteenth time and then called him back even more upset.

It took over a few hours for it to end.  And while it might seem better to be kept awake due to annoyance than fear, I was missing the train.  There is something kind of romantic about feeling you might die every night.

After this explosive episode I ran into her walking home and she said, "I'm moving out in May."  We chatted for little bit about things I didn't care about and then around the time of finals she was gone. 

And for one glorious week I was able to sleep in the apartment without the fear of the train or the noise of Amy-Jess.  That is all that apartment gave me: one week of silence before moving out for good.

Thinking back on it, I am almost positive that the bug bites came from our new neighbors two doors over who had really loud dogs.  I think that dog had fleas and being near that dog, and probably petting that dog, transferred those icky bugs to me.

I'm not sure how much better that is than bed bugs, but whatever it was, it was a really loud, miserable, itchy time in my life.