The Temperature of a Boy

Mike has an alarm clock on his side of the bed that not only tells him the time and instructs him to wake up, but also reports the temperature and humidity of the room.

In the winter, I love trying to get the humidity number as high as possible. Our roommate Jon says that I set the humidifier to "rain forest." I'm not happy until the glass fogs up.

I am always cold. Mike is aware that I love him not only for his kindness, sense of humor and green eyes, but for his warming capabilities. When he is in bed, the temperature reads between 74.6 and 75.2. When he gets up, it begins dropping immediately, usually all the way down to 68.3, which means I might as well get up too because there's no longer anything cozy about being in bed.

The Case of the Mysterious Stripper Tickets

Last week someone at work placed into my mailbox a folded brochure for a strip-club in Brockton called "The Foxy Lady." And six complementary passes to a strip-show.

The brochure advertised a half-dozen busty women with names like Candy and Tiny (the latter being, I assume, an ironic twist on her boob-size).

There was no note with these items, no indication of who'd sent them. I would've thought it was junk-mail except that there was no envelope, either.

This was definitely the biggest work mystery since the Case of the Missing NutraGrain Bar!

I brought the tickets to my desk and promptly made an announcement and inquiry to my nearby coworkers in order to prevent any chance of getting caught apparently trying to keep them all for myself.

If the tickets were meant as a joke, only with these nearby people am I chummy enough for that kind of thing, although it didn't seem to fit any of their senses of humor. My new boss averted his eyes when I flashed the brochure. Jason denied being the sender. So did everyone else. That left the Upstairs People.

I emailed Pam, the customer service woman, who knows better than anyone what's up in this place. ("Mice," she had said about the missing NutraGrain Bar, long before I discovered the scraps of chewed foil.) To this case she responded with several possible theories, the most likely being that they were intended as a joke for the Other Ben, the one Upstairs -- not me. Finally Pam concluded with a PS: "Show me them."

I did, and left them with her, adding that she should probably pass them along to Porn Guy. Six passes to a strip-show. It would be his lucky day.

Pen Politics

I realized the other day that my default motion when starting the ink flowing on a ballpoint pen is to scribble a W. Not good. Now I make a concerted effort to start with an O instead.

Um... Look! Over there! It's Sally Field!

Dear reader (are you still there?), to distract you from the fact that I haven't blogged in so long that the blogger interface has actually changed since last I used it, here is some interesting news about everyone's favorite flying nun.

She has, apparently, been cast as none other than Mary Todd Lincoln in Steven Spielberg's mouthwateringly-anticipated Lincoln bio pic.

While she never would've sprung to my mind, in hindsight it seems like the best bit of casting since Christopher Reeve put on Superman's red undies. I can't think of anyone who could better portray Mary Todd's warmth and humor alongside the scary-crazy of her darker moments. Sally gives the impression that at one moment she could be serving you warm brownies and in the next moment bashing her own skull with the pan.

Pistachio Follow-up

Advertising works. Even if you're aware of its tricks, it still gets you.

I was in the grocery store yesterday, specifically for bread, swiss cheese, cat litter and cotton balls, but I found myself thinking, "Maybe I should get pistachios."

Maybe it was the ad I saw on the commuter train, or maybe it's because I took the time to write a post about the ad and so it was in my head more than it would have been.

I didn't buy any pistachios, even though I felt like I really wanted them.

Anniversary of a Wedding

Tomorrow is Ben's one-week wedding anniversary.

He got married in a brief ceremony that was followed by a lovely party at his parents' gorgeous house on the most beautiful day anyone could hope for.

As a guest, I really enjoyed the little touches like the Hoodie ice cream cups that accompanied the wedding cake and the little potted plants we were invited to take home as favors.

The wedding was inspirational for many guests, some who left with plans to emulate it and other who decided to say 'I love you' to their significant other for the first time.

Congratulations again to Ben and Chris!

Train Advertisements

This week, all of the boring healthcare ads on the train changed out in favor of ads for... pistachios?

It seems funny that something like pistachios, which have been around and enjoyed for longer than I've been alive, need advertising.

Is the kooky cartoon designed to get kids hooked on pistachios? Or do pistachio growers/distributors just want to say, "Hey, remember pistachios? It's probably been a while since you had them. Maybe you should buy some."

I'd love to see a study of whether or not ads for pistachios increase pistachio consumption.