Hard to be Humble

Many people inevitably find a way, justified or not, for blaming their self-esteem problems on their parents.

Aside from being self-conscious about my super-height, I generally have good self-esteem and I credit my parents. My mom always gave me lots of compliments and, unlike some girls' mothers, frequently told me I was too thin instead of suggesting I watch what I eat.

My dad set a positive example simply by having good self-esteem. I am thinking of a little song he used to sing to himself while shaving over the sink, or combing a part into his hair:
Oh Lord, how it's hard to be humble
When you're perfect in every way
Each morning I look in the mirror
I get better looking each day...

I always wondered if he made the song up or not, and if not, what kind of song was it? Sinatra-esque? Jazz-y?

A quick Google search just gave me the answer: It was written by Mac Davis, a country singer, and the rest of the chorus, which my dad never sung, is:

To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
but I'm doin' the best that I can

Full lyrics are here. Maybe I'll sing this to myself every morning to start my day confidently.

And, as a side-note: there are some truly hilarious country music lyrics.

A Prayer to Google

I just came across this funny prayer to almighty Google, written by the managing editor at CIO magazine, where I used to work.

Flash Mob

Yesterday, we took part in our first flash mob.

First, 400 people gathered outside Faneuil Hall for a synchronized, silent dance party. Everyone downloaded a 13-minute-long MP3 with music and instructions. The dance party ended with a conga line, which really was four conga lines, since there were so many people.

A few minutes later, less than half of the people from the silent dance party met up, and went on to perform a freeze mission in Quincy Market. We were told to freeze somewhere near the first 6 food booths at the front entrance, but there were so many of us, that we moved into the center of Quincy Market. We froze going up the stairs towards the Comedy Connection and several other people froze in the center by the tables.

Mike froze with the camera up and was able to get a great video of the start of the five-minute freeze:

I was frozen next to Mike with my water bottle in mid-air, my mouth open. Not everyone broke the freeze at the same time. I broke when the girl in the red jacket walked away, but the guy on crutches and the guy in the background, also with a mid-air water bottle, broke later.

Quincy Market was a good choice of location, but it was a too cramped because of the Saturday afternoon foot traffic. A great freeze mission was accomplished by the New York group Improv Everywhere, who froze for five minutes in Grand Central Station.

How can you not love the Clooney? Part 2

"Clark Gable wouldn't have been Clark Gable if there was Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight."

--George Clooney

Great article here. Part 1 here.

Born Yesterday

Here are two bullshit stories I've been told in the past 24 hours. The first ocurred last night outside the Providence train station, and it went a little something like this:

Excuse me, sir? Do you have a minute? I sure hope you can help me. I really hope you can. Are you familiar with this area at all? I live just, just down the street there. Are you familiar with Hope Street? I work north of Boston. In Andover. And my car. I'm actually walking home now. And. I really can't believe this. I'm parked over there. On the other side of the mall there. Across around on the other side. Really, it's my car that I'm worried about most. Do you think you can spare me a couple bucks for gas?

And the second, this morning, outside South Station, was remarkably similar in its structure:

Sir? Could you help me out? Man, I'm in a bind. I'm from Fort Lauderdale. I have a great job down there. I make amazing money. My friend who I was riding with just got arrested. And I'm stuck. Bus tickets are like $70. I make great money. If you give me your name and address and phone number I'll give you my name and address and phone number. I'll pay you back double. I'll send it to you. Could you help me with a few bucks?

There's always a giant lead-in before they come to the actual question. The first guy's lead-in took so long and was so rambling that I actually said "And..." halfway through to make him get to the point. And there's almost always a friend involved -- a friend unable to help (usually the friend is injured or arrested or has lost his or her wallet). The standardization makes you wonder if there's some kind of user's guide to conning. The stories must work, but I don't see how.

Sympathy is the Best Medicine(?)

I'm sick with bronchitis. I was home from work yesterday, wallowing on the couch drinking tea. I called my mother who told me to call the doctor, drink orange juice and put a cold washcloth on my head.

I got snippy with her, "I didn't call you for advice, I called for sympathy!"
"Oh, babycakes," she said, "I'm so sorry you're sick. I wish I could do something to help you!"
"That's what I needed," I said. "Thank you."

Later in the afternoon, I was feeling worse when my dad called. "I hear you need sympathy," he said.
"I do! Sympathy is the best medicine."
"It really is," he said. "You poor thing. You poor, poor thing. You must feel terrible."
"I do!" I whimpered, "So terrible!"
"Bless your little heart," he teased.

My parents know the importance of pity. Mike does not.

When Mike got home from work around 7, I listed my symptoms and he said, "Did you take anything?"
"No."
"Seriously?" And he marched off to the kitchen. I would have called out for him to come back, called that I just needed company and attention and pity, but by that point, I had no voice.
He returned from the kitchen with a little cup of thick blue liquid. "Drink this."
"It's not going to help!" I whined.
"Drink it or I won't give you sympathy."
I drank it. Immediately my throat felt better. Within 15 minutes, I was sitting up for the first time all day.

"Medicine is the best medicine," Mike said with an annoying, all-knowing smile. And instead of arguing, I smiled back.

Just an example of how, like the song, Mike doesn't always give me what I want, but always knows what I need.