Rant #23: Automatic Sinks

This past Friday, I went to synagogue services and then out to dinner with my family. After services, my mother, sister, and I went to the bathroom.

Now, I'm rather picky about my public bathrooms. Airplane bathrooms, for example: I definitely do not do airplane bathrooms. I can easily do a flight from JFK to Heathrow without using the facilities. I haven't used a Porta Potty since I was seven, and I've been known to demand that, during long car rides, we pull off the highway and stop at a Marriot or Hilton, because I'm terrified of gas stations. But I digress.

So I appreciate a nice bathroom. And the bathroom in this temple was perfectly adequate. Not great, but fine; it had a little waiting area with flattering lighting and mirrors, and had a nice art-deco decor. Somewhat cramped, but altogether adequate. Except for one thing.

As I went to wash my hands, I saw that there were no handles. I mentally groaned; I knew what was coming. I braced myself. I waved my hands under the faucet. Nothing. I brought them up closer to the faucet. Nothing. I slapped the faucet angrily, stomped my foot, and said, "I need water, dangit". 

As my mother says, ask and you shall receive. The water came swooshing out with remarkable force, spraying me with cold water. I leapt back; my sister laughed at me.

You see, every time I use an automatic sink, it's a dreadful experience. I don't see why they were invented in the first place. There are so many problems with them. Firstly, the water temperature: how do they know what temperature I want? ("They", of course, meaning the tiny little men who live inside the faucet and turn the water on when they see me.) They don't. And so, instead of going with a neutral, warmish temperature, these little men giggle and make the water freezing. It's actually a scientific fact that automatic sinks produce water that's less than 45 degrees 97 percent of the time. (That's right. Scientific.)

Secondly, the water pressure is always all wrong. It's either a whooshing, spraying, you'll-have-to-change-your-sweater stream, or a teeny-tiny little trickle, where it takes about 6 minutes to wash your hands because the water's so dang slow. Either way, it's bad.

Then there's the element of surprise involved. You never know when those little men will turn on the water. Sometimes they wait a good 45 seconds; sometimes they turn on the water as soon as they see you approach. And then sometimes they like you to wave your hands like an idiot under the faucet, and sometimes they like you to raise your hands so close you're almost touching the tap. Each little man has a different preference.

So call me old-fashioned; call me naive. But I'm perfectly capable of turning the handle on the faucet, and I assure you I can work regular liquid, pump soap too. Stop with the automatic, and let me wash my hands in peace.

Shout outs to my baby sister Stella, and the woman who birthed me and continues to use that against me. 

Rave #22: CostCo

Now, I need to be careful here, because as I'm here, admiring my 8-pound tub of jellybeans, a David Sedaris essay is coming to mind. I love David Sedaris; his essay (I believe it's not on CostCo, though, but that other store, you know, that southern one I'm blanking out on -- Uncle Jim's? Bob's? Something like that) is infinitely funnier than I could ever be. But I'm going to go extoll the virtues of CostCo anyway. Because I just love it.

Right now, I'm sitting on my bed, having spent the past 2 hours eating jellybeans and reading bad chick-lit. Thrown across me is my oversized blanket, purchased from CostCo; it's about 12ft by 12ft, and it's marvelous. I'm weeding through my jellybeans now, tossing out all the dark purple and brown and icky light pink bubblegum ones, and it's just swell.

CostCo is a marvelous store. Row after row of bargains, I march in with my hair tied back, my comfiest sneakers on, and my list thrown carelessly into the depths of my cart -- for, faced with such a variety, such bargains, why limit myself to some scrawled Post-it list? I pass the 300-pound woman, her own cart laden with 12-packs of pasta and 10-pound bags of Hershey kisses, and I smile benevolently at her, for she is my future, and I am her past, and we are at one with the universe, here in CostCo. 

I scamper nimbly through the aisles, stop to examine a 16-pack of toothbrushes, before throwing it gleefully into my cart. I weed through grey sweatpants, searching for a size under 16, before giving up and going for the $10 one-size-fits-all fuzzy bathrobe. I push past the rows of cleaning products and toilet paper, because I am not here to stock up on such mundane, cost-saving items, but to save on things I have real use for, like that 3-pound tub of cream cheese. 

And now, oh now we enter the baked goods sections. When I pick up the paper platter of 18 danishes, I say to myself, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "hmm, I wonder if this will be enough for the party", and I know that people around me are wondering what kind of party this is, what my mysterious, danish-filled life consists of. I smile mysteriously, and step away from the danish, not because of their impracticality, but because these 18-packs have 6 raspberry, 6 cheese, and 6 lemon danish, and I hate lemon danish.

I merrily skip through the produce section, gently placing great tubs of blackberries and strawberries in my cart. My heart skips a beat when I see my favorite pre-sliced mangos, and I almost hug my new friend, the 300-pound woman who now is closely examining a 24-pack of apples. I grin at her, and let her know with my eyes that she should go for it; a 24-pack of Granny Smiths for only $15 is really a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and she will regret it forever if she passes them by. I think she understands my heartfelt message, because my friend places the apples tenderly in her cart.

By the time I reach the check-out, I'm ready to fall right down on my new 8-pack of extra-firm pillows (not sure where I'll put them, but everyone needs pillows, right?). The cashier mmhmms as she pushes my items through, remarks, "yeah, these seem to be going fast", and I mentally pat myself on the back for being such a savvy shopper. 

Rave #21: My Favorite Words

Recently, I was chatting with some friends, when the word "serendipity" came up. (I'm not entirely sure how, though it may have stemmed from a conversation about Starbucks [a topic that comes up with remarkable frequency in our conversations] and their hot chocolates, which then led to the topic of the Serendipity cafe or whatever it's called, famous for its hot chocolate.) As my friends nattered on, I was distracted by the word "serendipity". Serendipity. Serendipitous. Say it out loud. Dipity. Seren. Serendip. Rendipity. Each part is good, but combined, serendipity is one stellar word.

I just love certain words. Serendipitous is my favorite (that's right, even over serendipity; the "-dipitous" ending is even better than the "-dipity" ending), but I have several other words I adore. I like fat words -- words like "bubble", or "droop", or "plop". These words just sound nice and fat, and they kind of pop in your mouth when you say them. Written out, too, they look round and happy. P is a fat letter, and so are o and g; b is positively obese.

Some tall words are nice too. They're less happy than fat words, but they're thin and elegant: "trill", or "twee", or "lilt". L, t, and i are all thin letters, and the "ee" sound is the thinnest, reediest of them all. Written out, thin words don't necessarily look thin and elegant; "twee" certainly doesn't look thin on the page. You really need to say these words aloud.

And then some words are just fun. Some sound fun; some look fun. "Skiing" looks fun and exotic, but sounds merely adequate. "Scrounge" sounds fun, but doesn't jump out at you from the page. "Bling", "hop", and "spiffy" both look and sound exciting.

Serendipitous is still my favorite of them all.

What are your favorite words? Help me out, here. Don't make me out to be the crazy woman muttering "dipity? dipitious. rendip. serendipit. endipitious" to herself in Starbucks. Everyone has favorite words. Share yours with me.

Rant #21: Facebook Misdemeanors

Yesterday, I got a Facebook inbox message. It was along the lines of, "omg u guys change ur status 2 da color of ur bra!!!!!!! and dnt tell guys so their cnofuesd!!!! LOLZ".

I was, naturally, horrified. Why on earth would I do that?! But when I rolled my eyes, and went back to my homepage, I saw the statuses. "Black!" "Pink lace!" "none ;)". I shuddered. I went down a little further, innocently looking for a cow to adopt on FarmVille, when I saw my aunts' statuses. Aunt N -- "Leopard print!". Aunt Melon -- "Beige!". When I saw my mother's -- "mostly grey, sometimes black" -- I knew it was time to get a'bloggin'.

For this is an example of an epidemic sweeping our nation: the epidemic of TMI. I've blogged about it before, but I fear that it's time to get specific. As in, posting the color of your bra on facebook: not okay. I don't care if it's some huge girl power thing. (By the way, sorry for, ah, spilling the secret to the men of the world. Consider it my blogger's duty). Being on the virtual world, you have responsibilities. 10 of them, in fact. Let's go with what we know and call them commandments.

The 10 Commandments of Facebook, in No Particular Order:

1. Thou shalt not post pictures of thyself, with the comment along the lines of "omg im so ugllyyyy lol".
2. Thou shalt not make thou's profile picture a picture of thy cat, dog, or child that thou are not in.
3. Thou shalt not partake in "facebook wars", and shalt not indulge in petty bickering in the virtual world.
4. Thou shalt not use the terms "lolz" "omgz" or "lmao".
5. Thou shalt not join a ridiculous number of groups, or become fans of such inane things such as "i hate it wen i thnk of a rly good comebak after da argumnt" or "He/She May Be Ugly To You, But To Me They Cant Be Anymore Perfect <3">
6. Thy's status shalt not be more than 2 lines long.
7. Thou shalt never use more than 3 exclamation points. We understand. You're happy.
8. Thou shalt not post pictures of thyself giving birth.
9. Thou shalt not join groups like "If I get 10,000 people in this group, my dad will pay for surgery for my dog" or "If 1,000,000 people join, my girlfriend will marry me!" or "WE NEED 500,000 PEOPLE FOR OBAMA TO BE FIRED". Come on now, people. Think a little.
10. Thou shalt not post pictures of thyself taken with thou's cell-phone in the mirror in an un-ironic manner.

That should give you a starting base. See me for the other 613.

Update: I've recently been informed that this posting your bra color thing is to "raise awareness for breast cancer". A nice sentiment, but no go. Firstly, if you don't tell people what it's for, you're not raising awareness. You're just being random. Secondly, the vast majority of people don't know that it's for breast cancer when they post their bra color; they're just doing it because they, like me, got emails that say "omg u guys change ur status 2 da color of ur bra!!!!!!! and dnt tell guys so their cnofuesd!!!! LOLZ". Thirdly, I'm not a believer in this whole "raise awareness" thing. People know that breast cancer is bad. Changing your status to "lime green with pink polka dots!" is not helping find a cure for breast cancer. Donate money, time, and work, but not your facebook status.

Rave #20: Commercials

My dad's side of the family plays a game that I adore. It combines my favorite aspects of any familial gathering: junk television and competition. You all gather around the television, and watch the commercial. Whoever shouts out what the correct product being advertised is first wins. (Then, of course, there are sub-rules; you have to be specific; that is, you have to scream "HONDA!" and not "GAS-GUZZLING SUV!"). 

I just love commercials. The more boring, insipid, and useless the product the better. (I think you all know of my love for As-Seen-on-TV products). I love getting angry with the company and boycotting the product if the commercial is over-sexualized, or demeaning to women, or whatnot. (It's pretty much the closest I'll get to making a political statement). But I love the heart-wrenching commercials too. And the cute commercials. And the semi-artsy ones. 

In fact, I'm going to make a list.

Emma's List of Her Top 5 Favorite Commercials, in No Particular Order:

1. That AT&T commercial where Amos Lee's Sweet Pea song is playing, and it's about the dad who goes on a business trip, leaving his daughter and wife behind. When he's opening his briefcase on the way to the airport he finds a little stuffed monkey his daughter stuck in there, and proceeds to take a picture of it at various landmarks (Eiffel tower, some bridge, etc.) and sends them to his wife and daughter from his cell phone. And then he takes a picture of it on the front porch, and they get it and run outside and it's so sweet, you guys. The first 10 or so times I saw it, I was bawling. Then I moved on to quiet sniffling. Now, I just sort of tear up a little, so we're definitely making progress. But it's great. An absolutely fabulous commercial. Actually, a lot of AT&T commercials are excellent. I also really like the "IDK, my BFF Jill?!" one that's all over the InterWeb, along with all those "use your roll-over minutes!" ones. At least, I'm pretty sure those are all AT&T.
2. The online college commercial, or something like that. I'm not even sure what exactly it's for. But the girl is singing about how she needs more cash while balancing a tray of ketchup. I know every word.
3. Along a similar musical vein, the Freecreditreport.com commercials. My personal favorite is the Renaissance Faire one (I LOVE Ren Fests. Blogpost to come), but they're all good.
4. All of my As Seen on TV product commercials. This includes the BumpIt (which, incidentally, I recently discovered is "patent pending", which I find unbelievable for such a fabulous product) , the Snuggie, the PedEgg, the Push-up Pros, and spray-on hair.
5. The army & navy commercials. I find them ridiculously inspirational. Although kosher pigs will fly before I enlist in the army, I love these commercials. Plus, the way they flip the guns around is really cool. I especially like watching these commercials with a certain friend, who always hisses "propaganda" at the television, before stomping angrily out of the room and making herself some Easy Mac.

What are your favorite commercials? Why? What are your least favorites?

Rave #19: New Year's

First of all: I'm sorry, okay guys?! I have a lot going on, and I haven't been blogging with my normal regularity. So stop staring blankly at my last post on holiday letters, refreshing the page every 20 seconds in the hopes that a new post will appear. I'm only human.

That said, happy 2010!

I love New Year's Eve. Now, obviously I'm not one to go out and get drunk and partake in all those ridiculous traditional antics. In fact, this year I spent New Year's playing an intense game of Monopoly. (I was about to win, having cleverly bought up a strip of hotels taking up a fourth of the board, before the rest of my teammates ganged up against me and refused to sell. Shout out to Chris, my faithful blog-reader and Monopoly buddy.) 

You see, my favorite part about New Year's is making resolutions. I'm terrific at making resolutions; in fact, it's my main God-given talent. My own resolutions, resolutions for my friends, resolutions for my relatives, whatever -- I make 'em all.

In fact, you're going to get a rare opportunity to see what's going on in my mind, with this little list of my top 5 New Year's Resolutions. (You may use them yourself, as long as you cite your sources when proudly reciting them to your mother.)

Emma's Top 5 New Year's Resolutions, in No Particular Order:

1. To read more. While I do technically read, the vast majority of my reading material is bad chick-lit. (In fact, Chasing Harry Winston is lying next to me as I write this). Maybe I'll even get through all those Lord of the Rings books in 2010.
2. To eat better/exercise. I know, I know, boring, but it's a classic. I always throw it on my list. It's just low-hanging fruit.
3. To stop picking at my nails and biting at my lips. It's gotten to the point where I buy Chap-Stick at CostCo in 16-packs because my lips are always so dang chapped. And my nails are absolutely pathetic, as any of my friends will attest to.
4. To become friends with my parents' dog, Harley. (Marley, as some of them call him. See my other post on this). **note: this is the only one I actually have any chance of achieving. I'm already the dog's second-favorite, after my mom. I think it's because I look like her. And because of my sparkling charisma and winning personality, of course.**
5. To be nicer.

What about you guys? What are your New Year's resolutions? To the comments.