Transparent

Last night Jonathan and I went to one of those Japanese steakhouses where they cook your food in front of you. Apparently it's called a hibachi or teppanyaki grill, not a table-stove, which is what I called it. Anyway, I thought it was lots of fun. What better way to spend an evening than with food, fire, and an old Japanese guy chopping stuff up?

Jonathan had less fun. The guy sitting next to him had apparently been to Japan and wouldn't stop regaling his companion with trivia about the differences between actual Japanese cooking and our experience. This does not make for a very enjoyable eating experience. We didn't go to the restaurant for authenticity; we went for a good time.

Anyway, the highlight of the show comes at the end, when the cook flips a shrimp into everybody's mouth. I was slated to be the fourth person to attempt to catch one. Jonathan had already not quite caught his, so I knew that at least I wouldn't be alone in failing to catch it. But my lack of mouth-eye coordination was readily apparent, and he flipped it onto my plate instead.

Question for you all: Is it really that obvious that I'm not the kind of person who can catch a flying shrimp in my mouth?

Impossible

Apparently I am impossible to please. I will never be happy in any job. I have a terminally bad attitude. This is according to my mother and my brother. Admittedly, I wasn't happy working in retail, at an outbound call center, or for the first few weeks of my internship. Now that I've explored every career and job type known to mankind, what's left?

Soup and More Soup

Jonathan and I went to a seafood restaurant for dinner the other night. I ordered the fisherman's stew (tomato based soup with vegetables and fish) and pasta with clams, shrimp, and tomato "sauce".

When I got my pasta I quickly realized that "sauce" was code for "fisherman's stew". They tasted the same, were the same consistency, and both required a spoon to eat. This is what happens when you believe the menu, kids. On the other hand, it's a good business model for the restaurant. They only need one pot instead of two, which is sure to save money and/or time somewhere.

Crack addiction

I have become something I hate. I realize hate is a strong word, but in this case it's completely justified.

I have always hated it when people crack their various joints. The sound makes me shudder. But I suppose I finally understand why they do it. The other day, my fingers felt compressed from typing all day long. I wanted to stretch them out, and ended up cracking all my knuckles. It made a horrific sound, but it felt good.

And so I have joined the ranks of joint-crackers. Sometimes I can hardly stand myself.

Curiouser and curiouser

Apparently my last post was premature. Let's pick up from "seriously kid who are you?"

Julie (apparently just ignoring Caroline): Definitely!
Caroline: Sarah!, im offended, you really dont remember me from 6th grade?, you were my first crush!!
Sarah: my memory is borderline photographic, and according to your birthday you are too young to have been in my class, by 4 years
Caroline: Im still in love with you, we should do somethin like go on a date, yes??
Sarah:uh, sorry. not interested and it's illegal. (Sarah is six months younger than I am, which makes Caroline not an adult yet.)

I guess I don't want to be Caroline anymore.

Actual Facebook conversation

I was skimming through facebook this afternoon when I saw the following conversation (names have been changed to protect the innocent, the strange, and me [just in case any of these people reads my blog]).

Sarah: I had a dream my life would be so different from this way I'm living, so different now than what it seems. Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.
Caroline: are you an emo?
Sarah: first, who are you? second, it's broadway, Les Miserables.
Julie: It was awesome seeing you on the bus this morning! And p.s. I LOVE Les Miserables :)
Sarah: it was awesome seeing you too! we should hang out soon or something k?
Caroline: yeah, sounds good, when should we hangout?
Sarah: seriously kid who are you?

I have several thoughts about this exchange. One is that I want to post vaguely creeper-ish things on my facebook acquaintances' walls. It could be quietly amusing. Another is that I want to react that way the next time a friend comments on one of my posts. The problem with this is that if said friend was not in the loop, it could hurt their feelings. Thought three is that I want to post something on Caroline's wall. Also, I'm going to start calling people "kid".

So many options, so little time...

That's one way of looking at it

Latest quote from Jonathan: "Babies are just big blobs."

Yummy

Today I went to the Utah food bank for a work sponsored community service day. We spent the morning putting 1100 pounds of frozen cauliflower into 2 pound bags. It was pretty cool. I never want to eat cauliflower again, but I didn't like it that much to begin with.

In the afternoon we spent our time sorting Number 10 cans (12 cups, approximately 3-10 pounds, depending on the contents). That was pretty cool too. People apparently respond to food drives by finally getting rid of that food storage they inherited from their grandparents.

We found a huge can of cornstarch that expired in 1976. My parents hadn't graduated from high school in 1976. Preliminary research (aka googling) indicates that cornstarch lasts about two years. That means this cornstarch could conceivably have been originally purchased in 1974. Apparently Gerald Ford became president in 1974. He was president so long ago that I don't even know what happened during his time in office.

Find number two was a can of "beef flavored textured vegetable protein." It was from the time before expiration dates. Apparently they still make it. How could anyone not be a vegetarian when we have options like that available?

We also found a huge can of "all purpose food". The back label said it could be eaten as a vegetable with ketchup, as a cereal with milk, as a meat with gravy, or as a dessert topper. Thanks, but no thanks.

Competition

I was at work on Friday (shocking, I know) when the conversation turned to 4th of July festivities. Someone asked me if I was from Utah. I replied that I am. He asked if the fireworks in Provo are any good. I responded that I don't know, as I've never spent the 4th in Provo. He asked if Salt Lake has any good displays.

"My family never went to the displays because we didn't want to pay to get in. So we always just watched the fireworks from our porch. So I couldn't say much about any particular display, but altogether we always had fun."

At this point one of my coworkers interjected. "You have to pay to see fireworks in Utah?" I replied that you don't have to pay, as you can see them from other locations. But to get into the parks or venues or whatever they are, you usually do have to pay.

"But that's communist!"

At this point I pointed out that however patriotic or not it may be, selling things, including admission to fireworks displays, is a lot more capitalistic than communist. A third coworker declared me the winner of the conversation.

Last blog ever

I recently learned of the magic "Next Blog" button. After a bit of experimentation, I determined that it takes you to blogs that are somehow similar to the last blog you were looking at. I thought, Hey, I wonder what blogger thinks my blog is similar to? So I tried it a few times. First it took me to a blog about how to make free or cheap international calls on cell phones. Boring, and also irrelevant. I refused to accept that. So I clicked back and tried again. The magic button whisked me away to the exciting world of Direct Plus Updates. This was similarly unacceptable. So I tried again. It took me to a technology/programming blog. No good. Fourth time is the charm? No, it just took me to Direct Plus Updates again.

Jonathan thought maybe it was just my computer, so he tried clicking "Next Blog" starting on my page. He got the international calls, then direct plus, then the international calls.

So apparently I am the most boring person in existence and my personal experiences are on par with instructions about how to call Sri Lanka on a cell phone. And that's why I can never blog again.