Well, that was weird

I know that my lovely, wonderful, caring parents understand me because they are always recommending top-notch films and television dramas for my viewing pleasure. They don't just throw out recommendations willy-nilly - they have an exacting, hi-tech, algorithm-filled vetting process that goes a little something like this:
1) Watch.
2) Become confused.
3) Decide the watched thing is weird.
4) Call me and say, "Have you seen this thing? You'd like it - IT'S WEIRD."
 
I am that person in my family.

If my parents were to recommend something to my sister or their friends or the mailman or the dog, they might say, "You'd like it - it's interesting/jentacular/touching/happy-making." But for me, it's just "weird," the subtext being "[like you! You zany kid with your Brooklyn and your ugly gremlin dog!]"

That's funny - you don't LOOK like your picture on the Internet

I don't often buy things online. Mostly, this is because I'm cheap, and I simply do not buy things anywhere, ever, unless they are edible.

Time and the cruel streets of New York had other plans, though. My shoes - trusty since freshman year of college - had gotten so hole-y that my students were beginning to think I was a secret hobo who lived under my desk. And goodness knows you can't trust a secret desk hobo to teach proper sonnet explication.

Sexual violins on a Sunday

Per my weekend routine, I was watching CBS Sunday Morning a few hours ago. It was delightful.

The End.


JK dudes! I had to write something because, during the peaceful, simple hour and a half of CBSSM, a commercial came on that nearly shattered my conception of everything CBSSM is about.

There was a dark screen, and a fierce orchestral screeching struck up! Murky, quasi-religious symbols floated in the background, and then excited, deep-voiced announcer guy came on to tell us about, "a new CD, from the most exciting violinist OF ALL TIME."

Bold claim, deep-voiced announcer guy! I mean, there are so many truly thrilling classical musicians running around, titillating America these days!

This particular violinist has a secret weapon, though: he is SEXY. He emerges from the blackness, square jaw clenched, luxurious blond locks swept back into a Fabio-esque ponytail (except, of course, for a single, come-hither tendril, falling over his intense, jewel-like eyes). His black, button-down shirt has been rent apart (no doubt by hormonally crazed female fans) to show his smooth, muscular chest. And thus, HE PLAYS. Rhythmically, forcefully, EXCITINGLY.

I was so blown away, I neglected to catch the name of this classical Casanova, so, sadly, though I wanted nothing more than to share this soul-plumbing experience with you, I cannot find it on YouTube (although I searched "sexy violinist" "most exciting violinist" and even "violin, sexy, long hair"). Nor does this man exist on Amazon, where searches for America's favorite violin CDs (and who knew there would be so many?) yielded only track upon track of Joshua Bell  - a floppy-haired child! He cannot satisfy our violin needs!

Readers, please, be alert. If you hear a violin, and it touches your heart in a way no violin has before - take note! This is our man - the man who will lead the sexual violin revolution. Write down his name and then find his commercial. You will not be disappointed.

Post-script: I was looking for a picture to run with this, and, apparently, only women are allowed to be sexy violin players. DID I DREAM OF THIS MAN?

I stopped caring about real-life, so now I have to care about blog life again

Hey! Remember that time I had a blog? And it was so funny and witty and everyone loved it and read it every day? That was fun!

But then I discovered the sordid pleasures of TV and yoga and eating dinner while sitting -- with people! -- instead of hunched over at my desk (I guess technically still sitting), and the whole enterprise went to HELL. I apologize.

Now, though, I have a dog -- a furry poop machine of my very own -- and I cannot be bothered with "people" or "exercising" or "actually putting on clothes before walking into broad daylight."

Today, which was only day three of the Great Puppy Experiment, I left my apartment at 6:30 in the morning wearing flipflops, my boyfriend's old basketball shorts and a tank top that was not built to withstand the harsh rays of the sun. I actually spoke with another human being looking that, while holding a massive handful of steaming dog poo. No, no, I haven't lost all shame -- it has been ripped from me like the arm of a medieval torture victim (you know, when they do that thing with the horses running in different directions? no?), and I will never get it back.

That's okay, though. If there's one thing I have learned from perusing the World Wide Web, it's that shame can only hold you back. Now that I no longer care about real-life, I can focus all my efforts on the secret, sexy life of Internet superstarletawesomeperson thelaurenbell. You're welcome.

Choices

Today is Haircut Day for thelaurenbell, and, in a manner befitting the always-prepared-to-the-point-of-boyscoutyness person that I am, I started looking for some ideas this morning.

After Googling "short hair cuts" (to fit the boyscout theme...?) I was directed to a site with pictures and whatnot. The best thing about this site is that it offered not one, but TWO pages of short haircut ideas: "short haircuts" and "cute short haircuts."

What a relief -- I was really in the market for a cut that hit somewhere in the middle on a scale of plain-to-hideous. Now I don't even have to LOOK at the cute versions, which would only confuse my poor little brain under its thatch of anti-cute hair.

Maybe I'll get ads about ads now

Dude, Google AdWords is so lame. I added it to my blog thinking, hoping, praying against every sense of rationality, decency and pride that I could make a bit of extra cash off of it. 

I don't really know why I thought it would work -- my friends are too smart to fall for banner ads (They're also too smart to get sucked into reading whatever swill I'm jotting down here every week. Damn my awesome taste in people.), and I don't think my parents trust the Internets enough to click anything.

Even if my friends and parents were the sort of mythical, click-happy, Web-trolling consumers that all these ads are made for (and who are those people? Do they really exist? I imagine they're all in some godforsaken place, like Arkansas, trapped in a 1960s fallout shelter, and the only way for them to understand the present day is to mash any Internet button they can...I don't know why the bunker has Web access.), what in the world would make Google think that my friends would want the particular ads they have chosen?

Am imagined scene in the life of "Jolly" John Bavoso: 

"La la la, I'm just reading Lauren's blog. Man, I am such a good friend to plow through this every week. Oh, look, she's angry about something again...

"OoooooooOO - why, yes! I DO want an Eliot [redacted to keep the ad from reappearing] ringtone!"

What in the name of ham sandwich is a [redacted] ringtone? Does it play high-class stripper music? Does it only sound when your pimp is calling? Is it legal in the state of New York?

I demand answers, Google! Drag out your giant brain machine and make it speak to me!

If the G-team were really all that smart they would have ads for free beer and ice cream -- those are the things that appeal to the type of people who read this blog. Or maybe an ad for funny things - "Hey People! Tired of the soul-crushing disappointment that comes from reading thelaurenbell every week? Come read funny things here!" 

As it is, I'm not expecting a cheque for my AdWords contributions any time soon. . . unless you're all secretly huge fans of Abigail Adams (really, Google? Can we get at least get this shiz updated at some point? I was angry at John Adams, like, two weeks ago).