September 29, 2010

But which bar is ME?!

I present to you, the most confusing bar graph in the history of bar graphs. (The long, sordid history of bar graphs.)

I scored somewhere between better than 93% of the public and below 3% of the public. Out of 15 questions. I'm higher than better, but less than below, but only of 3%. Using math, I've deduced that my bar is 4%... of something. I just want to know how much better I am than other people, in the form of concrete statistical proof. Is that too much to ask?

Take the quiz. It's fun and churchy. (I know, redundant.) I scored 3 degrees less than one half of the minority population, taking into account the average mass of a small dog. What did you score?

September 23, 2010

Something to read

I love this post. (I love most posts by this author, but this one is especially nice.)

September 7, 2010

Hey, boss

If you hang out with Jill and me for an extended period of time (YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY!), you will likely hear one of the following phrases:

"Indeed, top hat."
"I'm so omnommy."
"Oh no, tubes!"

These are a few of our own personal idioms. They succinctly express things like: "What I just said was kind of pointless, and a little bit passive aggressive, but let's not let things get tense." Or: "Aren't my sudden moments of insecurity awkward and hilarious?" And sometimes: "Holy crap, this conversation has gotten so stupid that we might as well be hillbillies sitting barefoot in a mud puddle, picking our teeth with straw, talking about all the different types of meat we like to eat." I can usually remember how each particular phrase/made-up word came to mean what it now means, but they've become so ingrained in our daily lexicon that they're less about the story that became the phrase and more about our shared history and emotional understanding.

Here's how a phrase or word becomes an inside idiom. Last week, I was telling Jill about this youtube video of a woman throwing her neighbor's cat in the garbage. Some self-ordained internet posse took it upon themselves to track this woman down and harass her for her heinous crime against humanity. Well, against cats. Catmanity. I was telling Jill the things they did to her, like post her real address and phone number online, spam her email accounts, and call her boss. Jill stopped me here and demanded explanation, "They called her boss?" I confirmed it. She got a weird look on her face, but let me continue with the story. She said internet people were weird, but admitted, "I guess that would get annoying. A bunch of people calling you "boss" over and over again." I clarified that they called her employer, but we were already laughing at the misunderstanding. Laughing quite uproariously, while acting out the bully tactic of calling someone "boss."

And thus "Hey, boss" (said in a menacing, taunting tone) was born. It's also appropriately used in im-chat as "BOSS" at the end of a sentence. It means: "I'm teasing you, but in a light-hearted silly way."

September 5, 2010

The American

Jill and I saw The American last night, the spy movie with George Clooney. (George Clooney was with the movie, not Jill and me. In case anyone was confused.) I can't really spoil this movie, because there was NO PLOT. If anyone ever writes a screenplay that includes several long scenes of the male protagonist sitting alone in a room, thinking about his troubled past, that movie must star George Clooney. Jill broke the movie down into seven scenes: George Clooney sitting alone in a room thinking, George Clooney building a gun, George Clooney listening to a priest talk while he sits silently and thinks, George Clooney driving a car (all the while thinking), George Clooney with a beautiful woman, George Clooney walking in the dark thinking he's being followed, and George Clooney on the phone. Create about 5-6 variations of each of those scenes, shuffle them in random order, and you've got the very boring movie I saw last night.