Greetings No-Lookers, from damp, yet picturesque Yorkshire. We feel like an extra in a movie. The town we're in this morning is called Beverly and it reminds us much of the "perfect" English village from Hot Fuzz. The house where we're writing you from sits on a street that is a dead ringer for Privet Drive. Here's hoping we see neither Timothy Dalton nor a Dementor this afternoon.
Much has happened in our first two days here, including an incredible Rugby League Grand Final from the Theatre of Dreams, but nothing measures quite to the excitement of the first three hours, which were spent in an asylum detainment room in the Manchester airport, with nothing to look at but white walls and reflective glass.
It's a rather entertaining story, and we were about to retell it here, but now that we think of it, since this here blog was among the things inspected by UK immigration police during the interrogation, it's probably in our best interest to refrain.
Officers, if you're out there, thanks again for eventually relenting, and granting us passage...we hope you become regular readers.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Bon Voyage
This is our first posting in the month of October. The sixth month in wich we've posted on this here blog, not too shabby eh? However, today we are writing not with a rousing story or an interpretation of a current event, but rather to inform you the readers that things will be changing a little. Tomorrow morning we are leaving on a NLNC field trip to the United Kingdom and since we're not certain what our Internet access will be like, or what our daily schedules will be like, the postings will probably become fewer -- we're not really sure. What we are sure of is that the focus of our writings are going to change. The focus will change from it's current state of...well no real focus at all, to much more of a travel diary, kinda like our stories from South America last year, if you remember those.
If you've been accustomed to reading new posts each weekday (well you're probably used to not having much to read thanks to the last two weeks, we know we're sorry, our mojo just hasn't been right) we'd like to thank you for your support and we hope that even though the consistency of postings will probably not be here, we hope you'll check-in from time-to-time and see what's up with the NLNC BRITISH ADVENTURE!!!
With this being our last day (for awhile) on United States soil, we are enjoying a day chalk-full of Americana -- three playoff baseball games (Go Cubbies) and a disgusting amount of our favorite BBQ in the world (brisket, ribs and chopped beef).
If you've been accustomed to reading new posts each weekday (well you're probably used to not having much to read thanks to the last two weeks, we know we're sorry, our mojo just hasn't been right) we'd like to thank you for your support and we hope that even though the consistency of postings will probably not be here, we hope you'll check-in from time-to-time and see what's up with the NLNC BRITISH ADVENTURE!!!
With this being our last day (for awhile) on United States soil, we are enjoying a day chalk-full of Americana -- three playoff baseball games (Go Cubbies) and a disgusting amount of our favorite BBQ in the world (brisket, ribs and chopped beef).Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tales From the Crypt
We haven't paid any attention to the NFL in about five years and seeing this picture of Al Davis today scared the hell out of us. He's always been freaky looking, but damn!!!Is there another owner in professional sports who personifies everything about their franchise? The Oakland Raiders play in the worst stadium in the league, they play in easily the most dangerous neighborhood of any team, their players are usually old as the hills, those players seem to always lead the league in penalties (especially of the unsportsmanlike nature), their mascot and logo is a pirate, we're pretty sure they're the only team who's kicker has a criminal record, and don't even get us started on their fans.
However come to think of it, Jerry Jones is a face-lifted pretentious fuck, and those sentiments pretty much sum up everything about the Cowboys.
The Monday Ogle - Nostalgia
We are the sentimental types. When asked of favorite this and favorite that, the majority of the time our answers reflect something that either happened in our childhood, or makes us remember fondly, those childhood days (hence Mr Bueller behind our blog's title). Tonight instead of ogling a beautiful person we offer up a beautiful peace of literature for you to read.
Where once was a platform for many a talented scribe, the world of sports writing, like most of the world today, has been "dummied down" so that focus groups are appeased and the masses are drawn in. This in turn leaves the intelligent reader marginalized, and left searching.
Tonight we stumbled upon an ESPN.com article about growing-up and growing-old that touched us. It made us envious of the authors stories and memories, got us thinking about some of our own, and left us nostalgic for good sports writing.
Even if you're not a sports fan, it is a beautiful article that's about much more than sport. Here is the link: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=moehringer/080929&sportCat=mlb&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab5pos1
And our favorite paragraph:
All love is indefensible, especially stadium love, which has nothing to do with aesthetics. The first stadium you see is the one you love, end of story. Maybe not see, but enter, since every baseball stadium is a complex delivery mechanism for that first view of its inner pastoral utopia. You leave the hot gritty streets, you walk through the long dark tunnel, you burst forth into that vista of sunlight and cool grass -- that's the moment you become a fan. It's as irrevocable, as seminal, as when you come through that other long dark tunnel, into the arms of a doctor who grabs your ankles and slaps your ass. And you have just as much choice in the matter.
Where once was a platform for many a talented scribe, the world of sports writing, like most of the world today, has been "dummied down" so that focus groups are appeased and the masses are drawn in. This in turn leaves the intelligent reader marginalized, and left searching.
Tonight we stumbled upon an ESPN.com article about growing-up and growing-old that touched us. It made us envious of the authors stories and memories, got us thinking about some of our own, and left us nostalgic for good sports writing.
Even if you're not a sports fan, it is a beautiful article that's about much more than sport. Here is the link: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=moehringer/080929&sportCat=mlb&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab5pos1
And our favorite paragraph:
All love is indefensible, especially stadium love, which has nothing to do with aesthetics. The first stadium you see is the one you love, end of story. Maybe not see, but enter, since every baseball stadium is a complex delivery mechanism for that first view of its inner pastoral utopia. You leave the hot gritty streets, you walk through the long dark tunnel, you burst forth into that vista of sunlight and cool grass -- that's the moment you become a fan. It's as irrevocable, as seminal, as when you come through that other long dark tunnel, into the arms of a doctor who grabs your ankles and slaps your ass. And you have just as much choice in the matter.
Monday, September 29, 2008
National Stay at Home Week
We don't watch much television, well that is TV from an actual television set. We don't even have a set. We'll watch an occasional episode of The Daily Show or maybe a Conan episode here or there, but we usually do so through the Series of Tubes.
Saturday's however, are a different matter, because of college football. This weekend was different because of the music festival, but usually we start in the morning with the early Big Ten game and remained parked in front of the box until about midnight with the conclusion of the late Pac 10 game. It's over twelve hours of college football, and it's glorious!
On Saturday, while watching the first half of the Arkansas vs. Texas game on ABC, we were informed by the network that this week is National Stay at Home Week. Hooray!!! National Stay at Home Week!!! Who knew?
So the TV networks have not only created a holiday, but a holiweek, and the only tradition is to watch TV. How novel, errr sitcom of them. Yes, gas is too expensive to go anywhere, and everyone's 401K has vanished, so lets all listen to the TV and watch more of it. Excercise, pish-posh -- read a book, what are we Amish? (If we were Amish, we'd be a crunk Amish like Harrison Ford in Witness.) So we decided to take TV's advice, and we stayed at home to watch some TV tonight.
To get into the spirit of the holiweek, we decided to start things off by watching "America's most watched comedy," Two and a Half Men. We had never seen the show, but with the acting tour de force that is Topper Harley and Duckie, how could the show not be awesome.
Well, surprise surprise, it wasn't awesome. That's thirty minutes of our lives we'll never get back (to wander the Internet looking for things like this). Watching "America's most watched comedy," mostly just reinforced that most people really suck.
Saturday's however, are a different matter, because of college football. This weekend was different because of the music festival, but usually we start in the morning with the early Big Ten game and remained parked in front of the box until about midnight with the conclusion of the late Pac 10 game. It's over twelve hours of college football, and it's glorious!
On Saturday, while watching the first half of the Arkansas vs. Texas game on ABC, we were informed by the network that this week is National Stay at Home Week. Hooray!!! National Stay at Home Week!!! Who knew?
So the TV networks have not only created a holiday, but a holiweek, and the only tradition is to watch TV. How novel, errr sitcom of them. Yes, gas is too expensive to go anywhere, and everyone's 401K has vanished, so lets all listen to the TV and watch more of it. Excercise, pish-posh -- read a book, what are we Amish? (If we were Amish, we'd be a crunk Amish like Harrison Ford in Witness.) So we decided to take TV's advice, and we stayed at home to watch some TV tonight.
To get into the spirit of the holiweek, we decided to start things off by watching "America's most watched comedy," Two and a Half Men. We had never seen the show, but with the acting tour de force that is Topper Harley and Duckie, how could the show not be awesome.
Well, surprise surprise, it wasn't awesome. That's thirty minutes of our lives we'll never get back (to wander the Internet looking for things like this). Watching "America's most watched comedy," mostly just reinforced that most people really suck.
ACL Part 2
Nine acts jumped out at us this weekend, some were expected some not. Here's a quick rundown in descending order:
7c.) Band of Horses - This is the group we had highlighted before the festival as the show-to-see for Sunday, and they didn't disappoint. They've got this great mix of Southern rock and eerie crooning. You may know them from Funeral, which if we're not mistaken, was on a car commercial not long ago. Bonus points for how happy they were to be performing, it's a quality that always resonates with the audience. Deduction because their show was at 7:30 on Sunday and our backs were screaming and mounting a mutiny.
7b.) Jamie Lidell - This dude looks like a hobo, but damn!!! He is funky. We had never heard of the scrawny Brit prior to Friday afternoon, but as we were driving to the festival, one of the local radio stations profiled him, played a few of his tunes, and we were sold. He sounds a lot like Jay Kay of Jamiroquai (which is never a bad thing), but the music differs. Many of his songs had the strange feeling of 1980's sitcom themes, that had been funked-up a bit. Bonus points for band members wearing jump suits and robes. Huge bonus points for giving us the opportunity to drop some Perfect Strangers jokes to those standing in our vicinity.
7a.) The Kills - They were the definition of "Too Cool for School." It was 1:30 Sunday, the heat was blazing, the sun was high in the sky, and this minimalist lo-fi du0 was none-to-pleased. They cursed the sun, cursed their hangovers, and cursed their agent for booking them in such a "suicidal" time slot. For most bands this type of behavior would've been just that, suicide, and the crowd would've turned, but for The Kills, it worked. They play loud, dark, stripped-down, in-your-face rock, and their "Fuck You" attitude just amplified the performance. It's hard not to compare them (favorably) to The White Stripes, what with the girl/guy combo and on-stage sexual tension, but while they're clearly not the Stripes, they do bring it. Bonus points for Alison Mosshart being so damn fine.
To be continued...
7c.) Band of Horses - This is the group we had highlighted before the festival as the show-to-see for Sunday, and they didn't disappoint. They've got this great mix of Southern rock and eerie crooning. You may know them from Funeral, which if we're not mistaken, was on a car commercial not long ago. Bonus points for how happy they were to be performing, it's a quality that always resonates with the audience. Deduction because their show was at 7:30 on Sunday and our backs were screaming and mounting a mutiny.
7b.) Jamie Lidell - This dude looks like a hobo, but damn!!! He is funky. We had never heard of the scrawny Brit prior to Friday afternoon, but as we were driving to the festival, one of the local radio stations profiled him, played a few of his tunes, and we were sold. He sounds a lot like Jay Kay of Jamiroquai (which is never a bad thing), but the music differs. Many of his songs had the strange feeling of 1980's sitcom themes, that had been funked-up a bit. Bonus points for band members wearing jump suits and robes. Huge bonus points for giving us the opportunity to drop some Perfect Strangers jokes to those standing in our vicinity.
7a.) The Kills - They were the definition of "Too Cool for School." It was 1:30 Sunday, the heat was blazing, the sun was high in the sky, and this minimalist lo-fi du0 was none-to-pleased. They cursed the sun, cursed their hangovers, and cursed their agent for booking them in such a "suicidal" time slot. For most bands this type of behavior would've been just that, suicide, and the crowd would've turned, but for The Kills, it worked. They play loud, dark, stripped-down, in-your-face rock, and their "Fuck You" attitude just amplified the performance. It's hard not to compare them (favorably) to The White Stripes, what with the girl/guy combo and on-stage sexual tension, but while they're clearly not the Stripes, they do bring it. Bonus points for Alison Mosshart being so damn fine.
To be continued...
ACL Part 1
Nothing in the world smells anything like it. The inharmonious amalgam of sweat, pot, beer, sunscreen and more pot, hits each of the sixty-plus thousand noses in attendance at the annual Austin City Limits Music Festival with a surprisingly pleasant punch, and leaves each anxiously waiting for next year, when they can smell it again.
It's now Sunday night(actually Monday morning), and we feel like we do each year after the festival. We're exhausted and sun burned, our lower backs are screaming, our collective feet throbbing, we stink to high heavens, our ears are ringing, we've got that prevailing uughhh feeling thanks to copious amounts of mind altering substances, and yet we feel fantastic...it's the best weekend of the year, no doubt.
Yes the music is wonderful; there's a terrific combination of established stars, niche performers with cult followings, and up-and-comers, but it's the entire music festival vibe that gets us going. First off, there's an inordinate amount of good-looking women dressed in very little (the silver-lining to the dark cloud that is the blistering Texas heat), and how can anything with this many hotties be anything short of awesome. But eye candy aside, we love the culture. Soft-sided coolers full of trail mix and bottled water, flags collected from vacations of yore waving high in the sky so parties remain in-tact, middle-aged accountants and school librarians dancing like maniacs, too-cool-for-school teenagers making certain their bandannas look just so, and of course the ironic t-shirts.
In a bohemian city such as Austin, interesting/funny/trying-too-hard t-shirts are pretty much the norm, but during ACL Fest it's like convention week. In the three days, it's not uncommon to hear, well over 800 times, "Dude, that's an awesome shirt...where'd you get it?" We spotted this year's best around 3:00pm today -- a lanky man on the wrong side of 50 with a lot more salt on his dome than pepper, was sporting a black shirt with the, now immortal, phrase "Sluts Love Me" printed in simple block white. Honorable mention to the guy with the white t-shirt with a naked Abe Vigoda screened on the front. Thankfully the man parts were blurred.
Musically we witnessed some incredible performances this weekend and we'll give a quick review of our favorites sometime tomorrow. Perhaps you haven't heard of a few of the acts, and next time they're in your area you'll check em out, and have as much fun doing so as we did.
Side note: Maybe another reason for our overwhelming feeling of goodwill towards men this weekend was because we saw hundreds of Obama shirts, buttons, stickers, etc. and not one single sight of the name McCain. We'll give the handful of Ron Paul Revolution folks a pass...they're so cute.
It's now Sunday night(actually Monday morning), and we feel like we do each year after the festival. We're exhausted and sun burned, our lower backs are screaming, our collective feet throbbing, we stink to high heavens, our ears are ringing, we've got that prevailing uughhh feeling thanks to copious amounts of mind altering substances, and yet we feel fantastic...it's the best weekend of the year, no doubt.
Yes the music is wonderful; there's a terrific combination of established stars, niche performers with cult followings, and up-and-comers, but it's the entire music festival vibe that gets us going. First off, there's an inordinate amount of good-looking women dressed in very little (the silver-lining to the dark cloud that is the blistering Texas heat), and how can anything with this many hotties be anything short of awesome. But eye candy aside, we love the culture. Soft-sided coolers full of trail mix and bottled water, flags collected from vacations of yore waving high in the sky so parties remain in-tact, middle-aged accountants and school librarians dancing like maniacs, too-cool-for-school teenagers making certain their bandannas look just so, and of course the ironic t-shirts.
In a bohemian city such as Austin, interesting/funny/trying-too-hard t-shirts are pretty much the norm, but during ACL Fest it's like convention week. In the three days, it's not uncommon to hear, well over 800 times, "Dude, that's an awesome shirt...where'd you get it?" We spotted this year's best around 3:00pm today -- a lanky man on the wrong side of 50 with a lot more salt on his dome than pepper, was sporting a black shirt with the, now immortal, phrase "Sluts Love Me" printed in simple block white. Honorable mention to the guy with the white t-shirt with a naked Abe Vigoda screened on the front. Thankfully the man parts were blurred.
Musically we witnessed some incredible performances this weekend and we'll give a quick review of our favorites sometime tomorrow. Perhaps you haven't heard of a few of the acts, and next time they're in your area you'll check em out, and have as much fun doing so as we did.
Side note: Maybe another reason for our overwhelming feeling of goodwill towards men this weekend was because we saw hundreds of Obama shirts, buttons, stickers, etc. and not one single sight of the name McCain. We'll give the handful of Ron Paul Revolution folks a pass...they're so cute.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Arrested Development
That same reader who sent us the email from his cousin, also recently told us a story of a recent event that had us rolling. A story that hit so close to home that we feel obliged to share it here. A story of three 27-year-old men...and by men, we mean three dudes stuck in a state of Arrested Development somewhere between boy and man.
So our reader, for the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Mapma, was helping his aunt and uncle move from one (legendary) house into another. However the size of the house, and the amount of stuff within it, called for more than just the back of Mapma, so he got two of his friends to come help.
With the first day of hauling and unloading done, the Aunt and Uncle retired to their new digs, agreeing with the three young(ish) men to reconvene the following morning. The three young(ish) men decided to stay behind and clean up a bit before calling it a night.
After a quick clean, Mampa and his two buddies go upstairs to one of the back bedrooms, they shut the door behind them, and proceed to crank up the Zeppelin and fire up the bong. After awhile, with Robert Plant crooning and the herb beginning to seize the senses, Mapma decides to play a little show-and-tell with a recent purchase of his.
On a trip to the Pacific Northwest, our man had stumbled upon a quaint little boutique that specialized in vintage Playboys. What a novel, we mean "porno-rag" idea (pinky out, Dahling). Well Mapma had an equally "porno-rag" idea, and decided to buy the issue from the year and month of his birth. It might be a good conversation piece someday.
That day had arrived, so Mapma pulls out the old Playboy and begins showing of the goods, so to speak. With all the furniture suitable for sitting on, having already been removed from the room, the three young(ish) men sat in a circle around the literature, happily inspecting the retro-bush. Down stairs the front door opens...the uncle had forgotten to leave Mapma with one last bit of important information.
The uncle, following the sultry sounds of I Can't Quit You Baby, made his way to the back bedroom and opened the door. The aroma of ganja smacked him in the shnoz and his eyes were hit with the sight of three grown(ish) men sitting Indian style on some empty carpet, around a porno magazine, equipped with a smoking bong, wide eyes and sheepish grins.
(And now the reason why uncles will always be cooler than dads.)
The uncle, with arms raised over his head and fists clinched, grinned widely and released a stentorian, "Party!!!"
So our reader, for the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Mapma, was helping his aunt and uncle move from one (legendary) house into another. However the size of the house, and the amount of stuff within it, called for more than just the back of Mapma, so he got two of his friends to come help.
With the first day of hauling and unloading done, the Aunt and Uncle retired to their new digs, agreeing with the three young(ish) men to reconvene the following morning. The three young(ish) men decided to stay behind and clean up a bit before calling it a night.
After a quick clean, Mampa and his two buddies go upstairs to one of the back bedrooms, they shut the door behind them, and proceed to crank up the Zeppelin and fire up the bong. After awhile, with Robert Plant crooning and the herb beginning to seize the senses, Mapma decides to play a little show-and-tell with a recent purchase of his.
On a trip to the Pacific Northwest, our man had stumbled upon a quaint little boutique that specialized in vintage Playboys. What a novel, we mean "porno-rag" idea (pinky out, Dahling). Well Mapma had an equally "porno-rag" idea, and decided to buy the issue from the year and month of his birth. It might be a good conversation piece someday.
That day had arrived, so Mapma pulls out the old Playboy and begins showing of the goods, so to speak. With all the furniture suitable for sitting on, having already been removed from the room, the three young(ish) men sat in a circle around the literature, happily inspecting the retro-bush. Down stairs the front door opens...the uncle had forgotten to leave Mapma with one last bit of important information.
The uncle, following the sultry sounds of I Can't Quit You Baby, made his way to the back bedroom and opened the door. The aroma of ganja smacked him in the shnoz and his eyes were hit with the sight of three grown(ish) men sitting Indian style on some empty carpet, around a porno magazine, equipped with a smoking bong, wide eyes and sheepish grins.
(And now the reason why uncles will always be cooler than dads.)
The uncle, with arms raised over his head and fists clinched, grinned widely and released a stentorian, "Party!!!"
A Fine Line
A regular reader of ours sent us this email from his cousin. He had asked his cousin to provide him with his email address. That's it, nothing more nothing less.
Sup Biotch,
Dis is me e-male. Everlast! Check it, check it out. Playboy, see
what's de hump. Neva know til see yo. Ounce piece de maily due. Pence
fa a pence. Know wha I mean. Shit biotch. Chooka Chooka. Bunny n a
makin. Nevermind da time. peace.
Slap it. Curleee be.
We've had the pleasure of knowing (not well at all, but still knowing) this cousin for many years, and we knew he was strange, strange in that artsy-eccentric kinda way, but we had know idea that he was, fine line genius/mad. Spell check almost exploded.
Sup Biotch,
Dis is me e-male. Everlast! Check it, check it out. Playboy, see
what's de hump. Neva know til see yo. Ounce piece de maily due. Pence
fa a pence. Know wha I mean. Shit biotch. Chooka Chooka. Bunny n a
makin. Nevermind da time. peace.
Slap it. Curleee be.
We've had the pleasure of knowing (not well at all, but still knowing) this cousin for many years, and we knew he was strange, strange in that artsy-eccentric kinda way, but we had know idea that he was, fine line genius/mad. Spell check almost exploded.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Monday Ogle - Get a Brazilian
We can't help but feel a little down. Combining today's numeric-induced panic attack with the knowledge that we'll never find another job where we do so little, we've been better. But nothing assuages (fuck you GRE!!!) a poor mood like ogling a beautiful lithe young female, mmmmmm. So to attenuate (arrghhhhh) our melancholy, this week's ogle goes out to ourselves.
We bring out truly one of the heavy-hitters this week. This is Brazilian stunner Izabel Goulart. She is of the newer crop of Victoria's Secret ladies and we've gotta say, our favorite of all-time, sorry Heidi (sweet lord, maybe not). Bus as seriously fine as she is, it's not just her crazy good looks that do it for us. No, we've seen Miss Goulart on Conan twice, and both times she couldn't have been sexier. She's quite an enchanting flirt.
We bring out truly one of the heavy-hitters this week. This is Brazilian stunner Izabel Goulart. She is of the newer crop of Victoria's Secret ladies and we've gotta say, our favorite of all-time, sorry Heidi (sweet lord, maybe not). Bus as seriously fine as she is, it's not just her crazy good looks that do it for us. No, we've seen Miss Goulart on Conan twice, and both times she couldn't have been sexier. She's quite an enchanting flirt.
Work Update
There's nothing really all that eventful or news worthy about it, but since we write about work so much here, we feel it important to note that we got iced Friday. Apparently when The Man found out we weren't really doing much of anything but watching Internet TV episodes on Hulu, He wasn't happy.
We gave our standard, "These fish have manners!!! We're taking the fish!!!"
We gave our standard, "These fish have manners!!! We're taking the fish!!!"
Test Anxiety
The NLNC is sitting at desks in a large room staring at monitors. The computer screens have a math problem on them. Sweat is dripping from the NLNC's foreheads. The question has something to do with factory machines making widgets, a train going 45 mph, a jar of yellow marbles, and another train going 50 mph. The NLNC's hearts are now pounding at a rate of 8,000 beats per minute. At this rate what is the greatest possible outcome?
A. They're unable to finish the question after the keyboard malfunctions following their vomiting fit.
B. They're unable to finish the question after their hearts beat through their chests and they die.
C. They're unable to finish the question after they say, "Fuck it!!" Then proceed to run roughshod through the ETS Testing facility leaving computers dismantled and tiny Asian kids screaming with fear.
D. They take a deep breath, remember that rate=distance * time, but forget to convert minutes to hours, and get the question wrong.
We talk a lot on this here blog about our arch enemy being Team Hair Gel, but really for much longer our worst enemy has been math. We were bad ass at arithmetic and were consistently one of the top mathematicians in elementary school but that day in middle school, when algebra was introduced...well the hamsters in our domes done checked out. When we were first taught about variables it went a lot like when The Simpsons went into the witness protection program and became The Thompsons.
Math Teacher: Now when I say 2+x=5, you say x=3, OK?
NLNC: Check
Mather Teacher: So if 2+x=5, what does x equal?
NLNC: Dude, that's a letter.
(Math teacher gives up.)
We took the GRE (it's an entrance exam for graduate school) this morning and we're a bit disappointed. We scored in the 85% of all GRE takers on the verbal section (this despite running out of time and automatically losing three question), but being the wordsmiths that we are, we kind of expected a strong verbal score. The problem was on the quantitative section.
We know we suck at math, we've always sucked at math, so for the last three months we've been studying. We bought books, went to a class, got help from our friends, dads and even our sisters boyfriends, ughhh, and were feeling pretty confident. Our confidence jumped out the window as soon as the first question popped onto the screen...it was a disaster.
A. They're unable to finish the question after the keyboard malfunctions following their vomiting fit.
B. They're unable to finish the question after their hearts beat through their chests and they die.
C. They're unable to finish the question after they say, "Fuck it!!" Then proceed to run roughshod through the ETS Testing facility leaving computers dismantled and tiny Asian kids screaming with fear.
D. They take a deep breath, remember that rate=distance * time, but forget to convert minutes to hours, and get the question wrong.
We talk a lot on this here blog about our arch enemy being Team Hair Gel, but really for much longer our worst enemy has been math. We were bad ass at arithmetic and were consistently one of the top mathematicians in elementary school but that day in middle school, when algebra was introduced...well the hamsters in our domes done checked out. When we were first taught about variables it went a lot like when The Simpsons went into the witness protection program and became The Thompsons.
Math Teacher: Now when I say 2+x=5, you say x=3, OK?
NLNC: Check
Mather Teacher: So if 2+x=5, what does x equal?
NLNC: Dude, that's a letter.
(Math teacher gives up.)
We took the GRE (it's an entrance exam for graduate school) this morning and we're a bit disappointed. We scored in the 85% of all GRE takers on the verbal section (this despite running out of time and automatically losing three question), but being the wordsmiths that we are, we kind of expected a strong verbal score. The problem was on the quantitative section.
We know we suck at math, we've always sucked at math, so for the last three months we've been studying. We bought books, went to a class, got help from our friends, dads and even our sisters boyfriends, ughhh, and were feeling pretty confident. Our confidence jumped out the window as soon as the first question popped onto the screen...it was a disaster.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Apologies
No real posts today or tonight. At work today, someone finally confronted us with the question, "So what exactly do you guys do here, and why are we paying you?" We acted fast with a frightened look over the woman's shoulder, a frantic point, and then ran away and hid in an unoccupied office. It should buy us a few more weeks of employment, but the daytime posts will be fewer and farther between. As for tonight, we're frantically cramming for the GRE. We take it on Saturday, and don't really have time for this drivel. A graduate assistantship (meaning free school) is on the line.
Obsequious...Asian women
Specious...everything out of our mouths at work
Soporific...everything out of our last date's mouth
Pearl Necklace...a badge of honor
Obsequious...Asian women
Specious...everything out of our mouths at work
Soporific...everything out of our last date's mouth
Pearl Necklace...a badge of honor
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
We Know What's Going on Our Business Cards
You can have your CEO, COO, VP, MD, e-t-c.
We've never been big fans of titles. They don't impress anyone except for the titleholder themselves, and if by chance you run into someone who is impressed, they are either your mom or they probably suck. For this reason, we've always promised ourselves that no matter how high we climb in the world, someday when we have business cards made, in place of a title they will just read, "Human." This was until now.
Earlier today we heard an interesting NPR story that included polling conducted by the Pew Research Center. Interested in learning more, and not knowing the proper spelling, we just now performed an Internet search for the Pugh Center on Wikipedia. Having quite a few Pugh related entries, Wikipedia provides searchers with an initial Pugh list.
If you clicked on the Pugh list, near the middle of the entries is Mr. Pepe Le Pew, of Looney Tunes fame. His title, you can read next to his name, is the greatest title of all time...LOVER EXTRAORDINAIRE.
We think it would look great on our cards in raised black ink right above the watermark.
We had forgotten how hilarious Pepe is:
You are ze corned beef to me, I am ze cabbage to you...
We've never been big fans of titles. They don't impress anyone except for the titleholder themselves, and if by chance you run into someone who is impressed, they are either your mom or they probably suck. For this reason, we've always promised ourselves that no matter how high we climb in the world, someday when we have business cards made, in place of a title they will just read, "Human." This was until now.
Earlier today we heard an interesting NPR story that included polling conducted by the Pew Research Center. Interested in learning more, and not knowing the proper spelling, we just now performed an Internet search for the Pugh Center on Wikipedia. Having quite a few Pugh related entries, Wikipedia provides searchers with an initial Pugh list.
If you clicked on the Pugh list, near the middle of the entries is Mr. Pepe Le Pew, of Looney Tunes fame. His title, you can read next to his name, is the greatest title of all time...LOVER EXTRAORDINAIRE.
We think it would look great on our cards in raised black ink right above the watermark.
We had forgotten how hilarious Pepe is:
You are ze corned beef to me, I am ze cabbage to you...
Wagner at Vork
The NLNC is not just about fun and games. We also view ourselves as life coaches to the masses, so here's a little tip for helping the workday go by a little quicker.
When faced with a mindless remedial task that seems to have broken the office clocks, and sent them spinning in reverse, it's time to add a little music to the equation. Now this is nothing revolutionary. Thanks to Marry Poppins (mmmmm) and Snow White, everyone knows that music is the key, but today we rocked some Wagner in the old iPod and it was different, it was incredible.
As we moved files from one cabinet to another, the beautiful and haunting sounds from the master of the German opera, transported our minds to another place. Time became irrelevant and before we knew it, it was time to leave. However, the downside to over two hours of Wagner, is that you'll be exhausted. Since his music is the backdrop to so many cinematic classics (or at least they sound like they should) it makes you feel as if you've fallen in love, had your heart broken, defeated an invading army, won a prestigious award, and been involved in some form of montage where hard work over a long period of time was needed to accomplish a dream.
If you want, no matter what your doing, to feel like the most important and bad ass task of all-time, then listen to this one:
If you'd rather have your soul touched:
When faced with a mindless remedial task that seems to have broken the office clocks, and sent them spinning in reverse, it's time to add a little music to the equation. Now this is nothing revolutionary. Thanks to Marry Poppins (mmmmm) and Snow White, everyone knows that music is the key, but today we rocked some Wagner in the old iPod and it was different, it was incredible.
As we moved files from one cabinet to another, the beautiful and haunting sounds from the master of the German opera, transported our minds to another place. Time became irrelevant and before we knew it, it was time to leave. However, the downside to over two hours of Wagner, is that you'll be exhausted. Since his music is the backdrop to so many cinematic classics (or at least they sound like they should) it makes you feel as if you've fallen in love, had your heart broken, defeated an invading army, won a prestigious award, and been involved in some form of montage where hard work over a long period of time was needed to accomplish a dream.
If you want, no matter what your doing, to feel like the most important and bad ass task of all-time, then listen to this one:
If you'd rather have your soul touched:
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