Persiflage

Survey Says?

Here, for your Monday-time amusement and entertainment: the twenty-seven worst Family Feud answers ever.  Please to put down your coffee and/or snacks prior to viewing, as I would not appreciate being subject to liability for unpleasant monitor screen splatter situations.

[Via Digg]

I Am Le Tired

Due to the lingering aftereffects of too much heavy lifting, half marathon training, and coping with the straightjacket escapees who continue to plague me at work, I am exhausted.  Picture me as a hyper-sensitive and highly strung Victorian belle suffering from nerves.  I lie prostrate on the couch, holding the back of one hand to my pallid forehead while clutching my smelling salts in the other fist.  If you could come to call and gently flutter a fan in my general direction, I would be most appreciative.

Instead of plumbing the depths of my creativity, and perhaps straining my fragile psyche in the process, I will instead ply you with internet videos depicting the seamy underside of Sesame Street.

Biting The Hand That Types You

It's understandable that the TypePad spellchecker doesn't accept some of the words that I regularly employ.  "Snark," for example; that one probably hasn't yet cracked the OED.  "Impecunious," on the other hand, is a less excusable omission.

What's really eating away at me, though, is that after four months of devoted, religious attention, my blog still fails to recognize my name as acceptable verbiage, and in fact insists on attempting to replace it with words like "Lairs."  That's right, Persiflage would prefer to believe that I'm writing about the nocturnal habits of bears than acknowledge my existence.

I'm beginning to see my blog as a particularly contrary pet.  You feed it, groom it, and walk it.  You make sure it has a soft, comfortable place to sleep, and if it seems to be feeling a little under the weather, you're the first in line at the vet.  And yet, it still shies from your touch, whines and claws and complains when you try to pick it up, and insists on swooning at the feet of your boyfriend, who ignores it whenever he's not swinging it into backflips from its hind legs.

This cannot be a healthy relationship.

Wakey, Wakey

As a perpetual abuser of the snooze button, my immediate reaction to this clock was one of covetous awe.  I find the sound made by my alarm clock so odious that I cringe visibly when I hear the noise on a television commercial or in a movie.  Even though I am already wide awake.  So I can only imagine how effectively a rolling, hiding, chirping Clocky would get me moving in the morning.  We're talking about a speed index of which cheetahs and Carl Lewis can only dream.

But then I wondered: this is only a prototype?  I can't get one now?  Really?  I'm sure I know people who have guaranteed crack-of-dawn wake-up devices roaming their homes, lingering just barely out of reach of their sleep-befuddled owners, refusing to cease their rousing screeches until they receive sufficient attention.

Oh.  They call those "children."  And I suppose they come with a few more strings attached.  Perhaps I'll sign myself up for the Clocky waiting list, after all.

Not Just For Granny Anymore

I'd always assumed I was wholly immune to the Plague of Knitting that has spread throughout the land. (By my calculations, the entire cumulative impact of the Plague is that the scarf-per-capita ratio has skyrocketed beyond all meaningful proportions.  To the extent where I imagine I could wrap myself solely in homemade, gifted scarves and wander the streets without violating any important societal norms.)   But, if I could find patterns for projects like these, I'd reconsider my stance.  This looks like my kind of hobby.

Via Drawn

Beat Persiflage!

Since I'm a big nerd with too much time on my hands, I love tests like this.  Particularly when they confirm my deeply-held belief that I'm a misunderstood genius.

I currently have 22 correct, and I'm not giving up.  Even if it means calling in sick to work.  Can anyone do better?

[Via digg]

Update

Apparently I'm rapidly moving into my dotage, because the chocolate I had for breakfast is making me nauseous.  Come on, digestive system, work with me!  I'll chalk this instance of rebellion up to the interesting amalgamation of alcohol I consumed last night, but let's not have any more of this.  If you don't shape up, I'm going to have to start giving you bran.  Or fruit.  And no one wants that first thing in the morning after a night of debauchery.

Ok, that wasn't the update.  The real update is that the time warp yesterday?  Wasn't my fault.  Believe me, when I'm powerful enough to implement a time warp, you'll all be hearing about it.  I'm in the process of picking up the pieces and rewriting some content.  Keep waiting on tenterhooks, even though that sounds uncomfortable.  There'll be new Persiflage for you post-haste.

A Voice in the Wilderness

Much like the small child convinced that she is invisible when she covers her eyes, I fervently believe that if I do not hear of something, said event has not transpired.  Today, I am applying this theory to the Monday Night fiasco.  A period of disengagement from the SportsCenter news cycle is imperative, so I'm seeking alternate means of audiovisual stimulation.

Allowing me to visit a video store without a clear and pre-selected objective is akin to allowing a four-year-old to sit shotgun and serve as road trip navigator.  Exasperating and potentially dangerous for you, vexing for the child, likely to lead to temper tantrums, and cataclysmic to any chance of achieving the ultimate goal.  Overwhelmed by the abundance of possibilities, I've been found more than once curled in the fetal position underneath a kiosk of anime porn.

Enter What To Rent, a voice of hope in the wilderness of cinematic excess.  With hard scientific underpinnings!  Select a user name, complete a brief personality questionnaire, and, voila, endless viewing suggestions at your fingertips. 

No email address requested, so you can even create separate identities for each of your multiple personalities.