I was wrong

I was wrong in my last post.
If you want to make a pink-wearing, princess-loving little girl cry, you apparently just need to perch an exotic bird on her head.

If the bird happens to poo on her hat, just tell her "That's good luck!"
 

The ugliest horse ever

During the holidays, few things beat going to see Zoo Lights, which is an event for which the Zoo...is decorated with...Lights. (I seem to have wandered into self-explanatory-ville with that last sentence. Let's move on.)

 

They had thousands of beautiful twinkly lights and wildlife sculptures, but my favorite part was the carousel. Rather than merely horses, the carousel at the zoo has rows and rows of exotic animals. Every kid's dream. 

Giraffe! Awesome!

Polar Bear! Awesome!

Tiger! Awesome!

Oh my unholy heck what is that freaknasty thing??!!
You want to make a pink-wearing, princess-obsessed 4-year-old girl cry?
Take her to the zoo, promise her a carousel ride, then put her on that thing!
That massively oversized, partially metamorphosed, caterpillary thing.
It's like a cruel joke the carousel makers decided to play on humanity. I can just picture them in their carousel-carving workshop, cackling with wicked glee as they made this thing.
But the more I look at it, the more I actually like it.
A lot.
Half-Morphed-Caterpillar! Weirdest carousel horse ever. Awesome!
 

 

Barbie: Our scientific role model

Over Christmas break, Dave and I went to the Science Center, which is both free and amazing.

Behold how architecturally talented we are! We built the St Louis Arch in mere minutes. (Please overlook the fact that it's made out of numbered foam blocks and located in the children's section of the museum, and just pretend we're really talented. Thanks.)

More importantly, behold Astronaut Barbie!

Her museum archive caption reads as follows:

"Astronaut Barbie, 1986.
Glamorous astronaut outfit modeled after Buck Rogers, with 'Ming the Merciless' shoulders, and intergalactic glitter.
Names include: 'Welcome to Venus' and 'Galaxy a Go-Go.'
Two costumes: Short dress, slacks, boots."

 

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If children learn nothing else from the Saint Louis Science Center, let it be this:
Never ever leave the planet without putting on your intergalactic glitter.

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Infinity plus one

On the note of humankind's search for meaning, I bet at some point or another you've contemplated the vastness of the infinite universe. Billions and billions of stars, worlds without end, and we are just tiny specks in the context of infinity. If you have contemplated it, you'll appreciate this:

I was doing some assigned reading in a pediatric ophthalmology book a few days ago and came to this line:  "For practical purposes, infinity is considered to be 20 feet."

In other words, I guess the universe is a lot smaller than I thought. If infinity is 20 feet, and the universe is infinite, then the universe is 20 feet wide. (Thank you, mathematic transitive property. Practical purposes, indeed.)

Not only that, but if infinity is 20 feet...

 - I am more than a quarter of infinity tall!

 - On call last week, I stitched up a cut on a guy's upper eyelid that was 0.006 x infinity!

 - Sergey Bubka pole vaulted an infinite height!

 - There are 264 infinities in a mile!

Mind. Blown.


Okay, okay. It was referring to optical infinity, but that's so much less fun.

Self Discovery through Coupons

I think at some point most of us have asked ourselves that soul-searching question: "Who am I?"
Not just "What's my name?" or "What's my background?" or "Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?" but the really truly deep questions of identity.
Who am I deep down?
What do I want?
What do I need?

Today at Target, I met someone who knows me better than I know myself.
That someone is... Target.
You see, this morning I went in and bought a two-pack of opaque tights and a new pillow. I swiped my card, made small talk with the cashier, then along with my receipt she handed me these two personalized automatic coupons:

50 cents off bread.   50 cents off eggs.

I got home later and wanted to make a sandwich, but found that I am out of bread.
I would have opted for an omelette instead, but behold! I am also out of eggs.

How did Target know I needed bread and eggs?
AND WHY DID THEY KNOW IT BEFORE I DID??
  - Option A: Target can see into the innermost recesses of my soul (and my fridge). I have found my perfect soulmate and it's a coupon generator at a big box store.
  - Option B: People who buy tights and pillows also tend to need bread and eggs. My purchase demographics have profiled me as a person who buys staple groceries. Total coincidence that I ran out of both bread and eggs today.

I vote Option B. It turns out that Target's algorithms for categorizing shoppers' product purchasing tendencies are reeeeeallly good. For example, far more amazing than offering me a bread coupon, Target realized a girl was pregnant before anyone in her family did and started mailing her coupons for maternity wear, (here's a link to a great article about it in Forbes). It's both impressive and spooky to think that the data collected on our purchases can say so much more about us than we realize.

 Regardless, the bottom line is that you can skip the whole journey of self-discovery that could otherwise take a lifetime. If you want to know who you truly are the quick and easy way, apparently all you need to do is go buy something at Target with your debit card and wait for the coupons to tell you about yourself. It's cheaper than a palm reading, and with way less incense odor!

I'm a Lotto Winner!

Some people are winners. For example, my sister-in-law, April, has won free oil changes, a desktop computer, free access to America Online back when AOL was super cool, and a car. A CAR! Seriously.

In contrast, I have not been a winner very often, aside from the time that I won a bracelet at Jennifer Harmon's 4th grade birthday party in a hard-fought game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. I would argue that doesn't count anyway, since it was skill (amazing, death-defying, hippo-feeding skill) rather than sheer blind luck. I always wondered what it would be like to be a winner.

The battlefield where true glory is won.

I'm happy to report that my blind luck has recently changed, though, because...

Wicked is currently in St Louis at the fabulous Fox Theatre, so Dave and I went early and entered our names in a drawing for two same-day, front row tickets, and we won! We were close enough to see the details on the costumes! Close enough to peek down into the orchestra pit and see the drummer guy eating a sandwich while he played the second act! Close enough to see the little glistening globbies fly through the air when the singers accidentally spit as they sang!

Swoon. Shimmering spit. Being a winner is everything I dreamed, and more.