Tuesday, May 20, 2008

The Black Hole Ate Moi's Homework

I read a statistic once that postulated that before we die, each of us spends on average, like, 1.5 bazillion hours of our lives either standing in line or waiting for service. Which is fine with me, because, hell, when else would I catch up on my crap magazine reading?

Some places, though, are better than others. At the top of my list: the Jiffy Lube on the corner of Menaul and Wyoming in Albuquerque's Northeast Heights. For a place run entirely by dudes, they nonetheless know their market and thus stock a wide variety of the best evah magazines ranging from the most up-to-date Peoples in existence (no six month lag for these guys, oh no) to Time, Newsweek, O, and even Vogue. Not a snooze-a-mooze parenting magazine in sight. No offense to parents, but really, if you're childless or empty-nested, not even the ads are interesting. And if you're a parent, I suspect the last thing you want to read about is even MORE parenting stuff. Admit it: You'd rather read about Jessica Simpson's botched boob job.

At the bottom of my list: my gyno. Whose magazine selection is all about the OB and never about the GYN. And if you're 5.7 minutes away from having yourself poked and prodded in that particular manner, you want aspirational magazines out in the waiting room. Not ones that remind you of why you're here. Listen, you OB/GYN magazine Nazis: we all know how we got here. So now, take us far, far away. Architectural Digest would be good. And heck, forget Vogue, if that's too much for you. Mademoiselle will do in a pinch. Can't go that girly? How about Golf magazine, fer crying out loud. But my gyno, despite my most gentle encouragements, never catches on. He just smiles and nods in that way that tells me when I open my mouth, all he hears is Charlie Brown's parents. Men.

Anyway, yesterday was doc appointment time por Moi and while in my dermo, I was happily heartened to spot this:

Nah, it wasn't Dwayne Johnson that caught my eye. Although I guess you could make a case for his sex appeal in that shiny-suited, head-to-toe reconstructed way today's porn stars are considered sexy, only minus the highlights and tacky-ass French manicure. I likewise spent only a couple seconds perusing Laird Hamilton's "Surf God Workout." Sweet jeebus, I thought only women were susceptible to fairytale bullshit about our bodies. The workout? Puhleeze. AB could eat Laird for lunch.

Nope, the article that caught my really real attention was on Garrett Lisi, a surf bum physicist who has come up with a totally new unifying theory of the universe that he calls E8, which basically says, String Theory, Schming Theory, where it's at is this: fitting together the four forces of physics — electromagnetic, strong nuclear, weak nuclear, and gravity — into an incredibly intricate shape that looks like something you might have created with your Advanced Spirograph kit in the fourth grade.

Another thing about Moi: I'm obsessed with the Big Picture. Every time one of those PBS specials on the universe comes on, I'm glued to the set. But this, ugh, I'm going to need years to grok to this particular bit of information. Go check it out for yourself and maybe together we can process all this into some cohesive understanding.

And while you're at it; riddle me this: Ever since S.B. installed satellite radio in the Mini Coop, it seems I hear Tori Amos's "Cornflake Girl", like, sixty bazillion times a day. So if you can get a finger's grasp on what Lisi is on to, can you perhaps explain to Moi just what in the hell the woman is talking about in this song?


Jenny said...

The last time I was at the Gyno, I could only find a 6 month old Good Housekeeping to keep me company. It had only one stupid article I could read in it, and the last page was torn out. I'll never find out why her cheating husband was caught embezzling. So sad.

I'd take Men's Health in a heartbeat over Marie Claire's version of a "workout" but they're ALL selling snake oil as far as I'm concenred. (and thanks for the faith that I could go up against Laird Hamilton.)

Gnomeself Be True said...

Let's see...understand the universe...understand Tori Amos...understand the universe...understand Tori Amos....

Madness in either direction.

Aunty Belle said...

Yeah, doan bother...jes' pack yore own readin' material.

But on unifyin' theories--me too-I mean, I watch them cosmos shows.

Few years back I'se on a chicken crate of a commuter plane a'tween Madrid and Oviedo and across the aisle was an Iranian gent who taught physics at Berkeley and who introduced himself as a String Physicist. Aunty ain't real clear on plain physics,so the stringy version failed to rouse me much so he edoocated me at 20 thousand feet. I'se mighty impressed.

Then I came home whar' a local good ole' boy is a NASA phys and he doan put no stock in strings...since then I'se jes wishin' the physicists would unify theyselves as the first step toward unity of the cosmos.

But anyhoo, now I'se real curious about Jessica's boob, er, the E8.

Wicked Thistle said...

There seems to be a universal law that demands we are called from the waiting room into the examination room (say that in the same Pepto-Bismal voiceover used for "Diiiiaaahhhrrrreeeaaa")at the precise moment we have reached the really juicy part of any article.

And then, of course, once you get to the exaaaaaammminnnnaaatiiion room, you wait another 20 minutes sans any reading material whatsoevuh. And that's how Wicked learned the awesome lesson to Take the Magazine With Her.

p.s. It should be a crime not to have a broad range of magazines in ANY doctor-like office. I mean, really.

Karen said...

I loved spirograph when I was a kid...

Jenny said...

Whicked is my hero for taking the magazines.

moi said...

AB: Is that the one with "Can This Marriage Be Saved"? Because I love that series. It always makes me feel very relieved.

Iamnot: Dude, as a principle in Moi's Administration, "madness" is not an acceptable answer. Or did your dog eat your homework?

Aunty: "Chicken crate of a commuter plane a'tween Madrid and Oviedo." Aunty, you're one of those happy globe-trotters, aren't you? Well, let's hope we don't bomb Iran. We may need that gent.

Wicked: I know. I should just go head and do it. But, I can't.

Gypsy: You Aussies have Spirograph, too? But I bet you call it something much more interesting than we do :o)

AB: Wicked is a super hero on many levels, for sure. You should see what she can do with some cheddar, corn chips, and a microwave.

Gnomeself Be True said...

Aussies have spyrographs...but they twirl in the opposite direction.

h said...

I'd answer your Questions but...

I'd always envisioned post-apocalypse (2008 election) Moi loading guns, tools, and LOTS of ammo and snazzy shoes into a Road-Warriorish vehicle and heading to the hills to plot the rebellion.

Mini-Cooper? Truly?

moi said...

Iamnot: Okay, this is clever enough to make up for your previous comment. Carry on.

Troll: Well, yes, I have many vehicular personalities, so you are not far off the mark. But, seriously, dude, the Mini is muy bad ass. I can go zero to 60 in a tenth of a second. And if it makes you feel any better, my other vehicle is a hugemous gas guzzling Land Rover. And S.B. and I used to own a 2005 Corvette Z06 until Ivan ate it.

Doris Rose said...

while I patiently wait for the doctor, I Knit! (nothing says waiting long time like knitting)and ponder quantum mechanics and when the doctor ariives I try to ask at least one really hard question.

MommyHeadache said...

lol about the mags always being about the OB and not the GYN. Whaddya want, Playboy and Hustler in his waiting room? ;)

Re the lyrics by that flake-cake Amos, I interpret them thus:

'Never was a cornflake girl
Thought that was a good solution
Hanging with the raisin girls
She's gone to the other side'

In these lyrics Amos discusses her battle with irritable bowel syndrome. She had initially thought that her constant constipation could be cured by raisins until someone turned her on to cornflakes and now she is totally, like regular.

moi said...

Doris Rose: Confuzzling doctors as revenge for crap magazines? I like it.

Emma: Well, porn in the gyno office makes perfect sense to Moi. I think I'll plunk down a few mags for grins and giggles. As for your Amos interpretation - brilliant! That's the story and we're sticking to it. Although, I doubt I'll ever be able to listen to the song with a straight face again.

Aunty Belle said...

OOPS! I din't mean to sound like no globe trotter, (an I ain't.. but I wish!) Jes' meant that ya find stringy physicists in some weird outa the way spots.

Might be hilarious to switch out the 'zines--put the Obstetrics Today in the Proctologist's office, and the MALE HEALTH in the OBGYN's!

Meghan said...

Can you explain to me why every time I read a post like this on your blog, I think you may be The Sexiest Woman in The Universe? Lets get married and procreate. Right, lots of roadblocks there. I'll settle for you being my BFF.

And, last time I was at the obgyn's office (like, two weeks ago) I desperately grabbed People's 100 most beautiful. Because, I knew my favorite 1/4 Mexican would be in it. And, I had to draw a mustache on her not-so-beautiful face.

moi said...

Aunty: I do like my image, though, of you happily spreading your Aunty-ness in global nooks and crannies.

Meghan: Aw, you're so sweet I will totally forgive you for looking so ding dang awesome in a bikini while pregnant and without exercising. And thanks for the idea: random acts of celebrity photo vandalism – that'll pass the time for sure. "Deface your photo of Jessica Alba today!"

The Poet Laura-eate said...

Roll on the home testing kits for all ills.

And the home dentistry

I already do most of my own hairdressing.

If I see another waiting room in my life it will be too soon (after dental hell and then Grave's disease - don't ask!)

ThursdayNext said...

I am so there with you on the PBS specials!