A technological dilemma

With the Olympics in full swing I am reminded of how much I have come to rely on the DVR (Digital Video Recorder). It is not uncommon for CNBC to be broadcasting the curling match I want to watch, while NBC simultaneously is showing a variety of events that I also want to see. Plus, I don’t want to miss any of my regular shows.

Today, I am in charge of running the boy’s basketball concessions with my Link Leaders; therefore, yesterday I was preparing my DVR for a busy night of recording my favorite TV shows: Survivor, Vampire Diaries, Grey’s Anatomy, Private Practice, and Project Runway. Typically, despite the quantity of shows I dare not miss, I never have a problem plugging in all the Thursday shows I want to save for later. However, yesterday when I was programming my TiVo I ran into a glitch: only two programs can be recorded at a time—usually a non-issue, but usually the Olympics are not on TV. In addition to my plethora of regular shows, I also wanted to record the NBC footage starting at seven o’clock (it’s time for women’s ice skating) and my fiancé wanted to TiVo the US women playing Canada in hockey. Dilemma.

Had this been the 2006 Olympics I would have been bummed to possibly have to miss a few shows, but never angry that I could not record them. In 2006 if I had wanted to see a show during a time when I could not be home, I recorded it on a VHS tape. Back then I could never tape more than one show at a time, much less two! Now, in 2010, I can record two shows at once plus catch most previously broadcast shows on Hulu or directly on network sites.

Conversely, as it turned out, the DRV dilemma was a much simpler one to solve than I had first thought: Vampire Diaries, Grey’s Anatomy, and Private Practice are all reruns tonight.

Photo credit: popularity.tumblr.com

Ode to Minty Goodness

The golden arches call to me
in spring to set my taste buds free.

The season of new beginnings,
commence with cool, minty winnings—

For two dollars and ninety-nine
my stressful day becomes divine.

I know it’s never a mistake
with each slurpy sip of milkshake.

All summer and winter I’ve ached
for the taste of a Shamrock shake.

Now, as snow outside starts to thaw
I draw perfection through my straw.

This milky, minty, marvel calms
my nerves, my doubts, and all my qualms.

Simplistic joy is worth the cost
of gaining back the pounds I’d lost.


Typically rhyme and meter are not my thing, but for a poem about a shake it seemed fitting.

Photo credit: http://www.nydailynews.com/lifestyle/food/2007/03/16/2007-03-16_shamrock_shake_shocker_its_disappeared.html

I wish I was in Vancouver

I am not sure why school is in session this week, nor next week for that matter: the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics are in full swing.

My fiancé and I kicked off this memorable fortnight with a let-us-eat-cake-and-watch-the-opening-ceremony party, at which we sampled wedding cake possibilities and (*gasp of shock and surprise*) watched the 2010 Winter Olympic opening ceremonies. From the moment the Canadian snowboarder Johnny Lyall glided through the Olympic rings my pulse began to quicken and it has not slowed since. Daily I find myself spending all free moments in front of the television watching athletes compete, professional commentators state opinions, and newscasters interview medalists LIVE from Vancouver.  

I do not have a favorite winter Olympic sport—I sincerely enjoy them all. I am as amazed by each calculated throw of the rock in curling as I am by the strength it takes to toss a seventeen-year-old girl high enough in the air that she can rotate three times before landing perfectly balanced on one ice skate. I am as mesmerized by Apollo Ohno’s speed on the ice as I am by Hannah Kearney’s balance on the moguls. I am as thunderstruck by athletes who fly down the iced track feet first in luge as I am by those who fly head first in skeleton. All around, the winter Olympics have a pull from which I can not break free.

My addiction to the Olympics reaches beyond the sports themselves. While running errands or driving to work I commonly find myself humming the Olympic tune: sometimes I even sing aloud the words of this technically word-free song. (This is the Olympic theme song: it has no words so I had to make them up! This is the Olympic theme song: time to compete and watch athletes on TV. [repeat] The Olympics, the Olympics: it’s time for the Olympics. The Olympics, the Olympics: this is the Olympic song.) They may not be the best lyrics I have written in my lifetime; nevertheless, they run through my head daily this time of year. Additionally, I love the commercials run during the Olympics. Thus far this year my favorites have been spun by Coke: the world’s best athletes breaking out into an impromptu snowball fight always makes me smile, as does being told that with each Coke I have ever purchased I have helped fund the Olympics. The competition and skill pulls me in, but the whole experience of the Olympics is what I am captivated by.

Alright, maybe a full two weeks off from school is too much—it’s simply never going to happen…but two weeks of early releases seems reasonable. 

Image found on washingtonpost.com

A love of farming

Over the past few years I have developed a pattern when it comes to my after work routine. Once I get home I shuffle through my mail; change into some comfortable, non-work clothes; enjoy a meal with my fiancé; and then settle in for an evening of television watching and internet surfing. In the past my evening internet use consisted of a variety of things: checking my Hotmail account, weeding through updates on Facebook, reading any new posts on my college roommate’s blog, glancing at the day’s tweets on Twitter, visiting the Nerdfighters vlog, and playing a few games of online Scrabble. However, sometime this past fall my after work internet use became far more lopsided than it had ever been before—suddenly I found myself spending anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours a day tending and growing my imaginary farm on the Facebook application Farmville.

That’s right, I openly admit it: I am a Farmville addict.

Farmville has become such a part of daily life, for both my fiancé and myself, that we sometimes even plan our day accordingly. While out to diner with friends it is not uncommon for one of us to turn to the other and declare, “We should get going, I have asparagus to harvest.” In fact, our farming skills are so well known that on a Christmas card, one of my fiancé’s cousins took time to handwrite a note at the bottom that stated, “You both are great farmers!” Not to mention that we took this comment to heart, seeing as how she spent much of her life on a North Dakota farm. Plus, when convincing friends to join Facebook, one of my reasons for why they should join is because they could be my Farmville neighbor (the more neighbors one has the more land one may own, plus when one has fifty neighbors a blue ribbon is earned). My addiction has become so extreme that when booking tickets for our ten day honeymoon, I found myself questioning what I would do with my Farmville farm while being away from technology during our trip.

Yet, despite my knowledge that Farmville has indeed become and addiction, I am not willing to give it up. I find farming my imaginary farm to be too therapeutic. A calm washes through me as I harvest crops, plow fields, and plant new vegetables all with the click of a mouse. Stress eases from my shoulders as I collect eggs from my chickens, milk from my cows, wool from my sheep, ice cubes from my penguins, and feathers from my turkeys. There is a feeling of accomplishment that is wrought from building fences, erecting house and horse stables, earning ribbons of all colors, and displaying flowers around my pig-tailed, avatar’s home. Additionally, there is a sense of community that is created by my neighbors who send gifts to one another, fertilize each others crops, help other neighbors build stables, and other’s feed one another’s chickens.

Therefore, I surrender. Farmville has me for life (or at least until I find something better).