globlessary
Monday, January 23, 2012
The coolest pinewood derby car ever
Maruti Suzuki to replace Esteem with Swift Dezire
MARUTI SUZUKI TO REPLACE ESTEEM WITH DEZIRE
For staunch three-box lovers, Maruti Suzuki is coming up with the new Dezire, the replacement for its long-serving Esteem. With the curtains down on the Esteem after a 14-year long drive, the new offering, Dezire, will have a host of contemporary new features which were otherwise missing in the Esteem and not available in any of the current lot of mid-sized cars.
Dezire, Maruti Suzuki’s new sedan on the Swift platform, will be manufactured only in India for the global market and will be available in both fuel options. It will sport a 1.3 litre petrol and the 1.3 litre DDiS multijet diesel engine, currently available in the Swift hatchback.
The company is taking the SX4 and the Zen Estilo route with Dezire, topping up the car with some luxury features. Besides the twin front ABS and Auto Temp Control, the new sedan is expected to don a new integrated DIN Stereo and new set of alloy wheels in the top line variant.
The company is also working on a few changes in the grille, foglamp and the tail lights to make the Dezire look different from the hugely successful Swift hatchback. It will come in mutli-variant models like the Swift.
Friday, June 24, 2011
This is Your Brain on Running
HOWEVER, please don't call me a "runner."
First reason: Running SUCKS. It sucks. It has sucked all along. Running sucks. It's gotten more bearable now that I am "in shape," but only just. Every time I run it's still agony. I don't deserve the title of "runner" because I suspect that real "runners" actually enjoy it. I definitely do not.
Second reason: Runners are small, type-A bald men with the world's whitest thighs. Does that sound like me? I hope not!
First rule of running: pose when you see a cameraman (as seen above).
The alternative is looking TERRIBLE, like you're melting, in every picture.
I actually think I could be a decent runner if it wasn't for the fact that I HATE running. Unfortunately, my brain won't let me forget it.
For example, observe my brain during the "Arden 9" race last Sunday:
00:00:00 I feel great. This is going to be GREAT!
00:00:02 Woah, this instantly feels much harder than it should.
00:00:12 I think I am having a bad run.
00:00:30 This must just be a bad run.
00:00:40 It’s an off day. Sometimes you just have an off day.
00:00:50 All I can do it my best. My legs are so much shorter than most people's.
00:03:00 COME ON! That woman has cellulite and a water bottle belt. At least beat her!
00:24: 00 YES! Water station ahead! An Oasis in the desert!
00:24:10 Take a sip!
00:24:11 Take a sip!
00:24:12 Why is this not working?
00:24:13 It’s splashing everywhere!
00:24:14 I’ll just throw it on my head instead.
00:25:00 I feel refreshed. I feel AMAZING.
00:26:00 Maybe I’ll average 7-minute miles and surprise everyone!
00:30:00 WHY THE HELL DIDN’T I ACTUALLY DRINK THAT WATER?!?
00:40:00 Just quit.
00:45:00 Just quit.
00:50:00 Just quit.
00:55:00 Just quit.
01:00:00 Just quit.
01:13:00 THERE'S THE FINISH! SPRINT! SPRINT TO THE FINISH LINE!
01:13:30 Terrible idea. Stop sprinting immediately.
01:14:00 YES, free granola bar.
So there you have it. My neurotic brain is certainly my biggest downfall. If I could only get past that, I'd be winning races all over the place!
TGIF,
Margaret
Monday, May 16, 2011
Camp Stories
Best quote: "Patches? We don't need no stinkin patches."
Best scene (The Freddy...fast forward to the :38 mark)
Best quote: "Let's get together, yeah yeah yeah."
Best scene (just the first 21 seconds).
Best Quote: "Oof, Ice Woman!"
Best scene (I have always wanted to do this...fast forward to 6:34)
Best quote: "Douche-bags are hygienic products; I take that as a compliment. Thank you."
Best scene.
Best quote:
"Who's this?"
"Winston Churchill- Jimi Hendrix of the spoken word. "
Best scene- there isn't one.
Honorable mention: "Heavy Weights"
Hours had past since campfire. The campers were in bed. As the last of their whispers gave way to soft snoring, a few insomniatic counselors gathered in the kitchen. Their evening had only just begun. You see, the brain of a camp counselor is unique. Cluttered with songs about tea-drinking pandas and lanyard weaves, they are starved for peer-to-peer conversation. Even the most polite of counselors cannot resist the urge to yell "FUCK" the second they are out of camper ear-shot. That night was no different- the counselors were craving a bit of nocturnal adventure in the remote south Puget Sound wilderness.
After taking down a final mouthful of four-layer bar, they were off; up the hill, away from camp and toward the paved road leading into town. It's a long walk to the top, about twenty five minutes maybe. The counselors didn't mind. The post-campfire sleepiness had faded in the bright shine of a full moon and time was of no concern. As they walked, the counselors gossiped eagerly about their fellow staff members and asked the juiciest would-you-rather questions they could think of. They were carefree, for that is the default setting. Don't blame them for being lighthearted. How could they have known what was to come? Why should they have been wary about the night, those woods, that full moon?
By the time they reached Tiedman road the moon had dimmed, the temperature had dropped and it was evident that the mysterious presence of deep, deep nighttime was upon them. They sat on the road near a streetlamp. Not even the counselors themselves remember much about their conversations at the road. Some reports say one of them tried to light a firework. Others, however, say they wouldn't have had time for such tomfoolery. What we do know is that it began with the sound of an engine. Distant at first, and then growing ever nearer. The counselors jumped to their feet at the site of headlights in the distance. They stood to the side of the road and watched the jeep pass in those last few seconds of naiveté.
Then, they saw him, caught in the headlights of the passing jeep, 20 yards away, and walking straight toward them. He was tall, wearing jeans and a white tank-top undershirt. Despite being completely bald he had a tiny, well-defined forehead that lasted only an inch or so before rounding off into the top of his hairless scalp. He had sunken, bug-eyes that did not blink. His gaze stayed fixed on the group of young counselors in his path. As he walked, one leg dragged slightly behind in a Vietnam-vet-style limp. The counselors stood in silence, until one of them finally managed to squeak out the word, "run!"
So they ran. And he ran after them. His slow leg churning up dust as it skipped swiftly along the country road. As they stumbled down the hillside in flipflops and moccasins, the counselors looked over their shoulders in fear. He was gaining on them. He grew closer and shouted at them; a garbled mess of words that, though indiscernible, were clearly hostile.
They continued their pursuit down the hill, no longer looking backward for fear it would slow them down. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they ran in a petrified silence. At last, they made it to the camp grounds and, exhausted, collapsed onto the kitchen porch. The man had fallen behind and they hoped he had retreated. Not taking any chances, the counselors stood guard with kitchen knifes and a telephone until sunrise.
No one knows where the Tiedman Terror went that night, or how much he knows about the camp that resides down the hill. What we do know is that things often went missing at camp that summer, and in the summers since. A kayak, a kickball, and an entire box of Krusteaz brownie mix are all thought to have disappeared at the hands of the T.T. Whether or not these events are the extent of his terror is a matter of speculation.
Ok, I am back. That was fun. Did you guess that one of those terrified counselors was me? Well, that was indeed the horse's mouth speaking and I must say it was the most scared I've ever been in my entire life (I don't really know if that's true. I don't remember anything before I was 3, so I could have been more scared at some point.).
Now I am off to bed. Well, first I'll eat a spoonful of nutella and then I will go to bed.
Love ya, mean it,
Madge
Monday, May 9, 2011
Keen as a Bean
I would say "and it's still hanging up on my bedroom bulletin board to this very day," but I have just learned that my room has recently been swept of any last remnants of my existence so it can be transformed into a nursery for Baby Fitz. Somehow I doubt Mrs.Bean's small laminated message made the cut.
Perhaps it's for the best that this dear childhood keepsake got the heave-ho. The more I think about the quote, the more I find it misleading. Indeed, being nice AND ALSO being important is the best outcome of them all. Why not strive for both?
Here are some tips for being nice and important that I've learned from my friends/fam.
Being Nice:
Scratch other people's arms or give them back massages when they ask. (Martha Foley)
If you have a car, be grateful and offer to give those without one a ride. (Tori Mueller)
Keep bandaids handy at all times so you can instantly offer them to the wounded. (Barbie and Char)
Being Important:
Type "sent from blackberry" or "sent from iPad" at the bottom of your emails. Much cheaper than actually buying one and it has the same image-boosting effect! (Andy)
Refer to yourself as "Doctor" when making a doctor appointment or asking the Verizon rep for a cell phone upgrade. It slices through bureaucracy like a Cutco knife through an avocado. (Nancy Padden)
Unfortunately, that's all I have at the moment. I've been struggling for blog topics in what has been the inevitable comedown from my Special K winnings. Luckily, I have something to look forward to. I'm going to go to Oxford (famous university for smart people in England) for a fancy dinner at the beginning of June. Talk about being important! Also, it's a chance to debut the dress.
Well, I'm off to trade the Edinburgh blood bank a pint of my blood for a fun-sized chocolate bar (several, actually). Worth it.
Bye,
Margaret
Thursday, May 5, 2011
K-Log
Well, guess what the Internet had in store for me today?
Kenny Loggins and his sweet, soft-rock weasel voice.
It's election day in the UK today. I am not a citizen and Kenny Loggins isn't on the ballot so I didn't vote. Instead I walked with Andy to the polling place and voted vicariously through him.
Slán,
Grassy
Monday, May 2, 2011
H-O-T-T, Hot Off the Press!
Get ready of a Madgespace EXCLUSIVE!
sTori Telling - Tori Spelling
A Shore Thing - Snooki
If it Makes You Healthy - Sheryl Crow (it's her cookbook)
Dancing to the Music in my Head: Memoirs of the Peoples' Idol - Sanjaya Malakar
unSweetined - Jody Sweetin
Miles to Go - Miley Cyrus
WELL, I need to shower. As I said to Char today, you know you need to shave your legs when you can feel your leg hairs blowing in the wind like blades of grass. Plus, now that I own a designer red dress, I'll probably start upgrading my life little by little. First it's the shaving of the legs, then I'll probably feel the need to buy moisturizer (they're so dry that scratching a slight itch will leave visible white lines on the skin for days) and the next thing you know I will be buying brand name laundry detergent and eating organic nut butters.
Until next time, y'all.
Love,
Margaret