1. Well, whaddaya know. This is my 100th Thursday Things post! Remember that one time when I was all, “idk if I’m going to do this all the time…”? (Answer: no, you probably don’t, since to my knowledge not many of you around today were around here in May 2012.) Guess it turned out to be a regular thing 😉
2. You know how technology can “learn” things about you as time goes on? Gmail can anticipate who you want to e-mail based on just a couple of letters or based on the other recipients of your e-mail and iPhones learn how to autocorrect to what you actually mean rather than what you type (hilarious fact: my iPhone autocorrects Cara to CARA, because I very rarely have anything to say about anyone named Cara, while I very often have something to say about the Chicago Area Runners Association).
According to my technology, the main man in my life is, without question, my physical therapist.
It was one thing with Gmail. Yes, I will admit that I was pretty distressed to learn that upon typing any of his initials into the “To” field, his e-mail address is the first one to pop up, but that’s understandable. Our current e-mail thread has reached 36 messages (“current” meaning “yes, at one point there were other e-mail threads”), which in and of itself is a testament to my current pathetic state of affairs, since every one of these e-mails is either trying to figure out when I can get in for an appointment or updating him (always at his direct request — I’m not that overbearing) on my knee/foot/shoulder, but at least I understand why Gmail thinks I would want to e-mail my physical therapist, since he does seem to be the person I e-mail most frequently these days.
The situation, however, hit a brand new low on Monday, when, during an attempt to compose an e-mail to my Mom, my iPhone attempted on no less than four separate occasions to autocorrect what I was trying to write to my physical therapist’s name.
Now, it’s not like he has a particularly uncommon name, and the keys I tried to hit on my iPhone in an effort to write what I wanted to say were quite close to the keys that would make up the first couple letters of his name, so maybe this was an innocent mistake. HOWEVER. When your IPHONE starts to just ASSUME that regardless of what you’re trying to say, you really mean to talk about your physical therapist, I think that, more than anything, indicates that it is DEFINITELY time to get yourself out of PT.
3. My parents, obviously crippled by Empty Nest Syndrome now that all of us kids are out of the house, are in the midst of an Italian vacation to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. They’re having a really miserable time and can’t find a decent meal anywhere.
I, personally, have enjoyed (jokingly) harassing my parents about this trip for weeks on end. I whined and whined about not being invited along (again, jokingly. My parents, who have taken exactly one vacation as just the two of them since I was born [to the wild locale of Toronto when I was like three], more than deserved this trip.), and every time they send me photos of their adventures, I try to respond with something snarky, because that’s how I show my love 😛
WELL. As you may or may not have heard, the one and only George Clooney got married in Venice this past weekend. And where were my parents this past weekend? VENICE.
I can only conclude that this means my parents are secretly besties with George Clooney. I mean, really. What are the chances that they would end up in the same city at the same time He Who Will Never Marry got married?? That’s way too coincidental to merely be “a coincidence.”
I e-mailed my parents a caps lock tirade to let them know my extreme anger over them hiding the fact that they were invited to George Clooney’s wedding, and my mom confirmed my suspicions, telling me that they received a personally engraved invitation that specifically only invited two adults to the occasion. I KNEW IT.
(In reality, my parents did not see George Clooney or anyone else of note in Venice, though my aunt and uncle, who are there with them, did see paparazzi, which is kind of like seeing celebrities…sort of. My mom also let me know that Venice was “okay” but “not her favorite.” I, stuck at my desk at work, had a very hard time feeling any sort of sympathy for her difficulties.)
Have you ever been in the same area as someone famous? Celebrities seem to come to Chicago all the time, but I never find out about it until way after it happens. This is probably due in part to the fact that they hang out in places I could never, ever afford, and also to the fact that the “celebrities” in town are usually people I probably wouldn’t recognize.
Funny autocorrect stories?