Overheard in the living room:
"What's so bad about Philadelphia? Is that where all the rude people go that can't afford to live in New York?"
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Get Fresh
A friend accidentally coined a phrase tonight, and I told her I was going to use it. So... here it is... the term "Fresh out." Not meaning fresh outta money or what-have-you, but:
Fresh out: to step away from the computer or video game and go outside for a breather. Also, telling someone they need to back away from whatever they're doing and calm down before re-attempting it.
"My eyes hurt from playing Kitty Cannon for the past hour. I'm gonna fresh out for a minute."
"You're only going to break something if you don't stop beating on that bracket. Go fresh out and come back to it later."
Fresh out: to step away from the computer or video game and go outside for a breather. Also, telling someone they need to back away from whatever they're doing and calm down before re-attempting it.
"My eyes hurt from playing Kitty Cannon for the past hour. I'm gonna fresh out for a minute."
"You're only going to break something if you don't stop beating on that bracket. Go fresh out and come back to it later."
Monday, November 05, 2007
E, no 'phile
I'm not a wine snob... er, oenophile... I've never liked wine, except maybe the kind that comes in four-packs, is carbonated, and is labeled Bartles & Jaymes or Seagrams, and even those I could take or leave. On the rare occasions I have a drink, I prefer it to include good vodka in the recipe. On special occasions I'll have a margarita but my tastes are pretty constant otherwise.
When I was a kid in California, my parents would occasionally go to wineries for tasting. Usually these places had special tastefully-decorated rooms, with nice bars and correct glassware for whatever wine they were pushing. The visit often included a tour of the winery. I think I went along to maybe two of these wineries, and I recall hating the smell and how it lingered in my nostrils for days afterward.
Early this year I thought it would be "fun" to see if my tastes had matured. I decided the hubby and I should check out some Pennsylvania winemakers' offerings. A glass of red wine a day is supposed to be good for you, right? This was triggered, by the way, when a customer of his gave him a bottle of local red wine in lieu of a tip. It was drinkable, therefore a step in the right direction. That began our assault on PA/NY wines. We've tried maybe half a dozen now, possibly eight, and I find I still don't care for the smell or taste of reds.
I bring all this up to segue into our trip a couple of weeks ago. We were off on a foliage drive (after the elk country one) and happened to pass a sign for the winery that made that first bottle he brought home. They were open for tasting so we decided to check it out.
The drive to said winery was down a long back road. The place itself was a farm, with barns and animals and pickups. The "tasting room" was a garden shed, updated with a small bar and various assorted mounted critters and/or skins, as well as an electronic keyboard. Apparently their band used to practice there until most of their equipment was stolen. This wasn't the kind of tasting room I was expecting, but hey, this ain't Napa, so we went in with three other couples and a dog. The owner was a goofy fellow about our age who told dirty jokes and appeared to have been doing much more than tasting that day. As for the wine... he had three available; red, blush, and white. We'd had the red and I enjoyed it more than most since it had a decidedly pomegranate aftertaste (I love pomegranate). We were served in child-sized paper Dixie cups complete with cartoon animals on them. The cups were refilled with each kind of wine, so by the time we were on the white I had no idea if it was good or if I was just tasting a blend of all three plus soaked paper. Mr. Host continued with the jokes, the dog continued looking bored, and the deceased bear continued being deceased, so we bought two bottles (red and white) and left. Thus endeth our foray into redneck winetasting.
The red will be someone's hostess gift or Christmas present. I just finished the white, after my sister, husband and I cracked it a couple nights ago. For cheap redneck hooch... er, inexpensive small-batch wine... it's pretty good. However I've decided I much prefer Clover Hill wines, also inexpensive but with more variety, and I've realized I wouldn't know the difference between a "good" cabernet and a bad one. Odds are I'd like the cheap one better.
Especially if there was a dead bear nearby.
When I was a kid in California, my parents would occasionally go to wineries for tasting. Usually these places had special tastefully-decorated rooms, with nice bars and correct glassware for whatever wine they were pushing. The visit often included a tour of the winery. I think I went along to maybe two of these wineries, and I recall hating the smell and how it lingered in my nostrils for days afterward.
Early this year I thought it would be "fun" to see if my tastes had matured. I decided the hubby and I should check out some Pennsylvania winemakers' offerings. A glass of red wine a day is supposed to be good for you, right? This was triggered, by the way, when a customer of his gave him a bottle of local red wine in lieu of a tip. It was drinkable, therefore a step in the right direction. That began our assault on PA/NY wines. We've tried maybe half a dozen now, possibly eight, and I find I still don't care for the smell or taste of reds.
I bring all this up to segue into our trip a couple of weeks ago. We were off on a foliage drive (after the elk country one) and happened to pass a sign for the winery that made that first bottle he brought home. They were open for tasting so we decided to check it out.
The drive to said winery was down a long back road. The place itself was a farm, with barns and animals and pickups. The "tasting room" was a garden shed, updated with a small bar and various assorted mounted critters and/or skins, as well as an electronic keyboard. Apparently their band used to practice there until most of their equipment was stolen. This wasn't the kind of tasting room I was expecting, but hey, this ain't Napa, so we went in with three other couples and a dog. The owner was a goofy fellow about our age who told dirty jokes and appeared to have been doing much more than tasting that day. As for the wine... he had three available; red, blush, and white. We'd had the red and I enjoyed it more than most since it had a decidedly pomegranate aftertaste (I love pomegranate). We were served in child-sized paper Dixie cups complete with cartoon animals on them. The cups were refilled with each kind of wine, so by the time we were on the white I had no idea if it was good or if I was just tasting a blend of all three plus soaked paper. Mr. Host continued with the jokes, the dog continued looking bored, and the deceased bear continued being deceased, so we bought two bottles (red and white) and left. Thus endeth our foray into redneck winetasting.
The red will be someone's hostess gift or Christmas present. I just finished the white, after my sister, husband and I cracked it a couple nights ago. For cheap redneck hooch... er, inexpensive small-batch wine... it's pretty good. However I've decided I much prefer Clover Hill wines, also inexpensive but with more variety, and I've realized I wouldn't know the difference between a "good" cabernet and a bad one. Odds are I'd like the cheap one better.
Especially if there was a dead bear nearby.
Treknecks?
I saw this ad for the Country Music Awards... don't know if this is a new logo, or if I just never paid attention before... that is totally the Star Trek icon. The black hole effect behind it just emphasizes the fact.
*envisions Worf doing a duet with Alan Jackson... then William Shatner singing country- well, anything, for that matter... shudders*
Edit: Here's the Starfleet Academy logo, some various Star Trek communicator pins, and two "event shirts" being sold on the CMA website. That's pretty close to be coincidental, eh? I'm picturing tapping my communicator and getting a cheery "Howdy! Y'all needin' beamed up?"
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Slices of life... mmm, tasty!
For those of you with Blogger accounts, you've probably seen Blogger Play. It's a new-ish addition that works similar to the older LiveJournal photo feed, where you see the most recently-uploaded images to public blogs. However, Blogger Play is a real-time slideshow, although you can adjust the speed, pause, and even click an image to take you to its relevant post. It's incredibly addictive.
I'd like to have this as a screensaver... just a constant stream of random images from people all over the world.
I'd like to have this as a screensaver... just a constant stream of random images from people all over the world.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
It's a sign!
Saw two funny things yesterday...
In the classifieds of a local paper, I saw a help-wanted ad for TPS Systems. First thing that came to mind: I betcha *somebody* there really does have to write TPS reports... and I bet that somebody is sick of the jokes by now. I'm keeping my eye on the fire company reports.
Cardboard sign tacked to a telephone pole: "Medical/Dental Coverage, Pre-Exiting Conditions Accepted!" Heh heh... if I had a pre-exiting condition, I wouldn't be needing that insurance, I don't think. Maybe it means if you have a terminal illness and you know the great hereafter is imminent, they'll still kindly take your premium money?
Humor is off today. I'll try to find something better later...
In the classifieds of a local paper, I saw a help-wanted ad for TPS Systems. First thing that came to mind: I betcha *somebody* there really does have to write TPS reports... and I bet that somebody is sick of the jokes by now. I'm keeping my eye on the fire company reports.
Cardboard sign tacked to a telephone pole: "Medical/Dental Coverage, Pre-Exiting Conditions Accepted!" Heh heh... if I had a pre-exiting condition, I wouldn't be needing that insurance, I don't think. Maybe it means if you have a terminal illness and you know the great hereafter is imminent, they'll still kindly take your premium money?
Humor is off today. I'll try to find something better later...
Monday, October 15, 2007
Flaming Elk Drive
Yesterday we went to the Flaming Foliage Festival in Renovo, PA. Neither of us had ever been to the festival, and I had never seen Renovo or points west of it.
RenovoThe foliage was uncooperative; due to unseasonably hot weather up until last week, the color change was delayed a week or two, so the leaves were only 20-40% turned. Yesterday's weather was great though. It felt like a perfect fall day with a nice breeze skittering the dead leaves across the roads like orange spiders. The scenery, too, was breathtaking in places. We saw hang gliders taking off from Hyner View State Park.
When I read the route description online prior to our trip, one item caught my eye. Our route went through elk country. A "highlight of the drive," according to the description, was the possibility of hearing elk bugling during mating season, which happens to be now. A few times before, I'd mentioned to Hubby that it would be neat to go see the elk sometime. I found a viewing area listed, so I plotted it on our map, and off we went. I probably should have gone digging a bit deeper and found out more about elk-watching, but I was under the impression that there was a fenced field or something with a lookout point where tourists could watch the critters. Didn't sound like a destination, more of a pit stop along the way. Like the world's largest ball of twine. Boy was I wrong... on many counts...
Elk Viewing Area, Winslow Hill RoadFirst, let me say that our route initially consisted of a huge loop, going west through the PA Wilds Elk Scenic Drive, then north and back to the east across the northern tier. We stopped in Renovo and enjoyed the foliage festival for an hour, eating lunch there followed by maple cotton candy (sooo good!) before getting back on the road. Next stop was Benezette, in elk country. There's a loop of road on Winslow Hill with a few viewing areas. I was to discover that there are no fences, and the elk don't care if they're in a viewing area or not. On our way up to the first spot, through a community of cabins, we found a bunch of cars parked all over the road and people with cameras standing around oohing and ahhing. There were half a dozen elk cows moseying around in someone's front yard, grazing and napping and looking pretty boring, to be honest. But the amount of people there surprised me, even more so when we got to the actual viewing areas and found throngs of people who packed lunches, high-powered binoculars, and major camera setups. We spoke to a man from Corning NY and a couple from Ohio, who had been there on previous weekends and in prior years. This was not a side trip. They had driven hours *just* to (hopefully) see elk. Entire families planned their trips around this.
Elk cows and calves in a yard.(Hubby took pics of the bull; I don't have those yet.)
The elk didn't show in any of the major viewing spots; however, farther down the road, a herd plunked down in a field near a parking area, while a smaller herd kept their distance farther off. The closest one had a huge bull with about 20 cows. He chased off a smaller bull just as we got there, then proceeded to lie down and watch over his harem while they napped and grazed. Again, except for the brief excitement with the younger bull and the fact that this massive animal was so close to us, the elk were fairly uninspiring to watch. They ate, slept, yawned... pretty much what I would be doing, if I weren't watching animals do the same thing... hey, wait a minute, something's not right here...
As we were leaving (much later than we planned, because we'd found some killer scenery, and of course we stopped with everyone else to watch elk) there was another posse of cars pulled over. This time we could barely see them up on the ridgeline, but we heard the bulls. We have heard the bugles of elk, y'all. And they sound like they need Ricola in a bad way.
Needless to say, we didn't make the northern tier, or we'd still be on the way home. We turned south, picked up 80 and rode that into Lock Haven... all uneventful except for the brief moment we were on the "highest elevation on I-80 east of the Mississippi, 2250 feet." (I want to see that view again in the daytime.) It was a long but fun trip. Elk-watching is addictive in a weird kind of way so if you go, plan extra time for that and for exploring the area. The foliage should be in full color by the end of the month. We might go back!
Monday, October 08, 2007
Bad seafood! Bad!
I've been eating seafood pretty much my entire life. I was born near the ocean, into a family that fishes, crabs, and shrimps recreationally. Aside from that, I just like seafood and shellfish, and even if it's of questionable origin and on a menu in a landlocked-state Mexican restaurant (or whatever) I'll eat it. My husband is even more daring than I... he'll eat raw oysters off a buffet, which I just don't trust. We both eat sushi though.
My observation: In all these years, neither of us have ever gotten sick from seafood. Well, there was one time when we thought we'd had some bad shrimp, but it turned out to be a stomach virus that was going around. So... no. Yet one of the most popular excuses for a performer cancelling or no-showing a performance is that he/she was ill from eating bad seafood.
Let's pretend, for a moment, that their excuses are true and meant as "I ate bad fish" and not "I drank too much last night and I'm rocking a wicked hangover and I do not EVEN want to be near five thousand screaming lunatics today so I'm going to have some painkillers and vodka and go lie down for a day or two." Assuming the former, where do these people eat? One would think that celebrities, with their incredible demands and backstage lists and all, would not settle for anything less than the *best* food out there. We're not talking about Bubba's House O' Fish Planks, okay? (Except maybe in Britney Spears' case...) If I can eat a crab-cake sandwich from a stand at the local fair with no ill effects, surely these fancypants rich people can have their gourmet salmon without incident.
The whole thing smells fishy to me. I'm going with the hangover theory.
My observation: In all these years, neither of us have ever gotten sick from seafood. Well, there was one time when we thought we'd had some bad shrimp, but it turned out to be a stomach virus that was going around. So... no. Yet one of the most popular excuses for a performer cancelling or no-showing a performance is that he/she was ill from eating bad seafood.
Let's pretend, for a moment, that their excuses are true and meant as "I ate bad fish" and not "I drank too much last night and I'm rocking a wicked hangover and I do not EVEN want to be near five thousand screaming lunatics today so I'm going to have some painkillers and vodka and go lie down for a day or two." Assuming the former, where do these people eat? One would think that celebrities, with their incredible demands and backstage lists and all, would not settle for anything less than the *best* food out there. We're not talking about Bubba's House O' Fish Planks, okay? (Except maybe in Britney Spears' case...) If I can eat a crab-cake sandwich from a stand at the local fair with no ill effects, surely these fancypants rich people can have their gourmet salmon without incident.
The whole thing smells fishy to me. I'm going with the hangover theory.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Crap Update
Our Crap arrived a couple weeks ago. I forgot to post it for the one person who wanted to know what manner of Crap we received.
Our Crap:
Our Crap:
- Really nice red and black backpack, easily worth the cost (non-crap)
- One pack of two Jurassic Park 3-D puzzle sculptures (crap)
- Two generic fabric-covered Lone Ranger-style masks, no elastic (crap)
- One paper gift bag with handles (useful crap)
- One "Super-Lite" mini keychain LED flashlight (non-crap, as I needed one)
Sunday, September 30, 2007
New Frivolous Item: Microwave Locks
Passive-aggressive microwave owners, take note... er, make notes...?
I read through several of the comments. Most people assumed that no situation was bad enough to warrant getting one's own personal office microwave. The OP was over-reacting and employees cleaning up after themselves was the obvious solution.
They've obviously never worked for my company.
We have four nuke boxes and a refrigerator in one breakroom, and several more distributed throughout the other three breakrooms and office area. But none of them are ever clean... well, hardly ever. The temps and seasonal employees have serious cleaning aversions, as well as personal accountability ignorance and trash-can avoidance issues. The management tried to solve these problems by assigning one of them to do the daily cleaning of common areas and restrooms, but to no avail. She quit within two weeks and I have to wonder why it took that long. Surprised she didn't quit the first time she had to take rotten chicken parts out of the previously-clean-and-unused drinking cups. Or scrape up the food trash from behind the soda machine, where a large rat had relocated it piece by piece.* I noticed that having "one of their own" do the housekeeping hadn't slowed down their tendency to trash the place anyway.
Because of the constant state of the microwave interiors, crudded up by the varied items cooked therein (including, but not limited to, all manner of exploding cheeses and tomato sauces, bread bags and other assorted non-microwaveable plastics, and the occasional insect) I can honestly see why someone would want their own unit. I try to avoid using them at all. My supervisor has his own microwave in our office and I'll use that one on occasion. A padlock hasn't been necessary thus far. I can see it coming to that, though, if anyone else ever discovers it's there.
*I personally have done both of these, when we were between housekeeping solutions. I didn't quit only because my fool self had volunteered to clean the breakroom sight-unseen, and because after cleaning the men's bathroom, not much else could assault my senses that day with any real effect.
I read through several of the comments. Most people assumed that no situation was bad enough to warrant getting one's own personal office microwave. The OP was over-reacting and employees cleaning up after themselves was the obvious solution.
They've obviously never worked for my company.
We have four nuke boxes and a refrigerator in one breakroom, and several more distributed throughout the other three breakrooms and office area. But none of them are ever clean... well, hardly ever. The temps and seasonal employees have serious cleaning aversions, as well as personal accountability ignorance and trash-can avoidance issues. The management tried to solve these problems by assigning one of them to do the daily cleaning of common areas and restrooms, but to no avail. She quit within two weeks and I have to wonder why it took that long. Surprised she didn't quit the first time she had to take rotten chicken parts out of the previously-clean-and-unused drinking cups. Or scrape up the food trash from behind the soda machine, where a large rat had relocated it piece by piece.* I noticed that having "one of their own" do the housekeeping hadn't slowed down their tendency to trash the place anyway.
Because of the constant state of the microwave interiors, crudded up by the varied items cooked therein (including, but not limited to, all manner of exploding cheeses and tomato sauces, bread bags and other assorted non-microwaveable plastics, and the occasional insect) I can honestly see why someone would want their own unit. I try to avoid using them at all. My supervisor has his own microwave in our office and I'll use that one on occasion. A padlock hasn't been necessary thus far. I can see it coming to that, though, if anyone else ever discovers it's there.
*I personally have done both of these, when we were between housekeeping solutions. I didn't quit only because my fool self had volunteered to clean the breakroom sight-unseen, and because after cleaning the men's bathroom, not much else could assault my senses that day with any real effect.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
This Barn Isn't Big Enough For The Two Of Us
More peevish misspellings:
A manager at work apparently slept through part of English class. I know exactly when he dozed off, too... right in the middle of learning "cognizant." It's obvious, because he doesn't know that there is a third syllable in the word... he says "cogniz."
"Let's be cogniz of the fact..." And no, he isn't deliberately abbreviating it.
Browsing a message forum (always a hotbed of proper grammar and spelling, of course) I ran across another one that bothers me: "reigns." Not like the reigning queen of the trailer park, but used as reins: "He should hand the reigns over to..."
Now, in a tongue-in-cheek manner, it would be fine. In fact, the example I read today was intended as such. However, I see it misused so often that it warrants listing. If horses had reigns, who followed Mr. Ed to the throne?
The same people who use "reigns" seem to be notorious for "putting on the breaks." If I'm trying to stop in a hurry, and I get breaks, I'm in trouble... or maybe the deer I'm about to hit is the one in trouble... either way, it can't be a good thing. I try to avoid breaks as much as possible. By pulling back on the reigns, of course.
A manager at work apparently slept through part of English class. I know exactly when he dozed off, too... right in the middle of learning "cognizant." It's obvious, because he doesn't know that there is a third syllable in the word... he says "cogniz."
"Let's be cogniz of the fact..." And no, he isn't deliberately abbreviating it.
Browsing a message forum (always a hotbed of proper grammar and spelling, of course) I ran across another one that bothers me: "reigns." Not like the reigning queen of the trailer park, but used as reins: "He should hand the reigns over to..."
Now, in a tongue-in-cheek manner, it would be fine. In fact, the example I read today was intended as such. However, I see it misused so often that it warrants listing. If horses had reigns, who followed Mr. Ed to the throne?
The same people who use "reigns" seem to be notorious for "putting on the breaks." If I'm trying to stop in a hurry, and I get breaks, I'm in trouble... or maybe the deer I'm about to hit is the one in trouble... either way, it can't be a good thing. I try to avoid breaks as much as possible. By pulling back on the reigns, of course.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Bought What?
Today, my husband bought Crap. Deliberately. I was trying to buy Crap... in fact I've been trying to buy Crap, unsuccessfully, for a year. I had my order in first. My card processed, a dollar a Crap, for three Craps plus shipping. You can't buy more than three. In most cases, you can't buy just one either, as there are 50,000 others trying to buy Crap at the same time you are. It's a real crapshoot. Out of 50,000 (or more) wannabe Crap buyers, any number up to 4500 will get Crap, depending on the quantity each person ordered, so as few as 1500 could get Crap if everyone ordered three.
Husband and I were monitoring the Crap site, but we somehow were not paying attention when the actual Crap came up (as opposed to the other crappy items, most of which could conceivably be described as crap, lowercase descriptive). However, he must have seen it right as it appeared, because as soon as he yelled CRAP I was on it and actually got my order in and confirmed in less than 20 seconds. This is, of course, when the crappy Crap servers did their thing; that is, they crapped out. They always crap out during Crap sales. Once the site came back online, half an hour later, I found to my dismay that my confirmed Crap order had disappeared, possibly eaten by flying monkeys. This also happens regularly during Crap sales. This, though, was the first time in many attempts that I *had* a confirmed order... usually I get stuck in processing when the servers crap out and my order never goes through.
This is when my husband calls out, casually, that he's got an order in for three Craps. Somehow he managed to get to the order page, change the amount wanted to three, input his account number, and get it all through processing, payment, confirmation, and verification faster than I did, *and* before the servers crashed. Rather than ponder the absolute impossibility of this task, I chose to be thrilled that, finally, we are getting Crap!
I will post photos of the Craps when they get here. I don't know what they'll be yet- no one does- that's part of the Crap experience. Usually, it's crap. Sometimes it's cool crap, and sometimes (rarely) it's non-crap. Once it was a fifteen-pound anvil; once it was a washer-fluid heater; once it was a Nintendo Wii. Bottom line is: we actively sought out, fought for, and paid money for unknown, random Crap. I can't wait till it gets here! Craptastic!
Husband and I were monitoring the Crap site, but we somehow were not paying attention when the actual Crap came up (as opposed to the other crappy items, most of which could conceivably be described as crap, lowercase descriptive). However, he must have seen it right as it appeared, because as soon as he yelled CRAP I was on it and actually got my order in and confirmed in less than 20 seconds. This is, of course, when the crappy Crap servers did their thing; that is, they crapped out. They always crap out during Crap sales. Once the site came back online, half an hour later, I found to my dismay that my confirmed Crap order had disappeared, possibly eaten by flying monkeys. This also happens regularly during Crap sales. This, though, was the first time in many attempts that I *had* a confirmed order... usually I get stuck in processing when the servers crap out and my order never goes through.
This is when my husband calls out, casually, that he's got an order in for three Craps. Somehow he managed to get to the order page, change the amount wanted to three, input his account number, and get it all through processing, payment, confirmation, and verification faster than I did, *and* before the servers crashed. Rather than ponder the absolute impossibility of this task, I chose to be thrilled that, finally, we are getting Crap!
I will post photos of the Craps when they get here. I don't know what they'll be yet- no one does- that's part of the Crap experience. Usually, it's crap. Sometimes it's cool crap, and sometimes (rarely) it's non-crap. Once it was a fifteen-pound anvil; once it was a washer-fluid heater; once it was a Nintendo Wii. Bottom line is: we actively sought out, fought for, and paid money for unknown, random Crap. I can't wait till it gets here! Craptastic!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Today In History
I share the birthday with Mother Teresa, PeeWee Herman and Downtown Julie Brown.
The day started off with a mysterious bag left on the kitchen table... I approached warily, as I do with anything pastel-colored. There were flowers on the bag as well, generally a sign to have weapons at the ready just in case it explodes into a big ball of feminine cutesiness. Pastel + flower motif = high danger level.
After poking and prodding at the bag, and thereby determining that it wasn't going to get any worse, I examined the contents. It seems the Husband, knowing my tendency to recoil at anything pink, had cleverly disguised a gift much to my liking inside the girly crap.
Chrome portholes for the car fenders! W00t! *happy dance* Three for each side, no less. I did mention that the car didn't have enough chrome... not that I was complaining about it, I'm just a chromaholic... and he knew I admire pretty much any car with porthole accents. Thoughtful guy, that one is!
My friends online left me some nice messages, and I'm holding out hope for a cake later this evening (or I'll be in town buying one myself... it's a Cake Day, dangit! I look forward to celebrations that call for cake.) I got a great surprise from another friend, who offered to get me tickets to a particular celebrity appearance and a meeting with said celebrity afterward (!!!), when she learned I'd be in town for the event.
I'm also officially old and fat, as determined by my efforts to purchase a pair of jeans yesterday. The stores were full of tweens and high-school girls whining about not being able to find their sizes ("but the threes are soooo baggy!") and giggling about the granny-panties on the hangers (for the record, they were bikini briefs, for crying out loud... one step away from thongs). There were no pants in the store to fit short women with apple butts and narrow waists. Yes, I know about the Apple Bottoms brand, I'm not THAT old, but I have never been able to make myself pay that kind of money for jeans. In fact, yesterday was the first time I bought new jeans in ages... usually the Salvation Army gets my business, and I don't have to break in new denim. Anyway, when I did find a pair that fit- not great, but they fit- I bought 'em and got the heck out of there, away from the shrill cellphone ringtones and like, Rodney is like, such a hottie, lawl and the microsizes and macroprices and thong underbritches and smells like teen spirit really means adolescent sweat and Clearasil and bubblegum.
Ellen Degeneres had a spiel on her show this morning about how nobody has long attention spans anymore. I forget why she said it was. Maybe she didn't; I was looking at her shoes. But as a tie-in to the earlier post about the iPhone bill, Ellen showed hers off to the audience... 900 pages, to the tune of $4300 for one month. Add an iPhone bill and that's about the total cost of my rent... for an entire YEAR. I think, even if I were rich, that kind of spending would shock me. Sometimes I'm happy to be oblivious to how much it costs to live on the greener side of the fence. Would Ellen be thrilled to get chrome portholes for HER birthday?
Actually... something tells me she would...
The day started off with a mysterious bag left on the kitchen table... I approached warily, as I do with anything pastel-colored. There were flowers on the bag as well, generally a sign to have weapons at the ready just in case it explodes into a big ball of feminine cutesiness. Pastel + flower motif = high danger level.
After poking and prodding at the bag, and thereby determining that it wasn't going to get any worse, I examined the contents. It seems the Husband, knowing my tendency to recoil at anything pink, had cleverly disguised a gift much to my liking inside the girly crap.
Chrome portholes for the car fenders! W00t! *happy dance* Three for each side, no less. I did mention that the car didn't have enough chrome... not that I was complaining about it, I'm just a chromaholic... and he knew I admire pretty much any car with porthole accents. Thoughtful guy, that one is!
My friends online left me some nice messages, and I'm holding out hope for a cake later this evening (or I'll be in town buying one myself... it's a Cake Day, dangit! I look forward to celebrations that call for cake.) I got a great surprise from another friend, who offered to get me tickets to a particular celebrity appearance and a meeting with said celebrity afterward (!!!), when she learned I'd be in town for the event.
I'm also officially old and fat, as determined by my efforts to purchase a pair of jeans yesterday. The stores were full of tweens and high-school girls whining about not being able to find their sizes ("but the threes are soooo baggy!") and giggling about the granny-panties on the hangers (for the record, they were bikini briefs, for crying out loud... one step away from thongs). There were no pants in the store to fit short women with apple butts and narrow waists. Yes, I know about the Apple Bottoms brand, I'm not THAT old, but I have never been able to make myself pay that kind of money for jeans. In fact, yesterday was the first time I bought new jeans in ages... usually the Salvation Army gets my business, and I don't have to break in new denim. Anyway, when I did find a pair that fit- not great, but they fit- I bought 'em and got the heck out of there, away from the shrill cellphone ringtones and like, Rodney is like, such a hottie, lawl and the microsizes and macroprices and thong underbritches and smells like teen spirit really means adolescent sweat and Clearasil and bubblegum.
Ellen Degeneres had a spiel on her show this morning about how nobody has long attention spans anymore. I forget why she said it was. Maybe she didn't; I was looking at her shoes. But as a tie-in to the earlier post about the iPhone bill, Ellen showed hers off to the audience... 900 pages, to the tune of $4300 for one month. Add an iPhone bill and that's about the total cost of my rent... for an entire YEAR. I think, even if I were rich, that kind of spending would shock me. Sometimes I'm happy to be oblivious to how much it costs to live on the greener side of the fence. Would Ellen be thrilled to get chrome portholes for HER birthday?
Actually... something tells me she would...
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Saturday, August 18, 2007
I smell... bacon!
perpetualkid.com
Here's a nifty gifty site I ran across recently. I haven't looked at *all* the items yet, but some of them are amusing, like the pack of office stickers that includes "I ♥ Marker Smell!" The site has schlocky stuff- USB-powered heated slippers, marshmallow guns, fake tattoo bandages- but I have to give props to any store with a whole section listed as "Bacon."
Here's a nifty gifty site I ran across recently. I haven't looked at *all* the items yet, but some of them are amusing, like the pack of office stickers that includes "I ♥ Marker Smell!" The site has schlocky stuff- USB-powered heated slippers, marshmallow guns, fake tattoo bandages- but I have to give props to any store with a whole section listed as "Bacon."
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Earth to iPhone: Ouch!
In all fairness, this is not the fault of the iPhone itself, but of the phone service providers attached... see what happens when an AT&T user gets her first iPhone bill.
Count the Rings
Living on the fringes of technology like I do, sometimes I wonder if inanity like this can be real. Apparently, it is, and she isn't the only one to get a bill of this nature.
In other modern-technology news, I got a singing hamster for my birthday. Thanks Mom!
Count the Rings
Living on the fringes of technology like I do, sometimes I wonder if inanity like this can be real. Apparently, it is, and she isn't the only one to get a bill of this nature.
In other modern-technology news, I got a singing hamster for my birthday. Thanks Mom!
Monday, July 23, 2007
Slices of Southern Pie
I Smell Bacon...
We were driving south from Charleston SC on Highway 17. Suddenly my husband swerved into the other lane and back. I saw something running away to my right.
"What was it?" I asked.
"Pig."
"What?"
"Pig!"
Sure enough, it was a little black pig, going as fast as his tiny hoofs would carry him across the road and into the woods. I'm used to seeing all manner of critters on the road: coon, possum, turtle, squirrel, groundhog, skunk, pheasant, peacock, and chicken, and once an armadillo (a live one!) but this was the first pig. Not a pot-belly pet either. It looked to me like a young wild ham on the hoof, but even if it was just an adventurous farm oinker, it was good for a laugh.
Seen In Charleston
West Ashley Bait & Tackle
Cold Beer, Hot Food, No Bait, No Tackle
(!)
T-Shirt
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!"
(Charleston Flea Market)
Disturbing Trend
Substituting spaghetti noodles for lo mein... saw this for the first time at a "Chinese Buffet" in Georgia, and again the next day in Harrisburg, PA. As a huge fan of (real) lo mein, I hope this doesn't catch on.
Perspective
When I was a kid, it seemed to take forever to climb to the top of the lighthouse. It's a lot shorter than I remember. Of course it's still 175 steps like it's always been, but I have (marginally) longer legs now!
We were driving south from Charleston SC on Highway 17. Suddenly my husband swerved into the other lane and back. I saw something running away to my right.
"What was it?" I asked.
"Pig."
"What?"
"Pig!"
Sure enough, it was a little black pig, going as fast as his tiny hoofs would carry him across the road and into the woods. I'm used to seeing all manner of critters on the road: coon, possum, turtle, squirrel, groundhog, skunk, pheasant, peacock, and chicken, and once an armadillo (a live one!) but this was the first pig. Not a pot-belly pet either. It looked to me like a young wild ham on the hoof, but even if it was just an adventurous farm oinker, it was good for a laugh.
Seen In Charleston
West Ashley Bait & Tackle
Cold Beer, Hot Food, No Bait, No Tackle
(!)
T-Shirt
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!"
(Charleston Flea Market)
Disturbing Trend
Substituting spaghetti noodles for lo mein... saw this for the first time at a "Chinese Buffet" in Georgia, and again the next day in Harrisburg, PA. As a huge fan of (real) lo mein, I hope this doesn't catch on.
Perspective
When I was a kid, it seemed to take forever to climb to the top of the lighthouse. It's a lot shorter than I remember. Of course it's still 175 steps like it's always been, but I have (marginally) longer legs now!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Bated Hooks
I see it so often lately.
It's my latest writing peeve.
I really want to ask those people if they were munching on earthworms, or if they prefer minnows... perhaps squid or chum? Have they caught anything?
I'm talking about all those folks writing that they are/were waiting with baited breath for something or other. Hopefully they're waiting for a shipment of Listerine...
To clarify, for all those wannabe writers with bait-breath:
bate [beyt] verb, bat·ed, bat·ing. –verb (used with object)
–verb (used without object)
—Idiom
Please correct yourselves and stop teasing hungry fish. Thank you.
It's my latest writing peeve.
I really want to ask those people if they were munching on earthworms, or if they prefer minnows... perhaps squid or chum? Have they caught anything?
I'm talking about all those folks writing that they are/were waiting with baited breath for something or other. Hopefully they're waiting for a shipment of Listerine...
To clarify, for all those wannabe writers with bait-breath:
bate [beyt] verb, bat·ed, bat·ing. –verb (used with object)
| 1. | to moderate or restrain: unable to bate our enthusiasm. |
| 2. | to lessen or diminish; abate: setbacks that bated his hopes. |
| 3. | to diminish or subside; abate. |
| 4. | with bated breath, with breath drawn in or held because of anticipation or suspense: We watched with bated breath as the runners approached the finish line. |
Please correct yourselves and stop teasing hungry fish. Thank you.
7-11
Today is 7-11, and I really want a Slurpee...
Have I gone off on my nostalgic fondness for 7-11 before? I don't think so. At least, not here; I know I have in conversation on many occasions. I haven't seen a 7-11 in years. I know they're out there, and I know that a dozen of them are currently masquerading as Quik-E-Marts to promote the Simpsons movie, but this rave concerns the 7-11's of my youth... the ones that really were open from 7 AM to 11 PM.
The store I remember best was right at the edge of the military base housing area, on the "civilian" side. We lived on the military resident side. In order to get on the base, one had to drive up to the guard station and wait to be waved through after your credentials (window sticker, or on high security days, military ID card) were verified. To leave, one had to drive past the same guard shack. I was seven, and obviously I didn't drive; moreso, kids didn't have the same notions about protocol and security that adults and the US Marine Corps did. Thus on more than one occasion I took a shortcut along the cement drainage ditches that ran the length of the housing areas, crossed under a road through a sewer culvert, and followed a narrow path through the woods that bordered the base, finally emerging behind the 7-11 two miles from my house... barefoot, more often than not. (My mother thought I was out playing with friends. Those were the days when parents might see their kids twice between cartoons and supper- once to bandage a skinned knee and once to dole out lunch or a snack. They knew, if there was a problem, another mother would call them.)
Finally, I could spend my hoarded quarter or fifty cents, or more if I was lucky and had visited a generous relative lately. Back then, fifty cents bought a small brown paper bag of "penny" candy (which by that time cost 3 to 5 cents) or four to five more expensive items. For example, 10 cents for Gobstoppers. They used to be much larger and came in cellophane twin packs, usually two different colors per pack. I would dig around until I found either a yellow/orange combo or, very rarely, an accidental yellow/yellow pair. (Although they all tasted the same, I had a thing for yellow candy. I still do!)
Other 10-cent goodies included Lemonheads and the other Ferrara Pan boxed candies, like Jawbreakers, Boston Baked Beans, and mini Atomic Fireballs. Lemonheads were one of my high-ranking favorites. Banana and grape Laffy Taffy (5 cents) were up there too, along with Gobstoppers and that powdered candy that came in fruit-shaped bottles. I also loved foil-wrapped chocolate footballs (bottom shelf, in bins, 3 cents) and Charleston Chews (25 cents).
If I happened to be there with my parents, I would beg for Dukes of Hazzard trading cards. As I recall, the stick of gum inside was horrible-tasting but of little importance to me. I wanted a whole set of Dukes cards! I never did complete a set (was missing two), and a handful of the ones I had sort of wandered off someplace, but I still have a battered display box full of singles. I remember when the cards went up to 50 cents a pack and my mom stopped buying them for me... that ended my Dukes collecting, but there were other, cheaper cards to be had. I was also a sticker fanatic so anything that came with adhesive backing got my interest, especially Wacky Packages. There was another kind of pack that came with all stickers, including cards with nine oval word-balloons ("go away" "groovy" "crazy" etc) and I haven't been able to find or remember the brand. I have some of the cards, stickers intact, stashed away and someday I'll dig those out to check the name. I'm sure I saved at least two wrappers. I always did.
While Mom wouldn't let me have a large soda, sometimes I'd be able to get a Slurpee. I'm sure it was the Slurpee cups that occasionally had promotional items or prizes stuck under the bottom of the cup. Round trading cards, maybe, or contest game pieces. My memory is fuzzy on that one (blame it on the sugar buzz at the time.) Anyone else remember?
Our 7-11 had permanently sticky floors and smelled weird, like a cross between refrigerant and leaf mold. It didn't seem to do a lot of business; military residents frequented the base mini-mart just past the guard shack, which was cheaper and had a playground for the kids next to it. Not many people lived in the area then, so patrons were usually the few non-military locals or people running in after the base store had closed for the day. I vaguely recall when it closed down, then later reopened under some non-chain name, then eventually closed again after going through a few more owners and several pieces of plywood to replace the broken windows. The last time I went by the site was a small engine repair shop.
If I run across one, I'd like to go in a 7-11 and buy a Slurpee and a pack of Garbage Pail Kids cards. Just for old times' sake. Meanwhile, here's a neat link to some 7-11 factoids.
*Supposedly, July 11 is "7-11 Day" whereupon the stores give away 7.11-ounce Slurpees to 1,000 patrons.*
Have I gone off on my nostalgic fondness for 7-11 before? I don't think so. At least, not here; I know I have in conversation on many occasions. I haven't seen a 7-11 in years. I know they're out there, and I know that a dozen of them are currently masquerading as Quik-E-Marts to promote the Simpsons movie, but this rave concerns the 7-11's of my youth... the ones that really were open from 7 AM to 11 PM.
The store I remember best was right at the edge of the military base housing area, on the "civilian" side. We lived on the military resident side. In order to get on the base, one had to drive up to the guard station and wait to be waved through after your credentials (window sticker, or on high security days, military ID card) were verified. To leave, one had to drive past the same guard shack. I was seven, and obviously I didn't drive; moreso, kids didn't have the same notions about protocol and security that adults and the US Marine Corps did. Thus on more than one occasion I took a shortcut along the cement drainage ditches that ran the length of the housing areas, crossed under a road through a sewer culvert, and followed a narrow path through the woods that bordered the base, finally emerging behind the 7-11 two miles from my house... barefoot, more often than not. (My mother thought I was out playing with friends. Those were the days when parents might see their kids twice between cartoons and supper- once to bandage a skinned knee and once to dole out lunch or a snack. They knew, if there was a problem, another mother would call them.)
Finally, I could spend my hoarded quarter or fifty cents, or more if I was lucky and had visited a generous relative lately. Back then, fifty cents bought a small brown paper bag of "penny" candy (which by that time cost 3 to 5 cents) or four to five more expensive items. For example, 10 cents for Gobstoppers. They used to be much larger and came in cellophane twin packs, usually two different colors per pack. I would dig around until I found either a yellow/orange combo or, very rarely, an accidental yellow/yellow pair. (Although they all tasted the same, I had a thing for yellow candy. I still do!)
Other 10-cent goodies included Lemonheads and the other Ferrara Pan boxed candies, like Jawbreakers, Boston Baked Beans, and mini Atomic Fireballs. Lemonheads were one of my high-ranking favorites. Banana and grape Laffy Taffy (5 cents) were up there too, along with Gobstoppers and that powdered candy that came in fruit-shaped bottles. I also loved foil-wrapped chocolate footballs (bottom shelf, in bins, 3 cents) and Charleston Chews (25 cents).
If I happened to be there with my parents, I would beg for Dukes of Hazzard trading cards. As I recall, the stick of gum inside was horrible-tasting but of little importance to me. I wanted a whole set of Dukes cards! I never did complete a set (was missing two), and a handful of the ones I had sort of wandered off someplace, but I still have a battered display box full of singles. I remember when the cards went up to 50 cents a pack and my mom stopped buying them for me... that ended my Dukes collecting, but there were other, cheaper cards to be had. I was also a sticker fanatic so anything that came with adhesive backing got my interest, especially Wacky Packages. There was another kind of pack that came with all stickers, including cards with nine oval word-balloons ("go away" "groovy" "crazy" etc) and I haven't been able to find or remember the brand. I have some of the cards, stickers intact, stashed away and someday I'll dig those out to check the name. I'm sure I saved at least two wrappers. I always did.
While Mom wouldn't let me have a large soda, sometimes I'd be able to get a Slurpee. I'm sure it was the Slurpee cups that occasionally had promotional items or prizes stuck under the bottom of the cup. Round trading cards, maybe, or contest game pieces. My memory is fuzzy on that one (blame it on the sugar buzz at the time.) Anyone else remember?
Our 7-11 had permanently sticky floors and smelled weird, like a cross between refrigerant and leaf mold. It didn't seem to do a lot of business; military residents frequented the base mini-mart just past the guard shack, which was cheaper and had a playground for the kids next to it. Not many people lived in the area then, so patrons were usually the few non-military locals or people running in after the base store had closed for the day. I vaguely recall when it closed down, then later reopened under some non-chain name, then eventually closed again after going through a few more owners and several pieces of plywood to replace the broken windows. The last time I went by the site was a small engine repair shop.
If I run across one, I'd like to go in a 7-11 and buy a Slurpee and a pack of Garbage Pail Kids cards. Just for old times' sake. Meanwhile, here's a neat link to some 7-11 factoids.
*Supposedly, July 11 is "7-11 Day" whereupon the stores give away 7.11-ounce Slurpees to 1,000 patrons.*
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