Dear Citizens,
Today is a special day. My baby sister Janette turns 40. As she was just 10 years old at our wedding, she will always be 10 years old to Andy. A recent conversation:
CitizenB (on the telephone to Mom): Janette's 40th is Wednesday.
Andy (eavesdropping): Janette, the kid who spilled grape juice on the carpet, is 40?
CitizenB: No, Janette, the kid who spilled milk at the dinner table every night of her childhood, is 40.
Andy: You're sure it wasn't grape juice?
CitizenB: Yes. It was milk. Plus if she sat still long enough her eyes would roll back and she would fall asleep in her plate of mashed potatoes.
Janette was full of surprises. First, she was born prematurely and out of state. The family had moved temporarily from Texas to Kansas and from my memory, our dog, Spot, a white fur ball with one spot (possibly his black nose or a smudge of dirt), ran through our mother's legs as she descended the stairs causing the first spill of many to come - her water broke and she was whisked away to hospital at 7 1/2 months.
While Janette was making her early entrance, tornadoes were dropping in and out of clouds (it was May in Kansas) and our not-sold-on-the-whole-idea housekeeper/babysitter Ruby, always wide-eyed looking out the kitchen window, forced us, the existing children ages 8, 6, 4 and 2, to duck and cover in the basement for what seemed like an eternity. Within a few days, we piled into the car and drove to the hospital where we waited for the newest addition to take her place in the back seat.
Back at home, the little bundle was placed on the enormous and hideously itchy Early American sofa for her first official photo - expertly taken with a Polaroid camera from about 40 feet away. She looked like, well, a blanket.
A few highlights:
Except for the relentless spitting up of foul-smelling formula, Janette was an easy baby. I considered myself a miniature junior mother and lugged her around. Hey, I already had Campfire girl and Brownie under my belt at that point and knew how to sew a "sit-upon."
As a toddler, she called every man we encountered in public "Daddy." For a few years, men of all ages, shapes, sizes and ethnicities would flee from us.
Unlike her sister Kellie, she would do anything I asked her to do - like walk to the apartment rental office to retrieve a Mr. Pibb from the vending machine while I watched reruns of "Leave it to Beaver." I like to think I never put her in harm's way and certainly never convinced her that a tadpole from the creek was candy. Kellie fell for that one.
Once she wandered away from our group at the Fort Worth Science and History Museum. At some point between the replica pioneer days classroom and 1800's doctor's office exhibit we lost her. Fortunately, an announcement was made that a little girl "Nona Net Jinkees" - her version of her full name at age 4 - was looking for her family. There was a dramatic reunion at the front desk and then we got to go for ice cream to celebrate not leaving our sister behind with fossils.
As she grew up, it became quite obvious that she was uber-hyperactive. There was a lot of spinning, kicking, standing on her head, dancing, twirling, leg splits, cartwheels, awkward roller skating etc. Not much has changed and this explains why at age 40 she can still fall asleep with her head in a plate. Such skill.
Happy Birthday Janette!
CitizenB
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
My Dinner With Geronimo
Dear Citizens:
As a business traveler, it's not uncommon for cities, airports, hotels, conference rooms, and restaurants to blur together. Not Miami. It's multi-cultural, flavorful, and unexpected no matter how generic you try to make it.
For me, it all starts while boarding a 767 and not the usual DC-10 at DFW airport. There are no self-obsessed men in suits. Not a blackberry in sight. Instead there are vacationers clutching Group 4 boarding passes attempting to board with First Class and Executive Platinum. In my best flight attendant persona, I attempt to assist confused elderly passengers dressed tragically head-to-toe in pastel polyester and struggling with unsuitable carry-on baggage. There's a language barrier. They don't speak Texan even though I assumed "y'all" was universal. Smiling and hand gestures help.
We manage to get on the airplane. I am seated in an emergency exit aisle located next to an off-duty junior pilot. He reminds me of Leonardo DiCaprio in "Catch Me If You Can" and I begin to wonder if like Leo, he's a fraud pretending to be a pilot and whether he can really open the exit door in the event of an emergency.
At some point in the flight I remember to mind my own business and we land in Miami. I'm there to mediate a negligent security case. I immediately notice that the Miami airport has "negligent security" written all over it. Airport employees are few and it takes 55 minutes for the conveyor to shoot out the checked luggage. Not expecting to see my Samsonite ever again I had already said good-bye to my favorite pajamas and broken up with my dressy sandals.
Of course, the glorious weather totally makes up for it. Also I know of no other airport where you can get a Cuban sandwich to go with your cafecito at 8:00 a.m.
I usually stay downtown but mediation takes me south and I stay at the Hotel Indigo in Dadeland. The cab driver, originally from Haiti knows exactly where to go. He drops me at the hotel near a tree chocked full of wild parrots. I count at least 30 and they create a noisy ruckus knocking seed pods, leaves and small limbs from the tree. Several parrots are lined up on the hotel's roof as if on security patrol.
Hotel Indigo, a boutique-y Holiday Inn, promotes itself with Haiku. The Haiku at the front desk states:
"Colorful locales
Refreshingly different
Adventures Await"
There are haiku posted in the room that speak to bathing, the environment, and room service.
Inspired, I decide to compose a haiku about the wild parrots:
The Hotel Parrot
Wild Nesting and Foraging
Complimentary
I have dinner at Fleming Restaurant - A Taste of Denmark. I consider a Danish dish - the Frikadeller Dinner - A Danish meat patty served with sweet and sour red cabbage and a side of champagne cream sauce. I decide to forgo the meat patty and order Japanese-inspired sesame seared tuna. Because it is included in the Sunset menu, I have tiramisu for dessert. This is Miami. You never know what to expect.
The next day proves to be very good for mediation. Passover Seder and impending sundown motivates the mediator and 7 of 8 attorneys to settle the negligent security case in a timely fashion. I assure you that without Seder we would still be there arguing every inconceivable issue. The lone attorney passing Seder invites me for dinner at an outdoor bistro with his wife and their (his) dog, Geronimo.
It turns out that Geronimo is a well-trained German Shepherd. Geronimo is his American name. His German name sounds something like "Gesundheit" We meet. He is a bit aloof but sniffs and licks my hand. A good sign for such a serious dog. One sniff of Geronimo reminds me of my grandfather's garage and hunting dogs. I realize my eyes are closed and I'm 8 years old again. It smells just like Geronimo plus grease and oil.
At the "French Bistro" and still going with "anything goes", I order churrasco - as recommended by the Portuguese waiter and my dinner companions. It is served with all-American peas and carrots. Geronimo keeps a lookout from our table and drinks iced water from a high-tech, portable, fold-out water dish. He also shares the churrasco - without the cilantro-infused olive oil on the side. Geronimo dislikes sauces. I learn my companions' daughter, a Harvard-educated physician, also shuns all condiments. She doesn't eat salad dressing, mustard, jelly, or champagne cream sauce. She prefers basic food - even in salsa-spicy Miami. Go figure.
Geronimo consumes roughly one-half of the table's churrasco and drinks from the portable dish. A strong, silent type, he is as relaxed as possible. He skips dessert of fruit, ice cream, and pigeons. He is trained not to eat pigeons except on command. Impressive.
I head back to my poem-inspired, parrot-squatting hotel and try to sleep despite the wall-size seascape mural in my room. I want to phone the front desk and report that Jellyfish, other blobby sea creatures, and Haiku can cause nightmares. I don't.
The next morning I leave Miami. My work is done.
CitizenB
As a business traveler, it's not uncommon for cities, airports, hotels, conference rooms, and restaurants to blur together. Not Miami. It's multi-cultural, flavorful, and unexpected no matter how generic you try to make it.
For me, it all starts while boarding a 767 and not the usual DC-10 at DFW airport. There are no self-obsessed men in suits. Not a blackberry in sight. Instead there are vacationers clutching Group 4 boarding passes attempting to board with First Class and Executive Platinum. In my best flight attendant persona, I attempt to assist confused elderly passengers dressed tragically head-to-toe in pastel polyester and struggling with unsuitable carry-on baggage. There's a language barrier. They don't speak Texan even though I assumed "y'all" was universal. Smiling and hand gestures help.
We manage to get on the airplane. I am seated in an emergency exit aisle located next to an off-duty junior pilot. He reminds me of Leonardo DiCaprio in "Catch Me If You Can" and I begin to wonder if like Leo, he's a fraud pretending to be a pilot and whether he can really open the exit door in the event of an emergency.
At some point in the flight I remember to mind my own business and we land in Miami. I'm there to mediate a negligent security case. I immediately notice that the Miami airport has "negligent security" written all over it. Airport employees are few and it takes 55 minutes for the conveyor to shoot out the checked luggage. Not expecting to see my Samsonite ever again I had already said good-bye to my favorite pajamas and broken up with my dressy sandals.
Of course, the glorious weather totally makes up for it. Also I know of no other airport where you can get a Cuban sandwich to go with your cafecito at 8:00 a.m.
I usually stay downtown but mediation takes me south and I stay at the Hotel Indigo in Dadeland. The cab driver, originally from Haiti knows exactly where to go. He drops me at the hotel near a tree chocked full of wild parrots. I count at least 30 and they create a noisy ruckus knocking seed pods, leaves and small limbs from the tree. Several parrots are lined up on the hotel's roof as if on security patrol.
Hotel Indigo, a boutique-y Holiday Inn, promotes itself with Haiku. The Haiku at the front desk states:
"Colorful locales
Refreshingly different
Adventures Await"
There are haiku posted in the room that speak to bathing, the environment, and room service.
Inspired, I decide to compose a haiku about the wild parrots:
The Hotel Parrot
Wild Nesting and Foraging
Complimentary
I have dinner at Fleming Restaurant - A Taste of Denmark. I consider a Danish dish - the Frikadeller Dinner - A Danish meat patty served with sweet and sour red cabbage and a side of champagne cream sauce. I decide to forgo the meat patty and order Japanese-inspired sesame seared tuna. Because it is included in the Sunset menu, I have tiramisu for dessert. This is Miami. You never know what to expect.
The next day proves to be very good for mediation. Passover Seder and impending sundown motivates the mediator and 7 of 8 attorneys to settle the negligent security case in a timely fashion. I assure you that without Seder we would still be there arguing every inconceivable issue. The lone attorney passing Seder invites me for dinner at an outdoor bistro with his wife and their (his) dog, Geronimo.
It turns out that Geronimo is a well-trained German Shepherd. Geronimo is his American name. His German name sounds something like "Gesundheit" We meet. He is a bit aloof but sniffs and licks my hand. A good sign for such a serious dog. One sniff of Geronimo reminds me of my grandfather's garage and hunting dogs. I realize my eyes are closed and I'm 8 years old again. It smells just like Geronimo plus grease and oil.
At the "French Bistro" and still going with "anything goes", I order churrasco - as recommended by the Portuguese waiter and my dinner companions. It is served with all-American peas and carrots. Geronimo keeps a lookout from our table and drinks iced water from a high-tech, portable, fold-out water dish. He also shares the churrasco - without the cilantro-infused olive oil on the side. Geronimo dislikes sauces. I learn my companions' daughter, a Harvard-educated physician, also shuns all condiments. She doesn't eat salad dressing, mustard, jelly, or champagne cream sauce. She prefers basic food - even in salsa-spicy Miami. Go figure.
Geronimo consumes roughly one-half of the table's churrasco and drinks from the portable dish. A strong, silent type, he is as relaxed as possible. He skips dessert of fruit, ice cream, and pigeons. He is trained not to eat pigeons except on command. Impressive.
I head back to my poem-inspired, parrot-squatting hotel and try to sleep despite the wall-size seascape mural in my room. I want to phone the front desk and report that Jellyfish, other blobby sea creatures, and Haiku can cause nightmares. I don't.
The next morning I leave Miami. My work is done.
CitizenB
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Candlestick Salad
Today is April Fool's Day and this could explain why a few of my family members got a little silly late this afternoon with e-mail. Much of it started with comments about Mother being a "Tomahawk" from the prior post. This led to a story from my cousin and sister about the time as children they escaped raging flood waters only to be punished by Tomahawk and her evil sister, Aunt Nan (we're still thinking of a nickname...for now, I'll go with "Arrowhead"). They were forced to stay indoors and make an inedible cake from Bisquick. Even the dumbest dog on earth at the time, Bo Bo, wouldn't eat it.
All of this led to the question of whether it was possible to make a cake (not a pancake) from Bisquick and somehow that reminded Aunt Arrowhead about the time she made Candlestick Salad in Home Economics class in the mid-1960s. Here's how it went:
CitizenB: You can make a cake with Bisquick?
Aunt Arrowhead: Sure you can make a cake out of Bisquick. You can make one out of mud too. Tastes about the same. When I was in school I made donuts out of biscuits. I also made a candlestick salad. Take a plate, put a lettuce leaf on it, then a slice of pineapple, stick a banana in the center of the pineapple, whip cream on top of the banana with a cherry on top. Lake Worth High School home economics in action. Sorry, I got carried away with all my cooking expertise.
CitizenB: Curious…was the banana supposed to represent the candlestick?
Aunt Arrowhead: Of course it represented the candlestick. What else?
CItizenB: I don’t know…? I was just trying to get the salad construction and name to match….never heard of a candlestick salad until now. Very good to know. I think I could make it.
Aunt Arrowhead: ... We were only in high school and never thought about things like that. I'm pleased I could teach you something you never knew before. Yes, YOU CAN DO IT.
CitizenB: I guess I was mixing a little World History in with Home Ec. I was visualizing the banana as an ancient Egyptian obelisk (for some reason) and not a candlestick... Thank you for your confidence in me. Let’s pray I can keep the banana erect.
Aunt Arrowhead forwarded a recipe to me but there was no photo. After work, I researched and found the below depiction of Candlestick Salad in all it's glory. Of note, the whipped cream is supposed to represent the melting wax and the cherry the flame. Sigh. I'm sorry but it cracked me up to think about a bunch of 1960's high schoolers trying to make bananas stand up on pineapple rings. Thankfully by the time I hit Home Ec. in the late 1970's, Candlestick Salad had been replaced by a basic Waldorf Salad. Mayonnaise on apples was risque enough for me.
All of this got me wondering about the 1960's and why housewives were obsessed garnishing everything with pineapple and shaping food into weird objects..like candlesticks.
For the five minutes I've been thinking about it, my opinion is that housewives were bored silly, and canned goods and advanced packaged foods opened up new culinary doors and excitement. I decided to take a quick look into my very cool 1967 Better Homes and Gardens "Jiffy Cooking" to see what I could discover. From the book, it's clear housewives were obsessed with the color orange, molded gelatin, glazes, and all things elegant with "an Oriental flair."
Here's a sample of words used to describe various recipes:
Saucy, frosty, royal, zippy, peppy, spiced, lazy day, easy-do, meal-in-a-bowl, instant, hurry, jiffy, easy perfection, creamy, minted, velvet, quicky, time-saving, fruit-glazed, "a la", party, tropical, Hong Kong, fizz and sparkle.
And a list of Menus:
"A Robust Meal for Crisp Evenings" (Skillet Potato Salad with a 14 ounce bologna ring)
"Fit for the King of the Household" (Canadian Bacon Stack-Ups with canned sweet potatoes)
"Treat Your Guests Elegantly" (Pampered Beef Fillets with Royal Mushroom Sauce)
"An Informal Teen-age Record Party" (Tamale Hero Sandwiches and Pickle-Sickles)
"A Light Brunch for the Ladies" (Orange-nut Ring and Berry Parfaits)
"A Main Dish Inspired By Old Mexico" (Taco Salad with Crusty Hard Rolls)
"Be Creative With Convenience Foods" (Yam and Sausage Skillet)
"Three Open-face Salad Sandwiches" (Tuna Tugs, Corned Beef Captains & Chef's Salad in a Roll)
Gosh, I miss the good old days when the only fish we ate was canned tuna (in oil), and we consumed hundreds of 14 ounce bologna rings, saucy sausage links, tins of luncheon meat, and cans of high-sodium Veg-All and Pork-n-Beans. Much like the Candlestick Salad, it was all so elegant!
CitizenB
Monday, March 30, 2009
Adventures in a Small Town
Dear Citizens,
A couple weeks ago my sister and I set off for the small town where our grandmother, 91, now resides in a rest home. From Granny's point of view, she came to live in the rest home under the guise of "28 day rehab" when she was discharged from the hospital after the last of many trip and falls and heart episodes. She was coaxed into going to rehab by the nice-looking young doctor at the clinic. Granny has always been a sucker for handsomeness or men in general. Once in preparation for minor surgery a few years ago and with a dreamy look in her eyes she whispered to me "Doesn't Dr. Cotton look just like Dan Rather?" She has many crushes, including George Strait, Pat Sajak, and John at the Dairy Queen. There's also John's friend, Milton. Granny's conflicted over Milton because "the man's ugly as sin" yet "has the best personality."
You know you've arrived in town, pop. 3000, once you pass the summer sausage-smoked cheese-brittles-fudge shop on the left and the veterinary clinic with the sign "Rattlesnake Vaccine Now Available" on the right. Before you arrive at the town square, you pass the Chicken/Taco Express (75 cents for a large iced tea, and yes, you can order it unsweetened) and The Donut Shop situated in an old gas station with the sign "Long Johns on Special."
You know you've arrived in town when your father (he lives up the hill from The Donut Shop) hits you up for a $30 loan until he can recall the P.I.N. for his new debit card, and presumably to get his fix of iced tea and long johns for the weekend. You also know you've arrived when your uncle (he also lives up the hill and next door to your father) calls your cell phone repeatedly. Anticipating visitors is big in a small town.
At the town square, there's a grocery store, cafe, florist, gift shop, hardware store, gun shop, and dueling pharmacies - on opposite sides of the square. I imagine a real drug war going on there. I've explored a couple of shops and can report that the grocery store smells like bologna and 50% of the produce section is frozen iceberg lettuce the size of bowling balls. The linoleum floor is uneven and crackles. I like that. As for the flower shop it's overflowing with black and red ribbon and silk mums to support the high school. Go Bulldogs. Fortunately, red is my grandmother's favorite color.
After a left turn at the square and out on the highway, there's a local hamburger joint ("sources" report the iced tea costs $1 - a rip off) and an ALCO general merchandise store. I've made many trips to Granny's new home in the past 6 months and have found an abundance of useful things at ALCO: her favorite jelly beans (I'm sure Granny had a crush on Ronald Reagan), Lubriderm, sleeping cap, socks, pillows, Christmas decorations, sweatsuits (the rest home's official uniform) and for me, a current women's magazine. Beware. The magazines at the store on the square are dusty with camouflaged men on the cover.
Now to the rest home. There's good and bad and much resting.
The good:
1. Granny
2. The patio and outdoor area.
3. The large window in her room with a nice view.
4. The Texas-sized lobby and decor.
The bad:
1. The incessant buzzing and beeping noises.
2. An odor in a couple of spots along the corridor.
3. The temperature - it's insanely warm. Tropical without the paradise.
4. The resident who insists on wheeling himself to the lobby in his shower chair.
You must know this is not a retirement center or senior citizen center. It's not that vibrant. No dominoes clicking on the tables. The residents are mostly confined to wheelchairs and need full-time care. In advanced age, they have difficulty communicating with each other. Granny is one of the more spry and social residents but reports she can't see to play bingo. She does engage in wheelchair exercise class and never misses a meal in the dining hall. She's gained a much needed 11 pounds since she arrived.
There's an issue with her vision. We're not sure what she can and cannot see. Example:
Granny: CitizenB, your face is just a blur to me.
CitizenB: Okay, let me try something. Look at me. What am I doing now?
Granny: You're sticking out your tongue at me!
CitizenB: Bingo!
While we're there, I'm compelled to talk to every resident I encounter, including the man in the shower chair. For the record, he's "Becky's Daddy" and loves chicken. And there's the lady with powdered eyeglasses, bless her heart. I also attempt conversation with Granny's roommate Dorothy - not to be confused with Granny's friend from the dining hall Dorothy a/k/a Floozy Dot. Of course, Granny would make friends with the woman in love with a married man and not the woman she argues with over closet space. I don't blame her. There's more mystery with Floozy Dot. Roommate Dorothy has a high pitched, squeaky voice and it's almost as bad as the buzzing and beeping noises. As for the married man, yes, he and his wife live at the center, and as far as Granny knows Floozy Dot's love for him is a secret. She says: "We don't talk about it." I'm sure.
Granny has two sons. As mentioned, both live in town and are single. No sane woman would have them. Granny's not entirely happy because one, my uncle, visits too much, and two, my dad, visits too little. She doesn't want to complain about too many visits, but she lets on that #1 son can get on her nerves. As for #2 son, my dad, she reports that she doesn't know what's wrong with him and if "I had not been there during his birth I wouldn't believe he's mine." Ouch.
#1 son is very social and enjoys chatting up the nursing home aides and women at the Dollar Store. #2 son is anti-social and enjoys dreaming up new craft projects involving feathers, beads, leather, wood and old car parts. #1 son has a beloved cat. #2 son has three dogs - make that two dogs and a wolf-dog. Yes, my father lives with wolves. Before becoming a wolf-owner, he preferred to date women he met at Pow-Wows. One conversation went like this:
Daddy: I'm seeing an ol' girl. (Yes, this is how he communicates.)
CitizenB: What's her name?
Daddy: Feather.
CitizenB: Heather?
Daddy: No, Feather.
CitizenB: What's her real name?
Daddy, chuckling: Brenda (you see, my mom/his first wife's name is Brenda and she has been justly and majorly upset with him for 45 years and will be for all eternity.)
CitizenB: Interesting. I guess in comparison, this would make Mom's native name "Tomahawk."
Getting back to Granny...during our last visit and out of the blue, Granny announced that three nights before she had witnessed a possum in her room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pointed to where she saw the little critter before he hid behind the dresser.
CitizenB: Granny, are you sure you saw a possum?
Granny: Yep.
CitizenB: Could it have been a mouse or worse, a rat?
Granny: No, it was a possum.
CitizenB: What did you do?
Granny: Well, I lifted my feet off the floor.
CitizenB: Did you tell someone?
Granny: No. They wouldn't believe me.
A few minutes later, a nurse's aide came into the room and my sister reported the possum sighting. The aide stood silently for a minute and then announced, "Well, let's hope it stays behind the dresser." As a trained investigator and while in search for the vending machine late in the afternoon, I noticed a large door off the dining hall slightly ajar. It led to a patio for employees only providing them a place to cool off and prevent dying of heat stroke. In this rural setting, I suppose it's not impossible for a hungry or confused possum to find his way inside. Also for the record, there's one thing we cannot dispute, blind or not, my country grandmother knows her vermin.
After a full day, my sister and I head back to a different civilization. We try to comprehend everything we heard and witnessed, including the resident who carried on a loud conversation with herself about an event occurring most likely around 1928. We were unaware women cursed so much in 1928.
As we leave town, there's a large cat sitting near the square waving us goodbye. He's a rather strange cat with a solid white body and a black head and neck. Somehow he was assigned the wrong cat's body. Otherwise, he appears to be wearing a ski mask so he could be a bank robber cat. It's too bad Granny wasn't there to make a positive identification. For all we know he could have been a possum.
CitizenB
A couple weeks ago my sister and I set off for the small town where our grandmother, 91, now resides in a rest home. From Granny's point of view, she came to live in the rest home under the guise of "28 day rehab" when she was discharged from the hospital after the last of many trip and falls and heart episodes. She was coaxed into going to rehab by the nice-looking young doctor at the clinic. Granny has always been a sucker for handsomeness or men in general. Once in preparation for minor surgery a few years ago and with a dreamy look in her eyes she whispered to me "Doesn't Dr. Cotton look just like Dan Rather?" She has many crushes, including George Strait, Pat Sajak, and John at the Dairy Queen. There's also John's friend, Milton. Granny's conflicted over Milton because "the man's ugly as sin" yet "has the best personality."
You know you've arrived in town, pop. 3000, once you pass the summer sausage-smoked cheese-brittles-fudge shop on the left and the veterinary clinic with the sign "Rattlesnake Vaccine Now Available" on the right. Before you arrive at the town square, you pass the Chicken/Taco Express (75 cents for a large iced tea, and yes, you can order it unsweetened) and The Donut Shop situated in an old gas station with the sign "Long Johns on Special."
You know you've arrived in town when your father (he lives up the hill from The Donut Shop) hits you up for a $30 loan until he can recall the P.I.N. for his new debit card, and presumably to get his fix of iced tea and long johns for the weekend. You also know you've arrived when your uncle (he also lives up the hill and next door to your father) calls your cell phone repeatedly. Anticipating visitors is big in a small town.
At the town square, there's a grocery store, cafe, florist, gift shop, hardware store, gun shop, and dueling pharmacies - on opposite sides of the square. I imagine a real drug war going on there. I've explored a couple of shops and can report that the grocery store smells like bologna and 50% of the produce section is frozen iceberg lettuce the size of bowling balls. The linoleum floor is uneven and crackles. I like that. As for the flower shop it's overflowing with black and red ribbon and silk mums to support the high school. Go Bulldogs. Fortunately, red is my grandmother's favorite color.
After a left turn at the square and out on the highway, there's a local hamburger joint ("sources" report the iced tea costs $1 - a rip off) and an ALCO general merchandise store. I've made many trips to Granny's new home in the past 6 months and have found an abundance of useful things at ALCO: her favorite jelly beans (I'm sure Granny had a crush on Ronald Reagan), Lubriderm, sleeping cap, socks, pillows, Christmas decorations, sweatsuits (the rest home's official uniform) and for me, a current women's magazine. Beware. The magazines at the store on the square are dusty with camouflaged men on the cover.
Now to the rest home. There's good and bad and much resting.
The good:
1. Granny
2. The patio and outdoor area.
3. The large window in her room with a nice view.
4. The Texas-sized lobby and decor.
The bad:
1. The incessant buzzing and beeping noises.
2. An odor in a couple of spots along the corridor.
3. The temperature - it's insanely warm. Tropical without the paradise.
4. The resident who insists on wheeling himself to the lobby in his shower chair.
You must know this is not a retirement center or senior citizen center. It's not that vibrant. No dominoes clicking on the tables. The residents are mostly confined to wheelchairs and need full-time care. In advanced age, they have difficulty communicating with each other. Granny is one of the more spry and social residents but reports she can't see to play bingo. She does engage in wheelchair exercise class and never misses a meal in the dining hall. She's gained a much needed 11 pounds since she arrived.
There's an issue with her vision. We're not sure what she can and cannot see. Example:
Granny: CitizenB, your face is just a blur to me.
CitizenB: Okay, let me try something. Look at me. What am I doing now?
Granny: You're sticking out your tongue at me!
CitizenB: Bingo!
While we're there, I'm compelled to talk to every resident I encounter, including the man in the shower chair. For the record, he's "Becky's Daddy" and loves chicken. And there's the lady with powdered eyeglasses, bless her heart. I also attempt conversation with Granny's roommate Dorothy - not to be confused with Granny's friend from the dining hall Dorothy a/k/a Floozy Dot. Of course, Granny would make friends with the woman in love with a married man and not the woman she argues with over closet space. I don't blame her. There's more mystery with Floozy Dot. Roommate Dorothy has a high pitched, squeaky voice and it's almost as bad as the buzzing and beeping noises. As for the married man, yes, he and his wife live at the center, and as far as Granny knows Floozy Dot's love for him is a secret. She says: "We don't talk about it." I'm sure.
Granny has two sons. As mentioned, both live in town and are single. No sane woman would have them. Granny's not entirely happy because one, my uncle, visits too much, and two, my dad, visits too little. She doesn't want to complain about too many visits, but she lets on that #1 son can get on her nerves. As for #2 son, my dad, she reports that she doesn't know what's wrong with him and if "I had not been there during his birth I wouldn't believe he's mine." Ouch.
#1 son is very social and enjoys chatting up the nursing home aides and women at the Dollar Store. #2 son is anti-social and enjoys dreaming up new craft projects involving feathers, beads, leather, wood and old car parts. #1 son has a beloved cat. #2 son has three dogs - make that two dogs and a wolf-dog. Yes, my father lives with wolves. Before becoming a wolf-owner, he preferred to date women he met at Pow-Wows. One conversation went like this:
Daddy: I'm seeing an ol' girl. (Yes, this is how he communicates.)
CitizenB: What's her name?
Daddy: Feather.
CitizenB: Heather?
Daddy: No, Feather.
CitizenB: What's her real name?
Daddy, chuckling: Brenda (you see, my mom/his first wife's name is Brenda and she has been justly and majorly upset with him for 45 years and will be for all eternity.)
CitizenB: Interesting. I guess in comparison, this would make Mom's native name "Tomahawk."
Getting back to Granny...during our last visit and out of the blue, Granny announced that three nights before she had witnessed a possum in her room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pointed to where she saw the little critter before he hid behind the dresser.
CitizenB: Granny, are you sure you saw a possum?
Granny: Yep.
CitizenB: Could it have been a mouse or worse, a rat?
Granny: No, it was a possum.
CitizenB: What did you do?
Granny: Well, I lifted my feet off the floor.
CitizenB: Did you tell someone?
Granny: No. They wouldn't believe me.
A few minutes later, a nurse's aide came into the room and my sister reported the possum sighting. The aide stood silently for a minute and then announced, "Well, let's hope it stays behind the dresser." As a trained investigator and while in search for the vending machine late in the afternoon, I noticed a large door off the dining hall slightly ajar. It led to a patio for employees only providing them a place to cool off and prevent dying of heat stroke. In this rural setting, I suppose it's not impossible for a hungry or confused possum to find his way inside. Also for the record, there's one thing we cannot dispute, blind or not, my country grandmother knows her vermin.
After a full day, my sister and I head back to a different civilization. We try to comprehend everything we heard and witnessed, including the resident who carried on a loud conversation with herself about an event occurring most likely around 1928. We were unaware women cursed so much in 1928.
As we leave town, there's a large cat sitting near the square waving us goodbye. He's a rather strange cat with a solid white body and a black head and neck. Somehow he was assigned the wrong cat's body. Otherwise, he appears to be wearing a ski mask so he could be a bank robber cat. It's too bad Granny wasn't there to make a positive identification. For all we know he could have been a possum.
CitizenB
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Anger Management
Dear Citizens,
For once, we're united - in anger. Shock, dismay, disbelief, outrage, irritation to the nth degree - just to name a few reactions to the financial crisis. Let's face it - our financial institutions have failed us, excuse me - robbed us. Bailouts, bonuses, derivatives, double-dipping trading partners, falling stocks, foreclosures, securities fraud, unemployment, etc. The list goes on and on. At a minimum, the big cheeses have committed gross negligence. So much for Sarbanes-Oxley and other lessons not learned from Enron.
No man, woman or child is escaping this meltdown. Therefore, anger - large scale anger (the scary kind) - is the only logical conclusion.
The outrage has lead to armed guards stationed in upscale Connecticut neighborhoods where AIG executives live and play golf. It has led to Congress going all atwitter and absolutely nuts - more nuts than usual. If they only had real balls and could ever see the big picture. It has led to John Stewart blasting Jim Cramer and CNBC for playing along with the hedge fund game. Even our comic relief has been invaded by anger.
What to do? I don't believe there are enough anger management books in current publication to go around. Don't you know that Dr. Phil and other Dr. Phil wannabes are going to take full advantage of our misery and publish a few new books in the next 30 days? Just the thought of Dr. Phil pisses me off so I don't see his so-called self-help shtick helping.
Here are a few anger management suggestions:
1. Admit we are angry. Hint, hint President Obama.
2. Take the top 100 financial evil-doers , foreclose on all of their mortgages/sell their houses in The Hamptons and force them to live in public housing for 18 years - in Detroit.
3. Scratch the planned $300M George W. Bush Presidential Center and "Freedom" Institute. Take the tax-deductible donations and build an Early Education Center on 25 acres of SMU land. Enlist Cheney as janitor and George W. as groundskeeper. Cheney deserves to scrub toilets, and we all know how well George W. clears brush. They could learn something from the four-year-olds about how to play well with others and to obey rules.
As for small things you can do to alleviate anger and regain control, try these:
1. Throw darts at photos of geeky insurance executives.
2. Burn tax returns and records (older than 7 years) - yes, I am a rebel.
3. Engage the entire family in meditation including teaching your cat the lotus position.
4. Pretend to be Survivor Man.
5. If all else fails, slam kitchen cabinet doors - it has always worked for my Mother.
Seriously, let's focus on turning a negative into a positive. For starters, we can convert our anger into wind energy or another clean fuel technology. I don't know about you, but when I'm mad, there's a lot of whirling and twirling. This leads me to believe there's a way to channel our adrenaline and eliminate the need for Middle East oil. One crisis fixes another! It's the American Way.
CitizenB
For once, we're united - in anger. Shock, dismay, disbelief, outrage, irritation to the nth degree - just to name a few reactions to the financial crisis. Let's face it - our financial institutions have failed us, excuse me - robbed us. Bailouts, bonuses, derivatives, double-dipping trading partners, falling stocks, foreclosures, securities fraud, unemployment, etc. The list goes on and on. At a minimum, the big cheeses have committed gross negligence. So much for Sarbanes-Oxley and other lessons not learned from Enron.
No man, woman or child is escaping this meltdown. Therefore, anger - large scale anger (the scary kind) - is the only logical conclusion.
The outrage has lead to armed guards stationed in upscale Connecticut neighborhoods where AIG executives live and play golf. It has led to Congress going all atwitter and absolutely nuts - more nuts than usual. If they only had real balls and could ever see the big picture. It has led to John Stewart blasting Jim Cramer and CNBC for playing along with the hedge fund game. Even our comic relief has been invaded by anger.
What to do? I don't believe there are enough anger management books in current publication to go around. Don't you know that Dr. Phil and other Dr. Phil wannabes are going to take full advantage of our misery and publish a few new books in the next 30 days? Just the thought of Dr. Phil pisses me off so I don't see his so-called self-help shtick helping.
Here are a few anger management suggestions:
1. Admit we are angry. Hint, hint President Obama.
2. Take the top 100 financial evil-doers , foreclose on all of their mortgages/sell their houses in The Hamptons and force them to live in public housing for 18 years - in Detroit.
3. Scratch the planned $300M George W. Bush Presidential Center and "Freedom" Institute. Take the tax-deductible donations and build an Early Education Center on 25 acres of SMU land. Enlist Cheney as janitor and George W. as groundskeeper. Cheney deserves to scrub toilets, and we all know how well George W. clears brush. They could learn something from the four-year-olds about how to play well with others and to obey rules.
As for small things you can do to alleviate anger and regain control, try these:
1. Throw darts at photos of geeky insurance executives.
2. Burn tax returns and records (older than 7 years) - yes, I am a rebel.
3. Engage the entire family in meditation including teaching your cat the lotus position.
4. Pretend to be Survivor Man.
5. If all else fails, slam kitchen cabinet doors - it has always worked for my Mother.
Seriously, let's focus on turning a negative into a positive. For starters, we can convert our anger into wind energy or another clean fuel technology. I don't know about you, but when I'm mad, there's a lot of whirling and twirling. This leads me to believe there's a way to channel our adrenaline and eliminate the need for Middle East oil. One crisis fixes another! It's the American Way.
CitizenB
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I Swallowed A Lightning Bug
Citizens:
If there is one thing I'm really good at it's crying. I'm a Level 4 expert - and in a perpetual state of dehydration.
At Level 1 the tears flow freely at the usual events: giving birth, attending weddings, funerals, graduations, and really good or bad movies; and when your 18-year-old beagle dies.
Level 2 involves crying at hellos and goodbyes, Olympic medal ceremonies; when other people cry even when you're not sure why, when you're delirious and have a fever of 102, you're really pissed off, and of course, crying while simultaneously laughing in a fetal position (we've all done it).
The more complex Level 3 consists of crying before and after you back your car into a fixed object, wishing you could help someone who is really screwed up when you know you can't, upon hearing your mom's voice when you've had a bad day (yes, even when you're 40), and when your husband buys a mid-life crisis motorcycle. Note: My plan for revenge is to save my tears in a Tupperware container until enough to make a cocktail - and then serve them to Steve McQueen in a martini glass - straight up.
Level 4 goes beyond the norm and consists of crying after 9/11 at the joy of seeing a rat - yes, a filthy rodent - scurrying in the bushes outside your office (an affirmation that life goes on), and crying in 2nd grade while explaining to your teacher that the reason was because you're going to die from accidentally swallowing a lighting bug (firefly) you had trapped in a coke bottle the night before when the real reason was your parents were getting a divorce.
I've cried in every place imaginable - airports, sidewalks, Chinese restaurants, the mall (have you seen the shoe department at Nordstrom?), flower gardens, parking lots, The Louvre, on a swing set, and yes, even at work. Anyone who says there's no crying in Insurance Claims - they lie. Bathroom stalls obviously have more than one purpose and toilet paper is good for trapping the tears, snot and spit that form like a spiderweb over your face - the unfortunate physical side effects of an honest to goodness cry. The one highlight is your eyes appear greener when the swelling goes away.
Before you go off thinking I'm unstable, please know the crying at work thing happens only 1.5 times per year - totally in line with the national average for women crying in the workplace. It's sad but I'm fairly normal.
As an expert, I also have the ability to make grown men cry. I wish I could say it's my voluptuous figure that kills them; it just happens during regular conversation. Just this week I made two men cry.
The first was an encounter with an ex-coworker.
CitizenB: Gosh, I remember when you adopted the stray dog who took up residence in our parking lot - the unofficial office mascot. How is he?
Co-worker: Tearing up. Gulp. He died.
CitizenB: Oh, no. I'm sorry.
Co-worker: Yes, he had an undetected tumor and it erupted causing massive internal bleeding. He couldn't be saved. Now I'm left with my other two dogs and I really don't like them that much.
CitizenB: Yikes. It was nice seeing you.
The second encounter was with a Philadelphia attorney in mediation. I'll spare you the details but yes, I managed to evoke emotion and a tear in the eye of a hardened and burned out insurance defense attorney.
And now to the latest episode of CitizenB weeping:
Last night was a perfect storm for tears. What can I say, it was a typical Friday night.
First, it was the book I've been reading forever A Fraction of the Whole. Here's the excerpt (page 531) that made me cry:
"Dad, I forgive you."
"What for?"
"For everything."
"What everything? What did I ever do to you?"
Who is this irritating man? "It doesn't matter."
"OK."
"Dad, I love you."
"I love you too."
There. We said it. Good.
Or not so good - strangely unsatisfying. We'd just said "I love you." Father and son, at the deathbed of the former, saying we love each other. Why didn't that feel good? This is why: because I knew something that nobody knew or would ever know-what a strange and wonderful man he was. And that's what I really wanted to say.
Tears are spurting and I'm backhanding them out and away so I can see to read and continue to torture myself. After more dying, son throws father's body overboard from the people-smuggling vessel (you have to read the book) and into the sea where he bobs up and down a little like "a carrot thrown whole into a boiling stew." Sniff. Sniff.
Second, it was the book (again). I'm exhausted. And nauseous. But it's finally over. I'm finished. The book is closed but the story is still shooting from the pages - much like hairs sprouting from my husband's nose. Okay, so I can see up his nose as he sleeps next to me. It's a distraction. The book is actually vibrating from so many freaking words (247,962 - my estimate- using the same method as counting jelly beans in a jar to win a door prize) so I threw it across the bed and dried my tears.
Next I decided to watch "Friday Night Lights" on the DVR. I should have known better since I cried during last week's episode when former QB1/current paraplegic Jason Street's girlfriend buckled under the pressure of young motherhood, bundled their baby, packed up the U-Haul and moved to New Jersey to live with her parents leaving Street in his wheelchair behind in the street.
This week Street and current tailback Tim Riggins (the Jordan Catalano of Dillon Football) take a trip to New York City where Street manages to gain a job at a sports agency and an opportunity to be with his son.
Here's the scene when they make it to New Jersey:
Riggins stands by the cab while Street wheels up the walk and stops at the steps to the front door. This is as far as he can go. Fortunately, the girlfriend and baby come out and he doesn't have to yell "Stella!" Street holds his son and through tears gives the most heartbreaking plea ever on a network television drama. There's no way the girlfriend can say no and she doesn't. Cue to Riggins with tears in his eyes - his best friend finally has a shot at real happiness. He'll miss him, heck, the whole state of Texas will miss him.
Okay, I'm wiping returning tears into my ears and squelching weird primal noises coming from within all in an effort not to wake up the sleeping nose. Even Level 4 experts try to hide their tears.
Between the book, TV show, and real life, the father and son drama forced open the flood gates. What a rush.
CitizenB
If there is one thing I'm really good at it's crying. I'm a Level 4 expert - and in a perpetual state of dehydration.
At Level 1 the tears flow freely at the usual events: giving birth, attending weddings, funerals, graduations, and really good or bad movies; and when your 18-year-old beagle dies.
Level 2 involves crying at hellos and goodbyes, Olympic medal ceremonies; when other people cry even when you're not sure why, when you're delirious and have a fever of 102, you're really pissed off, and of course, crying while simultaneously laughing in a fetal position (we've all done it).
The more complex Level 3 consists of crying before and after you back your car into a fixed object, wishing you could help someone who is really screwed up when you know you can't, upon hearing your mom's voice when you've had a bad day (yes, even when you're 40), and when your husband buys a mid-life crisis motorcycle. Note: My plan for revenge is to save my tears in a Tupperware container until enough to make a cocktail - and then serve them to Steve McQueen in a martini glass - straight up.
Level 4 goes beyond the norm and consists of crying after 9/11 at the joy of seeing a rat - yes, a filthy rodent - scurrying in the bushes outside your office (an affirmation that life goes on), and crying in 2nd grade while explaining to your teacher that the reason was because you're going to die from accidentally swallowing a lighting bug (firefly) you had trapped in a coke bottle the night before when the real reason was your parents were getting a divorce.
I've cried in every place imaginable - airports, sidewalks, Chinese restaurants, the mall (have you seen the shoe department at Nordstrom?), flower gardens, parking lots, The Louvre, on a swing set, and yes, even at work. Anyone who says there's no crying in Insurance Claims - they lie. Bathroom stalls obviously have more than one purpose and toilet paper is good for trapping the tears, snot and spit that form like a spiderweb over your face - the unfortunate physical side effects of an honest to goodness cry. The one highlight is your eyes appear greener when the swelling goes away.
Before you go off thinking I'm unstable, please know the crying at work thing happens only 1.5 times per year - totally in line with the national average for women crying in the workplace. It's sad but I'm fairly normal.
As an expert, I also have the ability to make grown men cry. I wish I could say it's my voluptuous figure that kills them; it just happens during regular conversation. Just this week I made two men cry.
The first was an encounter with an ex-coworker.
CitizenB: Gosh, I remember when you adopted the stray dog who took up residence in our parking lot - the unofficial office mascot. How is he?
Co-worker: Tearing up. Gulp. He died.
CitizenB: Oh, no. I'm sorry.
Co-worker: Yes, he had an undetected tumor and it erupted causing massive internal bleeding. He couldn't be saved. Now I'm left with my other two dogs and I really don't like them that much.
CitizenB: Yikes. It was nice seeing you.
The second encounter was with a Philadelphia attorney in mediation. I'll spare you the details but yes, I managed to evoke emotion and a tear in the eye of a hardened and burned out insurance defense attorney.
And now to the latest episode of CitizenB weeping:
Last night was a perfect storm for tears. What can I say, it was a typical Friday night.
First, it was the book I've been reading forever A Fraction of the Whole. Here's the excerpt (page 531) that made me cry:
"Dad, I forgive you."
"What for?"
"For everything."
"What everything? What did I ever do to you?"
Who is this irritating man? "It doesn't matter."
"OK."
"Dad, I love you."
"I love you too."
There. We said it. Good.
Or not so good - strangely unsatisfying. We'd just said "I love you." Father and son, at the deathbed of the former, saying we love each other. Why didn't that feel good? This is why: because I knew something that nobody knew or would ever know-what a strange and wonderful man he was. And that's what I really wanted to say.
Tears are spurting and I'm backhanding them out and away so I can see to read and continue to torture myself. After more dying, son throws father's body overboard from the people-smuggling vessel (you have to read the book) and into the sea where he bobs up and down a little like "a carrot thrown whole into a boiling stew." Sniff. Sniff.
Second, it was the book (again). I'm exhausted. And nauseous. But it's finally over. I'm finished. The book is closed but the story is still shooting from the pages - much like hairs sprouting from my husband's nose. Okay, so I can see up his nose as he sleeps next to me. It's a distraction. The book is actually vibrating from so many freaking words (247,962 - my estimate- using the same method as counting jelly beans in a jar to win a door prize) so I threw it across the bed and dried my tears.
Next I decided to watch "Friday Night Lights" on the DVR. I should have known better since I cried during last week's episode when former QB1/current paraplegic Jason Street's girlfriend buckled under the pressure of young motherhood, bundled their baby, packed up the U-Haul and moved to New Jersey to live with her parents leaving Street in his wheelchair behind in the street.
This week Street and current tailback Tim Riggins (the Jordan Catalano of Dillon Football) take a trip to New York City where Street manages to gain a job at a sports agency and an opportunity to be with his son.
Here's the scene when they make it to New Jersey:
Riggins stands by the cab while Street wheels up the walk and stops at the steps to the front door. This is as far as he can go. Fortunately, the girlfriend and baby come out and he doesn't have to yell "Stella!" Street holds his son and through tears gives the most heartbreaking plea ever on a network television drama. There's no way the girlfriend can say no and she doesn't. Cue to Riggins with tears in his eyes - his best friend finally has a shot at real happiness. He'll miss him, heck, the whole state of Texas will miss him.
Okay, I'm wiping returning tears into my ears and squelching weird primal noises coming from within all in an effort not to wake up the sleeping nose. Even Level 4 experts try to hide their tears.
Between the book, TV show, and real life, the father and son drama forced open the flood gates. What a rush.
CitizenB
Monday, March 2, 2009
Text Messaging - The Old Fashioned Way
Dear Citizens:
I'm very lucky to have 15 terrific nieces and nephews. They're growing up quickly or in some cases already adults. We do our best to stay in touch. This sometimes requires technology beyond my abilities.
A couple of days ago I received a text message from my beautiful, big-hearted, and soulful 18-year-old niece Melissa. She lives outside Atlanta and texted an "I Love You" surrounded by a heart. Aw.
Short and sweet with a fun graphic - totally within current texting rules and etiquette. (Of course, I don't know how to replicate it for demonstration purposes.) However, she has a wacky e-mail address with a bunch of underscores and "yo's" and I can never make it work. We've talked about this in the past.
I responded or attempted to respond (see below) and after our exchange, I realized I'm a terrible text messenger or whatever the term is. I don't like code words and trying to hit tiny characters. The real issue is I choose not to abbreviate and cannot under any circumstance be brief. It's not in my nature (and why my Indian Ya Ya name is "Babbling Brook.") Go ahead. You try to text something meaningful in less than 160 characters! Plus the only "graphics" I know are periods and question marks.
Anyway, I've decided to revise my text response to Melissa to meet current text language standards (for persons under 40).
Old Text: "You, too sweetheart. I still get delivery failure when I e-mail you. When you have a chance e-mail me at citizenb and I'll save your address. Sorry I'm a corky aunt."
(Then I noticed my iPhone SMS took it upon itself to change my intended word "dorky" to "corky." )
"Make that corky." (It did it again!)
"D O R K Y" (I finally outsmarted it.)
Melissa: "Lol i love you and yep i will email you when I get home =)"
Revised Text: "U2 sweet<3. I stil gt mail-Dubya wen I emsg u. Wen UV a chnc emsg me @citizenb n Il save yr ADD. Sry I'm a corkus aunt."
"Mk tht corkus"
"D O R K U S" (definition below)
Now you know why I will never be employed as a Native American code talker. This career is obviously not my colored parachute and will be marked off my list along with underwater pipe-fitter and millionaire match-maker.
Anyway, I guess text messaging is here to stay at least until a new mobile technology takes over. At some point we will never need to speak to or touch another living being again. We can marry our handheld devices and be artificially inseminated with turkey basters. There will be no need for deodorant or breath mints.
Until then we must be aware of the reported dangers of text messaging: texting while driving, textwalking, broken thumb syndrome, drunk texting (TUI), text addiction and withdrawal, and underage sexting. What about losing IQ points, forgetting (or never learning) formal English, not to mention turning 12-year-olds into promiscuous bullies and brats?
Blame Japan where it all started - or Canada.
As an iPhone user and loving CitizenAunt of many, yes, I'll continue to text - the old fashioned & d o r k u s way. And now with interoffice instant messaging a daily requirement, I'll have to work on that skill.
Question? Is it okay to agree on a subject with a co-worker by responding "Cool Beans! + :@)"?
Too enthusiastic? Thought so.
CitizenB
Definition of Dorkus: "Someone who is dorky but just doesn't care that he/she is a dork, thus making them very cool in the eyes of other dorkii."
I'm very lucky to have 15 terrific nieces and nephews. They're growing up quickly or in some cases already adults. We do our best to stay in touch. This sometimes requires technology beyond my abilities.
A couple of days ago I received a text message from my beautiful, big-hearted, and soulful 18-year-old niece Melissa. She lives outside Atlanta and texted an "I Love You" surrounded by a heart. Aw.
Short and sweet with a fun graphic - totally within current texting rules and etiquette. (Of course, I don't know how to replicate it for demonstration purposes.) However, she has a wacky e-mail address with a bunch of underscores and "yo's" and I can never make it work. We've talked about this in the past.
I responded or attempted to respond (see below) and after our exchange, I realized I'm a terrible text messenger or whatever the term is. I don't like code words and trying to hit tiny characters. The real issue is I choose not to abbreviate and cannot under any circumstance be brief. It's not in my nature (and why my Indian Ya Ya name is "Babbling Brook.") Go ahead. You try to text something meaningful in less than 160 characters! Plus the only "graphics" I know are periods and question marks.
Anyway, I've decided to revise my text response to Melissa to meet current text language standards (for persons under 40).
Old Text: "You, too sweetheart. I still get delivery failure when I e-mail you. When you have a chance e-mail me at citizenb and I'll save your address. Sorry I'm a corky aunt."
(Then I noticed my iPhone SMS took it upon itself to change my intended word "dorky" to "corky." )
"Make that corky." (It did it again!)
"D O R K Y" (I finally outsmarted it.)
Melissa: "Lol i love you and yep i will email you when I get home =)"
Revised Text: "U2 sweet<3. I stil gt mail-Dubya wen I emsg u. Wen UV a chnc emsg me @citizenb n Il save yr ADD. Sry I'm a corkus aunt."
"Mk tht corkus"
"D O R K U S" (definition below)
Now you know why I will never be employed as a Native American code talker. This career is obviously not my colored parachute and will be marked off my list along with underwater pipe-fitter and millionaire match-maker.
Anyway, I guess text messaging is here to stay at least until a new mobile technology takes over. At some point we will never need to speak to or touch another living being again. We can marry our handheld devices and be artificially inseminated with turkey basters. There will be no need for deodorant or breath mints.
Until then we must be aware of the reported dangers of text messaging: texting while driving, textwalking, broken thumb syndrome, drunk texting (TUI), text addiction and withdrawal, and underage sexting. What about losing IQ points, forgetting (or never learning) formal English, not to mention turning 12-year-olds into promiscuous bullies and brats?
Blame Japan where it all started - or Canada.
As an iPhone user and loving CitizenAunt of many, yes, I'll continue to text - the old fashioned & d o r k u s way. And now with interoffice instant messaging a daily requirement, I'll have to work on that skill.
Question? Is it okay to agree on a subject with a co-worker by responding "Cool Beans! + :@)"?
Too enthusiastic? Thought so.
CitizenB
Definition of Dorkus: "Someone who is dorky but just doesn't care that he/she is a dork, thus making them very cool in the eyes of other dorkii."
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Zen-less Widgets and Other Tech Stuff
Citizens:
I must say this blogging thing has opened many doors - tech wise. Already hyperactive, I've now gone interactive and possibly radioactive from too much face time with the world wide web. I've peeked behind the tech door and now you're looking (virtually) at a person who has a gmail account (iamcitizenb@gmail.com) and an iGoogle home page with a highly functional layout.
My personalized page displays the usual suspects of date & time, calendar, local news, weather (including an impressive Doppler radar), local links, movies, and TV guide. I added a few national news and political sites, business and market watch, and on the opposite end of the spectrum items like EW.com and People. We all know how important it is to keep up with the latest celebrity assaults, top 100 teen idols (there are more than 10?), and hits and misses on the red carpet.
I also added a Fat Loss Tip of the Day (don't eat croutons), Flower of the Day (Freesia, meaning trust & innocence), NY Times crossword, and other random stuff.
I've managed to become slightly more technical all while discouraging Marshall The Cat and his constant attempts to interfere. Once he paw-typed "zzzzzz" in place of my preset "user name" when he happened to step on my laptop at a very critical log-in moment. Fortunately, I didn't have to make the dreaded call to the Help Desk... "Yes, hello...ugh...my cat erased my user name. Okay, let me remove him from the key board."
Now to the topic of widgets; specifically Meditation Chimes. I liked the idea of something interactive (and calming) and decided to add it as a feature to iGoogle and my blog site. I truly enjoy the ding, dong, bong of the chimes. It's relaxing especially with eyes closed. The problem with closed eyes is that I end up missing the mallet and clicking on the Doppler radar on iGoogle or "The Citizen Archives" on the blog.
Remember the satisfaction of banging on a xylophone as a kid? This will not happen with the widget Meditation Chimes. The fundamental flaw with Meditation Chimes is that you can only bong one chime at a time. There is no jazzing it up by hitting multiple chimes and there is absolutely no grand maestro finale with a dramatic sweep of the mallet across the length of chimes.
While I'm happy with my newly found tech savvy, I'm reminded that the wildest widgets in the world can't replace the experience of the real thing...and I'm more likely to find my Zen chomping croutons.
Ding, dong, bong,
CitizenB
I must say this blogging thing has opened many doors - tech wise. Already hyperactive, I've now gone interactive and possibly radioactive from too much face time with the world wide web. I've peeked behind the tech door and now you're looking (virtually) at a person who has a gmail account (iamcitizenb@gmail.com) and an iGoogle home page with a highly functional layout.
My personalized page displays the usual suspects of date & time, calendar, local news, weather (including an impressive Doppler radar), local links, movies, and TV guide. I added a few national news and political sites, business and market watch, and on the opposite end of the spectrum items like EW.com and People. We all know how important it is to keep up with the latest celebrity assaults, top 100 teen idols (there are more than 10?), and hits and misses on the red carpet.
I also added a Fat Loss Tip of the Day (don't eat croutons), Flower of the Day (Freesia, meaning trust & innocence), NY Times crossword, and other random stuff.
I've managed to become slightly more technical all while discouraging Marshall The Cat and his constant attempts to interfere. Once he paw-typed "zzzzzz" in place of my preset "user name" when he happened to step on my laptop at a very critical log-in moment. Fortunately, I didn't have to make the dreaded call to the Help Desk... "Yes, hello...ugh...my cat erased my user name. Okay, let me remove him from the key board."
Now to the topic of widgets; specifically Meditation Chimes. I liked the idea of something interactive (and calming) and decided to add it as a feature to iGoogle and my blog site. I truly enjoy the ding, dong, bong of the chimes. It's relaxing especially with eyes closed. The problem with closed eyes is that I end up missing the mallet and clicking on the Doppler radar on iGoogle or "The Citizen Archives" on the blog.
Remember the satisfaction of banging on a xylophone as a kid? This will not happen with the widget Meditation Chimes. The fundamental flaw with Meditation Chimes is that you can only bong one chime at a time. There is no jazzing it up by hitting multiple chimes and there is absolutely no grand maestro finale with a dramatic sweep of the mallet across the length of chimes.
While I'm happy with my newly found tech savvy, I'm reminded that the wildest widgets in the world can't replace the experience of the real thing...and I'm more likely to find my Zen chomping croutons.
Ding, dong, bong,
CitizenB
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
If You Can't Beat'em, Join'em
Dear Citizens,
Last night the Republicans rolled out their best version of Obama, Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal. Young, ethnic and highly educated. That's where the comparison ends. In his address, Obama spoke to us as adults. Jindal seemed to be speaking to a group of third-graders. I admit it was difficult to take him seriously because he reminded me of an Indian-American version of Kenneth - The Page on "30 Rock." If I remember correctly, there was an episode where Kenneth reminisced about his Daddy taking him to the store. (Okay, I made that up.)
I'm sure Jindal has lots of potential as a Republican politician but last night he didn't say much. What could he say? He was a little sideways in stating the stimulus bill was "irresponsible" considering he accepted $3.7B of the $3.8B offered to LA. (I suppose only $100M was irresponsible.) He also didn't mention the billions the evil government paid to rebuild after Katrina.
IMO, we are the government and we gotta do what we gotta do. Yes, the current state of affairs and resulting stimulus plan is painful and unfair in many respects; especially for fiscally responsible American citizens. As one of those citizens, I don't like it... but I'm willing to look at the big picture and what's at stake for all of us.
Okay, so we must act quickly in this crisis and there's a lot of ground to cover. I'm all for getting the heart beating again ("clear!") while simultaneously making things happen like health care reform. Because we, the government, are historically slow to act, I'm hesitant to say let's be careful about acting all at once. We don't want a mind-boggling amount of money to be squandered. There must be change at the core or money won't fix anything. Obama recognizes this.
Lastly, the atmosphere in the house chamber was so incredibly different from the last - well, forever. Where has our leadership been for all these years?
Obama gave a brave and highly ambitious speech. And, yes, we need his kind of leadership.
CitizenB
Last night the Republicans rolled out their best version of Obama, Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal. Young, ethnic and highly educated. That's where the comparison ends. In his address, Obama spoke to us as adults. Jindal seemed to be speaking to a group of third-graders. I admit it was difficult to take him seriously because he reminded me of an Indian-American version of Kenneth - The Page on "30 Rock." If I remember correctly, there was an episode where Kenneth reminisced about his Daddy taking him to the store. (Okay, I made that up.)
I'm sure Jindal has lots of potential as a Republican politician but last night he didn't say much. What could he say? He was a little sideways in stating the stimulus bill was "irresponsible" considering he accepted $3.7B of the $3.8B offered to LA. (I suppose only $100M was irresponsible.) He also didn't mention the billions the evil government paid to rebuild after Katrina.
IMO, we are the government and we gotta do what we gotta do. Yes, the current state of affairs and resulting stimulus plan is painful and unfair in many respects; especially for fiscally responsible American citizens. As one of those citizens, I don't like it... but I'm willing to look at the big picture and what's at stake for all of us.
Okay, so we must act quickly in this crisis and there's a lot of ground to cover. I'm all for getting the heart beating again ("clear!") while simultaneously making things happen like health care reform. Because we, the government, are historically slow to act, I'm hesitant to say let's be careful about acting all at once. We don't want a mind-boggling amount of money to be squandered. There must be change at the core or money won't fix anything. Obama recognizes this.
Lastly, the atmosphere in the house chamber was so incredibly different from the last - well, forever. Where has our leadership been for all these years?
Obama gave a brave and highly ambitious speech. And, yes, we need his kind of leadership.
CitizenB
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Emily, Our Newest and Littlest Citizen
Dear Citizens,
Please allow me to introduce the newest addition to the family, Emily Maribel.
Emily was born Tuesday, February 17 at 7:49 a.m. and weighed in at 7 lb. 7 oz. She's a petite 18" long.
She's adorable and totally Zen even when she spits up a little. Her beautiful black hair forms in to a perfect faux-mohawk* and her big blue-brown eyes will melt your heart.
Mom Whitney is doing well. She is such a patient, loving mother. Like most fathers, Dad Jose, smiling brightly, is probably a little stunned by the whole birthing experience. It is quite stunning.
Big brother Gabriel, 2 1/2, is getting with the program and the idea of sharing his mom with "Emme". I learned last night that you should always carry a spare hot wheel race car, preferably black, in your purse. If not, be prepared to allow a 2 year old to play with your I Phone.
Here's to Emily. I can't wait to watch you grow up.
Aunt Citizen B
*Note: Her mother does not approve of the faux-mohawk; at least not yet.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Honoring Our Presidents - The Good, the Bad, and the Forgotten
As a citizen, I'm compelled to comment on yet another holiday. I'm still in disbelief I actually blogged about Valentine's Day.
Today is Presidents Day and to most Americans this means banks and government offices are closed. No mail delivery today. That's about it. At least it's one less day for banks and the government to make a total mess of our lives.
There's no birthday cake for George Washington with 277 candles nor Abe Lincoln with 200 (that I know of) and someone in charge needs to make cake a priority on Presidents Day (Hillary, will you fit this in before your inaugural Asia trip?) We all know birthday cake calories don't count and with a cake large enough to hold a combined 477 candles, we could eat a lot of guiltless cake. Who needs another parade or red, white, and blue bunting?
I suppose the purpose of Presidents Day is to allow schools to focus on educating our children about presidents and government. (Oh, and to promote patriotism.) I hope our future generation is learning something stimulating about presidential history and that it involves information not on a standardized test. When will we figure out that our kids need creative ways of learning without concentrating solely on which circle to fill in with a #2 pencil?
I'm not suggesting that the assassinations of Lincoln and JFK or Washington's siege of Boston be reenacted in the classroom. Although most kids see much worse on TV and video games. We certainly don't want Monica Lewinsky to be portrayed in any manner or George W.'s spelling to be showcased.
I've been out of public school for longer than I care to mention. Today, I had to think back on what I learned about Presidents Day. Most of it had to due with memorization. So I put my memory to the test and beginning with Washington I made it to president #7. For some reason I hit a mental block after Andrew Jackson. I fared a little better starting with Obama and working in reverse. I actually made it to Warren G. Harding or 16 back. At least I remembered the 11 presidents in office during my lifetime. I admit to almost forgetting Ford.
Why is it so difficult to recall all the guys in the middle? I remembered Lincoln, Johnson, Buchanan, Teddy Roosevelt, Polk, and Taylor, and except for Lincoln at #16, I don't know their numbers. I also remembered Grover Cleveland because once we visited an historic house in Nashville where a special bath had been designed to accommodate his large size. Also, the Baby Ruth candy bar was named after Cleveland's daughter. Considering my love of sugar, this wasn't hard to remember along with the snack cakes named for Dolley Madison.
The in-between president names remind of those one would find in an elite country club registry - Harrison, Tyler, Pierce, Hayes, Arthur, McKinley, Van Buren. Maybe this is why I've blocked them from my memory.
During this exercise in futility, I actually remembered an excellent learning experience. I was one of several 7th and 8th grade Speech students presenting an after-school program highlighting excerpts from famous FDR speeches. We were dressed in red, white, and blue. I wore a white cotton dress with navy blue trim that Mom sewed just for the occasion. Each student stood on a designated "X" on the dark stage in the school auditorium and when a beam from a red, white or blue spotlight blinded us one by one, we were cued to give our our speech.
I remember arriving and my teacher advising one of the student speakers had strep throat (instead of failing to memorize FDR) and I was to take his part in addition to mine. No pressure! I remember my bit was an excerpt from the famous inaugural speech "...the only thing we have to fear is fear itself..."
This 1933 speech speaks eerily to the current state of the union. In that life is cyclical, does this mean Coolidge and Hoover preceding FDR were as lame as George W.? Most likely.
CitizenB
Today is Presidents Day and to most Americans this means banks and government offices are closed. No mail delivery today. That's about it. At least it's one less day for banks and the government to make a total mess of our lives.
There's no birthday cake for George Washington with 277 candles nor Abe Lincoln with 200 (that I know of) and someone in charge needs to make cake a priority on Presidents Day (Hillary, will you fit this in before your inaugural Asia trip?) We all know birthday cake calories don't count and with a cake large enough to hold a combined 477 candles, we could eat a lot of guiltless cake. Who needs another parade or red, white, and blue bunting?
I suppose the purpose of Presidents Day is to allow schools to focus on educating our children about presidents and government. (Oh, and to promote patriotism.) I hope our future generation is learning something stimulating about presidential history and that it involves information not on a standardized test. When will we figure out that our kids need creative ways of learning without concentrating solely on which circle to fill in with a #2 pencil?
I'm not suggesting that the assassinations of Lincoln and JFK or Washington's siege of Boston be reenacted in the classroom. Although most kids see much worse on TV and video games. We certainly don't want Monica Lewinsky to be portrayed in any manner or George W.'s spelling to be showcased.
I've been out of public school for longer than I care to mention. Today, I had to think back on what I learned about Presidents Day. Most of it had to due with memorization. So I put my memory to the test and beginning with Washington I made it to president #7. For some reason I hit a mental block after Andrew Jackson. I fared a little better starting with Obama and working in reverse. I actually made it to Warren G. Harding or 16 back. At least I remembered the 11 presidents in office during my lifetime. I admit to almost forgetting Ford.
Why is it so difficult to recall all the guys in the middle? I remembered Lincoln, Johnson, Buchanan, Teddy Roosevelt, Polk, and Taylor, and except for Lincoln at #16, I don't know their numbers. I also remembered Grover Cleveland because once we visited an historic house in Nashville where a special bath had been designed to accommodate his large size. Also, the Baby Ruth candy bar was named after Cleveland's daughter. Considering my love of sugar, this wasn't hard to remember along with the snack cakes named for Dolley Madison.
The in-between president names remind of those one would find in an elite country club registry - Harrison, Tyler, Pierce, Hayes, Arthur, McKinley, Van Buren. Maybe this is why I've blocked them from my memory.
During this exercise in futility, I actually remembered an excellent learning experience. I was one of several 7th and 8th grade Speech students presenting an after-school program highlighting excerpts from famous FDR speeches. We were dressed in red, white, and blue. I wore a white cotton dress with navy blue trim that Mom sewed just for the occasion. Each student stood on a designated "X" on the dark stage in the school auditorium and when a beam from a red, white or blue spotlight blinded us one by one, we were cued to give our our speech.
I remember arriving and my teacher advising one of the student speakers had strep throat (instead of failing to memorize FDR) and I was to take his part in addition to mine. No pressure! I remember my bit was an excerpt from the famous inaugural speech "...the only thing we have to fear is fear itself..."
This 1933 speech speaks eerily to the current state of the union. In that life is cyclical, does this mean Coolidge and Hoover preceding FDR were as lame as George W.? Most likely.
CitizenB
Saturday, February 14, 2009
A Valentine's Day Bonanza
Happy Valentine's Day, Citizens.
Today is all about matters of the heart. Love is mysterious - how do we chose the ones we love and vice versa? Romantic love is one of those things - you just know it when you feel it. It's more than a fleeting crush. It's all about admiration, respect, understanding, patience, acceptance, support and giving fully of yourself without asking for anything in return. It's a wonderful thing when it happens and endures.
Valentine's Day is the time to demonstrate "the love". In our commercialized society, this means purchases: chocolates, flowers, cards, balloons, jewelry, stuffed animals, romantic dinners, and lingerie. Along with using money allocated for this month's car insurance, this takes a lot of preparation and forethought.
Some thoughts:
I always feel for men - husbands and boyfriends - on Valentine's Day. Not the best at forethought and preparation (with a few exceptions), you see them in the grocery store floral department on the day in question looking like lost children. They move on to the greeting card aisle and look painfully through the left-overs. There's so much pressure; women, in general, are very picky. They don't like receiving Valentines entitled "For My Mother" or worse, a get well card. They like their name to be spelled correctly. Most don't enjoy sharing a half off appetizer at T.G.I. Fridays.
Maybe there's too much pressure - unless you're a metrosexual or one of the Queer Eye guys. It's really all about being thoughtful. Why not vacuum the entire house for your loved one, replace the burned out light bulb in the bathroom, and make homemade sushi? (My gift from Andy this year.) How about giving your loved one a rock (not the kind of rock you may be thinking of; an actual rock rock, you know, from the yard), a book or just saying "I love you" accompanied by a bunch of kisses.
My favorite Valentine's gift was "I love you" and an arrow-pierced heart marked with a sharpie on a paper towel accompanied by a segmented orange in a Ziploc baggy - left on the kitchen counter before work. Perfecto! Yes, as you can see, I have very low expectations in this category.
Valentine's 1960-1970's Style:
I loved Valentine's Day as a kid and the big event of decorating a shoe box with doilies, pipe cleaners, and cut-outs of cupids and hearts from red and pink construction paper and tissue. This was way before glitter, glue sticks, and Michael's MJ Designs. We managed.
It was also a thrill to choose a box of Valentine cards and write one for each member of your class - including the boys - and even for the boy that blew spit balls through a straw into your hair. Of course, he was the one who loved you the most and/or voted most likely to end up in prison. There was always a special valentine for your teacher ( "Teacher, You're A+") and this was before helicopter mothers sent gifts for the teacher like heart -shaped paperweights, pink mugs, and spa gift certificates.
At the class party, it was so much fun to read each valentine - always corny - with cute animals and sayings like "I'm Just Wild About You, Valentine" and "Quit Horsing Around and Be Mine." Many valentines featured fruit with cute faces and sayings like "You're a Peach", "I'm Going Bananas for You", and "You're Plum Cute." This was before Pokemon and Hannah Montana. We were very sheltered and thought animals and fruit could talk.
Once as a senior in high school and after 3 years of French, I became an aide to the French teacher (the perks included getting to grade my younger sister's tests). I was Ms. Tharp's aide during a class period when she taught Special Ed (that's what it was called at the time). It was not a Special Ed French class; Ms. Tharp taught more than one subject. Anyway, there were several boys in the class (most looked like Landry on "Friday Night Lights" and unfortunately not like Tim Riggins) and that particular Valentine's Day, I received an excessive amount of valentines - some scrolls of paper tied with red ribbons and others handmade red hearts. It was very touching. With some stroke of luck, my boyfriend also sent 3 red roses with baby's breath in a vase to the school. I carried it around all day - which was awkward because all the desks were slanted. I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving those roses in my locker or car. I had my special day and have been happy with oranges ever since.
Also, a shout out to Jamie & Leon. Happy Anniversary. And Mom, Happy Anniversary. I love you and I'm glad you had many happy years with Jan.
Love you bunches,
Citizen B
P.S. If you didn't get a chance to see 30 Rock's Valentine's episode, you must check in out on NBC.com or Hulu. Liz's first date with Don Draper (Jon Hamm) lands on Valentine's Day and she's freaked out by his handsomeness, Kenneth falls in love with a blind intern who disses him after feeling his dorky face - Tracy couldn't save him with the charade, and Jack ends up in confession, totally freaks out a priest and ends up at McDonald's with Salma Hayek.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
OMG! - 25 Random Things About CitizenB
When I started this blog a few months ago I had no idea how popular blogging had become and of the millions of citizens who share great and not so great ideas and/or random, useless information (guilty). Yes, I knew about MySpace but never considered it because it seems best suited for the 15-30 age bracket or the group known as "Generation Y" or "Guppies". (I just made up those tags but they could very well exist.)
Anyway, Slate recently headlined a story about Facebook's "25 Random Things About Me" with detailed research on the craze including opinions from Ph.Ds, and charts and graphs to demonstrate its evolution and how people react and respond. Per Wikipedia (how did we ever get by without all this information available at our fingertips?): "Facebook Notes was introduced on August 22, 2006, a blogging feature that allowed tags and embeddable images. Users were later able to import blogs from Xanga, LiveJournal, Blogger, and other blogging services. A recent use of Notes includes the Internet meme - "25 Random Things About Me" which involves writing 25 things about the user that their friends don't already know about them and using the tag function to ask 25 friends to also do so. Nearly 5 million "25 Random Things" notes were written on Facebook profiles in the first week of February 2009." 5 million last week? Wow. We are in dire straits - and obviously not out dancing in the streets.
My closest experience with "25 Random Things" is receiving e-mail questionnaires as shared by friends and family asking questions like "what's your favorite color?", "TV show?", "Food?"etc. I admit that I made up a lot of my answers to make it more interesting because who really cares that the answers are "green", "The Office" and "Italian"? As a side note and warning, never answer "What is your mother's maiden name?" and "The last 4 digits of your SSN?"
I considered not going down the "25" road, but hey, I might learn something about myself that will lead me to become a better person/citizen. Not really. I'm doing it for "fun" and because I'm bored and have no control over any other aspect of my life - typical of the 5 million others just like me. Because of the randomness, I hope to be able to tell the truth - or a kernel of the truth , if you can handle it.
"25 Random Things About CitizenB"
1. The story is that as newborn, I was left on the doorstep by desperate gypsies - I was a screamer - and had weird hair growing off my ears.
2. Due to the screaming and general unhappiness for no apparent reason (maybe the hairy ears?), I was drugged (legally) as a baby and by age 18 months a full-blown Paragoric addict. I weaned from my addiction by age 3, and no, I do not blame my parents or the gypsies. It was standard procedure in the 60's and too bad infants can't be drugged with something more effective and less harmful than grape-flavored Dimetapp or whatever is prescribed these days. Disclaimer: I don't know what I'm talking about.
3. As a young child, I specifically asked to be the "onlyest one" and in response my Mom became pregnant for an entire decade, producing 4 younger siblings - girl, boy, girl, girl. We also had dogs.
4. As a 6 year old, I stood on an overturned crate in the front yard and sang "It's The End of The World" into the garden hose. That was a highlight - and the beginning and end of my singing career.
5. As a 12 year old, I wrote poetry and placed anonymous samples in random mailboxes in the apartment complex where we lived. I really hope I cheered up grouchy Mrs. Pritchett in Apt. 121-A. If she smiled, her pancake make-up probably cracked and fell off.
6. I still like reading the dictionary, finding a "word for the day" and also spinning the globe to point to the destination of my next vacation. For some reason, I always land on Mongolia - if in fact my globe is current and Mongolia hasn't been renamed or had its borders redrawn due to Civil War.
7. I speak limited French with a Texas twang.
8. I'm tragically un-hip and love the corniest of corny jokes. I'm known to snort and cackle.
9. I like to sketch and my favorite subjects are nudes wearing large hats adorned with flowers and feathers. It's not as weird as it sounds.
10. I'm OCD with laundry and actually count (in Spanish - for some reason) the articles of clothing as they go into the washing machine. I still come up with missing socks.
11. If my hands are tied down I cannot speak.
12. I own one diamond - an anniversary ring - and I'm still bothered a little about how I came to own it after reading "King Leopold's Ghost." In denial, I manage to dismiss the horrors of diamond mining (and other atrocious acts like rubber harvesting) in the Congo by convincing myself that my diamond was excavated from a nice, safe underground diamond mine below Zales' TX headquarters. Also, I figure we all use rubber products - can't drive without tires - so how could one diamond ring be so horrible? Enough of the justification.
13. I like to listen to Pearl Jam in my car before important meetings and my daily mantra consists of two curse words - even though I'm not a negative person. I don't find the necessary strength for presentations in Barry Manilow and words like "love" and "hope".
14. I can't do step aerobics without falling over. I can't exercise without laughing and falling over. I fall over easily.
15. More and more, I find myself repeating sentences when talking. I find myself repeating sentences when talking. If only I could reboot.
16. The movie generally sucked, but I loved the character of Esqueleto in "Nacho Libre" and his line "I am Hid-E-Ous."
17. I have fat lobes and didn't have my ears professionally pierced until age 28.
18. I went to 12 different public schools - not because I was a juvenile or gifted. We just moved a lot.
19. I love babies and really old people. You can learn a lot from a 90 year old. Most newborns resemble Winston Churchill (or 90 year olds) but they usually cute'n-up in a couple of weeks.
20. I would like to own a book store and live in Paris, near Hampstead Heath, or in Austin, TX - with dogs lounging on Persian rugs and cats sleeping on window sills.
21. I was always terrified of even the idea of cats until the Halloween night when a black kitten appeared on the doorstep, invited himself in and became a member of the family. Ironically, the arrival of "Boo" didn't scare me at all.
22. While 8 months pregnant, I slept in the back of a pick up truck in the middle of a cow pasture. It's what we call "camping" and what you do for "entertainment" when you are young, dumb, and want to be with your husband in West Texas.
23. I don't know how to gamble. Thank goodness.
24. I cried (bawled) when Carter lost to Reagan in 1980 - my first election and vote. A miserable milestone. I've had a few disappointments - politically - over the years. You learn to get over it and on with it - but not when you're 19 and naive about the real world.
25. I'm brave when I travel alone - it's all about cool sunglasses and driving rental cars like a pro - including lots of exciting U-turns.
The end. 25 random things takes a lot of brain-storming and is a bit numbing. I invite you to try it. If not, I will concoct 25 random things about you - my family and friends. It could get embarrassing!
Oh, did I mention I love green?
Signing off,
CitizenB
Anyway, Slate recently headlined a story about Facebook's "25 Random Things About Me" with detailed research on the craze including opinions from Ph.Ds, and charts and graphs to demonstrate its evolution and how people react and respond. Per Wikipedia (how did we ever get by without all this information available at our fingertips?): "Facebook Notes was introduced on August 22, 2006, a blogging feature that allowed tags and embeddable images. Users were later able to import blogs from Xanga, LiveJournal, Blogger, and other blogging services. A recent use of Notes includes the Internet meme - "25 Random Things About Me" which involves writing 25 things about the user that their friends don't already know about them and using the tag function to ask 25 friends to also do so. Nearly 5 million "25 Random Things" notes were written on Facebook profiles in the first week of February 2009." 5 million last week? Wow. We are in dire straits - and obviously not out dancing in the streets.
My closest experience with "25 Random Things" is receiving e-mail questionnaires as shared by friends and family asking questions like "what's your favorite color?", "TV show?", "Food?"etc. I admit that I made up a lot of my answers to make it more interesting because who really cares that the answers are "green", "The Office" and "Italian"? As a side note and warning, never answer "What is your mother's maiden name?" and "The last 4 digits of your SSN?"
I considered not going down the "25" road, but hey, I might learn something about myself that will lead me to become a better person/citizen. Not really. I'm doing it for "fun" and because I'm bored and have no control over any other aspect of my life - typical of the 5 million others just like me. Because of the randomness, I hope to be able to tell the truth - or a kernel of the truth , if you can handle it.
"25 Random Things About CitizenB"
1. The story is that as newborn, I was left on the doorstep by desperate gypsies - I was a screamer - and had weird hair growing off my ears.
2. Due to the screaming and general unhappiness for no apparent reason (maybe the hairy ears?), I was drugged (legally) as a baby and by age 18 months a full-blown Paragoric addict. I weaned from my addiction by age 3, and no, I do not blame my parents or the gypsies. It was standard procedure in the 60's and too bad infants can't be drugged with something more effective and less harmful than grape-flavored Dimetapp or whatever is prescribed these days. Disclaimer: I don't know what I'm talking about.
3. As a young child, I specifically asked to be the "onlyest one" and in response my Mom became pregnant for an entire decade, producing 4 younger siblings - girl, boy, girl, girl. We also had dogs.
4. As a 6 year old, I stood on an overturned crate in the front yard and sang "It's The End of The World" into the garden hose. That was a highlight - and the beginning and end of my singing career.
5. As a 12 year old, I wrote poetry and placed anonymous samples in random mailboxes in the apartment complex where we lived. I really hope I cheered up grouchy Mrs. Pritchett in Apt. 121-A. If she smiled, her pancake make-up probably cracked and fell off.
6. I still like reading the dictionary, finding a "word for the day" and also spinning the globe to point to the destination of my next vacation. For some reason, I always land on Mongolia - if in fact my globe is current and Mongolia hasn't been renamed or had its borders redrawn due to Civil War.
7. I speak limited French with a Texas twang.
8. I'm tragically un-hip and love the corniest of corny jokes. I'm known to snort and cackle.
9. I like to sketch and my favorite subjects are nudes wearing large hats adorned with flowers and feathers. It's not as weird as it sounds.
10. I'm OCD with laundry and actually count (in Spanish - for some reason) the articles of clothing as they go into the washing machine. I still come up with missing socks.
11. If my hands are tied down I cannot speak.
12. I own one diamond - an anniversary ring - and I'm still bothered a little about how I came to own it after reading "King Leopold's Ghost." In denial, I manage to dismiss the horrors of diamond mining (and other atrocious acts like rubber harvesting) in the Congo by convincing myself that my diamond was excavated from a nice, safe underground diamond mine below Zales' TX headquarters. Also, I figure we all use rubber products - can't drive without tires - so how could one diamond ring be so horrible? Enough of the justification.
13. I like to listen to Pearl Jam in my car before important meetings and my daily mantra consists of two curse words - even though I'm not a negative person. I don't find the necessary strength for presentations in Barry Manilow and words like "love" and "hope".
14. I can't do step aerobics without falling over. I can't exercise without laughing and falling over. I fall over easily.
15. More and more, I find myself repeating sentences when talking. I find myself repeating sentences when talking. If only I could reboot.
16. The movie generally sucked, but I loved the character of Esqueleto in "Nacho Libre" and his line "I am Hid-E-Ous."
17. I have fat lobes and didn't have my ears professionally pierced until age 28.
18. I went to 12 different public schools - not because I was a juvenile or gifted. We just moved a lot.
19. I love babies and really old people. You can learn a lot from a 90 year old. Most newborns resemble Winston Churchill (or 90 year olds) but they usually cute'n-up in a couple of weeks.
20. I would like to own a book store and live in Paris, near Hampstead Heath, or in Austin, TX - with dogs lounging on Persian rugs and cats sleeping on window sills.
21. I was always terrified of even the idea of cats until the Halloween night when a black kitten appeared on the doorstep, invited himself in and became a member of the family. Ironically, the arrival of "Boo" didn't scare me at all.
22. While 8 months pregnant, I slept in the back of a pick up truck in the middle of a cow pasture. It's what we call "camping" and what you do for "entertainment" when you are young, dumb, and want to be with your husband in West Texas.
23. I don't know how to gamble. Thank goodness.
24. I cried (bawled) when Carter lost to Reagan in 1980 - my first election and vote. A miserable milestone. I've had a few disappointments - politically - over the years. You learn to get over it and on with it - but not when you're 19 and naive about the real world.
25. I'm brave when I travel alone - it's all about cool sunglasses and driving rental cars like a pro - including lots of exciting U-turns.
The end. 25 random things takes a lot of brain-storming and is a bit numbing. I invite you to try it. If not, I will concoct 25 random things about you - my family and friends. It could get embarrassing!
Oh, did I mention I love green?
Signing off,
CitizenB
Monday, February 9, 2009
10 Tips To Improve Your Mood During An Economic Crisis
Dear Citizen,
I don't know about you but I'm having a tough time keeping my chin up in these trying times. Of course, I don't have much of a chin, but you get my drift. Despite a few highlights, the ever-present news is mostly depressing - clueless and faithless congressmen, crooks and liars, tax dodgers, jobless claims, foreclosures, struggling stocks, disappearing 401Ks, Australian wildfires, contaminated peanut butter, irresponsible multiple embryo transplants, pot-smoking and steroid-using athletes/"role models", the horrors of celebrity weight gain, and too much analysis of fake Reality TV. No matter how optimistic you are (and should be for the greater good), for many of us, it's hard to feel "the love" right now.
10 tips to improve your mood:
1. Enjoy a piece of toast (whole grain with Brummel & Brown natural yogurt/butter spread, of course.) You'll be surprised how a simple piece of toast (no, it doesn't have to be a bagel) will magically lift your spirits.
2. Take stock in what you have. Revisit your book, music, DVD or other collection. This will make you happy - or make you pause - in the event you realize you had (have?) terrible taste in music (especially during the 80's) and own too many movie soundtracks that don't include that one song you were looking for. (I actually own the soundtracks from "Last of The Mohicans" and "Dawson's Creek - Season 3"). This will allow you to make fun of yourself and decide which items to select for next Christmas's inevitable re-gifting. Hmmm, I wonder if my nephew Ryan is a Joey & Pacey fan?
3. Smile. Do it by force or even if it feels creepy. After a few moments, it will occur naturally and be less painful. Your mood will improve over time and/or if the smile becomes stuck for more than 4 hours, someone will suggest psychiatric help.
4. Talk. To a friend, stranger, yourself, an object, plant (preferably an ivy) or pet. If necessary, join a support group of any kind. Recently, I read about a group of women - wives and girlfriends of investment bankers - meeting (in a bar) to bemoan topics like "This is not what I signed on for!", "I'm not sure I love him if he's not rich.", "But I deserve a McMansion and luxury SUV!" etc. Okay, in that case, just get over it.
5. Value experiences, not possessions. What really makes you happy? Okay, I admit I hugged a new magazine rack once and also kissed a new pair of shoes. Minor detail.
6. Get excited about the little things; i.e., fake-buttered toast.
7. Tell your significant other that you love, love, love him/her at least 3 times per day - even if you are mad at him/her for:
a) turning off the electricity without warning causing you to lose valuable, unsaved diary entries,
b) buying the world's cheapest detergent that inflames your sensitive skin when you specifically requested "Cheer - Free & Gentle" with a coupon no less, and
c) calling your cell phone repeatedly from the bedroom so that you can drop what you're doing in the kitchen and locate the remote sitting on the bedside table.
8. Play outside with your niece's adorable 2 1/2 year old (as long as he's had his nap and has dry pants). Observe the joy on his face as he smears mud on his clean shirt, crashes his matchbox cars into the curb, insists on pushing you on the porch swing, points out airplanes, birds and stars, and sneaks forbidden drinks of your diet coke when his mother isn't watching. This will please you.
9. Find a cheap hobby. I read that yarn is flying off the shelf and knitting while eating spam and saltines by candle light has replaced dining out at Chili's (same sodium content). If you're my mom, borrow our staple gun and fire away at fabric on those hand-crafted cornice boards. It's good physical therapy and will help you regain your strength. You also may sew. There's enough fabric in Mom's house to clothe the octuplets for life.
10. Clean your bathroom. It will remind you of how nice it is to have running water and to be thankful you don't have to use a latrine in the woods where there are raccoons.
It's all relative.
CitizenB
I don't know about you but I'm having a tough time keeping my chin up in these trying times. Of course, I don't have much of a chin, but you get my drift. Despite a few highlights, the ever-present news is mostly depressing - clueless and faithless congressmen, crooks and liars, tax dodgers, jobless claims, foreclosures, struggling stocks, disappearing 401Ks, Australian wildfires, contaminated peanut butter, irresponsible multiple embryo transplants, pot-smoking and steroid-using athletes/"role models", the horrors of celebrity weight gain, and too much analysis of fake Reality TV. No matter how optimistic you are (and should be for the greater good), for many of us, it's hard to feel "the love" right now.
10 tips to improve your mood:
1. Enjoy a piece of toast (whole grain with Brummel & Brown natural yogurt/butter spread, of course.) You'll be surprised how a simple piece of toast (no, it doesn't have to be a bagel) will magically lift your spirits.
2. Take stock in what you have. Revisit your book, music, DVD or other collection. This will make you happy - or make you pause - in the event you realize you had (have?) terrible taste in music (especially during the 80's) and own too many movie soundtracks that don't include that one song you were looking for. (I actually own the soundtracks from "Last of The Mohicans" and "Dawson's Creek - Season 3"). This will allow you to make fun of yourself and decide which items to select for next Christmas's inevitable re-gifting. Hmmm, I wonder if my nephew Ryan is a Joey & Pacey fan?
3. Smile. Do it by force or even if it feels creepy. After a few moments, it will occur naturally and be less painful. Your mood will improve over time and/or if the smile becomes stuck for more than 4 hours, someone will suggest psychiatric help.
4. Talk. To a friend, stranger, yourself, an object, plant (preferably an ivy) or pet. If necessary, join a support group of any kind. Recently, I read about a group of women - wives and girlfriends of investment bankers - meeting (in a bar) to bemoan topics like "This is not what I signed on for!", "I'm not sure I love him if he's not rich.", "But I deserve a McMansion and luxury SUV!" etc. Okay, in that case, just get over it.
5. Value experiences, not possessions. What really makes you happy? Okay, I admit I hugged a new magazine rack once and also kissed a new pair of shoes. Minor detail.
6. Get excited about the little things; i.e., fake-buttered toast.
7. Tell your significant other that you love, love, love him/her at least 3 times per day - even if you are mad at him/her for:
a) turning off the electricity without warning causing you to lose valuable, unsaved diary entries,
b) buying the world's cheapest detergent that inflames your sensitive skin when you specifically requested "Cheer - Free & Gentle" with a coupon no less, and
c) calling your cell phone repeatedly from the bedroom so that you can drop what you're doing in the kitchen and locate the remote sitting on the bedside table.
8. Play outside with your niece's adorable 2 1/2 year old (as long as he's had his nap and has dry pants). Observe the joy on his face as he smears mud on his clean shirt, crashes his matchbox cars into the curb, insists on pushing you on the porch swing, points out airplanes, birds and stars, and sneaks forbidden drinks of your diet coke when his mother isn't watching. This will please you.
9. Find a cheap hobby. I read that yarn is flying off the shelf and knitting while eating spam and saltines by candle light has replaced dining out at Chili's (same sodium content). If you're my mom, borrow our staple gun and fire away at fabric on those hand-crafted cornice boards. It's good physical therapy and will help you regain your strength. You also may sew. There's enough fabric in Mom's house to clothe the octuplets for life.
10. Clean your bathroom. It will remind you of how nice it is to have running water and to be thankful you don't have to use a latrine in the woods where there are raccoons.
It's all relative.
CitizenB
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Movies Movies Movies - My 115
I love film; maybe not as much as Roger Ebert, bless his heart, but as an ordinary citizen, I really love the movies. Yes, more than pie.
Recently, I attempted to whittle down 15+ years of lists to produce a new list of 100 films to include a wide range of genres. These are movies that I love (or really like) whether blockbusters (not many) or straight to video (a few). In their own way, they made an impression, and if we had all the time in the world I could tell you at least one minor but interesting detail that I remember from them all. It's about the little things.
I labored to get the number to 100 but when the tally came to 115 I decided "close enough!" You will find them listed alphabetically to the lower right. Ever the analyst, I decided to consider the titles and see if I could learn something about my obsession.
Here are the statistics (very unscientific) with some films falling into multiple categories:
The majority (48) qualify as dramas,
35 meet the romantic category (not necessarily chick flicks but, hey, I am a girl),
At least 34 are indies,
26 are comedies or try to be,
18 are classics (tough to pare down all the "greats"),
Films about social issues: 18,
17 are period pieces (not just one period!),
There are 13 foreign films and 13 thrillers,
At least 12 films center around strong but imperfect women (including a few total bad asses),
11 involve dark humor,
10 have a crime story and 10 are heart breakers,
9 are coming of age stories and 9 are political,
Action & Adventure films: 8,
7 are considered suspenseful,
6 are cult films and 6 westerns (with horses),
5 are low budget films. 5 are considered epics. There are 5 documentaries and 5 road trips or journeys,
4 were "Best Pictures", 4 are about war. 4 are musicals and 4 showcase food,
There are 3 spoofs and 3 films about aging,
2 were first films for the directors and at least 2 can be considered "film noir",
Horror: 1!
48 are from the 00s, 34 from the 90's, 12 from the 80's, 5 - 70's, 8 - 60's, 2 - 50's, 4 - 40's and 2 from the 30's.
A few directors pop up more than once including Ang Lee, Woody Allen, Lasse Hallstrom, Alejandro Inarrtu, Whit Stillman, Joel Cohen, Wes Anderson, Alfred Hitchcock, Quentin Tarantino and Curtis Hansen.
The actors range from the total unknown to Laurence Olivier. Wasn't he knighted as a film god? If I remember correctly he actually played Zeus in "Clash of the Titans." One of my faves, Russell Crowe (soooo intense), appears in at least 3. Billy Bob Thornton manages to pop up as an actor and a director. Al Gore achieves rock star status from An Inconvenient Truth. I was surprised that I liked a film with John Goodman and one with the guy from Kung Fu. But I did and do.
You really can't go wrong watching Annette Bening (she must be a great actress to be married to Warren Beatty), Juliette Binoche, Frances McDormand, Judi Dench, Toni Collette, Judy Davis, Cate Blanchett (she makes Brad Pitt look better) and Laura Linney - to name a few.
So what did I learn?
I like variety and movies that are intense, intelligent, unexpected, emotional, artistic, visually stunning, inspiring (without trying or preaching) and passionate; with broken characters. Throw in some quirkiness with the occasional cheese and insanity and I'm a happy viewer.
I'm tolerant but there are a few movies that come to mind that I severely disliked.
"Next" with Nicolas Cage was preposterous (I did like him in "Valley Girl").
"Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind" gave me a headache. Jim Carrey should never be allowed to act with Kate Winslet.
I hated, hated, hated "Swordfish". Halle Berry removing her shirt could not save that disaster of a movie.
I'm not a Tom Cruise fan and with obviously limited sexual experience, I didn't understand "Eyes Wide Shut". Besides, TC and sex? Ew. I did like "Minority Report" but more for the pre-mug shot Colin Farrell than T.C.
Johnny Depp must have been paid a huge pile of money to do 3 "Pirates" movies. Ugh. (Sorry, kids.) I did like "Sweeney Todd", for some reason.
Lastly, I was disappointed with "Leatherheads". George Clooney bombed with that one. Oh well, he made up for it with "Michael Clayton". That film made my "115" more for the actor Tom Wilkinson and the bizzaro actress - Tilda Swinton.
Oh, so many movies and so little time. Next I'll work on my Reading list.
That's a wrap,
CitizenB
Recently, I attempted to whittle down 15+ years of lists to produce a new list of 100 films to include a wide range of genres. These are movies that I love (or really like) whether blockbusters (not many) or straight to video (a few). In their own way, they made an impression, and if we had all the time in the world I could tell you at least one minor but interesting detail that I remember from them all. It's about the little things.
I labored to get the number to 100 but when the tally came to 115 I decided "close enough!" You will find them listed alphabetically to the lower right. Ever the analyst, I decided to consider the titles and see if I could learn something about my obsession.
Here are the statistics (very unscientific) with some films falling into multiple categories:
The majority (48) qualify as dramas,
35 meet the romantic category (not necessarily chick flicks but, hey, I am a girl),
At least 34 are indies,
26 are comedies or try to be,
18 are classics (tough to pare down all the "greats"),
Films about social issues: 18,
17 are period pieces (not just one period!),
There are 13 foreign films and 13 thrillers,
At least 12 films center around strong but imperfect women (including a few total bad asses),
11 involve dark humor,
10 have a crime story and 10 are heart breakers,
9 are coming of age stories and 9 are political,
Action & Adventure films: 8,
7 are considered suspenseful,
6 are cult films and 6 westerns (with horses),
5 are low budget films. 5 are considered epics. There are 5 documentaries and 5 road trips or journeys,
4 were "Best Pictures", 4 are about war. 4 are musicals and 4 showcase food,
There are 3 spoofs and 3 films about aging,
2 were first films for the directors and at least 2 can be considered "film noir",
Horror: 1!
48 are from the 00s, 34 from the 90's, 12 from the 80's, 5 - 70's, 8 - 60's, 2 - 50's, 4 - 40's and 2 from the 30's.
A few directors pop up more than once including Ang Lee, Woody Allen, Lasse Hallstrom, Alejandro Inarrtu, Whit Stillman, Joel Cohen, Wes Anderson, Alfred Hitchcock, Quentin Tarantino and Curtis Hansen.
The actors range from the total unknown to Laurence Olivier. Wasn't he knighted as a film god? If I remember correctly he actually played Zeus in "Clash of the Titans." One of my faves, Russell Crowe (soooo intense), appears in at least 3. Billy Bob Thornton manages to pop up as an actor and a director. Al Gore achieves rock star status from An Inconvenient Truth. I was surprised that I liked a film with John Goodman and one with the guy from Kung Fu. But I did and do.
You really can't go wrong watching Annette Bening (she must be a great actress to be married to Warren Beatty), Juliette Binoche, Frances McDormand, Judi Dench, Toni Collette, Judy Davis, Cate Blanchett (she makes Brad Pitt look better) and Laura Linney - to name a few.
So what did I learn?
I like variety and movies that are intense, intelligent, unexpected, emotional, artistic, visually stunning, inspiring (without trying or preaching) and passionate; with broken characters. Throw in some quirkiness with the occasional cheese and insanity and I'm a happy viewer.
I'm tolerant but there are a few movies that come to mind that I severely disliked.
"Next" with Nicolas Cage was preposterous (I did like him in "Valley Girl").
"Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind" gave me a headache. Jim Carrey should never be allowed to act with Kate Winslet.
I hated, hated, hated "Swordfish". Halle Berry removing her shirt could not save that disaster of a movie.
I'm not a Tom Cruise fan and with obviously limited sexual experience, I didn't understand "Eyes Wide Shut". Besides, TC and sex? Ew. I did like "Minority Report" but more for the pre-mug shot Colin Farrell than T.C.
Johnny Depp must have been paid a huge pile of money to do 3 "Pirates" movies. Ugh. (Sorry, kids.) I did like "Sweeney Todd", for some reason.
Lastly, I was disappointed with "Leatherheads". George Clooney bombed with that one. Oh well, he made up for it with "Michael Clayton". That film made my "115" more for the actor Tom Wilkinson and the bizzaro actress - Tilda Swinton.
Oh, so many movies and so little time. Next I'll work on my Reading list.
That's a wrap,
CitizenB
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Meat!
Just for fun and a few years ago, we had a contest in our house to make up our own word for "cool" and all the crazy expressions that have evolved over the years.
It seems we were tired of the usual exclamations of approval including "right on", "cool", "too cool", "way cool", "the coolest", "sweet", "nice", "excellent" and considering the times, an occasional "rad", "bad", "bad-ass", "I hear that", "word" etc.
Not being skaters, surfers, or Valley people, we never used a lot of radical expressions including "gnarly", "bitchin'", "fer sure", and "tubular."
I'll occasionally slip with a "far out!" and "neat-o!" Andy and Aaron use "off the hook", "dabomb" and "sooooo freakin' good" to describe their cooking. They get really, really excited stirring stuff on the stove. I've seen near seizure-like activity in our kitchen. Confidence is good, but don't fall face first into your paella.
Also, I'm lost on today's expressions but imagine most start with a "ph" like "phat", "phabulous" and "phantastic."
Back to the contest... the winning entry (mine) was - drum roll, please - "MEAT!" I don't recall the other entries but I'm fairly sure Aaron's entry was "This is a bunch of b-s."
The new sensation "Meat!" pops up during conversation; mainly when we are sitting down to a large platter of ribs. Now that's "Meat!"
There have been a number of "Meat!" worthy events lately. Amanda graduated with honors from UTA. MEAT! Andy survived his solo motorcycle journey to the far reaches of Eastern Oklahoma. Meat! Aaron is on month two of his vegetarian diet. Meat-o! Rush Limbaugh continues to prove he's the ultimate dolt. Double Meat with Gravy!
Remember. Always praise with "MEAT!"
It seems we were tired of the usual exclamations of approval including "right on", "cool", "too cool", "way cool", "the coolest", "sweet", "nice", "excellent" and considering the times, an occasional "rad", "bad", "bad-ass", "I hear that", "word" etc.
Not being skaters, surfers, or Valley people, we never used a lot of radical expressions including "gnarly", "bitchin'", "fer sure", and "tubular."
I'll occasionally slip with a "far out!" and "neat-o!" Andy and Aaron use "off the hook", "dabomb" and "sooooo freakin' good" to describe their cooking. They get really, really excited stirring stuff on the stove. I've seen near seizure-like activity in our kitchen. Confidence is good, but don't fall face first into your paella.
Also, I'm lost on today's expressions but imagine most start with a "ph" like "phat", "phabulous" and "phantastic."
Back to the contest... the winning entry (mine) was - drum roll, please - "MEAT!" I don't recall the other entries but I'm fairly sure Aaron's entry was "This is a bunch of b-s."
The new sensation "Meat!" pops up during conversation; mainly when we are sitting down to a large platter of ribs. Now that's "Meat!"
There have been a number of "Meat!" worthy events lately. Amanda graduated with honors from UTA. MEAT! Andy survived his solo motorcycle journey to the far reaches of Eastern Oklahoma. Meat! Aaron is on month two of his vegetarian diet. Meat-o! Rush Limbaugh continues to prove he's the ultimate dolt. Double Meat with Gravy!
Remember. Always praise with "MEAT!"
Friday, January 23, 2009
Marshall's Quasi-Proust Questionnaire
Marshall is a perfect specimen of a tabby cat at age 7 - physically striking, mature but youthful, loving though aloof, simple yet complex. Here's what he had to say to Proustian and other important questions (note the questions were asked in random order to allow for the most spontaneous response):
What is your favorite music? Blues
What is your favorite cocktail? Blueberry Martini
What do you like most about your appearance? My spectacular stripes
What do you dislike most about your body? I am not ashamed to say... my shriveled testicles
What languages do you speak? English, Russian, Bahasa Indonesian, Sign, and Cat Slang including purring, hissing and yowling at different pitches and beats, Yo!
What is your favorite entertainment? Pouncing to Zydeco at Poor David's Pub and watching Animal Planet
What is your motto? One Life At A Time
Where would you like to live? Taj Mahal or a temperature controlled barn in Iowa
What is your most treasured possession? My prowess and ability to dart up a tree at record speed and give the Bronx cheer to salivating German Shepherds
What do you value in your owners? Loyalty, plus they open doors for me at any hour
Which actress would you most like to meet? Nastassja Kinski
What subject did you enjoy most in school? Biology; specifically dissecting frogs.
Which historical figure do you most identify with? Sigmund Freud
What is your favorite movie? Breakfast at Tiffany's
Which talent would you most like to have? Ability to woo Nastassja Kinski as a panther
What it the quality you most like in a mate? A good listener
What is your greatest regret? I didn't escape prepubertal castration
Who are your favorite writers? Rudyard Kipling, Lewis Carroll and Dr. Seuss
What can be found in your refrigerator? Mouse on ice, butter, olives and Rock Star
What is your current state of mind? Bored and not at all amused with these questions
What instrument would you like to play? Accordion or double bass
What is your favorite game? Ping Pong
Do you have political aspirations? Yes. Find a way to quash oppressive city ordinances and join in the fight to "remake" America
Which words or phrases do you most overuse? "Feed me" in four different languages
Who is your favorite musician? Brian Setzer
What is your greatest fear? There is nothing to fear but fear itself or maybe an open dryer door
What is your favorite occupation? Day dreaming and writing love letters
What is your favorite flower? One that I can eat and regurgitate without being poisoned
Which magazine do you enjoy? Vogue Knitting. Sorry, Vanity Fair, but yarn fascinates me
End
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