It's That Time of Year Again
How to make deep-fried turkey instructions can be found here and here, the last one includes a recipe for the seasoning.
Enjoy!
Friday, November 19, 2004
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Eulogy
Instead of trying to do something elaborate here, I am going to stick with what I do naturally. Telling stories.
My favorite story about my grandfather:
When I was little, I remember sitting in my grandparents' kitchen and coloring in a coloring books. It is possible that the coloring book came with me on the trip, but it is possible that it came instead from the toy cupboard. The toy cupboard was a fantastic place. I don't know what was originally stored there, but it became the place to keep toys for the grandkids. My grandfather sat down next to me and watched me color for a little while. I had carefully outlined the shapes in crayon and was filling them in, moving the crayon back and forth across the surface.
"When I was your age, we didn't color like that," he said.
I didn't reply, but switched the movement of my crayon to an up-and-down motion. He watched for a second.
"When I was your age, we didn't color like that," he repeated.
Again, I switched, this time to diagonal.
"When I was your age, we didn't color like that."
I had almost exhausted my options, but switched to a round-and-round motion.
"When I was your age..."
In my best exasperated child voice, I said, "Well Grandpa? How DID you color when you were my age??"
"Well, I didn't use all different ways like that, I picked one and stuck with it!"
***
My grandfather's favorite story about me:
They had taken me to the grocery store with them, and as they went through the checkout line they gave me some money for the gumball/toy machines near the door. I don't remember how much money they gave me, but it gave me the option to get gum or a toy, and several different options of toys. At three years old, this was a monumental decision. By the time they finished paying for the groceries and got out to where I was standing, the money was still in my hand. As soon as they were in earshot I blurted out:
"These machines are driving me CRAZY!!"
***
We weren't ready for my grandfather to pass away. He had always been a central reason why it was more fun to spend time with my family than go to the movies. My uncle thought for a year or more that a-g-i-l-e was pronounced "a gill" because my grandfather thought it would be funny to see if he would believe it. This was before the phrase "Is that right mother??" was commonplace in their household.
He played baseball with his kids after dinner in the side yard, a place we probably should have been playing baseball when my brother managed to hit one right through their plate glass window.
I remember at Christmas having a song stuck in my head (as I often do) dancing in place to it in my uncle's kitchen. When I looked up, my grandfather was dancing in place to the same rhythm, just because I was. I started laughing and promptly forgot what song was in my head, but we kept on dancing anyway. Like I said, more fun than the movies. Certainly stranger.
Grandpa was always smiling, always shaking his fist in a mock-threatening manner, would always make editorial comments about things going on around us - just like I do. We all have stories that capture a part of him, and we're lucky in that respect. But we still weren't ready. He was Enright, Chuck, Charlie, and Finn. He was Grandpa.
Instead of trying to do something elaborate here, I am going to stick with what I do naturally. Telling stories.
My favorite story about my grandfather:
When I was little, I remember sitting in my grandparents' kitchen and coloring in a coloring books. It is possible that the coloring book came with me on the trip, but it is possible that it came instead from the toy cupboard. The toy cupboard was a fantastic place. I don't know what was originally stored there, but it became the place to keep toys for the grandkids. My grandfather sat down next to me and watched me color for a little while. I had carefully outlined the shapes in crayon and was filling them in, moving the crayon back and forth across the surface.
"When I was your age, we didn't color like that," he said.
I didn't reply, but switched the movement of my crayon to an up-and-down motion. He watched for a second.
"When I was your age, we didn't color like that," he repeated.
Again, I switched, this time to diagonal.
"When I was your age, we didn't color like that."
I had almost exhausted my options, but switched to a round-and-round motion.
"When I was your age..."
In my best exasperated child voice, I said, "Well Grandpa? How DID you color when you were my age??"
"Well, I didn't use all different ways like that, I picked one and stuck with it!"
***
My grandfather's favorite story about me:
They had taken me to the grocery store with them, and as they went through the checkout line they gave me some money for the gumball/toy machines near the door. I don't remember how much money they gave me, but it gave me the option to get gum or a toy, and several different options of toys. At three years old, this was a monumental decision. By the time they finished paying for the groceries and got out to where I was standing, the money was still in my hand. As soon as they were in earshot I blurted out:
"These machines are driving me CRAZY!!"
***
We weren't ready for my grandfather to pass away. He had always been a central reason why it was more fun to spend time with my family than go to the movies. My uncle thought for a year or more that a-g-i-l-e was pronounced "a gill" because my grandfather thought it would be funny to see if he would believe it. This was before the phrase "Is that right mother??" was commonplace in their household.
He played baseball with his kids after dinner in the side yard, a place we probably should have been playing baseball when my brother managed to hit one right through their plate glass window.
I remember at Christmas having a song stuck in my head (as I often do) dancing in place to it in my uncle's kitchen. When I looked up, my grandfather was dancing in place to the same rhythm, just because I was. I started laughing and promptly forgot what song was in my head, but we kept on dancing anyway. Like I said, more fun than the movies. Certainly stranger.
Grandpa was always smiling, always shaking his fist in a mock-threatening manner, would always make editorial comments about things going on around us - just like I do. We all have stories that capture a part of him, and we're lucky in that respect. But we still weren't ready. He was Enright, Chuck, Charlie, and Finn. He was Grandpa.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
I'm Going to Have to Call You Back
Alrighty, so I have been meaning to really write, but obviously I'm just putting too much pressure on myself. So for now, I'll just get something here so I don't look so lazy. (Oh, it's much too late for that.)
I was on my way home the other night and saw a Cyclist up ahead. You know, he's not riding a bike he's cycling. He has the spandex shorts, the spandex jersey, the funny little shoes, the helmet, the sunglasses, and as I pass him, I realize he's talking on a cell phone. What sort of a conversation is this guy having? Those numbers (huff puff) sounds good Bob (huff puff) but I'll have to (huff puff) call you back after I (huff puff) get up this hill.
Alrighty, so I have been meaning to really write, but obviously I'm just putting too much pressure on myself. So for now, I'll just get something here so I don't look so lazy. (Oh, it's much too late for that.)
I was on my way home the other night and saw a Cyclist up ahead. You know, he's not riding a bike he's cycling. He has the spandex shorts, the spandex jersey, the funny little shoes, the helmet, the sunglasses, and as I pass him, I realize he's talking on a cell phone. What sort of a conversation is this guy having? Those numbers (huff puff) sounds good Bob (huff puff) but I'll have to (huff puff) call you back after I (huff puff) get up this hill.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Life in the Kingdom
As far as turn-based games online go, there is none finer than The Kingdom of Loathing. Where else can you become a Disco Bandit, fighting things like Baseball Bats (a creature with bat wings and a baseball for a body) and P Imps (in the Copse of the Deep Fat Friars)? My current questing takes me into the Palindrome, where every creature is (you guessed it) spelled the same forwards as it is backwards. The only problem now is that when I run out of adventures I am very very sad. So, I do the sensible thing and get my character falling down drunk.
As far as turn-based games online go, there is none finer than The Kingdom of Loathing. Where else can you become a Disco Bandit, fighting things like Baseball Bats (a creature with bat wings and a baseball for a body) and P Imps (in the Copse of the Deep Fat Friars)? My current questing takes me into the Palindrome, where every creature is (you guessed it) spelled the same forwards as it is backwards. The only problem now is that when I run out of adventures I am very very sad. So, I do the sensible thing and get my character falling down drunk.
Monday, April 26, 2004
Friday, April 02, 2004
Don't Look Now, But I'm Back
Ever feel like you've simply run out of stuff to talk about? Seriously, I have been wanting to send email to my friends for the longest time, but I didn't because they would just be so boooooring. Got up today, went to work, came home, made dinner, played a computer game. That's what I did yesterday, too. The fun just never ends, does it? But, I decided that if I don't keep writing I'll never get back in the habit.
Wednesday, I was driving to work and I was behind a Ford Econoline van. Now, this particular make and model holds special significance to me since we had one for a good portion of our family vacations. My father never called it a van, though, it was always a "truck". Pointing out to him that if it were a truck it would have a truck license plate was an exercise in futility. Pretending not to know where to go when he said, "Come on everybody, get in the truck," was equally pointless. The van I was behind the other day, however, would have gotten some cool points even from my dad. Above the back door handle were the stick-on kind of letters that you buy to put on your mailbox. They said: VANACONDA
Ever feel like you've simply run out of stuff to talk about? Seriously, I have been wanting to send email to my friends for the longest time, but I didn't because they would just be so boooooring. Got up today, went to work, came home, made dinner, played a computer game. That's what I did yesterday, too. The fun just never ends, does it? But, I decided that if I don't keep writing I'll never get back in the habit.
Wednesday, I was driving to work and I was behind a Ford Econoline van. Now, this particular make and model holds special significance to me since we had one for a good portion of our family vacations. My father never called it a van, though, it was always a "truck". Pointing out to him that if it were a truck it would have a truck license plate was an exercise in futility. Pretending not to know where to go when he said, "Come on everybody, get in the truck," was equally pointless. The van I was behind the other day, however, would have gotten some cool points even from my dad. Above the back door handle were the stick-on kind of letters that you buy to put on your mailbox. They said: VANACONDA
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Deep Fried Jelly Bracelets
It has come to my attention that most people (people I don't know) end up here looking for one of two things. So, in an effort to be the most helpful superjen I can, here you go:
1. How to make deep-friend turkey instructions can be found here and here, the last one includes a recipe for the seasoning.
2. The legend of the jelly bracelet, and what color means what... OK, girls, listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you. It doesn't matter what color means what, it doesn't matter what ANYONE tells you. Wear them (if your school lets you) or don't wear them (if they are banned or you don't like them). However, no boy has the power to make you do anything you don't want to do. Repeat after me the girl's ultimate defense against pressure of this type: WhatEVER. That's right, the perfectly timed "whatever" (especially accompanied by rolling eyes) ought to do the trick. Barring that, kick em in the nads. But you didn't hear that from me.
It has come to my attention that most people (people I don't know) end up here looking for one of two things. So, in an effort to be the most helpful superjen I can, here you go:
1. How to make deep-friend turkey instructions can be found here and here, the last one includes a recipe for the seasoning.
2. The legend of the jelly bracelet, and what color means what... OK, girls, listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you. It doesn't matter what color means what, it doesn't matter what ANYONE tells you. Wear them (if your school lets you) or don't wear them (if they are banned or you don't like them). However, no boy has the power to make you do anything you don't want to do. Repeat after me the girl's ultimate defense against pressure of this type: WhatEVER. That's right, the perfectly timed "whatever" (especially accompanied by rolling eyes) ought to do the trick. Barring that, kick em in the nads. But you didn't hear that from me.
Friday, November 14, 2003
What a Way to Wake Up
I turned on the Today Show this morning to try and motivate myself to get out of bed. Yeah, it's sad, but the most trying part of my day usually happens somewhere between opening my eyes and taking a shower. So... warm... so... comfortable... can't... zzzzzz
This morning, they had a feature about teenagers that wear "jelly" bracelets to school. Apparently, the new urban legend at middle schools is that if a boy breaks off a certain color bracelet, the girl would then have to perform a corresponding ... act. Now, I'm unclear about whether it is supposedly on the boy that breaks it, or just on somebody, but regardless, schools are now banning the bracelets. Here's my question about the whole thing, who is more idiotic?
1. Girls who buy into the whole bracelet thing, which seems to me about as serious as the urban legend when I was in school: If you wear green on Thursday, it means you're horny. Seriously.
2. Schools that buy into the whole bracelet thing and decide to ban them, giving it a lot more attention than it deserves (Hello! It made it on the Today Show!) or
3. The father that they interviewed who claimed, and get this one: It is my daughter's Constitutional Right, her God-given Right, to wear jelly bracelets to school.
And Moses said unto the people, thou shalt have no other bracelets before the jelly bracelets. Or is it Life, Liberty, and the Wearing of Jelly Bracelets? I'm sure our forefathers are now pirouetting in their graves.
I turned on the Today Show this morning to try and motivate myself to get out of bed. Yeah, it's sad, but the most trying part of my day usually happens somewhere between opening my eyes and taking a shower. So... warm... so... comfortable... can't... zzzzzz
This morning, they had a feature about teenagers that wear "jelly" bracelets to school. Apparently, the new urban legend at middle schools is that if a boy breaks off a certain color bracelet, the girl would then have to perform a corresponding ... act. Now, I'm unclear about whether it is supposedly on the boy that breaks it, or just on somebody, but regardless, schools are now banning the bracelets. Here's my question about the whole thing, who is more idiotic?
1. Girls who buy into the whole bracelet thing, which seems to me about as serious as the urban legend when I was in school: If you wear green on Thursday, it means you're horny. Seriously.
2. Schools that buy into the whole bracelet thing and decide to ban them, giving it a lot more attention than it deserves (Hello! It made it on the Today Show!) or
3. The father that they interviewed who claimed, and get this one: It is my daughter's Constitutional Right, her God-given Right, to wear jelly bracelets to school.
And Moses said unto the people, thou shalt have no other bracelets before the jelly bracelets. Or is it Life, Liberty, and the Wearing of Jelly Bracelets? I'm sure our forefathers are now pirouetting in their graves.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
A Little Late, But...
I thoroughly enjoyed the bit on the hook hand urban legend story at The Morning News. Yeah, it was for Halloween, so deal. The one by Tobias Seamon was my favorite. A psychotic gleam in his eye, an itch in his armpit. Indeed.
I thoroughly enjoyed the bit on the hook hand urban legend story at The Morning News. Yeah, it was for Halloween, so deal. The one by Tobias Seamon was my favorite. A psychotic gleam in his eye, an itch in his armpit. Indeed.
Monday, October 27, 2003
Bicth or Bitch?
When I walked into my office this morning, these words greeted me. They were drawn on one of my tables in permanent marker, and then circled. Now, I'm pretty sure the second spelling is the correct one, but I had no idea how someone had gotten into my locked office and left me a multiple choice like this one.
As it turns out, the building hired a painting crew to paint doorframes that needed touching up. The painter assigned to the job had a death in the family, and had to bring his children with him so they could leave directly from here to go to the funeral. It is what happened next that puzzles all of us here. Apparently he unlocked every door in the building and then let his children run amok - they dumped out wastepaper baskets, dumped the hole punch into the copy machine, erased our docket board, wrote on my desk, left candy wrappers all over the place... it was basically Lord of the Office Flies in here.
So, the painting company has apologized and will be cleaning off the exercise in profanity. My suggestion was to shackle the children to the desk and have them clean it off, but then again, we don't really want them back here THAT badly.
When I walked into my office this morning, these words greeted me. They were drawn on one of my tables in permanent marker, and then circled. Now, I'm pretty sure the second spelling is the correct one, but I had no idea how someone had gotten into my locked office and left me a multiple choice like this one.
As it turns out, the building hired a painting crew to paint doorframes that needed touching up. The painter assigned to the job had a death in the family, and had to bring his children with him so they could leave directly from here to go to the funeral. It is what happened next that puzzles all of us here. Apparently he unlocked every door in the building and then let his children run amok - they dumped out wastepaper baskets, dumped the hole punch into the copy machine, erased our docket board, wrote on my desk, left candy wrappers all over the place... it was basically Lord of the Office Flies in here.
So, the painting company has apologized and will be cleaning off the exercise in profanity. My suggestion was to shackle the children to the desk and have them clean it off, but then again, we don't really want them back here THAT badly.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
WHAT WAS THAT???
We stayed up far too late last night, victims of a re-run of the X Files that neither one of us had seen before. We absolutely had to see how it ended. Finally, it was over and we drifted off to sleep.
In my dream, I was being chased by something that I couldn't see. Running like hell, I heard it make a loud noise, but I could tell the noise was fairly far away from me. It moved around a bit, but then got louder and louder until I knew it was right next to me. Abandoning any hope of escape, I struck out hoping to defend myself against this formless noise...
I woke up when my arm hit something, and then realized it was Ryan. Not fully awake and still pretty freaked out from my dream, I grabbed his hand. It was at this point that I realized I COULD STILL HEAR THE NOISE. I grabbed his hand tighter and shut my eyes, wondering if this was one of those dream-within-a-dream things, since the noise had stopped. Then I heard the noise go streaking up the stairs, and realized it was the stupid cat.
So, at 3:30 in the morning, I got out of bed, fully awake now, and headed up the stairs to see how the cat could be making so much noise. I crouched down at the top of the stairs, and looked for him under the futon. He came slinking out from behind it with a shopping bag attached to his head. He had somehow managed to slip his head into one of the handles on a paper shopping bag, and had been running around, trying to dislodge it. Also chasing me around in my dream, but I guess I can't really blame him for that. I got it off his head and threw it away - he sat in the middle of the floor making soft wheezing noises while I tried to tell him everything was OK. There is still some question in my mind as to who was more freaked out by the whole experience.
We stayed up far too late last night, victims of a re-run of the X Files that neither one of us had seen before. We absolutely had to see how it ended. Finally, it was over and we drifted off to sleep.
In my dream, I was being chased by something that I couldn't see. Running like hell, I heard it make a loud noise, but I could tell the noise was fairly far away from me. It moved around a bit, but then got louder and louder until I knew it was right next to me. Abandoning any hope of escape, I struck out hoping to defend myself against this formless noise...
I woke up when my arm hit something, and then realized it was Ryan. Not fully awake and still pretty freaked out from my dream, I grabbed his hand. It was at this point that I realized I COULD STILL HEAR THE NOISE. I grabbed his hand tighter and shut my eyes, wondering if this was one of those dream-within-a-dream things, since the noise had stopped. Then I heard the noise go streaking up the stairs, and realized it was the stupid cat.
So, at 3:30 in the morning, I got out of bed, fully awake now, and headed up the stairs to see how the cat could be making so much noise. I crouched down at the top of the stairs, and looked for him under the futon. He came slinking out from behind it with a shopping bag attached to his head. He had somehow managed to slip his head into one of the handles on a paper shopping bag, and had been running around, trying to dislodge it. Also chasing me around in my dream, but I guess I can't really blame him for that. I got it off his head and threw it away - he sat in the middle of the floor making soft wheezing noises while I tried to tell him everything was OK. There is still some question in my mind as to who was more freaked out by the whole experience.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Battening
North Carolina is really a lovely place to live. It's an easy drive to both the beach and the mountains, there are trees and greenery all over the place, the winters are mild, there is air conditioning for the summers, etc. etc. Every so often, Mother Nature reminds us that we have to pay a toll for all this. The ice storm last winter was one such toll - people lost a bunch of trees, which led to a loss of power, water, and phone service. Now, we have a hurricane sitting off the coast. We have had so much rainfall this summer that our trees are once again turning from things of beauty into weapons against our power lines, phone lines, and roofs.
Hurricanes, for the most part, are very polite. They usually move at about 10 miles per hour, giving everybody plenty of warning. In contrast, for example, tornadoes are unbelievably rude. I like to think that's why we don't get as many tornadoes here in the South. The hurricane is much more gentile and takes its own sweet time about doing things, just like your typical native southerner. Hurricanes do tend to pit one state against another, however. Here in North Carolina we focus our telepathy at the hurricane and urge it to hit Florida, maybe, or on up into Maryland, if you please. Those bastards in Virginia haven't gotten their fair share of bad weather! Come on, give us a break.
I have only seen three hurricanes since moving here. Bonnie was the first one, and when the people at work told me there was a hurricane coming I left work and went home in a hurry, figuring that it was going to hit any minute. See, Wisconsin is the land of tornadoes, and I figured it was one of those rude-type storms. When I got home, Ryan said we had better go to the store and prepare, and I said... but there's a hurricane coming! We can't go outside! Yeah, he laughed. Anyway, Bonnie was the "good" kind of hurricane - the kind that blows like hell and you can sit inside and watch the trees turn sideways and the rain come down like somebody turned on a faucet... but nothing flooded and the trees were spared for the most part.
We managed to move away from the coast for the next two, Denis and Floyd. However, we moved in with a friend in his BASEMENT apartment. My friends, there is a very good reason why there are hardly any basements in North Carolina. I woke up one morning, swung my feet over the side of the bed and they went splash. What the... oh crap! The whole apartment flooded during Denis, and again during Floyd. Raleigh as a whole was spared, though. We are hoping that Isabel sees fit to behave and not toss too many trees around. The psychology here is to be prepared, since that will definitely make the hurricane not hit us at all. Nothing like a stockpile of expensive batteries to ward off Mother Nature, after all.
North Carolina is really a lovely place to live. It's an easy drive to both the beach and the mountains, there are trees and greenery all over the place, the winters are mild, there is air conditioning for the summers, etc. etc. Every so often, Mother Nature reminds us that we have to pay a toll for all this. The ice storm last winter was one such toll - people lost a bunch of trees, which led to a loss of power, water, and phone service. Now, we have a hurricane sitting off the coast. We have had so much rainfall this summer that our trees are once again turning from things of beauty into weapons against our power lines, phone lines, and roofs.
Hurricanes, for the most part, are very polite. They usually move at about 10 miles per hour, giving everybody plenty of warning. In contrast, for example, tornadoes are unbelievably rude. I like to think that's why we don't get as many tornadoes here in the South. The hurricane is much more gentile and takes its own sweet time about doing things, just like your typical native southerner. Hurricanes do tend to pit one state against another, however. Here in North Carolina we focus our telepathy at the hurricane and urge it to hit Florida, maybe, or on up into Maryland, if you please. Those bastards in Virginia haven't gotten their fair share of bad weather! Come on, give us a break.
I have only seen three hurricanes since moving here. Bonnie was the first one, and when the people at work told me there was a hurricane coming I left work and went home in a hurry, figuring that it was going to hit any minute. See, Wisconsin is the land of tornadoes, and I figured it was one of those rude-type storms. When I got home, Ryan said we had better go to the store and prepare, and I said... but there's a hurricane coming! We can't go outside! Yeah, he laughed. Anyway, Bonnie was the "good" kind of hurricane - the kind that blows like hell and you can sit inside and watch the trees turn sideways and the rain come down like somebody turned on a faucet... but nothing flooded and the trees were spared for the most part.
We managed to move away from the coast for the next two, Denis and Floyd. However, we moved in with a friend in his BASEMENT apartment. My friends, there is a very good reason why there are hardly any basements in North Carolina. I woke up one morning, swung my feet over the side of the bed and they went splash. What the... oh crap! The whole apartment flooded during Denis, and again during Floyd. Raleigh as a whole was spared, though. We are hoping that Isabel sees fit to behave and not toss too many trees around. The psychology here is to be prepared, since that will definitely make the hurricane not hit us at all. Nothing like a stockpile of expensive batteries to ward off Mother Nature, after all.
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
Take Them Bowling
We rented Bowling for Columbine this week-end, and I would like to personally deliver it to each of your houses and watch it with you. Barring that, I guess I will just recommend that you rent it. We will probably end up buying it - I for one would like to watch it again. To blatantly steal a thought from a fictional movie, it makes me want to be a better (wo)man. It was depressing, it was uplifting, it made me laugh, and it made me cry. Who would expect that from a documentary? To some extent, it made me mad that Michael Moore went to the lengths he did in order to try and add some spice to the film - it would have stood on its own if he didn't, for example, track down Dick Clark in Hollywood and try and make him look like an asshole. He has a very meaningful interview with Charlton Heston until he decided that he needed to try and make him look bad. But for all these shortcomings (at least in my opinion), it makes a huge impact on the viewer. I believe it is to the movie's credit that it doesn't try and answer any of the questions it asks. Why are Americans so afraid? Of different races, of crime, of strangers, of the Orange Alert, of any number of things. WHEN PETS ATTACK, tonight on Fox. Now we're supposed to be afraid of our pets?
But I digress. The message I am taking away from the movie is to be involved, and not to buy into a culture of fear that is being preached to us from the media and the government. Also, to try and get other people to watch the movie. Grassroots, people, grassroots.
We rented Bowling for Columbine this week-end, and I would like to personally deliver it to each of your houses and watch it with you. Barring that, I guess I will just recommend that you rent it. We will probably end up buying it - I for one would like to watch it again. To blatantly steal a thought from a fictional movie, it makes me want to be a better (wo)man. It was depressing, it was uplifting, it made me laugh, and it made me cry. Who would expect that from a documentary? To some extent, it made me mad that Michael Moore went to the lengths he did in order to try and add some spice to the film - it would have stood on its own if he didn't, for example, track down Dick Clark in Hollywood and try and make him look like an asshole. He has a very meaningful interview with Charlton Heston until he decided that he needed to try and make him look bad. But for all these shortcomings (at least in my opinion), it makes a huge impact on the viewer. I believe it is to the movie's credit that it doesn't try and answer any of the questions it asks. Why are Americans so afraid? Of different races, of crime, of strangers, of the Orange Alert, of any number of things. WHEN PETS ATTACK, tonight on Fox. Now we're supposed to be afraid of our pets?
But I digress. The message I am taking away from the movie is to be involved, and not to buy into a culture of fear that is being preached to us from the media and the government. Also, to try and get other people to watch the movie. Grassroots, people, grassroots.
Saturday, August 23, 2003
Billy Whoooofleck??
Not a phone call I would want to get again, really:
Phone: Jennifer?
SuperJen: Yes..
Phone: This is Carol, from [my oncologist]'s office.
[insert sound of heart stopping... here.]
Carol: Hello?
SJ: Yes, hello.
C: [my oncologist] would like you to come back in and have your blood tested again, because your Billy Rubin was low.
SJ: What?? Billy who? I don't know anyone named Billy.
C: Bilirubin, it's an enzyme having to do with liver function.
SJ: Uh-huh.
C: So, he would like you to come in in 2-3 weeks.
SJ: 2-3 weeks. Right.
C: OK so we'll see you then.
[click]
Billy Rubin, that bastard. How could he abandon me in this fashion? So, I went back in and told them that I had flunked my blood test, but had studied really hard and would like to take it again. I got nuthin - people who talk to cancer patients all day have very little sense of humor, actually. Then they stuck me again, and said they would only call me back if it was low again. I think it has been long enough that I'm out of Billy Rubin's woods. And man, no more splitting a bottle of wine before my blood tests. I'm thinking that was the culprit - my liver was trying to send an SOS to the oncologist. Help! Help! I'm being oppressed!
Not a phone call I would want to get again, really:
Phone: Jennifer?
SuperJen: Yes..
Phone: This is Carol, from [my oncologist]'s office.
[insert sound of heart stopping... here.]
Carol: Hello?
SJ: Yes, hello.
C: [my oncologist] would like you to come back in and have your blood tested again, because your Billy Rubin was low.
SJ: What?? Billy who? I don't know anyone named Billy.
C: Bilirubin, it's an enzyme having to do with liver function.
SJ: Uh-huh.
C: So, he would like you to come in in 2-3 weeks.
SJ: 2-3 weeks. Right.
C: OK so we'll see you then.
[click]
Billy Rubin, that bastard. How could he abandon me in this fashion? So, I went back in and told them that I had flunked my blood test, but had studied really hard and would like to take it again. I got nuthin - people who talk to cancer patients all day have very little sense of humor, actually. Then they stuck me again, and said they would only call me back if it was low again. I think it has been long enough that I'm out of Billy Rubin's woods. And man, no more splitting a bottle of wine before my blood tests. I'm thinking that was the culprit - my liver was trying to send an SOS to the oncologist. Help! Help! I'm being oppressed!
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
Life's Little Victories
These apparently happen to Keith Knight a lot more frequently than they happen to me, but I'm starting my own list.
#1: You hear an all-to-familiar sampled bass line on the radio
No! It's Vanilla Ice! Dear Lord, make it stop!!
And then it's the original song in all its glory!
Bowie! Mercury! YES!!!
These apparently happen to Keith Knight a lot more frequently than they happen to me, but I'm starting my own list.
#1: You hear an all-to-familiar sampled bass line on the radio
No! It's Vanilla Ice! Dear Lord, make it stop!!
And then it's the original song in all its glory!
Bowie! Mercury! YES!!!
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Monday, July 21, 2003
I Have Tried the Ice Cream of the Future
... and it was OK.
I recently signed up to sing the National Anthem at a Carolina Courage soccer game with some people from the choir I belong to off and on. The hubby and I decided that we would spring for the (free) tickets and stay around for the game.
Initially, we thought that getting something to eat would be a challenge. After all, we have stopped eating dairy products so pizza was out, and forget about hot dogs just from a basic self-preservation standpoint. Luckily, one of their sponsors is Nuri-Mond Deli, so we were able to get grilled vegetable wraps and hummus with pita bread. But then, we looked around for something bad. Sporting events are made for dietary sinning. When I saw a big sign for Dippin' Dots, the Ice Cream of the Future, the deal was sealed. I mean, how can you not want to try the ice cream of the freakin' future?
So, we shelled out $3 for a cup. When he started scooping it in, I thought - oh crap, that looks like gravel. Or Nerds, that teeth-breaky candy from the Wonka people. We looked at each other and psychically sent the message, "Oh well, it's only money." But it wasn't bad, really. I think I would describe it as cold, soft, creamy gravel. It's a little plasticy, and of course it's dairy so you won't find me eating it again anytime soon. But damn it, I have tried the ice cream of the future and that is what's important.
... and it was OK.
I recently signed up to sing the National Anthem at a Carolina Courage soccer game with some people from the choir I belong to off and on. The hubby and I decided that we would spring for the (free) tickets and stay around for the game.
Initially, we thought that getting something to eat would be a challenge. After all, we have stopped eating dairy products so pizza was out, and forget about hot dogs just from a basic self-preservation standpoint. Luckily, one of their sponsors is Nuri-Mond Deli, so we were able to get grilled vegetable wraps and hummus with pita bread. But then, we looked around for something bad. Sporting events are made for dietary sinning. When I saw a big sign for Dippin' Dots, the Ice Cream of the Future, the deal was sealed. I mean, how can you not want to try the ice cream of the freakin' future?
So, we shelled out $3 for a cup. When he started scooping it in, I thought - oh crap, that looks like gravel. Or Nerds, that teeth-breaky candy from the Wonka people. We looked at each other and psychically sent the message, "Oh well, it's only money." But it wasn't bad, really. I think I would describe it as cold, soft, creamy gravel. It's a little plasticy, and of course it's dairy so you won't find me eating it again anytime soon. But damn it, I have tried the ice cream of the future and that is what's important.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Community Property
I just went into the kitchen in my office building to try and microwave my lunch. Someone had already stuck their food in there, though, so I figured I would have to wait until 1) it was done and 2) they came back to actually remove it. I checked the timer, and it said... 7:48???? What? That means that they probably put their food in there for at least eight minutes, if not more. I checked inside - looked like your standard frozen dinner fare to me. Didn't look like, say a frozen steak or other sort of non-instant food that need to be actually *cooked* not just warmed up. I took a trip to the restroom and returned when the timer was at about 5 minutes, and the dinner was actually making little popping noises in there. I'm thinking that when the nuker returns, this plastic food is going to be melted like the plastic container in which it is presented. Mmmm, radioactive.
I just went into the kitchen in my office building to try and microwave my lunch. Someone had already stuck their food in there, though, so I figured I would have to wait until 1) it was done and 2) they came back to actually remove it. I checked the timer, and it said... 7:48???? What? That means that they probably put their food in there for at least eight minutes, if not more. I checked inside - looked like your standard frozen dinner fare to me. Didn't look like, say a frozen steak or other sort of non-instant food that need to be actually *cooked* not just warmed up. I took a trip to the restroom and returned when the timer was at about 5 minutes, and the dinner was actually making little popping noises in there. I'm thinking that when the nuker returns, this plastic food is going to be melted like the plastic container in which it is presented. Mmmm, radioactive.
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Duck, duck, ... ew
As with most office buildings, there is a culture of people who smoke that congregate outside. I'm not going to go into how much I dislike running the gauntlet of toxic fumes to get to work. If you cross through the parking lot and go down a hill, there is also a pond that serves as eye candy for the backyards of houses that are nearby. In the summer, the pond gets all sorts of water fowl, ducks and geese and stuff. A few of the ducks were always seen wandering around the parking lot - I don't know if the pond was not good enough for them or what. Maybe it was their exercise regimen. At any rate, the smokers decided that they would feed these ducks while they were giving themselves lung cancer. Now, not only do the ducks permanently reside right next to the building, but they laid their eggs there. There is all manner of duck feces all over the sidewalk, and we see the maintenance guy out there every morning trying to clean it all up so nobody slips and falls. Now there's some real thinking ahead, smokers. If you think about it, picking up smoking and feeding ducks up by the building can be related to missing the thinking ahead genetic material. A very simple cause and effect logic is clearly missing.
As with most office buildings, there is a culture of people who smoke that congregate outside. I'm not going to go into how much I dislike running the gauntlet of toxic fumes to get to work. If you cross through the parking lot and go down a hill, there is also a pond that serves as eye candy for the backyards of houses that are nearby. In the summer, the pond gets all sorts of water fowl, ducks and geese and stuff. A few of the ducks were always seen wandering around the parking lot - I don't know if the pond was not good enough for them or what. Maybe it was their exercise regimen. At any rate, the smokers decided that they would feed these ducks while they were giving themselves lung cancer. Now, not only do the ducks permanently reside right next to the building, but they laid their eggs there. There is all manner of duck feces all over the sidewalk, and we see the maintenance guy out there every morning trying to clean it all up so nobody slips and falls. Now there's some real thinking ahead, smokers. If you think about it, picking up smoking and feeding ducks up by the building can be related to missing the thinking ahead genetic material. A very simple cause and effect logic is clearly missing.
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