Well, it hasn't been a full year since I last blogged, but it seems like it. Of course, with my memory issues, everything seems to have happened a year ago and that's why I can't remember who, what, why, where and let alone when!
I'm blaming my lapses on the fact that I 1) don't pay enough attention when a new fact or event enters my life, 2) am distracted by my fingernails growing, 3) am asleep even when my eyes are open, 4) am too busy counting the spidies in my house that are waiting to catapult into my mouth when I do go to sleep at night, in a bed, as opposed to the sleep-state I'm in while standing up or sitting at my desk at work, etc., and 5) there is little, if any, blood flow to my head because my collar is too tight...woof!
Lots of water has run under this bridge in the past several months--I have a new granddaughter--she is the cutest and has those wonderful apple cheeks that demand kisses! Her mom and dad are smitten. My youngest son is getting married in a month (goodness, I hope I remember to be there for that occasion and that I'm fully awake) and that's exciting. His soon-to-be-wife is wonderful and they are a sweet and loving couple! Ah, youth!! My oldest is doing well in his new business ventures. His wife is looking forward to a summer of good weather for tennis and my grandkids are looking forward to summer for a different reason--no more books and no more teacher's dirty looks or tough tests! We will all be together in Louisville in June for the wedding and that's a happy something to look forward to.
I'm still working on buying an island so I can avoid the political scene--it's already ramping up for the next election. Heavens! I barely survived the last one with my wits intact. I'm always so grateful the day after a national election, as bumper stickers are being scraped off bumpers, signs are plucked from front yards, and most of the horrific ads have been removed from public viewing and the airwaves. Maybe we need a law that those running for political office have only 5 days to convince us to vote for them and that they get 5 minutes of TV or radio time (not both), and 5 crayons and 5 pieces of poster board for advertising. That would be a fair, level playing field and I think many of us would love not being bombarded by negative ads, mud-slinging, and other "fun" political tactics. Turning on the TV or radio during a major election is like jumping into the water when all the sharks are ready to rumble and you are a gang of one! If anyone is interested in living with me on the island, let me know. We'll take turns being "in charge" and the rest of the time, we'll just enjoy the scenery, the peace and quiet, the sharks in the distance and no politicians or their rhetoric! Hey! If Tom Hanks could do it in "Castaway", we've got a shot. Now where's that volleyball?
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
How time flies when you're funning have!
It has been over a year since my last blog. If memory serves me right...and my memory doesn't serve me anything...I've been living life to its fullest--masked balls, tea with the queen, attending state dinners, meeting with the president, entertaining the troops, etc. Actually my life is more like facial masks to help smooth out some of the wrinkles, no tea with anyone, drive-through dinners on a Friday night, talking to myself about what I would say to the president if we ever met...and I got past security, but I do entertain the troops. Every morning I open my front door, dressed in a pathetic bathrobe, with all three hairs standing on end, no make-up, baggy eyes and I step out onto my stoop to pick up the newspaper. Did you know that trees and bushes can laugh? Yep, those and any neighbors who are unfortunately out and about at that hour get a little "wake-up" call by looking at me! No one can accuse me of not sharing or bringing laughter to the world. Well, actually it's more like a hyena's cackle....
I left work early today because I was not feeling well and I came home to take some Advil and a nap. Did both. Don't feel a whole lot better, but am hoping that a full night's sleep will do the trick. I have work to do tomorrow and people counting on me--not like the queen or the president noted above--but regular people with whom I work. After my nap, my hair was doing the dance of "slept all wrong" and I failed to entertain the troops. That will have to wait for another day. I also missed going to Book Club--something I enjoy, but my body said, "Don't even think about it or I'll take you down." So I stayed home and caught up with e-mails, talked to my daughter and decided to break the year-plus boycott of my blog. Since I blog for my company--they don't let me show my bizarre humor side--I've been lazy about blogging on my own personal site. Perhaps being sick isn't all bad, well except for the scary outfit I'm wearing, the mashed and disheveled hair style I'm sporting and the fact that my stomach would like to return all the gifts I fed it at dinner.
Did you know that Christmas is only 3 months and 4 days away? Start panicking now. Why wait. You know the Christmas decorations are already being put on the shelves at the department stores, right next to the Halloween decorations and costumes--that's still a jarring juxtaposition to behold! I can hear the sound of cloven hooves on my roof--so either it's the reindeer or one of my neighbor's pet goats has escaped again and shinnied up the drain pipe!
I left work early today because I was not feeling well and I came home to take some Advil and a nap. Did both. Don't feel a whole lot better, but am hoping that a full night's sleep will do the trick. I have work to do tomorrow and people counting on me--not like the queen or the president noted above--but regular people with whom I work. After my nap, my hair was doing the dance of "slept all wrong" and I failed to entertain the troops. That will have to wait for another day. I also missed going to Book Club--something I enjoy, but my body said, "Don't even think about it or I'll take you down." So I stayed home and caught up with e-mails, talked to my daughter and decided to break the year-plus boycott of my blog. Since I blog for my company--they don't let me show my bizarre humor side--I've been lazy about blogging on my own personal site. Perhaps being sick isn't all bad, well except for the scary outfit I'm wearing, the mashed and disheveled hair style I'm sporting and the fact that my stomach would like to return all the gifts I fed it at dinner.
Did you know that Christmas is only 3 months and 4 days away? Start panicking now. Why wait. You know the Christmas decorations are already being put on the shelves at the department stores, right next to the Halloween decorations and costumes--that's still a jarring juxtaposition to behold! I can hear the sound of cloven hooves on my roof--so either it's the reindeer or one of my neighbor's pet goats has escaped again and shinnied up the drain pipe!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Blogging success stories and why my upper lip is swollen...
Has it really been seven months since my stubby little fingers have hit the blogging keyboard? Yep. It has.
It's not that I don't enjoy blogging and getting things off my chest. Ooh! I wonder if I could blog and get things off my hips...like 15 pounds for instance! Sorry. I digress. Life has been busy with working, not working and fretting about when my erratic work with the Census Bureau will pick up again, looking for and finding a new job that doesn't give unwanted vacations, has sick and vacation pay, paid holidays and health benefits, as well as taking care of my Mom's needs, being on a massive learning curve with my new job and hoping that my brain can keep up--it's huffing and puffing but still breathing, and just doing the general tasks of living a life that sometimes feels like a bad game of bumper cars!
I am grateful for my new job and the workout my brain is getting. I thought it had left on vacation, but it appears that I was wrong. It was just taking a rather long nap and not responding to my cries for "help!" Now that it's mostly awake and doing a proper job of thinking, I'm feeling much better about life. I still forget names occasionally or words I haven't used for a while (my "a while" is about 15 minutes currently). I spend too much time berating myself because I'm not the sharpest tool in the workshop, but at least I don't harbor many grudges anymore. Who can harbor grudges when memory is an issue... Guess that's a positive for all my friends and family. You can tell me all your most hidden and treacherous secrets, and I not only can swear I won't tell anyone, but also can assure you that I won't be able to, under any circumstances including torture and threats of death, repeat them, unless, of course, the interrogators capture me within 15 minutes of your telling me.
Speaking of circumstantial, I saw the movie, "Julie & Julia" recently. Don't go to this movie hungry unless you enjoy drooling and gnawing on the arm rest or seat back of your theater chair. This is a foodie's delight of a movie. The reason I bring this film to your attention is not to make you slobber on your keyboard, shorting it out and risking possible electrocution and certain replacement of said computer component, but it is to ponder how Julie's blog became so popular, so quickly. She was blogging back in the day when there weren't many blogs available, before Facebooking and Twittering were all the rage. Guess the potential readers must have smelled the Boeuf Borgignon or other tantalizing recipes "cooking". Yum! I still don't understand how she produced all those magnificent dishes in her tiny kitchen with no room for anything on a countertop and a stove that made an "Easy Bake Oven" look like a commercial range in comparison. I had hopes of having my blog hit the reader waves with a splash. Maybe I'll add some scent-o-rama features to see if that helps. Of course, the downside to that is I will always be hungry whilst typing and that will send me to the kitchen where I'll eat and then feel sleepy and then put on extra pounds I don't need which will prevent me from typing on my keyboard because my stomach will protrude over the top of it and that will be the end of my blogging days! Whew! What a scenario. Maybe there's a film in all of this. I could add a handsome vampire or two to my blog and we'd all have a bloody good time, except all the red meat dishes would have to be served raw...and quickly....
But, alas, I can't figure out how to add smells to my blog to invite new readers in, and someone has already successfully written about the vampirish element, so I guess I'll just continue to write from time to time about the everyday events in my so-called life, which brings me to my swollen upper lip. It (my lip) currently resembles a bad Botox injection on an aging actress. I didn't have to visit the doctor or pay lots of money for mine. I just tried to pick up a box on the upper shelf of a closet only to discover, mouth-first, that there was a hidden, hard, heavy object resting on top of the box. Hard object attacked upper lip (without provocation mind you), and voila, I'm every actress over 40's vision of "youthful" or food allergic reactive. My lip looks pouty and distorted. The more I look at it, the more I realize that I could win the "Imitate the Guppy" contest at the local pet store. Then I wonder why anyone would purposefully do this to get "the puffy-lipped" look, unless, of course, you are a flat-lipped fishy in a tank filled with puffy-lipped mates who cannot tolerate differences....
Who needs "smell-o-blogging" when you have exciting stories like this to write? Beware! Any smart-aleck answerers of this question will find themselves with a fat lip, and will be sent to bed without supper--Julie's, Julia's or mine.
It's not that I don't enjoy blogging and getting things off my chest. Ooh! I wonder if I could blog and get things off my hips...like 15 pounds for instance! Sorry. I digress. Life has been busy with working, not working and fretting about when my erratic work with the Census Bureau will pick up again, looking for and finding a new job that doesn't give unwanted vacations, has sick and vacation pay, paid holidays and health benefits, as well as taking care of my Mom's needs, being on a massive learning curve with my new job and hoping that my brain can keep up--it's huffing and puffing but still breathing, and just doing the general tasks of living a life that sometimes feels like a bad game of bumper cars!
I am grateful for my new job and the workout my brain is getting. I thought it had left on vacation, but it appears that I was wrong. It was just taking a rather long nap and not responding to my cries for "help!" Now that it's mostly awake and doing a proper job of thinking, I'm feeling much better about life. I still forget names occasionally or words I haven't used for a while (my "a while" is about 15 minutes currently). I spend too much time berating myself because I'm not the sharpest tool in the workshop, but at least I don't harbor many grudges anymore. Who can harbor grudges when memory is an issue... Guess that's a positive for all my friends and family. You can tell me all your most hidden and treacherous secrets, and I not only can swear I won't tell anyone, but also can assure you that I won't be able to, under any circumstances including torture and threats of death, repeat them, unless, of course, the interrogators capture me within 15 minutes of your telling me.
Speaking of circumstantial, I saw the movie, "Julie & Julia" recently. Don't go to this movie hungry unless you enjoy drooling and gnawing on the arm rest or seat back of your theater chair. This is a foodie's delight of a movie. The reason I bring this film to your attention is not to make you slobber on your keyboard, shorting it out and risking possible electrocution and certain replacement of said computer component, but it is to ponder how Julie's blog became so popular, so quickly. She was blogging back in the day when there weren't many blogs available, before Facebooking and Twittering were all the rage. Guess the potential readers must have smelled the Boeuf Borgignon or other tantalizing recipes "cooking". Yum! I still don't understand how she produced all those magnificent dishes in her tiny kitchen with no room for anything on a countertop and a stove that made an "Easy Bake Oven" look like a commercial range in comparison. I had hopes of having my blog hit the reader waves with a splash. Maybe I'll add some scent-o-rama features to see if that helps. Of course, the downside to that is I will always be hungry whilst typing and that will send me to the kitchen where I'll eat and then feel sleepy and then put on extra pounds I don't need which will prevent me from typing on my keyboard because my stomach will protrude over the top of it and that will be the end of my blogging days! Whew! What a scenario. Maybe there's a film in all of this. I could add a handsome vampire or two to my blog and we'd all have a bloody good time, except all the red meat dishes would have to be served raw...and quickly....
But, alas, I can't figure out how to add smells to my blog to invite new readers in, and someone has already successfully written about the vampirish element, so I guess I'll just continue to write from time to time about the everyday events in my so-called life, which brings me to my swollen upper lip. It (my lip) currently resembles a bad Botox injection on an aging actress. I didn't have to visit the doctor or pay lots of money for mine. I just tried to pick up a box on the upper shelf of a closet only to discover, mouth-first, that there was a hidden, hard, heavy object resting on top of the box. Hard object attacked upper lip (without provocation mind you), and voila, I'm every actress over 40's vision of "youthful" or food allergic reactive. My lip looks pouty and distorted. The more I look at it, the more I realize that I could win the "Imitate the Guppy" contest at the local pet store. Then I wonder why anyone would purposefully do this to get "the puffy-lipped" look, unless, of course, you are a flat-lipped fishy in a tank filled with puffy-lipped mates who cannot tolerate differences....
Who needs "smell-o-blogging" when you have exciting stories like this to write? Beware! Any smart-aleck answerers of this question will find themselves with a fat lip, and will be sent to bed without supper--Julie's, Julia's or mine.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The mothership returns...
For all my millions of fans, well, okay couple of fans, I've been absent. I was abducted by aliens, turned into a cranky old person and returned to the earth with less hair, a softer, wider middle section and I can now do a mean imitation of a weeble (weebles wobble but they don't fall down--well those of us who live where it snows and gets icy might be exceptions to that rule).
I made it through Christmas and New Year's without mishap. I made it through a couple of flurry days, but today we actually had some snow--only about 1-2"--but enough to make walking an interesting and dicey event. I took my Mom to a dental appointment early this morning, came home and decided that I am much safer inside the house than out (and, who knows, the mothership might be lurking out there waiting to pick me up again and take more of my wispy hair and gracious manners away--okay, my manners aren't that gracious, but neither are yours if you're pointing that out to me!). I was actually working most of the day--there shall be no holidays for the wicked and the hairless cranky! And now I've fulfilled my every obligation and am planning on having a yummy dinner and some couch time--something the creatures on the mothership don't understand or approve.
Tomorrow I'll have to slip into something appropriate, then I'll have to venture out onto the slippery sidewalk to get into my car and then drive on the slippery roads to get to work. I guess all this slipperiness is really appropriate since my mind has been thinking slippery thoughts for quite some time now. Speaking of which, my stomach is telling my mind that it had better force my being into the kitchen and slip it something good to eat. Then I'll slip onto the sofa, slip a diet drink and watch some TV--always a slippery activity. I think I'm done with all this silly, slippery speaking, so I'll just slip off to take care of din-din and a little R&R.
Perhaps the mothership will come get me and restore at least some of the brain that I misplaced during the security check post-boarding....excuse me. My slip is showing.
I made it through Christmas and New Year's without mishap. I made it through a couple of flurry days, but today we actually had some snow--only about 1-2"--but enough to make walking an interesting and dicey event. I took my Mom to a dental appointment early this morning, came home and decided that I am much safer inside the house than out (and, who knows, the mothership might be lurking out there waiting to pick me up again and take more of my wispy hair and gracious manners away--okay, my manners aren't that gracious, but neither are yours if you're pointing that out to me!). I was actually working most of the day--there shall be no holidays for the wicked and the hairless cranky! And now I've fulfilled my every obligation and am planning on having a yummy dinner and some couch time--something the creatures on the mothership don't understand or approve.
Tomorrow I'll have to slip into something appropriate, then I'll have to venture out onto the slippery sidewalk to get into my car and then drive on the slippery roads to get to work. I guess all this slipperiness is really appropriate since my mind has been thinking slippery thoughts for quite some time now. Speaking of which, my stomach is telling my mind that it had better force my being into the kitchen and slip it something good to eat. Then I'll slip onto the sofa, slip a diet drink and watch some TV--always a slippery activity. I think I'm done with all this silly, slippery speaking, so I'll just slip off to take care of din-din and a little R&R.
Perhaps the mothership will come get me and restore at least some of the brain that I misplaced during the security check post-boarding....excuse me. My slip is showing.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Will all the turkeys please stand up...
and leave the room...quickly...before anyone remembers what we do to turkeys at this time of year.
It has been a long time since I've put fingers to keyboard for the purpose of blogging. I'd like to find a suitable excuse for this lapse, but I put them away somewhere safe (in case I needed one) and now I can't find them. So here's my lame excuse. Is that like a lame duck president? And who made up that term? How many of you have observed ducks with limps anyway? Who can tell if a duck is really limping since they walk so funny to begin with? My excuse for not blogging for quite some time is that I didn't have any extra...time that is.
I finally landed a job (like landing a lame duck?) and started working full-time. This has put a real crimp in my down time activities such as napping, snoozing, lolly-gagging, drooling while dropping off to sleep, staring out the window, staring at fuzz on the carpet, staring at my invisible friends (and Wilbur) because they won't join in the conversations I have with myself. Now I have to get up early, get ready for work and act human most of the day. What fun is that I ask you? Answer: not a lot. However, the up side is that I can pay my rent, buy food, pay other bills and have some left over for gifts at this jolly time of year. So, other than missing all my free time and sleeping in a lot, I guess I am pretty happy to have something to do that is productive (and, no, drooling isn't productive unless you're licking a lot of ancient postage stamps or envelopes).
I promise that I probably won't wait so long to blog again, but, then I now work for the Federal Government, so you know how much my promises are worth...penny for your thoughts!
It has been a long time since I've put fingers to keyboard for the purpose of blogging. I'd like to find a suitable excuse for this lapse, but I put them away somewhere safe (in case I needed one) and now I can't find them. So here's my lame excuse. Is that like a lame duck president? And who made up that term? How many of you have observed ducks with limps anyway? Who can tell if a duck is really limping since they walk so funny to begin with? My excuse for not blogging for quite some time is that I didn't have any extra...time that is.
I finally landed a job (like landing a lame duck?) and started working full-time. This has put a real crimp in my down time activities such as napping, snoozing, lolly-gagging, drooling while dropping off to sleep, staring out the window, staring at fuzz on the carpet, staring at my invisible friends (and Wilbur) because they won't join in the conversations I have with myself. Now I have to get up early, get ready for work and act human most of the day. What fun is that I ask you? Answer: not a lot. However, the up side is that I can pay my rent, buy food, pay other bills and have some left over for gifts at this jolly time of year. So, other than missing all my free time and sleeping in a lot, I guess I am pretty happy to have something to do that is productive (and, no, drooling isn't productive unless you're licking a lot of ancient postage stamps or envelopes).
I promise that I probably won't wait so long to blog again, but, then I now work for the Federal Government, so you know how much my promises are worth...penny for your thoughts!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Where does the time go?
It probably goes to the same place as all my memories, and I'm not sure where that is, which is why I can't find some of my memories either....
It's been a busy couple of weeks--for campaigning politcos and me. I didn't get elected (and neither did at least half of those running for office), but, although I was running, it wasn't for public office. I was just doing my usual running around to get things done and then collapsing at the end of the day.
My sister and I moved our Mom here to Kentucky in mid-October and much of our time the past few weeks has been taking care of her needs, setting up her apartment, etc. That is beginning to slow to a trickle of tasks. She has all her furniture, all the items that were shipped are unpacked and put away and she's beginning to get into the schedule at her new place. Meanwhile, I have finally found some employment--it's tough out there for anyone seeking a job--and I start training tomorrow for two days and then the real work will begin in earnest in about two weeks. I'm taking advantage of my last full day of "freedom" (also known as unemployment) to clean house (now isn't that a clever use of time), work on some art projects and get a leaky tire fixed (see, I do know how to have fun).
I still haven't figured out where all the time goes each day (kind of like trying to understand where all the money in my checking account goes), but I'm okay with that as long as I can still remember mostly what I've done and where I've been. When the "mostly" turns to "rarely", then I'll be concerned. Although, by that point, I guess I won't care because I won't be able to remember enough to be concerned...or care. Now what was it I was supposed to do after I finished bloggering? Hmmmm.
It's been a busy couple of weeks--for campaigning politcos and me. I didn't get elected (and neither did at least half of those running for office), but, although I was running, it wasn't for public office. I was just doing my usual running around to get things done and then collapsing at the end of the day.
My sister and I moved our Mom here to Kentucky in mid-October and much of our time the past few weeks has been taking care of her needs, setting up her apartment, etc. That is beginning to slow to a trickle of tasks. She has all her furniture, all the items that were shipped are unpacked and put away and she's beginning to get into the schedule at her new place. Meanwhile, I have finally found some employment--it's tough out there for anyone seeking a job--and I start training tomorrow for two days and then the real work will begin in earnest in about two weeks. I'm taking advantage of my last full day of "freedom" (also known as unemployment) to clean house (now isn't that a clever use of time), work on some art projects and get a leaky tire fixed (see, I do know how to have fun).
I still haven't figured out where all the time goes each day (kind of like trying to understand where all the money in my checking account goes), but I'm okay with that as long as I can still remember mostly what I've done and where I've been. When the "mostly" turns to "rarely", then I'll be concerned. Although, by that point, I guess I won't care because I won't be able to remember enough to be concerned...or care. Now what was it I was supposed to do after I finished bloggering? Hmmmm.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Fly me to the moon...
No, wait, don't! My sister and I just returned from a very short, long trip. We flew from Kentucky to California, spent four days packing up our Mom's stuff (and throwing or giving away lots and lots and lots and lots and...well, you get it), and we just returned late last night. Mom is moved in to her new assisted living facility, but her state of confusion is pretty dang high right now and that doesn't help my state of confusion, which always seems to be on "orange alert".
I have been remiss in not writing on my blog for quite some time--not that anyone out there is clammoring for me to "Write more, please!", but I do miss my cathartic exercise in verbiosity. For the next few days I will be straightening out my Mom's finances, finishing what is necessary to get her everything she needs for her new place--some of the "lots of stuff" shouldn't have been pitched, but what the hey!--and working on an editing job I have with a group in Singapore. I think life will return to normal in the next week or so, but I won't be returning with it. I like being weird and a little left of "regular"--hey, does that make me high octane or in need of a prune? Anyhoo, I will bid all my faithful readers good night and I'll move on to my Excel spreadsheet and the fun and joy of financial wizardry.
I have been remiss in not writing on my blog for quite some time--not that anyone out there is clammoring for me to "Write more, please!", but I do miss my cathartic exercise in verbiosity. For the next few days I will be straightening out my Mom's finances, finishing what is necessary to get her everything she needs for her new place--some of the "lots of stuff" shouldn't have been pitched, but what the hey!--and working on an editing job I have with a group in Singapore. I think life will return to normal in the next week or so, but I won't be returning with it. I like being weird and a little left of "regular"--hey, does that make me high octane or in need of a prune? Anyhoo, I will bid all my faithful readers good night and I'll move on to my Excel spreadsheet and the fun and joy of financial wizardry.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
American political scene
It's a scene all right. An accidental scene and I'm not sure there are any survivors.
I haven't been able to bring myself to watch the presidential and vice-presidential debates. I had a choice among 1) hitting myself in the head with a club full of pointy objects, 2) poking myself in the eye with a sharp pencil, 3) banging my head on the wall 12 times in succession, or 4) watching the debates. I determined that #4 was the most paintful, and I didn't like the other three very much either, so I read a book or watched HGTV (still my favorite channel). I knew I wouldn't get anything substantive out of watching the debates, unless you consider massive indigestion substantive, and I was low on Tums, which was one of the deciding factors. Well, that and the thought that TV programs should be fun to watch, entertaining, enlightening, uplifting, or informative, which the debates are not. I'll wait for the Economist magazine's edition in late October, where I know I'll be able to read an objective dissection of what each candidate really believes, has done or plans to do. Meanwhile, I'm declaring myself to be a "plaid" voter--a little red, a little blue. That's in honor of my Scottish ancestry...
November 4th may be the last day we have to endure campaign ads, but I have a terrible feeling that we will hear analysis of the race, the tactics, the results for a very long time. Who elected the media anyhoo? I think we need a referendum on the next ballot that limits political "after-thoughts" by any person involved with the print, video or audio sectors of the media. We could limit all analysis and commentaries by the media to mimes. Silence is golden....
I haven't been able to bring myself to watch the presidential and vice-presidential debates. I had a choice among 1) hitting myself in the head with a club full of pointy objects, 2) poking myself in the eye with a sharp pencil, 3) banging my head on the wall 12 times in succession, or 4) watching the debates. I determined that #4 was the most paintful, and I didn't like the other three very much either, so I read a book or watched HGTV (still my favorite channel). I knew I wouldn't get anything substantive out of watching the debates, unless you consider massive indigestion substantive, and I was low on Tums, which was one of the deciding factors. Well, that and the thought that TV programs should be fun to watch, entertaining, enlightening, uplifting, or informative, which the debates are not. I'll wait for the Economist magazine's edition in late October, where I know I'll be able to read an objective dissection of what each candidate really believes, has done or plans to do. Meanwhile, I'm declaring myself to be a "plaid" voter--a little red, a little blue. That's in honor of my Scottish ancestry...
November 4th may be the last day we have to endure campaign ads, but I have a terrible feeling that we will hear analysis of the race, the tactics, the results for a very long time. Who elected the media anyhoo? I think we need a referendum on the next ballot that limits political "after-thoughts" by any person involved with the print, video or audio sectors of the media. We could limit all analysis and commentaries by the media to mimes. Silence is golden....
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
odd names...and pastimes
People say they have a "pet peeve". What I want to know is what is a "peeve"? I've checked all the local pet stores and no one seems to have such an animal, mineral or vegetable.
Is trying to find a pet peeve kind of like a snipe hunt, where unsuspecting "first-time" campers are sent out into the woods, late at night to find a snipe to capture with only a bag and a skimpy flash light? Of course, all the campers are in on the joke except for the "new kids on the block", who want so badly to be initiated into the seasoned campers' club. Almost everyone who has ever gone to camp has earnestly sought the elusive snipe. And decidedly everyone has never caught one. What newbies do catch is 1) a cold from being out on a damp night, 2) "on" as is finally figuring out that they've been had by the twisted and mean upper classmen of camping, or 3) heck from the adult camp staff, who have forgotten what it was like to be a kid, dragging a gunny sack along, calling out "Here snipe, here snipe" somewhere in the middle of the woods. Even normally kind children, who make it through a snipe hunt, are willing to subject new camp attendees to this little initiation rite of passage.
By the time we're grown ups, we probably won't fall for snipe hunts, so we invent adult versions of them. One of these mythical adventures is called searching for the perfect job--one that has minimal hours, maximum pay, no boss, more holidays than Hallmark has cards, two-hour lunches, five breaks a day, Christmas bonuses larger than the GNP of most countries, 12 weeks of vacation (paid--not only the days off but all expenses incurred on said vacations), as many personal days as you want and need in order to deal with personal issues such as hang nails, chipped nail polish, a run in your panty hose (or hair socks if you're one of those Ralph Lauren/no sock kind of guys), waking up to find that you just don't feel like working, etc. I've been searching for the past two months, and all I've been able to find is dust bunnies under my bed, the missing cap from my toothpaste tube, the hiding place for my extra set of car keys--see how good my hiding place was; it took me two months to find them. Maybe there's a job for hiding things. I would definitely qualify if there were.
Meanwhile, my search for a pet peeve continues. If anyone out there knows where I can find one, please call me. Meanwhile, I will continue to look for the perfect job. I'm not sure I will be able to let you know if I find one, because I'll probably be on vacation or taking a personal day or holiday or a break or a long lunch, so I'll be out of touch. Hey! Maybe I am qualified for the perfect job. Everyone in my family tells me I'm out of touch....
Is trying to find a pet peeve kind of like a snipe hunt, where unsuspecting "first-time" campers are sent out into the woods, late at night to find a snipe to capture with only a bag and a skimpy flash light? Of course, all the campers are in on the joke except for the "new kids on the block", who want so badly to be initiated into the seasoned campers' club. Almost everyone who has ever gone to camp has earnestly sought the elusive snipe. And decidedly everyone has never caught one. What newbies do catch is 1) a cold from being out on a damp night, 2) "on" as is finally figuring out that they've been had by the twisted and mean upper classmen of camping, or 3) heck from the adult camp staff, who have forgotten what it was like to be a kid, dragging a gunny sack along, calling out "Here snipe, here snipe" somewhere in the middle of the woods. Even normally kind children, who make it through a snipe hunt, are willing to subject new camp attendees to this little initiation rite of passage.
By the time we're grown ups, we probably won't fall for snipe hunts, so we invent adult versions of them. One of these mythical adventures is called searching for the perfect job--one that has minimal hours, maximum pay, no boss, more holidays than Hallmark has cards, two-hour lunches, five breaks a day, Christmas bonuses larger than the GNP of most countries, 12 weeks of vacation (paid--not only the days off but all expenses incurred on said vacations), as many personal days as you want and need in order to deal with personal issues such as hang nails, chipped nail polish, a run in your panty hose (or hair socks if you're one of those Ralph Lauren/no sock kind of guys), waking up to find that you just don't feel like working, etc. I've been searching for the past two months, and all I've been able to find is dust bunnies under my bed, the missing cap from my toothpaste tube, the hiding place for my extra set of car keys--see how good my hiding place was; it took me two months to find them. Maybe there's a job for hiding things. I would definitely qualify if there were.
Meanwhile, my search for a pet peeve continues. If anyone out there knows where I can find one, please call me. Meanwhile, I will continue to look for the perfect job. I'm not sure I will be able to let you know if I find one, because I'll probably be on vacation or taking a personal day or holiday or a break or a long lunch, so I'll be out of touch. Hey! Maybe I am qualified for the perfect job. Everyone in my family tells me I'm out of touch....
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Let's play, "I win...you lose!"
Isn't that what the banking and financial institutions have been doing as of late? And guess what, lots of people have lost and will continue to lose. This is not warm and fuzzy news. I guess if we want that kind of news, we'll have to go to a pet store and buy some.
Meanwhile, is anybody out there in charge? Is anybody out there willing to raise a hand and say "I'm responsible for some of this mess"? Is anybody out there taking the long view when planning business ventures, expansions, financial products and instruments and the possible fall-out and consequences if everything isn't right with the world? Did anyone, at any time when variable rate mortgages were introduced ever think this was only a good idea when rates when down and the people paying the "bill" were favored? Did anyone, at any point in time think that it was a good idea to assign variable rate mortgages to people trying to buy the American dream (a house) and being stretched to the max to do it, and that somehow "it would all work out"? Did anyone ever think about the fragility of the variable-rate mortgage market (and its customers) and the extreme results that would occur if interest rates were to move even a few percentage points north? When the real estate market started to soften in late 2005 and the banks and mortgage companies continued to hand out sub-prime and questionnable standard mortgages to individuals and the foreclosure numbers started to creep up, did anyone wonder what all the banks and mortgage companies were going to do with re-possessed houses? Sell them in a soft market for a lesser value than the mortgage being held--since most were almost 100% value mortgages? When the sub-prime collapse occurred, did any of the financial institutions holding mortgages or heavily invested in them wonder if maybe they would be better off keeping people in their houses, letting them pay a fixed mortgage rate thus averting a massive foreclosure situation, putting people out on the street, adding to the ever-growing real estate marketplace woes and their own financial instability--basically cutting their financial noses off to save their faces? Anyone who studies a mortgage agreement can see that the money made by the banks and mortgage companies over the life of a 30-year loan, even at a low, fixed rate, is a lucrative, profitable way to make money. By greedily demanding mortgage payments that had increased decidedly, if they were variable rates, the financial institutions struck a match as they held mortgagees feet to the fire. Unfortunately, for them, they held onto the match too long and were themselves burned. It's a little bit like the "Sorcerer's Apprentice" where the servant in the house gets lazy and likes things being done easily. He thinks of a brilliant idea about how to take care of business without so much effort, so he conjures up some magic and the broom brings buckets and buckets of water--taking care of what needs to be done, but the broom takes on a life of it's own and does not know when to stop and floods the whole house, doing great damage. There's no magic to sound financial principles and their effect. There's also nothing Mickey Mouse about applying them--they never go out of style or on an errand unchecked or unbidden.
And are any of the financial institution executives available to discuss what went wrong and how to prevent a recurrence, or are they too busy packing up their golden parachutes so they can bail out? While we're at it, let's give a big shout out to the SEC and other agencies that are supposed to be watching over the markets and the financial/banking institutions. Oh, and I'd like to ask the folks at AIG in particular how they all just figured out last Sunday (when they should have been in church praying fervently for forgiveness and guidance) that their company was about to do a big old belly flop!
All this pride and greed, arrogant thinking processes, no concern for the little guy (and this country is mostly made up of us little guys who go to work everyday, work hard, earn our pay, pay our taxes, have no hope of or need for a lavish salary or lifestyle and don't feel it is due us), failure to assess the future with simple analytical studies basic to any business school--best case/worst case scenarios, prone-to-believe-their-own-press, making no room at the table for the "older" generation (who lived within their means, without credit cards or loans for anything other than cars or houses, without Blackberries or iPods or iPhones and mostly without a lot of use for the word "I", and who lived through wars and depressions and very difficult times) have brought us to a very steep precipice which is fearsome. Now everyone is wondering why? How did we get here? A little study of the past 20 years will be enlightening and answer those questions. The point, beyond knowing how and why, is to ask what we can do--each of us--to clean up the mess (and it's a complicated mess), plan for a better, more measured future, (perhaps not as flamboyant and full of young Turks who want to make extreme salaries and receive bonuses that are more than the GNP in many Third World nations while proposing "creative" money-making schemes that will line the pockets of American financial institution and send a few coins their way, while they pick the pockets of the average citizen and risk losing their pants in the process). As much as we don't like the idea of our government stepping in and regulating the private sector, when the private sector behaves badly, arrogantly, without consideration for their behavior and in a cavalier and reckless manner, then someone has to be responsible for restoring order and preventing further destruction. If the private sector wants to remain so, it needs to develop some decorum, some manners, some civility, but most of all, it needs to govern itself in a responsible manner that takes into consideration everyone involved, not just the fat cats at the top. Isn't there just a little irony in the fact that the private sector doesn't want government interference...until it needs an $85 billion bail out? Yep. And when major corporations and financial institutions falter and fail, everyone is involved whether they had a say in how things were handled by these entities or not. At least, when the government steps in, we, the people have an opportunity to make our voices heard, become part of the process even if only in a small way. It isn't that I believe our government is run by geniuses at all levels, and we're in good hands like the Allstate ad claims, but it's better than closed meetings, closed minds and the closing of vital and important businesses in our nation.
Let's not play, "I win"...the stakes are too high.
Meanwhile, is anybody out there in charge? Is anybody out there willing to raise a hand and say "I'm responsible for some of this mess"? Is anybody out there taking the long view when planning business ventures, expansions, financial products and instruments and the possible fall-out and consequences if everything isn't right with the world? Did anyone, at any time when variable rate mortgages were introduced ever think this was only a good idea when rates when down and the people paying the "bill" were favored? Did anyone, at any point in time think that it was a good idea to assign variable rate mortgages to people trying to buy the American dream (a house) and being stretched to the max to do it, and that somehow "it would all work out"? Did anyone ever think about the fragility of the variable-rate mortgage market (and its customers) and the extreme results that would occur if interest rates were to move even a few percentage points north? When the real estate market started to soften in late 2005 and the banks and mortgage companies continued to hand out sub-prime and questionnable standard mortgages to individuals and the foreclosure numbers started to creep up, did anyone wonder what all the banks and mortgage companies were going to do with re-possessed houses? Sell them in a soft market for a lesser value than the mortgage being held--since most were almost 100% value mortgages? When the sub-prime collapse occurred, did any of the financial institutions holding mortgages or heavily invested in them wonder if maybe they would be better off keeping people in their houses, letting them pay a fixed mortgage rate thus averting a massive foreclosure situation, putting people out on the street, adding to the ever-growing real estate marketplace woes and their own financial instability--basically cutting their financial noses off to save their faces? Anyone who studies a mortgage agreement can see that the money made by the banks and mortgage companies over the life of a 30-year loan, even at a low, fixed rate, is a lucrative, profitable way to make money. By greedily demanding mortgage payments that had increased decidedly, if they were variable rates, the financial institutions struck a match as they held mortgagees feet to the fire. Unfortunately, for them, they held onto the match too long and were themselves burned. It's a little bit like the "Sorcerer's Apprentice" where the servant in the house gets lazy and likes things being done easily. He thinks of a brilliant idea about how to take care of business without so much effort, so he conjures up some magic and the broom brings buckets and buckets of water--taking care of what needs to be done, but the broom takes on a life of it's own and does not know when to stop and floods the whole house, doing great damage. There's no magic to sound financial principles and their effect. There's also nothing Mickey Mouse about applying them--they never go out of style or on an errand unchecked or unbidden.
And are any of the financial institution executives available to discuss what went wrong and how to prevent a recurrence, or are they too busy packing up their golden parachutes so they can bail out? While we're at it, let's give a big shout out to the SEC and other agencies that are supposed to be watching over the markets and the financial/banking institutions. Oh, and I'd like to ask the folks at AIG in particular how they all just figured out last Sunday (when they should have been in church praying fervently for forgiveness and guidance) that their company was about to do a big old belly flop!
All this pride and greed, arrogant thinking processes, no concern for the little guy (and this country is mostly made up of us little guys who go to work everyday, work hard, earn our pay, pay our taxes, have no hope of or need for a lavish salary or lifestyle and don't feel it is due us), failure to assess the future with simple analytical studies basic to any business school--best case/worst case scenarios, prone-to-believe-their-own-press, making no room at the table for the "older" generation (who lived within their means, without credit cards or loans for anything other than cars or houses, without Blackberries or iPods or iPhones and mostly without a lot of use for the word "I", and who lived through wars and depressions and very difficult times) have brought us to a very steep precipice which is fearsome. Now everyone is wondering why? How did we get here? A little study of the past 20 years will be enlightening and answer those questions. The point, beyond knowing how and why, is to ask what we can do--each of us--to clean up the mess (and it's a complicated mess), plan for a better, more measured future, (perhaps not as flamboyant and full of young Turks who want to make extreme salaries and receive bonuses that are more than the GNP in many Third World nations while proposing "creative" money-making schemes that will line the pockets of American financial institution and send a few coins their way, while they pick the pockets of the average citizen and risk losing their pants in the process). As much as we don't like the idea of our government stepping in and regulating the private sector, when the private sector behaves badly, arrogantly, without consideration for their behavior and in a cavalier and reckless manner, then someone has to be responsible for restoring order and preventing further destruction. If the private sector wants to remain so, it needs to develop some decorum, some manners, some civility, but most of all, it needs to govern itself in a responsible manner that takes into consideration everyone involved, not just the fat cats at the top. Isn't there just a little irony in the fact that the private sector doesn't want government interference...until it needs an $85 billion bail out? Yep. And when major corporations and financial institutions falter and fail, everyone is involved whether they had a say in how things were handled by these entities or not. At least, when the government steps in, we, the people have an opportunity to make our voices heard, become part of the process even if only in a small way. It isn't that I believe our government is run by geniuses at all levels, and we're in good hands like the Allstate ad claims, but it's better than closed meetings, closed minds and the closing of vital and important businesses in our nation.
Let's not play, "I win"...the stakes are too high.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
My ink levels are low and other revelations...
I love computer prompts, those little windows that pop up while you're in the midst of a deep and complicated e-mail response to a friend or trying to navigate through cyberspace and it appears that you have overdosed on Dramamine. My all-time favorite (and I think many of you will agree) is Mr. Office Assistant Clip--that paper clipper who "bonks" on your screen from the inside and insists on helping you write your letter, your report, your whatever.
The first time I encountered Mr. Clip, I found him amusing and entertaining (that's what happens when you live alone)...until I needed to do what I needed to do. He's like a possessed puppy, sniffing and barking in your face, but you have no dog treats that will appease him. It didn't take long for me to tire of his "company", but it did take a while to find a way to rescind his invitation to the dance. Every once in a while I miss him (usually after I've taken major medication or have bumped my head on something), and I wonder how he's doing. Has he taken a vacation lately, other than the one I forced on him, at least in my little world? Does he have a family? Now wouldn't that be weird to have lots of little paper cliplets bouncing around on the computer screen? Does Mrs. Clip work outside the home--I'm assuming yes, if only to get away from her significantly irritating "other"?
In my next life, I want to be computer programming literate enough to create some additional, irritating "helpers" and "pop-up" reminders and to be able to selectively send them to people who are arrogant (especially about their computer skills) or have been mean to someone, including me. Wouldn't that be poetic justice? Or is that computic justice? Meanwhile, I'll have to be content knowing that what's popping up on my screen asking me if I need the latest updates for Adobe Reader, Norton Security, or replacement ink cartridges, etc., while I am in the middle of writing my epic novel on "How to Get Along" (so I can win the Nobel Prize for world peace), is also popping up on almost everyone else's, including the arrogant and mean people who, like Mr. Clip, have been "clicked" into oblivion.
The first time I encountered Mr. Clip, I found him amusing and entertaining (that's what happens when you live alone)...until I needed to do what I needed to do. He's like a possessed puppy, sniffing and barking in your face, but you have no dog treats that will appease him. It didn't take long for me to tire of his "company", but it did take a while to find a way to rescind his invitation to the dance. Every once in a while I miss him (usually after I've taken major medication or have bumped my head on something), and I wonder how he's doing. Has he taken a vacation lately, other than the one I forced on him, at least in my little world? Does he have a family? Now wouldn't that be weird to have lots of little paper cliplets bouncing around on the computer screen? Does Mrs. Clip work outside the home--I'm assuming yes, if only to get away from her significantly irritating "other"?
In my next life, I want to be computer programming literate enough to create some additional, irritating "helpers" and "pop-up" reminders and to be able to selectively send them to people who are arrogant (especially about their computer skills) or have been mean to someone, including me. Wouldn't that be poetic justice? Or is that computic justice? Meanwhile, I'll have to be content knowing that what's popping up on my screen asking me if I need the latest updates for Adobe Reader, Norton Security, or replacement ink cartridges, etc., while I am in the middle of writing my epic novel on "How to Get Along" (so I can win the Nobel Prize for world peace), is also popping up on almost everyone else's, including the arrogant and mean people who, like Mr. Clip, have been "clicked" into oblivion.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I'll take "Surveys" for $800...
While I am job hunting via the Internet, I happen upon lots of interesting websites and "opportunities" to make a little money. One of these is InboxDollars. I signed up and took an initial survey. I get paid (a small amount) just for opening e-mails from them. Mostly I turn down the "HUGE OPPORTUNITY" offers for things I don't use, don't want to use, and don't want to hear about. But I do like to click on "Take Surveys" to see if there is a survey for which I qualify and for which I can earn spare change.
The process is--click on "Take Survey" and a legal document pops up on your screen explaining everything you need to know and understand, and I think there is some extraneous material included about not cutting your toenails too short to avoid ingrown nails and helpful tips on how to keep bread fresh in hot and humid weather, but I must confess that I don't read every minute detail before "I Agree" to the terms and conditions. After being "agreeable", a video with a nice young lady appears on the screen and she lectures me about being honest in my answers. I am properly chastened and decide not to pretend that I am 25, making $500,000 a year, and living on the Riviera Coast. The next screen asks me a group of questions to determine if I am eligible for the available survey(s). Now here is where I have some concern. I can usually only check off one or two in the affirmative (these questions change daily depending on who wants to "know"). My checked off items are "I watch TV" and/or "I go to movies in the theater" (as opposed to the forest? a cave? Aunt Helen's barn?). Most of the time, the other questions, which I cannot honestly check off (thanks to Ms. Preachy Person) are--"Do you consume alchoholic beverages on a daily basis?", "Do you have children in your household under the age of 8", "Do you make most of the household buying decisions", etc. Well, if you are consuming alcoholic beverages on a daily basis, you might want to hire a sober babysitter for your children and avoid making any important decisions about purchases until you have had a chance to "sleep it off". Of course, none of the surveys are asking for my opinion on these kinds of situations, so I am relegated to the occasional survey about taking pain medication--a must after job hunting and/or survey taking, or one about what kind of floor cleaner I prefer (the kind that gets rid of dirt...easily and without rinsing, thank you).
I'm thinking I might put a survey on my blog about how to spend significant amounts of time on survey-taking websites without an appropriate return on investment (of time that is), but, my eyes are now so blurry and watery from all the hours I've spent checking out the available "surveys-of-the-day" and searching through hundreds of job postings, applying online to jobs that seemed promising even when the "apply online" procedure was less than user friendly--can you say "user hostile and confusing"? (Some links are missing, kind of like the Dr. Leaky issue, and by the time I try to cut and paste my resume to fit into their limited "space" I forget what the job is for which I am applying. I have also found that, after completing a lengthy application, I can not return to the page detailing the job without losing the application in the process, so I wing it and hope that what I write in my application has some relevance to the job.) And so I find that I can no longer see my monitor screen clearly. I love Monet and all those Impressionists but in a museum, not on my screen. If Van Gogh had lived in today's world and had to deal with the imperfections of websites and other related portals, he would probably have cut off his other ear! As for me, I'm cutting this off while I can still see well enough to exit the programs I have open....
The process is--click on "Take Survey" and a legal document pops up on your screen explaining everything you need to know and understand, and I think there is some extraneous material included about not cutting your toenails too short to avoid ingrown nails and helpful tips on how to keep bread fresh in hot and humid weather, but I must confess that I don't read every minute detail before "I Agree" to the terms and conditions. After being "agreeable", a video with a nice young lady appears on the screen and she lectures me about being honest in my answers. I am properly chastened and decide not to pretend that I am 25, making $500,000 a year, and living on the Riviera Coast. The next screen asks me a group of questions to determine if I am eligible for the available survey(s). Now here is where I have some concern. I can usually only check off one or two in the affirmative (these questions change daily depending on who wants to "know"). My checked off items are "I watch TV" and/or "I go to movies in the theater" (as opposed to the forest? a cave? Aunt Helen's barn?). Most of the time, the other questions, which I cannot honestly check off (thanks to Ms. Preachy Person) are--"Do you consume alchoholic beverages on a daily basis?", "Do you have children in your household under the age of 8", "Do you make most of the household buying decisions", etc. Well, if you are consuming alcoholic beverages on a daily basis, you might want to hire a sober babysitter for your children and avoid making any important decisions about purchases until you have had a chance to "sleep it off". Of course, none of the surveys are asking for my opinion on these kinds of situations, so I am relegated to the occasional survey about taking pain medication--a must after job hunting and/or survey taking, or one about what kind of floor cleaner I prefer (the kind that gets rid of dirt...easily and without rinsing, thank you).
I'm thinking I might put a survey on my blog about how to spend significant amounts of time on survey-taking websites without an appropriate return on investment (of time that is), but, my eyes are now so blurry and watery from all the hours I've spent checking out the available "surveys-of-the-day" and searching through hundreds of job postings, applying online to jobs that seemed promising even when the "apply online" procedure was less than user friendly--can you say "user hostile and confusing"? (Some links are missing, kind of like the Dr. Leaky issue, and by the time I try to cut and paste my resume to fit into their limited "space" I forget what the job is for which I am applying. I have also found that, after completing a lengthy application, I can not return to the page detailing the job without losing the application in the process, so I wing it and hope that what I write in my application has some relevance to the job.) And so I find that I can no longer see my monitor screen clearly. I love Monet and all those Impressionists but in a museum, not on my screen. If Van Gogh had lived in today's world and had to deal with the imperfections of websites and other related portals, he would probably have cut off his other ear! As for me, I'm cutting this off while I can still see well enough to exit the programs I have open....
Monday, August 25, 2008
And for this trees are dying?
I subscribe to a daily paper here in Louisville, KY, "The Courier-Journal". Most days the paper is no "biggie", but on Sunday, the paper takes on a different persona and could be legally labeled a lethal weapon. It weighs "pounds" and, if hurled through the air by anyone other than a 98-pound weakling, can knock an adult off his or her feet onto his or her kiester!
I usually wait to read the Sunday paper until I return from church, because, if I try to read it beforehand, I either have to get up at 4AM, so I can read and get ready for church, or, if I get up at my regular 7AM time, I'll miss church completely. And, I am not going to hedge my bet on the eternities by reading the newspaper instead of being at church.
This past Sunday, I picked up the paper to move it to my dining room table so I could eat lunch and read at my leisure. I believe I am now in the market for a truss for the hernia I developed picking up said paper. It isn't that there's more newsy stuff occurring on a Saturday and so the paper has to expand three-fold in order to accommodate all the (borrowing from the egotistical adage of the "NY Times") "news that's fit to print". No, it's a result of all the "flyers" and "booklets" that are wrapped up like a gigantic, pulpy "fish" in the real newspaper part. Looking at all the ads--which I find disconcerting (who has so much discretionary income that they need to be offered so many opportunities to spend their money?), it would appear that the world no longer works, at least here in Kentuckiana, but spends all its time and money at sales and discount retailers. Obviously, here in horse country, people don't shop until they drop. They just shop and never drop.
All these ads and all this paper devoted to "shopping" got me thinking about the unnecessary killing of trees to support this weekly advertising blitz. Perhaps, we readers should rebundle our Sunday paper, send it to the Pentagon and they can use it to bomb our enemies. Drop a load of these puppies on a targeted bad guy area and we'll destroy people instantly (or at least knock them silly or unconscious). There won't be any toxic issues (just some landfill ones), no spreading of after effects, no destruction of personal property (unless you consider someone's head personal property), and no massive weapons industrial complex needed. So what's not to like. And, once the "bomb" hits its target, people who are left standing can read the newspaper ads and they will become stunned, numbed, and neutralized. There will be no more shouts of "Kill the enemy!" "Death to the American Imperialists!" These will be replaced by "Let's head to Wallie's Wonder World of Discount Everything or Jimmie's Used Car and Recycled Tennis Rackets!"
I think maybe I'll run for president of these United States and this will be the foundation piece of my platform. I'll be recycling, finding a safer means of "negotiating" with the enemy, and helping out with the landfill situation here at home by filling some other country's land. They say that the pen is mightier than the sword. Let's put that to good use. My motto will be "All the news that's fit to bomb!" Pretty catchy don't you think? I believe my approach to the highest office in the land (not the fill kind) rates right up there with the two major party candidates. Don't stop the presses! Forget the Democrats or Republicans or Libertarians or the Green Party, vote for me as a write-in candidate. The economy will probably get worse under my administration, as will our international standing, our environment, our educational stystem, etc., but we won't have to wonder what to do with all those dusty old stacks of newspapers.... Now isn't that a load off your mind? And I approved of this message.
I usually wait to read the Sunday paper until I return from church, because, if I try to read it beforehand, I either have to get up at 4AM, so I can read and get ready for church, or, if I get up at my regular 7AM time, I'll miss church completely. And, I am not going to hedge my bet on the eternities by reading the newspaper instead of being at church.
This past Sunday, I picked up the paper to move it to my dining room table so I could eat lunch and read at my leisure. I believe I am now in the market for a truss for the hernia I developed picking up said paper. It isn't that there's more newsy stuff occurring on a Saturday and so the paper has to expand three-fold in order to accommodate all the (borrowing from the egotistical adage of the "NY Times") "news that's fit to print". No, it's a result of all the "flyers" and "booklets" that are wrapped up like a gigantic, pulpy "fish" in the real newspaper part. Looking at all the ads--which I find disconcerting (who has so much discretionary income that they need to be offered so many opportunities to spend their money?), it would appear that the world no longer works, at least here in Kentuckiana, but spends all its time and money at sales and discount retailers. Obviously, here in horse country, people don't shop until they drop. They just shop and never drop.
All these ads and all this paper devoted to "shopping" got me thinking about the unnecessary killing of trees to support this weekly advertising blitz. Perhaps, we readers should rebundle our Sunday paper, send it to the Pentagon and they can use it to bomb our enemies. Drop a load of these puppies on a targeted bad guy area and we'll destroy people instantly (or at least knock them silly or unconscious). There won't be any toxic issues (just some landfill ones), no spreading of after effects, no destruction of personal property (unless you consider someone's head personal property), and no massive weapons industrial complex needed. So what's not to like. And, once the "bomb" hits its target, people who are left standing can read the newspaper ads and they will become stunned, numbed, and neutralized. There will be no more shouts of "Kill the enemy!" "Death to the American Imperialists!" These will be replaced by "Let's head to Wallie's Wonder World of Discount Everything or Jimmie's Used Car and Recycled Tennis Rackets!"
I think maybe I'll run for president of these United States and this will be the foundation piece of my platform. I'll be recycling, finding a safer means of "negotiating" with the enemy, and helping out with the landfill situation here at home by filling some other country's land. They say that the pen is mightier than the sword. Let's put that to good use. My motto will be "All the news that's fit to bomb!" Pretty catchy don't you think? I believe my approach to the highest office in the land (not the fill kind) rates right up there with the two major party candidates. Don't stop the presses! Forget the Democrats or Republicans or Libertarians or the Green Party, vote for me as a write-in candidate. The economy will probably get worse under my administration, as will our international standing, our environment, our educational stystem, etc., but we won't have to wonder what to do with all those dusty old stacks of newspapers.... Now isn't that a load off your mind? And I approved of this message.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Flea markets...
I went to one yesterday, with my sister. I hadn't been to a flea market for a very long time, so I don't know what I was thinking I would find there. I enjoyed the ride through some of Kentucky's horse farm territory and the green, rolling hills. I almost enjoyed getting lost trying to follow the directions I had (only because the scenery was beautiful). The sign at the itsy-bitsy road into the flea market venue didn't face the road from either direction, so the only ways you would see it as you drove by, were 1) if you stopped dead in the middle of the road (giving all those behind you a little adrenaline and reflex check) at just the right place, and looked east. Of course, if you were on the side of the road heading south, you'd have to have pretty amazing turning ability--kind of like Michael Phelps at the pool wall in a 100-meter or more race--or you'd have to do a little turnaround to get back to the skimpy road's entrance; or 2) throw caution to the wind and drive east from west across the roadway from the gas station on the other side of the entrance. Chicken heart that I am, I chose the turnaround, and I had so much fun doing that, that I did it three times--I kept missing the minute (my-noot) opening to the road.
So, finally, after a lot of effort and half my gas tank emptying, I made it. I drove down the lovely, tree-lined dirt road to a bunch of metal buildings. No signs or labels showing where to enter or start the flea festivities. I parked and looked for my sister. She said she'd be wearing a red top and waiting out in the parking lot at the far end--where I sat. I didn't see anything red, except for a couple of veins in my eyeballs as I checked my rear view mirror so I could pull out of my parking space and search for my sister. I did see someone at the opposite end of this line of buildings, but she was wearing pale apricot. I have affronted individuals before, in public, whom I thought I knew but found out I didn't, so I am a little reluctant to go on the attack anymore, especially now that I'm aging and my eyes, even with glasses, just don't capture clearly what I look at in the distance. (I love Monet and all the rest of those Impressionists for making it "okay" to see things in a blurry, painterly view!) I slowly worked my way down to the place where I had seen the apricot-shirted person, but, by the time I got there, she had disappeared. I decided to just park, get out and look around and hopefully find someone, anyone wearing a red shirt. I was ready to redo my genealogy....
After a few minutes of my standing, staring, turning my head and looking hopelessly dopey (as in Snow and the Seven Guys), my sister appeared. She was wearing apricot. Now, I'm pretty good with colors, but no matter how long I looked at her top, I couldn't put it in the red category. When I asked her about the color, she said she'd spilled something on her red shirt and had to change. When I asked her about parking at the far end, she said she found a parking place right off the entrance road and took it. Without further ado, I unseated her as the person in charge of meeting up anywhere. From now on, we'll have to confirm fashion and parking via cell phone en route. The downside of that is that I won't have any funny stories to put on my blog.
To continue our adventure, we entered the first building. Oh my! There were so many booths, so much to see, so little to buy. Hadn't I just gotten rid of a bunch of stuff at our Mom's house before making my journey to Kentucky? Well, it must have followed me here! There were some scary items--T-shirts and other paraphernalia with gory themes, some lethal ones--guns and knives, some items that looked as if they would fall apart as soon as you paid for them, some that were dusty and dirty (I have that at home already, thank you), and a few things that were clever and worth the price. These latter items were all sold. Guess the early birds found the only worthwhile "worms". There were food concessions with everything fried, including the napkins and plasticware (just kidding). We took a pass on that because the lines were long and we still had several buildings ahead of us. In our last building, at the very end, there were cold cases full of meat. The cases were like those you see at your local grocer's, except they were off-color, dirty and the compressors were making sounds like a B-52 about to take off. The meat, and maybe it was just the lighting, appeared to have an, uhm, certain hue to it. Both my sister and I wondered if the meat was actually cold enough not to give everyone in the western end of Kentucky food poisoning. We were both tempted to walk over to the cases to touch the wrapped packages to see if they were cold to the touch, but both of us knew we'd gasp loudly if we found they weren't, so we, just like Elvis, left the building. I read the newspaper today. I didn't read about hospitals overflowing with food-poisoned flea marketers, but then, maybe I'm a day ahead of myself. We'll see what tomorrow brings. I may call my stockbroker and buy stock in whoever manufactures Donagel or Kaopectate.
By the way, other than the Avon eye-makeup remover cream my sister bought, the only thing we left with was possibly fleas. I've been itching and scratching ever since our little visit yesterday...too bad they weren't selling flea collars. That I could have used.
So, finally, after a lot of effort and half my gas tank emptying, I made it. I drove down the lovely, tree-lined dirt road to a bunch of metal buildings. No signs or labels showing where to enter or start the flea festivities. I parked and looked for my sister. She said she'd be wearing a red top and waiting out in the parking lot at the far end--where I sat. I didn't see anything red, except for a couple of veins in my eyeballs as I checked my rear view mirror so I could pull out of my parking space and search for my sister. I did see someone at the opposite end of this line of buildings, but she was wearing pale apricot. I have affronted individuals before, in public, whom I thought I knew but found out I didn't, so I am a little reluctant to go on the attack anymore, especially now that I'm aging and my eyes, even with glasses, just don't capture clearly what I look at in the distance. (I love Monet and all the rest of those Impressionists for making it "okay" to see things in a blurry, painterly view!) I slowly worked my way down to the place where I had seen the apricot-shirted person, but, by the time I got there, she had disappeared. I decided to just park, get out and look around and hopefully find someone, anyone wearing a red shirt. I was ready to redo my genealogy....
After a few minutes of my standing, staring, turning my head and looking hopelessly dopey (as in Snow and the Seven Guys), my sister appeared. She was wearing apricot. Now, I'm pretty good with colors, but no matter how long I looked at her top, I couldn't put it in the red category. When I asked her about the color, she said she'd spilled something on her red shirt and had to change. When I asked her about parking at the far end, she said she found a parking place right off the entrance road and took it. Without further ado, I unseated her as the person in charge of meeting up anywhere. From now on, we'll have to confirm fashion and parking via cell phone en route. The downside of that is that I won't have any funny stories to put on my blog.
To continue our adventure, we entered the first building. Oh my! There were so many booths, so much to see, so little to buy. Hadn't I just gotten rid of a bunch of stuff at our Mom's house before making my journey to Kentucky? Well, it must have followed me here! There were some scary items--T-shirts and other paraphernalia with gory themes, some lethal ones--guns and knives, some items that looked as if they would fall apart as soon as you paid for them, some that were dusty and dirty (I have that at home already, thank you), and a few things that were clever and worth the price. These latter items were all sold. Guess the early birds found the only worthwhile "worms". There were food concessions with everything fried, including the napkins and plasticware (just kidding). We took a pass on that because the lines were long and we still had several buildings ahead of us. In our last building, at the very end, there were cold cases full of meat. The cases were like those you see at your local grocer's, except they were off-color, dirty and the compressors were making sounds like a B-52 about to take off. The meat, and maybe it was just the lighting, appeared to have an, uhm, certain hue to it. Both my sister and I wondered if the meat was actually cold enough not to give everyone in the western end of Kentucky food poisoning. We were both tempted to walk over to the cases to touch the wrapped packages to see if they were cold to the touch, but both of us knew we'd gasp loudly if we found they weren't, so we, just like Elvis, left the building. I read the newspaper today. I didn't read about hospitals overflowing with food-poisoned flea marketers, but then, maybe I'm a day ahead of myself. We'll see what tomorrow brings. I may call my stockbroker and buy stock in whoever manufactures Donagel or Kaopectate.
By the way, other than the Avon eye-makeup remover cream my sister bought, the only thing we left with was possibly fleas. I've been itching and scratching ever since our little visit yesterday...too bad they weren't selling flea collars. That I could have used.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
If I were in the Olympics...
there would have to be some new categories. I don't run, jump, catapult myself through the air on a skimpy stick, do anything on the rings, pommel, parallel bars, or vault (unless it's in a bank and I'm accessing my safe deposit box). If I'm riding a bike, it has to be stationary with training wheels, and, although I swim, I'd have to practice in my apartment complex pool which means that I would dive in, take one stroke and be at the other end. I guess I could really get my turns down, but I'd get dizzy pretty quickly, turning, turning, turning. Then I'd be disoriented and would stagger out of the pool, so, unless the Olympic Committee has added "walking like a person under the influence" as a new event, I'd be out of luck.
All of that aside, here are the categories that I think should be added--1) walking upright for 100 yards in a snazzy outfit, 2) remembering to bring reading glasses to a social event so you don't have to share one pair with 39 other people (question--why do people, who obviously need reading glasses, always fail to bring them when going out? Not bringing them so you can read menus, timetables, schedules, greeting cards--if you're at a birthday or anniversary party--etc. doesn't change the fact that you're "older" and need them. Not bringing them proves that you are in denial, can't see, and/or that your memory, along with your eyesight, is shot). 3) speed denture installation--this needs no explanation. Let the best gummy applicator win!, 4) best use of a cane or walker routine set to music--this wouldn't be as pretty as the routines with the ribbons twirling, but it would certainly be more entertaining, 5) putting on a spandex gymnastics leotard or full-body swimsuit while remaining standing--this would be a timed event and might take a day or two, 6) dinosaur dressage (proving the point to our children that we indeed lived in the days when dinosaurs walked the earth), 7) shuffleboard (and if you have to ask what this is, you won't qualify for the event), 8) speed bingo with small "tokens" and cards that have tiny print (those who have excelled at the number 2 event noted above will have an advantage here), 9) lacing up and tying your sneakers while bending over, and finally, 10) equestrian endurance rides (this can only be done if the host nation has a Wal-Mart nearby and the entrant has a roll of quarters).
Let the games begin!
All of that aside, here are the categories that I think should be added--1) walking upright for 100 yards in a snazzy outfit, 2) remembering to bring reading glasses to a social event so you don't have to share one pair with 39 other people (question--why do people, who obviously need reading glasses, always fail to bring them when going out? Not bringing them so you can read menus, timetables, schedules, greeting cards--if you're at a birthday or anniversary party--etc. doesn't change the fact that you're "older" and need them. Not bringing them proves that you are in denial, can't see, and/or that your memory, along with your eyesight, is shot). 3) speed denture installation--this needs no explanation. Let the best gummy applicator win!, 4) best use of a cane or walker routine set to music--this wouldn't be as pretty as the routines with the ribbons twirling, but it would certainly be more entertaining, 5) putting on a spandex gymnastics leotard or full-body swimsuit while remaining standing--this would be a timed event and might take a day or two, 6) dinosaur dressage (proving the point to our children that we indeed lived in the days when dinosaurs walked the earth), 7) shuffleboard (and if you have to ask what this is, you won't qualify for the event), 8) speed bingo with small "tokens" and cards that have tiny print (those who have excelled at the number 2 event noted above will have an advantage here), 9) lacing up and tying your sneakers while bending over, and finally, 10) equestrian endurance rides (this can only be done if the host nation has a Wal-Mart nearby and the entrant has a roll of quarters).
Let the games begin!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Dressing a baby...
isn't like dressing a dollie or your cat or dog or even the Thanksgiving turkey. No, dressing a baby is one of those things that new moms especially enjoy. The baby has no rights, cannot protest (in words at least) or run away and hide in the closet or garden shed until mummsy's desire to dress said baby in some cute little snookums outfit passes.
Many of us, pre-baby, will protest that we will not dress our innocent little child in any outlandish, goofy-looking, cutsey-poo outfits, but that promise disappears like mist on a lake as soon as we are home from the hospital and we start trotting out all the cute little outfits that friends and family have given us or that we have found on our own. We have froggie, duckie, goosie, puppy, kitty, bear-y and other assorted animal get ups at our disposal. We also have outfits that are way too big for our newborn, but we are driven to dress him or her up in everything in the dresser drawers and closets of the nursery.
If we really want to think ahead to possible, future means of subduing (or should I say blackmailing) a child, especially a tween or teen, who has left the I-love-mommy-no-matter-what stage and entered the I-only-love-you-when-I-need-to-go-to-the-mall-or-get-the-car-keys mode, then we'll store up all the "ammunition" we can. So we get out the camera and dress and click 'til our hearts content or our baby is worn out and falls asleep. I had a friend who did this with every baby outfit given to her first-born. She then sent a copy of the photo to the person whose gift it was so they could see how "cute" the outfit and the baby were together. Cute is a word that every parent discovers loses is luster as a child enters the two-digit age group. Clothes can be cool or awesome or rad, but they cannot be cute and leave the house on the body of your child.
My youngest son is a case in point. Of my three children, he was the easiest to dress up and I was able to do it for quite a while longer with him than with the other two before he reluctantly complained. His (and my) day of reckoning came when I laid out his church clothes and he put on everything but the very cutsey-poo sweater I had bought him in Rome. It was red (a favorite color of his) with a big teddy bear, fuzzy emblem dead center on the front. He put it on and then lowered his head as if I'd just pinned the scarlet letter on him, and he whispered, in a very quiet voice, that he didn't want to wear a sweater with a bear on it. (His nickname was Bear.) I had to ask him to repeat what he said loudly enough so I could hear him. He did and I recoiled knowing that I had run out of children whom I could dress up, photograph and publicly humiliate with my need for childish, gimmicky fashion statements. My youngest changed his sweater to something plain and "more mature" looking, and I went looking for our cat. I also went a little overboard that year with our turkey. I just couldn't resist those very cute little white "boots" that go on each drumstick and a flouncy, lacy suturing at the neck cavity to keep the dressing from bursting out. The turkey did not protest, but wore his bib and tucker with great aplomb. The cat is still missing....
Many of us, pre-baby, will protest that we will not dress our innocent little child in any outlandish, goofy-looking, cutsey-poo outfits, but that promise disappears like mist on a lake as soon as we are home from the hospital and we start trotting out all the cute little outfits that friends and family have given us or that we have found on our own. We have froggie, duckie, goosie, puppy, kitty, bear-y and other assorted animal get ups at our disposal. We also have outfits that are way too big for our newborn, but we are driven to dress him or her up in everything in the dresser drawers and closets of the nursery.
If we really want to think ahead to possible, future means of subduing (or should I say blackmailing) a child, especially a tween or teen, who has left the I-love-mommy-no-matter-what stage and entered the I-only-love-you-when-I-need-to-go-to-the-mall-or-get-the-car-keys mode, then we'll store up all the "ammunition" we can. So we get out the camera and dress and click 'til our hearts content or our baby is worn out and falls asleep. I had a friend who did this with every baby outfit given to her first-born. She then sent a copy of the photo to the person whose gift it was so they could see how "cute" the outfit and the baby were together. Cute is a word that every parent discovers loses is luster as a child enters the two-digit age group. Clothes can be cool or awesome or rad, but they cannot be cute and leave the house on the body of your child.
My youngest son is a case in point. Of my three children, he was the easiest to dress up and I was able to do it for quite a while longer with him than with the other two before he reluctantly complained. His (and my) day of reckoning came when I laid out his church clothes and he put on everything but the very cutsey-poo sweater I had bought him in Rome. It was red (a favorite color of his) with a big teddy bear, fuzzy emblem dead center on the front. He put it on and then lowered his head as if I'd just pinned the scarlet letter on him, and he whispered, in a very quiet voice, that he didn't want to wear a sweater with a bear on it. (His nickname was Bear.) I had to ask him to repeat what he said loudly enough so I could hear him. He did and I recoiled knowing that I had run out of children whom I could dress up, photograph and publicly humiliate with my need for childish, gimmicky fashion statements. My youngest changed his sweater to something plain and "more mature" looking, and I went looking for our cat. I also went a little overboard that year with our turkey. I just couldn't resist those very cute little white "boots" that go on each drumstick and a flouncy, lacy suturing at the neck cavity to keep the dressing from bursting out. The turkey did not protest, but wore his bib and tucker with great aplomb. The cat is still missing....
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Job huntin'...where's my rifle?
I am currently looking for employment...mostly in all the right places. I am registered with two agencies, I search the Internet daily and read the local newspaper classifieds.
So far I have had one "real" interview, one mini-interview with a human resources person who appeared to be as uninterested as she could be, and a few e-mail responses saying "thanks but no thanks". It's discouraging because I know I could do any of the jobs, for which I apply, in my sleep. I have "dumbed down" my resume so potential employers won't think I want to be the president of the company or expect a fantabulous salary with a gold parachute (and a jet plane to boot). Hopefully, that will bring in a few more interview opportunities.
This "bloggity" is not to complain about what a pain it is to search for a job--which, incidentally, is true. Just think about it--you're selling yourself, hoping that someone wants to buy your "act" and hire you, and when you do not receive a lot of positive feedback it can be discouraging. You also spend a lot of time second-guessing yourself thinking about your resume--is it too much, too little, and wondering if your references to herding dinosaurs as a youth highlights your age issue. But, back to the point at hand, which is not to whine about what isn't right or fair, but to discuss some of the peculiarities of test taking for employment agencies and companies seeking employees.
I recently took a test for a US Census management position consisting of 29 questions about workplace/management issues. Part of my adventure the day of the test included arriving 45 minutes early at the library branch where said test was to take place. I signed up for a library card and sat at a reading table with the "Wall Street Journal" in hand. I was so proud of myself for finding the library
--tucked back into a strip mall with no signage at the street side entrance, creating an opportunity to drive throughout the parking lot and mall searching for any sign of librariness (and people wonder why the illiteracy rate is high!), and I was proud that I was early thinking that would help me be calm and prepared for the test. The testing was scheduled to begin at 1:30PM, and, at 1:05, a library staff member approached me and asked if I were there for the census test. "Yep, that would be me!" Well, she said, "The test is at another branch today, so you'll need to go there. You're the second person who came here by mistake." Let's see, I spoke with the US Census scheduler-of-tests and was told to come to this library, but that was just a little government joke, a test of resourcefulness and driving skills. I was given the new location and directions to get there and I put on my Mario Andretti persona and proceeded to drive down the highway of life--at 80 miles an hour, praying that all the Kentucky State Troopers were on lunch break.... Fortunately, no one got in my way en route and I arrived only five minutes late. I rushed into the library and was directed to the room where the test was being administered. Voila!! No one but the test administrator was there and she was pretty dang casual about what time it was. Two more people showed up and at about 2:00 we started. (The efficiency of our government at any level is a topic for another whole blog entry.) We were given only one hour to complete our test. Now you're probably thinking that answering 29 questions in 60 minutes is a piece o' cake, but these questions made my eyeballs roll backward and I felt dizzy--kind of like I felt while racing to get to the test site on time. Remember those horrid math questions we all took for college--"If two people get on the train at Blah City, and three people get off, and the conductor drops his ticket puncher, how long will it take to get to Freeze-Your-Rump, South Dakota?" Well, these questions made those pale in comparison. And we were told that we should choose the "best" or "closest" answer. So, with only two minutes per question, I started a mental argument between my better side and my better-get-it-right side on every question. Oh, and did I mention that there was a little "story" or table or example that you had to review before you could make your "best" guess. Whatever confidence I had when I walked into the test room, disappeared as my brain fought to find something familiar in the fog of the US Census quiz. I thought my brain had turned to gray jelly and I swear I could hear it sloshing about in my head as I tried to reason my way to the correct, or should I say, best answer. I finished about 10 minutes before the time was "up" and was told that I did very well on the test. Not sure what that meant--possibly that I could print my name legibly and remembered my social security number and birth date. Probably. We'll see if anything comes of this little mental exercise. Three hours and $8 worth of gas later, I arrived home. I'm not sure I am capable of managing an office and crews of census takers (enumerators is the official title, just in case you were dying to know this) after this experience. I may just be one of the millions counted.
Finally, I must also note that one of the tests I took on-line while job hunting in California (before my move to Kentucky) required knowledge of corporate decorum and dress. I don't think I did well on this test. I think smacking someone alongside the head when they're uncooperative saves time and energy and pretty much gets the point across as to who is boss. As for wardrobe appropriateness, I do know how to clean up pretty well, but I question which corporation or company in America has a need to know whether I believe that taupe should be included as a "corporate" color along with navy, gray, and black. I'm thinking that the questions should be more like--"How much of your belly should be visible to clients and your colleagues?" or "Is cleavage a good sales tactic or just plain distracting?" or "If your flip-flops make too much noise whilst you walk about the office, will it lower the worker productivity or, if you walk fast enough, speed things up?" There aren't many work places these days who have any fashion requirements or dress codes, but I guess those who do will hire the fashionistas even if they can't function. At least they'll look spiffy in their corner offices or cubicles and perhaps this will become the theme for an episode of "The Office".... Meanwhile, my search continues and I have vowed to occasionally wear taupe to an interview just to thumb my nose at corporate America!
So far I have had one "real" interview, one mini-interview with a human resources person who appeared to be as uninterested as she could be, and a few e-mail responses saying "thanks but no thanks". It's discouraging because I know I could do any of the jobs, for which I apply, in my sleep. I have "dumbed down" my resume so potential employers won't think I want to be the president of the company or expect a fantabulous salary with a gold parachute (and a jet plane to boot). Hopefully, that will bring in a few more interview opportunities.
This "bloggity" is not to complain about what a pain it is to search for a job--which, incidentally, is true. Just think about it--you're selling yourself, hoping that someone wants to buy your "act" and hire you, and when you do not receive a lot of positive feedback it can be discouraging. You also spend a lot of time second-guessing yourself thinking about your resume--is it too much, too little, and wondering if your references to herding dinosaurs as a youth highlights your age issue. But, back to the point at hand, which is not to whine about what isn't right or fair, but to discuss some of the peculiarities of test taking for employment agencies and companies seeking employees.
I recently took a test for a US Census management position consisting of 29 questions about workplace/management issues. Part of my adventure the day of the test included arriving 45 minutes early at the library branch where said test was to take place. I signed up for a library card and sat at a reading table with the "Wall Street Journal" in hand. I was so proud of myself for finding the library
--tucked back into a strip mall with no signage at the street side entrance, creating an opportunity to drive throughout the parking lot and mall searching for any sign of librariness (and people wonder why the illiteracy rate is high!), and I was proud that I was early thinking that would help me be calm and prepared for the test. The testing was scheduled to begin at 1:30PM, and, at 1:05, a library staff member approached me and asked if I were there for the census test. "Yep, that would be me!" Well, she said, "The test is at another branch today, so you'll need to go there. You're the second person who came here by mistake." Let's see, I spoke with the US Census scheduler-of-tests and was told to come to this library, but that was just a little government joke, a test of resourcefulness and driving skills. I was given the new location and directions to get there and I put on my Mario Andretti persona and proceeded to drive down the highway of life--at 80 miles an hour, praying that all the Kentucky State Troopers were on lunch break.... Fortunately, no one got in my way en route and I arrived only five minutes late. I rushed into the library and was directed to the room where the test was being administered. Voila!! No one but the test administrator was there and she was pretty dang casual about what time it was. Two more people showed up and at about 2:00 we started. (The efficiency of our government at any level is a topic for another whole blog entry.) We were given only one hour to complete our test. Now you're probably thinking that answering 29 questions in 60 minutes is a piece o' cake, but these questions made my eyeballs roll backward and I felt dizzy--kind of like I felt while racing to get to the test site on time. Remember those horrid math questions we all took for college--"If two people get on the train at Blah City, and three people get off, and the conductor drops his ticket puncher, how long will it take to get to Freeze-Your-Rump, South Dakota?" Well, these questions made those pale in comparison. And we were told that we should choose the "best" or "closest" answer. So, with only two minutes per question, I started a mental argument between my better side and my better-get-it-right side on every question. Oh, and did I mention that there was a little "story" or table or example that you had to review before you could make your "best" guess. Whatever confidence I had when I walked into the test room, disappeared as my brain fought to find something familiar in the fog of the US Census quiz. I thought my brain had turned to gray jelly and I swear I could hear it sloshing about in my head as I tried to reason my way to the correct, or should I say, best answer. I finished about 10 minutes before the time was "up" and was told that I did very well on the test. Not sure what that meant--possibly that I could print my name legibly and remembered my social security number and birth date. Probably. We'll see if anything comes of this little mental exercise. Three hours and $8 worth of gas later, I arrived home. I'm not sure I am capable of managing an office and crews of census takers (enumerators is the official title, just in case you were dying to know this) after this experience. I may just be one of the millions counted.
Finally, I must also note that one of the tests I took on-line while job hunting in California (before my move to Kentucky) required knowledge of corporate decorum and dress. I don't think I did well on this test. I think smacking someone alongside the head when they're uncooperative saves time and energy and pretty much gets the point across as to who is boss. As for wardrobe appropriateness, I do know how to clean up pretty well, but I question which corporation or company in America has a need to know whether I believe that taupe should be included as a "corporate" color along with navy, gray, and black. I'm thinking that the questions should be more like--"How much of your belly should be visible to clients and your colleagues?" or "Is cleavage a good sales tactic or just plain distracting?" or "If your flip-flops make too much noise whilst you walk about the office, will it lower the worker productivity or, if you walk fast enough, speed things up?" There aren't many work places these days who have any fashion requirements or dress codes, but I guess those who do will hire the fashionistas even if they can't function. At least they'll look spiffy in their corner offices or cubicles and perhaps this will become the theme for an episode of "The Office".... Meanwhile, my search continues and I have vowed to occasionally wear taupe to an interview just to thumb my nose at corporate America!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
This is why I need therapy...
I have been blogging for over a year, but just today I finally figured out (or took the time, blood, sweat and tears needed) to post a picture on my blog. I can't believe I did it! And the photo isn't upside down or sideways!! Woohoo!!! Miracles do happen. This photo is my daughter, Brynley, and me, taken during her visit (which ended today...sniff, sniff) to Louisville, KY in mid-July. But, after all the mental straining required to get the photo from one place on my computer to another, I either need a serious nap or some serious therapy. I think I vote for the serious nap--it doesn't cost anything and I don't have to be on someone else's schedule or be cut off mid-sentence when my "time is up".
Maybe tomorrow I'll put some other photos on my blog of other family members. I'll need a good night's sleep and sturdy breakfast to attempt another such feat, but I think I'm up for the job. I'm feeling confident. I'm feeling knowledgeable. I'm feeling superior to those who still can't do what I did (but that won't last long because I may forget what I did and how I did it and I'll be back to the blood, sweat and tears and the phone call to one of my computer-savvy children). For now, I am celebrating and then napping. Success is good and there is much rejoicing, except for Wilbur, my papier mache pig, who is just a little jealous because he will never be able to post anything on a blog. Good night and good luck....to me that is, hoping that, in the morning, my slippery-as-grease-in-a-pan memory will serve me well.
Maybe tomorrow I'll put some other photos on my blog of other family members. I'll need a good night's sleep and sturdy breakfast to attempt another such feat, but I think I'm up for the job. I'm feeling confident. I'm feeling knowledgeable. I'm feeling superior to those who still can't do what I did (but that won't last long because I may forget what I did and how I did it and I'll be back to the blood, sweat and tears and the phone call to one of my computer-savvy children). For now, I am celebrating and then napping. Success is good and there is much rejoicing, except for Wilbur, my papier mache pig, who is just a little jealous because he will never be able to post anything on a blog. Good night and good luck....to me that is, hoping that, in the morning, my slippery-as-grease-in-a-pan memory will serve me well.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Grammar School
I have noticed of late that the English language is being misused and abused, mostly by people who think comic books are classic literature and video games are Oscar-worthy "screenplays" (well, there is a screen involved and there is play).
I am not the perfect grammartarian because I still haven't quite got the "lie" vs. "lay" issue figured out, which is why I avoid using those verbs and get mental hernias trying to find suitable substitutes. However, I know most of the rules of the verbal road and I obey them. I like the sound of a language being spoken properly. I wonder about the upbringing and education of individuals who, on a daily basis, mispronounce, misuse, misapply, and otherwise ignore the basic rules for speaking and writing.
Me and her went to the store. Yep. You did. Too bad she and you didn't purchase a book on the proper use of pronouns while you were there. We was doing real good on our project. Well, except for mangling the language perhaps, yes, you was, I mean were. And this grammartrocity isn't limited to the spoken word, it is also rampant in the written word. Verbs and nouns don't match up
--plural needs plural and singular begs for singular. Participles are left dangling (a very uncomfortable situation). Sentences end before fully formed. Punctuation has taken a vacation and is not returning. Spelling has checked out, left the building.
I had an excellent English teacher in high school. He always told my class that we are what we read. If we read well-written, well-thought-out verbiage, we will speak and write it. If we read Harlequin Romances, the joke will be on us. I know that math and science have been put at the forefront of education these days, but not everyone is going to be an Albert Einstein or Werner VonBraun. The percentage of mathematicians and scientists in an adult, working population is small. The vast majority of students will not be wearing lab coats or focusing on whether the theory of relativity is still relative. Doesn't it make sense to include instruction in other subjects, not the least of which is one emphasizing the proper use of language? And while we are at "it", let's lose the R-rated words that appear to have a unique ability to shift from verb to noun to adverb to adjective. Pretty soon we'll have a vocabulary that consists of approximately 10 words (ones that would prompt your mother to lather up your mouth with soap back in the "good ol' days"). We will be unable to precisely express ourselves and much will be left to interpretation. Perhaps the only people who will still be using $5 words that won't require that you be accompanied by an adult when reading, will be the lawyers. They will continue to use words to detail legal documents, etc. and, at $5 a word, we will all pay dearly for this language skill. If the Bible is right and there will be no lawyers in Heaven, does that mean life will be Hell when we find ourselves in a verbal traffic jam at the crossroads of "Whatssup" and "Hey Dawg"? Hopefully not. Hopefully me and her and everyone else will have decided that William Shakespeare (and other great writers) isn't just a dead guy with nothing to say to us. And hopefully enough people will think a return to the use of proper language, decorum and social mores isn't "Bunches of Stuff about Nada" but will still be called, "Much Ado About Nothing"....
I am not the perfect grammartarian because I still haven't quite got the "lie" vs. "lay" issue figured out, which is why I avoid using those verbs and get mental hernias trying to find suitable substitutes. However, I know most of the rules of the verbal road and I obey them. I like the sound of a language being spoken properly. I wonder about the upbringing and education of individuals who, on a daily basis, mispronounce, misuse, misapply, and otherwise ignore the basic rules for speaking and writing.
Me and her went to the store. Yep. You did. Too bad she and you didn't purchase a book on the proper use of pronouns while you were there. We was doing real good on our project. Well, except for mangling the language perhaps, yes, you was, I mean were. And this grammartrocity isn't limited to the spoken word, it is also rampant in the written word. Verbs and nouns don't match up
--plural needs plural and singular begs for singular. Participles are left dangling (a very uncomfortable situation). Sentences end before fully formed. Punctuation has taken a vacation and is not returning. Spelling has checked out, left the building.
I had an excellent English teacher in high school. He always told my class that we are what we read. If we read well-written, well-thought-out verbiage, we will speak and write it. If we read Harlequin Romances, the joke will be on us. I know that math and science have been put at the forefront of education these days, but not everyone is going to be an Albert Einstein or Werner VonBraun. The percentage of mathematicians and scientists in an adult, working population is small. The vast majority of students will not be wearing lab coats or focusing on whether the theory of relativity is still relative. Doesn't it make sense to include instruction in other subjects, not the least of which is one emphasizing the proper use of language? And while we are at "it", let's lose the R-rated words that appear to have a unique ability to shift from verb to noun to adverb to adjective. Pretty soon we'll have a vocabulary that consists of approximately 10 words (ones that would prompt your mother to lather up your mouth with soap back in the "good ol' days"). We will be unable to precisely express ourselves and much will be left to interpretation. Perhaps the only people who will still be using $5 words that won't require that you be accompanied by an adult when reading, will be the lawyers. They will continue to use words to detail legal documents, etc. and, at $5 a word, we will all pay dearly for this language skill. If the Bible is right and there will be no lawyers in Heaven, does that mean life will be Hell when we find ourselves in a verbal traffic jam at the crossroads of "Whatssup" and "Hey Dawg"? Hopefully not. Hopefully me and her and everyone else will have decided that William Shakespeare (and other great writers) isn't just a dead guy with nothing to say to us. And hopefully enough people will think a return to the use of proper language, decorum and social mores isn't "Bunches of Stuff about Nada" but will still be called, "Much Ado About Nothing"....
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Returning the corner
I purchased a watermelon (interior unseen) the other night and I looked forward to juicy, red watermelon for a summer treat. I planned to cut it up the next day and put it in the refrigerator to make it nice and cold for eating. I had a plan. I had a watermelon. I had a knife. I had a cutting board. So, there I was implements and food item in place. I cut the bottom end off to give the melon a flat surface to "stand" on--a culinary trick I learned from a bona fide chef, who graduated from the Cordon Bleu in Paris, while I was serving as the main cook at a girls' camp several years ago. Monsier Chef Bleu was the chef at the "resort" where camp was held. He taught my staff and I to cut both ends off, then the rind, then cut the "meat" in half, quarters, slices and cubes. It is a fast, effective and efficient way to cut up a watermelon.
Back to my current melon story--I made the second cut and noticed that the meat of the melon was not exactly red. It also wasn't exactly pink. It was, however, an orange yellow color and there didn't seem to be much juice in it. I thought I had purchased, by mistake, a yellow watermelon, normally a food I couldn't afford. I continued to do my Cordon Bleu cutting and saw that the inside cuts on the melon yielded yellow, orange and light pink innards. I cut a small piece, tasted it and realized that I had purchased the Roswell, NM watermelon. It was a mutant, an alien and definitely not a watermelon meant for eating, unless your name is Wilbur and you like leftovers served in a trough or the mud. Since I paid $3.49 for the melon, I decided I would return it for a refund.
How does a person return a melon that has been cut up? In a plastic container with evidence of the outside skin included so the Customer Service person will believe you when you say it's a watermelon. Today was "Return A Watermelon" day and I drove it back to Wal-Mart. There is not only a greeter at the entrance to Wal-Mart, but a person who puts pink stickers on returns. I had the watermelon slices in my container and, when asked by the Return Policeperson if I had something to return, I responded, "Yes. I have a watermelon." Well, I got a look. He asked me how I could return something that I had mutilated. (My knives may not be Ginsu, but I had definitely not mutilated my melon.) He wished me good luck (that didn't sound promising), told me he wished he could be at Customer Service when I made my pitch and asked me to let him know what happened. I expected to be handcuffed, put in an orange jumpsuit and made to parade in front of Wal-Mart with a placard declaring that I made an inappropriate return request. Instead, the young lady, who helped me, looked at the melon slices, declared them "Gross" and asked, "What is that?" and handed me $3.49. With a triumphant smile and a swagger, I walked out of the Wal-Mart, past the Return Police, letting him know that I had been successful in obtaining a refund and then I promptly dumped the slices into the garbage container and went home.
I probably will not purchase any more Roswell watermelons, but, if I do, I know I will have another story to tell and at least $3.49 coming my way--about the amount I'll spend on gas to return it....
Back to my current melon story--I made the second cut and noticed that the meat of the melon was not exactly red. It also wasn't exactly pink. It was, however, an orange yellow color and there didn't seem to be much juice in it. I thought I had purchased, by mistake, a yellow watermelon, normally a food I couldn't afford. I continued to do my Cordon Bleu cutting and saw that the inside cuts on the melon yielded yellow, orange and light pink innards. I cut a small piece, tasted it and realized that I had purchased the Roswell, NM watermelon. It was a mutant, an alien and definitely not a watermelon meant for eating, unless your name is Wilbur and you like leftovers served in a trough or the mud. Since I paid $3.49 for the melon, I decided I would return it for a refund.
How does a person return a melon that has been cut up? In a plastic container with evidence of the outside skin included so the Customer Service person will believe you when you say it's a watermelon. Today was "Return A Watermelon" day and I drove it back to Wal-Mart. There is not only a greeter at the entrance to Wal-Mart, but a person who puts pink stickers on returns. I had the watermelon slices in my container and, when asked by the Return Policeperson if I had something to return, I responded, "Yes. I have a watermelon." Well, I got a look. He asked me how I could return something that I had mutilated. (My knives may not be Ginsu, but I had definitely not mutilated my melon.) He wished me good luck (that didn't sound promising), told me he wished he could be at Customer Service when I made my pitch and asked me to let him know what happened. I expected to be handcuffed, put in an orange jumpsuit and made to parade in front of Wal-Mart with a placard declaring that I made an inappropriate return request. Instead, the young lady, who helped me, looked at the melon slices, declared them "Gross" and asked, "What is that?" and handed me $3.49. With a triumphant smile and a swagger, I walked out of the Wal-Mart, past the Return Police, letting him know that I had been successful in obtaining a refund and then I promptly dumped the slices into the garbage container and went home.
I probably will not purchase any more Roswell watermelons, but, if I do, I know I will have another story to tell and at least $3.49 coming my way--about the amount I'll spend on gas to return it....
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