Friday, August 31, 2007
...and the heat goes on...la dee da dee da
No thanks to Sonny or Cher, but it isn't the beat that's going on. It's the heat. It's been blast furnace hot here in YC, California and all of us "survivors" want it to stop...NOW! I'm too overheated to write anymore. I have to go sit in my refrigerator for a few minutes to cool down so my brain will start to work again. (Actually, I'm just using that for an excuse. Cooling down probably won't make any difference, but, for now, I'm rationalizing my lack of brain activity based on the weather...) I will resume blogging when the temperatures drop below 100.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Who wears short shorts?
There was a teeny-bopper song with this title back in the 60s. It was cute and fun, but not a motivation for just anyone to don short shorts (or even longer shorts) and yet today, here in YC, with the temps at 100 in a string of high 90s and 100s weather, the answer to this song's title is "just about everyone" and, well, this just shouldn't be...nope. Not everyone's derriere and/or legs lend themselves to revealing the gams. Matter of fact, because of modesty, concern for the welfare of others--especially the elderly or impressionable children--most people shouldn't be singing a response of "I do!" ever, EVER, EVER, EVER. Cute little kids can get away with shorts, although most clothing manufacturers seem to think small children have thighs the size of our governor, (Arnold "Caleeforneeya" Schwarznegger) and so they create the kidlet shorts with gargantuan legs making even the cutest ringleted toddler look like he or she is about to experience "lift off" with all the air ballooning around inside the pant legs (or is that shorts legs). And the pant or shorts legs are also very long. A child wearing said shorts appears to have only a thigh and an ankle and nothing in between. It's kind of a "Wizard of Oz" munchkin look without the 5 o'clock shadows on the "boys".
Hopefully our weather will cool down in the next week or two, and those of us who are faint of heart at the site of the chubby, the cellulite-challenged and the saddle-bag hipped shorts wearers will once again be able to be out and about and not have to reach for the smelling salts when an escapee from the fashion police crosses our path wearing too little over too much.
Hopefully our weather will cool down in the next week or two, and those of us who are faint of heart at the site of the chubby, the cellulite-challenged and the saddle-bag hipped shorts wearers will once again be able to be out and about and not have to reach for the smelling salts when an escapee from the fashion police crosses our path wearing too little over too much.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
I think all my eggs are cracked...
Our supermarket recently had a facelift with a new parking lot surface, new glow-in-the-dark parking space lines and those yellow bands of buttons added at the crosswalks. I asked the young man who bagged my groceries and helped me out to the car--this help-to-the-car is something my supermarket does for everyone, men, women, children, old and young, feeble and robust--what those bands were for? He didn't know for sure. The bigger stores in town, Target, Wal-Mart and Sam's Club have them from one end of the store front to the other.
Walking into a store with these bands is not an issue. If you're wearing lightly-soled shoes, you might think you're getting an acupuncture treatment for your feet, or, if you are wearing spindly high heels, you may be quickly reviewing your accident insurance coverage for falling and breaking your neck, but other than that, these brightly colored bands of rubber paint and buttons are insignificant until you exit the store... Let's say you purchased eggs, or heavy cream, or some delicate glassware or other fragile items, you will be eating omelets, whipped cream and finding yourself spending a few evenings with your bottle of glue trying to put your glasses back together--this will teach you why Humpty Dumpty was not put back together again, and, if all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't do the task, then what hope do you have? Of course, the horses didn't have opposable thumbs or hoof dexterity and the king's men were probably wearing armor which would make putting anything delicate back together an impossible task. But that's another story or fairy tale. Back to the yellow strips of doom that are popping up everywhere these days.
I spent most of the trip home from the supermarket trying to figure out what purpose those strips played in life. Were they mandated by some government agency? Most probably yes, because who would choose to spend money putting those in front of their store to irritate all the shopper who exit? Unlike the buttons that are installed on highways and major roads at the edges and centers of the road for the purpose of waking a drowsy driver who is veering off the road or alerting a careless driver who is wandering out of his or her lane whilst changing CDs, drinking a beverage, sorting through mail, putting on make-up, or talking on a cell phone, most of the patrons exiting the stores aren't falling asleep at the helm of their carts and, other than having forgotten where they parked their cars (again!), they aren't in imminent danger of careering into a ditch or into oncoming traffic. And those buttony strips aren't there to prevent people from slipping down steep inclines because the strips are on flat ground, except at the handicapped crossing lane, where they have a gentle slope. And, if someone in a wheelchair needs to descend from or ascend to the entrance of the store, then, as Betty Davis said in one of her famous movie roles, "Buckle up. It's going to be a bumpy ride." I think that massage therapists everywhere should be protesting because the work-out you get traveling over those 3-4 foot strips not only gets the blood circulating, but it works every muscle in your arms, neck and back. But then I wondered if these strips were to prevent terrorists or robbers from driving up to the front of stores without shaking something in their pea-brains loose, causing them to re-think their lives of crime. Finally, I understood why those bands were governemnt-required installations. Someone in the government purchased trillions of metal buttons and a lot of yellow rubberized paint some years back and there has been a secret committee meeting for all these years, trying to find a way to use these wastrel materials. So, the next time you go shopping with the hopes that everything you purchase will remain unbroken or unbruised as you travel back to your car, buy only what you can carry, don't wear tipsy high-heeled shoes, or bring along enough friends, kids or other family members to help you carry out and carry on with all your purchases intact. Personally, I think all those yellow buttons look like evil little smiley faces and they are having the last laugh as we jostle and jolt across their surfaces...
Walking into a store with these bands is not an issue. If you're wearing lightly-soled shoes, you might think you're getting an acupuncture treatment for your feet, or, if you are wearing spindly high heels, you may be quickly reviewing your accident insurance coverage for falling and breaking your neck, but other than that, these brightly colored bands of rubber paint and buttons are insignificant until you exit the store... Let's say you purchased eggs, or heavy cream, or some delicate glassware or other fragile items, you will be eating omelets, whipped cream and finding yourself spending a few evenings with your bottle of glue trying to put your glasses back together--this will teach you why Humpty Dumpty was not put back together again, and, if all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't do the task, then what hope do you have? Of course, the horses didn't have opposable thumbs or hoof dexterity and the king's men were probably wearing armor which would make putting anything delicate back together an impossible task. But that's another story or fairy tale. Back to the yellow strips of doom that are popping up everywhere these days.
I spent most of the trip home from the supermarket trying to figure out what purpose those strips played in life. Were they mandated by some government agency? Most probably yes, because who would choose to spend money putting those in front of their store to irritate all the shopper who exit? Unlike the buttons that are installed on highways and major roads at the edges and centers of the road for the purpose of waking a drowsy driver who is veering off the road or alerting a careless driver who is wandering out of his or her lane whilst changing CDs, drinking a beverage, sorting through mail, putting on make-up, or talking on a cell phone, most of the patrons exiting the stores aren't falling asleep at the helm of their carts and, other than having forgotten where they parked their cars (again!), they aren't in imminent danger of careering into a ditch or into oncoming traffic. And those buttony strips aren't there to prevent people from slipping down steep inclines because the strips are on flat ground, except at the handicapped crossing lane, where they have a gentle slope. And, if someone in a wheelchair needs to descend from or ascend to the entrance of the store, then, as Betty Davis said in one of her famous movie roles, "Buckle up. It's going to be a bumpy ride." I think that massage therapists everywhere should be protesting because the work-out you get traveling over those 3-4 foot strips not only gets the blood circulating, but it works every muscle in your arms, neck and back. But then I wondered if these strips were to prevent terrorists or robbers from driving up to the front of stores without shaking something in their pea-brains loose, causing them to re-think their lives of crime. Finally, I understood why those bands were governemnt-required installations. Someone in the government purchased trillions of metal buttons and a lot of yellow rubberized paint some years back and there has been a secret committee meeting for all these years, trying to find a way to use these wastrel materials. So, the next time you go shopping with the hopes that everything you purchase will remain unbroken or unbruised as you travel back to your car, buy only what you can carry, don't wear tipsy high-heeled shoes, or bring along enough friends, kids or other family members to help you carry out and carry on with all your purchases intact. Personally, I think all those yellow buttons look like evil little smiley faces and they are having the last laugh as we jostle and jolt across their surfaces...
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Excuse me, pardon me, oh dear...
I have a case of the hiccoughs (or as the lazy or letter-stingy would say hiccups). I don't have the usual kind of hiccoughs that are dainty and slightly embarrassing. No, I have the kind of hiccoughs that make old people startle and horses whinny and rear up.
People think I'm having a heart attack. At least if I were, I'd have some excuse for making such a racket and scaring dogs, cats, small children and the homely of the brave. When my children were smaller (younger), they thought I was an amusement
--as long as my hiccoughs remained at home or inside the car with the windows rolled up, but my hiccoughs have a life and schedule of their own and they show up at odd and inconvenient times...and sometimes in public. When I was working in an office and answered the phones frequently, I lived in fear of having a case of these heinous hiccoughs. And on a few occasions, they came unbidden and I hiccoughed in some poor, innocent and unprepared individual's ear as I answered the phone. Some individuals found it hilarious and others wondered if they needed to hang up and call the EMT--this was in the days before 911 and cell phones.
My hiccoughs aren't the kind that regular people have--the small, quick chirpy noise from the throat. My hiccough sounds like someone is being tortured--kind of like the little slugs in the movie, "Flushed Away". I emit a high-pitched, very loud, strung out, shrieking sound. It sounds painful...and it is. It hurts, and if I start to laugh (because it does sound pathetically funny), that makes it hurt more, so I try not to laugh. I am usually unsuccessful. Whenever I have a case of the hiccoughs, I always start immediately to try all the "how to cure your hiccoughs" remedies. I hold my breath, but the shriek-cough just bursts through and trying to hold it back is also painful. I try scaring myself (if no one else ugly and weird is handy) by looking in the mirror, but that makes me laugh and then I encounter pain and no hiccough stoppage. I've tried sneaking up on myself, but that never works because my awareness level is above that of a newt, so I always see myself coming. I look at scary pictures, but that starts a whole philosophical thought process going and I then have the hiccoughs and a headache from trying to figure out why people want to look bizarre or do strange things on purpose. I've tried breathing into a paper bag, but, after having a case of the hiccoughs post-pizza, I've never repeated this remedy. I now know that you can't stop the hiccoughs by inhaling your own bad breath, but you can feel grossed out... I finally try my best remedy--drinking water from the opposite rim of a glass. The concentration level is intense and what follows the first attempt is a mild bath of water spilling onto my neck and chest which diverts my attention, causes me to sputter with what little water actually went into my mouth and to chide myself for the big mess I've just made. Voila. My hiccoughs have disappeared. I am grateful. The strangers around me are grateful (including my children who have by this time disowned me) and the dogs and cats can now allow their ears to return to a more natural state instead of sticking up in the air like little, pointy rocket ships!
But these hiccoughs are not only shrieky, they're sneaky. Just when I think it's safe to answer the phone, go out in public, become sociable once again, they return with a vengeance, just like Jack Nicholson in "The Iceman Cometh". Oh, maybe if I watch that movie's scary parts, I'll be permanently cured, or at least I'll pass out from fright and my hiccoughs might pass out too. Meanwhile, I will keep a glass of water or a picture of Gene Simmons without make-up handy so I will be ready to do battle with my slug-imitation hiccoughs whenever they decide to pay me a visit.
People think I'm having a heart attack. At least if I were, I'd have some excuse for making such a racket and scaring dogs, cats, small children and the homely of the brave. When my children were smaller (younger), they thought I was an amusement
--as long as my hiccoughs remained at home or inside the car with the windows rolled up, but my hiccoughs have a life and schedule of their own and they show up at odd and inconvenient times...and sometimes in public. When I was working in an office and answered the phones frequently, I lived in fear of having a case of these heinous hiccoughs. And on a few occasions, they came unbidden and I hiccoughed in some poor, innocent and unprepared individual's ear as I answered the phone. Some individuals found it hilarious and others wondered if they needed to hang up and call the EMT--this was in the days before 911 and cell phones.
My hiccoughs aren't the kind that regular people have--the small, quick chirpy noise from the throat. My hiccough sounds like someone is being tortured--kind of like the little slugs in the movie, "Flushed Away". I emit a high-pitched, very loud, strung out, shrieking sound. It sounds painful...and it is. It hurts, and if I start to laugh (because it does sound pathetically funny), that makes it hurt more, so I try not to laugh. I am usually unsuccessful. Whenever I have a case of the hiccoughs, I always start immediately to try all the "how to cure your hiccoughs" remedies. I hold my breath, but the shriek-cough just bursts through and trying to hold it back is also painful. I try scaring myself (if no one else ugly and weird is handy) by looking in the mirror, but that makes me laugh and then I encounter pain and no hiccough stoppage. I've tried sneaking up on myself, but that never works because my awareness level is above that of a newt, so I always see myself coming. I look at scary pictures, but that starts a whole philosophical thought process going and I then have the hiccoughs and a headache from trying to figure out why people want to look bizarre or do strange things on purpose. I've tried breathing into a paper bag, but, after having a case of the hiccoughs post-pizza, I've never repeated this remedy. I now know that you can't stop the hiccoughs by inhaling your own bad breath, but you can feel grossed out... I finally try my best remedy--drinking water from the opposite rim of a glass. The concentration level is intense and what follows the first attempt is a mild bath of water spilling onto my neck and chest which diverts my attention, causes me to sputter with what little water actually went into my mouth and to chide myself for the big mess I've just made. Voila. My hiccoughs have disappeared. I am grateful. The strangers around me are grateful (including my children who have by this time disowned me) and the dogs and cats can now allow their ears to return to a more natural state instead of sticking up in the air like little, pointy rocket ships!
But these hiccoughs are not only shrieky, they're sneaky. Just when I think it's safe to answer the phone, go out in public, become sociable once again, they return with a vengeance, just like Jack Nicholson in "The Iceman Cometh". Oh, maybe if I watch that movie's scary parts, I'll be permanently cured, or at least I'll pass out from fright and my hiccoughs might pass out too. Meanwhile, I will keep a glass of water or a picture of Gene Simmons without make-up handy so I will be ready to do battle with my slug-imitation hiccoughs whenever they decide to pay me a visit.
Monday, August 13, 2007
But you've used up all my ink...
Can anyone out there tell me why receipts and order confirmation forms printed from the Internet are more than one page long and always in a gazillion colors? Is there some kickback scheme between the receipt designers and the ink cartridge cartels? Hmmmm. I just want a receipt that is in black ink, less than one page long, no logos, no cartoons, no hyper-graphics, just "here's what you bought, how much it cost, when it will ship, the cost of shipping, the order number and an 800 number to call to track or check on an order." I don't think that's asking too much. But for whatever cosmic crashing reason, all the receipts and order confirmations I print out could serve as TV test patterns for "best display of the most colors and nuances of colors used on a single page"! And third in line in the ink splurging department is Mapquest. It likes to print a teeny, tiny map in multiple colors of streets and highways and public parks and rivers and other such not-interested-thank-you items on a full-sized piece of paper in addition to the only thing you really want which are verbal directions from your place to the place you want to go. And just try stopping your printer mid-map. The printer pretends it "hears" you, and then it continues to print, print, print until it gets to the next to the last line on the page and then, "bingo" it stops. Thank you ever so... If Alfred Hitchcock were alive, he'd be writing all kinds of murder mysteries involving computers driving people crazy enough to strangle the life out of the local Staples sales clerk to whom you pay hundreds of dollars weekly for ink cartridges just so you can have colorful receipts and order confirmations in your "pending" file. But, alas, he has already left this world and he wisely did so before the age of computers took over and forced us to work two jobs (or hold up the local grocery store) just to pay for the new software, the latest flat screen, the megalolly memory card or those pesky ink cartridges... Maybe we can start a grass-roots protest to force the Amazon.coms of the world to return to the black and white era...where Mr. Hitchcock would feel very much at home.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Are the stars out tonight...
Tonight is one of several nights when we can see a spectacular display of comets and meteors. Having read this on AOL, I duly put it on my calendar for tonight and tomorrow and then sallied forth from the comfort of my house into my backyard to watch said "light" show. The AOL site said to find the darkest place for viewing with the least light pollution or overhead street lights, etc. to maximize the effect. I live in a smallish town so light pollution is not a big deal here--not like NYC or other urban places that are sucking all the energy out of the earth in order to light up buildings all night that are empty and unproductive during the overnight hours. Nope, YC is not a burb of anything and gets pretty dark at night when all of us hicks blow our candles out and head to bed...just kidding, we do have electricity here. And, if we forget to blow out our candles, our houses burn down, but that's another story. Anyhoo, I thought I'd go into my backyard, sit in a chair and enjoy nature's fireworks tonight. I walked out my kitchen door into the garage--trying to avoid turning on any lights so I could get the maximum benefit, I crashed into my recycle garbage can and spread refuse every which way. I turned the light on so I could clean up the mess and then I grabbed a flashlight, turned off the light and opened the door from my garage into my back patio. It was very dark out there. Perfect, I thought. Now I can have a good view of the sky. I stepped onto the patio and my motion detector lights instantly came to life. So much for not having any peripheral light to spoil the sky show. I had to wait about 3 minutes for the lights to go off. I guess my brain was waiting too because I stood still, not moving a muscle, thinking that somehow the motion detector lighting would figure out I needed the dark back and would turn itself off faster. It didn't. Finally, the lights blinked off and I silently shouted "Huzzah". But, as soon as I moved again to take a chair to my side yard the lights came on again. Obviously the light bulb in my skull was no match for the one above my patio door. At last I was ready to watch and my security lights had turned off. Unfortunately, I forgot about my night blindness and the length of time it takes for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I spent many an hour in planetariums with my children, staring into blurry darkness while everyone around me oohed and ahed over the constellations, the summer and winter skies, etc., and all I saw was what appeared to be a dark gray blanket on the ceiling. Knowing that it was late and I was tired, my options were--be stubborn, stick it out and possibly find myself slumped over in a lawn chair at dawn with no recollection of any meteor or comet sightings, dew forming on my rumpled clothes and bugs playing tag amongst the three hairs on my head or go inside and plan better for tomorrow night. The stars can wait...
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
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