Friday, June 24, 2011

Survivor Show




When the concept of this television show was first introduced, I seemed to miss the part about the people getting voted off.    I honestly thought they were going to stick 14 people on an island and fly back six months later to see who was left. 

After all the stupidity, arrogance, preening and showing off on that ridiculous show, I am actually disappointed that my original misunderstanding was wrong.  

How can they call it a Survivor show when these people are surrounded by a camera crew, food and water, medical personnel and the like? 

All they are surviving is a vote.  Big deal.   They get voted off.  Where is the sport in that?  All they are doing is playing to the camera and the audience.   What if someone actually fell down and broke their leg?   In true survivorship, that person would limp for the next four months or expect his/her fellow show members to craft a makeshift cast out of bamboo leaves and tree gum until it heals.  

This show should be like Lord of the Flies.  Exist for the sake of existing, not because Americans have nothing better to do than sit around giving these people the attention they crave but do not deserve.  "Hey, look at me, I can tie a bandanna around my head, sweat a lot, swear at other people and be all big and scary.   I can cut down a tree and overtake a coconut.  I can fish with my bear hands wear sandals on the beach.   And then I can turn and smile at the camera.  Because that is why I am here."

Surviving isn't a popularity contest, who can manipulate who, sit around a camp fire and talk trash about each other, then let’s all raise our hands in proper democratic fashion and vote off the person who pisses us off the most.   

B-O-R-I-N-G

When they fly the people to an island, leave them there without the camera crew, the food and medical personnel, then maybe I’ll start watching. 

Ask our soldiers in Iraq what surviving is about.  They'll tell you.  And they ain't gettin' $1 million for their horrific experiences, you can count on that.  Where our soldiers are, people are fighting for their lives, not a silly vote.   Where our soldiers are, people do die.   This television show in comparison is an insult to them and all they go through overseas.   Makes me sick. 

Friday, June 17, 2011

Tomato – Tam-ah-to


I heard the word HUSKY the other day.   To most people, it will immediately bring an image of the beautiful blue eyed dog that originated in Siberia.   Right?



Not for me.  When I heard the word HUSKY, I immediately flashed back to being an overweight nine year old shopping for school clothes.  




  

Therapist on line 1, Michele, your therapist is on line 1.   


Sunday, June 12, 2011

I'm This Many Years Old

Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday dear me-ee
Happy birthday to me!

If you haven’t guessed by now, today is my birthday!    I have never really been fond of them.   Birthdays are reminders that we are getting older, but on the other hand birthdays are also a reminder that we are getting older. 

You think I’ve already lost my mind in my advanced age?  No, no.  What I mean is that birthdays are a way of reminding us that we are lucky enough to complain that we are getting older because it means we are still alive!  

And just how many years have I got to complain about?   I am proud to say it is my milestone birthday of 480 months!

Yes, I gave it to you in months.  Why?  Because I like to be annoying.   Just like all those new mothers that do the same thing.   They bug the hell out of me.   I am trying to be nice and coo over their child (whom I will likely never see again)  and I politely ask how old is the dear diapered devil.  

I am then rewarded with a math problem as an answer.    “Little Herman is 14 months old.”   So then I am forced to take my shoes off and count to see how many years that is.   14 months, 16 months, 21 months.  

My favorite is 17 and a half months old.    Now I have to whip out my calculator and compute the square root of idiotic divided by the number of times the moon orbits the earth multiplied by how many times I regret asking the “how old is he” question, all the while pretending not to be completely annoyed with one of Dr. Spock’s clan members.

So here I am, the big 4-8-0.   Wish me well, as I wish you well back – without saddling unto you a math problem!

And if you want to send me birthday gifts, I like diamonds, emeralds and Arnie’s Dutch Chocolate Torte!

P.S. – A shout out to my oldest nephew, Spenser.  He just hit the milestone age of 252 months!   You da man!

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Black Birds of Death


Is it just me or are the black birds getting larger? 

Not the Saffron-cowled blackbird (Xanthopsar flavus), nor the Scarlet-headed blackbird (Amblyramphus holosericeus).  And not even the oft-discussed and snuggly Yellow-hooded blackbird (Chrysomus icterocephalus).  No, none of those commoners. 

I am talking about the true original American blackbird – the North American Roadkill Blackbird (ieatdisgustingdeadthingsacus).

I was driving along the freeway last week, minding my own business trying to get an SUV off my bumper when suddenly one of these birds swooped down out of the sky and took down a cow!   Scout’s honor, it’s the truth!

Okay, so I wasn’t a Scout, which means I am free to tell tales like that one.  But seriously, have you noticed how big these things are getting?    On the side of the road, picking away at nature’s forgotten auto accident critter-victims?  These birds dwarf turkeys for crying out loud.  

I am always afraid that one of them is going to go kamikaze and suddenly fly in front of me as I am driving by.   Because you know what?    I’d be calling a tow truck and the bird would causally fly off looking for its next meal.   There should be a separate collision limit on our auto insurance policies for having a run in with one of those things.

I just wonder if the scientists are noticing this phenomenon.   Are they studying the ever increasing girth of Roadkillicus?   Or is this going to turn into one of those horror movies where I am the only one who notices the phenomenon and gets killed off by the creatures in the first act before anyone fully understands that there is a problem. 

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.   

Friday, May 20, 2011

A Bicycle Built For Who?

My husband recently had the idea of going on a bike ride.
It was one of the few sunny days we've seen in what feels like 12 weeks.   So, we packed up the water bottles, cell phones, keys, garage door opener, jackets and sunglasses.  

It was a lovely ride up steep hills, in and out of traffic, around rollerbladers and dodging the occasional unleashed canine.    We took a trip on the Kent Trails.    The trees are just starting to fill in, but still have empty spots here and there.  So the sun kept peeking in and out of the trees, blinding me periodically like some strobe light trying to send me into nature-induced seizures.

Panting, sweating and squinting, I made it to a resting point, where hubby allowed me to rest for 45 seconds, and then we headed back up the path toward home.  

I do have to ask the bicycle manufacturers who designed the seats on those contraptions.   I don't know about yours, but my seat has managed to find places on me that my doctor has yet to reach!    What makes me laugh is that mine is cushioned.  Who would know?   As soon as I put my fat seat on the bicycle's tiny seat, it feels like I am trying to hatch a brick egg.  

Blissfully, the ride was finally over.  I had bumped and bounced over every sidewalk crack and pothole in the county, ending up in our driveway and limping my way back into the garage.   Glaring at my beloved, I simply grabbed my hind quarters and announced "My butt hurts."



Sunday, May 15, 2011

Manage Your Perspective


Glass is half empty:  For every Friday, there is a Monday lurking just around the corner, waiting to shoot a spitwad at you.  

Glass is half full:   But for every Monday, there is a Friday waiting in the wings, arms open wide,  wanting to greet you and guide you into a happy go lucky weekend. 

Which one are you?  

I’m neither.  I’m too busy wondering what’s in the glass. 


Saturday, March 26, 2011

Nothing That Can't Wait Until Later

   My husband and I went out to dinner this week to celebrate his break from the Capitalist Machine (aka his job).   We went to a local steakhouse.  Ok, it was a chain restaurant, but since it is in our neighborhood, that makes it “local”. 

   Anyway, we sat down at the bar while we waited for our plastic remote control thingy to buzz that our table was ready.  We ordered two wines, clinked glasses and sipped.  I set my glass down and glanced over the bar area.  There was a couple at a table nearby.   Both the man and the woman were texting on their cell phones.  When they were done, they set the phones down in front of them.  Why?  Why not put them back in their pockets?

   Then I watched a couple sit down next to us.  The woman was texting something irrelevant to someone of little importance while her husband just stood there being ignored.  Truth be told, he didn’t look much like he cared that he was thrown over for a keyboard the size of a fingernail.   

   Right next to that couple was another couple.  The man, a military looking jock with a buzz cut, sat there manipulating his blackberries while his girlfriend sat next to him literally with her mouth open, in a fog.  I watched her for a full minute.  Her hand was keeping her head up, her eyes were unfocused staring at nothing.   She didn’t blink the entire time I stared at her.   Next to her, he just typed away.  

   Back to the couple next to us, she finally finished whatever conversation she was having and put the phone down in front of her.   She took a sip of wine, glanced down at the phone.  Said something to her husband, looked at the phone.  Although she finally set it down, it still dominated her interest.  

    Once we were seated, I looked around.  The couple in the booth next to us munched away, but both had a phone on the table in front of them.  They each periodically picked it up to check on it.  I have no idea what they were looking for or hoping to find.   And I didn’t really care. 

   Meanwhile, I sat at our table with my husband, my best friend.   I wanted to hear what he wanted to tell me.  He was sharing his last day with the company to whom he has given 20 years of his life.  He told me how he said goodbye to his friends, he talked about what he will do in the next few weeks.  He mentioned a couple jobs he would like to pursue.  

   And I soaked up every word.  I love the sound of his voice, I always have.   I love to watch him when he talks about something that excites him.  And I think his eyes are beautiful.  I adore the way he looks at me. 
I was there to spend time with my husband, not my stupid cell phone.  I wanted to know what HE had to say, not what someone else can wait until later to tell me.  

   I abhor the use of cell phones in a place people go to be together and share thoughts with each other.  Why go out and be together if you are just going to sit there checking your stupid phones just in case you hear something more interesting from a person you aren’t even with.  What the hell can’t wait until later? 
If I had pulled out a phone and started checking it while my husband was talking, what message would that have sent to him?   That what he had to tell me wasn’t very important and in the middle of a conversation, I was seeking other companionship by checking my phone to see if someone more fascinating was trying to get in touch with me.   

   Why on earth would I want to send that terrible message to him?  I went to dinner with my husband and during that dinner, I wanted to focus on him and I wanted him to focus on me.  
It is just so disrespectful to the person you are with to keep checking your stupid phone.   Pay attention to the person you are with. You are with them for a reason.  

   Hang up your damn phone.  Turn it off.  Put it in your pocket.  Don’t look at it for an hour.  Quit worrying that you are going to miss something.   Cuz you know what?  You aren’t.  Life isn’t that interesting to require an update every 10 minutes.  You are not that interesting and neither are your friends.  You aren’t going to die if you don’t hear about Betty Sue’s breakup until tomorrow morning.  Just chill.

    We went to the mall today and saw the same thing.  We got a slice of pizza in the food court and sat down to watch all the techies play with their stupid phones.  There was one table of teenage girls that just made me laugh out loud.  All three girls just sat there not talking to each other because they were all texting on their phones.  If you think about it, each girl was with two of her friends, but that wasn’t enough.  Each girl had to pull into the moment someone from another galaxy or zip code because what, her two tablemates were boring?  They weren’t enough stimulation?  Then why be with them?  

    I don’t know, maybe its just me.  But I think you should focus on the person across the table from you. Make that person feel like you find them as interesting as you find your phone.  Respect them by listening to them, making eye contact when they speak, laughing at their jokes and showing them you enjoy their company.  Make them feel loved and important.     

    And if you do keep checking your phone, then leave your friend and go sit on park bench all by yourself.   Obviously the person you are with isn’t important enough to require your full attention.   So just go somewhere that you can be alone with your phone.  Snuggle up to it, have dinner with it.  Text until your thumbs fall off.   I don’t care.  Know why?  Because I am at home, nice and warm with a man who enjoys me just because I am me.

     I love the one I’m with.  At least who I am with is human.   Who do you share your nights with?  


Thursday, March 24, 2011

If You Open It - They Will Come

I was doing my shift at the kitty shelter last night, Focus on Ferals.  One of the residents, Kipton, is on medication this week.   I have to put a little bit of wet food (otherwise known as Gourmet Puree) on a plate, then pour the powered medication over it, mix in all the yummy pharmaceutical goodness and feed it to him.   

Well, the other cats know that what I don't feed to Kipton, they get.  I barely picked up the can and the alert went out!  They started moving toward me, paw by paw, inch by inch.  

I then opened the can and that did it!  The frenzy started.   "Mew", less polite was the "Meow, ahem, I said, me-OW!", and the totally pushy "Hey you there girly human, I am RIGHT HERE!".  Such language...

I started scooping the goop onto some paper plates and they were yelling and closing in on me and one even tried to climb my jeans!  

I suddenly felt like Tippi Hedren in The Birds!!!

they are so cute...



Sunday, March 13, 2011

Daylight Savings - Mind Trick or Real Savings?

Spring forward.  So it will be darker in the morning but stay lighter later.   
All we did was shift the light, not extend it or save it. 

There are still 24 hours in each day.   And we still slept 8 hours last night.  Even if the clock when we woke up says we woke up an hour later.   It was still 8 hours.  If you went to bed at midnight and woke up at 9:00, it is still only 8 hours.  You are not more rested or less rested because the numbers on the clock reflect a different time.  

 I found an article on National Geographic that states that we really aren’t saving any energy by shifting the daylight.  That was the original notion by Ben Franklin oodles of years ago.  And it was again the notion when we extended the amount of months that we live under the premise of daylight savings.   

Yes, it is lighter longer, but now we are waking up in darkness again, so we are using the energy in the morning instead of the evening.  Wash out.  

I am not complaining.  I’ve learned to live with it.  I’m just saying, using the word “savings” is a marketing gimmick.  Still 24/7/365.  No matter how you tick off the minutes of the clock and if your lights are on while you are watching the minute hand.  

Don’t be late for work tomorrow!