Relax...

Buckle your seat belts: it's time for a trip in the Way-Back Machine.

Oh man, this song was the shiznit back in the day. Back when I used to go dancing*. You gotta crank it really loud for best effect. You may wish to slam a couple of white russians first.

Rating: no bad words, but the subject matter is definitely adult

Relax,Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Welcome To The Pleasuredome

Wow. I got a hangover just from listening to it.

I wonder what the guys in the band tell their kids when they see that video now. Repeat after me: Do as I say, not as I did....
;)

* ...that would be during the Reagan administration.
 

Milestone

Release the pigeons!

I've lost 10 lbs!

I now weigh* what's shown on my driver's license.

Small steps, small steps.

* ...first thing in the morning after going to the bathroom, before breakfast, buck nekked. No, I don't usually drive that way, but let's not split hairs.
 

Would'a, could'a, should'a

One interesting side effect of getting a "do over"; say, having a baby shortly after your only child turns 16, is that you get a chance to review your Parental Would'a-Could'a-Should'a List: those things you always told yourself you'd do differently if you had a chance to Do it All Over Again.

I'm eight years into my "do over" and it's been an... illuminating exercise. For example, I learned that 16 years did not alter my lack of enthusiasm for playing board games. Or playing blocks/dolls on the floor. Also, those extra years did not turn me into a morning person; surprisingly, almost two decades later I found that I still lacked the ability to leap cheerfully out of bed when the toddler wandered into the bedroom room chortling "Done seeeepin', Mama!" at 5:00 am. That's Five O'Clock in the Morning, folks. Ugh.

I still fail miserably at making kids pick up their stuff with any sort of consistency. Young Son, like his big sister, is simply not learning the value of a tidy bedroom from me. I do not enjoy housework [severe understatement alert] and nagging someone else to do it is even worse*! You have to spend energy remembering to nag, and then on the nagging proper, repeatedly, and the shit is still on the floor. Where's the value in that?

And there's school. I'll say it: I hate homework. I hated homework 40 years ago and I hate it now. I go limp with despair every time the large white fundraiser-of-the month envelope, complete with catalog of useless yet expensive crap and comically long order form, shows up in the backpack**. I still haven't joined the PTA and I don't volunteer in the classroom***. And I freakin' loathe packing lunches. I pay $40/month for Young Son's hot lunch just so I don't have to slap two pieces of bread together with mayo and sliced cheese.

Sad, but true. Then, as now, I am not an Über-Mom so much as a Good Enough to Keep the Authorities Away Mom.

However... there is a silver lining of sorts, or maybe that's just the shiny side of the aluminum foil. I pinned a lot of my (perceived) failings in my parenting of Lovely Daughter on the fact that I was young. Now I have incontrovertible proof that most of those shortcomings are still present well into (read: on my way out of) my forties. Kinda depressing, yeah, but at least now I can stop flagellating myself. For good or ill, it's the same as it ever was around here.

What a relief, huh? Something to be said for consistency, I guess.

* ...until I step on a Lego so hard that it leaves an imprint on the sole of my foot, as happened just the other day. BTW, dark oriental-print rugs are not conducive to defensive Lego-spotting.

** Small improvement here as they no longer expect the kids to go door to door.

*** I did recently chaperone a class field trip. I believe it was the first time ever.

Things to consider before calling tech support

I didn't write this, but I sure as hell wish I did. It came from Best of Craigslist*.

----------

Posted to Best of Craigslist, 2007-04-27, 11:38PM EDT

Hi! I'm your Technical Support Rep. I have a considerable 
amount of control over one or more important aspects of 
your daily life: television, telephone, and internet. 
Sometimes one, sometimes all three. Before we interact, 
I'd like to share some thoughts with you:
I am here, simply put, to fix your shit. 
My job is not complete until said shit is fixed. 
Please just help me fix this shit.
With that out of the way, know that I hate you 
exactly as much as you hate me. No more, no less. 
If you are at least relatively pleasant, I'm happy 
to help you - even to make small talk as I attend 
to the issue at hand. Conversely, if you are a 
total and complete jackass, I will make this the 
worst 10 minutes of your week.
Neither I, nor any of my coworkers, are out to 
fuck you. We are not idiots. We are college 
graduates in technical disciplines, the vast 
majority of whom are here to work their way up the 
IT ladder to more fulfilling positions. Sometimes 
we have off days, sure, but we know EXACTLY what 
we are doing. Note that this does not apply to 
anyone outside of our department. They are, in all 
reality, idiots who are out to fuck you.
So you've already unplugged the "internet box" 
and plugged it back in? Brace yourself, you're 
going to do it again. Most of the time I do this 
for a reason...unless you're a dick. Then I do it 
to see how mad it makes you.
Don't lie to me - I can tell you have a router. 
It isn't illegal.
To those who think they are "computer illiterate": 
The vast majority of the time, you are lovely 
customers: Patient, willing to learn, and most 
importantly, willing to listen. Thank you!
To those who think they are CompSci PHD's: 
The vast majority of the time, you are retarded: 
If you already cycled your equipment and it didn't 
work, why did it work when I made you do it again? 
If you are so well educated, stay the hell out of 
the queue so that people who need help can get it.
Supervisors don't have a magic wand that they 
can wave to make everything better. They are 
governed by the same protocol and use the same 
utilities as I do. In fact, supervisors are more 
likely to tell you to fuck off - believe it or not, 
they have other pressing issues to attend to. If 
a node goes down, they WILL put those 200 
subscribers before you in Priorityland.
Threatening to cancel does not intimidate 
us. We have an entire department that is paid to 
care about that, which means that I don't have 
to. Harsh? Sure, but I have more than enough work 
to do fixing shit, yelling at field techs, 
following up on cases, and explaining the concept 
of email to your grandmother that it won't cause 
me to lose any sleep.
It worked fine yesterday? Oh, then I must 
be wrong. Let me reconsider the 40 minutes I 
spent troubleshooting your Win98 box. Check 
it out: Shit breaks (see point 1); If shit did 
not break, I would be mowing your lawn instead 
of sitting in this office.
Speakerphone? Turn it the fuck off.
Don't call back and have another rep 
troubleshoot the same problem. He will read the 
notes I left about how you spilled coke into your 
cable box. Even if he didn't, he would come to 
the same conclusion, and more people with 
undiagnosed problems would be stuck listening to 
that god-awful hold music.
I am not blowing smoke when I say that I 
understand how frustrating it is to wait on 
hold, get transferred, and deal with bad agents. 
I too have called Dell's tech support line. The 
difference is that I actually DO care about your 
problem, so please just calm down before I kill 
your family.
My company has over 20 million subscribers. 
I handle a region of about 2 million. To this 
day, none of them have ever called in to say 
"I just wanted you to know that my shit is 
working correctly." Maybe someday?
So what can I help you with today?

----------

I think I've just found my new phone greeting!

Redacted Software; this is Liz. How may I fix your shit today?

What more can I say?

(See the original post here)

* I totally heart Best of Craigslist, but be forewarned; it's not for the faint of... heart.
 

Revenge (off-color alert)

Warning: Language and subject matter are not for those with... sensibilities.

Sorry, just saw this and I had no choice -- I had to post. Look who Jimmy Kimmel's fuc.. f'n! Way to go, Jimmy!

You go ahead and watch it -- I'll be in the restroom wiping my eyes and changing my pants.



Robin Williams, Huey Lewis, Carmen Diaz... awesome.

For those who missed the original:



True Confession: Since I first saw this, I've had this wicked fantasy of making my own version of the video. I mean, the syllables of Mr. B's name work out and everything! But that would be... inappropriate. Abso-f'n-lutely hilarious, but totally inappropriate.

Totally. Completely. Really bad. I'm serious. It would be in really poor taste.

Right?

p.s. Don't worry, Mr. B, you're safe. I lack the technology and the skills. But you gotta admit, it would be funny.
;)
 

A Year Ago, Part III

In which our protagonist learns if, what, and why.

The email was sent. Now the waiting.

Waiting sucks. Would he write back? When would he write back? What if he is out of town or something and didn't write back for a long time? Will I go nuts waiting for... something? What am I waiting for, anyway? And exactly why am I doing this again?

I don't remember much about the rest of that evening, but I can guarantee that I probably checked my email a bazillion times. And re-read his profile a gazillion times. At some point, my waiting ended, a year ago today.

------------

From: That Guy 
To: Me
Date received: February 24, 2007
Subject: EXCUSE me??

Look, lady, I don't know who you are or who 
you think I am, but... What? Who? Oh...

Hi, Liz. 8-)

Har yew? Any Evil Twin sightings? How's your life?

----------------

Cool!

I'll spare you the reams of email exchanged over the next week or two*, but it was a flood of catching up, comparing notes, comparing the contents of our medicine cabinets, comparing personality traits, testing each other's senses of humor, and all sorts of things. Sharing cat pix and kid pix and all sorts of odds and ends about ourselves and our lives. I was too chicken to make the first phone call so eventually he did. I was reassured to find that I recognized his voice.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, I realized that I was in a bind.

He could write, liked language, had a wide range of interests (shiny!), and had the requisite sense of humor. He knew me, at least on a casual level, and was still willing to engage. I knew him and was still willing to engage. Yeah, I found myself starting to like like him. And I couldn't get any indication of whether he was leaning the same way**. And why was I even thinking that way?

What in the hell was I supposed to do? How could I un-think those thoughts? Once the camel gets its nose under the tent flap, it's all over, you know. Someone's gonna get hurt.

I did the only thing I could do. Thrash, gnash, and wail over things in private and send (hopefully) fun and engaging email. Lots and lots of email. And it was good, in that painful, satisfying, sunburn-peeling, scab-picking sort of way. Every time he wrote back, I could breathe.

But what would happen if we, like, met? In person?

Somehow, despite (or maybe because of) my wide-open emotional state, I was already invested in this... whatever-it-was. I'd never done anything like it before. Could it survive a face-to-face meeting? And even if it did, how could it be anything but a disaster, given my fragile state?

Part IV: In which our protagonist takes it to the next level

* I have it all; every single one.

** I later found out that he pretty much prides himself on not emitting clues. Not helpful in this context. Not one bit.
 

A Year Ago, Part II

In which our protagonist finds something interesting on Match.com, despite herself.

The divorce was less than two months past and, not surprisingly, I was still in major emotional backlash mode. I kept having this sense of desperately sorting though 30 years of unmatched socks. Dirty socks. While wearing a blindfold.

But never one to leave a scab un-picked, I kept at the dating sites, constantly re-evaluating my search criteria, wondering if there was maybe just one particular factor that was knocking out all the good ones*. I did have slightly better results when I expanded the distance beyond my initial 50 foot radius, but that's about it.

Then... one day at work, a year ago to this very day, something caught my eye.

That one guy... doesn't he look familiar? Is it..? Oh man, you've got to be kidding me!

<flashback>
Waaay back -- almost 25 year ago, when Lovely Daughter was barely a toddler -- I was a young Navy wife working in a civil service job Back East. Being young and still fairly sociable, I soon found a kindred spirit, also married with a young child and a wicked sense of humor, who became my Evil Twin in short order. Oh, the fun we had!

Bit by bit we expanded our clique. One of our additions was this young single guy. As a really smart guy with a quiet demeanor (although he did have the requisite wicked sense of humor) he didn't date much; at least not that he told us**.

Wasn't long before we began including him in our Girls' Nights Out. He played a great straight man for our "female humor" and was very tolerant of our verbal abuse. He was a safe date for two married women, and we were safe dates for him.

Well, things changed, as is their wont. We had a couple of really good years before job changes and moves broke up the old gang. But I kept in touch with Evil Twin and she kept in touch with Our Guy.

Fast forward fifteen years. Hubby and I had recently moved cross-country, Young Son was an infant, and I'd just celebrated my 40th birthday. I managed to lure Evil Twin out for a visit to help me celebrate. She mentioned that Our Guy, married and divorced in the interim, was flying solo in the Big City; should she look him up? The notion of a Girls' Night Out Reunion with Our Guy was too much to resist. Emails were sent, plans were laid, and the three of us managed to meet for dinner. The Reunion was a success!
</flashback>

So... seven years later, there he was. Or at least I thought it was him. I clicked on the photo and read the profile.

Oh yeah, it's gotta be Our Guy. I have to tell Evil Twin -- she's gonna shit!

-----------

From: #2
To: Evil Twin
Date: Feb 23, 2007 11:20 AM
Subj: OMG... could it be?

Do you think this is him?? I just saw the pic on Match.com 
and it *freaked* me out! The profile mentioned something 
about chasing icebergs. It has to be him, right?

----------------

From: Evil Twin
To: #2
Date: Feb 23, 2007 2:10 PM
Subj: Re: OMG... could it be?

OF COURSE that's him!! Who else has that forehead? 
What fun! Hubby was standing behind me when the photo 
opened and knew who it was right away.

I think this is kismet. I'll have to go on Match.com 
to check him out. You lucky girl***.

--------------

From: #2
To: Evil Twin
Date: Feb 23, 2007 2:31 PM
Subj: Re: OMG... could it be?

Yeah, of course it is him. I must have been in 
denial. Sigh. Maybe I'll email him through match.com 
and freak him out.

-----------------------

So I pondered and pondered. I pondered all afternoon and into the evening. Since I was only a free member of the site, I couldn't email unless I paid for the privilege. Grrr! And what would I write, anyway? He would have no way of knowing that I was single. Hell, last he knew, I'd just had a baby. I certainly didn't want him to think I was trying to pick him up or anything (I wasn't, was I?) But it would be fun to chat about old times and maybe learn a little about the single life from a master practitioner.

After further pondering, several hours, and more than one rough draft, I was ready. I waited until Young Son was abed, plunked down my credit card ($35 for one month! Yikes!) and fired the first shot:

--------------

From: Me
To: That Guy
Date received: February 23, 2007
Subject: Hi!

How the hell are you? Long time no see, fancy meeting 
you here, and all of that. Why am I here? Long story....

Anyway, just wanted to wave hi at a familiar face 
in a sea of unknowns. Nothing like a blast from the 
past to shake up your day.

Did you ever build that house?

Would love to catch up some time...

-------------------

And so it began. Would he write back? What would he write back? Why was I doing this? And what was I doing in this handbasket?

Part III: In which our protagonist learns if, what, and why.

* Yeah, I know.

** Can't blame him; I certainly wouldn't have told us.

*** She was yanking my chain big-time here, in case you couldn't tell. She's like that.
 

AM Radio

We're talkin' old school, baby!

This song by Everclear will get me dancing around the room, no matter how foul my mood*.

Note: The audio and video are ever-so-slightly out of synch, but stick with it. Your patience will be rewarded.

AM Radio,Everclear, Songs From An American Movie, Vol. One

The thing I like best is that the timeline of the song maps directly onto my life. I was 10 in 1970, and I started college in 1977. And I definitely remember listening to the radio by my bed for hours waiting to hear my favorite songs.

p.s. Sister sez she was a little freaked out by the (creepy) band members faces on the old TV clips.
:)

* Not that I'm in a bad mood today... OK, maybe I am.
 

General Failure

My boss stuck his head into my office last week to tell me that one of the geeky email lists he's on is inhabited by people with really creative sigs. His favorite:

"Who the hell is General Failure and why is he reading my drive?"

I laughed.

Maybe you had to be there.


You know, even now, seeing that message on the screen makes my bowels loosen just a little.
 

V-Day Rant

[V-Day is long past but I still am compelled get this rant off my chest. Enjoy!]

Why, for the love of all things red and/or chocolate-y, do kids have to celebrate Valentine's Day in school?

Valentine's Day is a holiday about romantic love. Period. I don't care how many cartoon characters are involved, this should be big-kid time. Right? Or am I missing something here? There is no sane reason to promote this romantic agenda to kids who still use crayons at school. Hell, they're already bombarded with mushy-kissy-goo-goo messages on TV and in the stores. Can't we please leave it at that?

Yeah, I hear you. Get a grip,you say, it's not that big of a deal. Just a chance to have a classroom party, score some candy, and all that.

I disagree. There are lots of other excuses to have a party at school. Celebrate the Equinox, for heaven's sake. At least that could tie in with a science lesson. Celebrate President's Day. It'd be great! Happy Birthday, dead presidents, happy birthday to yoo-oou! Just about anything would make more sense than celebrating Nod-nod-wink-wink-break-out-the-leopard-print-thong Day.

Go ahead, call me a crab, but I believe that even in our enlightened, hyper-inclusive no-child-left-behind society, there is particular brand of early childhood awareness and disappointment that happens in grade-school classrooms all across the county on Valentine's Day. Can't we try to not actively promote those kinds of insecurities, at least until their feet touch the floor at the kitchen table?

At least think about it, would ya? You gotta admit, thinking about romantic love in that context is just plain mommy-why-is-that-man-hanging-around-the-playground creepy.

[Thanks. I feel better not having to hold that in for another year.]
 

Love songs rock!

Here's something to rock your Friday while Mr. B and I are frolicking about in warmer climes.


Accidentally In Love,Counting Crows, Shrek 2 Soundtrack

I always thought it was a cute little song, but lately it's taken on a whole 'nother meaning.
:)
 

Crazy on you

I had written this big long rant about how, every year, I get more and more creeped out by kids celebrating Valentine's Day in grade school*. I was all set to post it and be all crabby today... then I saw this clip from The Fisher King, one of my (and Mr. B's) favoritest movies.

Perry (Robin Williams) is an ex-professor who suffers a mental break after his wife's death. He becomes smitten with Lydia (Amanda Plummer) and follows her every day on her way to and from work. This is what he sees one day in Grand Central Station.

Thanks to carymc at List Of The Day for inspiration!

The Fisher King

Awwww.... so sweet. Don't you just love it?

We're taking off for a l-o-n-g weekend so I'll see you next Wednesday, although I might post Friday Rocks! if something strikes my fancy today**.

p.s. Happy V-Day, Mr. B!

* Still creeps me out though. Still might post it next week

** Other than Mr. B, that is.
:)

Fit to print

During a random blogwalk the other day, I wound up at One Sentence. A story in a sentence? That's a challenge I couldn't pass up. I took a line from a draft post I'm working on, spent some time whipping it into some sort of shape, and sent it in.

Guess what? I'm in! Last I looked, it was still new enough to be on the main page*, but you can read it here when it gets bumped off.
:)

* Codename: Just Me
 

Now that's customer service!

The poor ferry system has had a really sucky week. One of the two big boats on our run was damaged in a windstorm. Since there are too many boats in the yards right now (aging fleet, horrendous replacement costs, and so forth), there were no spare car ferries to be had so they brought on two passenger-only boats.

Hilarity ensured, as you might imagine when people's daily commutes are at stake.

But wait... it gets better. One of the passenger boats had a "hard landing" yesterday, forcing the cancellation of some evening commute runs. I'm sure that was tense, but as of last night everything seemed to be back on track for the morning commute.

This morning, I see an email from the ferry announcement list.

From: The Ferry System
To: Announcement List

The S-boat is having a generator problem and the 6:20am sailing from B-town and the 7:35am sailing from S-opolis are cancelled. Your next sailing will be the 6:30am sailing from B-town with the V-boat and the 6:00am from S-opolis with the K-boat.

Being a smart-ass of long standing, I was compelled to forward it to Mr B with a little comment. Part of my motivation was honorable though -- he does commute on the ferries and doesn't always see the alerts.

From: Me
To: Mr. B

Yay - more ferry follies! I'm guessing morale around the ferry system might be a little low this week.

A few moments later, I had a reply in my Inbox. That was kinda surprising since Mr. B usually doesn't spend hours on end staring at his Inbox like I do.

From: Ferry Agent
To: You

That would be a good guess.

Ferry Web Agent - Liz

Wha happa?!? Aw, shit. I hit 'reply' instead of 'forward'.

Yeah, I was slightly embarrassed, but relieved that I hadn't said anything mean. I was really impressed by the speed of the response and the subtle hint of humor in Ferry Agent Liz's response.

Grace under fire; now that's what I call customer service. You rock, Ferry Agent Liz! I hope next week is a better one for you and your fellow Ferry Agents.
 

We hartz catz

Got cheezburger?

Sister, Mr. B, and I have an embarrassing amount of cute kitty pix and overactive imaginations -- a dangerous combination. Game on!

My Special Ed


My Foamy & Young Son


Mr. B's Chuck


Mr. B's Buzz


Sister's Gracie & Hubby


None have made it to the voting page yet, but we'll keep checking. Obsessively.

Want moar? Vote on sum lolcats!
 

Special Birthday Edition

Surprise! We're breaking out the karaoke machine for this Very Special Birthday Edition of Friday Rocks.

So crank up the volume and have at it! Feel free to close the office door and dance around the room a little -- I promise I won't gawk. And whip out the air guitar while you're at it, wouldja?


Birthday, The Beatles, The White Album

Isn't YouTube da bomb?

Happy B'day, Mr. B!

Muriel meme

As advertised, Muriel found that her new Reflecto-specs allowed her to amuse herself for hours without moving a muscle...
as long as she didn't turn the page.

Looky looky! I'm doing a real live blogger thing!

Author Rosina Lippi is holding a contest over on her Storytelling blog to promote the release of her new book. So here's my entry. Wish me luck!

Click below to learn about The Pajama Girls of Lambert Square

Hey... waitaminnit! "Sharp, quirky, and deeply tender..."

That sounds like me! Although in my case it's more bruised than tender.
;)
 

A Year Ago, Part I

In which our protagonist takes her first tentative steps into the wacky world of online dating.

A Year Ago most of my non-working time was spent flat on my back on the couch clutching my remote. TiVo was my best friend and drug of choice. The ink was barely dry on the divorce decree. It was a scant five months after All Hell Broke Loose*, and I was dealing with a severe case of emotional whiplash. Ick. Yes, it was as unpleasant as it sounds.

Just to torture myself, I'd started poking around on Yahoo! Personals and Match.com to see if there was any reason to consider dating, ever. It was risk-free, easy to do with a laptop (laying flat on my back on the couch), and a lot less hassle than actually going out and interacting with g-g-guys.

First tricky bit was coming up with the criteria that would auto-magically produce potential matches to my exacting specifications. But once I'd checked all of my 'must-haves', the number of (alleged) matches within driving distance was shockingly small. The same suspects kept popping up over and over again, many on both sites. Reading their profiles left me... underwhelmed. And discouraged. And yet, relieved.

Second minefield, especially as a newly-hatched single adult**, was filling out my profile. It must've been a valuable personal growth exercise because it was bloody god-awful painful. I had no clear notion of what I wanted or who I was in this new context. I knew a lot about what I didn't want, but that's not an effective marketing technique, to say the least. And I had to have Young Son take my profile photo. That's just creepy.

I'll spare you the account of my fumbling attempts at connection and communication. Let's fast-forward to Lessons Learned, shall we?

1. As an introvert, the thought of going out (read: leaving my couch) to meet someone I don't know for the express purpose of sizing each other up for a romantic relationship is unimaginable, laughable, and could be considered torture.

2. I am an odd duck. But you knew that already.

2.a. As an odd duck, finding someone on a dating site who was interesting to me and might actually be interested in me, an average-looking yet fairly eccentric middle-aged white woman with a small child, is about as likely as finding a decent parking spot at the mall on Black Friday. As if!

Some weeks later (after an early phone conversation with Mr. B***) my hazy impressions of unease and distaste crystallized. I realized that IMHO, it pretty much comes down to this:

The Good News: On the bell curve of 'typical'****, about 95% of the population is under the fat part, within two standard deviations from the mean. If you are more-or-less typical and actually like meeting new people, odds are that eventually you'll find someone reasonably compatible on a mainstream dating site. And monkeys in a room full of typewriters will eventually type Hamlet.


The Bad News: That leaves less than 5% of us out here in the skinny ends of the bell curve. Say no more.

Nope, definitely not my bag, baby. I find even thinking about meeting new people way too stressful to search for (and through) that rare and elusive 5%. And to paint the picture an even drearier shade of gray, the things that make people atypical are... mmm... varied, to say the least, whittling down that measly 5% even further.

Sounds hopeless, no? Stay tuned!

Part II: In which our protagonist finds something interesting on Match.com, despite herself.

* Story for another day.

** Remember, the last time I was single, disco was king and I was not of legal drinking age in most states.

*** A grizzled and battle-weary online dating veteran.

**** Whatever 'typical' is. I can't define it, but most of us know it when we see it. Or more importantly, when we don't see it.
 

Who would you do?

OK, now that I have your attention...

My favorite local radio station plays a game called "Blatant Stereotyping".

A couple of times a week, they accost a random citizen on the street (or a good-natured celebrity over the phone) and ask them a series of questions. You know; hometown, magazines they subscribe to, dream job, stuff like that. Then toward the end they pause the playback and the listeners call in to guess the answer to the final question, to see how well they can stereotype the victim subject based on the rest of the interview.

My favorite question is 'If you could spend the night with one celebrity -- no guilt, no questions asked -- who would it be?'

Smacks of 'Who would you do', no? A decade or two ago I certainly woulda taken it that way, as the contestants do, but these days, being older and (sometimes) wiser*, I prefer to frame it as a 'sitting around the table in flannel jammies and fuzzy slippers, drinking scotch, telling stories all night' kind of thing**.

I've pondered the question quite seriously; probably more than would be considered healthy. Currently, my two main choices are Anthony Bourdain and Alton Brown.

I never said I was normal.

Oh sure, I have more base notions about certain celebrities from time to time, but many of them are significantly younger than I and that makes me slightly uncomfortable. So Tony and Alton are my go-to guys.

Yeah, I'd even stay up past my bedtime for them.

p.s. I promised you internet humor. Speaking of Matt Damon, wanna see something rude, vulgar, obscene, and obnoxiously hilarious? Click here.
WARNING: Contains decidedly adult language. Plan accordingly.

* And, sadly, significantly less confident in my ability to attract that sort of attention. sigh...

** Yeah, sure you do, Liz.
;)
 

Blank slate

I've started four posts today, none fit to print. I'm not saying this one is any more fit, but I do still feel compelled to post something, even if it's simply to reveal my complete and utter lack of inspiration.

I'm just tuned inward today, I guess. Like a black hole; nothing much coming out. At least nothing you can see.

If I'm still stuck tomorrow, I'll see if I can at least find some good internet humor to post.

See ya.
 

Hung up

I'm adrift. I feel I am simply not here today.

I'm feeling... resistant to interacting with people. As the day wears on, it's taking more and more effort to pull my thoughts together to produce speech. I guess I feel disconnected. Or on hold.

At the same time, there seems to be a lot of activity going on in my head. I find myself noticing the same thoughts -- mostly unresolved issues and outstanding action items -- drifting by, again and again. I've tried snagging a few for serious consideration, but I can't seem to think hard enough to get anywhere. I pick 'em up... and put them right back down. Catch and release. Good for fish, not so good for action items.

So here I sit, churning like a hard drive that hasn't had a fresh Windows install in several years. My mental Task Manager would probably show CPU usage at 100%. When that happens to a PC, folks say their computer is "frozen" or "hung up". Yeah, that sounds about right.

In PC-land, that usually indicates one process/program is out of control and hogging the CPU and/or RAM, bringing the rest of the system to a grinding halt. Sometimes killing that one process allows the system to recover without having to reboot.

Thinking about it that way, I have a notion of what the runaway process might be. Not sure I can stop thinking about it*, and since I don't drink, the only way I can think of to "reboot" involves climbing into the car and high-tailing it out of town. Or curling up in a ball with my remote and watching all seven seasons of Star Trek: Deep Space 9** back to back.

Neither of those are going to happen*** so I guess I'll just have to ride it out. Maybe completing some other outstanding action items would free up enough mental energy to let this process work itself out gracefully, without me having to skip town, literally or figuratively.

* Don't think about pink elephants!

** I told you I was a geek.

*** Besides, I noticed this morning I have a headlight out. Another action item! Damn!
 

Soy un perdedor...

Heard this on the radio the other day. Rocks... Friday... must... post....


Loser,Beck, Mellow Gold

Another of my favorite Beck songs. I play this one really loud when I'm feeling rebellious. Yeah, I'm pushing fifty and I occasionally still feel the itch. Gotta problem with that?

Hard to believe this song is almost 15 years old. I swear, Beck looks like he's 12. Hmmm... maybe he was.

Best lyric ever: "Get crazy with the cheese whiz" (time 2:14)