(CorningWare County, England) In court papers filed yesterday at CorningWare County Courthouse, Dish petitioned for divorce from Spoon citing irreconcilable differences. So far, neither Dish nor Spoon have been available for comment. Moon is also silent on the subject.
The controversial couple made headline news in 1765 when a domestic disturbance occurred at the Nursery. What started out as a Saturday night dance showcasing Cat and Fiddle quickly turned in to a commotion when Dish and Spoon accused Dog of making fun of them. Reportedly, tempers escalated until Cow stepped in to defend Dish and Spoon which made Dog bite Cow. Cow jumped really high and consequently broke a leg upon landing again. Dog defended himself, blaming moonshine as the cause of the fracas. It was during this commotion that Dish ran away with Spoon. And until this morning, all had been quiet at the Nursery.
As expected, CorningWare County was quite surprised at the news. Little Miss Muffett and Humpty Dumpty, longtime breakfast companions, expressed their dismay.
“We always thought they would be the ones to make it in this crazy world,” stated Dumpty. Muffett echoed his sentiment and relayed the news to Jack, Jill and Little Tommy Tucker.
Word of the divorce spread quickly throughout the Nursery, however, it was decided not to tell the Three Little Kittens at the moment. “We don’t want them to lose their innocence by this tragic news,” lamented Mary Quite Contrary.
Cat and Fiddle disagreed with Mary. “All the characters should know what happened. We all need to support the couple in any way we can. Mary always thinks she knows what’s best for everyone,” hissed Cat.
No stranger to controversy herself, Old Mother Hubbard, who recently came out of the cupboard, wished that the media would respect the privacy of Dish and Spoon.
Finally, Old King Cole was expected to make a statement but was detained at the last minute due to a labor dispute wagered by the Fiddlers Three.
Dish and Spoon’s initial court hearing is scheduled for the 30th day of September. It was learned that Dish has retained the services of Little Jack Horner while Spoon has fired Simple Simon and turned to Peter the Pumpkin Eater, who has found himself in a courtroom before on charges of illegal detention. Since then, he has attended rehabilitation and is now a pillar of the rhyming community.
All attempts were made to reach Cow who has been silent on the news. Sources say Cow is unwilling to speak about Dish and Spoon’s impending divorce nor the events that transpired that one starry night all those years ago.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Time Magazine Commemorates Michael Jackson
Daybreakers Movie Trailer with Ethan Hawke and Willem Defoe
If you don't like zombie-like vampires, the movie trailer for Daybreakers is not for you!
Ethan Hawke and Willem Defoe star in Daybreakers with Hawke as a vampire who may have found a cure for vampirism. The discovery is important as humans are being farmed and the blood supply is running low.
Daybreakers is a film from Lionsgate and is due to be released in January of 2010.
Ethan Hawke and Willem Defoe star in Daybreakers with Hawke as a vampire who may have found a cure for vampirism. The discovery is important as humans are being farmed and the blood supply is running low.
Daybreakers is a film from Lionsgate and is due to be released in January of 2010.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Twelve Arabian Nights
Living in Oregon, I have learned that the summer sun takes its slow, sweet time to show up and then it shines only briefly. As for the other nine months of the year, it’s like living in a freak gestational rain period where muck boots are fashionable and the color of your umbrella identifies who you are in the sea of buttoned-up coats and tightly-drawn hoodies. 
But it’s finally around the middle of June when days become less gray and the forecasts calling for rain start to fade in recent memory. Then maybe there’s a week that goes by without drizzle. Then a trend develops until we realize that it’s not a cruel joke, that the summer sun has made its three month appearance and it’s time to take advantage of it. Even Mt. Hood’s peak appears to reach up to the elusive sun with its conical welcome, trying to funnel down the glorious rays to grow its meadows and feed its trees for the hikers and campers to enjoy. But the best part of all about living above the 45th parallel is when daytime activities on the mountain are exhausted and it’s time to descend back in to the city for fun in the cool summer nights. And the best summer nights take place at a local Arabic café. 
Situated East of downtown and open 24 hours is a lively international café with a huge outdoor seating area. Coffee and tea (kawa and chai) are brewed all night long and exotic pastries and sticky baklava are rolled out on baking sheets. The smells of freshly roasted Arabica beans, toasted pistachios, cinnamon and cardamom weave through the grid patterns of the city blocks, impossible for passers-by to resist. It’s here where my husband and I like to meet up with our closest friends who are comprised of two other married couples. All of us have children who attend the same school and over the years, that association has grown into full-fledged friendships. 
Saturday evenings start out with greetings of peace (salaam! 
) to each other as we claim our favorite table next to the outdoor fireplace which is already lit in anticipation of inevitable coolness. It is followed by the ritual of the ordering of the kawa and chai in its many glorious forms. Tiny ceramic cups of steaming liquids appear with sugar cubes and small spoons lying innocently on the saucer. Animated conversations ricochet between us and are layered with good intentions like the Phyllo dough of the pastries we’ll order soon. But first, we eat kebab.
Kamran and Lisa always bring halal chicken and beef kebab from the Iranian restaurant up the street. Take-out boxes full of Basmati rice topped with saffron resemble the yellow of the quickly fading twilight. Roasted whole tomatoes ooze juice of a brilliant red. Grilled lemon halves are squeezed recklessly over the food. The kebab themselves are steaming and the spicy smells of Persia draw envious glances from neighboring tables who didn’t think ahead. Food and hours are consumed while viewpoints on politics, religion, education and family are given and treated with respect. As the night switches colors to midnight blue-black, there’s usually a rare moment when we’re all quiet at the same time. Cuddled up in fleece and our spouses, some of us are looking up at the scintillating stars. Some are taking drags off a hookah which smells like apples, peaches and mint.
I then declare that I am full; full of great food, sweets, caffeine, amitie and the comforting exhaustion that can only come from such a night. It’s now time to go so I rest my head against my husband’s shoulder and close my eyes. Most times, he reaches up and lays his hand against my exposed cheek and asks if I’m too cold. That’s my favorite moment when I love him all over again. He settles the bill for my caffeine addiction while we make plans with our friends for next Saturday night. Partings of peace (salaam!
) are given along with wishes for a good health. We hope that we will have at least until September together before inclement weather takes away our stars and our place next to the outdoor fireplace. But we know that the memories of our twelve Arabian nights with great friends will keep us company throughout the upcoming rains.
Monday, June 15, 2009
This is Real Love
This story was inspired by the couple who got engaged at the View Point Inn where my husband and I were enjoying our dinner not too long ago. The handsome young man was on bended knee when he asked the lifelong question and the beautiful young woman answered breathlessly with a yes in front of us all. It was very sweet.
My husband of seventeen years and I looked at each other, held hands across the table and smiled. Then he told me I had a little something in my teeth.
That, newly-engaged-couple, is real love. It's full of honest observations, little white lies and an appreciation of hygiene. It's about a longevity that comes from those real moments that sealcoat the vain fractures of an early-stage relationship.
Here is just a tiny, tiny glimpse of the Q & A's of our marriage over the years, but I won't tell you who is Q and who is A:
Q: Do my feet stink?
A: Yes, they really do. Jeez, change your socks.
Q: Honey, OMG, is that your morning breath?
A: Sorry, babe. It's reenacting Clash of the Titans with your morning breath.
Q: I'm not watching boxing again. Isn't there anything else on?
A: Just a few more rounds.
Q: Do I look fat in these?
A: Even if you did, I would never tell you.
Q: Both kids went to 7-11!?!?
A: Seriously? What, that's fifteen minutes...let's go!
Q: I really don't like watching boxing. Can we change the channel now?
A: It's almost over.
Q: Gravity is really nailin' me here.
A: I'll catch you when you fall. And you will fall.
Q: Can we just lie to get out of this dinner?
A: I won't tell if you won't tell.
Q: I don't want to go to work today.
A: Then don't. I won't either. We'll stay home.
(Then we both get up and get ready for work.)
Q: How many freakin' rounds are each of these fights?
A: Just a few. This guy's gonna go down soon.
Q: Can you really see my gray hair?
A: Ummm.....no. Well, maybe. Now that you mention it...
Q: Are you gonna make me watch the highlight reel of the stupid boxing match?
A: Yes, but it's not that long.
Q: Will you love me
forever?
A: Yes, morning breath and all.
Then I'll watch boxing with you.
OK.
My husband of seventeen years and I looked at each other, held hands across the table and smiled. Then he told me I had a little something in my teeth.
That, newly-engaged-couple, is real love. It's full of honest observations, little white lies and an appreciation of hygiene. It's about a longevity that comes from those real moments that sealcoat the vain fractures of an early-stage relationship.
Here is just a tiny, tiny glimpse of the Q & A's of our marriage over the years, but I won't tell you who is Q and who is A:
Q: Do my feet stink?
A: Yes, they really do. Jeez, change your socks.
Q: Honey, OMG, is that your morning breath?
A: Sorry, babe. It's reenacting Clash of the Titans with your morning breath.
Q: I'm not watching boxing again. Isn't there anything else on?
A: Just a few more rounds.
Q: Do I look fat in these?
A: Even if you did, I would never tell you.
Q: Both kids went to 7-11!?!?
A: Seriously? What, that's fifteen minutes...let's go!
Q: I really don't like watching boxing. Can we change the channel now?
A: It's almost over.
Q: Gravity is really nailin' me here.
A: I'll catch you when you fall. And you will fall.
Q: Can we just lie to get out of this dinner?
A: I won't tell if you won't tell.
Q: I don't want to go to work today.
A: Then don't. I won't either. We'll stay home.
(Then we both get up and get ready for work.)
Q: How many freakin' rounds are each of these fights?
A: Just a few. This guy's gonna go down soon.
Q: Can you really see my gray hair?
A: Ummm.....no. Well, maybe. Now that you mention it...
Q: Are you gonna make me watch the highlight reel of the stupid boxing match?
A: Yes, but it's not that long.
Q: Will you love me
forever?
A: Yes, morning breath and all.
Then I'll watch boxing with you.
OK.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
The Redhead's Ultimate Shopping Guide to Hot Summer Fun at the Beach
There is nothing more satisfying than being a pasty-skinned, freckle-faced redhead born in the beach-'shipping state of California. Right.
The Younger, Paler Years
The first billboard I remember clearly when I was little was this cute Coppertone baby with a gorgeous tan.
"Mom, why is that little girl so brown and I get so red?"
"Ummm...you don't have the pigment in your skin to make you turn brown."
"But sissy has it. You have it. Daddy's brown, too. Why not me?"
"That's pretty normal for redheads, dear. Say, that reminds me, let's go get you some sunscreen at Jemco. We're heading to the beach this weekend."
This is how I spent my younger years. I was always gooed-up with some sort of stinky by-product of a Crisco-like substance while the rest of my family smelled like coconuts. Delicious.
Ouch! This is Gonna Hurt
After my first serious sunburn (unexposed in the California sun for about an hour - 2nd degree burns), I resigned myself to a tan-less fate and gave in to it. It was the best decision of my life. My fair existence allowed me to create my infamous Redhead's Ultimate Shopping Guide to Hot Summer Fun at the Beach. Embrace your colorless destiny!
Shopping for the Beach, What Every Redhead is Wearing This Summer...And Every Summer For Life
Here are the most important highlights from the guide for your quick reference:
1. Go to your favorite clothing store and head to the swimsuit section. Pull off the rack the most beautiful, emerald green swimsuit. Buy it and give it to a friend who is able to tan. She will look fabulous.
2. Head over to the summer clothes rack. No, no, no. Put down the shorts! What you are looking for are cotton capri pants. Their length should hit you between your knee and your ankle. Perfect, buy them.
3. No tank tops. Ever. This part is a bit trickier because what you're looking for is a long-sleeved white cotton T-shirt. You may have to ask a salesperson where these might be located. They may not know. They may redirect you to the spaghetti-strap tanks. Do not give in.
4. Resist the flip-flops. Many redheads have forgotten to protect their feet only to have them singed in the sun. What you're looking for are espadrilles. They give you more coverage as a whole.
5. You're doing great and you're ready for the big finish. In the accessories section, you're going to pick out a nice floppy hat and UVA/UVB sunglasses. In the pharmacy section, you're going to want to get the commercial-sized sunscreen SPF 45+ and lip balm with sunscreen. Never forget to protect your thin-skinned lips. Trust me.
Beach Blanket Bingo is Good, Gambling With Your Skin's Health is Very Bad
Redheads, this guide will help you greatly. I know you are caught in a world full of tanning beds and spray-on-tans. Everyone is going tanning or has just finished tanning and they have the punch cards to prove it. Don't despair my fellow Victorian supermodels. Your attention to limited sun exposure is a long-term investment.
For you see, I just turned 43. My skin is unwrinkled and unblotchy. I do not have a leathery face. My smooth hands rival my daughter's hands. I think I am starting to see teeny-tiny crow's feet near my eyes, but that comes from smiling so much when I see a well-tanned 43-year old who looks 63. It's finally payback time!
The Younger, Paler Years
The first billboard I remember clearly when I was little was this cute Coppertone baby with a gorgeous tan."Mom, why is that little girl so brown and I get so red?"
"Ummm...you don't have the pigment in your skin to make you turn brown."
"But sissy has it. You have it. Daddy's brown, too. Why not me?"
"That's pretty normal for redheads, dear. Say, that reminds me, let's go get you some sunscreen at Jemco. We're heading to the beach this weekend."
This is how I spent my younger years. I was always gooed-up with some sort of stinky by-product of a Crisco-like substance while the rest of my family smelled like coconuts. Delicious.
Ouch! This is Gonna Hurt
After my first serious sunburn (unexposed in the California sun for about an hour - 2nd degree burns), I resigned myself to a tan-less fate and gave in to it. It was the best decision of my life. My fair existence allowed me to create my infamous Redhead's Ultimate Shopping Guide to Hot Summer Fun at the Beach. Embrace your colorless destiny!
Shopping for the Beach, What Every Redhead is Wearing This Summer...And Every Summer For Life
Here are the most important highlights from the guide for your quick reference:
1. Go to your favorite clothing store and head to the swimsuit section. Pull off the rack the most beautiful, emerald green swimsuit. Buy it and give it to a friend who is able to tan. She will look fabulous.
2. Head over to the summer clothes rack. No, no, no. Put down the shorts! What you are looking for are cotton capri pants. Their length should hit you between your knee and your ankle. Perfect, buy them.
3. No tank tops. Ever. This part is a bit trickier because what you're looking for is a long-sleeved white cotton T-shirt. You may have to ask a salesperson where these might be located. They may not know. They may redirect you to the spaghetti-strap tanks. Do not give in.
4. Resist the flip-flops. Many redheads have forgotten to protect their feet only to have them singed in the sun. What you're looking for are espadrilles. They give you more coverage as a whole.
5. You're doing great and you're ready for the big finish. In the accessories section, you're going to pick out a nice floppy hat and UVA/UVB sunglasses. In the pharmacy section, you're going to want to get the commercial-sized sunscreen SPF 45+ and lip balm with sunscreen. Never forget to protect your thin-skinned lips. Trust me.
Beach Blanket Bingo is Good, Gambling With Your Skin's Health is Very Bad
Redheads, this guide will help you greatly. I know you are caught in a world full of tanning beds and spray-on-tans. Everyone is going tanning or has just finished tanning and they have the punch cards to prove it. Don't despair my fellow Victorian supermodels. Your attention to limited sun exposure is a long-term investment.
For you see, I just turned 43. My skin is unwrinkled and unblotchy. I do not have a leathery face. My smooth hands rival my daughter's hands. I think I am starting to see teeny-tiny crow's feet near my eyes, but that comes from smiling so much when I see a well-tanned 43-year old who looks 63. It's finally payback time!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Dear Mammogram X-ray Technician, We Need to Talk
Dear Mammogram X-ray Technician,
I'm pretty sure you know that most women *cough* over 40 don't wake up on the morning of their mammography appointment filled with joy and happiness at the thought of the impending squishiness. I am writing to you today just in case you think we do.
I loathe going in and doing this but due to family history, I need to be proactive about my health. And so I make a date, pack my deodorant in my backpack, sigh, fight the traffic downtown, squeeze in to a parking space, sigh, check in with reception and sit outside your lab door, waiting for you, perky - perky you, to pop out and cheerfully call me back and ask me how my day is going so far. Big sigh.
And dear X-ray Tech, your voice was really loud when you gave me undressing instructions. I think the whole waiting room was now imagining me in my underwear. And hand to God you said make sure the gown opens to the back. I thought, why the back? I didn't question you though and did as I was told. Now you know why I gave you a look when you laughed and redressed me with the gown opening to the front (that's more like it!).
But here's the worst part. Between you and me, the body parts to which we are referring, NEVER see the light of day. Never. They have never tanned, cleaved, bounced or flirted with exposure so they didn't like to be manhandled so much by your cold, gloved hands. Could you please warm them up a bit next time before proceeding to second base with me?
And now the squishing. Your x-ray machine is a souped-up version of a medieval torture device. It's not enough to be placed into an unnatural position but then to tighten the plate even harder against said body part is just a bit sadistic. I know you saw me wince but you just kept tightening. Sick.
Four views taken. Four different levels of pain inflicted in less than 20 minutes. I'm hoping that you can understand my frustration right now as I feel that I have been round-house kicked in the chest by Bruce Lee himself. And it was so much fun to return to work clutching myself throughout the day and groaning. That's so not an awkward moment when Boss walks in and needs a file!
Anyway, I just wanted you to know how I feel. I guess until modern medicine advances to the point where you can just grab one and tell me to turn my head and cough, I'll have to keep seeing you in all those old familiar places, but only every two years. Sigh.
I'm pretty sure you know that most women *cough* over 40 don't wake up on the morning of their mammography appointment filled with joy and happiness at the thought of the impending squishiness. I am writing to you today just in case you think we do.
I loathe going in and doing this but due to family history, I need to be proactive about my health. And so I make a date, pack my deodorant in my backpack, sigh, fight the traffic downtown, squeeze in to a parking space, sigh, check in with reception and sit outside your lab door, waiting for you, perky - perky you, to pop out and cheerfully call me back and ask me how my day is going so far. Big sigh.
And dear X-ray Tech, your voice was really loud when you gave me undressing instructions. I think the whole waiting room was now imagining me in my underwear. And hand to God you said make sure the gown opens to the back. I thought, why the back? I didn't question you though and did as I was told. Now you know why I gave you a look when you laughed and redressed me with the gown opening to the front (that's more like it!).
But here's the worst part. Between you and me, the body parts to which we are referring, NEVER see the light of day. Never. They have never tanned, cleaved, bounced or flirted with exposure so they didn't like to be manhandled so much by your cold, gloved hands. Could you please warm them up a bit next time before proceeding to second base with me?
And now the squishing. Your x-ray machine is a souped-up version of a medieval torture device. It's not enough to be placed into an unnatural position but then to tighten the plate even harder against said body part is just a bit sadistic. I know you saw me wince but you just kept tightening. Sick.
Four views taken. Four different levels of pain inflicted in less than 20 minutes. I'm hoping that you can understand my frustration right now as I feel that I have been round-house kicked in the chest by Bruce Lee himself. And it was so much fun to return to work clutching myself throughout the day and groaning. That's so not an awkward moment when Boss walks in and needs a file!
Anyway, I just wanted you to know how I feel. I guess until modern medicine advances to the point where you can just grab one and tell me to turn my head and cough, I'll have to keep seeing you in all those old familiar places, but only every two years. Sigh.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Romeo IM's Bad News to the Fair Rosaline
romeo_dawg: O Sweet Rosaline! Knoweth that I loved thee once with all my heart and it grieveth me so to IM thee of this but that which has been foretold by fate to be true, is now true.
romeo_dawg: Me thinks you are online so why respondeth not? Doth thee not wish to know the tale? I love another rose with a love accept'd not by the house of Capulet. Alas the misfortune that has befallen thee and Paris! I pledge my devotion now to your cousin.romeo_dawg: We set sight upon each other at the gala this starry night. Then t’was fate’s hand that turn’d my chin to look uponeth the fair maiden at her balcony. ‘Tis no truer an arrow that pierced my heart such as the shaft that carved out its niche in my soul and made it her own. She profess’d her love and I mine.romeo_dawg: R, I confesseth not my love for Juliet to thee out of spite but only that you shall understand. She is my eternal soul mate without whom I shant live. We shall be married on the morrow, pray with Nurse's help!romeo_dawg sendeth thee a nudge
romeo_dawg: Sadly, I desire not to deliver this news to thee by IM, but thou wouldst not receive me in thy chamber. I understand thy hesitance to look upon me as my very presence may exciteth you to commit uncivil acts upon my loins.romeo_dawg: Why must you torture me, Rosaline? I beggeth thee to respond! T’was not our destiny to be star-cross’d lovers as that permission is granted only of fickle fate. The love betwixt us shall remain a passion that never was. I releaseth you of obligations previously assum’d, fair Rosaline.romeo_dawg: I am on bended knee, begging thee to forgiveth me but knowing sagely that thou shant. I shall informeth Paris of my impending marriage to his intended. But knoweth that until thy grave beckons thy bones to rest within, t’was not you, t’was me.
rosaline14: Romeo, I despiseth thee for attending my gala with Mercutio and Benvolio as I am certain they turn'd thy gaze from me and to her. I hope thee and Juliet die a cruel and tortured death forthwith. Do not maketh contact with me again.romeo_dawg is now delet'd from thy friends list.
VirtuousJuliet is now delet'd from thy friends list.
mercutiolivin'large is now delet'd from thy friends list.
BennieV is now delet'd from thy friends list.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
The Great Gazoo Versus Marvin the Martian: A Play in One Random Act
Three employees are in the resource room making copies, collating, and cursing the HP Plotter for not spitting out maps. Steve, all hopped up about going to the Wolverine premiere tonight, has been discussing comic book and cartoon characters all day. Mike, who is not a comic book fan but watches the Cartoon Network when nothing else good is on, could care less. It's obvious from Mike's pained facial expressions that Steve needs to change the subject. Mia, who has just dropped an unbound and now scattered version of a technical report, has just cursed under her breath and is busy gathering the newly uncollated report to start over.
Steve: You know there's three endings to Wolverine? Don't leave during the credits. Don't leave! Afterwards they show the next two alternate endings.
Mike: Don't care.
Mia: Dammit!
Steve: How can you not care? It's freakin' X-Men!
Mike: Dude, seriously, I don't care.
Mia: Don't step on my papers!
Steve: You have no idea what you're missing. I fandango'd my tickets awhile ago. It's going to be awesome. There's really nothing else going on this weekend.
Mike: Who cares? I'm picking up tacos and watching Bugs Bunny in my underwear.
Mia: Dammit, can you guys help me put this together? I need to have it to IT in 10 minutes.
Steve: Oooh, you're a swinger.
Mia: What?
Steve: Not you, Mike.
Mia: Oh. Help me!
Mike: Bugs Bunny is classic. Daffy Duck and tacos and underwear. Sweet.
Steve and Mike now realize Mia is clearly incapable of collating a report. They help her put the report back together which isn't easy because there are appendices and reference maps that need to be put back in the right place. Mia keeps checking the time. She swears again.
Mia: Guys, guys. Pay attention. That's appendix D. I need C.
Steve: Bugs Bunny sucks. The episodes are racist.
Mike: Still beats X-Men. Marvin the Martian is the ultimate villain.
Steve: What? He's a Roman god rip-off character with a weird voice.
Mia: HELP ME!
Mike: Whatever.
Steve: Whatever.
Mia: Aaargh....nevermind! It's faster if I do it myself. Steve, have fun at the movie but get out of my space. Mike, everyone knows that the Great Gazoo would kick Marvin's ass in a heartbeat. Marvin had a space modulater but the Great Gazoo had the freakin' doomsday device. The fact that Gazoo CHOSE not to use it proves he is more powerful than Marvin.
Steve and Mike furrow their brow and give each other a look. They hand Mia the papers they're holding and walk out of the resource room. Mia finishes the report and runs it over to IT who is able to post it on the company website just before deadline. Mia reenters her cubicle and overhears Steve and Mike who are now hotly debating the Great Gazoo versus Marvin the Martian subject. Mia leans back in her chair and finishes off her double-shot Americano. Definitely the Great Gazoo, she thinks, definitely.
Steve: You know there's three endings to Wolverine? Don't leave during the credits. Don't leave! Afterwards they show the next two alternate endings.
Mike: Don't care.
Mia: Dammit!
Steve: How can you not care? It's freakin' X-Men!
Mike: Dude, seriously, I don't care.
Mia: Don't step on my papers!
Steve: You have no idea what you're missing. I fandango'd my tickets awhile ago. It's going to be awesome. There's really nothing else going on this weekend.
Mike: Who cares? I'm picking up tacos and watching Bugs Bunny in my underwear.
Mia: Dammit, can you guys help me put this together? I need to have it to IT in 10 minutes.
Steve: Oooh, you're a swinger.
Mia: What?
Steve: Not you, Mike.
Mia: Oh. Help me!
Mike: Bugs Bunny is classic. Daffy Duck and tacos and underwear. Sweet.
Steve and Mike now realize Mia is clearly incapable of collating a report. They help her put the report back together which isn't easy because there are appendices and reference maps that need to be put back in the right place. Mia keeps checking the time. She swears again.
Mia: Guys, guys. Pay attention. That's appendix D. I need C.
Steve: Bugs Bunny sucks. The episodes are racist.
Mike: Still beats X-Men. Marvin the Martian is the ultimate villain.
Steve: What? He's a Roman god rip-off character with a weird voice.
Mia: HELP ME!
Mike: Whatever.
Steve: Whatever.
Mia: Aaargh....nevermind! It's faster if I do it myself. Steve, have fun at the movie but get out of my space. Mike, everyone knows that the Great Gazoo would kick Marvin's ass in a heartbeat. Marvin had a space modulater but the Great Gazoo had the freakin' doomsday device. The fact that Gazoo CHOSE not to use it proves he is more powerful than Marvin.
Steve and Mike furrow their brow and give each other a look. They hand Mia the papers they're holding and walk out of the resource room. Mia finishes the report and runs it over to IT who is able to post it on the company website just before deadline. Mia reenters her cubicle and overhears Steve and Mike who are now hotly debating the Great Gazoo versus Marvin the Martian subject. Mia leans back in her chair and finishes off her double-shot Americano. Definitely the Great Gazoo, she thinks, definitely.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
My First 100 Days of Obama's Presidency
I know President Obama has had his work cut out for him since taking his oath of office, but let me tell you, I've been busy as well these last 100 days. Here are the highlights:
1. I changed my user icon from the green eye to the green apple and I had a good reason for doing that. Change is good!
2. I did not get a new dog. I have my hands full with my cat. He's been on a tear and I mean that literally. A month ago, I came home from work and the carnage was everywhere. He "played" with all 8 rolls of Bounty paper towels that I had previously set down next to the pantry and it looked like it snowed in the house. These were the good towels, too, that you can tear off in small, medium or large pieces. That option doesn't matter anymore when they're shredded.
3. I made a controversial decision. Our analog television will die as expected in June and I will not be buying a converter box. Pleas were made but I will stand firm. It's for the greater good.
4. I worked on the economic situation. Of my checking account. I have got to gain control of my coffee habit. The paper trail leading back to my debit card is damning evidence. I had previously promised to stop buying coffee shop Americanos but have failed to uphold this policy.
5. I've improved foreign relations. My in-laws live on another continent and I always try to avoid the Skype camera when they are online. Now, I'm making an effort to communicate more with them, even when they ring through very early...on Sunday mornings...on my only day off.
So, Mr. President, it looks like we've both faced challenges this past 100 days. Of course, at the end of your four to eight years, you'll leave behind a legacy that will be written about in history books. I'll have a diary that I've kept, unless the cat gets to it.
1. I changed my user icon from the green eye to the green apple and I had a good reason for doing that. Change is good!
2. I did not get a new dog. I have my hands full with my cat. He's been on a tear and I mean that literally. A month ago, I came home from work and the carnage was everywhere. He "played" with all 8 rolls of Bounty paper towels that I had previously set down next to the pantry and it looked like it snowed in the house. These were the good towels, too, that you can tear off in small, medium or large pieces. That option doesn't matter anymore when they're shredded.
3. I made a controversial decision. Our analog television will die as expected in June and I will not be buying a converter box. Pleas were made but I will stand firm. It's for the greater good.
4. I worked on the economic situation. Of my checking account. I have got to gain control of my coffee habit. The paper trail leading back to my debit card is damning evidence. I had previously promised to stop buying coffee shop Americanos but have failed to uphold this policy.
5. I've improved foreign relations. My in-laws live on another continent and I always try to avoid the Skype camera when they are online. Now, I'm making an effort to communicate more with them, even when they ring through very early...on Sunday mornings...on my only day off.
So, Mr. President, it looks like we've both faced challenges this past 100 days. Of course, at the end of your four to eight years, you'll leave behind a legacy that will be written about in history books. I'll have a diary that I've kept, unless the cat gets to it.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Where Have all the Euphemisms Gone?
I no longer need a reason to defend my decision of letting my analog television die with the conversion to digital.
Last night while randomly channel surfing before bed, I heard enough straightforward sexual references to last awhile, example:
So are you gonna bang her?
Don't get a male assistant, [girlfriend] will just want to bang him.
What do ya think I'm gonna do, I'm gonna go bang her.
And this was network tv. The leaps and bounds made from when "have sex" was allowed to be heard on television to flat-out "banging" has been quite a joyride for some. I hate it.
The woman is normally the bang-ee with casual lover/man being the bang-er. Not that I would accept the other way 'round either. I think we're just one digital conversion away from an all out free-for-all in raunchy language.
Yes, I turn off my tele when I'm not happy with it. But you know it seeps in to collective consciousness, to the point where "banging the slut" will be auditory common place.
C'mon, script writers...because you can't come up with intelligent and comedic material, the whole tele-viewing world has to descend in to your non-original grab a laugh and go mentality? Sigh.
Last night while randomly channel surfing before bed, I heard enough straightforward sexual references to last awhile, example:
So are you gonna bang her?
Don't get a male assistant, [girlfriend] will just want to bang him.
What do ya think I'm gonna do, I'm gonna go bang her.
And this was network tv. The leaps and bounds made from when "have sex" was allowed to be heard on television to flat-out "banging" has been quite a joyride for some. I hate it.
The woman is normally the bang-ee with casual lover/man being the bang-er. Not that I would accept the other way 'round either. I think we're just one digital conversion away from an all out free-for-all in raunchy language.
Yes, I turn off my tele when I'm not happy with it. But you know it seeps in to collective consciousness, to the point where "banging the slut" will be auditory common place.
C'mon, script writers...because you can't come up with intelligent and comedic material, the whole tele-viewing world has to descend in to your non-original grab a laugh and go mentality? Sigh.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Are You Addicted to Pop?
Are you addicted to pop? Here's a list to check and see if you are indeed a slave to the fizz, chemicals and caffeine conveniently served in every store and vending machine around the planet:
1. The moment you wake up, you shuffle to the kitchen, grope around in the fridge for your morning Mountain Dew and smile satisfactorily when you hear carbonation escape as you twist the cap.
2. You fondly remember when you first learned how to pop and pull off a sharp metal tab from Tab. You also tell your kids how cool it was to drop this sharp metal tab in to the can of pop and try to avoid swallowing it while drinking.
3. Your favorite candy is Bottle Caps.
4. You cut coupons all week long and distribute to friends who are coerced into standing in line at Safeway to buy cases of pop for you since the limit is 2 per person.
5. You have no problem paying $7.50 for a large Coke at the movies as long as it lasts through the previews.
6. You mock all the coffee drinkers in your life, telling them they’re missing out on the syrup high.
7. You don’t understand why your dentist keeps giving you free samples of floss, fluoride and a discount on a Water-Pic.
8. The bedtime lullaby you sing for your kids starts with “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony…”
9. You refer to the marketing fiasco of Coke’s new formula as the Dark Ages.
10. Most of your clothes come from redeeming rewards points from bottle cap codes.
If any of these items seem familiar to you, you may have a pop addiction just like a dear friend of mine who is currently fighting her addition to fizz.
1. The moment you wake up, you shuffle to the kitchen, grope around in the fridge for your morning Mountain Dew and smile satisfactorily when you hear carbonation escape as you twist the cap.
2. You fondly remember when you first learned how to pop and pull off a sharp metal tab from Tab. You also tell your kids how cool it was to drop this sharp metal tab in to the can of pop and try to avoid swallowing it while drinking.
3. Your favorite candy is Bottle Caps.
4. You cut coupons all week long and distribute to friends who are coerced into standing in line at Safeway to buy cases of pop for you since the limit is 2 per person.
5. You have no problem paying $7.50 for a large Coke at the movies as long as it lasts through the previews.
6. You mock all the coffee drinkers in your life, telling them they’re missing out on the syrup high.
7. You don’t understand why your dentist keeps giving you free samples of floss, fluoride and a discount on a Water-Pic.
8. The bedtime lullaby you sing for your kids starts with “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony…”
9. You refer to the marketing fiasco of Coke’s new formula as the Dark Ages.
10. Most of your clothes come from redeeming rewards points from bottle cap codes.
If any of these items seem familiar to you, you may have a pop addiction just like a dear friend of mine who is currently fighting her addition to fizz.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Have a Slice of Eternal Love Cake Compliments of The View Point Inn
Built in 1924, The View Point Inn used to sit quietly on a bluff, overlooking the city lights of Portland and Vancouver.
Then they filmed the prom scene of Twilight at the Inn and life, as they know it, changed.
Here is event, lodging and restaurant information of The View Point Inn which is located a few miles from Portland, Oregon.
View Point Inn Info
Sorry, the event tickets for the DVD premiere party of Twilight for March 21st have sold out along with your chance of eating a slice of eternal love cake. You may have a chance to get in to the April 11th DVD showing, but you better act quickly.
Then they filmed the prom scene of Twilight at the Inn and life, as they know it, changed.
Here is event, lodging and restaurant information of The View Point Inn which is located a few miles from Portland, Oregon.
View Point Inn Info
Sorry, the event tickets for the DVD premiere party of Twilight for March 21st have sold out along with your chance of eating a slice of eternal love cake. You may have a chance to get in to the April 11th DVD showing, but you better act quickly.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Clocks and Attitudes Spring Ahead Sunday | Daylight Savings Time
This winter has been tough. We have seen snow and ice of epic proportions and the sky hasn't changed from its constant shade of gray in months. And when it does warm up a few degrees, that only means the rain will start falling soon as another system pushes on down from Alaska.
Many of us have started taking Vitamin D, hoping its boost will in turn give us attitude adjustments. People are grumbly all over, and not just at work. I swear the grocery clerk yesterday said, "paper or freakin' plastic?" I think I replied "who cares anymore?"
As I write this, a winter wind gust just shook my bedroom window. The cat looked up and then went back to sleep, not seeming to care if he ever gets to go out and eat grass again. Hubbie is bringing in more firewood for tonight and we'll hunker down and watch another DVD in the Planet Earth series. More snow is predicted for Sunday and Monday but as long as I have a stock of coffee and half & half, I'm pretty much set.
I just hope that with the daylight savings time kicking in around 2:00 a.m., attitudes will improve and physical/brain activity will increase with the evening light. I have to remember that Spring is almost here...we just have to get through this next snow and blow.
Many of us have started taking Vitamin D, hoping its boost will in turn give us attitude adjustments. People are grumbly all over, and not just at work. I swear the grocery clerk yesterday said, "paper or freakin' plastic?" I think I replied "who cares anymore?"
As I write this, a winter wind gust just shook my bedroom window. The cat looked up and then went back to sleep, not seeming to care if he ever gets to go out and eat grass again. Hubbie is bringing in more firewood for tonight and we'll hunker down and watch another DVD in the Planet Earth series. More snow is predicted for Sunday and Monday but as long as I have a stock of coffee and half & half, I'm pretty much set.
I just hope that with the daylight savings time kicking in around 2:00 a.m., attitudes will improve and physical/brain activity will increase with the evening light. I have to remember that Spring is almost here...we just have to get through this next snow and blow.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Spiderman Files for Unemployment
Peter Parker remembered his excitement about moving to Seattle a year ago. After the bad break-up with MJ, he moped around for weeks before Aunt May convinced him it was time for a change. Even the bad guys were starting to figure out that Spiderman’s crime-fighting days were over as they planned their latest assaults on the Big Apple. But Peter didn’t care anymore. He lost everything when he lost MJ and it was all because he couldn’t be both superhero to the world and to her at the same time.
He reluctantly answered an employment ad for a photojournalist for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, got the interview and then surprisingly got the job. He booked a flight, kissed Aunt May, and headed west. How could he have known then that the staunch Seattle newspaper that was almost 150 years old would belly up just months later? Darn economy. He packed up his desk and walked out of the P.I. office building with sixty other people who were out of luck and out of a job. It was a Friday.
But Peter knew he wasn’t ready to return to NYC. He tried unsuccessfully to get a job with other local papers, but no one was biting and the competition was fierce. Peter finally reached the end of his lackluster severance pay and knew it was time to file for unemployment. He wondered if the benefits were better for an unemployed photojournalist or a reluctant superhero at rock-bottom.
Peter made his way to the unemployment office on a dark and rainy Monday morning. Although he showed up at 7:30, the line to get in was already snaking around the corner of 7th and Pike. Everyone was hunched down in their coat collars with their hands shoved deep in their pockets. Their collective breath was fogging up the day’s promise. Peter took his place at the end.
By 8:15, Peter made it to the take-a-number. 74. He settled in to the standard-issue State agency chair and tried to concentrate on the now-soggy Sudoku book he brought but after fifty minutes, he started dozing off and on.
"Parker…Peter?"
Startled, he quickly gathered his belongings and followed the State worker through a maze of cubicles and found himself seated across the desk from the efficient-looking brunette. She typed in information from his file and then took a long time reading what came up on the computer screen.
“Been in Washington less than a year, huh?” she asked while still staring at the screen.
“Yeah. I like Seattle. Not a lot of crime.” Peter realized he said this with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“Sometimes, I guess. We had the Green River Killer though."
Peter looked quizzically at the woman. How many unemployment interviews started out with serial-killer speak? Oblivious to Peter’s lack of response, she handed him additional forms to fill in.
“Mr. Parker, there are very few openings in your field of work at the moment. Would you be willing to register for other types of work?” She looked over at him and repositioned her hands on the keyboard.
“Yeah, I guess. I’m looking for something in my salary range though.”
“Well, that could be a problem right now. We’re hoping that we can just get you back to work for the moment in anything. What are your skills and interests?”
“I’m pretty strong in web design.”
“Ah, computers. Of course, Microsoft is laying off right now, too, so we’ll have to look somewhere else.” She kept typing, back-spacing, paging forward and then paused.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Maybe something in the security field, like a guard?” He offered.
“Do you have a concealed weapons permit?” She looked interested.
“No, I don’t need one. I’m sort of a superhero,” Peter replied, half-smiling.
“Right. Well, there aren't any superhero openings at the moment and without a permit, the salary range is quite limited,” she said without humor. “I’ve got you in the system now. Take this ID number and PIN so you can log in to the database and search for jobs at home. Here is the number to the weekly claim line. You need to call every Sunday and answer the questions truthfully. If accepted, the State will deposit your allowance in to your checking account by Wednesday. Do you have any questions?”
“How long will the benefits last?”
“About seven months. You can apply for an extension if you still haven’t found anything by then.” She closed Peter’s file and threw it on to a stack of about twenty others. He was definitely dismissed.
Peter picked up his Sudoku book and turned to leave.
“Thanks, umm…”
“Ms. Watson.”
“Of course. “
This story is part #5 of my fan fiction series called The Superhero Chronicles which places comic book characters and superheroes in real-life (kind of) situations.
He reluctantly answered an employment ad for a photojournalist for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, got the interview and then surprisingly got the job. He booked a flight, kissed Aunt May, and headed west. How could he have known then that the staunch Seattle newspaper that was almost 150 years old would belly up just months later? Darn economy. He packed up his desk and walked out of the P.I. office building with sixty other people who were out of luck and out of a job. It was a Friday.
But Peter knew he wasn’t ready to return to NYC. He tried unsuccessfully to get a job with other local papers, but no one was biting and the competition was fierce. Peter finally reached the end of his lackluster severance pay and knew it was time to file for unemployment. He wondered if the benefits were better for an unemployed photojournalist or a reluctant superhero at rock-bottom.
Peter made his way to the unemployment office on a dark and rainy Monday morning. Although he showed up at 7:30, the line to get in was already snaking around the corner of 7th and Pike. Everyone was hunched down in their coat collars with their hands shoved deep in their pockets. Their collective breath was fogging up the day’s promise. Peter took his place at the end.
By 8:15, Peter made it to the take-a-number. 74. He settled in to the standard-issue State agency chair and tried to concentrate on the now-soggy Sudoku book he brought but after fifty minutes, he started dozing off and on.
"Parker…Peter?"
Startled, he quickly gathered his belongings and followed the State worker through a maze of cubicles and found himself seated across the desk from the efficient-looking brunette. She typed in information from his file and then took a long time reading what came up on the computer screen.
“Been in Washington less than a year, huh?” she asked while still staring at the screen.
“Yeah. I like Seattle. Not a lot of crime.” Peter realized he said this with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“Sometimes, I guess. We had the Green River Killer though."
Peter looked quizzically at the woman. How many unemployment interviews started out with serial-killer speak? Oblivious to Peter’s lack of response, she handed him additional forms to fill in.
“Mr. Parker, there are very few openings in your field of work at the moment. Would you be willing to register for other types of work?” She looked over at him and repositioned her hands on the keyboard.
“Yeah, I guess. I’m looking for something in my salary range though.”
“Well, that could be a problem right now. We’re hoping that we can just get you back to work for the moment in anything. What are your skills and interests?”
“I’m pretty strong in web design.”
“Ah, computers. Of course, Microsoft is laying off right now, too, so we’ll have to look somewhere else.” She kept typing, back-spacing, paging forward and then paused.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Maybe something in the security field, like a guard?” He offered.
“Do you have a concealed weapons permit?” She looked interested.
“No, I don’t need one. I’m sort of a superhero,” Peter replied, half-smiling.
“Right. Well, there aren't any superhero openings at the moment and without a permit, the salary range is quite limited,” she said without humor. “I’ve got you in the system now. Take this ID number and PIN so you can log in to the database and search for jobs at home. Here is the number to the weekly claim line. You need to call every Sunday and answer the questions truthfully. If accepted, the State will deposit your allowance in to your checking account by Wednesday. Do you have any questions?”
“How long will the benefits last?”
“About seven months. You can apply for an extension if you still haven’t found anything by then.” She closed Peter’s file and threw it on to a stack of about twenty others. He was definitely dismissed.
Peter picked up his Sudoku book and turned to leave.
“Thanks, umm…”
“Ms. Watson.”
“Of course. “
This story is part #5 of my fan fiction series called The Superhero Chronicles which places comic book characters and superheroes in real-life (kind of) situations.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Gordon Ramsey is Back and He's Brought His Friends With Him
Due to the death of my television come this February, I have been watching an inordinate amount of programming lately before I get cut off for good.
I don’t plan on getting a converter box, a brand new digital television or digital cable. We just can’t spend the money right now on fluff and I know I can rely on my fellow writers and the internet to keep me posted on what’s going on in the world.
But this last month, I’ve noticed a trend in programming that I didn’t catch onto before. What is up with all of the British criticism upon which Americans seem to thrive?
For example, Gordon Ramsey, King of the Chefs Using F-words, tells us our cooking is disgusting on Hell’s Kitchen while spittle flies from the corners of his mouth. Mmmm, calling a contestant a piece of shite is super sexy with your Scottish brogue. YES, CHEF!
And Jo is the Super Nanny. We need her to come here from across the pond because we can’t control our children. I think it’s because the kids are hypnotized by her accent and the moment she leaves them back in the care of their parents, they go back to their unruly little selves.
Simon Cowell reminds contestants on American Idol every two minutes that no, they cannot sing at all and his dog could do better. But with that accent, the potential singers will take it up the arse because he comes off as so authoritative. Thank you, Simon, I will give up my dreams!
Nigel Lithgow tells us ever so eloquently how gangly and uncoordinated we are on So You Think You Can Dance.
And if that’s not enough, a new chap named Tim Roth knows when we lie! Lie To Me just started broadcasting because before this guy, nobody could figure out when Americans lied unless there was a polygraph involved.
And wasn’t there a lady who used to tell us we were the weakest link? And what about the GEICO lizard – is his cute come hither and buy my car insurance accent Australian or British?
Television network producers figured out that the British accent catches and keeps our attention. Then they realized that shows dealing with the beating down of people's dreams are best served British.
But then again, what would we do without the criticism? Well, we would probably all be horrible cooks with bratty children who can’t sing nor dance who could lie like there’s no tomorrow. Hmmm...
I don’t plan on getting a converter box, a brand new digital television or digital cable. We just can’t spend the money right now on fluff and I know I can rely on my fellow writers and the internet to keep me posted on what’s going on in the world.
But this last month, I’ve noticed a trend in programming that I didn’t catch onto before. What is up with all of the British criticism upon which Americans seem to thrive?
For example, Gordon Ramsey, King of the Chefs Using F-words, tells us our cooking is disgusting on Hell’s Kitchen while spittle flies from the corners of his mouth. Mmmm, calling a contestant a piece of shite is super sexy with your Scottish brogue. YES, CHEF!
And Jo is the Super Nanny. We need her to come here from across the pond because we can’t control our children. I think it’s because the kids are hypnotized by her accent and the moment she leaves them back in the care of their parents, they go back to their unruly little selves.
Simon Cowell reminds contestants on American Idol every two minutes that no, they cannot sing at all and his dog could do better. But with that accent, the potential singers will take it up the arse because he comes off as so authoritative. Thank you, Simon, I will give up my dreams!
Nigel Lithgow tells us ever so eloquently how gangly and uncoordinated we are on So You Think You Can Dance.
And if that’s not enough, a new chap named Tim Roth knows when we lie! Lie To Me just started broadcasting because before this guy, nobody could figure out when Americans lied unless there was a polygraph involved.
And wasn’t there a lady who used to tell us we were the weakest link? And what about the GEICO lizard – is his cute come hither and buy my car insurance accent Australian or British?
Television network producers figured out that the British accent catches and keeps our attention. Then they realized that shows dealing with the beating down of people's dreams are best served British.
But then again, what would we do without the criticism? Well, we would probably all be horrible cooks with bratty children who can’t sing nor dance who could lie like there’s no tomorrow. Hmmm...
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