What's up with this blog craze? Is it egotism, a desire to share (maybe share TMI), or a way to make journaling, that perpetual assignment of the aspiring writer, a little more interesting? Probably a little of all three.
A few weeks ago, I was at my first appointment with an allergy specialist. He had just been to Spain, so we talked about Spanish artists. Apparently there's a collection of Picasso's erotic art over there, but I digress. After interviewing me and reading the answers to a series of questions, he began talking into a little tape recorder.
He started by greeting his medical transcriptionist and instructing her to give a copy of the report to my primary care physician. Then he listed my name, age (thirty-something), height (5'8"), weight (falls under the TMI category in my book), and marital status (married). He rattled off what I do for a living (graphic designer/technical writer), and what my husband does for a living (computer programmer). He read off my hobbies (sewing and painting) and listed my pets (two cats and a dog...okay, two indoor cats, two outdoor cats, and a dog). Finally he gets to my symptoms, the sneezing, red eyes, etc.
First I was reminded of my late father, who was a psychologist. I remembered how he would do pretty much the same thing in our dining room, though the tape recorder was much bigger in the 70's. But the main thing I was thinking was, "Surely there's more to me than these bare facts! I have to be more interesting than this! And what does my marital status have to do with the fact that I have bad hay fever?"
So, Dr. Garcia, this blog's for you.
It's not every day that your husband's parents get married. Okay, they were married, got divorced when he was in junior high, years went by, they decided to get married again. It's probably best for me to not comment too much on the subject.
The fun thing about the weekend was that I kept seeing the strangest names. It started in the church: a bulletin board with all the Sunday School teachers revealed one volunteer with the unfortunate name Iona Keister. Later, while driving to a restaurant for dinner (no visit with Jeff's parents is complete without eating), I saw a church named "The Intimacy Church of the Comforter". And later, we drove past "The Big Midget Convenience Store". Oh yeah - there's a dentist in town named Dr. Fang.
The un-fun thing about the weekend was when the relatives insisted we watch NASCAR's Golden Boy Jeff Gordon on QVC. At that point I retreated to our assigned bedroom to watch Spongebob Squarepants. Shellshocked, I had to be dragged out and forced to be social after a couple of hours.
Okay, so I'm evil. Maybe it's the teasings administered by my family in my shy youth. I distinctly remember Uncle Roland's voice booming out, "Karen, you're making too much noise back there," on our way to grandma's house from the airport, as I sat meekly in the back seat wondering why Jacksonville smelled so bad. Apparently that experience, and being raised in Belgium (I mean, Akron) made me evil.
Case In Point #1: My father-in-law is explaining to my husband that the minister about to perform the (re)marriage is very nice, but he drives a pick-up truck and went to the University of Florida, so he has two strikes against him. So I speak up, very seriously. "You know, I graduated from the University of Florida." Ah, the entertainment value watching the FIL backpedal was priceless. It almost makes up for the fact that he always seems surprised to learn that I have a college degree. (And, BTW, I think there's nothing wrong with pick-up trucks, as long as they are not of the monster variety.)
Case In Point #2: Husband's cousin is quizzing me about where I'm from. When I mention that I used to live in Jacksonville he remarked that no one likes that city. "Actually," I say, straight-faced,"my mother still lives there and I enjoy going to see her. And that's her home town, so she likes it quite a bit." I then extolled the virtues of the Bold New City of the South, including the fact that it doesn't smell near as bad as it used to. "Oh," he says, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well, the Riverwalk there is nice."
Friend Brian says I'm not evil, I'm naughty. I suppose I aspire to be evil, if that's the case. I know I shouldn't enjoy taking sly jabs at people when they leave themselves open. Hopefully this habit will not earn me too many negative karma points.
1. Parents, if you must purchase a cookie jar that plays "Who Let the Dogs Out", could you please keep it out of the reach of your small children? I can't get that tune out of my head! Make it stop!Ahhhhh!
2. Okay, who pantsed the SpongeBob Squarepants figures? Isn't school in session yet, you miscreants? Thank gawd the manufacturers designed him with built-in tighty-whities.
3. Just exactly how many versions of "Best of Sting and The Police" CDs does the world need?
4. Very elderly people should not drive giant SUVs.
5. Target should never run out of those flavored Tootsie rolls. It's the only reason I ventured there today in the first place.
I admit it. I'm not like most other girls. I love to watch football. And I don't watch it because the men are wearing tight pants. No, I enjoy the strategy, the violence, the epic struggle of offense vs. defense, etc. As I am from Northeast Ohio, my main team is the Browns. I cried when they were stolen away to Baltimore. I have taken the blood oath of revenge against Art Modell. I even called a local radio program to debate his son while he was doing a powderpuff, feel-good interview when the hated Ravens were in town for the Super Bowl early this year. (They didn't let me stay on the air too long - can you believe it?)
So of course I jumped at the chance to watch the first pre-season game on TV last night at Sev and Lisa's. Football at last - I was so forlorn without its comforting presence. The game was decent for pre-season, even in the second half when the third-stringers were in. (Of course, if they don't make the team, they can always fall back on those free college educations they got - right?) There were a couple of good commercials promoting the up-coming season. You could see the ESPN influence, for example, when two Miami Dolphin players were shown using a Flobee, or when several players were in the locker room conducting a boy-band fantasy league draft.
Speaking of ESPN, when will Chris Berman, aka Boomer, be put in the booth as a color commentator?
I usually turn on the TV in the morning while getting ready for work; I figure if there's a major traffic jam, storm, or war out there that I might as well find out early in the day. I don't pay too much attention, especially now that Matt Lauer has that awful haircut.
Yesterday, unfortunately, NBC decided to treat its early morning viewers to an eyeful of yuck! I should have known when they started talking about a surgery performed to separate Siamese twins joined at the top of the head(s). Now, why anyone would want to rob two little girls of a promising career in the carnival or bizarre entertainment industry is beyond me. I glanced up to see the baby(s) being wheeled in to the OR with their head(s) tastefully covered with a towel. Unfortunately, the next time I glanced up they were showing a still photo taken DURING THE PROCEDURE. There is nothing like the sight of two incredibly bloody babies first thing in the morning to get the day started right - or something. I was able to forget the whole traumatic sight for the rest of the day, until I was driving home. Then for some reason the short-term memory loss wore off.
Two topics for discussion - 1. The surgery cost $1.5 million, yet birth control is still outrageously expensive, not to mention difficult to obtain in South America, where the girl(s) were born. Heck, even in the U.S. a month's worth of The Pill will set you back $15-$30 and up, depending on if you have insurance that will cover them. 2. They can show graphic surgery on TV in the U.S., but no nudity???
No surprise, really. My high school bud Mary and I loved this movie, we can both recite it and "Sixteen Candles" verbatim.
Here is my favorite product of Summer 2002. My cow-orker introduced me to these. I thought they were festive bandages at first. But no, they are much more. These Foot Tubes wrap around and protect one's feet from being rubbed the wrong way by one's sandals. Not only that, they look very cool-almost sexy, like a tube top. So now my feet seldom go out without my toenails being painted, a pair of Foot Tubes, and at least one toe ring. Does this enter the realm of the foot fetish? I hope not - I have enough problems as it is.
I mowed the lawn yesterday. Another thing that makes me different than the other girls...I recently discovered that I really dig mowing the lawn. I even made arrangements with Jeff to trade litter box duty for lawn-mowing. But then I had the allergy skin test. Turns out I'm allegic to all grasses and pollens in the Florida Gulf Coast region. The areas on my back where they tested me for those particular allergens raised up to the size of quarters and remained visible for about a week. When I tried to tell Dr. Garcia that I had just become enamored of lawn-mowing, he frowned and said, "This is not something for you to be doing."
People who know me will know that this is not the first time I've ignored the advice/orders of doctors. Lawn mowing is a Zen experience, if Zen means not really thinking or worrying about anything more than not running over the mower cord (got an electric model, much easier to start). It's also good exercise. Exercise at a gym just seems so pointless, there's no immediate results. Lawn-mowing, on the other hand, leaves you with a nicely trimmed lawn that won't earn you an embarrassing citation from the county. The only negative experience I had while mowing yesterday was I think a bird or squirrel may have tinkled on me.
Got my new voter ID card in the mail last week. Since many Floridians can't get the hang of the punch card thing, in my county we're moving to touch-screen voting. (To see our tax dollars at work, click here.) The sample ballot that came with the card contains names like George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, Harriet Tubman, and Susan B. Anthony. No wonder there's so much confusion come election time, especially since our real choices will likely come down to Janet Reno and a Son of a Bush.
Monday I got to do something I've wanted to do for quite some time. I got to go see an NFL game in person. Let me tell you, it was even better than I imagined it would be, truth be told. The seats were excellent, and as a bonus, I got to see the Dolphins lose. I didn't sleep much that night. That's what I get for having a Diet Coke after 3 p.m. I won't bore you with the details, suffice it to say I had a wonderful time and I hope to repeat the experience again some day.
The Tampa Bay cheerleaders wear long boots, I wonder if that makes their calves sweat.
Originally I caught some local DJ's talking about these ten questions. Then I caught an episode of "Inside the Actor's Studio" on Bravo, where I learned they are a regular feature of host James Lipton. Doing some more research, it turns out that he stole them from French journalist Bernard Pivot. (Bored at work? Here's a game that lets you guess the answers past actors have given on the program.) Anyway, for grins, here's my answers:
What is your favorite word? - That changes all the time. Currently it's 'incredible'. Or is it 'amazing'?
what is your least favorite word? - 'no' or 'can't'.
What turns you on? - Brains, a great sense of humor, and confidence.
What turns you off? - Rudeness, itchy fabric, and colors that don't coordinate.
What is the sound or noise that you love? - My friends laughing.
What sound or noise do you hate? - Babies and little children crying/screaming. Also the constant barking of neighborhood dogs.
what is your favorite curse word? - The 'F' word. It's so versatile. But Mom, if you're reading this, I never say it.
What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? - I'd like to be an artist, specifically a painter.
What profession would you not like to participate in? - Surgeon, I'm quite squeamish.
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? - "Come on in, relax, you did okay. We'll have your immediate past life debriefing in a couple of days. Meanwhile the party's just starting."
Along with some other SCA folks, Lisa, Jeff, Sev, and I (commonly referred to as 'the Sinister gang', though we prefer the hipper term 'posse') answered the phones last night for the pledge drive at the local university's PBS station. As the camera switched on for the first TV spot of the evening, I couldn't help but think, "Wow, there must be 30, maybe 40 people watching us right now!" Really, with cable TV offering channels like Discovery, Animal Planet, The History Channel, and the History of Animals Channel, hasn't PBS outlived its usefulness? Though the lack of commercials is somewhat soothing during my occasional insomnia outbreaks. Anyway, after my experience last night, I'd like to offer the following:
An Open Letter To People Who Call PBS Pledge Drives For Any Reason Other Than to Make a Pledge
Dear Terribly Lonely Person,
I'm only a freakin' volunteer who just showed up for one night, why are you surprised that I don't know the full name of the guy in front of the camera? And, by the way, stalking him over the phone lines is just as illegal (not to mention incomprehensible) as following him around in person. And no, we don't know what's on next after the current program, why don't you buy a damn TV Guide, maybe reading it will take your mind off the fact that, oh-my-god, the BBC World News is going to start 10 minutes late tonight! And don't bother to call the pledge drive to say how terribly angry you are that PBS dares to interrupt the programming with commercials - hello, they do it twice a year so the rest of the time, there's no commercials! And again, we're not high-powered station management, we're volunteer phone answerers, so your irate call and abrupt hanging-up has zero impact. So don't pick up that phone and don't call now, unless you are indeed going to donate some cash.
On second thought, do keep calling. Your lunacy kept us in stitches, and has insured that we will all volunteer again next time so we can laugh at you again.
I was in the office parking lot this afternoon when lightning struck nearby, probably no more than 1/4 mile away. It was pretty startling; a nearby street light pole started sizzling.
My first thought was - was I supposed to be killed by that, or was I protected from being killed by some divine intervention? Am I done, or is there something I still have to accomplish? The almost dying thing didn't upset me. Guess I'm in a philosophical mood lately. It's always seemed to me that my "job" in life is to make other people happy, so I suppose there's more of that left to do.
At least I wasn't one of the people sitting on metal chairs on the smoking porch; they were jolted out of their seats. Goes to show ya - smoking will hurt you, one way or the other
