Mom and the squirrels are fighting again. And I’m afraid this is not going to be a “bloodless” war this year like last year. I was first aware the lines had been drawn again on Saturday. I spend a fair amount of time in my bedroom since that’s where most of my life is stuffed, plus a chair I like to sit in, and my own facilities, and my cat, and a window. It’s not a prison, but it can feel like it, but that’s another story.
Anyway, I was reading while actively keeping my bed from floating away and was surprised to hear my mother speaking in a loud voice saying some rather rude things like, “Yeah, you better run,” and “Just get your cotton pickin’ hands out of there.” At first I thought perhaps my mother the family jock was yelling at the Tigers , but I didn’t hear the t.v. on, nor did the rest of the neighborhood since Grandma is going deaf but doesn’t feel she needs a hearing aid since she’s 100, for pete’s sake.
Then I thought maybe Mom was yelling at Grandma, but while Grandma can be a pain in the ears, Mom knows that if she upsets Grandma, the old woman will make Mom pay for it, big time, tears and everything, and guilt, and saying stuff about not wanting to live, and more guilt. Then I realized someone was slamming and rattling the flimsy screen door to the deck, and put two and two together to get the answer “my mother is insane.”
I thought perhaps the squirrels were just having fun with Mom, what with the recent rain and then the nice weather over the weekend, but again, I was incorrect. During the late hours on Saturday, something climbed one of the pines in the back yard and that something fell when the branch cracked, rather audibly, and fell to the ground. The ground didn’t shake, but it was a pretty good “whumph” that I heard. I would imagine if the “someone” could have spoken English, I would have heard a few curse words.
On Sunday, Mom did yell at the Tigers and she yelled at the squirrels. She did a lot of rattling again—the door, not her head. But, there was not BB gun action, so I was hoping that things were just going to stay low key, until I left the house on Monday, then everything went to hell.
I cover about two miles on a dirt road when I take the most direct route to Imlay. I also live near a public game hunting area, which means the deer move to our side of the road in September and move back to the other side when they’re pretty sure they’re safe again. Anyway, while driving to town, I happened to pass a raccoon who was taking a nap on the road, except he looked really, really tired and not very relaxed. He was still there when I came home, so I had to think very hard to decide that, alas, he was sleeping the sleep with Morpheus. Sigh.
This is the first casualty, you realize? Granted, the snoozing raccoon was almost two miles away from my house, but surely there can’t be too many raccoons out there. Okay, so there is a raccoon hunting club near where I live, ostensibly named something like “Coon Hunters Club” or something like that, and I’m pretty sure they really do hunt the furry, four-legged animals rather than using ugly language to describe a despicable thought pattern. Still, I’m pretty sure the squirrels have been pretty, pretty busy while we’ve been enjoying the “cease fire.” I’ll just bet you the squirrels recruited some of their more rare forest buddies and talked them into being the front line shock troops, and just look what’s happened. I just pray it wasn’t Ricky or Rocky who went “whumph” out of that tree.
I wonder if the squirrels are thinking of trying to recruit me or Grandma into their cause. Grandma couldn’t pull it off because she probably couldn’t hear then unless they stood on her shoulder and screamed bloody murder in their little tinny voices. I won’t do it because I like living here, on the safe side of the BB gun. Yep. They’ll just have to go this one alone, I guess.
In the late hours of Monday, I met another soldier in the squirrel army. I heard what I thought was Rocky and Ricky outside, but someone was royally pissed. At first I thought I heard a dog walking past the house. They like to hang out behind the barn next door and smoke corn silk. Disgusting habit. Anyway, I also heard a high-pitched chatter. I thought perhaps Flipper had come for a visit, but then I remembered we’re landlocked.
The chatter proceeded to north end of the house, so I turned on the light on the deck and didn’t see anything at first, but the chatter got closer and closer, until a small raccoon climbed up and introduced herself to me. Because she spoke in Juvenile, I didn’t quite catch all her words, but I think her name is Roxy and she’s a first cousin to Ricky and Rocky. I could be wrong. You know how confusing Juvenile is to adults.
Anyway, Rocky was having himself some supper and every time Roxy came near, he’d growl, which reminded me of how Amber growls at Kelly if Kelly has the nerve to try and make friends.
So, back to Roxy. She showed me how tall she is by stretching herself on her hind legs and grabbing at the flimsy screen door and then gave me a run down on the events as she understood them, or as I was able to grasp them. She’s a cute little thing, but I worry because she really should be more afraid of humans or at least pick better places to hang out besides my back yard.
Ah, youth. So moronic. So without brains.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Holy Smurtastic
I admit it. I watched the Smurfs on Saturday morning, BACK WHEN THEY STILL HAD REAL CARTOONS!. So, imagine my surprise, shock, and "whatha?" when I looked at this bit of news.
http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/movie-talk-the-smurfs-get-real-in-first-trailer.html
http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/movie-talk-the-smurfs-get-real-in-first-trailer.html
On the Job Duties
Sometimes the best laughter in my classroom, when I was once an employed college instructor, occurs during unplanned moments. My favorite story stems from an English class I taught about a dozen years ago. The class had been added at the last minute and since I was willing to work odd hours, I had about seven students on Tuesday and Thursdays for a couple hours each day. The class, business communications, required sections on writing resumes, a large report, and various business letters. Nothing too hard but in the middle of the afternoon it was hard to keep things going on occasion. It helped that I ran the class pretty informally since most of the students were used to me.
On this particular day, we had been discussing the types of jobs we’d had in the past. I talked about being a medical transcriptionist for three years and could type really fast. I also mentioned working for my father in his print shop and learned my way around Flint when I delivered printing to some of Dad’s older and very faithful customers.
When the conversation came around to one of my younger students, whom we shall call Lisa, she said she hadn’t been working very long, but she liked what she did. She said she was a clerk at a nationally known clothing store and said that one of her jobs was to make sure the shelves were neat and stocked.
I asked, “You mean you straighten shelves, that sort of thing?”
Lisa replied, “No. I put out.”
Dead silence.
The look on Lisa’s face when she realized her words was of shock and horror. I just looked at her and raised my eyebrows. She turned red and put her head on the desk, I think to start banging it to drive the embarrassment away.
The remaining students, well, they were trying so hard not to laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen so many faces contort from that much effort.
In a muffled voice Lisa said, “May I be excused, please?”
I said, “Sure,” as she bolted out of the room.
I must say I was proud of my class because no one laughed out loud until the door finished shutting. Then we started to giggle and wipe our eyes and giggle some more. After a couple minutes of this terribly rude behavior, I told the class that no one, and I meant NO ONE was allowed to tease Lisa about her choice of words—at least not in my classroom.
So, we sobered up and got back on track with the lesson. Lisa returned after about ten minutes and said she was sorry about leaving to abruptly. She was mortified by her words, but even more, she thought it was so funny she was afraid she’d have an if she didn't get out of the room fast enough. I told her she was forgiven. And although I really wanted to ask her about the putting out, I kept my mouth shut, for once.
On this particular day, we had been discussing the types of jobs we’d had in the past. I talked about being a medical transcriptionist for three years and could type really fast. I also mentioned working for my father in his print shop and learned my way around Flint when I delivered printing to some of Dad’s older and very faithful customers.
When the conversation came around to one of my younger students, whom we shall call Lisa, she said she hadn’t been working very long, but she liked what she did. She said she was a clerk at a nationally known clothing store and said that one of her jobs was to make sure the shelves were neat and stocked.
I asked, “You mean you straighten shelves, that sort of thing?”
Lisa replied, “No. I put out.”
Dead silence.
The look on Lisa’s face when she realized her words was of shock and horror. I just looked at her and raised my eyebrows. She turned red and put her head on the desk, I think to start banging it to drive the embarrassment away.
The remaining students, well, they were trying so hard not to laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen so many faces contort from that much effort.
In a muffled voice Lisa said, “May I be excused, please?”
I said, “Sure,” as she bolted out of the room.
I must say I was proud of my class because no one laughed out loud until the door finished shutting. Then we started to giggle and wipe our eyes and giggle some more. After a couple minutes of this terribly rude behavior, I told the class that no one, and I meant NO ONE was allowed to tease Lisa about her choice of words—at least not in my classroom.
So, we sobered up and got back on track with the lesson. Lisa returned after about ten minutes and said she was sorry about leaving to abruptly. She was mortified by her words, but even more, she thought it was so funny she was afraid she’d have an if she didn't get out of the room fast enough. I told her she was forgiven. And although I really wanted to ask her about the putting out, I kept my mouth shut, for once.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
How to Have a Memorable Tuesday Afternoon
1. Go to your local library and log onto one of their computers.
2. Do important stuff like surfing the Web and answering your email before moving on to Blackboard.
3. Finish your Blackboard surfing within an hour or two.
4. Log on to Blogger.com.
5. Read some of the blogs posted by your classmates.
6. Open the Word program so you can retrieve the blog you want to post. Next, realize your chest hurts a bit in the heart area, noting some discomfort in your back and left arm and that there is a slight amount of discomfort when trying to breathe.
7. Trying not to panic; decide you are having an angina problem and take out your nitro.
8. Take a nitro pill and carefully monitor your galloping heart as the nitro seems to take affect.
9. Note that the nitro worked a bit but now you’re feeling icky and you want to get off the computer.
10. Post your blog “Trekkers V. Trekkies,” hoping that when you paste the sucker in the spacing is accurate.
11. Log off the computer and go sit on a bench by the desk of the computer librarian.
12. Tell you’re fine, but would she mind if you lie on the floor. It’s harder to fall when you are already flat on your back.
13. Put your feet on the bench and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. When you are feeling better, you may get up.
14. Wander to the front desk and tell the librarian that if she hears you snoring over in the reading area, wake you up in ten minutes.
15. Sit in the nice, slouchy leather armchair and then decide to take another nitro pill.
16. Decide the nitro isn’t working all that great and you’re uncomfortable, so move the leather couch and lay down.
17. Take another nitro pill and hope to god this time stuff will stop being so uncomfortable.
18. After an hour of this, tell your librarian friend that you think you need to go to the hospital.
19. Wait for the ambulance, making small jokes to help with anxiety problem. Tell librarian friend to request no sirens, please.
20. Talk to really, really good looking police officer who arrives on the scene first and wish you were 25 years younger cause he ain’t married.
21. Let paramedics do their thing, get loaded in ambulance, travel over M53, which is incredibly bumpy and needs to be repaved.
22. Have paramedic person tell you your EKG isn’t showing a problem, but your BP is up. Duh! Listen to paramedic person tell you that perhaps your nitro is too old and is not working well. Try to decide if paramedic person is being condescending or you’re just hearing her talk that way.
23. Arrive at hospital. EKG is still okay. Get a stupid chest x-ray as a means for the hospital to make more money. Have ER doctor tell you the EKG looks fine. Have ER nurse say EKG looks fine.
24. Listen to mother bitch about not finding you right away. She listened to you when you said, “I’d rather die than be a patient at Lapeer Hospital ever again.” Listen to her story about how she drove to Lapeer, who said you weren’t there, and then she drove to McLaren, who said you weren’t there, and then McLaren called the other hospitals in Flint to find out you weren’t there either, then they call Lapeer and here you are.
25. Apologize to mother for going to Lapeer even after what you said.
26. Have ER doctor tell you you’re fine, again, but says if you want you can stay overnight and see the cardiologist in the morning. Decide you are not going to spend another five thousand dollars just to spend the night somewhere you don’t want to be.
26. Finally go home and start making jokes. “Boy, I spend $4,000 at the hospital and they didn’t even give me dinner. For that much money I should also have the chance for a roll in the hay.”
27. Feel like a total jerk because this is not the first time you’ve had a scare and since you have no money to speak of, how the hell are you going to pay this bill.
28. Go back to library to pick up your car and let the librarians know you’re fine.
29. Wait for librarian friend to leave a meeting so you can tell her you are fine.
30. Surprise librarian friend who gets flustered and rushes to give you a hug. Librarian friend weighs about 100 pounds soaking wet. Take note of this fact as you very gently give her a hug because she seems to breakable. Note irony that you’re a few times her weight.
31. Write up experience, injecting humor where you can.
32. Remind yourself to change out your old nitro for the newer stuff you have on hand.
33. Over the next week, every time one of the librarians ask how you are feeling, place your hand on your heart and start doing your Fred Sanford imitation. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnfflRNpwKA&feature=related
2. Do important stuff like surfing the Web and answering your email before moving on to Blackboard.
3. Finish your Blackboard surfing within an hour or two.
4. Log on to Blogger.com.
5. Read some of the blogs posted by your classmates.
6. Open the Word program so you can retrieve the blog you want to post. Next, realize your chest hurts a bit in the heart area, noting some discomfort in your back and left arm and that there is a slight amount of discomfort when trying to breathe.
7. Trying not to panic; decide you are having an angina problem and take out your nitro.
8. Take a nitro pill and carefully monitor your galloping heart as the nitro seems to take affect.
9. Note that the nitro worked a bit but now you’re feeling icky and you want to get off the computer.
10. Post your blog “Trekkers V. Trekkies,” hoping that when you paste the sucker in the spacing is accurate.
11. Log off the computer and go sit on a bench by the desk of the computer librarian.
12. Tell you’re fine, but would she mind if you lie on the floor. It’s harder to fall when you are already flat on your back.
13. Put your feet on the bench and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. When you are feeling better, you may get up.
14. Wander to the front desk and tell the librarian that if she hears you snoring over in the reading area, wake you up in ten minutes.
15. Sit in the nice, slouchy leather armchair and then decide to take another nitro pill.
16. Decide the nitro isn’t working all that great and you’re uncomfortable, so move the leather couch and lay down.
17. Take another nitro pill and hope to god this time stuff will stop being so uncomfortable.
18. After an hour of this, tell your librarian friend that you think you need to go to the hospital.
19. Wait for the ambulance, making small jokes to help with anxiety problem. Tell librarian friend to request no sirens, please.
20. Talk to really, really good looking police officer who arrives on the scene first and wish you were 25 years younger cause he ain’t married.
21. Let paramedics do their thing, get loaded in ambulance, travel over M53, which is incredibly bumpy and needs to be repaved.
22. Have paramedic person tell you your EKG isn’t showing a problem, but your BP is up. Duh! Listen to paramedic person tell you that perhaps your nitro is too old and is not working well. Try to decide if paramedic person is being condescending or you’re just hearing her talk that way.
23. Arrive at hospital. EKG is still okay. Get a stupid chest x-ray as a means for the hospital to make more money. Have ER doctor tell you the EKG looks fine. Have ER nurse say EKG looks fine.
24. Listen to mother bitch about not finding you right away. She listened to you when you said, “I’d rather die than be a patient at Lapeer Hospital ever again.” Listen to her story about how she drove to Lapeer, who said you weren’t there, and then she drove to McLaren, who said you weren’t there, and then McLaren called the other hospitals in Flint to find out you weren’t there either, then they call Lapeer and here you are.
25. Apologize to mother for going to Lapeer even after what you said.
26. Have ER doctor tell you you’re fine, again, but says if you want you can stay overnight and see the cardiologist in the morning. Decide you are not going to spend another five thousand dollars just to spend the night somewhere you don’t want to be.
26. Finally go home and start making jokes. “Boy, I spend $4,000 at the hospital and they didn’t even give me dinner. For that much money I should also have the chance for a roll in the hay.”
27. Feel like a total jerk because this is not the first time you’ve had a scare and since you have no money to speak of, how the hell are you going to pay this bill.
28. Go back to library to pick up your car and let the librarians know you’re fine.
29. Wait for librarian friend to leave a meeting so you can tell her you are fine.
30. Surprise librarian friend who gets flustered and rushes to give you a hug. Librarian friend weighs about 100 pounds soaking wet. Take note of this fact as you very gently give her a hug because she seems to breakable. Note irony that you’re a few times her weight.
31. Write up experience, injecting humor where you can.
32. Remind yourself to change out your old nitro for the newer stuff you have on hand.
33. Over the next week, every time one of the librarians ask how you are feeling, place your hand on your heart and start doing your Fred Sanford imitation. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnfflRNpwKA&feature=related
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Fire and Brimstone
I opened up Yahoo.com and was immediately taken by the following news item. Having traveled upon that stretch of road many times, well...it will be different. Yes, the first thing I did was chuckle. I'm sure the Big Guy will get me for that. Then again, having grown up conservative Baptist, I can probably come up with enough guilt to last me the rest of my life.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_lightning_strikes_jesus_statue
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_lightning_strikes_jesus_statue
Monday, June 14, 2010
Printing the News
My father’s youngest sister, Janet, is about seven years younger than my dad. Such an age difference can be quite, oh, shall we say, influential or lonely. Okay, by the time my aunt was ready to have fun with her brothers and sisters out on the town, they were all married and having kids. So, Aunt Janet was practically an only child. I have an older brother, by five years, so I understand some of what Janet went through.
Anyway, Janet dated a bit and found her true love at an early age. She and Don got engaged when Janet was 16. I don’t know how my grandmother felt about this little event, but my grandfather? Well, let me continue the story.
At that time, Grandpa owned and operated the Linden Leader. As it was for my father when he owned the paper, the Leader consisted of a weekly newspaper and a commercial printing business. Grandpa and Dad used what is called letterpress. In other words, the paper had to make contact with the words to be printed. If you’ve been to Crossroads (?) Village or Greenfield Village and went into the old time printer’s building, that’s what my grandfather worked with, except he used electricity to run the machines.
Heck, the last time I was at Greenfield Village, Uncle Wyman, another brother and another printer, and my father spoke to the printer in the building, who was delighted to talk to someone who understood the lingo. Those two louts got to go behind the velvet rope. The Velvet Rope! They went someplace and kept us women waiting for at least 20 minutes. The jerks.
Anyway, Grandpa ran the paper and Aunt Janet was engaged.
Like all papers, Grandpa ran announcements of weddings, s, etc. So, he did that for Janet, too. On the front page. Above the fold. With a headline anyone could read from across the room. With her picture. The first story on the page. Got all that? Right under the masthead (title of the paper), Grandpa printed “Janet Stimer Gets Her Man!” It went across the entire page. Her picture was centered under the headline. A sensational story of her engagement and dating history were touched on. It was a really cool front page.
Janet was flabbergasted (Great word, huh?). She was mortified (Another great word.) She was embarrassed! But, she was a good sport and tried to laugh it off. She started looking through the pile of papers, figuring that Grandpa had just printed a few for souvenirs and then had switched to the real first page.
Mind you, changing the forms on a printing press is not hard, but it is time consuming. It takes even more time when the press is the paper printer because you had to fix the form, then go into the pit beneath the press to put the form in its place. Finding the correct place isn’t hard, but, again, it’s time consuming.
Janet was touched that Grandpa had gone to all this trouble for her, but really, changing the forms on the paper? She figured he had printed maybe ten copies and then switched to the “right” front page. She started getting worried as she got to paper number 20, then 30, then 40. She was near hysteria when she realized that all the papers in that bundle had that awful headline in it. Then she thought that ALL the papers had that awful headline.
By this time, I would have started crying because I’m a private person and I don’t mind a joke or two at my expense or looking like a fool in front of my students if it means they’ll learn something, but this was Janet’s father, the man I called “Grandpa.” He liked a good joke as much as I do, but really.
Well, about the time Janet was going to lose it, Grandpa told her that the bundle she had looked through was the only bundle that had that headline. He had printed that many papers to "convince" her he really had done what she feared he had done. (If you understood me in that last sentence, you've been reading too much of my crap.)
Fifty years later Janet can tell the story and laugh, but that laugh she gives is not genuine. She and I have a lot in common, and knowing how I would have felt if my father had done that to me, I can imagine she is still put out with her father. We are so abused, the two of us. Good thing I’m a goddess and can rise above it.
So, you see. This sense of humor I have is genetic. I have no control over what I’ve received, but I can control how I use it, which is why I do the goddess thing.
Anyway, Janet dated a bit and found her true love at an early age. She and Don got engaged when Janet was 16. I don’t know how my grandmother felt about this little event, but my grandfather? Well, let me continue the story.
At that time, Grandpa owned and operated the Linden Leader. As it was for my father when he owned the paper, the Leader consisted of a weekly newspaper and a commercial printing business. Grandpa and Dad used what is called letterpress. In other words, the paper had to make contact with the words to be printed. If you’ve been to Crossroads (?) Village or Greenfield Village and went into the old time printer’s building, that’s what my grandfather worked with, except he used electricity to run the machines.
Heck, the last time I was at Greenfield Village, Uncle Wyman, another brother and another printer, and my father spoke to the printer in the building, who was delighted to talk to someone who understood the lingo. Those two louts got to go behind the velvet rope. The Velvet Rope! They went someplace and kept us women waiting for at least 20 minutes. The jerks.
Anyway, Grandpa ran the paper and Aunt Janet was engaged.
Like all papers, Grandpa ran announcements of weddings, s, etc. So, he did that for Janet, too. On the front page. Above the fold. With a headline anyone could read from across the room. With her picture. The first story on the page. Got all that? Right under the masthead (title of the paper), Grandpa printed “Janet Stimer Gets Her Man!” It went across the entire page. Her picture was centered under the headline. A sensational story of her engagement and dating history were touched on. It was a really cool front page.
Janet was flabbergasted (Great word, huh?). She was mortified (Another great word.) She was embarrassed! But, she was a good sport and tried to laugh it off. She started looking through the pile of papers, figuring that Grandpa had just printed a few for souvenirs and then had switched to the real first page.
Mind you, changing the forms on a printing press is not hard, but it is time consuming. It takes even more time when the press is the paper printer because you had to fix the form, then go into the pit beneath the press to put the form in its place. Finding the correct place isn’t hard, but, again, it’s time consuming.
Janet was touched that Grandpa had gone to all this trouble for her, but really, changing the forms on the paper? She figured he had printed maybe ten copies and then switched to the “right” front page. She started getting worried as she got to paper number 20, then 30, then 40. She was near hysteria when she realized that all the papers in that bundle had that awful headline in it. Then she thought that ALL the papers had that awful headline.
By this time, I would have started crying because I’m a private person and I don’t mind a joke or two at my expense or looking like a fool in front of my students if it means they’ll learn something, but this was Janet’s father, the man I called “Grandpa.” He liked a good joke as much as I do, but really.
Well, about the time Janet was going to lose it, Grandpa told her that the bundle she had looked through was the only bundle that had that headline. He had printed that many papers to "convince" her he really had done what she feared he had done. (If you understood me in that last sentence, you've been reading too much of my crap.)
Fifty years later Janet can tell the story and laugh, but that laugh she gives is not genuine. She and I have a lot in common, and knowing how I would have felt if my father had done that to me, I can imagine she is still put out with her father. We are so abused, the two of us. Good thing I’m a goddess and can rise above it.
So, you see. This sense of humor I have is genetic. I have no control over what I’ve received, but I can control how I use it, which is why I do the goddess thing.
Friday, June 11, 2010
I am more than you think
I am a goddess. I am a publicly sanctioned goddess. I have met all the qualities and requirements of being a goddess. I am working on my second master’s degree. I did the MLS program, although I really wanted my masters in English. Still, the MLS allowed me to start teaching sociology, so I’m not too disappointed. So, here I am on the second degree, but it’s the first degree that qualified me for “goddesshood.”
I had, I think, Dr. West for a pre-Revolutionary War history class. On the first day, he went over the syllabus and the requirements of the class, just like any good instructor. He finally ended with something to the tune of “Don’t expect to get an A+ in this class. Such a grade means perfection and only God is perfect.” I didn’t have a hard time with that. An A or A- is just as good as an A+ in my world. I’m not that grade driven. (Please note the sarcasm dripping in that sentence.)
Of course we had to write a paper and it had to be about that time period. Now what is an English major going to write about in a history class? Dr. West suggested a few things that sounded okay but overworked. l cast about for a topic and finally got the idea of writing about Noah Webster, the dictionary guy. He lived in that era and that was when he first started work on his dictionary.
Researching Noah was pretty easy. I found part of a thesis a doctoral student had put online, hoping for comments from people like me. I even got a couple good sources to use from the student’s works cited page. Okay, fine. I admit that I let another person do some of the research, but if you think about it, it’s not an unusual occurrence.
My paper started with a brief biography of Webster and how he grew tired of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary that seemed pretty useless as far as Webster was concerned. I talked about the reason for Webster’s desire for a dictionary that was for Americans, rather than just anybody. He also included lessons pertaining to English and some of the grammar rules.
Anyway, I covered a lot of that stuff, and then explained how it is that we say some of the words as we do. Saying “aks” for “ask” is not a new phenomenon. According to Webster, “aks” is a perfectly acceptable pronunciation. Webster also tried to make spelling more consistent. I used to say “centra” when I saw “centre.” I talked about that too. Webster also had people who attacked him, saying his dictionary wasn’t that great. Seems to me if someone objects like that, they must be narrow minded.
So, I handed in about 12 pages of Webster. A week later I got the paper back, and it had an A+ on it. Now, Dr. West said that only God is perfect and I shouldn’t expect such a grade. It was a good paper, but it wasn’t that good. However, who am I to argue with an instructor? I figured either Dr. West was tired when he read my paper or drunk or both. Again, who am I to argue with this kind of a grade?
If my paper was perfect, then I must be perfect. Therefore, I am like God. I can’t be THE God because that’s blasphemy, and I take the God seriously. Since I can’t be God, then I must be a goddess. And since Dr. West was full time and probably tenured, I had official backing in my claim to “goddessdom.”
This business of being a goddess can be a burden, but it’s worth the effort. When I tell my students of my status, they know right away they have a nut for a teacher. Plus, when they invoke my name saying things like "Oh, god," I try to answer quickly lest they think I am denying what I have previously told them. It really is a tough job. Try it some time.
I had, I think, Dr. West for a pre-Revolutionary War history class. On the first day, he went over the syllabus and the requirements of the class, just like any good instructor. He finally ended with something to the tune of “Don’t expect to get an A+ in this class. Such a grade means perfection and only God is perfect.” I didn’t have a hard time with that. An A or A- is just as good as an A+ in my world. I’m not that grade driven. (Please note the sarcasm dripping in that sentence.)
Of course we had to write a paper and it had to be about that time period. Now what is an English major going to write about in a history class? Dr. West suggested a few things that sounded okay but overworked. l cast about for a topic and finally got the idea of writing about Noah Webster, the dictionary guy. He lived in that era and that was when he first started work on his dictionary.
Researching Noah was pretty easy. I found part of a thesis a doctoral student had put online, hoping for comments from people like me. I even got a couple good sources to use from the student’s works cited page. Okay, fine. I admit that I let another person do some of the research, but if you think about it, it’s not an unusual occurrence.
My paper started with a brief biography of Webster and how he grew tired of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary that seemed pretty useless as far as Webster was concerned. I talked about the reason for Webster’s desire for a dictionary that was for Americans, rather than just anybody. He also included lessons pertaining to English and some of the grammar rules.
Anyway, I covered a lot of that stuff, and then explained how it is that we say some of the words as we do. Saying “aks” for “ask” is not a new phenomenon. According to Webster, “aks” is a perfectly acceptable pronunciation. Webster also tried to make spelling more consistent. I used to say “centra” when I saw “centre.” I talked about that too. Webster also had people who attacked him, saying his dictionary wasn’t that great. Seems to me if someone objects like that, they must be narrow minded.
So, I handed in about 12 pages of Webster. A week later I got the paper back, and it had an A+ on it. Now, Dr. West said that only God is perfect and I shouldn’t expect such a grade. It was a good paper, but it wasn’t that good. However, who am I to argue with an instructor? I figured either Dr. West was tired when he read my paper or drunk or both. Again, who am I to argue with this kind of a grade?
If my paper was perfect, then I must be perfect. Therefore, I am like God. I can’t be THE God because that’s blasphemy, and I take the God seriously. Since I can’t be God, then I must be a goddess. And since Dr. West was full time and probably tenured, I had official backing in my claim to “goddessdom.”
This business of being a goddess can be a burden, but it’s worth the effort. When I tell my students of my status, they know right away they have a nut for a teacher. Plus, when they invoke my name saying things like "Oh, god," I try to answer quickly lest they think I am denying what I have previously told them. It really is a tough job. Try it some time.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Neighborly Visits
Rocky and Ricky came calling again last night. I knew only because I heard someone on the deck looking for leftovers. I'm pretty sure the conversation went along these lines.
Ricky: "Shit. Where are the seeds? They were here last time."
Rocky: "Ma said you wasn't supposed ta swear no more."
Ricky: "Who the hell is gonna tell her? Hmmmm?"
Rocky: "If Ma asks, I gotta tell her da truth."
Ricky: "Why are you talking like you have a cold"
Rocky: "Duh, I doan know. Bu' da longer I dalk, da more I soun' kine-ah stooopid."
Ricky: "Shit."
Ollie the Owl: "I heard that. I'm telling your mother."
Rocky: "Ohhhhhh, da-nooooooooooo."
It got quiet after that point.
This, of course, is when my brave cat Amber will come out of semi-hiding and look out the window to see if the coast is clear. If so, she'll go into her, "I know I can catch them if you'll just let me out, Shonda" routine. I know better. Amber couldn't catch a cold even if she was in a room filled with nothing but many, many strains of the cold viruses. She'd get out, run around like she was crazy for a couple minutes, then hightail it next door to hang out with the barn cats and smoke some alfalfa seed behind said barn.
Thankfully, Susie never asks to go out, although he seems to think he does. The last time he did get out, he waddled around for a half hour and then when I called to see if he wanted in now, he waddled as fast as his big old butt could propel him. Kelly was an outdoor stray, so she could take care of herself. But, she has yet to even make signs she wants to go out. Here is a cat who knows what a hard life is like and is thankful the food supply is now steady and reliable.
The war with the squirrel neighbors seems to be at a standstill right now. Mom's been too busy cleaning the carpets to worry about them. Grandma's not been feeling well, so she hasn't been watching them as much, either. Actually, Grandma can't see well anyway, but she can enjoy hearing the birds. We have a hummingbird feeder attached to a window, so she can see that. She also sees the bees that like the feeder. I'm waiting for the ants to show up like they sometimes do.
Anyway, I know the squirrels are active before the raccoons because the squirrels can climb to the feeders without making the posts or trees creak from their lack of weight, unlike the raccoons. The squirrels are also more skittish in the evening. Once in awhile, Ollie will give a hoot, which is apparently the unwritten general alarm for squirrels to go home and enjoy some serious story telling about how so-and-so barely dodged the BB pellet from ol' lady Stimer. Right. This coming from animals that end up killing themselves when they fall out of the trees from laughing so hard at Mom.
I'm having difficulty with these web sites and getting them to take you directly to the proper place. A "copy and paste" manuever works. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to fix this problem.
This web site shows a squirrel going through an obstacle course to finally be rewarded with some food.
http://www.maniacworld.com/squirrel-obstacle-course.html
This site has more squirrel videos. I didn't see any of my mother shooting at them, but who knows when it might show up. If you wait until the end of the ad, you have access to even more squirrel videos.
http://www.buzznet.com/tags/squirrels/video/3226661/thieving-squirrel-steals-bird-food/
So, we say good evening to the squirrels and raccoons and wish them a good day tomorrow, when the battle lines are drawn fresh in the sand and when the last one standing is clearly the one who dodges the pellets the best.
Ricky: "Shit. Where are the seeds? They were here last time."
Rocky: "Ma said you wasn't supposed ta swear no more."
Ricky: "Who the hell is gonna tell her? Hmmmm?"
Rocky: "If Ma asks, I gotta tell her da truth."
Ricky: "Why are you talking like you have a cold"
Rocky: "Duh, I doan know. Bu' da longer I dalk, da more I soun' kine-ah stooopid."
Ricky: "Shit."
Ollie the Owl: "I heard that. I'm telling your mother."
Rocky: "Ohhhhhh, da-nooooooooooo."
It got quiet after that point.
This, of course, is when my brave cat Amber will come out of semi-hiding and look out the window to see if the coast is clear. If so, she'll go into her, "I know I can catch them if you'll just let me out, Shonda" routine. I know better. Amber couldn't catch a cold even if she was in a room filled with nothing but many, many strains of the cold viruses. She'd get out, run around like she was crazy for a couple minutes, then hightail it next door to hang out with the barn cats and smoke some alfalfa seed behind said barn.
Thankfully, Susie never asks to go out, although he seems to think he does. The last time he did get out, he waddled around for a half hour and then when I called to see if he wanted in now, he waddled as fast as his big old butt could propel him. Kelly was an outdoor stray, so she could take care of herself. But, she has yet to even make signs she wants to go out. Here is a cat who knows what a hard life is like and is thankful the food supply is now steady and reliable.
The war with the squirrel neighbors seems to be at a standstill right now. Mom's been too busy cleaning the carpets to worry about them. Grandma's not been feeling well, so she hasn't been watching them as much, either. Actually, Grandma can't see well anyway, but she can enjoy hearing the birds. We have a hummingbird feeder attached to a window, so she can see that. She also sees the bees that like the feeder. I'm waiting for the ants to show up like they sometimes do.
Anyway, I know the squirrels are active before the raccoons because the squirrels can climb to the feeders without making the posts or trees creak from their lack of weight, unlike the raccoons. The squirrels are also more skittish in the evening. Once in awhile, Ollie will give a hoot, which is apparently the unwritten general alarm for squirrels to go home and enjoy some serious story telling about how so-and-so barely dodged the BB pellet from ol' lady Stimer. Right. This coming from animals that end up killing themselves when they fall out of the trees from laughing so hard at Mom.
I'm having difficulty with these web sites and getting them to take you directly to the proper place. A "copy and paste" manuever works. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to fix this problem.
This web site shows a squirrel going through an obstacle course to finally be rewarded with some food.
http://www.maniacworld.com/squirrel-obstacle-course.html
This site has more squirrel videos. I didn't see any of my mother shooting at them, but who knows when it might show up. If you wait until the end of the ad, you have access to even more squirrel videos.
http://www.buzznet.com/tags/squirrels/video/3226661/thieving-squirrel-steals-bird-food/
So, we say good evening to the squirrels and raccoons and wish them a good day tomorrow, when the battle lines are drawn fresh in the sand and when the last one standing is clearly the one who dodges the pellets the best.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Trekkers V. Trekkies
Last fall I had an English class which required writing a blog at least twice a week. I wrote a blog on this topic for that class. Since I chose to write about humor, I decided to resurrect that piece; but I couldn’t remember my sign-in name or password.
So I rewrote the piece. During the middle of the night, I remembered what I had forgotten! (Yeah, I thought so, too.) I thought it was fair that since I rewrote the piece and then got to the other one, I could merge the two.
My brother liked watching the original Star Trek series. Being the little sister and having little say over what we watched, except for the Brady Bunch of course, I watched a lot of Star Trek. I actually learned to like Star Trek. I even went to the original Star Trek movie all by.
As the years passed, I started collecting and reading the many Star Trek books. When ST: The Next Generation (stupidest title in the world, right behind AfterMash) was broadcasted, I watched that as well. ST:TNG got better as the seasons past, and I liked the last one a lot, but it got so sentimental and stupid at the very end. The last episode, I needed lots of water to dilute all that sugar.
Of course, I watched Voyager, which I liked a lot, except for the last episode because it was soooooooooooooooooooooo predictable and about 110 minutes too long. I especially liked the theme music. I liked Deep Space 9 until they started getting into the Cardassian War and the shape shifters, and it just got really, really stupid. I liked the last episode of that. Again, I liked the theme music. I watched Enterprise the first season and thought it was okay, but then they got into the Zindi thing and knowing that “history” couldn’t change, I decided the whole thing was too stupid to watch and quit. I liked the theme music for about three weeks and then it really grated on my nerves. The second recording for the series sucked.
“I,” she said pausing dramatically, “am a Trekker. I am NOT a Trekkie. Please do not EVER call me a Trekkie. I am a Trekker.”
The Difference Between a Trekkie (Ies) and a Trekker (Ers)
Ies will not, positively will not, not ever, ever, ever, miss a first-run episode of any of the Star Trek shows.
Ers realize they can catch the missed episodes during reruns.
Ies are so intrigued by the shows that they lose themselves in the moment and have withdrawal symptoms when the show is over. Watching reruns of Happy Days helps.
Ers know it’s just a t.v. show.
Ies are convinced that the scientific advances shown on the shows will benefit mankind once they are installed within the next five years.
Ers know it’s just a t.v. show.
Ies can’t wait to finally get to see Vulcan, where Mr. Spock is from.
Ers know it’s not real and if Vulcan exists, the inhabitants are too smart to come to this planet while we’re still trying to blow each other up.
Ies will watch the same episode every single time it’s broadcasted, even though they already own all the episodes of every Start Trek spin-off on video and DVD.
Ers may have the same collection, but they watch other stuff on t.v. for variety’s sake.
Ies whip out their homemade communicators to warn the captain about impending disaster.
Ers aren’t quite that…um…dedicated.
Ies who believe they have warned the captain in time are surprised to see the episode end the same way it did the last time he saw it.
Ers, well…uh…the opportunity usually doesn’t present itself, plus they know it’s just a t.v. show.
Ies will debate if Kirk or Picard was the better captain, even if it means a fistfight and somebody’s glasses get broke.
Ers laugh at the Ies during their fights.
Ies are particularly sensitive about Kirk’s line deliveries, feeling that he emotes quite clearly and authentically.
Ers continue laughing at the Ies.
Ies believe that Kirk needs a “Bimbo of the Week” in order to be Manly.
Ers realize that a “Bimbo of the Week” to make an officer look Manly is an overused cliché in any television program.
Ies are a lot of fun to tease and torture by calling Kirk a wimp and Spock is all human.
Ers often have black eyes from teasing the Trekkies.
Ies watch the episodes frame by frame and then nitpick about the actions of the characters as they walk in and out of the shot.
Ers are aware that these people are actors.
Ies debate who was badder: the original Klingons who looked like they had a bad day in the makeup chair or the original Romulans who spent only half a day in the bad makeup chair.
Ers will debate, but there are better things to do after five minutes of intense snickering.
Ies will hold a seminar, as many as necessary, to discuss and decide if Data was supposed to be the ST:TNG’s version of Mr. Spock.
Ers will probably attend the seminars, but will make rude noises during the entire thing.
Ies love conventions and often plan their entire vacation/employment possibilities/entire life around going to Star Trek conventions. These are the same Trekkies who wrote to the developers and producers of the show, asking for a prop that really worked like a phaser and then was disappointed when they couldn't have one.
Ers like, and may love, conventions, and may schedule their vacations around one, and maybe not. Trekkers outgrew that phaser fantasy (just barely) when someone wrote back and said that shooting your little sister was a bad thing only Klingons did.
Ies like to dress up in their official Star Trek uniform, homemade or otherwise, and go about their daily business, and it's not Halloween.
Ers like to dress up, too, but they keep it in the realm of "I don't want to embarrass my children today." If the Trekkers' children are over 5, the children are embarrassed simply because they have parents. http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2010/01/20/the-final-frontier/
Ies MUST dress up for the conventions and then stay in character during the entire convention period.
Ers may dress up, but they won’t be slitting their wrists when they realize they can’t speak fluent Klingon and that the Klingon language has no “to be” verb in its lexicon.
Ies like to go to conventions and ask the stars very intense questions that require a lot of brain power on the actors' parts, not realizing that some of those actors have very little fluff upstairs these days and cannot answer the question because they are anticipating leaving these nuts soon.
Ers like to go to conventions and ask the starts interesting and perhaps intense questions, but takes the actors' ability to lie through their teeth as authentic, even if the actors may be anticipating leaving these nuts soon.
Ies like to ask the actors questions about motivation for a certain scene in a certain episode and what were they feeling and how did it make them feel and did they think they would ever feel that way again and if not how did that make them feel and what was it they were feeling while they were contemplating . . .
Ers like to ask the actors questions about their roles on the show and was there anything special they did to help them to "get into character."(If you ever saw William Shatner on SNL doing a Star Trek convention skit where he yelled at all the geeks, those sorts of moments really do happen at the conventions. I also have it on VERY good authority that Mr. Shatner should be named Mr. Full-of-Himself.) (Hey. I had a friend who went to a couple conventions and he said the skit was spot on.)
Ies like to talk like Mr. Scott, but they don't do well because they seem to have the impression they need to be inebriated at the same time, especially if they're teenagers.
Ers like to talk like Mr. Scott, but they don't do well because they seem to have the impression they need to be inebriated at the same time, especially if they're teenagers.(Some things are common to both groups, you know)
Ies like to go to convention and meet their heroes, without realizing their "heroes" are a lot older in person than on television.
Ers realize that their "heroes" are also actors who have bills to pay like ordinary people, and that's why Captain Picard can be in the X-Men movies.
Ies find it difficult to comprehend that the actors who attend the conventions are not as young as their characters in the programs.
Ers mourned the death of DeForrest Kelly, Dr. Leonard McCoy, and James Doohan, Mr. Scott, from the original series, and will continue to mourn the loss of the rest of the actors.
Ies like to wear the fake Spock ears, but often cannot explain what makes a Vulcan's ears superior to a human's.
Ers like to wear the fake Spock ears, assuming they have them in the first place, and maybe cannot explain what makes a Vulcan's ears superior to a human's, but then they ask someone and learn it has to do with the ala part of the ear and the ability to catch more sounds that way. (Ala? Look it up.)
Ies are hopeful that someday our world and perhaps the universe will be a place of peace and harmony.
Ers agree with the Ies sentiment.
So I rewrote the piece. During the middle of the night, I remembered what I had forgotten! (Yeah, I thought so, too.) I thought it was fair that since I rewrote the piece and then got to the other one, I could merge the two.
My brother liked watching the original Star Trek series. Being the little sister and having little say over what we watched, except for the Brady Bunch of course, I watched a lot of Star Trek. I actually learned to like Star Trek. I even went to the original Star Trek movie all by.
As the years passed, I started collecting and reading the many Star Trek books. When ST: The Next Generation (stupidest title in the world, right behind AfterMash) was broadcasted, I watched that as well. ST:TNG got better as the seasons past, and I liked the last one a lot, but it got so sentimental and stupid at the very end. The last episode, I needed lots of water to dilute all that sugar.
Of course, I watched Voyager, which I liked a lot, except for the last episode because it was soooooooooooooooooooooo predictable and about 110 minutes too long. I especially liked the theme music. I liked Deep Space 9 until they started getting into the Cardassian War and the shape shifters, and it just got really, really stupid. I liked the last episode of that. Again, I liked the theme music. I watched Enterprise the first season and thought it was okay, but then they got into the Zindi thing and knowing that “history” couldn’t change, I decided the whole thing was too stupid to watch and quit. I liked the theme music for about three weeks and then it really grated on my nerves. The second recording for the series sucked.
“I,” she said pausing dramatically, “am a Trekker. I am NOT a Trekkie. Please do not EVER call me a Trekkie. I am a Trekker.”
The Difference Between a Trekkie (Ies) and a Trekker (Ers)
Ies will not, positively will not, not ever, ever, ever, miss a first-run episode of any of the Star Trek shows.
Ers realize they can catch the missed episodes during reruns.
Ies are so intrigued by the shows that they lose themselves in the moment and have withdrawal symptoms when the show is over. Watching reruns of Happy Days helps.
Ers know it’s just a t.v. show.
Ies are convinced that the scientific advances shown on the shows will benefit mankind once they are installed within the next five years.
Ers know it’s just a t.v. show.
Ies can’t wait to finally get to see Vulcan, where Mr. Spock is from.
Ers know it’s not real and if Vulcan exists, the inhabitants are too smart to come to this planet while we’re still trying to blow each other up.
Ies will watch the same episode every single time it’s broadcasted, even though they already own all the episodes of every Start Trek spin-off on video and DVD.
Ers may have the same collection, but they watch other stuff on t.v. for variety’s sake.
Ies whip out their homemade communicators to warn the captain about impending disaster.
Ers aren’t quite that…um…dedicated.
Ies who believe they have warned the captain in time are surprised to see the episode end the same way it did the last time he saw it.
Ers, well…uh…the opportunity usually doesn’t present itself, plus they know it’s just a t.v. show.
Ies will debate if Kirk or Picard was the better captain, even if it means a fistfight and somebody’s glasses get broke.
Ers laugh at the Ies during their fights.
Ies are particularly sensitive about Kirk’s line deliveries, feeling that he emotes quite clearly and authentically.
Ers continue laughing at the Ies.
Ies believe that Kirk needs a “Bimbo of the Week” in order to be Manly.
Ers realize that a “Bimbo of the Week” to make an officer look Manly is an overused cliché in any television program.
Ies are a lot of fun to tease and torture by calling Kirk a wimp and Spock is all human.
Ers often have black eyes from teasing the Trekkies.
Ies watch the episodes frame by frame and then nitpick about the actions of the characters as they walk in and out of the shot.
Ers are aware that these people are actors.
Ies debate who was badder: the original Klingons who looked like they had a bad day in the makeup chair or the original Romulans who spent only half a day in the bad makeup chair.
Ers will debate, but there are better things to do after five minutes of intense snickering.
Ies will hold a seminar, as many as necessary, to discuss and decide if Data was supposed to be the ST:TNG’s version of Mr. Spock.
Ers will probably attend the seminars, but will make rude noises during the entire thing.
Ies love conventions and often plan their entire vacation/employment possibilities/entire life around going to Star Trek conventions. These are the same Trekkies who wrote to the developers and producers of the show, asking for a prop that really worked like a phaser and then was disappointed when they couldn't have one.
Ers like, and may love, conventions, and may schedule their vacations around one, and maybe not. Trekkers outgrew that phaser fantasy (just barely) when someone wrote back and said that shooting your little sister was a bad thing only Klingons did.
Ies like to dress up in their official Star Trek uniform, homemade or otherwise, and go about their daily business, and it's not Halloween.
Ers like to dress up, too, but they keep it in the realm of "I don't want to embarrass my children today." If the Trekkers' children are over 5, the children are embarrassed simply because they have parents. http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2010/01/20/the-final-frontier/
Ies MUST dress up for the conventions and then stay in character during the entire convention period.
Ers may dress up, but they won’t be slitting their wrists when they realize they can’t speak fluent Klingon and that the Klingon language has no “to be” verb in its lexicon.
Ies like to go to conventions and ask the stars very intense questions that require a lot of brain power on the actors' parts, not realizing that some of those actors have very little fluff upstairs these days and cannot answer the question because they are anticipating leaving these nuts soon.
Ers like to go to conventions and ask the starts interesting and perhaps intense questions, but takes the actors' ability to lie through their teeth as authentic, even if the actors may be anticipating leaving these nuts soon.
Ies like to ask the actors questions about motivation for a certain scene in a certain episode and what were they feeling and how did it make them feel and did they think they would ever feel that way again and if not how did that make them feel and what was it they were feeling while they were contemplating . . .
Ers like to ask the actors questions about their roles on the show and was there anything special they did to help them to "get into character."(If you ever saw William Shatner on SNL doing a Star Trek convention skit where he yelled at all the geeks, those sorts of moments really do happen at the conventions. I also have it on VERY good authority that Mr. Shatner should be named Mr. Full-of-Himself.) (Hey. I had a friend who went to a couple conventions and he said the skit was spot on.)
Ies like to talk like Mr. Scott, but they don't do well because they seem to have the impression they need to be inebriated at the same time, especially if they're teenagers.
Ers like to talk like Mr. Scott, but they don't do well because they seem to have the impression they need to be inebriated at the same time, especially if they're teenagers.(Some things are common to both groups, you know)
Ies like to go to convention and meet their heroes, without realizing their "heroes" are a lot older in person than on television.
Ers realize that their "heroes" are also actors who have bills to pay like ordinary people, and that's why Captain Picard can be in the X-Men movies.
Ies find it difficult to comprehend that the actors who attend the conventions are not as young as their characters in the programs.
Ers mourned the death of DeForrest Kelly, Dr. Leonard McCoy, and James Doohan, Mr. Scott, from the original series, and will continue to mourn the loss of the rest of the actors.
Ies like to wear the fake Spock ears, but often cannot explain what makes a Vulcan's ears superior to a human's.
Ers like to wear the fake Spock ears, assuming they have them in the first place, and maybe cannot explain what makes a Vulcan's ears superior to a human's, but then they ask someone and learn it has to do with the ala part of the ear and the ability to catch more sounds that way. (Ala? Look it up.)
Ies are hopeful that someday our world and perhaps the universe will be a place of peace and harmony.
Ers agree with the Ies sentiment.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The New Neighbors
I really had no intention to write a blog today since it sorta looks like I'm being an overachiever. But, what the hell.
My bedroom faces the backyard, so I get to hear the nightly visitors at the bird feeders. What I've been hearing lately, I thought perhaps the squirrels were becoming nocturnal since their war with Mom can get on their nerves. But last night, the visitors were really noisy, and then I heard the grill moving a little on the deck. I thought perhaps it was opossums. Nah. Ricky and Rocky Raccoon came a-calling.
I turned on the hall light, which usually scares away the backyard critters, but no such luck last night. The cats escorted me to the sliding glass door, as if to project me from the trespassers. I turned on the outside light, which again usually scares off the critters, and not this time either.
What a sight. The deck is pretty small, maybe eight by eight. It's big enough for a medium-sized grill and a table. The table is plastic crap and the most it's used for is holding up the bird seed Mom puts in a small plate. When the birds (and squirrels) come to call, two of my cats don't seem to understand that the glass between them and the table does not magically disappear when the cats want to catch their prey. Amber is the most hard to convince. I've seen her clunk her head on that glass at least once a day.
So, there was Rocky Raccoon on the table, eating the leftover bird seed. He looked at me like, "Hi. Howyadoin? Mind if I sit in with the band?" He didn't even flinch when I rapped on the glass to scare them away. The look was "I ain't goin' till the eatin's done." Then I noticed Ricky Raccoon under the table. His look said, "Hey, we're tryin' to have some supper here. Do ya mind?" I did mind. I minded a lot, especially when Ricky sauntered over to the grill to see if any of that food we cooked last Monday just happened to have been left on the grill for someone else to eat.
I'd had enough of the boys, so I opened up the door, which got them moving, ever so slowly. They looked like dancers in a music video who wanted to get as much time on the screen as possible so they moved away as slow as possible without the director yelling at them to get moving. Rocky moved quicker than Ricky, but I still had to rattle the flimsy screen door to get them moving more.
I'm sure the boys came back after they thought it was safe. By then, though, you'd have thought I would have secured the area so that no food was left. Nope. If they want to enter the Mom-squirrel-bird seed war, that's their decision.
My bedroom faces the backyard, so I get to hear the nightly visitors at the bird feeders. What I've been hearing lately, I thought perhaps the squirrels were becoming nocturnal since their war with Mom can get on their nerves. But last night, the visitors were really noisy, and then I heard the grill moving a little on the deck. I thought perhaps it was opossums. Nah. Ricky and Rocky Raccoon came a-calling.
I turned on the hall light, which usually scares away the backyard critters, but no such luck last night. The cats escorted me to the sliding glass door, as if to project me from the trespassers. I turned on the outside light, which again usually scares off the critters, and not this time either.
What a sight. The deck is pretty small, maybe eight by eight. It's big enough for a medium-sized grill and a table. The table is plastic crap and the most it's used for is holding up the bird seed Mom puts in a small plate. When the birds (and squirrels) come to call, two of my cats don't seem to understand that the glass between them and the table does not magically disappear when the cats want to catch their prey. Amber is the most hard to convince. I've seen her clunk her head on that glass at least once a day.
So, there was Rocky Raccoon on the table, eating the leftover bird seed. He looked at me like, "Hi. Howyadoin? Mind if I sit in with the band?" He didn't even flinch when I rapped on the glass to scare them away. The look was "I ain't goin' till the eatin's done." Then I noticed Ricky Raccoon under the table. His look said, "Hey, we're tryin' to have some supper here. Do ya mind?" I did mind. I minded a lot, especially when Ricky sauntered over to the grill to see if any of that food we cooked last Monday just happened to have been left on the grill for someone else to eat.
I'd had enough of the boys, so I opened up the door, which got them moving, ever so slowly. They looked like dancers in a music video who wanted to get as much time on the screen as possible so they moved away as slow as possible without the director yelling at them to get moving. Rocky moved quicker than Ricky, but I still had to rattle the flimsy screen door to get them moving more.
I'm sure the boys came back after they thought it was safe. By then, though, you'd have thought I would have secured the area so that no food was left. Nope. If they want to enter the Mom-squirrel-bird seed war, that's their decision.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Poetry Can Be Fun
I took the poetry creative writing class with Jan Worth last semester and had a lot of fun. I had to "audition" to get in the class, so I spent time in her office explaining how I like poetry. I'm more of a prose writer, but I'm not afraid to try poetry. I managed to convince I'd be a good student in her class. I had done it again, whatever "it" was.
At the end of the conversation, I quoted the first four, and only lines, I had about the over the counter medicine Imodium. Jan said I should develop the poem, which I did and I now have 16 lines in my tribute.
As part of the class, we were fortunate enough to participate in a poetry reading at Buckham Gallery. The poetry we read was our own, hopefully inspired by the art. So, of course, I read my Imodium poem. Below is the link to that reading. You have to suffer through a couple other poems first, though.
If you're not in the mood to watch me read, here's the poem for you now. I hope you enjoy it.
My Best Friend
Imodium is my best friend
and why, I’ll tell you true.
It helps keep me from running
when I have to pooh.
Another spot within my life.
Imodium plays a part
is when my gut gets gassy
and I have to fart.
Imodium, the precious,
those little greenish pills.
It stops the runs and farts
and cuts the stench that kills.
I’ll take the little pills for
those stinky times I pass.
It’s a better solution than
shoving a cork up my ass.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mmCIU9sl5E
At the end of the conversation, I quoted the first four, and only lines, I had about the over the counter medicine Imodium. Jan said I should develop the poem, which I did and I now have 16 lines in my tribute.
As part of the class, we were fortunate enough to participate in a poetry reading at Buckham Gallery. The poetry we read was our own, hopefully inspired by the art. So, of course, I read my Imodium poem. Below is the link to that reading. You have to suffer through a couple other poems first, though.
If you're not in the mood to watch me read, here's the poem for you now. I hope you enjoy it.
My Best Friend
Imodium is my best friend
and why, I’ll tell you true.
It helps keep me from running
when I have to pooh.
Another spot within my life.
Imodium plays a part
is when my gut gets gassy
and I have to fart.
Imodium, the precious,
those little greenish pills.
It stops the runs and farts
and cuts the stench that kills.
I’ll take the little pills for
those stinky times I pass.
It’s a better solution than
shoving a cork up my ass.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mmCIU9sl5E
I am soooooooo Rude
Well, I just did it again. I was rude and I’m not sorry. I would do it again in an instant if the moment presented itself. And I wouldn’t be sorry then, either.
I am sitting in the library at the moment, about 3:45 p.m. and yet another student in a study carrel is on the phone, having some stupid conversation that everyone can hear. Only this time, I can hear the speaker at the other end of the line. Normally I can take these conversations for about three minutes, long enough to say hello, get the news, and hang up. After that, it’s just rude behavior.
So what did I do that was so rude? After listening to yet another round of “yes, let’s do that, what do you think?” I asserted my voice over my carrel and said, “Tell her goodbye and shut up.” I got a couple of giggles from other hostages and Miss Yak-yak moved away from the computer and finished her phone call away from us. When she returned, I did say “thank you,” hoping to be anonymous. But, after this posting, probably not.
Most of the time I am not this rude, but I’m getting there. I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between polite and just plain stupid. I’m sure we’ve all heard the same arguments about people who have no thought about conducting a private call in public. Then these same idiots, the ones complaining, often do the same thing they just complained about. I fixed the problem for me by not carrying a cell phone. Yes, I heard you all gasp.
I drove to and from Port Huron for sixteen years and never, not EVER, had a problem with my car. One flat tire, yes, but no problems with the car. I always got to where I wanted to go since the goal was to get there, it didn’t matter how long it took. The only time I didn’t get to Port Huron was because it was snowing so bad the roads were getting worse. By the time I got to Capac, I was having problems driving and having angina pain. I went home and called in sick.
My students often asked me what would I do if I did have a problem. “I’d get out and walk,” was my answer. Even in the middle of the night? Yep. I know it’s a stereotype, but not a lot of fat women get mugged or molested in my neck of the woods.
So, I was rude today. I’m sick and tired of listening to others’ phone conversations. I especially hated it this past winter semester at finals time. It seemed like everyone and anyone who couldn’t read a sign about not having a phone conversation at the carrels was a stupid idiot. How many times do you have to read the sign before you understand that you are not exempt?
I was just as rude last semester, and believe me, it was wonderful. I think I stopped three phone calls and a couple people who were in the stacks moved away, just in case I was going to bound over the carrels and take down a few cell phones. I also got a few giggles and couple of sighs of relieve when my rude mouth took over. So, if you’re in the library and hear a voice telling someone to shut up, you know who it is.
I am sitting in the library at the moment, about 3:45 p.m. and yet another student in a study carrel is on the phone, having some stupid conversation that everyone can hear. Only this time, I can hear the speaker at the other end of the line. Normally I can take these conversations for about three minutes, long enough to say hello, get the news, and hang up. After that, it’s just rude behavior.
So what did I do that was so rude? After listening to yet another round of “yes, let’s do that, what do you think?” I asserted my voice over my carrel and said, “Tell her goodbye and shut up.” I got a couple of giggles from other hostages and Miss Yak-yak moved away from the computer and finished her phone call away from us. When she returned, I did say “thank you,” hoping to be anonymous. But, after this posting, probably not.
Most of the time I am not this rude, but I’m getting there. I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between polite and just plain stupid. I’m sure we’ve all heard the same arguments about people who have no thought about conducting a private call in public. Then these same idiots, the ones complaining, often do the same thing they just complained about. I fixed the problem for me by not carrying a cell phone. Yes, I heard you all gasp.
I drove to and from Port Huron for sixteen years and never, not EVER, had a problem with my car. One flat tire, yes, but no problems with the car. I always got to where I wanted to go since the goal was to get there, it didn’t matter how long it took. The only time I didn’t get to Port Huron was because it was snowing so bad the roads were getting worse. By the time I got to Capac, I was having problems driving and having angina pain. I went home and called in sick.
My students often asked me what would I do if I did have a problem. “I’d get out and walk,” was my answer. Even in the middle of the night? Yep. I know it’s a stereotype, but not a lot of fat women get mugged or molested in my neck of the woods.
So, I was rude today. I’m sick and tired of listening to others’ phone conversations. I especially hated it this past winter semester at finals time. It seemed like everyone and anyone who couldn’t read a sign about not having a phone conversation at the carrels was a stupid idiot. How many times do you have to read the sign before you understand that you are not exempt?
I was just as rude last semester, and believe me, it was wonderful. I think I stopped three phone calls and a couple people who were in the stacks moved away, just in case I was going to bound over the carrels and take down a few cell phones. I also got a few giggles and couple of sighs of relieve when my rude mouth took over. So, if you’re in the library and hear a voice telling someone to shut up, you know who it is.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A Name Does Matter
My dad’s sister, Anna Mae Vickroy, was a fifth grade teacher way back in the 60s and 70s. She and Uncle Mel had three boys and a girl, Cindy, who was my closest living female cousin on the father’s side and the closest thing I had to a sister you saw only every couple of weeks. They lived in Byron but went to church in Linden. We lived in Linden, right across the street from their church, but we attended church in Byron, which was about three blocks from Aunt Ann’s home. The geography really doesn’t have much to do with the gist of this blog, but I thought somebody would want to know.
Anyway, the Vickroys had their run of pets, like any families, but naming them? I know coming up with names wasn’t that hard since they had four kids, but still. In no particular order:
Type of Pet/Name
French poodle /Frenchie
Black cat /Midnight
White dog/ Whitie
Rabbit /Peter
Interesting Pet Names
Another black cat/ Inky
Mutt /Tiger (looked like the dog on the Brady Bunch)
Cat with white paws /Boots
The best name they EVER came up with was for a white cat with three small black spots around its nose. They called it Boogers.
Of course, the Stimer clan was just as bad.
Black and white rabbit (mine)/ Violet (after a character from Charlie Brown)
Black and white long-haired cat /Fluffy
Fluffy’s kids: Sleek black kitten /Fred
Fluffy black kitten /Barney
White cat, offspring of Boogers /Miffy (Milk, Ice cream, Flour)
Another white cat/ Fphawggue (Fog)
Current cats: brown-gray cat named Amber (for her eyes) aka Dork, Little Girl;
white/tiger patches named Dr. Sues aka Susie, Sushi, SueSue, Doofus, and Little Boy;
orange-black-white calico (originally called Calie, a name I hate) now called Kelly
I am just dying to have a chance to have a cat really named Doofus, although I’ve heard calling a cat Whoopie can make you sound interesting when calling for it at odd hours of the night.
Anyway, the Vickroys had their run of pets, like any families, but naming them? I know coming up with names wasn’t that hard since they had four kids, but still. In no particular order:
Type of Pet/Name
French poodle /Frenchie
Black cat /Midnight
White dog/ Whitie
Rabbit /Peter
Interesting Pet Names
Another black cat/ Inky
Mutt /Tiger (looked like the dog on the Brady Bunch)
Cat with white paws /Boots
The best name they EVER came up with was for a white cat with three small black spots around its nose. They called it Boogers.
Of course, the Stimer clan was just as bad.
Black and white rabbit (mine)/ Violet (after a character from Charlie Brown)
Black and white long-haired cat /Fluffy
Fluffy’s kids: Sleek black kitten /Fred
Fluffy black kitten /Barney
White cat, offspring of Boogers /Miffy (Milk, Ice cream, Flour)
Another white cat/ Fphawggue (Fog)
Current cats: brown-gray cat named Amber (for her eyes) aka Dork, Little Girl;
white/tiger patches named Dr. Sues aka Susie, Sushi, SueSue, Doofus, and Little Boy;
orange-black-white calico (originally called Calie, a name I hate) now called Kelly
I am just dying to have a chance to have a cat really named Doofus, although I’ve heard calling a cat Whoopie can make you sound interesting when calling for it at odd hours of the night.
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