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.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
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.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Spring and Mom's Voice is in the Air
Be verwy, verwy cwy-et, we’re hunting skwurrul, heheheheheheheheheheheh!
It is officially spring at my house when I hear first thing in the morning my mother shouting at the squirrels to get out of the bird feeders. Yes! The battle has begun, and the squirrels will win—again!
We live on about two acres of wooded land, mostly pine with just a few maples and oaks. We think the pines may have been one of the many projects supported by the FDR years because of the approximate age and the fact they grow in pretty straight rows. Our house and “tamed” yard make up about half an acre, while the rest in back remains “wild” for the birds and deer. Of course it’s the birds that Mom tries to draw to the feeders. She was content with just a couple feeders, but when Grandma moved in, more were added for entertainment purposes—just not the kind Mom had expected.
The spring battles started about six years ago, and now moves through a specific sequence.
Step one: Mom yells out the window to scare the hell out of the trespassing squirrels, and then struts around the house as the world’s “champeen squirrel scarer-offer.”
Step two: Mom yells out the window and the squirrels take notice. But instead of running off they flip her the finger or their tails or both and go back to eating.
Step three: Mom hauls open the sliding glass door, which is heavy. She then rattles the sliding screen door, which is flimsy. The squirrels scurry away, laughing at her poor attempt at keeping them out of the food.
Step four: The glass door is kept open but not the screen door. Mom opens the screen door and yells at the squirrels, who snicker and amble away for a nap.
Step five: Mom opens the screen door and steps out onto the deck, yelling as she moves from inside to outside. The squirrels still snicker but scurry away because you never can tell if the crazy human is actually going to run after them.
Step six: Mom hunts for the BB gun and puts it near the sliding doors for the rest of the warring season.
At the start of the new day during June and part of July, steps one through five must occur before moving on to the next step.
Step seven: Mom picks up the BB gun and starts the pumping action, all the while shouting at the squirrels. She opens the screen door, takes aim, squeezes off the shot, and misses by a mile. The squirrels scurry away from the crazy human.
Starting about the middle of July until the squirrels settle in for the winter, Mom may or may not follow steps one through five. It mostly depends upon how tired she is, how badly the Tigers played the day before, and how crazy she feels after interacting with Grandma.
Step eight: Mom pumps the BB gun even more, yells, opens the screen door, shoots, and misses by yet another mile. The squirrels fall over from laughing so hard.
Step nine: Mom starts to talk to herself and wonders if any BBs are actually being shot out of the gun. She pumps a few times, takes careful aim at the tree two feet in front of her, and realizes no BBs have left the gun since the battle started.
Step ten: Mom fixes the gun problem, repeats steps seven and eight, then finally throws herself into her chair when it is too dark to see to shoot.
Who needs a dog that barks at squirrels when you have more entertainment watching your own mother?
It is officially spring at my house when I hear first thing in the morning my mother shouting at the squirrels to get out of the bird feeders. Yes! The battle has begun, and the squirrels will win—again!
We live on about two acres of wooded land, mostly pine with just a few maples and oaks. We think the pines may have been one of the many projects supported by the FDR years because of the approximate age and the fact they grow in pretty straight rows. Our house and “tamed” yard make up about half an acre, while the rest in back remains “wild” for the birds and deer. Of course it’s the birds that Mom tries to draw to the feeders. She was content with just a couple feeders, but when Grandma moved in, more were added for entertainment purposes—just not the kind Mom had expected.
The spring battles started about six years ago, and now moves through a specific sequence.
Step one: Mom yells out the window to scare the hell out of the trespassing squirrels, and then struts around the house as the world’s “champeen squirrel scarer-offer.”
Step two: Mom yells out the window and the squirrels take notice. But instead of running off they flip her the finger or their tails or both and go back to eating.
Step three: Mom hauls open the sliding glass door, which is heavy. She then rattles the sliding screen door, which is flimsy. The squirrels scurry away, laughing at her poor attempt at keeping them out of the food.
Step four: The glass door is kept open but not the screen door. Mom opens the screen door and yells at the squirrels, who snicker and amble away for a nap.
Step five: Mom opens the screen door and steps out onto the deck, yelling as she moves from inside to outside. The squirrels still snicker but scurry away because you never can tell if the crazy human is actually going to run after them.
Step six: Mom hunts for the BB gun and puts it near the sliding doors for the rest of the warring season.
At the start of the new day during June and part of July, steps one through five must occur before moving on to the next step.
Step seven: Mom picks up the BB gun and starts the pumping action, all the while shouting at the squirrels. She opens the screen door, takes aim, squeezes off the shot, and misses by a mile. The squirrels scurry away from the crazy human.
Starting about the middle of July until the squirrels settle in for the winter, Mom may or may not follow steps one through five. It mostly depends upon how tired she is, how badly the Tigers played the day before, and how crazy she feels after interacting with Grandma.
Step eight: Mom pumps the BB gun even more, yells, opens the screen door, shoots, and misses by yet another mile. The squirrels fall over from laughing so hard.
Step nine: Mom starts to talk to herself and wonders if any BBs are actually being shot out of the gun. She pumps a few times, takes careful aim at the tree two feet in front of her, and realizes no BBs have left the gun since the battle started.
Step ten: Mom fixes the gun problem, repeats steps seven and eight, then finally throws herself into her chair when it is too dark to see to shoot.
Who needs a dog that barks at squirrels when you have more entertainment watching your own mother?
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