Specifically . . . the music of ABBA, Colin Firth, and Pierce Brosnan. Ahhhhhhhhhh . . . heaven!
As some of you may know (and I found out last night), the popular musical based on ABBA music is coming to the big screen. I was not lucky enough to see the stage version but I will be there for opening night for the movie version. Okay, maybe not opening night but within the following week or so (depending on which child is sick and/or particularly needy at the time and can't be left with a babysitter.)
Just watching the preview made me want to get up and start dancing and giggle with delight. First, the music. I am not ashamed to admit it - I love ABBA. Love, love, love, love ABBA. I get this from my mother, who also loves, loves, loves, loves ABBA. (As an aside, I just wish to point out that I got my love of the Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel from my dad, so it balances out.) Fun music to sing along to, to dance in your underwear to while singing into your hairbrush, to drive to, to sing to your children to embarrass them . . . the fun-ness never ends with ABBA.
Oh, and the lyrics! Only people not completely skilled in the English language who were raised in the cold northern part of Europe could come up with these dreamsicle lyrics:
Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo
Or these:
Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I've missed you
Yes, I've been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let you go.
Anyway, the other reason I love ABBA is the Swedish accents. My maternal grandparents both spoke with the Swedish accent and every time I listen to ABBA, I can hear them again . . . particularly my grandmother, who loved "Dancing Queen."
Also . . . Colin Firth and Pierce Brosnan. Yum. They just get better and better with age.
Speaking of yum, the movie I saw last night was "Made of Honor" with Patrick Dempsey. I'm sure there were other humans in the movie, but I really didn't care. It was cute and totally predictable in every way, but Patrick Dempsey was in nearly every frame (and quite often shirtless, although he looks damn good in a suit), so it was well worth the price of admission.
He had me at "Can't Buy Me Love" and I've been in love ever since . . . .
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Your Bra Can Save the Planet
Well, not quite yet, but a Japanese company has invented a "solar-powered bra that can generate enough electric energy to charge a mobile phone or an iPod." Well, thank god. I was wondering when someone was going to figure out a way for my bras to be more proactive in saving the planet.
The bra is not without its problems however. The solar panels are worn around the stomach, which makes it more of a corset than a bra, really, and not very comfortable or breathable. It is hospital-gown-green, but that's not really a problem, is it? I mean, I've always felt there aren't enough green bras in the world. Oh, and it won't work if you wear clothes over it. So, it looks like we are going to bring back the whole Madonna "under-wear-as-outer-wear" look. Also problematic - it can't be washed or worn on a rainy day. Aside from those minor details . . . I say FABULOUS.
Most importantly, "it does send the message of how lingerie could possibly save the planet." Wow! And here I was, you know, trying to save the planet without using my underwear by doing things like recycling, turning my thermostat down, and buying Energy Star appliances. Silly me.
I don't know . . . if you are going to invent solar powered clothing to recharge cell phones and iPods, wouldn't you start with outer clothing like coats and jackets? Or hats? Why bras?
It does give added meaning to the phrase, "Charge me up, baby!"
The bra is not without its problems however. The solar panels are worn around the stomach, which makes it more of a corset than a bra, really, and not very comfortable or breathable. It is hospital-gown-green, but that's not really a problem, is it? I mean, I've always felt there aren't enough green bras in the world. Oh, and it won't work if you wear clothes over it. So, it looks like we are going to bring back the whole Madonna "under-wear-as-outer-wear" look. Also problematic - it can't be washed or worn on a rainy day. Aside from those minor details . . . I say FABULOUS.
Most importantly, "it does send the message of how lingerie could possibly save the planet." Wow! And here I was, you know, trying to save the planet without using my underwear by doing things like recycling, turning my thermostat down, and buying Energy Star appliances. Silly me.
I don't know . . . if you are going to invent solar powered clothing to recharge cell phones and iPods, wouldn't you start with outer clothing like coats and jackets? Or hats? Why bras?
It does give added meaning to the phrase, "Charge me up, baby!"
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
My Daughter Has Been Possessed by Miss Manners
Not even three days after I thought I was going to have to send my two toddlers to military school, my daughter decided to change the name of the game. Now she's trying to kill me with kindness. In the two hours we were together this morning, she managed to be the nicest toddler this side of the Mississippi.
6:49 am (coming upstairs from her room) - "Good morning, Mama!" This struck me as odd, as her usual first statement of the day is either "I just wet" meaning she has peed in her bed or "Find my ________ (toy) right now!"
6:55 am (after I have told her to go potty and get her clothes) - "Okay, Mama!" And she actually did it! Without stalling with playing she must do before completing any other task or screaming "NO!!" at the top of her lungs.
7:10 - 7:30 am - Actually using Please and Thank You at breakfast. The norm is saying, "Milk, milk, milk, milk, milk, milk" with increasing volume while I am clearly doing something else for someone else.
7:40 am - Putting her shoes on without being asked. She did this without arguing with me about which shoes she was going to wear and without five minutes of insisting she couldn't put her shoes on by herself when she has been putting her shoes on by herself for the last six months. And they're Crocs, for christsake. A monkey could put those on by himself.
7:55 am - Trying to appease my son while he is throwing a temper tantrum. Usually, when he is throwing a fit, she stands next to him and screams, "That hurt my ears!! Too loud! Mama, he hurt my ears!"
8:17 am - Offering to carry both her bag and his bag out to the car. I expect her to carry her own bag to school and mostly, she dramatically flops her arms down when I give it to her and says, "Too heavy! Can't carry it!" Yeah, right . . . because one pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a lip smacker are too heavy for your petite 35-pound frame.
8:26 am - while driving to school in the car and the boy is throwing a different fit, she says, "I sorry for [the boy] Mama." That one really got me - now I am sure the child was abducted by aliens and replaced with some sort of robot-toddler who only uses her nice words, is fully potty trained (even through the night), and never deliberately pisses off her brother.
OR . . . .
She has discovered the age-old trick of older sisters . . . if the brother is acting like a complete shit, turn on the charm and become the perfect child. The rewards will be endless!!
OR . . . .
They are in this together . . . the old bait-and-switch. In a few days, the boy will be the perfect child and the girl will become possessed by the devil! That's the perfect way to keep Mama on her toes (and walking the fine line between psychosis and neurosis).
Tricky, very tricky! But, what you don't know my pretties, is that your Mama has been around the block a few times. You will never win . . . resistance is futile!
6:49 am (coming upstairs from her room) - "Good morning, Mama!" This struck me as odd, as her usual first statement of the day is either "I just wet" meaning she has peed in her bed or "Find my ________ (toy) right now!"
6:55 am (after I have told her to go potty and get her clothes) - "Okay, Mama!" And she actually did it! Without stalling with playing she must do before completing any other task or screaming "NO!!" at the top of her lungs.
7:10 - 7:30 am - Actually using Please and Thank You at breakfast. The norm is saying, "Milk, milk, milk, milk, milk, milk" with increasing volume while I am clearly doing something else for someone else.
7:40 am - Putting her shoes on without being asked. She did this without arguing with me about which shoes she was going to wear and without five minutes of insisting she couldn't put her shoes on by herself when she has been putting her shoes on by herself for the last six months. And they're Crocs, for christsake. A monkey could put those on by himself.
7:55 am - Trying to appease my son while he is throwing a temper tantrum. Usually, when he is throwing a fit, she stands next to him and screams, "That hurt my ears!! Too loud! Mama, he hurt my ears!"
8:17 am - Offering to carry both her bag and his bag out to the car. I expect her to carry her own bag to school and mostly, she dramatically flops her arms down when I give it to her and says, "Too heavy! Can't carry it!" Yeah, right . . . because one pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a lip smacker are too heavy for your petite 35-pound frame.
8:26 am - while driving to school in the car and the boy is throwing a different fit, she says, "I sorry for [the boy] Mama." That one really got me - now I am sure the child was abducted by aliens and replaced with some sort of robot-toddler who only uses her nice words, is fully potty trained (even through the night), and never deliberately pisses off her brother.
OR . . . .
She has discovered the age-old trick of older sisters . . . if the brother is acting like a complete shit, turn on the charm and become the perfect child. The rewards will be endless!!
OR . . . .
They are in this together . . . the old bait-and-switch. In a few days, the boy will be the perfect child and the girl will become possessed by the devil! That's the perfect way to keep Mama on her toes (and walking the fine line between psychosis and neurosis).
Tricky, very tricky! But, what you don't know my pretties, is that your Mama has been around the block a few times. You will never win . . . resistance is futile!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Pointlessly Hypertechnical is One Year Old!
Today is my first anniversary as Ms. PH. While blogging has not turned me into the amazing superhero I thought it would, it has been a great year.
Incidentally, May 12th last year was one day before Mother's Day. My Mother's Day post the next day was almost shocking to read because it was so serene and calm. I long for the baby days . . . .
This year's Mother's Day was not a celebration at all. I really had one of the worst days as a mother . . . ever. The screaming and fit-throwing started as soon as they woke up and continued all day. After their naps and another fight about whose toys were whose, I had finally lost it and said, "The next time either one of you screams or cries, you are BOTH going back in your beds and I'm going in my bed for the REST OF THE DAY!!!!"
For reasons no one knows, that actually worked and they were pretty good for the rest of the day. What didn't work was telling them it was Mother's Day and they needed to be nice to me. Surprise, surprise.
Incidentally, May 12th last year was one day before Mother's Day. My Mother's Day post the next day was almost shocking to read because it was so serene and calm. I long for the baby days . . . .
This year's Mother's Day was not a celebration at all. I really had one of the worst days as a mother . . . ever. The screaming and fit-throwing started as soon as they woke up and continued all day. After their naps and another fight about whose toys were whose, I had finally lost it and said, "The next time either one of you screams or cries, you are BOTH going back in your beds and I'm going in my bed for the REST OF THE DAY!!!!"
For reasons no one knows, that actually worked and they were pretty good for the rest of the day. What didn't work was telling them it was Mother's Day and they needed to be nice to me. Surprise, surprise.
Friday, May 9, 2008
I'm So Stimulating . . .
. . . the economy, that is.
When I first heard about the economic stimulus checks, I thought it was a cruel joke. The government giving me free money? No way . . . too good to be true. But, you know, as the checks rolled in, I thought maybe this is a good idea. After all, even though my check was cut because of my income level, any extra money is always helpful.
I planned exactly what I was going to do with the money - new tires for my car. My car guy told me in December that I desperately needed new tires and I pretty much ignored him. After all, car guys are almost always lying or puffing to get you to spend more money at their shops. I asked him if he defined "desperately" as (1) need to change because it is a good proactive thing to do or (2) need to change because the car will explode tomorrow if they are not changed. After a pause, he said, "Well, the car's not going to explode . . . ." Thanks, buddy! That means I'll wait six months to replace the tires.
But, since I am a responsible adult, I resigned myself that this stimulus money was going mostly to new tires, although I would have rather used it to spend a week at the spa. (Man, does it suck to be a grown-up!) So, last weekend I bought my car some new tires. Then I went and bought the kids some big toys - a Dora "Best Friends" trike for the girl and a "Cozy Coupe II" for the boy. And then I bought them some clothes and a few unnecessary items at the Disney Store (store closing prices!)
I still had some money left (I feel like I am on some sort of game show . . .) and I thought I would buy myself some clothes, shoes, and books. But my house had other ideas . . . my house apparently wanted a new dishwasher. It told me it wanted a new dishwasher because the existing one basically exploded on Sunday night. I guess my clothes, shoes, and books will have to wait until next year. (OK - who are we kidding - I'll buy that stuff anyway.)
So, yesterday, I bought a new dishwasher and was questioned by the sales clerk. She wanted to know if I have an existing dishwasher. Yep! Then she asked if it can be removed. Umm . . . well, I've never tried to remove my dishwasher, but I am assuming it wasn't cemented into the kitchen . . . so, Yep! No, she explained, what I mean is has a floor been laid in front of it?
Oh shit.
I personally haven't laid a floor in front of it, but the people who owned it before I did put a new ceramic tile floor in the kitchen. I have no idea if the dishwasher was in place when they did that. Damn.
The bottom line is that, if the current dishwasher doesn't slide out on its own, I can either (1) rip the floor out or (2) rip the countertop off. I'd rather do the countertop because the floor is relatively new and the countertops are much older (and faux-wood Formica - Yikes!) But, if I take the countertops off, I will have to replace the sink as well because it is pretty much cemented to the countertop. And, hell, as long as we're going . . . why not a new faucet? Water filtration system? New cabinets? New stove? Let's replace all the windows, too. Why the hell not?
Take that stupid economy. Now get up off your lazy ass and start making my investments worthwhile!!
When I first heard about the economic stimulus checks, I thought it was a cruel joke. The government giving me free money? No way . . . too good to be true. But, you know, as the checks rolled in, I thought maybe this is a good idea. After all, even though my check was cut because of my income level, any extra money is always helpful.
I planned exactly what I was going to do with the money - new tires for my car. My car guy told me in December that I desperately needed new tires and I pretty much ignored him. After all, car guys are almost always lying or puffing to get you to spend more money at their shops. I asked him if he defined "desperately" as (1) need to change because it is a good proactive thing to do or (2) need to change because the car will explode tomorrow if they are not changed. After a pause, he said, "Well, the car's not going to explode . . . ." Thanks, buddy! That means I'll wait six months to replace the tires.
But, since I am a responsible adult, I resigned myself that this stimulus money was going mostly to new tires, although I would have rather used it to spend a week at the spa. (Man, does it suck to be a grown-up!) So, last weekend I bought my car some new tires. Then I went and bought the kids some big toys - a Dora "Best Friends" trike for the girl and a "Cozy Coupe II" for the boy. And then I bought them some clothes and a few unnecessary items at the Disney Store (store closing prices!)
I still had some money left (I feel like I am on some sort of game show . . .) and I thought I would buy myself some clothes, shoes, and books. But my house had other ideas . . . my house apparently wanted a new dishwasher. It told me it wanted a new dishwasher because the existing one basically exploded on Sunday night. I guess my clothes, shoes, and books will have to wait until next year. (OK - who are we kidding - I'll buy that stuff anyway.)
So, yesterday, I bought a new dishwasher and was questioned by the sales clerk. She wanted to know if I have an existing dishwasher. Yep! Then she asked if it can be removed. Umm . . . well, I've never tried to remove my dishwasher, but I am assuming it wasn't cemented into the kitchen . . . so, Yep! No, she explained, what I mean is has a floor been laid in front of it?
Oh shit.
I personally haven't laid a floor in front of it, but the people who owned it before I did put a new ceramic tile floor in the kitchen. I have no idea if the dishwasher was in place when they did that. Damn.
The bottom line is that, if the current dishwasher doesn't slide out on its own, I can either (1) rip the floor out or (2) rip the countertop off. I'd rather do the countertop because the floor is relatively new and the countertops are much older (and faux-wood Formica - Yikes!) But, if I take the countertops off, I will have to replace the sink as well because it is pretty much cemented to the countertop. And, hell, as long as we're going . . . why not a new faucet? Water filtration system? New cabinets? New stove? Let's replace all the windows, too. Why the hell not?
Take that stupid economy. Now get up off your lazy ass and start making my investments worthwhile!!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Big. Red. Balls.
Clearly, the people responsible for designing Target stores have never had preschool aged children. If they had, they may have thought twice about lining the front of their stores with big red balls. I understand their purpose, but why big red balls? I know, I know . . . big red balls sort of resemble their logo, a flat red target. And by "sort of" I mean that the color is the same and they are both generally circular. Sort of like how the sun and an electric burner are the same - they are both hot and generally circular.
I digress . . . my point is that if those designers had come up with something else, I wouldn't have to hear this conversation during our weekly visits to Target.
17-month old son: (Upon seeing the balls) BAAAALLLLLLLLLLL!! BAAAALLLLLL!! BAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL!! (This will continue until I acknowledge he has spoken about the balls.)
Me: Yes, those are balls.
2 1/2 year old daughter: Mama, look at those balls!
Son: BAAAAALLLLLL!! BAALLL! BAAAAAAAALLLL!
Me: Yep, look at those balls.
Daughter: Those are RED balls!
Son: BAAAAALLLLLLL!! BAAAAALLLLLL!!
Me: Yes, those are red balls.
Daughter: Mama, those are BIG RED BALLS!
Our little procession from the parking lot to the store is often very amusing to people, particularly teenage boys. I must admit, I find it pretty amusing as well, but sometimes I just don't want to hear about big red balls over and over again. Then I wonder if there will ever be a time when I grow up enough and don't laugh at things like "BIG RED BALLS!" I don't think I ever want to be that grown up.
After all, if I were that grown up, I couldn't laugh every time my daughter says, "Schwing-nex" rather than Kleenex. Sometimes I deliberately ask her "What's this?" while holding a Kleenex just to hear her say "Schwing-nex" and giggle a little.
Huh-huh . . . she just said "schwing."
I digress . . . my point is that if those designers had come up with something else, I wouldn't have to hear this conversation during our weekly visits to Target.
17-month old son: (Upon seeing the balls) BAAAALLLLLLLLLLL!! BAAAALLLLLL!! BAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL!! (This will continue until I acknowledge he has spoken about the balls.)
Me: Yes, those are balls.
2 1/2 year old daughter: Mama, look at those balls!
Son: BAAAAALLLLLL!! BAALLL! BAAAAAAAALLLL!
Me: Yep, look at those balls.
Daughter: Those are RED balls!
Son: BAAAAALLLLLLL!! BAAAAALLLLLL!!
Me: Yes, those are red balls.
Daughter: Mama, those are BIG RED BALLS!
Our little procession from the parking lot to the store is often very amusing to people, particularly teenage boys. I must admit, I find it pretty amusing as well, but sometimes I just don't want to hear about big red balls over and over again. Then I wonder if there will ever be a time when I grow up enough and don't laugh at things like "BIG RED BALLS!" I don't think I ever want to be that grown up.
After all, if I were that grown up, I couldn't laugh every time my daughter says, "Schwing-nex" rather than Kleenex. Sometimes I deliberately ask her "What's this?" while holding a Kleenex just to hear her say "Schwing-nex" and giggle a little.
Huh-huh . . . she just said "schwing."
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Comcast Brainwashed My Dog
There have been so many negative things being said about Comcast lately, rightly or wrongly, that it has almost reached mythical proportions. But here is my story, which has a happy ending and a cute guy involved. The only bad thing I can say about Comcast is that their employees seem to lack a decent sense of humor.
The dog ate my remote control on Sunday night. Well, I guess she didn't really eat it, per se, she gnawed on it and split it open so some of the insides came out. However you want to explain it, she rendered the remote non-functioning. Despite my irritation, I find this hugely amusing and have been telling everyone my dog ate my remote. Most people find this amusing as well.
So on Monday morning, I called the Comcast number listed on my bill. When I get to a real person, I say, "Hi, my name is Ms. PH and my dog ate my cable remote. Can you tell me how I can get a new one?" The woman on the other end said, "Is it broken?" (No, lady, it's not broken, I'm just calling you to tell you that my dog ate my remote but it still functions perfectly - I just thought you wanted to know. Jeez.) "Yes, it's broken," I said. "OK," she said, "just bring it into your local office and they will exchange it for $15. But since you broke it, you will have to return the old one and you have to pay $15." She sounded so serious, like I had smashed some very important equipment that would cost thousands to replace.
But, I was in a fairly good mood and still thought my predicament was very amusing, so I was gladly willing to pay $15 for a new remote. On my lunch hour, I drove home and picked up the pieces of the old remote and drove to Comcast. When I opened the door to the building, it was like I had stepped into the third circle of hell - the DMV circle. But it was worse than the DMV - there were about 12 people in line ahead of me and they were pissed. When I opened the door, they all looked at me like "Wipe that happy look off your face and welcome to hell."
Then I became aware of the noise in the room. Everyone has heard this noise before - the sound of three people complaining about no services, high bills, and unfair treatment and tired employees trying to placate them. I took my place at the end of the line, with remote in hand. The guy in front of me looked at it and said, "What happened?" "My dog ate my remote," I said. "Oh," he said, "Well, Comcast threatened to cut off my cable. They called yesterday while my wife was in labor having a baby and said I had to come down and pay my bill immediately."
"Well, congratulations on the new baby . . . I just want a new remote."
Another guy (the cute guy) in front of me turned around and said, "They are not exchanging equipment," and pointed to a sign that said, "WE ARE NOT EXCHANGING EQUIPMENT DURING OUR SWITCH." I smiled at the cute guy . . . well, because he was cute and had a British accent, and said, "The hell they aren't! I called this morning and they told me I could exchange my remote for $15!" Cute guy kind of scoffed at that notion. He had clearly been in Comcast too long.
In the half hour I waited in line, I heard all sorts of sob-stories. Billing problems, equipment problems, service issues, rudeness. As I stood there with my remote, I sort of felt like I was in the ER waiting room with a twisted ankle while everyone else was bleeding from the head or unconscious. My problem didn't seem that bad. But I was determined to get my new remote and ready to do battle if they said they wouldn't exchange equipment.
Finally, it was my turn to talk to the customer service representative, who was clearly very drained from being yelled at for the last four hours. I walked up to her window and smiled. Then I set all of the remote pieces on the counter. "My dog ate my remote." No laugh, no smile, nothing! She wasn't amused at all!! She simply scooped up the pieces and dropped them in the trash can. Then she handed me a new remote.
"Thanks," I said, "and as long as I am here, I might as well pay my bill." She told me the total and I said, "Is that with the $15 new remote charge?" She looked at me blankly. "Why would I charge you for a new remote?" I said, "Well . . . um . . . because the woman on the Comcast phone told me I had to pay $15 for a new remote because I broke it. Or, I mean, the dog broke it . . . ." My second attempt at the joke failed too.
She replied, "I just threw the old one in the trash, which I would have done anyway because it said Insight on it. So, I'm not going to charge you for a new one."
"Awesome! Thanks!" I smiled again at her but got the same blank look. I smiled at all of my fellow queue standers and said, "Bye! Good luck." Then I got the hell out of there.
The moral of the story is: Comcast is not entirely evil and has the ability to use common sense but needs to work on its employees' sense of humor.
And, if you are the cute guy . . . I hope your issues were solved and you are back on the Internet. You made me almost wish the line was longer . . . almost.
The dog ate my remote control on Sunday night. Well, I guess she didn't really eat it, per se, she gnawed on it and split it open so some of the insides came out. However you want to explain it, she rendered the remote non-functioning. Despite my irritation, I find this hugely amusing and have been telling everyone my dog ate my remote. Most people find this amusing as well.
So on Monday morning, I called the Comcast number listed on my bill. When I get to a real person, I say, "Hi, my name is Ms. PH and my dog ate my cable remote. Can you tell me how I can get a new one?" The woman on the other end said, "Is it broken?" (No, lady, it's not broken, I'm just calling you to tell you that my dog ate my remote but it still functions perfectly - I just thought you wanted to know. Jeez.) "Yes, it's broken," I said. "OK," she said, "just bring it into your local office and they will exchange it for $15. But since you broke it, you will have to return the old one and you have to pay $15." She sounded so serious, like I had smashed some very important equipment that would cost thousands to replace.
But, I was in a fairly good mood and still thought my predicament was very amusing, so I was gladly willing to pay $15 for a new remote. On my lunch hour, I drove home and picked up the pieces of the old remote and drove to Comcast. When I opened the door to the building, it was like I had stepped into the third circle of hell - the DMV circle. But it was worse than the DMV - there were about 12 people in line ahead of me and they were pissed. When I opened the door, they all looked at me like "Wipe that happy look off your face and welcome to hell."
Then I became aware of the noise in the room. Everyone has heard this noise before - the sound of three people complaining about no services, high bills, and unfair treatment and tired employees trying to placate them. I took my place at the end of the line, with remote in hand. The guy in front of me looked at it and said, "What happened?" "My dog ate my remote," I said. "Oh," he said, "Well, Comcast threatened to cut off my cable. They called yesterday while my wife was in labor having a baby and said I had to come down and pay my bill immediately."
"Well, congratulations on the new baby . . . I just want a new remote."
Another guy (the cute guy) in front of me turned around and said, "They are not exchanging equipment," and pointed to a sign that said, "WE ARE NOT EXCHANGING EQUIPMENT DURING OUR SWITCH." I smiled at the cute guy . . . well, because he was cute and had a British accent, and said, "The hell they aren't! I called this morning and they told me I could exchange my remote for $15!" Cute guy kind of scoffed at that notion. He had clearly been in Comcast too long.
In the half hour I waited in line, I heard all sorts of sob-stories. Billing problems, equipment problems, service issues, rudeness. As I stood there with my remote, I sort of felt like I was in the ER waiting room with a twisted ankle while everyone else was bleeding from the head or unconscious. My problem didn't seem that bad. But I was determined to get my new remote and ready to do battle if they said they wouldn't exchange equipment.
Finally, it was my turn to talk to the customer service representative, who was clearly very drained from being yelled at for the last four hours. I walked up to her window and smiled. Then I set all of the remote pieces on the counter. "My dog ate my remote." No laugh, no smile, nothing! She wasn't amused at all!! She simply scooped up the pieces and dropped them in the trash can. Then she handed me a new remote.
"Thanks," I said, "and as long as I am here, I might as well pay my bill." She told me the total and I said, "Is that with the $15 new remote charge?" She looked at me blankly. "Why would I charge you for a new remote?" I said, "Well . . . um . . . because the woman on the Comcast phone told me I had to pay $15 for a new remote because I broke it. Or, I mean, the dog broke it . . . ." My second attempt at the joke failed too.
She replied, "I just threw the old one in the trash, which I would have done anyway because it said Insight on it. So, I'm not going to charge you for a new one."
"Awesome! Thanks!" I smiled again at her but got the same blank look. I smiled at all of my fellow queue standers and said, "Bye! Good luck." Then I got the hell out of there.
The moral of the story is: Comcast is not entirely evil and has the ability to use common sense but needs to work on its employees' sense of humor.
And, if you are the cute guy . . . I hope your issues were solved and you are back on the Internet. You made me almost wish the line was longer . . . almost.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Mine! But Why??
We have hit two particularly important and irritating developmental stages at my house. My 17 month old son has discovered the power of "mine!" Or, as he says it, "MIIIINNNNNNE!!!!" Everything is his - stuff he played with 10 minutes ago, stuff he played with last week, stuff he has never played with, and stuff he wants to play with tomorrow. He is fully subscribing to the Toddler's Rules of Possession, except for the last one. He would probably still say it was his even if it was broken.
1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in anyway.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
8. If I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's broken, it's yours.
It also apparently applies to my things as well. In the last two weeks, he has claimed the following items are his: my computer, my car, a corkscrew, the lawnmower, the remote control, one of my black high heels, my cell phone, all of my case books from law school (frankly, he could have those, except for the fact that they each weigh at least 15 pounds and he always drops them on his feet), my hair, and a box of tampons he found in the bathroom cabinet. Lovely, really.
As for my daughter, she has moved into the "Why?" stage, which is only slightly less irritating than the "mine" stage. Here's the dilemma with the "why" stuff - I don't want to discourage her inquisitiveness or curiosity. I want her to grow up to be the type of young adult who questions things. I want her to ask why things are the way they are and maybe try to change them. But, at two and a half, some of the why questions are driving me crazy.
For example, we went to the zoo on Saturday. When we walked in at 3:30, the cashier said, "You have plenty of time to see the zoo before we close at 5 (yeah, no kidding), but you need to start outside and end inside because we close the inside part last." No problem, except for my daughter wanted to see the meerkats first, which are at the beginning on the inside.
Me: Come on, babe, let's see the animals outside first and then we'll come back and see the meerkats.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the outside zoo closes first and we want to see all of the animals outside before it closes.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we want to see all of the animals, right?
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we like all of the animals.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we share the Earth with them.
Well, that shut her up for awhile. But then we went the petting zoo and had to wash our hands afterwards.
Me: Okay, babe, let's wash our hands with lots of soap.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we touched the animals and we need to wash the dirt off.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the animals might have germs that could make us sick.
Daughter: Why?
Now, I'm stumped. I have talked myself into a corner where I either have to explain germ theory to my two and a half year old or give her one of those answers I hated as a kid - "Because I said so" or "Just because" or "I don't know why, just do it." Or I could just not answer her but then I would get, "But why, mama? But why?" for 15 minutes until I went crazy. Or, I suppose I could just make something up . . . but then I fear she will remember only the silliness I made up and not the real answer when she gets old enough. UGH!
It reminds me of the scene in Big Daddy where Adam Sandler is trying to get to McDonalds before they stop serving breakfast and the kid stops to talk to Steve Buscemi as a homeless person. I'm paraphrasing:
Kid: Why are you on the street, mister?
Steve: [gives reasons]
Kid: But why?
Steve: Well, in retrospect, I made some really bad decisions.
Kid: But why?
Adam: Listen, I'll bring you an egg mcmuffin if you end the conversation.
Steve: [falls asleep]
Adam: Look, look, he fell asleep.
Maybe I should just pretend to fall asleep when I can't answer the questions. Somehow, I don't think she'd buy it.
1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in anyway.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
8. If I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's broken, it's yours.
It also apparently applies to my things as well. In the last two weeks, he has claimed the following items are his: my computer, my car, a corkscrew, the lawnmower, the remote control, one of my black high heels, my cell phone, all of my case books from law school (frankly, he could have those, except for the fact that they each weigh at least 15 pounds and he always drops them on his feet), my hair, and a box of tampons he found in the bathroom cabinet. Lovely, really.
As for my daughter, she has moved into the "Why?" stage, which is only slightly less irritating than the "mine" stage. Here's the dilemma with the "why" stuff - I don't want to discourage her inquisitiveness or curiosity. I want her to grow up to be the type of young adult who questions things. I want her to ask why things are the way they are and maybe try to change them. But, at two and a half, some of the why questions are driving me crazy.
For example, we went to the zoo on Saturday. When we walked in at 3:30, the cashier said, "You have plenty of time to see the zoo before we close at 5 (yeah, no kidding), but you need to start outside and end inside because we close the inside part last." No problem, except for my daughter wanted to see the meerkats first, which are at the beginning on the inside.
Me: Come on, babe, let's see the animals outside first and then we'll come back and see the meerkats.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the outside zoo closes first and we want to see all of the animals outside before it closes.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we want to see all of the animals, right?
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we like all of the animals.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we share the Earth with them.
Well, that shut her up for awhile. But then we went the petting zoo and had to wash our hands afterwards.
Me: Okay, babe, let's wash our hands with lots of soap.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we touched the animals and we need to wash the dirt off.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the animals might have germs that could make us sick.
Daughter: Why?
Now, I'm stumped. I have talked myself into a corner where I either have to explain germ theory to my two and a half year old or give her one of those answers I hated as a kid - "Because I said so" or "Just because" or "I don't know why, just do it." Or I could just not answer her but then I would get, "But why, mama? But why?" for 15 minutes until I went crazy. Or, I suppose I could just make something up . . . but then I fear she will remember only the silliness I made up and not the real answer when she gets old enough. UGH!
It reminds me of the scene in Big Daddy where Adam Sandler is trying to get to McDonalds before they stop serving breakfast and the kid stops to talk to Steve Buscemi as a homeless person. I'm paraphrasing:
Kid: Why are you on the street, mister?
Steve: [gives reasons]
Kid: But why?
Steve: Well, in retrospect, I made some really bad decisions.
Kid: But why?
Adam: Listen, I'll bring you an egg mcmuffin if you end the conversation.
Steve: [falls asleep]
Adam: Look, look, he fell asleep.
Maybe I should just pretend to fall asleep when I can't answer the questions. Somehow, I don't think she'd buy it.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Who Am I?
Awhile ago, Jennifer posted a challenge on her blog to write my biography in six words or less. I have been slacking on blogging (otherwise known as working at my real job) but I have been thinking about this challenge. It is very difficult for someone, like me, who is so verbal to describe myself in six words. But I tried and here it is. And I sprinkled in a few of my favorite quotes, just for fun.
The first four words came easily . . . .
Attorney
I know I should probably have put mother or woman first, but I really think that the word "attorney" describes a great portion of my personality. I love being an advocate. I love studying and conversing about the law. And I have been an attorney longer than I have been a mother. Becoming an attorney was the first thing I did that fundamentally changed my entire life, my entire sense of being, my entire psyche. I changed from a shy but witty girl to sharp-tongued (but still witty) woman who is not afraid to take on the best legal minds in the country, mano-a-mano. And I am damn proud of it.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
Mother
Of course, this was a close second, if not a tie. This was probably the second thing I did that fundamentally changed my identity. While there might be some point in the future when I stop being a lawyer, I will never stop being a mother. In some ways, the two roles are very similar. They were both incredibly difficult to achieve. On a regular basis, both roles continue to bring me happiness, frustration, pain, laughter, messes to clean up, friends, sleep deprivation, fulfillment, and pride. And I wouldn't give up either for the world.
"Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of - to hell with sugar and spice." Anonymous
Singleton
When I looked this word up on Wikipedia, I got the following definition (among others): "A self-description of individuals without romantic partners, particularly applied to women in their thirties introduced in the novel and film Bridget Jones's Diary." Yep, that's me. I hope there is some point in my life when my biography does not contain this word. However, I must be honest - the greatest percentage of my life has been spent as a Singleton. And becoming comfortable with that fact and liking the person I am anyway, has been one of my biggest struggles.
Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back. Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
Writer
I debated whether this word was simply repetitive of "attorney." But, as I was writing this, I realized that it isn't. I love to write, whether it is legal writing or not. I hope the contents of this blog demonstrate that fact.
"Sometimes you know the story. Sometimes you make it up as you go along and have no idea how it will come out." Ernest Hemingway
Member of a Family
Now, this is where the one word at a time thing got a little blurry. I couldn't think of one word to describe all of my roles as a member of my family. Is there one word that describes daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, and cousin? And what about my other family - all of my good friends? So, I cheated a little here, for those who are counting. But, my biography would not be complete without listing my membership in my family. Crazy and unique, bad or good, my family members have helped make me who I am.
"No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you." Wilma Rudolph
One Who Makes a Difference
Again, another one I couldn't describe with one word. In the end, I mean, the real end . . . my death . . . I want people to remember me for all of the above-listed things and, hopefully, remember that I made a difference in the world.
"The sense of obligation is present in all of us. A duty to strive is the duty of us all. I felt a call to that duty." Abraham Lincoln
The first four words came easily . . . .
Attorney
I know I should probably have put mother or woman first, but I really think that the word "attorney" describes a great portion of my personality. I love being an advocate. I love studying and conversing about the law. And I have been an attorney longer than I have been a mother. Becoming an attorney was the first thing I did that fundamentally changed my entire life, my entire sense of being, my entire psyche. I changed from a shy but witty girl to sharp-tongued (but still witty) woman who is not afraid to take on the best legal minds in the country, mano-a-mano. And I am damn proud of it.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
Mother
Of course, this was a close second, if not a tie. This was probably the second thing I did that fundamentally changed my identity. While there might be some point in the future when I stop being a lawyer, I will never stop being a mother. In some ways, the two roles are very similar. They were both incredibly difficult to achieve. On a regular basis, both roles continue to bring me happiness, frustration, pain, laughter, messes to clean up, friends, sleep deprivation, fulfillment, and pride. And I wouldn't give up either for the world.
"Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of - to hell with sugar and spice." Anonymous
Singleton
When I looked this word up on Wikipedia, I got the following definition (among others): "A self-description of individuals without romantic partners, particularly applied to women in their thirties introduced in the novel and film Bridget Jones's Diary." Yep, that's me. I hope there is some point in my life when my biography does not contain this word. However, I must be honest - the greatest percentage of my life has been spent as a Singleton. And becoming comfortable with that fact and liking the person I am anyway, has been one of my biggest struggles.
Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back. Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
Writer
I debated whether this word was simply repetitive of "attorney." But, as I was writing this, I realized that it isn't. I love to write, whether it is legal writing or not. I hope the contents of this blog demonstrate that fact.
"Sometimes you know the story. Sometimes you make it up as you go along and have no idea how it will come out." Ernest Hemingway
Member of a Family
Now, this is where the one word at a time thing got a little blurry. I couldn't think of one word to describe all of my roles as a member of my family. Is there one word that describes daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, and cousin? And what about my other family - all of my good friends? So, I cheated a little here, for those who are counting. But, my biography would not be complete without listing my membership in my family. Crazy and unique, bad or good, my family members have helped make me who I am.
"No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you." Wilma Rudolph
One Who Makes a Difference
Again, another one I couldn't describe with one word. In the end, I mean, the real end . . . my death . . . I want people to remember me for all of the above-listed things and, hopefully, remember that I made a difference in the world.
"The sense of obligation is present in all of us. A duty to strive is the duty of us all. I felt a call to that duty." Abraham Lincoln
Monday, April 14, 2008
Who's Next?
Katie's latest post about her boyfriend joining the blogging world got me thinking: Which one of my household members will be the next one to start a blog?
I'm sure my two year and a half year old daughter's blog would be called "Tales of a Misunderstood Drama Queen." She would post daily, of course, to maximize the number of hits and the amount of attention. Her posts would include:
Monday Fun: how to convince your preschool teachers and mother you have fractured your knee and can no longer walk and must be carried around school and home for 24 hours.
Tuesday Follow-up: how to be extra cute and charming after doctor's appointment for said knee "injury" to avoid punishment for Monday Fun.
Princess Debate: Who's better - Cinderella or Belle?
IT'S CIRCLE TIME, DAMN IT!
My TOY, MINE!!
My 16 month old son's blog would be entitled, "Balls, Buses, and Bubbles" because those are his three favorite words. His posts would include:
My Favorite Things - Balls, Buses, and Bubbles
Why it is so Funny when I Stick My Finger Up My Mama's Nose!
Admit it, I'm Cute!
Ode to Goldfish Crackers
BUUUUUBBBBLE! BUUUUUBBLE!
The dog's blog would be called, "Because I Can and You Would if You Could." She wouldn't post that often because it would interfere with her nap schedule, but here are a few:
The Squirrel Conspiracy
What the Hell Did I Eat Last Night?
Out!
Principles of Strategic Shedding
Why the Postman is Evil and Must Be Destroyed
The cat probably wouldn't lower himself to blogging, but if he did, it would be called, ". . . And Your Little Dog Too!" His posts would be full of swear words and rants against "the establishment" and include:
Who are These People and Why are They Touching Me?
Why I am Better than the Rest of You
How Hard is It to Keep My Food Bowl FULL!?!?!
Wow. It is probably a good thing I have a laptop that is on a high shelf. Of course, since none of them can type, all of the entries would look like this:
s DUH;W8Q NAe f;o234q
sakjdf 23489 sdflgmj awer:oGT DFHP0ERU9QT
SDM,C WE4R9 ERGDK ;F VMWE R9-2 TNFGS
hklsdf 394t sdakl erg12=4 daf; a)tre xbg
qw[ kpSDF ;94T'KDAFGq912-]94813
RSDFAGsdf w3rt9hn ;sdf awrfolwet n'ujio
I think I am safe for now.
I'm sure my two year and a half year old daughter's blog would be called "Tales of a Misunderstood Drama Queen." She would post daily, of course, to maximize the number of hits and the amount of attention. Her posts would include:
Monday Fun: how to convince your preschool teachers and mother you have fractured your knee and can no longer walk and must be carried around school and home for 24 hours.
Tuesday Follow-up: how to be extra cute and charming after doctor's appointment for said knee "injury" to avoid punishment for Monday Fun.
Princess Debate: Who's better - Cinderella or Belle?
IT'S CIRCLE TIME, DAMN IT!
My TOY, MINE!!
My 16 month old son's blog would be entitled, "Balls, Buses, and Bubbles" because those are his three favorite words. His posts would include:
My Favorite Things - Balls, Buses, and Bubbles
Why it is so Funny when I Stick My Finger Up My Mama's Nose!
Admit it, I'm Cute!
Ode to Goldfish Crackers
BUUUUUBBBBLE! BUUUUUBBLE!
The dog's blog would be called, "Because I Can and You Would if You Could." She wouldn't post that often because it would interfere with her nap schedule, but here are a few:
The Squirrel Conspiracy
What the Hell Did I Eat Last Night?
Out!
Principles of Strategic Shedding
Why the Postman is Evil and Must Be Destroyed
The cat probably wouldn't lower himself to blogging, but if he did, it would be called, ". . . And Your Little Dog Too!" His posts would be full of swear words and rants against "the establishment" and include:
Who are These People and Why are They Touching Me?
Why I am Better than the Rest of You
How Hard is It to Keep My Food Bowl FULL!?!?!
Wow. It is probably a good thing I have a laptop that is on a high shelf. Of course, since none of them can type, all of the entries would look like this:
s DUH;W8Q NAe f;o234q
sakjdf 23489 sdflgmj awer:oGT DFHP0ERU9QT
SDM,C WE4R9 ERGDK ;F VMWE R9-2 TNFGS
hklsdf 394t sdakl erg12=4 daf; a)tre xbg
qw[ kpSDF ;94T'KDAFGq912-]94813
RSDFAGsdf w3rt9hn ;sdf awrfolwet n'ujio
I think I am safe for now.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Well, Maybe You Shouldn’t Date the Easter Bunny
One of my best friends for many years just turned 37 and is still single. Single and bitter, really, which differentiates her from me because I remain single and hopeful (and I am not quite 37 yet) with only occasional moments of bitterness.
Anyway, she was talking to my two and a half year old about her Easter Basket recently. (Even though Easter was several weeks ago, the Easter Bunny is still a big topic of conversation of our house, particularly the things the Easter Bunny brought in the baskets.) After discussing the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket with her, my friend H. said to me, "What the hell kind of Easter Bunny came to your house!?!"
"What are you talking about? They got tons of stuff in their Easter Baskets!" I replied.
"Yes," H. said, "But the kind of stuff is a little disturbing."
"What is disturbing about it?"
H. rattled off the list of my daughter’s Easter Basket’s contents: a jeweled tiara and wand, sparkly hair things, a pretend pink talking cell phone, a metallic orange purse with flowers, sparkle lip gloss, two small princess books, princess sparkle stickers, and a bottle of bubbles.
"So?" I said.
"What, is the Easter Bunny gay?"
Considering the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket, I could see she had a point. "But," I said, "my son’s basket had cars, balls, a red cell phone, truck books, bubbles, and train stickers. So, the Easter Bunny is actually really butch too, but he has a feminine side. He’s metrosexual, really, which is a hard thing to say about a pretend rabbit that neither one of us believes in."
"Well," she said, "I don’t think the Easter Bunny is metrosexual. He sounds like most of my ex-boyfriends - either gay or overcompensating for something."
Anyway, she was talking to my two and a half year old about her Easter Basket recently. (Even though Easter was several weeks ago, the Easter Bunny is still a big topic of conversation of our house, particularly the things the Easter Bunny brought in the baskets.) After discussing the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket with her, my friend H. said to me, "What the hell kind of Easter Bunny came to your house!?!"
"What are you talking about? They got tons of stuff in their Easter Baskets!" I replied.
"Yes," H. said, "But the kind of stuff is a little disturbing."
"What is disturbing about it?"
H. rattled off the list of my daughter’s Easter Basket’s contents: a jeweled tiara and wand, sparkly hair things, a pretend pink talking cell phone, a metallic orange purse with flowers, sparkle lip gloss, two small princess books, princess sparkle stickers, and a bottle of bubbles.
"So?" I said.
"What, is the Easter Bunny gay?"
Considering the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket, I could see she had a point. "But," I said, "my son’s basket had cars, balls, a red cell phone, truck books, bubbles, and train stickers. So, the Easter Bunny is actually really butch too, but he has a feminine side. He’s metrosexual, really, which is a hard thing to say about a pretend rabbit that neither one of us believes in."
"Well," she said, "I don’t think the Easter Bunny is metrosexual. He sounds like most of my ex-boyfriends - either gay or overcompensating for something."
Friday, April 4, 2008
I’m Funny, But Not That Funny
I just got a phone call from my brother, which is weird enough in and of itself. He’s never been a phone kind of person. However, the subject of our conversation was even weirder. Here it is:
Brother: Hey, I have a question for you.
Me: OK, what’s up? (Thinking it would probably be a parenting question)
Brother: I was trying to remember this joke you made once.
Me: Well, you know . . . I make a lot of jokes.
Brother: Oh, yeah, but this one was really funny. It was about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints.*
Me: I told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? When was this? I mean, was it recently, because I’m pretty sure I would remember it if it had been recently.
Brother: Well, it was when I was in high school and you were in college.
Me: You mean, like 15 years ago?
Brother: Well . . . yeah.
Me: You are calling to ask me about a joke I made 15 years ago?
Brother: But it was really funny!! I remember giggling about it forever!
Me: You know . . . I can’t even think of something funny to say about specific heat capacity or Junior Mints right now. I seriously don’t remember what would have been funny about them 15 years ago.
Brother: Oh, come on! It was hilarious! We both laughed forever!
Me: Listen, now that I think about it, don’t you think it is more likely you told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? I mean, you are more likely to be funny about scientific theories than I am. My humor tends toward the snarky, sarcastic, making-fun-of-people, stupidity-of-others genre.
Brother: No really . . . I think it has something to do with you dropping a Junior Mint in your boyfriend’s lap or something.
Me: Are you sure you are not thinking of that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer drops the Junior Mint?
Brother: What’s Seinfeld?
Me: Nevermind - it’s a TV show. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Brother: Will you call me if you remember?
Me: Yeah, sure. Did you call Papa today?
Brother: No. Do you think he will remember the joke?
Me: No. Seriously, if I actually told that joke, I sincerely doubt I told it to our father and he remembers it 15 years later. No. Did you call him because it is his birthday today?
Brother: Oh, shit. I better do that.
Me: Yeah.
*I created this link to the Wikipedia article about Junior Mints because it was interesting, not because I think people don't know what Junior Mints are.
Brother: Hey, I have a question for you.
Me: OK, what’s up? (Thinking it would probably be a parenting question)
Brother: I was trying to remember this joke you made once.
Me: Well, you know . . . I make a lot of jokes.
Brother: Oh, yeah, but this one was really funny. It was about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints.*
Me: I told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? When was this? I mean, was it recently, because I’m pretty sure I would remember it if it had been recently.
Brother: Well, it was when I was in high school and you were in college.
Me: You mean, like 15 years ago?
Brother: Well . . . yeah.
Me: You are calling to ask me about a joke I made 15 years ago?
Brother: But it was really funny!! I remember giggling about it forever!
Me: You know . . . I can’t even think of something funny to say about specific heat capacity or Junior Mints right now. I seriously don’t remember what would have been funny about them 15 years ago.
Brother: Oh, come on! It was hilarious! We both laughed forever!
Me: Listen, now that I think about it, don’t you think it is more likely you told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? I mean, you are more likely to be funny about scientific theories than I am. My humor tends toward the snarky, sarcastic, making-fun-of-people, stupidity-of-others genre.
Brother: No really . . . I think it has something to do with you dropping a Junior Mint in your boyfriend’s lap or something.
Me: Are you sure you are not thinking of that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer drops the Junior Mint?
Brother: What’s Seinfeld?
Me: Nevermind - it’s a TV show. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Brother: Will you call me if you remember?
Me: Yeah, sure. Did you call Papa today?
Brother: No. Do you think he will remember the joke?
Me: No. Seriously, if I actually told that joke, I sincerely doubt I told it to our father and he remembers it 15 years later. No. Did you call him because it is his birthday today?
Brother: Oh, shit. I better do that.
Me: Yeah.
*I created this link to the Wikipedia article about Junior Mints because it was interesting, not because I think people don't know what Junior Mints are.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Will I Never Learn?
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
Damn it.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
Damn it.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Surprise, Surprise, Surprise: Blue Man Group Show is Repetitive
The Peoria Journal Star is reporting this morning that the Blue Man Group show at the Civic Center was good but "strikingly similar to last year."
Umm . . . ya think?
Seriously, there are only so many ways of entertaining an audience with a show based on some guys with shiny electric blue rubber masks on their heads, banging PVC pipes and garbage can lids (or is that Stomp?), launching themselves and other objects around the stage, all set to ear-splitting techno music. Is this really entertaining more than once? And if it is one of those things that you just LOVE (I mean, I do have certain movies or books I watch or read over and over), why would you be shocked if it was similar to the last time you saw it?
Umm . . . ya think?
Seriously, there are only so many ways of entertaining an audience with a show based on some guys with shiny electric blue rubber masks on their heads, banging PVC pipes and garbage can lids (or is that Stomp?), launching themselves and other objects around the stage, all set to ear-splitting techno music. Is this really entertaining more than once? And if it is one of those things that you just LOVE (I mean, I do have certain movies or books I watch or read over and over), why would you be shocked if it was similar to the last time you saw it?
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