MPF
In my defense, it was early, and the diet Coke had not yet kicked in. We were eating breakfast at our usual haunt and GramTuna was already in a full out menu planning mode for our Saturday Thanksgiving. I had employed the "Uh huhhh" defense during this conversation -- mindless, but effective when used properly. List-type conversations work well with a twelve second rotation. This allows enough time for each item to be listed, followed by a moment of thoughtful introspection before you reply "Uh huhhhhh". You see, cohesive thoughts had not yet formed in my gray matter and I just wasn't awake.
Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes...
Uh huhhh......
Sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, corn...
Uh huhhh.....
Soup, rolls....
Uh Huhhhh.....
Mince Pie....
MPF
And there it was. My knee jerk genetically programmed can't-help-it response to Mince Pie. I made the dreaded Mince Pie Face (MPF). Why? Because Me.No.Likeee. Mince Pie is gross. Mince pie is nasss-ty. Mince pie is yuck. And even though my brain wasn't awake, my face sure was. And at the name of "mince pie" I made the face of one who does not prefer Mince Pie. And whoooo boy, did I get in trouble! Well, not really in trouble, but a lively discussion followed about the merits of mince pie. No! It was not a discussion. It was a lecture. And I wasn't buying it.
MPF became the acronym and activity du jour. It was quickly applied to every Thanksgiving dish in the upcoming menu, which predictably, led to the great gelatin salad debate: cranberry salad with orange peels, twigs and acorns (big MPF in my book) vs. green gelatin with pears and cream cheese (big MPF in SisterTuna's world). GramTuna attempted to stop the madness, but it was too late. We sped past the holiday menu and proceeded to hurl food suggestions that we knew would trigger a MPF. GramTuna finally gave up. We cracked up. In our house, this is known as a Thanksgiving family bonding type moment.
In the end, of course, dinner was marvelous. I didn't have to view the offending pie, and she kept her mitts off my yummy salad. TinyTuna, of course, was commanded to eat one brussel sprout, which she did with much sighing and gulping of milk. Surprisingly, she didn't make a MPF.
She'll learn.
Sign My Guestbook!
Sunday, November 30, 2003
MPF
In my defense, it was early, and the diet Coke had not yet kicked in. We were eating breakfast at our usual haunt and GramTuna was already in a full out menu planning mode for our Saturday Thanksgiving. I had employed the "Uh huhhh" defense during this conversation -- mindless, but effective when used properly. List-type conversations work well with a twelve second rotation. This allows enough time for each item to be listed, followed by a moment of thoughtful introspection before you reply "Uh huhhhhh". You see, cohesive thoughts had not yet formed in my gray matter and I just wasn't awake.
Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes...
Uh huhhh......
Sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, corn...
Uh huhhh.....
Soup, rolls....
Uh Huhhhh.....
Mince Pie....
MPF
And there it was. My knee jerk genetically programmed can't-help-it response to Mince Pie. I made the dreaded Mince Pie Face (MPF). Why? Because Me.No.Likeee. Mince Pie is gross. Mince pie is nasss-ty. Mince pie is yuck. And even though my brain wasn't awake, my face sure was. And at the name of "mince pie" I made the face of one who does not prefer Mince Pie. And whoooo boy, did I get in trouble! Well, not really in trouble, but a lively discussion followed about the merits of mince pie. No! It was not a discussion. It was a lecture. And I wasn't buying it.
MPF became the acronym and activity du jour. It was quickly applied to every Thanksgiving dish in the upcoming menu, which predictably, led to the great gelatin salad debate: cranberry salad with orange peels, twigs and acorns (big MPF in my book) vs. green gelatin with pears and cream cheese (big MPF in SisterTuna's world). GramTuna attempted to stop the madness, but it was too late. We sped past the holiday menu and proceeded to hurl food suggestions that we knew would trigger a MPF. GramTuna finally gave up. We cracked up. In our house, this is known as a Thanksgiving family bonding type moment.
In the end, of course, dinner was marvelous. I didn't have to view the offending pie, and she kept her mitts off my yummy salad. TinyTuna, of course, was commanded to eat one brussel sprout, which she did with much sighing and gulping of milk. Surprisingly, she didn't make a MPF.
She'll learn.
Sign My Guestbook!
In my defense, it was early, and the diet Coke had not yet kicked in. We were eating breakfast at our usual haunt and GramTuna was already in a full out menu planning mode for our Saturday Thanksgiving. I had employed the "Uh huhhh" defense during this conversation -- mindless, but effective when used properly. List-type conversations work well with a twelve second rotation. This allows enough time for each item to be listed, followed by a moment of thoughtful introspection before you reply "Uh huhhhhh". You see, cohesive thoughts had not yet formed in my gray matter and I just wasn't awake.
Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes...
Uh huhhh......
Sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, corn...
Uh huhhh.....
Soup, rolls....
Uh Huhhhh.....
Mince Pie....
MPF
And there it was. My knee jerk genetically programmed can't-help-it response to Mince Pie. I made the dreaded Mince Pie Face (MPF). Why? Because Me.No.Likeee. Mince Pie is gross. Mince pie is nasss-ty. Mince pie is yuck. And even though my brain wasn't awake, my face sure was. And at the name of "mince pie" I made the face of one who does not prefer Mince Pie. And whoooo boy, did I get in trouble! Well, not really in trouble, but a lively discussion followed about the merits of mince pie. No! It was not a discussion. It was a lecture. And I wasn't buying it.
MPF became the acronym and activity du jour. It was quickly applied to every Thanksgiving dish in the upcoming menu, which predictably, led to the great gelatin salad debate: cranberry salad with orange peels, twigs and acorns (big MPF in my book) vs. green gelatin with pears and cream cheese (big MPF in SisterTuna's world). GramTuna attempted to stop the madness, but it was too late. We sped past the holiday menu and proceeded to hurl food suggestions that we knew would trigger a MPF. GramTuna finally gave up. We cracked up. In our house, this is known as a Thanksgiving family bonding type moment.
In the end, of course, dinner was marvelous. I didn't have to view the offending pie, and she kept her mitts off my yummy salad. TinyTuna, of course, was commanded to eat one brussel sprout, which she did with much sighing and gulping of milk. Surprisingly, she didn't make a MPF.
She'll learn.
Sign My Guestbook!
DON'T PEEP ON MY PARADE
And so, the holiday weekend draws to a close. If you are the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a nice holiday with lots of your most favorite food, whatever that may be. If you are not the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a lovely, restful weekend. If you are Canadian, what with the exchange rates and all, you should be hitting Christmas about now right? Ho Ho Ho. This joke will never die! Just ask me.
Being a Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, our extended family did the poultry polka just yesterday. It was of course, yummy. The turkey was stuffed, and so were we. Several courses later we were all searching for the horizontal laboratory to conduct our annual Thanksgiving chemistry experiment. Results were uniformly positive, although more experimental sessions are required. The scientific community will reconvene in November, 2004 to gather additional data.
One traditional among many during this weekend is watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This parade has morphed somewhat into a combination parade plus hour-long advertisement for current and upcoming Broadway shows. I don't suppose I mind (not that they asked), but note to the masses: the parade part doesn't start until an hour into the show. TinyTuna and I watched the Broadway extravaganza because hey, it had singing and dancing which was good enough for her. It was fine. The commercials during this hour, however, were straight out of the national evening news. You know -- the ones where the ad is for some disgusting human ailment explained in graphic detail, accompanied by cute cartoon drawings (it's less disgusting that way, right?). Each malady is remedied by a consumer friendly perky colorful scientifically named pill. I fully expect Crayola to retire the color purple and replace it with the color Nexium. These "cures", however, have a list of side effects a mile long, which they dutifully if not gleefully list during the commercial. Maybe if these side effects had some cute non-threatening animation of their own, they wouldn't seem to be ten times worse than the original ailment. So, we had acid reflex, gastro-intestinal maladies, headache, heartburn and depression filling in the gaps during a celebratory parade. Does anyone see a conflict with this? I'm just asking.
An hour later, the dang parade finally starts. What a lineup! The best, of course, are the giant balloons. They're my favorite. I loved the Underdog balloon from way back when. He’s gone, but there were lots of others. Some kinda cool, some kinda meh (Pikachu? Whatever). I still remember fondly a giant Superman balloon from several years ago. He was posed, flying through the air (in a balloon floaty way) with both arms outstretched. Unfortunately, the weather was particularly crappy that day, and one of his arms had gotten punctured. So it was hanging down in a dead, less than Super-Hero kind of way, flapping sadly in the breeze. For Superman, it was kinda funny. He probably could have used one of those colorful pills up there to help him out. He wasn't depressed, but he was deflated. If he got a Bob Dole blue pill special, maybe he could have gotten it up again (His ARM. Hee.)
Along with the balloons come the floats. Now, I think these aren't as pretty as the Rose Parade floats, which have to use all natural items in their construction. But they are still fun. The absolute best fall over laughing float in the Thanksgiving parade? The PEEPS float. Yes, you heard it here. There was a float featuring Peeps. Because nothing says Thanksgiving like a float full of little marshmallow things that you eat at Easter.
(Wait -- There are ladies on my television set, wearing togas and dancing this slow drapey bed sheet dance to Bach's Air on the G String, If just one of them shouted "One Grecian Urn!", my day would be complete. If you miss this reference entirely, get thee to a video store and watch The Music Man. The original Robert Preston one -- not the newer made for TV one, because it just wasn't Robert Preston.)
I'm back. Peeps. There was a float loaded with giant yellow peep chicks and a band who had to play on said Peep float during the course of the parade. Do you suppose this particular performance is a resume builder? What kind of status has your band achieved (or sunk to) when you are the featured performer with a bunch of mechanical marshmallows? Let's ask our friends Old Crow Medicine Show. Somewhat surprisingly, it seems Peeps does a bluegrass band good. Wow. I almost feel bad for falling off my couch laughing at them. Almost. Or not. But three cheers for them for being proud of their Peeps appearance.
One last thing about Peeps. The excessive commercialism Peep Manufacturing conglomerate is now making Peeps for all occasions. I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's like showing A Charlie Brown Christmas in July. And come to think of it, that Woodstock...he is yellow, and he is a bird. A Peep conspiracy?
So much more to tell, but like Thanksgiving dinner, I have to pace myself. I do believe it is time for some yummy green Jell-o salad. Coming up next? A long detailed explanation of the newest acronym on the block: MPF.
Sign My Guestbook!
And so, the holiday weekend draws to a close. If you are the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a nice holiday with lots of your most favorite food, whatever that may be. If you are not the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a lovely, restful weekend. If you are Canadian, what with the exchange rates and all, you should be hitting Christmas about now right? Ho Ho Ho. This joke will never die! Just ask me.
Being a Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, our extended family did the poultry polka just yesterday. It was of course, yummy. The turkey was stuffed, and so were we. Several courses later we were all searching for the horizontal laboratory to conduct our annual Thanksgiving chemistry experiment. Results were uniformly positive, although more experimental sessions are required. The scientific community will reconvene in November, 2004 to gather additional data.
One traditional among many during this weekend is watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This parade has morphed somewhat into a combination parade plus hour-long advertisement for current and upcoming Broadway shows. I don't suppose I mind (not that they asked), but note to the masses: the parade part doesn't start until an hour into the show. TinyTuna and I watched the Broadway extravaganza because hey, it had singing and dancing which was good enough for her. It was fine. The commercials during this hour, however, were straight out of the national evening news. You know -- the ones where the ad is for some disgusting human ailment explained in graphic detail, accompanied by cute cartoon drawings (it's less disgusting that way, right?). Each malady is remedied by a consumer friendly perky colorful scientifically named pill. I fully expect Crayola to retire the color purple and replace it with the color Nexium. These "cures", however, have a list of side effects a mile long, which they dutifully if not gleefully list during the commercial. Maybe if these side effects had some cute non-threatening animation of their own, they wouldn't seem to be ten times worse than the original ailment. So, we had acid reflex, gastro-intestinal maladies, headache, heartburn and depression filling in the gaps during a celebratory parade. Does anyone see a conflict with this? I'm just asking.
An hour later, the dang parade finally starts. What a lineup! The best, of course, are the giant balloons. They're my favorite. I loved the Underdog balloon from way back when. He’s gone, but there were lots of others. Some kinda cool, some kinda meh (Pikachu? Whatever). I still remember fondly a giant Superman balloon from several years ago. He was posed, flying through the air (in a balloon floaty way) with both arms outstretched. Unfortunately, the weather was particularly crappy that day, and one of his arms had gotten punctured. So it was hanging down in a dead, less than Super-Hero kind of way, flapping sadly in the breeze. For Superman, it was kinda funny. He probably could have used one of those colorful pills up there to help him out. He wasn't depressed, but he was deflated. If he got a Bob Dole blue pill special, maybe he could have gotten it up again (His ARM. Hee.)
Along with the balloons come the floats. Now, I think these aren't as pretty as the Rose Parade floats, which have to use all natural items in their construction. But they are still fun. The absolute best fall over laughing float in the Thanksgiving parade? The PEEPS float. Yes, you heard it here. There was a float featuring Peeps. Because nothing says Thanksgiving like a float full of little marshmallow things that you eat at Easter.
(Wait -- There are ladies on my television set, wearing togas and dancing this slow drapey bed sheet dance to Bach's Air on the G String, If just one of them shouted "One Grecian Urn!", my day would be complete. If you miss this reference entirely, get thee to a video store and watch The Music Man. The original Robert Preston one -- not the newer made for TV one, because it just wasn't Robert Preston.)
I'm back. Peeps. There was a float loaded with giant yellow peep chicks and a band who had to play on said Peep float during the course of the parade. Do you suppose this particular performance is a resume builder? What kind of status has your band achieved (or sunk to) when you are the featured performer with a bunch of mechanical marshmallows? Let's ask our friends Old Crow Medicine Show. Somewhat surprisingly, it seems Peeps does a bluegrass band good. Wow. I almost feel bad for falling off my couch laughing at them. Almost. Or not. But three cheers for them for being proud of their Peeps appearance.
One last thing about Peeps. The excessive commercialism Peep Manufacturing conglomerate is now making Peeps for all occasions. I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's like showing A Charlie Brown Christmas in July. And come to think of it, that Woodstock...he is yellow, and he is a bird. A Peep conspiracy?
So much more to tell, but like Thanksgiving dinner, I have to pace myself. I do believe it is time for some yummy green Jell-o salad. Coming up next? A long detailed explanation of the newest acronym on the block: MPF.
Sign My Guestbook!
DON'T PEEP ON MY PARADE
And so, the holiday weekend draws to a close. If you are the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a nice holiday with lots of your most favorite food, whatever that may be. If you are not the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a lovely, restful weekend. If you are Canadian, what with the exchange rates and all, you should be hitting Christmas about now right? Ho Ho Ho. This joke will never die! Just ask me.
Being a Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, our extended family did the poultry polka just yesterday. It was of course, yummy. The turkey was stuffed, and so were we. Several courses later we were all searching for the horizontal laboratory to conduct our annual Thanksgiving chemistry experiment. Results were uniformly positive, although more experimental sessions are required. The scientific community will reconvene in November, 2004 to gather additional data.
One traditional among many during this weekend is watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This parade has morphed somewhat into a combination parade plus hour-long advertisement for current and upcoming Broadway shows. I don't suppose I mind (not that they asked), but note to the masses: the parade part doesn't start until an hour into the show. TinyTuna and I watched the Broadway extravaganza because hey, it had singing and dancing which was good enough for her. It was fine. The commercials during this hour, however, were straight out of the national evening news. You know -- the ones where the ad is for some disgusting human ailment explained in graphic detail, accompanied by cute cartoon drawings (it's less disgusting that way, right?). Each malady is remedied by a consumer friendly perky colorful scientifically named pill. I fully expect Crayola to retire the color purple and replace it with the color Nexium. These "cures", however, have a list of side effects a mile long, which they dutifully if not gleefully list during the commercial. Maybe if these side effects had some cute non-threatening animation of their own, they wouldn't seem to be ten times worse than the original ailment. So, we had acid reflex, gastro-intestinal maladies, headache, heartburn and depression filling in the gaps during a celebratory parade. Does anyone see a conflict with this? I'm just asking.
An hour later, the dang parade finally starts. What a lineup! The best, of course, are the giant balloons. They're my favorite. I loved the Underdog balloon from way back when. He’s gone, but there were lots of others. Some kinda cool, some kinda meh (Pikachu? Whatever). I still remember fondly a giant Superman balloon from several years ago. He was posed, flying through the air (in a balloon floaty way) with both arms outstretched. Unfortunately, the weather was particularly crappy that day, and one of his arms had gotten punctured. So it was hanging down in a dead, less than Super-Hero kind of way, flapping sadly in the breeze. For Superman, it was kinda funny. He probably could have used one of those colorful pills up there to help him out. He wasn't depressed, but he was deflated. If he got a Bob Dole blue pill special, maybe he could have gotten it up again (His ARM. Hee.)
Along with the balloons come the floats. Now, I think these aren't as pretty as the Rose Parade floats, which have to use all natural items in their construction. But they are still fun. The absolute best fall over laughing float in the Thanksgiving parade? The PEEPS float. Yes, you heard it here. There was a float featuring Peeps. Because nothing says Thanksgiving like a float full of little marshmallow things that you eat at Easter.
(Wait -- There are ladies on my television set, wearing togas and dancing this slow drapey bed sheet dance to Bach's Air on the G String, If just one of them shouted "One Grecian Urn!", my day would be complete. If you miss this reference entirely, get thee to a video store and watch The Music Man. The original Robert Preston one -- not the newer made for TV one, because it just wasn't Robert Preston.)
I'm back. Peeps. There was a float loaded with giant yellow peep chicks and a band who had to play on said Peep float during the course of the parade. Do you suppose this particular performance is a resume builder? What kind of status has your band achieved (or sunk to) when you are the featured performer with a bunch of mechanical marshmallows? Let's ask our friends Old Crow Medicine Show. Somewhat surprisingly, it seems Peeps does a bluegrass band good. Wow. I almost feel bad for falling off my couch laughing at them. Almost. Or not. But three cheers for them for being proud of their Peeps appearance.
One last thing about Peeps. The excessive commercialism Peep Manufacturing conglomerate is now making Peeps for all occasions. I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's like showing A Charlie Brown Christmas in July. And come to think of it, that Woodstock...he is yellow, and he is a bird. A Peep conspiracy?
So much more to tell, but like Thanksgiving dinner, I have to pace myself. I do believe it is time for some yummy green Jell-o salad. Coming up next? A long detailed explanation of the newest acronym on the block: MPF.
Sign My Guestbook!
And so, the holiday weekend draws to a close. If you are the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a nice holiday with lots of your most favorite food, whatever that may be. If you are not the Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, I hope you had a lovely, restful weekend. If you are Canadian, what with the exchange rates and all, you should be hitting Christmas about now right? Ho Ho Ho. This joke will never die! Just ask me.
Being a Thanksgiving celebrating sort of person, our extended family did the poultry polka just yesterday. It was of course, yummy. The turkey was stuffed, and so were we. Several courses later we were all searching for the horizontal laboratory to conduct our annual Thanksgiving chemistry experiment. Results were uniformly positive, although more experimental sessions are required. The scientific community will reconvene in November, 2004 to gather additional data.
One traditional among many during this weekend is watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This parade has morphed somewhat into a combination parade plus hour-long advertisement for current and upcoming Broadway shows. I don't suppose I mind (not that they asked), but note to the masses: the parade part doesn't start until an hour into the show. TinyTuna and I watched the Broadway extravaganza because hey, it had singing and dancing which was good enough for her. It was fine. The commercials during this hour, however, were straight out of the national evening news. You know -- the ones where the ad is for some disgusting human ailment explained in graphic detail, accompanied by cute cartoon drawings (it's less disgusting that way, right?). Each malady is remedied by a consumer friendly perky colorful scientifically named pill. I fully expect Crayola to retire the color purple and replace it with the color Nexium. These "cures", however, have a list of side effects a mile long, which they dutifully if not gleefully list during the commercial. Maybe if these side effects had some cute non-threatening animation of their own, they wouldn't seem to be ten times worse than the original ailment. So, we had acid reflex, gastro-intestinal maladies, headache, heartburn and depression filling in the gaps during a celebratory parade. Does anyone see a conflict with this? I'm just asking.
An hour later, the dang parade finally starts. What a lineup! The best, of course, are the giant balloons. They're my favorite. I loved the Underdog balloon from way back when. He’s gone, but there were lots of others. Some kinda cool, some kinda meh (Pikachu? Whatever). I still remember fondly a giant Superman balloon from several years ago. He was posed, flying through the air (in a balloon floaty way) with both arms outstretched. Unfortunately, the weather was particularly crappy that day, and one of his arms had gotten punctured. So it was hanging down in a dead, less than Super-Hero kind of way, flapping sadly in the breeze. For Superman, it was kinda funny. He probably could have used one of those colorful pills up there to help him out. He wasn't depressed, but he was deflated. If he got a Bob Dole blue pill special, maybe he could have gotten it up again (His ARM. Hee.)
Along with the balloons come the floats. Now, I think these aren't as pretty as the Rose Parade floats, which have to use all natural items in their construction. But they are still fun. The absolute best fall over laughing float in the Thanksgiving parade? The PEEPS float. Yes, you heard it here. There was a float featuring Peeps. Because nothing says Thanksgiving like a float full of little marshmallow things that you eat at Easter.
(Wait -- There are ladies on my television set, wearing togas and dancing this slow drapey bed sheet dance to Bach's Air on the G String, If just one of them shouted "One Grecian Urn!", my day would be complete. If you miss this reference entirely, get thee to a video store and watch The Music Man. The original Robert Preston one -- not the newer made for TV one, because it just wasn't Robert Preston.)
I'm back. Peeps. There was a float loaded with giant yellow peep chicks and a band who had to play on said Peep float during the course of the parade. Do you suppose this particular performance is a resume builder? What kind of status has your band achieved (or sunk to) when you are the featured performer with a bunch of mechanical marshmallows? Let's ask our friends Old Crow Medicine Show. Somewhat surprisingly, it seems Peeps does a bluegrass band good. Wow. I almost feel bad for falling off my couch laughing at them. Almost. Or not. But three cheers for them for being proud of their Peeps appearance.
One last thing about Peeps. The excessive commercialism Peep Manufacturing conglomerate is now making Peeps for all occasions. I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's like showing A Charlie Brown Christmas in July. And come to think of it, that Woodstock...he is yellow, and he is a bird. A Peep conspiracy?
So much more to tell, but like Thanksgiving dinner, I have to pace myself. I do believe it is time for some yummy green Jell-o salad. Coming up next? A long detailed explanation of the newest acronym on the block: MPF.
Sign My Guestbook!
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
TEA SUBSTITUTE?
Words fail on so many levels. Look if you dare. A particularly descriptive sentence I read regarding this product? "...Who wouldn't enjoy a brown beverage that tastes like a mixture of sweet caramel and savory lard?..."
Me, for one. Maybe the turkey, for two.
Sign My Guestbook!
Words fail on so many levels. Look if you dare. A particularly descriptive sentence I read regarding this product? "...Who wouldn't enjoy a brown beverage that tastes like a mixture of sweet caramel and savory lard?..."
Me, for one. Maybe the turkey, for two.
Sign My Guestbook!
TEA SUBSTITUTE?
Words fail on so many levels. Look if you dare. A particularly descriptive sentence I read regarding this product? "...Who wouldn't enjoy a brown beverage that tastes like a mixture of sweet caramel and savory lard?..."
Me, for one. Maybe the turkey, for two.
Sign My Guestbook!
Words fail on so many levels. Look if you dare. A particularly descriptive sentence I read regarding this product? "...Who wouldn't enjoy a brown beverage that tastes like a mixture of sweet caramel and savory lard?..."
Me, for one. Maybe the turkey, for two.
Sign My Guestbook!
TEA AND SYMPATHY
'Tis the season. No, not that season. Not yet. (Friday -- you can wait). Tis the season for holiday parties. KatJam is already bracing herself for drunken coworkers. Some establishments rent a hall and have a big dinner and party. Some go out to eat, and others have drunken revelries.
In the library we have a Holiday Tea. 2pm - 4pm.
A Tea. We have and have always had a freaking Holiday Tea. Ever since forever. A tea. WooooBoy! A Tea!! Grab your silly monkey hat and party like it's 1999. Get down with an Evil Duck (ha!) It's a TEA, baby.
If you cannot tell, me no likee. It's not that I carry some grudge against Earl Gray and his compatriots. True, tea is not my favorite. But Gah. A Holiday Tea. What else could we do that is so incredibly stodgy? Have the 100-meter walk-don't-run race through the card catalog? Quotations at twenty paces? Cite that source in three words or less?
It drives me nuts because the people in this building are some of the smartest, most diverse people I know. They are fascinating individuals and professionals. And here we are, stuck with a stereotypic librarians are dorks tea (again). Maybe nobody sees it but me, but we're being repressed. And our captors are an urn of tea, punch in a glass bowl, and a plate of bagel quarters with cream cheese. It's time to start a revolution. Dump the tea and stand up for drunken revelries. Kick off those brown nubbly soled orthopedic nightmares and dance a little!
Something. Anything. Say it with me now: "Woooooo!!!" Please?
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
**sigh**
Sign My Guestbook!
'Tis the season. No, not that season. Not yet. (Friday -- you can wait). Tis the season for holiday parties. KatJam is already bracing herself for drunken coworkers. Some establishments rent a hall and have a big dinner and party. Some go out to eat, and others have drunken revelries.
In the library we have a Holiday Tea. 2pm - 4pm.
A Tea. We have and have always had a freaking Holiday Tea. Ever since forever. A tea. WooooBoy! A Tea!! Grab your silly monkey hat and party like it's 1999. Get down with an Evil Duck (ha!) It's a TEA, baby.
If you cannot tell, me no likee. It's not that I carry some grudge against Earl Gray and his compatriots. True, tea is not my favorite. But Gah. A Holiday Tea. What else could we do that is so incredibly stodgy? Have the 100-meter walk-don't-run race through the card catalog? Quotations at twenty paces? Cite that source in three words or less?
It drives me nuts because the people in this building are some of the smartest, most diverse people I know. They are fascinating individuals and professionals. And here we are, stuck with a stereotypic librarians are dorks tea (again). Maybe nobody sees it but me, but we're being repressed. And our captors are an urn of tea, punch in a glass bowl, and a plate of bagel quarters with cream cheese. It's time to start a revolution. Dump the tea and stand up for drunken revelries. Kick off those brown nubbly soled orthopedic nightmares and dance a little!
Something. Anything. Say it with me now: "Woooooo!!!" Please?
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
**sigh**
Sign My Guestbook!
TEA AND SYMPATHY
'Tis the season. No, not that season. Not yet. (Friday -- you can wait). Tis the season for holiday parties. KatJam is already bracing herself for drunken coworkers. Some establishments rent a hall and have a big dinner and party. Some go out to eat, and others have drunken revelries.
In the library we have a Holiday Tea. 2pm - 4pm.
A Tea. We have and have always had a freaking Holiday Tea. Ever since forever. A tea. WooooBoy! A Tea!! Grab your silly monkey hat and party like it's 1999. Get down with an Evil Duck (ha!) It's a TEA, baby.
If you cannot tell, me no likee. It's not that I carry some grudge against Earl Gray and his compatriots. True, tea is not my favorite. But Gah. A Holiday Tea. What else could we do that is so incredibly stodgy? Have the 100-meter walk-don't-run race through the card catalog? Quotations at twenty paces? Cite that source in three words or less?
It drives me nuts because the people in this building are some of the smartest, most diverse people I know. They are fascinating individuals and professionals. And here we are, stuck with a stereotypic librarians are dorks tea (again). Maybe nobody sees it but me, but we're being repressed. And our captors are an urn of tea, punch in a glass bowl, and a plate of bagel quarters with cream cheese. It's time to start a revolution. Dump the tea and stand up for drunken revelries. Kick off those brown nubbly soled orthopedic nightmares and dance a little!
Something. Anything. Say it with me now: "Woooooo!!!" Please?
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
**sigh**
Sign My Guestbook!
'Tis the season. No, not that season. Not yet. (Friday -- you can wait). Tis the season for holiday parties. KatJam is already bracing herself for drunken coworkers. Some establishments rent a hall and have a big dinner and party. Some go out to eat, and others have drunken revelries.
In the library we have a Holiday Tea. 2pm - 4pm.
A Tea. We have and have always had a freaking Holiday Tea. Ever since forever. A tea. WooooBoy! A Tea!! Grab your silly monkey hat and party like it's 1999. Get down with an Evil Duck (ha!) It's a TEA, baby.
If you cannot tell, me no likee. It's not that I carry some grudge against Earl Gray and his compatriots. True, tea is not my favorite. But Gah. A Holiday Tea. What else could we do that is so incredibly stodgy? Have the 100-meter walk-don't-run race through the card catalog? Quotations at twenty paces? Cite that source in three words or less?
It drives me nuts because the people in this building are some of the smartest, most diverse people I know. They are fascinating individuals and professionals. And here we are, stuck with a stereotypic librarians are dorks tea (again). Maybe nobody sees it but me, but we're being repressed. And our captors are an urn of tea, punch in a glass bowl, and a plate of bagel quarters with cream cheese. It's time to start a revolution. Dump the tea and stand up for drunken revelries. Kick off those brown nubbly soled orthopedic nightmares and dance a little!
Something. Anything. Say it with me now: "Woooooo!!!" Please?
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
**sigh**
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Tuesday, November 25, 2003
BANNER ADS STRIKE AGAIN
I can't let these pass. My two banner ads are for 1. Silly Monkey Hats and 2. Buy Stupid Hats. Where did these come from? What are they trying to say? And furthermore, why aren't the evil ducks getting any representation? Hey Banner Ads! Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks.
(Quack) Thank you.
Evil Ducks.
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I can't let these pass. My two banner ads are for 1. Silly Monkey Hats and 2. Buy Stupid Hats. Where did these come from? What are they trying to say? And furthermore, why aren't the evil ducks getting any representation? Hey Banner Ads! Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks.
(Quack) Thank you.
Evil Ducks.
Sign My Guestbook!
BANNER ADS STRIKE AGAIN
I can't let these pass. My two banner ads are for 1. Silly Monkey Hats and 2. Buy Stupid Hats. Where did these come from? What are they trying to say? And furthermore, why aren't the evil ducks getting any representation? Hey Banner Ads! Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks.
(Quack) Thank you.
Evil Ducks.
Sign My Guestbook!
I can't let these pass. My two banner ads are for 1. Silly Monkey Hats and 2. Buy Stupid Hats. Where did these come from? What are they trying to say? And furthermore, why aren't the evil ducks getting any representation? Hey Banner Ads! Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks. Evil ducks.
(Quack) Thank you.
Evil Ducks.
Sign My Guestbook!
LISTY McLISTS
More? There's more? Oh. There's always more...
Nervy Students There is nothing more irritating than a student looking you square in the eye and saying, "This class isn't a priority because it's not in my major." You know, I don't teach on a sliding scale. I don't give majors the Grade A Quality Level of instruction and non-majors a secondary I don't give a rip level of instruction. Dammit Jim, I am a college instructor, not a car wash.
Adventure Elf Why can't I ever make it past level 6? I was never good at the Mario Brothers jump around kind of game. I'm more of a Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga and Doom kind of gal. "Mein Leben!!!!" Ahhh....those were the days my friends.
Buttons I have no buttons on my winter coat. There must be a serious thread shortage, because I think they were all sewn on with two loose stitches, and no knot in the back to anchor them. It could be an evil plot -- It could be evil ducks! The coat makers and the button makers are in cahoots and have conspired to make us, the consumers go out and purchase an entirely new set of buttons. I'd write a letter to complain, but I'm too cold.
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More? There's more? Oh. There's always more...
Nervy Students There is nothing more irritating than a student looking you square in the eye and saying, "This class isn't a priority because it's not in my major." You know, I don't teach on a sliding scale. I don't give majors the Grade A Quality Level of instruction and non-majors a secondary I don't give a rip level of instruction. Dammit Jim, I am a college instructor, not a car wash.
Adventure Elf Why can't I ever make it past level 6? I was never good at the Mario Brothers jump around kind of game. I'm more of a Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga and Doom kind of gal. "Mein Leben!!!!" Ahhh....those were the days my friends.
Buttons I have no buttons on my winter coat. There must be a serious thread shortage, because I think they were all sewn on with two loose stitches, and no knot in the back to anchor them. It could be an evil plot -- It could be evil ducks! The coat makers and the button makers are in cahoots and have conspired to make us, the consumers go out and purchase an entirely new set of buttons. I'd write a letter to complain, but I'm too cold.
Sign My Guestbook!
LISTY McLISTS
More? There's more? Oh. There's always more...
Nervy Students There is nothing more irritating than a student looking you square in the eye and saying, "This class isn't a priority because it's not in my major." You know, I don't teach on a sliding scale. I don't give majors the Grade A Quality Level of instruction and non-majors a secondary I don't give a rip level of instruction. Dammit Jim, I am a college instructor, not a car wash.
Adventure Elf Why can't I ever make it past level 6? I was never good at the Mario Brothers jump around kind of game. I'm more of a Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga and Doom kind of gal. "Mein Leben!!!!" Ahhh....those were the days my friends.
Buttons I have no buttons on my winter coat. There must be a serious thread shortage, because I think they were all sewn on with two loose stitches, and no knot in the back to anchor them. It could be an evil plot -- It could be evil ducks! The coat makers and the button makers are in cahoots and have conspired to make us, the consumers go out and purchase an entirely new set of buttons. I'd write a letter to complain, but I'm too cold.
Sign My Guestbook!
More? There's more? Oh. There's always more...
Nervy Students There is nothing more irritating than a student looking you square in the eye and saying, "This class isn't a priority because it's not in my major." You know, I don't teach on a sliding scale. I don't give majors the Grade A Quality Level of instruction and non-majors a secondary I don't give a rip level of instruction. Dammit Jim, I am a college instructor, not a car wash.
Adventure Elf Why can't I ever make it past level 6? I was never good at the Mario Brothers jump around kind of game. I'm more of a Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga and Doom kind of gal. "Mein Leben!!!!" Ahhh....those were the days my friends.
Buttons I have no buttons on my winter coat. There must be a serious thread shortage, because I think they were all sewn on with two loose stitches, and no knot in the back to anchor them. It could be an evil plot -- It could be evil ducks! The coat makers and the button makers are in cahoots and have conspired to make us, the consumers go out and purchase an entirely new set of buttons. I'd write a letter to complain, but I'm too cold.
Sign My Guestbook!
A LITTLE? LIST
Longer and longer my little list gets, she said, channeling Yoda. What is raising my hackles today?
Large BK Drink Cups These have more leaks than the Watergate hotel. They appear to hold liquid, but the lid is absolutely useless. The only way to drink out of these cups is to contort your head so it is positioned directly above and over the straw. If you tilt the cup even one degree off vertical, you are rewarded with a cold, soggy lap. "Have it Your Way" the ads proclaim -- Ok. My way is in my mouth, not all over my clothes. What say you?
Dr. Seuss Movies Cartoon Grinch? Classic. Cartoon Cat in the Hat? Classic. Please stop with the live action Dr. Seuss movies. Yeah, he's dead, but that's no excuse. Where will it end? Next Christmas we will see Danny DiVito starring as the Lorax? Just. Say. No.
Product Placement Everything This goes from TV, to movies, to standees in every store in town, to books, games, etc. I don't buy Scooby Doo Macaroni-and-Cheese, I don't buy Where's Waldo Spaghetti-O's, I don't buy Barbie hairbrushes or any other normal product which is stamped with the likeness of some franchised character. Why? Because macaroni and cheese tastes exactly the same whether it's Scooby Doo, Blues Clues, or just plain old boring pasta. But plain old boring pasta is cheaper.
Hit Clips These annoy me more than words can say. They are these little audio players with mini computerized chips. You insert the chip into the plastic nightmare and you get about 30 seconds of a "hit song". Bad thing number one -- there is no volume controls on these gizmos, so you are stuck with ear-splitting loud. Bad thing number two -- they aim these at elementary school kids, and the music just isn't particularly appropriate. The last time we had one, somehow it mysteriously ended up at the curb in a big yellow bag.
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Longer and longer my little list gets, she said, channeling Yoda. What is raising my hackles today?
Large BK Drink Cups These have more leaks than the Watergate hotel. They appear to hold liquid, but the lid is absolutely useless. The only way to drink out of these cups is to contort your head so it is positioned directly above and over the straw. If you tilt the cup even one degree off vertical, you are rewarded with a cold, soggy lap. "Have it Your Way" the ads proclaim -- Ok. My way is in my mouth, not all over my clothes. What say you?
Dr. Seuss Movies Cartoon Grinch? Classic. Cartoon Cat in the Hat? Classic. Please stop with the live action Dr. Seuss movies. Yeah, he's dead, but that's no excuse. Where will it end? Next Christmas we will see Danny DiVito starring as the Lorax? Just. Say. No.
Product Placement Everything This goes from TV, to movies, to standees in every store in town, to books, games, etc. I don't buy Scooby Doo Macaroni-and-Cheese, I don't buy Where's Waldo Spaghetti-O's, I don't buy Barbie hairbrushes or any other normal product which is stamped with the likeness of some franchised character. Why? Because macaroni and cheese tastes exactly the same whether it's Scooby Doo, Blues Clues, or just plain old boring pasta. But plain old boring pasta is cheaper.
Hit Clips These annoy me more than words can say. They are these little audio players with mini computerized chips. You insert the chip into the plastic nightmare and you get about 30 seconds of a "hit song". Bad thing number one -- there is no volume controls on these gizmos, so you are stuck with ear-splitting loud. Bad thing number two -- they aim these at elementary school kids, and the music just isn't particularly appropriate. The last time we had one, somehow it mysteriously ended up at the curb in a big yellow bag.
Sign My Guestbook!
A LITTLE? LIST
Longer and longer my little list gets, she said, channeling Yoda. What is raising my hackles today?
Large BK Drink Cups These have more leaks than the Watergate hotel. They appear to hold liquid, but the lid is absolutely useless. The only way to drink out of these cups is to contort your head so it is positioned directly above and over the straw. If you tilt the cup even one degree off vertical, you are rewarded with a cold, soggy lap. "Have it Your Way" the ads proclaim -- Ok. My way is in my mouth, not all over my clothes. What say you?
Dr. Seuss Movies Cartoon Grinch? Classic. Cartoon Cat in the Hat? Classic. Please stop with the live action Dr. Seuss movies. Yeah, he's dead, but that's no excuse. Where will it end? Next Christmas we will see Danny DiVito starring as the Lorax? Just. Say. No.
Product Placement Everything This goes from TV, to movies, to standees in every store in town, to books, games, etc. I don't buy Scooby Doo Macaroni-and-Cheese, I don't buy Where's Waldo Spaghetti-O's, I don't buy Barbie hairbrushes or any other normal product which is stamped with the likeness of some franchised character. Why? Because macaroni and cheese tastes exactly the same whether it's Scooby Doo, Blues Clues, or just plain old boring pasta. But plain old boring pasta is cheaper.
Hit Clips These annoy me more than words can say. They are these little audio players with mini computerized chips. You insert the chip into the plastic nightmare and you get about 30 seconds of a "hit song". Bad thing number one -- there is no volume controls on these gizmos, so you are stuck with ear-splitting loud. Bad thing number two -- they aim these at elementary school kids, and the music just isn't particularly appropriate. The last time we had one, somehow it mysteriously ended up at the curb in a big yellow bag.
Sign My Guestbook!
Longer and longer my little list gets, she said, channeling Yoda. What is raising my hackles today?
Large BK Drink Cups These have more leaks than the Watergate hotel. They appear to hold liquid, but the lid is absolutely useless. The only way to drink out of these cups is to contort your head so it is positioned directly above and over the straw. If you tilt the cup even one degree off vertical, you are rewarded with a cold, soggy lap. "Have it Your Way" the ads proclaim -- Ok. My way is in my mouth, not all over my clothes. What say you?
Dr. Seuss Movies Cartoon Grinch? Classic. Cartoon Cat in the Hat? Classic. Please stop with the live action Dr. Seuss movies. Yeah, he's dead, but that's no excuse. Where will it end? Next Christmas we will see Danny DiVito starring as the Lorax? Just. Say. No.
Product Placement Everything This goes from TV, to movies, to standees in every store in town, to books, games, etc. I don't buy Scooby Doo Macaroni-and-Cheese, I don't buy Where's Waldo Spaghetti-O's, I don't buy Barbie hairbrushes or any other normal product which is stamped with the likeness of some franchised character. Why? Because macaroni and cheese tastes exactly the same whether it's Scooby Doo, Blues Clues, or just plain old boring pasta. But plain old boring pasta is cheaper.
Hit Clips These annoy me more than words can say. They are these little audio players with mini computerized chips. You insert the chip into the plastic nightmare and you get about 30 seconds of a "hit song". Bad thing number one -- there is no volume controls on these gizmos, so you are stuck with ear-splitting loud. Bad thing number two -- they aim these at elementary school kids, and the music just isn't particularly appropriate. The last time we had one, somehow it mysteriously ended up at the curb in a big yellow bag.
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Monday, November 24, 2003
A LITTLE LIST, TAKE THREE
What more? Oh yes, here are more gripes and pet peeves...
Joe Millionaire And his horse. And Linda. And Paul. And Italy. And Texas, while we're at it.
Public Access TV The Cable Nazis are taking away one of my PBS stations this January, yet I have to suffer through approximately seven different public access channels. If I were three, I'd stamp my feet and yell "It's not fair!" Wait, why not?? *stamp*stamp* "It's not fair!" C'mon Cable Nazis...pleeeeze....show me some love.
The Weather When the high of the day comes at 6am, and you know it's all downhill from there.
My Right Foot It hurts. I don't know why. Maybe it's the weather.
Mince Meat Pie Mince Meat. I mean ewww. Dice a fruitcake, soak it in holiday sludge and toss it in a pie shell. It's craptaculalry gross, disgusting and vile.
Fruitcake See above. Smoosh mince meat into a bread pan. Bake several months until inedible. Wrap and give to someone you dislike. Run quickly.
Useless Catalogs I bought one online gift certificate for my younger brother several years ago. I have gotten every single Jos. A. Banks catalog since. Stop the madness!
Un-recyclable Recyclables What did blue glass and green glass ever do to anybody, and why can't I recycle it? For that matter, why can I no longer recycle plastic grocery bags? I have guilt here, people. Help me out. I'll even throw in a Jos. A. Banks catalog. Or three.
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What more? Oh yes, here are more gripes and pet peeves...
Joe Millionaire And his horse. And Linda. And Paul. And Italy. And Texas, while we're at it.
Public Access TV The Cable Nazis are taking away one of my PBS stations this January, yet I have to suffer through approximately seven different public access channels. If I were three, I'd stamp my feet and yell "It's not fair!" Wait, why not?? *stamp*stamp* "It's not fair!" C'mon Cable Nazis...pleeeeze....show me some love.
The Weather When the high of the day comes at 6am, and you know it's all downhill from there.
My Right Foot It hurts. I don't know why. Maybe it's the weather.
Mince Meat Pie Mince Meat. I mean ewww. Dice a fruitcake, soak it in holiday sludge and toss it in a pie shell. It's craptaculalry gross, disgusting and vile.
Fruitcake See above. Smoosh mince meat into a bread pan. Bake several months until inedible. Wrap and give to someone you dislike. Run quickly.
Useless Catalogs I bought one online gift certificate for my younger brother several years ago. I have gotten every single Jos. A. Banks catalog since. Stop the madness!
Un-recyclable Recyclables What did blue glass and green glass ever do to anybody, and why can't I recycle it? For that matter, why can I no longer recycle plastic grocery bags? I have guilt here, people. Help me out. I'll even throw in a Jos. A. Banks catalog. Or three.
Sign My Guestbook!
A LITTLE LIST, TAKE THREE
What more? Oh yes, here are more gripes and pet peeves...
Joe Millionaire And his horse. And Linda. And Paul. And Italy. And Texas, while we're at it.
Public Access TV The Cable Nazis are taking away one of my PBS stations this January, yet I have to suffer through approximately seven different public access channels. If I were three, I'd stamp my feet and yell "It's not fair!" Wait, why not?? *stamp*stamp* "It's not fair!" C'mon Cable Nazis...pleeeeze....show me some love.
The Weather When the high of the day comes at 6am, and you know it's all downhill from there.
My Right Foot It hurts. I don't know why. Maybe it's the weather.
Mince Meat Pie Mince Meat. I mean ewww. Dice a fruitcake, soak it in holiday sludge and toss it in a pie shell. It's craptaculalry gross, disgusting and vile.
Fruitcake See above. Smoosh mince meat into a bread pan. Bake several months until inedible. Wrap and give to someone you dislike. Run quickly.
Useless Catalogs I bought one online gift certificate for my younger brother several years ago. I have gotten every single Jos. A. Banks catalog since. Stop the madness!
Un-recyclable Recyclables What did blue glass and green glass ever do to anybody, and why can't I recycle it? For that matter, why can I no longer recycle plastic grocery bags? I have guilt here, people. Help me out. I'll even throw in a Jos. A. Banks catalog. Or three.
Sign My Guestbook!
What more? Oh yes, here are more gripes and pet peeves...
Joe Millionaire And his horse. And Linda. And Paul. And Italy. And Texas, while we're at it.
Public Access TV The Cable Nazis are taking away one of my PBS stations this January, yet I have to suffer through approximately seven different public access channels. If I were three, I'd stamp my feet and yell "It's not fair!" Wait, why not?? *stamp*stamp* "It's not fair!" C'mon Cable Nazis...pleeeeze....show me some love.
The Weather When the high of the day comes at 6am, and you know it's all downhill from there.
My Right Foot It hurts. I don't know why. Maybe it's the weather.
Mince Meat Pie Mince Meat. I mean ewww. Dice a fruitcake, soak it in holiday sludge and toss it in a pie shell. It's craptaculalry gross, disgusting and vile.
Fruitcake See above. Smoosh mince meat into a bread pan. Bake several months until inedible. Wrap and give to someone you dislike. Run quickly.
Useless Catalogs I bought one online gift certificate for my younger brother several years ago. I have gotten every single Jos. A. Banks catalog since. Stop the madness!
Un-recyclable Recyclables What did blue glass and green glass ever do to anybody, and why can't I recycle it? For that matter, why can I no longer recycle plastic grocery bags? I have guilt here, people. Help me out. I'll even throw in a Jos. A. Banks catalog. Or three.
Sign My Guestbook!
A LITTLE LIST, TAKE TWO
Continuing my list of gripes and pet peeves...
Pedestrian Crossings I'm not agin' em...I'm for 'em. The problem is, nearly everyone in a motor vehicle appears to be oblivious at best, and murderously malicious at worst. There are signs posted all over campus saying you have to STOP for pedestrians in the crosswalk. Personally, I feel this sign is a little ambiguous. We (the pedestrians) will never be able to make it into the crosswalk if somebody doesn't give us a break. So, we the pedestrians have to attempt a half-lane dash in order to establish that we are indeed in the intersection. I personally attempt to combine the dash with the maternal stare of death. The stare is effective on children, but not so much on large busses.
Stealth Pop-Up Ads Stealth because they don't pop....they do the electric boogaloo shuffle from the side. And because they enter stage left, they evade my pop-up ad killer, which annoys me no end. I'm sorry, but there is just no way that I could possibly be the 1,000,000th guest every time I visit the same website.
80-Proof Passive-Aggressive Patrons
Toothless Joe, I'm talking about you. Anybody who needs Wagner's "Lohengrin" and Spiegelman's "Maus" and then asks me if I have an affinity for Jewish people is trying to pick a fight. My reply? "I like everybody". And then I walked away. Don't start with me, buddy. I know the Dreidl song, Frosty the Snowman, and the Little Drummer Boy -- and I can pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmm all over your pickled posterior.
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Continuing my list of gripes and pet peeves...
Pedestrian Crossings I'm not agin' em...I'm for 'em. The problem is, nearly everyone in a motor vehicle appears to be oblivious at best, and murderously malicious at worst. There are signs posted all over campus saying you have to STOP for pedestrians in the crosswalk. Personally, I feel this sign is a little ambiguous. We (the pedestrians) will never be able to make it into the crosswalk if somebody doesn't give us a break. So, we the pedestrians have to attempt a half-lane dash in order to establish that we are indeed in the intersection. I personally attempt to combine the dash with the maternal stare of death. The stare is effective on children, but not so much on large busses.
Stealth Pop-Up Ads Stealth because they don't pop....they do the electric boogaloo shuffle from the side. And because they enter stage left, they evade my pop-up ad killer, which annoys me no end. I'm sorry, but there is just no way that I could possibly be the 1,000,000th guest every time I visit the same website.
80-Proof Passive-Aggressive Patrons
Toothless Joe, I'm talking about you. Anybody who needs Wagner's "Lohengrin" and Spiegelman's "Maus" and then asks me if I have an affinity for Jewish people is trying to pick a fight. My reply? "I like everybody". And then I walked away. Don't start with me, buddy. I know the Dreidl song, Frosty the Snowman, and the Little Drummer Boy -- and I can pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmm all over your pickled posterior.
Sign My Guestbook!
A LITTLE LIST, TAKE TWO
Continuing my list of gripes and pet peeves...
Pedestrian Crossings I'm not agin' em...I'm for 'em. The problem is, nearly everyone in a motor vehicle appears to be oblivious at best, and murderously malicious at worst. There are signs posted all over campus saying you have to STOP for pedestrians in the crosswalk. Personally, I feel this sign is a little ambiguous. We (the pedestrians) will never be able to make it into the crosswalk if somebody doesn't give us a break. So, we the pedestrians have to attempt a half-lane dash in order to establish that we are indeed in the intersection. I personally attempt to combine the dash with the maternal stare of death. The stare is effective on children, but not so much on large busses.
Stealth Pop-Up Ads Stealth because they don't pop....they do the electric boogaloo shuffle from the side. And because they enter stage left, they evade my pop-up ad killer, which annoys me no end. I'm sorry, but there is just no way that I could possibly be the 1,000,000th guest every time I visit the same website.
80-Proof Passive-Aggressive Patrons
Toothless Joe, I'm talking about you. Anybody who needs Wagner's "Lohengrin" and Spiegelman's "Maus" and then asks me if I have an affinity for Jewish people is trying to pick a fight. My reply? "I like everybody". And then I walked away. Don't start with me, buddy. I know the Dreidl song, Frosty the Snowman, and the Little Drummer Boy -- and I can pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmm all over your pickled posterior.
Sign My Guestbook!
Continuing my list of gripes and pet peeves...
Pedestrian Crossings I'm not agin' em...I'm for 'em. The problem is, nearly everyone in a motor vehicle appears to be oblivious at best, and murderously malicious at worst. There are signs posted all over campus saying you have to STOP for pedestrians in the crosswalk. Personally, I feel this sign is a little ambiguous. We (the pedestrians) will never be able to make it into the crosswalk if somebody doesn't give us a break. So, we the pedestrians have to attempt a half-lane dash in order to establish that we are indeed in the intersection. I personally attempt to combine the dash with the maternal stare of death. The stare is effective on children, but not so much on large busses.
Stealth Pop-Up Ads Stealth because they don't pop....they do the electric boogaloo shuffle from the side. And because they enter stage left, they evade my pop-up ad killer, which annoys me no end. I'm sorry, but there is just no way that I could possibly be the 1,000,000th guest every time I visit the same website.
80-Proof Passive-Aggressive Patrons
Toothless Joe, I'm talking about you. Anybody who needs Wagner's "Lohengrin" and Spiegelman's "Maus" and then asks me if I have an affinity for Jewish people is trying to pick a fight. My reply? "I like everybody". And then I walked away. Don't start with me, buddy. I know the Dreidl song, Frosty the Snowman, and the Little Drummer Boy -- and I can pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmm all over your pickled posterior.
Sign My Guestbook!
I'VE GOT A LITTLE LIST
Before I decide to get all warm, fuzzy, pumpkin pie-ish on you, listing my many blessings of this life, I thought it only fair to chronicle my pet peeves. I figure this way, I'll be extra thankful in a couple of days. Undoubtedly, this list will grow throughout the day, as my brain starts kicking into action. Therefore, my annoyances, in no particular order:
Rude Drivers Rather broad, I know. Two particular subcategories come to mind. The first being people who take turns at a heart-stopping 2 mph. If you are one of these people and you hear a voice in the car behind you shouting "Amen, Already!", well that's probably me. A full recitation of the rosary is not necessary before you pull into McDonald's, Mmmmmkay? The second category is those people whom upon seeing their lane is closing due to construction, continue to drive down that same lane and smash their way in at the last possible point of the merge. Oh boy. I'm not a violent person, but I seriously want to hurt these people. Much like Sisyphus and the rock, I pray there is a special hell for these drivers. They will be stuck in an enormous line of traffic, and when they reach the head of the line, they are forcibly detoured back to the end once more.
Christmas Music Before Thanksgiving While shopping in my local mega grocery store on Saturday morning, I am blasted with The Little Drummer Boy pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmmming. This is not right. This does not put me in a holiday spirit. This does not make me want to buy presents, or wrapping paper, or cheap ornaments or candy canes or fruit baskets. This makes me want drop kick the little drummer boy right through the bin of frozen turkeys and shop somewhere else. Is it too much to ask to wait until the day after Thanksgiving? Much like football, there should be a holiday referee: tweeeeet! Flag on the play! Rushing the season. Repeat Thanksgiving. This, by the way, also applies to the Jolly Old Elf who arrived at our local mall one week after Halloween. Premature Santafication? Just say no.
People Who Think I Have Nothing Better To Do Than To Do All Their Work Wow. That's a mouthful. 'Tis the season in the academic world for college students to panic. Many are visiting the library for the first time all semester -- some for the first time ever. Their papers? Due tomorrow. Or even today. They want help. They want me to magically produce an armful of relevant materials for their papers. They have the audacity to get angry when all the materials on their subject are checked out. They come to the desk announcing "I'm writing a paper on Dead Composer Number 52." I nod. They don't speak, so I say slowly, "Ok....." Now they have to talk. "I need some materials," they finally add. I nod again. They don't speak again, so I saw slowly, "Ok......" But now they still aren't talking. So I am forced to ask that which should not be asked because I already know the answer: "So, what kind of searches have you done so far?" (Wait for it...Wait for it...) "Nothing." Aha! So their second statement was actually incomplete. Instead of "I need some materials," what they really meant to say was "I need you to find me all of my materials." Oh foolish students. I'll walk you to the computer. I'll show you how to use it, but then you're on your own -- at least for a while. I already have a couple college degrees, and I'm not here to do your homework.
Ambiguous Descriptions
From the same people who inspired my Crayola Crayon Color discussion (October 12th) I have another one. I'm continually perplexed by descriptions that essentially mean nothing. Today's case in point: Liquid bath soap. I recently purchased a bottle that claimed its scent was "Spring Rain". Now, in the case of some scents, I have a pretty good idea what their particular whiff is going to be. Pine-anything is going to be a bit too foresty for me. In the cases of lavender, gardenia, and other floral scents, I have an reasonable expectation that the whiff will resemble the flower, to varying degrees. As for "Spring Rain"? Well, word to the wise. It smells like Melted Skittles and it is nasss-ty. Even worse? It was buy one - get one free, so I'm stuck with this particular odeur for a while. Bleah.
The Lions See Ambiguous Descriptions above. Lions = Melted Skittles. Nasss-ty.
Sweetarts with no reds or purples It's just not right.
Things I haven't thought of yet Being forgetful um....ah.....sucks.
Lists (Note: This is not a List. I distinctly called it a chronicle) More on this later. Just know that it's coming...
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Before I decide to get all warm, fuzzy, pumpkin pie-ish on you, listing my many blessings of this life, I thought it only fair to chronicle my pet peeves. I figure this way, I'll be extra thankful in a couple of days. Undoubtedly, this list will grow throughout the day, as my brain starts kicking into action. Therefore, my annoyances, in no particular order:
Rude Drivers Rather broad, I know. Two particular subcategories come to mind. The first being people who take turns at a heart-stopping 2 mph. If you are one of these people and you hear a voice in the car behind you shouting "Amen, Already!", well that's probably me. A full recitation of the rosary is not necessary before you pull into McDonald's, Mmmmmkay? The second category is those people whom upon seeing their lane is closing due to construction, continue to drive down that same lane and smash their way in at the last possible point of the merge. Oh boy. I'm not a violent person, but I seriously want to hurt these people. Much like Sisyphus and the rock, I pray there is a special hell for these drivers. They will be stuck in an enormous line of traffic, and when they reach the head of the line, they are forcibly detoured back to the end once more.
Christmas Music Before Thanksgiving While shopping in my local mega grocery store on Saturday morning, I am blasted with The Little Drummer Boy pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmmming. This is not right. This does not put me in a holiday spirit. This does not make me want to buy presents, or wrapping paper, or cheap ornaments or candy canes or fruit baskets. This makes me want drop kick the little drummer boy right through the bin of frozen turkeys and shop somewhere else. Is it too much to ask to wait until the day after Thanksgiving? Much like football, there should be a holiday referee: tweeeeet! Flag on the play! Rushing the season. Repeat Thanksgiving. This, by the way, also applies to the Jolly Old Elf who arrived at our local mall one week after Halloween. Premature Santafication? Just say no.
People Who Think I Have Nothing Better To Do Than To Do All Their Work Wow. That's a mouthful. 'Tis the season in the academic world for college students to panic. Many are visiting the library for the first time all semester -- some for the first time ever. Their papers? Due tomorrow. Or even today. They want help. They want me to magically produce an armful of relevant materials for their papers. They have the audacity to get angry when all the materials on their subject are checked out. They come to the desk announcing "I'm writing a paper on Dead Composer Number 52." I nod. They don't speak, so I say slowly, "Ok....." Now they have to talk. "I need some materials," they finally add. I nod again. They don't speak again, so I saw slowly, "Ok......" But now they still aren't talking. So I am forced to ask that which should not be asked because I already know the answer: "So, what kind of searches have you done so far?" (Wait for it...Wait for it...) "Nothing." Aha! So their second statement was actually incomplete. Instead of "I need some materials," what they really meant to say was "I need you to find me all of my materials." Oh foolish students. I'll walk you to the computer. I'll show you how to use it, but then you're on your own -- at least for a while. I already have a couple college degrees, and I'm not here to do your homework.
Ambiguous Descriptions
From the same people who inspired my Crayola Crayon Color discussion (October 12th) I have another one. I'm continually perplexed by descriptions that essentially mean nothing. Today's case in point: Liquid bath soap. I recently purchased a bottle that claimed its scent was "Spring Rain". Now, in the case of some scents, I have a pretty good idea what their particular whiff is going to be. Pine-anything is going to be a bit too foresty for me. In the cases of lavender, gardenia, and other floral scents, I have an reasonable expectation that the whiff will resemble the flower, to varying degrees. As for "Spring Rain"? Well, word to the wise. It smells like Melted Skittles and it is nasss-ty. Even worse? It was buy one - get one free, so I'm stuck with this particular odeur for a while. Bleah.
The Lions See Ambiguous Descriptions above. Lions = Melted Skittles. Nasss-ty.
Sweetarts with no reds or purples It's just not right.
Things I haven't thought of yet Being forgetful um....ah.....sucks.
Lists (Note: This is not a List. I distinctly called it a chronicle) More on this later. Just know that it's coming...
Sign My Guestbook!
I'VE GOT A LITTLE LIST
Before I decide to get all warm, fuzzy, pumpkin pie-ish on you, listing my many blessings of this life, I thought it only fair to chronicle my pet peeves. I figure this way, I'll be extra thankful in a couple of days. Undoubtedly, this list will grow throughout the day, as my brain starts kicking into action. Therefore, my annoyances, in no particular order:
Rude Drivers Rather broad, I know. Two particular subcategories come to mind. The first being people who take turns at a heart-stopping 2 mph. If you are one of these people and you hear a voice in the car behind you shouting "Amen, Already!", well that's probably me. A full recitation of the rosary is not necessary before you pull into McDonald's, Mmmmmkay? The second category is those people whom upon seeing their lane is closing due to construction, continue to drive down that same lane and smash their way in at the last possible point of the merge. Oh boy. I'm not a violent person, but I seriously want to hurt these people. Much like Sisyphus and the rock, I pray there is a special hell for these drivers. They will be stuck in an enormous line of traffic, and when they reach the head of the line, they are forcibly detoured back to the end once more.
Christmas Music Before Thanksgiving While shopping in my local mega grocery store on Saturday morning, I am blasted with The Little Drummer Boy pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmmming. This is not right. This does not put me in a holiday spirit. This does not make me want to buy presents, or wrapping paper, or cheap ornaments or candy canes or fruit baskets. This makes me want drop kick the little drummer boy right through the bin of frozen turkeys and shop somewhere else. Is it too much to ask to wait until the day after Thanksgiving? Much like football, there should be a holiday referee: tweeeeet! Flag on the play! Rushing the season. Repeat Thanksgiving. This, by the way, also applies to the Jolly Old Elf who arrived at our local mall one week after Halloween. Premature Santafication? Just say no.
People Who Think I Have Nothing Better To Do Than To Do All Their Work Wow. That's a mouthful. 'Tis the season in the academic world for college students to panic. Many are visiting the library for the first time all semester -- some for the first time ever. Their papers? Due tomorrow. Or even today. They want help. They want me to magically produce an armful of relevant materials for their papers. They have the audacity to get angry when all the materials on their subject are checked out. They come to the desk announcing "I'm writing a paper on Dead Composer Number 52." I nod. They don't speak, so I say slowly, "Ok....." Now they have to talk. "I need some materials," they finally add. I nod again. They don't speak again, so I saw slowly, "Ok......" But now they still aren't talking. So I am forced to ask that which should not be asked because I already know the answer: "So, what kind of searches have you done so far?" (Wait for it...Wait for it...) "Nothing." Aha! So their second statement was actually incomplete. Instead of "I need some materials," what they really meant to say was "I need you to find me all of my materials." Oh foolish students. I'll walk you to the computer. I'll show you how to use it, but then you're on your own -- at least for a while. I already have a couple college degrees, and I'm not here to do your homework.
Ambiguous Descriptions
From the same people who inspired my Crayola Crayon Color discussion (October 12th) I have another one. I'm continually perplexed by descriptions that essentially mean nothing. Today's case in point: Liquid bath soap. I recently purchased a bottle that claimed its scent was "Spring Rain". Now, in the case of some scents, I have a pretty good idea what their particular whiff is going to be. Pine-anything is going to be a bit too foresty for me. In the cases of lavender, gardenia, and other floral scents, I have an reasonable expectation that the whiff will resemble the flower, to varying degrees. As for "Spring Rain"? Well, word to the wise. It smells like Melted Skittles and it is nasss-ty. Even worse? It was buy one - get one free, so I'm stuck with this particular odeur for a while. Bleah.
The Lions See Ambiguous Descriptions above. Lions = Melted Skittles. Nasss-ty.
Sweetarts with no reds or purples It's just not right.
Things I haven't thought of yet Being forgetful um....ah.....sucks.
Lists (Note: This is not a List. I distinctly called it a chronicle) More on this later. Just know that it's coming...
Sign My Guestbook!
Before I decide to get all warm, fuzzy, pumpkin pie-ish on you, listing my many blessings of this life, I thought it only fair to chronicle my pet peeves. I figure this way, I'll be extra thankful in a couple of days. Undoubtedly, this list will grow throughout the day, as my brain starts kicking into action. Therefore, my annoyances, in no particular order:
Rude Drivers Rather broad, I know. Two particular subcategories come to mind. The first being people who take turns at a heart-stopping 2 mph. If you are one of these people and you hear a voice in the car behind you shouting "Amen, Already!", well that's probably me. A full recitation of the rosary is not necessary before you pull into McDonald's, Mmmmmkay? The second category is those people whom upon seeing their lane is closing due to construction, continue to drive down that same lane and smash their way in at the last possible point of the merge. Oh boy. I'm not a violent person, but I seriously want to hurt these people. Much like Sisyphus and the rock, I pray there is a special hell for these drivers. They will be stuck in an enormous line of traffic, and when they reach the head of the line, they are forcibly detoured back to the end once more.
Christmas Music Before Thanksgiving While shopping in my local mega grocery store on Saturday morning, I am blasted with The Little Drummer Boy pa-rum-pum-pum-pummmmming. This is not right. This does not put me in a holiday spirit. This does not make me want to buy presents, or wrapping paper, or cheap ornaments or candy canes or fruit baskets. This makes me want drop kick the little drummer boy right through the bin of frozen turkeys and shop somewhere else. Is it too much to ask to wait until the day after Thanksgiving? Much like football, there should be a holiday referee: tweeeeet! Flag on the play! Rushing the season. Repeat Thanksgiving. This, by the way, also applies to the Jolly Old Elf who arrived at our local mall one week after Halloween. Premature Santafication? Just say no.
People Who Think I Have Nothing Better To Do Than To Do All Their Work Wow. That's a mouthful. 'Tis the season in the academic world for college students to panic. Many are visiting the library for the first time all semester -- some for the first time ever. Their papers? Due tomorrow. Or even today. They want help. They want me to magically produce an armful of relevant materials for their papers. They have the audacity to get angry when all the materials on their subject are checked out. They come to the desk announcing "I'm writing a paper on Dead Composer Number 52." I nod. They don't speak, so I say slowly, "Ok....." Now they have to talk. "I need some materials," they finally add. I nod again. They don't speak again, so I saw slowly, "Ok......" But now they still aren't talking. So I am forced to ask that which should not be asked because I already know the answer: "So, what kind of searches have you done so far?" (Wait for it...Wait for it...) "Nothing." Aha! So their second statement was actually incomplete. Instead of "I need some materials," what they really meant to say was "I need you to find me all of my materials." Oh foolish students. I'll walk you to the computer. I'll show you how to use it, but then you're on your own -- at least for a while. I already have a couple college degrees, and I'm not here to do your homework.
Ambiguous Descriptions
From the same people who inspired my Crayola Crayon Color discussion (October 12th) I have another one. I'm continually perplexed by descriptions that essentially mean nothing. Today's case in point: Liquid bath soap. I recently purchased a bottle that claimed its scent was "Spring Rain". Now, in the case of some scents, I have a pretty good idea what their particular whiff is going to be. Pine-anything is going to be a bit too foresty for me. In the cases of lavender, gardenia, and other floral scents, I have an reasonable expectation that the whiff will resemble the flower, to varying degrees. As for "Spring Rain"? Well, word to the wise. It smells like Melted Skittles and it is nasss-ty. Even worse? It was buy one - get one free, so I'm stuck with this particular odeur for a while. Bleah.
The Lions See Ambiguous Descriptions above. Lions = Melted Skittles. Nasss-ty.
Sweetarts with no reds or purples It's just not right.
Things I haven't thought of yet Being forgetful um....ah.....sucks.
Lists (Note: This is not a List. I distinctly called it a chronicle) More on this later. Just know that it's coming...
Sign My Guestbook!
Sunday, November 23, 2003
Zzzzzzz
I'm officially exhausted. I'm in desperate need of a mental health day, and that isn't going to happen until Thursday. I'm tired of work, tired of teaching, tired of cleaning, tired of messes because I don't clean...tired, tired, tired, tired. Today? Day of rest? Not hardly. I have to feed the birds, finish emptying out the planters, plant a few ornamental grasses because the weather is warmish, try to slap some more bulbs in the ground and climb the ladder onto the freaking roof to caulk. What do I really want to do? Nothing. I want to lay on my couch and be a vegetable.
Oh, and I have to come up with a Christmas program for a couple church groups. Gah. Maybe being outside in the fresh air put me in a better mood -- or at least wake me up.
Sign My Guestbook!
I'm officially exhausted. I'm in desperate need of a mental health day, and that isn't going to happen until Thursday. I'm tired of work, tired of teaching, tired of cleaning, tired of messes because I don't clean...tired, tired, tired, tired. Today? Day of rest? Not hardly. I have to feed the birds, finish emptying out the planters, plant a few ornamental grasses because the weather is warmish, try to slap some more bulbs in the ground and climb the ladder onto the freaking roof to caulk. What do I really want to do? Nothing. I want to lay on my couch and be a vegetable.
Oh, and I have to come up with a Christmas program for a couple church groups. Gah. Maybe being outside in the fresh air put me in a better mood -- or at least wake me up.
Sign My Guestbook!
Zzzzzzz
I'm officially exhausted. I'm in desperate need of a mental health day, and that isn't going to happen until Thursday. I'm tired of work, tired of teaching, tired of cleaning, tired of messes because I don't clean...tired, tired, tired, tired. Today? Day of rest? Not hardly. I have to feed the birds, finish emptying out the planters, plant a few ornamental grasses because the weather is warmish, try to slap some more bulbs in the ground and climb the ladder onto the freaking roof to caulk. What do I really want to do? Nothing. I want to lay on my couch and be a vegetable.
Oh, and I have to come up with a Christmas program for a couple church groups. Gah. Maybe being outside in the fresh air put me in a better mood -- or at least wake me up.
Sign My Guestbook!
I'm officially exhausted. I'm in desperate need of a mental health day, and that isn't going to happen until Thursday. I'm tired of work, tired of teaching, tired of cleaning, tired of messes because I don't clean...tired, tired, tired, tired. Today? Day of rest? Not hardly. I have to feed the birds, finish emptying out the planters, plant a few ornamental grasses because the weather is warmish, try to slap some more bulbs in the ground and climb the ladder onto the freaking roof to caulk. What do I really want to do? Nothing. I want to lay on my couch and be a vegetable.
Oh, and I have to come up with a Christmas program for a couple church groups. Gah. Maybe being outside in the fresh air put me in a better mood -- or at least wake me up.
Sign My Guestbook!
Friday, November 21, 2003
YAY!
Opus, a new strip by Bloom County cartoonist Berkeley Breathed, is primed to breathe new life into the comics sections of 160 newspapers this Sunday.
There are no words for my excitement. What are the odds that "Calvin and Hobbes" and "The Far Side" would come back too? I'd be over the edge. I'm going to start dusting off my three foot tall Opus now.....
Sign My Guestbook!
Opus, a new strip by Bloom County cartoonist Berkeley Breathed, is primed to breathe new life into the comics sections of 160 newspapers this Sunday.
There are no words for my excitement. What are the odds that "Calvin and Hobbes" and "The Far Side" would come back too? I'd be over the edge. I'm going to start dusting off my three foot tall Opus now.....
Sign My Guestbook!
YAY!
Opus, a new strip by Bloom County cartoonist Berkeley Breathed, is primed to breathe new life into the comics sections of 160 newspapers this Sunday.
There are no words for my excitement. What are the odds that "Calvin and Hobbes" and "The Far Side" would come back too? I'd be over the edge. I'm going to start dusting off my three foot tall Opus now.....
Sign My Guestbook!
Opus, a new strip by Bloom County cartoonist Berkeley Breathed, is primed to breathe new life into the comics sections of 160 newspapers this Sunday.
There are no words for my excitement. What are the odds that "Calvin and Hobbes" and "The Far Side" would come back too? I'd be over the edge. I'm going to start dusting off my three foot tall Opus now.....
Sign My Guestbook!
SAY CHEESE
She who is yet to be nicknamed in my Tuna playbook sent me an email with a stunning picture. After a bit of obsessive research, I have discovered the picture was the May 10, 2003 Astronomy Picture Of the Day (APOD). I have also decided I could spend a significant amount time at this site feeling wonderfully insignificant. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it's good to be able to see the big picture.
Thanks NASA -- I've linked your site so I can visit everyday.
Sign My Guestbook!
She who is yet to be nicknamed in my Tuna playbook sent me an email with a stunning picture. After a bit of obsessive research, I have discovered the picture was the May 10, 2003 Astronomy Picture Of the Day (APOD). I have also decided I could spend a significant amount time at this site feeling wonderfully insignificant. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it's good to be able to see the big picture.
Thanks NASA -- I've linked your site so I can visit everyday.
Sign My Guestbook!
SAY CHEESE
She who is yet to be nicknamed in my Tuna playbook sent me an email with a stunning picture. After a bit of obsessive research, I have discovered the picture was the May 10, 2003 Astronomy Picture Of the Day (APOD). I have also decided I could spend a significant amount time at this site feeling wonderfully insignificant. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it's good to be able to see the big picture.
Thanks NASA -- I've linked your site so I can visit everyday.
Sign My Guestbook!
She who is yet to be nicknamed in my Tuna playbook sent me an email with a stunning picture. After a bit of obsessive research, I have discovered the picture was the May 10, 2003 Astronomy Picture Of the Day (APOD). I have also decided I could spend a significant amount time at this site feeling wonderfully insignificant. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it's good to be able to see the big picture.
Thanks NASA -- I've linked your site so I can visit everyday.
Sign My Guestbook!
THRILLER
Best Michael Jackson description, courtsey of The Bleat (link at the right)
"...A pervy slab of albino Play-Doh....."
Bwah. And then some.
Sign My Guestbook!
Best Michael Jackson description, courtsey of The Bleat (link at the right)
"...A pervy slab of albino Play-Doh....."
Bwah. And then some.
Sign My Guestbook!
THRILLER
Best Michael Jackson description, courtsey of The Bleat (link at the right)
"...A pervy slab of albino Play-Doh....."
Bwah. And then some.
Sign My Guestbook!
Best Michael Jackson description, courtsey of The Bleat (link at the right)
"...A pervy slab of albino Play-Doh....."
Bwah. And then some.
Sign My Guestbook!
TV ROUNDUP
It has been a wild and wooly week in the wonky world of TV sweeps. Some notables....
SURVIVOR
Well, Rupert, it was nice knowing you. It wasn't a surprise to see you go, especially since you seem to have been teetering on the edge for a week or two. You were one engaging, colorful pirate, if not entirely overbearing. My biggest complaint is you seemed to think everything in the game it was all about you. Your adventure, your island, your reward, your million dollars. I think the trick is to go ahead and think it is indeed all about you, but keep that small piece of information to yourself. Your final words last night were a bit of a letdown (ok big letdown). Rup, you gotta let high school go -- you cannot continue to use crappy teenage behavior as a scapegoat to your troubles. You were booted because a bunch of other people out there believed the game was about them, and you needed to go. 'Tis the nature of Survivor. Live, learn and move on.
Lill. What the? When did you turn into a sniveling, bawling idiot? "I never go on vacation boo hoo hoo, I never get to go on big sparkly white boats boo hoo hoo and I wanted that reward. I'm so mean. I didn't give it away boo hoo hoo..." Old it got, Yoda says. Buck up or take off.
The BIG CAPS LOCK LIE could be next week. Oooo baby, I'm going to surf me some spoiler pages!
BACHELOR
I didn't see much of this show, but I caught bits and pieces of the finale -- and the entire last half hour. Whatever. I didn't like squeaky baby-voiced brunette, and there was something that bugged about overly perky blondie. My hunch (not knowing anything) was that blondie was going to be the one ... until she put on the red dress. I think red is color they make losers wear -- at least it was that night. In the end, Bachelor Bob told Miss squeaky voiced black dressed brunette to wear the ring on her right hand. I think it signifies his undying commitment to her until the next full moon. Whatever.
ER
I don't know what it was about this episode last night that made me laugh. OK, that's a lie. I know what made me laugh. I am just a bit surprised at myself that I was cracking up. I'm still cracking up. Why? Oh, because I think I've read this story before. Like in Peter Pan. Or Jaws. Or any Stephen King Novel. If you missed it or if you don't watch, our one-armed hero, Dr. Romano went to the cranky teaching hospital in the sky. He was one armed because it was lopped off thwomp! by a medical helicopter last season. Last night? the evil helicopter (no doubt flown by evil ducks) was hungry for more. Copter crashed. Romano smashed. Even funnier? The rest of the hospital staff still hasn't realized he is a crispy copter critter. What a bummer to be offed from the show and not get a tearful farewell. Heeeeeeeeeeee.
SOUTH PARK
Joseph Smith was called a prophet, dum dum dum dum DUM!. What a great season.
Sign My Guestbook!
It has been a wild and wooly week in the wonky world of TV sweeps. Some notables....
SURVIVOR
Well, Rupert, it was nice knowing you. It wasn't a surprise to see you go, especially since you seem to have been teetering on the edge for a week or two. You were one engaging, colorful pirate, if not entirely overbearing. My biggest complaint is you seemed to think everything in the game it was all about you. Your adventure, your island, your reward, your million dollars. I think the trick is to go ahead and think it is indeed all about you, but keep that small piece of information to yourself. Your final words last night were a bit of a letdown (ok big letdown). Rup, you gotta let high school go -- you cannot continue to use crappy teenage behavior as a scapegoat to your troubles. You were booted because a bunch of other people out there believed the game was about them, and you needed to go. 'Tis the nature of Survivor. Live, learn and move on.
Lill. What the? When did you turn into a sniveling, bawling idiot? "I never go on vacation boo hoo hoo, I never get to go on big sparkly white boats boo hoo hoo and I wanted that reward. I'm so mean. I didn't give it away boo hoo hoo..." Old it got, Yoda says. Buck up or take off.
The BIG CAPS LOCK LIE could be next week. Oooo baby, I'm going to surf me some spoiler pages!
BACHELOR
I didn't see much of this show, but I caught bits and pieces of the finale -- and the entire last half hour. Whatever. I didn't like squeaky baby-voiced brunette, and there was something that bugged about overly perky blondie. My hunch (not knowing anything) was that blondie was going to be the one ... until she put on the red dress. I think red is color they make losers wear -- at least it was that night. In the end, Bachelor Bob told Miss squeaky voiced black dressed brunette to wear the ring on her right hand. I think it signifies his undying commitment to her until the next full moon. Whatever.
ER
I don't know what it was about this episode last night that made me laugh. OK, that's a lie. I know what made me laugh. I am just a bit surprised at myself that I was cracking up. I'm still cracking up. Why? Oh, because I think I've read this story before. Like in Peter Pan. Or Jaws. Or any Stephen King Novel. If you missed it or if you don't watch, our one-armed hero, Dr. Romano went to the cranky teaching hospital in the sky. He was one armed because it was lopped off thwomp! by a medical helicopter last season. Last night? the evil helicopter (no doubt flown by evil ducks) was hungry for more. Copter crashed. Romano smashed. Even funnier? The rest of the hospital staff still hasn't realized he is a crispy copter critter. What a bummer to be offed from the show and not get a tearful farewell. Heeeeeeeeeeee.
SOUTH PARK
Joseph Smith was called a prophet, dum dum dum dum DUM!. What a great season.
Sign My Guestbook!
TV ROUNDUP
It has been a wild and wooly week in the wonky world of TV sweeps. Some notables....
SURVIVOR
Well, Rupert, it was nice knowing you. It wasn't a surprise to see you go, especially since you seem to have been teetering on the edge for a week or two. You were one engaging, colorful pirate, if not entirely overbearing. My biggest complaint is you seemed to think everything in the game it was all about you. Your adventure, your island, your reward, your million dollars. I think the trick is to go ahead and think it is indeed all about you, but keep that small piece of information to yourself. Your final words last night were a bit of a letdown (ok big letdown). Rup, you gotta let high school go -- you cannot continue to use crappy teenage behavior as a scapegoat to your troubles. You were booted because a bunch of other people out there believed the game was about them, and you needed to go. 'Tis the nature of Survivor. Live, learn and move on.
Lill. What the? When did you turn into a sniveling, bawling idiot? "I never go on vacation boo hoo hoo, I never get to go on big sparkly white boats boo hoo hoo and I wanted that reward. I'm so mean. I didn't give it away boo hoo hoo..." Old it got, Yoda says. Buck up or take off.
The BIG CAPS LOCK LIE could be next week. Oooo baby, I'm going to surf me some spoiler pages!
BACHELOR
I didn't see much of this show, but I caught bits and pieces of the finale -- and the entire last half hour. Whatever. I didn't like squeaky baby-voiced brunette, and there was something that bugged about overly perky blondie. My hunch (not knowing anything) was that blondie was going to be the one ... until she put on the red dress. I think red is color they make losers wear -- at least it was that night. In the end, Bachelor Bob told Miss squeaky voiced black dressed brunette to wear the ring on her right hand. I think it signifies his undying commitment to her until the next full moon. Whatever.
ER
I don't know what it was about this episode last night that made me laugh. OK, that's a lie. I know what made me laugh. I am just a bit surprised at myself that I was cracking up. I'm still cracking up. Why? Oh, because I think I've read this story before. Like in Peter Pan. Or Jaws. Or any Stephen King Novel. If you missed it or if you don't watch, our one-armed hero, Dr. Romano went to the cranky teaching hospital in the sky. He was one armed because it was lopped off thwomp! by a medical helicopter last season. Last night? the evil helicopter (no doubt flown by evil ducks) was hungry for more. Copter crashed. Romano smashed. Even funnier? The rest of the hospital staff still hasn't realized he is a crispy copter critter. What a bummer to be offed from the show and not get a tearful farewell. Heeeeeeeeeeee.
SOUTH PARK
Joseph Smith was called a prophet, dum dum dum dum DUM!. What a great season.
Sign My Guestbook!
It has been a wild and wooly week in the wonky world of TV sweeps. Some notables....
SURVIVOR
Well, Rupert, it was nice knowing you. It wasn't a surprise to see you go, especially since you seem to have been teetering on the edge for a week or two. You were one engaging, colorful pirate, if not entirely overbearing. My biggest complaint is you seemed to think everything in the game it was all about you. Your adventure, your island, your reward, your million dollars. I think the trick is to go ahead and think it is indeed all about you, but keep that small piece of information to yourself. Your final words last night were a bit of a letdown (ok big letdown). Rup, you gotta let high school go -- you cannot continue to use crappy teenage behavior as a scapegoat to your troubles. You were booted because a bunch of other people out there believed the game was about them, and you needed to go. 'Tis the nature of Survivor. Live, learn and move on.
Lill. What the? When did you turn into a sniveling, bawling idiot? "I never go on vacation boo hoo hoo, I never get to go on big sparkly white boats boo hoo hoo and I wanted that reward. I'm so mean. I didn't give it away boo hoo hoo..." Old it got, Yoda says. Buck up or take off.
The BIG CAPS LOCK LIE could be next week. Oooo baby, I'm going to surf me some spoiler pages!
BACHELOR
I didn't see much of this show, but I caught bits and pieces of the finale -- and the entire last half hour. Whatever. I didn't like squeaky baby-voiced brunette, and there was something that bugged about overly perky blondie. My hunch (not knowing anything) was that blondie was going to be the one ... until she put on the red dress. I think red is color they make losers wear -- at least it was that night. In the end, Bachelor Bob told Miss squeaky voiced black dressed brunette to wear the ring on her right hand. I think it signifies his undying commitment to her until the next full moon. Whatever.
ER
I don't know what it was about this episode last night that made me laugh. OK, that's a lie. I know what made me laugh. I am just a bit surprised at myself that I was cracking up. I'm still cracking up. Why? Oh, because I think I've read this story before. Like in Peter Pan. Or Jaws. Or any Stephen King Novel. If you missed it or if you don't watch, our one-armed hero, Dr. Romano went to the cranky teaching hospital in the sky. He was one armed because it was lopped off thwomp! by a medical helicopter last season. Last night? the evil helicopter (no doubt flown by evil ducks) was hungry for more. Copter crashed. Romano smashed. Even funnier? The rest of the hospital staff still hasn't realized he is a crispy copter critter. What a bummer to be offed from the show and not get a tearful farewell. Heeeeeeeeeeee.
SOUTH PARK
Joseph Smith was called a prophet, dum dum dum dum DUM!. What a great season.
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Thursday, November 20, 2003
INBOX
In the few minutes I had between students I took a quick romp through my email on this God-forsaken iMac, otherwise known as Beelzebub's plaything. Delete, delete, delete (lots of junk), and then, I spy an email subject with a former professor's name. You know that pit in your stomach you get when you know something's not good?
After a long illness, one of my first college professors passed away. He was an amazing Organist and was a family friend since I was a little girl. He was my music theory teacher, and purposefully put me in the front row so he could pick on me. While the other students were rattling off C-major scales, he'd give me F-triple-sharp harmonic minor scales with a twist. And he'd always ask me with an evil grin. He was that way. He gave me my first paid church job, and we did a zillion weddings and funerals over the years. He was on my master's committe, and in true fashion, was the only professor who refused to give me my question ahead of time. Instead, he tossed a score in front of me during my oral exams and made me analyze it on the spot. With an evil grin on his face.
One of my best memories was a wedding we did together. The congo (congregation) was particularly boisterous that afternoon, and he looked at me and said "well, if they are going to talk, I'll give them something to talk over" and he proceded to put on every stop (different) sound on the Organ. It was loud as hell, and he just played and played...with an evil grin on his face.
Now, he's out of pain and he can play again. I hope those angels are quiet up there when it's his turn, otherwise I'm sure that grin will be back and they'll really have something to talk over.
To my professor, my mentor and my friend CA, who is up there playing his socks off -- Now you're cooking with gas. I'll miss ya.
Sign My Guestbook!
In the few minutes I had between students I took a quick romp through my email on this God-forsaken iMac, otherwise known as Beelzebub's plaything. Delete, delete, delete (lots of junk), and then, I spy an email subject with a former professor's name. You know that pit in your stomach you get when you know something's not good?
After a long illness, one of my first college professors passed away. He was an amazing Organist and was a family friend since I was a little girl. He was my music theory teacher, and purposefully put me in the front row so he could pick on me. While the other students were rattling off C-major scales, he'd give me F-triple-sharp harmonic minor scales with a twist. And he'd always ask me with an evil grin. He was that way. He gave me my first paid church job, and we did a zillion weddings and funerals over the years. He was on my master's committe, and in true fashion, was the only professor who refused to give me my question ahead of time. Instead, he tossed a score in front of me during my oral exams and made me analyze it on the spot. With an evil grin on his face.
One of my best memories was a wedding we did together. The congo (congregation) was particularly boisterous that afternoon, and he looked at me and said "well, if they are going to talk, I'll give them something to talk over" and he proceded to put on every stop (different) sound on the Organ. It was loud as hell, and he just played and played...with an evil grin on his face.
Now, he's out of pain and he can play again. I hope those angels are quiet up there when it's his turn, otherwise I'm sure that grin will be back and they'll really have something to talk over.
To my professor, my mentor and my friend CA, who is up there playing his socks off -- Now you're cooking with gas. I'll miss ya.
Sign My Guestbook!
INBOX
In the few minutes I had between students I took a quick romp through my email on this God-forsaken iMac, otherwise known as Beelzebub's plaything. Delete, delete, delete (lots of junk), and then, I spy an email subject with a former professor's name. You know that pit in your stomach you get when you know something's not good?
After a long illness, one of my first college professors passed away. He was an amazing Organist and was a family friend since I was a little girl. He was my music theory teacher, and purposefully put me in the front row so he could pick on me. While the other students were rattling off C-major scales, he'd give me F-triple-sharp harmonic minor scales with a twist. And he'd always ask me with an evil grin. He was that way. He gave me my first paid church job, and we did a zillion weddings and funerals over the years. He was on my master's committe, and in true fashion, was the only professor who refused to give me my question ahead of time. Instead, he tossed a score in front of me during my oral exams and made me analyze it on the spot. With an evil grin on his face.
One of my best memories was a wedding we did together. The congo (congregation) was particularly boisterous that afternoon, and he looked at me and said "well, if they are going to talk, I'll give them something to talk over" and he proceded to put on every stop (different) sound on the Organ. It was loud as hell, and he just played and played...with an evil grin on his face.
Now, he's out of pain and he can play again. I hope those angels are quiet up there when it's his turn, otherwise I'm sure that grin will be back and they'll really have something to talk over.
To my professor, my mentor and my friend CA, who is up there playing his socks off -- Now you're cooking with gas. I'll miss ya.
Sign My Guestbook!
In the few minutes I had between students I took a quick romp through my email on this God-forsaken iMac, otherwise known as Beelzebub's plaything. Delete, delete, delete (lots of junk), and then, I spy an email subject with a former professor's name. You know that pit in your stomach you get when you know something's not good?
After a long illness, one of my first college professors passed away. He was an amazing Organist and was a family friend since I was a little girl. He was my music theory teacher, and purposefully put me in the front row so he could pick on me. While the other students were rattling off C-major scales, he'd give me F-triple-sharp harmonic minor scales with a twist. And he'd always ask me with an evil grin. He was that way. He gave me my first paid church job, and we did a zillion weddings and funerals over the years. He was on my master's committe, and in true fashion, was the only professor who refused to give me my question ahead of time. Instead, he tossed a score in front of me during my oral exams and made me analyze it on the spot. With an evil grin on his face.
One of my best memories was a wedding we did together. The congo (congregation) was particularly boisterous that afternoon, and he looked at me and said "well, if they are going to talk, I'll give them something to talk over" and he proceded to put on every stop (different) sound on the Organ. It was loud as hell, and he just played and played...with an evil grin on his face.
Now, he's out of pain and he can play again. I hope those angels are quiet up there when it's his turn, otherwise I'm sure that grin will be back and they'll really have something to talk over.
To my professor, my mentor and my friend CA, who is up there playing his socks off -- Now you're cooking with gas. I'll miss ya.
Sign My Guestbook!
MEAN MOMS, UNITE
Uh oh. I fear my banner ad after this one.
Anyway, my quick mean mom story of the morning. As you may recall, TinyTuna has this rule about her lunch thermos in which she carries the holy Spaghetti-O's of Antioch. That rule being, if she cannot manage to get the dirty thermos in the sink the night before, she will be resigned to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the next day. The rule, she is good, and has served me well.
Until this past weekend. I actually have two thermos containers (she said, strategically working around the fact that she didn't know the plural of "thermos") for the sacred "toes". And both of them found themselves unwashed for several days. Wellsiree, I told TinyTuna if she wanted a lunch date with Chef Boyardee, she was going to have to wash them herself. So last night, she rolled up her pajama sleeves, opened the lid and took a whiff.
"GROSS!!" She yelled.
"Welcome to my world," I replied smugly.
Much scrubbing later, we found ourselves with two sparkling clean pasta vessels. She did such a good job (with much coaching), she has earned herself a permanent assignment washing out her own thermos. Sometimes growing up is a good thing. Just ask me.
Sign My Guestbook!
Uh oh. I fear my banner ad after this one.
Anyway, my quick mean mom story of the morning. As you may recall, TinyTuna has this rule about her lunch thermos in which she carries the holy Spaghetti-O's of Antioch. That rule being, if she cannot manage to get the dirty thermos in the sink the night before, she will be resigned to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the next day. The rule, she is good, and has served me well.
Until this past weekend. I actually have two thermos containers (she said, strategically working around the fact that she didn't know the plural of "thermos") for the sacred "toes". And both of them found themselves unwashed for several days. Wellsiree, I told TinyTuna if she wanted a lunch date with Chef Boyardee, she was going to have to wash them herself. So last night, she rolled up her pajama sleeves, opened the lid and took a whiff.
"GROSS!!" She yelled.
"Welcome to my world," I replied smugly.
Much scrubbing later, we found ourselves with two sparkling clean pasta vessels. She did such a good job (with much coaching), she has earned herself a permanent assignment washing out her own thermos. Sometimes growing up is a good thing. Just ask me.
Sign My Guestbook!
MEAN MOMS, UNITE
Uh oh. I fear my banner ad after this one.
Anyway, my quick mean mom story of the morning. As you may recall, TinyTuna has this rule about her lunch thermos in which she carries the holy Spaghetti-O's of Antioch. That rule being, if she cannot manage to get the dirty thermos in the sink the night before, she will be resigned to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the next day. The rule, she is good, and has served me well.
Until this past weekend. I actually have two thermos containers (she said, strategically working around the fact that she didn't know the plural of "thermos") for the sacred "toes". And both of them found themselves unwashed for several days. Wellsiree, I told TinyTuna if she wanted a lunch date with Chef Boyardee, she was going to have to wash them herself. So last night, she rolled up her pajama sleeves, opened the lid and took a whiff.
"GROSS!!" She yelled.
"Welcome to my world," I replied smugly.
Much scrubbing later, we found ourselves with two sparkling clean pasta vessels. She did such a good job (with much coaching), she has earned herself a permanent assignment washing out her own thermos. Sometimes growing up is a good thing. Just ask me.
Sign My Guestbook!
Uh oh. I fear my banner ad after this one.
Anyway, my quick mean mom story of the morning. As you may recall, TinyTuna has this rule about her lunch thermos in which she carries the holy Spaghetti-O's of Antioch. That rule being, if she cannot manage to get the dirty thermos in the sink the night before, she will be resigned to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the next day. The rule, she is good, and has served me well.
Until this past weekend. I actually have two thermos containers (she said, strategically working around the fact that she didn't know the plural of "thermos") for the sacred "toes". And both of them found themselves unwashed for several days. Wellsiree, I told TinyTuna if she wanted a lunch date with Chef Boyardee, she was going to have to wash them herself. So last night, she rolled up her pajama sleeves, opened the lid and took a whiff.
"GROSS!!" She yelled.
"Welcome to my world," I replied smugly.
Much scrubbing later, we found ourselves with two sparkling clean pasta vessels. She did such a good job (with much coaching), she has earned herself a permanent assignment washing out her own thermos. Sometimes growing up is a good thing. Just ask me.
Sign My Guestbook!
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
CAMPUS LIFE
Ahhh....The University...Where intellectualism seeps from the pore of each and every person in their pursuit of the higher truths of humankind. Where opinions are discussed and debated like philosophers of old. Where Moses can stand on the wall of the Student Union with his buddy Mini-Me Moses and pass out the rheteric du jour. [Note: Blogs need audio/visual components. At this point you would have heard a big record-scratch sound, followed by a rapid zoom-in and a Scooby-Doo voice saying “Huhhhhhhh???”]
Yes indeed. Moses climbed the wall. I’m walking back from lunch and here is this guy on the porch ledge of the Student Union. I guess he’s Moses because he’s got the Moses robe and the Moses beard (Version 2.0 -– post Mount Sinai, where, in the movie, he not only got ten commandments, but he got a set and a perm as well. In addition to the garb, he's also standing there with two tablets (I’m guessing cardboard). Walking around on the cement veranda is another guy similarly dressed, tablet-less, talking to a couple of girls. Mini-Me Moses? I don’t know. I decided not to get too close, because frankly, I wasn't in the mood. Thinking back on it now, I should have set a bush on fire. That would have really gotten their message out. Anyway, squinting hard, one of the tablets says something about "Remember the first Amendment". The other tablet I can't read, but I do see the word "religion" on there somewhere.
"What's up with these guys?" Asks GramTuna.
"Dunno," I say. Reading what little I can from 75 feet, I add, "I can't tell whom I'm oppressing today."
"The problem is," says GramTuna, "he looks like Santa."
I bust a gut. "With stone tablets??" I ask.
"Well, I don't know," she says.
We walk in silence for a while. I finally say, "Well, if it's Moses, maybe he doesn't know the difference between amendments and commandments. Maybe he's confused."
"That's for sure," says GramTuna.
"Besides," I say, "In the first place, the nut cases are supposed to be on the south side of the river, not the north side of the river. And, if he was really Moses, he would have been packing a rife."
Sign My Guestbook!
Ahhh....The University...Where intellectualism seeps from the pore of each and every person in their pursuit of the higher truths of humankind. Where opinions are discussed and debated like philosophers of old. Where Moses can stand on the wall of the Student Union with his buddy Mini-Me Moses and pass out the rheteric du jour. [Note: Blogs need audio/visual components. At this point you would have heard a big record-scratch sound, followed by a rapid zoom-in and a Scooby-Doo voice saying “Huhhhhhhh???”]
Yes indeed. Moses climbed the wall. I’m walking back from lunch and here is this guy on the porch ledge of the Student Union. I guess he’s Moses because he’s got the Moses robe and the Moses beard (Version 2.0 -– post Mount Sinai, where, in the movie, he not only got ten commandments, but he got a set and a perm as well. In addition to the garb, he's also standing there with two tablets (I’m guessing cardboard). Walking around on the cement veranda is another guy similarly dressed, tablet-less, talking to a couple of girls. Mini-Me Moses? I don’t know. I decided not to get too close, because frankly, I wasn't in the mood. Thinking back on it now, I should have set a bush on fire. That would have really gotten their message out. Anyway, squinting hard, one of the tablets says something about "Remember the first Amendment". The other tablet I can't read, but I do see the word "religion" on there somewhere.
"What's up with these guys?" Asks GramTuna.
"Dunno," I say. Reading what little I can from 75 feet, I add, "I can't tell whom I'm oppressing today."
"The problem is," says GramTuna, "he looks like Santa."
I bust a gut. "With stone tablets??" I ask.
"Well, I don't know," she says.
We walk in silence for a while. I finally say, "Well, if it's Moses, maybe he doesn't know the difference between amendments and commandments. Maybe he's confused."
"That's for sure," says GramTuna.
"Besides," I say, "In the first place, the nut cases are supposed to be on the south side of the river, not the north side of the river. And, if he was really Moses, he would have been packing a rife."
Sign My Guestbook!
CAMPUS LIFE
Ahhh....The University...Where intellectualism seeps from the pore of each and every person in their pursuit of the higher truths of humankind. Where opinions are discussed and debated like philosophers of old. Where Moses can stand on the wall of the Student Union with his buddy Mini-Me Moses and pass out the rheteric du jour. [Note: Blogs need audio/visual components. At this point you would have heard a big record-scratch sound, followed by a rapid zoom-in and a Scooby-Doo voice saying “Huhhhhhhh???”]
Yes indeed. Moses climbed the wall. I’m walking back from lunch and here is this guy on the porch ledge of the Student Union. I guess he’s Moses because he’s got the Moses robe and the Moses beard (Version 2.0 -– post Mount Sinai, where, in the movie, he not only got ten commandments, but he got a set and a perm as well. In addition to the garb, he's also standing there with two tablets (I’m guessing cardboard). Walking around on the cement veranda is another guy similarly dressed, tablet-less, talking to a couple of girls. Mini-Me Moses? I don’t know. I decided not to get too close, because frankly, I wasn't in the mood. Thinking back on it now, I should have set a bush on fire. That would have really gotten their message out. Anyway, squinting hard, one of the tablets says something about "Remember the first Amendment". The other tablet I can't read, but I do see the word "religion" on there somewhere.
"What's up with these guys?" Asks GramTuna.
"Dunno," I say. Reading what little I can from 75 feet, I add, "I can't tell whom I'm oppressing today."
"The problem is," says GramTuna, "he looks like Santa."
I bust a gut. "With stone tablets??" I ask.
"Well, I don't know," she says.
We walk in silence for a while. I finally say, "Well, if it's Moses, maybe he doesn't know the difference between amendments and commandments. Maybe he's confused."
"That's for sure," says GramTuna.
"Besides," I say, "In the first place, the nut cases are supposed to be on the south side of the river, not the north side of the river. And, if he was really Moses, he would have been packing a rife."
Sign My Guestbook!
Ahhh....The University...Where intellectualism seeps from the pore of each and every person in their pursuit of the higher truths of humankind. Where opinions are discussed and debated like philosophers of old. Where Moses can stand on the wall of the Student Union with his buddy Mini-Me Moses and pass out the rheteric du jour. [Note: Blogs need audio/visual components. At this point you would have heard a big record-scratch sound, followed by a rapid zoom-in and a Scooby-Doo voice saying “Huhhhhhhh???”]
Yes indeed. Moses climbed the wall. I’m walking back from lunch and here is this guy on the porch ledge of the Student Union. I guess he’s Moses because he’s got the Moses robe and the Moses beard (Version 2.0 -– post Mount Sinai, where, in the movie, he not only got ten commandments, but he got a set and a perm as well. In addition to the garb, he's also standing there with two tablets (I’m guessing cardboard). Walking around on the cement veranda is another guy similarly dressed, tablet-less, talking to a couple of girls. Mini-Me Moses? I don’t know. I decided not to get too close, because frankly, I wasn't in the mood. Thinking back on it now, I should have set a bush on fire. That would have really gotten their message out. Anyway, squinting hard, one of the tablets says something about "Remember the first Amendment". The other tablet I can't read, but I do see the word "religion" on there somewhere.
"What's up with these guys?" Asks GramTuna.
"Dunno," I say. Reading what little I can from 75 feet, I add, "I can't tell whom I'm oppressing today."
"The problem is," says GramTuna, "he looks like Santa."
I bust a gut. "With stone tablets??" I ask.
"Well, I don't know," she says.
We walk in silence for a while. I finally say, "Well, if it's Moses, maybe he doesn't know the difference between amendments and commandments. Maybe he's confused."
"That's for sure," says GramTuna.
"Besides," I say, "In the first place, the nut cases are supposed to be on the south side of the river, not the north side of the river. And, if he was really Moses, he would have been packing a rife."
Sign My Guestbook!
TODAY'S FORECAST
Non-teaching, non-commuting kind of day? You guessed it, Sunny and mid-50s. Unless my older brother comes over pretty soon to scale the roof and caulk, I'm going to have to lose my fear, because last night it was a catch the drips on the counter night. I finally threw a dishtowel in the bottom on the pot so I wouldn't have to hear *plunk*plunk*plunk* all night. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave......
Junk email that made me laugh before 7am: "Immediate response required by 11/31/03."
Banner Ad Watch: This morning my banners make me look smart. I have Online Newspaper Library and 200+ news archives. Other banner ads I've heard about from all my virtual electronic cohorts (keep them coming -- they're awesome!): Stop smoking (N/A); Gastric Bypass (Egad, where did THAT one come from?); Hamster Cages; Singing Dancing Hamsters; Gemmy Hamsters (I also have no idea what that might be -- do you think it's like a Gummy candy -- a Gummy Hamster? Kind of ew); Dana Guide to Brain Health (ok, I could use all the brain health I can get); Judy Collins and Veggie Tales. In my increasing obsession with the banner ads, I'm also keeping an eye on the "related searches" as KatJam pointed out the other day. It's all very odd.
These banner ads from my boyfriend are a lot like Lifeonhold's boyfriend and his ability to seductively whisper, "I know what you like, baby" -- in a totally commercial, show me the money kind of way. I find this electronic soothsaying both fascinating and disturbing. It's eerily interesting when they recommend something that ends up being really cool. I think "how smart they are! How did they know?" But then, when they recommend something entirely vile, I think "how dare you -- I am not that kind of Tuna!" And then I give it a virtual slap with a leather glove and challenge it to pistols at twenty paces. I wonder who wrote the computer program to link subject A with subject B. No, don't wonder. Don't do it. Out, Out damn researching genes. You see, nobody in my family can answer a question with "I don't know." If we don't know, the answer is "let's look it up." Although this can be helpful and generally educational, it can also turn an innocent pondering into a big hairy deal, which is often not worth the hassle.
But back to banner ads. I'm anxiously awaiting the banner ads to pick up on evil ducks. Evil Ducks! EVIL DUCKS! I hope it heard me. What kind of suggestions might be linked to evil ducks? Answer me, Oh Banner Ads. *Quack* (Evil Duck)
Second humorous junk mail? Best Buy or buy.com or somebody wants me to know I get Britney for 49% off. Wow. She'll never be able to pay for the upkeep of her star at those cut-rate prices. But still I wonder, is this a deal? I don't think so. The odds that I pick up a Miss Spears album are equal to the odds that I might say "Oh, yes, I WOULD like to buy a four year extended service contract for the low, low price of $175, because heaven knows I have zero confidence in the makers of this expensive item that I'm purchasing, but I know if I throw a big wad of cash into your corporate coffers, you will make everything alright. What? And I can also get three months free AOL? Woweeee!"
Finally, Michael Jackson. I have to say something, right? First of all, Ew. Second of all, if he is doing vile, illegal things to children, stop fining him, stop settling lawsuits and throw his moonwalking butt either in jail or in some sort of institution where he can get some help. Thirdly, I would not want to blame the victims, especially if they are children, but the fact that the same old rumors have come to roost yet again makes me want to slap the parents upside the head with a clue-by-four. You don't leave your kids with strangers. Even famous ones. Ever.
Sign My Guestbook!
Non-teaching, non-commuting kind of day? You guessed it, Sunny and mid-50s. Unless my older brother comes over pretty soon to scale the roof and caulk, I'm going to have to lose my fear, because last night it was a catch the drips on the counter night. I finally threw a dishtowel in the bottom on the pot so I wouldn't have to hear *plunk*plunk*plunk* all night. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave......
Junk email that made me laugh before 7am: "Immediate response required by 11/31/03."
Banner Ad Watch: This morning my banners make me look smart. I have Online Newspaper Library and 200+ news archives. Other banner ads I've heard about from all my virtual electronic cohorts (keep them coming -- they're awesome!): Stop smoking (N/A); Gastric Bypass (Egad, where did THAT one come from?); Hamster Cages; Singing Dancing Hamsters; Gemmy Hamsters (I also have no idea what that might be -- do you think it's like a Gummy candy -- a Gummy Hamster? Kind of ew); Dana Guide to Brain Health (ok, I could use all the brain health I can get); Judy Collins and Veggie Tales. In my increasing obsession with the banner ads, I'm also keeping an eye on the "related searches" as KatJam pointed out the other day. It's all very odd.
These banner ads from my boyfriend are a lot like Lifeonhold's boyfriend and his ability to seductively whisper, "I know what you like, baby" -- in a totally commercial, show me the money kind of way. I find this electronic soothsaying both fascinating and disturbing. It's eerily interesting when they recommend something that ends up being really cool. I think "how smart they are! How did they know?" But then, when they recommend something entirely vile, I think "how dare you -- I am not that kind of Tuna!" And then I give it a virtual slap with a leather glove and challenge it to pistols at twenty paces. I wonder who wrote the computer program to link subject A with subject B. No, don't wonder. Don't do it. Out, Out damn researching genes. You see, nobody in my family can answer a question with "I don't know." If we don't know, the answer is "let's look it up." Although this can be helpful and generally educational, it can also turn an innocent pondering into a big hairy deal, which is often not worth the hassle.
But back to banner ads. I'm anxiously awaiting the banner ads to pick up on evil ducks. Evil Ducks! EVIL DUCKS! I hope it heard me. What kind of suggestions might be linked to evil ducks? Answer me, Oh Banner Ads. *Quack* (Evil Duck)
Second humorous junk mail? Best Buy or buy.com or somebody wants me to know I get Britney for 49% off. Wow. She'll never be able to pay for the upkeep of her star at those cut-rate prices. But still I wonder, is this a deal? I don't think so. The odds that I pick up a Miss Spears album are equal to the odds that I might say "Oh, yes, I WOULD like to buy a four year extended service contract for the low, low price of $175, because heaven knows I have zero confidence in the makers of this expensive item that I'm purchasing, but I know if I throw a big wad of cash into your corporate coffers, you will make everything alright. What? And I can also get three months free AOL? Woweeee!"
Finally, Michael Jackson. I have to say something, right? First of all, Ew. Second of all, if he is doing vile, illegal things to children, stop fining him, stop settling lawsuits and throw his moonwalking butt either in jail or in some sort of institution where he can get some help. Thirdly, I would not want to blame the victims, especially if they are children, but the fact that the same old rumors have come to roost yet again makes me want to slap the parents upside the head with a clue-by-four. You don't leave your kids with strangers. Even famous ones. Ever.
Sign My Guestbook!
TODAY'S FORECAST
Non-teaching, non-commuting kind of day? You guessed it, Sunny and mid-50s. Unless my older brother comes over pretty soon to scale the roof and caulk, I'm going to have to lose my fear, because last night it was a catch the drips on the counter night. I finally threw a dishtowel in the bottom on the pot so I wouldn't have to hear *plunk*plunk*plunk* all night. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave......
Junk email that made me laugh before 7am: "Immediate response required by 11/31/03."
Banner Ad Watch: This morning my banners make me look smart. I have Online Newspaper Library and 200+ news archives. Other banner ads I've heard about from all my virtual electronic cohorts (keep them coming -- they're awesome!): Stop smoking (N/A); Gastric Bypass (Egad, where did THAT one come from?); Hamster Cages; Singing Dancing Hamsters; Gemmy Hamsters (I also have no idea what that might be -- do you think it's like a Gummy candy -- a Gummy Hamster? Kind of ew); Dana Guide to Brain Health (ok, I could use all the brain health I can get); Judy Collins and Veggie Tales. In my increasing obsession with the banner ads, I'm also keeping an eye on the "related searches" as KatJam pointed out the other day. It's all very odd.
These banner ads from my boyfriend are a lot like Lifeonhold's boyfriend and his ability to seductively whisper, "I know what you like, baby" -- in a totally commercial, show me the money kind of way. I find this electronic soothsaying both fascinating and disturbing. It's eerily interesting when they recommend something that ends up being really cool. I think "how smart they are! How did they know?" But then, when they recommend something entirely vile, I think "how dare you -- I am not that kind of Tuna!" And then I give it a virtual slap with a leather glove and challenge it to pistols at twenty paces. I wonder who wrote the computer program to link subject A with subject B. No, don't wonder. Don't do it. Out, Out damn researching genes. You see, nobody in my family can answer a question with "I don't know." If we don't know, the answer is "let's look it up." Although this can be helpful and generally educational, it can also turn an innocent pondering into a big hairy deal, which is often not worth the hassle.
But back to banner ads. I'm anxiously awaiting the banner ads to pick up on evil ducks. Evil Ducks! EVIL DUCKS! I hope it heard me. What kind of suggestions might be linked to evil ducks? Answer me, Oh Banner Ads. *Quack* (Evil Duck)
Second humorous junk mail? Best Buy or buy.com or somebody wants me to know I get Britney for 49% off. Wow. She'll never be able to pay for the upkeep of her star at those cut-rate prices. But still I wonder, is this a deal? I don't think so. The odds that I pick up a Miss Spears album are equal to the odds that I might say "Oh, yes, I WOULD like to buy a four year extended service contract for the low, low price of $175, because heaven knows I have zero confidence in the makers of this expensive item that I'm purchasing, but I know if I throw a big wad of cash into your corporate coffers, you will make everything alright. What? And I can also get three months free AOL? Woweeee!"
Finally, Michael Jackson. I have to say something, right? First of all, Ew. Second of all, if he is doing vile, illegal things to children, stop fining him, stop settling lawsuits and throw his moonwalking butt either in jail or in some sort of institution where he can get some help. Thirdly, I would not want to blame the victims, especially if they are children, but the fact that the same old rumors have come to roost yet again makes me want to slap the parents upside the head with a clue-by-four. You don't leave your kids with strangers. Even famous ones. Ever.
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Non-teaching, non-commuting kind of day? You guessed it, Sunny and mid-50s. Unless my older brother comes over pretty soon to scale the roof and caulk, I'm going to have to lose my fear, because last night it was a catch the drips on the counter night. I finally threw a dishtowel in the bottom on the pot so I wouldn't have to hear *plunk*plunk*plunk* all night. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave......
Junk email that made me laugh before 7am: "Immediate response required by 11/31/03."
Banner Ad Watch: This morning my banners make me look smart. I have Online Newspaper Library and 200+ news archives. Other banner ads I've heard about from all my virtual electronic cohorts (keep them coming -- they're awesome!): Stop smoking (N/A); Gastric Bypass (Egad, where did THAT one come from?); Hamster Cages; Singing Dancing Hamsters; Gemmy Hamsters (I also have no idea what that might be -- do you think it's like a Gummy candy -- a Gummy Hamster? Kind of ew); Dana Guide to Brain Health (ok, I could use all the brain health I can get); Judy Collins and Veggie Tales. In my increasing obsession with the banner ads, I'm also keeping an eye on the "related searches" as KatJam pointed out the other day. It's all very odd.
These banner ads from my boyfriend are a lot like Lifeonhold's boyfriend and his ability to seductively whisper, "I know what you like, baby" -- in a totally commercial, show me the money kind of way. I find this electronic soothsaying both fascinating and disturbing. It's eerily interesting when they recommend something that ends up being really cool. I think "how smart they are! How did they know?" But then, when they recommend something entirely vile, I think "how dare you -- I am not that kind of Tuna!" And then I give it a virtual slap with a leather glove and challenge it to pistols at twenty paces. I wonder who wrote the computer program to link subject A with subject B. No, don't wonder. Don't do it. Out, Out damn researching genes. You see, nobody in my family can answer a question with "I don't know." If we don't know, the answer is "let's look it up." Although this can be helpful and generally educational, it can also turn an innocent pondering into a big hairy deal, which is often not worth the hassle.
But back to banner ads. I'm anxiously awaiting the banner ads to pick up on evil ducks. Evil Ducks! EVIL DUCKS! I hope it heard me. What kind of suggestions might be linked to evil ducks? Answer me, Oh Banner Ads. *Quack* (Evil Duck)
Second humorous junk mail? Best Buy or buy.com or somebody wants me to know I get Britney for 49% off. Wow. She'll never be able to pay for the upkeep of her star at those cut-rate prices. But still I wonder, is this a deal? I don't think so. The odds that I pick up a Miss Spears album are equal to the odds that I might say "Oh, yes, I WOULD like to buy a four year extended service contract for the low, low price of $175, because heaven knows I have zero confidence in the makers of this expensive item that I'm purchasing, but I know if I throw a big wad of cash into your corporate coffers, you will make everything alright. What? And I can also get three months free AOL? Woweeee!"
Finally, Michael Jackson. I have to say something, right? First of all, Ew. Second of all, if he is doing vile, illegal things to children, stop fining him, stop settling lawsuits and throw his moonwalking butt either in jail or in some sort of institution where he can get some help. Thirdly, I would not want to blame the victims, especially if they are children, but the fact that the same old rumors have come to roost yet again makes me want to slap the parents upside the head with a clue-by-four. You don't leave your kids with strangers. Even famous ones. Ever.
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Tuesday, November 18, 2003
QUACK
The rain, she never stops. I think I just saw a pair of evil ducks swim by. And some evil swans too. Evil pilot fish? Check. So far though, no evil giraffes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I have two words for you: Eddie Izzard. Gah. I think I'm growing moss.
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The rain, she never stops. I think I just saw a pair of evil ducks swim by. And some evil swans too. Evil pilot fish? Check. So far though, no evil giraffes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I have two words for you: Eddie Izzard. Gah. I think I'm growing moss.
Sign My Guestbook!
QUACK
The rain, she never stops. I think I just saw a pair of evil ducks swim by. And some evil swans too. Evil pilot fish? Check. So far though, no evil giraffes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I have two words for you: Eddie Izzard. Gah. I think I'm growing moss.
Sign My Guestbook!
The rain, she never stops. I think I just saw a pair of evil ducks swim by. And some evil swans too. Evil pilot fish? Check. So far though, no evil giraffes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I have two words for you: Eddie Izzard. Gah. I think I'm growing moss.
Sign My Guestbook!
CHECK YOUR CALENDARS
It's that time of year again. It's the time when my students and I would mutually like to kill each other. I need a break. They need a break. But first, they need to learn their freaking music -- ya think?? What they always seem to forget is that before I get my break, I have to -- I get to -- give them a grade. It's my parting shot. And everything they have done, everything they have said, all their hard work and all their screwing around affects this grade. If you had one ounce of common sense, wouldn't you think this would trigger some sort of "oh, guess I better get my poop in a group" kind of response? Evidently not. I had one student ditch a performance and later said in a horrifying blase manner, "I had other things to do. I know it will affect my grade." What am I supposed to say to that? Nothing, except, "yes, you're right", and leave it be.
Someday, when my little students are finally grown up and graduated with public school music programs of their own, they will have their own students who decide to do something / go somewhere else on the night of a performance, and it will leave them in a lurch. And I hope they'll remember their own collegiate folly, remember me, and then grade them accordingly.
Why must learning responsibility come in the form of punishment?
Rant off. For now.
Sign My Guestbook!
It's that time of year again. It's the time when my students and I would mutually like to kill each other. I need a break. They need a break. But first, they need to learn their freaking music -- ya think?? What they always seem to forget is that before I get my break, I have to -- I get to -- give them a grade. It's my parting shot. And everything they have done, everything they have said, all their hard work and all their screwing around affects this grade. If you had one ounce of common sense, wouldn't you think this would trigger some sort of "oh, guess I better get my poop in a group" kind of response? Evidently not. I had one student ditch a performance and later said in a horrifying blase manner, "I had other things to do. I know it will affect my grade." What am I supposed to say to that? Nothing, except, "yes, you're right", and leave it be.
Someday, when my little students are finally grown up and graduated with public school music programs of their own, they will have their own students who decide to do something / go somewhere else on the night of a performance, and it will leave them in a lurch. And I hope they'll remember their own collegiate folly, remember me, and then grade them accordingly.
Why must learning responsibility come in the form of punishment?
Rant off. For now.
Sign My Guestbook!
CHECK YOUR CALENDARS
It's that time of year again. It's the time when my students and I would mutually like to kill each other. I need a break. They need a break. But first, they need to learn their freaking music -- ya think?? What they always seem to forget is that before I get my break, I have to -- I get to -- give them a grade. It's my parting shot. And everything they have done, everything they have said, all their hard work and all their screwing around affects this grade. If you had one ounce of common sense, wouldn't you think this would trigger some sort of "oh, guess I better get my poop in a group" kind of response? Evidently not. I had one student ditch a performance and later said in a horrifying blase manner, "I had other things to do. I know it will affect my grade." What am I supposed to say to that? Nothing, except, "yes, you're right", and leave it be.
Someday, when my little students are finally grown up and graduated with public school music programs of their own, they will have their own students who decide to do something / go somewhere else on the night of a performance, and it will leave them in a lurch. And I hope they'll remember their own collegiate folly, remember me, and then grade them accordingly.
Why must learning responsibility come in the form of punishment?
Rant off. For now.
Sign My Guestbook!
It's that time of year again. It's the time when my students and I would mutually like to kill each other. I need a break. They need a break. But first, they need to learn their freaking music -- ya think?? What they always seem to forget is that before I get my break, I have to -- I get to -- give them a grade. It's my parting shot. And everything they have done, everything they have said, all their hard work and all their screwing around affects this grade. If you had one ounce of common sense, wouldn't you think this would trigger some sort of "oh, guess I better get my poop in a group" kind of response? Evidently not. I had one student ditch a performance and later said in a horrifying blase manner, "I had other things to do. I know it will affect my grade." What am I supposed to say to that? Nothing, except, "yes, you're right", and leave it be.
Someday, when my little students are finally grown up and graduated with public school music programs of their own, they will have their own students who decide to do something / go somewhere else on the night of a performance, and it will leave them in a lurch. And I hope they'll remember their own collegiate folly, remember me, and then grade them accordingly.
Why must learning responsibility come in the form of punishment?
Rant off. For now.
Sign My Guestbook!
DRIP DROP SPLASH
Tuesday? Check
Teaching day? Check
Raining buckets? Check
Windy? Check
Weather Gods hate me? Check
Seriously. If it was nice weather, I'd probably stroke out. The rest of the week? Supposed to be nice, of course. I'm sure Thursday will somehow mange to become craptacular, just like today. For once, I'd like to commute on dry pavement.
I saw another skeleton on a horse last night. Brittney Spears got a Star on the Walk of Fame. Could someone please explain this to me? On second thought, I'm not sure I want to hear it. The next thing you know is they are going to give a star to this second Joe Millionaire dude. Yikes and then some. That show is a train wreck. No. It's a horse wreck. Bring back Hurricane. He was the best part of the show. Mercifully it all ends next week. With the BIG SURPRISE ENDING. And if you end up being surprised by the big surprise ending, well, I'll eat my cowboy boots.
So yes, after two hours of Huckleberry Millionaire, what do I watch? Average Joe. I should have my head examined. I should have read a book, or scrubbed my toilet, or done anything remotely useful. But no. TV Junkarama for me last night. I did have a fun time chatting last night with a friend as we played dueling gutters. Don't ask. It's better that way.
Banner ads continue to be weird. I don't have them in front of me, but I'll post some later. I do remember a couple this morning for weird toy-things (not those kind of toys, you pervs). One was a bendable guy, and the other was for some sort of cat bobble head. That sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen. Bendable guy, though? That has possibilities.
Pray for sick students.
Sign My Guestbook!
Tuesday? Check
Teaching day? Check
Raining buckets? Check
Windy? Check
Weather Gods hate me? Check
Seriously. If it was nice weather, I'd probably stroke out. The rest of the week? Supposed to be nice, of course. I'm sure Thursday will somehow mange to become craptacular, just like today. For once, I'd like to commute on dry pavement.
I saw another skeleton on a horse last night. Brittney Spears got a Star on the Walk of Fame. Could someone please explain this to me? On second thought, I'm not sure I want to hear it. The next thing you know is they are going to give a star to this second Joe Millionaire dude. Yikes and then some. That show is a train wreck. No. It's a horse wreck. Bring back Hurricane. He was the best part of the show. Mercifully it all ends next week. With the BIG SURPRISE ENDING. And if you end up being surprised by the big surprise ending, well, I'll eat my cowboy boots.
So yes, after two hours of Huckleberry Millionaire, what do I watch? Average Joe. I should have my head examined. I should have read a book, or scrubbed my toilet, or done anything remotely useful. But no. TV Junkarama for me last night. I did have a fun time chatting last night with a friend as we played dueling gutters. Don't ask. It's better that way.
Banner ads continue to be weird. I don't have them in front of me, but I'll post some later. I do remember a couple this morning for weird toy-things (not those kind of toys, you pervs). One was a bendable guy, and the other was for some sort of cat bobble head. That sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen. Bendable guy, though? That has possibilities.
Pray for sick students.
Sign My Guestbook!
DRIP DROP SPLASH
Tuesday? Check
Teaching day? Check
Raining buckets? Check
Windy? Check
Weather Gods hate me? Check
Seriously. If it was nice weather, I'd probably stroke out. The rest of the week? Supposed to be nice, of course. I'm sure Thursday will somehow mange to become craptacular, just like today. For once, I'd like to commute on dry pavement.
I saw another skeleton on a horse last night. Brittney Spears got a Star on the Walk of Fame. Could someone please explain this to me? On second thought, I'm not sure I want to hear it. The next thing you know is they are going to give a star to this second Joe Millionaire dude. Yikes and then some. That show is a train wreck. No. It's a horse wreck. Bring back Hurricane. He was the best part of the show. Mercifully it all ends next week. With the BIG SURPRISE ENDING. And if you end up being surprised by the big surprise ending, well, I'll eat my cowboy boots.
So yes, after two hours of Huckleberry Millionaire, what do I watch? Average Joe. I should have my head examined. I should have read a book, or scrubbed my toilet, or done anything remotely useful. But no. TV Junkarama for me last night. I did have a fun time chatting last night with a friend as we played dueling gutters. Don't ask. It's better that way.
Banner ads continue to be weird. I don't have them in front of me, but I'll post some later. I do remember a couple this morning for weird toy-things (not those kind of toys, you pervs). One was a bendable guy, and the other was for some sort of cat bobble head. That sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen. Bendable guy, though? That has possibilities.
Pray for sick students.
Sign My Guestbook!
Tuesday? Check
Teaching day? Check
Raining buckets? Check
Windy? Check
Weather Gods hate me? Check
Seriously. If it was nice weather, I'd probably stroke out. The rest of the week? Supposed to be nice, of course. I'm sure Thursday will somehow mange to become craptacular, just like today. For once, I'd like to commute on dry pavement.
I saw another skeleton on a horse last night. Brittney Spears got a Star on the Walk of Fame. Could someone please explain this to me? On second thought, I'm not sure I want to hear it. The next thing you know is they are going to give a star to this second Joe Millionaire dude. Yikes and then some. That show is a train wreck. No. It's a horse wreck. Bring back Hurricane. He was the best part of the show. Mercifully it all ends next week. With the BIG SURPRISE ENDING. And if you end up being surprised by the big surprise ending, well, I'll eat my cowboy boots.
So yes, after two hours of Huckleberry Millionaire, what do I watch? Average Joe. I should have my head examined. I should have read a book, or scrubbed my toilet, or done anything remotely useful. But no. TV Junkarama for me last night. I did have a fun time chatting last night with a friend as we played dueling gutters. Don't ask. It's better that way.
Banner ads continue to be weird. I don't have them in front of me, but I'll post some later. I do remember a couple this morning for weird toy-things (not those kind of toys, you pervs). One was a bendable guy, and the other was for some sort of cat bobble head. That sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen. Bendable guy, though? That has possibilities.
Pray for sick students.
Sign My Guestbook!
Monday, November 17, 2003
QUICK HITS
The new, fourth edition of A Short History of Opera is a whopping 1030 pages. The shortest "short" history of opera was the 1947 edition, weighing in at a skimpy 711 pages. I'd hate to see the long version...
My two CNN updates for today? John Muhammad is found guilty in Virginia and Arnold Schwarzenegger is inaugurated in California. Neither story, however, is going to make it to current events. The good news is TinyTuna found a great story about an alligator chewing its way out of a box in a post office in Wisconsin...
Sign My Guestbook!
The new, fourth edition of A Short History of Opera is a whopping 1030 pages. The shortest "short" history of opera was the 1947 edition, weighing in at a skimpy 711 pages. I'd hate to see the long version...
My two CNN updates for today? John Muhammad is found guilty in Virginia and Arnold Schwarzenegger is inaugurated in California. Neither story, however, is going to make it to current events. The good news is TinyTuna found a great story about an alligator chewing its way out of a box in a post office in Wisconsin...
Sign My Guestbook!
QUICK HITS
The new, fourth edition of A Short History of Opera is a whopping 1030 pages. The shortest "short" history of opera was the 1947 edition, weighing in at a skimpy 711 pages. I'd hate to see the long version...
My two CNN updates for today? John Muhammad is found guilty in Virginia and Arnold Schwarzenegger is inaugurated in California. Neither story, however, is going to make it to current events. The good news is TinyTuna found a great story about an alligator chewing its way out of a box in a post office in Wisconsin...
Sign My Guestbook!
The new, fourth edition of A Short History of Opera is a whopping 1030 pages. The shortest "short" history of opera was the 1947 edition, weighing in at a skimpy 711 pages. I'd hate to see the long version...
My two CNN updates for today? John Muhammad is found guilty in Virginia and Arnold Schwarzenegger is inaugurated in California. Neither story, however, is going to make it to current events. The good news is TinyTuna found a great story about an alligator chewing its way out of a box in a post office in Wisconsin...
Sign My Guestbook!
MONDAY MISCELLANY
The best news of the morning is that all boss-type creatures are GONE! One has a cold (Achoo!!) and the other is dealing with dogs and vets this morning. So for a while, anyway, it's going to be Surf-City, Baby. Now, I have a confession to make: I like my bosses. I really do. I know a lot of you have supervisors you'd like to fricassee for dinner. Not me. Me likee my bosses. We get along pretty darn well, thank you very much. Not that this was always the case. Oh, no. On our bulletin board remains a mood barometer icon from my former boss. On one side is the GOOD MOOD picture, and on the other side is the BAD MOOD picture. It was one of the handiest work aids we ever had. One look at the board told you whether you should steer clear, or if all systems were go. I highly recommend one for the bad boss, BDI, EOT or Bad Lady in your life.
I'm now consumed with my Banner Ads. Several of you wrote in to tell me what my ads were saying. This is becoming increasingly disturbing and yet humorous. I've had reports of: Dana Guide to Brain Health, Sleep Disorders, Dwarf Hamsters, Candy Cigarettes, Quitting Smoking, Hog Wild Benders (I don't even know what this is!), Dancing Hamsters and Hamster Cages. What is this world coming to? I can just imagine the FBI pouring over my page thinking I'm some crazed sleep-deprived rodent lover. Oh wait. I am -- But only from July through September. Currently I'm a crazed sleep-deprived Peachy Pirate lover. But I'm going to keep an eye on these ads. If you see a great one, let me know, Mmmmmkay?
In other big weekend news -- TinyTuna got a haircut. No small news, since they lopped off 12 inches, and she still has hair halfway down her back. Aside from a couple of very small trims, this is nine years worth of hair. Well, not really nine years. She was pretty much a cue-ball when she was born. Once her head figured out it was supposed to grow hair, it went crazy. All I've ever heard from TinyTuna is my beautiful long hair this and my beautiful long hair that. Well, I think she finally got tired of a head-full of tangles and snarls. It was so long, our only real option was to braid it or put it in a bun if there was a hope of it not becoming an absolute mess throughout the day. So, she decided to trim it, and then she decided to cut it. Post hair cutting report? It's beautiful. Sheesh. I wish I had that hair. The insufferability however, continues. TinyTuna is doing her best to break her neck as she constantly does the Herbal Essence hair swoop. And the soundtrack the accompanies the hair swoop is the same ole, same ole My beautiful hair, doo-dah, doo-dah. Have no fear. I pointedly told her that while it was indeed pretty, it was JUST HAIR, so move along. Mean, evil mom. I love it.
I'm on a try-new-recipes kick. So far, so good. I'm two-for-two with winners. Last night's recipe, courtesy of Bon Appetit and Epicurious.Com is a Butternut Squash Soup with Cider Cream. Oh Lordy. I was in love! My previous success was sweet potatoes cooked in an apple cider, maple syrup and butter glaze. Yummy McYummy. These are going in the family cookbook, upcoming version 3.0.
And in an interesting wrap-up to the real story of Gene Gene the Dancing Machine, while I was deeply involved with my boyfriend, Google, I found out all sorts of stuff Mr. Machine. For those of you not in the know, he was a semi-regular on The Gong Show. He would come out in between acts and just kinda boogie around on the stage. Everyone would go wild. I don't know why I loved that show, but I did, and I loved Gene Gene The Dancing Machine. It was a hysterically fun time. Evidently, a couple of years ago, Gene Gene The Dancing Machine lost both his legs to diabetes and still managed to maintain a positive attitude (Read the entire article HERE). He said, "I didn't know that there were 10 or 15 people there dying of cancer. You think, man, I'm not doing bad at all. All that's wrong with me is I'm getting a little shorter."
In his honor, I'm going to boogie in my office along with Gene Gene The Dancing Machine.
More later, I'm sure.
Sign My Guestbook!
The best news of the morning is that all boss-type creatures are GONE! One has a cold (Achoo!!) and the other is dealing with dogs and vets this morning. So for a while, anyway, it's going to be Surf-City, Baby. Now, I have a confession to make: I like my bosses. I really do. I know a lot of you have supervisors you'd like to fricassee for dinner. Not me. Me likee my bosses. We get along pretty darn well, thank you very much. Not that this was always the case. Oh, no. On our bulletin board remains a mood barometer icon from my former boss. On one side is the GOOD MOOD picture, and on the other side is the BAD MOOD picture. It was one of the handiest work aids we ever had. One look at the board told you whether you should steer clear, or if all systems were go. I highly recommend one for the bad boss, BDI, EOT or Bad Lady in your life.
I'm now consumed with my Banner Ads. Several of you wrote in to tell me what my ads were saying. This is becoming increasingly disturbing and yet humorous. I've had reports of: Dana Guide to Brain Health, Sleep Disorders, Dwarf Hamsters, Candy Cigarettes, Quitting Smoking, Hog Wild Benders (I don't even know what this is!), Dancing Hamsters and Hamster Cages. What is this world coming to? I can just imagine the FBI pouring over my page thinking I'm some crazed sleep-deprived rodent lover. Oh wait. I am -- But only from July through September. Currently I'm a crazed sleep-deprived Peachy Pirate lover. But I'm going to keep an eye on these ads. If you see a great one, let me know, Mmmmmkay?
In other big weekend news -- TinyTuna got a haircut. No small news, since they lopped off 12 inches, and she still has hair halfway down her back. Aside from a couple of very small trims, this is nine years worth of hair. Well, not really nine years. She was pretty much a cue-ball when she was born. Once her head figured out it was supposed to grow hair, it went crazy. All I've ever heard from TinyTuna is my beautiful long hair this and my beautiful long hair that. Well, I think she finally got tired of a head-full of tangles and snarls. It was so long, our only real option was to braid it or put it in a bun if there was a hope of it not becoming an absolute mess throughout the day. So, she decided to trim it, and then she decided to cut it. Post hair cutting report? It's beautiful. Sheesh. I wish I had that hair. The insufferability however, continues. TinyTuna is doing her best to break her neck as she constantly does the Herbal Essence hair swoop. And the soundtrack the accompanies the hair swoop is the same ole, same ole My beautiful hair, doo-dah, doo-dah. Have no fear. I pointedly told her that while it was indeed pretty, it was JUST HAIR, so move along. Mean, evil mom. I love it.
I'm on a try-new-recipes kick. So far, so good. I'm two-for-two with winners. Last night's recipe, courtesy of Bon Appetit and Epicurious.Com is a Butternut Squash Soup with Cider Cream. Oh Lordy. I was in love! My previous success was sweet potatoes cooked in an apple cider, maple syrup and butter glaze. Yummy McYummy. These are going in the family cookbook, upcoming version 3.0.
And in an interesting wrap-up to the real story of Gene Gene the Dancing Machine, while I was deeply involved with my boyfriend, Google, I found out all sorts of stuff Mr. Machine. For those of you not in the know, he was a semi-regular on The Gong Show. He would come out in between acts and just kinda boogie around on the stage. Everyone would go wild. I don't know why I loved that show, but I did, and I loved Gene Gene The Dancing Machine. It was a hysterically fun time. Evidently, a couple of years ago, Gene Gene The Dancing Machine lost both his legs to diabetes and still managed to maintain a positive attitude (Read the entire article HERE). He said, "I didn't know that there were 10 or 15 people there dying of cancer. You think, man, I'm not doing bad at all. All that's wrong with me is I'm getting a little shorter."
In his honor, I'm going to boogie in my office along with Gene Gene The Dancing Machine.
More later, I'm sure.
Sign My Guestbook!
MONDAY MISCELLANY
The best news of the morning is that all boss-type creatures are GONE! One has a cold (Achoo!!) and the other is dealing with dogs and vets this morning. So for a while, anyway, it's going to be Surf-City, Baby. Now, I have a confession to make: I like my bosses. I really do. I know a lot of you have supervisors you'd like to fricassee for dinner. Not me. Me likee my bosses. We get along pretty darn well, thank you very much. Not that this was always the case. Oh, no. On our bulletin board remains a mood barometer icon from my former boss. On one side is the GOOD MOOD picture, and on the other side is the BAD MOOD picture. It was one of the handiest work aids we ever had. One look at the board told you whether you should steer clear, or if all systems were go. I highly recommend one for the bad boss, BDI, EOT or Bad Lady in your life.
I'm now consumed with my Banner Ads. Several of you wrote in to tell me what my ads were saying. This is becoming increasingly disturbing and yet humorous. I've had reports of: Dana Guide to Brain Health, Sleep Disorders, Dwarf Hamsters, Candy Cigarettes, Quitting Smoking, Hog Wild Benders (I don't even know what this is!), Dancing Hamsters and Hamster Cages. What is this world coming to? I can just imagine the FBI pouring over my page thinking I'm some crazed sleep-deprived rodent lover. Oh wait. I am -- But only from July through September. Currently I'm a crazed sleep-deprived Peachy Pirate lover. But I'm going to keep an eye on these ads. If you see a great one, let me know, Mmmmmkay?
In other big weekend news -- TinyTuna got a haircut. No small news, since they lopped off 12 inches, and she still has hair halfway down her back. Aside from a couple of very small trims, this is nine years worth of hair. Well, not really nine years. She was pretty much a cue-ball when she was born. Once her head figured out it was supposed to grow hair, it went crazy. All I've ever heard from TinyTuna is my beautiful long hair this and my beautiful long hair that. Well, I think she finally got tired of a head-full of tangles and snarls. It was so long, our only real option was to braid it or put it in a bun if there was a hope of it not becoming an absolute mess throughout the day. So, she decided to trim it, and then she decided to cut it. Post hair cutting report? It's beautiful. Sheesh. I wish I had that hair. The insufferability however, continues. TinyTuna is doing her best to break her neck as she constantly does the Herbal Essence hair swoop. And the soundtrack the accompanies the hair swoop is the same ole, same ole My beautiful hair, doo-dah, doo-dah. Have no fear. I pointedly told her that while it was indeed pretty, it was JUST HAIR, so move along. Mean, evil mom. I love it.
I'm on a try-new-recipes kick. So far, so good. I'm two-for-two with winners. Last night's recipe, courtesy of Bon Appetit and Epicurious.Com is a Butternut Squash Soup with Cider Cream. Oh Lordy. I was in love! My previous success was sweet potatoes cooked in an apple cider, maple syrup and butter glaze. Yummy McYummy. These are going in the family cookbook, upcoming version 3.0.
And in an interesting wrap-up to the real story of Gene Gene the Dancing Machine, while I was deeply involved with my boyfriend, Google, I found out all sorts of stuff Mr. Machine. For those of you not in the know, he was a semi-regular on The Gong Show. He would come out in between acts and just kinda boogie around on the stage. Everyone would go wild. I don't know why I loved that show, but I did, and I loved Gene Gene The Dancing Machine. It was a hysterically fun time. Evidently, a couple of years ago, Gene Gene The Dancing Machine lost both his legs to diabetes and still managed to maintain a positive attitude (Read the entire article HERE). He said, "I didn't know that there were 10 or 15 people there dying of cancer. You think, man, I'm not doing bad at all. All that's wrong with me is I'm getting a little shorter."
In his honor, I'm going to boogie in my office along with Gene Gene The Dancing Machine.
More later, I'm sure.
Sign My Guestbook!
The best news of the morning is that all boss-type creatures are GONE! One has a cold (Achoo!!) and the other is dealing with dogs and vets this morning. So for a while, anyway, it's going to be Surf-City, Baby. Now, I have a confession to make: I like my bosses. I really do. I know a lot of you have supervisors you'd like to fricassee for dinner. Not me. Me likee my bosses. We get along pretty darn well, thank you very much. Not that this was always the case. Oh, no. On our bulletin board remains a mood barometer icon from my former boss. On one side is the GOOD MOOD picture, and on the other side is the BAD MOOD picture. It was one of the handiest work aids we ever had. One look at the board told you whether you should steer clear, or if all systems were go. I highly recommend one for the bad boss, BDI, EOT or Bad Lady in your life.
I'm now consumed with my Banner Ads. Several of you wrote in to tell me what my ads were saying. This is becoming increasingly disturbing and yet humorous. I've had reports of: Dana Guide to Brain Health, Sleep Disorders, Dwarf Hamsters, Candy Cigarettes, Quitting Smoking, Hog Wild Benders (I don't even know what this is!), Dancing Hamsters and Hamster Cages. What is this world coming to? I can just imagine the FBI pouring over my page thinking I'm some crazed sleep-deprived rodent lover. Oh wait. I am -- But only from July through September. Currently I'm a crazed sleep-deprived Peachy Pirate lover. But I'm going to keep an eye on these ads. If you see a great one, let me know, Mmmmmkay?
In other big weekend news -- TinyTuna got a haircut. No small news, since they lopped off 12 inches, and she still has hair halfway down her back. Aside from a couple of very small trims, this is nine years worth of hair. Well, not really nine years. She was pretty much a cue-ball when she was born. Once her head figured out it was supposed to grow hair, it went crazy. All I've ever heard from TinyTuna is my beautiful long hair this and my beautiful long hair that. Well, I think she finally got tired of a head-full of tangles and snarls. It was so long, our only real option was to braid it or put it in a bun if there was a hope of it not becoming an absolute mess throughout the day. So, she decided to trim it, and then she decided to cut it. Post hair cutting report? It's beautiful. Sheesh. I wish I had that hair. The insufferability however, continues. TinyTuna is doing her best to break her neck as she constantly does the Herbal Essence hair swoop. And the soundtrack the accompanies the hair swoop is the same ole, same ole My beautiful hair, doo-dah, doo-dah. Have no fear. I pointedly told her that while it was indeed pretty, it was JUST HAIR, so move along. Mean, evil mom. I love it.
I'm on a try-new-recipes kick. So far, so good. I'm two-for-two with winners. Last night's recipe, courtesy of Bon Appetit and Epicurious.Com is a Butternut Squash Soup with Cider Cream. Oh Lordy. I was in love! My previous success was sweet potatoes cooked in an apple cider, maple syrup and butter glaze. Yummy McYummy. These are going in the family cookbook, upcoming version 3.0.
And in an interesting wrap-up to the real story of Gene Gene the Dancing Machine, while I was deeply involved with my boyfriend, Google, I found out all sorts of stuff Mr. Machine. For those of you not in the know, he was a semi-regular on The Gong Show. He would come out in between acts and just kinda boogie around on the stage. Everyone would go wild. I don't know why I loved that show, but I did, and I loved Gene Gene The Dancing Machine. It was a hysterically fun time. Evidently, a couple of years ago, Gene Gene The Dancing Machine lost both his legs to diabetes and still managed to maintain a positive attitude (Read the entire article HERE). He said, "I didn't know that there were 10 or 15 people there dying of cancer. You think, man, I'm not doing bad at all. All that's wrong with me is I'm getting a little shorter."
In his honor, I'm going to boogie in my office along with Gene Gene The Dancing Machine.
More later, I'm sure.
Sign My Guestbook!
Sunday, November 16, 2003
WHAT A PARTY!
The setting: Post-church brunch at the local diner
The cast: GreenTuna, TinyTuna, UAT, LongLost Amigo DJTuna and Family Friends
GreenTuna: So, TinyTuna, what did you do in Sunday school today?
TinyTuna: We played charades.
GreenTuna: And this had to do with church how......?
TinyTuna: We all had to write down something from the bible and then draw a slip of paper and act it out. The one I had to act out was gross.
GreenTuna: Gross like what?
TinyTuna: Like this (finger across the throat motion)
GreenTuna: Beheading? Guillotine?
TinyTuna: Chopping off heads.
GreenTuna: Lovely.
TinyTuna: It's not my fault, I told you it was gross.
GreenTuna: So what was the thing from the bible you wrote down?
TinyTuna: Oh, it was really cool.
GreenTuna: Like what?
TinyTuna: The party of the Red Sea.
GreenTuna: The what??
TinyTuna: THE PARTY OF THE RED SEA.
GreenTuna: (unsuccessfully stifling large laugh) That's parting, my dear. The parting of the Red Sea.
The scene fades with general laughter and Congo-line singing....
Sign My Guestbook!
The setting: Post-church brunch at the local diner
The cast: GreenTuna, TinyTuna, UAT, LongLost Amigo DJTuna and Family Friends
GreenTuna: So, TinyTuna, what did you do in Sunday school today?
TinyTuna: We played charades.
GreenTuna: And this had to do with church how......?
TinyTuna: We all had to write down something from the bible and then draw a slip of paper and act it out. The one I had to act out was gross.
GreenTuna: Gross like what?
TinyTuna: Like this (finger across the throat motion)
GreenTuna: Beheading? Guillotine?
TinyTuna: Chopping off heads.
GreenTuna: Lovely.
TinyTuna: It's not my fault, I told you it was gross.
GreenTuna: So what was the thing from the bible you wrote down?
TinyTuna: Oh, it was really cool.
GreenTuna: Like what?
TinyTuna: The party of the Red Sea.
GreenTuna: The what??
TinyTuna: THE PARTY OF THE RED SEA.
GreenTuna: (unsuccessfully stifling large laugh) That's parting, my dear. The parting of the Red Sea.
The scene fades with general laughter and Congo-line singing....
Sign My Guestbook!
WHAT A PARTY!
The setting: Post-church brunch at the local diner
The cast: GreenTuna, TinyTuna, UAT, LongLost Amigo DJTuna and Family Friends
GreenTuna: So, TinyTuna, what did you do in Sunday school today?
TinyTuna: We played charades.
GreenTuna: And this had to do with church how......?
TinyTuna: We all had to write down something from the bible and then draw a slip of paper and act it out. The one I had to act out was gross.
GreenTuna: Gross like what?
TinyTuna: Like this (finger across the throat motion)
GreenTuna: Beheading? Guillotine?
TinyTuna: Chopping off heads.
GreenTuna: Lovely.
TinyTuna: It's not my fault, I told you it was gross.
GreenTuna: So what was the thing from the bible you wrote down?
TinyTuna: Oh, it was really cool.
GreenTuna: Like what?
TinyTuna: The party of the Red Sea.
GreenTuna: The what??
TinyTuna: THE PARTY OF THE RED SEA.
GreenTuna: (unsuccessfully stifling large laugh) That's parting, my dear. The parting of the Red Sea.
The scene fades with general laughter and Congo-line singing....
Sign My Guestbook!
The setting: Post-church brunch at the local diner
The cast: GreenTuna, TinyTuna, UAT, LongLost Amigo DJTuna and Family Friends
GreenTuna: So, TinyTuna, what did you do in Sunday school today?
TinyTuna: We played charades.
GreenTuna: And this had to do with church how......?
TinyTuna: We all had to write down something from the bible and then draw a slip of paper and act it out. The one I had to act out was gross.
GreenTuna: Gross like what?
TinyTuna: Like this (finger across the throat motion)
GreenTuna: Beheading? Guillotine?
TinyTuna: Chopping off heads.
GreenTuna: Lovely.
TinyTuna: It's not my fault, I told you it was gross.
GreenTuna: So what was the thing from the bible you wrote down?
TinyTuna: Oh, it was really cool.
GreenTuna: Like what?
TinyTuna: The party of the Red Sea.
GreenTuna: The what??
TinyTuna: THE PARTY OF THE RED SEA.
GreenTuna: (unsuccessfully stifling large laugh) That's parting, my dear. The parting of the Red Sea.
The scene fades with general laughter and Congo-line singing....
Sign My Guestbook!
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