Friday, May 28, 2004

Ho! Ho! Ho!

The dude is everywhere. The third most recognized advertising icon (behind Ronald McDonald and The Marlboro Man), The Jolly Green Giant has been a corporate Ho-Ho-Ho since 1925. How can you celebrate his Green Giantness?



How about a Jolly Green Giant Shooter

Equal parts of; Rum, Gin, Tequila, Blue Curacao, & Galliano

Hand swirl with ice & Strain into a Pony or Shot glass



Or a Green Giant Song

At the table, scowling at the veggies:

Yucky things like peas, like corn, like beans!

In the distance, jolly laughter echoes.

Do you pause to wonder what it means?

You are drawn to take a second helping,

By your stomach, of its own accord.

Is this produce from the Nation's heartland?

Or the valley of the veggie lord?

Green Giant! I see you, laughing in ecstasy!

Green Giant! Stay with me! I'll taste your broccoli!




Or you could perform you very own Jolly Green Giant Play!



Afterwards you might need another hit of The Green Giant

1 shot Lime Vodka

Orange Juice

Mix just like you would a screwdriver, except substitute with lime vodka.



Or, maybe this Green Giant Health Drink

1 avocado, peeled, seeded and cubed

1 banana, peeled and cut into chunks

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1 Tablespoon honey

2 ice cubes

1 cup milk



Bleah.



All recipes and creative Green Giant entertainments taken from the web. I haven't sung them, acted them, drank them (or hurled them), so reader, beware!

Ho! Ho! Ho!

The dude is everywhere. The third most recognized advertising icon (behind Ronald McDonald and The Marlboro Man), The Jolly Green Giant has been a corporate Ho-Ho-Ho since 1925. How can you celebrate his Green Giantness?

How about a Jolly Green Giant Shooter
Equal parts of; Rum, Gin, Tequila, Blue Curacao, & Galliano
Hand swirl with ice & Strain into a Pony or Shot glass

Or a Green Giant Song
At the table, scowling at the veggies:
Yucky things like peas, like corn, like beans!
In the distance, jolly laughter echoes.
Do you pause to wonder what it means?
You are drawn to take a second helping,
By your stomach, of its own accord.
Is this produce from the Nation's heartland?
Or the valley of the veggie lord?
Green Giant! I see you, laughing in ecstasy!
Green Giant! Stay with me! I'll taste your broccoli!


Or you could perform you very own Jolly Green Giant Play!

Afterwards you might need another hit of The Green Giant
1 shot Lime Vodka
Orange Juice
Mix just like you would a screwdriver, except substitute with lime vodka.

Or, maybe this Green Giant Health Drink
1 avocado, peeled, seeded and cubed
1 banana, peeled and cut into chunks
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 Tablespoon honey
2 ice cubes
1 cup milk

Bleah.

All recipes and creative Green Giant entertainments taken from the web. I haven't sung them, acted them, drank them (or hurled them), so reader, beware!

V-Day!

Be afraid.

Be very afraid.



It's Friday.

It's Food Friday.

The Friday Chef says V is for







Veggies!!



Now, I happen to like veggies. I happen to like nearly every veggie there is. Yes, I like peas. Yes, I like Lima Beans. Those two happen to be TinyTuna's favorite veggies, proving once and for all that she truly is my child.



I like green beans. I like carrots. Fabio likes carrots. Bugs Bunny likes carrots, but surprisingly, Mel Blanc hated them.



But I'm telling you, there is a disturbing trend afoot. I think people need to lay off the Miracle Gro. Because first it's giant beets..







And then it's giant cabbages...







And before you know it, it's a terrifying zucchini...







And then suddenly they've taken over the plant. With artichoke altars







And corn towers







All worshipping







THE VEGGIE KING







And when they die...They go to Cornhalla







So just be careful, Mmmkay?



V-Day!

Be afraid.
Be very afraid.

It's Friday.
It's Food Friday.
The Friday Chef says V is for



Veggies!!

Now, I happen to like veggies. I happen to like nearly every veggie there is. Yes, I like peas. Yes, I like Lima Beans. Those two happen to be TinyTuna's favorite veggies, proving once and for all that she truly is my child.

I like green beans. I like carrots. Fabio likes carrots. Bugs Bunny likes carrots, but surprisingly, Mel Blanc hated them.

But I'm telling you, there is a disturbing trend afoot. I think people need to lay off the Miracle Gro. Because first it's giant beets..



And then it's giant cabbages...



And before you know it, it's a terrifying zucchini...



And then suddenly they've taken over the plant. With artichoke altars



And corn towers



All worshipping



THE VEGGIE KING



And when they die...They go to Cornhalla



So just be careful, Mmmkay?

Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me

This is too cool. Compare and contrast the following pictures, both from the APOD (Astronomy Picture of the Day) website.



Picture Number 1

Moon Between the Stones



Picture Number 2

Manhattan Sunset



Stonehenge vs. Manhattanhenge. I feel a current event coming on...



...and they built Stonehenge, one of the biggest henges in the world. No one's built a henge like that ever since. No one knows what a henge is! Before Stonehenge, there was Woodhenge and Strawhenge...

(Eddie Izzard -- Dressed to Kill)

Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me

This is too cool. Compare and contrast the following pictures, both from the APOD (Astronomy Picture of the Day) website.

Picture Number 1
Moon Between the Stones

Picture Number 2
Manhattan Sunset

Stonehenge vs. Manhattanhenge. I feel a current event coming on...

...and they built Stonehenge, one of the biggest henges in the world. No one's built a henge like that ever since. No one knows what a henge is! Before Stonehenge, there was Woodhenge and Strawhenge...
(Eddie Izzard -- Dressed to Kill)

Ain't-a That Good News?

TinyTuna has been racing to the mailbox every day this week in anticipation of a certain letter. We half-expected it on Tuesday, and were surprised when it hadn't arrived by Wednesday.



Yesterday it finally came.



She grabbed the letter, gasped her melodramatic gasp and began whispering

"Not Slytherin... Not Slytherin... Not Slytherin..."



No. Wait. Wrong story. That was Harry Potter.





She grabbed the letter, gasped her melodramatic gasp and began whispering

"Touring Choir. Touring Choir. Please let it be Touring Choir."



And lo and behold, Miss TinyTuna has been accepted into the MSU Children's Choir, which is the top choir that does all the recording. And the touring.



So next April, you'll find the Tuna clan in New York City listening to Tiny & Co. sing in Carnegie Hall. Not too shabby for a ten-year old. And yes, I'm one proud mom.



Ain't-a That Good News?

TinyTuna has been racing to the mailbox every day this week in anticipation of a certain letter. We half-expected it on Tuesday, and were surprised when it hadn't arrived by Wednesday.

Yesterday it finally came.

She grabbed the letter, gasped her melodramatic gasp and began whispering
"Not Slytherin... Not Slytherin... Not Slytherin..."

No. Wait. Wrong story. That was Harry Potter.


She grabbed the letter, gasped her melodramatic gasp and began whispering
"Touring Choir. Touring Choir. Please let it be Touring Choir."

And lo and behold, Miss TinyTuna has been accepted into the MSU Children's Choir, which is the top choir that does all the recording. And the touring.

So next April, you'll find the Tuna clan in New York City listening to Tiny & Co. sing in Carnegie Hall. Not too shabby for a ten-year old. And yes, I'm one proud mom.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

To Blog or Not To Blog

That is the question.



Fame came to the Hinterlands today as The New York Times posted this about the world of blogging. It focuses on Rich Wiggins -- A TunaU computer guy -- who blogs to the extreme. Evidently he was caught blogging from his hotel bathroom while on a vacation to celebrate his wedding anniversary.



You know that saying about there being a thin line between hobby and obsession? I believe that line is at the bathroom door.



But then again, maybe I'm just jealous. After all, Bessie, my desktop computer, is tethered to the electrical outlet. Who's to say if I had a snappy laptop computer with wireless Internet that I wouldn't be blogging from points unknown in the Tuna Household.



At any rate, the article raised some interesting points about blogs, bloggers and blogging. Although I didn't agree with some of the comments (writing so much for so few), it did present some food for thought:



~~ Why do we blog?

~~ Is it a worthwhile endeavor or a waste of time and bandwidth?

~~ Is blogging the latest form of corporate goofing-off?

~~ Does it build community, or is it merely a false friendship?

~~ Do you feel pressured to post to your blog?

~~ Would you keep writing if nobody was reading?



I'm going to mull this over and get back to you. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves.

To Blog or Not To Blog

That is the question.

Fame came to the Hinterlands today as The New York Times posted this about the world of blogging. It focuses on Rich Wiggins -- A TunaU computer guy -- who blogs to the extreme. Evidently he was caught blogging from his hotel bathroom while on a vacation to celebrate his wedding anniversary.

You know that saying about there being a thin line between hobby and obsession? I believe that line is at the bathroom door.

But then again, maybe I'm just jealous. After all, Bessie, my desktop computer, is tethered to the electrical outlet. Who's to say if I had a snappy laptop computer with wireless Internet that I wouldn't be blogging from points unknown in the Tuna Household.

At any rate, the article raised some interesting points about blogs, bloggers and blogging. Although I didn't agree with some of the comments (writing so much for so few), it did present some food for thought:

~~ Why do we blog?
~~ Is it a worthwhile endeavor or a waste of time and bandwidth?
~~ Is blogging the latest form of corporate goofing-off?
~~ Does it build community, or is it merely a false friendship?
~~ Do you feel pressured to post to your blog?
~~ Would you keep writing if nobody was reading?

I'm going to mull this over and get back to you. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves.

Get Down, Moses

For your next Party of the Red Sea







He'Brew (The Chosen Beer) is currently offering Genesis Ale and Messiah Bold. I wonder when we can expect to see some Isaiah Ice or some Daniel's Hard Lionade.



Good Times.

Get Down, Moses

For your next Party of the Red Sea



He'Brew (The Chosen Beer) is currently offering Genesis Ale and Messiah Bold. I wonder when we can expect to see some Isaiah Ice or some Daniel's Hard Lionade.

Good Times.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Things that snooze for $600

Wow. Something new from my friends at the EMERGENCY EMAIL NETWORK. In an uncharacteristically caps not locked kind of way, they have invited me to go online and play Find The Terrorist.



Unfortunately, I am of no help today. I don't know any of these people, although candidate number five in the list could pass for darn near any college student on campus. As for the Fine Arts library -- it's empty, except for one sleeping beauty who dozes unawares not more than 3 feet from my shelving project.



This part of the job would be known as a perk.

Things that snooze for $600

Wow. Something new from my friends at the EMERGENCY EMAIL NETWORK. In an uncharacteristically caps not locked kind of way, they have invited me to go online and play Find The Terrorist.

Unfortunately, I am of no help today. I don't know any of these people, although candidate number five in the list could pass for darn near any college student on campus. As for the Fine Arts library -- it's empty, except for one sleeping beauty who dozes unawares not more than 3 feet from my shelving project.

This part of the job would be known as a perk.

Things that shush for $400





Lest you think that all library-type folk do are walk around in sensible shoes shushing people all day, I'm here to let you in on a little secret: It ain't necessarily so.



We do not spend our days in dimly-lit rooms, examining the obscure works of 11th century Benedictine Monks. Nor do we sit at banks of computer terminals, dissecting online research methodology or endlessly tweaking the virtual card catalog.



well...sometimes we sit at computer terminals. And yeah, we work on the virtual catalog. Absolutely! That's what I was doing right then. Yessirree, Bob! Working on the catalog....



My days are currently filled with dust, grime, shelving units and books. Like the flowers that bloom in the spring (tra la!) it's shifting time once again.



Nearly every year we need to do some sort of shift within the collection. Some years it is smaller, and other years it is an enormous task. This year? Enormous. Every single book, musical score and CD will move.



The shift actually began last year with bound periodicals. I thought I had successfully served my summer shifting sentence until a pile of new (actually old, but new to us) shelving appeared 10 days before fall semester began. My response to that was a loud snort, followed by, "well, that is going to sit until next summer."



Which it did.

And now it's summer.

BLEAH.



So forget the skirt set with the sensible shoes, coiffed hair and bookish glasses. I'm wearing grubby clothes, tshirts and tennis shoes. Since I have to get all the shelving in place myself, I'm being none too quiet, either. My technique is to put the two metal end panels in place, set a metal shelf on top, make a fist, and SMASH it into place in a gloriously CAPS-LOCK, LEANED-OVER BOLD TO BOOT kind of way.



I knew that kung-fu SHUSH! would come in handy one day.

Things that shush for $400



Lest you think that all library-type folk do are walk around in sensible shoes shushing people all day, I'm here to let you in on a little secret: It ain't necessarily so.

We do not spend our days in dimly-lit rooms, examining the obscure works of 11th century Benedictine Monks. Nor do we sit at banks of computer terminals, dissecting online research methodology or endlessly tweaking the virtual card catalog.

well...sometimes we sit at computer terminals. And yeah, we work on the virtual catalog. Absolutely! That's what I was doing right then. Yessirree, Bob! Working on the catalog....

My days are currently filled with dust, grime, shelving units and books. Like the flowers that bloom in the spring (tra la!) it's shifting time once again.

Nearly every year we need to do some sort of shift within the collection. Some years it is smaller, and other years it is an enormous task. This year? Enormous. Every single book, musical score and CD will move.

The shift actually began last year with bound periodicals. I thought I had successfully served my summer shifting sentence until a pile of new (actually old, but new to us) shelving appeared 10 days before fall semester began. My response to that was a loud snort, followed by, "well, that is going to sit until next summer."

Which it did.
And now it's summer.
BLEAH.

So forget the skirt set with the sensible shoes, coiffed hair and bookish glasses. I'm wearing grubby clothes, tshirts and tennis shoes. Since I have to get all the shelving in place myself, I'm being none too quiet, either. My technique is to put the two metal end panels in place, set a metal shelf on top, make a fist, and SMASH it into place in a gloriously CAPS-LOCK, LEANED-OVER BOLD TO BOOT kind of way.

I knew that kung-fu SHUSH! would come in handy one day.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Things that crash for $200

Major props to The Friday Chef for providing the link to Crash Bonsai, a website both timely and hysterical.







Nothing like "little living car crash sculptures" crashing into Bonsai trees to put a smile on your face. All that's missing from the scene of the accident is an Origami Boulder landslide. I'd support the artistic endeavors of Crash artist John Rooney, but at $125 a pop, I figure I could melt hotwheels all by myself.



Early this morning I was once again bounced out of bed, but for the first time in several days, it was not because of thunder. It was the sound of Squeel...Screech...BOOM as the light post across the street bit it for the second time this year.



After doing a full Gladys Kravitz with a twist







I was sure everyone was OK, and saw the driver using her cell phone to call for backup. Three police cars, one fire truck and one tow truck later, the vehicle formerly known as Van -- now known as Parts -- was towed away and the chunks of street light were removed.



Another restful evening.



Finally, speaking of things that crash. Some readers have been trouble accessing this website. It seems that for some reason, the "www" portion of the URL makes Mr. Internet unhappy. So, if you've linked to this site, be sure the URL reads: http://greentuna.blogspot.com, and I'll be here to blog another day.

Things that crash for $200

Major props to The Friday Chef for providing the link to Crash Bonsai, a website both timely and hysterical.



Nothing like "little living car crash sculptures" crashing into Bonsai trees to put a smile on your face. All that's missing from the scene of the accident is an Origami Boulder landslide. I'd support the artistic endeavors of Crash artist John Rooney, but at $125 a pop, I figure I could melt hotwheels all by myself.

Early this morning I was once again bounced out of bed, but for the first time in several days, it was not because of thunder. It was the sound of Squeel...Screech...BOOM as the light post across the street bit it for the second time this year.

After doing a full Gladys Kravitz with a twist



I was sure everyone was OK, and saw the driver using her cell phone to call for backup. Three police cars, one fire truck and one tow truck later, the vehicle formerly known as Van -- now known as Parts -- was towed away and the chunks of street light were removed.

Another restful evening.

Finally, speaking of things that crash. Some readers have been trouble accessing this website. It seems that for some reason, the "www" portion of the URL makes Mr. Internet unhappy. So, if you've linked to this site, be sure the URL reads: http://greentuna.blogspot.com, and I'll be here to blog another day.

Monday, May 24, 2004

Fear the Tutu



~~I have no idea who these children are~~



The Tutu is a dark force possessing powers of terrifying proportions. It is able to reduce creatures to quivering masses or pathetic puddles of tears. The Tutu can transform itself from the cutest of creatures to the deadliest of demons in the blink of an eye. Like the Chimera, The Tutu is part human, part sequins and part netting. The more The Tutu sparkles, the less human it becomes. The Tutu is indeed a formidable foe.



Forget school bullys. Forget guidance counselors and educational curricula and after-school made-for-TV specials espousing the two great tenets of modern-day childhood psychology: Bullys are Bad (and) Don't be a Bully.



Bah. The bully can only dream of what The Tutu has become.



This weekend was round one of pint-sized performances. If you have never seen a group of pre-kindergarten ballerinas do their stuff, well, you're missing out. Cute? Ohmygosh, yes. Words cannot adequately describe the cuteness.



But there is always one -- and it's ALWAYS in a tutu -- who is the queen of mean. She is Bossy McBossy-Tights. And you had better not be in her way.



On Saturday, as dance class number 75 made its way on stage to look cute, attempt a ballet hop and a fairy skip or two and generally make the entire adult population melt, The Tutu appeared. It seemed that ballerina #2 was quite certain she was supposed to be standing to ballerina #1. So she moved to be next to ballerina #1 and instantly got gently nudged back in place by The Tutu. Ballerina #2 attempted to move again, and was met with an elbow to her gut. Words were exchanged, accompanied by hands on hips and punctuated by some ballet-slippered foot stomping. Finally, The Tutu thought she had things under control, but here came ballerina #2 back again to take her rightful spot next to ballerina #1. This time The Tutu served up a little shove to go with the elbow, leaving ballerina #2 bawling center stage and The Tutu looking quite proud of herself.



What did the adults do to right this injustice? We went awwww!

Yeah...a lot of help we were.



The teacher rushed on stage, put all the dancers in their appropriate spots and gave ballerina #2 a quick hug before the dance began. With that, the music started to play, and ballerina #2 spent the entire time wiping her eyes and nose on her costume sleeve while The Tutu executed extra-bouncy jumps and skips with a wide smile. She even threw in a couple of extra bows at the end.



Because she could.

Fear the Tutu


~~I have no idea who these children are~~

The Tutu is a dark force possessing powers of terrifying proportions. It is able to reduce creatures to quivering masses or pathetic puddles of tears. The Tutu can transform itself from the cutest of creatures to the deadliest of demons in the blink of an eye. Like the Chimera, The Tutu is part human, part sequins and part netting. The more The Tutu sparkles, the less human it becomes. The Tutu is indeed a formidable foe.

Forget school bullys. Forget guidance counselors and educational curricula and after-school made-for-TV specials espousing the two great tenets of modern-day childhood psychology: Bullys are Bad (and) Don't be a Bully.

Bah. The bully can only dream of what The Tutu has become.

This weekend was round one of pint-sized performances. If you have never seen a group of pre-kindergarten ballerinas do their stuff, well, you're missing out. Cute? Ohmygosh, yes. Words cannot adequately describe the cuteness.

But there is always one -- and it's ALWAYS in a tutu -- who is the queen of mean. She is Bossy McBossy-Tights. And you had better not be in her way.

On Saturday, as dance class number 75 made its way on stage to look cute, attempt a ballet hop and a fairy skip or two and generally make the entire adult population melt, The Tutu appeared. It seemed that ballerina #2 was quite certain she was supposed to be standing to ballerina #1. So she moved to be next to ballerina #1 and instantly got gently nudged back in place by The Tutu. Ballerina #2 attempted to move again, and was met with an elbow to her gut. Words were exchanged, accompanied by hands on hips and punctuated by some ballet-slippered foot stomping. Finally, The Tutu thought she had things under control, but here came ballerina #2 back again to take her rightful spot next to ballerina #1. This time The Tutu served up a little shove to go with the elbow, leaving ballerina #2 bawling center stage and The Tutu looking quite proud of herself.

What did the adults do to right this injustice? We went awwww!
Yeah...a lot of help we were.

The teacher rushed on stage, put all the dancers in their appropriate spots and gave ballerina #2 a quick hug before the dance began. With that, the music started to play, and ballerina #2 spent the entire time wiping her eyes and nose on her costume sleeve while The Tutu executed extra-bouncy jumps and skips with a wide smile. She even threw in a couple of extra bows at the end.

Because she could.

Quack

It's a good day to be a duck. Evil or otherwise, the ducks have it made right about now. Several were downright happy to be swimming in Beal Botanical Garden here on the TunaU campus. It's a good day when your swimming pool triples in size. Quack!



Heading toward the Mitten Capital, it's nice to take a stroll on the Riverwalk.





Today you'll need some extra equipment. Like waders.

Or a boat.





And the forecast today?





Quack.

Quack

It's a good day to be a duck. Evil or otherwise, the ducks have it made right about now. Several were downright happy to be swimming in Beal Botanical Garden here on the TunaU campus. It's a good day when your swimming pool triples in size. Quack!

Heading toward the Mitten Capital, it's nice to take a stroll on the Riverwalk.


Today you'll need some extra equipment. Like waders.
Or a boat.


And the forecast today?


Quack.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

It's Not Raining Men

It's just raining rain. Lots and lots of rain. Rain and thunderstorms. And more rain. And yes, this afternoon I spent some quality time in my tornado bunker. None here, thankfully, but there have been reports of touchdowns in the area. Sheesh. Since the very act of booting up my computer seems to spur more torrential downpours with heavy thunder and lightning, I'll make this brief.



Rain. Rain. Rain.

Rain records for May shattered -- and we're not done.

Rain sixteen days so far this month (keep in mind we're only on day 23)

Plants attempting to learn the backstroke.

Lawn mowing may resume on the 4th of July.



Forecast for tomorrow? Three guesses, and the first two don't count.

The good news? 43,000 currently without power, but I'm not ....

OOPS....Karma, get out of here.

More tomorrow when I'm on higher ground.

It's Not Raining Men

It's just raining rain. Lots and lots of rain. Rain and thunderstorms. And more rain. And yes, this afternoon I spent some quality time in my tornado bunker. None here, thankfully, but there have been reports of touchdowns in the area. Sheesh. Since the very act of booting up my computer seems to spur more torrential downpours with heavy thunder and lightning, I'll make this brief.

Rain. Rain. Rain.
Rain records for May shattered -- and we're not done.
Rain sixteen days so far this month (keep in mind we're only on day 23)
Plants attempting to learn the backstroke.
Lawn mowing may resume on the 4th of July.

Forecast for tomorrow? Three guesses, and the first two don't count.
The good news? 43,000 currently without power, but I'm not ....
OOPS....Karma, get out of here.
More tomorrow when I'm on higher ground.

Saturday, May 22, 2004

Abandon Ship!

Run for your lives weather has returned again. All posting and other computing will be suspended for the rest of the evening as I go hide in the basement with Fabio the Fabulous.

Abandon Ship!

Run for your lives weather has returned again. All posting and other computing will be suspended for the rest of the evening as I go hide in the basement with Fabio the Fabulous.

Hello Karma, My Old Friend

If I had the foresight to save my Friday night chat it would have said something like this:



GREENTUNA: If I suddenly stop talking it's because I've been FREAKING HIT BY LIGHTNING!

(various other chatters): Ha Ha, Ho Ho, LOL, is the weather bad?

GREENTUNA: It's really

Greentuna has left the chat



Yeppers. A couple flashes, some big booms, and whammo! Power flickers, Computer goes down and GreenTuna offers Karma some Tea and Crumpets.



Maybe next time I'll learn to keep my mouth shut.

I crack myself up.

Hello Karma, My Old Friend

If I had the foresight to save my Friday night chat it would have said something like this:

GREENTUNA: If I suddenly stop talking it's because I've been FREAKING HIT BY LIGHTNING!
(various other chatters): Ha Ha, Ho Ho, LOL, is the weather bad?
GREENTUNA: It's really
Greentuna has left the chat

Yeppers. A couple flashes, some big booms, and whammo! Power flickers, Computer goes down and GreenTuna offers Karma some Tea and Crumpets.

Maybe next time I'll learn to keep my mouth shut.
I crack myself up.

Friday, May 21, 2004

U is for Finally

Those who read blogs learn quickly how reading one blog can lead to clicking onto another, and then another, and then three hours have gone by and you don't remember quite where you started....



You know how that goes.



While I was dancing with my boyfriend this morning, I ran across this site which "watches" various food-related blogs.



Hours later...

U is for Finally

Those who read blogs learn quickly how reading one blog can lead to clicking onto another, and then another, and then three hours have gone by and you don't remember quite where you started....

You know how that goes.

While I was dancing with my boyfriend this morning, I ran across this site which "watches" various food-related blogs.

Hours later...

U is for Ugh

In true Lilek's Gallery of Regrettable Food style, I ran across this website, full of culinary catastrophes.



From High Cholesterol Meals to the ever-popular I Can't Believe It's Food!, they are all winners. (End-Pageant rhetoric)



But my personal favorite has to be the yummy recipes found over at Trailer Trash Cooking. Here you will find tasty treats for those who prefer can-openers to canapes. Be sure to check out the latest cooking craze: Iron Chef White Trash. I do believe I hear the call of the beany-weanies, ruffled potato chips and cheez-wiz now.

U is for Ugh

In true Lilek's Gallery of Regrettable Food style, I ran across this website, full of culinary catastrophes.

From High Cholesterol Meals to the ever-popular I Can't Believe It's Food!, they are all winners. (End-Pageant rhetoric)

But my personal favorite has to be the yummy recipes found over at Trailer Trash Cooking. Here you will find tasty treats for those who prefer can-openers to canapes. Be sure to check out the latest cooking craze: Iron Chef White Trash. I do believe I hear the call of the beany-weanies, ruffled potato chips and cheez-wiz now.

U is for Fuuud

In a very Thank Jehovah kind of way, it is Friday, which means it is food Friday. Our culinary Captienne, The Friday Chef has declared -- alphabetically speaking -- U is for USA.



This is a very cool idea. If you speak mitten food, then you must speak of the Pasty. You could also have some .... pastys ... and then maybe a ... pasty ... for dessert. Pastys are essentially leftovers gift wrapped in a grab-n-eat pie dough kind of thing. Personally, I would lay odds on the fact that pie dough wasn't used as a convention of portability, but rather as a means to disguise the "critter du jour".



Ergo, I'm not giving you pasty recipes. And remember folks, it's Paaah-stee, not PAY-stee. That is an important distinction.



Instead, I bring you U is for Unknown.



Here is a little quiz. How many brand name foods can you identify by a single letter from the label? Let me know how you do with that one (for Pete's sake!) and I'll be back with more.

U is for Fuuud

In a very Thank Jehovah kind of way, it is Friday, which means it is food Friday. Our culinary Captienne, The Friday Chef has declared -- alphabetically speaking -- U is for USA.

This is a very cool idea. If you speak mitten food, then you must speak of the Pasty. You could also have some .... pastys ... and then maybe a ... pasty ... for dessert. Pastys are essentially leftovers gift wrapped in a grab-n-eat pie dough kind of thing. Personally, I would lay odds on the fact that pie dough wasn't used as a convention of portability, but rather as a means to disguise the "critter du jour".

Ergo, I'm not giving you pasty recipes. And remember folks, it's Paaah-stee, not PAY-stee. That is an important distinction.

Instead, I bring you U is for Unknown.

Here is a little quiz. How many brand name foods can you identify by a single letter from the label? Let me know how you do with that one (for Pete's sake!) and I'll be back with more.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Travels with Tuna: Part The Last

It occurred to me that I never blogged myself back home from my trip to the mitten extention --would that be the scarf?-- also known as the Upper Peninsula. To review, I began my trip here, crossed the big nasty bridge and continued my excursion here, and finally got around to singing here.



After extracting TinyTuna from the pool with an aquatic crowbar, we loaded up the car and headed for home via a side trip east to see The Soo Locks.



Now, whenever you see pictures of The Soo Locks (water elevator for boats), they look something like this:





When we went to the Soo Locks, it looked something like this



that is, if you imagine empty channels of water where the cars are, no stadium at all and three tired pathetic visitors walking around in a stupor.



The temperature outside felt like this



But these guys are having much more fun.



We beat a hasty retreat and got in the car to drive home. The return trip was uneventful and we marked the time not by miles, but by replays of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. By my calculations, it would have taken approximately thirty-six wrecks to make it from Houghton back to TunaVille. We made it to five before poor ole Edmund got the heave-ho.



But never you fear, we made it home safely and Edmund will live to wreck another day. With the ocean beckoning in less than a month, it will only take 102 Wreck of the Edmund FitzTuna's (tm Buffy) to make it to Hatteras. I am SO ready.

Travels with Tuna: Part The Last

It occurred to me that I never blogged myself back home from my trip to the mitten extention --would that be the scarf?-- also known as the Upper Peninsula. To review, I began my trip here, crossed the big nasty bridge and continued my excursion here, and finally got around to singing here.

After extracting TinyTuna from the pool with an aquatic crowbar, we loaded up the car and headed for home via a side trip east to see The Soo Locks.

Now, whenever you see pictures of The Soo Locks (water elevator for boats), they look something like this:


When we went to the Soo Locks, it looked something like this

that is, if you imagine empty channels of water where the cars are, no stadium at all and three tired pathetic visitors walking around in a stupor.

The temperature outside felt like this

But these guys are having much more fun.

We beat a hasty retreat and got in the car to drive home. The return trip was uneventful and we marked the time not by miles, but by replays of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. By my calculations, it would have taken approximately thirty-six wrecks to make it from Houghton back to TunaVille. We made it to five before poor ole Edmund got the heave-ho.

But never you fear, we made it home safely and Edmund will live to wreck another day. With the ocean beckoning in less than a month, it will only take 102 Wreck of the Edmund FitzTuna's (tm Buffy) to make it to Hatteras. I am SO ready.

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

World Wide Guilt-net

I'm starting to feel really guilty. It's not that I've done anything, but the electronically speaking, I'm starting to get a complex.



Take my email. Today I received an email whose subject line read: Have we done something wrong, GreenTuna? The first sentence of the email continues: Dear GreenTuna, I’m starting to think we may have done something wrong. We haven’t heard from you in ages!



Was I supposed to write? Was I supposed to call? Here's the deal: If I come back to the fold and buy several doodads, Company B won't have to go to therapy because of my horrifyingly callous behavior.



Right before Mother's Day, my email went into guilt-overdrive. No longer content with the soft-sell, these were vicious attack-guilt emails, rather than the previous passive aggressive emails of Company B.



The first was innocent enough: Did You Forget? The second, however, cut right to the heart of the matter: Stop Dilly-Dallying! It's Mother's Day, for Pete's Sake!



Sheesh. First of all, No, I had not forgotten. It was five days before Mother's Day. I don't think it's fair to guilt somebody for forgetting an event that has not yet occurred. If it were the day after, then sure, "forgotten" applies, and those who were legitimately "forgetful" are fair game. But give me a break. Secondly, Stop Dilly-Dallying? Who says that anymore? I half feared my next email would be in CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER screaming, "HEY LOSER, WE'RE TALKING TO YOU! SHE CHANGED YOUR DIAPER, NOW GET THAT APRIL-FRESH BUTT IN GEAR AND BUY HER SOME FLOWERS, DAGNABIT!"



Dagnabit would have fit in quite nicely with Dilly-Dallying, if you ask me.



If it isn't the emails, then it's Blog comment lines. These crack me up, because I'm telling you, it works on me every time. I feel guilt. 100% Grade-A Homogenized Guilt. I don't always do something about it, but more times than not, I will add my two cents to the comment section so I do have to read the sad-sack message anymore.



Truth be told, if the new (somewhat annoying) comment option on Blogger gave me the opportunity to add my own guilt-inducing message, I'd do it in a second.



Stop Dilly-Dallying! Leave a comment, for Pete's Sake. Dagnabit!



I just have one question. Who is Pete, and what does he get out of the deal?

World Wide Guilt-net

I'm starting to feel really guilty. It's not that I've done anything, but the electronically speaking, I'm starting to get a complex.

Take my email. Today I received an email whose subject line read: Have we done something wrong, GreenTuna? The first sentence of the email continues: Dear GreenTuna, I’m starting to think we may have done something wrong. We haven’t heard from you in ages!

Was I supposed to write? Was I supposed to call? Here's the deal: If I come back to the fold and buy several doodads, Company B won't have to go to therapy because of my horrifyingly callous behavior.

Right before Mother's Day, my email went into guilt-overdrive. No longer content with the soft-sell, these were vicious attack-guilt emails, rather than the previous passive aggressive emails of Company B.

The first was innocent enough: Did You Forget? The second, however, cut right to the heart of the matter: Stop Dilly-Dallying! It's Mother's Day, for Pete's Sake!

Sheesh. First of all, No, I had not forgotten. It was five days before Mother's Day. I don't think it's fair to guilt somebody for forgetting an event that has not yet occurred. If it were the day after, then sure, "forgotten" applies, and those who were legitimately "forgetful" are fair game. But give me a break. Secondly, Stop Dilly-Dallying? Who says that anymore? I half feared my next email would be in CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER screaming, "HEY LOSER, WE'RE TALKING TO YOU! SHE CHANGED YOUR DIAPER, NOW GET THAT APRIL-FRESH BUTT IN GEAR AND BUY HER SOME FLOWERS, DAGNABIT!"

Dagnabit would have fit in quite nicely with Dilly-Dallying, if you ask me.

If it isn't the emails, then it's Blog comment lines. These crack me up, because I'm telling you, it works on me every time. I feel guilt. 100% Grade-A Homogenized Guilt. I don't always do something about it, but more times than not, I will add my two cents to the comment section so I do have to read the sad-sack message anymore.

Truth be told, if the new (somewhat annoying) comment option on Blogger gave me the opportunity to add my own guilt-inducing message, I'd do it in a second.

Stop Dilly-Dallying! Leave a comment, for Pete's Sake. Dagnabit!

I just have one question. Who is Pete, and what does he get out of the deal?

It Must Be True

For The Friday Chef, I bring you the horrifying truth about Cicadas. Their loud buzzing sound is Cicada-speak for Kill the Humans, they eat small children, and a Cicada smoothie means instant death. Oh, and they can be genetically altered to look like Ryan Seacrest. Sorry, TVJ. At the bottom of the web page it has a disclaimer about humor and "don't be stupid enough to believe anything on this page." That's just what they want you to believe. It's really Cicada-speak for "all your humans are belong to us!!"

It Must Be True

For The Friday Chef, I bring you the horrifying truth about Cicadas. Their loud buzzing sound is Cicada-speak for Kill the Humans, they eat small children, and a Cicada smoothie means instant death. Oh, and they can be genetically altered to look like Ryan Seacrest. Sorry, TVJ. At the bottom of the web page it has a disclaimer about humor and "don't be stupid enough to believe anything on this page." That's just what they want you to believe. It's really Cicada-speak for "all your humans are belong to us!!"

Patience, Grasshopper

You might be thinking that I would have written something by now. But I haven't. And now I'm going to lunch which means you have to wait some more. Feel the power!



Except that now, I guess I have written something. Which is that I haven't written anything yet. But I will after lunch. I promise.



But you want something now? OK.



First of all, I only saw the last five minutes of American Idol because I don't care much anymore. In the battle of the 10-second sound clips, Jasmine was the worst, Diana ran a close second and Fantasia was OK. Which means Fantasia goes today and Jasmine wins the whole shebang.



She Bang!



Secondly, I think I'm very glad that I didn't live in Colonial America. After watching the PBS Colonists deal with the various punishments du jour by wearing a letter which represented their particular sin, I'm certain I would have been a walking advertisement for Alphabet Soup.



Speaking of soup, lunch calls.

Patience, Grasshopper

You might be thinking that I would have written something by now. But I haven't. And now I'm going to lunch which means you have to wait some more. Feel the power!

Except that now, I guess I have written something. Which is that I haven't written anything yet. But I will after lunch. I promise.

But you want something now? OK.

First of all, I only saw the last five minutes of American Idol because I don't care much anymore. In the battle of the 10-second sound clips, Jasmine was the worst, Diana ran a close second and Fantasia was OK. Which means Fantasia goes today and Jasmine wins the whole shebang.

She Bang!

Secondly, I think I'm very glad that I didn't live in Colonial America. After watching the PBS Colonists deal with the various punishments du jour by wearing a letter which represented their particular sin, I'm certain I would have been a walking advertisement for Alphabet Soup.

Speaking of soup, lunch calls.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

The Root of the Problem

Yesterday, TinyTuna came home in a snit. She got third place in an annual writing competition, and since it wasn't first place, it wasn't good enough for her and she was mad. That, combined with the usual fourth-grade angst of friends, enemies, boys, basketball and four-square equaled one big emotional storm cloud.



I understand bad days. I understand both the real and the imagined problems of being ten. I am willing to listen and console. But I have a very, very low tolerance for snit.



So after several veiled and not-so veiled slumps, stomps, arm-crosses, dramatic sighs and the usual response of "Whaaaaat??" when I glared at the behavior in question, I had had enough. I told her "no more talking," and then I told her go inside and sit on her bed. After she stomped off, I went outside to pound something.



Cultivating is a good thing to do when you're frustrated. Since our soil is full of clay, there are never-ending opportunities to sit down and whack at dirt clods. The clay is so dense and heavy, the roots can't push through and grow. So I pound and pound and pound, and feel better seeing these massive clumps become small pieces of rubble. I'll never be able to get rid of all the clay, but I can break it down into small enough pieces so it is workable and the plants can grow.



Weeding requires a steadier hand and a slower pace. It's an activity for which I admittedly have less patience. But I sat down last night under the tree and tried to rediscover the lily of the valleys and the crocus leaves which were lost in a jungle of encroaching grass and weeds. Clippers in hand, I whacked down the grass that I was unable to get to with the lawn mower. Hello plants! I knew you were in there somewhere.



As I worked my way around the tree, TinyTuna came outside. Her clothes were changed, her garden clogs were on, and she asked quietly if she could help. "Sure," I said, and she sat down and had a little garden therapy of her own. We pulled weeds, we loosened the soil and we found ladybugs. Recalling excellent advice I had heard the day before, I decided not to launch into a behavior lecture. I just wanted her to "be" for awhile, and find her own answers.



We finished under the tree, and she asked if we could plant some flowers. We grabbed the flat of marigolds and TinyTuna happily flew into full on Martha mode. I dug the holes and she chose which variety would go where...creating a beautiful splash of color down the driveway.



"I like to plant," she said.



"You do a good job," I answered.



Looking around, she said, "It's a beautiful garden."



"Sure is," I agreed.



Just as we finished planting, the sky announced that "Run for your Lives" weather was set to return at any moment. We grabbed our tools and put everything away. Before we went inside, TinyTuna said, "Just a minute. I need to write something!" She grabbed her sidewalk chalk and went to work on the driveway.



She wrote "Thanks for letting me be a small part of our garden."



GramTuna made her change it.



It now read: "Thanks for letting me be a BIG part of our garden."



I silently thanked the garden for just being there. Flowers, weeds, clay and all.

The Root of the Problem

Yesterday, TinyTuna came home in a snit. She got third place in an annual writing competition, and since it wasn't first place, it wasn't good enough for her and she was mad. That, combined with the usual fourth-grade angst of friends, enemies, boys, basketball and four-square equaled one big emotional storm cloud.

I understand bad days. I understand both the real and the imagined problems of being ten. I am willing to listen and console. But I have a very, very low tolerance for snit.

So after several veiled and not-so veiled slumps, stomps, arm-crosses, dramatic sighs and the usual response of "Whaaaaat??" when I glared at the behavior in question, I had had enough. I told her "no more talking," and then I told her go inside and sit on her bed. After she stomped off, I went outside to pound something.

Cultivating is a good thing to do when you're frustrated. Since our soil is full of clay, there are never-ending opportunities to sit down and whack at dirt clods. The clay is so dense and heavy, the roots can't push through and grow. So I pound and pound and pound, and feel better seeing these massive clumps become small pieces of rubble. I'll never be able to get rid of all the clay, but I can break it down into small enough pieces so it is workable and the plants can grow.

Weeding requires a steadier hand and a slower pace. It's an activity for which I admittedly have less patience. But I sat down last night under the tree and tried to rediscover the lily of the valleys and the crocus leaves which were lost in a jungle of encroaching grass and weeds. Clippers in hand, I whacked down the grass that I was unable to get to with the lawn mower. Hello plants! I knew you were in there somewhere.

As I worked my way around the tree, TinyTuna came outside. Her clothes were changed, her garden clogs were on, and she asked quietly if she could help. "Sure," I said, and she sat down and had a little garden therapy of her own. We pulled weeds, we loosened the soil and we found ladybugs. Recalling excellent advice I had heard the day before, I decided not to launch into a behavior lecture. I just wanted her to "be" for awhile, and find her own answers.

We finished under the tree, and she asked if we could plant some flowers. We grabbed the flat of marigolds and TinyTuna happily flew into full on Martha mode. I dug the holes and she chose which variety would go where...creating a beautiful splash of color down the driveway.

"I like to plant," she said.

"You do a good job," I answered.

Looking around, she said, "It's a beautiful garden."

"Sure is," I agreed.

Just as we finished planting, the sky announced that "Run for your Lives" weather was set to return at any moment. We grabbed our tools and put everything away. Before we went inside, TinyTuna said, "Just a minute. I need to write something!" She grabbed her sidewalk chalk and went to work on the driveway.

She wrote "Thanks for letting me be a small part of our garden."

GramTuna made her change it.

It now read: "Thanks for letting me be a BIG part of our garden."

I silently thanked the garden for just being there. Flowers, weeds, clay and all.

Monday, May 17, 2004

Party Like It's 1987

Just for The Friday Chef







At least now you can suffer in style.

Party Like It's 1987

Just for The Friday Chef



At least now you can suffer in style.

Keeping Score

I'm just not sure what I think about this.



Tonight the Los Angeles Philharmonic will play a concert devoted in its entirety to the soundtrack of Final Fantasy video game. According to the article in the New York Times (online registration required -- sorry), scenes from the video game will be projected on a screen while the music is being performed.



Does that mean if the character dies, they'll have to start over again?



The entire prospect is a double-edged sword. The concert is already sold-out, and the hope is that this will draw new listeners to the concert hall. And I would agree, attracting new listeners is not only a worthwhile endeavor, it is critical to the longevity of any organization.



But at what cost? A member of the Philharmonic said that although parts of it were catchy, overall it was "...on the level of Muzak and pretty much completely without integrity. It's really, really cheezy."



I'm not against broadening the musical horizons of either the LA Phil or its listeners. But how about, in the name of music education, programming a bit of non-video game music as well? It doesn't have to be a "you have to eat your brussel sprout before you get ice cream" kind of punishment. It could be an enticement, ala a Monster Truck Rally:



If you like Final Fantasy, you'll love Carmina Burana....Sunday SUNDAY SUNDAY!!!



Once the masses become acclamated to classical music, we can tell our little secrets: Rent is really La Boheme and Miss Saigon is really Madame Butterfly. Oh, and Bugs Bunny embraces both Rossini and Wagner.



Personally, I have great faith in the public at large. They can handle the truth. Maybe next time the LA Phil will program an entree to go with their dessert. Otherwise, I'm afraid the next concert may be an entire evening devoted to television jingles.

Keeping Score

I'm just not sure what I think about this.

Tonight the Los Angeles Philharmonic will play a concert devoted in its entirety to the soundtrack of Final Fantasy video game. According to the article in the New York Times (online registration required -- sorry), scenes from the video game will be projected on a screen while the music is being performed.

Does that mean if the character dies, they'll have to start over again?

The entire prospect is a double-edged sword. The concert is already sold-out, and the hope is that this will draw new listeners to the concert hall. And I would agree, attracting new listeners is not only a worthwhile endeavor, it is critical to the longevity of any organization.

But at what cost? A member of the Philharmonic said that although parts of it were catchy, overall it was "...on the level of Muzak and pretty much completely without integrity. It's really, really cheezy."

I'm not against broadening the musical horizons of either the LA Phil or its listeners. But how about, in the name of music education, programming a bit of non-video game music as well? It doesn't have to be a "you have to eat your brussel sprout before you get ice cream" kind of punishment. It could be an enticement, ala a Monster Truck Rally:

If you like Final Fantasy, you'll love Carmina Burana....Sunday SUNDAY SUNDAY!!!

Once the masses become acclamated to classical music, we can tell our little secrets: Rent is really La Boheme and Miss Saigon is really Madame Butterfly. Oh, and Bugs Bunny embraces both Rossini and Wagner.

Personally, I have great faith in the public at large. They can handle the truth. Maybe next time the LA Phil will program an entree to go with their dessert. Otherwise, I'm afraid the next concert may be an entire evening devoted to television jingles.

Channel Surfing

Tonight I'll be hanging with PBS as they start their new series: Colonial House. This is the third PBS reality series dealing with life during a specific period of history. It started with The 1900 House, in which a modern (The year was 1999) family of five lived for three months in a house and environment that recreated life one hundred years earlier. There were rules for authenticity, but a diary room (more like a closet) somewhere in the house where you could vent your 20th century frustrations.



Several years later PBS produced another series called Frontier House. This time it was a five-month project with three separate families recreating life in the Montana Territory in the year 1883. One family moved into a pre-existing cabin. A second family had their partially completed and the third -- a man and his father -- had to build it from scratch. This was another extremely fascinating series, because each family came from widely different backgrounds. The first family was quite affluent in present-day America. The family broke the rules right and left, and then couldn't understand it when they received the final "report" showing that in all likelihood, they would not have survived the first winter on the frontier. The second family adjusted to the rules more easily than the first, but when the five months were over, the parents split. The third family (the young man got married during the five month series, at which point his bride arrived and his father left) fared the best and had the most optimistic outlook on the experience. All agreed, though, that it was very difficult.



Tonight we begin Colonial Life in the year 1628. There are five houses and twenty seven participants (including two dogs). Tonight's Episode: A New World, Harsh Reality. From TV-Guide Online:



Time travelers from the 21st century start a 17th-century colony in coastal Maine from scratch (almost) in this four-part series. As it opens, it's 1628 and 25 men, women and children are sailing for the colony they'll call home for five months. It's cold and damp on-board, but they'll have to get used to that. They'll also have to get used to illness, having to go to the bathroom in the woods and dealing with Native Americans. And they must get used to backbreaking work ("Every minute," moans one woman -- and she's the governor's wife). It must be smart work, too. "We must get beyond just surviving the day," admits the governor, and that means planting maize. But soon a tragedy hits and the colonists lose their focus.

Channel Surfing

Tonight I'll be hanging with PBS as they start their new series: Colonial House. This is the third PBS reality series dealing with life during a specific period of history. It started with The 1900 House, in which a modern (The year was 1999) family of five lived for three months in a house and environment that recreated life one hundred years earlier. There were rules for authenticity, but a diary room (more like a closet) somewhere in the house where you could vent your 20th century frustrations.

Several years later PBS produced another series called Frontier House. This time it was a five-month project with three separate families recreating life in the Montana Territory in the year 1883. One family moved into a pre-existing cabin. A second family had their partially completed and the third -- a man and his father -- had to build it from scratch. This was another extremely fascinating series, because each family came from widely different backgrounds. The first family was quite affluent in present-day America. The family broke the rules right and left, and then couldn't understand it when they received the final "report" showing that in all likelihood, they would not have survived the first winter on the frontier. The second family adjusted to the rules more easily than the first, but when the five months were over, the parents split. The third family (the young man got married during the five month series, at which point his bride arrived and his father left) fared the best and had the most optimistic outlook on the experience. All agreed, though, that it was very difficult.

Tonight we begin Colonial Life in the year 1628. There are five houses and twenty seven participants (including two dogs). Tonight's Episode: A New World, Harsh Reality. From TV-Guide Online:

Time travelers from the 21st century start a 17th-century colony in coastal Maine from scratch (almost) in this four-part series. As it opens, it's 1628 and 25 men, women and children are sailing for the colony they'll call home for five months. It's cold and damp on-board, but they'll have to get used to that. They'll also have to get used to illness, having to go to the bathroom in the woods and dealing with Native Americans. And they must get used to backbreaking work ("Every minute," moans one woman -- and she's the governor's wife). It must be smart work, too. "We must get beyond just surviving the day," admits the governor, and that means planting maize. But soon a tragedy hits and the colonists lose their focus.

Weekend Roundup

First of all, let me just say ... *phew* ...



Friday night TinyTuna sang her last choir concert of the year on the big stage at TunaU. The University runs an auxiliary Community Music School, and one of the major components of the school are several children's choirs. TinyTuna has been singing since she was just a guppy, so now, three years later, she's an old pro.



I'm constantly amazed, baffled and embarrassed by behavior at these concerts. We are increasingly becoming a community of TV and movie watchers with little to no real experience in live performances. But maybe I shouldn't be too hard on them. After all, they are just kids, and they will learn.



Except that I'm not talking about the kids -- I'm talking about the adults in the audience. In behavior that ranged from the mildly irritating to the variety of me-me-me attention-getting ploys, I just shook my head until it nearly disconnected from my body. First there is the pop goes the weasel *SPROING* from the chair once you catch sight of your child entering the auditorium. The jump-up leads directly into the incessant waving that ranges from the five-finger wiggle to the beauty queen wrist-wrist-elbow-elbow to the full fledged Gilligan's Island RESCUE ME flail. It's a bit much.



But the kids perservered, and sang their concert. Their long concert. Their two hours and twenty minutes long concert. Without intermission. (Very. Long.)



Saturday was the usual Grill Dogs - Grocery Stores - Errands type day. The weather improved a bit in the afternoon, and a quick "I'm going to mow the lawn" led to pulling some weeds which led to moving some plants which led to moving a lot of plants, which led to planting more plants in the newly created holes, which led to one extremely sore Tuna on Sunday.



Sunday was a graduation extravaganza for the newest sucker of "hey, I need some free legal advice!" I'd brag about all the food, except that the culinary highlight of the party was TinyTuna's plate of Shrek sugar cookies. Who could resist green frosting and a picture of donkey?



I liked that cookie. That was a NICE cookie.

Weekend Roundup

First of all, let me just say ... *phew* ...

Friday night TinyTuna sang her last choir concert of the year on the big stage at TunaU. The University runs an auxiliary Community Music School, and one of the major components of the school are several children's choirs. TinyTuna has been singing since she was just a guppy, so now, three years later, she's an old pro.

I'm constantly amazed, baffled and embarrassed by behavior at these concerts. We are increasingly becoming a community of TV and movie watchers with little to no real experience in live performances. But maybe I shouldn't be too hard on them. After all, they are just kids, and they will learn.

Except that I'm not talking about the kids -- I'm talking about the adults in the audience. In behavior that ranged from the mildly irritating to the variety of me-me-me attention-getting ploys, I just shook my head until it nearly disconnected from my body. First there is the pop goes the weasel *SPROING* from the chair once you catch sight of your child entering the auditorium. The jump-up leads directly into the incessant waving that ranges from the five-finger wiggle to the beauty queen wrist-wrist-elbow-elbow to the full fledged Gilligan's Island RESCUE ME flail. It's a bit much.

But the kids perservered, and sang their concert. Their long concert. Their two hours and twenty minutes long concert. Without intermission. (Very. Long.)

Saturday was the usual Grill Dogs - Grocery Stores - Errands type day. The weather improved a bit in the afternoon, and a quick "I'm going to mow the lawn" led to pulling some weeds which led to moving some plants which led to moving a lot of plants, which led to planting more plants in the newly created holes, which led to one extremely sore Tuna on Sunday.

Sunday was a graduation extravaganza for the newest sucker of "hey, I need some free legal advice!" I'd brag about all the food, except that the culinary highlight of the party was TinyTuna's plate of Shrek sugar cookies. Who could resist green frosting and a picture of donkey?

I liked that cookie. That was a NICE cookie.

Friday, May 14, 2004

Whether the Weather

It is near pointless to complain about Mitten weather. We generally have four lovely seasons and a respectable amount of variation between them all. However, for the past seven days, the weather has been either:



1. Quite lovely, or

2. Run for your lives.



There is no in-between. There is no warning. There is no waxing and waning from one to the other. Oh, no. It has been a meteorological on/off switch all week.



And yes folks, we're number two!

Whether the Weather

It is near pointless to complain about Mitten weather. We generally have four lovely seasons and a respectable amount of variation between them all. However, for the past seven days, the weather has been either:

1. Quite lovely, or
2. Run for your lives.

There is no in-between. There is no warning. There is no waxing and waning from one to the other. Oh, no. It has been a meteorological on/off switch all week.

And yes folks, we're number two!

The Birth of Me

The very first GreenTuna post on HamsterTime was July 8, 2003 at 3:47pm. I'm pleased to report that since that time I've managed to incorporate occasional elements of English grammar into my posts, but to this day I remain hopelessly devoted to both the ellipsis (now with more dots for extra emphasis!) and the m-dash.



~~~

GreenTuna here.....it's my very first post, though I was a devoted lurker last summer. I'm also a TWoP fanatic, and was grateful this site popped up when they closed the recaps across town.



Being an Eastern Daylight Time kinda gal, I'll be bringing you the extraliciously exciting "sleeping-snoring-showering-drinking coffee-playing cards" kind of recaps we know and love.



I got the live feeds here so...let the games begin!


~~~~



... and it was all downhill from there.

The Birth of Me

The very first GreenTuna post on HamsterTime was July 8, 2003 at 3:47pm. I'm pleased to report that since that time I've managed to incorporate occasional elements of English grammar into my posts, but to this day I remain hopelessly devoted to both the ellipsis (now with more dots for extra emphasis!) and the m-dash.

~~~
GreenTuna here.....it's my very first post, though I was a devoted lurker last summer. I'm also a TWoP fanatic, and was grateful this site popped up when they closed the recaps across town.

Being an Eastern Daylight Time kinda gal, I'll be bringing you the extraliciously exciting "sleeping-snoring-showering-drinking coffee-playing cards" kind of recaps we know and love.

I got the live feeds here so...let the games begin!

~~~~

... and it was all downhill from there.

"T" is for Me!

Three cheers and a tuna for me, today is food Friday, and Chef Grace, The Friday Chef has declared T IS FOR ME!



It's TUNA DAY, which is certainly a CAPS-LOCK event, don't you agree? I think Me day should start with a little quiz: Chicken or Tuna?

"T" is for Me!

Three cheers and a tuna for me, today is food Friday, and Chef Grace, The Friday Chef has declared T IS FOR ME!

It's TUNA DAY, which is certainly a CAPS-LOCK event, don't you agree? I think Me day should start with a little quiz: Chicken or Tuna?

Thursday, May 13, 2004

Pins and Needles

Today is Yellow Hard Hat Day. Which means it is the annual Fire Drill a-rama. Yesterday those of us unfortunate enough to be in possession of a yellow hard hat stamped with "Emergency Coordinator" had to go to the pre-drill meeting. I can't tell you what we talked about because it's super-secret hard hat stuff, and if I told you, I'd have to kill you.



HA! Not only will I tell you, but I'd be happy to let somebody (anybody) take over my hard hat duty. It comes with a lovely assortment of emergency coordinator gifts. In addition to the fetching yellow hard hat (fresh from it's appearance in a recent fourth-grade presentation on the history of Michigan), you also receive a waterproof pouch, complete with emergency slips that must be filled out, absolutely nothing with which to write, a mini flashlight that doesn't work and a whistle heretofore untested.



Feel the power.



So, the meeting. The meeting is the same every year: three people ask the same questions over and over again, and the rest of us look for the quickest escape route out of the conference room. After we've gone over THE PLAN eighty or ninety times, we are finally free to go and preach THE PLAN to our fellow coworkers.



Now today we sit and wait on pins and needles. Waiting for the ALARM to go off so we can SPRING into ACTION! It's a very CAPS LOCK kind of event, if you can't tell.



It makes the daily grind rather exciting -- Should I go to the bathroom? Will the blast of the alarm blow me clear off the porcelain? Will I ever be able to eat lunch?



Once outside, I have to bum a pencil off of somebody to fill out my report and turn it into Heap Big Chief Hard Hat with the Fetching Green Stripe. He's our leader. All hail Chief Green Stripe!



And then we sit around and wait for the all clear....

...

...

...

Which now, at 11:42 am, it is. Safe for another year!

Pins and Needles

Today is Yellow Hard Hat Day. Which means it is the annual Fire Drill a-rama. Yesterday those of us unfortunate enough to be in possession of a yellow hard hat stamped with "Emergency Coordinator" had to go to the pre-drill meeting. I can't tell you what we talked about because it's super-secret hard hat stuff, and if I told you, I'd have to kill you.

HA! Not only will I tell you, but I'd be happy to let somebody (anybody) take over my hard hat duty. It comes with a lovely assortment of emergency coordinator gifts. In addition to the fetching yellow hard hat (fresh from it's appearance in a recent fourth-grade presentation on the history of Michigan), you also receive a waterproof pouch, complete with emergency slips that must be filled out, absolutely nothing with which to write, a mini flashlight that doesn't work and a whistle heretofore untested.

Feel the power.

So, the meeting. The meeting is the same every year: three people ask the same questions over and over again, and the rest of us look for the quickest escape route out of the conference room. After we've gone over THE PLAN eighty or ninety times, we are finally free to go and preach THE PLAN to our fellow coworkers.

Now today we sit and wait on pins and needles. Waiting for the ALARM to go off so we can SPRING into ACTION! It's a very CAPS LOCK kind of event, if you can't tell.

It makes the daily grind rather exciting -- Should I go to the bathroom? Will the blast of the alarm blow me clear off the porcelain? Will I ever be able to eat lunch?

Once outside, I have to bum a pencil off of somebody to fill out my report and turn it into Heap Big Chief Hard Hat with the Fetching Green Stripe. He's our leader. All hail Chief Green Stripe!

And then we sit around and wait for the all clear....
...
...
...
Which now, at 11:42 am, it is. Safe for another year!

On Wisconsin

There are some days when I just couldn't say it any better! Finally, a current event appropriate for a 10-year old.

On Wisconsin

There are some days when I just couldn't say it any better! Finally, a current event appropriate for a 10-year old.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

MPF





Hello Kitty! I'm not sure if this is the Japanese version of a happy meal or what. Despite the artistic arrangement of the intestines and internal organs, this meal would certainly come back to haunt me.



But I guess what they say is true....

You can have your face and eat it too.



Courtesy of BoingBoing and some whacked out guy at that school down the road.

MPF



Hello Kitty! I'm not sure if this is the Japanese version of a happy meal or what. Despite the artistic arrangement of the intestines and internal organs, this meal would certainly come back to haunt me.

But I guess what they say is true....
You can have your face and eat it too.

Courtesy of BoingBoing and some whacked out guy at that school down the road.