Paying the Piper

It started last Thursday morning.



The magic work gnomes who make all things possible escaped, and as a result, THE SYSTEM WAS DOWN. People cried and gnashed their teeth. They asked for books on sketching, and all we could do was our best stewardess emergency exit wave in the direction of the 96,000 books on that side of the room and say "somewhere over there."



That was the downside.



The upside, was there was nothing to do. Nothing! Nothing Thursday! Nothing Friday! Nothing over the weekend either, which didn't matter because we are too busy doing nothing in other places. Nothing! THE SYSTEM WAS DOWN.



Sure, there were suggestions. Maybe I could clean my office. I did toy with the idea of dumpster diving into my file cabinet o-supplies to straighten them up. But once I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes and came to my senses, I decided to do some research. And then some more. Why? Because THE SYSTEM WAS DOWN.



This morning, the magic work gnomes who spoil all our research were back -- a bit woozy -- but back nonetheless. And they brought work. There was only work, work, work as far as the eye could see. Work that had been aging -- nay, rotting -- over the past 72 hours. Work stuffed in drawers. Work scribbled on papers. Work in a box. Work with a fox. Work here and there. Work everywhere. It was not pretty.



Now, nearly five days later, things are finally falling back into place. The work has either been completed or stashed where nobody will EVER find it, and things are, once again, pretty much under control. I just don't trust those gnomes. They've got that VOLCANO look in their eyes...

Paying the Piper

It started last Thursday morning.

The magic work gnomes who make all things possible escaped, and as a result, THE SYSTEM WAS DOWN. People cried and gnashed their teeth. They asked for books on sketching, and all we could do was our best stewardess emergency exit wave in the direction of the 96,000 books on that side of the room and say "somewhere over there."

That was the downside.

The upside, was there was nothing to do. Nothing! Nothing Thursday! Nothing Friday! Nothing over the weekend either, which didn't matter because we are too busy doing nothing in other places. Nothing! THE SYSTEM WAS DOWN.

Sure, there were suggestions. Maybe I could clean my office. I did toy with the idea of dumpster diving into my file cabinet o-supplies to straighten them up. But once I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes and came to my senses, I decided to do some research. And then some more. Why? Because THE SYSTEM WAS DOWN.

This morning, the magic work gnomes who spoil all our research were back -- a bit woozy -- but back nonetheless. And they brought work. There was only work, work, work as far as the eye could see. Work that had been aging -- nay, rotting -- over the past 72 hours. Work stuffed in drawers. Work scribbled on papers. Work in a box. Work with a fox. Work here and there. Work everywhere. It was not pretty.

Now, nearly five days later, things are finally falling back into place. The work has either been completed or stashed where nobody will EVER find it, and things are, once again, pretty much under control. I just don't trust those gnomes. They've got that VOLCANO look in their eyes...

Swimmin' in the Oscar Pool

Yes, the Oscar nominations are up, and once again, I've seen precisely ZERO "Best Film" nominations. Add to that the fact that I've seen precisely ZERO Best Actors, ZERO Best Actresses, ZERO Best Supporting Actors, ZERO Best Supporting Actresses and ZERO Best Directors, gives you a pretty good idea of where I'm sitting this year with approximately one month until trophy time.



In fact, unless it's a nomination associated with The Incredibles, Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, Harry Potter (Azkaban Flavored), Shrek 2, Shark Tale, or Polar Express, I'm Carnac the Magnificent with an envelope plastered to my forehead.



*sniff*



BUT, that will not stop me from starting my very own online Oscar Pool, and inviting each and every one of you to play along.



So, sometime before whenever the Oscar Awards are passed out (sometime in February and NOT in March, because Lord knows we MUST keep the BUZZ alive), swim on over to



GreenTuna's Oscar Pool Page



and mark your ballot.



Keep in mind this is no wimpy 5-category and out Oscar form. Nosiree, it's all 24 categories. Heck, I'd make us vote on the Kodak Theatre Scientific Awards presented the night before by whomever drew the short straw this year -- but they weren't listed, so consider yourself lucky.



That page again is, GreenTuna's Oscar Pool Page



Or, you can head on over to The Defective Yeti Oscar Page

and input the 10-digit code: 6120285159.



Thanks to the Defective Yeti for pulling this together.

May the best guesser win.



Edited to clarify: You're voting for who WILL win, not who you wish WOULD win. All ballot stuffing for personal gains should be done over at the Weekly World News poll, at the top right sidebar.

Swimmin' in the Oscar Pool

Yes, the Oscar nominations are up, and once again, I've seen precisely ZERO "Best Film" nominations. Add to that the fact that I've seen precisely ZERO Best Actors, ZERO Best Actresses, ZERO Best Supporting Actors, ZERO Best Supporting Actresses and ZERO Best Directors, gives you a pretty good idea of where I'm sitting this year with approximately one month until trophy time.

In fact, unless it's a nomination associated with The Incredibles, Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, Harry Potter (Azkaban Flavored), Shrek 2, Shark Tale, or Polar Express, I'm Carnac the Magnificent with an envelope plastered to my forehead.

*sniff*

BUT, that will not stop me from starting my very own online Oscar Pool, and inviting each and every one of you to play along.

So, sometime before whenever the Oscar Awards are passed out (sometime in February and NOT in March, because Lord knows we MUST keep the BUZZ alive), swim on over to

GreenTuna's Oscar Pool Page

and mark your ballot.

Keep in mind this is no wimpy 5-category and out Oscar form. Nosiree, it's all 24 categories. Heck, I'd make us vote on the Kodak Theatre Scientific Awards presented the night before by whomever drew the short straw this year -- but they weren't listed, so consider yourself lucky.

That page again is, GreenTuna's Oscar Pool Page

Or, you can head on over to The Defective Yeti Oscar Page
and input the 10-digit code: 6120285159.

Thanks to the Defective Yeti for pulling this together.
May the best guesser win.

Edited to clarify: You're voting for who WILL win, not who you wish WOULD win. All ballot stuffing for personal gains should be done over at the Weekly World News poll, at the top right sidebar.

Friday Poll

The results have been tabulated, the ballot boxes stuffed, and although the Evil Giant New York-Bombing Pigeon gave his best shot (ba-DUMP-bump), I'm here to tell you there was no stinkin' tie this week. Although voting was hot and heavy, the biggest losers were The 7-foot Messiahs. I just hope for all of y'alls sake that Harjas (the 7-foot tall David Hasslehoff Messiah version) doesn't wreak Holy Retribution on all you non-believers. But just in case, you might want to steer clear of Denver for awhile, since that's where the big rematch is scheduled to take place.



But enough about the losers! In a surprise to nobody who lives to hate the French (which, by the way, isn't me, even though I voted many times for the article)



The Eiffel Tower is a Portal to Hell!!

We should have all known, right? And just leave it to those nasty Froggy Frogs to say, "Parisians have known about the portal for years. Why do you think you don't see Frenchmen up there? We'd just as soon leave the tourists to the demons, especially the Americans."

Well, I never!

(113 votes)



Big Apple Facing New Bomb Threats: Giant Pigeon Terrorizes New York!!

The Hot Dog Vendor summed up the terror thusly: "It happens every day around lunchtime. You'll see people strolling through the park. Suddenly this big shadow will darken the sky, and people start to panic. That ol' bird swoops down, grabs whatever food he can, and lets the poop fly."

Well, what else is that poop gonna do....swim?

(65 votes)



Regin Philbin is Homeless!! (13 votes)

Somehow, I find this just the teensiest bit plausible.



Guy Finds a 'Free Lung' Coupon in a Pack of Cigarettes!! (9 votes)

Not a bad idea.



Battle of the 7-Foot Messiahs!! (6 votes)

You all knew this meant 7-feet TALL and not 7 actual feet, right? David Hasslehoff would never be a freak. ..... HA





AND NOW -- DRUMROLL PLEASE -- THIS WEEKS POLL:





12 Great Tips for a Sizzling Night of Romance, ALONE!!



18 Nurses Pregnant After Rest Home Viagra Party!!



Animal Loving Lifeguard Rescues Shark From Fat Swimmer!!



How to Make People Think You Really Do Like the Crap They Gave You For Christmas!!



Spend! Spend! Spend! Your Money Will be Worthless by June!!





Results Next Friday!!

Exclamation Points!!!

Friday Poll

The results have been tabulated, the ballot boxes stuffed, and although the Evil Giant New York-Bombing Pigeon gave his best shot (ba-DUMP-bump), I'm here to tell you there was no stinkin' tie this week. Although voting was hot and heavy, the biggest losers were The 7-foot Messiahs. I just hope for all of y'alls sake that Harjas (the 7-foot tall David Hasslehoff Messiah version) doesn't wreak Holy Retribution on all you non-believers. But just in case, you might want to steer clear of Denver for awhile, since that's where the big rematch is scheduled to take place.

But enough about the losers! In a surprise to nobody who lives to hate the French (which, by the way, isn't me, even though I voted many times for the article)

The Eiffel Tower is a Portal to Hell!!
We should have all known, right? And just leave it to those nasty Froggy Frogs to say, "Parisians have known about the portal for years. Why do you think you don't see Frenchmen up there? We'd just as soon leave the tourists to the demons, especially the Americans."
Well, I never!
(113 votes)

Big Apple Facing New Bomb Threats: Giant Pigeon Terrorizes New York!!
The Hot Dog Vendor summed up the terror thusly: "It happens every day around lunchtime. You'll see people strolling through the park. Suddenly this big shadow will darken the sky, and people start to panic. That ol' bird swoops down, grabs whatever food he can, and lets the poop fly."
Well, what else is that poop gonna do....swim?
(65 votes)

Regin Philbin is Homeless!! (13 votes)
Somehow, I find this just the teensiest bit plausible.

Guy Finds a 'Free Lung' Coupon in a Pack of Cigarettes!! (9 votes)
Not a bad idea.

Battle of the 7-Foot Messiahs!! (6 votes)
You all knew this meant 7-feet TALL and not 7 actual feet, right? David Hasslehoff would never be a freak. ..... HA


AND NOW -- DRUMROLL PLEASE -- THIS WEEKS POLL:


12 Great Tips for a Sizzling Night of Romance, ALONE!!

18 Nurses Pregnant After Rest Home Viagra Party!!

Animal Loving Lifeguard Rescues Shark From Fat Swimmer!!

How to Make People Think You Really Do Like the Crap They Gave You For Christmas!!

Spend! Spend! Spend! Your Money Will be Worthless by June!!


Results Next Friday!!
Exclamation Points!!!

What Shall We Remember?

Today marks the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, one of the most notorious Nazi death camps of World War II. Many survivors returned to the site, not so much to remember their own horrors, but to pay tribute to those who lost their lives inside those walls.



I have not been to Auschwitz, but I have been to Dachau on two separate occasions. Each time I was struck by the respect the visitors showed. The bus ride out to the site was full of young college-aged kids who were loud and boisterous, but as we reached our destination, quietness took over, and for the entire visit people looked and listened. Most were silent, some cried, and others spoke in hushed tones. It wasn't the behavior I expected (or feared), but it gratifying to see people of all ages demonstrate respect and compassion for all who had suffered. And I felt a little proud that so many young people had come to a place of unbearable sadness to learn about our history as a global community and the horrors that we do to each other -- not hundreds of years ago -- but in our own century.



Likewise, during my trip to the Holocaust museum in Washington, DC, I was struck by the quiet. It is an enormous building, and people there seem to be intent on reading, listening and learning, instead of doing the 5-minutes power walk before hitting the nearest shopping emporium.



It's important to mark these occasions.

It's important to learn and not forget.

It's important to teach our children.



Yesterday, as I was ferrying TinyTuna from school to ballet, we were engaged in our usual twenty questions of "what did you do today?" I ask her every day, pushing her for details, because if I don't, her answer will be "the usual" or "nothing special." Me, being the nosy mother than I am, wants and needs to hear more than this, so I must ask specific questions about each subject and teacher, about lunch and recess, and so on and so forth.



As we hit the topic of recess, she suddenly remembered that they played a "really cool game."



"What game?" I asked.



"Torture!" She replied, happily.



Despite my deep desire to stop the car, turn around and start screaming, I decided to bite my tongue and attempt to gather further information (before I stopped the car, turned around and started screaming). I took a deep breath and said, "I haven't heard of that game. How do you play?"



"Well," says TinyTuna, very nonchalantly, "it's like Tag..."



(I exhaled)



"...and you have one person who is the enemy...."



(I bit my tongue again)



"...and the enemy tries to tag other people to make them like bad guys, and they try to tag other people too, until you don't have any good guys left because they've all become bad guys."



I drove in silence for a couple of minutes trying to decide what to do. Finally, I asked her, "Why do you call it 'Torture'"?



She shrugged and said, "I don't know."



After a few more seconds, I asked her quietly, "Do you know what the word torture means?"



She hemmed and hawed, trying to think of a defination, and then finally admitted, "No, not really."



"Well," I said, "Torture is where somebody tries to hurt another person as badly as they possibly can...but not quite bad enough to kill them. People torture people to get information, or make them do what you want them to do, even if they would never do it otherwise. It's just about the meanest most horrible thing you can imagine."



It was very, very quiet in the car for a long time. "I don't like that name," she said quietly. "I'm going to tell my friends we have to change it."



It's important to remember these occasions.

It's important to learn and never forget.

It's important to teach our children.

And then they can pass it on.

What Shall We Remember?

Today marks the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, one of the most notorious Nazi death camps of World War II. Many survivors returned to the site, not so much to remember their own horrors, but to pay tribute to those who lost their lives inside those walls.

I have not been to Auschwitz, but I have been to Dachau on two separate occasions. Each time I was struck by the respect the visitors showed. The bus ride out to the site was full of young college-aged kids who were loud and boisterous, but as we reached our destination, quietness took over, and for the entire visit people looked and listened. Most were silent, some cried, and others spoke in hushed tones. It wasn't the behavior I expected (or feared), but it gratifying to see people of all ages demonstrate respect and compassion for all who had suffered. And I felt a little proud that so many young people had come to a place of unbearable sadness to learn about our history as a global community and the horrors that we do to each other -- not hundreds of years ago -- but in our own century.

Likewise, during my trip to the Holocaust museum in Washington, DC, I was struck by the quiet. It is an enormous building, and people there seem to be intent on reading, listening and learning, instead of doing the 5-minutes power walk before hitting the nearest shopping emporium.

It's important to mark these occasions.
It's important to learn and not forget.
It's important to teach our children.

Yesterday, as I was ferrying TinyTuna from school to ballet, we were engaged in our usual twenty questions of "what did you do today?" I ask her every day, pushing her for details, because if I don't, her answer will be "the usual" or "nothing special." Me, being the nosy mother than I am, wants and needs to hear more than this, so I must ask specific questions about each subject and teacher, about lunch and recess, and so on and so forth.

As we hit the topic of recess, she suddenly remembered that they played a "really cool game."

"What game?" I asked.

"Torture!" She replied, happily.

Despite my deep desire to stop the car, turn around and start screaming, I decided to bite my tongue and attempt to gather further information (before I stopped the car, turned around and started screaming). I took a deep breath and said, "I haven't heard of that game. How do you play?"

"Well," says TinyTuna, very nonchalantly, "it's like Tag..."

(I exhaled)

"...and you have one person who is the enemy...."

(I bit my tongue again)

"...and the enemy tries to tag other people to make them like bad guys, and they try to tag other people too, until you don't have any good guys left because they've all become bad guys."

I drove in silence for a couple of minutes trying to decide what to do. Finally, I asked her, "Why do you call it 'Torture'"?

She shrugged and said, "I don't know."

After a few more seconds, I asked her quietly, "Do you know what the word torture means?"

She hemmed and hawed, trying to think of a defination, and then finally admitted, "No, not really."

"Well," I said, "Torture is where somebody tries to hurt another person as badly as they possibly can...but not quite bad enough to kill them. People torture people to get information, or make them do what you want them to do, even if they would never do it otherwise. It's just about the meanest most horrible thing you can imagine."

It was very, very quiet in the car for a long time. "I don't like that name," she said quietly. "I'm going to tell my friends we have to change it."

It's important to remember these occasions.
It's important to learn and never forget.
It's important to teach our children.
And then they can pass it on.

No News is Good News

Part of me loves and respects the wonderful things that computers can do. The amount of information (both real and urban legendish) that is so readily accessible is absolutely mind-blowing. The ability to communicate with people across the street, across state lines, and across the ocean is as easy as opening a chat program or sending an email. Google wants to know if I feel lucky, and Amazon knows exactly what else I'd like to buy. I don't have to wander very far at all to find humor, sarcasm, stories, recipes, inspiration, or just a little fun.



But on days like today, this was all I seemed to find:



Train Collision near Los Angeles Kills 10

A suicidal man will face murder charges after parking his vehicle on the tracks, causing a commuter train collision.



Deadliest Day for U.S. In Iraq War

Thirty marines and a navy corpsman were killed in a helicopter crash near Jordan...



Kidnappers Demand $3 Million for MLB Player's Mom

Kidnappers holding the mother of Detroit Tigers pitcher Ugueth Urbina have demanded a $3 million ransom, but have not contacted the family in several weeks, Venezuelan police said Tuesday.



Researcher Threatened by Superiors at the U.S. Food and Drug Administration

Medical journal publishes study of coronary disease related to Vioxx after withholding the report because the researcher said he was threatened by superiors at the U.S. Food and Drug Administration



And the bad news parade just went on...



Radio Station pulls show over Tsunami slur



...and on...



Education Chief condemns PBS Show



...and on...



McDonald's Obesity Suit Revived



...until I felt saddened and absolutely smothered.

Now I'm not asking for a bunch of cute stories about pets that found their way home or kids that say the darndest things. Superficial good news sets off a suspicious and sarcastic mind just as quickly as bad news overwhelms and paralyzes. But Lordy, can't there be some balance here? Somewhere, somebody must have done something good, or thought-provoking, or inspirational or humorous. I'd even settle for boring and normal.

If the major news sources can't (or won't) print something that doesn't make me want to curl up into a fetal position and sob, I figure I have two choices:

I can look for the nearest exit OFF the Information SuperHighway

Or

I can ask Google.

Just maybe, I'll get lucky.

No News is Good News

Part of me loves and respects the wonderful things that computers can do. The amount of information (both real and urban legendish) that is so readily accessible is absolutely mind-blowing. The ability to communicate with people across the street, across state lines, and across the ocean is as easy as opening a chat program or sending an email. Google wants to know if I feel lucky, and Amazon knows exactly what else I'd like to buy. I don't have to wander very far at all to find humor, sarcasm, stories, recipes, inspiration, or just a little fun.

But on days like today, this was all I seemed to find:

Train Collision near Los Angeles Kills 10
A suicidal man will face murder charges after parking his vehicle on the tracks, causing a commuter train collision.

Deadliest Day for U.S. In Iraq War
Thirty marines and a navy corpsman were killed in a helicopter crash near Jordan...

Kidnappers Demand $3 Million for MLB Player's Mom
Kidnappers holding the mother of Detroit Tigers pitcher Ugueth Urbina have demanded a $3 million ransom, but have not contacted the family in several weeks, Venezuelan police said Tuesday.

Researcher Threatened by Superiors at the U.S. Food and Drug Administration
Medical journal publishes study of coronary disease related to Vioxx after withholding the report because the researcher said he was threatened by superiors at the U.S. Food and Drug Administration

And the bad news parade just went on...

Radio Station pulls show over Tsunami slur

...and on...

Education Chief condemns PBS Show

...and on...

McDonald's Obesity Suit Revived

...until I felt saddened and absolutely smothered.

Now I'm not asking for a bunch of cute stories about pets that found their way home or kids that say the darndest things. Superficial good news sets off a suspicious and sarcastic mind just as quickly as bad news overwhelms and paralyzes. But Lordy, can't there be some balance here? Somewhere, somebody must have done something good, or thought-provoking, or inspirational or humorous. I'd even settle for boring and normal.

If the major news sources can't (or won't) print something that doesn't make me want to curl up into a fetal position and sob, I figure I have two choices:

I can look for the nearest exit OFF the Information SuperHighway

Or

I can ask Google.

Just maybe, I'll get lucky.

No Child's Left Behind

Today TinyTuna and her other 5th grade compatriots bow to the whim of the Almighty Shrub, who has -- in thought, word, and deed -- decreed his displeasure for No Child's Left Behind. Educational plans were formulated and in-service days abounded (not like they don't anyway) as teachers formed a strategerie to placate W, or "Alpha 23" as he is known in the Public School Biz.



Catholic Schools use the Miss Manners approved: George Walker Bush, The 43rd President of the United States and a little Heaven Here on Earth God Bless Us Everyone



I know very little about the rigors that will be imposed upon TinyTuna and her classmates. The only thing I've heard is that the process will last upwards of two weeks and there is an enormous emphasis on SNACKS.



But it seems to me that when you talk about school, there is ALWAYS an enormous emphasis placed on snacks, which I think is the source of the whole No Child's Left Behind problem to begin with. If there were less SNACKS and more say, MOVING AROUND during the day, maybe this legislated fortnight exorcism of The Youth of America's port-side buttocks wouldn't have been necessary.



GreenTuna...

Yes?

It's not "No Child's LEFT Behind"...It's "No CHILD Left Behind."

Really?

Really



...

...

...

...



Nevermind.

No Child's Left Behind

Today TinyTuna and her other 5th grade compatriots bow to the whim of the Almighty Shrub, who has -- in thought, word, and deed -- decreed his displeasure for No Child's Left Behind. Educational plans were formulated and in-service days abounded (not like they don't anyway) as teachers formed a strategerie to placate W, or "Alpha 23" as he is known in the Public School Biz.

Catholic Schools use the Miss Manners approved: George Walker Bush, The 43rd President of the United States and a little Heaven Here on Earth God Bless Us Everyone

I know very little about the rigors that will be imposed upon TinyTuna and her classmates. The only thing I've heard is that the process will last upwards of two weeks and there is an enormous emphasis on SNACKS.

But it seems to me that when you talk about school, there is ALWAYS an enormous emphasis placed on snacks, which I think is the source of the whole No Child's Left Behind problem to begin with. If there were less SNACKS and more say, MOVING AROUND during the day, maybe this legislated fortnight exorcism of The Youth of America's port-side buttocks wouldn't have been necessary.

GreenTuna...
Yes?
It's not "No Child's LEFT Behind"...It's "No CHILD Left Behind."
Really?
Really

...
...
...
...

Nevermind.

Cirque de Tun-A

They say that kids don't come with a handbook. This is very true. Part of the fun of my childbirth classes from yesteryear would be all the parting gifts we'd get at the end of every class. From cutting edge toys (Black and white was all the rage) to magazines and diapers, to services ranging from house cleaning to nanny care to lactation specialists -- everyone wanted a piece of our parent-to-be pie.



But once the little bundle of joy was safely delivered and the nurse hauled us down the elevator and wheeled us out the door, I thought I heard a far-off snicker and cheer, as if they stolen the playbook and left me to fend for myself.



Oh sure, I had the parental books. Having successfully completed the What to Expect When You're Expecting primer (and discovering many times during labor and delivery that what I was expecting wasn't even CLOSE), I segued into What to Expect the First Year. I'd look at the calendar, open the book, and then stare at TinyTuna, waiting for her to fulfill her prophecy.



I would have had better luck training a troupe of dancing monkeys.



Which, coincidentally, brings me to my point. None of these books really helped. None of them addressed the real issues of the day. And then, it hit me. As I walked into work this morning, the answer suddenly came to me.



I should have joined the circus.



Think I'm kidding? I'm not. Just think of all the practical skills the circus could help me in day-to-day living:



JUGGLING

Activities this week includes acquiring jazz pants because they are very cool comfortable and practical, buying a new cake of violin rosin because the rosin formerly in the shape of a cake is now in the form of shards because it got stepped on (I didn't ask if she was rosining her bow on the floor. I decided not to go there), purchasing New York concert tickets, placing a deposit on dance recital outfits that have a 50/50 chance of fitting five months from now, plus the usual play rehearsals (Pooh!) , Homework (math and spelling!) , An Extra-Credit oral report prepared on Sign Language (signally!) , Laundry (socks!), Cleaning (behind!), Teaching (Higher! Faster! Louder!) Chores (Don't go there!), Pets (Fabio the Lucky got a clean cage!), Work (life interruptus!), Bills (postpone!), Exercise (Hah!) and Family (Hello My Name Is!)



Advanced juggling includes the dirty dish plate spinning championship, and juggling with torches (see cleaning and bills above)



TIGHT-ROPE WALKING

More and more this has become my life. I'm working on the delicate balance of having your kids learn from the folly of their ways vs. not having them fail in school, dismember themselves, or do something incredibly stupid or embarrassing. It's knowing when to put up and when to shut up. It's being good cop and bad cop, and doing it in such a way that your kids won't walk all over you, hate your guts or be scared to breathe.



ANIMAL ACTS

Realistically, I cannot complain here, because my only animal act is Fabio the Fabulous French angora rabbit. However, other family farms include HerMAN and HermO the Hermit Crabs (HermIE lasted a scant 24 hours before scuttling off to his heavenly reward), wots of wascally wabbits, dogs and cats. Previous animal acts have included mice, gerbils, fish, turtles, birds, and a caiman. And none of these could do any tricks, save the former purebred Scottie who could only manage to do tricks with Whiskers, the dreaded floppie-eared mutt up the road.



CONCESSIONS

This is one of those times when I miss the old days. You know, those olden days when you took your Girl Scout Cookie sheet in hand and walked up and down the street pounding on doors and BEGGED, like all the rest of the scraggly neighborhood kids. Nowadays it isn't safe (and it's not), so it's a Girl Scout Cookie, Wrapping Paper, Popcorn, Cookie Dough, Dollar CandyBar, Candle, Poinsettia, Hanging Flower and other assorted Crap-a-rama at the office. Would you like a sucker with that...sucker?



CLOWNING

This isn't about floppy shoes and a red ball nose. It's making them laugh when they're down, being the butt of many jokes, and as a finale, stuffing 957 bags of memories into the trunk of a compact car without it -- or you -- exploding.



It may be too late to teach an old Tuna new tricks, but if you're thinking of having kids, you should give the circus a try. If it doesn't work out, I'll be next door. My life is a zoo, and it's always easy to find me. I'm the one with the dancing monkeys.

Cirque de Tun-A

They say that kids don't come with a handbook. This is very true. Part of the fun of my childbirth classes from yesteryear would be all the parting gifts we'd get at the end of every class. From cutting edge toys (Black and white was all the rage) to magazines and diapers, to services ranging from house cleaning to nanny care to lactation specialists -- everyone wanted a piece of our parent-to-be pie.

But once the little bundle of joy was safely delivered and the nurse hauled us down the elevator and wheeled us out the door, I thought I heard a far-off snicker and cheer, as if they stolen the playbook and left me to fend for myself.

Oh sure, I had the parental books. Having successfully completed the What to Expect When You're Expecting primer (and discovering many times during labor and delivery that what I was expecting wasn't even CLOSE), I segued into What to Expect the First Year. I'd look at the calendar, open the book, and then stare at TinyTuna, waiting for her to fulfill her prophecy.

I would have had better luck training a troupe of dancing monkeys.

Which, coincidentally, brings me to my point. None of these books really helped. None of them addressed the real issues of the day. And then, it hit me. As I walked into work this morning, the answer suddenly came to me.

I should have joined the circus.

Think I'm kidding? I'm not. Just think of all the practical skills the circus could help me in day-to-day living:

JUGGLING
Activities this week includes acquiring jazz pants because they are very cool comfortable and practical, buying a new cake of violin rosin because the rosin formerly in the shape of a cake is now in the form of shards because it got stepped on (I didn't ask if she was rosining her bow on the floor. I decided not to go there), purchasing New York concert tickets, placing a deposit on dance recital outfits that have a 50/50 chance of fitting five months from now, plus the usual play rehearsals (Pooh!) , Homework (math and spelling!) , An Extra-Credit oral report prepared on Sign Language (signally!) , Laundry (socks!), Cleaning (behind!), Teaching (Higher! Faster! Louder!) Chores (Don't go there!), Pets (Fabio the Lucky got a clean cage!), Work (life interruptus!), Bills (postpone!), Exercise (Hah!) and Family (Hello My Name Is!)

Advanced juggling includes the dirty dish plate spinning championship, and juggling with torches (see cleaning and bills above)

TIGHT-ROPE WALKING
More and more this has become my life. I'm working on the delicate balance of having your kids learn from the folly of their ways vs. not having them fail in school, dismember themselves, or do something incredibly stupid or embarrassing. It's knowing when to put up and when to shut up. It's being good cop and bad cop, and doing it in such a way that your kids won't walk all over you, hate your guts or be scared to breathe.

ANIMAL ACTS
Realistically, I cannot complain here, because my only animal act is Fabio the Fabulous French angora rabbit. However, other family farms include HerMAN and HermO the Hermit Crabs (HermIE lasted a scant 24 hours before scuttling off to his heavenly reward), wots of wascally wabbits, dogs and cats. Previous animal acts have included mice, gerbils, fish, turtles, birds, and a caiman. And none of these could do any tricks, save the former purebred Scottie who could only manage to do tricks with Whiskers, the dreaded floppie-eared mutt up the road.

CONCESSIONS
This is one of those times when I miss the old days. You know, those olden days when you took your Girl Scout Cookie sheet in hand and walked up and down the street pounding on doors and BEGGED, like all the rest of the scraggly neighborhood kids. Nowadays it isn't safe (and it's not), so it's a Girl Scout Cookie, Wrapping Paper, Popcorn, Cookie Dough, Dollar CandyBar, Candle, Poinsettia, Hanging Flower and other assorted Crap-a-rama at the office. Would you like a sucker with that...sucker?

CLOWNING
This isn't about floppy shoes and a red ball nose. It's making them laugh when they're down, being the butt of many jokes, and as a finale, stuffing 957 bags of memories into the trunk of a compact car without it -- or you -- exploding.

It may be too late to teach an old Tuna new tricks, but if you're thinking of having kids, you should give the circus a try. If it doesn't work out, I'll be next door. My life is a zoo, and it's always easy to find me. I'm the one with the dancing monkeys.

Comedy of Errors

I think I may have missed my calling.

Wasted time courtesy of Atom Smasher's Error Message Generator.

Comedy of Errors

I think I may have missed my calling.
Wasted time courtesy of Atom Smasher's Error Message Generator.

Friday Poll

The results from the First Friday poll are in. Voting was slow and methodical, indicating that most readers were either busy doing real work, or couldn't find the poll at the top of the right column, or plain old didn't care (how can THAT be?) At the end of the week, however, the winner of the first TunaNews/Weekly World News Poll was: A TIE!



One in 10 Drivers You Pass are Naked from the Waist Down

This article served as a somber reminder that "seminude driving is just as dangerous as driving under the influence of drugs or alcohol" and offered some tell-tale signs of semi-nude drivers, including " Flipping off or waving handguns at other drivers at random, as if to say, "I'm naked and there's not a damn thing you can do about it!"

(16 votes)



Scientist Reveals:

Thunder Caused by Fat People Doing Jumping Jacks

Located in the Science portion of the Weekly World News (I giggle just typing that), the article chronicled a 15-year study that found anytime the control group of fatties did jumping jacks, thunder started 30 seconds later. Future studies we can all look forward to include angels' dandruff causing snow....

(16 votes)



As for those of you who voted for the losers:

Chicken Soup for the Ho (3 votes)

Pot of Pot Found at the End of the Rainbow (3 votes)

Why Beer is Better than Tea (1 vote)

Better luck next time, and don't forget: Stuffing the ballot box and stealing the election is totally legal. Vote early. Vote often.



AND NOW --- THIS WEEKS POLL:



Battle of the 7-Foot Messiahs!

The Eiffel Tower is a Portal to Hell!

Big Apple Facing New Bomb Threats: Giant Pigeon Terrorizes NY!

Guy Finds a 'Free Lung' Coupon in a Pack of Cigarettes!

Regis Philbin is Homeless!



Results next Friday!

Exclamation Points!!!

Friday Poll

The results from the First Friday poll are in. Voting was slow and methodical, indicating that most readers were either busy doing real work, or couldn't find the poll at the top of the right column, or plain old didn't care (how can THAT be?) At the end of the week, however, the winner of the first TunaNews/Weekly World News Poll was: A TIE!

One in 10 Drivers You Pass are Naked from the Waist Down
This article served as a somber reminder that "seminude driving is just as dangerous as driving under the influence of drugs or alcohol" and offered some tell-tale signs of semi-nude drivers, including " Flipping off or waving handguns at other drivers at random, as if to say, "I'm naked and there's not a damn thing you can do about it!"
(16 votes)

Scientist Reveals:
Thunder Caused by Fat People Doing Jumping Jacks
Located in the Science portion of the Weekly World News (I giggle just typing that), the article chronicled a 15-year study that found anytime the control group of fatties did jumping jacks, thunder started 30 seconds later. Future studies we can all look forward to include angels' dandruff causing snow....
(16 votes)

As for those of you who voted for the losers:
Chicken Soup for the Ho (3 votes)
Pot of Pot Found at the End of the Rainbow (3 votes)
Why Beer is Better than Tea (1 vote)
Better luck next time, and don't forget: Stuffing the ballot box and stealing the election is totally legal. Vote early. Vote often.

AND NOW --- THIS WEEKS POLL:

Battle of the 7-Foot Messiahs!
The Eiffel Tower is a Portal to Hell!
Big Apple Facing New Bomb Threats: Giant Pigeon Terrorizes NY!
Guy Finds a 'Free Lung' Coupon in a Pack of Cigarettes!
Regis Philbin is Homeless!

Results next Friday!
Exclamation Points!!!

InaugurNation

It was a day that I was glad I was busy doing other things. While people marched and paraded and partied and gave their solemn oaths to the tune of millions of dollars, I spent the day immersed in music and poetry -- you know, those activities that enrich your soul, but not necessarily your wallet.



I know that many were excited to see the start of another four-year Bush administration. Despite my overwhelming doubts, I hope that somehow we as a nation will be no worse for wear on January 20, 2009. Despite my overwhelming fears, I hope that somehow we as a nation will be at peace with the world, rather than a nation enforcing peace with soldiers, bombs and guns. Despite my overwhelming disappointment with the current rhetoric, I hope that somehow the ideas of consensus and compromise will not be trampled by the egocentric notions of having a mandate and spending political capital.



Many are excited at today's Inauguration. Despite the euphoria, remember there are those who hurt. Remember there are those who feel disenfranchised and betrayed. Remember there are those who are hungry and poor. Remember there are over one thousand wives and husbands, sons and daughters who will never have the chance to see another parade, celebrate a nation and applaud -- or protest -- a sitting president.



Today, half of America is happy.

Today, half of America is very, very sorry.



Your move, Mr. President.

InaugurNation

It was a day that I was glad I was busy doing other things. While people marched and paraded and partied and gave their solemn oaths to the tune of millions of dollars, I spent the day immersed in music and poetry -- you know, those activities that enrich your soul, but not necessarily your wallet.

I know that many were excited to see the start of another four-year Bush administration. Despite my overwhelming doubts, I hope that somehow we as a nation will be no worse for wear on January 20, 2009. Despite my overwhelming fears, I hope that somehow we as a nation will be at peace with the world, rather than a nation enforcing peace with soldiers, bombs and guns. Despite my overwhelming disappointment with the current rhetoric, I hope that somehow the ideas of consensus and compromise will not be trampled by the egocentric notions of having a mandate and spending political capital.

Many are excited at today's Inauguration. Despite the euphoria, remember there are those who hurt. Remember there are those who feel disenfranchised and betrayed. Remember there are those who are hungry and poor. Remember there are over one thousand wives and husbands, sons and daughters who will never have the chance to see another parade, celebrate a nation and applaud -- or protest -- a sitting president.

Today, half of America is happy.
Today, half of America is very, very sorry.

Your move, Mr. President.

Clean Sweep

Due to a lack of interesting topics, today I bring you

The Swiffer Montage







There's Wet Swiffer, Mega Swiffer, Swiffer Dusters and Baby Bunny Swiffer.



Swiffer (The baby bunny formerly known as Snowball) is now about two months old and cute as all get out. Although it would be advisable not to use him as a wet mop, or to fluff him, I would imagine that if you put some carrots on a table, he just might multitask and do a spot of dusting.



Baby Bunny Swiffer courtesy of Fabio the Fabulous and Muna oh-Gawd-not-another-date French Angora rabbits.



Need More Baby Bunny Pictures?



All pictures courtesy of BSTuna who figured out the digital camera and is now officially an electronics geek.

Clean Sweep

Due to a lack of interesting topics, today I bring you
The Swiffer Montage



There's Wet Swiffer, Mega Swiffer, Swiffer Dusters and Baby Bunny Swiffer.

Swiffer (The baby bunny formerly known as Snowball) is now about two months old and cute as all get out. Although it would be advisable not to use him as a wet mop, or to fluff him, I would imagine that if you put some carrots on a table, he just might multitask and do a spot of dusting.

Baby Bunny Swiffer courtesy of Fabio the Fabulous and Muna oh-Gawd-not-another-date French Angora rabbits.

Need More Baby Bunny Pictures?

All pictures courtesy of BSTuna who figured out the digital camera and is now officially an electronics geek.

DOH!

One of my favorite moments from the first season of Survivor was watching the remaining players perform a challenge that was very ala Blair Witch Project. They were told a story of island lore, and then had to take a movie camera, find questions in the jungle, read the question, look into the camera and answer.



Rudy (bless his 70-year old Navy Seal heart) ran around, read the questions, looked into the camera and said, "I dunno" every single time. He simply couldn't be bothered.

"What will the spirits do when they hear the conch shell?

(Pause.)............................................................ I dunno."

-- Rudy, reading and answering one of the jungle superstition questions, after being briefed on the correct answer moments earlier.

"What is the event that has foreshadowed the departure of most of the survivors from tribal council?

(Pause.)............................................................ I dunno."

-- Another Rudy question.

"If the spirits cause you to get lost in the jungle, what two things should you do?

(Pause.)........................................................... I dunno."

-- Rudy, who we now suspect may have a steel plate in his skull.

It was classic Rudy and it was hysterical.



Now, perhaps in what can only be considered the most colossal blunder in Survivor history, Richard Hatch (Sole Survivor and Million Dollar winner of Season One) managed NOT to report any of his Survivor winnings to the IRS.



Perhaps when the judge asks him why he didn't report the earnings that MILLIONS of people saw him win, he might take a page from the Rudy handbook, look in the camera and say, "I dunno."



Courtsey of Davenetics

DOH!

One of my favorite moments from the first season of Survivor was watching the remaining players perform a challenge that was very ala Blair Witch Project. They were told a story of island lore, and then had to take a movie camera, find questions in the jungle, read the question, look into the camera and answer.

Rudy (bless his 70-year old Navy Seal heart) ran around, read the questions, looked into the camera and said, "I dunno" every single time. He simply couldn't be bothered.

"What will the spirits do when they hear the conch shell?

(Pause.)............................................................ I dunno."

-- Rudy, reading and answering one of the jungle superstition questions, after being briefed on the correct answer moments earlier.

"What is the event that has foreshadowed the departure of most of the survivors from tribal council?
(Pause.)............................................................ I dunno."

-- Another Rudy question.

"If the spirits cause you to get lost in the jungle, what two things should you do?
(Pause.)........................................................... I dunno."

-- Rudy, who we now suspect may have a steel plate in his skull.

It was classic Rudy and it was hysterical.

Now, perhaps in what can only be considered the most colossal blunder in Survivor history, Richard Hatch (Sole Survivor and Million Dollar winner of Season One) managed NOT to report any of his Survivor winnings to the IRS.

Perhaps when the judge asks him why he didn't report the earnings that MILLIONS of people saw him win, he might take a page from the Rudy handbook, look in the camera and say, "I dunno."

Courtsey of Davenetics

She Bang!

Tonight the American Idol train rolls down the tracks once more. Will I watch it? Oh, probably yes. Why? Because first of all, I'm an idiot, and secondly, it appears that ten straight hours of amateur singers, singing and attitudes aren't enough. I need more.



Like a hole in the head.



Actually, I'll most likely watch the first hour and then flip over to The Amazing Race. After all, screaming in Budapest; screaming in Cleveland -- it's all the same. The only difference is The Amazing Race has The Amazing Phil and American Idol has British Simon.



And really, is that even a fair fight? I think not.



So get ready for the Ghost of Disco past, Motown, and wretched Whitney Houston ballads. Add a considerable number of bleeps, dawgs and "Welcome to Hollywood" and top with Jonathan's Head on a pike, and you have a very good idea of where my evening will be headed.

She Bang!

Tonight the American Idol train rolls down the tracks once more. Will I watch it? Oh, probably yes. Why? Because first of all, I'm an idiot, and secondly, it appears that ten straight hours of amateur singers, singing and attitudes aren't enough. I need more.

Like a hole in the head.

Actually, I'll most likely watch the first hour and then flip over to The Amazing Race. After all, screaming in Budapest; screaming in Cleveland -- it's all the same. The only difference is The Amazing Race has The Amazing Phil and American Idol has British Simon.

And really, is that even a fair fight? I think not.

So get ready for the Ghost of Disco past, Motown, and wretched Whitney Houston ballads. Add a considerable number of bleeps, dawgs and "Welcome to Hollywood" and top with Jonathan's Head on a pike, and you have a very good idea of where my evening will be headed.

Daydream Believer

It's MLK day. Many have the day off. TinyTuna has no school.



I have to work.



TunaU students have no classes.

TunaU staff and faculty must report.



If I want to have a dream, I have to do it on my own time and not on my employer's nickel. Working for peace and equality will have to be squeezed in during lunch, on breaks, or after 5 pm.



I'll admit it. I think it stinks.



It's a funny thing about holidays. We all want them -- meaning we want the time off -- but for what purpose other than to sleep in and goof off? Active holiday participation tends to dwindle as the years pass because it seems as though these occasions hold no relevance in our lives today. Memorial Day, for example, used to be reserved for firing up the BBQ, going to a movie, and celebrating the start of summer. Now, because of our increased military presence oh say, EVERYWHERE, this national holiday has once again established itself as a sad but important remembrance of all those who gave their lives serving the country.



And don't even get me started on Columbus Day.



If I dared to dream on company time, I'd dream of a nation of people embracing the meaning behind this holiday and applying it 365 days a year instead of one. Celebrating the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. shouldn't be like catching the 24-hour flu or watching a bad Kung-Fu movie. This is not the time for a "wake me when it's over" mentality.



My dream is that one day we'll wonder why we even have an MLK day. Not because we've forgotten the man and his work, but because we cannot remember a time when we didn't all live in a land of freedom, peace, and equality for all people.



That's not only a dream worth having. It's a dream worth sharing.

Daydream Believer

It's MLK day. Many have the day off. TinyTuna has no school.

I have to work.

TunaU students have no classes.
TunaU staff and faculty must report.

If I want to have a dream, I have to do it on my own time and not on my employer's nickel. Working for peace and equality will have to be squeezed in during lunch, on breaks, or after 5 pm.

I'll admit it. I think it stinks.

It's a funny thing about holidays. We all want them -- meaning we want the time off -- but for what purpose other than to sleep in and goof off? Active holiday participation tends to dwindle as the years pass because it seems as though these occasions hold no relevance in our lives today. Memorial Day, for example, used to be reserved for firing up the BBQ, going to a movie, and celebrating the start of summer. Now, because of our increased military presence oh say, EVERYWHERE, this national holiday has once again established itself as a sad but important remembrance of all those who gave their lives serving the country.

And don't even get me started on Columbus Day.

If I dared to dream on company time, I'd dream of a nation of people embracing the meaning behind this holiday and applying it 365 days a year instead of one. Celebrating the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. shouldn't be like catching the 24-hour flu or watching a bad Kung-Fu movie. This is not the time for a "wake me when it's over" mentality.

My dream is that one day we'll wonder why we even have an MLK day. Not because we've forgotten the man and his work, but because we cannot remember a time when we didn't all live in a land of freedom, peace, and equality for all people.

That's not only a dream worth having. It's a dream worth sharing.

The Quest for Decapitated Ducks

It would have been easier to find a shrubbery.



I was on a mission this weekend to find a birthday present. The request was for a gizmo that you put on the floor by your door to stop the cold air from whooshing in and freezing your toes off because you can only find one slipper and let's face it, even petite-feet-people of which I am most definitely NOT one cannot fit both feet into the sole surviving slipper and if somehow you can, then this story is not for you because you certainly would NEVER need an anti-air whooshing gizmo, now would you?



I figured this was going to be a 5 minute slam-dunk over-and-out kind of prospect. It's freezing cold outside. Cold air is whooshing under doors far and wide, and they should be stacked in enormous bins next to the shovels, valentines, beer nuts and lite beer.



HA!



Stop 1: Meijer

TunaVille's local one-stop it's got everything shopping emporium. Like a Super Walmart (I suppose) or a Super Target, you can buy everything here: groceries, beer, hardware, software, Corningware or evening wear; and that's just in aisle one. Anti-air whooshing thingee? Zip.



No worries, I think. I'll find them tomorrow when I'm running errands.



Stop 2: World Market

I'm thinking, why not? Since I have to go into World Market anyway to get a gift card, I figure I'll find an anti-air whooshing thingee decorated with Kanji characters and dragons. I'm not picky. But alas, I don't get the opportunity to be picky. I ask the clerk for a "draft thing," but she has no idea what I'm talking about. She further punishes me by claiming my check caused a cash register problem code that even her super-secret employee book could not crack.



Stop 3: Linens 'n Things

It occurs to me that a "draft thing" is a PERFECT 'N Things kind of thing. I'm now past searching stores on my own, so I walked in, took one look at the girl behind the cash register, and said, "Draft things!" (Meaning, "Excuse me please, could you please help me locate some draft things.") She scrunched up her face in confusion, meaning I had to elaborate. "You know," I begin, "Draft things...those things you put by your door so the air doesn't come whooshing in..." After a few moments she said, "Well, you could try back that way," nodding towards the entire left quadrant of the store.



I sighed, and made my way towards the nether regions of the store. I caught the eye of another helpful (ha!) worker bee in the back. "Draft things!" I said. After getting the same scrunched up face of confusion, I offered the same explanation, and then received a valuable piece of information:

They're called DRAFT DODGERS

Now, whether it's because of the current world situation or because of my relative proximity to Canada, the political fire escape of the north, it somehow seemed slightly wrong to be asking for a Draft Dodger. But it didn't matter, because Linens 'n Things didn't have any more Things. All they had left was a long lecture about how quickly they flew off the shelves A MONTH AGO.

Alrighty then.

Stop 4: Walmart

It's not my favorite store. But things were starting to notch up on the desperation meter, and since it was before 10 am, I was hoping the emporium wouldn't be a zoo. "Draft Things," I said, refusing to affix "Dodger" to my request. "Those would be in Home Domestics," says the helpful blue vested greeter at the door. I took one look over the endless sea of merchandise and asked wearily, "And where exactly would that be?"

After receiving a five minute briefing, a treasure map and a GPS device, the journey began. GramTuna (who had been with me throughout the entire escapade) and I made our way past cash registers, cosmetics, groceries, optometrists and the pharmacy. We took a left before we hit motor oil and then looked for any sign that said "Domestics."

The signs don't exist, in case you're wondering.

We found a helpful blue-vested person stocking Listerine, and again I said, "Draft Things" and followed up with my explanation. "I think they're over in Hardware," she said. Thinking this made no sense at all, I figured she was probably right. But alas, there were none. The helpful blue vest ran out of ideas, saying, "I usually work in Toys, so I don't really know." And once again, we were left to our own devices.

At this point, GramTuna looked at me and offered up the following statement, "We never had draft things. WE JUST ROLLED UP TOWELS AND PUT THEM BY THE DOOR."

I shot her the look of "you're not helping here" and said, "You lived in the olden days. Society is much more advanced now. And besides, the birthday request was for a DRAFT THINGEE, not a ROLLED UP TOWEL.

GramTuna said, "I don't know why you'd want one of those anyway. They're just a long snakey thing with a decapitated duck head on the end. You could make one, slap an old Beanie Baby on it and be done with it."

You'll never know how close I was to thinking that was an excellent idea.

Stop 5: Local Border's-Like BookStore

Because sometimes you just never know.

Stop 6: Local Hallmark Store

No draft things, but there was an enormous display of pink hippos, because evidently, nothing says Happy Valentine's Day, my Beloved like an enormous pink hippo.

Stop 7: Pier One Imports

No draft things. "All we have are rugs," the woman said.

GramTuna snorted. I glared. We left.

Stop 8: Pottery Barn

By now, my desperation knows no bounds. I figured they HAD to have an overpriced, horizontal plaid decapitated duck head totem. We went right for the sales girl in the center of the store. "Draft things?" I asked hopefully. After explaining again, she wrinkled her nose in near-embarrassing disgust. "We certainly don't have those here," she said. "Maybe at Meijer, or Home Depot..." We slunk out of the store, defeated again. "Did you see her face?" I asked. "I think she was offended." "Well," offered GramTuna, "People who shop at Pottery Barn probably don't have gaps under their doors."

Stop 9: Bed, Bath & Beyond

I only had 10 more minutes, and held out very little hope. After all, if it wasn't an 'n Thing, then it probably wasn't going to be an & Beyond either. But miracles still happen in our little town, and there, right inside the door, NEXT TO THE SHOVELS was an entire bin of DRAFT THINGS! Not only that, it seems that & Beyond actually means & all that crap you see on TV that you're too embarrassed to order, but secretly wonder if it really works or not.

We had no time to browse, but vowed to return some day. I grabbed two for a present and one for myself. And GramTuna? She bought one too. I might just have to get some velcro and a couple of old beanie babies to do hers up right.

The Quest for Decapitated Ducks

It would have been easier to find a shrubbery.

I was on a mission this weekend to find a birthday present. The request was for a gizmo that you put on the floor by your door to stop the cold air from whooshing in and freezing your toes off because you can only find one slipper and let's face it, even petite-feet-people of which I am most definitely NOT one cannot fit both feet into the sole surviving slipper and if somehow you can, then this story is not for you because you certainly would NEVER need an anti-air whooshing gizmo, now would you?

I figured this was going to be a 5 minute slam-dunk over-and-out kind of prospect. It's freezing cold outside. Cold air is whooshing under doors far and wide, and they should be stacked in enormous bins next to the shovels, valentines, beer nuts and lite beer.

HA!

Stop 1: Meijer
TunaVille's local one-stop it's got everything shopping emporium. Like a Super Walmart (I suppose) or a Super Target, you can buy everything here: groceries, beer, hardware, software, Corningware or evening wear; and that's just in aisle one. Anti-air whooshing thingee? Zip.

No worries, I think. I'll find them tomorrow when I'm running errands.

Stop 2: World Market
I'm thinking, why not? Since I have to go into World Market anyway to get a gift card, I figure I'll find an anti-air whooshing thingee decorated with Kanji characters and dragons. I'm not picky. But alas, I don't get the opportunity to be picky. I ask the clerk for a "draft thing," but she has no idea what I'm talking about. She further punishes me by claiming my check caused a cash register problem code that even her super-secret employee book could not crack.

Stop 3: Linens 'n Things
It occurs to me that a "draft thing" is a PERFECT 'N Things kind of thing. I'm now past searching stores on my own, so I walked in, took one look at the girl behind the cash register, and said, "Draft things!" (Meaning, "Excuse me please, could you please help me locate some draft things.") She scrunched up her face in confusion, meaning I had to elaborate. "You know," I begin, "Draft things...those things you put by your door so the air doesn't come whooshing in..." After a few moments she said, "Well, you could try back that way," nodding towards the entire left quadrant of the store.

I sighed, and made my way towards the nether regions of the store. I caught the eye of another helpful (ha!) worker bee in the back. "Draft things!" I said. After getting the same scrunched up face of confusion, I offered the same explanation, and then received a valuable piece of information:

They're called DRAFT DODGERS

Now, whether it's because of the current world situation or because of my relative proximity to Canada, the political fire escape of the north, it somehow seemed slightly wrong to be asking for a Draft Dodger. But it didn't matter, because Linens 'n Things didn't have any more Things. All they had left was a long lecture about how quickly they flew off the shelves A MONTH AGO.

Alrighty then.

Stop 4: Walmart
It's not my favorite store. But things were starting to notch up on the desperation meter, and since it was before 10 am, I was hoping the emporium wouldn't be a zoo. "Draft Things," I said, refusing to affix "Dodger" to my request. "Those would be in Home Domestics," says the helpful blue vested greeter at the door. I took one look over the endless sea of merchandise and asked wearily, "And where exactly would that be?"

After receiving a five minute briefing, a treasure map and a GPS device, the journey began. GramTuna (who had been with me throughout the entire escapade) and I made our way past cash registers, cosmetics, groceries, optometrists and the pharmacy. We took a left before we hit motor oil and then looked for any sign that said "Domestics."

The signs don't exist, in case you're wondering.

We found a helpful blue-vested person stocking Listerine, and again I said, "Draft Things" and followed up with my explanation. "I think they're over in Hardware," she said. Thinking this made no sense at all, I figured she was probably right. But alas, there were none. The helpful blue vest ran out of ideas, saying, "I usually work in Toys, so I don't really know." And once again, we were left to our own devices.

At this point, GramTuna looked at me and offered up the following statement, "We never had draft things. WE JUST ROLLED UP TOWELS AND PUT THEM BY THE DOOR."

I shot her the look of "you're not helping here" and said, "You lived in the olden days. Society is much more advanced now. And besides, the birthday request was for a DRAFT THINGEE, not a ROLLED UP TOWEL.

GramTuna said, "I don't know why you'd want one of those anyway. They're just a long snakey thing with a decapitated duck head on the end. You could make one, slap an old Beanie Baby on it and be done with it."

You'll never know how close I was to thinking that was an excellent idea.

Stop 5: Local Border's-Like BookStore
Because sometimes you just never know.

Stop 6: Local Hallmark Store
No draft things, but there was an enormous display of pink hippos, because evidently, nothing says Happy Valentine's Day, my Beloved like an enormous pink hippo.

Stop 7: Pier One Imports
No draft things. "All we have are rugs," the woman said.
GramTuna snorted. I glared. We left.

Stop 8: Pottery Barn
By now, my desperation knows no bounds. I figured they HAD to have an overpriced, horizontal plaid decapitated duck head totem. We went right for the sales girl in the center of the store. "Draft things?" I asked hopefully. After explaining again, she wrinkled her nose in near-embarrassing disgust. "We certainly don't have those here," she said. "Maybe at Meijer, or Home Depot..." We slunk out of the store, defeated again. "Did you see her face?" I asked. "I think she was offended." "Well," offered GramTuna, "People who shop at Pottery Barn probably don't have gaps under their doors."

Stop 9: Bed, Bath & Beyond
I only had 10 more minutes, and held out very little hope. After all, if it wasn't an 'n Thing, then it probably wasn't going to be an & Beyond either. But miracles still happen in our little town, and there, right inside the door, NEXT TO THE SHOVELS was an entire bin of DRAFT THINGS! Not only that, it seems that & Beyond actually means & all that crap you see on TV that you're too embarrassed to order, but secretly wonder if it really works or not.

We had no time to browse, but vowed to return some day. I grabbed two for a present and one for myself. And GramTuna? She bought one too. I might just have to get some velcro and a couple of old beanie babies to do hers up right.

Use The Fork, Luke

There are days when one struggles for things about which to write.

And then there are days when posts just fall into your lap.

Like this one.





It's for real.

It's for true.



It's DARTH TATER!



Kids these days are SO damn lucky. Pass the ketchup.



via John Scalzi

via BoingBoing

via Wonderland

Use The Fork, Luke

There are days when one struggles for things about which to write.
And then there are days when posts just fall into your lap.
Like this one.


It's for real.
It's for true.

It's DARTH TATER!

Kids these days are SO damn lucky. Pass the ketchup.

via John Scalzi
via BoingBoing
via Wonderland

Friday Poll

Thanks to the in-depth research of butt-cheek art, I also made an amazing discovery: The Weekly World News is online.



Do you realize what this means?



Friday polls! Which is the best article of the week?



1. Chicken Soup for the Ho

2. Pot of Pot Found at the End of the Rainbow

3. Why Beer is Better than Tea

4. One in Ten Drivers You Pass on the Road are Naked from the Waist Down

5. Scientist Reveals: Thunder Caused by Fat People Doing Jumping Jacks



Vote early. Vote often. Jam the ballot box with your favorite.

Polls close Thursday, January 20th at midnight.

--> Oh-so scientific WWN Poll is on the right sidebar at the top. --> --> --> -->



Very cool polling code courtsey of Blogpoll

Friday Poll

Thanks to the in-depth research of butt-cheek art, I also made an amazing discovery: The Weekly World News is online.

Do you realize what this means?

Friday polls! Which is the best article of the week?

1. Chicken Soup for the Ho
2. Pot of Pot Found at the End of the Rainbow
3. Why Beer is Better than Tea
4. One in Ten Drivers You Pass on the Road are Naked from the Waist Down
5. Scientist Reveals: Thunder Caused by Fat People Doing Jumping Jacks

Vote early. Vote often. Jam the ballot box with your favorite.
Polls close Thursday, January 20th at midnight.
--> Oh-so scientific WWN Poll is on the right sidebar at the top. --> --> --> -->

Very cool polling code courtsey of Blogpoll

Cheeky Devil

Further proof that on the Internet you can find ANYTHING.

Cheeky Devil

Further proof that on the Internet you can find ANYTHING.

Surprise

Say you were asked by your boss to give a presentation touting all that was good and wonderful about your company. Say you had several meetings going over what would be said and exactly what talking points you should cover. Say you had practiced your presentation several times so you would be sure it went smoothly.



Say the day of the presentation you decide -- at the last minute without telling anybody -- that you were going to talk about something else ... try something new ... you know, just to see how it goes.



What do you suppose would happen next?



Now suppose you are a voice teacher, going over final exam performances from the previous semester. Suppose you have a chat with a student who decided the day of the performance -- at the last minute without telling anybody -- that they were going to sing things a different way ... try something new... you know, just to see how it would go. Suppose you try to explain several different ways your stern admonition: Do Not Surprise The Teacher. EVER.



Suppose the student told the teacher it wasn't that bad, and then proceeded to offer their uneducated, unwashed, undergraduate opinion that the teacher should lighten up.



What do you suppose would happen next?



I don't know. Yet.



But I'll be sure to tell you all about it when whatever happens, happens.



Silly, Silly students.

Surprise

Say you were asked by your boss to give a presentation touting all that was good and wonderful about your company. Say you had several meetings going over what would be said and exactly what talking points you should cover. Say you had practiced your presentation several times so you would be sure it went smoothly.

Say the day of the presentation you decide -- at the last minute without telling anybody -- that you were going to talk about something else ... try something new ... you know, just to see how it goes.

What do you suppose would happen next?

Now suppose you are a voice teacher, going over final exam performances from the previous semester. Suppose you have a chat with a student who decided the day of the performance -- at the last minute without telling anybody -- that they were going to sing things a different way ... try something new... you know, just to see how it would go. Suppose you try to explain several different ways your stern admonition: Do Not Surprise The Teacher. EVER.

Suppose the student told the teacher it wasn't that bad, and then proceeded to offer their uneducated, unwashed, undergraduate opinion that the teacher should lighten up.

What do you suppose would happen next?

I don't know. Yet.

But I'll be sure to tell you all about it when whatever happens, happens.

Silly, Silly students.

Crafting Horrors

Look what crafting horrors I found in the new books section of the Cross Stitch Emporium! With the winners like these, I may have to make this a monthly show-and-tell feature so none of us miss a single treasure.



Nominee Number One: "Old Friends"



Someone here is not clear on the concept of hobbies. For the uninformed, hobbies are things that you do as a pleasant diversion to your otherwise wretched day. Hobbies are things you do -- not because you have to -- but because you want to. That is, unless one has to complete the wretched holy needlepoint so one can go to heaven. But Nobody...NOBODY wants to cross stitch their laundry.



Nominee Number Two: "Winter Grows on You"



"Look mom! A decapitated snowman bush!"



Nominee Number Three: "Mirror Mirror"



This one isn't a horror at all. In fact, it's awesome! I love it when designers can mock their own industry. I might have to hunt this sampler down....



Want more crafting horrors? Try - November, 2004