Monday, April 30, 2012
I used to diss the use of remote controls. This, of course, was before I actually used a remote for my TV. I thought only extremely lazy people used remotes. Then, one came with my new TV. OMG... the heavens opened! I heard angels sing, and saw stars (kind of like meeting my first Kindergarten crush, Jimmy M). This morning I was reminded how much I love my remote control. I was passing through the kitchen, when I saw Willard Scott’s smiling mug on the Today Show. It was time for his Smucker’s-sponsored spot where he features people who are turning 100 years old. This moment was made for the Mute Button. I have nothing against centenarians. Good for them! Mr. Scott, however, is so embarrassing. He definitely qualifies for Shoe Inspection Time (see Blog #3). He habitually mispronounces people’s names. His inane comments make me scramble for the Mute Button every time - “Pretty as a picture!”. Ugh! My love affair with the Mute Button first began with the 8 years of the George W. Bush administration. Couldn’t grab the remote fast enough. If I heard NU-CU-LAR one more time I think my head would have exploded. Since then, I have become adept at the quick draw Mute. I can also jab the Last Button when something especially heinous pops on the TV screen. This button is useful when I want to avoid visual as well as audio. It comes in handy during commercials for medical devices, or the ever-upsetting save-the-animals photos. The lady who’s fallen and can’t get up, currently a Mute Button favorite, is moving toward Last Button status. Once, when my Yorkie was yapping her head off, I pointed the remote at her and hit the Mute Button. Funny thing... it didn’t work. Oh to invent THAT button. Sigh...
Saturday, April 28, 2012
What has happened to cable TV’s History Channel? It used to be the Everything-You-Ever-Wanted-To-Know-About-World-War-II network. I would turn on the History Channel whenever I felt my brain turning to mush after an overdose of murder, mayhem, and inane sitcoms. It felt good to learn something once in a while. I would give myself a big pat on the back after viewing something on the History Channel. It was like voluntarily eating a vegetable when I could have had a cookie instead (bad example - like THAT is ever going to happen). So now, instead of finding incredible stories from the past, the History Channel is becoming the platform for all things red neck. For instance, “Mudcats” features men who fish for catfish with their bare hands. Seriously... ever heard of a fishing pole? Can you really make a series out of this subject? What is different from one fish or mud hole to the next to justify more than one episode? Another show I see advertised is called “Swamp People”, featuring guys who hunt alligators. There are shows about guns, cars, and pawn shops. Where does the whole history part fit in? Granted, I have never watched any of these shows. I’m judging them without knowing all the facts. I admit that. But still, it doesn’t seem like they belong on a network called “History”. Perhaps I’m a snob. I’ve been called judgmental (or was that just mental?). How about this - The History Channel would be for, umm, history. The History RN Channel could be for all things Red Neck. Easy peasy. Just a suggestion.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
People Magazine announced its choice for the Most Beautiful Woman of 2012. (drum roll..) The winner is Beyonce. Apparently, there was actually an instance when Beyonce didn’t feel pretty. She said when she was in labor with her daughter, Blue Ivy (don’t get me started on celebrity baby names), she didn’t feel beautiful. Seriously??? My thought during labor was whether or not I was going to survive. Certain death seemed to take precedence over how my hair was looking. I guess that’s the difference between me and Beyonce, the only one. So, People Magazine is on my bad list. I didn’t even make it as a runner-up. I am still waiting for an opportunity to use my prepared acceptance speech from 1962. I thought I would be winning the Most Improved Swimmer award given at the end of my summer swimming lessons. I even practiced looking surprised, hands fluttering near my mouth to hold back fake tears. I could probably summon up that long-ago speech. Too bad the people holding all important awards seem to be unaware of my existence. The Nobel Prize people continuously ignore me. Maybe I don’t qualify for the Peace Prize, but the Nobel Award for Science is do-able. One time, I fixed our toilet from running by ingeniously using a pencil strategically placed in the tank. A major award in science could cause major heart attacks among many of my former teachers. Hee hee (this is why I will never win the Peace Prize). So there’s always next year. Gotta get going on my beauty regimen. I should also get going on other uses for a number 2 pencil. Possibly world peace???
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Still recovering from surgery, I spent most of the day plopped on the couch in front of the TV. The weather all day had been beautiful, judging from what I could see through the partially-opened blinds. Around 4pm, I finally hit the Stir Crazy Wall, so I walked up to the neighborhood coffee shop. It was sunny outside and presumably warm. I ventured out in my long-sleeved shirt and track pants. I left my jacket at home - my version of living on the edge. I forgot how good weather affects Seattlites. It was about 65 degrees outside and a bit breezy, yet I saw countless people in tank tops, tee shirts and shorts. I walked past one carport and saw three little kids and one adult in their swimsuits. I would have been blinded by their pale skin had it not already been so sunny. Days like these it is fun to drive past Green Lake, a jewel of a spot in the middle of the city. You see everything from parkas to thong bikinis. It’s supposed to be even warmer tomorrow. I imagine the beaches of Puget Sound will be packed. I will probably be at my spot on the couch, hunting for something new or interesting to watch on TV. I suppose I could try to catch some rays and sit outside. My lily-white skin might outshine the sun, though. The glow could cause military aircraft to scramble. I’d hate to be confused with some sort of nuclear attack. It’s safer for everyone if I just stay inside.
Friday, April 20, 2012
I do much of my writing while walking the dogs. Scratch that - cajoling or dragging my dogs is more like it. The Dog Whisperer could probably do a miniseries on my lack of dog-handling skills. I try really hard, but apparently that doesn’t cut it. Lucy was the only one of our three dogs to attend doggie school, and she kind of flunked out. Or rather, I flunked out. Once out the door, Stella (5 lb. Yorkie) takes the lead by yapping her head off for a solid five minutes. She has the full-blown Terrier personality, whereby she has no clue she is tiny. In her mind, she is a massive creature armed with nunchucks and a grenade launcher. Cosmo (30 lb. Scottie) is a chunky boy - not fat, just big-boned. He checks his pee mail at every tree, street sign, and utility pole. He loves people, probably because he knows they’re made out of meat. He gets aggressive with other dogs, and then attacks Stella. Go figure. Lucy (20 lb. Scottie) stops at the first patch of grass, tips over, rolls around a bit, and then just lies there. This happens about every twelve feet. I don’t like dragging her, but I don’t have a better alternative. It sometimes feels like I’m walking the coffee table, while other times like I’m trying to reel in three marlins, uphill. I see other people walking their dogs, “walking” being the operative word. They actually move down the sidewalk, go forward, make actual progress. Unbelievable... What would that be like? My technique to achieve motion is a combination of pleading and swearing. Not very effective, but it’s all I have. I wonder if neighbors see me as that mean lady with the adorable little dogs. I know I’m not the Alpha dog. My dogs know it as well. Throw me a bone here, guys! I just might share it.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Please hold while I climb up on my soap box... I saw a story on the Today Show about the Hangover Heaven Bus. An anesthesiologist has come up with what he hopes is a money-making idea. Dr. Jason Burke bought a bus, and has set it up with comfy sofas and special IV bags. His idea is to have a mobile hangover treatment center and troll the streets of Las Vegas. He hopes to flush out the previous night’s hangover with fluids ($90) or vitamins ($200). This is disturbing on so many levels. My first thought is... Dude! Seriously, why can’t you make a nice living being a hospital anesthesiologist??? Somehow the Hypocratic Oath and “First do no harm” doesn’t seem to fit here. Personally, I can’t imagine voluntarily having an IV for something as trivial as a hangover. I had surgery a couple weeks ago, which included several awful IV experiences. OK, I admit I’ve always been needle-phobic. I find the IV insertion process exceedingly upsetting. I currently have a sore spot at one IV site on my wrist, where part of my vein is kind of hard. I’m not sure if it will ever go back to normal. The Hangover Heaven Bus and it’s mobile IV’s make me want to give Dr. Burke a big old knuckle sandwich. I have two words of advice for you, Dr. Burke - Michael Jackson. Your operation is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Hopefully nobody will die before your business is shut down. Use your powers for good instead of...maybe not evil, but gross, disgusting money-grubbing.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Total embarrassment for someone else... Children are lucky because they can just cover their eyes and scream “Eeuuuwwww!”. Adults have to keep up a facade. My husband and I call it “Shoe Inspection Time” - when events are so embarrassing all you can do is look down at your shoes and wish yourself to the cornfield. Last night, I watched an awful movie from 1963. It wasn’t a beach movie, but close - set at a Palm Springs resort during college spring break. There were “kids” in swimsuits, all flirty and full of dance (the Twist must have been in its hey-day). These college kids looked like they were 45 years old, but according to my older sister’s yearbook, high school kids also looked that way. The girls had big hair, pointy-toed high heels, and dresses with big skirts and crunchy petticoats. In one scene, the comedy relief guy was singing poolside. A random girl in a swimsuit walked up behind him, did the Twist for a few seconds, then continued walking. It was weird, and extremely embarrassing. I immediately reverted to Shoe Inspection mode, when I realized I was watching with my dogs. I could cringe and maybe even guffaw a little and no one would care. Certainly not my dogs. These movies from the early 1960’s are so terrible. I wonder if people actually paid to see them in a movie theatre. The beach/surfer movies were a bit more hideous than the one I watched last night. There was always a blonde-haired girl in a fringed dress, dancing frenetically. Fringe gone wild! The surfing special effects were lacking. Just actors with perfect helmet hair, smiling while they tried to balance on their imagined surfboards. Puhleez! There are a couple of beach movies on TV tonight. I’m not sure I can handle watching them... you can only do Shoe Inspection so many times without getting whiplash.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
I have been recovering from surgery, which for me means vegging out in front of the TV for most of the day. Yesterday, as I looked around my surroundings, I realized I may have turned into a dog. There I sat on the couch, hanging with my three dogs. They were all asleep, which is apparently what they do when not eating, pooping or barking. I resist sleep (even though my pain meds currently make me groggy), but there were still other similarities. While I have yet to yell and make a lot of noise when the mailman comes around, I did perk up when a fire engine and aid car pulled up in front of my house. I went all Gladys Kravitz and was glued to my window. I called my daughter to give her a report on what was happening (actually, nothing was happening). The EMTs went into an elderly neighbor’s house for about fifteen minutes, came out and left. Not too exciting, but still... It was a break from the endless TV commercials for catheters, weight-loss programs, security systems, and countless drugs for scary-sounding diseases. Good thing I’m not a hypochondriac, or I would be concerned about being stranded on the floor, too fat to move, while some weird flesh-eating disease consumes me. I’ll bet my dogs never have such thoughts. So, what do they dream about? Lucy probably dreams about being left alone to chill with her bad self. Cosmo surely dreams about food. Stella no doubt drags even more stray items into her lair under the dining room table. I guess I’m not so much like a dog after all. Gotta go... I suddenly have this urge to drag dirty clothes up from the laundry room and deposit them by the front door.
At last, my blog. After years of emailing friends and family with my (hopefully) hysterical stories and observations, I am giving everyone the power to view them unsolicited. Peruse at your leisure, and don't forget to laugh. Big thanks to my son, Ben, for designing my banner page. Enjoy...