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Friday, May 31, 2002
These humid days my baby-fine hair requires a quick spritz or two of Rave hairspray (pump dispenser, natch) to keep it from going all passive-resistance limp. But I didn't come here today to talk about summertime hair care. I came to talk about puzzling labels. You see, the aforementioned Rave comes in these four strengths:
If Mega is stronger than Ultra, what would be stronger than Mega Hold? Mondo Hold? Giga Hold? Tera Hold? Just thinking about it boggles my mind until I spew nonsense -- as if you hadn't already noticed. I think I know now why they call it "Rave".
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:13 PM
Sign of the Apocalypse #496:
Two different TV listings indicated that Godspell would be shown at 8pm on Bravo last night. Yet at the appointed hour The Omen aired instead.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:24 AM
What is up with people who punctuate e-mail messages like this... They must not know or care that it makes them appear ignorant and detracts from whatever they are trying to say... Are their period keys sticky or are they just lazy... Traditionally, an ellipsis indicates an omission... What appears to be omitted is respect for the message's recipient(s), not to mention respect for basic grammar rules... You don't have to be perfect in your punctuation, but for Gregg's sake, at least make an effort...
Seeing messages punctuated thus always reminds me of the mushy and ellipsis-filled letter written to a dashing English teacher by a lovesick teenager in Up the Down Staircase. The teacher corrects the note for grammar and spelling (chiding the student, incidentally, over the avoidance aspect of her constant ellipsis usage) then returns it to the student, with drastic and plot-twisting results. Ok, so the teacher is a doo-doo head but where the ellipses are concerned he has a point. Three, actually.
Still, what are you going to do? It's a minor annoyance, not a matter of life or death. Here's a fun activity to try next time an ellipsis-laden message lands in your inbox: mentally insert the phrase "in bed" whenever an ellipsis appears. It's not just for fortune cookies anymore!
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:41 PM
There is no better tonic for a truly wretched day than an e-mailed hug from that guy you kinda like but were too shy to be too forward with at the party AND an opportunity to photograph a friend in his novelty undershorts in a hotel lobby. Thanks, you guys.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:21 PM
To Becky the checkout clerk at the Adams Square Giant: I don't blame you for not actually checking to see if I was old enough to purchase that bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. It was Friday after a long, stress-filled week and I was certainly looking every year of my well-over-21 age. Besides, you've seen me before, and have even checked my ID in the past. You remarked once that you would have guessed I was born a few years later, remember? But Becky, really. When you entered in any old date to sastify your store's and possibly the state's requirements regarding selling alcohol, why couldn't you have just used the year that is on the sign so prominently displayed at your register (and which, I am stunned to suddenly realize, means that any putative child I might have given birth to up until the end of my junior year in college could have legally bought my wine for me) instead of -- gulp -- 1949?
Signed,
My Parents Were Still Minors in 1949
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:44 PM
How to make my mouth happy, in 3 easy steps:
1. One sip hot coffee, swallowed (I like a dark roast, but any reasonably hearty non-flavored brew will do) -- to prepare palate.
2. One bite chocolate (again, dark is preferred, but Hershey's milk chocolate will do in a pinch) -- do not swallow yet.
3. One more sip hot coffee, let cavort with chocolate melting on tongue for a few moments, swallow.
Mmmmmm.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:13 PM
The party guests are down-to-earth folks, wearing more Target than Talbot's. Their group interaction takes place mostly online but in person they seem at home with each other; comfortable like family. They are awkward-looking adults who were probably awkward nerds in junior high school and just never grew out of it, but they don't seem to care. I was an awkward nerd, too, but I'd like to think I managed to grow out of it even though I know I never quite did. So I can't scoff or pity them. Even the fragile-looking guy toting his oxygen tank behind him is in his element. When it is explained that I am not one of their group, only a guest of a group member, I am still welcomed warmly. I learn of several marriages that have come out of the group's long association and that in fact two of their number were wed in a civil ceremony earlier in the day. A wedding cake is brought out in honor of the newlyweds, who step up for photos. The bride's homeliness is eclipsed by her radiant smile. The groom smiles broadly also, and when called upon by the photographer to put his arms around his bride he does so willingly, first carefully leaning his oxygen tank against the table.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:40 AM
The hand-painted sign on the back of the panel truck made my day. "CHAOS LANDSCAPING" -- what a GREAT name! Mental image: the Chaos Landscaping truck pulls up, offloads lawn mowers, weed whackers and other implements of vegetal destruction and your lawn explodes in a frenzy of grass clippings and pruned branches, only to emerge lush and well-groomed. Out of Chaos comes verdure.
Alack, this image turned to mulch when I got close enough to the truck to notice the tiny apostrophe between the "O" and the "S".
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
3:27 PM
Scene: Local grocery store, checkout lane adjacent to the one I am waiting in.
(Enter Daddy, Screaming Toddler)
Screaming Toddler: Daddy, I want it, I want it!
Daddy: It's good that you tell me what you want, Sweetheart, but you can't have it now.
Screaming Toddler: But Daddy, I want it, I want it! You said I could have it!
Daddy: What was our deal? You were going to behave in the grocery store and you could have it. But you threw it down twice and I warned you but you didn't want to listen.
Screaming Toddler: Daddy, I want it, I want it!
Daddy: You can cry all you want, love, but you can't have it.
(Dialogue continues in this vein for several minutes. Being an ear-witness to a lesson about Covet vs. Acceptable Public Behavior makes it easier to tolerate the girl's sobbing. Then comes the kicker.)
Screaming Toddler: But Daddy, I WANTED THAT APPLE!
(Exeunt)
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:26 PM
A colleague named his newborn daughter "Calista". Probably because the kid weighed the same at birth as Ms. Flockhart does currently.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:26 PM
Being a big believer in cultivating useless skills, I bought a deck of Tarot cards a few years ago. I find it not so much a magical crystal ball spoon-bending kind of thing as a tool for concentration and self-reflection. Each card has a broad enough meaning that you can pretty much read whatever you want into it. It's going over in my mind what it could mean that helps me sort out whatever problem I'm wrestling with.
My favorite Tarot experience happened when a guy I was seeing came over and ... well, never mind what we had been up to, but afterwards he noticed my Tarot deck and asked "are those Tarot cards?" I admitted that they were, expecting to be scoffed at by Mr. Sensible. Instead, he offered to do a reading for me, saying that he used to do it as a hobby in college. Until you've had your cards read by a naked man, you haven't had your cards read.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:35 PM
I was sad because I once cut my finger on Cream O' Wheat, then I met a man who broke his arm telling a joke. Good thing he's already married; if we were ever to wed we'd likely have to consummate the marriage in an ER waiting room.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:36 PM
Attention, men. Due to circumstances beyond my control and a very full bladder, I availed myself of one of your restrooms today. It was in a tiny mom-and-pop restaurant with single-seat potty facilities and someone was already in the ladies'. I had to go real bad so I had no choice but go with Door #2 to do my #1. The only reason I mention the incident is so that the record reflects that I took care to raise the seat ring back up to its full upright position before I left. The favor of return consideration in the future is requested. That is all.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:12 PM
Another lost-and-found episode today. I spent the morning scanning pictures from different books and stuff for a new feature on my web page. During the scanning I got up several times to locate other books, answer the phone a few times, get a drink of water, etc. When I was done scanning and ready to check the source materials to make sure they were attributed properly in the web page text I found all but one book. I thought I had put it away so I went to the shelf where it normally lives. Not there. I looked through all the other shelves I had browsed. Nope. I retraced all my steps of the morning -- not a cumbersome task, as my place is very small. I even looked in the refrigerator. No book. Where did it go?
One of the books I had consulted yet not scanned was about a Depression-era gangster whom I had met in prison in the '60s (he was in prison, I was the 5-year-old daughter of the prison chaplain -- more on this another day, p'raps). With my tongue in my cheek I asked his ghost, "Did you steal the book? C'mon and give it back, please, I really need it." Then I sat down at the computer to finish the other attributions, knowing that as soon as I stopped looking for the book it would appear. Which it did: I found my mousepad knocked askew and the errant book peeking out from underneath. At some point when I was scanning I had fitted the slim paperback under my mousepad to relieve my aching wrist then promptly forgot about it.
I'm sure the timing was a coincidence, but I'd like to think that this proves that there is honor among thieves.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:50 PM
Seek and ye shall find not that which ye seek but that which you sought ages ago and found not. Not that I'm complaining. My Walkman may still be missing but the Phildar sweater pattern with the baobab tree on the front that I gave up on ever finding has finally turned up.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:44 PM
Now, I come from medical people so I have a reasonable understanding of how disease spreads. So intellectually I know that hearing the word "bronchitis" spoken aloud will not cause me to come down with it, yet it often works out that way.
Now, I'm a klutz so I have a thorough understanding of how accidents happen. So intellectually I know that hearing a student who came to class on crutches today explain sheepishly that she had badly bruised her foot by dropping something heavy on it did not cause a metal 3-hole punch to fall from the computer desk onto my own bare foot just now. Intellectually.
Ow.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:58 PM
Weird confession: I used to drool over The Tick -- the cartoon character, not the live action one -- because his suit looked like it was, you know, painted on. Oh, those buns! Now that my cable company FINALLY offers The Cartoon Network I am partial to Johnny Bravo's pecs. I'd do The Monkey with him anytime.
I already knew I liked big men, apparently I also like them dumb as a box of rocks.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:54 PM
Yish.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:26 PM
It is a material world.
Case in point: a member of a humor writers' group I belong to is a State Department employee posted to Malawi. She announced on our e-mail list that she would be in DC for a conference and asked what African souvenirs she could bring for us all. Those few of us who know what's important replied without hesitation: "Fabric!"
So our good-sport foreign correspondent arrived at the group get-together, a Sunday brunch buffet in a suburban Maryland hotel, laden with generous lengths of colorful cotton not actually made in Malawi but of the type typically sold in the local markets. While the non-sewing men- and womenfolk of our party rolled their eyes in bemusement the rest of us rushed to claim our part of the beauteous booty. A hotel waiter approached the melée cautiously. I suspected he had been sent by management to ask us to keep the cries of "Mine! Mine!" down to a dull roar, but he shyly asked which of us lived in Malawi. Turns out he was from a neighboring country. He had spotted the fabric from across the dining room and, recognizing its origin immediately, was drawn to it with as strong a sense of nostalgia as I would be to, say, a Monkees lunchbox in the Kalahari.
What wonderful fabric! It can make you happy whether you get to take a piece of it home or it simply is a piece of home.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:49 PM
It might save an ugly confrontation, so I'll say it here and have done with it. To my neighbors: when your windows are open and you just let your door swing closed on its own, it makes a VERY LOUD SLAMMING NOISE. That can be heard throughout the building. That is borderline painful to those sensitive to loud noise or who suffer from migraines. I know it's impossible to close the door manually -- and softly -- every time, but please, I beg you, make the effort. Please.
I fully understand that living close to others means hearing the occasional door slam, hallway conversation, crying baby, etc., but the flip side of that coin is to not expect to make all the noise you want without ruffling feathers.
Signed,
Ruffled and Migraine-y in Arlington
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:57 PM
Maybe it's the changing weather, maybe it's because I watched 4 VH1 One-Hit Wonders episodes back-to-back in one sitting, but I slept HARD last night. So hard that even in my dreams I slept. When morning came I was still tired so I took advantage of Saturday and snoozed for a few extra hours, in spite of Esme's best efforts to rouse me with paw pats and a cold wet kitty nose applied to any exposed body parts. That wore her out; when I finally got up she went off to one of her hidey-holes for an extended nap. That's my girl.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:29 PM
I mentally cursed the slow-moving Coke truck for blocks because I was already late for work and there it was, plodding along in front of me at 20mph down streets with no passing lanes, making me even later. Such was my level of indignation that I was contemplating having a son for the sole purpose of not naming him after John S. Pemberton. When my turnoff finally came I shot the truck a parting baleful glance. Then came the epiphany (epophony?): the truck had to go slow to keep its carbonated cargo from getting all shook up and spritzing all over when the bottles were opened. Case in point: the Coke I bought just a little while ago to help combat the headache that was either the cause or effect of my drive-time irritability was perfectly fizzy without escaping the confines of its bottle.
Even a short morning commute can carry a lesson in selflessness.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:40 AM
There's a small Baptist churchyard cemetary on the shore of Lake Cherokee in East Tennessee that my family donated the land for. Space is tight now so only Hulls are allowed to be buried there -- presumably after death. While it's a mighty peaceful spot, I don't fancy spending eternity in a dry county.
Unless they pickle me in Jack Daniels first.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:40 PM
More from my inbox:
One Garrison McDermott promises VERY GOOD NEWS ABOUT HERPES. Alas, I won't be opening the message to find out what the very good news is out of fear of two other serious ailments: 1) whatever computer virus his message might be laden with and 2) attracting the further attention of a spammer. I'll just have to be happy that there is good herpes news. All you ever hear is bad herpes news.
Which brings me to an "I Shoulda Said" moment:
Ages ago Rob, a friend of my then-roommate, was separating from his wife, who would have had to mature considerably to qualify as childish. She called our number one day and said dramatically "Did you hear about Rob?" Thinking he had been in an accident or something I said "No, what happened?" Ms. Maturity snickered and replied "He has herpes! Herpes! Herpes! Herpes!" I said something like "Oh, grow up" and hung up on her. Naturally, the nanosecond I put the receiver down I thought of What I Shoulda Said: "Yeah, I heard he got it from his ex."
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:29 AM
Even after a dozen viewings, I still cry when Audrey Hepburn throws Cat out of the cab in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Every. Single. Time. I read once that Ms. Hepburn considered that the most distasteful thing she'd ever had to do on film.
I wonder if her co-star Mickey Rooney feels the same about his "me-so-solly" portrayal of Mr. Yunioshi.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:08 PM
The subject line of a message of dubious origin in my inbox demands to know why I'm still looking at outdated porn. Excuse me, but was that outdated? Now, I don't peruse porn as a rule -- and I'm not just saying that because I know my mom looks in here every so often -- but if new naughty bits have been discovered, I'm willing to have a look!
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:32 PM
Simply bursting with civic pride this week: I cast my vote for my favorite Washington Post comic strips AND stood up to be counted on the new M&M color. And to think my wonky Washington friends scoff at my lack of interest in politics.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:24 PM
Mom's being re-programmed. She had been at home reading in bed when her pulse shot up and stayed up, overwhelming her new pacemaker to the point where it gave up and cowered whimpering in a corner. My well-meaning but poor-spelling brother e-mailed me last night to say that Mom was in the hospital being treated for "eurhythmia."
Mental image: my mother dancing around the house wearing a bleached crewcut and a man's suit.
Naturally, my first question as a concerned daughter was "what were you reading?" Mom's not saying, but she did describe the pacemaker re-programming procedure, part of which is known as "interrogating" the pacemaker.
Another mental image: Mom's cardiologist pacing slowly back and forth in front of a bound and sweating pacemaker saying "Pacemaker, you refuse to cooperate. So. You sink you can defy us. In zat you are wrong. Because you see, Pacemaker, ve have vays of making you tick!"
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:42 PM
Someone finally bought my Willy Wonka video so today I saw the candy man off at the Mailboxes Etc. on Stuart Street, which aside from being convenient to the office is a great place to collect blog-worthy conversations. Like this one, between 2 clerks:
Clerk #1: Hey, I'm going to CVS. Want anything?
Clerk #2: (Carefully bubble-wrapping a fragile item) Yeah, thanks. Bring me a candy bar.
Clerk #1: You got it. What kind?
Clerk #2: You know what? I feel like a Butterfinger.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:34 PM
Today was as trying as the weather was ideal, so the after-work plan was to chill on my 3rd-floor terrace with a glass of room-temp wine. Wasn't meant to be: recent rains turned my just-resealed terrace into a literal sea of tranquility. The good news is that the resealing relieves me from worrying that rain or snow meltage will flood the unit below. The bad news is that the little drainage ditch is gone and the two teeny-tiny little drainholes that replaced it clog easily with pollen packets dropped from the three surrounding oak trees. So I spent my "quiet time" ankle-deep in yellow water, swabbing the deck with a pushbroom.
Afterward I went back inside and looked through the mail. There was a catalog featuring pool accessories on the cover. I might as well just order an inflatable raft for next time and skip the swabbing.
Oh, and to the neighbor talking on the cellphone who passed by below and shouted, "That's a lot of fun, isn't it?": Sorry I ignored you. I *thought* you were talking to me but I wasn't sure and I was afraid of looking silly by shouting back a reply only to find out you were shouting into your phone to be heard over the din of all the water pouring out from my terrace drainpipes.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:05 PM