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Thursday, January 30, 2003
Aural surgery
Word came that the new office speaker system would be tested this morning. So when we all started hearing electronic beeps we weren't too alarmed although we were soon annoyed. Someone must have conveyed this to the testers, as the next sound we heard piped through the new pipes was classical music, which is background noise I have never been able to abide while working or studying. Rock and roll, yes, classical, no. Something about the irregular tempo, maybe. But still, it beat the beeping. Still, there might have been complaints, as by the time I returned from lunch the orchestra had taken a break and had been replaced by rainforest sounds bleeding from the speaker directly over my desk. If not for the babbling brook noise that kept me wanting to sprint to the ladies' room, I would have found it the most soothing of all.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
2:38 PM
Cipro Quo
My car's fan and alternater belts taken care of, it was my turn next to be examined by an expert. Complaint: I felt as if I had been kicked rather hard in the right kidney by a club-footed giant wearing steel toe boots. Diagnosis: acute cystitis. Treatment: heavy-duty antibiotics. Result: the pain is slowly receding but, man, does that Cipro wipe me out! Years ago when I was studying in France and had been stricken with a sinus infection, my French landlady noted my reaction to the prescribed antibiotic and commented "Ça vous coupe les jambes." C'est vrai even today, Madame. It cuts my legs. Right in two.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:52 PM
Belt up
At long last! The owner of that maroon Geo got the fan belts fixed, after weeks of subjecting neighbors to a cacaphony of early-morning mechanical squealing while waiting for the engine to warm up (it's been bloody cold here the past few weeks, the same as everywhere else). Don't know why it took so long to get taken care of but no matter; peace reigns in the condo parking lot once again.
I probably ought to mention that the procrastinating car owner is me.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:59 AM
It's nearly February, people
So I'm afraid I have to insist: those Christmas decorations must come down. Now, before you start calling me Scrooge, let me state for the record that I have nothing against the holiday or the perpetuation of its spirit throughout the year. Nor do I even object to the year-round display of festive lights for the sake of festivity -- I keep a string of them permanently mounted around the mirror in my entryway, matter of fact. No, it's the holiday-specific Nativity scenes, candy canes and Santas avec sleigh and full complement of reindeer that continue to illuminate your lawns and rooftops at this late date that obscure the message of the season and speak instead to your laziness. They must come down. Immediately. Same for that raggedy wreath on the front of your car.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go tack a big lacy heart on my door.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
12:31 PM
Warning: Disturbing Mental Picture Ahead
The ATM was broken yesterday so I was down to my last few singles, leaving me with bleak lunch-buying prospects for today. Luckily, this morning I happened across a five dollar bill that had fallen from a jacket pocket in the closet. At the moment of discovery I was in media dress -- wearing only panties and a weary expression. Not wanting to put the bill on a counter or someplace only to forget in my usual morning fog to pocket it at such time as I actually had pockets on my person, I tucked the bill into my Jockey-for-Her cotton undies. My mental fog was not too thick for me to make an immediate connection and commence to shimmying around the bedroom for a few moments like a zaftig, uncoordinated, middle-aged Demi Moore. It may have got me to smiling but let's just say it's a good thing that I a) live alone and 2) have adequate window coverage.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
3:20 PM
Unless they're talking about a round trip, of course
From today's online headlines:
Science News from AP sez
NASA Seeks to Put Teachers in Space
Washington, DC (WJLA) sez
Teacher Charged With Sexual Assault In Alexandria
So there's one shuttle seat filled already.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
2:07 PM
Subterranean Carpark Blues, Episode XXIII
That sign says "One Way/Do Not Enter," not "One Way/Do Not Enter, unless your tag number is ZPL 5925 (VA), in which case you can go anywhere you damn well please at any speed you damn well please."
You great big doodyhead.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:48 PM
I am making this up
Yesterday was the first Intermediate improv class. In my month off I got a little complacent and lost a little desire to continue, but a few friends encouraged me to "shoulder the funny person's burden" and carry on carrying on. It turns out that the class is a combined Intermediate/Advanced class and one of the students (of 12 in all!) was in the Advanced class whose show I saw after mine. The good news is that this time around the students are definitely in it for the fun and performance aspect, as opposed to many of the Beginning level students who were clueless and/or indifferent about both, concentrating on honing public speaking skills only. On the other hand, that raises the bar for me and the other two returning students from last session's Beginning class; we're in some seriously funny company this go 'round. But as always, I can't wait to see what the next 6 weeks bring.
When we introduced ourselves we had to reveal an interesting fact about ourselves and since it has come up a few times recently, I told my Cream O'Wheat/Queen Klutz story. Sure enough, two exercises into the warmup I managed to collide with someone and landed on my tush on the floor. I sustained no injury, not even to my pride, but I had better stop telling that story for a while lest I wind up hospitalized.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
3:11 PM
Missing The Boat
My insurance agent is named David Jones. The one time I had occasion to stop by his office (to drop off a check rather than spend the 30 cents on postage) I made note of the nautical decor -- model ships, seascape paintings and such -- and said something to him like "with a name like yours I suppose you didn't have a choice." His response was a polite but blank stare. "The nautical theme," I explained. "I'm not getting what that has to do with my name?" asked Mr. Jones. Oh, I dunno. Maybe the answer is buried beneath the waves in your locker, barnacle breath.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:55 PM
Maybe if I told a story about meeting the man of my dreams...
During a lull in a meeting today I told the story about how years ago I severely lacerated a finger on Cream O'Wheat. Yes, the cereal. No, not on the box. On the cereal. See, my then-roommate had used a glass bowl to microwave herself a hot breakfast. No problem, except she neglected to rinse the dish adequately before running it through the dishwasher. Result: upon unloading said dishwasher and discovering a glob of microwaved-and-dishwashered-on Cream O'Wheat on the rim of the bowl, I attempted to remove it by scraping it with a fingernail. Big mistake. Huge. Blood. Pain. Much roommate-cursing. The only upside is that I get to tell the story now as evidence of my colossal klutzitude.
Because God has a sense of humor, I got a chance for sequel story tonight, this time with no roommate to blame. I had bought two tubes of mini M&Ms at the grocery store checkout and, craving something sweet after dinner, decided to open one. The plastic collar around the tube lid was perforated, no problem, but somehow I managed to push -- with the previously-injured finger -- just the wrong spot and ended up with a surprsingly jagged piece of plastic cutting just under the nail. The bleeding wasn't as severe as it was with the Cream O'Wheat but the pain was.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:58 PM
My name is Sandra. I'm a wordaholic.
Yeah, I'm a word nerd. I do not feel ashamed. I've mentioned before in these pages that I spent more hours in my formative years perusing reference books than I did fashion magazines. Nonetheless, I startled myself today. I was skimming a writeup in the local TV guide thingy about the Benedict Arnold movie starring Aidan Quinn (rrrRRRRooowwwlll), which writeup contained a quote from the movie about someone's having "galvanized" the troops. My inner nerd immediately threw a flag on the play, reasoning that the term was not known in the Revolutionary War era. My tattered pocket Webster's didn't do much to fix a date, but my desktop encylopedia and a quick Google search put namesake Galvani's discovery of "animal electricity" in the 1780s. Close but no guitar. I am curious, though, as to how long it did take for his work to be known throughout the world and for him to become a word. More research! Yay!
I mention all this not to chide the screenwriters, although some do need severe chiding upside their heads, but to point out how a simple word on a humble bit of newsprint can send me off onto a good half-hour's worth of research. If the first step to a cure is admitting you have a problem, I think I'm still in denial -- I love looking stuff up!
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:44 PM
Car Tune Network
Tonight's homeward trip landed me in a long line of cars at Wilson and Quincy -- on the short-green Quincy side. Even though blessed with a brief commute I still groaned at prospect of the extra minutes I'd have to spend sitting through several lights before I could get through the intersection and on my way to the next light. Tunes to the rescue on the trusty MP3 player: groan becomes grin when George Harrison's Don't Let Me Wait Too Long begins to play. It has time to end, too, before I am through.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:33 PM
185
185 bloggers walk into a bar. The bartender says: "you know I don't serve bloggers in here, and besides how did you get in? There's no entry today."
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:26 PM
Fame is a four-letter word
So I'm sitting in my office, minding my own business (literally) and trying to look busy when a young man sticks his head in the door. I figured that the receptionist must have been away from her desk and the techs otherwise tied up so I asked what I could do for him. "ComedySportz, right? I recognize you," he answers. It takes a minute for this to compute, so he adds that he is a friend of Andrew's. Oh. Andrew was one of my improv classmates. "Oh, so you saw our show!" I say, adding "... and lived to tell the tale." He smiles. I see by his badge that he is an employee of the agency where I am a contractor. No doubt our paths will cross in future -- being in tech support means that you interact with pretty much everyone sooner or later. I just hope he doesn't expect me to be funny all the time.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:40 PM
Gelt trip
Yet another note to self: any chocolate candy from your Christmas stocking should be consumed within a week or so of receipt. Do not, repeat NOT, leave the bag of "gold coins" in the candy dish on the shelf all year because you will find when you decide to sample it twelve months later that it has turned nasty white and chalky.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:16 PM
Submitted for your approval
Whenever I saw Jeff Probst on either Rock and Roll Jeopardy! or Survivor I always had the nagging feeling that he reminded me of someone but I could never put my finger on who. Thanks to a short attention span I never fretted about it much. Then last weekend I caught a few episodes of the Twilight Zone marathon on the SciFi channel and my first glimpse of Rod Serling had me wondering what a yet-to-be-born Probst was doing onscreen in the late '50s.
The pictures linked here don't do much to prove my point; you have to see the guys in action to get the full impact. The scribe has spoken.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:02 PM
Jesus wept and Sandra shared a box of tissues with him
Today is the 58th birthday of my Number One Guitar Hero, Stephen Stills, who I am pretty sure will never see this, so I'll go ahead and tell a Stills-related story from two years ago December:
I had received a CD from amazon.com that was giftwrapped and had a birthday card attached from my brother. My birthday is in October, mind you, but I was delighted nonetheless, until I saw that the CD was Stills, which I had purchased for myself a month or so earlier. I supposed that my bro must have happened across my amazon.com wish list, saw the title there and sent it to me as a belated birthday gift. I use my wish list basically as a reminder for myself; I clean forgot that it was searchable AND I forgot to remove Stills from the list after I bought it from a different source. D'oh!
But the funny part was when I went to the Mailboxes Etc. near my office to mail the CD back to amazon.com for credit. The young dude behind the counter, all of 20 years old if that, noted the telltale shape and size of the package and asked conversationally what CD it was. I replied that it was by Stephen Stills and he asked "What kind of music does he play? Jazz?" I smiled bravely and said that Stills is best known for being part of Crosby, Stills and Nash but is also considered by many to be among the pantheon of guitar gods. I ended with the phrase that I find myself using all too often lately: "... but you're probably too young to have heard of him." Dude nods and says with no discernible trace of sarcasm "Oh, so he's one of the old guys, right? Like Eddie Van Halen."
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
6:00 PM
There's no statute of limitations on champagne consumption, however...
The obvious question on everyone's mind in these turbulent times is of course "At what point is it no longer appropriate to say 'Happy New Year!'?" The equally obvious yet oh-so-flip answer would be "July," yet a sense of duty toward my fellow sentient beings prevents me from offering that as the sole solution. Instead, I pass along the wisdom of an acquaintance long since forgot, to wit: You can no longer wish someone Happy New Year once you remember to write the correct year on your checks.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
3:07 PM
Plus ça change...
A brand new year and I'm not getting any more coordinated. Case in point, here is a picture of my foreshortened forearm that I took today while actually intending to photograph a bottle of green tea. (To find out why I was doing such a thing, visit this page and scroll to the end.)
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
5:56 PM