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Monday, September 29, 2003
Mountain groan
What a way to start a Monday; a sudden stop on the drive to work toppled my usually stable, broad-based travel coffee mug, spilling the entire 20 oz (.6 liter) worth of caffeinated contents on the passenger side floor mat. No problem, I thought, I have a coupon for a free coffee from the bagel place. Which coupon I could not locate, in spite of combing carefully - ok, digging frantically - through my purse and briefcase. Grrrr.
In spite of those setbacks I remain upbeat, mainly because I'm still chuckling over last night's improv rehearsal. During a game of "Sideline Karaoke", where two players mime a song title for a third player, alternating in 10-second bursts with the opposing team which is miming a different song title, my partner and I were having trouble getting our singer to guess "Mountain" in "Misty Mountain Top", which I think should have been "Misty Mountain Hop" but never mind. We mimed hiking and outlining a mountain peak in vain. Ok, break the word down. On our next turn my partner got on his hands and knees and I mimed putting a saddle on him then climbing on his back, getting off and mounting again. Our singer hadn't gotten it when our 10 seconds were up so back on the bench we reviewed our strategy -- repeat what we had just done or try something else? "He almost had it," my partner said "so just keep on mounting me."
God, I love improv.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:51 AM
New book oot!
One of the humor contests I occasionally enter is the Toronto Globe and Mail Challenge. The editor, Warren Clements, (upon whom I inflicted a visit in 2000 during a Canadian jaunt) has recently published a book with highlights from the 12-year-old contest's archives, which book is called The Full Mountie. Should you encounter this book in your local library or favorite bouquiniste, turn to page 177 and there you will find two of my offerings. Many of my fellow Style Invitational enthusiasts are mentioned in the book as well. Yay us!
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
2:04 PM
2:30
How appropriate that yesterday's first session with the endodontist ended at two-thirty. Why? Remember that old riddle?
Q: What time should you see the dentist?
A: Tooth-hurty!
Ok, so perhaps I'm still a bit numb. No, I'm not. I've been working the Motrin in prescription-strength doses pretty well and last night I treated myself to a Percocet at bedtime. (Note to self: next time take just a half) But it's not so bad. The hardest part of my current dental regime is not the pain or the time spent in the chair, where I can relax with my MP3 player and hide behind dark glasses provided by the dentist, but the expense. The best part of all this? My endodontist, bless her heart, has a marvelous sense of humor.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:53 PM
Ohms Sweet Ohms
I came home from improv practice (yes, that is an oxymoron, isn't it?) on Sunday around 10pm to find power restored. Sing hallelujah!. Such a joy after a few days without to flip a switch and actually have it respond by bathing you in light.
A new worry took over on Monday; a previously-chipped tooth that I hadn't worried overly much about started aching dreadfully in the afternoon. After making an appointment with the dentist for first thing Tuesday I went home and took a double-dose of over-the-counter pain meds and lay down on the bed with a book. I fell asleep not long after and slept through until this morning. The dental news is what I feared: root canal time. Starting tomorrow. I've already begun an antibiotic and have a stash of Percocet on hand. A temp at the office told me that she's had several root canals and that what with the numbing they don't hurt as much as an extraction. The whole time she told me this I had my eye on her pierced lip and tattoos. But I want to believe her.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:26 PM
Give til it hertz
As of 2:30 this afternoon I had been without power COMPLETELY since 11pm Thursday night, when Isabel blew by. At the moment I'm visiting a friend who only lost power overnight, but I'm going to have to go home soon to feed the cats and spend another evening around the glow of the battery-powered CD player. No, I'm not optimistic about the power being on when I get home. Something tells me this is going to go on for a few more days. Heavy sigh.
Got watts? Share 'em, willya?
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
6:37 PM
Half light
It's raining moderately and there's a bit of wind, but nothing to write home about. Enough to blog about is all. So why did the lights go out a few minutes ago? Wimpy electrical system. After about 10 seconds half my power came back on. The condo units here are divided up weird -- the living room, dining room and half the kitchen are powered by one source, the rest of the kitchen, the back hallway, bathroom and bedroom by another. It's not unheard of for one or the other to go out and where you have your power in that case depends on your configuration. I've got lights in the bed/bath half which will be nice if the other half hasn't come back on by bedtime and the half of the kitchen where there is power is the half where the refrigerator and microwave live so I guess I can't complain too much. And the computer is clearly ok, even though the overhead light I use to compute by is off. What I don't have access to now: TV, DVD/VCR. Ehnh. I'll take fresh food and being able to see where I pee, at least in the short term.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:02 PM
Blow me down
Hurricane's a-comin', or so they say. The TV news told me a while ago and washingtonpost.com confirmed just now that the federal government in the DC area will be closed tomorrow in anticipation of Isabel, so I get a snow day! Well, ok, a blow day. I'll be sure to report in here tomorrow, electricity willing. Oh, and if anyone within the sound of this blog knows for sure if cinderblocks cannot withstand a 40-60mph gust of wind let me know so I can fetch them inside from the (walled) terrace, along with the patio furniture they're weighing down.
I really don't imagine it will be too bad. After all, when I gassed up the car yesterday -- because it was running on vapors and not so much in preparation for the gathering storm -- I considered going for the car wash as well, but decided against. If I *had* washed the car then we'd be in for it for sure.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:20 PM
Six bucks none the richer
A look in the full-length mirror this morning told me that the blouse I had chosen really didn't go well with those slacks, so I made a last-minute substitution of a sleeveless top topped by a lightweight, flowing jacket. As I pulled the jacket on I felt something in the pocket that definitely didn't flow. Upon investigation I found a crisp five dollar bill and a slightly less crisp single. C.S. Lewis would dub me a fool for believing that I had suddenly become six dollars wealthier. Of course I agree with him intellectually but I'm going to go with my heart here and give myself over to the joyful lift of a happy discovery. Who would deny that finding a five-spot in a pocket is preferable to finding a cockroach in a trashbag?
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:05 AM
Gag like a bug in a bag
Trash disposal at my condo entails leaving one's bagged trash on the front steps of the building between 5am and 9am Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, to be rounded up and driven off to parts unknown by groundskeeping staff. This makes for an unappealing visual as one leaves home to face the day, but it beats the heck out of schlepping your stinky stuff to the curb. This morning as I set my bag full of refuse among all the others, I noticed that one of my neighbors had availed him/herself of a clear plastic bag and that among its contents was a huge, ugly and very live cockroach. Yish. The bag was sealed with a twist tie, making me wonder how long the buggy had in its plastic prison before it ran out of air. I flashed briefly on that scene from Sixteen Candles where The Nerd is trapped inside a glass coffee table. Hey, the alternative was wondering how many of its buggy friends and relatives were still inside the building, which of my neighbors had bagged it, and how close to my unit did this neighbor live, OK? My love for animalkind does not usually extend to the insect world -- it's wrong for me to be hatin', I know, but I've been bugophobic for as long as I can remember so back off -- yet I actually considered for a moment squashing the roach to spare it a lingering death. Oh, and to insure that it would not escape and multiply. Ironically, there was too much air in the bag for me to squash the bug without popping the bag, which would release the bug, at which point it would of course turn on me and gross me out of existence. So I left it to its fate.
I'm not sure, but as I made my way down the steps and into my day I think I heard a tiny voice gasp "Jaaaaaake!"
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:59 PM
Born to Run. And Jump. And Play.
Following is a snippet of conversation between two women, overheard by me around a corner in a hallway at work just now. Until Disembodied Voice #2 spoke I assumed for some reason that Disembodied Voice #1 was talking about her husband. Then I realized she was probably referring to Bruce Springsteen, who was in town this weekend.
Disembodied Voice #1: ... and he's 53 years old. I don't know how he does it -- the running, the jumping, the playing, for THREE hours!
Disembodied Voice #2: It's the same with Mick Jagger and he's even older.
Disembodied Voice #1: Yeah well, *he* sold his soul to the devil!
Disembodied Voices #1 and #2, Sandra: [laugh heartily]
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:04 AM
The wheat goes on
My maternal grandfather liked coins. He wasn't so much a serious collector, more a casual hobbyist. You know, the guy that all the bank tellers know and hold aside unusual items for. Bompa used to mail Susan B. Anthony dollars to me and my brothers while they were in circulation (the coins not my brothers, natch) and he would never pocket change received from a cash transaction without first scrutinizing each coin. His main item of interest was wheat pennies. He claimed that a roll of them was worth not just 50 cents but two whole dollars. Aside from my benefitting from a handful of Susan B.s, I did not share in his passion, even though it is true that I will wantonly pick up stray coins from the sidewalk and even the floor of the ladies room at work (I washed, I washed). Those just go into the piggy bank. Yet even though Bompa died in 1988 I still carefully check every penny that crosses my palm for the telltale wheat stalks. I found one today. A 1940 or 1946, it's hard to tell because it's kinda worn. I'll put it in the small stack of other wheat pennies I'm saving to see what a roll will be worth whenever it is that I've amassed 50 of them, but I suppose I really keep checking because it's a way to keep in touch with Bompa.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:47 PM
The Balalaika That Ate Cincinnati
The normal food court noises at the mall across the street from my office building were today replaced by a Russian music-type trio consisting of an accordian, a smallish mandolin/banjo sort of thing and the biggest, baddest balalaika I've ever seen. It was like a stand-up bass, only it was a stand-up balalaika. I'll post of picture of it when I get the film from my analog camera developed. The guy played it tilted, but with the lower point of the triangle resting on the floor and the neck nearly reaching his shoulder.
The trio must have been from Chernobyl.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:01 PM
Dear IMDb: lose the dBs
Internet Movie Database, I love you, I truly do. You are what this movie fan wished for long before the advent of the internet. One sees a movie, notices a familiar actor, and wonders to oneself if that's the same guy who played that small but eye-catching part in this other movie you saw but can't remember the name of. Unless it's my brother doing the wondering, in which case he does it out loud for several minutes, impervious to shushing, but I digress. Armed with only a Leonard Maltin Movie/Video guide that lists only a handful of players per movie, should one happen to actually know the name of the movie, satisfying one's curiosity pre-IMDb was dicey. Then you came along with your exhaustive cast lists, cross-references and search engines and I found myself in movielover heaven. As I'm sure you know, I visit with you at least once a week, often more.
But (come on, you knew there was a but) a recent behavior of yours is souring me on you, making me reluctant to consult you, especially if I'm at home and in my usual mode of listening to MP3s through headphones as I surf. You know what I'm getting at -- those g0ddammed talking pop-up and pop-under ads of yours! I have sounds of my choosing already coming directly in my ears via the MP3 player on the PC, albeit at a sane volume, so every time one of your ads intrudes -- at maximum volume -- I nearly jump out of my skin. And they keep coming back every few screens. I used to be able to spend hours with you happy as a clam, now I just nip in to see what I wanted to see then scoot back out before the aural assault can begin. Darn the luck, that doesn't leave me much time to look at ANY ads on your site. Pity, that.
Now, I run a few web sites myself and I know that ads are a necessary evil, but I also know that access to certain technology doesn't obligate you to use it. Put visual ads on the periphery, ok (as long as they don't shake -- that gives me a headache) but I beg you to lose the screaming pop-up ads that are making me hoarse from yelling in fright.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:50 PM
Ghost in the machine
Another sort of lost and found: during a network outage at work last week I retrieved my voice mail through the phone (usually you can play it through your computer) and in the course of so doing ran across a bunch of old messages from a few years before left by a then squeeze, now ex. Definitely not a voice I wanted to hear, especially in the midst of all the worm-related woes, even though the messages were from the five minutes when we were happy together. Delete, delete, delete!
My reward for that unpleasantness came a few days later, when in clearing out some voice mail messages from Answer Call at home -- usually they self-destruct after 30 days but I was feeling industrious -- I found one message that dated back 10 years, back when you could keep messages as long as you wanted. I guess it got grandfathered in when the 30-day rule went into effect. Anyway, it was from JRW, calling one Monday night from a volunteer stint for some local election or other. His smile when he left the standard "this is a courtesy call to remind you that tomorrow is voting day" message must have been as big as mine when I heard it the first time and again the other day. I didn't live in the same electoral district as he did so what he was really calling to say was that he was thinking of me. Unlike the previous example, it WAS good to hear his smiling voice again.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
1:36 PM
Called home
Sometime last week the white Bible in the office lost-and-found was finally claimed. I wonder if in the interim the owner had gone to his/her pastor/spiritual advisor and requested a loaner.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
1:35 PM
Dear Catalog Merchant
This has long puzzled me. I placed my order online from Version Whatever of your catalog. You know this because you asked me to type in numbers from the back of the selfsame catalog as part of the ordering process for every single item. It should have been clear enough that somehow I had managed to get my mitts on a hard copy Version Whatever of your catalog, in this case by clever dint of having a mailing address, yet when you shipped my order, you included another copy of the SAME Version Whatever of the catalog. Perhaps you feared I had misplaced my previous copy. That's thoughtful enough of you, but here's a question: why did you not include a more recent version, one that perhaps does not tantalizingly feature merchandise in the "Closeout" section that is no longer available and indeed was not available upon my attempt to order a few of them when I placed my initial order?
Just to add to the mix, the same mail delivery that brought my goods, y compris the aforementioned extra copy of the catalog, also brought, you guessed it, another copy of the SAME catalog! If you listen closely, you can hear the trees crying.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:01 PM