I Was Silly When I Got Here

Hiding in tech-land or "Me, myself and (You if you're eavesdropping)"

2012-01-20T14:19:00.000-08:00

The stupid thing about those games on Facebook is that you have to convince your friends to play in order to actually make any progress - most of my friends don't play them anymore. ...remind me to tell you about the Christmas grab bag at the office...

The stupid thing about me is that I decided to create an alter-ego on Facebook so I would have an additional friend to be my neighbor in the those games. To be honest one additional friend is usually of inconsequential (v) value and a regular pain in the butt because you have to log-out, log-in and log-out and log-in... etc, etc... stupid... BUT then I found that my a-e actually had a much better purpose to his cyber-life...

COMMENTS

boy, howdy!

He's the best! He can insult me like no one else. He can make brilliant observations about my posts and actually state those things I'd never say myself. Is he vicious? Yes, he actually is.

Does that make me a coward? Maybe it does.

I used to be the guy that always avoided the inappropriate comment - so much to say, quips, remarks, one liners... I thought, "some day I'll write a book". These days, I say what I want, but I'm perceived as the guy who is "on his cell phone..."

So I'm in the grocery store behind this dame whose child is screaming and I say out loud and directly to the back of her head...

"Your kid would be better behaved if you were a better parent. What a monster."

As she swung around at me, I continued a different part of that same conversation about parenting into my "ear piece", reached past her and grabbed four cans of tuna; jabbering about nothing important to no one at all.

She waddled off.

She couldn't pick a fight with me without admitting two things:

A) that she was listening to my conversation

B) that her child was acting like a monster

I feel sorry for parents with children who misbehave, but isn't that why God created peanut allergies? ...but I digress...

Maybe I'm a coward who has found a new way to talk behind your back right in front of your face?

Maybe I'm sensitive and care what others think so much that I've found a way to hurt their feelings that also provides a way to rationalize it away.

Maybe I'm a new type of hunter with a new type of blind.

I have an idea for a gizmo that makes another driver's car horn go off when you press the button. (someone has to blow their horn at that stupid traffic cop, but he doesn't have to know it's me)... I'll call it "van-triloquist"...

Birthday warning!!! (One Month Away)

2010-08-28T05:06:00.000-07:00

So, my birthday is one month away - exactly... Sept 28!!! Yea! And you don't have to get me a present, but if you do I won't be angry.

I'm turning 45.

45 is so many things to me.

It was the speed limit for the stretch of road I lived on when I grew up.

It was the smaller size of a record.. that was the one you bought when you only knew the one song and couldn't buy the whole album...

It sounds like middle age to me... ...but I won't dwell on that.

I like the idea of the record. You see the 45 was the single that they released when they knew they'd have a hit (or hoped). And for every 45 that had a hit on side A there was always another song on Side B.

And so here I am standing and looking at 45 wondering whether I've just lived through Side A or Side B and whether the years that have passed have been the Hit or the extra song that didn't get much airplay.

-silly

Dessert so sweet, defeat so bitter or (get used to disappointment Cupcake)

2010-08-27T13:14:00.000-07:00

As baking is one of my passions I decided to enter the company bake-off with what I knew would be a winner - my lemon bars. They are not too complicated and people just love them... however, as I discussed the competition with co-workers and competitors I began to get concerned that my winning lemon bars would be just too simple.

-Do you wanna win, Wolfe asked?

(as if he knew there was any point in asking a child whether or not he wanted a Christmas present)

-If you wanna win, make the toffee cheesecake.

-I guess I could.

-Sylvia has been talking about it for years. (Sylvia is Wolfe's mother)

-I was thinking lemon bars, but...

-Do you wanna win?

So I started thinking cheesecake. In Wolfe's defense the toffee cheesecake is a show stopper. It's a recipe I got off of Epicurious.com (I only get recipes from there because they are rated. With over 100 cookbooks in my shelves, the only things I bake are from Epicurious because people will say if the recipe is good or bad or doesn't work or is too sweet ... no holds barred - you get the truth... an author selling cookbooks generally won't say, "This one doesn't usually work" or "looked pretty, but tasted like crap")... where was I?

Oh, the toffee cheesecake, from Epicurious... It's a cheesecake with a gingersnap crust, filling, rich with butter and brown sugar, coated in a layer of caramel and toffee. It is outstanding.

It was a three day process (if you don't count the days I spent buying cream cheese - you see I buy cream cheese when it's on sale because it's so expensive and it's a must for cheesecake. I keep a stock of it in the fridge just in case)... the first day I made the toffee and caramel sauce. The second day I made the cheesecake itself so it could age overnight in the fridge. And this morning I assembled it... Gorgeous! ***sigh*** A masterpiece!!! It was a doubled recipe in the largest springform pan known to man.

The crowds oooed and ahhed as I walked past them-caramel running over the sides of the cake carrying chunks of toffee like pieces of glacier. People begged for samples as I cut it into bite sized pieces for the judges. After the judges' portion was set aside the rest of the cake was put out for general consumption at the company picnic.

It was the only cake to be demolished and people came back to pick at the crust and the globs of caramel and cream cheese.

When the flies had settled on what was left over by all the other contestants, my plate was completely clean. I knew it would be...

...and as I sat at my desk, knowing full well that I would not even place, I was still very surprised that I didn't.

Nope, I didn't even place. The top two prizes went to box mixes with adders - I should have known. I have copies of all the cake mix doctor cookbooks and they are pretty good... but if I were judging a bake-off and saw a list of ingredients would I pick the cake that had "1 chocolate cake mix" right at the top of the recipe?

I admit it, I'm a snob. I am a dessert snob. Is that a crime?

At the end of the day did the judges go with what tasted best? Who knows. You will think that they did. But I tried all the competition and have to say that the desserts I thought were best were others that did not place - a carrot cake nearly as good as the one I make, a pecan pie cookie bar that was delightful, a banana cake that was light and scrumptious and Indian carrot dessert that was better than what I had previously tasted in my favorite restaurant...

maybe my taste buds are just so superior to the average shmo' who'd volunteer to be an office dessert contest judge (we all know the type), that I completely missed the boat.

-a fellow contestant smiled at me and said, we just need to try harder next year.

I sent a "Didn't win... or place" text to Cricket who felt bad and sent a simple frowney face back as support.

As I walked in the door Cricket greeted me with a drink,

-I'm sorry you didn't win. Are you disappointed?

-I am disappointed. But more than that I feel like I wasted all that cream cheese for nothing.

-Yeah, well, that cream cheese was way past expired. You should have thrown it away a year ago...

Some people know just what to say. ...and suddenly I wasn't even disappointed that I hadn't had a chance to taste my own entry.

Practically twins or (or that gentle breeze you feel is not a good sign)

2010-04-11T06:39:00.000-07:00

I've been working... as in, I found a job, so you will have to excuse the fact that I've not blogged in possibly a year...

With a new job come so many fun things to tell about the new and the old... some fun people...

So, I was having lunch with a new coworker-Kadie, she choked (mildly) on something she was eating and (as is the occasion so often for me) was concerned that she now had something in her nose. She sniffled and wiped and excused herself, but continued until I finally confirmed for her that there was nothing in her nose. I went on to relate a story of how Agnes and I had a pact when swimming (the nose is notorious for running when you're at the shore). If one of us had a "bat in the cave" when swimming, the other one would simply say, "you do". We never had to ask if we had something in our nose - we knew that the other had our back (so to speak).

Kadie laughed, "what a great idea..."

I went on to fill her in on all the other "secret messages"... one fave was the agreement with Charlie and Peter (guys I had worked with); if one or the other of had our fly down, the noticing party would simply say, "Look up here." It was our cue to check our fly, while anyone outside the circle would simply "look up"... it worked like a charm.

She laughed at this one, "Ingenious! Now, where did you work with these guys?"

-Well, years ago I worked in a church. I was a pastor.

"Really?"

-Yup

"That's so cool! I'm an amateur burlesque dancer on the side!"

Now, this remark took me by surprise for a great many reasons. I have to admit that the leap from pastor to "stripper" for me was a big one - and yet, oddly enough, made absolute sense to her.

-You are?

"I am! Tho I admit, I'm not very good at it."

-Buttons can be tricky...

"Ha, no, it's more about the singing and dancing than it is about taking off your clothes."

(this was news to me)

-So you sing?

"um, not well..."

-But you dance.

"No, not really."

I was pretty much out of awkward questions that I was willing to voice. So instead I decided to continue with what seemed to be the whole train of thought...

-yeah, I was a pastor for about 5 years.

"How did you ever get into that?"

So, it looked like she was going to ask the questions instead...

It was quite the conversation; I explained that I had preached on occasion and enjoyed public speaking... I told her about my one Christmas eve sermon.

Charlie had decided he'd spend Christmas eve sitting with his wife and kids in the pew instead of running the service and... that I could preach, do whatever I wanted. So, I pondered it for a while and decided that I'd simply tell the Christmas story in my own way - I like to write poetry - tell stories in rhyme and metre - so, I set the Christmas story to rhyme and I was very pleased with it. I decided that instead of standing behind the pulpit I'd memorize the piece and deliver it walking about the platform - I find that much more engaging. It worked for me, but I couldn't help getting the sense that it just wasn't working for the crowd. I made the most of it.

After I finished there came the time for the candle-lighting part of the service; the lights would dim and each person at the service would light their candle from the person next to them as the church slowly filled with light...lovely. The pastors would carry lit candles and start the lighting at the end of each row. Charlie and Peter came to the front of the church to get their candles. As Charlie took his candle and walked to light it from the glowing candle near the piano he turned to me and said,

"Look up here..."

...nausea...

My fly had been down the entire time I had preached. ...and no, I couldn't stand modestly behind the pulpit reading while nicely ventilated down below...

My parents were in the crowd that night - perhaps the only time they'd ever heard me preach; mom's comment on the evening was,

"The next time you're going to prance around a stage in your underwear you might want to pick a color other than green."

...and as it turns out, I've not pranced around a stage in green underwear since...

....i suppose that every line of work has its own kind of exposure....

-silly

An evening with Mr Foote (a three for Thursday)

2009-07-02T05:30:00.000-07:00

I had coffee last night with my friend Mr Foote. He's a great guy with an opinion about everything from politics to parenting... he's very well read and consumingly interesting... funny even...

So, in an effort to let you get to know me better here are a few of our interchanges from last night...

On his 20 y/o son's girlfriend (he doesn't like her)

"Mindy has moved into the house. She is a total slob! And on top of everything, she told me that she wants to get a tattoo. I know Matt; if she gets a tattoo he will be completely turned off. If I warn her I..."

"Warn her?"

"Yes, well... he's not going to like a tattoo, so..."

"So? It's perfect. Make a pot of coffee, sit down with her and ask her if she's thought about which design she wants. ...and ask if she's found a reputable tattoo artist... and recommend something, something intricate with lots of color..."

---

On what he's reading/recommending...

"So after he's been trapped in the 1800s for a year or so it becomes clear to him that he is the poet he studied before the time travel and was kidnapped..."

"You know, every time you read a good book, you tell me how it ends. I'm going to start wandering the aisles before we meet (we have coffee in Barnes and Nobles) and pick out the worst drivel to recommend to you; something with a bare-chested man on it."

---

And the ever unintentional...

"So I was going through my storage unit and found the Snoopy toy Matt gave to me so many years ago..."

"How long ago that was! Matt must have been only 5 or 6. Are you moving stuff out of storage?"

"No, just pulling out junk for the garage sale..."

---

-silly

A Ride on the Mood Swing or "We don't tell people we're twins..."

2009-07-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

You're not going to get this unless I establish right from the outset that there was no one in the bank, but me. Well, ok, no one but me and the staff (is that what you call them?). I stepped in and was surprised to see that tellers weren't even doing whatever it is that they are doing when you walk in and they look up at you and smile as if to say, "I am SO VERY busy, but you are SO VERY important that I will help you..."

I've had this same account for 15 years at Bank A. It's a savings account and the account number starts with a "6". (You're thinking that you don't need to know this, but you do.) So about 11 years ago, Bank B bought Bank A. Three years later Bank C bought Bank B, but kept the name of Bank B. Only for all of this to be rolled up into Bank D. Bank D is certainly no huge mega-bank, in fact, I'd be very surprised if they have offices outside of NJ.

I know very little about Bank D, but I know this... their Checking account numbers start with a "6".

For several years now I've gotten blank stares from tellers who look at my savings withdrawal slip and then proceed to correct me and send me away for a checking account withdrawal slip... (as a side note, I've found that a very creative way of withdrawing from my checking account is to write a check... not run to the bank, but maybe that's just me) ...at that point, I have to correct them.

At the end of May I decided that I should walk (it's good exercise afterall) and so it was that I walked to the bank, which is a tad over a mile (one way). I stepped in, filled out a slip and went to the line. An older lady called me to her counter, picked up my slip, took one look at it and said, "Oh, that's one of those old savings account numbers isn't it?"

"Yes it is", I answered and smiled.

She could not have been nicer.

So June passed... (I didn't really get around to walking in June because the weather was so lousy, as a replacement for that exercise I simply did nothing... what a great feeling of accomplishment!)

...and today I went back into the bank... (no I didn't walk - it's over a mile!!!)

I endorsed my Obama check (this is how I refer to a small Federal check that augments unemployment, the amount is so small I really do wonder why they've bothered - which makes me sound ungrateful, but I'm not - when it all runs out I'll be thankful for every last dime)

stepped up to the line (let me say again that I was the ONLY customer)

"Yeah?" asked the same older lady who was so very nice the last time.

"Hi", I responded handing her my endorsed check when I stepped up to her counter, "I just want to cash this, this is my ID."

She looked at my ID, slid it back to me like I had smeared it with pig snot (which I may just do next time)...

type, type, type.. grumble, grumble...

type, type...

grumble...

"You can't cash this here. This is not one of our accounts."

"Oh, it's a savings account."

"No, Sweetie, savings accounts don't start with 6." (Nothing so condescending as Sweetie, Darling or Honey said in the correct tone.)

I was so stunned that I didn't know what to say. I looked around for Alan Funt, or is it Regis these days, but there didn't seem to be a hidden camera.

"It's a very old account."

She paused.

Now, just so you know... I wasn't wearing a mask or a dress or my anti-senior citizen T-shirt, maybe I should have shaved, I don't know.

She punched the numbers into the system again, grunted and gave me my money.

How is it...

...not one part of the interchange made sense to me whatsoever.

As I took my money I did the only thing I knew how to do...

I winked. I smiled. I said, "Please tell your sister I said Hello..."

...as I turned she gave me a puzzled look...

...I haven't seen her sister since that little girl from Kansas dropped a house on her...

-silly

Stop in the Name of Sanity or "Fame rhymes with Shame, so be careful"

2009-06-30T05:38:00.000-07:00

As I sat watching "Dance Your Ass Off" last night I was shocked to think that these people weren't terrified to be seen doing what they were doing. Yes, I'll admit that I love the early stages of "American Idol" when they showcase the "talent-free" auditioners and that I've gotten to the point where I watch reality TV just to see contestants cry...in fact, the harder they cry, the harder I laugh - I just can't help myself.

...but this is in a class all by itself...

If "Saturday Night Live" had cast their all-time best comedians to perform a sketch that poked fun at a scheme to combine "Biggest Loser" and "Dancing with the Stars" it wouldn't have come close to being as funny as this was... it takes "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING????" to a whole new level.

Sometimes our 15 minutes of fame just ain't worth it...

When I was in college two friends of mine convinced me to do a routine with them, in drag, for a talent show. The whole idea was to dress up like Diana Ross and the Supremes and lip sync "Stop in the Name of Love" - I was to be Diana. I knew that at 5'4, with my football player shoulders, I'd not really make a convincing woman, but, then as now, I really do enjoy making people laugh.

We went downtown to a thrift shop, found a few bridesmaid dresses that had been donated (if you want to make a bridesmaid dress more hideous than it already is just put it on a man)... Mine was a yellow chiffon number that had a drapey thing off the shoulder. I figured I could fling the drape around for added laughs.

Flash forward to the night of the talent show... We were the big surprise opening for Act II and even the other people in the show (you know, the "legit" bands, girls who wrote their own songs and the Biology Prof who always wanted to sing opera) didn't know we were going on... ...so I'm waiting back stage, in a closet, in my yellow dress and horrible wig when the MC checks in on us and says to me, "You know, Diana Ross had great legs and always had a slit in her dress."

One of my cohorts grabs a pair of scissors, kneels beside me and starts snipping... pulling, snipping, pulling, snipping...

"You guys gotta go on..."

Onto the stage we go; my dress is all askew from having the slit cut into the side. In the dark I'm trying to fix my dress as the MC announces the number which will hopefully perk-up an otherwise dud of a talent show. Something doesn't feel right, but I'm not adept at dress wearing... I think I'm good, but then, no, but, OK, but...

Up come the lights.

(my back to the audience, I'm frozen in a pose)

The music starts.

(this is bible college and I begin to question my decision - my knack for questioning decisions is always right on target, it's my timing I need to work on)

The Supremes start the number.

"Stop in the name of love, before you break my heart..."

I convince myself that the dress is fine and the trouble is nerves.

(Bum-bah-bah-Bum, Bum-bah-bah-Bum)

"Baby, baby I'm aware of where you go, each time..."

Diana turns around to begin the first verse. In the light I realize the problem is the slit; the "pulling and snipping" has cut the slit from my left side ankle, across my knee and up to my groin. The audience laughs and cheers as I lip-sync, trying to pull the dress down and twist it so that my tightie-whities aren't on display... but there's choreography... and as I lift my arms the dress rights itself.

I AM COMPLETELY EXPOSED.

I pull the dress down again and twist it trying to do the dance moves with just my hands - having my elbows firmly planted against my sides. This does NOT help, I'm just too wide for the dress and any movement causes it to ride up like a tube top on a hoochie-momma... I twist, reaching over my shoulder for the drapy thing (that is somehow behind me), but this only makes matter worse as I shift in the dress. The audience cheers when I realize the drape is on the OTHER shoulder and grab it to cover my (not-so) privates...

Eventually, the guys in the dorm quit calling me "white tornado", thankfully the photos were deemed "inappropriate" for the Year Book (this was Bible College afterall),

but there was this little chinese man with whom I never spoke, who I never met, who never ever said anything to me, but who would burst into laughter at the sight of me the whole time I was in college...

My hope for you is that, when you look back on the 15 minutes of fame in your life, you don't wish you had just stayed in bed...

-silly

Some Recession... or "glad I'm not the Tooth Fairy"

2009-06-29T06:27:00.000-07:00

So, we went to see Uncle Ryan last night. Uncle Ryan is 9; in spite of the fact that I insist my biological nieces and nephews drop the "Uncle", his mother insists that he call me Uncle "Silly" - so, I call him Uncle Ryan... No one gets this little joke, but me... that's OK, it is well worth the perplexed look he gives me every time I see him.

And his teeth are starting to fall out. Well, not fall out, gee that sounds wrong. He is starting to lose his baby teeth. This was announced to me by Girly Girl (Uncle Ryan's 3 y/o sister), it took me a minute to catch on, but when I did I asked the age old question, "Did the Tooth Fairy come?"

"Yup" Girly Girl announced.

"I got five dollars."

I was stunned and my only response was, "Well, that's probably a mistake, you should put it back under your pillow so she can give you the quarter she meant to leave you."

Again the perplexed look. No one gives a perplexed look better than Uncle Ryan, Kybot (my godson-they are the same age plus or minus a year) always knows when I'm pulling his leg; he gives me a feigned gasp and laughs. Not Uncle Ryan, he has a way of looking at you like you're trying to teach him trigonometry while speaking a foreign language.

"Why would I do that?"

Well, there's a good question. "I guess that's true, she might think there was a mistake and give the tooth back."

"She didn't take the tooth."

Now I'm completely thrown. Not only did the Tooth Fairy leave $5, she didn't even take the tooth. I suppose it was my turn for the perplexed look.

Girly Girl screwed up her face and asked, "She can't! It would be too heavy."

I didn't want to question the "weight" line of reasoning which is so very faulty; logically, if she can carry a bag of quarters big enough to replace all the teeth, she can carry the teeth she collects.

"Um" was really the best response that I could come up with.

"She's little."

"No she's not." I jumped in, "the Tooth Fairy is as big as I am."

This of course elicited a terrified look so I had to add, "But she's VERY nice."

Uncle Ryan jumped in with, "and she never takes the teeth..."

"Yeah."

"But she has to take the teeth. She takes them back to her castle and keeps them in these giant cases and that's where all the magic comes from."

"What magic?"

This was not the perplexed look, this was now a look of doubt; like I was making this all up. I'm having a conversation about the tooth fairy with a 9 and 3 year old and they are questioning the "facts" that I am giving them. Why? Because I used the word "Magic" and they know that there is no such thing as magic. So, Tooth Fairy completely fits into their world-view as long as there is no magic involved... this completely fascinates me!

So many wonderful things that fit neatly into the mythology of a child's mind...

Baloney was wishing for a Fridge Fairy to clean her fridge and a Laundry Fairy to do her wash (this from someone who insists on ironing her sheets?)...

I began to wonder about these as compared to Santa or the Easter Bunny and thought that there really only has to be someone to grant the wish... ...and that perhaps, the real magic in the Tooth Fairy is not in the mind of the child, but in the heart of the parent.

Back to bed I go; wishing for the Employment Fairy to come and bring me a job.

-silly

The next time I go to a garage sale it won't be my own or "buddy can you spare a bag"

2009-06-28T06:55:00.000-07:00

Two people, working for two solid weeks and cleaning up for a week afterward making $500... let's just say that you won't get rich quick doing a garage sale - or at least I won't. ...and, on top of it all, the people who come to garage sales are no "day in the park". If it's marked $5 they want it for $1... if it's marked $1 they want it for $.25... what a pain!

...but that's not to say that some very funny things didn't happen. HA! The best story is one that I'm going to tell you backward... but it makes me laugh in either direction...

So I give this little old man a plastic grocery bag and think to myself, "Gee, buddy, I would have just given you a bag if you had asked for one...."

Because he was standing there, wrapping the cord around the fountain, holding all the pieces and then he asked me, "Well, don't I get a bag?"

...but the only reason he needed a bag was because, after paying me 50 cents for the little table-top fountain, he took it out of the box (original box - complete with carrying handle) and cast the box aside saying, "Don't want. Garbage."

We agreed on the price of 50 cents, for an item that had been marked $5, after he had been staring at the box for a good 10 minutes.

He was completely transfixed on the item even after his wife put it back in the box and walked away to look (disparagingly) at the rest of the stuff in the tent.

Once I had retrieved the box she took the little black fountain out of the box (and protective sleeve) after insisting that they be allowed to look at it in spite of my reluctance.

The box had to be retrieved because she spotted it behind several other boxes (a tea set, cookie tins, punchbowl) all of which were under an 8' folding table completely filled with even more stuff.

It was under a table because, when I'd opened it up that morning I realized that the fountain was badly broken and in several pieces, so I set it somewhere, hidden behind some other stuff, to throw away later.

...and the only reason I opened the box that 2nd morning of the garage sale was because I thought, "Oh, this is cute, I bet if I take it out of the box I'll be able to sell it..."

...and sell it I did...

You know, many years ago a woman asked her husband to make up a sign to let the neighbors know that she was selling some odds and ends from around the house. When he saw what she was selling he decided to add some commentary to the sign and intended to write "GARBAGE SALE"... He was so caught up in his own silliness that he did not realize that he had misspelled the word and the term "GARAGE SALE" was born...

-silly

a bunch of lies... or "another load of Baloney"

2009-06-27T06:48:00.000-07:00

So Baloney called me the other day and commented that I had not yet responded to her tagging me in a post. "Oh Joy!" is more or less exactly what I thought, but when I started thinking about what the "tag" was asking me to do it sort of made me giggle - to be honest I've so depressed lately that nothing makes me giggle...

So here's the rub... because one can learn so much about another person by the things that they make up, my assignment is to create fictional confessions for each of the seven deadly sins... For the sake of you all knowing me better, here goes...

Pride:

While I am certainly proud of many things I suppose that I am most proud that my life was the inspiration for the story of "Billy Elliott". The writers took some severe liberties in order to make the story more interesting. For instance, the location of the story was moved from rural New Jersey to coal-mining England; they added the part about the deceased mother (which I find very moving)... they also changed my name (both to protect my privacy and because my name has no "ring" whatsoever). oh, and the stuff about dancing was also added to broaden the appeal. When I was told that there was talk of taking the story of my life from the big screen to the Broadway stage I was moved to such tears that, well, I'm sure you can imagine...

Sloth:

When I was working and had more money paying for a gym membership was a breeze. When it became obvious that I needed to work out, I picked up a membership to a great fitness club during one of their "Sales" (which is a club's way of saying "we're not going to charge you for something we shouldn't charge you for in the first place"). I was cautioned (special note:the word "cautioned" uses every vowel) that starting a workout while I was so out of shape could be harmful - I might want to hire someone. WHAT A GREAT IDEA! I was making enough money to do that, so I did! I hired a guy named Philip who trained four times a week. At first I went to every session; he was really working and my muscles always ached the next day (vicariously, of course). After a while, and none to few people asking Philip about the fat guy who sat around the gym while he worked out, well it just didn't seem to be having any effect on my body and I wondered if hiring someone to work out for me had been such a good idea after all...

The next two are easy!

Lust:

Carol Channing!

Envy:

I envy people who have children.

Anger:

I just don't get angry - especially when I'm driving... on the highway... or behind school buses... or old people... or... most drivers are just STUPID!!!

Greed:

This is something that no one knows. I collect Precious Moments figures. ...really, anything Precious Moments... those little blonde, wide-eyed children make my heart break so I buy one whenever I see one. I frequent local garage sales for them, chipped, broken it doesn't matter. Because I don't want anyone to know I collect them, I throw them under the house into the crawl space. I've managed to get just the right technique so that if you look into the crawl space you don't see them... I'm pretty sure I have all the Christmas ones!!!

Gluttony:

This is the worst of all because I can't think of a lie that tops anything that I have actually done. But this a great place to plug my new cookbook "Meals for Four that Two can Eat"!

I hope you feel like you know me better now...

-silly

Gee, that boy can dance..but we're seated...and there's no music

2009-06-09T07:57:00.000-07:00

Being in touch with an old friend has been a true pleasure. I found him on Facebook and we've had a chance to reconnect. A recent email exchange really took me back...

...it was 1993... wow, I wasn't even 30 yet, but I was employed, I had a gym membership and four roommates in a three story Victorian house.

I was a regular at the gym and since I had very early commitments and very late commitments at the job I took very long lunches and worked out for hours at a time. The best shape I have ever been in...

Juanito was one of my roommates. He had been the manager of a video store and had a copy of nearly every movie that had ever been put on tape. They lined the walls of his room in the house and he always had a movie playing...always...

Juanito and I had not been friends for very long and therefore did not have all the same friends - I'd known the other guys for a while and since we traveled in the same groups we knew all the same people... so it was that he mentioned some girls he had met and a double date - was I interested? I wasn't, I had recently split up with a fiance and well... I said "Yes" anyway...

The date was set for a Saturday night - it was June - it was hot already...

I walked up to the gym from the house, got in a workout and headed home. As I stood in the shower I was overcome by true insanity and, without explanation, decided to shave my chest. I always kept a spare razor in the shower for the back of my neck and this was what I grabbed... two scrapes and I was committed... after four scrapes I was bleeding... after 10 scrapes I was late...

"We need to leave in 10 minutes!"

"What?"

It was madness. Madness. As I hacked away at my (what was later referred to as perfectly furred) chest, I realized I was in no way prepared for the task at hand. They don't teach about this in school - no one says to trim it all first (although these days Gillette.com does have video shorts on body grooming-they are actually funny to watch) It took forever and I had to sneak to my room for another razor in the middle of it all...

"Are you almost ready?"

"YES!"

"You're still in the shower!"

I'm almost done" I lied...

...after nearly a half hour my chest looked like I had a body full of bird-shot - nicks and cuts all over my torso. I didn't know if I should try the toilet paper trick (you know little pieces to stop the bleeding or whether it would stop)... I stared into my closet... searching for the right shirt - it didn't have to look good, it just had to hide the blood seeping out of the open wounds on my chest... All I had was a VERY dark, silky thing which I slipped into and then a pair of jeans...

...off we went...

"What's wrong?"

"What do mean?"

"You look uncomfortable..."

"I'm just stupid."

"For going on a double date?"

"Nope..."

And uncomfortable I was...

I do not remember anything that happened on the date. I couldn't tell you if the girls were pretty or friendly, I don't know if the food was good or if we ate or went to a movie. I don't know where we even went... except that it was somewhere about 8 hours away and it took even longer to get home...

...I was uncomfortable...

Let's start with the shirt choice... the silky shirt was catching on the razor stubble every time I moved. I tried pulling my shoulders forward to make my shirt hang away from my chest, but it didn't work... I sat holding the front of my shirt away from my chest, but realized that I must have looked weird, so I simply sat back and leaned forward so that my shirt hung free...

and the shirt was hot

and the jeans were hot

and I sweat... I can't help it...

and worse than the shirt, was the jeans... Jeans are meant to be worn tight... I firmly believe that. Not so tight that you get varicose veins in your neck, but snug... and I was in great shape and had jeans that I had no business owning... and they were warm and I had shaved my chest...

if you ever decide to shave your chest remember this one thing... you need ample time...

you need time to shave - which takes forever

and you need time to rinse - which takes as long as it takes...

As you shave, the chest hair runs down your body and while most of it goes to the drain, some of it catches in other body hair, below the chest...

...I was running late - it was bad enough that I had to completely shave my chest (couldn't put off finishing until tomorrow) which no one was going to see, but I had not taken the time to rinse all the chest hair out of my crotch...

The sweat, the hair, the jeans, the heat... I couldn't sit still, I couldn't scratch...

I went nearly mad.

..and the more I resisted scratching the more I sweated - which only compounded the problem.

Juanito never invited me on a double date again...

After all the trouble, well, I kept my chest shaved that whole summer - which was easy after that...

You know... at 28 a guy is just too smart to know how stupid he really is, and I'm not too proud to say that I was no exception.

-silly

That's "Mister" Silly to you or Betty Boop gets a new voice...

2009-06-03T11:15:00.000-07:00

Driving along and realize that I'm on automatic pilot which always scares me, but it happens. While I'm on automatic pilot I look in the top left corner of my windshield and think, "Hmm, I was due for an oil change in February..." Now, being enumployed I don't log quite as many miles so I'm not so worried about the oil, but...

...the other night Cricket and I went to visit Shimp and Slinger and when I turned on my headlights (with a great flash and flourish) one of them became a supernova and then a black hole... I don't know about you, but if I have a headlight out every cop within a 25 mile radius sees me coming and stops me...

(otherwise, I'd drive around for a while with one headlight just to give every jr hi boy looking for a pedittle a chance to get a kiss)

So, with one light out and well past due for an oil change I went to the car Spa... I call it the car Spa because well, if my insurance covered it, I'd call it the car doctor, but since they don't it's more like a spa treatment.

Louie recommended this great place on Rte 10 that I actually have come to trust with my little VW. I love my car, but boy-howdy does the dealership take me for all I'm worth when I take it in there. I don't believe that I have EVER left the dealership without paying less than a Grand for whatever service I needed.

So I called and set up an appointment.

-10AM...

-oil change, headlight, that's it...

-great, thanks

Sure enough, I dragged myself in to the Spa in time for my appointment... sure enough, my last name was on the white board... I spoke with the nice girl at the counter, she asked if I had an appointment, I said I did... she checked, she asked for my last name a second time, said, "Oh" smiled "there you are.."

...yes, she smiled... it was enough for me to notice, but not enough to have remarked about at the time...

So I waited...

What I was going to originally comment on about the visit was a conversation that happened between the owner - think Uncle Fester - and a guy - think John Bellushi... Uncle Fester and John were having one of those conversations that men have about NOTHING and vying for the champion of world's loudest. Uncle Fester has about 15 years on John and asks if John is even 40.

"Yes, I'm 46..."

He went on to say that when he turned 40 he felt great, but that the years between 40 and 46 had been unreal and that every morning he wakes up with a new pain. He noticed that I had laughed and looked at me...

I simply said, "44" to which he nodded...

My car was pulled up the door at the same time that a man too old to be driving walked in the door and declared he wanted to buy tires.

-Which tires?

-For my car...

I laughed again, but the ensuing conversation was every bit as annoying as the earlier conversation. "If I stand in line behind the old guy, they'll get the hint that I'm ready to go..." I thought... So, I stood behind him and started to look around the place.

...and there it was on the white board, how had I missed it...

10AM - VW - Oil change/headlight

and before it... Ms "____".

Ms? What? Ms? Do I sound like a Ms?

I'm relatively confident that I do not look like a Ms, but I do NOT think I sound like one either... I was miffed - maybe more than I should have been...

Is this why counter girl smiled?

Do I sound like a Ms on the phone?

Was it because I was free at 10AM to bring my car in?

Was it because I couldn't change my own oil or headlight?

Was the staff secretly watching me and laughing?

What if someone I knew walked in there, knowing that I had an appointment and saw Ms before my last name? I'd never live it down... UGH...

Counter girl came up to the counter to help me. Looks like you're all ready. "Yup" I said, dropping my voice a full octave. Of course, having dropped my voice, she couldn't hear me and looked up asking, "I'm sorry?"

I was tempted to reach over and smudge the "Ms" before I left but I knew that if no one else had caught it, a smudge would be a dead giveaway and THEN there'd be a story... Nope... I hopped in my little car and drove off...

Knowing that there are people out there who I can call at any point in time, who would recognize my voice tho it's been years since I've seen them, people who would never call me "Ms..."

Note to self: The next time I call for an appointment at the Spa I'll drop my voice and start with "Hey, Buddy..." and not "Hi..."

Hopefully, they won't think I'm Rosie O'Donnell...

- (Mr.) silly

some more celadon

2009-05-29T10:55:00.000-07:00

As you can tell from some of the comments, Wolf is not a fan of the celadon glaze I chose for the most recent group of pieces I made... I, on the other hand, think it's one of those glazes that is a lovely canvas. Francine uses the celadons for most of her stuff and does a great deal of embellishment. I'm not one to adorn the piece as much as use the piece for the right thing. For instance, a vase is meant to hold flowers, I like them simple so that they cooperate with the flower to make a pretty combination. Peonies are my fave flower and I really think they ae lovely with the blue green of the vase.

Here are some photos of my latest stuff...

All this and a big Happy Birthday to Louie today!

-silly

Peonies in Bloom

2009-05-28T06:05:00.000-07:00

No special title today, but I wanted to share some new photos. Linus shared an idea a few months back that was a short, shallow dish with a metal frog in the bottom for flowers... the frog helps the flowers stand up straight... so when I was working I wondered how successful I'd be at making a pot with a lid, a lid with a single narrow hole that would hold the flower up... These are not at all what Linus suggested, but I'm pleased with how they came out.

I have been calling them my "peony pots" for a few months now and was getting rather worried that I would not have them in time for when the peonies bloomed and yet (thanks to Francine and some cooler than usual weather) I got them just in time.

Crack! It's what's for dessert or "Oh, Crap!"

2009-05-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

When I heard that we were putting together a surprise birthday party for Johnny Schenks for his 40th I was all in. I declared that I would make the cakes. After much thought, questioning and consideration I decided to make a white cake, a carrot cake and a chocolate cake. (Stand in awe of my creativity!) OK, I admit it, they were some very safe choices, but in my own defense I have some fantastic recipes for some very basic cakes...and let's face it, the classics (which are classic for a reason) are so poorly done these days by the mass producers of baked goods that a really good classic is almost like coming home. Come on, if it isn't angel food cake then it shouldn't be light and airy, it should be dense and moist... I labor on, but you get my point.

I'm still enumployed so I spent Wednesday fetching everything I needed for a major bake-off on Thursday. On Thursday I made my cakes... they were all perfect. Once they were cooled through to the core, I wrapped them up and stored them away in a cooler that we got a few years ago. The cooler is big enough to bury a Jr Hi kid in and was just the right place for the cakes (someone bought a side by side fridge that isn't big enough to put a turkey in). The cakes were safe and sound in the cooler.

Friday came and I began the ordeal of decorating. I started with the dark chocolate ganache because it takes over an hour to set-up (if it sets up too quickly it's to hard to frost a cake with and has to be eaten with soup spoons - this isn't a bad thing, but I didn't have the ingredients for two batches). Then the cream-cheese icing, into which I put crystalized ginger chunks (a nice addition but to be honest the punch of the ginger was not strong enough to compensate for the fact that it looked like there were boogers in the icing).

Cricket was running errands so I asked for a box to put the white cake in and a board to carry it on. I got just what I had asked for, but it wasn't until I put the cake on the board that I realized it just didn't rise high enough to slice and add a layer of lemon curd (which I was already in the process of making). I had borrowed Louie's half sheet layer cake pan and used a double batch of white cake to fill it... So, I made another double batch of white cake to create my second layer.

I made the dam of icing around the edge of the bottom layer filled the dam with lemon curd and then stared at it trying to figure how on earth I was going to plop the second layer on top without causing the lemon to squirt out the sides... In Classic Cricket style the response was simply, "Gee, I don't know..."and I promptly found myself alone in the room. What to do???

Now, on a separate occasion my mom had suggested that I cut a cake in half to facilitate the ease of moving and manipulating it once it was iced no one would be the wiser. I thought this was a terrible idea, because it seemed to me that the cake would pull apart when it was moved, but now that I had all this cake to work with it seemed like a great idea. I cut the cake into two pieces, managed to find a way to lay them in the appropriate spots on the filling without it gushing out and pulled the icing from the fridge where it had gotten as hard as a rock.

I'm a stickler about icing so I'd used a block of butter and almost five pounds of powdered sugar to make a vat of butter cream (I have an easy recipe that never fails me and tastes pretty good) [sometime I'll tell you about the time Linus, who knew I was bringing to a party a batch of cupcakes with my white icing, made a white cake himself with his own white icing just to see whose icing would win in a taste competition] So, I had two Gladware containers full of icing that I had to get to the right temp to be spreadable on a freshly baked, mostly cooled cake.

I iced it. It was good.

I piped a turquoise border around the cake. It was pretty.

I wrote out the lettering with a meat thermometer and then piped it in. It was nice.

I took the bottom out of a styrofoam cup and used the cup as a funnel/stencil for small circles of colored sanding sugar on the top of the cake. It was finished.

Of the completed cake Cricket said, "it's gorgeous..." , and it was.

We loaded the chocolate and carrot cakes into Cricket's SUV, I packed up a triage kit in case I need to re-pipe some of the stars around the egde of the big cake, and I climbed into the car holding the cake, on a board, in its box, on my lap...

...and I'm in Jersey...

...and the pot holes are monstrous...

and as we drove I watched the cake. Sometimes resting it on my lap, sometimes serving as a shock absorber, I carried this thing...

..and I watched it happen, just like I would have guessed that it would happen. First the icing appeared to have been stretched on the far side of the cake, then it split and the gap began to open. the blue stars on the far side of the cake began to sink into the crack. "Birthday" became "B irthday".

"CRAP!"

Cricket looks over.

"I can't believe it..."

Cricket looks over.

"Surprise, for your birthday you get an all expense trip to the Grand Canyon."

Cricket laughs. "Can't you fix it?"

I began to wonder why, if Cricket was so blind, I was not the one who was driving. "NO!"

"Well, it will still taste delicious."

"Great! Close your eyes and blow out your candles and keep em closed until I have a chance to cut this mess into squares."

I had worked the entire day on something that would "still taste good". Oh, Yea! for me...

We got there as the continental divide happened on Pangea.

I brought the cake to the kitchen in the basement and stared at it. Louie responded to my distress text and said I should just fill the crack in with icing... I said that I couldn't fill the grand canyon with one truckload of dirt...

I came up with a Plan B and decided that I wouldn't stress, but enjoy the party.

As we stood in line for the dinner buffet Wgeoff bent over (he's 6'8) and said to me, "Did you see the cake down stairs? What a mess! they spent all that money on a cake when they could have had you make one that would probably have tasted better; even if it wasn't decorated as nice."

Call me crazy, but this was one of the highest compliments of the night; he had mistaken my cake for a professional cake gone wrong! I couldn't have been happier...

When it was all said and done I piped a big "40" on the carrot cake and called it "decorated" - thats' where the candles went and it was lovely...

...and Cricket was right, even with a crack right down the middle, the white cake filled with lemon curd and frosted with white lemon butter cream icing was still delicious.

-silly

Don't put words in my mouth or "even my phone punishes me for having fat fingers"

2009-05-06T06:22:00.000-07:00

The thing that I find most amazing about texting with my I-Phone is not simply that I can do it, which is a miracle on so many levels. Truly, it is a miracle both that there is a device I hold in my hand which will send a message to my sister deep in the woods and because I (the techno-challenged) have actually figured out how to do it. Nonetheless, what stuns me is that my phone tries to figure out what word I'm typing as I type it. Every text is like Wheel of Fortune as I start the letters of a new word l-i-t-e (it guesses "lie", then "little" and finally "literature")... and that is just the word I'm sending. (Ok, so I don't send the word "literature" often, but you get the idea).

My niece has mastered this on a phone that does not give her a key board (something my I-phone has). Like most texters she uses the numbers to somehow send a message and they get there... ...and she knows just how to push a couple buttons so that the phone can guess what word she wants to send. I am amazed. Her texts are not only decipherable; they are coherent.

And so it is that late last night I received a message from my friend Schmi saying, "I'm dirty I didn't come to your show."

...then a follow-up message saying "OMG I mean sorry"

This kind of thing used to be called a freudian slip, and to be honest, had she been standing and talking with me saying aloud that she was dirty that she didn't come to my show (only to apologize that she meant sorry) , I'd have thought something along the freudian lines.

...but I know this, Schmi also has an I-phone.

You see the I-Phone will guess words as you are typing and if you don't tell it specifically that you don't want that word it will simply over-ride you. One might think that with D being next to S Schmi typed D instead and I-Phone started looking for D-words, but that's far too simple an explanation.

It's really gremlins with a two-fold purpose.

Their first purpose is to completely humiliate us by sending words in messages that make no sense whatsoever. Schmi caught her mistake - I never ever catch mine. Most often when I text the receiver wonders, not that I have two masters, but that I even have all my marbles. the classic response from Wolf is. "Um what?"

The second part of their purpose is to lull us into a world where we do not have to talk to anyone. I have friends with whom I chat regularly, but to whom I have not spoken in months. They don't pick up the phone (answer), they retrieve my message and send a text. "Sorry you're so depressed, hope it's better soon"

On Saturday I received a text from my niece who was coming to my show. She needed directions. I started a text back and sent it both before it was finished and before it was proof-read. So I started another text with directions and the most amazing thing occurred to me - I could actually call her and speak the directions - this method worked beautifully; she got lost, but that wasn't my fault.

-silly

Saturday's show

2009-05-05T06:33:00.001-07:00

Cricket came home last night from pottery class (lessons are at the studio where the gallery is) and said that a woman who came to the show on Saturday stopped back last night to buy the small casserole dish (if it hadn't already been sold).

YEA!!!

What a success the show was. I didn't keep track of the number of people that came through; the crowd was mostly made up of friends, tho a few people who saw a note in the local paper's calendar section stopped in to check it out.

I asked any of my friends who purchased pieces to leave them for the duration of Saturday's show so that those who came late could see my work. We marked the bottom of anything that was sold with a sticker. At one point, a guest complained that everything she picked up and looked at was already sold. To ease this frustration, Cricket ran around and put stickers on the rim of everything that was sold - it wasn't until then that I realized just how many pieces had sold and it actually caused some of the folks that had been hanging with us for the day to grab the pieces they wanted. A neighbor walked around with a bowl under one arm and a vase under the other.

Francine, my pottery teacher, was there and it was a special satisfaction to have her see and compliment the show.

-You know what this means, she said to me.

-What's that?

-Now you have to make more!

We laughed. (I actually do have half a dozen stoneware bowls in the works already.)

I couldn't have done it without Cricket who worked so very hard all day!

Here are some pictures:

the three free standing shelves that I filled comprised "the show"

there are also some shots of groups of the pieces

one funny thing to remember is that everything is glazed in the same glaze

it really was a great day - most of the work sold, which completely shocked me.

-silly

Everybody is somebody's dinner or "No more prime-rib flavored soap"

2009-04-28T06:23:00.000-07:00

Sunday evening was a lovely time with a couple friends of ours. Mrs.D is in Cricket's pottery class where they became fast friends - what a pair! So, when she and Mr.D invite us for drinks, dinner or an evening with friends, we always go. He's a great cook and she pours a mean glass of wine.

Well, this past Sunday was a lot of things: it was post-exam for me; it was post-tax season for Mr.D; it was an art show at a local charity for Mrs.D - and Cricket is always up for some fun... We went together to the art show and perused the stuff that was being sold. Some of it was very good and some of it was student work. Mr.D asked me about a few pieces of pottery and whether I thought they were any good. I tried to be discreet when I answered because I learned a long time ago that if you don't know who the artist is and you make a negative comment about the piece then the odds are very good that the person standing beside you is going to turn out to be the artist. (I'm having a t-shirt made up for my pottery show that reads, "I'm the artist, please wait until I walk away to insult my work.")

Mrs.D, well, she picked up a few pieces and exclaimed, "I could make this with my eyes closed!" Mr.D cringed, but to her credit, she actually could have made those pieces with her eyes closed...

...and dinner was lovely...

Mr.D taught me how to make risotto. I've grown very leery of it because Gordon Ramsey is so very picky about it. I've figured that it must be hard; it's not.

Dinner was rotisserie chicken with a pancetta risotto and steamed spinach... we started with a great bruschetta that had a drizzled balsamic reduction and a very nice Riesling...

...and their dog started licking my leg...

...and she licked my leg...

and she licked my leg... it tickled something fierce and I couldn't keep myself from laughing.

They were mortified, but every effort to keep her from me was futile. They got her a prime rib bone that she carried across the deck and left in the corner, only to come back to my leg. they gave her squeaky toys and rubber balls to roll around the floor that were all taken back to their appropriate places after which she would come back and start licking my leg... I didn't know if I should be flattered or whether I should expect her to take a bite out of my shin (which she never did.)

They picked her up and held her on their laps while they ate only to have her wriggle down and come back to "her dinner". Attempts to put her inside only lead to her whining inside the patio door and scratching at the floor and glass... ...all the while I was howling with laughter. You see, I knew that at some point it would stop; at some point whatever flavor I had managed to get on my leg would be used up - I was right... to the relief of our hosts she disappeared... only to come back and start to work on my other leg.

After dinner we moved inside and had a flourless chocolate cake I'd made (there is a very simple recipe on epicurious.com that never fails)... we stood around the island in the kitchen while Cricket and Mrs.D picked out colors for a new garage door. (I don't get involved in picking colors - I was TOLD that I had to help pick colors a while ago and when anyone actually comments that they like the color of the one room that I chose they get a look from Cricket as if they have no taste whatsoever...

...and speaking of taste...

Still! inside, the dog continued to wear away the hair on my leg...

As always, we had a nice time.

As expected, I came home and showered.

-silly

Off-Line for a few days

2009-04-21T08:03:00.000-07:00

Hi folks, just so you know, I'll be off-line this week as a prepare to take the Praxis exam on Saturday...

I'll be back after that...

-silly

Here she is boys!!!

2009-04-18T07:22:00.000-07:00

So I got my pieces from the studio on Thursday and spent yesterday getting some photos of them to use on the gallery web-site and for some promotional material for my show in May. It was quite a site to see me outside with my i-phone and a huge piece of blue taffeta draped over the picnic table trying to get some decent shots. I even had a raccoon that came to see what I was doing.

Cricket got a good laugh at my technique, but photographer or not, I'm pretty satisfied with the results... here are some photos of my work.

Parade of mugs...

Parade of mugs: Behind the scenes

scalloped rimmed bowl

teapot:short dark and handsome

teapots at odds
the Casseroles have a guest for dinner

large bowl with crawling

some jugs

some jugs: behind the scenes
bowl of fire

the pieces have some really good effects on them...

I'm very happy!~

~silly

All fired up...

2009-04-17T08:10:00.000-07:00

What an exciting day I had yesterday! I had the opportunity to open the kiln with Francine and unload my work from the past year! Attached are the photos I took as we worked; they don't really do justice to the pieces and I will most likely take some individual shots of some of my favorite pieces. Remember, not all of the work is mine... there are a quite a few pieces that Wolf hand-built, many tea bowls that were made by Francine and M&M and some bowls/pieces of AmySu's...

These two large bowls are mine... Cricket thinks they look like leather...

These two large bowls are also mine, and the globe-shape mug in the middle (that's my mug shape - you'll see 8 of them...

Back left is a planter of mine, back right is my first tea pot and a small jar next to it, and a mug...

three of my bowls and a mug...
two large bowls and my large casserole dish...

The full back half of the kiln...

(now you have to look in the foreground) a flat bowl of mine, small casserole and two small bowls

a couple of the small bowls are mine...
this is the full kiln when we opened the door...

It was such a great experience! Hope you enjoy...

-silly

Wolf Games (a three for Thursdays)

2009-04-16T07:32:00.000-07:00

Wolf complained last week that there was no Three for Thursday post, so in his honor... Wolf Games...

Wolf and I have been friends for many years now, we first met when I was playing the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, but didn't really get to know each other until one night a few years back when a group of us were all going to meet up and only he and I showed... we spent the evening drinking vodka and cranberry and laughing about the madness involved in keeping the friends that we keep... I had vacationed with these friends (you know the type, the ones that have to do everything en-masse and as prescribed by the most passive-aggressive member of the party) and convinced Wolf to come along. Thereafter he and I vacationed sans drama and with some other friends from Chicago... on these long trips we came up with a few games...

The first was: Jewish Mother - Protestant Mother... This game has certain rules, foremost is that you must always respect your opponent's mother. With that said, one's own mother is fair game and the competition is to simply prove that your own mother is more adept at doling out guilt, neurosis, over-care etc than your opponent's mother. We are pretty evenly matched.

The second game is: Axis... In this game one must demonstrate, beyond any doubt, that they are the Axis and that the world does (in fact) revolve around them. Wolf is a master of this game and has been playing it longer than we have been friends, but has perfected his strategy in our time together - holding his left index finger stationary he says "this is me" he then orbits his right index finger around it saying "this is the world... it's just that simple"... When he gets there, I know I'm beaten.

The last game is: Pet the dog - pet the owner... a very fun game to play when on vacation because people always have dogs... it's played like this. As a dog and owner approach one player calls out "Dog" or "Owner". Then you engage in conversation and the person who ended up with dog has to pet the dog and the person who ended up with owner has to (somehow) pet the owner... of course, either player can beg out of the competition depending on just how ferocious the dog is and the body odor of the owner. I have to admit that Wolf has been a fierce competitor; we've met some nasty dogs and some seedy owners...

Ok, so they're not games that Milton Bradley could market, but you get to a point where you know your friends just so well that one word or two will engage them in what can become a hilarious interchange...

"Dog"

"Yup, ME!"

"My mother..."

-silly

Ya-Wanna??? or "Full Nest Syndrome"

2009-04-15T08:14:00.000-07:00

I was probably about 10 years old and had gone next door for a birthday party. When Mrs Rossi asked if I wanted a piece of cake, I responded, "Sure!"

"What's the magic word?" was her response...

I was confused; first she asked if I wanted a piece of cake and now there was a magic word. This was not a game that I had learned to play...

"Abracadabra?" I guessed...

Everyone chuckled. She was not amused.

Freddy (who was 4) whispered to me, "it's 'yes, please'..."

Now I was really confused. Why did she want me to say "please" when she had asked me about the cake? I remember thinking that (if this was how the game was played) my initial response to her should have been,

"Mrs Rossi, don't you mean to say, 'would you please like a piece of cake' "?

This response would have gotten me a one-way ticket home, it would have pleased my mother to no end tho she would have had to proceed with the obligatory chastising and (the worst part) I'm certain that it would have meant no-cake.

Whether or not it is appropriate to teach another mother's children manners through deceit is still in question. I was taught manners by a 2x4; something my oldest sister had decorated for Mom. She painted "Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child" on a 2 foot piece of 2x4, drilled a hole in it for a leather strap and presented it to Mom as a Mother's Day gift; Mom hung it in the kitchen for years until it was broken on one of us (I don't recall who, but I think it was my brother).

I do think of myself as being well-mannered (you would be too), but on Easter Sunday I realized something that had never occurred to me before; my family does not know how to say "Please". It is completely outside of the vocabulary. "Please" has been replaced by the phrase "Ya-Wanna".

It sounds like this:

Ya-Wanna grab me a platter.

Ya-Wanna slice the ham.

Ya-Wanna get a different chair.

Ya-Wanna pass me the pickled eggs (that's a whole other story).

Ya-Wanna clear the table...

I'd put a question mark, but it's never a question; it's directive...

A question mark would imply a question (I'm a smart one) and a question would require an answer... and the answer would most likely be... "No, I don't wanna..." However, my response has become, "I will..." which is the short version, of "Well, I don't necessarily want to, but yes, I will do that for you".

I can't explain to you why it bothered me so much.

Perhaps it was because Friday night had been drama-free. Yup, we had been together Friday night to celebrate mom's birthday and the drama hadn't come to the party... I think it was off somewhere recruiting other drama to come for Easter dinner. ..and sure enough, drama found some friends and came for lunch... ugh and yuck!

The most likely reason for my short fuse on Sunday was "the nest". When the household whittled down to fewer people the family decided to quit making Easter baskets and start making what they refer to as "the nest". Now, you've pictured a robin's nest that is the size of your hands if you cup them together, right?! Wrong. Think more in terms of a pterodactyl nest, enough chocolate to supply a small town in Switzerland. ...and since we weren't planning to eat lunch until 3ish (complicated by the fact that I had skipped breakfast) I decided to raid the nest. Sugar in any guise will have horrible results when I consume it on an empty stomach. In fact, if you met me for the first time when I was "on-chocolate" you would seriously question that I was the person who referred to himself as "Silly"... Cricket gives me an easter basket, but fills it with "Stuff", not with sugar (This was a very valuable lesson to have learned)...

Maybe the distaste for the phrase has just been brewing for so very long...

...whatever the reason, who knows...

Beestro, on the other hand, says neither "Please" nor "Ya-Wanna"...

His approach is simple; "Food or death, I will remain here, under your feet, until such a time as either a) you feed me or b) you trip over me and break your neck.

Oddly enough, in all of life, the only people who seem to say "please" any more are telemarketers, and I hang up on them.

-silly

Stacked and ready, but not quite fired...

2009-04-14T07:32:00.000-07:00

Many of you have asked for pictures of my work so I took some shots yesterday while working with Francine... we had a great time...

It was a bright, sunny spring day and we moved piece after piece from the studio to the kiln outside. You had to be an observer to catch where I found the humor of the day, but there was plenty...

This is the back of the kiln half full.

This is the back of the kiln full to the ceiling.

This is the kiln full, front and back...

I learned a lot!

Loading a kiln is not unlike working a puzzle or loading a moving van (which is also like working a giant 3-D puzzle).

As you might guess, I'm very excited to see how it all turns out... Not all of the work in the kiln is mine; Wolf, Louie, Francine, M&M and AmySu all have a number of pieces firing...

I'm hopeful (smile) that the next photos I have to share will be of some really cool pots!

-silly

An Uncle's Advice or "You've got to be Carefully taught"

2009-04-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

I've said before that I have never wanted children of my own and every once in a while I am reminded the reasons why I should not be a parent...

Yesterday was mom's 75th birthday and her first to spend without dad after 55 years of marriage. Lil'sis decided to make the trek with her kids for the occasion, both to celebrate and console.

As you could guess from all my earlier posts, family gatherings include food of mythical proportions. You never know when 100 uninvited guests might show and you simply have to have food for all of them.

I made two cakes for the event: a walnut torte with maple whipped cream icing and a lemon poppy seed cake that got 4 forks on Epicurious.com. I'm a big fan of epicurious.com for a number of reasons; you can find so many recipes on there, the recipes are rated and you can read reviews of the recipes, some of which give you tips on improving the recipe.

I find myself laughing at the tips, especially when they seem to take the recipe off into a tangental direction. While a recipe for a cheesecake might tell you that they cut the sugar from 1c to 3/4c, another recipe for lo-fat chicken in lemon sauce will suggest that you replace the chicken with beef - saute it in butter first - and replace the lemons with habanero peppers...

I usually just look to make sure that the recipe has more than 10 reviews and more than 3 forks... as far as I'm concerned - you can't go wrong with these recipes.

And so it is that I showed up with two cakes - one that was made with two sticks of butter and another that used a full dozen eggs and was slathered in whipped cream... If I could make desserts for a living and know that people would buy them and that I'd be able to pay the bills, I'd actually consider it... but it's a hobby...

For the occasion, Louie bought 20lbs of cold cuts (mom asked for something low-brow given Easter is Sunday and two sit-down meals back to back seemed over the top) and we made all the fixin's for picnic food to go with the sandwiches...

...to add to it all, Noop brought a plate of veggies and Magoo's girlfriend brought platter of sliced fruit.

There was a lot of food.

I spent much of the afternoon with Sparrow trying to figure out how a boy of his age could look at a little furry creature and pull a trigger to pop it full of lead; he seems so normal otherwise.

Too much time with a child and I start to feel parental, but I'm not good at it.

I think it happens to all of us. We see a child heading for an electrical outlet and we want to tell them "No". A child starts to run around the pool and we say, "No running..." "Be careful... watch out... stay in your seat..." It's ingrained in us. I'm not the person who could look at a child who was learning to ride a bike and say, "If you peddle a little harder you might get down that hill faster..." or "I bet the big old pit bull would love to play tug of war with that bone...", but I lack where others excel.

So here I am, hanging with Sparrow, tossing bean bags in the back yard, bowling on the Wii (his Wii hates me too) and suddenly it's time to eat...

we move into the kitchen,

everyone grabs a plate,

we pray together,

as I begin to load my plate he starts to nibble,

I make a sandwich,

Sparrow pops a little carrot in his mouth,

load up the mac salad on my plate,

takes a piece of cucumber,

grab a few deviled eggs,

he grabs some mellon and celery,

Jello salad,

Red pepper slices,

MAYO,

Mango...

And then, the wisdom of the ages kicks in and showing all of the wonderful parenting skills I have developed over the years in watching other people, I say to him,

"Don't fill up on the vegetables..."

Now, I could very easily have said, "Don't eat from the platter" or "put some on a plate and come sit down...", but , well... that was not at all what I meant...

In some sick way I was actually concerned that he'd eat too many veggies, too much fruit...

...spoil his dinner with fiber and nutrients and forego the four basic food groups:

fat

salt

sugar

caffeine

With those three magic words lil'sis proved that she's a better parent than I could ever be, "GET A PLATE!"... ...and then shot me a look; one that I have come to refer to as "the Kevork" because of its power to put you out of her misery.

...but you see, I don't need to work on my parenting skills... I need to perfect my uncling skills... As far as I'm concerned, who better to teach you bad habits than those who love you most...

On the eighth day God created Uncles and while they weren't necessarily "good" they weren't necessarily bad either... ...and they sure were a whole lot more fun.

-silly

Baloney Wednesdays (the day we met) or "Don't think of me as a stalker just because I'm thoughtful"

2009-04-08T14:40:00.000-07:00

Holy Cow! Can it have really been 5 years ago that I met Baloney? I guess it can.

For some reason, all day today, I've been thinking that it's been about that long. She is the one who challenged me to regularly blog here; you have her to thank...

...and this is how our friendship was forged...

Our Mutual Friend (not the Dickens novel), the yoga clown, came to my desk one day and let me know that there was a new person in the group.

"We should go meet her..." she insisted.

"Why?"

"Because she's new. We could be the welcome committee."

"Doesn't she have work to do?"

"Probably not yet."

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Lots."

"Yeah, lots... well, I have work to do."

...and yet I went along...

She was nice, although, like me, confused as to why the yoga clown had dragged me up there to meet her. They had met earlier in the day, (which I did not know) so this was purely an introduction which would be followed by a "what do you think" session.

Her most distinguishing characteristic was this; she held her hand in front of her face... the whole time we talked.

I've been told I have a stunning smile, but this was going overboard.

I checked my breath to be sure that it wasn't stale from lunch and then noticed that she had a cold-sore. I assured her that I get them all the time and that she need not worry that I'd think anything about it whatsoever.

The conversation went like any one of those between you and someone you'd just been forced to meet and consisted much of the insidious drive she had to make each morning to get to work.

I liked her.

I felt sorry for her (cold sores hurt and long drives to work hurt even more)

What happened that night put me on her list of "The Strangest People I know who are still considered friends". I went to the A&P to pick up a rotisserie chicken for dinner - half for me and half for Fernando who could smell it from a mile away and who would turn his nose up at the Fancy Feast if I was picking apart a chicken - I gave in to him just so he didn't trip me up, causing me to break my neck. As I passed the pharma aisle I thought about Baloney and decided to pick her up a tube of Herpecin DL (it's this cold sore med I use).

So, right now you're thinking, "Gee guy, what you don't know about women could fill a 200 terabyte server."

I sat with Tony that next morning (her cube was right next to his) and when she arrived I paraded into her cube,

"I picked this up for you!"

Silence

"It's great!"

Silence

"I use it all the time!"

"Umm, gee, thanks..."

You know, nothing says "Let's be friends" quite like a tube of cold-sore salve.

Sometimes in life you have those "What was I thinking" moments (I have enough for me and a whole Roman Catholic family)... and those moments are what color our lives and serve as a reminder to the people with whom we share our time on Earth that locks were created for a reason...

I still get teased about it and when I do, I simply hold my hand up in front of my face like Gloria Swanson and we laugh until the Diet Pepsi comes out our noses...

-silly

On Kutner's death or "a better yesterday"

2009-04-07T08:32:00.000-07:00

So, I don't like to write too much on TV shows. Yeah, I'll mention Top Chef and Big Fat Loser from time to time, but they serve as fodder... What's funny is that I didn't even have a TV for a VERY long time...

I'm a big "House" fan. The characters, the story lines, the thoughts about life... House himself is a terrific portrayal of "man without filter"... blah, blah, blah... And last night's episode came as such a shock to me - the suicide of one of the characters. Completely unforeshadowed, out of the blue and not unlike the way it happens when we lose someone... week after week the man is in the show and then he's gone...

Most of you know, I lost my dad in January. He was in the hospital for a month and I am thankful for being unemployed because it gave me the freedom to spend more time with him than I would have been able to spend had I been working. When I left him on his birthday, I kissed him goodbye, he told me he loved me and said, "I'll see ya..." The next morning he was gone...

When I was writing scripts I wrote a short one about a guy working to get his girl back. The language was rough and I never really worked the script into much of anything. He went on and on to her about everything he would do if she would come back to him, promise after promise... she finally spoke and said that there was only one thing she wanted from him... "anything..." he answered... it would be hard... "anything" he answered... she wanted this,

"I want you to change the past."

In movies, you can do that... in life, you can't...

You can't re-choose.

You can't un-say.

You can't...

Without beginning to expound on faith and afterlife I can only boil it down like this...

I want today to be the best yesterday that it can be when tomorrow comes.

-silly

Tweet Season on my Mind or "Polly's ghost wants a cracker"

2009-04-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

Cricket and I are prone to collecting. I've mentioned before that I have a love for Royal Doulton character jugs and for Wally birds... for the most part these are pieces I've picked up here and there and on-line, at one point I pretty much depleted my life-savings on Ebay. (I assure you that it never was a lot of money)... it's been a fun hobby...

Cricket on the other hand has been collecting bird cages.

Now, for those of you that don't know, there is a substantial difference between the size of a bird cage and that of a character jug. Most of the cages stand taller than I do and, while they are lovely, take up a fair amount of space.

"Why is the china cabinet out on the porch?"

"Oh, I got a new bird cage."

"Umm, the fridge is on the front lawn..."

"Oh, I got a new bird cage."

"Where's the piano?"

"Oh, I got a new bird cage."

It works like this because we keep our addictions private... When a small box shows up, I check that it's mine and off I go to a private place where I can open it and check the item. Once I've determined that it's what I ordered, I find a place for it in "the cabinets". (The cabinets are two 9', floor to ceiling, shelving units that house my collection)... I've been unemployed so the collection has been relatively stagnant these past few months...

Of course, when a bird cage shows up it is a different story altogether. These things have stands and bases and are simply enormous... Several have shown up and had to be lowered into the house by crane.

But a week or so ago a small box showed up... just the right size for a toby. It wasn't addressed to me; I didn't open it. (I hoped that it was a present for my birthday or something)

Two days later, as I'm pouring a cup of coffee, I see it; a cookie jar shaped like a simple bird cage with parakeets... it's pretty...

"Oh, this is what was in that box that came..."

"Yeah, it's a cookie jar."

"I see that. Does this mean I have to make some cookies?"

"If you want to," lifting the cookie jar.

twist

"It's also a music box."

...the music plays...

...and the music is, well... it's creepy.

I agree that a good many music boxes are creepy. As they age it only gets worse; the music plays slower and slower. I had one that my grandparents gave me that played the "Little Drummer Boy"; in reality it played the first phrase of "Little Drummer Boy". You know:

"Come, they told me, Pah Rum Pah Pum Pum" over and over...and over.

When you're a child you don't long for the resolution of the whole song, so, the one phrase doesn't drive you up the wall. I would wind it up and let it play and play and play and play. I enjoyed it so much that Mom decided that it should be put away with all the other "Christmas stuff"... years later I found it buried in the linen cabinet...

Bean once bought my little sis a Christmas nutcracker that played (of all things) "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes". Like I say, "There are some things that should never be made; there some things that are made that should never be bought; those things that should never have been made and never have been bought should never, ever, be given to your wife for Christmas."

Enough deeply nested tangent...

I expected the bird cage cookie jar to play any of various tunes that music boxes play such as "The Happy Wanderer", "Over the Rainbow", "Feed the Birds" even... but not a funeral march... the slow plinking music in a minor key is haunting and disturbing.

If Uncle Fester from the Addams Family had an ice cream truck...

If all the children in "Oliver Twist" went back to the work house at the end of the movie...

If Tim Burton were to recreate the Sound of Music in claymation...

...this is what the music would sound like...

...and so, there it sits on the counter; the haunted cookie jar. It is old, old, old and remembers all the times it's been wound in the past and plays a stray note just when you've recovered from the last time it played.

My guess is that when the cookie jar is filled the weight of the cookies keeps the music from playing. As each cookie is taken from the jar the weight decreases until it is light enough for the funeral march to start playing...

The more I thought about this, the more it made sense to me.

I'm having a music box installed on the fridge door later in the week... I should be ready for my swimsuit in no time...

-silly

Poetry Challenge: The Problem with Lipstick

2009-04-03T11:02:00.000-07:00

The problem with lipstick
By G. David Post

“The problem with lipstick
Mascara and blush,”
Dad, brutally truthful, would say,

“The trouble with hairspray,
high heels and tight skirts?
They cannot take ugly away.”

Donuts are easier or "Dip and cross your fingers"

2009-04-03T07:34:00.000-07:00

OK...

I guess it's time for an entry about the creative process again... it's been a while and I don't want to lose you all as I immerse myself in the POETRY challenge... so let's just take those little letters E O P R T Y ; we'll add another T. And with a little magic we get P O T T E R Y... Yea... I love word games...

Last Night was pottery class; sans M&M... Francine announced that she'd be firing soon. Of course, I was in the middle of doing something and this announcement made my heart skip a beat (in a bad way)... You see, if all my pieces aren't glazed when she fires then they won't make it into the kiln... that's a bad thing... I have a show coming up in May and if I don't have my pots glazed there's no show...

So there I was, elbows deep in clay, doing something else (trimming my one pound pieces - I challenged myself to working with only a pound of clay to see what I could produce and just how thin I could throw the porcelain) time to shift gears (insert terrible grinding noise)... so much for creative process...

Time to glaze...

I've opted to have all of my work for the past year (nearly 60 pieces) glazed in a Malcolm Davis (some famous contemporary potter) shino glaze. Shinos [pronounced (She - No) (or however you want to - I'm not the boss of you)] are this cool family of glazes that do weird things and can achieve some fabulous results. They will pool, they will crawl, they will pit, they will trap carbon and sometimes they just look like snot... yup... gross...

Let's review my track record. While I was on the cruise last winter I got a free chip and used it on the craps table. Since I had never played craps, I asked for a little help and the next thing I knew I had a few more chips... ...before long, I had none. And so it is with shino and me...

I've been trying this glaze on various pieces over the course of time that I've been doing pottery. The first attempt was OK, but I was a beginner who wasn't very adept at throwing, so a fabulous glaze would have done little. The next attempt was better...

Flash forward...

Well, HotDiana asked me to make her something for Christmas and I did. I threw this wonderful jug with a clunky handle and even inscribed the bottom... After she had unloaded the kiln, Francine called and asked me to come to the studio. When I got there, she was sitting at the table with Diana's jug on a turntable. I cannot adequately describe what the glaze had done. Francine does not make comments or compliments frivolously... So, when she turned the piece around on the turntable and said,

"This is a museum quality piece." I was in shock and she added,

"This will always be a prize in your collection of the pieces you've made."

"Except that I made it for someone else."

"Oh, you can't possibly give this away." Such a quandary was mine, but the piece had, afterall, been made for HotDiana...

Subsequent attempts with this glaze have produced just as many different results, but never the same thing twice...

And so it is that I have rolled the craps dice of shino glazes and come out a winner; once...

Yet (and I add, undeterred) I spent last night glazing mugs and bowls hoping that one or two will reproduce that effect... ...and hoping, beyond hope, that they will not look like they are coated in mucus or Elmer's Glue.

Louie's rule number one is "Don't get attached to anything"... alas... I should have asked if that applies to a whole year's worth of work or just that one fave piece...

Maybe I'll produce stuff so pathetic that my friends will feel obligated to buy it at the gallery and maybe I'll have a kiln load of oddities... I'm hoping for the best and at least one piece that I can put in the cabinet...

...right next to the jug that reads, "For my HotDiana".

-silly

Poetry Challenge: Lark in April Showers

2009-04-02T06:16:00.000-07:00

Lark in April Showers
By G. David Post

“Secret party – Afternoon”
“The special day approaches!”
First date
First kiss
Stories of the labor room,
Of hurry when the time came.
First child
First word
Photos of the diaper pail.
And tales of Dora, Elmo.
First tooth
First step
Pigeons all around the crumbs,
That bobbing mass of feathers.
And, one lark,
With no coo.
Questions, questions, pigeons ask
Of the one she never met.
“Some guy?”
“Must be!”
Smile, laugh and shoulders shrug;
So the pigeons turn for crumbs.
First ball
First day
No tales to tell of colic,
Nor the tales of sleepless nights.
First play
First catch
Photos, none, of Halloween
Nor shots of the Christmas play
“My dog!”
“Oh…sweet…”
All the bows of opened gifts;
Paper strewn, uneaten cake.
"Best luck!"
"Thanks, so."
That lark among the pigeons
All the cooing, all the crumbs.
First note…
First song…

Poetry Challenge: Eden Snow

2009-04-01T13:09:00.000-07:00

Baloney challenged me to participate in the April Poem a Day contest at the Poetic Asides Blog. Nothing to win, really, but looks like fun and work for the brain. I will post what I write for each day and in the comments leave the Topic as assigned by the folks over there.

Eden Snow
By G. David Post

A chilly morning this,
In the garden.
More than frost and falling from the sky.

Under foot, soft and cold,
(Adam’s bare foot)
Dancing on the wind with Eve’s long hair.

As, from mud, his form made
So, from snow, this.
Two hands work a shape, so round, a ball.

“Duck, Creator”. A smile.
Angels protest.
Heaven’s host, to His defense, arrives.

Creator’s aim is true
And Eve’s not bad.
Adam runs, but laughter stings, not cold.

No work this snow day has,
but wage of war,
Now that play is born and snowball fights…

Does anyone have a recipe for??? or "the purpose driven toothpick"

2009-04-01T06:51:00.000-07:00

Mom has been giving me a subscription to Taste of Home magazine for several years now. I won't ask her to renew it for next year; as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist any longer. It's dead to me...

TOH was one of those fun little magazines that was dreamed up by two grandmas sitting in front of their mobile home looking for a way to preserve what can only be considered the origins of Paula Deen style cookin'. It was a place where little old ladies could talk about their best Easter dinner (Ham, ham and ham - who doesn't love ham), where "Men Who Run the Range" was a regular submission ("Imagine, Flo, men that actually cook... what's this worl' comin' tuh?"), and the editor gave advice to those cooks who wrote in with questions (Q: When I shell my hard boiled eggs the shells don't come off, what can I do? A: Buy your eggs more often than once a year.)

With the revamping and updating so much of the charm and "quaint" appeal of the magazine has been lost. What this really means is that they have lost that thing which people (like me) enjoy poking fun at, but it sold subscriptions.

Gone is the section: "Does anyone have a recipe for..." I miss this section so very much; it was classic! Such letters as: When Elmer and I were at a friend's for dinner over 25 years ago, she made this tasty dish using catfish and pimento cheese, but I lost the recipe. ...or... When my dad was growing up in Slobovia his mom made a special Christmas turkey that was stuffed with black jelly beans, I can't find the recipe anywhere. AND ONE TIME... I was at a church potluck and Velma made a jello mold using circus peanuts. She won't share her recipe, will you?

Here is where I have to add that I'm the person that actually eats circus peanuts (not the ones in a shell) those orangish flavored marshmallow candies. (When I tear open the bag Cricket has to leave the room.) Out of a bag, I eat about 6 of them and then, I'm done for a while - six months. (Not too long ago, my family showed up at the door and held an "intervention", but I digress.)

So, you won't find it unusual that I actually had a bag of circus peanuts (tho you may still find it unusual)... ...and what should be on the backside of the bag, but a recipe for orange jello mold with circus peanuts... As I stared at the recipe all the other requests began dancing around in my brain; violent nausea overwhelmed me when the realization became crystal clear... THEY WERE REAL... all those requests were for food that people had actually eaten...

Also gone from TOH is Ned's toothpick. While, in reality, this referred to a sketch of a toothpick that was cleverly hidden in the pages (the finder of which could receive some type of prize), there was an intro line of how Ned had lost his trusty toothpick and it was somewhere in the pages of the magazine. In my book, the word "trusty" can only mean that it had been used on more than one occasion. Gross...

Alas, the "In Our Family" section is also gone. This is where people share their own family traditions, prayers and customs... ...quaint. Mom never got to send her entry; she'd have sent it on a lark. She and Dad had had dinner at the home of friends from their church. When dinner was over the host announced that it was "Time for toothpicks." Out came the little canister of toothpicks that was passed around the table. The hosts and other guests sat at the table picking their teeth until the hostess passed around "the bowl". Into the bowl went all the toothpicks. This was revolting to my mom, but she was too polite to have ever said anything.

My mother's telling of this story was not as funny when she told it the first time. It was only after the second dinner they attended ,when new guests looked with horror at the other guests picking their teeth and at the bowl of used picks passed around after the meal, that Mom's story came into full bloom. I love to mention those old friends to Mom and hear that story and how it morphs depending on her mood...

...and so it goes, that Taste of Home has morphed into a cooking magazine; like all the others...

Gone is the quaint.

Gone is the absurd.

Gone are the toothpicks and grandmas.

Gone are the things that turn your stomach and strike your funny-bone.

It's odd, really, because those are the things, that are "Home".

-silly

Shuman Hall is haunted by the ghosts of my youth or "How many years did it take to get the smell out of your clothes"

2009-03-31T13:26:00.000-07:00

"At the top of the stairs, take a right; go all the way to the end."

"Thanks."

I had been in this office before, tho it was a very long time ago, four/five sitcoms at least. (Maybe it's the fact that I grew up watching "Mary Tyler Moore"

, "Laverne and Shirley" and "the Jeffersons", but, I tend to think of the different times in my life as sitcoms - and, yes, I have a theme song for most of them). This had been the office of the Academic Dean and I had been up here for good reasons, bad reasons and dumb reasons... Dean Collard (I couldn't tell you his first name) had been a prof that I'd had in college for a "Modern Thought" class. He didn't lecture, he simply had you read a chapter and discuss it with him. It was very tricky. Oddly enough, it was one of those classes that required "permission" and how someone like me ever got in is still a mystery (to the other people in the class).

Dean Collard is long gone, but something he said back then still haunts me. "Your generation doesn't pick up pennies because they don't see value in them. When we begin to think of insignificant things as valueless things it hurts us. We begin to think of insignificant people as having no value and it only goes down from there." I started picking up pennies - and my friends started picking up Purell.

But today, I was on my way to see another Prof I had had in college. (It's funny to think that at 43 I am older now than he was when I had him as a professor). When I got to the office that I believed was his I had a very strange feeling that I was in the wrong place. Tho I couldn't put my finger on it until later, realize now that I still associated him with the "smell."

I was in college in the 80s, he was a young man in the 80s... in the 80s the cologne was Polo. ...and he wore Polo. Now, I won't remark that he wore too much cologne because Polo is one of those scents that is not unlike the QEII. If you were in a row boat and were hit by the QEII you couldn't complain that the liner had hit you harder than was necessary... ...and so it was in college that I knew he was coming down the hallways long before I ever saw him and years afterward the smell of Polo would bring to mind this man who was, at the same time, my professor and my friend.

Upon arrival at his "new" office (Dean Collard's old office) I had the suspicion I was in the wrong place because I did not smell the cologne - so odd how the brain works.

He was there and seemed genuinely pleased that I had come to see him. We decided to go for lunch, Mongolian BBQ.

Our conversation over lunch was what you would expect of that between the head of a college and his unemployed blogging former student from years past...

"What are you doing these days?"

"I'm unemployed."

"Which explains why you're in such great shape."

(If you read my blog regularly, tho we've never met, you can see the expression on my face.)

"When did you go blind?" was not my response.

"Was I that fat in college?" was also not my response.

Instead I laughed and said,

"It's amazing what a VERY TIGHT stretchy t-shirt will do to your body under a very loose sweater." (and it is!)

I was amazed to find that it did not seem at all as tho 25 years had passed since last I had sat to talk with him.

I was amazed to find that, when he began to suggest possible job paths for me, he was spot in terms of what I know and what I can do...

I was amazed to find that he had changed so very little and that, while I think I have changed so very much, (perhaps) I have not.

On my way back to the car, I glanced at the ground and saw an old metal spoon in the mud along the path. It was bent and twisted, tho not rusty. I left it where it was because it was garbage... ...but it was right at the foot of a gate that I had never noticed.

-silly

Cheaters cheat, Liars lie and Dreamers dream (sometimes with hilarious results) or "It's not what you expect, but just what you want"...

2009-03-29T09:48:00.000-07:00

I love to cheat and I love to lie.

Never for personal gain or to harm anyone, but simply to play that fun little game that people play. It's not unlike those scenes in the police dramas where the suspect is interrogated while the rest of the drama's cast (because there are no other criminals to catch) stands on the other side of the two-way mirror (or is it one-way?) watching it unfold. Yeah, that's it really, I love to watch it unfold.

I was a youth minister for a while and always enjoyed working with the kids. Being somewhat of a misfit myself I enjoyed the kids outside of the circle just as much as I enjoyed the ones that always seemed to shine. Wiley was one of those kids. Not quite part of the group, not really an outsider, just a guy with a self image that didn't quite function properly. He prided himself in the fact that he never won anything and this got old with me really fast...

So, one Friday night the group got together to play some board games. Out came Monopoly (UGH and Yuck - there is only one way to win at this game) and everyone wanted to play. Wiley repeated the "I'll lose" mantra. I explained that I always lose too (did I mention the lying thing?) and that, if paired up, we couldn't possibly lose. (Flawless) You see, I knew something that he didn't know... every game has "givens" and in Monopoly they are:

A) No one wants to be the banker

B) No one watches the banker

C) Players that run out of money lose

D) The banker has an endless supply of money

So it went like this.

Out came the game. Teams were picked. Given A kicked in. I agreed to be the banker.

You do the math...

Sadly, when it was all said and done I realized that Wiley had most likely never won a game. The look of surprise and amazement as we cleaned up the board was fantastic. LOL... watching him win and the others lose was more like a controlled experiment than a board game... and my confession, after the fact, never diminished his win... (of course, he's in prison now)

Not really...

...and that leads me to thing number 2. The game of lying.

It's not about deceiving, but about toying with someone in regard to something so outlandish that they shouldn't possibly believe it... People do it to themselves, I just play along.

So it is that I was having a conversation with a "continuing acquaintance" who has (and rightfully so) categorized me as "a creative type". It has something to do with my being involved in theatre... so, when I told her that I was thinking of teaching, she asked if I would be teaching drama... and when I mentioned that I went on an interview (I had an interview last week) she asked if it was for drama.

As an aside, this is enough to make me howl with laughter as one doesn't actually go on an interview "for drama"... so this is how the lie unfolded...

"Hey."

"Hi."

"How's the job search going?"

"eh, ok, tho I did have an interview this week."

"Great. Good for you." Who knows why she didn't stop there...

"Yeah, well, we'll see."

"Was it for drama?"

"It was at an animal shelter." In her defense, if there is one, I could have started the sentence with "No," but I hadn't thought that was necessary.

"Really? What kinds of animals?"

"Dogs, cats... mostly"

"Wow. Now, have you actually done drama with dogs and cats before?"

(At this point one is not allowed to pause.)

"When I was working on my masters."

"I guess, I'm not certain how that would work."

"Well, you don't actually use a script."

"Of course not. It's like improvisation?"

"...and choreography..."

"Oh, sure. Movement and cooperation. Probably very good for socializing the animals."

"Give me a job that requires a little imagination and I'm a happy man. It's not really something I ever though I'd be doing."

"...but a dream job for an animal lover. When do you think you'll hear?"

"Sometime next week."

"Great! Oh good luck! Did you see an ad for the job in the paper?"

"Um... what?" now I'm laughing.

"How did you find out about the job?"

...still laughing...

"What?"

(No way, right? no way!)

"Ummm..."

"Yeah, it's not really a job for animal welfare creative dramatics."

"Oh. what's the job?"

"Book keeper."

"Oh" (the disappointment was nearly insulting) "have you ever actually done book keeping?"

"No, but I always end up the banker in Monopoly."

-silly

The Hopeful Archeologist or "Mr Martin takes a vacation"

2009-03-28T05:53:00.000-07:00

When the girl decided that she would run the light instead of stopping it meant that I was out of a car for a while... and that was the first time I knew that Rick considered me a friend. He called and offered me the use of their spare car.

"Can you drive a manual shift?"

"I can."

"Then you'll be fine, tho you have to be a little creative."

What he meant by creative was that the car had no 2nd or 3rd gear. From 1st you had to shift to 4th, of course there was also the ever faithful Reverse. It was a challenge, but I never had to drive it in traffic and the jaunt from home to work was just under 2 miles. It was really OK.

After Rick's dad died he called me and asked me to stop by the house. He and his wife and kids had lived in his dad's house to care for him; Rick wasn't fond of his father; while he spoke of his dad often I'd never heard him say a nice thing about him.

His father had been an avid reader and prided himself in the library he had amassed. Rick led me into the library and told me that I could take anything I wanted. He and his brother had picked through it themselves; I would get a shot at it and the rest would be donated or thrown away. There were empty boxes on the floor.

"Fill them with whatever you want."

I felt guilty, but, undeterred, I started filling a box.

The man had multiple editions of what must have been his favorites. Finely bound copies of the classics, shelved one with the other, were held in place by some of the most interesting bookends I'd ever seen.

After I'd filled a box I called for Rick and asked him to check what I'd taken. He came to the room, looked in the box.

"Is this okay to take?"

"Yeah. I told you, anything you want."

The box went out to my car and I started on another one. Again, I called him when it was full.

"You don't have to call me to check out every box; take what you want."

"Bookends?"

"We have taken everything we want."

And so it was that I packed up my small red car with boxes of "stuff" from his deceased father's library.

The bookcases in my office housed both the books I'd read in college... and by office I mean converted closet. I'm not one to complete any task right away and so I simply deposited the boxes on the floor to deal with at another time.

And another time came, bringing Peter into my office, looking for some boxes and curious about the contents of mine.

"If I help you unpack these can I use the boxes?"

The question mark (and the tone of his voice) would lead one to believe that this was a question, but Peter was hindered by very little. I knew that this was not a question. I watched as he began to move the books from the boxes to the empty shelves. He remarked on everything; early additions caught his eye, fancy bindings and the bookend... the marble bookend...

"This is cool."

...it was a square block, of sorts...

"The shape, the color... very cool... hmmm..."

I told him how it had been sitting by itself on one of the shelves.

"You know, there's a nut on the bottom."

He turned it over in his hands, studying the piece.

"You get it. Right?"

I was just watching him, his determination to abscond with my boxes diminished by his growing curiosity with this bookend.

"The bolt holds the bookend together."

He studied the top, the bottom.

"There is probably a compartment inside."

...and now I was curious, too...

"Don't you want to know what's inside?"

I did. I wanted to know what was inside. I'd pillaged an old man's library and walked off with the bookend that had the secret compartment. I knew in my heart that I'd never keep what was inside, but I also knew that I had to find out. I was the archeologist who'd unearth the mummy's treasure, but give it back to the rightful owner.

The nut was tight. (I love short sentences that say so very much)

"I have a wrench that will fit this in my office." Peter had an office. The phone rang. It was my day to answer the phones, but I couldn't be disturbed now. It rang again, Charlie was letting it ring because it was my day to answer the phones. One more ring as Peter came back to my "office". Charlie took the call; I took the wrench from Peter; with nothing for Peter to take, he sat on the edge of my desk.

Clearly the block was not meant to be opened and there was no clear angle at which you catch the nut with the wrench, but determination is my middle name. (Not really and... not really) It started to move, but had to be worked with the wrench.

"Don't turn it over. If the whole thing comes loose, whatever is inside will spill out."

Charlie stepped into my office; Peter held the marble bookend over my head; I knelt on the floor working loose the nut that held captive the treasure in the box.

"Your friend Rick called."

"Yeah?" working, working, working...

"He wants you to call him..."

"About?" almost there... almost there... almost there...

"He said his father's ashes have disappeared and you might have taken them without realizing what they were."

Peter looked at the box over my head. I looked at the box over my head. Charlie laughed and turned to go, saying,

"If I'd only waited five minutes."

-silly

Taping a nickel to the needle of my mind... or "cruelty beyond measure"

2009-03-27T12:05:00.000-07:00

Steve was my best friend in college, he had a chipped front tooth that graced an otherwise perfect smile which resided right under that cheesy mustache we all grew when we arrived on campus. (mine was a full beard) His folks lived in Lake George which was a few hours up the NY Thruway and when we knew it was a dull weekend ahead, we'd hop in his car and head up to see them.

His mom made the best fried egg sandwich you ever had. That was the reason I went along... actually, that was the reason I'd continually suggest that we go for a visit... and "go" we did... gas was cheap...

Steve's car was the kind of car that got you from point A to point B. I had no car and never - ever complained about it. Its radio could not be shut off or the volume lowered because the power/volume button had vanished... that was fine, because we had (in that time between 8-tracks and CDs) a box of cassettes.

Somehow a Dire Straits cassette ended up in his car. I do not know where it came from or whether he'd bought it and just never told me...

We hopped in his car after class that Friday night and headed north. He popped in the Dire Straits tape and it played. It was a single. Side A was "Walk of Life" and side B was, well, the same song...

Steve liked the song...

Side A played, we bopped along up the Thruway to it. Side B played, I didn't get all the lyrics, but, hey, it was catchy. Side A started again and Steve pressed the eject button...

...but nothing happened.

"Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies, Bee-bop-a-lu, baby what I say"

"Hmm, that's weird..."

"What?"

"The tape is stuck."

He got the action, he got the motion

...and stuck it was...

Over and over it played...

Turning all the night time into the day...

There was nothing we could do...

Yeah, the boy can play. The dedication devotion. turning all the night time into the day...

...couldn't turn it down...

Here comes Johnny...

...we couldn't turn it off...

he got the action...

...I couldn't pry it out...

you do the walk, you do the walk of life

over and over and over and over for HOURS and HOURS...

Thru the tolls, after the stops at McDonalds... ...it was maddening...

The outcome of this event in my life is that I have a tendency to get a song stuck in my head. There are several songs that will send me over the brink of madness with just a phrase of the lyric or three or four of the notes strung together. Haunted, I tell you, for weeks at a time, without rest like a man fleeing a ghost...

Among them:

The Muppet Show Song

If I Only had a Brain (very trying while Shrub reigned)

and

Supercalifragilistic

...but there's one that gets me every time...

...one, like no other...

...like a bear-trap, it catches in my brain...

...and I have this recurring dream...

- - -

It's a long corridor and the nurses watch her as she walks to the room. This is her annual visit. She enters the room and he sits there in his wheel chair wishing that he had flossed more often. She kisses him and moves a chair over close to him. She asks about the food and he scowls, waving a hand. He never intended to live this long or here... ...his heart starts to race as she gets up to leave. He has forgotten to turn off his hearing aids. The casual observer will think that she is leaning in to kiss him goodbye. He pulls away. She persists, holding his head in place as she whispers in his ear, almost inaudible. His wild eyes stare at her as she collects her jacket and purse.

It's a long corridor and the nurses watch her as she walks to the elevator and rides it down to the ground floor.

"Do you think he'll have started yet?"

"I'm sure of it."

Standing just outside his door they listen for it. It's weak, a mumble, the only breath he really has... yes, but it's unmistakable, it's musical, it's catchy...

"We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine...

We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine...

We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine..."

I have decided to be very kind and very generous to my nieces...

-silly

Putting my finger on it (you can quote me)

2009-03-26T06:43:00.001-07:00

If you're having that kind of day, I'm here to help you put it into words. Here are a few of my faves...

"I'm having a double-espresso kind of day, but my brew is set on herbal tea."

"A few of the stars in my constellation went dim; somehow I went from the Big Dipper to just Dip."

"Some days I'm Tigger, some days I'm Eeyore, but most of the time I just feel like Pooh."

-silly

It's The Little Things or "the fly is down on the zipper of my brain and no one told me..."

2009-03-25T08:01:00.000-07:00

It's the little things that make me laugh. I seldom laugh at jokes, but let me catch someone in the corner of my eye doing something that hits my funny bone and I can't control myself. An old friend used to avoid my right elbow because she had seen me squish a fly with it; I guess she wasn't sure how one could adequately wash their elbows... She even asked me once, "Is that the FLY elbow?" So, I caught her looking at my elbow a few times and would slowly move it toward her - when she would move away from it I would howl with laughter... I keep odd friends in my life for just this reason.

It's the little things that offend me. I'm not easily offended, but there just isn't a better word... you know those times when someone says something that is clearly a window into how they truly feel... I tried on a double-breasted suit once and asked the associate (who was paid to make me feel good about myself ) if she thought the suit made me look "boxy". She replied, "You are boxy." (NOTE: Husbands, this is not an exemplary response to the wife who asks if something makes her look fat.)

It's the little things that worry me. ...and so it is that I found myself terrified today... because I put the starch away or hadn't. I had an interview yesterday and ironed my shirt (I know, momentous occasion "the ironing of the shirt"... oh and excited about the interview too)... I managed to put away the ironing board and empty the water from the iron before I put it back in the cabinet, but the starch never made it home... so, this morning, after my second cup of coffee, I walked into the dining room and found that the starch was still sitting on the table. I looked around for the cap - that yellow cap that could only go on the starch - but the cap was nowhere to be found. Lest I miss more of "Ellen", I decided to put the starch away without the cap and, if I found the cap, I could put it on later. I grabbed the can... headed to the laundry room... opened the cabinet and there it was...

the cap

...that yellow cap that could only go on the starch...

TERRIFYING

There were no hard plastic eyes to stare at me, no face to taunt me, no sneer to defy, but scariest of all... no legs to help it get back to the cabinet...

I had put it there. In the midst of cleaning up the ironing chore, I had put away the cap. While today, I had thought to find the cap before I put away the starch, yesterday, it had not even crossed my mind to find the starch when I grabbed the cap and stuck it in the cabinet.

I recognize that I don't hear as well as I used to hear and the mere fact that I have eight pair of very expensive frames (since getting glasses for the first time 4 years ago) says much about my eyesight... ...but will I know when my brain goes?

...or has it gone already and no one mentioned it...

-silly

Grey Squirrel, Grey Squirrel Swish Your Bushy BANG!!! or "finding something in the family tree for dinner"

2009-03-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

Far be it from me to tout myself as an example of sophistication and gentility, afterall, I'm the guy who was asked to wear "big boy" shoes (instead of sneakers) for a date in the City, but when my sister brought home Bean (the man of her dreams who turned out to be a guy that, by comparison, makes Jeff Foxworthy's definition of a red neck seem like an urban metro-sexual) I should have said "something". I didn't... not really. ...not enough, anyway...

Sadly (and thankfully) he has moved on to wife number two. She is credited (thanks to Bluetooth enabled pick-up trucks and nieces that don't miss a trick) with such great lines as "Darlin', pick up a couple six packs for me so that I can stand you this weekend" and "I got dinner for us at Taco Bell this afternoon, be a Darlin' and run by Walmart for some fresh cheese..." I've not met Numero Dos (thank heavens) but I just can't get the image of a shabby cotton house-dress and "Baby, grab the big spatula; come help momma off the couch" out of my mind.

Must kill mental picture...

Alas, Bean moved my sis far and away from the real world (or at least my world) and there she lives with her three kids; all of whom I adore.

..and their world is very different from mine...

...so much so that when Mom read to me a letter from Sparrow (the youngest) that she had received in the mail it caused my brain to short-circuit. It was as foreign to me as though she had moved her children to a distant country, one south of Bukina Faso, and raised them on the bugs that live under the lava rocks.

His letter read something like this:

Grandma,

Thanks for the birthday card and the check. (How sweet! and how very gracious...)

I shot a raccoon. (GASP!)

Mr. [the neighbor] helped me skin it. (Bag please)

Mommy helped me nail the skin to a board and put salt on it so I can tan it. (This Mommy person is clearly not the little girl who used to puke at the site of a frog and hang Andy Gibb posters on her bedroom walls)

But we didn't make stew with it like we did with the squirrel. (BLANK)

There was more, but nothing that my brain could take in; it was enough.

How did this happen? Afterall, this is not about them... this is about me... (rule number 1: it's always about me) ...these children will take care of me in my old age.

What will become of me?

Sitting in a rocker just too close to the out-house on a warm summer day...

Staying warm under the skin of an animal killed in the backyard...

Listening to my sister telling stories of how she nailed that hairy thing to the wall... (the raccoon, not Andy Gibb)

Eating squirrel stew...

...and then I think...

...at least I'll finally be thin.

-silly

You Got the Part...You can quote me

2009-03-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

Did you ever see the movie "Waiting for Guffman"? It's a window into the world of community theatre...the dark underbelly of ... well... something... and I have been a part of this dark underbelly for many years now, tho, lately, not as active. I've had a chance to meet some real characters while playing some fictional ones.

So, when I saw an audition call for the play "The Boys Next Door" I thought I'd give it a shot. I did get a call-back, but the other guys reading for the part were exceptional and I'm man enough to admit when I'm out of my league. That's not to say that I didn't get the part - I've gotten no call yet about it, so we'll see...

But here are a few of the funny things said to me when I've actually landed a part...

"You didn't even need to read for me. When I saw those sneakers I knew you'd be perfect..." (on being cast as Snoopy in "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown")

"We were looking for someone built like a football player to play the maid." (on being cast as Jakob in "La Cage au Folles".)

"Sweetie, sometimes type-casting just works in your favor." (on being cast as Bottom [transformed into an ass] in "A Midsummer Night's Dream")

Wish me luck...

-silly

Ummm... I don't think of myself as sexy... or "I (really do) believe in miracles"

2009-03-18T06:07:00.000-07:00

Other bloggers might be honored, but I'm somehow perplexed. I've been awarded the Sexy Blogger Award; here in the kitchen, I hear the vamp from that "Hot Chocolate" song every time I mention it...

Other bloggers might recognize this as a thinly veiled chain letter instead of thinking that there is actually someone out there who thinks of me as sexy, but flattery comes me so seldom and even less often this early in the morning, before I've showered...

Other bloggers might pass on the requirement of listing six sexy things about themselves and then naming six other bloggers (I do not know six other bloggers) for the dubious honor...

...but in the spirit of fun...

1. I throw pottery. I don't know if it's the fact that my big clumsy man-hands can actually produce a pretty, thin porcelain bowl or whether my sitting at the wheel conjures visions of a young, lean, shirtless Patrick Swayze getting down and dirty to the smooth sounds of the Righteous Brothers...

2. I drink my coffee black. My sister used to say, "I like my coffee just like I like my men; strong and black", just one summer working construction with my dad cured me of repeating that one-liner... ...still in all, in this day of frappuccinnos and lattes for some reason I feel like the Marlboro Man when I refuse milk and sugar.

3. I know that the days for wearing a Speedo have passed. Now, you might argue that the days for wearing a Speedo never arrived and that the brand name really should be Speedon't, but my point here is that a little self awareness can be sexy.

4. I play piano in the dark.

5. I love to laugh. Now, mine is not a refined Cary Grant laugh or a raspy, taunting Humphrey Bogart laugh, but a highly recognizable man-giggle (not quite Uncle Albert in Mary Poppins, but I think you get my point).

6. Children fall asleep in my arms. I do not know what this is all about.

...and there it is...

Look out, Hugh Jackman, my phone is a-ringin and it's People magazine...

Cue the "Hot Chocolate" music...

My nominees for Sexy Blogger are:

Mr. Stevers

Clay Doodles

Wild Boomba

-silly

Neither diamonds, moons, stars nor clovers, or "Magicly Devious"

2009-03-17T09:13:00.000-07:00

Let me just start by saying that I am the fourth of five children. Yep, I have two older sisters, an older brother and a younger sis... and I'm also happy to report that I have relatively unstrained relationships with each of them. Hardly a motley crew, but when you're growing up in that size family you learn a certain mode of survival. Those of you who are clever will see that this is my attempt at explaining myself long before the story even begins...

While I have Irish roots my family is not one of those that touts our heritage like that. Dad never wore a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" t-shirt and Mom never yelled "Ye're dead to me" when I told her she'd had too much to drink at a wedding (as Mom may read this [a shock], I will also add that I never knew her to drink anything more than a sip of red wine at a friend's one Thanksgiving who had proclaimed that he'd made it himself in his basement from grapes grown in the backyard - which I never actually believed). So, when I was told I should blog on a St Patrick's day theme I couldn't think of much to say and I knew that expounding on family traditions (mom used to dye canned pears green with food coloring) would do little more than alienate me from the family.

About 10 years ago I was thrilled to become a Godfather. When Charlie Brown and Florence were having their first little boy they asked if I would "do the honors" - YEA!!!

So, every couple months we get together on a Saturday night and play games, eat calzone and share horror stories about our jobs. They have three kids now and while I love them all, none compare with my Ky-bot. He's a scream and adores his godfather (poor deceived child).

One Saturday night, few years back we got up to their place well before dinner and sat around chatting... and chatting... and chatting... and Ky-bot wanted something to eat. They shared the usual "spoiling dinner" conversation and agreed that a small bowl of cereal wouldn't spoil dinner - especially eaten dry... and since there was less than a small portion it was dumped into a bowl and handed to him.

As I stepped into the kitchen, Lucky and his empty box were dropped into the trash.

"Ooo... I love 'Lucky Charms'"

"Me too..." he answered me, smiling that 6 year old toothless grin.

His mother reminded him that nice boys share.

"You can have some if you want."

"Ok" said Dracula when the young girl asked him to look at the mole on her neck.

It was instinct. I was finished before I even knew I'd done it.

I picked through the cereal and removed all of the marshmallow bits.

bing...bing...

Into my mouth they went and they were gone... and I enjoyed them.

He stood there staring into his bowl, digging around those poor excuses for nutrition that they leave in the cereal for mothers who can't say "No"; hoping to find just one piece of the promised hearts, stars or rainbows... His godfather could have left the head of his prized horse in his bed and gotten a kinder look. He looked up at me like I'd waltzed into his wedding wearing my own tuxedo and married his bride while he stepped into the men's room for a second.

He walked over to his mom who looked at me and half-laughed,

"Did you eat all the marshmallows?"

...I had, what could I say? What could I do? All those years of grabbing for the mac and cheese before it started down the table and getting to the cold cuts first before there was nothing left but olive loaf had trained me for this very moment. This is what I had become, this is the great man and fine example into which I had evolved.

"Did I?" such a fibber...

He held the bowl up to me, a poor orphan in a workhouse whose gruel did not suffice...

I looked down at the beige, odd shaped, slightly sugar coated oat pieces and repeated those words that I had learned at a very young age...

"Those are good, too..."

...yeah, he didn't believe it either...

-silly

The Neti bandwagon or "drinking the salt water kool aide"

2009-03-15T08:56:00.000-07:00

One learns a lot on Facebook. Mostly things they don't need to know. A blog I read from time to time has a regular feature that is "TMI Thursdays"... it's like that everyday on Facebook. The status update feature lets you tell your friends, at any given point in time, what you are doing, thinking, feeling... whatever you wanna say. Do I really need to know that my friend has three kids that are all sick and that she is cleaning the carpet? or that another went to the doctor (45 minutes later) went to the grocery store/pharmacy (2 hours later) got home with the medicine (15 minutes later) is taking the medicine... I read it, yes, but I don't really need to know...

...not only this, but then I (and any other friend) can comment...

"Good luck with that..." is a pretty standard comment from me.

...and so, with an allergy problem, I status myself as having a sinus headache and the responses started with

"get a Netipot..."

For those of you who don't know what a Netipot is, well, it's a thing that looks kind of like a watering can except that you stick the spout up your nose. Into that nostril you dump a quart of luke warm salt water with the hope that you won't swallow half of it and that, instead (get this), it will come spewing out the other nostril.

This first Facebook response was not the first time someone suggested that I procure this thing which I have come to refer to as Mumbai Water Torture. No, an old boss mentioned it when I called in sick (I should have said "that's in the 5-year plan". I had no interest at the time.

What happened on Facebook was astounding... other friends began to comment on the suggestion; pressing me to take the plunge. I received actual messages (not just comments on my profile page) from concerned friends who shared their testimonies and experiences.

So, I posted a new note: "I'm actually thinking of getting one of those Neti things."

A whole new flood of comments and messages came.

"You won't regret it."

"Good for you."

"It changed my life."

"I use mine 3 times a day."

I felt like Nicole Kidman fleeing Daniel Craig in that "Body Snatchers" movie remake... a Lurch of Zombies (I know it's a School of Fish, a Murder of Crows and a Pod of Whales, but I don't know the correct term for a group of zombies-perhaps a Sepulcher of Zombies ) following me to WalMart carrying their undersized plastic teapots - the Morton salt girl leading the march, umbrella in hand.

"Join us. Drain your nose."

...and I went to WalMart...

...and there, beside the "magic genie lanterns of sinus cleansing" was a squirt bottle made by the same company. It was cheaper so I grabbed it. Now, I cannot explain why I thought a geyser of salt water gushing through my nasal passages would be better than a gentle stream winding its way around my deviated septum. I reasoned that I already had watering cans for house plants and the garden, but no squirty bottle designed to force water from the bottom. I thought, "When I wimp out of actually using this maybe I can 'repurpose' it to skim the fat off chicken broth..."

...and I headed home with yet another thing I'd bought with no intention of actually using...

...and still the zombies followed. My always-on MAC revealed even more Facebook friends who had commented. These were people I thought I knew, people I loved, people I trusted.

But one response, one word changed everything for me. Like the rising sun that turns the vampires to dust when the virgin can bar the doors no longer, a comment came from Ree,

"ew"

That was all she had to say for me to know that I was safe... no words of warning, no danger signs, no link to an internet site to explain how this treatment would force salt water into the brain through my nose (the same passage through which the Egyptians took the Pharaohs'), just,

"ew"

...no capitalization, only one "w"...

"ew"

...and somehow I knew that if she felt the same way about it that it was OK...

"ew"

So, I tried it. The Earth didn't move. The clouds didn't part. There was no choir of angels singing.

I DON'T EVEN FEEL BETTER...

...but the next thing that happened scared the snot out of me...

I don't know why I didn't close the bathroom door.

Cricket came up behind me and asked,

"What are you doing? What is... ...oh, you bought one of those."

...and, holding up the bottle, salt water dripping from my nose, I actually replied,

"Yeah, you should try it."

-silly

Jack, Russell, LoraDora and me or "these boots weren't made for walkin"

2009-03-14T15:13:00.000-07:00

I bemoan my weight more than the average blogger, but not the fact that I am so sorely out of shape. The two go hand in hand and I'm not exactly sure how I missed this.

So the phone rang yesterday...

RING

(I think it actually rang four times - I am just that s l o w getting up off my stool and lumbering to the phone)

"Hi, it's me!"

"Hey"

"My conference calls are over for the day and before I get started on the rest of the stuff I have to finish I was going to take the puppy for a walk."

"Nice."

"Do you want to come along?"

Well, I hadn't seen LoraDora in months and in the interim she'd gotten a puppy. We'd never met; the puppy and I. It was the prettiest day there had been since the first of the year (albeit chillier than I thought it ought to be)... at the sight of the blue sky and the prospect of being outside in the sunshine my brain shut off.

"I'd love to..."

I knew that the puppy was a Jack Russell.

Jonny Shenks has a Jack Russell that is sheer madness.

I put on a pair of boat shoes (they may be out of style, but you can still get them at Payless - there's a clue for ya), hopped in my car and drove the 1/2 mile to LoraDora's place.

What a charming little guy. He is very well behaved for a ball of energy. He was excited to go for his walk and while I itched his ears LoraDora put on her running shoes...

I had running shoes once.

...my brain was still in the off mode.

On went the collar, click went the leash, the door opened and we were off...

...or should I say...

they were off...

...and I realized that I was out of my mind. This was supposed to be a nice leisurely walk on a early spring afternoon...

"So what have you been up to?"

By this point I knew one thing, there was no way on earth I was going to be able to keep pace with them and hold a conversation. My mind raced for a plan while the staggered breath burned in my lungs.. (running shoes? are you kidding me?)

"Not a lot.

wheeze

Tell me about about the dog."

Two things that will completely occupy the mind and conversation of an adult human are puppies and grandchildren. One might think that children do this but you get very short answers when it comes to babies ("She doesn't sleep" or "He's into everything") I have recently found that grandbaby trumps puppy by a very wide margin, but that's a story too long for a tangent.

The story started and I did my best to keep up... ...with the walking and the talking. But my body was more interested in sending oxygen to my vital organs so that my ears really only got what was left over.

When we crossed into the next state I realized that this was not a short jaunt around the block, but a marathon. (I should have called friends and had them pledge a dime for each mile we covered.)

As I staggered alongside she danced with the puppy, he'd go this way - she'd follow, he'd twist the leash around her - she'd spin, unwinded at a dizzying pace. It was lovely to watch. And all the while the tale of acquiring the puppy continued.

And then we were done; as quickly as we had walked, the walk was over.

Before I dropped myself into my little red car LoraDora said that we'd have to do this again...

...it occurred to me how much I'd missed her, this person I'd spent so many years with at the office. In 10 years time we'd been through much together (I had actually met her on my first day and can still tell you what she was wearing). You might say we're gems of two different shapes whose facets are somehow all the same...

...I can't wait!

But next time I'll probably follow along on my bike.

-silly

Throwing better goals or "bowls for the easily distracted"

2009-03-13T11:19:00.000-07:00

So, last night was pottery class and, as always, I had a tremendous time. (and as usual, I didn't take photos like I had planned) Last night I worked on a series of bowls that I'm throwing for a pottery show that I'm doing in May at the gallery. I had thrown 6 stoneware bowls last week and trimmed them last night. Trimming is to a pot what a good trainer is to an athlete... it can make a so-so one better and a great one fantastic. Let's just say that I started with "better than so-so" and ended up with "pretty darned good"...

I did a little bit of ornamentation on the bottom of five of the six bowls. I have a stamp that I picked up at the pottery supply place; working a pattern with it can produce an effect that I really like... as I was stamping away Louie commented,

"You're throwing better..."

"Thanks..."

"No, you really are..." Now, why thanking someone causes them to reiterate what they have already said; it is beyond me... I guess in some vocabulary "Thanks" actually means "not really"... but then Francine (she specializes in teaching pottery to the middle aged-klutz) added...

"Actually, you are really getting to the point where you throw what you intend to throw."

Let's just pause for a moment of silence...

In the pottery world that's huge!!! More often than not, when you are learning to throw you end up with something that is not exactly what you set out to make. Oh sure, you may want to throw a vase and you get a vase, but instead of a tall narrow vase with a flared collar you end up with a short round thing that's just about big enough to put short stemmed violets in... show me a beginning potter who doesn't have 10 pencil holders and 25 ash trays and I'll tell you that you've got a hand builder (and hand building is also hard)...

Oh that I were as successful in life as I am in pottery. I've kind of specialized in making the most of what I end up with instead of setting a goal and achieving it. I had goals early on and realized that goals were for people with drive and drive was for people with vision and vision was for people who (a bird just flew by the window and Beestro jumped up on the ledge to see what's going on) aren't easily distracted.

I am easily distracted. While my enumployed counterparts were surfing the net today, I found myself waist deep in a pile of leaves that needed pushed into the empty lot behind the house... and under those leaves there were iris and peonies and hyacinth and stuff reaching to get to the sun... YEA!!! and the neighbors took the day off and have people over and I went to Wal-Mart to get one of things that dumps salt water into your nose (they neglect to tell you just how much ends up in the back of your throat)...

My old bosses used to berate me (for lack of a better word) during review time because I didn't have 5-year plans. Now, I knew (and they knew) that it was only because they had push all of their people into a managed bell-curve at review time, but none-the-less this was a consistent theme that came up... (I had my own view of my personal weaknesses, but my managers didn't necessarily agree with it... when I mentioned in an interview what my old bosses thought my weakness was it cost me a job and when I mentioned what I thought were my weaknesses the interviewer went, "Ooo"... nonetheless I am still enumployed... [apologies for the tangent within a tangent])

I guess all the world wants you driven and undistracted... or employers at least. I find myself less impressed with people who set out to become an "X" and end up an "X"... ooo, you knew what you wanted to be when you were 10 and you achieved it... and find myself intrigued with people who left behind the job they wanted @10 to pursue something that was consistent with who they had become as an adult...

So here I am, getting better at pottery and actually thinking about who and where and what I want to be in five years... get ready future boss, I have a plan th

...there are deer in the yard, I gotta go...

-silly

Spring... You can quote me...

2009-03-12T07:55:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a wet and warmer week weather-wise and I'm happy to report that many of the daffodils are poking through the soil. The prospect of getting outside and starting to work in the garden excites me, but I'm always a little leery of uncovering stuff until I know it's going to stay warm. Some of the fierce wind we had this winter has made the yard look as though I never raked at all; I have neighbors to thank for this, the ones that actually never did rake at all...

I've learned some life lessons working in the garden and, as it is Three for Thursday, I'm going to list three for you...

Tulips bloom because the winter has been cold...

Leaves don't fall from trees simply because the leaf is dead, but to make room for a new leaf grow...

Not everything you plant in your garden will grow, and not everything that grows in your garden is something that you planted...

-silly

"Unemployed" - the Musical or "But Father, I want to sing..."

2009-03-06T07:13:00.000-08:00

[Scene: A mall early morning. Store workers are busy opening stores for the day.]

[Middle aged man appears on stage singing]

MAN: Circuit City

such a pity

going under now

Prices dropping

feel like shopping

yet, I wonder how

At the mall

wall to wall

signs of brightest red

it's all on sale

a wondrous tale

yet my income's dead

CHORUS: Yet his income's dead.

MAN w/ CHORUS: Overjoyed, I should be overjoyed

MAN: But I'm not...

CHORUS: No he's not...

MAN: I'm unemployed

CHORUS: Yes, he's unemployed

A dime is all he's got.

MAN: All I've got...

I could buy

me, oh my

Everything I see

But there's no dough

don't ya know

So I'll let it be...

CHORUS: Let it be, let it be, let it be

MAN: Oh, this fate

which I hate

All the world's a tease

The euro's down

and the Pound

but I can't travel overseas

Overjoyed

CHORUS: He should be overjoyed.

MAN: but I'm not. I'm so annoyed.

CHORUS: Yes, he's annoyed

MAN: quite a lot. My hopes destroyed.

CHORUS: his hopes destroyed. Was it a plot?

MAN: Was it a plot? Should I be paranoid?

CHORUS: you should see Sigmund Freud...

MAN: Because, like me, he now is unemployed...

[SPOKEN LIKE CHEERLEADERS]

MAN: Summers off

TEACHER: Like a teacher

TOGETHER: Whole week off

PREACHER: Like a preacher

TOGETHER: Don't take orders

WAITER: Like a waiter

TOGETHER: or give orders

DOCTOR: Like a doctor

TOGETHER: and every holiday

BANKER: Like a banker, at the bank!

MAN: My old boss is to thank...

[SINGING AGAIN. BUILDING TO CHORUS KICKLINE]

CAST: So... Now... we're... Overjoyed

Somehow we're overjoyed

we shouldn't be, and yet we are

and why be so annoyed

with all our hopes destroyed

BANKER: I didn't really need another car

CAST: we won't be paranoid

or hire Sigmund Freud

to give advice or use his couch

We all are unemployed

Together unemployed

...and together feel this ouch.

[MAN STEPS OUT FROM CHORUSLINE]

MAN: Circuit City

Such a pity

Going under now

Who'll be next

[BEEPING SOUND]

TEEN GIRL: Ooo a text

[All on stage grab their cell phones and disburse on stage as they text.]

MAN: [SLOWER] What's to say

Here's my resume

It's been redone a million times

I know somehow

That you don't want it now

and I should go apply on-line

but tell me friend

will this ever end

and will I ever find a job

To get that meal

will I beg and steal

How many banks I'll have to rob

BANKER: [SPOKEN] Banks? What banks? Are they hiring?

MAN: Unemployed... I'm only unemployed

[CHORUS TOGETHER AGAIN]

CAST: It crosses borders, crosses class

MAN: We're unemployed and just like hemorrhoids...

CAST: a royal pain, right in the ass

MAN: but this will pass

CAST: yes, this will pass

MAN: and we'll have jobs

CAST: be working slobs

And then we'll be annoyed

and won't be overjoyed

MAN: I'll work and envy all those people unemployed...

[CURTAIN]

Ok, so it's a work in progress.

-silly

You Can Quote Me

2009-03-05T07:13:00.000-08:00

Some of my blogging counterparts seem to be in the habit of setting aside a day of the week to do the same thing, week after week: this one writes about her cat every Monday, that one writes on a letter of the alphabet every Tuesday, Baloney Rants-n-Raves on Wednesday...

This reminds me of an old boss I had; she wore the same grey suit every Monday. When it was pointed out to me I made a mental note to watch the following week and even put a reminder in my calendar... sure enough, Monday came, the reminder popped up, I went to see for myself and lo and behold she had on her grey suit. I had to ask... ...she said it gave her one day of the week when she really didn't have to think about what she was going to wear, she just had to put it on.

I left the reminder on my PC and week after week, tho her life was easier, my life was given something new to make me giggle...

So, in that same spirit, I've decided to give you "3 for Thursdays"... I'm not so sure what that means yet, but you can be sure Thursday will bring you three things that are in, relatively, the same vein...

Today: my Quotes

Sometimes I'm presented with an idea that sticks in my brain and when I think-about-it and think-about-it I get to a point where I come up with a quote that sums up the thought. I used to think that I'd save all these up for a play I'll write some day (yeah, that'll never happen)...

So, with no more introduction, here are three of my favorite personal quotes.

"I love you to death; and sometimes I think it just might come to that."

"While great minds may think alike, it is also possible for two idiots to make the exact same mistake."

"If you can be dumb enough to reach your conclusion without any facts, I should be smart enough to realize that the facts won't change your mind."

-silly

Plenty of room in the sunbeam or "Litterbox for one, please!"

2009-03-04T11:43:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night... well, not really... it was one of those Friday nights when I stopped at the apartment to grab my stuff before heading out for the rest of the weekend. This was the very reason I had a cat. Actually, guilt was the reason I had a cat (thanks to Mr Kins), but that's a whole other story. This was the very reason I had a cat and not a dog. A cat will eat when they are hungry, need little companionship and can be left on their own to sleep and prowl for most of a weekend - dogs need constant attention and food and require too much care.

Fernando was black from head to toe, still had all his claws and, while some thought the gouge in his ear meant that he'd had a run-in with another cat during a street fight, I thought it probably meant he'd had a run-in with a vet who'd had a swipe at his privates. Privates or not, he was all boy! ...and he was a talker. Every one of the neighbors in the apartment complex knew him. He'd talk all night. I slept with the bedroom door closed and a fan on so I didn't have to listen to him singing to the moon (or whoever it was).

And Crazilynn talked back to him. One day we were reading the latest Terry Pratchett novel in a sun beam on the couch and she came calling,

"Fernando! Fernando!"

Looking down from the second story window (knowing she couldn't see I read in the same clothes I slept in) I answered,

"Hey there!"

"Oh. Hi. I was calling Fernando..."

"Well, Don't let me interrupt," and went back to Diskworld.

Crazilynn never actually met Fernando. Theirs was a relationship separated by the distance between my second floor apartment and the sidewalk. I've always been one who thought that "love your neighbor" was one thing, but having them in for a drink was another. Many a night I came home to find her standing below the window talking up to him. He had this look set aside just for her that was somewhere between fascination and "lady they have medication for people like you".

So, that Friday night I got home, grabbed some clothes for the weekend, fed Fernando and headed out. I wasn't so irresponsible as to leave him if I were gone for more than a day and a half. HotDiana had a key to my place and I had keys to hers. We watched each others' apartments when the other one traveled... we had an understanding and bedrooms were off limits (not that she could find a path through the clutter to snoop around mine even if she had wanted to).

Crazilynn passed me as I went to my car, grabbed her mail and headed to her own apartment. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the movement under the shrubs. Fernando. She dropped her mail and bags and tried to grab him, chased him for a while and finally cornered him, but by the time she scooped him up I was long gone.

With a black cat tucked under one arm she started throwing rocks up at HotDiana's windows.

PLINK

"WHAT?"

"Fernando got out..."

"What?"

"I got home and Fernando was out... ...must have snuck out when he left for the weekend."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, we have to put him back in the apartment. You have a key. I just need you to open the door and I'll drop him inside."

"What?"

"I have Fernando under my arm. Come down here and open the apartment and I will put him back."

Sure enough she came downstairs...

"That's not Fernando."

"Yes it is, he got out."

"No, it's not."

"He's black."

"Yeah, but..."

"He got out. We need to put him back."

"Are you sure?"

"What do mean am I sure?"

"How did he get out?"

"He snuck out... come on, I can't stand here all night with this cat under my arm."

And so HotDiana got the spare keys, opened both sets of locked doors and went up into my apartment.

"You wait here."

We were clear on two things: Bedrooms were off limits....and Crazilynn had earned her nickname.

She called him, but no one came.

"I have him here..." coming up the steps.

"Wait down there..."

She called him, but no one came.

"He got out. I had to catch him..." coming up the stairs.

"I'm calling him in case that ain't him. ...but he's not coming."

And so Crazilynn deposited the little black cat on the bottom step and HotDiana locked both sets of doors closing her in.

Saying that Sunday night came quickly is like saying that a week's vacation flew by or that summer arrived and departed on a single breeze. Sunday nights were my time to chat with Nancyboo and this was no exception. If you don't have a friend to regularly gab with about the week and review all those things in life that you always talk about, then, well, you're probably married.

"Blah, blah...", driving home.

"Blah, blah...", getting out of my car.

"Blah, blah...", grabbing my mail.

"Blah, blah...", letting myself in.

"Blah, blah... Hey, there's a cat in my apartment!"

"Yes, you have a cat."

"No, a little black cat."

"umm, Fernando is black..."

"NO! LISTEN to me. There is a different black cat in my apartment. This is not my cat."

"What do you mean?"

"Who would do this?"

"What's wrong?

"I gotta go. I'll call you when I figure out what's going on."

I stood there terrified. Frozen. She looked up at me and meowed.

And then he came around the corner... talking to me... and if it wasn't meows and growls it would have been something like, "I don't know who she is, but she's been here all weekend."

There was catnip everywhere... the catnip hidden in the bottom of my linen closet that had been closed.

There was no catfood out, but every lower cabinet door was open.

"Meow."

...and the pillows were off the couch...

First things first, I thought as I picked her up and dropped her outside thinking that someone would be very glad to have her come home after being gone for a few days...

Then I put some food out for Fernando.

Then I checked my messages.

BEEP

"Hi. Crazilynn was throwing rocks at my windows to get my attention. She says that Fernando got out and she wants to put him back in your apartment. She has a black cat under her arm. How could he have gotten out? This is so weird. Call me."

BEEP

"Hi, it's me again. Crazilynn and I put Fernando back. I was sure that it wasn't him, but I went up in your apartment and called for him and he never came. Please call me."

BEEP

"Hi... When you left tonite you let Fernando out by accident. I caught him and put him back for you so he'll be there when you get home Sunday night. You need to be more careful. Good thing I'm watching out for you."

If I were hanging by my fingernails from the Empire State Building no one would hear me screaming, but let one off-kilter neighbor see a cat that she thinks might possibly be mine and suddenly a colony of felines know just how cozy my bed is when the sun comes through the window in the afternoon.

-silly

Wii is out to get mii - and by Wii I don't mean us...

2009-03-03T07:47:00.000-08:00

When there was money enough to buy one and one on the shelf at Toys-R-Us, we (us, not the game) bought a Wii (the game, not us). Overall, very fun. The issue is that the game does not like me. You might wonder if this "techno-paranoia" is unfounded, but something happened the other night that confirmed it in my mind.

On the Wii, you set-up Miis. A Mii is a character that you create who plays the game for you on the screen. (Mine is short and chubby, with square glasses, goatee and spiked dark hair.) Anytime one plays the game they simply select their mii and play away...

When we first got the console I created a Mii for almost everyone we knew. Hysterical! My theory was that if I showed no mercy when I created myself then I certainly didn't have to hold back creating others - much to the chagrin of my older and/or heavier friends... but we all have a good laugh about it.

Ok, I have a good laugh.

...and our friends come by to play... They don't show up with their own controllers like in the commercials, but they come for a game of bowling, golf and sometimes tennis...

...and they all bowl straight...

Not me, I throw the ball and it hooks to the left; kind of like I've pointed myself at the gutter on purpose.

...but anyone else...

They swing the arm. They release the ball. The ball rolls down the lane. The ball hits the center pin. Not always a strike, but always straight... always, that is, until the other night.

So the other night, Cricket and I had a little party to celebrate Nanciboo's birthday. She came by expecting dinner with just the two of us; a half hour after she got here, four of her friends rolled in - a little surprise. Dinner was nice (I made beef stew)... and after dinner, we turned on the Wii.

In the interest of time we decided not to create new Miis for all the guests (tho I had already set up one for Nanciboo that looks just like her - and makes me howl with laughter). One of the guests used my Mii... I was playing pool - since only four players can bowl at a time. The guest using my Mii is 6'3, thin and left handed; I'm right handed.

...and then he threw the ball...

...and it hooked... ...to the left...

Tell me, what are the odds that someone nearly a foot taller than I am, with a completely different build and an opposite dominant hand would throw the ball and duplicate my curve... ...no way, the Wii thought my Mii was me, but my Mii wasn't me - it was someone else. Someone unlike me in every way...

I began to suspect

my theory correct

and was just not prepared for what happened next.

You see, it was Nanciboo's birthday and she was bowling in last place (the console at least leaves me that much)... She remarked that it was her birthday and that the others should let her win.

...I guess they took her seriously... (I don't have that gene and could never bring myself to even let a four-year-old niece win at Candyland)

Cricket, who was up next, turned left and purposefully threw the ball at the gutter. The ball, flung with tremendous force, hurled itself to the left and then...

...it hooked to the right and slammed into the center pin...

STRIKE

...not once, but TWICE this happened...

Cricket was getting preferential treatment!!!

"Unfair!" I screamed before I even realized that I was watching the bowling game; my mouth hanging open...

Playstation 3 ... $400.00

Games for Playstation 3 ... $49.00 each

Accidentally crushing the Wii by backing your car over it ... Priceless

-silly

You don't know me, but I'm a drunk... or FBUI

2009-03-02T12:33:00.001-08:00

I could blog forever about Facebook and all the people I knew in high school and college who suddenly have an interest in me and knowing all about me. Confession-time: at the beginning I was excited to get all these requests from people who wouldn't have been caught dead speaking to me in high school and now wanted to be my friend.

I accepted every last one that came in... ...not so much these days...

Not only do I not accept friend requests from just about anyone, but I asked around and found out how to "unfriend" some of these people... such a relief!

For the sake of my high school friends from almost 30 years ago I have posted some old pictures and have even changed my profile picture to a photo of me when I was 14 (you know the age when your face hasn't grown quite as quickly as your nose.)

So, Saturday night, Cricket and I had a birthday party for a friend of ours (stay with me). It was a small gathering to which I had invited Wolf, but he had other plans, he instead went to a party at Taylor's...

On Sunday I received a Facebook Friend request from "Cindy ___". Alas, I thought, another Facebook request from someone with a name I do not recognize.

...there was a message attached...

Cindy says, "I apologize for my behavior last night. I drink but don't usually get that out of control. I'm embarassed and sorry..... I didn't eat anything and that happens if I don't eat! Sorry again and thanks for everything.".

So, I'm puzzled. I'm sure there was no Cindy at my party - I hosted only 7 people; a drunken guest whom I didn't invite would have been (let's just say) conspicuous.

CLICK

This takes me from email into Facebook where I can see who she actually is, but I still have no clue. Face is not familiar, but I see that she is relatively local ...and then I see that we have a mutual friend... Taylor...

Now, I'm really curious. Was my mysterious-overserved-wannabe-friend at Taylor's party on Saturday night? Some sort of Six Degrees of Cosmopolitan? I had to know...

...and sure enough, Wolf confirmed it...

...there was a Cindy at Taylor's party...

...Cindy did have way too much to drink...

...Cindy was (a tad) out of control...

So was she still drinking when she sat down at her computer and sent a friend request to someone she didn't know?

Did she think that the message of "I know I was drunk and inappropriate, but let's be friends" would go over well with me?

Did she send an apology/friend request to everyone of Taylor's 458 friends hoping to cover her bases?

Was there another 14 year old at the party whose face, in her stupor, she confused with mine?

Is this 14 year old whom Cindy is "thanking for everything" now really "more than a friend"?

I've decided to accept her friend request. You know in ten years we'll be somewhere and someone will ask, "How did you two meet?" and I'll be able to say,

"Cindy got drunk at a party that I wasn't at and asked if she could be my friend."

When you get as much pleasure as I get out of teasing your friends an opportunity like this is too good to pass up.

-silly

Flannel, it's the new...umm... flannel

2009-02-24T08:47:00.000-08:00

So, for Christmas, not too many years ago, Cricket decided to buy me a sewing machine... I didn't sew at the time, but it was something I had always wanted to learn to do. (Remind me to tell the story of making Halloween costumes with Linus.)

I opened the box, looked at the instructions and put it all away. The whole thing was just too intimidating and well, I didn't have any fabric - for some reason a sewing machine comes with string, but not with fabric. I have since learned that you can certainly sew without fabric, but there is no reason to...

Not to have the Present of the Year go to waste, Cricket decided that we should go to a community Adult School and take a sewing class. I was up for the challenge. The first night we showed up with nothing in our hands, but were given a list things to buy for the second class. Class number one was dedicated to sewing our first disaster. Everyone sewed a pot holder from scraps that the teacher had in a big bag... my pot holder is the first thing I ever sewed on a sewing machine and, well, let's just say that you can tell. I've never used it, not for any sentimental reason, but because I'm not convinced that two pieces of thin cotton will actually protect my hand from a 350 degree pot coming out of the oven.

So our list of items to bring to the next class was everything you'd have expected (scissors - dull scissors will not cut fabric...who knew?, a seem ripper - every seemster needs one, thread...). We were to find/buy a pattern for something we wanted to make and enough fabric to make it.

I love flannel pants; who doesn't.

I thought, ooo, something cozy and fun. They should be easy and with a pattern from "Simplicity" I was sure I couldn't go wrong.

...and enough fabric to make it...

So I started looking for fabric. Soft flannel... and I found the funnest (it's all about the fun) flannel with choo-choos... yes, trains. too cute... too fun... too soft... How pleased was I with my bolt of choo-choo fabric tucked under my arm as I walked to the cutting table (they cut it for you - with sharp scissors).

"Oh..."

...she said as she looked at the choo-choo flannel. I recognized that empty "Oh", so my compulsion to explain myself kicked in automatically....

"I'm taking a sewing class..."

(SHE DOES NOT REPLY)

"For our first class we have to find a pattern and fabric to make something..."

(STILL NO REPLY)

"I'm going to make flannel pants, I thought they'd be fun..."

Finally a reply, "Over there we have some flannel that has deer and hunters..."

(I DO NOT REPLY)

"...there is even some camo..."

Shocked that the other male hunters in my sewing class hadn't snatched up all the camo and deer-hunter fabric...

...wondering whether I was wearing my day-glo orange Dale Earnhardt hunter's cap...

...wishing I had taken the gun rack off the back of my pick-up...

...I simply replied,

"no thanks, I think I'll stick with the choo-choo fabric."

"Choo-Choo?"

"Yes, it means 'train' because of the sound they make... ...two yards please..."

-silly

Seeking flexible clown for day shift...

2009-02-18T12:58:00.000-08:00

You have to love the unclear speech that people have dreamed-up so that they don't offend. I've gone to class after class after networking group for "the unemployed" and I can't help laughing at the way people talk.

"You're not unemployed! You are in transition."

"Um... No, I'm unemployed."

"...but you can't think that way..."

BLANK STARE

You see, if I don't "think that way" I'm very likely to think that a paycheck is going to come from somewhere. And, when that paycheck doesn't come, I'm reminded (not that I'm in transition) but that I'm unemployed... So, for the sake of the nay-sayers, I've come to refer to myself as "enumployed" and, if they ask what that means, I explain that it's like being without a job or a paycheck except that you actually are. Then they leave me alone.

A friend of mine is always at the enUmployment office when I go down there. It seems that she has found some volunteer work there and spends a good bit of her time helping others work on their resumes, find job leads etc. Good luck with that.

I ran into her after a class Creative Job Searches - Maximizing Your Interests and Strengths. She asked for my impression of the class. I explained that I love to craft and cook and such, but that I really need to make a living. So if Martha Stewart isn't hiring (does anyone out there know if Martha Stewart is hiring?) I may need to rely on something else. She remarked that some of the classes are more helpful than others, but you never know where you'll pick up a great idea. Well, I needed to know...

"So, did you find the class helpful when you took it?"

"Sure, it gave me some things to think about."

I'm doubtful.

"Like?"

"Avenues to pursue that I hadn't considered..."

I'm still curious.

"Like?"

"Well, like clowning. I have been a clown for fun for a while... and I like Yoga. I've taken intense yoga classes. and... and you never know how these could lead to a new career for me... you know, if I think creatively."

By this point I'd had enough and promised to call when I had time to grab lunch (because being enumployed has kept me so very busy).

And as I drive home I begin to think creatively about a new job for her.

Could there be a market for clown yoga?

Would you have to come in full dress or just makeup?

You can't really be a clown without the shoes and most yoga is done in bare feet.

Would classes be held at a gym or at the fair-grounds?

...surely they would be held behind locked doors...

What about the poses?

How about "downward facing elephant" instead of dog or

pie-in-the-face pose?

How about the classic crammed-in-a-car pose?

...there could be the sitting on a cactus pose...

and the very difficult squirting-flower pose...

Alas, being neither an accomplished clown nor flexible enough to endure a yoga class I'm not convinced that I could embark on this enterprise that has so completely captivated me, but at least I have a new assurance.

Given my skill set, no job I dream up could be quite as disturbing as clown-yoga...

-silly

Little Shop, Little Shop of Crochet

2009-02-18T09:30:00.000-08:00

It wasn't too many Christmases ago that Louie gave me a large crochet hook and a few skeins of yarn; she thought I would enjoy learning to crochet and the yarn had a pattern (directions) on the packaging. The yarn was a dark pea-green chenille, and tho I had never tried my hand at it, I found that it wasn't too difficult to master a double crochet. In not too much time I had produced a very interesting looking scarf (and several piles of chenille fuzz). I made several for friends who were man enough to wear them and found that either:

a) I was doing something wrong or

b) One had to be VERY tall to wear them (I stuff most of mine into my coat so that I don't trip over it and break my neck)

One winter the scarf found its way around my neck and when I explained that I had learned to crochet some years back Cricket replied,

"I'd like to learn how to crochet."

"Oh, you would?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can teach you what I know."

...and so we embarked on that journey... We bought yarn, lots of yarn (because when you're learning to do anything you have delusions of grand accomplishment) and hooks (because someday you'll need one in every size imaginable) and books with patterns (don't ask, but yes you can still buy them). And we began the lessons...

"It's like this..."

"Yes, but..."

"...but what?"

"Aren't you right-handed?"

"Yes. I'm still right-handed."

"Well, I'm left-handed so shouldn't I crochet differently?"

Here is the thing. "Crochet" (summed up) is managing to find a way to put a series of knots in LOTS of yarn in some-sense-of-ordered way so that when you're done:

a: it doesn't unravel

b: it can be recognized as a "something"

...and so Cricket learned to crochet, and I suppose in some small way I helped that along, but I'm not sure how and to this day I still can't watch because the method is so very confusing; nonetheless it seems to work.

Then, one day...

"I'm going to crochet a scarf."

"Nice"

"I start with a chain, right?"

"Yes."

CHAIN. CHAIN. CHAIN.

"That's a very long chain."

"Yes, I think I'll make an afghan instead."

"Ok, but it's sill a very long chain."

CHAIN. CHAIN. CHAIN.

...and it was born, the scarf-ghan. Seasons passed, seasons of American Idol, Lost, Project Runway, Top Chef, Heroes and that home improvement show (the one where they knock your house down and build you a mansion for which - if you could afford the taxes - you'd have never been a candidate for the show in the first place)... and it grew and it grew and it grew.

(If only I had thought to buy stock in Lion Brand Yarn)

"I'm going out to buy yarn."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure."

"There's a Walmart right across the Pennsylvania border, they still have yarn."

Making this thing wasn't a craft, it was giving birth to Godzilla. When finished we found that it could easily blanket two king-size beds with room to spare.

I could not have suspected what was to happen. My first clue should have been the disappearance of one of the cats, (I thought we had two and then one day...we only had one). My second clue should have been Nancy-boo falling unconscious when it wrapped itself around her in the Big chair. ...but I was blind. Then one sleepless night, I was wooed to the couch and seduced to pull the monster over me to stay warm. The weight was unreal. The scarf-ghan shifted over me and tho I fought it, I found that I was no match for it. Of course it was heavy (not from truckloads of yarns) it has a digestive system and a full muscle structure. Finally, it let me go, tho at the time I wasn't certain why...

Then last summer Cricket decided that Nancy-boo needed a scarf-ghan of her own for Christmas and again endeavored to produce one (you probably noticed that several small countries had booming economies, boosted by last year's yarn sales).

...you see their plan now, don't you... They will reproduce and smother humankind on a chilly night with a false sense of "cozy".

Scarf-ghan 2 (and this time she's angry) was presented to Nancy-boo for Christmas (in a gift bag that I sewed - thank you very much)...

She has not yet recognized the signs. Of it she says...

"It's too big to control, it won't let me get up when I need a drink or have to pee..."

"The cat gets comfy and I can't pry her out of it..."

Oh well...

I'm sorry to report that I have also become a pawn in the "take-over of the cozies" and am even now drawing up plans for what will (no doubt) be the craze next year for Christmas. I'm thinking of making something like a "Snuggy", but (get this) without the armholes. I need to think up a good name for it...

Cricket thinks I should call it "a blanket".

-silly

setting expectations and 0 to 210 in 5 seconds...

2009-02-17T08:34:00.000-08:00

"Enough about being overweight", you're thinking to yourself and I'm thinking that too, but there's just so much to talk about...

So, I'm watching one of a hundred health and doctor shows on TV and lo and behold they mention what Louie and Baloney both have mentioned...

"an effective method of losing weight

is simply using a smaller plate".

(THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK TO SIGNIFY BLANK STARE)

Um, what? So this is what I think... If I'm cooking "meals for four that two can eat" and serve it on salad plates this will not going to keep me from eating all of the food that I've prepared.

Really! Come on, if I can't keep myself from taking a second serving why in the world will a smaller plate keep me from taking a fifth serving? All that will do is compound my already existing self-esteem issues.

"Wow, I had five helpings... I'm not just fat, I'm a glutton..."

I will choose a good buffet over a regular restaurant for many reasons, but the fact that you can get away with leaving a smaller tip cannot be diminished... here is where the small plate theory really falls in its butt... how can I, in good conscience, leave a paltry tip for the wait staff when, during each of my 11 trips to the buffet table, they have removed my salad plate. While you might argue that the 11 trips to the buffet would be considerably more exercise than I get on a regular day I will have to counter that I will get in the habit of finding the closest booth to the trays...

...and where does this lead, this small plate diet???

It leads us into new habits that are worse than before. That day will come when I am at a buffet and have grown accustomed to making 11 trips or worse yet at a friend's for dinner and need five or six servings of food to be satisfied and what do I see at the setting but a standard 11" plate... HOLY COW! Then what?

Now you understand.

I'm sticking to my previous belief that the only real method of losing weight and keeping it off is to never have gained it in the first place.

...and for those who are really innovative you should serve dinner on an inverted bowl... the small portion would stay in the bowl's foot and the rest of the food would simply roll off the table and onto the floor - like someone's poor meatball...

-silly

The Letter C - a top ten list

2009-02-08T14:15:00.000-08:00

My friend Baloney has been following a blogger who plays a game with her readers; this blogger writes a top ten list of things that start with a certain letter and then anyone who comments on the blog and wishes to play along is assigned a letter of their own. Baloney was assigned "T" and when I commented on the top-10 T list and said I wanted to play I was assigned the letter "C". So, with an effort to avoid the obvious, here is my top 10 "C" list ...

1. Christmas trees... while it may be said with some veracity that it's simply Christmas that I love, I qualify that I adore Christmas trees. You may recall from my "25 Random Facts" list that I have 1300 ornaments for my tree; mine are all European glass that I've been collecting for the past 20 years. I've had friends comment that they don't want me to ever see their tree because of my 8' spinning monster, but I love to see the way different families decorate their trees. My folks have a 12' artificial tree that I help put up and take down every year on Thanksgiving. The top third the tree has to be completely assembled and decorated before the rest of the tree is assembled because the width of the base makes it impossible to get a ladder in close enough to reach the top... it's a chore, but it's stunning...

2. Cosmos... yes, I fell prey the "Sex in the City" fad that mixed vodka, triple sec, lime juice and cranberry. Out with friends more than once I ordered the concoction and decided that I had to try and perfect the mixology - which I did (tho mine are often referred to as jet fuel). ...and once, when I told the bartender I'd have a Cosmo my date said, "No you won't..." I gave a puzzled look and was told, "No date of mine is going to hang out at this bar with a PINK drink in his hand..."

3. Cupcakes... I love to make them and I love to eat them. Filled or with a simple white icing; vanilla, chocolate or lemon - I don't care what the variety. My nieces asked me to help them with a bakesale for their church group. They came by my apartment one Saturday afternoon and we made 36 dozen cupcakes (not 3 doz). batch after batch of batter and frosting we made and I repeatedly had to tell them to use more frosting, more, more, more... It was exhausting and wild fun and every surface of my place held trays and trays of them... to this day, when we're having a cake of any kind, my nieces will look at me, smile and say, "Remember, it's all about the icing..."

4. Chinese food... I'm not sure why but some of my fondest memories of friends center around Chinese food. Tomasio laughed until he couldn't laugh any more when his volcano chicken came with... ...a volcano - I laughed, too. The funniest time was eating out with HotDiana. We had both ordered General Tsao's chicken and when I asked for mine EXTRA spicy, she said she wanted hers hot too... the waiter put down my plate and smiled at me... the first bite was perhaps the hottest thing I have ever sunk my teeth into... tears streamed down my face and I coughed and wheezed through most of the meal... such abuse I got from HotDiana who claimed that hers was just as hot and that she was surprised I couldn't handle it... I gave in and went to the men's room to blow my nose which was running like Victoria Falls... when I got back to the table something was up. HotDiana sat there with a stunned look on her face. I asked her what was wrong. She coughed, blew her nose and said, "Yours is SOOOOOOO much hotter than mine."

5. Caller ID - none of my friends will be surprised to know that I screen my calls, talking on the phone is something that I just don't enjoy. Caller ID was an Edison-worthy invention and is only enhanced by the ability to give individual ringtones to people who might call - auditory caller-id (love it).

6. Crash bars - while the dubious reader might think I'm reaching for this one, I assure you that when left alone in a spot with an exit door that has a "good" crash bar I will stand there and push that bar just to watch it spring back. Over and over; something about it makes me laugh.

7. Candy Corn - it has nothing to do with the flavor or consistency of this waxy Autumn treat that holds any appeal for me, but rather the fact that my dad loved it. He loved it. He'd dip his big, rugged carpenter hand into the apothecary jar that mom kept on her buffet table and pop them in his mouth... and I would too, not because I particularly liked it, but because he was eating them and because I enjoyed eating them with him.

8. Chocolate - but it MUST be very, very dark. Dark chocolate is something I cannot resist.

9. Chronicles of Narnia - At 10 or 11 my friend Jeff Johnson (no nickname - I haven't seen him in 25 years) gave me his copy of these books and told me that I should read them; since Junior High School over and again I have read these classic children's stories. I wasn't altogether pleased to know that there were plans in the works to bring them to the big screen (tho I confess I loved the first movie). Almost without fail, when I am traveling I will carry a copy of one of these books to read at some point in the trip... and oddly enough, the only thing I ever thought I might have tattooed on my body is a picture of Mr. Tumnus with his umbrella.

10. Cold Cuts - In my book, there is just no better comfort food than a sandwich and if I could live on bologna and cheese or olive loaf or ham and swiss, I'd be a happy guy... few things tempt me to be improper at a buffet like rolled cold cuts... I'll put one roll in my mouth and eat it while I'm dishing others onto my plate and take another for my mouth to hold me over until I can get back to my seat...

I avoided "Creative outlets", "Crafting", "Clay", "Collecting" and of course, "Cher"... I think you may have expected these...

-silly

Take a card...any card...

2009-02-07T07:48:00.000-08:00

Seven months, still unemployed. Oh well...

It's gotten to the point for me that I'm not not as bothered about being jobless because of all the silliness it seems to dig up for me. At the local unemployment office (busier than the mall was at Christmas-time) I bumped into a former associate. There are a good number of stories about her from the office and perhaps I'll tell them at another time.

She was a veritable plethora of job hunting tips and information (as well she should be as she's been looking for a job four months longer than I have). She was all about this networking group and that State service and the elevator speech and CARS and PARS (for any of you recently unemployed, well, you'll hear all about these from someone else)... She chatted (I nodded) for 45 minutes and then she "had to get going". She asked,

"Do you have a business card?"

"No, the old ones were useless and I still haven't got a job..."

"You have to have a business card. It's a must." She produced a card and handed it to me...

"This is mine. I had it printed for free."

"For free?"

"Yes, there are several on-line businesses that will print your card for free."

I took her card, wasn't all too impressed with the paper quality or font, but opened my wallet to slip it in.

"Oh wait. Give me that."

"The card?"

"Yes"

Took the card. Opened her purse. Pulled out a pen.

"The number is wrong" She corrected the number on the card...

"And the email address is wrong" She corrected the email address...

"They were free?"

"Yes, isn't that great? Call me. Let's have lunch."

Off she went. Puzzled, I went to my car and wondered (as I drove back home) what could possibly be the purpose of having an online business that produced free business cards with incorrect information... ...and what the odds were that if sent incorrect info, they could produce a card that had the right number and email address...

Of course I placed an order. There are just so many people that I would rather not call me, but I'd never refuse them a business card if they asked for one - how rude...

...and after all, they were free!

-silly

You're Never Fully Dressed Without a... :(

2009-01-29T06:15:00.000-08:00

...this was my morning...

Cricket got up, made a pot of coffee and left for work...

Beestro's sensor went off and he climbed up on top of me to say "Good Morning". You may not know this, but cats have a sensor, it goes off when you have a full bladder and are trying to sleep and, for reasons unknown, they are drawn to lay on top of you... perhaps they think if they press down on the full bladder hard enough, the sensor will go off...

Needless to say, I got up...

I poured my apportioned 1/4 cup of Java (this all that is left after Cricket has had two cups and taken a travel mug for the ride in to the office)...

..and lo, to my surprise, I had been left a message on the counter... (I took a picture of it because I just couldn't believe it)

...a frownie face...

Somehow, my pouring skills had managed to create a frownie face on the counter...

I'm not superstitious, but I thought to myself, "Gee, this can't be good..."

...I've decided to make myself cup of tea instead of a second pot of java...

Wish me luck (oh wait, that's superstitious)...

25 Random Things About Me

2009-01-27T08:00:00.001-08:00

So this seems to be the next thing going around and, well, I'm not too proud to share... I thought it would be interesting to post on my blog...

1. My nieces and nephews do not refer to me as uncle - only my friends' children.
2. When I was 14, I truly believed that if I prayed hard enough and believed (without doubt) God would make me 6 ft tall. (I did, he didn't, it's not an issue.)
3. For much of my youth I had a recurring dream that I was asleep on a train and the conductor would wake me at Station 38; so I always thought I'd die at 38. (I didn't)
4. I love to make people laugh.
5. I love people that make me laugh.
6. Winter is my favorite season. I believe that life is winter.
7. "Field of Dreams" is my favorite movie.
8. "'Til we have Faces" is my favorite book. I have read it every year since my sophomore year in college.
9. When I was a minister, there was a little girl in the church who called me Pastor Silly.
10. I have nearly 1300 european glass ornaments for my Christmas tree, it took me 5 days to put it up this year. (I haven't yet taken it down)
11. I intend to throw a 7 course, formal dessert party before I die.
12. I like driving little red cars.
13. I still have Melissa's engagement ring.
14. I send reminders to my friends about my birthday.
15. I love to make things; so I sew, bake, throw pottery and woodwork.
16. I believe in the power of food.
17. I have toured the caves in the Rock of Gibraltar.
18. I love board games - and only ever play to win.
19. I have never, ever, wanted to have children of my own.
20. I believe with my whole heart that winning the lottery would ruin my life (but I do buy tickets on occasion because I would love to give that much money away)
21. I once held a woman's hand while she died.
22. Most of my poetry is too private to share so I delete it once I've finished it.
23. I do not like going to the doctor.
24. I don't really have aspirations or dreams for the future.
25. (BlanK) because I'd like to hear a random thing about myself that someone else has to share...

-silly

Mrs Malaprop and the cost of being brilliant...

2009-01-25T11:33:00.000-08:00

One of the problems I have noticed with spell-check is that it will sometimes correct your misspelled word with a word that is not at all the word you want. There is nothing I enjoy more than receiving these in an email; not a collection of them, but the "real" kind when the unsuspecting writer doesn't know that I will forward on to other readers (or re-tell the story) so that they too will have the chance to laugh at the misuse. You may think this is nasty, but I just can't help it, I think malaproprisms are hysterical for several reasons:

I'm just imaginative/warped enough to take the incorrectly used word and consider what the impact would be if that word were actually the correct word. I recently read another blog where a blogger commented on loving to read books and enjoying each of the "antidotes"... so if she didn't really mean "anecdote" and did mean "antidote", what books is she reading? This is not so much a funny example, but let's start here.

You see, I love to play along... So when a foreign friend of mine would remark that she was always the Bundt of every joke... I'd just smile and say that was because she was so sweet and that the jokes really have a hole in them.

Another reason I find them so funny is because they sometimes come along in the most serious of places. Baloney and I once had a director level who was so self-important that she did not proof read her emails; this was clear. She was planning to be out on a Friday and (because she was so important) sent an email to alert all her underlings of her impending absence. Yet, not so important that she didn't proof read the email and sent a message with an incorrect date and reach number. When this was brought to her attention she sent a follow-up email (which I saved for years and forwarded when we needed a smile). In this email she gave all the correct information and then apologized for any "incontinence" caused by her first email. I off course responded, accepting her apology, but noted that it was not the first email which caused the incontinence, but the second...(yes, we laughed that hard)...

The last reason I find them so funny is, well, I do hate to admit this, but I can't help laughing when I realize just how stupid someone is. Once I was in a Bible Study group that was lead by different members of the group... we would take turns and the topics or passages would depend on the member who was leading that night and whatever they wanted to study or talk about. Well, women love to talk about love and, true to form, one night a member of the group decided she was going to lead a study on the three types of love found in the Bible. (Stay with me-For those of you who don't know them, they are "eros" where we get the word "erotic", "phileo" which is where the City of Brotherly Love gets it's name, and "agape" used to describe god's love for us.) For reasons un-known to me this member decided to get to "brotherly love" last and started her last section with the statement, "there is nothing more wonderful than fellatio love between two Christian brothers".

I gasped and laughed...

She continued.

I remarked that I didn't think that was actually in the Bible.

She remarked that maybe we didn't read the same Bible because it was mentioned over and over again in the New Testament and then she launched into the remainder of her lesson which was so fraught with double-entendres that I nearly burst... afterward the other members of the group remarked to me that they were too embarrassed to explain to her the true meaning of her word of choice... I was not embarrassed, but thoroughly entertained... Anyone determined to persist in their own stupidity "diverses" what they get...

-silly

BMI and a chance for greatness!

2009-01-23T10:28:00.000-08:00

OK, let's just put it out there... I'm 43 y/o, 5'5 and I weigh 210lbs... and no this isn't some on-line dating profile (afterall, I'd have lied about my age and weight... OK and my height)

Yup, I've put on some pounds since losing my job in July. (I will only remark that with so much time on my hands I should have gotten into terrific shape - I didn't). I do love to cook - I've already expressed that and it's not so much even cooking as it is baking; I have a collection of dessert cookbooks that I have amassed, and oddly enough I actually use them.

I will agree that 210 is a little on the heavy side for a guy who stands 5'5 and I might even quote Garfield in saying that it's "not so much that I'm overweight, but that I'm undertall." Yeah, I'm a little heavier than I like to be and my jeans are a little too snug (which is easily remedied by simply not washing them - however, this is not really an option).

So I signed up today for the 50MillionPound.com challenge. It's this on-line, Oprah, BiggestLoser thing where people-of-size are logging in to get encouragement and diet plans to help shed some weight... 50 Million is a big goal...

AND THERE IT WAS...

Click here to check your BMI...

...and I did...

...and I don't know why. I've been here before. At 5'5 my "ideal weight" (someone's ideal weight for me) is 150 pounds. How could that possibly be true? How could I be sixty pounds overweight at 5'5 and still be able to zip my "clean" 34 waist jeans (which are admittedly snug, Ok the 36 waists are snug too) but wouldn't it stand to reason that at 60 pounds over weight I'd be wearing something much larger...

I think so...

...back when I had a job, there was an LPN (Audrey - Not the one from Little Shop) at the office who one could visit at no charge... she wrote prescriptions, did basic stuff and it was a great perk (incidentally, it was THE perk, but I won't complain about my old employer - [just this] 4wks of severance for 10 years of service-are you kidding me?).

After casually mentioning to Audrey that my dad had a triple by-pass (was I on CRACK?) she demanded that I come in for some blood work etc... I hopped on the scale. She checked the weight. She turned to look at me. She raised her eyebrow (you know the single eyebrow raise and what that means).

Me: "What?"

Her: "Here, sit down."

She opened the big book displaying the BMI chart. As her penned moved across the page without making any mark she tapped on the spot where my height was indicated,

"your height" she said...

her pen deftly moved to a brightly colored spot and tapped,

"your ideal weight" (with a smile, with a smile... oh, sinister)

but as I watched her pen move WAAAAAY across the page she said

"your current weight"

and she tapped the word OBESE.

me: "You think I'm obese?"

Her: TAP-TAP

me: (louder) "No, really? You think I'm obese?"

Her: TAP-TAP

This continued for a while as I protested and she tapped the word...

...but I got my revenge... Imagine the horror struck in the hearts of all the secretaries I worked with when told how I had innocently stepped on a scale and was deemed (classified, branded) obese...

...and now, I'm even obeser (if that's a word)...

So, I've joined 50MillionPounds and hopefully my weight loss will make someone out there happy. As for my goal, well there is no way I could ever lose 60 pounds, I'm just shooting for "fat", since when you're obese there's no where to go, but down...

-silly

Top Chef-Season Spoiler

2009-01-22T06:11:00.000-08:00

"TOP CHEF" SEASON SPOILER - Jamie wins with a seared scallop; judges impressed with her thinking outside the box!

Are you completely disappointed with "TOP CHEF" this season? I am! Not that the chefs are without talent (tho I do think they stacked the deck with several that were too green to really compete). ...nor have I anything against the scallop queen.

Why did I love "Top Chef"? Why do I watch the "Food Network Challenges"? What is it about Gordon Ramsey and his "Kitchen Nightmares"? Why the "Ace of Cakes" and how could it possibly have lasted more than half a season? These shows inspire me... Yeah, I'm an out-of- work guy who loves to cook.

Cooking shows, well, they're boring... OK, I love the way Contessa is shot, I'd love Lydia to ask me to dinner, Paula has taught me to use butter and mayo when I cook/Emril some more spice, and Danny Boome (well, what can you say)...

but these shows I catch if they are on - I don't DVR them... I WANT TO BE INSPIRED!

I want to watch pastry chefs create 8 foot sugar sculptures that come crashing to the floor when moved from table to table. For my Christmas party this year, I almost made a sugar showpiece. Cricket talked me out of it; I'm certain he didn't want to be finding sugar shards of "icicle and snowman" in the dining room carpet at Easter time.

I want to hear Gordon say, "the ^&%& dish should be @%!&ing simple you @%&*ing idiot"... HE'S RIGHT, when I found a recipe for pork chops with just butter, celery and onion, I thought, "No Way", but I could hear Gordon (swearing at me) in the back of my mind and now those pork chops are something guests have asked me for over and again.

I need to see Duff Goldman's team working and failing and trying and pushing to make cakes that spin and explode and gross me out and completely charm the customer who buys them.

I can't make simple cakes anymore. They have to have a theme! They have to have rolled fondant and color and fireworks. (I haven't really tried the fireworks - again, Cricket talking me out of it)

I never braised an "anything" until last year when the Top Chefs made short ribs a few times... now, they are the favorite dish!

But hey, everyday there seems to be a new culinary competition show popping up (TED ALLEN even has one - BIG FAN of TED ALLEN here!) So even tho I will no longer be watching the "Real Housewives of Top Chef" which has clearly lost its edge, I've got my DVR poised for some shows that really get me fired up. (excuse the pun, please)

Inspire me kids, inspire me!!!

...next post will no doubt be something on "Biggest Loser"...

-silly

Happy Me

2009-01-16T09:44:00.000-08:00

So here I am, unemployed, putting on weight and wondering if I'm ever going to find a job that I actually want to do. Yeah, I had a job and I've had jobs and well I just don't know that those are what I want to do anymore... crunching numbers, making spread sheets and counting other people's pennies. Don't get me wrong, I want to work, but I just don't want to be stuck in that same corporate rut that I found myself in...

Maybe I'll put my Masters in Education to work and get a job teaching...

Can you tell I haven't made anything in a while. The thing about being unemployed is that I feel guilty being creative. I feel like I should be job hunting and all I end up doing is scanning the same postings on line for jobs I don't want to do... I want to make something... maybe lunch...

-silly

It's a living...

2008-11-17T06:32:00.000-08:00

So, Wolf's office is having a craft fair and I've decided to make some stuff to take and try to sell... I put together a bunch of different things - wine bags, gift bags and fleece duffle bags... and I plan to make some toffee.

I'm not really certain about pricing everything. You speak to one person and they say t go low and another says to go high and I'm torn because I don't want to give it all away and I don't want to be left with all kinds of stuff left over (and have to give it all away)... we'll see...

So, maybe it's not a living, but I needed to do something to break up the monotony of job hunting. Wouldn't it be great to be one of those people who can make a living doing all those things that they love to do?

sadly, the elf shoes that I intended to make for the craft show just take too long, so...

here are some pics of the stuff I've made.

note: I've not posted pics of any pottery as I have been throwing pieces for a wood-firing that will be happening in February. Since I need to have 30 pieces to take there really hasn't been time to make other stuff...

-silly

"I got a rock"

2008-10-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

=) What Fun! I found some really cute Halloween fabric at Joanne's and put together these Trick or Treat bags for the kids. It's basically a pillow case (was there anything better to use as a kid?) with a tie near the top. Really easy and I am very happy with how they came out. My fave is the googlie eyes, but the purple with owls is a great fabric.

the teapot...

2008-10-10T04:59:00.000-07:00

I had mentioned to Louie that I wanted to learn how to make a teapot in pottery class... so, sure enough, last night she mentions it to Franni. I was in the middle of throwing something else, but as soon as I was done I was set with the task of throwing a sphere for my teapot - and then the lid. Being 5'5 and rather round I have an affinity toward teapots, no small thanks to the teapot jingle - "i'm a little teapot, short and stout.." which is a fine song for one's niece to learn when she's in preschool and not so fine for one's 20 year old nephew to sing while patting you on the back. Hrumph... But, there it is.

Having given it some thought, I'm gong to devise a way to put a speaker in the lid (like those singing Hallmark cards). When you open the lid the song will play... - my voice, singing, "I'm a little teapot, short, dark and handsome..."

the gecko...

2008-06-27T06:56:00.000-07:00

here's a silly one... I lined the hip of this porcelin urn with beads (that I used cobalt oxide to color) and a lizard to knock them off the vase... I'd actually like to display it with the lizard at the back, but I probably won't... ...so silly

the red cracked pot

2008-06-27T06:46:00.000-07:00

so check out this one... it's Coleman Red glaze that really did what it was supposed to do. I think the cracks look artificial, well... they are... Have fun! -silly

Orchids and the cracked pot

2008-05-14T10:35:00.000-07:00

Well, Cricket sent me flowers and they are gorgeous. I brought in one of my cracked pots to put them in. I'm going to do a bunch of these in Raku - I hope they're as successful as the stomeware piece pictured. I need to get a better shot of this, but wanted to post it before the flowers faded...

New Pieces

2008-05-09T12:04:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted anything in a while and was kidding MrStevers about needing something new... so, last night was pottery... I've got some new pieces back and took some shots at the office so I figured I'd post them... ...the daffs were something I had in my cube a few weeks ago... a bright spot in all the dreary... i can't wait for peony season...

A few years ago I had a friend Marian whose garden I cared for. When I'd moved from Sparta to my apartment I took half of the peonies that I had planted over the years and planted them in Marian's garden. Spring after spring they were gorgeous along the driveway of her little house. About a year and a half ago we lost Marian to brain cancer. Marian's sister Abbey asked me to take any plants I wanted before they sold the house - I took the peonies. They now live at Cricket's place and when they come up I can't help but think of Marian O'Neill.

the peonies will look great in the red vase with the black band...

Raku with the boys

2008-03-24T08:15:00.001-07:00

Here's a fun pic of me with Cricket and Wolf... It was from the Raku class back in Feb at Ceramic Supply in Lodi... yeah!!!

-silly

Louie and the broken pot

2008-02-12T13:28:00.001-08:00

Here is another of the pieces I fired at the Raku session last weekend. (YEA, I know why aren't you using the digital camera that you got for Christmas - it's only February!!!)

I had to laugh, I took the pots into the office to show off some of my work. ...so...When you raku fire, you place the glowing pot into a garbage can (ummm, metal garbage can) that has combustible materials in it (like newspaper - not gasoline). The combustibles ignite from the extreme heat of the pot and then you close the lid (this is not a lesson in raku). Well, it seems that with some of the thicker glazes that the side of the pot that rests in the newspaper loses that smooth glaze look because it is resting on the burning stuff (kind of like the impression you get in your cheek when you fall asleep on an afghan...)... anyway... the copperish piece that I posted about the other day has a whole side of it that is creased like that... I turned that part to the back when displaying the pots at the office and wouldn't you know that everyone who picks up the pots comments that they love that side and the effect... and there is another pot I made that had a green band of glaze around the top, but was unglazed below... the green glaze ran in one spot and that one spot was the part of the vase that everyone loved... alas, lessons in the effect of human nature on art appreciation...

Oh, and I have a picture of an elf shoe I made because Cricket hadn't put it away with his Christmas stuff... I designed these a few years ago for Christmas with Mr.Stevers... more on these later...

silly

RAKU-Feb 08

2008-02-11T06:10:00.000-08:00

So Cricket and Wolf and I took another Raku class over the weekend. What fun!!! This time at Ceramic Supply in (Lodi?)... I have to tell you, I just love doing raku... maybe it's the instant gratification, or the crap-shoot of how things will come out of the kiln, but it is really an exciting process.

It was a whole different group of people, but what a fun selection of different types of work. It is always funny to me to find how much potters have in common when we get together for a workshop. Plenty of odd people to be sure, but some really great folks overall.

Well, here are a few of the new pieces. Oddly enough the green one and the brassy one are the same glaze.

-silly

...throwing bowls...

2008-01-11T06:18:00.000-08:00

So, Blu's Mom showed me how to throw a bowl last night... VERY FUN!!! I need to work at it, but I think I'll get it. The first two turned out great (it helps having the instructor standing right over you to remind you of the technique), but the third one flopped. I'm going to try and make something of the third one as there was so much clay left over on the bottom... and in a month or so I should have a couple bowls to show you...

Louie was working on pinch pots that she formed into little people. Her whimsical style is such an inspiration to me and has been integral to the development of my imagination.

...silly

some pots...

2008-01-09T06:45:00.000-08:00

so these are a couple of my pots... well, a vase and a jug... I got a real digital camera from Cricket for Christmas and I need to take some good photos of my stuff (like Wolf does), but, as I gave these away already, I figured that these are the best shots I'm going to get. -silly

Raku Class

2008-01-08T11:46:00.000-08:00

So we decided to take a raku class at Peter's Valley... What a scream - fire, smoke and glowing pots! Working with Bruce Denhert I came away with 12 great pieces... ("great" being relative for a firsttime raku-er who only learned to throw last spring) ... I got to work the propane torch and managed to singe all the hair off my hands (no I didn't have the gloves on at the time), but "It'll grow back"... ...we're taking another raku class in February wish me luck...

SillyCreations (First Post)

2007-08-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

So, yeah, Hi...

I like to make stuff and well, I thought it would be fun to talk about the stuff I love to make and the people that somehow find their way into my life because of the things I make... silly, right... yeah, I think so too, but I do love my friends and I do love to work with my hands and bake and make candy and throw pottery and sew and work with wood and all kinds of stuff... so welcome to my world of silly creations...