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

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)

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)

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)

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)

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..."

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"

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"

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"

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"

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

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...

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

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

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!"

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"

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

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"

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

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!!!

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