I haven't written much - or, really, at all - about the incredible two week vacation that the Awesome Fiance and I took this summer. We've been back for over a month now so it's probably time to revisit it.
I could write about the travel experience itself but the airline (I'll call it "Untied") would probably put me on the "no-fly" list after reading my tirade. I'd have to create new, more descriptive words beyond "dunder-headed ass clown" and "inept corporate maggot" ... and I'm just not feeling all that creative today.
I could write about this being the ONLY time in my life I've actually taken two whole weeks from work for vacation. Yes, I had a sabbatical, which was 6 weeks, but in all the 29 years I've been employed, I've never taken two solid weeks of vacation.
I could write about the food ... OH. MY. LORD. THE. FOOD. ... but that'll probably just make me hungry and I probably wouldn't be able to describe some of the dishes to the level of deliciousness they deserve.
I think I'll write about my overall take-away from the first portion of our two weeks. The "Family" portion.
Ya' know that family you see on occasion when traveling? Grandparents, grown children, grandkids ... dining together, smiling and laughing, posing for goofy photos, etc? The clan that piles out from the minivan and walks into the mall, maybe wearing similar teeshirts ... or the multi-generational gathering on the beach - a few are reading, some are splashing about in the water, the youngest members are creating elaborate piles of sand? Well, I was part of that family as a child. My best friend really did have the perfect family and I spent countless hours as an extended, adopted family member. Oh, they were SO much better than my real family.
Dad was a teacher, an avid weekend golfer, and liked to take rides on his motorcycle. Mom, also a teacher, liked to go on walks, spend time with her family, and be outdoors. Son - the youngest member of the family - was into all things bicycle. Daughter - my best friend - was everything I wasn't ... graceful, very pretty, delicate. They'd include me on short weekend getaways and I'd see a family who REALLY enjoyed being together. Parents who had conversations about news and politics and things that didn't involve work or animals or relatives. Children who played nicely together and went to the movies together - not because they were told to but because they wanted to. For me, it was surreal.
It was also fake.
I know now that my seemingly perfect adopted family ... was not. Dad, it seemed, waited until the children were grown and on their own, and then got on his motorcycle and rode away. Mom developed an eating disorder and handled her divorce as 'tho everything was fine when, clearly, it was not. Little brother got married *WAY* too young but to a wonderful woman who nursed him back to health for a year after a very nearly deadly motocross accident. And best friend, who had aspirations on being a psychologist, instead became a grumpy, gloomy, unhappy stay-at home mom who shielded her own small children from their "awful" Grandfather ... even as she herself continued the cycle of cheating on - and eventually leaving - her own spouse. I stopped being a part of her life after her second child. We just didn't have anything in common anymore and I got tired of trying to set up the lunch date that clearly was never to be. We had a mutual friend who kept me updated on her activities and, last I heard, her two oldest children asked to move in with their father because they were tired of being told how awful both he AND their own Grandfather was.
*******************
So while, as a child, I had my seemingly perfect family and my real one, as an adult I knew that my real one was so much better than "perfect". It was flawed, but flawed in a way I understood. The members (myself most assuredly included) were maddening, but in a comfortable way. We have family logic for the things we do - twisted as it is but it is, at least, logic of some sort. And, as the airplane drifted towards our family getaway home for the week, I thought that I was ready for the quirks and actions and whatnot that were likely to come ... flaws and maddening members and twisted logic and all.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh I was mistaken.
It's an exaggeration, to be sure, that I spent the WHOLE week closing screens, sliding glass doors, turning off lights, turning on ceiling fans, drawing drapes, turning on the air conditioner, and locking front doors. It's an exaggeration, certainly, that the week was spent washing the same dishes, clearing the same table, drying the same glasses, closing the same freezer doors, and wiping the same counter-top surface. It's an exaggeration, yes, that my island time was filled with folding towels and doing laundry and explaining how air conditioning works and sharing that, while I was sorry the upstairs was 76 degrees (aka "super cold") in the mornings, our bedroom was still at 87 degrees at 11pm the night before because no one could be bothered to close a door or shut a window to keep the air temperature at a reasonable number - say, somewhere slightly lower than 80.
It did FEEL like the whole week was like that, but I know it wasn't.
"But remember", you say calmly. "Remember that you were sharing the house with young children and you're not used to young children."
"And that's very true", I reply just as calmly. "But what makes you think I was talking about the young children?"
*******************
Ahhhhhhhhhhh but they are my people. They are my family. Are they perfect? Ha! No. Thank heavens no, they are not perfect.
Showing posts with label Fun and games. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fun and games. Show all posts
Friday, September 21, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The Cat Burglar
Well it seems we have a cat burglar in our neighborhood. Not just "in our neighborhood", actually, but in our home. Right now, in fact. I can even identify this cat burglar.
We once called him "White Kitty".
Now we call him "Murphy".
Since the great Summer power outage of 2012, Murphy has called our downstairs his home, his bachelor pad, his very own man ... er ... cat cave. Now that he lives under our roof with us, I've learned a few things about him.
(1) He's strong. When I hold Shiloh, I'm aware she weighs more than a cat should, but it's not "solid" weight - it's fluffy and soft. Holding Murphy feels like you're holding a solid muscle. He's buffed out. If he lived on the beach, he'd be working out every day.
(2) He's inquisitive like cats are, but very timid. He wants to see what is going on, but it also terrifies him. He wants to play with his "fish on a line" toy, but the noise it makes freaks him out. He wants to meet the other kitties in the house, but he doesn't know anything about cats.
(3) He's VERY nocturnal. From the time I leave for work to the time I come home, it appears that he sleeps. He also sleeps from the time I arrive at home until about 9pm. At 9pm, he's as pleasant, as cuddly, as wonderful as any cat can be. It kills me that I can't stay up with him until midnight or so just to hang out with him.
************
A weekend or so ago, the Awesome Fiance and I went to our favorite frame shop to drop off some art and then to the store for a few things. Having just recovered from the power outage, we needed to restock. Shiloh was, as usual for that time of day, sound asleep in her room. Tabby had the run of the upstairs and Murphy had the run of the downstairs. (Caring for three cats that either don't know or don't like or can't be trusted enough to be left together can be a REAL pain.)
We returned a few hours later. Knowing that Murphy could easily be waiting by the door and could maybe dart outside, I went in first. After a brief glance at the bottom and top of the stairs to see if it was "Murphy-free", I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs which leads to our kitchen. I rounded the corner and noticed a bit of Tabby-colored fur. This time of year, it's not unusual to find a tumbleweed of kitty fur, but as I looked further, I noticed another small fluffy clump ... and then a third and fourth. "Uh oh" I muttered. I glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tabby somewhere but, instead was met with a lovely pair of large, bright blue eyes.
Murphy was sitting on the chair, waiting like a character from The Godfather. He was expecting me. A glance at his coat seemed to indicate no obvious injuries. I turned back to the kitchen and was met with a lovely pair of even larger, bright green eyes.
Tabby was sitting under the table. She seemed to have an expression full of questions on her fuzzy face. "What IS that? How did it get in? What the hell IS that???" These were good questions. How DID he get upstairs? By this time, the Awesome Fiance was in the kitchen, too. He was ... un-amused. I escorted Tabby past Murphy (who was still waiting for me while he sat on his chair) and we went to our bedroom. Tabby was completely pissed off as she stomped by Murphy for a brief exchange of words, but she was, at least, uninjured. Just upset. "No seriously - what the hell WAS that thing?" she seemed to continue to ask me as I checked her out and tried to calm her down.
I went back to the living room to Murphy, who had two tiny Tabby-sized claw marks on his nose, and we went downstairs. I pushed the kitchen door to allow us downstairs and, for a brief second, thought "he opened this??? but ... no ... it's a heavy swinging door. He'd have to run fast after opening it or it'd start to close on him." We sat downstairs and, after a moment, Murphy went to a favorite spot to hide away and nap.
************
Since that event, I've envisioned (in almost cartoon fashion) what this must have been like to see: Murphy cautiously darting up the stairs after he is sure we'd left. Tabby sniffing under the door and then walking into the living room for a nap. Murphy hearing Tabby and pushing against the door, not realizing that it'd open and then, when seeing it would, butting his head against it until he flopped through. The door closing behind him - locking him in and sealing his fate. Tabby, alarmed by the commotion, re-enters the kitchen and they exchange looks. Murphy tiptoeing past Tabby, while she yells at him for breaking and entering. Shiloh waking up and demanding to know what's going on. Murphy turning his head in Shiloh's direction and then turning to Tabby, who smacks him in the face and squarely on the nose. Murphy telling Tabby to knock it off, causing Tabby to purposely fluff her fur in an effort to look larger than she is. Murphy scrambling onto the living room chair, not daring to reenter the kitchen where Tabby is still yelling and not able to hide in the hallway where he's hearing Shiloh. He sits, trapped in the chair. Tabby sits in the kitchen, trapped by Murphy's location. Shiloh, having missed the excitement, is bummed out and goes back to bed. We return home to witness the aftermath and wonder about the goings-on.
But today, some of it came true in an even funnier fashion. As I was washing his breakfast bowl out, I noticed a noise behind me. I glanced to my right and saw the kitchen door swinging closed, and then open again as it was being pushed by a strong, muscular, all-white paw.
Oh he IS a smart ninja kitty, he is.
We once called him "White Kitty".
Now we call him "Murphy".
Since the great Summer power outage of 2012, Murphy has called our downstairs his home, his bachelor pad, his very own man ... er ... cat cave. Now that he lives under our roof with us, I've learned a few things about him.
(1) He's strong. When I hold Shiloh, I'm aware she weighs more than a cat should, but it's not "solid" weight - it's fluffy and soft. Holding Murphy feels like you're holding a solid muscle. He's buffed out. If he lived on the beach, he'd be working out every day.
(2) He's inquisitive like cats are, but very timid. He wants to see what is going on, but it also terrifies him. He wants to play with his "fish on a line" toy, but the noise it makes freaks him out. He wants to meet the other kitties in the house, but he doesn't know anything about cats.
(3) He's VERY nocturnal. From the time I leave for work to the time I come home, it appears that he sleeps. He also sleeps from the time I arrive at home until about 9pm. At 9pm, he's as pleasant, as cuddly, as wonderful as any cat can be. It kills me that I can't stay up with him until midnight or so just to hang out with him.
************
A weekend or so ago, the Awesome Fiance and I went to our favorite frame shop to drop off some art and then to the store for a few things. Having just recovered from the power outage, we needed to restock. Shiloh was, as usual for that time of day, sound asleep in her room. Tabby had the run of the upstairs and Murphy had the run of the downstairs. (Caring for three cats that either don't know or don't like or can't be trusted enough to be left together can be a REAL pain.)
We returned a few hours later. Knowing that Murphy could easily be waiting by the door and could maybe dart outside, I went in first. After a brief glance at the bottom and top of the stairs to see if it was "Murphy-free", I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs which leads to our kitchen. I rounded the corner and noticed a bit of Tabby-colored fur. This time of year, it's not unusual to find a tumbleweed of kitty fur, but as I looked further, I noticed another small fluffy clump ... and then a third and fourth. "Uh oh" I muttered. I glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tabby somewhere but, instead was met with a lovely pair of large, bright blue eyes.
Murphy was sitting on the chair, waiting like a character from The Godfather. He was expecting me. A glance at his coat seemed to indicate no obvious injuries. I turned back to the kitchen and was met with a lovely pair of even larger, bright green eyes.
Tabby was sitting under the table. She seemed to have an expression full of questions on her fuzzy face. "What IS that? How did it get in? What the hell IS that???" These were good questions. How DID he get upstairs? By this time, the Awesome Fiance was in the kitchen, too. He was ... un-amused. I escorted Tabby past Murphy (who was still waiting for me while he sat on his chair) and we went to our bedroom. Tabby was completely pissed off as she stomped by Murphy for a brief exchange of words, but she was, at least, uninjured. Just upset. "No seriously - what the hell WAS that thing?" she seemed to continue to ask me as I checked her out and tried to calm her down.
I went back to the living room to Murphy, who had two tiny Tabby-sized claw marks on his nose, and we went downstairs. I pushed the kitchen door to allow us downstairs and, for a brief second, thought "he opened this??? but ... no ... it's a heavy swinging door. He'd have to run fast after opening it or it'd start to close on him." We sat downstairs and, after a moment, Murphy went to a favorite spot to hide away and nap.
************
Since that event, I've envisioned (in almost cartoon fashion) what this must have been like to see: Murphy cautiously darting up the stairs after he is sure we'd left. Tabby sniffing under the door and then walking into the living room for a nap. Murphy hearing Tabby and pushing against the door, not realizing that it'd open and then, when seeing it would, butting his head against it until he flopped through. The door closing behind him - locking him in and sealing his fate. Tabby, alarmed by the commotion, re-enters the kitchen and they exchange looks. Murphy tiptoeing past Tabby, while she yells at him for breaking and entering. Shiloh waking up and demanding to know what's going on. Murphy turning his head in Shiloh's direction and then turning to Tabby, who smacks him in the face and squarely on the nose. Murphy telling Tabby to knock it off, causing Tabby to purposely fluff her fur in an effort to look larger than she is. Murphy scrambling onto the living room chair, not daring to reenter the kitchen where Tabby is still yelling and not able to hide in the hallway where he's hearing Shiloh. He sits, trapped in the chair. Tabby sits in the kitchen, trapped by Murphy's location. Shiloh, having missed the excitement, is bummed out and goes back to bed. We return home to witness the aftermath and wonder about the goings-on.
But today, some of it came true in an even funnier fashion. As I was washing his breakfast bowl out, I noticed a noise behind me. I glanced to my right and saw the kitchen door swinging closed, and then open again as it was being pushed by a strong, muscular, all-white paw.
Oh he IS a smart ninja kitty, he is.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Un Gatto Racconto
Cast of Characters:
The Scene:
It is Summer in a suburb somewhere on the East Coast. Several States are in the grasp of a heatwave that will crush long-standing records. To add insult to injury, more than 1,000,000 homes have been without power for several days following a freakishly strong storm and there is no official word when electricity will be restored. The home where the scene is set is one such residence. Power was lost on Friday at 11:10pm. It is now Monday at 4:45am. With no air conditioning available, Tabby and Murphy were relocated to the relative cool of the basement, which was divided into separate, single feline "rooms" to prevent any arguments.
Action:
Female Human, asleep in bed above the basement, wakens to hear what may be distant sounds of a cat yowling. She slowly trudges through the home and makes her way down the stairs, expecting to see chaos but, instead, is greeted by calm.
Puzzled, female human slowly reviews the room and locks eyes with an innocent-looking Tabby. With no obvious signs of trauma, female human then advances to see into the second "room", where she is greeted with an equally innocent-looking Murphy.
Realizing that there is no problem, female human then turns to trudge back upstairs but, before she's left the area, hears Tabby rather emphatically say "meeeeeowww".
A beat goes by.
Murphy then responds with an equally meaningful "meeeeeowww".
Next from Tabby is "merrrowww".
Murphy counters with his own "merrrowww".
Confused but with no action required, female human makes her way back up the stairs, through the home and back into the bedroom.
Male Human stirs as female human crawls back into the bed. "Everything alright?" he sleepily asks. "Mmmmhmmm" says female human. "They weren't fighting then?" male human continues. "No" she responds.
Silence falls over the room.
Then female human adds "Tabby was just teaching Murphy a bunch of Italian swear words."
 |
| Tabby (also "Tabitha", "Mathilda ", "Meow") |
 |
| Murphy (also "Murph", "White Kitty") |
The Scene:
It is Summer in a suburb somewhere on the East Coast. Several States are in the grasp of a heatwave that will crush long-standing records. To add insult to injury, more than 1,000,000 homes have been without power for several days following a freakishly strong storm and there is no official word when electricity will be restored. The home where the scene is set is one such residence. Power was lost on Friday at 11:10pm. It is now Monday at 4:45am. With no air conditioning available, Tabby and Murphy were relocated to the relative cool of the basement, which was divided into separate, single feline "rooms" to prevent any arguments.
Action:
Female Human, asleep in bed above the basement, wakens to hear what may be distant sounds of a cat yowling. She slowly trudges through the home and makes her way down the stairs, expecting to see chaos but, instead, is greeted by calm.
Puzzled, female human slowly reviews the room and locks eyes with an innocent-looking Tabby. With no obvious signs of trauma, female human then advances to see into the second "room", where she is greeted with an equally innocent-looking Murphy.
Realizing that there is no problem, female human then turns to trudge back upstairs but, before she's left the area, hears Tabby rather emphatically say "meeeeeowww".
A beat goes by.
Murphy then responds with an equally meaningful "meeeeeowww".
Next from Tabby is "merrrowww".
Murphy counters with his own "merrrowww".
Confused but with no action required, female human makes her way back up the stairs, through the home and back into the bedroom.
Male Human stirs as female human crawls back into the bed. "Everything alright?" he sleepily asks. "Mmmmhmmm" says female human. "They weren't fighting then?" male human continues. "No" she responds.
Silence falls over the room.
Then female human adds "Tabby was just teaching Murphy a bunch of Italian swear words."
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Blast From My Past
This is Charlie Horse and Humphrey Hambone. They were a HUGE part of my childhood television viewing. This was my second favorite spot ... still trying to find the "honeybees" one.
Anyway, enjoy!
Friday, March 16, 2012
"Keyboard, tree, calendar, exit, theater!" ...or "How I Became A Lab Rat"
This past Tuesday, I had my "baseline 3 1/2 hour doctors appointment to ensure my overall level of health" before I embark on a 44-week double-blind medication study on the side effects of an already-FDA approved medication for one health issue which MAY (or may not) have benefits towards the treatment of Parkinson's Disease.
This is an unpaid, completely voluntary, fairly non-invasive study which is being conducted on about 300 Parkinson's patients nationally - all of whom are at about the same stage of progression as me. The "fairly non-invasive" part is that you voluntarily give your entire medical history over to a team of doctors, researchers and hospital administrators (whom you may or may not have already met) who study your treatment for nearly a year. If this were an invasive study, it would include medical procedures like spinal taps and such and, call me a wuss, but I already HAVE fuckin' Parkinson's, thankyouverymuch so keep your damn needles the hell away from my back.
(ASIDE: God, please bless the people who voluntarily sign up for invasive studies. Seriously. I've watched someone getting a spinal tap and ... *shudder* ... I can't imagine being totally healthy and going through that kind of pain all in the name of Science.)
My mostly needle-free test consisted of questions about my health, and quizzes of cognition, short-term memory, balance, and an assessment of my current level of Parkinson's. Oh, and a 40-page scratch and sniff test.
Yeah, that part was strangely frustrating. "Here - sniff this." "Ok, that's BBQ" (which triggered my head to think "wow - BBQ would be good for dinner"). Then it was "Now sniff this." "THAT'S a dill pickle." (Great, now I want a dill pickle.) A few I really couldn't tell what the heck they were and so I'd see the choices of what it COULD be and then go from there. These scents are all generated in a fake sort of way (meaning a disclaimer below the "banana" scratch area should read something like "no bananas were harmed in the course of creating this smell"), so the chocolate one smelled NOTHING like actual chocolate ... ... ... says the girl that can still taste the difference between Quik, Hershey's, and Guittard. By the 27th scratch, my fingers smelled like they'd walked through a Las Vegas buffet - and not in a yummy kind of a way.
The researchers took a blood sample (using an extremely thin needle - honestly I didn't feel it at all), a urine sample, and swabbed my mouth - all to get DNA samples to test for any markers of Parkinson's. If they can get enough samples, I guess, they'll be able to find the specific link in the strand and ... I dunno ... alter or remove it for future generations? Anyway, they've got all my "stuff" now ... hey - maybe they can use it to make a new and improved version - Me, 2.0!
The pills I'm taking for the next two weeks are either three capsules of nothing at all, or two capsules of nothing and one with 15mg of the medication being tested. After those two weeks are up, I'll turn in those bottles and get three new bottles - which will either be three capsules of nothing at all or two that each have 15mgs of medication and one that is just a "sugar pill". After two weeks on that, I'll again turn everything in and get three new bottles, which will be all medication or all nothing. This is done so that the body can adjust to the (possible) medication - vs. just tossing 45mg at ya' and saying "so, how do you feel?"
When I took my first dose (in front of the researchers, who then kept me under observation for 45 minutes), I felt like one pill MAY have weighed more than the other two ... but that could absolutely be my mind playing tricks with me, which IS part of a double-blind study in the first place. I was asked how I felt about every five minutes and, after the 3rd time, started coming up with different responses: "I haven't sprouted a tail yet" to "Don't seem to be frothing at the mouth" to "Well I don't FEEL invisible yet". While this may read like I was bothered by the near constant checking in, I was honestly glad that my health was in their hands.
Anyway it's day four on the "possible" medication. No vivid dreams (like what I had when I was on Carbidopa-Levodopa - yikes ... really creepy stuff) and my arm tremor seems about the same - maybe it happens a LITTLE less often (but last week was super stressful at work so it could just be that).
I guess we'll see what the next 43 weeks are like. I note in my Parkinson's Daily Diary when I take my pills, when I eat, and I rate my shaking throughout the day, all of which I show to my doctors and keep it current for my own benefit so, over time, maybe I'll notice a change ... HOPEFULLY for the better.
OH - but one kinda funny thing happened during the course of my visit.
For the short-term memory portion of my tests, each doctor/assistant starts by saying 5 random words for me to remember until I'm asked to repeat them back. So Doctor 1 says "rabbit, scissors, coffee, tulip, crayon" ... and then we talk for about 5-6 minutes and at the end of the conversation, he asks for me to give him three of the words. Then Doctor 2 comes in and says "cheese, shirt, church, velvet, keys" ... and we talk for 5-6 minutes, and they he asks for all 5 of his words. Well THEN Doctor 3 comes in and says "store, cough, sweater, bells, baby" ... and at the end of our talk, he doesn't ask for his words at all! So by the time Doctor 4 comes in, it's all I can do to not shout out "hairdryer, muscle, calm, ocean, paint, army, pencil!" just to get them outta my head. So Doctor 4 asked for just two of his words, but I said "yanno, I'm gonna give you 7 - because Doctor 3 didn't ask for any of his and now they're just screaming to get out." Suffice to say, my short-term memory - and, thus far, my sense of humor - is fine.
And I've checked ... I still don't see a tail.
This is an unpaid, completely voluntary, fairly non-invasive study which is being conducted on about 300 Parkinson's patients nationally - all of whom are at about the same stage of progression as me. The "fairly non-invasive" part is that you voluntarily give your entire medical history over to a team of doctors, researchers and hospital administrators (whom you may or may not have already met) who study your treatment for nearly a year. If this were an invasive study, it would include medical procedures like spinal taps and such and, call me a wuss, but I already HAVE fuckin' Parkinson's, thankyouverymuch so keep your damn needles the hell away from my back.
(ASIDE: God, please bless the people who voluntarily sign up for invasive studies. Seriously. I've watched someone getting a spinal tap and ... *shudder* ... I can't imagine being totally healthy and going through that kind of pain all in the name of Science.)
My mostly needle-free test consisted of questions about my health, and quizzes of cognition, short-term memory, balance, and an assessment of my current level of Parkinson's. Oh, and a 40-page scratch and sniff test.
Yeah, that part was strangely frustrating. "Here - sniff this." "Ok, that's BBQ" (which triggered my head to think "wow - BBQ would be good for dinner"). Then it was "Now sniff this." "THAT'S a dill pickle." (Great, now I want a dill pickle.) A few I really couldn't tell what the heck they were and so I'd see the choices of what it COULD be and then go from there. These scents are all generated in a fake sort of way (meaning a disclaimer below the "banana" scratch area should read something like "no bananas were harmed in the course of creating this smell"), so the chocolate one smelled NOTHING like actual chocolate ... ... ... says the girl that can still taste the difference between Quik, Hershey's, and Guittard. By the 27th scratch, my fingers smelled like they'd walked through a Las Vegas buffet - and not in a yummy kind of a way.
The researchers took a blood sample (using an extremely thin needle - honestly I didn't feel it at all), a urine sample, and swabbed my mouth - all to get DNA samples to test for any markers of Parkinson's. If they can get enough samples, I guess, they'll be able to find the specific link in the strand and ... I dunno ... alter or remove it for future generations? Anyway, they've got all my "stuff" now ... hey - maybe they can use it to make a new and improved version - Me, 2.0!
The pills I'm taking for the next two weeks are either three capsules of nothing at all, or two capsules of nothing and one with 15mg of the medication being tested. After those two weeks are up, I'll turn in those bottles and get three new bottles - which will either be three capsules of nothing at all or two that each have 15mgs of medication and one that is just a "sugar pill". After two weeks on that, I'll again turn everything in and get three new bottles, which will be all medication or all nothing. This is done so that the body can adjust to the (possible) medication - vs. just tossing 45mg at ya' and saying "so, how do you feel?"
When I took my first dose (in front of the researchers, who then kept me under observation for 45 minutes), I felt like one pill MAY have weighed more than the other two ... but that could absolutely be my mind playing tricks with me, which IS part of a double-blind study in the first place. I was asked how I felt about every five minutes and, after the 3rd time, started coming up with different responses: "I haven't sprouted a tail yet" to "Don't seem to be frothing at the mouth" to "Well I don't FEEL invisible yet". While this may read like I was bothered by the near constant checking in, I was honestly glad that my health was in their hands.
Anyway it's day four on the "possible" medication. No vivid dreams (like what I had when I was on Carbidopa-Levodopa - yikes ... really creepy stuff) and my arm tremor seems about the same - maybe it happens a LITTLE less often (but last week was super stressful at work so it could just be that).
I guess we'll see what the next 43 weeks are like. I note in my Parkinson's Daily Diary when I take my pills, when I eat, and I rate my shaking throughout the day, all of which I show to my doctors and keep it current for my own benefit so, over time, maybe I'll notice a change ... HOPEFULLY for the better.
OH - but one kinda funny thing happened during the course of my visit.
For the short-term memory portion of my tests, each doctor/assistant starts by saying 5 random words for me to remember until I'm asked to repeat them back. So Doctor 1 says "rabbit, scissors, coffee, tulip, crayon" ... and then we talk for about 5-6 minutes and at the end of the conversation, he asks for me to give him three of the words. Then Doctor 2 comes in and says "cheese, shirt, church, velvet, keys" ... and we talk for 5-6 minutes, and they he asks for all 5 of his words. Well THEN Doctor 3 comes in and says "store, cough, sweater, bells, baby" ... and at the end of our talk, he doesn't ask for his words at all! So by the time Doctor 4 comes in, it's all I can do to not shout out "hairdryer, muscle, calm, ocean, paint, army, pencil!" just to get them outta my head. So Doctor 4 asked for just two of his words, but I said "yanno, I'm gonna give you 7 - because Doctor 3 didn't ask for any of his and now they're just screaming to get out." Suffice to say, my short-term memory - and, thus far, my sense of humor - is fine.
And I've checked ... I still don't see a tail.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Games I Don't Play
This isn't the follow-up post I'd intended to write ... but the title fits and the timing works out. My blog. My rules.
Games I Won't Play:
Pretty much anything to do with creating an on-line identify and slaying dragons, or breaking into castles, working with witches or trolls, etc. Why? Simply put, I am not a 6 year old boy.
Pictionary: While I like this game, and I am good at guessing what I'm looking at, I can't draw to save my life. So you'll want me on your team but don't give me the pen.
Games I Shouldn't Play:
There are two very specific names to include on this list but, before I do, let me say that while I enjoy playing both of these next games, I am not all competitive. I can walk away from an unfinished board game if I am winning or losing - or anywhere in between - if it's no longer providing me with the primary goals of why they exist - entertainment and enjoyment. If someone sitting around the board says "this is boring - let's do something else", I will always be ok with that.
Allllllllright here we go:
Backgammon.
My favorite aunt taught me how to play before I was 10 and, while I recognized she was trying to make math fun, it was entertaining enough that I didn't mind. I don't use the doubling cube but I am pretty ruthless when I play against someone who seems to know the game as I do. I will do whatever I am able to do (and show very little mercy in the process) in order to either win or learn a new strategy. If I do lose, I will very likely want you to show me where you took the upper hand so that I can continue to grow my skill set. After all these years of playing, I'm more used to winning - which is hard because I like to be challenged. (I know that reads like my being pompous or boasting - and I can't help that. It's just been my experience in the past decade or so that I tend to win.)
Monopoly.
This is a biggie for me. In fact, this may be THE biggie for me. I've mentioned before my parents were/are part of an extended group of married couples referred to as "The Fun Club". One couple in particular was frequently part of our weekend plans - we'd go to their home or they'd come to ours. They had three kids and I was the youngest ... so anything we could do as a group was GREAT by me. (Otherwise, I'd mostly spend my time with various pets or playing piano. The age difference wasn't much but it was enough that I was frequently left out, and that was alright. It was sometimes tough but *shrug* I understand it now anyway.) But on extended weekend visits or occasional trips to the ocean, someone at some point would bring out a Monopoly board.
Monopoly doesn't care about your age or who your closest friends are. It doesn't care about what you WANT to accomplish or what properties you're trying to collect. You are at the mercy of the dice - a great equalizer. Sure, there were times when I'd get clobbered early but I'd still hang out and watch, trying to silently wager with myself as to who would win. It could be minutes or hours. There were times we'd walk away at the end of one night and pick it up the next day.
As we all got older, I started to be a little more focused on the numbers part of the game ... certain properties are good to buy because there are more chances that people will land on them. Some properties are less frequently visited and don't make for a good investment. And rather than buying everything you land on, it pays to see what others are collecting so that you can arrange for a possible trade at some point.
That's all very well and sound and good. There are things you can't control but, those you can, you should (which is just like real life). And, to me, it's all interesting and part of the game. However (and this is the part where I come off as a arrogant all-knowing wank) I forget that not everyone wants to discuss theory or strategy - win or lose.
So, for those who were wondering (and maybe none of you were so clearly I STILL haven't learned), that is why I shouldn't play Monopoly.
But consider this entry a fair warning to you: Be prepared because if I do play it with you, I will kick your top-hat wearing ass and then show you went it all went horribly, horribly wrong.
Do not pass "Go".
Do not collect $200.
Games I Won't Play:
Pretty much anything to do with creating an on-line identify and slaying dragons, or breaking into castles, working with witches or trolls, etc. Why? Simply put, I am not a 6 year old boy.
Pictionary: While I like this game, and I am good at guessing what I'm looking at, I can't draw to save my life. So you'll want me on your team but don't give me the pen.
Games I Shouldn't Play:
There are two very specific names to include on this list but, before I do, let me say that while I enjoy playing both of these next games, I am not all competitive. I can walk away from an unfinished board game if I am winning or losing - or anywhere in between - if it's no longer providing me with the primary goals of why they exist - entertainment and enjoyment. If someone sitting around the board says "this is boring - let's do something else", I will always be ok with that.
Allllllllright here we go:
Backgammon.
My favorite aunt taught me how to play before I was 10 and, while I recognized she was trying to make math fun, it was entertaining enough that I didn't mind. I don't use the doubling cube but I am pretty ruthless when I play against someone who seems to know the game as I do. I will do whatever I am able to do (and show very little mercy in the process) in order to either win or learn a new strategy. If I do lose, I will very likely want you to show me where you took the upper hand so that I can continue to grow my skill set. After all these years of playing, I'm more used to winning - which is hard because I like to be challenged. (I know that reads like my being pompous or boasting - and I can't help that. It's just been my experience in the past decade or so that I tend to win.)
Monopoly.
This is a biggie for me. In fact, this may be THE biggie for me. I've mentioned before my parents were/are part of an extended group of married couples referred to as "The Fun Club". One couple in particular was frequently part of our weekend plans - we'd go to their home or they'd come to ours. They had three kids and I was the youngest ... so anything we could do as a group was GREAT by me. (Otherwise, I'd mostly spend my time with various pets or playing piano. The age difference wasn't much but it was enough that I was frequently left out, and that was alright. It was sometimes tough but *shrug* I understand it now anyway.) But on extended weekend visits or occasional trips to the ocean, someone at some point would bring out a Monopoly board.
Monopoly doesn't care about your age or who your closest friends are. It doesn't care about what you WANT to accomplish or what properties you're trying to collect. You are at the mercy of the dice - a great equalizer. Sure, there were times when I'd get clobbered early but I'd still hang out and watch, trying to silently wager with myself as to who would win. It could be minutes or hours. There were times we'd walk away at the end of one night and pick it up the next day.
As we all got older, I started to be a little more focused on the numbers part of the game ... certain properties are good to buy because there are more chances that people will land on them. Some properties are less frequently visited and don't make for a good investment. And rather than buying everything you land on, it pays to see what others are collecting so that you can arrange for a possible trade at some point.
That's all very well and sound and good. There are things you can't control but, those you can, you should (which is just like real life). And, to me, it's all interesting and part of the game. However (and this is the part where I come off as a arrogant all-knowing wank) I forget that not everyone wants to discuss theory or strategy - win or lose.
So, for those who were wondering (and maybe none of you were so clearly I STILL haven't learned), that is why I shouldn't play Monopoly.
But consider this entry a fair warning to you: Be prepared because if I do play it with you, I will kick your top-hat wearing ass and then show you went it all went horribly, horribly wrong.
Do not pass "Go".
Do not collect $200.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Games We Play
When I was a child at home from school (either because of another broken arm or just not feeling well), there were things I'd do to stay busy. Read. Play with our animals. Bake. Watch TV.
When I was a YOUNG child at home from school, it was mostly that last one. Oh the countless hours of mindless crap that I'd waste my day watching. Avoiding at all cost any kind of news program (because if I wanted to learn something, I'd go to school ... DUH!), I'd try to find either predictable sitcoms or game shows. Tic Tac Dough, $25,000 Pyramid, and the Gong Show were alright ... but if I were really lucky, I'd come across The Match Game.
Oh I just loved The Match Game. I didn't always get the wackiness of the responses but I loved watching it. Folks really seemed to enjoy themselves there. I couldn't play along, most of the time, because some of the blanks that needed filling in were over my head, but it was fun anyway.
I could ... and did ... play along with Pyramid. I was really quite good, too. Not as good as my parents were with Name That Tune, but I probably could have done alright. I was never a good receiver of clues, but as a giver? Well, in my not-at-all humble 8+year old head, I just rocked the clue-giver category.
So as a preview for a future blog entry, let's play Pyramid. I'll give the clues, and you guess the category.
Sneezing.
Twins.
Echo.
Footwear.
Team.
Flock.
Waves.
There. That should do it.
When I was a YOUNG child at home from school, it was mostly that last one. Oh the countless hours of mindless crap that I'd waste my day watching. Avoiding at all cost any kind of news program (because if I wanted to learn something, I'd go to school ... DUH!), I'd try to find either predictable sitcoms or game shows. Tic Tac Dough, $25,000 Pyramid, and the Gong Show were alright ... but if I were really lucky, I'd come across The Match Game.
Oh I just loved The Match Game. I didn't always get the wackiness of the responses but I loved watching it. Folks really seemed to enjoy themselves there. I couldn't play along, most of the time, because some of the blanks that needed filling in were over my head, but it was fun anyway.
I could ... and did ... play along with Pyramid. I was really quite good, too. Not as good as my parents were with Name That Tune, but I probably could have done alright. I was never a good receiver of clues, but as a giver? Well, in my not-at-all humble 8+year old head, I just rocked the clue-giver category.
So as a preview for a future blog entry, let's play Pyramid. I'll give the clues, and you guess the category.
Sneezing.
Twins.
Echo.
Footwear.
Team.
Flock.
Waves.
There. That should do it.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Duncan Training
I've had the unique opportunity to sit and observe a dog for the past several weeks. A co-worker down the hall brings her VERY smart canine with her to work and, when she is in her office, she leaves her door open.
When I say this is a "VERY smart canine", I should probably say "VERY well trained" but ... I dunno. Some things you cannot teach - some things are just known by intelligence. Duncan, the dog in question, is doubtlessly well-trained but he's also smart. He knows humans and their habits. He knows when to engage a person and when to not bother trying.
Duncan is an Australian Shepherd, a breed built for training. They're all about having a task or job and have been known to try to herd ANYthing, given the chance. You've probably seen this breed winning trophies at agility events, which are sometimes televised. They're amazing to watch, as they respond to whistles or more-subtle hand motions by their trainers.
Duncan is nearing 3 years of age and he participates in events like that occasionally. He had a leg issue as a pup and while it left no lasting effects, his care-giver decided that Duncan wouldn't be a professional agility dog. He is a professional, 'tho ... since he clearly has (and enjoys) his job here.
His job is to make people toss him his favorite red ball and Duncan is very good at his job.
When he and his care-giver arrive each day as the elevator doors come to our floor. Duncan will have been on a leash up to this point but, on the ride up, the leash is removed. Lesser dogs would bolt wildly as soon as the doors open. Duncan is not that dog.
The elevator doors open and only when his owner nods is there movement. Duncan will trot easily down the hallway and completely ignores any distractions that may be going on. He hears nothing but the voice of his care-giver and only has eyes for what she's told him to do. Without any instruction, he stops and sits at the door of his care-givers office. He knows I will greet him with a smile and some pats, but it is not time for that yet. He waits at the doorway while his care-giver gets her office keys out. His eyes are straight ahead and, once again, when the door opens, he does not move.
"Ok Duncan", says his care-giver, and he trots inside their office for his ball. In a fluid motion, he turns and trots into my office. It is time to greet me now.
Duncan had to train me on how this part of his day goes, so I'll tell you the process as it's been shown to me. I'm given a red ball. I toss the ball along the ground towards Duncan, who is laying low against the floor. Duncan blocks the progress and, using his nose, directs the ball back to me. I toss the ball along the ground towards Duncan. Duncan blocks the progress and, using his nose, directs the ball back to me. I toss the ball along the ground towards Duncan. Duncan blocks the progress, picks the ball up and allows me to give him a few pats before he turns and trots back into his office.
He will lay at the threshold between his office and the hallway, motionless and without making a sound, until one of three things happen: someone walks down the hallway, his care-giver gives him a task, or his care-giver has a meeting to go to and needs to close her door.
If it's the latter, Duncan will wait behind the door quietly and without issue. I've seen people knock on the door and walk away, never knowing Duncan is there. In fact, in thinking on it, I've never heard Duncan's bark.
Sometimes during the day, Duncan and his care-giver will have a task. He will trot down the hallway and stop at the elevator. I suppose the leash is put on during the trip to the ground floor and the task is carried out. Their return to the office is the same routine as when they arrive in the morning - no different at all.
Now if someone walks down the hallway when Duncan is in his threshold and he's NOT noticed, well it's as though he's not there at all. If, however, he is noticed, I will know because I will see his red ball sloooowly roll into the hallway. The person will pick up the ball and roll the ball along the ground towards Duncan. Sometimes, if this is a new person, they will not have received their "Duncan Training" and they'll toss Duncan the ball. Duncan will catch the ball, get back into his low position and will direct the ball back to the person with his nose, as if to say "no - this is not how we play this game. Here - let me show you." This process will continue until the person gives up and walks away (because Duncan NEVER gives up), and sometimes Duncan's ball has already begun to travel back into the hallway. Duncan will not get up to get his ball. I guess he just thinks of this as "fishing". I guess Duncan figures that someone else will be down the hall shortly enough, will notice the ball and will see Duncan, and the training will continue.
The thing I've noticed is that, almost universally, each person who notices Duncan and his ball will take a second or two to do the "roll and return" with him. At every level - senior management, reception staff, visitors, security guards, interview candidates - it makes no difference to Duncan who you are, what your title is, what shoes you're wearing ... if you notice him, he will roll you the ball.
When I say this is a "VERY smart canine", I should probably say "VERY well trained" but ... I dunno. Some things you cannot teach - some things are just known by intelligence. Duncan, the dog in question, is doubtlessly well-trained but he's also smart. He knows humans and their habits. He knows when to engage a person and when to not bother trying.
Duncan is an Australian Shepherd, a breed built for training. They're all about having a task or job and have been known to try to herd ANYthing, given the chance. You've probably seen this breed winning trophies at agility events, which are sometimes televised. They're amazing to watch, as they respond to whistles or more-subtle hand motions by their trainers.
Duncan is nearing 3 years of age and he participates in events like that occasionally. He had a leg issue as a pup and while it left no lasting effects, his care-giver decided that Duncan wouldn't be a professional agility dog. He is a professional, 'tho ... since he clearly has (and enjoys) his job here.
His job is to make people toss him his favorite red ball and Duncan is very good at his job.
When he and his care-giver arrive each day as the elevator doors come to our floor. Duncan will have been on a leash up to this point but, on the ride up, the leash is removed. Lesser dogs would bolt wildly as soon as the doors open. Duncan is not that dog.
The elevator doors open and only when his owner nods is there movement. Duncan will trot easily down the hallway and completely ignores any distractions that may be going on. He hears nothing but the voice of his care-giver and only has eyes for what she's told him to do. Without any instruction, he stops and sits at the door of his care-givers office. He knows I will greet him with a smile and some pats, but it is not time for that yet. He waits at the doorway while his care-giver gets her office keys out. His eyes are straight ahead and, once again, when the door opens, he does not move.
"Ok Duncan", says his care-giver, and he trots inside their office for his ball. In a fluid motion, he turns and trots into my office. It is time to greet me now.
Duncan had to train me on how this part of his day goes, so I'll tell you the process as it's been shown to me. I'm given a red ball. I toss the ball along the ground towards Duncan, who is laying low against the floor. Duncan blocks the progress and, using his nose, directs the ball back to me. I toss the ball along the ground towards Duncan. Duncan blocks the progress and, using his nose, directs the ball back to me. I toss the ball along the ground towards Duncan. Duncan blocks the progress, picks the ball up and allows me to give him a few pats before he turns and trots back into his office.
He will lay at the threshold between his office and the hallway, motionless and without making a sound, until one of three things happen: someone walks down the hallway, his care-giver gives him a task, or his care-giver has a meeting to go to and needs to close her door.
If it's the latter, Duncan will wait behind the door quietly and without issue. I've seen people knock on the door and walk away, never knowing Duncan is there. In fact, in thinking on it, I've never heard Duncan's bark.
Sometimes during the day, Duncan and his care-giver will have a task. He will trot down the hallway and stop at the elevator. I suppose the leash is put on during the trip to the ground floor and the task is carried out. Their return to the office is the same routine as when they arrive in the morning - no different at all.
Now if someone walks down the hallway when Duncan is in his threshold and he's NOT noticed, well it's as though he's not there at all. If, however, he is noticed, I will know because I will see his red ball sloooowly roll into the hallway. The person will pick up the ball and roll the ball along the ground towards Duncan. Sometimes, if this is a new person, they will not have received their "Duncan Training" and they'll toss Duncan the ball. Duncan will catch the ball, get back into his low position and will direct the ball back to the person with his nose, as if to say "no - this is not how we play this game. Here - let me show you." This process will continue until the person gives up and walks away (because Duncan NEVER gives up), and sometimes Duncan's ball has already begun to travel back into the hallway. Duncan will not get up to get his ball. I guess he just thinks of this as "fishing". I guess Duncan figures that someone else will be down the hall shortly enough, will notice the ball and will see Duncan, and the training will continue.
The thing I've noticed is that, almost universally, each person who notices Duncan and his ball will take a second or two to do the "roll and return" with him. At every level - senior management, reception staff, visitors, security guards, interview candidates - it makes no difference to Duncan who you are, what your title is, what shoes you're wearing ... if you notice him, he will roll you the ball.
I guess I find "Duncan training" so interesting because humans are so universally DIFFERENT. Of the 300+ people that are in my building on any given day, finding similar traits would be nearly impossible. Yet each of us know exactly what to do when we see that red ball rolling down the hallway.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Pearls of Wisdom
I'll bet that we've all heard a lot of apologies that ... aren't.
Someone saying "I'm sorry you're upset" - for instance - isn't the "offender" apologizing for said "offense". No no - they're apologizing at the offended's low tolerance level for whatever they found so ... offensive ... in the first place. Kinda like saying "I'm sorry you're upset that I wrecked your car" isn't the same as saying "I'm sorry I wrecked your car".
And I got to thinking about all this today after I read (and giggled over) the following:
I'm sorry if you found this strip offensive.
Someone saying "I'm sorry you're upset" - for instance - isn't the "offender" apologizing for said "offense". No no - they're apologizing at the offended's low tolerance level for whatever they found so ... offensive ... in the first place. Kinda like saying "I'm sorry you're upset that I wrecked your car" isn't the same as saying "I'm sorry I wrecked your car".
And I got to thinking about all this today after I read (and giggled over) the following:
I'm sorry if you found this strip offensive.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Whoops!
So I was gonna write about being accident prone. How, as a child, I had a habit of getting myself into situations where I was destined to be injured and that now, as an adult, I have a propensity of cutting corners too sharply, scraping my shins while exiting from vehicles, and conking myself on the head when I know damn well to duck in that part of the basement.
Yes, yes I was gonna write about that.
So we'd had dinner and were relaxing in the living room. We were enjoying a bit of downtime when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the cat had wandered into the space between the sofa and the wall, next to where The Awesome Boyfriend was seated. She has been known to sit there, under the side-table at times, so this wasn't a new maneuver for her. After a few minutes, The Awesome Boyfriend turned to me and said "hey - is the cat behind us?"
Thus began a 20-minute stress-filled, furniture moving exercise whereby we needed to figure out how our feline had climbed up into our couch and, far more importantly, how we were going to assist in her removal from it. It wasn't until we started to urgently call for her, shine flashlights underneath the couch, and move it into the middle of the room that she started to meow rather strongly, probably more reacting to our increasing nervousness than any discomfort she was feeling.
Anyway so yes - I was going to write about my being a klutz but had to set that aside because our couch was trying to eat our cat.
It's nice to know that it runs in the family.
**********
(Follow Up: The feline in question is perfectly fine and is blissfully slumbering in her bed, having chomped down on the large handful of treats she received after FINALLY emerging from our couch. We, on the other hand, are still recovering from the stress, worry, and immediate response needed to ensure her safe extraction from what is clearly a cat-eating sofa.)
Yes, yes I was gonna write about that.
So we'd had dinner and were relaxing in the living room. We were enjoying a bit of downtime when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the cat had wandered into the space between the sofa and the wall, next to where The Awesome Boyfriend was seated. She has been known to sit there, under the side-table at times, so this wasn't a new maneuver for her. After a few minutes, The Awesome Boyfriend turned to me and said "hey - is the cat behind us?"
Thus began a 20-minute stress-filled, furniture moving exercise whereby we needed to figure out how our feline had climbed up into our couch and, far more importantly, how we were going to assist in her removal from it. It wasn't until we started to urgently call for her, shine flashlights underneath the couch, and move it into the middle of the room that she started to meow rather strongly, probably more reacting to our increasing nervousness than any discomfort she was feeling.
Anyway so yes - I was going to write about my being a klutz but had to set that aside because our couch was trying to eat our cat.
It's nice to know that it runs in the family.
**********
(Follow Up: The feline in question is perfectly fine and is blissfully slumbering in her bed, having chomped down on the large handful of treats she received after FINALLY emerging from our couch. We, on the other hand, are still recovering from the stress, worry, and immediate response needed to ensure her safe extraction from what is clearly a cat-eating sofa.)
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Reading This Will Probably Make You Itch
See the title?
You've been warned.
So in the past ... oh - three months? ... I've been hearing a sound when I walk outside. It sounds like an automatic sprinkler system. The kind they use during the opening moments of "Caddy Shack" ... that "nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada dadadadadadada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada" kind of thing. And, given how there are many green areas and gardens here, it'd make sense to hear sprinkler systems being used.
Here's the weird part, tho - I hear it at night, like at 8:30, after the sun has set. Annnnd I hear it in the middle of the day, when no one in their right mind would be watering. In fact, I hear it all the time. Those of you who live (or have lived) anyplace further East than, say, Sacramento already know the noise. You're telling me the answer already. I know. I can hear you (just barely over the din of the noise) saying the word "cicada".
So ok - cicada it is. Haven't actually SEEN any, but yep - I've done some digging around on YouTube and that sound is for sure a cicada sound. More quick research says that they (generally) don't bother humans, aside from that sound that makes ya' wanna jab pencils into your eardrums. I say "generally don't" because sometimes, if they land on a human and chill there for a bit, they'll forget where they are (te-hee) and try to extract tree sap from the lucky person. Apparently that can hurt quite a bit (geez yeah - ya' think?!?), but it won't really harm a person.
Now since my East Coast move, I've dealt with crickets larger than the size of my big toes and ants that could, if motivated and organized, carry off small children, so it's safe to say that insects generally kinda freak me out. I don't like being surprised by them, mostly. (Yeah, those crickets last year. That was sooooome fun.) If I KNOW that an insect is around - well, insectS really, 'cause there is never just ONE - it's alright. Not "great", but "alright".
When I was gutting homes in Biloxi, there were walls just *filled* with huge cockroaches. Filled with 'em. As in, "when the moldy sheet rock was removed, the 'wall' appeared to still be there" kinda filled. But see - I KNEW they'd be there. So we created a system where ya'd pound on the wall a few loud times, yell "cockroach!!!!!" and then take the wall out and sure enough, they'd all fall to the ground to go find a new fun place to hide ... a cockroach version of "Hide-N-Seek".
Also lately - as in "over the past two weeks" - I've noticed small sawdust-looking mounds of dirt on the dry side of the back yard. "Gophers!" I thought, proud of myself for having solved this easy mystery (because, if this were the West Coast, that's what would be causing this mound). I mentioned it via text to The Awesome Boyfriend this morning. "Cicada Killer Wasps", responded The Awesome Boyfriend.
"Sure", I laughed out loud when I saw the text. I shared it with my friends at the coffee house, and it escaped my attention that they weren't laughing with me. "Enjoy killing 'em", I texted back, still giggling at his comment.
But he wasn't fooling. And a quick trip to the garden supply center confirmed exactly what he said. And more research on the Internet confirmed it more.
(A side note: I was pretty graphic about the cockroach thing above. I shoulda warned you, I guess, about planting that visual in your head. I apologize, and offer this advice as a means of making it up to you: DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE OF CURIOSITY OR GENERAL WONDERINGMENT, RESEARCH PHOTOGRAPHS OF "Cicada Killer Wasps". Just ... don't. Seriously.)
Information states that they also don't really mess with humans. That they tend to be solo-type critters (uh huh but there's like 30 or more of 'em in the back yard, so not all THAT solo), the males don't sting (but they will swoop down on you and want to "inspect" you to make sure you're not a sexy cicada killer female wasp that they can mate with), the females have a stinger that they very rarely use (unless, yanno, you're trying to kill them) and even when they do, it feels "like a small pinch" (sure but again - 30 or more of 'em). Oh - and they're beneficial (because they're killing cicadas). And they also have short life spans (just six weeks).
And while I read and absorbed all this information ... while I understand it and it makes total sense ... my brain is still saying "blah blah yadda yadda blah - killer wasps. Killer freakin' wasps!!!!! No way, no how, no chance, not happening." Well, it's not actually "saying" that, it's more shouting it. Over and over. In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, it sounds a lot like "nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada dadadadadadada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada".
So yes, Awesome Boyfriend, my original response stands. Enjoy killing them.
You've been warned.
So in the past ... oh - three months? ... I've been hearing a sound when I walk outside. It sounds like an automatic sprinkler system. The kind they use during the opening moments of "Caddy Shack" ... that "nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada dadadadadadada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada" kind of thing. And, given how there are many green areas and gardens here, it'd make sense to hear sprinkler systems being used.
Here's the weird part, tho - I hear it at night, like at 8:30, after the sun has set. Annnnd I hear it in the middle of the day, when no one in their right mind would be watering. In fact, I hear it all the time. Those of you who live (or have lived) anyplace further East than, say, Sacramento already know the noise. You're telling me the answer already. I know. I can hear you (just barely over the din of the noise) saying the word "cicada".
So ok - cicada it is. Haven't actually SEEN any, but yep - I've done some digging around on YouTube and that sound is for sure a cicada sound. More quick research says that they (generally) don't bother humans, aside from that sound that makes ya' wanna jab pencils into your eardrums. I say "generally don't" because sometimes, if they land on a human and chill there for a bit, they'll forget where they are (te-hee) and try to extract tree sap from the lucky person. Apparently that can hurt quite a bit (geez yeah - ya' think?!?), but it won't really harm a person.
Now since my East Coast move, I've dealt with crickets larger than the size of my big toes and ants that could, if motivated and organized, carry off small children, so it's safe to say that insects generally kinda freak me out. I don't like being surprised by them, mostly. (Yeah, those crickets last year. That was sooooome fun.) If I KNOW that an insect is around - well, insectS really, 'cause there is never just ONE - it's alright. Not "great", but "alright".
When I was gutting homes in Biloxi, there were walls just *filled* with huge cockroaches. Filled with 'em. As in, "when the moldy sheet rock was removed, the 'wall' appeared to still be there" kinda filled. But see - I KNEW they'd be there. So we created a system where ya'd pound on the wall a few loud times, yell "cockroach!!!!!" and then take the wall out and sure enough, they'd all fall to the ground to go find a new fun place to hide ... a cockroach version of "Hide-N-Seek".
Also lately - as in "over the past two weeks" - I've noticed small sawdust-looking mounds of dirt on the dry side of the back yard. "Gophers!" I thought, proud of myself for having solved this easy mystery (because, if this were the West Coast, that's what would be causing this mound). I mentioned it via text to The Awesome Boyfriend this morning. "Cicada Killer Wasps", responded The Awesome Boyfriend.
"Sure", I laughed out loud when I saw the text. I shared it with my friends at the coffee house, and it escaped my attention that they weren't laughing with me. "Enjoy killing 'em", I texted back, still giggling at his comment.
But he wasn't fooling. And a quick trip to the garden supply center confirmed exactly what he said. And more research on the Internet confirmed it more.
(A side note: I was pretty graphic about the cockroach thing above. I shoulda warned you, I guess, about planting that visual in your head. I apologize, and offer this advice as a means of making it up to you: DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE OF CURIOSITY OR GENERAL WONDERINGMENT, RESEARCH PHOTOGRAPHS OF "Cicada Killer Wasps". Just ... don't. Seriously.)
Information states that they also don't really mess with humans. That they tend to be solo-type critters (uh huh but there's like 30 or more of 'em in the back yard, so not all THAT solo), the males don't sting (but they will swoop down on you and want to "inspect" you to make sure you're not a sexy cicada killer female wasp that they can mate with), the females have a stinger that they very rarely use (unless, yanno, you're trying to kill them) and even when they do, it feels "like a small pinch" (sure but again - 30 or more of 'em). Oh - and they're beneficial (because they're killing cicadas). And they also have short life spans (just six weeks).
And while I read and absorbed all this information ... while I understand it and it makes total sense ... my brain is still saying "blah blah yadda yadda blah - killer wasps. Killer freakin' wasps!!!!! No way, no how, no chance, not happening." Well, it's not actually "saying" that, it's more shouting it. Over and over. In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, it sounds a lot like "nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada dadadadadadada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada nawhooshdada".
So yes, Awesome Boyfriend, my original response stands. Enjoy killing them.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Feline Lost?
I tried to watch "Lost" a couple of times. I seem to recall that I knew enough about it to recognize that it was going to require far too much of my evening hours to understand what all happened each week, and so - after catching a few episodes here and there - I finally gave up on it.
And then, a few seasons later, it ended.
I watched the last "Lost" online, fast-forwarding through the stuff that made absolutely no sense to me at all, and actually I rather enjoyed it. Probably because I wasn't waiting for answers to every little detail. And also because after fast-forwarding, I was left with about 14 minutes of stuff.
Now, because the Internet takes things that are good and makes 'em even better, I have decided to give to the world the gift of found time. See, if one were to watch all the episodes of "Lost" from start to finish, it'd be something like a 220+hour project.
So my present to you ...
... the entire 6-season story line of "Lost" ...
... as acted by cats ...
... in 1 minute, 10 seconds.
You are welcome.
And then, a few seasons later, it ended.
I watched the last "Lost" online, fast-forwarding through the stuff that made absolutely no sense to me at all, and actually I rather enjoyed it. Probably because I wasn't waiting for answers to every little detail. And also because after fast-forwarding, I was left with about 14 minutes of stuff.
Now, because the Internet takes things that are good and makes 'em even better, I have decided to give to the world the gift of found time. See, if one were to watch all the episodes of "Lost" from start to finish, it'd be something like a 220+hour project.
So my present to you ...
... the entire 6-season story line of "Lost" ...
... as acted by cats ...
... in 1 minute, 10 seconds.
You are welcome.
Monday, March 8, 2010
5-5-5
Dana (aka the brains and beauty behind "Cookin' At Cafe D") tagged me with a not-very-long and not-very-intrusive "getting to know you" sorta thing. Five questions which one responds with five answers. Letsee how I do ...
Question 1: Where were you five years ago?
(a) Lesee - if my math is correct, that'd be March of 2005 (gotta love public edumacation). That'd be pre-Katrina, so I was still a money-hungry corporate stooge.
(b) I was living in a small suburb about 30 minutes from my job and I spent most of my spare time collecting wines and books.
(c) I was traveling for that job, so there was an expense account that I used to visit establishments (read "eat at outrageously expensive places") with two of my closest work-friends.
(d) I was less than a year away from earning my 6-week sabbatical and planned on banking it for as long as I could, as I didn't want to squander it and figured I'd know what to do with the free time eventually. (Little did I know ...)
(e) I started spending more weekend time with my sister who, at the time, was living on my parents property and had just started dating someone whom she said was "interesting".
Question 2: What is on your to-do list today?
(a) Coffee run. (done)
(b) Dishes. (done)
(c) Laundry. (Last load in dryer)
(d) Shower. (soon)
(e) Throw out flowers that I just realized are very dead. (awww - and they were so pretty too...)
Question 3: What five snacks do you enjoy?
(a) French's fried onions. (Note to Dana - you think Funyons rock? These are worse than crack to me.)
(b) I dunno about "snack" but I drink endless mugs of hot chocolate all day and yes, I enjoy those very much.
(c) Oh! Those sweet danish breads at Starbucks ... heated up? Damn. (When ya' heat it, the calories go down, right? RIGHT???)
(d) I like hash browns. I realize that it's not a traditional snack-food, but I can go from potato to hash brown in under 10 minutes so it's pretty quick.
(e) I discovered the deliciousness of freshly toasted pumpkin seeds this past Fall. Those are pretty tasty and enjoyable!
Question 4: What five places have you lived?
(a) My "growing up" home was in the country of Northern California. No paved roads, no sidewalks, no city services. Pizza places that said they'd deliver anywhere wouldn't deliver because we were "up on the hill". My folks still live there.
(b) My first experience outside of that was a two-bedroom that I don't remember spending much time in. I think I lived there for about 4 months, until my roommate decided she wanted to go back to college and I couldn't swing rent without asking for my parents to assist. I decided to move instead toooo ....
(c) A studio apartment. It had a bathtub that was stupidly large for the space. Since I'm a tub person, that was a selling point. I slept on a futon in the bedroom/living room/dining room. It had a kitchen that I never once cooked in and a refrigerator that I kept endless flats of Pepsi in.
(d) I moved baaaaack into my parents home not that long ago. Was there for about a month. It reminded me both why children are meant to move out, and reminded me that turning into my parents wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
(e) I am, at last, home. I have a wonderful two-bedroom home that I rent. It has a great backyard, room for a cat, and the neighbors are pretty terrific.
Question 5: What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?
(a) Buy the Awesome Boyfriend that Swiss villa he's always talking about.
(b) Invest about 55% of it in long-term accounts, so I wouldn't burden anyone with any health/old age issues.
(c) Buy a small get-away home in Biloxi and rent it to the interns that rotate through the East Biloxi Coordination and Relief Center. (This would probably be the cheapest thing on the list of five.)
(d) Donate a years worth of funds to Pets In Need, a no-kill animal shelter in California that found a great dog companion for my mother. While I have quite a few "close to my heart" charities, I'm a real sucker when it comes to animals.
(e) Oh, and before I'd done ANYthing, I would have researched and signed on a professional accounting agency to help me manage having a billion dollars. LOL
So now I'm supposed to choose 5 people to answer these same questions and, for me, that's the hard part. (Full disclosure - I wrote this mostly on Friday March 5th but have been pondering the 5 people thing since then.) I know that hardly anyone reads my ramblings - which is ok by me - and I also don't read that many blogs of people that I'd think would actually do this. (I can't see Jen from CakeWrecks doing this, for instance, because this isn't the kind of thing that her blog is about. And Adam, from Sleep Talkin' Man, only creates posts when he's unconscious.)
Instead, how about I ask that whomever reads this suggests up to 5 blogs to add to my blog list over there at the right? That way you'll be helping me expand my horizons and maybe next time, I'll have folks to send this sort of thing to. I can't promise I'll add them right away - sometimes it takes me awhile to warm up to a writer - but I promise I'll read it. :-)
Thanks again, Dana. Now I'm craving those dang onions again ...
Question 1: Where were you five years ago?
(a) Lesee - if my math is correct, that'd be March of 2005 (gotta love public edumacation). That'd be pre-Katrina, so I was still a money-hungry corporate stooge.
(b) I was living in a small suburb about 30 minutes from my job and I spent most of my spare time collecting wines and books.
(c) I was traveling for that job, so there was an expense account that I used to visit establishments (read "eat at outrageously expensive places") with two of my closest work-friends.
(d) I was less than a year away from earning my 6-week sabbatical and planned on banking it for as long as I could, as I didn't want to squander it and figured I'd know what to do with the free time eventually. (Little did I know ...)
(e) I started spending more weekend time with my sister who, at the time, was living on my parents property and had just started dating someone whom she said was "interesting".
Question 2: What is on your to-do list today?
(a) Coffee run. (done)
(b) Dishes. (done)
(c) Laundry. (Last load in dryer)
(d) Shower. (soon)
(e) Throw out flowers that I just realized are very dead. (awww - and they were so pretty too...)
Question 3: What five snacks do you enjoy?
(a) French's fried onions. (Note to Dana - you think Funyons rock? These are worse than crack to me.)
(b) I dunno about "snack" but I drink endless mugs of hot chocolate all day and yes, I enjoy those very much.
(c) Oh! Those sweet danish breads at Starbucks ... heated up? Damn. (When ya' heat it, the calories go down, right? RIGHT???)
(d) I like hash browns. I realize that it's not a traditional snack-food, but I can go from potato to hash brown in under 10 minutes so it's pretty quick.
(e) I discovered the deliciousness of freshly toasted pumpkin seeds this past Fall. Those are pretty tasty and enjoyable!
Question 4: What five places have you lived?
(a) My "growing up" home was in the country of Northern California. No paved roads, no sidewalks, no city services. Pizza places that said they'd deliver anywhere wouldn't deliver because we were "up on the hill". My folks still live there.
(b) My first experience outside of that was a two-bedroom that I don't remember spending much time in. I think I lived there for about 4 months, until my roommate decided she wanted to go back to college and I couldn't swing rent without asking for my parents to assist. I decided to move instead toooo ....
(c) A studio apartment. It had a bathtub that was stupidly large for the space. Since I'm a tub person, that was a selling point. I slept on a futon in the bedroom/living room/dining room. It had a kitchen that I never once cooked in and a refrigerator that I kept endless flats of Pepsi in.
(d) I moved baaaaack into my parents home not that long ago. Was there for about a month. It reminded me both why children are meant to move out, and reminded me that turning into my parents wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
(e) I am, at last, home. I have a wonderful two-bedroom home that I rent. It has a great backyard, room for a cat, and the neighbors are pretty terrific.
Question 5: What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?
(a) Buy the Awesome Boyfriend that Swiss villa he's always talking about.
(b) Invest about 55% of it in long-term accounts, so I wouldn't burden anyone with any health/old age issues.
(c) Buy a small get-away home in Biloxi and rent it to the interns that rotate through the East Biloxi Coordination and Relief Center. (This would probably be the cheapest thing on the list of five.)
(d) Donate a years worth of funds to Pets In Need, a no-kill animal shelter in California that found a great dog companion for my mother. While I have quite a few "close to my heart" charities, I'm a real sucker when it comes to animals.
(e) Oh, and before I'd done ANYthing, I would have researched and signed on a professional accounting agency to help me manage having a billion dollars. LOL
So now I'm supposed to choose 5 people to answer these same questions and, for me, that's the hard part. (Full disclosure - I wrote this mostly on Friday March 5th but have been pondering the 5 people thing since then.) I know that hardly anyone reads my ramblings - which is ok by me - and I also don't read that many blogs of people that I'd think would actually do this. (I can't see Jen from CakeWrecks doing this, for instance, because this isn't the kind of thing that her blog is about. And Adam, from Sleep Talkin' Man, only creates posts when he's unconscious.)
Instead, how about I ask that whomever reads this suggests up to 5 blogs to add to my blog list over there at the right? That way you'll be helping me expand my horizons and maybe next time, I'll have folks to send this sort of thing to. I can't promise I'll add them right away - sometimes it takes me awhile to warm up to a writer - but I promise I'll read it. :-)
Thanks again, Dana. Now I'm craving those dang onions again ...
Friday, March 5, 2010
When did ...
Ingrid Michaelson sell her soul to the producers of "Grey's Anatomy"?
It seems like every song of hers has some fan-created YouTube video that just ... bites.
It seems like every song of hers has some fan-created YouTube video that just ... bites.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Here's Your Sign
I took a road trip yesterday to pick up some furniture (to "a whole 'nuther state", I said to myself in wonder) and, along the way, I finally understood a highway sign that I've been seeing for close to six months.
"Bridge ices before road" does not mean "this little connecting spot between the road and the bridge could be iced over so hey, be careful". It means "this entire bridge could be one solid mass of ice and just because the road is clear doesn't mean the bridge will be so hey, be careful". Now, happily, I came to this discovery all on my own, sans incident. I don't know why I didn't figure this out sooner but ... well, I'll blame "I was concentrating on the road" for my lack of comprehension. That bolt of "duhhhhh" made me remember other signs I've mis-read or misunderstood over the years.
"Are you driving too fast for traffic school?" was one that always made me wonder if it was an advertisement for some sort of race-car driver course. "Do you have time to stop for a speeding ticket?" seemed pretty sarcastic for a sign, and tended to make me mutter something like "No, I don't have time to stop. THAT'S why I'm speeding." (I recall both these signs being posted within the same neighborhood area shortly after a local high-ranking government official moved into his new home. I'm sure that was just a coincidence.)
"Slow children at play" came across as either "our kids don't move very fast so ya' may wanna take another route if you're in a hurry" or "we have special needs children on this street and thought you'd wanna know" - both of which seemed kinda along the lines of giving a driver more information than they'd need to be aware of.
I recently saw "school children walk along this road" which, I presume, is meant to caution drivers to be more alert and slow down and NOT to entice possible pedophiles. "Open joints on bridge" has everything to do with how a roadway is constructed and nothing at all to do with deconstructing an ankle, knee, elbow, or illegal substance meant to be smoked. (I still giggle when I see it, though.)
My favorite sign that I came across was spotted a decade or more ago. It was posted on a small side road in a quiet neighborhood. "Our community cares" it simply stated and, underneath, had a drawing of some adults walking some children along a path. Shortly after it went up, someone hit the pole and bent the signpost. It was straightened well enough, but while it was down, someone changed the message just a bit. They etched rather shocked looking expressions on the folks walking along the path and added an "s" to the sign, which now read - probably more accurately - "Our community scares".
"Bridge ices before road" does not mean "this little connecting spot between the road and the bridge could be iced over so hey, be careful". It means "this entire bridge could be one solid mass of ice and just because the road is clear doesn't mean the bridge will be so hey, be careful". Now, happily, I came to this discovery all on my own, sans incident. I don't know why I didn't figure this out sooner but ... well, I'll blame "I was concentrating on the road" for my lack of comprehension. That bolt of "duhhhhh" made me remember other signs I've mis-read or misunderstood over the years.
"Are you driving too fast for traffic school?" was one that always made me wonder if it was an advertisement for some sort of race-car driver course. "Do you have time to stop for a speeding ticket?" seemed pretty sarcastic for a sign, and tended to make me mutter something like "No, I don't have time to stop. THAT'S why I'm speeding." (I recall both these signs being posted within the same neighborhood area shortly after a local high-ranking government official moved into his new home. I'm sure that was just a coincidence.)
"Slow children at play" came across as either "our kids don't move very fast so ya' may wanna take another route if you're in a hurry" or "we have special needs children on this street and thought you'd wanna know" - both of which seemed kinda along the lines of giving a driver more information than they'd need to be aware of.
I recently saw "school children walk along this road" which, I presume, is meant to caution drivers to be more alert and slow down and NOT to entice possible pedophiles. "Open joints on bridge" has everything to do with how a roadway is constructed and nothing at all to do with deconstructing an ankle, knee, elbow, or illegal substance meant to be smoked. (I still giggle when I see it, though.)
My favorite sign that I came across was spotted a decade or more ago. It was posted on a small side road in a quiet neighborhood. "Our community cares" it simply stated and, underneath, had a drawing of some adults walking some children along a path. Shortly after it went up, someone hit the pole and bent the signpost. It was straightened well enough, but while it was down, someone changed the message just a bit. They etched rather shocked looking expressions on the folks walking along the path and added an "s" to the sign, which now read - probably more accurately - "Our community scares".
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
More Weirdness
What if ...
... Al Davis starred in "A League Of Their Own"?
... Sonny Bono was the lead singer for "Vertigo"?
... Paul McCartney held Senate hearings to find Communists?
... Joe Mantegna was the Quarterback for the SF 49ers in the '80s?
... Jerry Lewis was known for singing "Great Balls Of Fire"?
... or, for that matter, ...
... Shari Lewis was known for singing "Great Balls Of Fire"?
... Sandra Day O'Connor was famous for tearing a photograph of the Pope in half?
... George Harrison starred in the "Indiana Jones" movies?
... Sammy Davis, Jr. was a famous MLB right-fielder for the Chicago Cubs and was once in a home-run record race with Mark McGwire?
... Al Davis starred in "A League Of Their Own"?
... Sonny Bono was the lead singer for "Vertigo"?
... Paul McCartney held Senate hearings to find Communists?
... Joe Mantegna was the Quarterback for the SF 49ers in the '80s?
... Jerry Lewis was known for singing "Great Balls Of Fire"?
... or, for that matter, ...
... Shari Lewis was known for singing "Great Balls Of Fire"?
... Sandra Day O'Connor was famous for tearing a photograph of the Pope in half?
... George Harrison starred in the "Indiana Jones" movies?
... Sammy Davis, Jr. was a famous MLB right-fielder for the Chicago Cubs and was once in a home-run record race with Mark McGwire?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I'm Me And I Approve This Blog
My friend Dana (*waves* hiiiiii Dana), in conjunction the lovely folks at allbarstools.com, is doin' a give-away on her blog (which ya' can find over there to the right - "Cookin' At Cafe D").
Full disclosure: I don't want you to enter your name in the giveaway.
Further disclosure: In fact, not only don't want you to enter your name in the giveaway, I want you to enter MY NAME in the give away.
Fullest disclosure: I've never cooked with Le Creuset because, ya' see, I'm a klutz. I'm convinced that I'd screw up the cookware. That I'd chip it or scrape it or somehow really just muck it up. However, I've decided that I need to get over that fear and just dive in. I wanna do stews, soups, chicken with dumplings, maybe even casseroles and - honestly - I just don't think there's a better tool out there for these kinds of meals.
So yes - please do go visit Cookin' at Cafe D. And, while you're at it, visit allbarstools.com, too. Just if ya' DO decide to enter Dana's give-away, make sure you say you're me and that you want the blue Le Creuset.
Thank you.
Full disclosure: I don't want you to enter your name in the giveaway.
Further disclosure: In fact, not only don't want you to enter your name in the giveaway, I want you to enter MY NAME in the give away.
Fullest disclosure: I've never cooked with Le Creuset because, ya' see, I'm a klutz. I'm convinced that I'd screw up the cookware. That I'd chip it or scrape it or somehow really just muck it up. However, I've decided that I need to get over that fear and just dive in. I wanna do stews, soups, chicken with dumplings, maybe even casseroles and - honestly - I just don't think there's a better tool out there for these kinds of meals.
So yes - please do go visit Cookin' at Cafe D. And, while you're at it, visit allbarstools.com, too. Just if ya' DO decide to enter Dana's give-away, make sure you say you're me and that you want the blue Le Creuset.
Thank you.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
It's Time To Play The Music, It's Time To Light The Lights
There is, apparently, yet another "list 25 things about yourself" poll thing floating around on the web. The first few of these quizzes/questions/lists/requests one gets are fairly entertaining and humorous. After that, around the 47th time you see the same list coming your way, it can begin to feel too much like homework. So I will not be reading, forwarding, creating, or otherwise participating in such a list.
No - instead - I submit the following: This Is What We Call The Muppet Quiz
And I encourage you to get in touch with your inner fuzzy self.
No - instead - I submit the following: This Is What We Call The Muppet Quiz
And I encourage you to get in touch with your inner fuzzy self.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Catch-phrase Bingo
Ok - idea being generated so have patience ...
The background assumptions:
In the environment where you work, there are other adult-type people. These people are not necessarily your dearest friends and family. They each bring their own personalities, vocal inflections, quirks, etc. which is what makes the environment unique. Depending on the business (and on your line of work in said "business"), there are certain phrases that are used. Some of them, over time, can get under your skin.
The Game:
This is "catch-phrase bingo". Ya' create a sheet of words and phrases that you and 4 friends at work LOTHE hearing, and you write them out in a random grid pattern that's 5 boxes wide and 5 boxes long. When the grid is filled with 25 super-annoying words/phrases, the names of you and your friends are written across the top of the grid. (Maybe ya' all draw numbers to determine the order ... or it's done alphabetically ... it doesn't matter).
The Play:
Throughout the working day, as soon as you hear any of the the 5 words or phrases under your name, you email the others, and the corresponding word or phrase is marked off. To keep things interesting, you MUST first mark all of your boxes. Once you have done that, the rest of the boxes are yours to report.
The Win:
There will be one last box - one annoying word or phrase that no one hears for days - or possibly weeks. The name at the top of where that box falls is the official coffee break provider for the other players, who have officially won the game. (I always like games with more than one winner.) When the morning coffee run occurs, the tab gets paid by the individual who has been lucky enough to NOT hear 5 annoying words/phrases.
The End:
The game concludes when that last word or phrase is heard. At that point, a new board is created and ... ya' get the idea.
Since this can't really be played between remote office locations, I'll just add that my words/phrases would be "outsourcing", "paradigm", "it is what it is", "eco-build", and, this one is for my guy, "ping".
The background assumptions:
In the environment where you work, there are other adult-type people. These people are not necessarily your dearest friends and family. They each bring their own personalities, vocal inflections, quirks, etc. which is what makes the environment unique. Depending on the business (and on your line of work in said "business"), there are certain phrases that are used. Some of them, over time, can get under your skin.
The Game:
This is "catch-phrase bingo". Ya' create a sheet of words and phrases that you and 4 friends at work LOTHE hearing, and you write them out in a random grid pattern that's 5 boxes wide and 5 boxes long. When the grid is filled with 25 super-annoying words/phrases, the names of you and your friends are written across the top of the grid. (Maybe ya' all draw numbers to determine the order ... or it's done alphabetically ... it doesn't matter).
The Play:
Throughout the working day, as soon as you hear any of the the 5 words or phrases under your name, you email the others, and the corresponding word or phrase is marked off. To keep things interesting, you MUST first mark all of your boxes. Once you have done that, the rest of the boxes are yours to report.
The Win:
There will be one last box - one annoying word or phrase that no one hears for days - or possibly weeks. The name at the top of where that box falls is the official coffee break provider for the other players, who have officially won the game. (I always like games with more than one winner.) When the morning coffee run occurs, the tab gets paid by the individual who has been lucky enough to NOT hear 5 annoying words/phrases.
The End:
The game concludes when that last word or phrase is heard. At that point, a new board is created and ... ya' get the idea.
Since this can't really be played between remote office locations, I'll just add that my words/phrases would be "outsourcing", "paradigm", "it is what it is", "eco-build", and, this one is for my guy, "ping".
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