Friday, April 30, 2010

My Journal

As you  may know (or not), I hate the term "blog".  Since the advent of 'texting' (another abhorrent term), the English language has been bastardized, chopped, hacked, and pureed into a form of sub educated drivel that most adolescents, and sadly some adults, use to communicate.  I know what 'bff' and 'cul8er' means, but really,  does it cost any more to send the actual words than their shorter forms?   (I wouldn't know because I use my cell phone to literally speak to people, and not to 'text' their e-mails or in-boxes or whatever.)   Mind you, I can live with, "WTF?".


When I was younger (oh, so many moons ago), I wanted to be a writer, of sorts.  I think, however, I was mostly put-off by the attitude of one of my junior high English teachers.  She wasn't particularly interesting or nurturing in regards to what the purpose of an English curriculum was.  She merely barked at us, telling us to read this or that, write a book report (yeah, I bought the Cole's Notes) and, ironically, keep a daily journal.  She looked like the animated female version of Mr. Limpet, but with a tight perm, heavy lipstick and way bigger glasses.

As for the journal, well, we were supposed to write something - "anything" (she said).  Not being very inspired, I don't think I wrote more than one sentence per day and had to bite my tongue to avoid expressing my opinion of her (after all, she did review the journals every day).

I failed her class.

Later, I had a great English teacher who I believed inspired the "dorky" or "geeky" look, wearing his gingham polyester pants pulled up to just under his teats, wore glasses (of course) and had a pointy nose.  But he was really cool!  He was also my drama teacher (go figure).  I joined the spelling bee team (yeah, the "zed" thingy), we did some creative writing, touched on the Bard and we really had a blast in his class.  We didn't, however, keep daily journals.

I didn't further my education or resume my dalliances in writing due to my life's circumstances at the time.

At any rate, I have a little more time on my hands to pursue my yearning to write, thanks mostly to several persons I have discovered through blogging (ugh), but in particular my current followers (my "Three Musketeers") from whom I'm sure I will learn much, but  who will mostly have me ROTFLMAO (yeah, I like that one too).  This "Journal", as I will call it, is a lesson unto myself and an accreditation (her only redeeming quality, in my opinion)  to "Mrs. Limpet".

p.s.  does it bother anyone else that "bff"and "cul8r" are accepted by the spell-checker?  Oy vey.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

To Sleep, Perchance NOT To Dream...

Having recently been ill, flat on my back for about a week or so, suffering from two ailments that I originally assumed was just one, I'm finally on the road to recovery.  One ailment has passed, so to speak, the other not so much.  I'm not quite 100% yet, but just enough that I think I can form a reasonable thought or two.

Anyone having suffered from fever or sleep deprivation may relate to the following experience:
My understanding of the human brain and its hemispheres is that one side is logical, the other creative, and generally work well in conjunction with each other.  That is until you are ill and then all the rules go out the window.

For instance, when ill, the logical part of your brain tells you to sleep and the more you sleep, the better you will feel.  During sleep, your creative part looks after dreams and such, a necessary part of sleep.

At the onset of my illness, I was unable to get a full and restful sleep due to pain and what slumber I did get was merely 'twilight', where you are not quite awake nor fully asleep.  After 36 hours or so, I was so exhausted I tried my damnedest to fall into a deep slumber.

Yeah, right.

Be it the fever or lack of sleep, or combination thereof, there is a third part of your brain that goes all "Riddler" on your ass when you are finally drifting away into unconsciousness.  Well, it's not really a separate part, but more of an offshoot of your creative side - like that spoiled, rotten cousin who would pull tricks and cruel pranks on you when you were a kid and snickers at you like an evil character from a Stephen King novel.

Logical"Oh would you paleeese settle down already?  We're almost asleep."

Creative: "I'm tryin', but I think I had a brain fart and, well, it was kinda icky."

It:   Prancing around like Jim Carey in the Batman movie series, giggling, "Riddle me this, Batgirl!"

This is when those weird dreams come in (granted, dreams are strange enough).  My most prevalent was that of a computer card game which, try as I might, I couldn't close down - the "x" box kept disappearing.  I finally realized I was dreaming and had to awake totally to try and think of something else to replace this 'twilight' dream.  Eventually it worked but this was after 48 hours of sleep deprivation.

Needless to say, and after finally getting some semblance of needed rest once the weird dreams subsided, I believe I've more or less recovered from my illness, both physically and mentally.

It "Hee hee hee. Think again Batgirl!   I'm still around and I'm still gonna screw with you."

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

My Other Left Foot

I made a curious obvervation today:  the hemispheres of my brain are fighting to trade sides.  My observations, like most of them, generally occur while I am driving and this one is particularly fitting.

I thought it curious how the mind works differently when forced to do so.   For example:  I now live in a country that was founded by the British.  Canada, the country from which I originate, was also founded by the British.  Yet, in both of these countries, we drive on opposite sides of the road.

Really?  Who was responsible for this?  Better yet, why?

I don't get it.  In Canada, one drives on the right-hand side of the road but in the Bahamas, it's on the left.  This is totally confusing.  If I'm in a car (in either country) and giving directions to the driver and say, "Take the next left", I simultaneously point the right.  This hand signal is not only necessary to properly reach our destination, but also to avoid the risk of bodily harm by accidentally going the wrong way on a one-way street or driving directly into the nearest canal (unless, of course, the driver looks to the right while I'm indicating left and my finger is too close to the driver's head, then there is a slight risk).

One day I was driving with my stepfather and, being somewhat unfamiliar with where we were supposed to go (I should note here that I always drove instead of him because he used both of his feet in an automatic and, well, it makes for a pretty jerky ride).  He told me to take the next right.  Ya, right.  I was only here a few months and since my brain was still in Canada mode, I made a left instead.

No worries.  No one got hurt: there was no one-way street or canal and, thank the Lord, he didn't point.  Mind you, it was a right turn.

Hmmmm..... maybe the reason for this unreasonable choice of the right/left driving concept is spawned by government mind control:   politically speaking, Canada is currently driving on the left while the Bahamas is driving on the right.

No confusion there.

I'm now the only one that drives my car. I can stop pointing.

"It's my other left".

Sunday, April 11, 2010

I Need New Eyeballs

An announcement:  I have changed the name of my blog.  I don't particularly care for that term, "blog", but there it is - BLOG (it's in the dictionary, look it up).  Really, who came up with this term?  And how did he or she do it??  Ahhh, yes, it must have been a teenage 'texter' ('texter': not in the dictionary - or at least not in the one I have and I do believe that Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is the absolute authority of what new words we are to include in the English language).

At any rate, I reviewed my second of three posts (this being the third) and noticed that it wasn't formatted properly and had spelling errors.  As for being grammatically correct, I wouldn't have a clue.  (I think I missed that school year because, honestly, other than nouns, adjectives and adverbs, I certainly would have remembered the part about the dangling participle.)  That, and I was probably about three Beams to the floor when I wrote it.

So there it is, revisited and revised.

What the hell is a 'dangling participle' anyway??  Please, no pictures - it's hard enough to read the dictionary these days without further damage.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Stupidity is E.Z.

"Mondo Blondo Moments" that may or may not necessarily be mine. Gotta love 'em.

Having had to check-up on an online application I recently made to a government office, the over-the-phone verification process included questions like, "what is your name, "what is your mother's date of birth?", "have you ever had sex with your boss?", etc. (o.k., so I made that last one up).  THEN they asked what my middle name was. This immediately brought up two memories:

1. Some Americans do not understand the term "zed".

2. Stupidity's middle name is "E.Z.".

To explain:

1. I did a stint at a private school in the southern U.S. in my early teens, at which time I joined the spelling bee team. While practicing with another teamate, she quizzed me on the word magazine.  Promptly and, I might add, I accurately spelled the word. If she had not been wearing glasses, I'm sure her eyeballs would popped straight out of her head and onto the floor. She said (in her southern accent), "what in 'tarnations is a"zed""? I explained that I was (am) Canadian, etc. (And yes, she was blonde.)

2. Some years later, I needed to acquire house insurance. My mother, who knew and dealt with several insurance companies, offerred to arrange same for me. Naturally, they ask the usual questions like, "first name", "last name", "middle name", "address", "did you ever sleep with your boss?", etc. (ya, again...sorry).  My middle name is Elizabeth and, since some people spell it with an "S", it was made clear to the info-taker at the insurance company (definitely blonde, if not at birth, by osmosis) that it was supposed to be spelled with a "Z" and not an "S".  All was well and good until the Policy Arrived In The Mail addressed to:

(myfirstname) E.Z. (mylastname)

Visually, we interpreted the 'zed' as a 'zee'.

Hilarity ensued.  Unfortunatley, this happened in the early morning as I was drinking coffee. Fortunately, no one, including my nostrils, was scalded.

F.Y.I.: I am not "E.Z.", nor easy.  Just sayin'.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Pondering My Ponderings...

As one could guess, I am new here.  I am loathe to use the word "newbie" but I am one, nonetheless.

Frankly, I do not have a clue as to how I am supposed to set up this blog (i.e. photos and stuff), but I am working on it.  I've been looking at other blogs for ideas - btw:  some of you people have WAY too much time on your hands - but I get the jist.

As for my 'ponderings':  still working on those (yes, I have a list).  Yesterday, I had an entire first diatribe/post working in my head but I was driving at the time and did not have the means necessary to 'jot it down', so to speak.  Generally, it was about what I am rambling on here now.

Of what I will post and that you actually read it/like it/hate it, I thank you in advance  All comments are welcome.

(humbly bowing to the masses of bloggers)

ciao for now