When I Reach

Bah, Humbuggery!

2011-12-24T18:49:00.000-05:00

'Tis the season...

...to be annoyed.

Again.

Besides the other annoyances at this time of year that really - and I mean REALLY - screw up our business schedule, we have to endure annoying television commercial loops (i.e. certain ads that endlessly repeat themselves during commercial breaks).

Last year it was Dr. Dre pitching the latest in music technology for personal computers that featured him in this getup:

I sort of understand the necessity of the Kevlar-type vest to protect his innards from melting due the excessive amount bass emitting from the sub-woofers on the wall, but really...a nut-cup? On his face? What, if anything, does that have to do with music?

Speaking of music, I am utterly annoyed at the increasing bastardization of Christmas songs in commercial advertisements. Mind you, this year there is one that makes me chuckle. I'm sure you've all heard it and I'm certainly not the first to point it out, but when you have a rather attractive brunette dancing around in a pink dress with numerous elves - of both genders - with pink hair and all you hear is, "...walking in an 'orgy' wonderland", it kinda of makes you think about what is actually being promoted, no?

I don't judge. I just wonder.

Happy Holidays everyone!
*
*
*
;-)

No, I'm Not Dead...Yet

2011-12-07T13:14:00.000-05:00

And, thank you! to those who checked up on me.

Yeah, yeah. I know I've been absent - not to mention absent minded - but I do have a few articles in the works, one of which deals with yet another appliance repair. It will be a long one. I promise.

Heh, heh.

In the meantime, guess who is back in town? Murphy.

Oy.

Before he even landed things went awry: On the way to his apartment, I stopped to get some groceries he would need for the evening, expecting to take him shopping on Tuesday. While at the checkout, the woman before me purchases some items that were marked down except the scanner would not accept the discounted price even after several attempts by the cashier to correct the problem. As this was taking too long, I waved off the customers gathering behind me to go to another checkout.

The problem with the scanner is finally solved. Great, I thought since I was already running late and I only had a few items, I'd be out of there in no time.

I am so naive.

Apparently, the discounted price of the items was still wrong. As the customer and cashier were haggling out the correct price, I am rolling my eyes at the people behind me and respectfully wave them off to another checkout.

The haggling continued for another five or so minutes. At this point, I decided to heed my own advice and go to another checkout. By the time I repacked my basket, the problem was sorted it out and I was next in line. I proceeded to unpack my basket for the second time. No worries, I thought to myself since I only had a few items and nothing that was marked down. I should be out of there in no time.

Yeah, right.

It must be the mere fact that Murphy's impending arrival causes bad luck. I had gone to the deli counter and got some sliced meat and salmon fillets, both of which were tagged with a bar code label by the deli department.

Not only did the the label for the ham get rejected by the scanner, but the label for the salmon fillets was also rejected. After several attempts at the bar code for the ham, the cashier looks at me and says, "I'm sorry, this product is not in our computer", to which I responded with a look that said, "And how is this my problem?"

After another bout of haggling, this time between the cashier, some know-nothing price manager and - oh my gods - the 'override' button on the keyboard, I was in and out of that store in a half an hour: 10 minutes for gathering my goods; 20 minutes at the checkout, excluding the time for customer before me.

So, I get to the apartment, turn on the water, hot water tank, open a window, etc. I rush back to my house for feeding time at the "zoo" which leaves me about 20 minutes to relax before I pick Murphy up at the airport.

Honestly, I thought his flight would have been delayed, diverted or - god forbid - downed, but it wasn't. In fact, it was early!

Go figure.

So, after all of the grief and delays I went through Monday, it got me thinking that maybe it really isn't Murphy. It might be me after all.

Again, I am so naive.

About two hours after I drop Murphy off at his place, he calls to say that the toilet tank is leaking.

Profusely.

He's here until December 24th.

;-)

I'm Starting to Love This Reporter

2011-10-12T20:50:00.000-04:00

In my last post, I made reference to a headline from a front page article of one of our newspapers, insomuch that it appeared to be grammatically questionable.

I stand corrected.

This reporter (the same one from my last article) appears to have an underlying and very wry sense of humour.

At first glance, anyone familiar with the current political climate in the Bahamas would hardly give it a second thought. I, on the other hand, did:

In my opinion, "bran" - in any amount - will teach anyone a lesson.

Heh, heh.

To clarify, since the Bahamas follows the Parliamentary rules of the United Kingdom and the Prime Ministerial term of office cannot exceed five years, the government is gearing up for an election.

Yeah, it's that time. They call it, "Silly Season" here. Let the mud slinging begin.

Hubert Ingraham is the current Bahamian Prime Minister and leader of the FNM (Free National Movement) Party. There is also the PLP (Progressive Liberal Party) which is the official opposition.

To further clarify, the "Bran" to which the headline refers is Branville McCartney, the leader of the the newly birthed (and, yes, the upcoming pun here is totally intended) DNA Party. (The 'pun' refers to the fact that most Bahamians are, in one way or another, related to each other.)

That so much can be read into this headline, I look forward to more.

;-)

It's No Wonder I Can't Write Comprehensively...

2011-09-17T16:10:00.000-04:00

... when I read shit like this in our newspapers:

Evidently, there were four victims. A couple aren't quite dead yet.

"Maria ... I Just Met a Cheese Named Maria"

2011-09-10T14:37:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I don’t know if there is a cheese named “Maria” but I do know there is a storm named Maria which could be a potential threat to the Bahamas. So far the forecast is leaning in our favour – she should be a gutter ball - but I can’t get that song out of my mind.

Really.

Every time I visit the storm site, there she is and damn it if that song doesn’t pop into my head.

If you think about it, Maria is kind of a cheesy song anyway.

Speaking of cheese …

I’ve neglected my monthly Cheese Calendar reviews* and in order to get my mind off Maria - the storm, not to mention the song - I now update you with my late reviews of the July and August recipes for the calendar.

*(If you are new to my blog and have no idea what I'm talking about, click here to get a general understanding of the Cheese Calendar, or just click on the 'cheese calendar' label below.)

Kiwi Mascarpone (July)

Ingredients:

6 kiwis (the fruit kind – not actual New Zealanders, unless your into that sort of thing)
1/3 cup orange juice
¼ cup mascarpone cheese
1 tsp honey
¼ tsp cinnamon

Directions:

Peel and slice the kiwis into rounds. Sprinkle orange juice over fruit and set aside.
In a small bowl, mix mascarpone, honey and cinnamon until well blended.
Layer kiwis and mascarpone into ramekins 3 times, ending with kiwis. Sprinkle tops with a pinch of cinnamon.

Oh, yum! This would make a great dessert for any meal. It’s not very heavy on the “cheese” taste but the mascarpone, with the honey and the cinnamon, compliments the kiwis very nicely. It would also be an appropriate dessert for the following recipe.

Note: If you are going to use the other Kiwis (real New Zealanders), just make they have been washed and are clean shaven, substitute the orange juice with a hot tub full of Orange Jello, whipped cream for the mascarpone and ... oh, never mind.

Goat Cheese Quesadillas (August)

Ingredients:

2 tblsp extra virgin olive oil, divided
½ pound fresh asparagus, cut into 1 ½ inch pieces
Two 10-inch flour tortillas (I used three 8-inch tortillas)
4 oz herbed goat cheese (or slightly more if you use the 8-inch wraps)
½ cup cooked ham, cubed (I used Black Forest ham, cut into quarter-inch cubes)

Directions:

In a skillet, heat 1 tblsp of olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the asparagus, stirring occasionally until tender and lightly browned.** Add salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
Spread one side of each torilla with ½ of the goat cheese. Spread ½ the asparagus and ½ of the cooked ham cubes evenly on each tortilla. Fold tortilla in half over contents. Brush the outsides of the quesadillas with remaining oil.
Over medium-high heat, cook the quesadillas about 2 to 3 minutes per side. Cut in half and serve.

**Note: I sometimes cannot get very fresh asparagus (as it was in this case), so I lowered the heat a bit, added a tablespoon of water and covered the skillet with a lid to steam the asparagus to prevent them from drying out.

Yum, again! This is a simple, easy peasy recipe if you don’t want to do a lot of cooking, especially in the summertime. The ingredients are simple (and I did adhere to the recipe), but one can always add other stuffings or seasonings to taste. I also liked the bit of crunch that came from toasting the wraps in the skillet.

Well, that wraps up these recipes. September's recipe is apple Camembert stuffed crepes.

Are They Sirius?

2011-09-03T22:11:00.001-04:00

I don't know about you, but one would think that a "meteorologist" deals with things like, say, planets, stars and - god forbid - actual meteors. Apparently not. "Meteorologist" is the official job description of one who predicts or forecasts the weather. Predilection is, as a science, iffy at best. Hell, most people already pooh-pooh psychics, yet the "meteorologist" moniker given to - gasp! - weathermen is to be revered: we are supposed to trust these people when it comes to the weather.

If you ask me, it's the name given to those idiots who go out and report on a hurricane in the bloody middle of it. I'll have to say, though, that those meteorologists on the beaches of the eastern U.S. seaboard kept me quite entertained during Hurricane Irene.

Speaking of being entertained, I can't imagine that the job is otherwise very interesting. Boring, actually. So it doesn't surprise me that those guys at the hurricane centre might hope to have something upon which to report for six months of the year. (One has to wonder what they do for the other six months.) And, if it's a 'slow' year, how do they spend their time?

They probably sit around thinking of "headlines" like this:

Evidently, a bored meteorologist has been channeling Howard Cosell.

I'm waiting for the third round update.

;-)

Goodnight, Irene.

2011-08-22T20:08:00.000-04:00

I wish.

As some of you may or may not know, I presently live in the "Hurricane Alley" of the Caribbean and the 5-10 split is extremely wide in my neck of the woods at this time of year so, yeah, it's technically a crap shoot.

Most bowlers aim just right or left the Number 1 pin for a strike. Currently, our island is just left of that desired 'sweet spot' for Hurricane Irene.

There have been several tropical waves forming off of the east coast of Africa that are potential tropical storms since the onset of the hurricane season but, thankfully, most have been gutter balls.

I have found that if I talk about upcoming storms in my blog, they generally peter out or divert their respective routes to non life threatening areas. Hence, this post (and crossing fingers, toes, eyes. etc).

Just to give you a perspective, as of about 5 p.m. EDT today:

And if that wasn't bad enough ...

My mom just called me the "Hippy Dippy Weatherman". Really, she did, mostly because I've been obsessed in monitoring the hurricane updates all day. This is how it is in our household. It can be satirically comical at times yet we cannot control many things, let alone 'Mother Nature'. I just hope we're still laughing come Friday.

I think we will be. What else can one do?

I might be "off the grid" for the next few days (week?).

In the meantime, tonight's forecast: dark.

;-)

*

*

Oh Auntie Em!

2011-08-03T17:04:00.000-04:00

'Tis the season. Hurricane season, that is. Whilst Tropical Storm Emily is making up her mind upon whom she will render her wrath (she's been rather indecisive for two days - hey, it a woman thing), we have been inundated with other problems that need to be tended to in order to make Emily's stay with us as comfortable as it can be. Our comfort, that is.

On Monday, we discovered that the main waterline to our house has sprung yet another leak. Fun. Wow. *starts humming the song to an advertisement for a theme park somewhere in western NY State* (Okay, so you'd have to had grown up in Buffalo, Western New York or Toronto and watched Buffalo television feeds to understand that one. Annoying sums it up quite well.)

At any rate ...

About two weeks ago, I finally decided to check our diesel generator because the ~~impending doom of the~~ hurricane season does not appear to be in our favour this year. Well, "Vin" here turned over and merely farted. Typical. So we called the best diesel engine tech on the island to tune-up our generator - or at least find out if we needed any parts, etc. - so that we could buy supplies should they be needed. He (the tech) was scheduled - did I tell you that Bahamians don't know the definition of "schedule"? - to do a work-up on Vin early last week. Guess what? (Yes, it is a rhetorical question.)

Back to the water main: Monday was a holiday here so we were "SOL"*** on getting any repairs done on that day. Yesterday (Tuesday), we were able to secure a contractor with a backhoe to dig a new trench which was scheduled for today. Our reasoning for the new trench being that the existing pipe would continue to fail - it would be easier to replace the whole line rather than try to fix the current leak. The contractor was to arrive sometime this morning to start digging. Yeah. Right. Have you read the subtitle of this blog? (Yes, also a rhetorical question.)

Enter the plumber: We contacted the best known plumber on the island (we milk that "who you know" thing quite well, it's just the "small world" thing that can bite you in the ass sometimes) who couldn't arrive last night but did, in fact, get here early this morning. Wonders never cease. "Joe", the plumber (and I only call him that because Palin hasn't fallen on her sword in a few weeks - that, and I have no other lame-ass joke to insert here), wanted to do the entire job in one day so that we would not be without water.

Frankly, "Joe" is an angel. He was absolutely prepared to do the entire job in one day.

Water supplies are ordered and delivered (about 10 a.m.). Generator's tech is delayed but, "will reach within the hour" (that was about 10 a.m.). Contractor for the new trench: "We have to repair a tire on the flatbed transport" (that was about 12 p.m.). It's been overcast all day. The forecast is indicating isolated thunderstorms which, in turn, brings isolated torrential rains. We get a mere drizzle in our area, elsewhere it is raining buckets (normal for here but no one wants to venture out in it. God forbid it should ever snow).

The generator tech finally arrives at about 1:30 p.m. "Vin's" dipstick is given a clean bill of health and - other than the fuel supply - he is all good to go.

Now, the backhoe contractor and Joe the plumber were to have spoken with each other to co-ordinate the digging of the trench with the installation of the new water line in order that it happened all at once. Apparently they know one another (considering the size of this rock, this does not surprise me). And I have to hang around the house all day to control the dogs. However, neither showed up, mostly due to the contractor. The third or fourth call (I lost count) to the contractor said they couldn't come out because the torrential rains had flooded their yard so bad that they couldn't get the vehicle(s) out. When asked about the 'flat tire' problem - the original excuse for the delay - the response was, "What flat tire?".

So, basically, I've been sitting on my ass all day waiting for people to "reach".

Tonight's forecast: dark, with isolated torrential rains.

Thursday's forecast: lighter, with isolated torrential rains.

Friday's forecast ... take a guess.

Emily arrives at 2 a.m. Saturday morning.

Fun. Wow.

***SOL = shit outta luck

*

*

Synchronicity?

2011-07-14T12:00:00.000-04:00

The following comics that are normally published side by side, appeared in a recent issue of our local newspaper:

Is it just me or does anyone else see the irony here? Maybe I'm wrong, but I thought it apropos that these two panels happened to appear on the same day.

Well, I thought it was funny.

;-)

*

*

*

It's All Greek To Me

2011-07-05T06:00:00.009-04:00

"GOOD MORNING NORTH AMERICA!!!!"

(be thankful this isn't an audioblog)

After this long weekend, everything is probably "all Greek" to many of those on both sides of the border strugging with their hangovers.

Heh, heh.

Ah, yes, this is my usually late monthly instalment of the We Work For Cheese cheese calendar recipe review. June's recipe was Greek Salad which I had, in fact, neglected to make but as recipes go, salad is as salad does. It ain't rocket science and it's all about the dressing anyway.

Since it's likely to get hotter here throughout the summer, I will probably make this salad for a main course. Although our appetites diminish as the mercury rises, the need to feed does not so this would make a nice light dinner with some bread and maybe some ~~gestapo~~ gazpacho and a fine Chianti.

Greek Salad

The Dressing:
1 tblsp olive oil
1 tblsp red wine vinegar
1 tblsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp dried oregano
1 clove garlic (although the recipe wasn't wasn't specific, I'm assuming it is to be crushed or minced)
1/2 tsp honey
pepper to taste

The Vegetation:
Romaine lettuce
1 tomato
1 small cucumber
1/2 green pepper

The Garnish:
1/2 cup feta cheese, crumbled
fresh dill, chopped
12 black olives (pitted if you prefer and I do prefer pitted) - chopped, or not.

Destructions:

Wash and dry hands - preferably with soap.
Wash and dry lettuce - preferably without soap.
Chop The Vegetation, place in a large bowl and toss to combine.
In a small jar, combine all of the ingredients listed for The Dressing and shake well (it's less messy if you affix a lid to the jar or container prior to shaking). I usually set my dressing aside for a bit to mind meld.
Pour The Dressing over The Vegetation and toss again for even dressing distribution. Hey, toss your hair while your add it, just make sure it stays out of The Vegetation.
Sprinkle The Garnish atop each serving.
Eat.

Note: Windex is NOT an ingredient.

Yeah, I took a little liberty with this recipe but not with the ingredients. Double-up The Dressing in the event you have to double-up on The Vegetation. And since this is just a salad, anything goes. I prefer Caesar salad but, hey, it's all Greek to me.

I Could Quiche You!

2011-06-19T16:20:00.000-04:00

Due to technical difficulties with Blogger, the recent heat wave we are presently incurring and my usual lazy ass self (upon which I blame the heat), I am just now posting my review of last month's Cheese Calendar Recipe. For those of you not familiar with these recipe reviews, please click on the "cheese calendar" label at the bottom for the history of these reviews because, frankly, I'm just too hot and bothered (and not in a good way) to do the links.

At any rate, May's recipe called for a quiche - namely, a bacon quiche. Now, I'm not a great fan of eggs in the first place but the recipe calls for, basically, scrambled eggs with bacon, cheese and baked in a pie crust. I like scrambled eggs. I like bacon. I like pie crust. Oh, and I like cheese. A no-brainer!

It’s a very simple recipe and great for a brunch and would even suit as a dinner entrée for those who want protein without having to mess around with too much cooking after a long days’ work. Oh, and did I mention it has BACON!

Bacon Quiche

Ingredients:

6 eggs, beaten
12 (or more) slices of cooked bacon, crumbled
½ cup of milk
1 tsp dried basil
1 cup grated Havarti cheese
1 deep dish pie crust (in the frozen section of your grocery store – or, hell, make one yourself!)
salt & pepper to taste

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees
Beat eggs, milk, bacon, salt, pepper and basil until frothy
Pour mixture into pie crust
Sprinkle cheese over mixture
Bake for 35 – 45 minutes or until knife inserted into centre comes out clean

That is the basic recipe in the calendar but you could dress it up anyway you want. For instance, the bacon they sell here is very fatty, rather expensive and without much flavour (yeah, it sometimes sucks to live in the Bahamas – we get all the crappy food) but you could use a nice pancetta or capocollo (spicy or not) or some other flavourful meat.

Even though I made this dish to the specifications of the recipe (as I promised to do with all of recipes in the calendar), I would likely add sweet peppers, onions and some Worcestershire sauce. As it is a quite versatile recipe, one could use it for those leftovers that won't make a full meal.

So, guys, real men can eat quiche.
*

*

*

Happy Happy Joy Joy**

2011-06-02T13:55:00.001-04:00

In my last article I expressed my frustrations of not being able to post comment responses on my own blog. Some other members of Blogger were (or still are) experiencing the same problem along with another glitch of not being able to publish articles on their own sites.

Another issue I was having was not being able to install Disqus on my blog and gave up on it a few weeks ago until this commenting problem arose. Hoping to circumvent this recent commenting problem, I tried and tried and tried again to install Disqus with no luck. I even went as far as to disable a majority of my internet security features but it still would not install.

Finally, and after a major mondo-blondo moment (three days), success!! Disqus is now installed on my blog.

Disqus would not install because my internet browser (Internet Explorer) would not allow it, suspecting a cross-scripting (malicious) attack on my blog site.

As for the Blogger issues (commenting/posting/signing-in), my major concern was responding to comments on my own site (which I was prevented from doing), but I could still publish articles to my own blog and comment on other Bloggers' sites without problems.

(June 3, 2011 Update: I posted a comment (using IE v.9) to one Blogger member's site, but later could not do it on another Blogger's site (while still using IE v.9). I could, however, post a comment using another browser.)

Hmm, you say.

In the hope that I can shed light or some assistance to those who are experiencing some of the same problems I've encountered with Blogger and/or installing Disqus, I offer the following (please note, however, I am NOT a computer techie):

FYI (some shit that may or may not be relevant):

My platform is Windows 7
The internet browser I normally use is Internet Explorer (v.8 then, v.9 now)
I was born blonde (not that it really matters)

For Blogger:
I think it (Blogger) is still experiencing the same issues - now that I have Disqus, my only issue was commenting on my own blog and is now resolved.

Anyway, it may be your browser - try using an alternative for the time being. I used Google Chrome. It allowed me to sign in, sign out, post comments and articles through Blogger without problems. Yeah, you probably won't like it much either but it got the job done for me. Do a 'test' publish - it can always be deleted and you can alternate between browsers.

For Disqus (not being able to to install it on your site):
If you merely want to circumvent the commenting issue on your own site (I cannot speak to the problems others are having with commenting on other Blogger sites) and want to install Disqus but it is blocked because of a "cross-scripting" error:

If using IE (Internet Explorer), don't even bother to turn off the XSS filter(s) or related toggles. They won't work. Trust me, it don't work and you might save yourself a few clumps of hair (and from possible virus attacks).
Try an alternate browser (my "mondo-blondo" moment) to install it. Again, Google Chrome worked for me - you can always go back to your regular browser afterwards (as I have).

I hope this was helpful and informative to those may still have problems.

;-)

**Ren & Stimpy / Happy Happy Joy Joy Song

*

*

*

Testing ...

2011-05-25T13:28:00.001-04:00

One, two, three.

(two seconds later ...)

Oh, shit! It worked!!

Sure, I can publish a post on my blog but can't comment on it?? WTF?? Is it just my site or what??

Alright, I've had it. I've got to get Disqus but I don't know how to do it stick it in there, if you know what I mean. A little help, please? (Assuming you are able to comment, of course.)

Hey, Blogger: Blog this (points to Moooooog's crotch - seeing is that I don't have one of 'those').

;-)

Okay, since I can't comment on my own friggin' site, I guess the following will be the only way I can respond to comments for the time being:

Helen: Whoa, you've changed (love your new pic)! I see you could get through - nice to know that someone can. Thanks for dropping in!

Ziva: ...dix, onze, douze. Yep, that's as far as I'm gonna count because I'm gonna lose it in a moment. Heh, heh.

*

*

*

Snort

2011-05-20T13:36:00.000-04:00

With what little eyesight I have left, I've been neglecting my reading list mostly because I've been misreading things. When one reads, "Wore" as "Whore", one should avoid reading fine print - or any print for that matter. And I won't go into my recent Wheel of Fortune incident.

My new eyeballs (glasses) are supposed to "reach" this week.

Reach (as a Bahamian verb): whenever it/they/whatever arrives at a destination; emphasis on whenever.

At any rate, during my blog skimming I discovered that two blogging awards were recently bestowed upon me by that crazy Arizonan zombie wombat we all know and love as Quirkyloon. Imagine my surprise when I saw these:

So, in keeping with true Quirky fashion:

*snort*

"Stylish"? Moi? Just be glad that this isn't a video blog. I didn't know what "matching" meant in fashion jargon until 10th grade but I try to adhere to that rule when I now go out in public. Alright, I know that that's not what is meant by this 'Stylish' award. Notwithstanding, I'm still verklempt!

*vapours hand-fan*

"Versatile"? Granted that I don't really have a 'theme' to my blog and I write about dis, dat, and de udder tingum so, in that respect, I guess I am versatile!

*sheepish grin*

Alas, with greatness comes responsibilities. Whether it be a Pulitzer Prize or a Blogging Award, obligations are attached, implied or not. In this case, the cling-ons are:

1. Thank and link back to the person giving you the award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Award 10-15 blogs you think deserve this award.
4. Contact these bloggers and let them know about the award.

When I was given my first blog award there were "rules" attached, and when I received it I was quite the 'newbie': my task was to award 7+ bloggers and state why I thought they deserved the honour. Gah! I barely knew a handful of people at best and, likewise, they barely knew me. Little did I know then that it wasn't completely taboo to break the rules. And, like Quirks, I'm not all about rules.

Let's just call them guidelines, shall we?

I thank ye, O Quirkyloon, and graciously accept the honours ye have bestowed upon me. (Um, no biggie but you forgot to drop me a ~~nugget~~ note about the awards. I'll assume it was due to a DDP withdrawal - that or Blogger was still experiencing its own Twilight Zone). You like me! You really like me!!
Seven things about meself ... well, I've probably already shared more than that and more than you care to know throughout my posts. Fine. I'll give you one of which you may not be aware: I am NOT a cat. I am, however, a bit of a 'dozo': I get confused; then again, I am so easily confused.
Pass the awards to 10-15 bloggers:

THE LIST:

Heh, heh.

I could surely name at least ten - probably more - blogs that deserve these awards but I think I'll just stick with the few bloggers I think will have fun with them. Hopefully I will not overlap any other honourees that may be named by my co-recipients but, you know, shit happens. So, in no particular order:

Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism. She's a beautiful and very funny lady who should try stand-up comedy (or at least write some), and gets up all in your face with her 'naughty bits'. Really (I mean with the 'naughty bits').
Nicky, Mike (and occasionally, Jepeto) at We Work For Cheese. They are wonderfully cheesy people and are responsible for unleashing upon the blissfully ignorant the cacophony of caustic concoctions known as poutine (not to be confused with 'poontang').
Cheeseboy (Abe) at The Blog O' Cheese. When he's not role playing as kitchen appliances (his most recent post), you might spot him at the local Chinese take-out dressed as Barney the Dinosaur, waxing his arm hair or doing some other crazy stuff like that. Hey, he works with kids - young kids - the kind of kids that drive you bonkers - all day long. Yeah, he's entitled.
Meleah at Momma Mia, Mea Culpa. She hails from Jersey, complete with the attitude (she loves the badger), is so versatile that she surfs the 'net while sitting on the john, but above all, she has a heart of gold.

I hope you visit these sites - they are worth a look-see. Hey, you might even learn something about your private parts, cheese, kids and/or badgers!

Once this is published, I will be off to complete the last of my obligations. Speaking of obligations, I'm then off to go pick up some ~~beer~~ ~~booze~~ butter. Oh, and the newspapers.

;-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Eyeball" update: They are now to arrive sometime early next week. Yeah, right. I won't be holding my breath.

*

*

*

"Hell Hath No Fury ..."

2011-05-08T11:35:00.001-04:00

Honour thy mother on this her special day.

Or else:

Water vapour satellite image of "Mother Nature" courtesy of (stolen from) NOAA

Happy Mother's Day!

Potatoes Ugh Rotten

2011-04-17T15:38:00.001-04:00

Late last year I won a cheese recipe calendar from the wonderfully cheesy people at the site formerly known as We Work For Cauliflower, hosted by Nicky, Mike and - occasionally - Jepeto and in honour of such honour, I declared I would make the recipe that correlated with each month and write a review of same.

It’s April and this month's cheese calendar recipe is "Potatoes Au Gratin" (for those of you who are not familiar with the French language, it is pronounced - more or less - "potatoes aw-grat-eh" and not as indicated in the title of this post). And I’m so proud that I have beaten the end-of-the-month review publishing deadline that I had imposed upon myself.

Yay me!

I had a few little problems with this recipe. First and foremost was the cheese – no such animal exists on this rock – but the substitute (as suggested by Nicky) is just as good. Secondly, I did not have, nor could I find, the potatoes that were called for in the recipe. No worries – I used a ‘cousin’ spud which worked just fine. Thirdly, the size of the casserole dish seemed a little large and I thought there might have been a typo. I was so wrong. I now have a bowl full of potato slices wallowing in water in my fridge, awaiting their fate to one of my many other torturous cooking methods.

The most fretful part of this recipe is – at least for me – that it calls for “thinly sliced” ingredients. Since no one here personally knows me, I love to cook but I am an absolute klutz when it comes sharp objects, particularly knives. So to avoid possible future visits to the E.R. (which I have done ~~quarterly~~ on several occasions in Canada - something one would wish to avoid here), I previously purchased a mandolin – and no, it is not the stringed instrument so don’t even try to play Going to California on one. It was definitely worth the price (an upper end model), even though I once almost sliced off the entire end of one of my pinkie fingers.

Moving on.

This is a very simple recipe, very tasty and would make a great side for any main entrée. So, without further adieu, I present:

Potatoes Au Gratin

Ingredients:

3 tblsp butter
2 leeks (white and light green parts only), thinly sliced *
8 Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced **
7 oz. Oka cheese ***
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
In a skillet, sauté leeks in butter with salt and pepper, stirring occasionally until softened – about 12 minutes. Scrape into bowl and set aside (yeah, right, like I need another dish to clean – just get it off the heat and leave it in the pan until you need it).
Generously butter (or grease) the bottom of a 10-cup casserole dish. Layer ¼ of the potatoes along the bottom, then spread ¼ of the leek mixture on top. Repeat layering 3 times. Cover with foil.
Bake on bottom rack of oven until potatoes are tender (about 1 and ½ hours).
Remove (cut) rind off cheese and slice into thin pieces.
When potatoes are tender, remove from oven, increase temperature to 450 degrees, cover potatoes with cheese.
When the oven has reached the higher temperature, bake potatoes (uncovered) until cheese is bubbly and lightly browned, about 5 to 10 minutes.

*Sometimes leeks collect soil or sand in between their shoots (or leaves) as they grow. It has been suggested that you wash them before cooking: cut the shaft lengthwise to loosen the leaves and rinse in water. For this recipe, I used three leeks instead of two – even though they taste like onions, they aren’t nearly as strong but I liked the extra ‘oomph’.

**Since I could not find the Yukon golds, I just used red potatoes. And as for peeling them, forget about it (unless you don’t like the skins) – the skins are full of vitamin C, so just scrub your potatoes well if you don’t want to peel them.

***As I indicated, we do not get Oka cheese here but I found that Gruyere is an excellent substitute.

If you use all the potatoes called for in the recipe, you will need that larger casserole dish. Personally, I like a crispy top on such dishes and used a rectangular vessel and tried to toast the potatoes before I added the cheese. Unfortunately the visualisation électroniques foutues (pardonnez mon francais) on my oven heated up and I was unable to read the temp, resulting in slightly overcooked cheese and a overly crisp bottom (not top). I really gots to gets me a gas range. Next time I'll just use the broiler.

I vowed to myself that I would cook each recipe of the calendar as it is written (other than necessary substitutions) and so far each recipe is quite good on its own, but there is always room for tweaking if you should feel the need. I normally use onions in my potato casseroles. The leeks, though, have a milder flavour and I will probably use them more often.

Next month: Bacon Quiche (Does anyone remember, "Real Men Don't Eat Quiche"? Yeah, right. If there's bacon involved, they'll eat it!)

;-)

*

*

*

Punny Stuff

2011-04-12T16:40:00.001-04:00

Not to pat myself on the back or anything, but this week ...

... an honour bestowed upon the winner of a weekly caption contest hosted by nonamedufus, given for my entry for last week's Pause, Ponder and Pun pic. A new photo appears every Wednesday - that's tomorrow people! Be there or be square.

But, hey, if captions aren't your thing, comments are always welcome and you just might be the recipient of the Golden Clothespin award:

Collect enough of these and you'll be hangin' with nonamedufus, too!

*********************************

On another note, I was glancing through the classifieds the other day and came upon this:

Well, I do own a plunger. Does that count?

*

*

*

Momisms (Part 2)

2011-04-08T11:31:00.001-04:00

I am of the firm belief that there isn't anyone who hasn't been embarrassed by their parents, either by actions or by words, at one time or another.

Take my mom, for instance. She mixes metaphors and analogies, misuses words and/or phrases, loses her train of thought, etc., but she is otherwise very intelligent and generally serious so much so that she doesn't get the punchline some of the time. I've already introduced you to Momisms (Part 1), so here is a continuation of her flubs:

One day we were discussing gardening with one of our employees and the subject of fertilizing and composting came up. Some people use horse manure, worm casings, chicken shit, vegetable waste among others. Then my mom piped up with, "Bat iguana is supposed to be very good for the garden". Bat iguana?? She meant "bat guano".

Heh.

Her explanation for my fast eating habit? When I went to a boarding school for a couple of years, I developed a habit of eating quickly because of the little amount of time allotted between lining up at the dining hall, eating, having a smoke and then getting back to class or to go and spend some free time with my friends before the dreaded "study hall". So, if someone would ask why I finished dinner long before anyone else, she'd say, "She sniffs her food". No mom, I "inhale" my food.

Heh, heh.

This one is priceless: The government here took a census last year. A woman from the census came by one night but we did not hear her at the gate (one is supposed to announce their arrival here by honking their horns) so she left a note to call her at her office. The following night, mom called and answered the census questionnaire over the phone. When asked about my educational details, mom told her that I graduated "phi-beta-kappa". Rolling my eyes and cackling, I quickly corrected her: "It's summa cum laude".

Bwhahahaha!

Yes, she reads this blog.

*

*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: While reviewing my article history, I discovered that my "Bloggaversary" was three days ago. I know, I'm three days late - again. I'm going to have to start setting my calendar ahead three days (I used to set my watch ahead 20 minutes because I was always 10 minutes late). Anyway, I also discovered that I had not posted this even though I wrote it almost a year ago. I don't know why.

Attack Of The Killer Zucchinis!

2011-04-03T14:56:00.002-04:00

In case any of you were not aware, late last year I won a cheese calendar from some fellow Canadiens at We Work For ~~Cauliflower~~ Cheese, in which contains cheese dishes for each month throughout the year. And, as usual - yet still living up to my job description - I am late in posting my review of March's mozzarella meltdown. Okay, so there is no mozzarella involved in this month's recipe but there was melted cheese.

The recipe for March called for zucchini as the main ~~suspect~~ ingredient. The only reason I am publishing this article sooner than my lackadaisical ass generally allows is because I am, apparently, deathly allergic to this seemingly benign widow vegetable. I've been told that I have only a few days to live.

My Grassy Knoll Bullet

(Heh, heh)

Okay, I missed April Fool's Day too. So I'm three days late and too many dollars short. Sue me.

Anyway, this is a wonderful springtime recipe, extremely simple and very versatile. It can be served as an entree or an appetizer and leftovers make an excellent starter base for a cheese sauce.

Creamy Zucchini Soup

Ingredients:

1 onion (approx. silver dollar sized or slightly larger)
2 pounds chopped zucchini
2 cups water or chicken broth (I went with the broth)
salt & pepper to taste
fresh dill to taste
3 to 4 triangles of Vache Qui Rit cheese (Laughing Cow, Boursin or cream cheese)

Directions:

Simmer onion and zucchini in water/broth for about 15 min. or until tender (you don't have to peel the zucchini)
Puree in a food processor or blender (I used a "Daily" hand mixer right in the pot - really, who needs more dishes to clean?)
Add cheese, salt and pepper (and dill - I didn't have any and omitted it since I don't like it)
Stir until cheese has melted

That's it. Easy peasy simple.

Oh, right. The cheese sauce: If you have some leftover soup, just add some extra cheese (any type will do), some extra broth or milk if it becomes too thick, and other seasonings to taste. It's great over steamed broccoli, cauliflower, boiled potatoes or anything else you like dressed with cheese sauce - even peas (yeah dufus, I'm lookin' at you!).

Enjoy!

Some of you may be wondering why "pumpkin" is included in the labels for this post. While I was looking for pictures of zucchini, I came across this:

(I think this might have been found at Charlie Brown's house)

Some time ago I participated in a weekly writing challenge hosted by a fellow blogger, Jenny Matlock. The prompt was a photo of a pumpkin patch and the above pic reminded me of my post for that week since it also involved zucchini. If you are interested, you can find it here.

*

*

*

There They Are ... Gone!

2011-03-29T17:41:00.000-04:00

Alas (a.k.a. "thankfully"), all of the 'offworlders' have left this rock, the last being this morning and I hope she isn't sitting in a jail cell through her Miami flight connection merely for the banana bread I made for her.

So, I have a little more time nowadays to devote to my blog - not that you really missed me or anything. *winks pitiful puppy-dog eyes*

Heh.

In lieu of me writing something thoughtful, provocative or ass-blasting funny (which I really doubt I can do and to dispell any rumours that I have, in fact, died), I leave you with a link I recently received in an e-mail that sums up the frustrations of those that wish to travel (particularly those who have visited with us and wished to extend their stay), and basically sums up air travel these days:

Cheap Flights

Feck it. I'll swim.

*

*

*

Holy Chocolate Cappuccino Cheesecake, Batman!

2011-03-09T12:14:00.001-05:00

As promised in my post, I Baked A Cake And Ate It, Too!, here's the recipe for that scrumpdelilicious cheesecake. I've added some tips at the end but if you have any questions, please ask and I'll try to answer the best I can.

CHOCOLATE CAPPUCCINO CHEESECAKE

INGREDIENTS:

For the crust:
1 cup chocolate cookie crumbs
1/4 cup butter - melted
2 tblsp sugar
1/2 tsp cinnamon

For the cake (two parts):
3 (8 oz) packages cream cheese, softened
1 cup sugar
3 eggs, room temperature
8 (1 oz) squares of semisweet baking chocolate, melted and cooled
2 tblsp whipping cream

1 cup sour cream
1/4 tsp salt
3 tsp instant coffee granules dissolved in 1/4 cup hot water
1/3 cup coffee liqueur (Kahlua or Tia Maria)
2 tsp vanilla extract

For the frosting:
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 tblsp icing/confectioners sugar
2 tblsp coffee liqueur
2 tblsp chocolate syrup

DIRECTIONS:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter (or grease) one 9” springform pan.
Combine chocolate cookie crumbs, softened butter, sugar and cinnamon. Mix well and press into the buttered springform pan. (1)
In a medium sized bowl, beat the softened cream cheese until smooth. Gradually add the 1 cup of sugar, mixing until well blended. Add eggs, one at a time. Beat at low speed until very smooth. (2)
Melt the semisweet chocolate in a microwave (intervals of 30 seconds on high – stirring between cycles). Once melted and smooth, let cool before adding to main batter.
Stir melted chocolate and 2 tablespoons of whipping cream to cream cheese mixture and blend well. Stir in sour cream, salt, coffee, 1/3 cup coffee liqueur and vanilla. Beat until smooth. Pour mixture into pan. (3 & 4)
Bake in the centre of the oven at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. The centre will be soft but firm up when chilled. Leave cake in oven with the heat turned off and the door ajar for 45 minutes. Remove cake and chill in refrigerator. (5)

For the frosting:

Beat 1 cup of whipping cream until soft peaks form, then beat in the icing sugar, liqueur and syrup. Spread topping on chilled cake. (6)

Tips and Tweaks:

(1) Since I did not have the cookie crumbs and being my lazy-ass self, I used two pre-made, store bought chocolate crusts (Oreo), then crumbled them with some melted (or softened) butter to set the crumbs for the crust into the bottom of the pan. In hindsight, I might have used the butter-and-flour method (using the crumbs in place of the flour) to coat the sides of the pan as opposed to trying to press the crust up the sides of the pan. Or you could just dispense with a side crust altogether.

(2) I have a Kitchen Aid mixer with a large bowl and the attachments tend not to reach the shallowest parts of the bowl. While beating the cream cheese (regardless of your mixer), occasionally scrape the sides, but mostly the bottom and your mixing attachment(s) with a rubber spatula to make sure all the cheese becomes incorporated with the batter which should, hopefully, eliminate any tiny lumps of cheese (or if you really want to go the extra mile and you are a masochistic narcissistic baker, you could push the batter through a sieve to eliminate the bumps and zits). But it’s always a good idea to add the separate ingredients before turning the power back on to the mixer.

(3) You can use ground coffee instead of instant, just make it strong. And if you are really into espresso (or cappuccino), the stronger the better!

(4) Once all of the batter ingredients are well blended and just before you pour it into the crust, whip it – whip it good! (Sorry for that earworm.) This will help the mousse-like texture of the cake.

(5) To prevent cracks in the cake, place a shallow pan of water in the oven. This is not always successful in preventing cracks but they (the cracks) are easily covered up with topping. If you see a crack developing after 30 - 35 minutes of baking, turn off the oven, leave the door closed for about 10 to 20 minutes then leave the oven door ajar for about 45 minutes.

(6) If you are going to use the whipped cream topping, make sure the cream is very cold (but do not freeze it), and that the bowl is chilled before whipping. I set my bowl in an ice bath while whipping (and it does take some time to whip). Else, you could use a cherry pie filling or other topping of your choice. I might try a meringue topping next time.

I really hope some of you try and enjoy this recipe.

The recipe for March is Creamy Zucchini Soup. Stay tuned.

*

*

*

I Baked A Cake And Ate It, Too!

2011-03-06T18:53:00.001-05:00

Having been busy with the poopettes, another visitor - this time from Canada and who also happens to be Murphy's mom - and being a bit laid up with more stomach problems, it was my birthday in late February and, as if I didn't already have enough to do, I had to make my own birthday cake! Really??

Sheesh!

Well, not really - I mean I really did make a cake but it wasn't just necessarily for my birthday. In late 2010 I won a calendar from the wonderfully cheesy people at WWFC (that would be Nicky, CheesyMike and ~~Sme~~ Jepeto), with each month in the calendar featuring a different recipe with cheese as an ingredient.

February's recipe was (is):

HOLY CHOCOLATE CAPPUCCINO CHEESECAKE, BATMAN!

Okay, delete the "Holy" and "Batman" from the above and that gives you name of the recipe. If you are a lover of cheesecake, especially CHOCOLATE cheesecake, this is a great recipe and relatively simple, too! The only problem I had was with the springform pan: I usually cheat and use the store bought crusts but the ingredients were such that they called for a larger vessel. I did, however, use the pre-fab crusts for the cookie crumbs which was way easier than scraping the cream filling off of chocolate cookies (we don’t have just plain chocolate cookies here) and then crushing them. Hey, the easier the better, right?

Since I am not much of a sweets fan, I was going to forgo the topping but the cake developed a crack (and, apparently, some teeth, zits and attitude) while baking:

Eat me.

As you can see, I ~~had no idea what I was doing~~ slightly overdosed on the crumbs for the side crust (I really didn’t know if I was supposed to do that or not - a side crust, that is) which shrank inward, making the cake look kind of like a flattened curling rock (and I mean the sport of curling, not hair curling unless you use rocks to curl your hair - hey, whatever floats your boat). Regardless of its appearance, the cake was lighter than a regular cheesecake - almost mousse like - and definitely fabulous!

So, here it is in all its glory, the finished product:

Happy Frakken Birthday To ME!!!

In hindsight, I probably could have gone with a meringue topping but that may have been just as sweet as the icing the recipe called for. Hmm … maybe cherry pie filling for the schmear next time. Yum!

Instead of including the recipe here, I will post it in the next few days with some tips and tweaks (i.e. so your cake won't grow 'teeth' if it develops a crack, etc.).

*

*

*

Apparently, Toronto Isn't The Centre Of The Universe After All

2011-02-18T15:45:00.002-05:00

Just a shorty today - still busy with the poopettes, but I needed a break.

These days, it seems one has to shake one's head in disgust at the education system.

Having a business here, we often need supplies, parts, etc. and we will order most of our needs via the Internet and most of it comes from the States (yeah, I be talkin' about the good ol' U.S. of A.).

Now, living in a foreign country can be tricky in that, when purchasing, many of the online forms require U.S. billing addresses for credit cards, among other information. No worries: we generally don't run into this problem and when we do, we phone the seller and place our orders directly without any further snafus.

What happened today totally boggles the mind.

We were trying to purchase an item online but the online order form required a "zip code". There are no zip codes in the Bahamas. Sometimes we can work around this problem via Internet but not today so me moms called the supplier and explained the problem she was having with its online ordering form. All was well and good until the order taker asked for a zip code. We explained that there are no zip codes in the Bahamas and that entering "00000" (five zeros) will generally be accepted in most computer program forms.

Okay, so the credit car information is given, the shipping address is given and after about ten minutes of trying to explain that our shipping address is different from the billing address - and, yes, we are in the Bahamas but it's going to Ft. Lauderdale - and then plugging in the necessary details, all is going smoothly until the seller's representative asks, "What State are you in?"

WTF???!!!

"We are in the Bahamas", moms says.

"So, what State is that in?", asks the phone rep.

Moms - now completely exasperated - asks for (and gets) the rep's supervisor on the phone. Pleased with being able to speak with a 'real person' and after going through the whole rigmarole with the supervisor again, he asks my moms ...

... wait for it...

...(honestly, I can't make this shit up) ...

"So, what State are you in?"
*
*
*

Will I Ever Post Again?

2011-02-04T12:38:00.000-05:00

Since the arrival of the Poopettes one week ago, I've been busy looking after them, trying to do daily chores without stepping on them at every turn and ensuring they don't become puppy chow for our larger dogs.

My daily routine hasn't been very routine in the past week and I barely have time to read and/or comment on many blogs, let alone trying to write a post myself, so I apologize for lack of appearances.

Back in November, I won a calendar in a 'name that cheese' contest from Nicky and friends at We Work For Cheese. The calendar contains recipes for cheese dishes, one for each month of the year, and I promised Nicky that I would try each and every recipe. January called for cheese rolls. Great. My bread making skills are severely lacking, particularly in the moist and rising departments (not a euphemism). I followed the recipe to the letter but the rolls didn't come out as cheesy as I was expecting although that could have been my fault in determining if it was supposed to be a 1/4 cup of cheese, grated or a 1/4 cup of grated cheese: in baking, this apparently makes a difference. Also, bread does not like me - if I merely pick up a glazing brush, my bread falls even before I get near it with the egg wash. The rolls were good, bigger than they should have been, but they dried out after a couple of days. I blame it on the climate and our sea level or, maybe, I just suck at it. No worries, I'm looking forward to this month's recipe: Chocolate Cappuccino Cheesecake!

In other news, I recently won an award for a caption contest hosted by vicki (aka vickilikesfrogs), a very funny and snarkastic blogger, at Glitter Frog. Her contest is presently on sabbatical but will return soon. Check her out when you can.

Thank-you vicki!!

We are experiencing a mini heatwave right now - I am sooo not looking forward to summer - but I feel sorry for all of you who are stuck in the cold weather, particularly those in the northeast, for having to endure all of that snow. So, in the hope of bringing a bit of levity to your situation, my cousin (who is a 'custodian' himself) sent me this link: Janitor's Revenge. I hope it makes you smile.

Now, I have to get back to chores.
.
.
.

Poopettes

2011-01-30T17:57:00.000-05:00

We are proud to announce that we have been (temporarily?) adopted by "Chewy" and "Prancer".

On Friday morning, a young couple came by inquiring whether or not these two young pups belonged to us, seeing that we had four dogs in the yard. Of course they weren't, but the couple couldn't take them with them - they already had ten dogs of their own! – so I decided to hold onto them in case they were escapees belonging to someone in the area. After further inspection - and a bit of de-ticking - it appears that they might be "drop-offs": pups that are unwanted by their owners. This happens way too much down here, but it is a fact of a dog's life in these islands.

This morning, however, our trusted and beloved gardener Josie tells us that the pups belonged to the new owner of the house at the end of our road. Considering the condition of these dogs, they no longer answer to that house and we still suspect the owner of the house let them out on purpose (they also have a vicious pit-bull which does not like puppies, so we are told).

Two days later, I discover that all of our dogs are ‘drama queens’: two are on hunger strikes, not having eaten their dinners in two days; Ben – our bigger Shepherd – thinks he has been banished from another family unit once again (he really is a sad-sack otherwise) and is now very timid about entering the house; and, “Garbage Guts” Elvis – the reigning “Queen”, as it were, who normally and oh, so woefully howls at feeding time for food (and will happily clean out any scraps left by the others whether they’ve finished their dinners or not), lay possum-like at the side of the pool, rolling his eyes pitifully to say, “You’ve already replaced me. I am dead to you. Just shove me into the canal, why don’t you? I’ll eventually drift out to sea.”

It's times like this I don't regret not having kids.

Whether we keep the pups remains to be seen – this depends on our original brood. I must keep them separate because of their size (our dogs will render them like they might a cat that strayed into our yard). Hopefully they will soon get their noses of out joint and accept them (Elvis is not long for this world, I’m afraid). I really didn’t think they would be so jealous of these young ones – but aren’t they soooooo CUTE???!!!

Heh heh.

It Rained On My Parade.

2011-01-21T18:03:00.000-05:00

Well, it did. Literally.

Sometime ago I mentioned having plumbing problems and - just to further piss me off - my dishwasher went on strike. The dishwasher was, at times, somewhat co-operative and I could actually do a few loads once in awhile. For the last two months, however, it finally gave up the ghost. We needed to order a part. Part of the problem was trying to discover exactly which part was needed. Dissasembly required. Been there, done that, the part arrived today. Hooray!! We were actually expecting it yesterday but it was delayed. So, my counter top and sink is full of dirty dishes which I didn't do in anticipation of the arrival of said part.

I have four dogs: two German Shepherds; two 'potcakes' (mixed breeds). If anyone know anything about dogs, 'shepherds' are bred for, well, herding. Now, keeping flocks of sheep, goats, cows, etc. will undoubtedly involve inclement weather. Shepherd dogs are bred for this purpose, right? They should be used to rain, sleet, snow, etc., right? Years ago, I had an Old English Sheepdog - not the brightest bulb of the herding group - but he was okey dokey with bad weather. It didn't phase him in the least. We've also had German Shepherds over the years with the same attitude. Snow, "oooh - it's nice and cool!"; rain, "I prefer the snow"; thunder storms, "oooh ...ahhh... fireworks!".

We have a defective Shepherd. Her name is Chase. For the purpose of this post, I will use one of her (many) nicknames, "Velcro".

Two out of the four dogs that adopted us are afraid of thunder storms. One would guess it would be the "potcakes". You would guess wrong.

A cold front started moving in earlier in the day and, along with it, thunder. As her name would imply, Velcro was stuck to my butt wherever I moved. I finally did escape to get the dishwasher part and by the time I returned the rain and thunder had subsided.

Re-assembly now required. I get started on installing the new part. After cursing and swearing a few hundred times - and one crantini break - I finally got the new panel to sit properly in the door. (Did I mention I have a short temper??) I get the major control part partially re-installed. Here comes the rain again and the thunder along with it. Velcro now decides that she wants to crawl into the dishwasher to hide because it's the closest place to me. This goes on for the next hour or so. The dishwasher is still incomplete.

I give up.

So, as I am writing this, the zoo has been fed, the rain and thunder have subsided and come Hell or my temper, I'm going back to the problem (hey, where did these extra screws come from?) to get my dishes washed tonight!

I hope.

Decompressing

2011-01-15T18:16:00.000-05:00

After screwing around part of the day trying to get the DVR to project louder audio (my moms is getting hard of hearing, whereas I can hear a spider fart in the next room), I was almost tempted to fire both components out into our still empty pool and be done with them. Of course I could not - I'm addicted to television.

So, I instead ran out to grab the newspapers and a few groceries but in my head I was still trying to figure out the problem with the A/V units. It was like a insane ear worm: one input only to the wireless speakers; two outputs from the components; split the cable input signal for recording separately from watching the television; combine and re-split the audio to the wireless speakers. (Do I really need to do this? Damn instruction manual - written in Japanese, translated into English by Italians (I'm guessing here) - which friggin' hole do I put the cable into? Where is the friggin' hole anyway? They really should put some hair around it.)

Well, you get the gist.

I return from shopping, etc. Feed the "zoo" it's dinner. Make me moms a drink. Have a smoke and another crantini. Get dinner started. Check my e-mail. Then I thought that I should do a post to get my mind off today's tribulations. I was going to compose something different altogether but wound up venting about my day's frustrations.

But, you know what? It worked! I'm calmer and more relaxed now and probably - or most definitely - about three sheets to the wind.

The Russians May Be Coming ...

2011-01-12T18:17:00.001-05:00

... but the Germans have arrived.

I've been busy lately with visitors from Germany, hence my lack of posts and sporadic commenting. That, and I've been busy trying to ~~emulate the "White Tornado"~~ tidy up the house (you know Germans - completely spotless people) just in case we invite them over before they leave in February. They (Germans) even scrub the road in front of their own houses, or so I've heard here in the comments.

At any rate, just letting you know I haven't died, but I am old enough to remember Carol Burnett. So, in lieu of a regular post, I offer you some great old comedy with this outtake from her variety show.

Oh, and Happy New Year everyone! (Yeah, I'm late as usual.)

Yeah, I Be Jumpin' On Santa's Sleigh, too!

2010-12-25T11:58:00.001-05:00

A Bahamian Christmas Carol

(sung to the tune of "Chestnuts Roasting On an Open Fire")

Tourists roasting on the ocean's beach,

White sands warming up their toes,

Surfside drinks are always in reach

Dissolving all of their thoughts of snow.

Everybody knows pineapple juice and some coconut,

With some rum makes a tasty island brew.

There will be parties here and some over there, but

Don’t forget to visit Junkanoo.

But wherever you may find yourself on this day,

Be it in temps from 80 to -42,

Its been said many times and in many ways,

A very Merry Christmas to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

However and wherever you celebrate,

Merry Christmas Everyone!

It Reach!

2010-12-21T19:25:00.000-05:00

Well, I actually stayed awake to witness the totality of the lunar eclipse last night (this morning). This was not an easy task for me. I got very little sleep afterwards and I am now practically fighting the Sirens of slumber. Having said that, I apologize, in advance, for the length of this post.

There is something mystical about a full moon: some say it's romantic, others say it brings out the craziness in people. Wolves, coyotes and dogs are known to howl at the moon.

And, with it being eclipsed last night, I can certainly say it brought out my 'crazies'. In the hope I could capture a video of the event to show all of you who were under cloudy skies, I decided to stay awake and set my laptop outside, pointing skywards, to record the event.

I also grabbed my camera to take a few stills however I do not have a tripod and I knew the pics wouldn't be great, but I took some anyway. With the laptop recording, I snapped a few shots and, suddenly, the camera's battery was about to die. This was about 2:15 a.m EST. I grabbed my extra battery and plugged it in hoping to charge it up enough to catch a shot or two of the total eclipse that was supposed to occur around 2:45 a.m.

Since the moon was so high in the sky and, in order to steady the camera, I had to lie (lay? - I still can't get that one right) down on the bench that surrounds the pool.

Click, click, click. Battery dies. It's 2:40 a.m. I run into the house to grab the other battery and head back outside. Apparently my dogs - four in all - heard me in the backyard and came running. I didn't have time to click another photo since all of them were mugging me, whining and wondering why I was still awake and lying on my back outside, in the cold.

I quickly secured my laptop from becoming the latest of dog toys and headed back into the house with the mutts in tow. I tried to go back and grab a few more photos but Chase (my youngest dog) was stuck to my ass like Velcro (also one of her nicknames) and I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to lie (lay?) down and take any more shots.

Wait. It gets worse.

After pouring myself a nightcap, I sit down to take a quick look at the video. Suddenly, I hear a key turn the lock in our front door. WTF? It's just after 3 a.m. In walks Josie, our Haitian gardener who works for us on Sundays. Josie is also a loyal and dear friend. Since my stepfather passed and we are two "vite vimen living alone", he looks in on us almost every morning - usually at around 6 a.m. - starts the coffee and takes the trash out to the curb on collection days.

I ask why he is here at 3 a.m. and he said it isn't 3.a.m. (we argue a lot, by the way). I assured him that it was. He checked his cell phone. Oh, no! he groans and then laughs at himself. He thought it was 5 a.m. It was pointless to drive him home at that time of day/night and since it was rather chilly and he'd only have to start walking back as soon as I dropped him off, I stuck him in my car to catch a couple of hours of sleep and, of course, to keep warm. It would appear that the time on his clock at home was incorrectly set.

So, back to the laptop I go. By this time I was sooooo tired, all I wanted was to go to sleep. When I went to turn off my computer, it asked me to save the video. Fine. As I am changing the folder location for the file, the video disappears! There it is - gone!

Crap.

So, as not to disappoint, here are a few of the 'best' pics I got with my camera, sans nose prints from my dogs. They are not great, but hey, I gave it a shot.

The ghost reflections from the lens gives them a bit of an omnious appearance.
The bottom left shot was taken just before the total eclipse (when my battery died).

Murphy leaves on Thursday.

"There is no dark side of the moon really.

2010-12-19T11:48:00.001-05:00

Matter of fact it's all dark."
- Pink Floyd

In case you have nothing better to do before Christmas (yeah, right), there is going to be an eclipse of the moon Monday evening or Tuesday morning (depending on your time zone). The good news is that it's going to be a total eclipse. The bad news, at least for us Easterners, is that the totality doesn't occur until about 2:45 a.m. Tuesday morning.

Even though I would like to, I doubt that I will be camping out with beer and popcorn waiting to witness this rare sight - my 'pumpkin time' rarely lasts beyond midnight. I've only seen one total eclipse many moons ago while camping in Algonquin Park and it was quite awesome to watch the shadow slowly pass over the orb. The colour is as equally striking.

If anyone - and/or your kids - hasn't seen an eclipse, it's worth the look. Who knows, you might just see Santa testing out his new GPS.

For more information on this upcoming extraterrestrial event,

you can visit here for a related article.

This Just In ... Just Closer to Home

2010-12-16T17:37:00.001-05:00

I mentioned somewhere awhile back that a friend was visiting from Canada. He not only brought my coveted Caramilk bars, he also brought me the nastiest cold I've had in years. The cold is gone but I still have one chocolate bar left, so I really can't hold catching the virus against him.

This friend, who I will call Murphy (not his real name, but it ought to be), has the most unfortunate luck. Years ago on a straight stretch of highway that was void of any vehicles, animals, ice, snow or other obstacles whatsoever, he rolled his car. (WTF??)

When he travels by plane, he's the one guy security always pulls over to the side for the 'frisk' - this was happening long before the current security procedures were in place.

Then Murphy extended his vacation here by two weeks which put him about eight days over his visitor's visa limit. I explained that immigration is not in the habit of kicking tourists off of the island for staying longer than permitted but, nooooooo, he got paranoid (he's like that) and had me take him to immigration so that he could inform them. He filled out the required forms and, after an hour or so of waiting, they told him it wasn't necessary. I swear I heard snickering as we left the immigration office.

If shit is going to happen it'll probably happen to him, which brings me to my story - just another one of Murphy's adventures - or should I say 'misadventures' (damn, I hope he keeps a diary).

Murphy has a small condo unit here that is within a complex which is part condominiums and part hotel. The management has keys to all of the units in case of emergencies.

I get an e-mail from his mom a couple of days ago. Call Murphy. He's got a funny story to tell you, she says.

Murphy is, basically, the only visitor to the condo who smokes and, in consideration of the family members that don't smoke and who are coming down in January, he's strictly been lighting up on the balcony. He's been here for one month.

Did I mention that it got rather chilly down here about a week ago??

So Murphy goes out on the balcony for his morning smoke the other day. He closes the sliding glass door to keep the cold air from invading the apartment. In doing so, the security pole (broomstick) for the door falls into the track on the inside of the unit, barring him from opening the door more than three or four inches.

He's stuck out on the balcony.

He calls out for help, but there isn't another soul in sight.

Having no other available options and the fact that he is wearing no shoes and only a t-shirt (I didn't ask about his pants - I was laughing too hard), Murphy drops from the second floor balcony to the ground and runs around to the entrance of the complex if not to get help but, at the very least, to get warm.

Now, one would think that re-entering the apartment would be as easy as asking for the keys from the management office. Two locks, two keys. Simple, right?? But, nooooooo, Murphy - in his infinite wisdom - decided to latch the un-keyed dead bolt on the inside of the unit before he went to bed the night before and, since he hadn't yet left the apartment that day, it was still latched.

I did say before that he was able to open the sliding glass door about three or four inches. Well, as Murphy's dumb luck would have it, Chuck the security guard (his real name is Charles - really) and the gardener, Miguel (pronounced "Migwell" - really, I don't make this stuff up) had a ladder and, of all things, a pitchfork, respectively.

Murphy climbed back onto the balcony with the pitchfork and was able to 'MacGyver' the security pole out from the inside of the track to regain access to his apartment.

I picked up Murphy yesterday to take him shopping. Before he got downstairs, I stopped by the security office to thank Chuck for his help. Chuck was on the phone at the time but, as soon as he saw me, he busted out laughing. I mouthed a "thank-you" and headed out to the car.

Murphy leaves on the 23rd of December. He was expecting his nephew to pick him up at the airport but, apparently, that isn't going to happen. Murphy lives near London, Ontario. London lives, geographically, in a snowbelt. His plane arrives in Toronto. For those of you who are not familiar with the distance between these cities, this is a four hour drive on a good day. It will be December 23rd.

Need I say more?

This Just In ...

2010-12-09T13:45:00.001-05:00

I used to live in a small hamlet north of Trenton, Ontario. Trenton is not a very large city but it does have its own newspaper. Like most publications these days, you are able to find the web based version of the news and I pop in now and again to see what's happening there.

Recently I found the following article - more precisely it just one part of the Trentonian's 'Police Briefs' feature - and I wasn't exactly sure what to do with it.

Deb over at Debbie Does Drivel posts "Clippings From the Fridge", her weekly Monday blurb of odd and bizarre news. And then there's Frank Lee MeiDere's feature on "Why We Need Editors" in his sidebar (even at my age, I still learn from Frank - he's a teacher, after all).

What surprises me more is that, if one is going to publish web-based news, the content of same should be considered but, at the least, reviewed ("edited") before it is posted.

So, instead of sending it to Deb or Frank, I decided to post it here "verbatim", as it were:

By Trentonian staff

Posted [December 6, 2010]

Unlawfully in a dwelling

A 38-year-old Quinte West man is facing a handful of charges after an incident on Whites Road.

Quinte West OPP report, in a release, officers were dispatched to a residence where a man was allegedly attempting to enter the house with intent to impersonate a male. The homeowner called 911 but the suspect was gone when officers arrived.

The suspect was later located in his vehicle on Highway 401 and arrested and charged with break and enter, three counts of assault, uttering threats and failing to comply with probation.

The man is being held for a bail hearing.

Really. What was he thinking?

The article could qualify for either of the sites previously mentioned, but I really hope all of the men I meet are actually males.

The Bloggerhood of the Traveling Book Tour

2010-12-03T12:18:00.003-05:00

The tale of the Bloggerhood of The Traveling Book (in case none of you are familiar with it), more or less goes as follows:

Unfinished Person (aka Unfinished Rambler or, “UP/UR” for short - he really needs to pick one name or stay on his meds, or something), sent the “Book” to Quirkyloon who forwarded it to Boom Boom Larew (aka Cat Lady Larew – again with the names?) who posted it to nonamedufus and then, finally (via conch-mail) it reach me.

And so the torch has been passed.

The “Book” to which I refer is The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson. It’s the second book of the Millennium Series – a trilogy about the trials and tribulations of Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist (aka “Kalle f*cking Blomkvist” - really? What’s up with the names already?? Oy!)

So, at the suggestion our resident schizophrenic (that would be UP/UR’s suggestion), we came up with the brilliant idea for each of us to write our own review of the book in question. Hence, the Bloggerhood of the Traveling Book Tour was born. In succession, the reviews are as follows:

Unfinished Person - Monday

Quirkyloon - Tuesday

Boom Boom Larew - Wednesday

nonamedufus - Thursday

00dozo - Friday (you are here)

Egad! It is now my turn to hand in my review. I wasn’t sure what to write. Having read the previous reviews of my predecessors (who have each done a fantastic job), I felt a bit daunted by this task. So, here it is:

The Girl Who Played With Fire

by Stieg Larsson

What can I say about Lisbeth Salander that hasn’t already been said. She is a definitely unique heroine but not so much of a heroine in the true sense of the word. She does not seek out those in need of help but, as a victim of great injustices herself, Lisbeth’s own twisted set of morals dictates who, why and how someone must suffer her unique methods of punishment, whether or not she likes or even knows the victim. This is a woman into whose cornflakes you do not piss.

Ah, Blomkvist – again, what can I say? He’s not a womanizer, but a charmer of women. His character offsets the theme of abuse and degradation of women by the other male characters in this story. He is humble and honest but a very determined journalist – a man into whose coffee you do not put milk if it is supposed to be espresso. Although, from his description (and despite his carnal tendencies), I wouldn’t kick him out the bed for eating kex*.

The book itself is full of it: intrigue, corruption, violence, many surprises, characters you love to hate, characters you hate to love, a lot of coffee and sandwiches, among other things. It even has some ‘naughty bits’.

Since no one has mentioned it, this book (as well as all three in the Millennium Series) has been translated from the Swedish by Reg Keeland and I think he is worthy of a special shout-out. (“Hey Reg! How’s it hangin’?) They are wonderfully translated and very easy to read.

The trilogy consists of:

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
The Girl Who Played With Fire

The Girl Who Kicked The Hornest’s Nest

If you haven’t already, please visit the other reviews for their take on the book and a bit of additional information of the Millennium Series.

I hope that Reffie, the latest recipient of this book, will proffer her own review. If not, it’s always open for the next reader.

*kex: crackers

(Post publishing edit: I forgot to provide a link to Reffie's blog - it's there now (sorry Reffie!))

The Girl Who Played With The Menorah (Fire is Involved)

2010-12-01T19:43:00.001-05:00

Yeah, I know. I'm not supposed to post my review until Friday - but I'm not posting my review yet.

Today is the first day of Hanukkah or, "The Festival of Lights" and in honour of my late step father (a.k.a. "Satan"), I dusted off the ol' Menorah to light the first candle of this holiday season. Neither me or my mother is Jewish, nor are we otherwise religious, but we do and honour the rights of those who have passed.

Now, they make candles specifically for this holiday. In fact, I think, they are also "kosher" (I'm not completely sure on this - I'll have to check the box). The only problem is that the makers of these candles never thought to consult with the manufacturers of Menorahs - or vice versa, for that matter. We've never had a Menorah that could properly accommodate these candles. So on the eighth day, our Menorah generally ends up looking like this (except mine are usually broken somewhere in the middle):

I've seen many other magnificent candelabras for this holiday, but none that actually shows the use of these cursed fire sticks. The more 'perfect' sticks are usually of the tapered type (dinner candles), or even electric. Maybe we should enlist the skills of ...

(Oh, look! He's even wearing a yamekah!)

Seriously, it isn't about the ~~malformed~~ fancy Menorahs, nor the ~~badly designed~~ perfect candles. It's about the human need, nay, the instinct, to persevere. To say that I can (and probably will) burn my fingers for the next seven days should be celebration enough. I'm sure I won't be the only one.

I respect all life. I respect all religions.

Happy Hanukkah!

It's Gonna Be A Slow Weekend

2010-11-26T13:37:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American friends! I figured I would post this today seeing that yesterday you were all too busy stuffing your face with turkey, five-bean casserole, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and, well, stuffing, and probably didn't have time to visit many blogs - that, and I was just to lazy (or late) to post anything at all.

So, as a respite for your bloated, hungover and over footballed selves, I offer the following diversion:

I won!!!

Yes, the intrepid Sir Punsalot has graciously awarded me his weekly prize for his Pause, Ponder and Pun feature. I am proud and honoured. So, when you become tired of washing dishes, eating leftovers, watching football, ~~strangling~~ arguing with the family and/or have nothing better to do this weekend, please visit this week's PPP offering. Even if you don't submit a caption, the comments are hilarious every week - so is his site.

Although my Thanksgiving was in October, I am, again, thankful this week!

So, I Finally Bite the Bullet ...

2010-11-17T12:23:00.000-05:00

What the hell was I thinking? I thought as the jet barrelled down the runway for takeoff. It was too late. The plane was in the air. At about 500 feet, the plane banked sharply to the right towards its destination while the mechanical whir of the landing gear stirred noisily beneath my feet, both of which events sent me into a heightened state of fear and panic. My grip on the hand rests could have crushed the neck of a moose.

It was a morning flight. My traveling companion and co-worker knew that I was afraid of flying but had never traveled with me before. He did, however, notice my edgy nervousness. Our trip consisted of two short flights with an hour or so layover at the connecting airport. The first flight started and ended without incident.

During the layover, I took the opportunity to consume several beers along with another Gravol pill to calm my nerves before the connecting flight. This shouldn't be so bad after all, I thought after the self-prescribed relaxants kicked in. Just before our second flight was scheduled to depart, we were informed that the aircraft that was to take us to our destination "not reach yet", but we would be transferred to another carrier that would accommodate our schedule. There would be a twenty minute delay in boarding, during which time another beer was consumed.

The plane was small, consisting of about eighteen seats arranged in two single rows of on either side of the cabin. My six-foot tall, 240 pound co-worker struggled down the aisle to reach his seat. I sat directly across the aisle from him. About four or five other passengers had also boarded the plane and occupied the seats in front of us.

Despite the meds and alcohol, I was still extremely nervous but finally relaxed a little twenty minutes into the flight. As the plane reduced altitude and speed for the landing approach, we encountered some turbulence and I immediately put a moose choking grip on the head rest of the empty seat in front of me. I glanced at my co-worker with wide eyes: he was chuckling at me. I then looked out the window and noticed the wings were flapping in unison to the bumps of the turbulence. Great, I'm trapped inside a fucking mechanical albatross.

Two minutes later, the plane made a sharp bank to the right for the landing approach. All of a sudden me and my co-worker were cheek-to-cheek. Evidently, his seat was not anchored to the floor on the window side of the cabin. The plane then levelled out and his seat returned to its upright position. We looked at each other: WTF??? My co-worker was no longer chuckling. Welcome to my hell. Again the plane banked sharply to the right and I reacted quickly, reaching across the aisle to brace his seat with my hand. After levelling out the second time, we both started to laugh hysterically. The plane made one last turn before landing with me bracing his seat upright.

As we started to depart the plane, both of us were nervously giggling down the aisle toward the door and I was about to tell the co-pilot of the unsecured seat but, just then, I smacked my forehead into the top of the doorway. Fuck it. Let somebody else enjoy a Disney-ride "Airplane" experience.

Okay, so I can be mean.

On the wake of the recent uproar to the breaches of passenger screening, did anyone not think to see if the planes themselves are airworthy?? How about checking those lug-nuts on the landing gear, eh??

Oy.

The Bloggerhood of the Traveling Book (Chapter 5)

2010-11-10T15:42:00.000-05:00

Firstly, let me apologize in advance for this creatively mediocre post - not that my posts are all that creative, or not mediocre for that matter - but I am suffering from a head cold gifted to me from a friend from Canada. I only picked him up at the airport for christssake! A mere ten minute drive from the airport to his place and - WHAM! - I was down and out for the count late Sunday afternoon. I will forgive him, though, since he brought me a couple of Cadbury's Caramilk bars, which I will not eat until my taste buds return to normal. It's torture, I tell you! Torture!

So, I am feeling out of sorts: my brain feels like it is having an out of body experience.

But I am digressing, sneezing, coughing and moaning.

It all started this past summer - I'm guessing in June or July - when Unfinished Person (a.k.a. and/or formerly known as Unfinished Rambler - and who I think may be suffering from an unfinished identity crisis ;-) sent a book to Quirkyloon (who is still Quirkyloon and quirky - in a nice way, of course ;-). After reading it, Quirkyloon offered the novel to the first person brave enough to e-mail her his or her actual mailing address! "Daredevil" Boom Boom (formerly known - but may still be known as - CatLadyLarew, who has oneofthelongestURLblogaddressesI'veeverseen, and also appears to be suffering an identity crisis ;-) received the book from Quirkyloon.

Boom Boom thought that the passing of the book to others was such a novel idea that she decided to keep this readership going and coined it, "The Bloggerhood of the Traveling Book". From Boom Boom, the book made its way to nonamedufus (who I've recently nicknamed, "Sir Punsalot" merely because he does and is a master at it ;-) and lives in Canada, more specifically, from *farts* Quebec. After answering a simple question - okay, I admit I was wrong on my first guess - the book made it to me.

The title in question is, "The Girl Who Played With Fire" by Stieg Larsson, and is the second of a trilogy.

I now have the privilege of being part of this Bloggerhood book club and the honour of passing this novel to anyone else who is interested in joining. As I said, this is the second book of a trilogy, but I think its story stands on its own so it isn't absolutely necessary to read the first. It's an exceptional read.

So, without further ado, I'll send it to the first person who can decipher this acronym:

BOS

Hint #1: It's what I feel like with this head cold.
Hint #2: It's what a mischievous kid (and possible future arsonist) would leave on the porch of a nasty neighbour.

If you don't want to join, comments are still welcome! But, just think ...

(My web cam shot of the inside cover. What?? I'm lazy and ill - sue me.)

Zombies 'R Not Us

2010-10-30T17:37:00.001-04:00

Since it seems to be the "theme" this year, I was hoping to dress up as a zombie for this Halloween but I'll have to settle for Mr. Bill because this is what I saw just before going to bed Thursday night:

"Oh, nooooo, Mr. Bill!!"

So my face is going to have that expression for the entire weekend, if not longer. Why, you ask? The circles above represent tropical waves in the Atlantic - the prepubescence of tropical storms, if you will - that have the potential of becoming full-blown (pun intended) hurricanes. And they come in colours (sorry folks, no flavours). Red is for a high potential storm. Orange is for a medium threat. And yellow (not shown, and not for banana flavour) is for those piddly little-ass farts squeaking off the west coast of Africa that the National Hurricane Centre unilaterally decides warrants a name, merely because the NHC doesn`t want to get blamed - or sued - should said fart amass into major diarrhea when one's butt is already firmly planted on the john and there is no ass wipe in sight. That, and they can`t - or won`t - justify the expenditure of a twenty or more hour flight to confirm that said fart will just harmlessly spiral into oblivion towards the North Atlantic, meanwhile the mere naming of a storm sends thousands, if not millions, of people into a long and drawn out period of anxiety.

Sorry for that run-on rant.

To give you a bit of my perspective:

Aaaacck!

Fortunately, the 'code red' storm (once known as Hurricane Shary, now a tropical storm) is traipsing her sorry butt towards the north Atlantic. The smaller 'code orange' system has since petered out (go figure), but the larger orange wave - now known as Hurricane Tomas - is headed toward the abyss which I have affectionately named the "Toilet Bowl". The last couple of storms that headed in Tomas' direction basically stalled then swirled around for a few days between the Yucatan Peninsula and Cuba before flushing away. So, you see, hurricanes are not only potentially dangerous, but they can also be geographically educational!

Unfortunately, however, hurricanes - much like the current mindsets of the upcoming voting American public and/or their candidates - don't really know in which direction they will blow:

To paraphrase Bugs Bunny: "Where the fuck is Albuquerque?"

Although I will not be dressing up as a zombie this Halloween, I will have the satisfaction of knowing that one of the storms on the horizon is near its ugly end.

Happy Halloween everybody!

Heh, heh.

It's Orgasmic!

2010-10-17T19:29:00.000-04:00

The levee has broke. The cork has popped. The icing is on the cake. The bubble has burst. The summit was reached. Elvis has left the building. The fat lady has sung. ~~The farm has been bought~~ (oops, sorry, wrong analogy) ...

It's like that long lingering sneeze has finally come to fruition with an ooohhhh, soooo satisfying "achoo", complete with tears of relief, regardless of the handful of snot.

Yes, people, I'm talking about ...

humidity.

It's been a very long, hot and sweaty summer. The temperatures this year have broke many a thermometer in some areas, not to mention that barometers were "red-lining" all over the place. And I won't get into those body parts that I never knew could perspire.

Fall has reached with its cooler weather and beautiful foilage (which we don't get here, but I do miss it). Oh, the joy of having your hair dry on the same day you take a shower. Yes, it's orgasmic.

Oooooh! Aaahh!

*click* ... *puff*

Broadcast Jesters

2010-10-12T16:02:00.000-04:00

It is not often that we watch the ten o'clock news, mostly for the reason that it's the local news from Miami and generally consists of rape, murder, armed robbery, arson and so forth, and is recently inundated with political campaigning smear messages (I can hardly wait for November 3rd). That, and I find their telecasts obnoxiously loud.

On the rare occasion we'll catch The National on CBC, the one channel where we get Canadian news and, hopefully, without the satellite hiccups so annoyingly provided by our cable company.

Two nights ago, we were watching a Canadian correspondent with a live report from Chile who was describing the recent dramatic events surrounding the rescue of the trapped miners. He recapped the events of the mine's collapse and elaborated on the current situation at the mine where many family and friends were gathering. To paraphrase, the reporter said, "the atmosphere here has become almost carnival like. Rescue efforts will continue throughout the night. The clowns are expected to arrive tomorrow." [Live report ends]

WTF?? They're going to send in the clowns??

Last night we again watched the CBC news - mostly to find out the purpose of the aforementioned grease-painted personnel and, while waiting on the follow-up news bite of the Chilean rescue efforts, another foreign correspondent was reporting on a situation of a military conflict that I believe was somewhere in Africa. I was in the other room during the story, not really paying much attention, and the only words I heard were, "...more crisis arises in this unpopular war". Since when is war ever "popular"??

Immediately after that story, the rescue update was aired with video coverage taped earlier in the day. Yes, there were clowns. And, what was not made clear the night before, they were there to entertain the family and friends of the trapped miners, not the miners themselves.

I don't mean to make light of the unfortunate use of words or phrasing by these reporters - on the contrary, their missteps brought a bit of levity into stories that are otherwise sad and dire, but without detracting from the serious nature of those situations. Shit happens. And, apparently, so do clowns.

Thank you. I'll be here all week.

What's In Your Garden?

2010-10-04T15:24:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I ~~stalk~~ follow some of you that participate in this Saturday Centus thingy and I thought I'd try my hand at it, mostly because the prompt triggered a memory. What I found out is that this is hard! One hundred paragraphs? Sure, no problem. One hundered sentences? Easier and less wordy. But to limit oneself to a mere one hundred words?? Oy! Now I understand why Tom (a regular contributor to the Centus and an extremely talented writer) babbles on with his huge intros (and I do mean that in the nicest of ways, Tom - I really do enjoy them!). Being so limited while writing my entry, I felt the need - nay, the compulsion - to release the traffic jam of verbosity stuck in my head, hence this intro.

I will say, however, that this was (is) fun, not to mention difficult, and if any of you haven't heard this writing challenge, please visit Jenny Matlock at ...off on my tangent... for details and other entries.

So, without further ~~droning~~ ado...

***********************************************************

What's In Your Garden?

"Mrs. McDonald is coming by today to pick some veggies from our garden. Can you be here to let her in?", said mom as she headed out for work.

"Okay", I replied.

I had no idea what mom planted that year, but there was a lot.

"Where are the 'giant zucchini' your mom told me about?", asked Mrs. McDonald.

Not ever having seen a zucchini at that point in my life, I went out and pointed to an enormous bunch of large green things.

"Those aren't zucchini, they're pumpkins", she laughed.

I soon learned to make pumpkin pie. Ad nauseum.

Playing "Chicken" With The Tourists

2010-09-15T13:56:00.000-04:00

That's not entirely accurate: it was the tourist who played "chicken" with me.

This past Sunday I had to run an errand to West End (which is more like going 'up north' - okay, I won't go into the semantics) and the car needed some gas. Now, some people might not think that detouring to the gas station as a life-altering coincidence but, in this case, I might have just saved the lives (or prevented personal injury) of several tourists.

Imagine, if you will, a stretch of road with two cars traveling toward one another. Midway between the vehicles is an intersection at which exists a stop sign and at which two other vehicles await their cue to proceed safely to their own destinations. As I traveled toward the intersection intending to make my left turn, the oncoming vehicle is traveling toward me - in the same lane! We were almost equidistant from the intersection and, not knowing how fast the oncoming car was moving or in which direction it intended to travel, I flashed my lights at it in alarm.

Without moving to the proper lane, the oncoming car continued forward but reached the intersection before me and decided to turn, narrowly missing the car sitting at the stop sign. Thankfully, the vehicle at the stop sign checked both directions before proceeding forward and noticed the wrong-way traveller, as it is very common here for some Bahamians to ignore stop signs and stop lights, or many other rules of traffic for that matter.

Mr. Wrong Way quickly realized his error, probably after almost having a heart attack when he turned the corner and saw two other vehicles in the lane he thought he should be traveling.

How did I know he was a tourist, you ask? All vehicles here are given a certain colour of licence plate and that colour depends on its use and/or ownership. Rental cars are given white licence plates with the alphabetical prefix of "SD" followed by a number. I always wondered what was meant by the "SD" designation. Now I know: "Stoopid Driver".

Nobody ever said Bahamians didn't have a sense of humour.

"Puttin' On The Ritz"

2010-09-09T12:39:00.002-04:00

Firstly, let me apologize for the recurring and, more than likely, upcoming hurricane posts between now and the end of November. This post, however, is one I could not resist. So, without further ado ...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As some of you know, I presently live in an area of the world that is ripe with tropical storms and hurricanes during the months of June through November every year. It is, therefore, typical if not prudent of me to monitor the weather in the tropics during the storm season for potential dangers that may befall us. Truly, a serious and intense attitude must be adhered to during these precarious times. Unless, of course, the storm has been named, "Igor" and, well, all serious objectivity goes south and turns into shits and giggles.

(Marty Feldman as "Igor" (pronounced "eye-gore") in Young Frankenstein)

I mean, really, how can anyone take a storm named "Igor" seriously? The forecaster from National Hurricane Centre was probably cracking up when he (or she) wrote the advisory headline, "...Igor creeping westward...". I know I did. One of the meteorologists on the Weather Channel even likened him to the sweet and innocent character that appears in Young Frankenstein, portrayed by the late (and great) Marty Feldman.

As I write this, Igor is merely a tropical storm, his projected path and development is unclear and will remain so for some time. I suspect that the storm's path with waver back and forth, much like "Igor's" hump did throughout the movie.

If Igor does eventually reach us, there's not much we can do about it other than prepare. In the meantime, I think I'll pop in the DVD tonight, just for shits and giggles.

Awww...How Purdy!

2010-09-01T12:07:00.001-04:00

This is one of the latest infrared satellite images of the Atlantic. I don't know if VanGogh would have been flattered or maybe just mad enough at Mother Nature to cut off his other ear in protest of being copied.

(Satellite Image borrowed from NOAA)

So far, none of the forecast tracks for the current storms have them coming toward our island (*crossing fingers, toes, legs and eyes - oops, maybe not the eyes, it makes it hard to type*), but we will get some of the effects like wind gusts that will cool down the temperature (YAY!!) and some rain bands that will make more work of our pool (bummer). I guess you can't have the good without the bad.

Either way, I expect to be sporadically appearing online due to the weather and/or my stomach. No worries, though, we will survive.

And, to any others out there that may be affected by the storms, be prepared and stay safe!

**************************************************************************

Edit: In case anyone is interested in tracking storms, there are many sites. I recently found this site which shows the computer models of storm tracks. There is a zoom feature on the left and a toggle menu on the far right. It's quite interesting.

Anybody Got a Bucket??

2010-08-27T12:03:00.001-04:00

Plumbing: The bane of my existence for the last couple of years.

Having seen the recent Magpie prompts, all I could think of lately is all of the plumbing problems currently plaguing this old house. To that end, I was prepared to post a diatribe on the subject, but no one really wants to hear about that.

Suffice it to say we are down to one working sink - the kitchen sink - which only had a leaky drain pipe - was temporarily and easily fixed with duct tape (thank you, Red Green). The fixture, however, has now failed and needs replacement. I've got the parts for both the drain and the tap, but not the gumption.

Damn, I'm so good at my "profession".

Of course, the irony here is that our business involves water which, in turn, involves some plumbing.

To add insult to injury, it's almost been a year since I did my four-day stint in the hospital for an internal plumbing problem. Lately - well, for the last couple of weeks anyway - I'm suspecting my bowels are planning a surprise anniversary 'blast'. I've been hearing rumours and rumblings, so I'm not prepared to be smacking my forehead on the underside of the sink in a mad dash attempt to reach the "facility" while I'm installing a faucet.

Besides the leaky plumbing, my skin has also sprung a leak. Well, sort of. It's been so hot and humid that I break into a sweat merely by walking to the fax machine just twenty feet from where I sit. It is so sticky here that you could use me as a Post-it note bulletin board.

Now our dishwasher has decided to go on strike. The lights come on, "but there's nobody home" which means, of course, I have to hand wash all the dishes in the sink with the leaky drain and the faucet that leaks into the bucket under said sink.

Normally I wouldn't complain about getting 'sweaty' while I do all these repairs as we have a pool and I could always go for a dip to cool off. But, noooooooo ... karma has shit on that too. The pool sprung a leak some time ago and it has been empty ever since. Well, it's not so much empty since recent torrential rains (we really don't get much of any other kind here) has thwarted our attempt to locate the leak.

Oy.

So, I'm off to find ... my rubber boots. And a bucket.

The Wild World of Sports

2010-08-06T17:30:00.000-04:00

Some time ago I posted a story about my young cousin's early tryout in baseball. Here is another instalment of Kevin's exploits to become a major player in the world of sports. Like the first, this is a true story.

***********************************************************

To this day, and for as many years as I have aged, Granny still lives in the same split-level house that my sister and I grew up in. Mom, my sister and I occupied the lower portion of the house, complete with a basement kitchen, and my grandparents lived on the upper level. The upper living room was reserved for company, so the family gathered to the lower room to watch television and such.

The lower living room has many stories to tell - if only walls could talk! The first diaper I ever changed was in this room (it happened to be Kevin's) and my supervisors at the time, all of whom were women, neglected to warn me about the 'fountain of youth'. Suffice it to say, it was my hazing into the realm of child rearing:  an "in-urination", so to speak.

Like most grandparents, ours had the ~~ungodly task~~ anticipated glee of maintaining potty training whilst the parents were off at work.   Granny was the brainchild of potty training. She would scold us if we pooped in our pants so, to that end, we weren't allowed to wear any pants or diapers and a potty was set aside for us to use as and when needed. If we were really stubborn, she would make us sit on it until we "made".

Flashing forward, Kevin is now a toddler in toilet training. Kevin was a bit of a spoiled kid since his mother wasn't as determined to get him trained at an early age as Granny was. "I'll be damned if I have to change diapers all day. I've got better things to do with my time" - this was her litany and gospel.

It was shortly after Christmas.   Granny was on day three of her weekly babysitting duties and toilet training drama. Kevin was particularly difficult on this day and thought it was now a game - he ran around the house naked from the waist down trying to escape Granny's grasp.   When she finally caught him, she promptly scolded him and sat him down on the potty, threatening an ass slapping should he move.

While Kevin sat pouting, Granny went back to her chores. From the upstairs kitchen, Granny could keep an eye on Kevin while she went about her business. He had been sitting there for awhile when the phone rang. It was my sister calling long distance from the west coast.  My sister and Granny could talk for hours. So, about twenty minutes into the call, Granny realized she hadn't checked on Kevin and asked my sister to hold while she looked in on him.

Now, many parents should know that kids will get bored very easily, and Kevin was no exception. I guess he heard Granny chatting away and decided to do anything but sit on the potty and went to play with some of his toys.

The following is what my sister heard over the phone:

"Oh, Kevin! What the hell are you doing? No! Stop that right now! Oh, Jesus Christ!" Granny scrambled back to the phone, told my sister that she had to go because, "There is shit all over the place, it's on the floor, in the carpet, all over the walls! I'm going to kill that little bastard!" Granny was almost in tears. In the background, my sister could hear Kevin yelling, "Hockey, hockey!"

Kevin got a toddler-size hockey stick for Christmas that year. "The bugger shit on the floor and used it for a puck. It's everywhere", Granny said. Cackling wildly, my sister said, "I'll call you later."

Thar She Blows!

2010-07-21T15:23:00.000-04:00

Crap.

It's hurricane season here in the good ol' Bahamas, the Lesser and Greater Antilles and any other specks of land between Africa and the west side of the Gulf of Mexico. We are all at the mercy of Ma Nature. I say "specks of land" because, considering the size of say, a continent, we island folk worry that the little bits of Earth that we exist upon will be sucked up out of the ocean and hurled into some unknown place, much like Auntie Em's house did. Of course, landing in the Arctic would be a nice refreshing break from the oppressive heat right about now.

The first hurricane I ever experienced was Frances in early September, 2004. She was a very slow moving, "take your time" kind of storm, island hopping to almost every "rock" in the Bahamas. When she finally reached our island, she was a Category 2, moving westward at the brisk Bahamian pace of two miles per hour, with an eye of about seventy miles in diameter. Slow and steady gets the job done, so they say. There was about a six hour break during the eye of the storm where we could safely go outside, let the dogs out - oh, they were so relieved to be relieved - and survey the damage. Then the other side of the storm wall came. Another twelve or so hours of howling winds.

Since I had never experienced a storm before and I had no idea what to expect, the days preceding it was spent making window shudders, stowing and securing everything and anything that could blow away, making drinking water, buying supplies - basically running around like a nervous wreck. I was so hyped with adrenaline and trepidation that, as soon as the storm hit, I promptly went comatose.

Several hours later - don't ask me how long it was, the entire ordeal is kind of a blur - my stepfather (a.k.a.Satan) wakes me up in a panic. This time I know he isn't shitting me. "She's getting sucked out of the door!", he says. "Muwha?", I respond. I jumped out of bed, ran upstairs and found my mother holding onto the hinged window that was attached to the remaining part of a door.  Had Mom been wearing an old fashioned hoop skirt, she would have been sucked up, spinning in the air like a whirling Dervish. The wind was howling through the soffits like a freight train. It was all too surreal.

I secured what was left of the door and plugged up the hole with some corrugated plastic sheeting we had lying around (we don't throw anything out), and pieces of plywood that were, thankfully, in the house. After checking the other doors, I went back to sleep.

Almost two weeks had passed before we got power and the Internet back and just in time to see Jeanne pull a "Crazy Ivan", diverting her projected northerly safe path to a south then westerly destructive one. I guess she didn't want to miss out on all of the fun that Frances and Ivan had.  Being a woman, it was her prerogative after all.

We didn't get the full brunt of Jeanne's wrath, but just enough to knock out the power again for a couple more weeks and to re-deposit all of the debris that was gathered up after Frances. The two trees that were uprooted during Frances remain where they fell, but are thriving. The sea grape produces sweet grapes and the coconuts still bears its fruit - it's way easier to grab one at ground level than trying to shimmy up the twenty foot tree.

The hardest thing to deal with during a storm is the boredom. There's no power so there's no television or Internet, but we did have a radio and could listen to "Air America" with Al Franken and friends. The worst thing, for me at least, was being locked up in the same house with Satan for what seemed like an eternity.  Twice.

It's been six years since a major storm has hit, but I am now getting that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach once again. There is a storm brewing just above Hispaniola and it looks like it is headed our way and the westerlies don't appear to be strong enough to steer it northward and away from the islands.  The hurricane centre isn't going to do another fly by until tomorrow, making it unclear as to where it may be headed. So, I may be away for a bit, making my chore and shopping lists, checking them twice, for I know if the storm comes, it will be naughty, not nice.  And her name will be Bonnie.

"Bonnie lass", my ass.

Did You Know...

2010-07-17T23:30:00.001-04:00

... that wasn't a UFO flying over China just recently.

It was the original cap BP used in the Gulf oil spill.

The Siren (Epilogue)

2010-07-16T16:12:00.000-04:00

It taunts me no more.

Sitting there,

Liberated from its box,

I cannot help but look.

It beckons me with its speed.

Like the caterpillar from its cocoon,

It is as elegant as the butterfly.

It surfs the web

Like a knife cuts through butter.

The Siren has hooked her lover.

The ship has sailed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Note to reader: This is a follow up on my Magpie tale, The Siren .

(And, if you haven't guessed it, both were about my new laptop.)

*doin' the happy dance*

Kids Can Do The Darndest Things

2010-07-07T16:36:00.000-04:00

The following is a true story (really, I can't make this shit up):

My mother and my maternal aunt and uncle all had kids, and I am one of seven grandchildren. Like all grandparents, ours had the ~~unfortunate job~~ inevitable joy of looking after us at one time or another, not all at the same time of course, while our respective parents were at work.

My uncle was quite an athlete when he was younger and would watch and involve his sons in many sports as they grew up. He has three boys, the eldest, Kevin (not his real name) being about sixteen years younger than me. All of his kids would follow in their father’s footsteps by joining hockey and baseball teams at very young ages. They all played extremely well, I might add.

Before his brothers were born, my grandmother would look after Kevin for a few days a week. Kevin was about two years old during this time. When Granny had to run errands, Kevin would be loaded into the obligatory car seat and taken along for the ride. These trips were usually uneventful.

Usually.

Like most toddlers do when you are not watching them, Kevin would get into mischief. So, after returning home one day from shopping, Granny left Kevin in the back seat so she could keep an eye on him while unloading the groceries that were, in those days, still packed in brown paper bags. This would take a few trips back and forth from the car. On her final trip, she was horrified to discover the entire interior of the car had been egged: it was all over the back seat, the front seat and Kevin was covered in it. The last and final grocery bag had contained a carton of eggs which had been placed right on top and which was located right beside Kevin in the backseat.

Apparently, Kevin got bored while waiting to be liberated from the car.

Now I'm not sure exactly what was said, but from what I understand, it went something like this:

Granny, not normally known to use expletives, yelled at him, “What in the HELL did you do?”, to which Kevin excitedly cheered, "Baseball!!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Theme Thursday is having a "Ball" - check out the others!

You Haven't Left Yet??

2010-06-30T20:32:00.000-04:00

I was totally stumped for a post for this Theme Thursday when, all of a sudden, I heard a familiar cry from across the canal. Well, maybe more like a screech, or the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail. You see, there is a very loud and noisy parrot that lives across the waterway. I concede that this post isn't particularly imaginative on this week's theme, or particularly humourous for that matter, but it sort of involves the colour of blue.

At any rate, the neighbouring parrot reminded me of a day years ago when I lived out in the country.

Not far away lived some friends who trained and bred dogs and had a small kennel on their property. One summer, they were invited to an all-day wedding affair that was quite a distance away. Since they probably wouldn't get home until later that evening, I volunteered to look in on the dogs.

Their kennel consisted of some six or seven mastiffs - one dog was always left inside the house as a guard. They also had a blue and gold macaw who's name was Boomer. Boomer was very loud when he squawked and screeched and could be very annoying when he was hungry or wanting attention. Cheryl and David (not their real names) got Boomer a few years earlier. Macaws are very intelligent birds and can be taught to speak. Boomer, on rare occasions, would say a word or two, but usually when no visitors were around.

I should mention here that this kennel was the ultimate alarm system: anyone coming up the driveway would be announced by continuous barking until David came out and hollered at them to be quiet.

So, on this hot summer day, I arrived at around 3 p.m. All the windows in the house were open to vent the heat. The dogs, as expected, were barking like mad and it was extremely loud. I had to shout as best as I could to be recognized as a friend. They were having none of it. When I started towards the kennel so they could see me, I heard David's voice coming from the house, yelling his usual command at the canines.

David and Cheryl were supposed to leave early this morning, I thought to myself. "David, are you still here? No response. "Hello? Did you forget something?", I called as I approached the house; the dogs still barking wildly. Just before I reached the door, David's voice again bellowed in a more succinct manner, "Shut - the - fuck - up!" It got eerily quieter. I'd swear on a stack of bibles that it was David's voice that I had heard, but after I searched the house and was satisfied that no one was there, it finally dawned on me that the voice could only have originated from one source: Boomer. From that day on, I never heard Boomer speak a single word other than gobbledigook. I'm sure he was laughing at me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This is a Theme Thursday post - check out the others!

Phardon Me?

2010-06-22T13:27:00.000-04:00

It was the mid seventies and my second, and last year at boarding school in the U.S. I would be returning to Canada to finish high school. In order to graduate in Ontario, one must have at least thirty eligible credits, whereas in the States (or at least in Florida), the requirement was six or eight credits less.

Determined to get all the required courses I could get in this second year, I signed up for geometry. Unfortunately, this conflicted with an elective class that I also wanted to take. Alas, a sacrifice was made.

Geometry was my first class every day. The teacher was new to the school and unknown to any of the students. Upon entering the classroom for the first time, everyone noticed that all the window blinds were closed and there was subdued lighting emanating from the overhead fluorescents, making the room somewhat darker than what we were used to. Granted, the morning sun was a bit blinding at that time of day, but the north side shades were also closed. We were all puzzled.

More puzzling was the teacher. He was writing on the blackboard as the class entered. His back was toward us. When he finished writing and after everyone had taken their seats, he turned around. Oh my god, I thought to myself. They've hired Dracula! Standing at the front of the room was a tall, dark-haired man, dressed in a black robe-like garment and wearing sunglasses.

Yes, sunglasses.

None of us knew what to make of him. He appeared very strange and ominous. My first thought was that he wanted to intimidate the class with his appearance. He certainly did achieve that effect. That was until he spoke. We were all expecting a deep, foreboding voice to accompany this somewhat daunting figure standing before us. Instead, he sounded like my stepfather (a.k.a. Satan ) when Satan rambled nonsense to himself in a somewhat high nasal voice. It took all I had not to bust out laughing. Some other students also chuckled.

After introducing himself , he told us that he was from the Philippines, and that the bright morning light and the chalk dust, to which he was allergic, would irritate his eyes. Thus, the shades of both types were explained. I assumed the black robe was to protect his clothing underneath from collecting chalk dust.

He also had a slight speech impediment wherein, for example, he would say "phlease" instead of "please".

It was my third week in geometry. I was struggling not so much with the lessons, but with the voice of the teacher and the fact that he was becoming more phonetically challenged as the days progressed. It was somewhat hard to ignore, but I stuck it out.

Then one fateful day in that third week, he dissected the triangle, complete with diagrams and explaining all the angles, sines, cosines and tangents.

I immediately knew that I would not be earning this math credit when he pointed to the blackboard and uttered the words, "Can anyone name this 'phart' of the triangle."

Bodies fell to the floor erupting in laughter, with me being the first. I happily dropped geometry for drama.

*****************************************

This Theme Thursday's prompt is: Triangle

The Dozo Zone

2010-06-20T12:47:00.000-04:00

Imagine, if you will, a house situated in a quiet neighbourhood, in which lives three occupants: a woman, her husband and her daughter from a previous marriage.

During the time they live in Scarborough, every Sunday without fail, the stepfather complains about the numerous cars parked on the other side of the street in front of their house.

Their next door neighbour is of Some Religious Order who, with his congregation, holds Sunday services in his home, hence the volume of vehicles clogging up the road.

The stepfather, a highly intelligent man of questionable veracity, is always wanting to be the centre of attention. He fabricates stories and complains about anything just so someone will, at the very least, tell him to "shut the fuck up". As long as he is acknowledged, the manner in which it is expressed isn't important to him.

One particular Sunday unfolds as follows:

The Players:
Antagonist: The stepfather. A lawyer with a diabolical sense of humour and a dubious storyteller, has an annoying need for constant recognition. He knows how to push buttons. He knows how to push your buttons. He pushes the buttons of the daughter too far this one morning. We will call him Satan.

The Extra: The mom. She is too involved in her newspaper to acknowledge anything worthy of her attention. Really, she doesn't care. She does this on purpose. She knows Satan too well. We will call her Mom.

Protagonist:  The daughter. She is not a morning person by any means, especially after a late night, and doesn't engage in any meaningful conversation before her first cup of coffee. She is slightly hung over this morning. She has a short temper. Unlike Mom, the daughter has yet to develop the skills necessary to ignore Satan. We will call her The Idiot.

The Scene:
Sunday morning: Two family members are drinking coffee, Mom is at the table reading the Sunday paper, Satan is skulking around from room to room, also reading the paper and babbling on about something or other every time he enters the kitchen. Sometimes he just babbles to himself while he wanders about. We attribute this to attention-seeking behaviour or a symptom of schizophrenia.

Enter The Idiot wearing a ratty twelve year old, hospital-issued, knee-length terrycloth robe that is fraying around the edges and which is sporting soon-to-become embarrassingly situated holes in the chest area. The robe is flagged for the rag bag.

The Story:
"M'rnin'", mumbles The Idiot, stumbling into the kitchen. “Morning”, replies Mom who doesn’t look up from her paper.

Satan is off in some other room.

The Idiot gets her coffee, sits down at the table and grabs a section of the paper already discarded by the other two.

"Oh my God!”, loudly exclaims Satan from somewhere near the foyer. “There are cars everywhere!", referring to the congregation's vehicles. Mom is oblivious to the statement. The Idiot, annoyed at being distracted from her reading, rolls her eyes.

Satan enters the kitchen. "They've blocked off the entire street!", complains Satan, again, in case nobody heard it mere seconds ago. "Whatever", says The Idiot, irked and uninterested.

Satan shuffles in and out of the kitchen for the next half hour, breaking the periodic silence with his verbal diarrhea about the Blue Jays' recent loss, the exchange rate of the Yen, or the climatic conditions currently plaguing the penguins in Antarctica.   Sometimes he just makes nasal honking noises. This continues off and on, annoying The Idiot who is still trying to enjoy a morning coffee and newspaper despite her hangover. Satan has become aware of The Idiot’s post-inebriated condition.

About ten minutes later, the random ramblings return to the parking situation. "Oh my God! They have not only taken over the street, but they have taken over our driveway!", rants Satan.

The Idiot, who has not even been able to finish the article she originally started to read when she first picked up the paper, erupts with rage and stomps to the front door, certain that Satan is spewing lies. To her surprise, there is a strange car parked in the driveway right behind Satan's car. From the rear-view mirror hangs an icon of Jesus. Satan is Jewish, but the family is not religious.

Fueled by Satan's accusations and innuendo, not to mention the dangling pious figure, The Idiot believes the car belongs to one of the members visiting next door. She flings the front door open in anger - anger not so much intended for the car owner, but toward Satan who has really pissed her off to no end - and traipses barefoot across the lawn with disheveled hair and tattered holey robe, and knocks on the neighbours' door.

Dressed in his Sunday's finest, the neighbour answers the door. "Does that car possibly belong to one of your members?", asks The Idiot, pointing to the mysterious vehicle in her driveway. The man, shocked and confused at The Idiot's appearance, cautiously ventures out of his house to take a look. Before he can utter a word, two people emerge from the far side of The Idiot's house. She immediately recognizes them. Retrieving her jaw from the ground and thinking that any explanation, at this point, would sound more ridiculous than she looks, The Idiot apologizes profusely to the neighbour.  Unceremoniously, The Idiot retraces her steps back to her house, seething in anger and mutters to herself, "I AM going to kill him", and greets the unexpected visitors very red faced.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We had moved into the house in Scarborough about three months earlier. The surprise visitors decided to take a peek around the grounds before they announced their arrival. It was their car in the driveway. I was extremely embarrassed. Yes, I wanted to shoot myself. But not before I shot Satan.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Note to readers: The preceding post was NOT intended to offend any fathers on this, their honoured day. Because this story co-incidentally happened on a Sunday, I decided to post it today. But, to all of you dads out there:

Happy Father's Day!

The New Guy

2010-06-18T15:58:00.000-04:00

"Hey, who's the new guy?", asked somebody.

"I don't know", said someone from the other cubicle.

"He kinda looks weird", whispered someone else from another section.

"Yeah, he doesn't look like any of the other groups", said another.

"Maybe he was put here by mistake because he certainly doesn't look like he belongs with us and there doesn't seem to be a designated area for him", remarked Tines.

"So, what's your name?", Spooner asks the new guy.

"My name is Jacques, Jacques Couteau".

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Visit Magpie Tales for more of this week's prompt.

The Dot Club

2010-06-13T09:23:00.000-04:00

It was in Grade 1 of elementary school when I became a member of the "Dot Club".

There were about six or eight of us - I can't really remember - that were set apart from the rest of the class. At the time, I had no concept of what a 'browner' was or what 'remedial' meant, all I knew is that we were given different tasks and studies than those given to the remaining students in the class. A few years later I would learn the meanings of 'browner' and 'remedial' and that I was one of the former.

Our group would become decidedly mischievous since we were left to do our own work without much supervision from the teacher. This is not to say the rest of the class was of the remedial type and needed special attention, but that the teacher trusted us enough to work on our own.

Too trusting, indeed.

Our desks were situated in the back corner of the classroom. We would talk quietly amongst ourselves and help each other with assignments. When this got boring, which was more often than not, we would scribble on the desks, make up stupid words, fling tiny bits of paper across the room when teacher wasn't looking, or tried to hit one of the other kids in the back of the head with the tiny paper projectiles, and other silly stuff. We were too young to know about spitballs then.

Then there was Steven. Steven sat next to me all the time. He was generally shy and I would have to goad him into having a bit of fun. During the bore sessions, I would occasionally poke him with the eraser end of my pencil and, in kind, he would poke me back. One day I caught him off-guard and jabbed him in the ribs which made him jump up and disrupt the rest of the class. The teacher looked at him scornfully. He apologized and sat back down. In retribution, he jabbed me back. Hard. With the newly sharpened end of his pencil. In the left cheek. Of my ass.

Needless to say, we were both ejected from the classroom, but we laughed all the way to the Principal's office.

The graphite "dot" from the jabbing remains visible to this day.

Yeeeowch!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Visit Magpie Tales for more of this week's prompt.

"L-O-L-A Lola"

2010-06-10T08:23:00.001-04:00

I'm dying for a Caramilk bar. It's one of the many edibles I miss living on this rock. Oh, there are some Cadbury bars down here, but not my favourite Caramilk bar. Sob. "How do they get the caramel in a Caramilk Bar?" was one of Cadbury's most successful ad campaigns. I think they even had a contest about it. And then there is the Crunchie bar, also produced by Cadbury. A chocolate covered sponge toffee piece of heaven that would stick to your teeth for some glorious molar licking sweet aftertaste. Great hang time on the toffee, for sure.

"Don't eat so much candy...it'll rot your teeth." So the saying goes. So does methamphetamine. Meth addicts like candy. I guess they are doubly cursed.

But some of my favourites in the candy family were penny and Halloween candies. Pixi Stix, Twizzlers, Shoelaces, and "Rockets". There were also individually wrapped little hard candies, caramel cubes, tiny Tootsie Rolls, your basic suckers and the like. The "gummies" came much later, but I enjoy those too.

Ice cream, snow cones and Popsicles are other things I consider candy. One of my summer favourites was the "Lola": a large triangular-shaped ice treat that I believe was introduced about the time the song of the same name was released by The Kinks. It would take almost 2 hours to finish one of these ices and, if you were successful in sucking out all of the flavour (thereby leaving only the ice behind), you could crush the ice in its packet and cool your body off on a hot summer's day. A truly multitasking treat in my opinion. Alas, Lolas are now relegated to smaller wedges: it's just not quite the same.

So, if you are now craving "candy" and you really, really, REALLY don't want to screw up your diet or whatever, eat a banana, suck on a lemon or consider that your teeth may eventually look like this:

(My "Elvis". I think he smoked coconuts, not meth)

Else, have at 'er!

***********************************

It's Theme Thursday - check it out

The Siren

2010-06-07T10:10:00.000-04:00

It taunts me.
Just sitting there, in its box.
It awaits liberation.
I look away.
Like a bowsprit figurehead, it beckons my attention.
Like the Siren that beckons the sailor.
It's too messy in here. I'm such a slob.
It's a conspiracy, no room, junk all over.
It deserves better than this.
I'll have to tidy up.
Maybe tomorrow. It's too hot today.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Visit Magpie Tales for more of this week's prompt.

Craptions

2010-06-06T09:04:00.000-04:00

It's been a rather crappy week here in blogsville. No matter where I landed, almost every post or comment dumped in a reference to poo. Shit was everywhere!

And, in a complimentary fashion, I was honoured by nonamedufus in his weekly caption contest with this award:

I am also honoured to share this award and hang out with two other funny cling-ons, Tom at Moose With A Twist and Chris@Knucklehead.

Thank you again, dufus! And thanks to all of you bloggers who dropped a load. It kept me regular all week.

;-)

Pooh-pooing

2010-06-05T14:36:00.001-04:00

When I first started this, ahem, journal, I met up with some strange... (me: "oh, jeez, must I?" IT: "yes, you must, you must.")... BLOGfellows that helped me shed some of my mortal insecurities ~~and from whom I will become insane~~ to whom I will be eternally grateful.

At the onset of this journal, I was inflicted with, or rather recovering from, a gastrointestinal problem in which my bowels were not so much irritated, but were just downright furious. This stretched into a week-long bout of sleep deprivation, eventually degrading into depravation where I accused a fellow journalist of "telepathic plagiarism" since he seemed to be stealing my posting topics right out from under my nose. He, too, was having trouble sleeping at the time. I'll admit, I am a bit slow on the uptake, but, c'mon! Those were my ideas!!

Or so I thought...

Some time has passed since I joined this ~~lunatic fringe~~ online community, but have noticed that I wasn't imagining that a "telepathic plagiarism" conspiracy is unfolding in these, um...(IT: "yes, you must, you must.")...BLOGS (ugh). I've noticed "themes" and "prompts" being played out here and there. These were intentional in nature and I have participated in some.

What I am referring to the completely unintentional mindset that exists between, um, ...bloggers (yeah, yeah, I'm getting used to it) . This past week's theme seems to be "poo", "crap", "dropping off the kids", "coffee rumblings", and the like: in otherwords, the inevitable bodily function that makes one ~~charge to the crapper~~ visit the privy. There were topics, pictures, bitches, and even a caption contest about it . You name it, it was there and you probably stepped in it. Hey, I even won an award for it! *cheesy grin* The interesting thing here is that these posts and/or comments were completely unrelated or unconnected in anyway whatsoever.

It's like poetry in motion. (Poetry: another 'telepathic theme' I noticed recently among bloggers - myself included - who aren't normally poetic. )

Go figure.

An Aside...

2010-06-04T10:51:00.000-04:00

George Carlin: "By and large, language is a tool for concealing the truth."

00dozo: "Just ask any politician!!"

Holy Heatwave Batman!

2010-06-02T18:07:00.000-04:00

I'm white hot

I can't take it anymore

I'm white hot

By the Somalian shore

I'm white hot

Yes I'm burning to the core

I need rain, I need rain, I need rain

~ Lyrics from "White Hot" by Red Rider **

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so hot,

I can't take it anymore,

I'm so hot,

I won't make it to the shore

I'm so hot,

My mind has melted to its core,

I'm insane, I'm insane, I'm insane

~ Odd Thoughts by 00dozo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Really. I got nuthin'.

* * * * * * * * *

It's Theme Thursday - check it out!

** There was no video of the song, but this is the original (and best) version.

An Ode to a Poinciana

2010-05-29T15:05:00.003-04:00

Oh, Poinciana, Poinciana

Whose bows reach so far,

When are you going to leaf

And shade my little car?

You're a beautiful parasol

When in full bloom,

I await your tiny leaves

To save my car from doom.

Oh, Poinciana, Poinciana

When all of your leaves are spent,

No longer shading my car,

I'll have to buy a tent.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Edit: Yep...I was bored. That is one of the Poinciana's in our front yard. The photo isn't great, but these trees are bloomin' all over the place. This is what the blooms look like closer up:

The tree that shades my car isn't quite at this stage.

I've Got One of Those Too??

2010-05-27T16:59:00.000-04:00

Feet are ugly - well my feet are. I seem to have inherited all of the mismatched traits of my family: large feet, short legs, long torso, bad hair, failing eyesight, etc., but I have no idea where my boobs came from since all of the women in my family that I've met are generously endowed. I suspect mine come from a throwback gene from some Neanderthal relative. At least I don't need an under wire bra, or a bra at all for that matter. I be goin' "commando" (the feminine version).

Oh, and I've got BROAD shoulders. Now, if any women out there remembers the 80's, you probably recall that there were shoulder pads in practically EVERY blouse, shirt (yep, even t-shirts), jackets and the like. I'd look like a CFL player (that's NFL to you Americans) in full gear. Not a very attractive look. So, out the pads went. Thanks to my Nanny (grandmother) and my dad, both of whom are/were pack rats, I saved them for "something" useful. It turned out that they came in very handy a few years later when I attended a Halloween Stag & Doe party dressed up as Elvira. The pads were extremely useful in enhancing and pushing up what little cleavage I had (and, boy, did some of the women get pissed at their significant others for eyeballing me!). Heh heh.

Not that I am complaining about my body. I've grown accustomed to it (like I have a choice?), but the only thing I would have rather not inherited is the "European Toe". Girls don't necessarily look at their feet in a fashion sense until they need to buy nice shoes. It was about the time that I actually had to wear a dress that I needed not only the dress, but the shoes to go with it. A stubborn tomboy was I.

Having settled on a dress, we went for shoes. Since I expected to wear these shoes not more than once, maybe twice, a year, I opted to try the "open toe" style with a moderate heel. When I looked down at my feet, my toes all painfully squished together, the only thing that came out of my mouth was, "Holy shit! What's wrong with my toes??", or something to that effect. My mom explained that, because of our European heritage, it was known to be a "European Toe".

The toe right next to my big toe (on both feet) was longer than any of the three that were visible, looking like the appendage I wasn't supposed to be born with. Jeez, thanks mom.

* * * * * * *

Visit Magpie Tales for more tales of this week's prompt.

Me? Lie? Never!

2010-05-25T16:49:00.000-04:00

Hmmmm...I don't really recall if I've ever made such a "creative" statement in my blog as yet. But there is hope.

Heh heh.

Nonamedufus at nonamedufus (yeah I know, kinda redundant) gave me this award. I know he lies, but I do congratulate him on his award as he is truly creative in both senses of the word - that and, dozo me, forgot to congratulate him earlier. And, once again, thank you dufus, I bow in reverence to thee.

I don't mind (yet) getting awards, but I'm running out of people to tag or re-gift. Ack! Keep in mind people, I'm still a rookie here! And I follow some of my followers' follow lists who have been so followed and rewarded by dufus. Yep, I totally confused myself with that last statement, but then I am so easily confused.

As with many of these awards, they come with rules or obligations which are:
- thank the person who gave you the award
- copy the logo and place it on your blog
- link to the person who nominated you
- tell up to six outrageous lies about yourself and at least one outrageous truth, or vice-versa
- nominate seven "creative" writers
- post links to the blogs you nominate
- leave a comment on each blog letting them know they've won the award

To tell the truth, or to lie like a rug:

I once handcuffed myself with a dog choke chain (with my hands behind my back) and my grandfather had to come over and rescue me.
I haven't been to a hairdresser in over 7 years.
I miss Canadian winters.
I got caught riding a moped without a licence - three times - and was hauled down to the cop shop every time.
I can play the piano.
I am an alien.
I'm 5'7" tall.

Gee, lying was was easier than I thought. Heh heh.

Now the hard part, again:

"BonyMike" at Too Many Mornings because he complained somewhere that he doesn't get enough 'bling', and because he's a very creative bullshit artist and is otherwise extremely talented.
Linda at The Good, The Bad, The Worse because she's otherwise creative and she, including her family, just crack me up.
Ziva at Ziva's Inferno - well, just because I can - and I'm starting to believe she is an evil penguin. Seriously, she's quite talented and funny.
Baino at Baino's Banter, who I've just recently discovered. She's an Aussie with strange words like "fuckwit", among others that I don't understand yet, and she's creative in many ways.
Janna at Jannaverse - a woman of very few words but speaks volumes.
VE at VE's Fantastical Universe who I also think is very "creative" in both aspects of the word, and he's good for some shits and giggles. A total nutbar - but in a good way ;-)
And, finally, Jepeto, another blogger I also just recently discovered, is a guest blogger at We Work For Cheese who has done the very first(?) Morse code post ever, and is quite funny. His name, albeit spelled differently than "Geppetto", had no influence whatsoever on his nomination (I'm really gettin' good at this lying stuff, eh? ;-). But kudos to him for keeping up a now obsolete form of long-distance communication. Really, what happens if all the computers and cell phones suddenly crash?? Any bookkeepers out there that remember the manual form of the one-write system?? Oy.

Well kids, have fun with this. I did!

;-)

Fish Tales

2010-05-24T09:21:00.002-04:00

After a long day of not-so-successful angling, boisterous laughs flourish around a campfire in Algonquin Park, the fire starting to cast ominous shadows upon the pitched tents, the men are sharing their best fishing stories on this long weekend known as "The May 2-4 weekend": the first long weekend that breaks up the boredom of long and cold winters and is known to Canucks as the party-hearty weekend . This particular Monday is May 24th and is unique for it actually falls on Queen Victoria's birthday this year. Just another reason to party-heartier and bring that extra "2-4".

Not everyone is fishing, though. Some are at home making coleslaw, macaroni and potato salads, arranging the condiments and stacking the buns for the evening's fare in preparation of the requisite backyard barbeque. Others endured the long-weekend traffic, travelling north (or south) to 'open the cottage' and are vacuuming up the hibernating houseflies before they reanimate. A few will wrap up the day by tossing a line into the nearby lake or river.

But knowing each other too well, none of the men sitting around the campfire are easily taken in by the others' tales of the "one that got away" since the fish are always increasing in size with each telling: the two pound perch has gained a few pounds and the four pound pickerel is now the size of a sturgeon. By the end of the evening, one of the members of the group will be nicknamed "Ishmael".

* * * * * * * *

Click here for more Magpie Tales.

Foot-In-Mouth Disease (Update)

2010-05-21T13:13:00.001-04:00

Just an update on the continuing saga of our power situation. You can read Foot-In-Mouth Disease and Foot-In-Mouth Disease (Size 22) for the history of this debacle.

This past Monday we received our April-May electricity bill. It was $807.24 (BSD or USD - the currency trades at par here), which equates to about $1,500.00 Canadian. The fuel charge part of this bill (which includes the additional surcharge referred to in the earlier post), was more than half of the total billing.

$807.24?? Granted, the charges were estimated, but definitely not based on the history of our consumption. The estimated reading date was May 11. We received the bill on May 17.

My mother was totally irate. Like the dutiful daughter I am, I go and read the meter. This being 6 days later, it showed a reading that was about 1000 kilowatt hours less than the estimated one. Now, to figure out what the overcharge would be, one would need a math genius, a supercomputer and an algorithm even Einstein probably couldn't decipher. Nah, I'm just to lazy to do the math, but the bills are insanely structured.

Moms went even further and called a reporter at the local newspaper, The Freeport News who was very interested in our story. She listened to our concerns and complaints. After collecting copy of the bill and photos of the meter a short article appeared in Wednesday's paper. It wasn't the headliner, but it did appear on the front page.

Upon complaining to the power company, it admitted it did not estimate the bill based on our usage history and adjusted the bill to reflect the reading of May 17. The new total: $359.24.

I can't wait to see next month's bill.

Turdpulls

2010-05-20T08:33:00.001-04:00

Today is Theme Thursday - Pets.

I wasn't going to participate this week as I had nothing prepared, but someone hopped in this morning, bringing back a fond memory.

A few years ago our pool would get green from lack of maintenance - okay, MY lack of maintenance - and frogs would come by and breed, leaving their clutches of eggs floating around in the pool. Soon thereafter, the eggs developed into tadpoles and since I didn't have the heart to shock the pool and kill them, I scooped up as many as I could and deposited them into an aquarium, complete with gravel, a water filter and food.

They soon matured into these tiny little frogs that were no bigger than a pinkie finger's nail and would hug the sides of the aquarium for days. When they were large enough they eventually escaped, making me chase the little buggers all over the house. Upon recapture, the froglets were liberated to our garden.

These rescues went on for a couple of years, but I had since learned to cover the aquarium with a screen.

Once again, breeding season has arrived and every night we are inundated with the very loud and obnoxious croaks of their mating rituals. Oy.

This morning, while having my coffee, I hear this moist thud on the floor not four feet away. At first I thought a small bird had smucked itself into the door and fell inside. A closer inspection of the thud revealed it to be a large frog. Once again, I had to chase the larger little bugger around the house, this time to save it from becoming the latest "toy" for one of our dogs, who was also not four feet away from it's arrival. This particular dog doesn't play with the usual dog toys, oh no! Instead, she chases lizards and cats and plays with coconuts, brooms, watering cans and pretty much anything else that may be within reach. I once tried to get her to fetch a tennis ball. She ran away from it.

I let the frog go in the garden and I thought to myself, "I wonder if it was one of those I had saved and came back to thank me". Probably not, but I would like to think so.

But, Why Me?? I'm Just a Lowly Rookie!

2010-05-17T17:44:00.003-04:00

I really have no idea. From what I understand:

“The Sunshine Award is awarded to bloggers whose positivity and creativity inspire others in the blogging world.”

Me? L'il ol' me?? I'd hardly think so, but just the same, Ziva at Ziva's Inferno gave me this award. What she said of me: "...(00dozo) who I haven’t been reading very long at all, but who actually believes me when I say evil penguins could eat her pavement". So, basically, she gave it to me out of pity AND thinks I'm delusional. I'm so verklempt! (I'd put in linky-tingums here to the post(s) containing the penguin bits, but my bloggy skills are in need of much honing.)

Now, the Rules that accompany this Award are:

Post the award on your blog. This took some doing, but I finally got it up there.
Pass the award on to twelve bloggers. I barely know 5 bloggers that well, but 12??? I'll fudge it.
Link to the nominees in your post. I'm pretty good at that, I think.
Let the other bloggers know they’ve received this award by commenting on their blog. Piece of cake. (Tried to get me with the kids, dirty diapers and fish, eh Ziva? I'm not that delusional.)
Link to the person you received this award from. Done.

Now the hard part: The Nominees. I'd like to say in advance, SORRY! (I am sooo Canadian), but I'm going to have to give this award to some of those persons named in Ziva's post merely because I really don't know that many bloggers yet and, if I get this out quick enough, they can combine their obligations in one swell foop. So, here it goes:

1. To Frank Lee MeiDere because he: won't give a damn; probably doesn't like me very much (he posts things that I have to look-up); makes me laugh and inspires me to write better, and I think he's a "bright and shiny" person (okay, "dark and twisty" - happy, Frank?).

2. To BonyMike (a.k.a MikeWJ) because he, too, inspires me to be a better writer, can be exceptionally long winded, just cracks me up most of the time, and because he likes the nickname I gave him ;-).

3. To nonamedufus for welcoming me to Blogger in my very first post, and because he recently returned with his funny bone (with its marrow) intact. Stay well, dufus!

The aforementioned three were, in no preferential order, the first bloggers to leave comments on my site and the first to follow me. I bow in reverence to thee.

Alright, enough of the gushy talk ... on with it. Again, in no preferential order:

4. To Nicky and CheesyMike for being funny, witty and very cheesy in so many ways, and because they couldn't include MORE people for the award when it was recently given to them. So, here's your chance, guys. And also because Mike doesn't mind the nickname I gave him.

5.  To Ziva, of course, because she is a very good and clever writer, not to mention evil and twisted in her own charming way, and will probably want to assassinate me for re-gifting her.
6. To Jingle, as an apology for snarking at her in one of my comments (Jingle: I'm sure you are as nice and as forgiving as you appear to be, so I do believe you deserve this Award), and because I suffer from Canadian guilt.
7 through 12:     CatLadyLarew,  Willow, Leeuna, Everyday Goddess, "Reffie", and Knucklehead!, all of whose sites I very much enjoy reading because they're witty, very well written, serious, hilarious and/or just nutty and who I will be visiting more often once my new laptop reach (my present one is suffering from virtual Alzheimer's and is ready to blow a chip).

So, there you have it.   Have a (whatever it is you're having) Day.

An Aside...

2010-05-16T18:03:00.000-04:00

George Carlin: "One can never know for sure what a deserted area looks like."

00dozo: "My blog?"

Yes, She Reads This Blog - Momisms (Part 1)

2010-05-15T14:02:00.005-04:00

I've read in several blogs and comments where some people are reluctant to tell their friends, family and co-workers, etc. about their blog for various reasons. I would have to agree with some of those reasons. Having an online journal imparts writers the freedom to say whatever they want and, in some cases, gives them the anonymity they wish to enjoy should they ever ~~malign~~ write about their friends, family, etc.

But unlike some relatives, my mom enjoys reading my blog. She also reads many of the others that I follow and thinks one person is "totally nuts" - but in a good way. I even have her proofread some of my stuff for errors (usually grammatical) or for some other constructive criticism.

Sorry about your luck mom, you won't be proofreading this one.

My mother's "Momisms" include, but are not limited to, the comments, words, expressions, questions, mixed metaphors, etc. that escape her lips from time to time. And since I'm in a sharing mood:

We were having some problems with our Internet provider and their e-mail services wherein we were not able to send or receive. The IP tech said they would look into it and gave us an alternate DNS Server number that would circumvent the issue in the meantime. I was experiencing the same problem just recently and was cursing aloud that I couldn't even get connected to the net. She said, "Try using that other DNA number". There are times I wish we didn't share the same DNA: this was one of those times.

I don't know if it's her age or the fact she has too much shit in her ears, but she's going deaf. I, on the other hand, can hear a Palmetto bug fart in the next room. Occasionally I make stir-fry for dinner with either rice or Thai noodles, so I opted for the noodles the other night. She complemented me on the dinner, for which I thanked her, but I pointed out, "I think I overcooked the Thai noodles", to which she responded, "There are pine needles in this??".

The thermometer incident (no, it's not what you may think): I finally went out and bought a digital thermometer. Whoever invented those mercury-type ones should have one stuck in his eye. "Yeah, I'll bet you can read it NOW, asshole". At any rate, I mentioned that I had bought a DIGITAL thermometer that day. She asked, "What does it read out?". WTF?? I had no idea what she was asking. I thought about it for a few seconds and I was still confused. Did she mean the temperature, the digits, the language, does it speak to you? The only response I had was, "Um...Chinese?", or something to that effect. Granted, she has been living here for about 15 years so I could blame it on a Bahamianism, but I don't know - I'm still scratching my head at that one.

I would be remiss if I didn't share one of my own flubs: We were talking about broccoli one night and the fact that she doesn't like how the florets 'feel' in certain dishes. I like broccoli and try to prepare dishes that would be to her liking, so she mentioned that there was a soup recipe that I might try sometime. I asked if it was a cold soup like "gestapo": what I meant was "gazpacho". Apparently it IS in the DNA.

Going back to my opening paragraph, my mom, evidently, did not read those posts and comments about 'sharing' their blogs with relatives and the like: She e-mailed a link to to my blog to (OMG!) my uncle, and a couple of other people. In the reference line of the e-mail she wrote, " RE: (myrealname's) BLO".

Apparently I "BLO".

Potholes

2010-05-13T00:00:00.005-04:00

Today is Theme Thursday and this week I thought I would throw my hat into the ring.

I couldn't find a ring, so I used the bougainvillea in our backyard instead. Deceptively pretty thing, isn't it? Don't be fooled as these suckers have long, nasty thorns. They will bite.

And those are my sunglasses, magically attaching to my "eyeballs" when the need arises.

Not too far away from our house, there is a little grocery store that has become very handy to me since I'm always finding that we're out of an ingredient necessary for the dinner I've already started to prepare. So, off to the store I go.

Recently, I had to take this trip twice in as many days. The first time was uneventful. But on the second trip I noticed this:

Now, potholes aren't generally inexplicable in and of themselves, but this one was particularly interesting because: (a) while they are usually found on those parts of the road most frequented by cars (and lying in wait for the next unobservant driver who will land a tyre - or two - straight into its gaping maw), this one is smack-dab in the middle of the road; (b) there is very little debris inside the hole and the piece of pavement that once covered it is nowhere to be seen. Absolutely nowhere. There it is...gone!; and, (c) it happened sometime during the night.

WTF??

So, one has to wonder how this tyre biter came to be. I have no idea. But I have a few theories:

A land crab woke up from his long hibernation and suddenly popped up out of the pavement due to his urgent need to pee, and didn't notice the pavement on top of his head.
It's an obvious impractical attempt at a practical joke by a bunch of drunk and juvenile Bahamians.
Aliens came down and sucked the pavement out because they thought it looked like one half of an Oreo cookie and that it would taste good dipped in whatever it is they use for milk.
The island farted and sent the piece of pavement flying into the nearby bush.

My vote goes to the aliens.

Still, it remains a mystery.

(My Bad: Being new here, I forgot (a.k.a. should have realized) to post a link to Theme Thursday - d'oh!)

Foot-in-Mouth Disease (Size 22)

2010-05-11T21:29:00.002-04:00

Yeah, I know it should say, "Part 2", but I'm talking about a foot, after all.

As a short follow-up to my last post, the power company made the following statements and/or assertions in the last couple of days (this is according to the local newspaper):

(Friday): After its apologizes for the inconveniences, it said the same inconveniences were "expected to continue into next week."
(Saturday): It was reported that the problems were fixed, regular service had been restored and that no one should experience any further inconveniences.
(Monday - we don't get a Sunday paper): A notice is published to advise its customers their "fuel surcharge for the month of May" would be considerably higher. WTF? Three days of questionable power supply equates to an entire month? And since it isn't burning fuel to supply power, again, WTF?
(Monday, again): It admitted that it wasn't so quite up-and-running as previously claimed, but it was going to rotate the inconveniences to randomly inconvenience those who weren't already inconvenienced.

It's now Tuesday. It was just after 7 p.m. when one of these inconveniences was bestowed upon us. This time Bionic Bob advised us in a pre-recorded message that we would be without power for about 2 to 4 hours (in other words, "until it reach").

Because of Hurricane Frances, we bought a generator - I just hope we have enough fuel on hand.

Foot-in-Mouth Disease

2010-05-08T14:27:00.001-04:00

I think we've all been there, done that, etc.

I'll try to keep this short, but I really couldn't wait to post this:

For the past few days, we've been experiencing power outages all over the island. It's been as hot as Hades here recently, unusual for May,  which does nothing to alleviate the growing anger at the power company.

At the onset of this dilemma, we, like many others, called the customer service department (ad nauseum) to ascertain when power would be restored. They first started out with some cock-'n-bull story about,   "dumping loads". No shit! (and pun definitely intended). Eventually, they got 'Bionic Betty' (my term for those automated answering systems) to spew out some pre-recorded excuse for the lack of service:

"Please accept our apologies but we are experiencing some technical and mechanical difficulties at this time. We are working on restoring the power to your area as quickly as possible. The Grand Bahama Power Company wishes to thank you for conserving power."

"...conserving power." Really??   Like we have a choice?!?!?

Oy vey.

So, yesterday they had two articles in our one and only local newspaper (The Freeport News) about the power situation. One of the articles quotes the Chief of the power company remarking, among other things, this gem:

"We apologize for any inconvenience that this is causing our customers. We are trying to spread out the inconvenience as much as possible."

Really! I shit you not!

Well, I guess it's about time...

2010-05-07T15:48:00.004-04:00

...I explain the meaning of, "When I Reach".

Hmmm...

Simply, it's a Bahamian expression that is used to describe the timely manner in which a person (or thing) is to arrive at a particular destination.

For example:

Customer: "When you be gittin' here to fix da baker?"
Repairman: "When I reach."

Or:

Bahamasair Passenger: "What time is da next flight to Nassau?"
Bahamasair Ticket Agent: "When da plane comes back from Nassau."
Passenger: "When dat be??"
Agent: "When it reach."

There are various Bahamian words and expressions used to describe things, actions, feelings, people, etc., not to mention those that would describe the reliability and punctuality of Bahamasair (which will remain unmentioned here).

Some of them are:

"vex" - to become angry or cause anger: "You vex me."
"tingum" or "ting" - thing: "Bring me dat tingum over der."
"nex'" or "next" - other, another: "Dis damn tingum not workin'. Bring me de nex' one."
"vimon" and "vimen" - the singular and plural forms, respectively, for woman: "Damn vimon, she done burn dem fish."
"ho" - what some people (usually vimen) disrespectfully say just before they abruptly put you on hold:
Caller: "Can I please speak to..."
From the other end of the phone: "Ho."
"Potcake" - a term used to describe the overcooked or burnt rice stuck to the bottom of the pot that was fed to the dog, now includes the description of the mixed breed of dog that has become indigenous to the islands.
"teet" - teeth, sometimes 'tit', but not to be confused with:
"suk teet" - refers to the latter definition above - no explanation necessary.
"dis", "dat", "dem" , "de" and "der" - also self-explanatory

And so on.

One of the words that had me scratching my head for some time, is "killamadik". It's the Bahamian name for a common night bird that inhabits the islands and, if you're are unlucky enough, it will decide to nest just outside your bedroom window and sing. Very loudly. All night long.

"Killamadik" is also a term used by Bahamian men to describe the effect the bird's song has on their ...um... 'dangling participles' when they want to ...um... well, you know. (Yet another shameless use of that euphemism - sorry, but it fit). I asked around and no one here could give the proper name of the bird but I eventually found it. Since I couldn't find an audio clip for this post (and I'm not overly adept at all this Internet/posting/formatting shit), you can follow this link which has the bird's song: Killamadik.

There is one thing that I cannot tolerate: the way some people pronounce word, "conch". Now, I realize that two pronunciations are given in the dictionary (God only knows where the second one came from), but 'konk' and not 'konch', is more acceptable, especially to conch vendors here who, should you use the latter, will probably snicker and overcharge you for your purchase of the gastropods.

So, there you go: a brief and (hopefully) informative lesson of Bahamianese. Until I reach again, you be learned.

Post posting edit: "suk teet" also means, to 'suck your teeth' in response to an insult or other derogatory remark, something like "tsk".

It's Like Cymbals Being Crashed Together Behind Your Head

2010-05-03T14:19:00.000-04:00

Have you ever had one of those days when you are totally spent, mentally and/or physically, and look forward to just relaxing for the evening by reading a book, watching t.v., or some other distraction that allows you to dispense with the day's trials and tribulations?

Yes, I think we've all had them, and it seems that it's becoming more mainstream where one isn't experiencing one of those days.

Waiter: "Anything to drink ma'am?"
Me: "Yes, a bottle of your finest merlot please."

Of course, I won't be driving. Or walking very well, for that matter.

For me, the distraction is television. And a glass, or five, of merlot.

Soon, it's after 9 p.m. You are relaxing for the day, watching t.v. and finally winding down and looking forward to a mind-numbing sleep when, suddenly - BAM! - your television barks at you:

"IT'S 10 O'CLOCK - TIME FOR YOUR LOCAL NEWS.

TONIGHT:

- ARSON SUSPECTED AT A NIGHTCLUB THAT KILLS FOUR

- MURDER AND MAYHEM IN SOUTH BEACH

- BODY PARTS FOUND AT A NEARBY ALLIGATOR SANCTUARY

- RECENT STUDIES SAY MORE SUICIDES ARE BEING BLAMED ON ANTI-DEPRESSANTS"

So much for that pre-slumber zen moment.

In my opinion, I could argue that the increase of suicides is caused merely by the introductions to the late local news, never mind that some stories just suck from you all hope and reason to continue living. I think the FDA should impose a pre-broadcast warning that the upcoming intro "may cause some people to kill themselves", or, at the very least, experience a coronary event.

Because of our location, the only local news we get is from Miami and the competition for viewership is probably so cutthroat that they need the extremely loud and obnoxious introductions so that they can be heard over the din of murder, mayhem and the gnashing of alligator teeth that may be concurrently happening in the immediate vicinity.

In Canada or Britain (and probably in other parts of the world), the news is introduced calmly, collectively and in a manner that doesn't make you feel like a startled cat or having been zapped by defibrillator, or worse, a startled cat zapped by a defibrillator.

I doubt the U.S. networks will be modifying their news formats anytime soon. For now, I'll just have to remember to change the channel before 10 p.m. rolls around. My nerves just can't take it anymore.

My Journal

2010-04-30T18:40:00.003-04:00

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?".

Twits.

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.

To Sleep, Perchance NOT To Dream...

2010-04-29T09:43:00.002-04:00

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."

My Other Left Foot

2010-04-14T16:12:00.000-04:00

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".

I Need New Eyeballs

2010-04-11T18:11:00.000-04:00

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.

Stupidity is E.Z.

2010-04-07T16:10:00.008-04:00

"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'.

Pondering My Ponderings...

2010-04-05T17:05:00.000-04:00

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
;-)

When I Reach

Bah, Humbuggery!

No, I'm Not Dead...Yet

I'm Starting to Love This Reporter

It's No Wonder I Can't Write Comprehensively...

"Maria ... I Just Met a Cheese Named Maria"

Are They Sirius?

Goodnight, Irene.

Oh Auntie Em!

Synchronicity?

It's All Greek To Me

I Could Quiche You!

Happy Happy Joy Joy**

Testing ...

*Snort*

"Hell Hath No Fury ..."

Potatoes Ugh Rotten

Punny Stuff

Momisms (Part 2)

Attack Of The Killer Zucchinis!

There They Are ... Gone!

Holy Chocolate Cappuccino Cheesecake, Batman!

I Baked A Cake And Ate It, Too!

Apparently, Toronto Isn't The Centre Of The Universe After All

Will I Ever Post Again?

Poopettes

It Rained On My Parade.

Decompressing

The Russians May Be Coming ...

Yeah, I Be Jumpin' On Santa's Sleigh, too!

It Reach!

"There is no dark side of the moon really.

This Just In ... Just Closer to Home

This Just In ...

The Bloggerhood of the Traveling Book Tour

The Girl Who Played With The Menorah (Fire is Involved)

It's Gonna Be A Slow Weekend

So, I Finally Bite the Bullet ...

The Bloggerhood of the Traveling Book (Chapter 5)

Zombies 'R Not Us

It's Orgasmic!

Broadcast Jesters

What's In Your Garden?

Playing "Chicken" With The Tourists

"Puttin' On The Ritz"

Awww...How Purdy!

Anybody Got a Bucket??

The Wild World of Sports

Thar She Blows!

Did You Know...

The Siren (Epilogue)

Kids Can Do The Darndest Things

You Haven't Left Yet??

Phardon Me?

The Dozo Zone

The New Guy

The Dot Club

"L-O-L-A Lola"

The Siren

Craptions

Pooh-pooing

An Aside...

Holy Heatwave Batman!

An Ode to a Poinciana

I've Got One of Those Too??

Me? Lie? Never!

Fish Tales

Foot-In-Mouth Disease (Update)

Turdpulls

But, Why Me?? I'm Just a Lowly Rookie!

An Aside...

Yes, She Reads This Blog - Momisms (Part 1)

Potholes

Foot-in-Mouth Disease (Size 22)

Foot-in-Mouth Disease

Well, I guess it's about time...

It's Like Cymbals Being Crashed Together Behind Your Head

My Journal

To Sleep, Perchance NOT To Dream...

My Other Left Foot

Snort