Category Archives: humor

Oh, Just Write It!

Is cooking conducive to writing? Discuss amongst yourselves.

I am not exactly cooking as I write this (by hand in a notebook, standing at my kitchen counter). I am popping popcorn (on the stove in oil, as God intended) (it’s JUST an EXPRESSION! Sheesh!).

I wrote that much and got stuck. Still, I got the urge to open the notebook and start writing as soon as I got the oil in the pot. I thought that was interesting.

You know, I think Wrist to Forehead Sunday is becoming even more deeply ingrained into my schedule than Lame Post Friday. Actually, this morning, I am more inclined to put the palm of my hand or my cold fingers on my forehead, because I have a dreadful headache. Partying too heartily on Saturday night, you ask? Well, I don’t know about that, but I did stay up later than normal.

Be all that as it may, what is a blogger to do when a post must be written (according to my rules, anyways) but her head is aching and she wants nothing better than to retreat into the TV watching and crocheting portion of the day (I got some new yarn especially for the purpose)? What I did do was eat the popcorn and think about it (Steven was hogging the computer anyways), then pour myself some blue Gatorade (for some reason good for headaches) and get onto the computer to Write The Damn Thing Anyways.

We did go for a most enjoyable walk with Tabby earlier (before the headache had kicked in). It was still cool out, not too sunny, which was good since I had forgotten my Crazy Old Lady hat. We stopped and chatted with some neighbors who were having a garage sale (didn’t buy anything for once). We discussed our respective flood experiences, what we’d heard about who lost what, and had anybody gotten any money from insurance or the government yet. We concluded that we had been more fortunate than some others.

Well, look at that, word count over 300. I call that respectable. Don’t worry (if you even were), I won’t be too lame in the coming days. We saw an awesomely cheesy movie last night (when I may or may not have been partying too heartily), and I hope to do some bloggable cooking today. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

I Didn’t DARE

Last year I did a few posts on the DARE 5K in Herkimer, NY. This year, as regular readers may have noticed, I have not been running as much. I feel bad about that and this morning I felt REALLY bad. However, this is a positive blog, so I’ll write about what was good about this morning.

Part of the DARE 5K is the Youth Fun Run. That is only a block, but it is a long block. It goes right by my house. As it got closer to the time, Steven and I put our schnoodle Tabby (I feel I must say each time that she’s dog, since Tabby is kind of a cat name) on her leash and went out to stand on the sidewalk. We saw some other people doing the same thing.

We cheered for all the young runners as well as for some parents that ran with them. There were not as many runners as I seemed to remember from last year, but those that were there were having fun.

After they were past, Steven wondered if he was allowed to drive the car down the street, before the 5K runners started. I suggested that Tabby and I walk with him and I drive to pick him up after his shift. It was a lovely morning for a walk.

We paused halfway down the street to chat with some people who had driven in from Mohawk to watch the run. One lady confirmed my assessment that there were fewer runners.

After we left Steven at his place of employment, Tabby and I walked to the post office to put a couple of things in the mail. As we went up Main Street we could hear music playing from the area of the finish line, at the Historic Four Corners. We cut through the park by Basloe Library rather than walk up to where the crowd was gathered.

Up Prospect and down Church streets, we saw that the runners had not yet started. I stopped and chatted with a lady who was waiting to see her family run by. I mentioned that I have run it in the past and feel bad about missing this year. She said it was the same for her. We agreed to look for each other at the starting line next year.

Closer to my house, I said hello to a small family group waiting to cheer the runners. I mentioned that I had cheered the youth run, and a lady pointed to one of the runners. It was the littlest runner, now sitting in a stroller.

“I remember, you were running good,” I told her. “And I love the pink shorts.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I saw a neighbor lady with two dogs Tabby is friends with and went over to chat with her. We cheered for the runners as they went by.

“I’ll be with you next year!” I promised. Nobody seemed overly elated at the prospect, but then they were busy running.

I did not walk on to German Street to cheer them again as they approached the finish line (it might not have been a long wait if the front runners kept up their pace). I thought Tabby looked thirsty. I was definitely thirsty. Now to review my schedule and find time to run, so I can start training for next year’s DARE.

Making with the Random Observations

Well, I’m afraid it is another Lame Post Friday and it probably surprises nobody, least of all myself, that I got nuthin’. In my defense, I was working on my novel. And talking to my husband on my cell phone. And helping my co-worker with the crossword puzzle. Yes, the same lame excuses as last time.

As I sat at work and it was quite clear to me that this would indeed be a Lame Post Friday, I thought I could at least come up with some random observations. I feel that Lame Post Friday has been heavy on half-baked philosophy lately. In fact, it has been spilling out onto other days. So I thought I could leaven the mix with random observations.

I sat at my machine at work and observed… Well, you see, I look out the window, across a very short expanse of grass and weeds, onto a brick wall. The bricks are old. There is some grey foundation beneath the bricks. There are windows, some open, one hanging brokenly. I don’t believe they are ever shut.

How boring is that? Oh, I did notice one thing on my drive home. Two young kids on scooters, a girl maybe nine and a boy maybe four (not that I’m good at guessing ages). They were followed by a lady, presumably the mother, walking a very cute dog — it may have been part pug or maybe bulldog. The dog pulled eagerly on his leash. I think he wanted to be up there with the kids. At least, I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl dog. I use “he” and “his” in a gender neutral sense. I don’t like to call a dog “it.”

I suppose I could come up with some half-baked philosophy on “he/she/it,” but today is random observation day. Also, my word count is up to 300. Plenty enough for a Friday! Have a good weekend, everybody!

No Potatoes

I don’t really know what that means. Louis Armstrong says it at the beginning of one of the songs on a CD I have, and since it is a non-sequitur there, I thought I would it would be appropriate as a headline on Non-Sequitur Thursday.

As you can guess, I ain’t got much.

I’m not really sure what Non-Sequitur Thursday is supposed to be anyways. I guess I just use it as an early Lame Post Friday. Sorry about that, but, you know what, I’m tired. It’s been a long week. A pedantic person would say the week is seven days long, as is every week since they invented weeks. That person would be quite right, but, you know what, being right is no reason to say something. There’s some half-baked philosophy I may re-visit on Lame Post Friday.

Lame Post Friday, that’s the day I’m waiting for. For one thing, it’s defined. Random observations and half-baked philosophy. What is Non-Sequitur Thursday but me being too lazy to write a real post. Right up there with Wuss-Out Wednesday.

Stand by for some more half-baked philosophy: I started this blog because I wanted to make myself write something every day. Does it count if what I write is dumb? How much effort is it required that one expend for writing to “count”? I put it in quotes, because it just occurred to me to wonder, what does it even mean for writing to count?

I will feel better if I answer those questions. Yes, it counts, no matter how dumb, and “dumb” is a judgement call anyways (we’ll save half-baked philosophy on “dumb” for another day). The effort of putting fingers to keyboard or around pencil is effort enough. For writing to count, it must mean something to someone, and quite frankly, most writing does (maybe something dumb, but let’s not re-open that can of worms).

Now maybe I’ll go eat some potatoes.

Not a Scooby Doo Plot

Spoiler Alert! I don’t really give much away this time, but it’s become a habit to include an alert.

I admit I DVR’d The Mummy on TCM thinking it was the black and white version. You know how I love old horror movies. When I found out it was the Hammer Films production from 1959, I figured it would still be worth a watch.

I already knew that Hammer had revitalized the horror genre in the late ’50s and early ’60s. What I learned from Ben Mankiewicz’s pre-movie commentary was that for the first few movies they made — Dracula and Frankenstein flicks — they had to be careful not to infringe on the copyrighted portions of movies previously released by Universal. After the success of the earlier films, Hammer was able to negotiate with Universal for re-make rights. The Mummy is the first of those re-makes.

That was very interesting to me. Now I want to see the older version more than ever, to see what they changed. And I may like to write a blog post contrasting the earlier, non-infringing movies with the re-makes.

The movie stars Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, veterans of previous Hammer films. Lee gets to be the monster this time, and he was not nuts about the extensive make-up, according to Mankiewicz. I can see where an actor might find it limiting, although Lon Chaney reportedly found it liberating. I wonder if George Clooney would like to try it. But I digress.

Cushing plays one of the archaeologists responsible for desecrating the tomb of… oh dear, I don’t recall the lady’s name. I may have written it in the TV Journal as I watched, but even if I did I am not at all confident in my spelling. It was some high priestess or other. There is a rather elaborate backstory about how the Mummy became her guardian. Someday I’ll have to look up some actual Egyptian legends to see how much Hollywood was really pulling our leg.

Speaking of leg, Cushing’s is broken, and his uncle has this nutty idea Cushing should return to civilization and get it properly set by a doctor. Of course he does no such thing. For one reason, he would avoid the Mummy’s curse and how would that have helped the movie? Later on he gets to walk around with a romantic limp that, quite frankly, I thought was going to figure into the plot more prominently.

Speaking of romantic, Cushing has a beautiful wife who, in one of those typical movie coincidences, happens to look JUST LIKE the lady in the tomb. Oh well, I suppose you could make up some rationalization about how Cushing is such a dedicated Egyptologist that he subconsciously fell in love with a girl who looked just like an Egyptian. Or something of that nature. I guess I don’t really have a problem with this sort of thing. It figures into the plot and makes the flashbacks easier to cast.

All the usual elements are here: warned against desecrating the tomb, desecrating the tomb anyways, leaving the Mummy’s first victim alone so that nobody quite knows what happened. At one point I said, “Oh, that would be a good plot: the guy that warned them does the killing himself and makes it look like the Mummy’s doing it.” Then I remembered that is the plot of almost every Scooby Doo mystery (although they didn’t usually deal in murder). I only steal from the best.

Cushing indulges in some typical stupid movie male activity. I know I usually rail against stupid movie females. In fact when movie males do it, it is brash or daring or refusing to play by the rules. As usual I must admit, if people in movies had any brains they would sit quietly at home and we would have boring movies (although I bet these days there is some yahoo with a webcam showing exactly that on YouTube). Cushing’s wife doesn’t do anything too stupid. Alas, she does not do much of anything else, either, the sad fate of many a movie female.

The movie does have what was for me a major “Waaaait a minute” moment, but to tell you that would entail quite a long plot summary and a major spoiler (alert notwithstanding). I enjoyed the movie. I think I am becoming a Peter Cushing fan.

Musings on Murderers

Hmmm… Kind of a gruesome headline. My Wrist to Forehead mood continues.

It’s not that I’m too lazy to write a blog post; I wrote quite a bit of one at work today. But it’s not ready yet, and I can’t possibly finish it now. I worked on my novel too, but I’d just like to mention that it is not going very well right now. That could be one reason why my wrist is on my forehead, but we’re not being analytical here.

Then again, why not be analytical on Middle-aged Musings Monday?

I did have one musing. It came to me while I worked. I was thinking about my novel and some of the true crime documentary-style shows we like to watch and a book I’ve been re-reading about Writing Mysteries: A Handbook by the Mystery Writers of America (Writer’s Digest Books, 1992). And it occurred to me: murderers do not have a great deal of imagination. If they had more imagination, they could think of better ways to solve their problems than by murdering somebody.

I feel sure I am right about this.

I believe most murderers believe they have a great imagination. Many of them think they are as clever as an analogy by that guy on Lizard Lick Towing (I never watch that show, but on the ads for it this redneck guy is full of “he’s as something as a something-something,” very down-home and distinctive. I wish I could think of things like that). In books murderers are pretty clever. In movies they are usually clever and lucky. So naturally, some of the real-life kind feel they must be the same.

Or does it happen the other way around? Because these people think they are so clever and imaginative (but are not), they think they can get away with murder (which they would not have to commit if they really were so clever and imaginative). I like that.

And that’s over 300 words. Happy Monday, everybody.

Wrist to Forehead Cooking

So there I was, happily cooking with wine, when I realized — I haven’t done my blog post yet! Talk about Wrist to Forehead Sunday!

What’s a blogger to do? I search for a notebook with blank pages, grab a pen (I recently bought a bunch on sale at Rite Aid) and write while I cooked.

To set the scene: The rice is simmering, the chicken strips are frying, the garlic is breathing, I am debating peeling an onion. I could throw it in with the chicken. It might not have time to carmelize. Lately I have a minor obsession with carmelized onions.

I peeled and chopped an onion and added it to the chicken. Now will the chicken overcook before the onions are done? I did mention this is Wrist to Forehead Sunday, didn’t I?

And what about the garlic?

I should perhaps at this point mention that I began cooking with no recipe or plan in mind. I put on rice because Steven expressed an interest in eating rice. I put on chicken because you can cook this kind from frozen. I put in garlic and onions because that is what I do.

If anyone is interested, I added to the chicken some Roasted Garlic Olive Oil from gusto della vita (it is all lowercase on the bottle). I see they don’t have an address on their bottle, but it is a local or at least an area company.

When the garlic was done breathing I added it to the rice, which still has at least ten more minutes to cook, I think. We will eat this improvised mess — uh, I mean meal with a tossed salad I made yesterday. Won’t that be nice?

Note: As I typed this in, I realized my tenses were all messed up, because I was writing as I went along. I started to change it all to past tense, since it is now, in fact, past, then thought I would leave it as written and see if I liked it. Which I did.

Further note: The website for the oil company is www.gustodellavita.com.

Author of My Own Disaster

So there I was, writing a blog post about me getting organized. I was getting all self-deprecating about how unorganized I am and hoping people would identify with my tribulations — after all, nobody’s perfect — when my computer froze. Oh well, I was sure it would unfreeze soon, at least to the extent that I could re-start it. I grabbed a pen and notebook and started handwriting while I waited.

And waited. And waited. I don’t know if it was a product of my frustration or an honest reaction, but I soon realized that what I was writing was dreadfully boring and going to run into an awfully hefty word count. A lame post is one thing (although I try to reserve those for Friday). A lame, long post is a terrible thing (I just know there’s some snide reader out there saying, “But nothing new.” Where do I get all these snide readers? Oh yeah, inside my head).

Where was I? Ah yes, shutting down my computer in hopes it will help. I managed to do at least that much, and brought the boring handwritten post downstairs to ponder over a cup of tea. Being prone to catastrophize, I worried that my computer has finally given up the ghost and my future as a blogger is in jeopardy. Why, oh why did I not do this earlier, when I could have run to the library and made my post? Once again, I am the author of my own disaster (ooh, how’s that for a high-flown phrase? Perhaps I’ll use it for the title) (if I ever get this typed into a computer).

I guess today’s post (again, if I ever get it typed in and published) (which, apparently I did, if you are reading this) (ooh, I just flashed on Bill and Ted, jumping back and forth in time in their first Excellent Adventure) is another version of the dog ate my homework (my dog would NEVER do such a thing). I may yet write about my adventures in organization. I will try to make it not boring, even to hypothetical snide readers in my head.

Welcome Back, Wuss-Out Wednesday

I just remembered something: Wuss-Out Wednesday. Not a feature I use very often. Need to have one today.

Not a good writing day. See, I’m even writing in sentence fragments right now, which is not a vice in which I usually indulge (although I did keep from ending that sentence on a preposition) (which bothers some people).

I wrote a little bitty bit on my novel. Then my breaks at work were taken up with other important stuff, like talking to my husband on the telephone and working on the crossword puzzle with my co-worker. It is a bad idea to neglect the whole rest of your life just because you want to be a writer.

Now there’s a topic suitable for the half-baked philosophy portion of Lame Post Friday: work/life balance. How much life does a middle-aged woman such as myself really need? Mae West famously said it’s not the men in your life but the life in your men, but I don’t think that really applies here. Just thought I’d throw it in, although perhaps I should have saved it for Non-Sequitur Thursday.

However, it is neither Friday nor Thursday. And I may be working this weekend, so the days of the week may be rendered meaningless in any case. Be that as it may, I must think of something reasonably entertaining to say for today (I just noticed I used “may” three times in two sentences, but that may be OK).

The Powerball Lottery has reached some ungodly amount. I put in for a workplace pool. You know how often groups at work win the lottery. I don’t expect to win, but just in case, I didn’t want to be the one yahoo showing up for work on Monday because I was too cheap to pitch in the two bucks.

“No, that’ll be Darren and Mark,” said Jenny (not their real names).

“I’ll send them flowers if we win,” I said. Then I remembered that my husband had also purchased a Powerball ticket. I asked Jenny if she and the others would sue me if he won.

“No, but you’ll have to share it with us,” she said.

“I’ll buy you pizza,” I promised. I hope we win more than two dollars. It would be awkward to buy pizza for a whole section on two dollars.

Walking for the Blog

So I said, “Let’s take Tabby for a walk, then I’ll write a blog post about it.” That usually works.

My plan was to walk out German Street, towards where the flood damage was pretty bad. They have cleaned up a lot, of course, but I know one street is still blocked off, and there is still a big empty spot where a garage used to be. These things I drive by on my way to work. I thought at a pedestrian’s pace, we could take a closer look.

At first my plan seemed to be working, because Tabby agreed to walk in that direction. She often wants to walk the other way on German Street. I know, one can usually win an argument with a 17-pound schnoodle, especially one with as sweet a disposition as Tabby’s. However, the walk is for her entertainment as well as ours. I don’t like to be mean.

First we saw a lady with a couple of Shi-tzu-looking dogs across the street. I may have petted those dogs while out running one day. Unfortunately, I have not been running in a while. We waved to the lady and she waved back. Then we saw a lady coming up Margaret Street with two little Scotty-looking dogs. They saw Tabby and barked and pulled on the leash. She continued down German, in the same direction on the same side of the street as we had been heading. We turned down Margaret.

Well, Margaret is a pleasant enough street to walk down. We admired several gardens and screened-in porches. We saw a couple of For Sale signs and indulged in a little “What if?” We went almost all the way down Margaret, then turned down Park Avenue (doesn’t that sound swank?). Our new plan was go go through Myers Park. Then we saw a labrador-looking dog up ahead, so we turned up Henry.

About this time, I asked myself (I was writing this post in my head as we walked) why I feel I must add the suffix “-looking” when I guess which breed a dog is. In the first place, most of the people who read this blog won’t know which dog I’m talking about, so how would they know I was wrong? “A black dog on Park Avenue? That COULDN’T have been a labrador!” Yes it could! It was a different black dog from the one you’re thinking of! In the second place, I just might be right about the breed. Stranger things have happened.

The only really flood-related observation I made was that some stretches of sidewalk are still covered with dirt, from where people did not rinse off the mud. But I hope you enjoyed reading about our canine encounters. We enjoyed our walk.