Category Archives: humor

Break an Egg

An egg shows up as a prop in that play we’re working on (I forget what it’s called — you must know it by now). I said, “Oh, we can just blow the egg out of an eggshell and use that!” Famous last words.

I had done the egg blowing thing once, in the distant past. I think it was the ’70s, a more artsy-craftsy time. I had seen pictures in magazines of these gorgeous eggs made by gluing about a million itty bitty beads onto a blown out egg shell. Fired with ambition, I blew out an egg, the shell of which sat on my dresser for about six years, till the damn thing finally broke, beadless and bare. I retain no memory of the actual blowing of the egg, only the knowledge that I did it once.

So I tried it and experienced absolutely no success. When I finally got sick of huffing and puffing, I finally cracked the egg the regular way and fixed my breakfast.

Well, it’s not the ’70s any more; it’s the 21st century. I did what any self-respecting denizen of the 21st century does: I got on the Internet. I have never had good luck with searches, so I took a more personal approach: I went on Facebook and asked my friends if any of them had ever successfully blown an egg and did they have any tips for me?

I learned that you have to poke around in the egg first to break things up, sometimes adding a little water helps, shake well, and some eggs are just going to be stubborn about it. My friend Rachel, who makes those gorgeous Ukranian eggs, offered to send me a tool specifically made for the purpose. That was tempting but seemed like a lot of trouble for my friend to go to for one (extremely) silly play. I tried the old-fashioned way one more time.

Poke the pin in, woosh it around, add a little water (is any water getting in that pinhole?), shake it, shake it, shake it. Blow. Repeat above process several times. At least I didn’t get sick of huffing and puffing this time. My finger went through the shell mid-puff. At least my hands were clean. I cooked that egg, ate it, then went upstairs and contacted Rachel via Facebook.

The proper tool arrived Monday. I couldn’t wait to use it. I could blow a half dozen eggs! Maybe start with one. Rachel included instructions.

The tool consists of a pointy piece on a rubber bulb and a separate narrow metal stick. The pointy piece is a drill, not a punch; you rotate it to make the holes. You use the stick to stir things up inside the shell. Then you put the pointy part back into the hole and squeeze the bulb to blow the egg stuff out. Don’t squeeze too hard or too fast, Rachel warned, or you might blow out the egg. Apparently this is not a dramatic explosion with shell and egg everywhere. Still, I was glad it did not happen to me (this time).

A little surprised, too. I got really tired of pumping patiently. I’d stir it again, shake it some more, try the water thing. Eventually a blob of white made itself seen.

Well, I won’t sit here and describe every pump, stir and shake, but I will say it took longer than expected. I might also mention that the egg was to form part of my supper and I was HUNGRY! Still, it worked. It really, really worked. I did a little dance while the egg cooked.

I was very happy with my egg blowing tool, and very grateful to Rachel for sending it. Perhaps after the show I will look into doing some artsy-craftsy things with egg shells, so I can continue to put it to good use.

This Is Why I Don’t Plan Anything!

Plans don’t work. You decide you’re going to do something, it’s a really good idea, it’s going to make your life easier, you are so smart to think of it, yes, YOU HAVE A PLAN!

And then it doesn’t work.

For example, today. You see, I have a bear of a week ahead of me, because our play, Dirty Work at the Crossroads at Ilion Little Theatre is bearing down on me like, well, like a locomotive with me tied to the tracks. No, I don’t get tied to the railroad tracks in this play, don’t get your hopes up for me being pulverized by the 6:15! But I have a lot to do, and a lot I would like to get done. I’m a little stressed.

Today I do not have to be at rehearsal. Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday I do. Rehearsals are earlier this week. I still have to exercise, after, you know, working all day (still on ten hour days). And I like to post in my blog every day. I almost put “have to,” but my honesty asserts itself: I don’t have to. I choose to. And since I have chosen to every day for almost two years now, I want to continue to make that choice. So.

I thought, I can write two posts today, then only have to hit “Publish” on Tuesday. I could even get fancy and set it to publish on Tuesday without my further input. All I had to do was write two posts! I even had a topic for one: a shout-out to Symeon’s restaurant. As for the other: it’s Monday! I can do a Middle-aged Musings and have done with! So I dashed off the Symeon’s write up, making myself hungry in the process (love that Greek food).

And stared at a blank page in my notebook during all subsequent break time at work.

I got home, did a few things, ate supper, typed in the Tuesday post, all the while searching my brain for something, anything to muse about for a blog post’s worth. Nothing came to mind. I read a couple other blogs, looked at Facebook, and pondered my fate. Should I just publish the other post and worry about Tuesday on Tuesday? Bad idea. I won’t have time to type in squat if I exercise. Skip exercise, since I worked out today? Bad idea, because I may have to also skip Wednesday. Wrist to Forehead Monday? Well, I guess it is, but, you know, I just had a Wrist to Forehead Sunday.

So now I have written over 400 words about how I am completely unable to write a post for today. The irony is not lost on me. In fact, I feel strangely proud of myself. On to prepare myself for the rest of the week!

Bald Update

I believe I mentioned in a previous post that I have signed up for a St. Baldrick’s Day event in Richfield Springs, NY, on June 2. I’m going to let them shave my head, and I’m supposed to ask people to donate money to help fight children’s cancer.

And there, as they say, is the rub (actually,I think only Hamlet ever said that; the rest of us would probably say “there’s the problem” or “here’s the thing”) (but I digress). I HATE asking people for money! I am a terrible salesperson. I never won a prize for selling the most Girl Scout cookies (this was back in the day when people were not so nutsy-kookoo about Girl Scout cookies) (and when did Girl Scout cookies become such a big thing? That might rate another blog post) (again, I digress).

Wow, lots of digressions in only two paragraphs. It’s because I’m gearing up to post the link to my St. Baldrick’s Day donor website, to see if any of my lovely blog readers might like to make a contribution. Why in the world do I feel so self-conscious about this? I knew I was going to do it. People read my blog. People would like to cure cancer. Posting a way for people to donate is not that big a stretch. In fact, this is a great way to ask people to donate, because it is not face to face. If somebody doesn’t want to donate, they don’t even have to think of an excuse. What a great situation!

Which I will not encounter at work. I’ve been talking about how I am going to be bald and ask folks to donate, and many people have told me they would be glad to give me something. But I just hate the thought of going around with my little envelope and actually asking. I mentioned this to one co-worker. He had just bummed a ponytail holder from me, so it had come up in a conversation.

“I don’t mind getting my head shaved,” I said. “I just hate asking people for money.”

“Oh, I don’t mind asking people for money,” he replied. “I just don’t want to get my head shaved.”

I did not start out writing this post about my dithering over asking for donations. I was going to tell how I went to the website, because I knew there was a place where I could put something personal. I soon found “Message.” They had already put a generic one in: “I have answered the call to be a hero,” it started.

Good God, who would really say a thing like that? “I’m going to be a hero”? For heavens’ sake, it’s just a haircut! Well, you know computer un-savvy me. I had to click around for a while till I figured out how I could change that. Then I had to think of what to put. What I finally came up with at least sounded like something I would say. I may change it later (and probably write another blog post about it).

Be all that as it may, here is the website: http://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/642777/2013. 642777 is my donor number.

And, you know, now that I think about it, it’s Wrist to Forehead Sunday. Why should I not devote a post to dithering about something? I think once again, I may have backed into something appropriate.

Fun with a Friend

The reason I used to like Saturday Running Commentary is that I would get up, run, write the blog post, get on with my day. Oh, I usually showered between run and write (I knew some of you would be concerned about that). Well, I haven’t been running in a while now, and a singularly uneventful walk with Tabby this morning did not make up the deficiency. I postponed the writing of the blog and went off adventuring with my friend Phyllis. So this is both a Running Around Commentary and a shout out to Fun with a Friend.

We were on a mission to find things for Ilion Little Theatre’s next production, Dirty Work at the Crossroads (you may have read some posts I’ve written about it). First I had the difficult of trying to print out some Michael’s coupons from my computer, and of course, nothing to do with computers is easy for me. Then I had to search out the Hobby Lobby coupon I had clipped from last Sunday’s paper. Oh, there WAS a Micheal’s coupon in the paper. Well, now I had an extra. I put all the coupons into a notebook where I had a list of stuff I was looking for, which I put down while I found my jacket, picked up my purse, kissed Steven good-bye, etc. Then I had to stomp around the house trying to remember where I put down the notebook. Sometimes it’s just not easy being me.

I drove to Phyllis’ house to pick her up, a place I have been to several times. I really can’t tell you why I drove right by it and didn’t see it. I found a place to turn around and drove back, looking more carefully this time, to find Jim and Phyllis standing at the end of the driveway waving at me so I wouldn’t miss them again. Jim was still standing in the driveway, acting like Mookie Maguggins (his character in the play) while Phyllis and I drove away.

We drove around New Hartford, NY, in search of various things. Party City, Toys R Us, Hobby Lobby and Michael’s all helped us out, and my coupons which had caused so much trouble came in handy. We felt we were so successful, we deserved lunch out. Luckily we were right near Symeon’s, as it turns out, a favorite of both of ours.

That was the coolest thing about our morning: Phyllis and I get along so well. We like all the same stores. We got sick of shopping pretty much at the same time. We went to Symeon’s and ordered the same lunch, for heavens’ sake. Oh, one difference: Phyllis had a glass of wine while I had coffee, because I was driving.

I will probably do a post specifically on Symeon’s soon, because, yum. And I’ll talk some more about the stuff we bought for the play, especially as some of it will form part of a couple of projects I plan to undertake. For right now, though, I just want to say, I had a swell time with my friend. Thanks, Phyllis!

Although, Technically, His Toes Did Not Twinkle

I don’t have a bucket list. I never even knew what one was till that movie (which I never saw) came out titled Bucket List. Like anybody, there are things I’d like to try or accomplish “someday,” but to make an actual list, so I can cross them off prior to kicking the bucket, is a practice in which I have never indulged.

I thought about this today when it occurred to me that I have never said to anybody, “Suck it up, Twinkle Toes.”

I’m not even sure I’ve even told anybody to suck it up, even not calling them Twinkle Toes. I feel it’s more of a thing to say about somebody as in, “Well, they can just suck it up.” Implication being, of course, that I am already sucking it up, but let us not probe too deeply into the veracity of that insinuation.

There was a time in my theatrical past when I was known within a certain circle for saying, “You’re an actor — deal with it!”

I think “Deal with it!” is a much better exhortation than “Suck it up!” “Suck it up!” (I think it needs the exclamation point each time) implies that there is nothing you can do about it, so quit complaining (as if anybody ever does that!). “Deal with it!” is more optimistic. I know that sometimes dealing with something comes down to just living with it, but the actual words “deal with it” sound more proactive, as well as a good deal friendlier, depending on your tone of voice.

I guess this means that I am not in a very friendly mood this morning, as I scan the floor, searching for an opportunity to say, “Suck it up, Twinkle Toes!”

I had written that much this morning (except for the first paragraph; I added that just now when I typed it in) (in the interests of full disclosure) and thought that it had been more amusing in my head than it seemed on paper. Break was over anyways. A co-worker had been on the phone with his wife, suggesting to her that he take a half day. She had told him not to do it, because he would no doubt want to take half days during the summer.

“So I have to stay,” he said in a resigned tone of voice.

And you know what I replied.

Giving Up On Godzilla

That sounds a little harsh, doesn’t it? If Godzilla’s feelings are hurt, please tell the big guy I’m not really giving up on him. However, the first Godzilla movie I actually watched kind of left me cold, and you know how I love to put alliteration in my titles.

Spoiler Alert! I am going to give away almost the entire plot of Godzilla, King of the Monsters (1954). That is, the stuff that is in addition to Godzilla stomping Tokyo, which you probably already knew about. Come to think about it, most people only watch these flicks for the Tokyo stomping or other mayhem, so I guess I’m in the clear.

When I saw a Godzilla movie was on TCM, I thought surely my search for cheese had found a prize. Not just a big monster — THE big monster! The king of monsters, according to the title.

Actually, I think that’s a little false advertising right there. It turns out Godzilla is the only monster in the picture. I was kind of hoping for a battle of the beasts, so Godzilla would be, you know, king of somebody. But, no, it was pretty much a straight Godzilla-stomping-Tokyo-what-are-we-going-to-do that one expects when one see Godzilla in the title.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Any number of delightfully entertaining cheesy movies have been made around just that plot-line: people meet monster, monster terrorizes people, people destroy monster. It’s not the tale, it’s the telling.

The telling of this tale is dull. It starts out promisingly enough: we open on a devastated Tokyo and a ponderous voice-over lamenting the destruction. We find it’s Raymond Burr, in the handsome leading man role, which was kind of refreshing. I’m used to seeing him as the heavy or as Ironside.

Soon we are flashing back to our story thus far (viewers such as my husband Steven will be happy to hear that the whole movie isn’t a flashback) (he hates that framing device). Burr is a newspaperman. I think. Oh, all right, I didn’t pay any attention to the story except for one plot point, which I am about to spoil for you.

It seems there is this scientist who has a beautiful daughter who does NOT turn out to be Burr’s love interest (he doesn’t get a love interest. I bet Burr was pretty miffed about that: finally gets to be the leading man, doesn’t get a love interest! What’s that all about?). She is engaged to some big shot scientist — some arranged marriage bullshit — but has fallen in love with another guy. Burr intones (I mentioned it was a ponderous voice-over, didn’t I?) that a love triangle is nothing unusual, but this one will have Implications in our story.

I was all agog to find out what the implications would be. Would the spurned fiance sic Godzilla on the usurper? Would he be bitter enough to CREATE Godzilla?

Once again, I should have had a job writing 1950s monster movies. My wild ideas of what might happen next are much more exciting that what the actual writers came up with. Or perhaps I flatter myself.

I did not see that there were any implications at all. The girl goes to break if off with the fiance — whom she has liked and respected all her life — but before she can, he shows her… something horrible. So she’s too upset to break up. Later on, when a gazillion volts of electricity (I didn’t make a note of the number) fail to kill Godzilla, she breaks her vow of secrecy to reveal that the horrible thing was a weapon the guy discovered quite by accident that will destroy EVERYTHING in the water within a certain radius.

So the girl and the third point of the triangle go to convince the scientist to unleash his powerful weapon. I forgot to mention that the reason he is keeping it a secret is so it will not fall into the wrong hands, because he didn’t invent anything to counteract or fight against it. The fact that the girl cheated on him and wants to break up with him does not even enter the conversation. My personal suspicion is that he was never all that into her to begin with.

I may be selling the movie short. It was obviously dubbed from the original Japanese, so perhaps things were lost in the translation.

What remains, though, is deadly serious, and I think that was why the movie ultimately lost me. I don’t mind a movie that takes itself seriously; that often adds to the cheese factor. In this case, however, the seriousness leads to a dirge-like pace and one thing a monster movie needs is a good, brisk pace. In fact, the pace of this movie is so slow, I watched it in two parts. You know a movie is slow when you don’t mind pausing it to go to bed early. That’s what gave me the idea for today’s title, by the way.

To end on a positive note, the effects are very good, especially for the time. They used miniatures and pretty much kept people and Godzilla in different frames, so nothing looked obviously superimposed. It was good miniatures too: I never felt like I was watching a toy stomp dollhouses. Of course, that would have made the movie more cheesy, and you know how I love my cheese.

I discovered after I wrote this post that Godzilla, King of the Monsters was the original Godzilla movie. As such, perhaps some of you feel I should have treated it with more respect. Oh well, too late now.

The Bio Blues

I was going to call today’s post “The Blurb Blues,” but I found the bl-bl awkward when I said it in my head. I figured anyone who moves their lips when they read would be really annoyed.

The blog is transitioning (temporarily, of course) into All Dirty Work At The Crossroads All The Time (or All Dirty Work All The Time for short) (I like that better). Today I have another writing assignment before I go on to my blogging chores. I have to write that little paragraph for the program which they print about all the actors. My bio. My blurb.

Naturally I’m stumped. Really, for a blogger, you wouldn’t think I would find it so hard to talk about myself. Isn’t that what I do every day in this silly blog? And there we have the reason: it is a silly blog. I can share my foibles and failures and be all self-deprecating about it. There’s something so toot-your-own-hornish (I almost said “horny” — insert adolescent snicker) about the program blurb.

Oh dear, now every theatre person reading this blog is saying, “Oh! So you think I’m tooting my own horn! I see!” I was about to get all apologetic about it, but, hey, is there not an element of “If I do say so myself”? Most manage to not sound like screaming egomaniacs. Largely because they’re not (the ones who are rarely recognize themselves as such) (of course I don’t personally know any raging egomaniacs, but I’ve heard).

I’ve read a few of the bios written so far for Dirty Work,and Imust say, I’m quite envious. They’re cute little self portraits — a snapshot of the person behind the character (not that anybody takes snapshots any more). As a character in a movie once said, “Why can’t I write shit like that?”

I even tried to get my husband Steven to write one for me. I kept saying things like, “Oh, if only somebody would write it for me. Somebody who used to work professionally as a copywriter. Perhaps in radio.” I even went so far as to throw in a few lines about somebody handsome, sexy, intelligent and kind. To no avail. Steven would only point out that I, not he, wrote the bulk of the press release that formed a major part of one of last week’s posts.

So this morning, after writing a couple of paragraphs of this post, I turned a page in my notebook and wrote down the paragraph I had been composing in my head ever since I realized I would need a program blurb:

“Cynthia has been a member of Ilion Little Theatre since 2009. She was part of the stage crew for Old Ladies Guide to Survival and appeared on stage in And Then There Were None as well as Harvey. Cynthia invites everyone to admire her hair while she has it, because on June 2 it will be shaved off for a St. Baldrick’s Day event to raise money to fight children’s cancer.”

I hope it will do. Do you suppose I’m too horn-tooty mentioning St. Baldrick’s Day?

On With the Wine!

Have I used that headline before? You know, I don’t think I have, and now that I look at it, it kinds of looks like the post is about how I spilled wine on myself. I did not. No matter.

When we last left our intrepid blogger (that’s me), I had obtained the correct location and time of the Crusader’s Wine Tasting Event in Herkimer, NY (I know I usually start that kind of sentence in the third person then switch, but I just wasn’t feeling it this morning). I was set for fun with friends.

Steven and I met the Mills (Jim, Phyllis and Kelly) in the VFW parking lot shortly after one. It is a very popular event; the parking lot was full. We had found a space on the street in the block before the building and grabbed it.

A group of ladies who looked about my age (middle) were on their way in and noticed a sign that said no one under 21 was permitted.

“I can’t go in,” one said.

“I’ll be 21 tomorrow,” another said.

“Just flirt with he guy at the door,” I suggested. “He’ll let you in.” It used to work in the ’80s. Um, not that I ever did such a thing.

When the Mills showed up, I found them a parking space in the lot across the street. I walked over, pointing to it. They were pleased with the “valet parking.”

Donation was $10. The paper had said the first ten people got a free wine glass. I suspect that was a typo, because we all got wine glasses and there were far more than ten people ahead of us. Naturally we got in on the 50/50 raffle. While Jim and Steven filled in our names and numbers, Phyllis, Kelly and I started sampling wine.

I love this event, because you find such a variety of wine makers, from professionals to professional-looking to gallon jugs with handwritten labels that look like something my Italian grandfather would have made (if he had made wine; Grandpa was more of a beer drinker) (but I know a fellow whose Italian grandfather makes great wine).

I had remembered to wear my lanyard with a wine glass holder, purchased at a previous Crusaders event from Bottom of the Barrel. This is a store in Oneida that sells wine making equipment and other fun accessories. I must make my way to Oneida sometime to visit their store for a blog post all their own.

Canal Side Inn from Little Falls was also represented. We sampled some delicious biscuits as well as pate on French bread. Another place for Mohawk Valley Girl to visit in the future.

I was especially pleased to see Domnhall Vineyards, Herkimer’s very own winery located on Shell’s Bush Road.

“When are you opening your tasting room?” I asked. “My sisters want to know!” The guy said he would be sure to advertise when he did. Phyllis told him how I had brought a bottle of his Baco Noir to her house and how much we had enjoyed it. We enjoyed a sample of that as well as his Vignole, which Phyllis liked even better.

The event also had a food table, which I sensibly visited several times. Steven bought tickets for the Chinese Auction (or are they called something different now?). I helped him pick a few things to try for.

Imagine my delight when I got a phone call shortly after we got home. I won the necklace and earrings from Weisser’s Jewelers! When we had put in the ticket for that one, I had shown the ladies at the table the anniversary ring Steven had purchased for me there. Weisser’s is located on North Main Street in Herkimer. I think that’s yet another subject for a future blog post.

Getting There is Half the Battle

On re-reading this post (before I hit Publish), I realize the lead isn’t really about what the post is about. I mean, I don’t exactly write in the inverted pyramid of newspapers, but still, I also don’t want to have any false advertising. This is actually the first part of a two part post about a community event I attended Sunday.

Every year the Herkimer Crusaders put on a wine-tasting event that is a lot of fun. Area wine makers — amateurs and professionals — get together and have their wine judged by professionals and amateurs. At least, lots of people come in, drink the wine and vote for the one they like best. That’s the category I fall into.

I saw an article in the paper about the event a couple of weeks ago. I made a mental note of the date but neglected to cut the article out (which I often do for blog planning purposes). Last week when a few of us were making plans to go, I thought I’d better double check the time.

Do you think I could find anything on the internet?

Other people seem to find whatever they might be looking for and not even on a real computer. They whip out their smart phones (or whatever device they happen to have; I can just hear somebody saying in that smarty-pants tone of voice, “It’s not a smart phone, it’s an Android.” Or an iphone. Or a blackberry. Or that new thing they’re lining up in front of the Apple store for) (it really does seem sometimes that I live in a cave) and in a short time, give you the answer (usually in the above-mentioned smarty-pants tone of voice). Sometimes they go on to read several paragraphs of what the internet had to say about the subject. I try to avoid those people.

Where was I?

Oh yes, looking for information. It seems all I could find was information on past Crusaders Wine Tasting events. What’s that all about, internet? I even went to the web pages of the two local newspapers and searched their calendars. Nada. (I shan’t mention the names of the papers, since that was not exactly a plug.)

Finally, in desperation, I went to the cardboard box on my living room floor, where we pile the newspapers destined for the One-and-Done recycle can. And found a little blurb printed in one of the local papers earlier in the week. Phew!

Information in hand, I continued to plan my outing. Which I will talk about tomorrow, because I see that I am over 300 words and once again this week, I must try to keep it short.

Chicken Anne Boleyn

Well, I started the day having Mohawk Valley adventures, until I got sidelined by a sinus headache (could have been a migraine; I don’t know from headaches). After taking a nap and lamenting my wasted afternoon, I managed to fix something for dinner that I thought might make an acceptable cooking post.

First I pre-heated the oven to 400 degrees, then sat back down to read my book some more. A wise woman once told me you can’t rush into these things (I think it was my mother). Finally I rousted myself back into the kitchen, where I put some frozen pre-cooked chicken strips into my cast iron frying pan to heat (it always takes longer than the package says). I covered it with a glass lid that just happens to fit the pan perfectly (the pot the lid went to broke a long time ago).

Then I took some fresh asparagus, rinsed it, broke off the tough ends, broke it into pieces and put it in a glass baking dish. I had some oil in the refrigerator with garlic and spices in it, which I had used the last time I roasted vegetables. I poured some over the asparagus and put it in the oven. Set the timer for nine minutes, although I figured it would take longer than that.

I put some water on to boil for some cheese tortellini, then read my book some more. I stayed in the kitchen reading it, though, to keep an eye on the chicken. It’s a biography of Anne Boleyn, which I’ve read before, but these history books always bear re-reading.

After a while I thought to put some frozen spinach in with the chicken. I poured some of the garlic/spices oil over that and kept it covered. It took even longer than expected, but that was OK, because the tortellini water took a long time to boil. The asparagus, too, took longer than expected. I kept taste testing it. I love asparagus.

Eventually everything was done. I put it in a metal bowl, added some pepperoni, feta cheese and Italian salad dressing and stirred well. I had actually meant to do all this at least an hour before I did it, chill it and call it salad. As it turned out (we’ll blame the headache), Steven was due home any minute. I decided it could be warm salad. Leftovers will be regular.

Perceptive readers may have noticed I did not cook with wine, as I like to do. Well, I knew I had a blog post to write. I didn’t want it to be full of typos.