Category Archives: humor

Where’s the Beef? At Church

I was delighted to see Christ Episcopal Church’s Annual Roast Beef Dinner scheduled for last Saturday. Steven worked till six, and the dinner ran till seven. We would be fashionably late but not unreasonably so.

When Steven and I have someplace to go after he gets off work, I try to meet him outside the house. That way he doesn’t come inside, get Tabby all excited, then leave. It just seems a mean thing to do to a cute little dog. I mean, she is SO happy when we’re both home; I hate to see it come crashing down. I suppose I am getting sentimental in my old age or super-sensitive or something (we’ll call that my Monday Middle-aged Musing for the week).

It was cold on Saturday. I stood at the end of the driveway watching approaching headlights and cursing the ones that weren’t Steven. All I could think of was that Vicki Carr song: “It must be him! It must be him!” At last it was.

There were a few empty tables at the dinner, most of them dirty. A lady quickly cleaned one for us. I always observe that we get top notch service at these dinners.

I got roast beef and mashed potatoes, which I covered in gravy, but I declined the squash and peas. I love being an adult and not having to eat vegetables I don’t like. I know, the younger generation can’t really identify with that, because it has gone out of fashion to make kids clean their plates (oh, nobody needs to tell me why this is psychologically and nutritionally a good idea; I was just making an observation) (or was that another Middle-aged Musing?).

I saw one little boy mowing down a big plate covered with peas and nothing else. I was impressed.

The food was delicious, as you probably expected. I especially enjoyed the roll with real butter. For dessert I dithered for a while between cheesecake and a chocolate pudding cake. I finally decided on the cheesecake. Steven made it to the dessert table a few minutes after me (he took longer because he ate his vegetables). Guess which he picked. So I got to try them both.

While we ate we were highly entertained by the toddler son of a couple of parishioners. He was playing with a roll of tape about four or five inches in diameter. He would roll it down the floor and cheer about how far it went. I could go on for a bit about high tech toys all the kids seem to want, but let’s have no more Middle-aged Musings today.

Before we left we put in for the various items they were raffling: a poinsettia with scratch-off lottery tickets and a couple of stockings with goodies. We chatted with the lady at the table about donating the 50/50 back if we won, which we have known people to do. It did not arise Saturday, though, because we did not win.

That was really no matter. We had enjoyed an excellent dinner. I’ve never personally roasted a beef in my life. I may try. Or I may just wait for the next church dinner.

A Word with the Fat Man

Yesterday my headache felt better as the afternoon wore on. I wanted to have just one little Mohawk Valley adventure, so I put Tabby in the car and headed to the Farmer’s Market at Clapsaddle Farm, Otsego Street, Ilion, NY.

I know I’ve talked about the Ilion Farmer’s Market many times, but yesterday there was an added attraction: Santa Claus! I had seen a flier posted on a bulletin board at work earlier in the week. Saturday morning while writing a note to my sister, I mentioned it.

“I’d like a word with the fat man,” I wrote, just to be nonchalant about it. In fact I didn’t know if I’d get to talk to him at all; he’s a popular guy this time of year.

The flier had said to bring your camera and take a picture, but I stupidly forgot mine. No matter. I don’t know how to post a picture on a blog or Facebook anyways.

Tabby was very excited when she saw where we were. She loves the Farmer’s Market. Lots of exciting smells and nice people who like to pet her. She pulled me to the door most insistently.

It didn’t take me long to find Santa. He was walking around, and he looked remarkably similar to a guy I know from work (although I would certainly never describe that guy as “the fat man”). His suit was beautiful, definitely a cut above the one I bought for Steven at Wal-Mart some years ago. He told me it had been made for him some years ago by a lady now deceased.

I chatted with him and his wife for a while. There was a picture of the two of them dressed as Santa and Mrs. Santa, but Mrs. Santa was in civilian clothes yesterday. She told me they would also be at Weller park next Friday, the seventh, in the gazebo for a tree lighting. I dug a notebook out of my purse and made a note of the date.

As we walked back down the market Tabby got a sample of bacon from Mike Champagne. I had purchased a yummy piece of chocolate covered bacon from him during a previous visit to the Farmer’s Market, but I need to go back on the South Beach Diet.

It was an unusual visit to the market in that I did not purchase anything. I did see some jewelry I admired and some baked goods that looked yummy. I may return next Saturday. For one thing, Santa said he’d be there. Maybe I will remember my camera.

Running with a Headache

I’m writing this later than I usually make my Saturday posts, but I had a dreadful sinus headache earlier. It is inexplicably gone, but I’m trying not to notice that too much or it might come back. You know, like it hasn’t gone far, and if it sees me noticing it’s gone, it’ll say, “Ooh, she misses me! I’d better go back!”

Now some of you are dialing the men in the white coats (two dated references), because my headaches talk to me. Hey, I write fiction. I can anthropomorphize anything.

Be that as it may, I did get myself out running, because I wanted to use it as a blog post. I didn’t care to do an “I-can’t-post-because-I’ve-got-a-headache” post because I’m saving something for Wrist to Forehead Sunday.

It was dreadfully cold yesterday, and I had expected it to be less so today. So much for great expectations. I had a pair of stretchy pants I thought I might as well run in. I put on a long-sleeved t-shirt and winter running socks. Found my toque but didn’t bother looking for my mittens. Regretted that almost as soon as I was out the door. No matter, it would be a short run.

I did not run during the week at all. One more thing to regret, but I did not repine. The only thing to do in these situations is tough it out and try to run sooner next time.

Oh, that air did not feel good. I debated whether to run any hills but ultimately decided moving my legs at this rate was effort enough. I had walked Tabby to the post office earlier so I knew my could move. I was only asking them to move a little faster, and not much faster at that.

At least, maybe it was faster than I thought. I saw a couple walking two blocks or so ahead of me. Soon it was only a block and a half. Then a block. I usually take a lot longer to catch up with pedestrians. Perhaps they were extra slow. I turned down a side street when they were less than a block away. I was feeling unsociable.

I looked around for Christmas decorations. I saw a couple of the hard plastic light up snowmen such as Steven and I coveted last year (I wrote a couple blog posts about it). Steven says they are called “blow mold,” but I don’t like to call them that, because I’m afraid people will think I mean those big blow up things. Those are fun to see when they are billowing in the breeze all full of air. When they are limp and deflated, they look a little sad. I don’t want one in my lawn.

I did see a smaller blow up snowman in a lawn and heard the sounds of the Nutcracker Suite playing. I couldn’t tell if the snowman was swaying in the breeze or if he was moving in time to the music. In any case, it looked good, and that part of the Suite played in my head for the rest of the run. It was good running music. You know how I love music to run by.

As I approached my house, still a good three blocks away, my legs told me they would like to walk. I told them to keep running. That led to three blocks of half-baked philosophy I’d like to share. You almost never HAVE to stop running. You CHOOSE to stop running. Now I’m not a terrible hard-ass drill sergeant about this. Sometimes stopping running is absolutely the right choice to make. And I’m always an advocate of feeling glad about however far you did run. But I have learned, and I stand by it: most of us can run further than we think we can. I proved it to myself again today.

When I was walking my cool down with Tabby the wind picked up and it became uncomfortably cold. The Nutcracker was still playing in my head. It was the section that goes doo-dootle-oo-doo-DOO-DOO-DOO. I know, that probably doesn’t tell you much, but I thought it would look funny to type it that way.

As always I was glad I ran. Right now, though, I am even more glad that my headache is gone (I whisper that last sentence). Soon I’ll be off on more Mohawk Valley adventures. Maybe tomorrow won’t be Wrist to Forehead Sunday after all.

Cheesy Nightmare

Spoiler Alert! This is another one of those movie postings where I’m pretty much going to tell you the whole plot. Well, I might leave a few things out. We’ll see.

I’m hoping my readers can bear another horror movie review. When I checked my TV Journal yesterday for the title of the shrew movie, I was reminded that I had also watched Nightmare Castle.

I thought I had seen Nightmare Castle before, but I did not remember much about it. The box said something about a guy killing his wife and her coming back to haunt him. Sounded like a good premise to me.

It seems the guy is something of a mad scientist (better and better!), although the nature of his experiments is not immediately clear. His wife, a voluptuous brunette with a taste for brandy, is taunting him (big mistake!).

After she has laughed at him in a cruel fashion, she tells him she’s only jealous because she wants to spend more time with him. Then she accuses his assistant, an older, not very attractive woman, of watching them make out. Assistant denies this, but she obviously hates the wife and is probably in love with the husband. These assistants usually are. I’m sure that’s one way for a mad scientist to get cheap help.

Off husband goes to whatever conference his wife was scorning/being jealous of, and Wife gets on with her clandestine affair with the gardener. At least, I don’t know if he’s the gardener, but he’s young and muscular and they make love in the greenhouse.

Guess who comes home and catches them? I’m not sure how he overpowers them when it’s two against one and the lover is obviously in pretty good shape. Just another “Waaait a minute” situation. Or maybe they explained it and I was changing yarn colors on my crochet (it’s a green and red afghan I may donate to Ilion Little Theatre to raffle during their Christmas musical).

At any rate, Husband has them chained to the wall in his laboratory (pronounced lah-BOR-a-tory) when he finds out Wife is going to have the last laugh. She has made out a new will leaving all to her crazy little sister. Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

So he tortures and kills them. I must say, I hope they don’t do a remake of this. I am made queasy by trailers for the so-called torture porn movies being made these days. I greatly prefer the older, more circumspect movies. It’s still a pretty creepy scene.

What’s an evil husband to do? He married the lady for the castle, so he’d have a place for his evil experiments. Now she’s left it all to her kid sister in the loony bin. I don’t know why he doesn’t just pretend she’s still alive, especially since, as we later learn, her crypt is empty. Maybe they didn’t have joint checking.

It should come as no surprise to anyone who has ever seen one of these movies that he marries the sister, an innocent blonde who looks remarkably like the dead woman (yes, it’s the same actress in a blonde wig). Soon the Gaslight stuff starts, only this guy is by no means a Charles Boyer (if you don’t get the reference, stop reading now and go see Gaslight, unless you only like bad movies).

Still with me? It’s about this point where the movie gets a little more convoluted and a lot more interesting. Not Very Attractive Assistant has miraculously turned young and beautiful, but, alas, not as young and beautiful as Kid Sister. Ah, but maybe it’s not so miraculous. Perhaps it is the result of Evil Husband’s experiments (yuh think?).

I could not blame Assistant for being ticked off at this point. I’m sure she thought the plan was to off Evil Wife, get the castle, and make Assistant beautiful so she could be the Evil Husband’s new girlfriend. Then he comes home with this blonde chippy!

Now that I’ve gotten to the interesting part, I think I’ll stop, because you might actually want to see this movie. It gets suspenseful and a little scary at the end. I enjoyed it. And if Steven ever starts doing mysterious experiments in the basement with a not very attractive older assistant, I will not laugh at him. I may have an affair with the gardener, though, because that would be Steven. He’s a busy guy.

It Sure Wasn’t Shakespeare

Spoiler Alert! I intend to give away all major plot points of the following movie, including how they escape from the monsters and who lives at the end.

As I write this (on a break at work), I find I cannot quite recall the exact title of today’s cheesy horror flick. Something about shrews. Attack of the Killer Shrews or Giant Killer Shrews. You may guess from this that it is not a particularly memorable movie, and you’d be right.

I know what else you might be thinking: Shakespeare. I suspect the makers of the movie anticipated such a thing as well, because they have one of the characters say, “As in ‘Taming of’?” Which is exactly what Steven said when I informed him which movie we’d be watching. Imagine my husband having something in common with the main guy of a cheesy horror flick (I don’t say “hero.” I would not call most of these main guys heroes.)

It seems Main Guy is captain of a boat bringing supplies to an island. According to these movies, there are a bazillion isolated, difficult to reach islands, usually peopled with mad scientists, who often have beautiful daughters.

The scientist on this island has a beautiful daughter, but he’s not particularly mad. We know, of course, what animal he is researching, and the first ones we see are small.

“It looks like a rat,” remarks Main Guy. Actually, it looks like a mouse. “Does it bite?” he asks, as he holds it in his hand.

“Only when it’s hungry,” is the answer.

I forgot to mention that Main Guy does not intend to depart that night or even unload, because of an imminent hurricane. So it’s tough luck on Beautiful Daughter, who counted on leaving the island with him. She tries to convince him to stay with them in the house, not because he is so handsome and debonair (he’s neither), but because she is afraid. He, of course, intends to spend the night on the boat. In a hurricane! What the hell?

Scientist Dad has several people working for him in capacities that are never fully explained. One at least is a pure research assistant. He spends his last minutes recording his exact symptoms as he dies of poisonous shrew bite. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First we meet Beautiful Daughter’s ex-fiance, a drunkard who left the cage door open. I don’t think we find out which of those if either factored into her breaking the engagement, but then, you know I never pay close attention to these things.

Soon we are all being terrorized by the giant shrews, which look like mice with long hair and are the size of wolves (I was going to say “dogs,” but you might say, “Chihuahuas? Great Danes?”) The close ups of the sharp teeth are scary enough. The beady eyes peeping through various orifices less so. In those shots you can pretty much tell they made use of perspective as a special effect.

The giant shrews have apparently eaten all possible food on the island and will soon begin eating each other, thus leaving the humans only one really fat shrew to deal with. It’s a good plan, except that the shrews discover the people and want to eat all of them first, quite naturally.

So the shrews start picking off the people one by one. It turns out the shrew bite is poisonous, so if you get bit you’re a goner even if you’re not dinner.

When they’re down to just four survivors — Dad, Daughter, Main Guy and Ex-Fiance — they decide to duck walk to the beach in oil drums. I’m not kidding you. Have you ever tried to duck walk any distance? I have not, but the mere thought of it hurts my thighs. They put these slits in the oil drums so they can see out, although I think that is mainly so we can have some scary shots of sharp teeth trying to break through.

So there they are, oil drums strapped together, only three of them because Ex-Fiance has decided to remain on the roof (guess what’s going to happen to him). The camera shows close ups on each face as they make their fearful way. Boy, are they good duck walkers! Their heads and shoulders don’t move at all! I know some dancers who would love to achieve that kind of isolation!

Oh, you don’t have to tell me I’m carping. Listen, I’m not method actress myself. I don’t feel I would need to actually duck walk through a jungle to convincingly look as if I might faint (did I really need to tell you Beautiful Daughter almost does?) (faint, I mean, not actually duck walk). Still, if I had been directing that scene, I would have insisted on at least a little up/down movement.

I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that all three make it to safety. I was a little relieved they let Dad live. Many movies would have killed him off. Some even would have offed the girl. I thought Ex-Fiance’s death was rather pointless. Often that character gets to do something heroic and sacrifice himself, since he obviously isn’t going to get the girl. Or he could have done something dastardly to save himself, but it backfires and he gets his comeuppance.

But no, he just jumps off the roof, while Steven and I yelled, “What are you thinking?” I suppose he figured the shrews were distracted, and he could run faster than the other three could duck walk. But, hello! How distracted do you think the shrews are?

Here’s a shrew, trying to get at a duck walker in an oil drum and he doesn’t have a can opener (oh, I’ve been there. It was cream of mushroom soup, but a similar frustration). Now here’s this fine specimen, out of a tin can and marinaded (remember? he’s a drunkard). What would you do if you were a hungry shrew? I thought so.

Scientist Dad says in X amount of time the shrews will have eaten each other, and the menace will be over. Phew! You don’t suppose they’ll start having babies really fast first, do you, and replenish supplies? Or maybe go vegetarian till something better comes along? Learn to swim? In short, adapt in time for a sequel. Well, if anybody hears of a sequel, please let me know.

NOTE: On consulting the TV Journal, I see the title is The Killer Shrews. Leonard Maltin doesn’t list it.

Ad-libbing with Artichokes

I have not done a cooking post in a while. Sunday I made a spinach and artichoke dip without benefit of recipe that I thought might be worth a paragraph or two.

I had followed a recipe for spinach and artichoke dip once, I think. I don’t quite remember where I found the recipe or if I followed it exactly, but I seem to remember mozzarella cheese, mayonnaise, and it tasting pretty good. I found a couple of recipes for artichoke dips in my recipe books, but I wanted spinach and artichoke. I had purchased frozen spinach that morning at Hannaford specifically for the purpose. I decided to do my own thing.

First I set the oven to 350 degrees to preheat (it doesn’t have a preheat setting, which is just as well, because I always forget to take it off preheat and put it on bake so I burn whatever I’m cooking). I thawed the spinach in a colander by pouring boiling water over it. I let it drain, helping it along by pressing out some of the water with a fork. While it finished draining I grated some mozzarella cheese.

I drained a jar of artichoke hearts and chopped them, not too small. I put them, the cheese and the spinach into a ceramic loaf pan. I added some mayonnaise.

You may notice that I did not measure anything. The cheese looked like it might have been a cup, likewise the spinach. The artichokes were, I think a 4 oz. jar (if I still have the jar, I’ll check before I post this. It will depend on if Steven has already done this week’s recycling). A couple of big spoons of mayonnaise looked good. I added a healthy sprinkle of grated parmesan cheese for good measure.

I stirred well, put it in the oven and set the timer for 25 minutes. That was how long the recipe closest to what I did called for. I figured it only had to melt the cheese. We let it cool on a trivet for, oh, probably less than ten minutes, because we were pretty hungry by that time. I chopped up some whole wheat pitas to go with it, but I imagine crackers or chips would have been good, too.

It was a yummy dip. I guess I could call the recipe as follows: Put some stuff together that sounds good. Put it in the oven. Try not to burn your hands getting it out of the oven or your mouth getting it into your stomach. Enjoy.

(NOTE: Steven already did the recycling, but per my recipe, use whatever amount of artichoke hearts looks good to you.)

I Suppose It Actually Is Friday

Really, Wednesday was my Friday this week, but I didn’t post lame then, so I thought, “Hey! I can have Lame Post Friday today!”

As soon as I wrote that, I felt sure that some pedantic person out there is saying, “Stop with the ‘my Friday,’ ‘Not Really Friday’ already! Wednesday is Wednesday! Friday is Friday! And nobody wants to read your lame posts anyways!”

OK, it’s not some generic pedantic person out there, it is one of the many critics in my head. The fact is I don’t have a damn thing to write about and I want to make this post so I can get on to the sitting on the couch watching cheesy movies portion of my day. Well, that’s not really true. I have a few subjects, but the fact is I have not written about them.

“So write about them now!” says the little voice in my head that thinks everything is just so easy. The bastard.

Sometimes the act of writing begets more writing. You get just one sentence or phrase or even word down on the paper and others follow. Some days, not so much. You get one word. Gritting your teeth, you make it a phrase. Straining to keep your fingers from the backspace button, you make it a sentence. Then the little voice in your head says, “Nobody wants to read that crap!”

And that’s where I’m at now. Seriously, I just erased three sentences before leaving “And that’s where I’m at now.”

Earlier I went up the attic and found our Christmas CDs. Before that I was at Hannaford, where I purchased some Bigelow Oolong Tea, of which I am sipping a cup. It tastes so good, I wish I could write a whole blog post just on that. Mostly I wish I could just sit and sip it and enjoy the GRP Christmas Collection which is currently playing.

And really, why not (stand by for a foray into a Middle-aged Musing)? It is the Friday of my four day weekend. Yesterday was a holiday. I worked hard all last week and weekend. I am now going to relax.

And tomorrow I will write a better blog post for your delectation. I hope.

It Was a Dark and Sunny Run

You know, you can almost always talk yourself out of running. More difficult to talk yourself into almost anything. The best method I’ve found is to quietly put on the running clothes and get out the door without too much said.

Actually, some stuff was said, to Steven and in my head. We saw on WKTV news this morning that there was a Run to End Hunger on the Utica, NY Parkway this morning. I believe news personality Don Shipman intended to run in it (actually, he is probably running even as I type this. Go, Don!). I know some places do a Turkey Trot around this time. All that notwithstanding, I ran alone and I liked it.

Steven pointed out that it is still dark at six in the morning.

“That’s OK; I’ll wear my reflective belt. I know where it is,” I said. Then I almost forgot it. Back upstairs to get it, which had the added advantage that I lured Tabby away from the door, where she was standing hopefully. Tabby does not like to run with me but neither does she like to be left out. I can understand the emotion.

Finally I was off, in the dark in the cold. I had taken the precaution of wearing leggings, long-sleeved ARMY t-shirt, sweatshirt and knitted toque (you know how it’s pronounced). I could not find my mittens, but the sweatshirt sleeves were long enough to pull down over my hands.

And right away, it wasn’t too bad. My legs were not mad at me. My lungs were breathing in a perfectly normal fashion. In short, I could rock this.

I looked at all the houses as I ran by, hoping to see a few lights on. I never like to run, walk or drive by all dark houses. I feel too lonely. I thought some people might be up this early putting their turkeys in the oven. I bet my mom was. Every time I saw a light, I thought, “You go, turkey cooker!”

I ran up the hill by Valley Health. No problem! I ran by more dark houses. Then one with no lights on, but a television running. It made an eerie blue glow from some angles. I enjoy an eerie blue glow. Let’s keep that Halloween spirit going!

As I type this, I have to realize, it was rather an uneventful run. But it felt AWESOME! I could have kept going for HOURS! Of course I did no such thing. I stopped after a sensible amount of time, and Tabby graciously joined me for a cool down walk around the block.

The sun was up by now, so I felt better and better. What a great time to run, I thought. It was dark, and now it’s not. I feel TERRIFIC! Then I thought, I’m going to post that as my Facebook status when I get home. I did.

So that was the start of my Thanksgiving morning. And now I’m thinking, maybe the bad runs are better for the blog. The good ones can make for, I’m sorry, kind of a boring post. Not to worry, though. I’m sure I’ll be more ate up in the future. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Return to PK’s

Some weeks ago our friend Tracy was supposed to visit us, and we intended to introduce her to PK’s Pub. She was unable to make it, so we went without her. I wrote a blog post about it. Recently Tracy did visit us and we went to PK’s. I see no reason not to give them another shout out.

My friend Pete was not behind the bar this time, but I met up with him later when I had to visit the ladies room. He and two other guys were in it, checking on something or fixing something (I think).

“You gents visit the ladies room often?” I asked.

“All the time,” one of the guys assured me.

“It is the happening place,” I agreed.

I had been going to order Hats and Broccoli, which Steven had last time, but changed my mind and got the Chicken Riggies. Spicy! Steven got a dish with pesto and chicken, and Tracy had something involving pork, mashed potatoes and mushrooms. I foolishly did not make a note of the name of what Tracy had, but I bet I’ll be able to figure it out and order it myself when I go back there.

We all enjoyed the salads before dinner, remarking that they are more substantial than the salads some places serve. I especially enjoy the garbanzo beans, and what I really love is the herbed butter that comes with the rolls.

When the waitress asked us were we all set, I was about to ask for the check when Tracy spoke up and asked about desserts. Well, I couldn’t let her eat dessert alone, could I? We all three had a chocolate ice cream cake that was heavenly.

It was a great meal with great service. Steven and I will not wait till the next time Tracy visits to return to PK’s Pub. They are located at 221 King St., Herkimer, NY 13350, phone number 315-866-3494. Hours are Monday through Thursday 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., Friday 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. and Saturday from 4:30 to 10 p.m.

But It Really IS Wrist to Forehead Sunday!

I know I signed off yesterday promising Mohawk Valley adventures for the foreseeable future. I even had a few yesterday. And today I am EXHAUSTED!

I guess not really. I guess “exhausted” would mean there is nothing left. No brain to think of a word to say. No energy to lift a pen or push a keyboard. Exhausted.

If this was Lame Post Friday, I cold go off into some half-baked philosophy about How We Exaggerate. I’m EXHAUSTED! I’m STARVING! I’m DYING! Some of us go through life in a perpetual wrist to forehead state. I’m trying to confine it to Sunday but, I admit, with indifferent success.

I really had a pretty fun day yesterday. After work, I took my dog for a very pleasant walk. I got a pedicure, and I went shopping in New Hartford with a friend. Then I came home and fixed supper for my husband. Wow! What a woman! (Just kidding. Nobody needs to post lengthy comments on how much MORE stuff THEY did.) (Unless you feel strongly about it; I don’t mind reading lengthy comments.)

Where was I? I don’t really remember, because, as sometimes happens, the act of writing has refreshed me. Or maybe it was the cheese, grapes and apple I’m eating (I’m on a break at work). In any case, I’m feeling better now. I would say the wrist is off my forehead, but you all know it was not really there to begin with (so difficult to eat cheese, grapes and apple with one hand while writing).

And here is where I kind of laugh at myself as a blogger. When I get home, I intend to type the preceding bit of self-therapy into the computer and call it a post. Is this a great hobby or what?