Tag Archives: Lame Post Friday

Lame, Rinse, Repeat

Normally I am in a pretty good mood on Lame Post Friday. That is one reason I instituted Lame Post Friday. Because it is FRIDAY! And I want to be silly! Lately, though, I have just had a Bad Attitude (have to capitalize it, it’s that bad). I don’t want to write a silly blog post. I don’t want to write a blog post at all! I don’t want to write anything at all! I can’t write! I’m a terrible writer!

You see how it snowballs.

Actually, my mood started to improve about the time I was capitalizing Bad Attitude. Writing does that for me. Of course I want to write a silly blog post! I may be a terrible writer (don’t judge), but I DO want to write at all!

If only I had a few more ideas of what to write beyond, um, what I just wrote.

No, no, no, don’t step on my buzz with that! I don’t need ideas today! This is Lame Post Friday! I can wing it today! Random observations and half-baked philosophy, that’s how we roll on Lame Post Friday! With a lot of exclamation points!

At least I’ve got the silly part down.

Today’s random observation which in a pinch can double as half-baked philosophy: writing begets more writing. I have observed this again and again. And remarked on it. Did I mention I can also repeat myself on Lame Post Friday?

Not Blankety-Blank Much

Some bloggers only post weekly or three times a week or whenever the spirit hits them. Sometimes I wish I was some bloggers. Other times I feel kind of proud of myself for posting something every day (except for the day the big tree got hit by lightning and the electricity went out till morning; then I was late). I must confess: today is one of the former kind of days.

At least it started that way. I must further confess: as soon as my fingers started typing, the fascination with the blog kicked in again and now I’m thinking, “What can I come up with today?” I’m a little afraid the answer will be, “Not blankety-blank much.” But one must carry on.

In my defense, it is Wuss-out Wednesday (ooh, here’s a Freudian typo: Wuss-pout. I fixed it, though). I know I do a lot of blog posts about not writing a better blog post. I feel guilty about it, but, you know, not guilty enough to stop.

The funny thing is, I worked hard on my blog post yesterday. I tried to write it at work but did not succeed. I typed in the paragraph I had written, then tried to compose a little more, got bogged down, persevered. Several times I thought, “Oh, I can’t do this properly today. I’ll save the draft and write a foolish post for today, then fix it tomorrow.” But I had a rehearsal to get to and not much confidence in my ability to be amusing in a foolish post.

I can hear the nay-sayers now, saying (in addition to “nay”), “About that… you’re not being particularly amusing today, now, are you?”

I reply that I do not think that is a very nice thing to say. Stick to a simple “Nay” if you must. Or practice the art of silence.

The nay-sayer pounces on this: “That’s it! The Art of Silence! That is what you should do! Get on that now!”

I think we all know that is not going to happen. However, in the interests of readers who prefer a more substantive blog post, I will endeavor NOT to have Non-Sequitur Thursday this week.

About Lame Post Friday, I make no promises.

Lame Walk on a Lovely Day

I did try to write a better blog post today. Perhaps I should offer some half-baked philosophy on why these things often do not work out (for those just tuning in: today is Lame Post Friday, when I usually serve up half-baked philosophy and random observations). Instead, I will attempt a Pedestrian Post, about a walk I just went on with my beloved schnoodle, Tabby.

Today, if the weather reports are correct (I know, big if), is the last of the lovely days. At work I kept peering out the window at the trees and telling my co-workers I was leaf peeping. When I got home it was still bright and sunny. I procrastinated starting the walk but knew I would take one, in case they are right and it pours rain all day tomorrow.

Tabby was so excited when I got my fat ass off the couch and started to put my sneakers on. I figure it doesn’t hurt to let her burn off a little excess energy with all the barking and jumping. I only wish she could transfer some of it to me (as parents of toddlers have said since time immemorial). At last we set out.

Tabby happily led me down the sidewalk. I let her pick which direction to go, although I planned to change her mind for her if she wanted to go the exact way we went yesterday. She did not, however, and we went down Bellinger Street. I saw two dachshund puppies up ahead on the opposite side of the street. So cute! Tabby completely ignored them, however.

Close to Meyers Park, Tabby did her business, which was good news for me. I could detour into the park and throw it in the trash. I had an extra bag in case of further business, although that rarely happens. Tabby either knows the drill or planned to go through the park anyways, because she pulled me across the street almost immediately.

After the park we continued on Park Avenue (say it with your pinky finger up in the air), then down Prospect Street. I admired some scarecrow picks in front of a porch. Tabby found some extremely interesting spots to sniff. I found some dried leaves to scuffle through, one of my favorite fall activities.

The trees were beautiful, as were the mountains in the distance. I would have liked to jump in the car and take a long drive into the country. However, I needed the exercise and Tabby would rather walk.

As we approached home, a truck with a poodle-looking dog in the front seat went by. The dog jumped and barked at us with a deliriously happy look on his face. I could picture him saying to his person, “Look at that hot chick! Dad, we HAVE to STOP!” Um, you know I’m referring to TABBY as the hot chick. I’m not bad for a middle-aged, overweight lady, but I doubt I would appeal to a poodle dog in that way.

I quite enjoyed our walk, although it did get me home too late to prepare the more elaborate dinner I had thought of. I know, my own fault for procrastinating the walk. What do you want from me on Lame Post Friday?

What Is This Thing You Call Subtance?

And what’s wrong with Wrist to Forehead Sunday anyways, I’d like to know. Why shouldn’t I spend one day distressing over the fact that I can’t write a post? Oh, I know. In the first place, I know that there are many days when I have a hard time writing a post, not just once a week. And I know that SOME bloggers are able to write posts of substance every time they choose to sit down at the keyboard (and I would be happy to be directed to any of those lucky bums’ websites) (I don’t imagine I would be able to follow their good example, but I would SO admire to see it).

I can’t say it is a really distressful day, actually. I woke up with a headache, which of course is never pleasant. However, I took my dog for a walk, did the dishes and made two salads. How’s that for productive? I’ve been re-reading an Agatha Christie murder mystery. That is pleasant and educational. You can learn a lot about plotting and hiding clues by re-reading the masters.

Have I done any writing this weekend? Um, that is kind of an awkward question. Have I had any Mohawk Valley adventures that I could write posts about in the upcoming week? Mmmmm… still awkward. Can I offer any justification to my continued use of oxygen on this planet? Ah, a half-baked philosophical question worthy of Lame Post Friday!

In fact, it seems I cling to my Wrist to Forehead Sunday even more than my Lame Post Friday. Is the angst of the end of the weekend more powerful than the exuberance of the beginning of same? More half-baked philosophy to consider.

However, I see than I am over 200 words. I shall return to enjoying the end of my weekend (really, I strive to savor every minute) (I get some enjoyment out of the week, too, never fear). I look forward to a delightful upcoming week when PERHAPS I will come up with more posts of this so-called substance.

I hope you are all enjoying your Sunday.

Confessions of a Bad Blogger

I blew through a red light this morning. It was a really boneheaded thing to do. I was looking ahead at the next light, thinking how I would be hitting that one red, and I completely forgot about the one I was approaching. I saw that it was red as I reached it. I could perhaps have slammed on my breaks at that point, making an unpleasant squealing noise with my tires and causing my bags to tumble off the seat. I did not react quickly enough. I just breezed through, much to the disgust, I am sure, of the motorists waiting sedately and legally to proceed in the opposite direction.

My question now is: Is this worthy of a blog post? And if I deem it unworthy, is that merely because of my reluctance to broadcast that I am an even worse driver than I am a blogger (after all, I have never done anything illegal in my blog)? Next I begin to wonder if this is half-baked philosophy more fit for Lame Post Friday or is it a legitimate Monday Middle-aged Musing?

Welcome to my life.

I bet my readers are now divided into two distinct groups. One group is saying, “Hey! I thought she was going to write about the DARE 5K!” The other group is saying, “Well, at least she isn’t still writing about that DARE 5K.” Still another group has by now stopped reading. We need not concern ourselves with that group.

Full disclosure: My husband Steven suggested that headline for an entirely different post. I did not use it then, but I thought it was too good to waste.

My Philosophy is You Have to be Philosophical About It

My plan was to write two posts today. I intend to give blood at work tomorrow. Sometimes my body reacts badly to that and all I can do is lie down and watch the room spin. So I thought, I’ll write my Friday Lame Post on Thursday as well as Thursday’s post, type both in and be ahead of the game. I’ve done it before. I can rock this.

I even had some pretty good half-baked philosophy for Lame Post Friday. I had no ideas for Thursday, but there’s always Non-Sequitur Thursday. I sat down and wrote two paragraphs for Friday. That I wasn’t so thrilled with. I spent the rest of my breaks at work solving Cryptogram puzzles from a Dell Puzzle Book or working on the crossword in the newspaper with a friend of mine.

Well, Thursday’s post was still going to happen. I had plans to go home and plant my tomatoes. I could do a gardening post. Well I may yet do that. For right now… well, let’s just say the tomatoes are not planted yet and at least I didn’t cry.

I can’t, I positively can not keep writing posts about Why I Can’t Write a Post. Well, apparently I can. The question is will anybody keep reading them?

I Didn’t Rock This

I am becoming quite fond of Wuss-out Wednesday. Of course, it will never replace Lame Post Friday in my affections, but I read somewhere that love keeps on stretching. I suppose I could segue from there into a contemplation of Love. Then this would become a Maudlin Mid-Week Middle-aged Musing. Love the alliteration, but I am not up for that sort of a post.

That is as much as I wrote at work. Then I guess you could say I wussed out. In my defense, it hurt to write (never mind about that; long story, not very interesting). Then I came home and did NOT wuss out. I went running. That’s right! I’m going to attempt a Running Commentary.

I had thought it would be raining by this afternoon. Instead, I walked out of my place of employment to a breezy, pleasant day. I could rock this! My co-worker pointed out that it was feeling a little muggy, but I didn’t worry. I got home and changed into running clothes.

And proceeded to run very, very slowly. And painfully. What was wrong with my legs? I last ran on Monday, a mere two days ago. Oh dear. Earlier today I saw an older man running along at a pace that looked barely more than a walk. I imagine that is pretty much what I looked like. Persevere, I told myself. Persevere.

The mugginess my co-worker had noticed increased as I ran. Get used to it, I told myself. It will only get worse as the season progresses. It really was not too bad, since the temperature was moderate. My only worry was that it would rain, which it certainly felt as if it might. I decided to run close to home, in case of a deluge. I would persevere through a little rain. Any thunder and lightning and I was out of there.

It soon became clear that I was not going to reach the “I can rock this” stage. But it was not a bad run for all that. I sniffed some lilacs I had run by on Monday. Monday two people were in that yard, so I felt self-conscious. They weren’t there today. Further on I saw some white tulips. Beautiful.

I was glad that I ran, although I felt so dreadfully tired I was certain I could never manage a blog post. Oh, look, I just wrote a blog post. Fooled myself.

Crap! I Forgot to Write my Post!

It is Lame Post Friday, and I knew it would be Lame Post Friday, so I did not exercise myself too much about my blog post for today. So sorry about that.

I had some thoughts earlier today about “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” But when I mentioned them to Steven, he made an observation that told me my thoughts were not all that original. Oh dear! We can’t have that! I’ll save that subject for another Lame Post Friday.

For today, I’m afraid I have very few random observations and half-baked philosophies (the mainstays of Lame Post Friday, for those of you just tuning in). One observation: late afternoon traffic in Ilion, NY is terrible. That is scarcely original: traffic is terrible in many places at many times. That might be a starting point for some half-baked philosophy about why our society is so crowded and in such a hurry. Hmm, can’t think of much to say about that.

OK, I’m in favor of full disclosure, so here it is for today: I left work today and met my husband Steven at the laundromat. After we left there, I talked him into going to the Belly Up Pub for Happy Hour. We had a delightful time. I will no doubt write a blog post about it.

In the meantime, I got nuthin’ for today. What a surprise. All I want to do is sit and knit and watch the movie that Steven selected to continue our Friday night. I may write another post about that, but for tonight, have a good Lame Post Friday.

Let’s see what I can come up with for Saturday.

Grandma and the Left-Handed Compliment

For today’s Friday Lame Post, I share a memory that for some unknown reason popped into my head this morning.

My grandmother taught me the meaning of the term left-handed compliment one time when she said I gave her one. The occasion was a cousin’s wedding. We were dressed in our finest, uncomfortably placed in the family station wagon.

I was uncomfortable because I liked to ride in the back end, curled up or sprawled out as the mood struck me (these were the days before seat belt laws), not perched on the back seat in a supposedly lady-like fashion. My brother was uncomfortable because he was forced to ride in the back end, not the front seat in his accustomed spot. Well we, that is my three sisters and I, were in dresses. He was wearing pants.

Additionally, my mother had insisted we wear full pantyhose, not knee-his. Our dresses were long. We thought knee-his would be OK. Mom said it might show when we danced. We didn’t buy it, but she was Mom. She won.

We picked up Grandma at her house. When she got in in the car, the first word out of her mouth was, “Damn.” I can’t even remember what she was damning, but she went on to say something disparaging about her knee-his. Cue reproachful looks at Mom.

I said, “Fancy clothes don’t change you, Grandma. You’re still the same old Grandma.”

She told me it was a left-handed compliment. I never explained to her that I meant it as a sincere, loving statement. When Grandma had walked out her door in a long dress with her hair beautifully styled, I had felt a little intimidated. I remember thinking she looked like a Duchess. I think I was half-expecting her to act differently, too. To hear my “same old Grandma,” apparently just as uncomfortable dressed to the nines as we were, was a profound relief.

Thinking back on it today, I feel really bad that I did not explain that. Having subsequently received more left-handed than right-handed compliments myself (although I confess I haven’t really kept track), I think I know what one is. Grandma, if you’re up there listening, here is what I meant: You looked beautiful that day, but your true beauty was the person that you were.

Lamely Theatrical

I said earlier this week that I would use Lame Post Friday to consider the term “marvelously theatrical.” Regular readers (if any) may remember that George Zucco was described thusly in a summary of a Horror Classic I once saw.

The term “theatrical” to me seems a little silly. I would think that if something is on a stage in a threatre it is, by definition, theatrical. Kind of like looking your age. My dad says, how can you not look your age? I’m 50. This is what I look like at 50. Hence, I must look 50 (I know, I KNOW some of you probably think I DO look 50 or worse. It’s just an example) (And when my dad was 50, everybody said he didn’t look 50) (but I digress).

Perhaps it is one of those words that “I can’t give you a definition, but I know it when I see it.” I could explain this better in person. I would sit demurely and say in a quiet tone of voice, “I am in a theatre. I am theatrical.” Then I would leap to my feet, make a wide gesture with one arm and shout, “I am in a THEATRE!” Then a wide gesture with the other arm, “I am THEATRICAL!” Can you picture it?

I bet some of you have been sitting there trying to get a word in edgewise and point out to me that George Zucco was in a MOVIE not the THEATRE. Oh silly me. Did I even realize there is a difference?

Of course I did, stop looking so smug. I would submit that the difference may be less than we think. And I believe audience expectations are similar: they want to be entertained.

There is a wonderful scene in All About Eve where Gary Merrill tells off Ann Baxter for scorning movies vis a vis Broadway. He basically says that theatre encompasses all sorts of entertainment, “wherever there’s magic and make believe. So don’t approve or disapprove. It may not be your theatre, but it’s theatre for someone.” (I may be misquoting; don’t judge.)

“I just asked a question,” she replies, in that demure, well-modulated voice she uses when she’s got everybody fooled.

Steve and I always say, “Yeah, right,” because she used a horrified tone of voice, as if Hollywood is the antichrist.

Hmmmm… Do you suppose that’s kind of what the summary writer meant? That George Zucco is way better than an ordinary movie actor — he’s THEATRICAL (with gesture)! Perhaps he was just looking for a more impressive way of saying, “George Zucco is really, really good.” I eventually came to the conclusion he meant that George Zucco chews the scenery in a good way.

He is a pretty good actor. His presence will certainly be a selling point in my ongoing quest for movies to write about. Maybe one day I will even write a marvelously theatrical blog post.