...obviously, because here I am, blogging when I said I would be gone for a few days. Well, I am gone, so I guess that wasn't a lie, but I am blogging, so maybe that was. I don't know because I have been up since 3am, and it is now 8pm Pacific Time, and I am operating on about 2 hours of sleep. Why am I posting, you ask? Or maybe you didn't. I don't know, because I am not right there with you. But I will tell you anyway--I was conscience-stricken about one of the links I had in my previous post. The post is edited, the link is gone, and I can go to sleep now.
I'll be back soon.
PS Texas is alright, but very flat and brown. It's strange not to see mountains in any direction, for miles. Sigh...
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Speaking of Strange, But Amusing, News
In bizarre news today, a man in New Zealand apparently "fled" a hospital in Christchurch sporting casts on both arms and a traction apparatus to correct a serious neck injury.
I have to ask: is the word "fled" (which to me means runnning desperately away from someone/something) really appropriate here? How fast could this man possibly go in the condition that he's in? Was someone actually chasing him, that he would be fleeing from them?? And that person couldn't catch a man wearing elbow-to-wrist casts on BOTH arms, AND the neck-traction halo? Wow.
On the other hand, I find it hard to believe that he just slipped out of the hospital with no one noticing, and somehow lost himself in the city. I mean, look at what he's wearing!! Not exactly inconspicuous, is it? Unless the fashion trends have taken a very startling turn in kiwiland.
And yet, the fact remains that the man has "disappeared" and the police are actually hunting for him. How odd.
Ah, I miss New Zealand!
Note: This is my last post for the week. I'm off to the Lone Star state (appropriate, no?) for the next few days, to see my brother get his wings. Yes, that is what I said. Til I return, miss me, my darlings!
I have to ask: is the word "fled" (which to me means runnning desperately away from someone/something) really appropriate here? How fast could this man possibly go in the condition that he's in? Was someone actually chasing him, that he would be fleeing from them?? And that person couldn't catch a man wearing elbow-to-wrist casts on BOTH arms, AND the neck-traction halo? Wow.
On the other hand, I find it hard to believe that he just slipped out of the hospital with no one noticing, and somehow lost himself in the city. I mean, look at what he's wearing!! Not exactly inconspicuous, is it? Unless the fashion trends have taken a very startling turn in kiwiland.
And yet, the fact remains that the man has "disappeared" and the police are actually hunting for him. How odd.
Ah, I miss New Zealand!
Note: This is my last post for the week. I'm off to the Lone Star state (appropriate, no?) for the next few days, to see my brother get his wings. Yes, that is what I said. Til I return, miss me, my darlings!
Monday, December 12, 2005
Stop the Presses!
After hearing nothing from my editor in over a week, I got an email from her today asking if I want to undertake a story about some family who might be buying cows and keeping them locally, in someone's field. Um, no, not really. My editor called it, "strange, but amusing." But I am not so sure. I feel like the only thing this story will do is get some cow-buying folks mad at me, because I am pretty sure it will turn out that they are in violation of some city ordinance or other, and since I would have to call the city manager for a quote on the legality of what these people are doing, authorities will find out about it and go after them if they are in fact doing something wrong.
Oh, the hot drama of small-town news!
Of course, if it turns out they are within their rights, and have a permit or whatever it is you would need to have cows in your backyard, then the whole story is pointless. "Extra, extra, read all about it--people keeping cows in a field! Turns out they're allowed to! Extra, extra!"
You know, I am really not cut out for journalism.
Oh, the hot drama of small-town news!
Of course, if it turns out they are within their rights, and have a permit or whatever it is you would need to have cows in your backyard, then the whole story is pointless. "Extra, extra, read all about it--people keeping cows in a field! Turns out they're allowed to! Extra, extra!"
You know, I am really not cut out for journalism.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Why The Frogg Is Still Single, Reason #1,385
I figured out another reason for my incurable singleness tonight as I walked to the movie theatre to take in a 7pm showing of Narnia. Here it is:
I am a bad dresser.
Since early years, dressing with anything remotely approaching a "style" has been a challenge for me. I found a photo of me once, at Disneyland a hundred years ago when I was a child, and I am wearing a brown and orange horizontally striped shirt with an applique owl where my left breast would have been (if I had had breasts, which I didn't because of being about five), and these yellow corduroy pants with baskets of strawberries in a repeating pattern all over them.
To say that my attire was aesthetically insulting is an understatement.
I recall being utterly aghast when I saw that photo, and asking my mother, "How could you let me go out of the house wearing such a terrible outfit, where I could be seen by actual people? In public?!" To which she shrugged and replied (I kid you not), "That's what you wanted to wear."
Oh did I. Hmmm, since when do parents actually let you do what you want to do? I mean, what if I had wanted to wear coconuts and a grass skirt, would she have let me out of the house in that?!
I think not.
The point being, when I was younger I was not what you would call "fashion savvy." And I am apparently still not. Here is what I wore tonight to the movies (remember, this is SATURDAY NIGHT, out on the town!):
1) Old gray high school sweatshirt that I found in my brother's old dresser.
2) Yellow sweatpants (pretty bright yellow, actually)
3) A tan knit beanie with an orangish and a blueish stripe (and yes, I realize that nothing is really "matching" so far).
4) Dark gray trail running shoes.
I know what you must be thinking, because I am thinking the same thing, namely, what is the deal with me and yellow pants?! Well, I don't know the answer, any more than I know the airspeed velocity of an African swallow, but I do know that something good came of my fashion handicap tonight. No, I did not find a husband (helloooo, bad dresser, remember?), but I did get a student discount at the movie theatre. I didn't even have to lie, because the girl charging me didn't ask. I guess the high school sweatshirt was all she needed to see.
I don't know whether to be flattered that at the age of 30, I can apparently pass for a teenager, or discouraged that at the age of 30, I do not give the impression of being a grown woman. Even though I now have breasts.
Well, I could go on (and on and on) with countless examples of my sartorial misadventures, but I will spare you. The simple fact that there are so many examples I could draw on is evidence enough to support my final conclusion: If anyone is ever going to fall in love with me, it will have to be because of my amazing br...I mean, personality.
At any rate, I'm pretty confident that it won't be because of the yellow pants.
I am a bad dresser.
Since early years, dressing with anything remotely approaching a "style" has been a challenge for me. I found a photo of me once, at Disneyland a hundred years ago when I was a child, and I am wearing a brown and orange horizontally striped shirt with an applique owl where my left breast would have been (if I had had breasts, which I didn't because of being about five), and these yellow corduroy pants with baskets of strawberries in a repeating pattern all over them.
To say that my attire was aesthetically insulting is an understatement.
I recall being utterly aghast when I saw that photo, and asking my mother, "How could you let me go out of the house wearing such a terrible outfit, where I could be seen by actual people? In public?!" To which she shrugged and replied (I kid you not), "That's what you wanted to wear."
Oh did I. Hmmm, since when do parents actually let you do what you want to do? I mean, what if I had wanted to wear coconuts and a grass skirt, would she have let me out of the house in that?!
I think not.
The point being, when I was younger I was not what you would call "fashion savvy." And I am apparently still not. Here is what I wore tonight to the movies (remember, this is SATURDAY NIGHT, out on the town!):
1) Old gray high school sweatshirt that I found in my brother's old dresser.
2) Yellow sweatpants (pretty bright yellow, actually)
3) A tan knit beanie with an orangish and a blueish stripe (and yes, I realize that nothing is really "matching" so far).
4) Dark gray trail running shoes.
I know what you must be thinking, because I am thinking the same thing, namely, what is the deal with me and yellow pants?! Well, I don't know the answer, any more than I know the airspeed velocity of an African swallow, but I do know that something good came of my fashion handicap tonight. No, I did not find a husband (helloooo, bad dresser, remember?), but I did get a student discount at the movie theatre. I didn't even have to lie, because the girl charging me didn't ask. I guess the high school sweatshirt was all she needed to see.
I don't know whether to be flattered that at the age of 30, I can apparently pass for a teenager, or discouraged that at the age of 30, I do not give the impression of being a grown woman. Even though I now have breasts.
Well, I could go on (and on and on) with countless examples of my sartorial misadventures, but I will spare you. The simple fact that there are so many examples I could draw on is evidence enough to support my final conclusion: If anyone is ever going to fall in love with me, it will have to be because of my amazing br...I mean, personality.
At any rate, I'm pretty confident that it won't be because of the yellow pants.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Eew
Speaking of things that are gross to eat...
Oh wait, we weren't? Huh. Well, let's. Because I just got this chocolate bar out of the vending machine, and you know how there are some things that sound perfectly tenable in theory (such as a roller coaster that stays stationary in the interests of supreme customer safety), they are in fact really dumb ideas (such as the aforementioned, which would hit the bottom of the charts in customer satisfaction)?
Well, let me tell you, the M-Azing milk chocolate bar with peanut butter M&M's in it is surely one of those things.
It doesn't sound like it would be, and that's the problem. It lures you into a false sense of pleased expectation, because hey, we all know that chocolate and peanut butter are a great combination, thanks to Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. I personally, being old and all, remember with great fondness their advertisements of thousands of years ago wherein, for example (and this is true), a caveman with a jar of peanut butter gets into a grunting argument with a caveman who is eating a chocolate bar, presumably debating which one tastes better...and then suddenly the chocolate bar falls into the peanut butter jar (was glass invented in the Stone Age? oh never mind...) and voila! The addictive Reese's Peanut Butter Cup is born--well, not really because it is still caveman times in the commercial but you get the idea that it will be, and then oh what delight awaits the masses! (Such as myself.)
So Reese's PB cups are a good idea. But the M-Azing bar...not so much. It tastes like too many different things at the exact same time, i.e., a milk chocolate bar (of questionable chocolate quality), and peanut butter M&Ms (which already have three different tastes going on: peanut butter, the thin candy shell, and more sub-par chocolate). I admit am still eating it, because I keep thinking maybe I am wrong about how bad it is, and on the next try I will see the light (or taste it, so to speak), but it never does happen. (Kind of the same experience I have with diet soda, come to think of it.)
Sigh. What a waste of .25.
On a lighter note, it's Friday! And I am going to a party tonight! With a bunch of people I don't even know! So who was the dork who said I lead a boring life?
Oh wait.
Oh wait, we weren't? Huh. Well, let's. Because I just got this chocolate bar out of the vending machine, and you know how there are some things that sound perfectly tenable in theory (such as a roller coaster that stays stationary in the interests of supreme customer safety), they are in fact really dumb ideas (such as the aforementioned, which would hit the bottom of the charts in customer satisfaction)?
Well, let me tell you, the M-Azing milk chocolate bar with peanut butter M&M's in it is surely one of those things.
It doesn't sound like it would be, and that's the problem. It lures you into a false sense of pleased expectation, because hey, we all know that chocolate and peanut butter are a great combination, thanks to Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. I personally, being old and all, remember with great fondness their advertisements of thousands of years ago wherein, for example (and this is true), a caveman with a jar of peanut butter gets into a grunting argument with a caveman who is eating a chocolate bar, presumably debating which one tastes better...and then suddenly the chocolate bar falls into the peanut butter jar (was glass invented in the Stone Age? oh never mind...) and voila! The addictive Reese's Peanut Butter Cup is born--well, not really because it is still caveman times in the commercial but you get the idea that it will be, and then oh what delight awaits the masses! (Such as myself.)
So Reese's PB cups are a good idea. But the M-Azing bar...not so much. It tastes like too many different things at the exact same time, i.e., a milk chocolate bar (of questionable chocolate quality), and peanut butter M&Ms (which already have three different tastes going on: peanut butter, the thin candy shell, and more sub-par chocolate). I admit am still eating it, because I keep thinking maybe I am wrong about how bad it is, and on the next try I will see the light (or taste it, so to speak), but it never does happen. (Kind of the same experience I have with diet soda, come to think of it.)
Sigh. What a waste of .25.
On a lighter note, it's Friday! And I am going to a party tonight! With a bunch of people I don't even know! So who was the dork who said I lead a boring life?
Oh wait.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Um
So I was thinking that it would make for a good, entertaining post, if I shared with you a most scandalous secret about myself. Then I wracked my brains for a few minutes, trying (unsuccessfully) to make one up, because I couldn't think of any.
I am either really uncreative or I lead a very boring life. Or both.
I am either really uncreative or I lead a very boring life. Or both.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Thought of the Day
You know how some days, you get these nagging thoughts that won't leave you alone? Like wondering if maybe you left the coffeepot on when you left the house, or the iron. Or maybe the rent is due, and you need to remember to pay it. Or maybe it's an annoying song, like "Ob La Di Ob La Da." (Gah!)
Well, my nagging thought for the day is that if there were such a thing as a Dork-O-Meter, it's all too likely that I would register pretty high on it, and I can't make up my mind if this amuses or worries me.
Hmm, probably a bit of both.
(PS "Horse With No Name" is also a very annoying song.)
Well, my nagging thought for the day is that if there were such a thing as a Dork-O-Meter, it's all too likely that I would register pretty high on it, and I can't make up my mind if this amuses or worries me.
Hmm, probably a bit of both.
(PS "Horse With No Name" is also a very annoying song.)
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