Going Flat Out
Hello World,
And so here we find ourselves on the other side of The Big Event, cast adrift and scouting about for something else to look forward to in these dark days. Yes, it's really true that Waitangi Day has come and gone, and more's the pity, I'm sure. No, no, no, that can't be right. There must have been some other Big Event that took place recently that I'm thinking of. Oh yes, of course, it was the SuperBowl, and how quickly they forget. Apparently, The Whammy in Miami did indeed take place, and during a torrential downpour, from which the horses galloped off to victory, while for their more ursine counterparts and long-winded fans, there is no joy in Mudville, and that's putting it mildly. So now even the SuperBowl has come and gone, and even the most wildly optimistic among us would admit that there's pretty slim pickings out there to put a smile on anyone's face at this time of year, and that's a plain fact.
In other sports news, they tell me that it's only a week now to Pitchers and Catchers, and I can't think of anything that would be better than that. Although Bill is quick to point out that we are moving into that transitional season when it's possible for him to watch two of his teams lose on the same day, which is a misfortune that no amount of mood-enhancing chemicals can overcome. Garcon, more Rocky Road if you please, and keep it coming!
After a solid week of temperatures in single digits around here, I said to Bill that if it ever warmed up to 30 degrees, people would break out their shorts and tank tops. I was really surprised that it stayed so frigid as long as it did, especially after I did the unthinkable. I broke out the smaller of our two new birdbath heaters and put it in the little plastic birdbath by the front door. I've never put a heater in that one before, since it's plastic as well as being so top-heavy, and I just gave it up as a lost cause. But I knew that I couldn't replace the broken heater in the big decorative fountain, because right now, it's underneath about 200 pounds of gravel and frozen solid. So I figured that I would take a chance on using the smaller heater in the other birdbath and hope for the best. I straightened up the birdbath as much as I could, then plugged in the heater and put a brick on top of it. I was surprised that it actually took the raccoons three days to knock it over, and after I picked it up and re-assembled it, so far they haven't knocked it over again. Of course, I realize it's on borrowed time, because for entertainment value, this birdbath is like a rerun of "Seinfeld" (perhaps the Soup Nazi episode) which they just can't ignore. But at least we could provide our local wildlife some fresh water during the recent deep freeze, and I'm sure a grateful furry nation thanks us.
Meanwhile, here's a news flash for all of you scoffers out there, and don't think I don't know who you are, oh yes I do. This week at work, I actually took down the Christmas tree and packed away all of the ornaments and put everything back in the closet, so there. Weren't expecting that, were you? Oh, ye of little faith! People may call me delusional (don't you dare!) but I honestly believed that this year, the time would come (unlike last year, when I knew it didn't have a snowball's chance in Miami) when I could actually squeeze some un-decorating moments into my schedule and get that thing put away at long last. So earlier in the week, that's exactly what I did, and all of the trimmings went back into their boxes and bags and cartons in a perfectly holly jolly way. Although what all the rest of the hospital employees are going to do for entertainment, now that the Christmas tree in Purchasing is gone, I have no idea. I guess that's what you call an occupational hazard. I work in health care, so I ought to know.
Speaking of hazards, for about a week I watched one of the rear tires on the Escort go slowly flat, or rather, even more flat than radials usually are, which is a look that I have never gotten used to. Why, I remember back in the day when the dinosaurs and I first started using these new-fangled wheels (I waited until the beta version, because I figure there's no sense in being an experimental victim of unproven technology) and way back then, wheels were round. Nowadays, you can pump up radials as much as you like, but they still have that signature bulge where they flatten out underneath. It's hard for me to tell by looking at a radial if it's really flat or just normal, so I was keeping my eye on this tire and hoping that it wasn't really going flat, because I thought it was just much too cold to deal with having to pump it back up again. Pumping up tires is something that I would do regularly with the Gremlin, which had a matched set of decorative purple rims, all of which had the same inclination to leak air on a routine basis year round and right from the very beginning. (I remember when I used to complain to my father that the tires were flat, he would shrug and say, "Only on the bottom.") For years, people kept telling me that I should get new rims, as if I would consider spoiling the splendiferous decorative effect by driving a purple car with non-purple rims, just for the negligible advantage of having tires that didn't leak. I think not! So pumping up tires is something that I have a lot of experience with, and it holds no dread for me. In fact, I found it somewhat unnerving in the beginning with the Tempo, because those tires never went flat, and I worried that having the same air in there all the time, rather than replacing it with new air every so often, would make it go rancid or unstable. When the tire on the Escort finally went as flat as a tire can possibly go and still be attached to the rim, I grabbed the pump from the Gremlin and pumped it back up, and it seemed fine after that, although Bill said it should go back to our mechanic for a check-up just to be on the safe side. While there, it had some other deficiencies corrected, and I'm now the proud owner of a car with courtesy lights that work when you open the driver's door. (What won't they think of next?!) This is a brand new day in automotive innovations for me, and I am forging ahead with wild abandon to a future bright with promise, and leaving the dinosaurs far behind with their dashed hopes and outmoded round wheels. Tempus fugit, you know.
I may as well say right up front that I have no patience with people who buy something at the store and take it home only to realize that it was not what they wanted, even though it says in plain English on the label what it is, and then they complain about how bad the labeling is, rather than their poor label-reading skills. This is why they put labels on things, and if people are not going to read them, then there's no point in complaining later. I'm sure we all remember the Label Nazi episode from "Seinfeld." So you know I wouldn't begin to complain when I bought what I thought was a small yellow box of Lorna Doones at CVS last week, and discovered later at work, and I don't mind saying to my horror, that it was instead a small yellow box of Fig Newtons. (The handy thing about Fig Newtons is that they make them pre-stale for you, so you don't have to wait around for them to get all dry and tasteless.) The boxes are exactly the same shape and the same color, and except for the fact that one says L-O-R-N-A-D-O-O-N-E-S and the other says F-I-G-N-E-W-T-O-N-S, they would be identical. (Where is the Label Nazi when you need him?) Of course, everyone knows that I have a Calvinist streak in me a mile wide, and there's nothing like suffering to build character, so I ate the Fig Newtons anyway, and right now I have so much character, I can't hardly bend. So the next time we were at CVS, I made sure to get a box of Lorna Doones, and very carefully checked the label to be extra sure of them, and was surprised to see a garish decal attached to the box that promised "Now Better Tasting!" To be honest, there's not much that you can do with shortbread cookies in the way of taste, before they stop being shortbread altogether, so I wondered at this supposed "improvement" that they were touting. I suppose I needn't have worried because, as much as I hate to hurt their feelings at the Little Lorna Bakery of Doones, there seemed to be absolutely no difference between these cookies and the previous unimproved variety. Whether their new decal constitutes false advertising, well, that's a job for the Label Nazi and not rank amateurs like the rest of us.
And so here we find ourselves on the other side of The Big Event, cast adrift and scouting about for something else to look forward to in these dark days. Yes, it's really true that Waitangi Day has come and gone, and more's the pity, I'm sure. No, no, no, that can't be right. There must have been some other Big Event that took place recently that I'm thinking of. Oh yes, of course, it was the SuperBowl, and how quickly they forget. Apparently, The Whammy in Miami did indeed take place, and during a torrential downpour, from which the horses galloped off to victory, while for their more ursine counterparts and long-winded fans, there is no joy in Mudville, and that's putting it mildly. So now even the SuperBowl has come and gone, and even the most wildly optimistic among us would admit that there's pretty slim pickings out there to put a smile on anyone's face at this time of year, and that's a plain fact.
In other sports news, they tell me that it's only a week now to Pitchers and Catchers, and I can't think of anything that would be better than that. Although Bill is quick to point out that we are moving into that transitional season when it's possible for him to watch two of his teams lose on the same day, which is a misfortune that no amount of mood-enhancing chemicals can overcome. Garcon, more Rocky Road if you please, and keep it coming!
After a solid week of temperatures in single digits around here, I said to Bill that if it ever warmed up to 30 degrees, people would break out their shorts and tank tops. I was really surprised that it stayed so frigid as long as it did, especially after I did the unthinkable. I broke out the smaller of our two new birdbath heaters and put it in the little plastic birdbath by the front door. I've never put a heater in that one before, since it's plastic as well as being so top-heavy, and I just gave it up as a lost cause. But I knew that I couldn't replace the broken heater in the big decorative fountain, because right now, it's underneath about 200 pounds of gravel and frozen solid. So I figured that I would take a chance on using the smaller heater in the other birdbath and hope for the best. I straightened up the birdbath as much as I could, then plugged in the heater and put a brick on top of it. I was surprised that it actually took the raccoons three days to knock it over, and after I picked it up and re-assembled it, so far they haven't knocked it over again. Of course, I realize it's on borrowed time, because for entertainment value, this birdbath is like a rerun of "Seinfeld" (perhaps the Soup Nazi episode) which they just can't ignore. But at least we could provide our local wildlife some fresh water during the recent deep freeze, and I'm sure a grateful furry nation thanks us.
Meanwhile, here's a news flash for all of you scoffers out there, and don't think I don't know who you are, oh yes I do. This week at work, I actually took down the Christmas tree and packed away all of the ornaments and put everything back in the closet, so there. Weren't expecting that, were you? Oh, ye of little faith! People may call me delusional (don't you dare!) but I honestly believed that this year, the time would come (unlike last year, when I knew it didn't have a snowball's chance in Miami) when I could actually squeeze some un-decorating moments into my schedule and get that thing put away at long last. So earlier in the week, that's exactly what I did, and all of the trimmings went back into their boxes and bags and cartons in a perfectly holly jolly way. Although what all the rest of the hospital employees are going to do for entertainment, now that the Christmas tree in Purchasing is gone, I have no idea. I guess that's what you call an occupational hazard. I work in health care, so I ought to know.
Speaking of hazards, for about a week I watched one of the rear tires on the Escort go slowly flat, or rather, even more flat than radials usually are, which is a look that I have never gotten used to. Why, I remember back in the day when the dinosaurs and I first started using these new-fangled wheels (I waited until the beta version, because I figure there's no sense in being an experimental victim of unproven technology) and way back then, wheels were round. Nowadays, you can pump up radials as much as you like, but they still have that signature bulge where they flatten out underneath. It's hard for me to tell by looking at a radial if it's really flat or just normal, so I was keeping my eye on this tire and hoping that it wasn't really going flat, because I thought it was just much too cold to deal with having to pump it back up again. Pumping up tires is something that I would do regularly with the Gremlin, which had a matched set of decorative purple rims, all of which had the same inclination to leak air on a routine basis year round and right from the very beginning. (I remember when I used to complain to my father that the tires were flat, he would shrug and say, "Only on the bottom.") For years, people kept telling me that I should get new rims, as if I would consider spoiling the splendiferous decorative effect by driving a purple car with non-purple rims, just for the negligible advantage of having tires that didn't leak. I think not! So pumping up tires is something that I have a lot of experience with, and it holds no dread for me. In fact, I found it somewhat unnerving in the beginning with the Tempo, because those tires never went flat, and I worried that having the same air in there all the time, rather than replacing it with new air every so often, would make it go rancid or unstable. When the tire on the Escort finally went as flat as a tire can possibly go and still be attached to the rim, I grabbed the pump from the Gremlin and pumped it back up, and it seemed fine after that, although Bill said it should go back to our mechanic for a check-up just to be on the safe side. While there, it had some other deficiencies corrected, and I'm now the proud owner of a car with courtesy lights that work when you open the driver's door. (What won't they think of next?!) This is a brand new day in automotive innovations for me, and I am forging ahead with wild abandon to a future bright with promise, and leaving the dinosaurs far behind with their dashed hopes and outmoded round wheels. Tempus fugit, you know.
I may as well say right up front that I have no patience with people who buy something at the store and take it home only to realize that it was not what they wanted, even though it says in plain English on the label what it is, and then they complain about how bad the labeling is, rather than their poor label-reading skills. This is why they put labels on things, and if people are not going to read them, then there's no point in complaining later. I'm sure we all remember the Label Nazi episode from "Seinfeld." So you know I wouldn't begin to complain when I bought what I thought was a small yellow box of Lorna Doones at CVS last week, and discovered later at work, and I don't mind saying to my horror, that it was instead a small yellow box of Fig Newtons. (The handy thing about Fig Newtons is that they make them pre-stale for you, so you don't have to wait around for them to get all dry and tasteless.) The boxes are exactly the same shape and the same color, and except for the fact that one says L-O-R-N-A-D-O-O-N-E-S and the other says F-I-G-N-E-W-T-O-N-S, they would be identical. (Where is the Label Nazi when you need him?) Of course, everyone knows that I have a Calvinist streak in me a mile wide, and there's nothing like suffering to build character, so I ate the Fig Newtons anyway, and right now I have so much character, I can't hardly bend. So the next time we were at CVS, I made sure to get a box of Lorna Doones, and very carefully checked the label to be extra sure of them, and was surprised to see a garish decal attached to the box that promised "Now Better Tasting!" To be honest, there's not much that you can do with shortbread cookies in the way of taste, before they stop being shortbread altogether, so I wondered at this supposed "improvement" that they were touting. I suppose I needn't have worried because, as much as I hate to hurt their feelings at the Little Lorna Bakery of Doones, there seemed to be absolutely no difference between these cookies and the previous unimproved variety. Whether their new decal constitutes false advertising, well, that's a job for the Label Nazi and not rank amateurs like the rest of us.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 7:31 PM
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