Out With The Old
Hello World,
Happy Father's Day! I know it seems ridiculously early, but this is what happens when the month starts on a Sunday, and suddenly, the holidays are upon us before we know it. Sunday is the time to recognize the contributions of all the fathers, or father figures, that have made a difference in our lives over the years. Let's take the opportunity to give them all a big cheer, and treat them to a red-letter, brass-plated, double-barrel celebration on their special day, and please don't spare the horses. (Now, there's a perfect example of another one of those timeworn colloquialisms that would be lost on young people nowadays, and more's the pity, I'm sure.) Meanwhile on Saturday, it's Flag Day, so I'm sure I don't have to tell you what that means, in terms of flying the colors of the free and the brave, which so proudly we hailed, o'er the ramparts still gallantly streaming, and long may they wave.
Speaking of notable dates, last Saturday was one for the books, and yet it seemed to slip by with no fanfare. For the numerologists among us, the first Saturday in June could be written as 06/07/08, and being the first time in a hundred years, I would have expected it to make more of a splash. But the pundits seemed to take no notice of it, as they did when it was 01/02/03 or even more so when the time was 01:02:03 on 04/05/06. I guess after a while, everything becomes old hat (another one of those outdated colloquialisms again!) and even the pundits lose interest in it. Another notable date that seemed to be generally overlooked was Friday the 13th, which usually causes more of a stir in the media, but I found it sneaking up on us unawares this month. You can only have a Friday the 13th when the month starts on a Sunday, and since this is the only one that there will be all year, you would think that people would have taken more notice of it. But I suppose that was just wishful thinking on my part, or I would say that I was just whistling through my hat, but I'm trying to avoid those old-fashioned colloquialisms that are lost on young people nowadays.
For all of you old-timers out there, Bill and I watched a TV special featuring the stand-up comic Rita Rudner in Las Vegas, and she was complaining about a friend of hers who suffers from "story-heimers." That is, she keeps telling the same stories over and over again, not seeming to realize that her friends have heard them numerous times already. At one point, when she launched into yet another retelling of one of these old yarns, Rita in exasperation simply stepped in and finished it for her, so she didn't have to listen to the whole thing all over again. Now she says, her friend thinks she's psychic.
Meanwhile at work, I got a call from the coordinator of the computer department at our sister institution in Mount Vernon, who wanted to ask me about a purchase order for print cartridges needed by her department. This is a darling lass from the Old Sod, who would put you in mind of Maureen O'Hara, and I have spoken to her many times and always try to be helpful, which everyone knows is my aim in life. It's possible that Tuesday was not a good day for me when she called, because when she asked me to look on my computer to check the status of her order, instead I found myself saying with ice cold logic, "But Maureen, don't you have your own computer that you can use to look up orders, the same as I can look them up on my computer?" (Here I'm thinking that her being in charge of the computer department, surely they would have given her a computer of her own to use.) I realized that didn't sound very helpful, although I tried to say it in a nice way, but I was totally unprepared for what happened next. In reply to my question about whether she had her own computer to use for looking up orders, she said, "Oh, I don't know." [Now this is me, holding the phone away from my head and staring at it as if there's a three-headed polka dot space alien on the other end.] You don't know??? I frankly can't understand how it could be possible that you wouldn't know, and even if it was true, I don't see why you would say that to anyone. Of course, everyone knows that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational people, so I forwent (I'm coining this new past tense of "forgo") the opportunity to pursue that further, on the theory that any attempts at clarification would likely lead instead to reduced comprehension, rather than an improvement of any kind. And believe me, I was not just whistling Dixie.
Last Sunday after church, I was busy doing yard work, which on our property means that you try to rein in the rampant vines that are running amok, and choking off everything in the flowerbeds that they can get their tendrils on. After getting a rash the week before, I was steering clear of the poison ivy, but there's plenty of other invasive pests that require attention, especially the porcelain berry, which seems to be everywhere at once. A bigger problem is closer to the house, and not for the faint-hearted. I will tell anyone who is looking for a hobby that they should plant wisteria, because just keeping after it so that it doesn't completely take over the yard (and the house) is a full-time job, and no place for half-measures, or letting the chips fall where they may. It's already climbed more than halfway up our sycamore tree, which is taller than our house, and I routinely have to chop it out of the driveway, which is 30 feet away. It's amazing to me that there aren't simply vast forests of wisteria out in the wilds, because nothing seems to stop it from spreading in every direction, both horizontal and vertical, and probably other directions that haven't even been invented yet. I would say that it's like a bull in a china shop, but everyone knows how I feel about those old colloquialisms.
In other gardening news, and this time in the back yard, it was after dinner last Saturday when Bill and I were watching television, and suddenly it got very dark and blustery all at once. It didn't rain hard, but the wind was gusting in short, intense bursts that buffeted the house like a prizefighter. This went on for a while, without even the blissful idiocy of the television to distract us, because the electricity kept going on and off, and our cable went out completely. Then we started to hear that unmistakable snapping and crackling sound so familiar to homeowners with old trees, when you hope that you're not going to be the one with the picture on the front of the newspaper, where the tree falls down and crushes the family car. Fortunately, it didn't last long, and when it let up, we still had our electricity, unlike more than 15,000 other county residents, who lost their power and suffered through 95 degree temperatures with no way to cool off. It wasn't until the next day that Bill noticed what should have been the top of the linden in our back yard, at about our attic level, was instead, very much on the ground, and making a huge mess of itself over a wide area. It demolished a metal arbor and flattened three rosebushes, while just barely missing the cellar doors, bay window and one very historic bird feeder built by my grandfather. Bill is nothing if not game, so he headed straight out and tackled it head-on, but there was so much of it everywhere, that he couldn't make much of a dent in it. He succeeded in dragging most of it out of the way, so at least we could get from the driveway to the back door, but even after cutting some of it apart, there were still massive sections whose sheer weight made them almost immovable. Of course, Bill has the strength of many because his heart is pure, and is not easily defeated by cantankerous botanicals, so he was able to accomplish more than was seemingly possible in one afternoon, and 95 degrees besides. Back in the old days, we would say that he was the bee's knees, but heavens to Betsy, people just don't talk like that anymore, do they?
The last word on how people talk is from Bill's daily online calendar, which serves as an endless fount of trivia, eccentricities, skewed humor and the arcane.
======================
WORDPLAYTWISTED ENGLISH SEEN IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES“Danger! This toy is being made for the extreme priority the good looks. The little part which suffocates when the sharp part gets hurt if swallowed is contained generously. Only the person who can take responsibility by itself is to play.”—warning label on a children’s toy“Soft Drinks: Cola, Ginger Ale, Milk, Flesh Juice”—on a restaurant menu“My Fannie”—toilet paper brand name
======================
Hmmm, seems like there are more people using those online translation services again, and not to good effect, as far as I can tell. Oh well, there's no sense beating a dead horse ..... what I mean is, it's no use crying over spilt milk ..... that is to say, every cloud has a silver lining, or rather, it's an ill wind that blows no good ..... why, if that don't just beat all, as well as take the cake, and knock the wind out of the sails, I've gone all the way around Robin Hood's barn here, and can't seem to wrap this up without dragging in some tired old chestnut from days gone by, and I've tried everything by hook and by crook, not to mention, every nook and cranny, to no avail. So you can just go ahead and stick a fork in me, because I'm done.
Happy Father's Day! I know it seems ridiculously early, but this is what happens when the month starts on a Sunday, and suddenly, the holidays are upon us before we know it. Sunday is the time to recognize the contributions of all the fathers, or father figures, that have made a difference in our lives over the years. Let's take the opportunity to give them all a big cheer, and treat them to a red-letter, brass-plated, double-barrel celebration on their special day, and please don't spare the horses. (Now, there's a perfect example of another one of those timeworn colloquialisms that would be lost on young people nowadays, and more's the pity, I'm sure.) Meanwhile on Saturday, it's Flag Day, so I'm sure I don't have to tell you what that means, in terms of flying the colors of the free and the brave, which so proudly we hailed, o'er the ramparts still gallantly streaming, and long may they wave.
Speaking of notable dates, last Saturday was one for the books, and yet it seemed to slip by with no fanfare. For the numerologists among us, the first Saturday in June could be written as 06/07/08, and being the first time in a hundred years, I would have expected it to make more of a splash. But the pundits seemed to take no notice of it, as they did when it was 01/02/03 or even more so when the time was 01:02:03 on 04/05/06. I guess after a while, everything becomes old hat (another one of those outdated colloquialisms again!) and even the pundits lose interest in it. Another notable date that seemed to be generally overlooked was Friday the 13th, which usually causes more of a stir in the media, but I found it sneaking up on us unawares this month. You can only have a Friday the 13th when the month starts on a Sunday, and since this is the only one that there will be all year, you would think that people would have taken more notice of it. But I suppose that was just wishful thinking on my part, or I would say that I was just whistling through my hat, but I'm trying to avoid those old-fashioned colloquialisms that are lost on young people nowadays.
For all of you old-timers out there, Bill and I watched a TV special featuring the stand-up comic Rita Rudner in Las Vegas, and she was complaining about a friend of hers who suffers from "story-heimers." That is, she keeps telling the same stories over and over again, not seeming to realize that her friends have heard them numerous times already. At one point, when she launched into yet another retelling of one of these old yarns, Rita in exasperation simply stepped in and finished it for her, so she didn't have to listen to the whole thing all over again. Now she says, her friend thinks she's psychic.
Meanwhile at work, I got a call from the coordinator of the computer department at our sister institution in Mount Vernon, who wanted to ask me about a purchase order for print cartridges needed by her department. This is a darling lass from the Old Sod, who would put you in mind of Maureen O'Hara, and I have spoken to her many times and always try to be helpful, which everyone knows is my aim in life. It's possible that Tuesday was not a good day for me when she called, because when she asked me to look on my computer to check the status of her order, instead I found myself saying with ice cold logic, "But Maureen, don't you have your own computer that you can use to look up orders, the same as I can look them up on my computer?" (Here I'm thinking that her being in charge of the computer department, surely they would have given her a computer of her own to use.) I realized that didn't sound very helpful, although I tried to say it in a nice way, but I was totally unprepared for what happened next. In reply to my question about whether she had her own computer to use for looking up orders, she said, "Oh, I don't know." [Now this is me, holding the phone away from my head and staring at it as if there's a three-headed polka dot space alien on the other end.] You don't know??? I frankly can't understand how it could be possible that you wouldn't know, and even if it was true, I don't see why you would say that to anyone. Of course, everyone knows that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational people, so I forwent (I'm coining this new past tense of "forgo") the opportunity to pursue that further, on the theory that any attempts at clarification would likely lead instead to reduced comprehension, rather than an improvement of any kind. And believe me, I was not just whistling Dixie.
Last Sunday after church, I was busy doing yard work, which on our property means that you try to rein in the rampant vines that are running amok, and choking off everything in the flowerbeds that they can get their tendrils on. After getting a rash the week before, I was steering clear of the poison ivy, but there's plenty of other invasive pests that require attention, especially the porcelain berry, which seems to be everywhere at once. A bigger problem is closer to the house, and not for the faint-hearted. I will tell anyone who is looking for a hobby that they should plant wisteria, because just keeping after it so that it doesn't completely take over the yard (and the house) is a full-time job, and no place for half-measures, or letting the chips fall where they may. It's already climbed more than halfway up our sycamore tree, which is taller than our house, and I routinely have to chop it out of the driveway, which is 30 feet away. It's amazing to me that there aren't simply vast forests of wisteria out in the wilds, because nothing seems to stop it from spreading in every direction, both horizontal and vertical, and probably other directions that haven't even been invented yet. I would say that it's like a bull in a china shop, but everyone knows how I feel about those old colloquialisms.
In other gardening news, and this time in the back yard, it was after dinner last Saturday when Bill and I were watching television, and suddenly it got very dark and blustery all at once. It didn't rain hard, but the wind was gusting in short, intense bursts that buffeted the house like a prizefighter. This went on for a while, without even the blissful idiocy of the television to distract us, because the electricity kept going on and off, and our cable went out completely. Then we started to hear that unmistakable snapping and crackling sound so familiar to homeowners with old trees, when you hope that you're not going to be the one with the picture on the front of the newspaper, where the tree falls down and crushes the family car. Fortunately, it didn't last long, and when it let up, we still had our electricity, unlike more than 15,000 other county residents, who lost their power and suffered through 95 degree temperatures with no way to cool off. It wasn't until the next day that Bill noticed what should have been the top of the linden in our back yard, at about our attic level, was instead, very much on the ground, and making a huge mess of itself over a wide area. It demolished a metal arbor and flattened three rosebushes, while just barely missing the cellar doors, bay window and one very historic bird feeder built by my grandfather. Bill is nothing if not game, so he headed straight out and tackled it head-on, but there was so much of it everywhere, that he couldn't make much of a dent in it. He succeeded in dragging most of it out of the way, so at least we could get from the driveway to the back door, but even after cutting some of it apart, there were still massive sections whose sheer weight made them almost immovable. Of course, Bill has the strength of many because his heart is pure, and is not easily defeated by cantankerous botanicals, so he was able to accomplish more than was seemingly possible in one afternoon, and 95 degrees besides. Back in the old days, we would say that he was the bee's knees, but heavens to Betsy, people just don't talk like that anymore, do they?
The last word on how people talk is from Bill's daily online calendar, which serves as an endless fount of trivia, eccentricities, skewed humor and the arcane.
======================
WORDPLAYTWISTED ENGLISH SEEN IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES“Danger! This toy is being made for the extreme priority the good looks. The little part which suffocates when the sharp part gets hurt if swallowed is contained generously. Only the person who can take responsibility by itself is to play.”—warning label on a children’s toy“Soft Drinks: Cola, Ginger Ale, Milk, Flesh Juice”—on a restaurant menu“My Fannie”—toilet paper brand name
======================
Hmmm, seems like there are more people using those online translation services again, and not to good effect, as far as I can tell. Oh well, there's no sense beating a dead horse ..... what I mean is, it's no use crying over spilt milk ..... that is to say, every cloud has a silver lining, or rather, it's an ill wind that blows no good ..... why, if that don't just beat all, as well as take the cake, and knock the wind out of the sails, I've gone all the way around Robin Hood's barn here, and can't seem to wrap this up without dragging in some tired old chestnut from days gone by, and I've tried everything by hook and by crook, not to mention, every nook and cranny, to no avail. So you can just go ahead and stick a fork in me, because I'm done.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 8:37 PM
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