Duck Soup
Hello World,
Well, I have nobody but myself to blame for this weather, and I've got the shaggy dog story to prove it. Years ago, I had bought myself some loungewear from a catalogue, and you could wear it as pajamas, but it was also decorative enough that it could actually be seen in public with no problem. When it arrived, I thought it was much too pretty to just wear for no reason, so I put it away in the spare closet and figured I would take it with me if we ever went to a nice hotel and stayed overnight with friends, where I could wear it in the room and look nice while still being casual. That hypothetical trip never materialized, so it just stayed in the closet all this time, still wrapped in plastic and never opened. I hadn't forgotten about it, and knew it was still in the closet, along with many other things with nowhere else to go that I wanted to keep handy. In fact, it was just the week before that I put a couple of other items in there from upstairs, figuring that anything might happen to them in the attic, heaven knows, so I should bring them downstairs where they would be safe. At this point in the scenario, I personally blame Daffy Duck for not showing up to say, "Shoot me now! Shoot me now!" That would have saved all of us a lot of bother.
It was recently at the tail-end of one of the hurricanes that passed through this area, I think it was Hanna, that the closet unexpectedly sprang a leak, which had never been known to happen before, but there it was. It stained my blouses and skirts that were hanging up, and dripped onto the piles of assorted whatnot on the floor, including the items I had just brought down from the attic for "safe-keeping," and I don't mind saying, no thank you so very much not. When I realized what was happening and put a bucket under it later, it turned out to be the color of black coffee, which is something that I don't even want to think about. I threw all the clothes in the wash, and wiped down everything on the floor that was waterproof and not affected by the leak. Some things seemed to have been out of harm's way, and showed no ill effects, while other things, like books, were unsalvageable. At first I wasn't worried about my loungewear, because it was still wrapped in it original packaging, but I noticed later that the leak had managed to get inside the plastic and stain the fabric anyway, and once again, no thank you so very much not. And as for Daffy Duck, that goes double for you. This was not only ironic because I had never worn it and put it in the closet to be safe, but we had just booked an overnight stay at a hotel with friends, and I was finally planning to take it with me at long last. Not to be daunted, I decided to just wash it and take it with me anyway, even though it wouldn't be just like brand new, after having been washed already. The way things were going, I should not have been surprised to find that the stains would not come out, and I reluctantly gave up on the idea of wearing it with the stains anyway, which I thought would not make a very good impression, even among our friends who are indulgent to a fault.
And so, still not being able to count on Daffy Duck showing up when you need him, here comes the shaggy dog part of the story. Since I had already washed the outfit, I figured I may as well just go ahead and wear it around the house, which I probably should have done years ago when I first got it and be done with it. I expected it would be better than the other outfit I had planned to wear, which included flannel pants, and I was concerned that the weather would be too hot for that to be comfortable, for instance on Sunday when it was almost 90 degrees. So I wore my new outfit instead, which is lavender with fluffy pink sheep, and seems to be of a thin and flimsy material, which I would have described as "threadbare" if I didn't know that it was brand new. As a result, the temperatures plummeted instantly to the 50s at night, and didn't get above 70 during the day, and I've been shivering in my fluffy pink sheep all week, and it goes without saying, no thank you so very much not. Earlier, I had a flea jump on me in the living room, and his little teeth were chattering so much that the poor thing couldn't even bite me. And this was in spite of him wearing long-johns and earmuffs, so he could be in for a tough winter ahead around here, and we already know we can't count on Daffy Duck for anything, that's for sure.
Speaking of hurricanes, our local weather had some residual effects from Gustav and Hanna passing through this area, but Ike never came this way, dragging along torrential rains and high winds in his wake, as they usually do. Unfortunately, because Ike hit the Gulf Coast instead, where the oil refineries are, his effects were of a vastly different and unexpected sort. After weeks of watching the price of gas creep down at the Sunoco station on the way home from work, I was encouraged to see it at $3.79/gal, compared to $3.93 when I got it three weeks ago. Suddenly here's Hurricane Ike, and the price of regular at the Sunoco shot up to $3.95 in one day. Frankly, I'd rather have the rain and wind instead, because Ike was certainly doing us no favors in passing us by. After taking that hit at the pumps, you can believe me when I say that the idea of trying to sell "I like Ike" buttons around here has gone the way of 25 cent gas, and I ought to know.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have always maintained that I am a victim of a vast conspiracy by eye care professionals everywhere to prevent me from seeing better. Now, I know what you're thinking -- what possible advantage could there be for the ophthalmology industry that they would all band together and work in concert against my best interests? I admit that I don't have the answer to that question. However, I remind you that it is the complete lack of proof that just goes to show how well the conspiracy is working. At any rate, I did finally make an appointment to go to the eye doctor after way too long, and even I was embarrassed to be seen with my old ratty glasses that were not only scratched, but bent all out of shape besides, and I'm not easily embarrassed. (I'd be happy to send you a picture of me wearing fluffy pink sheep loungewear with stains, if you'd like.) The last time I was at the eye doctor, which was in 2004, my prescription hadn't really changed from previously, and I decided against getting new glasses at that time, even though the glasses were fairly old and beat up, even then. Now four years later, I knew I had to get new glasses, regardless of whether my prescription changed or not, there was just no way around it. As a convenience to his patients, the eye doctor has an optician's branch office in the same building, so I walked in there and picked out some new frames, gave them my prescription, and went on my way with an almost giddy sense of expectation. It's true that I've been wearing glasses now since about 1962, and you would think that getting new glasses would be the sort of mundane and routine experience that the excitement would have long since worn off and become old hat by now. But when they called me last week to come and pick them up, I flew over there at lunch time and couldn't get there fast enough. Over the years, I've had just about every kind of glasses that one person could have, but I have never in my life had a pair of glasses as light as these are, they're like not wearing anything at all. I've had plastic frames before, as well as plastic lenses, but I've never felt anything like these new ones, and I have no idea how they make them so that they seem like there's nothing there at all. Plus, without the scratches, and being all bent out of shape, it's amazing how everything looks so much better, not only crystal clear, but straight and level, which is a nice change of pace for me. And while I don't know what the conspiracy has up its sleeve next, I can't help but feel that somebody must have been asleep at the switch for me to get these great new glasses, or perhaps they also were counting on Daffy Duck, which as we all know, is nothing but a lost cause nowadays.
One thing I almost forgot to mention, and the most important of all, which we get courtesy of Bill's calendar for September 19:
====================================
TODAY IS TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY.
HERE ARE THE MEANINGS OF SOME PIRATE PHRASES TO GET YOU ST-ARRRR-TED.Avast: “Hey!” or “Who goes there?”Briny deep: The oceanJolly Roger: The skull-and-crossbones flagLandlubber: A non-sailorSea dog: An experienced sailorShanty: A sea songShiver me timbers: “I am surprised!”
====================================
Well, blow me down and dance on a dead man's chest, Popeye me bucko, let's all have some grog and spin yarns about sea serpents, pieces of eight and Davy Jones' locker. I'll just go get my parrot and my eye patch, and I'll be all set, although I suppose if we're going to go hunt for hidden treasure, I'd better bring along my sword, just to be on the safe side. And while a dagger might be considered a traditional pirate accessory, I think we'd all agree that a Swiss Army knife is a lot more practical, and I never leave home without mine. So grab your belaying pins and peg legs, and let's get ready to weigh anchor and set sail for adventure on the high seas. This is my kind of a holiday (as opposed to a "wailaday" which just makes people depressed) and the party poopers can just go ahead and walk the gangplank as far as I'm concerned, while the rest of us party like it's 1799. In the immortal words of Long John Silver, or perhaps it was Daffy Duck, I get them mixed up, "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, makes me happy in my tummy-tum-tum!"
Well, I have nobody but myself to blame for this weather, and I've got the shaggy dog story to prove it. Years ago, I had bought myself some loungewear from a catalogue, and you could wear it as pajamas, but it was also decorative enough that it could actually be seen in public with no problem. When it arrived, I thought it was much too pretty to just wear for no reason, so I put it away in the spare closet and figured I would take it with me if we ever went to a nice hotel and stayed overnight with friends, where I could wear it in the room and look nice while still being casual. That hypothetical trip never materialized, so it just stayed in the closet all this time, still wrapped in plastic and never opened. I hadn't forgotten about it, and knew it was still in the closet, along with many other things with nowhere else to go that I wanted to keep handy. In fact, it was just the week before that I put a couple of other items in there from upstairs, figuring that anything might happen to them in the attic, heaven knows, so I should bring them downstairs where they would be safe. At this point in the scenario, I personally blame Daffy Duck for not showing up to say, "Shoot me now! Shoot me now!" That would have saved all of us a lot of bother.
It was recently at the tail-end of one of the hurricanes that passed through this area, I think it was Hanna, that the closet unexpectedly sprang a leak, which had never been known to happen before, but there it was. It stained my blouses and skirts that were hanging up, and dripped onto the piles of assorted whatnot on the floor, including the items I had just brought down from the attic for "safe-keeping," and I don't mind saying, no thank you so very much not. When I realized what was happening and put a bucket under it later, it turned out to be the color of black coffee, which is something that I don't even want to think about. I threw all the clothes in the wash, and wiped down everything on the floor that was waterproof and not affected by the leak. Some things seemed to have been out of harm's way, and showed no ill effects, while other things, like books, were unsalvageable. At first I wasn't worried about my loungewear, because it was still wrapped in it original packaging, but I noticed later that the leak had managed to get inside the plastic and stain the fabric anyway, and once again, no thank you so very much not. And as for Daffy Duck, that goes double for you. This was not only ironic because I had never worn it and put it in the closet to be safe, but we had just booked an overnight stay at a hotel with friends, and I was finally planning to take it with me at long last. Not to be daunted, I decided to just wash it and take it with me anyway, even though it wouldn't be just like brand new, after having been washed already. The way things were going, I should not have been surprised to find that the stains would not come out, and I reluctantly gave up on the idea of wearing it with the stains anyway, which I thought would not make a very good impression, even among our friends who are indulgent to a fault.
And so, still not being able to count on Daffy Duck showing up when you need him, here comes the shaggy dog part of the story. Since I had already washed the outfit, I figured I may as well just go ahead and wear it around the house, which I probably should have done years ago when I first got it and be done with it. I expected it would be better than the other outfit I had planned to wear, which included flannel pants, and I was concerned that the weather would be too hot for that to be comfortable, for instance on Sunday when it was almost 90 degrees. So I wore my new outfit instead, which is lavender with fluffy pink sheep, and seems to be of a thin and flimsy material, which I would have described as "threadbare" if I didn't know that it was brand new. As a result, the temperatures plummeted instantly to the 50s at night, and didn't get above 70 during the day, and I've been shivering in my fluffy pink sheep all week, and it goes without saying, no thank you so very much not. Earlier, I had a flea jump on me in the living room, and his little teeth were chattering so much that the poor thing couldn't even bite me. And this was in spite of him wearing long-johns and earmuffs, so he could be in for a tough winter ahead around here, and we already know we can't count on Daffy Duck for anything, that's for sure.
Speaking of hurricanes, our local weather had some residual effects from Gustav and Hanna passing through this area, but Ike never came this way, dragging along torrential rains and high winds in his wake, as they usually do. Unfortunately, because Ike hit the Gulf Coast instead, where the oil refineries are, his effects were of a vastly different and unexpected sort. After weeks of watching the price of gas creep down at the Sunoco station on the way home from work, I was encouraged to see it at $3.79/gal, compared to $3.93 when I got it three weeks ago. Suddenly here's Hurricane Ike, and the price of regular at the Sunoco shot up to $3.95 in one day. Frankly, I'd rather have the rain and wind instead, because Ike was certainly doing us no favors in passing us by. After taking that hit at the pumps, you can believe me when I say that the idea of trying to sell "I like Ike" buttons around here has gone the way of 25 cent gas, and I ought to know.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have always maintained that I am a victim of a vast conspiracy by eye care professionals everywhere to prevent me from seeing better. Now, I know what you're thinking -- what possible advantage could there be for the ophthalmology industry that they would all band together and work in concert against my best interests? I admit that I don't have the answer to that question. However, I remind you that it is the complete lack of proof that just goes to show how well the conspiracy is working. At any rate, I did finally make an appointment to go to the eye doctor after way too long, and even I was embarrassed to be seen with my old ratty glasses that were not only scratched, but bent all out of shape besides, and I'm not easily embarrassed. (I'd be happy to send you a picture of me wearing fluffy pink sheep loungewear with stains, if you'd like.) The last time I was at the eye doctor, which was in 2004, my prescription hadn't really changed from previously, and I decided against getting new glasses at that time, even though the glasses were fairly old and beat up, even then. Now four years later, I knew I had to get new glasses, regardless of whether my prescription changed or not, there was just no way around it. As a convenience to his patients, the eye doctor has an optician's branch office in the same building, so I walked in there and picked out some new frames, gave them my prescription, and went on my way with an almost giddy sense of expectation. It's true that I've been wearing glasses now since about 1962, and you would think that getting new glasses would be the sort of mundane and routine experience that the excitement would have long since worn off and become old hat by now. But when they called me last week to come and pick them up, I flew over there at lunch time and couldn't get there fast enough. Over the years, I've had just about every kind of glasses that one person could have, but I have never in my life had a pair of glasses as light as these are, they're like not wearing anything at all. I've had plastic frames before, as well as plastic lenses, but I've never felt anything like these new ones, and I have no idea how they make them so that they seem like there's nothing there at all. Plus, without the scratches, and being all bent out of shape, it's amazing how everything looks so much better, not only crystal clear, but straight and level, which is a nice change of pace for me. And while I don't know what the conspiracy has up its sleeve next, I can't help but feel that somebody must have been asleep at the switch for me to get these great new glasses, or perhaps they also were counting on Daffy Duck, which as we all know, is nothing but a lost cause nowadays.
One thing I almost forgot to mention, and the most important of all, which we get courtesy of Bill's calendar for September 19:
====================================
TODAY IS TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY.
HERE ARE THE MEANINGS OF SOME PIRATE PHRASES TO GET YOU ST-ARRRR-TED.Avast: “Hey!” or “Who goes there?”Briny deep: The oceanJolly Roger: The skull-and-crossbones flagLandlubber: A non-sailorSea dog: An experienced sailorShanty: A sea songShiver me timbers: “I am surprised!”
====================================
Well, blow me down and dance on a dead man's chest, Popeye me bucko, let's all have some grog and spin yarns about sea serpents, pieces of eight and Davy Jones' locker. I'll just go get my parrot and my eye patch, and I'll be all set, although I suppose if we're going to go hunt for hidden treasure, I'd better bring along my sword, just to be on the safe side. And while a dagger might be considered a traditional pirate accessory, I think we'd all agree that a Swiss Army knife is a lot more practical, and I never leave home without mine. So grab your belaying pins and peg legs, and let's get ready to weigh anchor and set sail for adventure on the high seas. This is my kind of a holiday (as opposed to a "wailaday" which just makes people depressed) and the party poopers can just go ahead and walk the gangplank as far as I'm concerned, while the rest of us party like it's 1799. In the immortal words of Long John Silver, or perhaps it was Daffy Duck, I get them mixed up, "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, makes me happy in my tummy-tum-tum!"
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 8:24 PM
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