Self Portrait
Hello World,
Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that it's already more than halfway past November (and I don't mind saying, with nothing to show for it) and not to be an alarmist or anything, but Thanksgiving is next week. You don't dare try to buy any Thanksgiving decorations or anything, because right this minute, the stores are so full of candy canes and holly garland, that it would make your head spin. They've been giving those poor Pilgrims the bum's rush for two weeks now, and their holiday hasn't even gotten here yet. It's a lucky thing for all of us that they were made of sterner stuff and descended from robust pioneer stock, because they wouldn't stand a chance nowadays against the ho-ho-ho onslaught of the commercial juggernaut known as Christmas, and we'd all be living in teepees and wearing buckskin, with only our casinos to keep us warm. But things turned out way differently, which may or may not be an improvement, but I suppose we'll never know. That reminds me of a song I heard recently, which goes in part, "Life is a lemon, and I want my money back," and I think that's a sentiment that we can all relate to, and the Native Americans, it goes without saying.
Things certainly haven't settled down in the gasoline business since our last update, that's for sure. In fact, Bill said there were reports of stations selling gas for under $2.00/gallon in New Jersey, even now. It would appear that the prices have not bottomed out yet, as hard as that might be to believe, after being in the $4.00 range just a few months ago. Last Friday, the Sunoco station down the block was selling regular at $2.51, which I thought was astounding at the time, and yet just in the last week, it continued to fall until it reached $2.35 yesterday. Of course, everyone knows that I'm always ready to do my civic-minded part for the wider good of the community, so this morning, I drove out of my way to the Exxon station and filled up the Escort there at $2.34 for regular, and felt like John D. Rockefeller his own self. Mind you, I did that as a favor to the rest of humanity, so the price would come down even more, which it always seems to do after I get gas. Luckily, I was expecting that to happen, so it came as no surprise when I drove past the Sunoco station on my way home and saw that the price had changed to $2.29 since yesterday. Adding insult to injury, when Bill and I drove past the very same Exxon station on our way to the diner after work, they had also reduced their price to $2.29 just since 9:00 this morning! Well, I guess that counts as my good deed of the day, and we all know that virtue is its own reward, so now everyone else can benefit from the gas prices going down even further, since I already got gas. You're welcome.
The company where Bill works was closed on Tuesday for Veteran's Day, so I took the day off also, and a lovely day it was, too. I took the opportunity to run some errands, some of which turned into those kinds of wild goose chases that you can only console yourself with the thought that you're going to look back on this and laugh someday, but not yet, no thank you so very much. On the other hand, Bill stayed at home and did his civic-minded part for the wider good of the community, by raking all of the leaves out of the front yard, and did a masterful job at it. It turned out to be a nice day for raking, and the piles of leaves at the curb were a colorful testament to all of his hard work, while I was out busy chasing down those wild geese. Then on Saturday, we had a violent storm, with heavy rains and high winds, which had the effect of blanketing our yard with leaves from every tree on our property, as well as other leaves that I've never seen before in my life and have no idea where they came from. In fact, when I went to church on Sunday, it was so thick with leaves that you couldn't even see the front steps, or tell where the grass stopped and the sidewalk began. After I got home, I figured I should at least sweep the steps and the front walk, so the mailman could see where he was going, and not tumble off the porch into oblivion, or worse. (Our rampant mutant alien poison ivy is only in hibernation in the winter, and is not to be trusted, believe me.) Since Bill had just swept the steps on Tuesday, and it had been fairly chilly since then, you can imagine my surprise when my broom pushed over a pile of wet leaves and uncovered one of those tan garden-type snakes, and a good sized one at that. These used to be a more common visitor in our yard for years, especially the smaller ones, and I would regularly turn them up when I was working in the garden. But I hadn't seen any in the last few years, and I certainly wasn't expecting to find this one on the front steps, where it had somehow climbed up and made itself at home, just since Tuesday and in the cold besides. In fact, it shared many characteristics reminiscent of our rampant mutant alien poison ivy, which I don't mind saying, is a disquieting idea that does not bear thinking about.
Speaking of wildlife of the wild and woolly variety, we get the following true life adventure from Bill, a/k/a The Great White Hunter (And Gatherer) of the Queen City, from balmier days of the recent past:
==================================
I wanted to remember to tell you the end of the wasp story finally. Since you do it yourself, you know there's a whole procedure you have to go through for this catch-and-release thing. I have to assemble my glass (one of the clear purple plastic ones from home) and my paper plate with one edge cut off (so I have a flat surface to slide under the glass.) I keep these on the table right behind me, so that's not a big deal. Then I have to go unlock and unbolt the door and open it a little so when I go over there with one hand on the glass and one hand holding the plate under it, I don't have to grow a third hand to turn the doorknob. So I do all that. Then I have to chase the wasp. And he's all over the top windows, which I can't reach. I try standing on the foot rail of my chair (which tends to tilt and is not so hot, considering how balance-challenged I am), so he moves to the other window, where my chair isn't. Finally I break down and get out the step ladder. I pull it over to the other window, in front of the big printer and he goes back to the window over the chair. I go to the window with the chair and this time I get up on the chair and actually kneel on the seat -- which is MUCH more balance-intensive. I reach up for him with my glass and paper plate -- and he flies out the door. The rest of the time was spent putting away the ladder and re-locking the door (and not a little time was spent trying to get down off the chair safely!) So I hope he's happy with his new-found freedom. (It was pretty funny as I wobbled on the chair and watched him go!)
==================================
Well, the wasp may have had the last laugh on that one, but I'd bet that Marlin Perkins himself couldn't have done a better job with a paper plate. Meanwhile, our local newspaper ran a story about a local farm where people could buy fresh eggs and milk, and which they claimed was famous for their "hardy" breakfast. Oh, har-dee-har-har perhaps, but it certainly doesn't sound that appetizing to me, I can tell you that. Although I wouldn't have the heart to call it "hardly" breakfast, I'd be hard-pressed to give it a hearty endorsement, and that's the hard-hearted truth of the matter. Then there was another story about these women who devised what they described as "self-filling" juice bags, and I couldn't help but say to Bill, "I hope not!" Like the rampant mutant alien garden snakes, the idea of juice filling up bags by itself is not one that I find particularly appealing. It turns out that what they meant was that you can fill the bag with the juice of your choice "yourself," making you the "self" part of that "self-filling" description, which utterly defeats the purpose of calling it a "self" anything in the first place. Of course, this has become a common misinterpretation of the term, where a "self-opening" door is one that you open yourself by pressing a button, and anyone who has one, can tell you that a self-propelled vacuum or lawnmower will basically just stand in one place until you push it yourself. Ah, for those halcyon days of yore, when something that was self-winding or self-regulating really did that all by itself, not by "yourself" instead. We should have realized what we were in for when phrases like "self-serve" and "self-addressed" started to come into vogue, with their "do it yourself" sense, instead of the accepted understanding of something that would happen by itself without human intervention. Of course, nowadays anything goes, heaven knows, and there are no standards anymore, and more's the pity, I'm sure. In fact, in a lot of ways, this could be considered a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I'm afraid you would have to do that yourself.
Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that it's already more than halfway past November (and I don't mind saying, with nothing to show for it) and not to be an alarmist or anything, but Thanksgiving is next week. You don't dare try to buy any Thanksgiving decorations or anything, because right this minute, the stores are so full of candy canes and holly garland, that it would make your head spin. They've been giving those poor Pilgrims the bum's rush for two weeks now, and their holiday hasn't even gotten here yet. It's a lucky thing for all of us that they were made of sterner stuff and descended from robust pioneer stock, because they wouldn't stand a chance nowadays against the ho-ho-ho onslaught of the commercial juggernaut known as Christmas, and we'd all be living in teepees and wearing buckskin, with only our casinos to keep us warm. But things turned out way differently, which may or may not be an improvement, but I suppose we'll never know. That reminds me of a song I heard recently, which goes in part, "Life is a lemon, and I want my money back," and I think that's a sentiment that we can all relate to, and the Native Americans, it goes without saying.
Things certainly haven't settled down in the gasoline business since our last update, that's for sure. In fact, Bill said there were reports of stations selling gas for under $2.00/gallon in New Jersey, even now. It would appear that the prices have not bottomed out yet, as hard as that might be to believe, after being in the $4.00 range just a few months ago. Last Friday, the Sunoco station down the block was selling regular at $2.51, which I thought was astounding at the time, and yet just in the last week, it continued to fall until it reached $2.35 yesterday. Of course, everyone knows that I'm always ready to do my civic-minded part for the wider good of the community, so this morning, I drove out of my way to the Exxon station and filled up the Escort there at $2.34 for regular, and felt like John D. Rockefeller his own self. Mind you, I did that as a favor to the rest of humanity, so the price would come down even more, which it always seems to do after I get gas. Luckily, I was expecting that to happen, so it came as no surprise when I drove past the Sunoco station on my way home and saw that the price had changed to $2.29 since yesterday. Adding insult to injury, when Bill and I drove past the very same Exxon station on our way to the diner after work, they had also reduced their price to $2.29 just since 9:00 this morning! Well, I guess that counts as my good deed of the day, and we all know that virtue is its own reward, so now everyone else can benefit from the gas prices going down even further, since I already got gas. You're welcome.
The company where Bill works was closed on Tuesday for Veteran's Day, so I took the day off also, and a lovely day it was, too. I took the opportunity to run some errands, some of which turned into those kinds of wild goose chases that you can only console yourself with the thought that you're going to look back on this and laugh someday, but not yet, no thank you so very much. On the other hand, Bill stayed at home and did his civic-minded part for the wider good of the community, by raking all of the leaves out of the front yard, and did a masterful job at it. It turned out to be a nice day for raking, and the piles of leaves at the curb were a colorful testament to all of his hard work, while I was out busy chasing down those wild geese. Then on Saturday, we had a violent storm, with heavy rains and high winds, which had the effect of blanketing our yard with leaves from every tree on our property, as well as other leaves that I've never seen before in my life and have no idea where they came from. In fact, when I went to church on Sunday, it was so thick with leaves that you couldn't even see the front steps, or tell where the grass stopped and the sidewalk began. After I got home, I figured I should at least sweep the steps and the front walk, so the mailman could see where he was going, and not tumble off the porch into oblivion, or worse. (Our rampant mutant alien poison ivy is only in hibernation in the winter, and is not to be trusted, believe me.) Since Bill had just swept the steps on Tuesday, and it had been fairly chilly since then, you can imagine my surprise when my broom pushed over a pile of wet leaves and uncovered one of those tan garden-type snakes, and a good sized one at that. These used to be a more common visitor in our yard for years, especially the smaller ones, and I would regularly turn them up when I was working in the garden. But I hadn't seen any in the last few years, and I certainly wasn't expecting to find this one on the front steps, where it had somehow climbed up and made itself at home, just since Tuesday and in the cold besides. In fact, it shared many characteristics reminiscent of our rampant mutant alien poison ivy, which I don't mind saying, is a disquieting idea that does not bear thinking about.
Speaking of wildlife of the wild and woolly variety, we get the following true life adventure from Bill, a/k/a The Great White Hunter (And Gatherer) of the Queen City, from balmier days of the recent past:
==================================
I wanted to remember to tell you the end of the wasp story finally. Since you do it yourself, you know there's a whole procedure you have to go through for this catch-and-release thing. I have to assemble my glass (one of the clear purple plastic ones from home) and my paper plate with one edge cut off (so I have a flat surface to slide under the glass.) I keep these on the table right behind me, so that's not a big deal. Then I have to go unlock and unbolt the door and open it a little so when I go over there with one hand on the glass and one hand holding the plate under it, I don't have to grow a third hand to turn the doorknob. So I do all that. Then I have to chase the wasp. And he's all over the top windows, which I can't reach. I try standing on the foot rail of my chair (which tends to tilt and is not so hot, considering how balance-challenged I am), so he moves to the other window, where my chair isn't. Finally I break down and get out the step ladder. I pull it over to the other window, in front of the big printer and he goes back to the window over the chair. I go to the window with the chair and this time I get up on the chair and actually kneel on the seat -- which is MUCH more balance-intensive. I reach up for him with my glass and paper plate -- and he flies out the door. The rest of the time was spent putting away the ladder and re-locking the door (and not a little time was spent trying to get down off the chair safely!) So I hope he's happy with his new-found freedom. (It was pretty funny as I wobbled on the chair and watched him go!)
==================================
Well, the wasp may have had the last laugh on that one, but I'd bet that Marlin Perkins himself couldn't have done a better job with a paper plate. Meanwhile, our local newspaper ran a story about a local farm where people could buy fresh eggs and milk, and which they claimed was famous for their "hardy" breakfast. Oh, har-dee-har-har perhaps, but it certainly doesn't sound that appetizing to me, I can tell you that. Although I wouldn't have the heart to call it "hardly" breakfast, I'd be hard-pressed to give it a hearty endorsement, and that's the hard-hearted truth of the matter. Then there was another story about these women who devised what they described as "self-filling" juice bags, and I couldn't help but say to Bill, "I hope not!" Like the rampant mutant alien garden snakes, the idea of juice filling up bags by itself is not one that I find particularly appealing. It turns out that what they meant was that you can fill the bag with the juice of your choice "yourself," making you the "self" part of that "self-filling" description, which utterly defeats the purpose of calling it a "self" anything in the first place. Of course, this has become a common misinterpretation of the term, where a "self-opening" door is one that you open yourself by pressing a button, and anyone who has one, can tell you that a self-propelled vacuum or lawnmower will basically just stand in one place until you push it yourself. Ah, for those halcyon days of yore, when something that was self-winding or self-regulating really did that all by itself, not by "yourself" instead. We should have realized what we were in for when phrases like "self-serve" and "self-addressed" started to come into vogue, with their "do it yourself" sense, instead of the accepted understanding of something that would happen by itself without human intervention. Of course, nowadays anything goes, heaven knows, and there are no standards anymore, and more's the pity, I'm sure. In fact, in a lot of ways, this could be considered a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I'm afraid you would have to do that yourself.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 8:32 PM
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