Do The Doo
Hello World,
Happy March! In the local area, it's almost time to start believing in the month that comes in like a lion, but will actually turn into a lamb before it leaves, and what a welcome transition that will be, after the remorseless cold and snow of the winter we've just been through. Just this week, I noticed the first of the early spring bulbs already pushing their pointy green tips through the ground, with the promise of colorful flowers not far behind. With the cheery sunshine and warmer temperatures lately, the snow finally melted out of our yard at long last, receding along the culvert, and exposing the casualties of damage done by the landscaping crew in their over-enthusiastic plowing of our driveway - the forlorn wreckage of busted yard lights, mangled bushes, the tattered remains of our address sign - the full extent of which had been hidden under a deep white winter blanket until now. No doubt about it, we've either got to get smaller landscapers or a bigger driveway, because otherwise, it's going to cost us a fortune in replacement yard lights, bushes and signs every winter, I can tell you that.
Of course, everyone knows how I hate to be an alarmist, but I will admit that I have been remiss in not noticing that there has been an insidious trend taking place over the last little while, and in many ways, right under our very noses. It was Thursday morning when I was heading to work, and going past the Sunoco station around the block, and couldn't help but notice that the price of regular was a whopping $3.76 per gallon, with the premium at an astronomical $4.15, which would seem impossible except that I saw it with my very own eyes. It seems that the last time I looked, or actually got gas myself, the price was not anything like that, because it certainly got my attention in a big fat hurry on Thursday. Why, I'm sure that I'm not the only old-timer who can remember back in the day when I first started driving, and gas was 25 cents a gallon, the idea of ordinary gasoline for cars being over a dollar would have seemed laughable, and even in the oil shortage days of the 1970's, when gas did finally get over a dollar, you can believe me when I say that people back then would never stand still for these kinds of outrageous gas prices, it would have been simply unthinkable. There would not have been ink enough in the entire world for all of the incendiary letters that people would have written to their representatives, and the wholesale riots would have been epic in proportion. Nowadays, people don't even notice, and whatever the going rate is at the pump, they pay it with a shrug, and probably just as glad that it's not even higher, for heaven's sake. If only our old friends the dinosaurs had known back then how much more valuable their remains would have become in this day and age, they probably would have held out for better royalties, by golly.
Alert readers may recall that two weeks ago, we were surprised to find that there was dial tone once again on our phone, which used to be routine at our house, but since the beginning of December, well, not so much. In fact, at that point, it was so far from being routine that we were flabbergasted at this turn of events, as a technological innovation that we would have taken for granted just months earlier. At the time, however, I refused to get all starry-eyed about it, since there had been other occasions when we had dial tone for a day or two, before losing service once again. Alas, this turned out to be another one of those cases where we did have actual dial tone for three days, only to discover later that we were suddenly right back where we started, when it was replaced by the sounds of utter nothingness and plenty of it. And unlike last time, when they at least provided us with an inadvertently amusing repair message for people to enjoy if they tried to reach us, this time the result was nothing but an annoying "fast busy" signal that was neither helpful nor entertaining in any way, and thanks so very much not. And so the evil minions at Verizon have accomplished what his arch-rival Elisha Gray never could, by keeping the brilliant invention of Alexander Graham Bell from becoming a reality, at least in our house. I'm sure the dinosaurs know exactly how he feels.
And while we're on the subject of sounds of silence and otherwise, I found myself the recipient of an inadvertently melodic message at work last week. I had gotten a frantic phone call (in Purchasing, there is very rarely any other kind than frantic, although interestingly enough, it never seems to be about medical supplies, this type of hysteria is usually reserved for a lack of copy paper, inter-office envelopes, paper clips, business cards and Post-it notes) from the Radiology department about a refrigerator that they had sent a requisition for, and wanted to find out when it would be coming. I had to tell the over-wrought young woman that the requisition had been sent to Finance for signatures, and hadn't been returned yet, and we couldn't place the order until the paperwork came back downstairs. At the time, she seemed to take this in stride, but it wasn't long after that I received a copy of her panicky email to the department supervisor, in a tone of desperation which declared: "According to Purchasing, the refrigerator PO has not being singed!" Personally, I don't know if they sing at the requisitions in Finance, or just sign them instead with no musical accompaniment, but I did my part by giving out with a rousing version of "Camptown Ladies" that would have made Stephen Foster sit up and take notice, even all these years later, rest his soul, and that's not just a lot of doo-dah doo-dah, believe me.
Last week on Thursday was our anniversary, as we prepared to celebrate 28 years of wedded bliss, although I forgot that I had a meeting at church that evening, so we ended up celebrating on Friday instead. We had dinner at the diner, which is always a treat for us, regardless of whether there's an occasion or not, and then came home to find the anniversary bandits had left presents for us as well. We set right to it, and unwrapped gifts of apparel, snacks (organic, if you please) entertainment and handy household items that were just what the doctor ordered for those chores around the house. I also took a giant leap into the cutting edge of fashion, as Bill presented me with a beautiful silver Pandora bracelet (and you can feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at http://www.pandora.net/ and see for yourself) with little silver hearts and cat charms to go along with it. Apparently these are all the rage nowadays among the fashionable elite, so now I can count myself among their number, and take my place in the fashionista ranks with the best of them. Although I'm afraid the farting bedroom slippers are going to have to go, and as Stephen Foster can tell you, that's also not just a lot of doo-dah doo-dah, believe me.
And speaking of wedding bells, it was many years ago when we were first married that we had a very special cat in our lives, the irreplaceable Mimi, our superstar Persian, who has no equal and never will. One of his less popular habits was that he would practically climb inside your mouth to see what you were eating, because he was sure that it was something that he was desperate to have, and right that instant.
Mimi was very highly intelligent, so I would always find that I was using logic with him, and point out what I considered the obvious flaw in his reasoning - for instance, saying things like "cats don't eat Twinkies," or "cats don't drink iced tea," or "you wouldn't even like blueberry muffins." But no matter what it was, and no matter how carefully I explained that he didn't want it, he would hound me for a taste, and invariably would scarf it down and ask for more, even the aforementioned iced tea, which I'm sure he only did out of pure orneriness. He didn't want to miss a chance at anything, whether it was butterscotch pudding, potato chips, cinnamon buns, pizza, corn muffins or whatever, he wanted his shot at it, and you can be sure that he wouldn't give up until he got it. Well, now it seems that one of our new additions, Flopsie, has taken a page out of that old book, as I found myself fending him off last week when I was trying to eat a quick meal in peace. I was in a hurry and just heated something up from a can, and although he's not as sharp mentally as Mimi, I still patiently explained to him that he really didn't want this item that he was pestering me for, and I could give it to him only to have him turn up his nose at it and walk away from it, so it would have been all a lot of aggravation for nothing. But I finally gave in and let him have the last of it at the bottom of the bowl, whereupon he polished off the final portion of my Spaghettio's in short order, and apparently would have been just as happy if I opened up another can just for him. Of course, we love Flopsie in a very special way, but you can bet that I'm going to think twice before trying to eat any blueberry muffins around him, that's for sure. Oh, and if Elisha Gray shows up with my dial tone, please ask him to go peddle his patents elsewhere, and take his doo-dah with him.
Elle
Happy March! In the local area, it's almost time to start believing in the month that comes in like a lion, but will actually turn into a lamb before it leaves, and what a welcome transition that will be, after the remorseless cold and snow of the winter we've just been through. Just this week, I noticed the first of the early spring bulbs already pushing their pointy green tips through the ground, with the promise of colorful flowers not far behind. With the cheery sunshine and warmer temperatures lately, the snow finally melted out of our yard at long last, receding along the culvert, and exposing the casualties of damage done by the landscaping crew in their over-enthusiastic plowing of our driveway - the forlorn wreckage of busted yard lights, mangled bushes, the tattered remains of our address sign - the full extent of which had been hidden under a deep white winter blanket until now. No doubt about it, we've either got to get smaller landscapers or a bigger driveway, because otherwise, it's going to cost us a fortune in replacement yard lights, bushes and signs every winter, I can tell you that.
Of course, everyone knows how I hate to be an alarmist, but I will admit that I have been remiss in not noticing that there has been an insidious trend taking place over the last little while, and in many ways, right under our very noses. It was Thursday morning when I was heading to work, and going past the Sunoco station around the block, and couldn't help but notice that the price of regular was a whopping $3.76 per gallon, with the premium at an astronomical $4.15, which would seem impossible except that I saw it with my very own eyes. It seems that the last time I looked, or actually got gas myself, the price was not anything like that, because it certainly got my attention in a big fat hurry on Thursday. Why, I'm sure that I'm not the only old-timer who can remember back in the day when I first started driving, and gas was 25 cents a gallon, the idea of ordinary gasoline for cars being over a dollar would have seemed laughable, and even in the oil shortage days of the 1970's, when gas did finally get over a dollar, you can believe me when I say that people back then would never stand still for these kinds of outrageous gas prices, it would have been simply unthinkable. There would not have been ink enough in the entire world for all of the incendiary letters that people would have written to their representatives, and the wholesale riots would have been epic in proportion. Nowadays, people don't even notice, and whatever the going rate is at the pump, they pay it with a shrug, and probably just as glad that it's not even higher, for heaven's sake. If only our old friends the dinosaurs had known back then how much more valuable their remains would have become in this day and age, they probably would have held out for better royalties, by golly.
Alert readers may recall that two weeks ago, we were surprised to find that there was dial tone once again on our phone, which used to be routine at our house, but since the beginning of December, well, not so much. In fact, at that point, it was so far from being routine that we were flabbergasted at this turn of events, as a technological innovation that we would have taken for granted just months earlier. At the time, however, I refused to get all starry-eyed about it, since there had been other occasions when we had dial tone for a day or two, before losing service once again. Alas, this turned out to be another one of those cases where we did have actual dial tone for three days, only to discover later that we were suddenly right back where we started, when it was replaced by the sounds of utter nothingness and plenty of it. And unlike last time, when they at least provided us with an inadvertently amusing repair message for people to enjoy if they tried to reach us, this time the result was nothing but an annoying "fast busy" signal that was neither helpful nor entertaining in any way, and thanks so very much not. And so the evil minions at Verizon have accomplished what his arch-rival Elisha Gray never could, by keeping the brilliant invention of Alexander Graham Bell from becoming a reality, at least in our house. I'm sure the dinosaurs know exactly how he feels.
And while we're on the subject of sounds of silence and otherwise, I found myself the recipient of an inadvertently melodic message at work last week. I had gotten a frantic phone call (in Purchasing, there is very rarely any other kind than frantic, although interestingly enough, it never seems to be about medical supplies, this type of hysteria is usually reserved for a lack of copy paper, inter-office envelopes, paper clips, business cards and Post-it notes) from the Radiology department about a refrigerator that they had sent a requisition for, and wanted to find out when it would be coming. I had to tell the over-wrought young woman that the requisition had been sent to Finance for signatures, and hadn't been returned yet, and we couldn't place the order until the paperwork came back downstairs. At the time, she seemed to take this in stride, but it wasn't long after that I received a copy of her panicky email to the department supervisor, in a tone of desperation which declared: "According to Purchasing, the refrigerator PO has not being singed!" Personally, I don't know if they sing at the requisitions in Finance, or just sign them instead with no musical accompaniment, but I did my part by giving out with a rousing version of "Camptown Ladies" that would have made Stephen Foster sit up and take notice, even all these years later, rest his soul, and that's not just a lot of doo-dah doo-dah, believe me.
Last week on Thursday was our anniversary, as we prepared to celebrate 28 years of wedded bliss, although I forgot that I had a meeting at church that evening, so we ended up celebrating on Friday instead. We had dinner at the diner, which is always a treat for us, regardless of whether there's an occasion or not, and then came home to find the anniversary bandits had left presents for us as well. We set right to it, and unwrapped gifts of apparel, snacks (organic, if you please) entertainment and handy household items that were just what the doctor ordered for those chores around the house. I also took a giant leap into the cutting edge of fashion, as Bill presented me with a beautiful silver Pandora bracelet (and you can feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at http://www.pandora.net/ and see for yourself) with little silver hearts and cat charms to go along with it. Apparently these are all the rage nowadays among the fashionable elite, so now I can count myself among their number, and take my place in the fashionista ranks with the best of them. Although I'm afraid the farting bedroom slippers are going to have to go, and as Stephen Foster can tell you, that's also not just a lot of doo-dah doo-dah, believe me.
And speaking of wedding bells, it was many years ago when we were first married that we had a very special cat in our lives, the irreplaceable Mimi, our superstar Persian, who has no equal and never will. One of his less popular habits was that he would practically climb inside your mouth to see what you were eating, because he was sure that it was something that he was desperate to have, and right that instant.
Mimi was very highly intelligent, so I would always find that I was using logic with him, and point out what I considered the obvious flaw in his reasoning - for instance, saying things like "cats don't eat Twinkies," or "cats don't drink iced tea," or "you wouldn't even like blueberry muffins." But no matter what it was, and no matter how carefully I explained that he didn't want it, he would hound me for a taste, and invariably would scarf it down and ask for more, even the aforementioned iced tea, which I'm sure he only did out of pure orneriness. He didn't want to miss a chance at anything, whether it was butterscotch pudding, potato chips, cinnamon buns, pizza, corn muffins or whatever, he wanted his shot at it, and you can be sure that he wouldn't give up until he got it. Well, now it seems that one of our new additions, Flopsie, has taken a page out of that old book, as I found myself fending him off last week when I was trying to eat a quick meal in peace. I was in a hurry and just heated something up from a can, and although he's not as sharp mentally as Mimi, I still patiently explained to him that he really didn't want this item that he was pestering me for, and I could give it to him only to have him turn up his nose at it and walk away from it, so it would have been all a lot of aggravation for nothing. But I finally gave in and let him have the last of it at the bottom of the bowl, whereupon he polished off the final portion of my Spaghettio's in short order, and apparently would have been just as happy if I opened up another can just for him. Of course, we love Flopsie in a very special way, but you can bet that I'm going to think twice before trying to eat any blueberry muffins around him, that's for sure. Oh, and if Elisha Gray shows up with my dial tone, please ask him to go peddle his patents elsewhere, and take his doo-dah with him.
Elle
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 6:38 PM
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