Hodgepodge

For the past week my thoughts have been scattered, flipping rapidly between operational budgets at work and Christmas shopping lists at home, leaving me with little blogging time and no well-thought-out topic to post about. Instead, I'll share with you just a few scraps of things that have crossed my mind:

When do the comments commence?
Last week I discovered that Blogger has a new option which reportedly allows comments to be embedded at the end of a post instead of on a pop-up screen or a separate page. The notice about the new option stated it's easier for commenters, and, as it's a feature I've admired on Wordpress blogs, I was tickled to select that option. Apparently they haven't worked all the kinks out of it yet. After getting a couple of e-mails letting me know readers were unable to leave comments, I switched it back to the old, tried-and-true method. Nothing good comes easily.

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Verifiably nutty
Speaking of comments, when randomly generated word-verification letters pop up on my monitor, I jot down the interesting ones for my own amusement. Here are some recent ones, along with potential definitions:
1) zeolzens -- Mary Kate and Ashley in Paris
2) placeta -- A location, like a "place-ta" hang your hat.
3) voidists -- People who disregard everything you say.
4) kabal -- A conspiracy of diners at the Kountry Kitchen.
5) latedly -- How birthday cards I send tend to be.
6) bradys -- Mike, Carol, Greg, Peter, Bobby, Marcia, Jan and Cindy.
7) motortil -- Common phrase in the auto repair industry: "I won't fix your motortil you write me a big check."
8) sesanati -- A big city in Ohio.
9) merbopp -- A popular mermaid dance in the 1950s.
10) fadedine -- The condition of trying to eat when you're about to fall asleep.

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Something fishy
Sometimes words offered up by spell checkers play tricks on unsuspecting posters. I saw the following comment on a political blog recently: "Obama is right, war is a salmon decision." Um...a solemn decision, maybe?

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One way to love a dog
Because Butch gets frequent ear infections, I have to clean his ears weekly with an antiseptic solution, a process which he hates. To try to make it just a little easier for him, I've been holding the squeeze bottle of solution between my thighs for the past 45 minutes.

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New use for an old household item
Have you read that some people are smoking duct tape these days? It's true. In fact, here in Louisiana you can't buy duct tape without proof of identification showing that you're over 18 years old. At the grocery store last week, the guy in line next to me wanted to buy a roll of duct tape and a bottle of motor oil. When the cashier explained why she'd need to see his ID, he shoved the items toward her, said, "Tell 'em they can kiss my a$$," and stormed out of the store. I hope his car didn't fall apart in the parking lot.

Senate seat for sale
I can't go to bed tonight without commenting on Illinois's governor, Rod Blagojevich, who was arrested today for reasons that included an attempt to sell Obama's vacated senate seat. Following a political season that made me think politicians' egos couldn't get any bigger, this governor proved me wrong. This is so outrageously appalling that it strikes me as really funny. Maybe I'm just laughing in relief that, for once, it isn't a Louisiana politician making this kind of news.

Ti-i-i-ime is on my side, yes it is

I'm really enjoying my new job, and one of the best things about it is getting off work thirty minutes earlier in the afternoon. That extra half hour is improving the quality of my life in a number of ways. For example, I can:

1. Be on my way home before the worst of the rush-hour traffic begins.

2. Make it to the post office before the afternoon pickup.

3. Get to the supermarket before the deli is out of all the good stuff.

4. Cook something for dinner instead of settling for whatever's fastest (because I'm not as hungry when I get home as I used to be).

5. Do a week's worth of laundry on a weeknight, freeing up a chunk of my weekend.

6. Sit outside with the dogs or cuddle them on the sofa.

7. Spend an extra half hour on the computer, reading your blogs or writing mine.

8. Blog before my favorite TV shows rather than after, which means I can get to bed at a decent hour.

9. Answer e-mails (oh, gawd, I'm sooo far behind).

10. Clean one room each evening to keep my house nice and tidy.

All of these strike me as really good ideas except the last one, which just misses being a good idea by virtue of being a blatant lie, not to mention a surefire way to ruin a perfectly good half hour.

If you suddenly gained an extra half hour each day, how would you use it?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me...

...when I'm 64?

Apparently they will. Today's the day, and my daughters are taking me out to dinner this evening to celebrate.

This date 64 years ago happened to fall on Thanksgiving Day. My grandfather joked for the rest of his life about having to eat a hamburger for Thanksgiving dinner because of me.

Today, the holiday weekend is ending as it began, with gorgeous blue skies and mild temperatures. I've had four straight days of pleasant company, delicious food, good movies and books, and as much rest and sleep as I've wanted. It feels wonderful to be alive on a day like this.

There are lots of bumps along life's road, and I've traveled over a few that jarred my teeth. Everybody does. Experience tells me there'll be more bumps ahead (or potholes -- this is Louisiana, after all). That's okay. It's worth it.

Right now, at least for this day, I'm coasting along on smooth blacktop, enjoying the scenery, and waiting eagerly to see what lies around the next curve.



UPDATE: I almost forgot another reason for celebration today: Happy anniversary and much love to my sister and brother-in-law. You guys are the best!

Nothing. Much ado about it.

Let's see, should I write about my early-morning trip to Baton Rouge in pouring-down rain? Nah, the new service roads kept traffic moving pretty well, considering.

Oh, I know, what about the fact that it was a trip to the dentist? Nope. It was just a routine cleaning, nothing interesting about that. I suppose I could get a paragraph or two out of the dentist's extra charge of $47 for spending less than a minute to tighten a wire on my partial with a pair of pliers. Huh-uh. I didn't believe it; why should you?

Hmm. I might get some blog mileage out of stopping at home to let the dogs out on my way back to work after the dentist. It was still raining, so when Butch and Kadi came back inside, I had to dry them off with a towel, and I got yellow dog hair all over my black pants. No, I'd better just do with that idea what I did with the dog hair: brush it off and say "to hell with it."

Oh! Okay, two hours after I got to work, I went to use the restroom and discovered that somebody had gone in there while I was at the dentist, somebody who didn't know that the toilet leaks if you don't jiggle the handle. I could write about discovering water standing all over the bathroom floor, water that ran across the hall and under the door into a corner of my office, where a cardboard box of files was wicking it up like a sponge. Another angle to that story would be the part where I tried to blot up the water, and we only had half a roll of paper towels, and I couldn't leave to buy more until my boss got back to the office, and after I finally went out and bought $12 worth of paper towels, I spent 45 minutes blotting up water. But maybe I shouldn't write about that either. To write it accurately, I'd have to include too much cursing.

This is hard. The only other thing I can think of to write about would be stopping at Taco Bell on the way home to get supper for Kim and me. There was a long line of cars, so instead of checking the bag they gave me immediately, I pulled up to let the next car get to the window, and it might be amusing to tell how I thought they'd given me the wrong order, how I waited five minutes for an opportunity to make a left-turn so I could go inside (in the rain) and get the right items, and how I finally gave up and drove home with the mystery order. The surprise ending could be how I apologized to Kim for not having the patience to wait, and how we opened the bag and it was exactly what we had ordered, only the wrappers said "chicken" on one side and "steak" on the other. Nah, that's not funny.

That settles it. I don't have anything to write about tonight. I'm just gonna post a couple of pictures.

Holy crap! Blogger is down!

I'm late posting tonight because I was having a hard time thinking of anything to write about. A halfway good idea came to me while I was watching The Bachelor, but when I came back to the computer to write it up, I could no longer view my Velvet Sacks page.

If you can see this, you know that I was able to log on to blogger.com, but whether this will post or not is a mystery. For now, I'm gonna forget about what I intended to write and hit the "publish" button to see if I can get this out there in time to keep my posting-something-every-day-during-November streak going.

Since I may not be able to see for myself whether this really and truly posted, could you possibly do me a favor? If you read this before midnight of November 13th, would you please send me a short e-mail (velvetsacks@eatel.net) to let me know it's up? I'd be so grateful. Here goes!

(Phew!)

UPDATE: Well, Blogger seems to be working again. That was certainly weird. I could view some blogspot blogs and not others, and there was an "access denied" type of message when I tried to view my own. If you sent me an e-mail, I appreciate it, but guess what...now my e-mail server is down. It's that kind of night, folks.

No bad luck today (knock on wood)

The day's not quite over, but I'm in couch-potato mode, so the possibilities of what could go wrong in the next few hours are limited. I microwaved my dinner without incident. I have enough Diet Coke to last until noon tomorrow. The batteries in my toothbrush could die, but there are replacements in the broom closet. It's unlikely that my computer or TV will explode. Blogger could get bogged down, of course, but that happens so often it doesn't seem to fit the category of bad luck.

The only thing I really have to do is let the dogs out one more time and then I can go to bed. All in all, I don't think I'm tempting fate by saying this Friday the 13th has been an okay day.

I'm not very superstitious. If a black cat crosses my path or I break a mirror, I make a mental note ot it, but I don't dwell on it for more than a minute. If someone sends me a chain letter, by snail mail or e-mail, I won't forward it, no matter what dire threats it contains. So far, to the best of my knowledge, this hasn't resulted in misfortune raining down on anyone in my family. Knock on wood.

That's about my only superstition these days, that knocking-on-wood thing. I have an irrational fear of jinxing good fortune by calling attention to it. I also have a tendency to say what I'm thinking most of the time, so I need to knock on wood fairly frequently. Once, in a metal-and-plastic, industrial environment, I stealthily knocked on a No. 2 pencil. But that was a long time ago. I can control the wood-knocking impulses now...if I have to.

Even in childhood I was skeptical of most of the superstitions I learned about, but there was one I took very seriously. The consequences of ignoring the warning would be too high, and they wouldn't be my consequences to pay. I couldn't, with a clear conscience, take any chances. For eight years, from first grade through eighth, I walked to and from school every day. And every step of the way, one thought quietly persisted in the back of my mind: "Step on a crack and you'll break your mother's back."

I was always careful, and my mother stayed safe.

So there, I've told you mine. What are your superstitions?

Crazy Parking Day, Hooray!

Twice a day my route to work takes me past the office where I worked nine years ago. I keep thinking I'll stop to visit the dozen or so people I still know there, but I always seem to be in too big of a hurry. Anyway, driving by there this morning, I was reminded that I haven't told you yet about Crazy Parking Day.

A few years ago I ran into someone who was still working there, and I asked how everybody was doing. In the course of catching me up on all the changes since I left, she told me that they've designated every Friday as Crazy Parking Day, "just as a little morale booster." Now, having been responsible for my own share of corny morale-building stunts while I was there, I should probably be more understanding. But, viewed from the outside, the silliness of this just cracks me up.

Mondays through Thursdays, all the cars in the asphalt parking lot out front are lined up in neat rows. But on Fridays? They're parked at all kinds of weird angles, as if a cyclone had picked them up, whirled them around a bit, then gently sprinkled them back on the ground.

It really tickles me that these professional adults, some of whom I know are great people, seem to get such a kick out of parking their cars however the hell they want to. They like it so much that they've done it over and over and over again. One day a week. For several years now. Is there something wrong with me that I don't get that? What am I missing? Where's the fun?

Do they rush to get there first on Fridays so they can have the whole parking lot to themselves and make the opening move on the Crazy Parking Day game board?

Does Sally walk in laughing on Friday morning and say, "Oh, Jack, you're such a character; I love the way you backed in and parked with your rear wheels off the pavement!"?

Does Betty tell Cindy, "Oh.My.God! Bob has parked his SUV all the way out in the field. Look at the grass stains on his khakis. I tell you, that guy is a riot!"?

Does Jim make his right hand into a gun, point it at Susan, and say, "I saw you out there seesawing back and forth so you could park with your front bumper up against Jerry's side panel. Girl, that is classic!"?

You want to know what really struck me funny? Last November I drove by that office on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. They're normally closed on both Thursday and Friday for the Thanksgiving holidays, so guess what. They'd moved Crazy Parking Day to Wednesday so they wouldn't miss it!

Bwaaaahahahahaha! What a wild and crazy bunch!

News Bites

Around the World
The U. S. Government checked Abu Musab al-Zarqawi off its list yesterday. Good. So that list would be how long now?

Book Critic
It's critical that I move some books out of my house before they take over everything. Deciding how to decrease the volume of my volumes is my own personal Sophie’s Choice.

Entertainment
On the Today show this morning, a representative of People magazine reported that the new daughter of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie appears to have her mother’s lips. Hmmm. Talk about power-nursing.

Fashion
Britney Spears can afford to dress better. So can I. Both of us should consider it.

Food
Lunch today was from our “white-trash” menu: Cold pork ‘n beans scooped up with barbecued potato chips. It's a dirty little secret, but sometimes I’ve just gotta have it.

Gardening
Everywhere I turn, I see a bush that leans way too far to one side, but I’ve been told that nothing can be done about it for a couple more years.

Health
A new medical condition was discovered today when a Louisiana woman, Velvet Sacks, broke out in hives and repeatedly butted her head against the wall. Sacks stated the condition came on suddenly when she turned on her computer and continued to deteriorate as she remained without blog editing access for nearly three hours.

Help Wanted
Stepping-stone edger needed. Must have strong back and mile-wide masochistic streak.

Music
If I were chief of the music police, the song ”Sabre Dance” would only be allowed at the circus. Because if you hear a snippet of it accidentally, it will stay in your head all day. Don't believe me? Follow the link.

Politics
See “Gardening” above.

Religion
For some unknown reason, it popped into my head today that Jesus was a shepherd, not a sheep. That gives me hope that He could relate to those of us who don't just blindly follow where some people try to lead us.

Weather
Just like politics and religion: too hot to discuss in much detail on my friendly little blog.

Gal, Friday

That's me, today. And it's been a pretty good day.

My boss is a fisherman first and a lawyer second. Today he and his wife were in Grand Isle buying a new fishing camp (to replace the one Hurricane Katrina blew away), so I had the office all to myself. I love that once in a while. I wore my comfy old jeans and a T-shirt, the phones were quiet, and I used the day to rearrange furniture and "reclaim my desk."

I'd swear that the minute I turn out the lights and lock the door each afternoon, the documents on my desk are all over each other, mating and reproducing like rabbits. Sometimes they get piled so high I almost have to raise my chair to work on top of the stack. Today I moved an extra table into my work area and stacked a bookcase on top of it, which gives me extra storage and plenty of elbow room--for now, at least.

We were supposed to have thunderstorms (or "thunderthorms" as the automated weather voice says), but all the angry clouds could muster up was about 15 minutes' worth, and the rest of the day was gorgeous.

The cherry on top of my delicious day was a package from a long-lost, recently found cousin. She sent pictures of grandparents and great-grandparents on my father's side of the family, some of them faces I never expected to see, and I was moved to happy tears.

In fact, I was so excited to get these pictures that it made me stop for a minute and reflect on the fact that my thrills are much, much quieter and gentler these days than they used to be. What does it say about me that my idea of a sensual experience is driving on new, smooth blacktop? And getting new pictures of the dearly departed??? OOOoooohhhhHHHH, maaaannnnn!!

Bad News/Good News

Bad news: It’s cold enough here that I’ve had to turn the heat on again.
Good news: At least I’m not as uncomfortable as I was during last weekend’s 90-degree zoo trip.

Bad news: The post-Katrina traffic in Baton Rouge seems to be permanent and is still unbearable.
Good news: I had green lights all the way while I ran errands today.

Bad news: My sweet tooth hasn’t been satisfied in days now.
Good news: When I got to the bank, the Girl Scouts had a cookie booth set up outside.

Bad news: The line at the bank was long.
Good news: The lady in front of me was tapping her foot, wiggling, moving her lips, struggling really hard not to burst out singing along to the piped-in music of Gladys Knight’s “Midnight Train to Georgia.”

Bad news: A pretty little three-year-old pitched a howling temper tantrum at the bank.
Good news: It made all the adults in line (strangers of all ages and colors) smile and talk to each other.

Bad news: By the time I got out of the bank, the Girl Scouts were all out of Samoas and Thin Mints.
Good news: I tried a new kind of cookie, and it did the job.

Bad news: Last weekend I got the first rock chip in the windshield of my new car.
Good news: When I walked back to my car after visiting the cookie booth, a man from a glass company was working in the parking lot. He fixed my windshield in five minutes for $20.00.

Bad news: I haven’t done any of the laundry or housecleaning I intended to do today.
Good news: I don't care.

Nosiness as a language tool

In high school I took one year of French. Because I’ve never had the opportunity to use it, I’ve retained very little, although I can still sing a mean first verse of “La Marsaillaise.”

A couple of years ago I invested in “Spanish for Dummies,” thinking I’d learn it so I could speak more easily with my neighbor from Columbia. But while “Spanish for Dummies” gathered dust on my shelf, my neighbor improved her English at such a rapid rate that I didn’t need Spanish anymore.

Still, I am bilingual. A second language was spoken in my home when I was very small, a language used by the adults to speak in my presence about things they didn’t want me to hear. Before I was three, I had mastered it and understood everything they said:

“Opstay erhay! Eshay isyay oloringcay onyay ethay allsway.”

“An’tcay ouyay akemay erhay utshay upyay? Eshay isyay ivingdray emay azycray.”

“Issusmay Onesjay oldtay emay atthay ethay ilkmayanmay ayedstay inyay Issusmay Ithsmay’s ousehay orfay ortyfay-ivefay inutesmay Uesdaytay.”

The grown-ups were shocked when I started speaking Pig Latin back to them. After that, they resorted to spelling all their secrets when I was around. And for that, I give belated credit to my family, who unintentionally paved the way for the eighth-grade spelling champ of Jarrett Jr. High School.

Velvet Sax?

I've told a few special people that I've started a blog, and not one of them has understood clearly what I was saying when I told them the name of it. To me, the name represents soft little bags to hold memories (OK, kind of cheesy), but what everyone seems to be hearing is "Velvet Sax." I have to admit, that creates a more alluring mental image. "Velvet Sax" makes me see right into a dark room in an old brick apartment building, where a man is silhouetted in the open window, curtains blowing, the black bars of a fire escape visible against the flashing reds and blues of neon lights behind him, as he blows sweet, "velvet" notes on his saxophone. Hmmmm.