I was going through emails listing all of my new faux followers when I found what looked like it might just possibly be that there was a real person with a real blog who was really actually interested in following my blog!
Could it be true?
There was only one way to find out. Yup, you guessed it. I clicked on the link to one of what Word Press said was one of her best posts.
And it was good! It was funny!
So I had to steal from it! Because she showed one of the funniest dog videos evah:
So thanks to my new blogging buddy, Jennie of Tip of My Tongue for letting me steal this when you hardly even know me.
I had to share it, because I tried to put booties on Goliath my alcoholic German shepherd, on Charlie, my Bernese Mountain Dog, and on Cooper my English Springer Spaniel. They all got upset when their feet were/are cold.
But did they appreciate my efforts? Did they think I was the smartest Mommy in the pack? Did they so much as thank me? No. All three of them reacted the same way, and far differently from the doggies in this video. My dogs all ate their booties. That was funny too, but alas, there is no video.
Well, except when I try to eavesdrop on my son and his girlfriend. Then the sound of young love – “dub step” — is, well, not “moon/June/spoon”- inducing.
Back when John and I fell in love, well, things were different. Music was wonderful, made to share. And so I did.
About three months after John and I started dating, I made him a tape. (For the youngin’s amongst us, it’s like a portable playlist that can be played on any appropriate device available in the prehistoric period in which your parents were, ummm, young.) Yes, I made my love a cassette tape of my very favorite songs from that and every era. It contained, among other songs, the following:
Juice Newton, The Sweetest Thing
Joni Mitchell, A Case of You
Bonnie Raitt: Home
Linda Ronstadt: Blue Bayou
It was too late when I learned that not only did John not love the songs I loved, he hated them. Every single one of them. Over the years, he has solidified his position. For example, John has threatened to divorce me should I sing Blue Bayou within range of his supersonic ears, an approximate 5 square mile range.
Let me tell you this: It is not an ideal situation for a critically acclaimed former singer to be banned from singing her favorite songs. Especially when the ban includes those rare times when I am actually doing housework. It has been a rather sticky issue for 26 years now.
I try to be accommodating because I am wonderful. And because I have a huge repertoire of first verses of songs that will get stuck in John’s head for when he really pisses me off. John has been accommodating by vacating the house immediately when I begin singing/playing/thinking about any of these songs. Generally he is in search of a divorce lawyer.
But you know what? Payback is hell.
You see, in the past, I’ve often told John that he needs to outlive me, because I don’t want to have to deal with all our financial issues. Seriously – I haven’t balanced a checkbook since we got married, and I don’t intend to start.
But now, after reading an article in today’s Reuters.com, I’m reconsidering my position on who gets to “go” first. You see, I read that there is:
Because now I can get John a specialty coffin complete with seriously impressive stereo speakers, hooked up to the latest iPod/music technology. And I will get to choose the playlist.
As you also may know if you’re a long time reader, I have a hard time with technology. Particularly if it talks. I wrote about it here: I can’t get no. You have no doubt heard me screaming from wherever it is you are, when I am asked the same question for the 128th time by the same incredibly patient voice on the other end of the phone. If I could get a hold of the person behind the voice, I would slap her silly. Because those auto-answering voices used by every single company I need to call — they make me crazy.
So naturally, I had to dig myself in deeper.
Yup, recently I got an iPhone4S, with Suri. And within days, I wanted to strangle her, too. Suri makes me crazy, and only partly because her voice is the same one as the voice prompt I named Sybil in I can’t get no. (They are obviously psychotic twins.) I gave Suri several chances to help me and to help herself in the process, but she always lets me down. Once, I was trying to demonstrate to my boss how she can find a phone number for you and dial it:
“Suri, call home,” I commanded.
“You have 16 homes.”
Shit. So much for my raise.
Another time, I tried all day to get her help with finding a nearby restaurant when we were on vacation. I gave up in frustration, and in complete exasperation I said to Siri:
“Oh Fuck Off!”
She finally gave me a reasonable answer:
“What did I do to deserve that?” she said.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh.”
But actually, it isn’t only voice-activated prompts that make me nuts. Real live people do, too. Especially if they have an accents. I cannot emphasize enough just how convenient this difficulty was when I lived in another country where they spoke a language that required the use of an accent.
Still, probably the most difficult accent for me is a Scottish one, which is quite frustrating. You see, they speak English. Sort of.
Actually, Scotland is near and dear to my heart. John went to University there, and we have many friends in and around Edinburgh from those days. Best of all, John asked me to marry him overlooking Edinburgh Castle at sunset after we hiked up the Salisbury Crags. (See why I married him?)
How could I say anything but yes?
(Both Google Images)
But in lots trips to Scotland over the years, umpteen phone calls and reciprocal visits to us, I continue to have trouble understanding our friends. It’s the accent.
I canna understand it.
At first, I thought it was just the heavy Scottish Brogue and that my ear would get attuned to it. Nope. Not all of our friends have a brogue as few are completely Scottish. Some actually hail from Northern Ireland, another was raised for 10 years in Czechoslovakia before moving to Scotland. Others are English. Some of our friends are even mutts and we don’t talk about them much. We really only have two friends who are authentically Scottish. It’s a motley crew. No matter. They are all wonderful, fun, and we have a blast when we visit or when they come here.
Or at least I think we do. You see, since I have such a hard time understanding them, I never know what anyone is talking about or what I’m agreeing to. Nevertheless, I agree to whatever I am asked. I swear, their accents are thick as mud. Thicker, even. And they’re all professional people, doctors, dentists, executives and school teachers. So my way is easier. What sort of trouble could they get me into? Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve responded appropriately when spoken to over the years. If not, I am hoping that when they laugh at me, that they think kindly of poor John’s wife, that agreeable deaf woman.
Remember the 1970 movie Airport? I saw it with my friend Vickie. It was so good that even “break no rules” Vickie hid out with me in the theater so we could see the next showing.
Of course it was good. The cast was amazing. Burt Lancaster, Dean Martin, Helen Hayes (who got an Oscar for her performance), Jacquelin Bisset, Maureen Stapleton, George Kennedy and Van Heflin as the desperate man with the bomb and a life insurance policy.
Spoiler alert! The bomb goes off, Van Heflin is sucked out of the airplane through the hole he made. Stuff from all over the airplane flies out the opening too, because as you know that’s what happens when an airplane’s hull is breached. Luckily, Jacquelin Bisset (pregnant with Dean Martin’s baby, natch), just barely manages to hold on and not join the bomber outside the aircraft at 30,000 feet.
Seriously cool movie.
I was 13 when it came out. I still watch the re-runs. It’s still on TV a lot.
Now why do I mention this?
Because no one on the news has as far as I can tell. And I do feel obligated to keep you guys informed of important current events. I’ve been waiting to see this on the news, only nobody’s talking about it. I have a scoop! (Well, unless you read Dailykos, that is.)
Huh?
“What are you talking about, Elyse?” you might ask. Or you might just click that little “X” in the upper right corner.
You see, yesterday I read that Mitt was worried about Ann. Now don’t worry. Ann is alright. I know how you all adore her.
But Ann’s plane was forced to make an unexpected landing on Friday, when there was an electrical fire. Scary! Now remember, Ann is just fine. She will continue to annoy us with her tuna talk all through the election, and then hopefully we will have some peace.
But Mitt was especially worried. Here’s what he said:
When you have a fire in an aircraft, there’s no place to go, exactly, there’s no — and you can’t find any oxygen from outside the aircraft to get in the aircraft, because the windows don’t open. I don’t know why they don’t do that. It’s a real problem. So it’s very dangerous. And she was choking and rubbing her eyes. Fortunately, there was enough oxygen for the pilot and copilot to make a safe landing in Denver. But she’s safe and sound. [Emphasis added. I think. It might just be the way Mitt talks.]
Remember Van Heflin who got sucked out of the window. Remember all the stuff that also went flying out that window. Remember Jacquelin Bisset’s near miss.
And remember that this whole incident has given Mitt a whole new group of supporters:
Suckers for Mitt
* * *
Now in spite of 12,021 posts on Mitt doing and saying stupid things, I actually don’t think Mitt is stupid. I read somewhere that one of his Harvard Business School professors famously said of his two most famous students around 2008 or 2009: “I had two students; one of them was brilliant, the other became President.” Yup, Mitt and Dubya were classmates. And you saw how our last CEO president did.
But no, I don’t think Mitt is stupid. He just does and says stupid things. A lot. In public. On tape.
And you know, I’d really like to be able to write about things other than politics. But there is waaaaay too much fodder.
You’ve heard me talk about this before (Merde 101). But the world has gotten more dangerous since I wrote that piece. We need to be on the lookout. We need to be vigilant. We need to speak English. No, this is not an anti-immigrant piece. This is a potential-worldwide-calamity-caused-by-incomprehensible-grammar piece.
Yes, it’s true. I’m saying that all roads to terrorism are sign-posted in FRENCH. Believe me. I lived there. I know. Well, I don’t know the language, but I know those signposts. And what they say. More or less.
Why would I make such an accusation? Because French is stupid.
Well, actually, it’s really French possessives. French possessives are stupid, illogical, dangerous.
You see, in French, objects get the gender of the object/noun, not the owner. And that, is of course, the problem.
Imagine that there is a man and a woman in a train station. Between them is a suitcase.
Google Image (or KGB?)
In it is a nuclear bomb. Desperate to foil the bad guys, you cannot just shout out “It’s HIS!” pointing to the man who can be arrested and the bomb diffused.
Google Images are everywhere
Why not?
Because the word for suitcase in French is “valise” which is feminine. Therefore, you can only say “It’s HERS” (“Est la valise!”) — regardless of who owns the suitcase/nuclear bomb. The bomb would go off and everyone would die.
The terrorists would succeed because French is stupid.
Not speaking French is the way to protect the world.
*****
One of my blogging buddies, Paprika of Good Humored felt stupid recently. She wrote about it here: At Least We Can See France From Our Toilet. And it’s not her fault. You see, Paprika and her husband Oregano found themselves in French-speaking Switzerland, just down the road from where I used to live. They came back feeling stupid. They shouldn’t have. Instead, they should have come back relieved that they had survived a nuclear attack.
[Note to folks who actually know French: Before you get on my case, I do know that there are other was to say “It’s HIS.” But they are not short, sweet and to the point. They are long and involved and the bomb would explode by the time anyone could get the sentence out. The Terrorists would still win.]
