You did some really good things this week, like Fresh Pressin’ two of my favorite bloggers, Darla at She’s A Maineiac and Nancy at NotQuiteOld.
And, through Fresh Pressed (which I don’t usually bother with), I stumbled onto a woman who is stomping in my old stomping grounds and blogging about it at The Adventures of Miss Widget. She has some great pictures of towns and vineyards near Geneva, Switzerland.
But
You knew it was coming. There is always a “but.”
But automatically subscribing me to every comment on every blog I comment on, well that was nasty. Of course, it did give me inspiration for my entry into K8did’s first round in her 7 Deadly Sins contest: Gluttony.
But then it got worse.
Because today I found out that nobody was writing anything. Nope. My Fiftyfourandahalf@gmail.com email address was empty when I woke up and it continues to be empty. Because instead of sending me emails when my bloggin’ buddies post, and when I want to read the comments of folks commenting on some, but not all, well, Word Press, you aren’t doing that any more.
We all have our own preferences, styles and management techniques for reading, commenting, reading comments, etc. Can we please just keep our own preferences instead of yours?
One of my very favorite movie scenes of all time is one you may have forgotten. Have you seen The Italian Job with Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron, Donald Sutherland and Edward Norton? I love this movie, and not just because it is (partly) set in Venice, my favorite place on Earth. And not even because it also stars my beloved late (sniff) blue Mini-Cooper.
Remember the scene where Hansome Rob (Jason Statham) is stuck in traffic waiting to make a left turn behind an actor (played by Scott Adsit) rehearsing for an audition?
“Give me your badge. And your weapon.” Over and over until the light is just about to change. Then Rob honks the horn, the actor realizes he needs to go, and does, leaving Handsome Rob stuck at the light.
I love the scene because it’s such a true-life event. In fact, this sort of thing used to happen to me all the time. The result – I sit in
G-R-I-D-L-O-C-K
Damn, I hate that. It’s funny in a movie. In real life, when there are things that must be done — important, occasionally life changing things — well, it isn’t quite as funny, is it? Usually, I just need to get along to work, to home, to the bathroom, to wherever. So does everybody else.
You know, it seems that now, in real life, the absent-minded driver has been replaced by the intentionally jerky driver who doesn’t stop when he/she know there isn’t a snowball’s chance that he will make it across the intersection. So he/she gets stuck in the middle along with other, like-minded jerks, and folks like me who try to get along. Nobody gets anywhere. No work gets done. The only thing they raise is blood pressure.
I know these folks. I’ve seen them outside of their cars. They are the same jerks who used to throw temper tantrums on the playground if there wasn’t a swing available (whether they really wanted to swing or not). Who used to bully. Who have been jerks since before the egg and sperm that formed them ever hooked up.
We here in the Washington, DC area are way too familiar with these guys. And we don’t want any more. In fact, we are pretty damn tired of folks who stamp their feet, pound their fists, and spit in the face of one of the cornerstones of civilization: working together for the common good.
Now someday soon, I’ll tell you all about the truly wonderful work that was done as a direct result of bipartisanship in the United States Congress. Yes, it’s true. And it happened in my lifetime and yours. But that’s for another day.
But believing as I truly do in lawmakers working together, imagine my disgust when I saw this clip of the jerk, Richard Mourdock, who beat Senator Lugar to be the Republican Party’s candidate for Senate in Indiana.
Boys and girls, listen up. Nobody gets anywhere when everybody stands and stamps their feet. And if someone running for office says:
“To me, the highlight of politics, frankly, is to inflict my opinion on someone else”
Well, then, it’s time to work to keep him out of office. We have enough jerks pushing their way into the middle of the intersection and going nowhere.
Let’s see if we can find folks who might want to work together to solve problems. Because we have a whole mess of them. And to fix them, all of us need to get along.
Normally, while in bed with my husband, I try not to laugh so hard that I can’t breathe. I try not to laugh so hard that I can’t get to the Kleenex box quickly enough to wipe away the tears. I try not to laugh hard enough to shake the bed causing my husband to fall off the edge onto our completely innocent, elderly dog. I also try not to spit, but, of course, I usually try not to spit. (I try not to snort, fart or do a whole host of other things while pretending to be the perfect wife. But they are fodder for a whole different post.)
But last night I did all of the above (hey, except the fart. I will NEVER admit to that).
My husband, John was kind of put out about it, actually. As in literally put out of the bed because it was shaking uncontrollably.
It wasn’t my fault, though. You see, I was reading what I am pretty certain is the funniest book I have ever read. So I have to share.
Actually, it’s taking me quite a while to read this book. Normally, I swallow books whole. Seriously. But it is slow going with this one. Because it makes me laugh so hard that I ache all over, and then I cry. And I don’t know about you, but when I cry, I have trouble reading. Those letters just dance around in the swirls on the page.
And that’s kind of what happened last night. I would read just a couple of words and then suddenly it happened. I was laughing so hard, and trying to dry my tears, and catch my breath and also say to my increasingly annoyed husband who was in bed trying to sleep, that I just wanted to finish the paragraph.
Not the chapter.
Not the book.
Just the paragraph. But each time I managed to control my laughter, dry my tears, blow my nose and find my place, well, I started all over again. Laughing, crying, gasping for breath. It took me about 30 minutes to finish a two sentence paragraph.
If you’re familiar with my blog, well, you know that I am not in the habit of writing book reviews, even though I read a whole lot. And I won’t tell you what this book is about. But it is hilarious.
Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, by Jenny Lawson
This is quite possibly the funniest book I have ever read. Really.
But I haven’t finished it yet. I’m going to wait until John is asleep before I curl up in bed with the book. (He’s been snoring a whole lot lately and payback is hell.)
If you have a weak bladder, I recommend reading this book in the bathroom.
It started as a theory. An hypothesis. And naturally, my scientific research proved my conjecture correct. At least to the best level of scientific certainty I could muster for this particular experiment.
And so now I know exactly why the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket.
It’s the cars. Or specifically, it’s the cars folks are driving. Actually, it’s the specific cars specific people are not driving that is causing all the trouble.
“Huh?” you say. OK. I’ll back up.
It started last weekend when our family was gathered around in the family room watching a movie: Spy Game.
I sat up a little straighter during the first scene when Robert Redford/Nathan Muir rushes across Memorial Bridge to CIA HQ at Langley in his Porsche. [And not only because he was driving in the wrong direction,away from Langley, either.] No, I sat up straighter because I knew that he was going to save Brad Pitt/Tom Bishop who went rogue. (No, Brad did not quit his job as Gov’ner of Alaska. Pay attention!)
Of course Robert Redford/Nathan Muir was going to succeed. Was there ever any doubt? No! Of course not! Folks who drive Porsches always succeed, don’t they? Isn’t that how they get the Porsches?
Well, that first scene made me think. I thought back on my extensive experience with spies, espionage and intrigue. Since I’ve been in the DC area for the better part of 30 years, well, obviously I know a lot about spies. Osmosis works, you know.
Anyway, that’s when I hypothesized that it is the lack of seriously cool cars in the hands of spies that has doomed the US to being a second-rate power. You see, I live not too far from CIA HQ, and I sometimes drive right by it on my way to work.
Hmmmmm, I thought. I don’t remember seeing cool cars driving into or out of Langley. But I needed proof. Damn.
Now, you can’t just hang out outside of CIA HQ. They frown upon it, even. So I knew that I had to be sly. You see, in 1993 there was a terrible incident where bad guys drove in through the front entrance and started shooting people. As a result, the CIA folks guard the entrances quite carefully, which is pretty smart. And I’m usually glad that they do.
Well, except for one night. That one night on the way to my house, some friends took a wrong turn and entered the facility. Oops. They were stopped and searched; the guards even searched the salad Zoe was carrying. Good thing the Supreme Court hadn’t yet ruled that salad-toting folks could be strip-searched, even though the salad was still naked so it would have been pretty simple.
Anyway, to conduct my research took a bit of sacrifice on my part – I had to “stage” an accident – so I cleverly rear-ended the car in front of me so that I could hang out in front of the entrance to CIA HQ and see what-all today’s spies are driving. It wasn’t pretty. I saw:
22 Toyota Camrys
31 Honda CRVs
12 Buick Le Sabres
127 Jeep Grand Cherokees
47 Nissan Altimas
13 Jeep Wranglers
432 Completely nondescript cars
Nondescript car
and 210 folks who took the bus.
Are you excited? Envious? Awake?
There were also several mini-vans with rear windshields covered with those Mom+Dad+Johnny+Suzie+Fido+Fluffy+Flip-flop decals on the rear windshield. There was ONE BMW, but it was disappointing, too – it was an SUV, an X-3, with a “Love Animals Don’t Eat Them” bumper sticker on the back.
Not a cool car in the bunch. No wonder our spies are so demoralized.
Or maybe, it is simply having to work here:
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Hey, this is my 100th Post!
Thanks everybody for coming back. You are coming back, aren’t you?
FiftyFourandAHalf 