Category Archives: Humor

November 27, 2011 · 0:00

What happened?

Sometimes I miss stuff.

When I read, sometimes I get so excited about what I’m reading that I miss something very important to the story.  Like the point of the story.  Or a major turning point in the plot.  Most often, I miss it when someone dies.  I don’t like death much.  I try to ignore it, even when I read.

Most of the time, nobody knows I’ve missed something.  Most of the time, I don’t either.  Most of the time, I go on blithely thinking that one thing happened when, in fact, something else entirely happened.  As a result, the books I read tend to be quite cheerful.

In college, I read Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury.  Have you read it?  I did, although this time I am quite sure I didn’t race to the end because I enjoyed it.  I think I raced to the end of the book so that Faulkner would shut up.  But when I got to class, I discovered I’d missed a tiny little detail.  Oops.  Because everyone was talking about Quentin Compson’s death.

Huh?

Spoiler alert:  If you haven’t read the book – Don’t.

I mean, if you haven’t read the book and plan to, don’t continue reading this blog.  Do something else.  Click on “My Favs.”   Click on the blogs in my blog roll.  Click on Amazon.com and see what other classics you haven’t read.  Most of them, at least those NOT written by Faulkner, are really great books.

Anyway, back to The Sound and The Fury. 

I was very confused that my classmates seemed to think that Quentin Compson had died!  They had to be wrong, I thought.  I clearly remembered the last time he appeared in the novel:   Quentin was a freshman at Harvard, and he went swimming in the Charles River.  I think that the line was actually “Quentin walked into the Charles until his hat floated.”  I figured that, because he was a Southerner, he wanted to keep his hat on at all times; that river gets pretty chilly, you know.  Besides, Southerners have some odd customs, and at the time I read this book, well, I didn’t know the half of it.

So there I was, taking American Literature 101, reading Faulkner, occasionally walking across the bridge that had plaques about Quentin Compson’s suicide, and I missed the part where he offed himself.  Totally.

Well, you must admit it was an odd literary ploy.

But sadly, that wasn’t the last time I missed something.  It still happens.  I can read a whodunit, and not only not guess who done it, but read it again a year later, and not guess again.  Perhaps I am just subconsciously thrifty.

So when a week or so ago, the blogs I follow started disappearing from my inbox, I wasn’t overly concerned.  After all, we all go through slow periods.  And then I blamed it on the build-up to the Thanksgiving holiday; everyone must be busy.  Surely it was simply a coincidence that everyone was having a slow period simultaneously.  Strange things DO happen, you know.

BUT as it turned out, somehow I missed the fact that I accidentally “unfollowed” all the blogs I had consciously, intentionally and with knowledge aforethought decided to follow.  Oops.  I have now re-followed and re-subscribed.

Sorry.  Sometimes I just miss stuff.

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Filed under Humor, Stupidity

November 26, 2011 · 0:00

Too much information

I’ve had a house full of folks here for Thanksgiving for most of the week.  So I’ve been doing a whole lot of cooking.  Tonight, however, I’m taking it easy.  I bought a frozen lasagna, and not long ago, I turned over the box to read the directions.  Basically, I needed to know how long and at what temperature to cook it.  What other information do you think I’d need?

Apparently, our friends at Stouffer’s thought I needed more.  Apparently, they think that the straight jacket has just been removed from my torso.  Apparently they think that I need careful guidance in frozen Lasagna-making.

So I guess it is a good thing that the box gave me the most complete pre-cooking instructions I could wish for:

Preheat oven to 400° F

Do not exceed 400° F

Pull tab from short side of package and remove perforated strip.

Remove tray from box.

Now, I know that some people are better cooks than others, but if you can’t figure out that you need to open the package and take the entree out before you start cooking your frozen dinner, well then, maybe you need something more than a frozen dinner.

Maybe you need a drink.

34 Comments

Filed under Family, Humor

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November 21, 2011 · 0:00

Great Balls of Fire!

People here in Northern Virginia are way different from the ones I grew up with in Connecticut.  Folks here just can’t seem to get away from the Civil War.  And now, I guess I can’t either.

Now, I can understand the interest.  That war is still all around us.  After all, Richmond, Virginia was the Capitol of the Confederate States of America.  The first battle was fought here in Manassas and the last battle and surrender took place here too, in Appomattox.  There are hundreds of known and marked battlefields where you can touch history, where you can learn the details of the battles and who did what to whom.  All is laid out clearly, respectfully.  We Americans do a great job at battlefield parks.

Throughout most of the year there are also reenactments of battles.  From what I’ve gathered, though, this mostly involves men dressing up in gray uniforms and blue ones and hanging out in front of a campfire.  They shoot the breeze — instead of each other, which is modern life for you — being a Civil War participant is much better in this century than it was back in the day.  Nowadays you can avoid the bullets, the bayonets, the cannon fire, the dysentery and, and, and ….

Recently, the Civil War got even closer.  You see, a history buff bought the land across the street.  And he really wants to feel the history at home.  And of course, that means history is at my doorstep.

Now, the property across the street includes about 10 acres. John and I thought that no one would ever buy it.  It’s just a weird piece of land.  It’s a triangle, with woods on the left, woods on the right and an open, grassy area in the middle, where the owner may not build.

When we ran into Beau, our soon-to-be-neighbor, he introduced himself.  “I’ve always wanted property with a ‘meadow,’” he told us, with misty eyes and a ramrod straight back.

“Actually, it’s a natural gas pipeline,” said John helpfully (because that’s what it is.)  It is a potentially explosive piece of property.  We told him that before he bought it, mind you.  When he still had time to change his mind.

But Beau has a dream.  Now we have a nightmare.

Beau didn’t specify just what his dream was.  Perhaps we should have known what was in store for us by his pronounced drawl.  Or maybe by his military bearing.   Or maybe when he didn’t know the difference between a peaceful meadow and a grassy knoll.  Can you say “Stonewall Jackson”?  Can you say “Great Balls of Fire”?  Can you say “Rhett and Scarlett”?

You guessed it.  To our surprise (horror?), Beau built Tara, right across the street.  Or maybe it’s Twelve Oaks.  I can’t quite decide.  Maybe it’s Tara Oaks, but that sounds like a new flavor of oatmeal.

OK, I cheated. The real one is (thankfully) hiding behind trees from my Yankee camera. (Google Image)

To be fair, well, the house isn’t like the McMansions that surround our more modest house.  It isn’t quite as large as I expected either (apparently they skipped some of the wings found in a real southern plantation).  But Tara Oaks is from another era, one that ended in 1865, also here in Virginia.

More visible to me and folks driving by, the property is surrounded by Civil war-style stockade fences, just right for the boys in gray to hide behind while shooting Yankees.

The real fence. It surrounds the property.

But the thing that worries me most is that there is one spot on the side of the meadow where they leveled the ground and put in a rectangular bit of asphalt.  You can see it in the upper right.  This spot is suitable for only one purpose:

And I just know it will be pointed towards the Yankee across the street.  Especially if Beau ever reads this piece.

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November 18, 2011 · 0:00

A Better Way

The answer is easier than we think.  Yup, I’ve figured out how we can come up with a Republican nominee!  Now why didn’t anyone think of it before?  I’m smart, but you know I’m not getting paid for this type of work.  Do I get a bonus?  A finder’s fee?  A spot on Mount Rushmore?

Limbo.  That’s all we need.  Two upright bars, one horizontal one, a drum beat — and we have our candidate!  It’s easy!  It’s cheap!  We don’t have to spend two years doing it.  More importantly, we don’t have to suffer through another debate!

You know how it’s done, don’t you?  Here’s what Wikipedia, my oracle, says about it:

Limbo is a popular form of dance that originated on the island of Trinidad.  The dancer moves to a Caribbean rhythm, then leans backward and dances under a horizontal pole without touching it. Upon touching it or falling backwards, the dancer is “out.”  When several dancers compete, they travel in single file, and the stick is gradually lowered until only one dancer — who has not touched either the pole or the floor — remains.

We can cut to the chase and get a nominee lickety-split.  Whoever goes lowest, gets the nod.  It works for me.  And isn’t that where they’re heading anyway — and at much greater cost?

I came to this conclusion after stumbling upon a discussion on the New York Times website, captioned:  “Should Candidates Have to Pass a Civics Test?”

My answer, in a word is:  “YES.”  My answer, in a string of profanities, is  longer.

And I’m afraid I have to ask myself: “This is a question we are asking ourselves about our potential future President?”  Golly gee.  Do ya think that the potential leaders of our nation should be familiar with how the damn nation works?

You know what they say about menus without prices:  If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.  In this case, if you have to ask, you’re supporting the wrong candidate.  The bar here is pretty damn low.

And, realistically, this question is geared at REPUBLICAN candidates.  Because I think we can assume that a former Constitutional Law Professor knows, at a minimum, that there are three branches of government.  At least there are under the U.S. Constitution — you know, that document that holds up the 2nd Amendment?

A bit of disclosure is needed here, I guess.  I lecture on Civics as part of my job.  I work in a small company that has an international staff.  I’ve realized that it’s not just foreign-born, foreign-educated folks who need to learn how the U.S. Government works.  It’s been a long time since 7th grade civics for most adults, and everyone who works with us gets a refresher course.

What I didn’t realize is that folks who are running for the highest office in the nation might need my 30 minute lecture, too.  Do you think I can command Newt-like speaking fees to give it?

So here is my plan:  We’ll have Mitt, Rick, Michelle, Herman, Ron, Newt, Rick, and John Huntsman do the Limbo.  Whoever wins, by which of course I mean, whoever  gets down-est and dirty-est, well, they get the nomination.  Then I’ll give them my 30 minute lecture about how the government works.  They’ll be ready to govern!

The only problem is with those pesky military details, the Commander-in-Chief BS.  Well, that’s where I put my foot down.  Someone else is going to have to teach them which buttons to press, and which ones NOT to press.

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November 6, 2011 · 0:00

You’ve Got a Friend

This time it wasn’t my fault.  I didn’t break it.  John did.

Well, we had been meaning to replace the stereo for a while.  It went on without our help, changed from the radio to a CD and would often stop playing for no reason.  Other times it just wouldn’t turn off.  Perhaps it didn’t like our choice in music.  There was a short in it that no one could find.  Well, either that or we had to admit it was haunted.  We decided that broken is way better than spooky.

So that very day when I was writing about how I like to smack stuff, my husband was putting the nail in our stereo’s coffin.

You see, it was playing a song by Steely Dan.  John hates Steely Dan.  He hit the button on the remote, but the song continued.

Ricky don’t lose that number. 

John rushed over to the stereo and pushed the button, gently the first time.  Harder and harder with each successive, um, press of the button.  Until it stopped.  Permanently.   He smacked the stereo’s power button so hard that Ricky lost the number.  Ricky, in fact, would never come back, at least not through that stereo.  It’s dead.

So today we got a new, shock absorbing model.  And putting it onto the shelf sent me back to the last time music haunted me.

We had just moved to Geneva; it was 1997.  Living full-time in a place where they speak another language makes you long for English.  Passionately.  Desperately.  So when my new friend Allison Dornstauder informed me, a mere month after my arrival that there was an English language radio station in Geneva, I was delighted.  WRG – World Radio Geneva.  All English broadcasting.  I knew now that I would survive my Swiss adventure.

But it was weird.  Every time I turned on the radio, whether it was in the car or at home, it played the same song.  It played You’ve Got A Friend.  You know, the Carole King song, also sung by James Taylor?  Both versions are terrific.  I heard neither.

Someone else was always singing it.

At first I thought it was odd; I mean, the Jackson Five singing You’ve Got A Friend?  Why would anyone want to listen to that?  I heard a different version of the song, every time I turned on the radio.  Roberta Flack sang it, Barry Manilow did a duet with Melissa Manchester, and Barbara Streisand belted it.  Every single time I turned on the radio when I was alone, it happened.

Did you know that song has been recorded by at last count, 752 different artists.  And I use the term “artists” loosely.  I heard each and every one of them.

I started to get spooked.  There was nobody I could talk to about this, other than my husband, who thought I was nuts anyway.  That’s why he married me.  But we were new to town, I didn’t know anyone yet, I had no friends.  Who could I talk to about this unnerving phenomenon?  There was my friend Allison, and a couple of other parents I’d chatted with at Jacob’s school.  But I was not yet comfortable confiding such an eerie experience to strangers.

Finally, I did tell Allison.  I tried to be casual about hearing the song so much, and by so many different artists.  She laughed; she didn’t believe me.  But it was true.  Really it was.  I honestly started to think I must be going, well, slightly, insane.  But if I was, I would be damned if it would be to the generic version.  Give me Carole King – it was her song.  Give me James Taylor – he made it a No. 1 hit.  Michael Jackson, Roberta Flack and the rest?  No.  Not good enough.  And don’t give me Barry Manilow doing anything.

Remember, this happened before you could just look up programming online.  Before you could pause and replay.  Before you could record on your computer just what weird thing you were streaming online.  It was the olden days.  Before Google.  Imagine that.

Allison started teasing me about it.  She wouldn’t even humor me; she thought it couldn’t be happening.  But I got back at her.  Whenever it happened and I was at home, I would call her.  Invariably she wasn’t home, and so I put the phone up to the stereo, and I let her know, well, Allison, “You’ve got a friend.”  No message, just the song.  After she was serenaded by 4 or 5 different versions of the song on her answering machine, Allison finally agreed that, well, maybe they were doing something weird with that song.  We became fast friends.

So today, when we plugged in our new stereo, we tuned it in to our favorite pop station and turned it on.  I heard those first few notes and thought, “Oh no.”

And then I heard it, Carole King singing

When you’re down and troubled
And you need some loving care
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there
You’ve got a friend

 It’s good to be back in the States.

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