I discovered that it can be remarkably fun to keep typing in random beginnings to questions into Google to see what else comes up. You know how Google will try and guess what you are typing as you are typing it, based on the frequencies with which people are typing in similar phrases that start with the same letters/words? If you start typing "How many times. . . " Google will fill in a short list of all the questions starting with "How many times. . . " that people have been asking recently.
This gives you a snapshot: What does everyone in America want to know tonight?
This also this changes each time you do it. It’s a strange, kinda poetic look at what people are walking around wondering and thinking about.
Type in:
“Why. . .” and you get:
. . .so serious?
. . . did I get married?
. . . men cheat?
How often. .
. . .. should you wash your hair?
. . . should you poop?
. . . .can you file bankruptcy?
. . . .should I wash my hair? (what’s up with the hair, people?)
How many times should. . .
. . . you chew your food?
. . . you pee every day?
. . . .should a baby poop?
. . . should i forgive?
What is the meaning. . .
. . .of life
. . . of my name
. . . of love
. . . of google
When do you know. . .
. . . your pregnant
. . . your marriage is over
. . . its love
. . . its over
. . . if you are having twins
How would you. . .
. . . describe yourself
. . . relate your key competencies to this position
. . . move Mt. Fuji
. . . weigh a plane without scales
Is there. . .
. . . a god
. . .life after death
. . .anybody out there
. . . mail on Columbus day
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Annual supertardy newsletter
I realized I hadn't posted the annual holiday newsletter, so here, slightly expurgated of identifying details, is this year's version:
HAPPY HOLIDAYS 2008!
Once again we send out this newsletter, tardy as always, to let all our friends and family know we are thinking of you. Late, of course, but we think of you! And we wish you happy holidays, or as per usual, Happy Valentine’s Day, by the time you get this. Anyway, we wanted to send you the usual updates about what kinds of trouble we’ve gotten into this year.
ROBOTS COME TO OUR HOUSEHOLD
We finally made a long-wished-for dream come true and added a robot to the household. No, it doesn’t do everything we’d like it to (where IS that much-wished-for toilet-cleaning robot?) So far it only vacuums the floor, but so far, so good. It’s small, cute and very efficient. When we first got it, we were so enthralled with it that we were spending more time watching it clean the floor than it would have taken us to just vacuum the floor ourselves. (Well, actually, since both of us would stand there and watch it at the same time, I guess we could actually have cleaned the floor twice . . .) However, since then, we’ve managed to tear ourselves away. Now it vacuums three times a week while we’re at work, meaning that it is no longer humiliating to have people unexpectedly stop by (no more massive tumbleweeds of food detritus and dust blowing by as we stand in the living room. . .yes, we are that lazy!). The best part is that via the Internet you can even buy little costumes for these robots, since apparently we’re not the only persons who
feel somewhat attached to our robot. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you now: we should get a pet already!) You can dress your robot up in a little animal costume, or you can sort of sexualize your robot in a kind-of French maid costume, (see at right) which is something we just don’t want to know any more about, thanks.
--------
ASSE SOCIETY
Charlotte has made a small sideline of going around giving lectures about topics related to her job. Anyway, this sideline takes Charlotte into many conference hotels. On one of these trips, she
was happy to spot a gem of a conference, the ASSE conference. Needless to say this sign (see photo, thanks to cell phone camera) stopped her dead in her tracks and despite her busy schedule she took the time to investigate. This conference turned out to be the American Society of Safety Engineers. Better yet, they even had a seminar as part of their conference, called something like: Being Taken More Seriously Within Your Organization. I dunno, but I am suspecting part of the tips for being taken more seriously might be the suggestion that perhaps you should not display your ASSE CERTIFICATION on your office wall. Nor should you tell your coworkers that you’re working on becoming an ASSE . . . Just sayin’.
A. NEWS: (written by A. himself)
When we last left A. in the winter of 2007, he was anxiously waiting for news about the future of his job. For those that hadn't heard, his old company was acquired by a huge and amazingly disorganized Japanese corporation.
Just before Christmas 2007, employees at A.’s job got the confirmation that a merger was in the works. Once January 2008 arrived, his old company officially became a “wholly owned subsidiary.” A. continued to wait patiently throughout the spring to hear whether his job would continue to exist, or whether it would become a victim of “corporate synergy” (This really was the term that they used. . . . Apparently, some HR person decided this term sounded better than “layoffs”).
By mid-winter, all the projects he had been managing had been cancelled. A. became a one-man, work-free IT department, fielding occasional calls from his co-workers in Minneapolis, who were complaining about what a horrible job the new company’s IT folks were doing merging the two organizations. A. spent most of his days relaxing, surfing the web, and polishing his resume. Many people would think this was a fine thing to get paid to do. And so did A.… for a few days. But for three months . . . . not so much.
A.’s favorite quote from this period is “I don’t mind going to work. It’s the 8 hour wait to go home again that bugs me.” Then, all of a sudden, someone realized that things weren’t going too well with the technology-related aspects of the merger of the two companies, and that maybe they needed a project manager. A. was asked if he’d take on this Herculean task that was hopelessly mired in turf battles and ego conflicts. ‘GREAT’, thought A., ‘this is just the kind of stuff I’m good at’. Believe it or not, this really is what he thought, since this is exactly what Project Managers get trained to do. So A. jumped in, trying to get up to speed as rapidly as possible. He was feeling excited, and thinking that they would see what great job he’s going to do, and that he might not have to find a new job after all. This continued for a week, during which A. was asked to travel up to NJ to the new company’s mother-ship/HQ facility. Great!! A. was feeling really important; the Borg wants to absorb him after all! A. arrived back from his big trip feeling excited. But literally, before he even got to unpack and fire up his laptop upon returning back to Baltimore, A. was called into a meeting with the big cheese-CIO guy, who had traveled down to Baltimore just to tell A. that his job was going to be eliminated by the end of the year. Oh, and if A. worked really hard during that time, and stayed all the way up to the end, (which turned out to be the day before Christmas) he might get a severance package. This was all very confusing.
A. called his boss– “What should I do? This job is huge. I could work over 60 hours a week and there’d still be more to do. Is this their idea of ‘motivation’?” His boss’ response? This is almost an exact quote: “You know, I’d suggest you just put in the level of effort that you feel comfortable with. After all, they’ve already fired you.”
Well, A. did work hard… kinda. And he finally found a new job, just as the economy was tanking, so he’s pretty relieved and grateful.
What else is going on with A.? Nothing new. Anything from a past newsletter could easily be inserted here. (He continues to mentor a kid through Big Brother/Little Brother, he birdwatches, cooks, grooms his TiVo obsessively, plans to become a cyborg as soon as that surgery is available, etc., etc.)
CHARLOTTE NEWS:
What’s new this year? Well, after ten years, Charlotte finally published her dissertation. This story was even picked up briefly by Reuters, then noted in a small health-related column in the Washington Post (and no, the headline was not, “World’s Biggest Procrastinator Finally Finishes Project, Several University Faculty Die From Shock”).
In other news, Charlotte got Lyme disease this year (in September), which was no fun. The worst part was when there was very mild facial paralysis/drooping on one side for a few days, which was certainly, ummmmm, disturbing. (Thought to self: I really hope THIS goes away because this looks like some kind of discount Botox thing gone terribly, terribly wrong) Fortunately, however, she was alerted by a big, classic rash on her leg, the size of a basketball, which helped in getting the problem caught and treated early. And, the interesting thing was that when she recovered, she felt better than ever, almost like an improved version of herself. Maybe it was trying acupuncture, or giving up sugary desserts in the evening? (Both were attempts to feel better, because the antibiotics, while effective, were slow to provide relief of the aches and pains. And these new health habits seem to have had surprising staying power--thumbs up to both!) Or who knows what? But the post-Lyme period has been a time of renewed energy and vitality. So, Charlotte does NOT recommend Lyme disease (Really: do not go out and muck about in bushes with nekkid ankles, it’s really not worth it) but getting over Lyme disease: actually some kind of improvement.
---------
Charlotte celebrated her recovery from Lyme disease with a spontaneous weekend getaway to see a Banksy art installation in NYC with her friend J. However, the big drawback of Charlotte and J. going anywhere is that neither of them are gifted with ANY directional sense or NYC know-how. Here Charlotte is switching to the first person to narrate this tale of woe:
“My new theory is that Baltimore is a suburb of New York. So, our idea was to drive up to N.J., park there, and take the commuter train in from Newark. This is a big money-saver, and I was also hoping it would be a stress reducer, versus driving in Manhattan traffic. However, little did I realize the difficulty of finding the correct train platform inside the Newark train station.”
The Newark train station turned out to be enormous, as it is home to massive numbers of Greyhound buses, NJRR, and PATH trains, as well as innumerable homeless teenagers, hipsters, grey-faced commuters, and Sopranos extras. Two Marylanders with excessive luggage stuck out like sore thumbs and managed to hold up the train ticket line for over twenty minutes as we struggled with an automated machine which seemed determined to sell us forty one-way tickets. Fortunately a passerby took pity on us, as we were actually considering making this extremely ill-advised purchase, and punched the correct coordinates into the machine to make it do our bidding.
With our tickets, we scrambled onto the train, which (once the train departed) we subsequently realized was NOT the PATH train to Manhattan. However, we were unable to discover exactly what train we WERE on, or even in which direction we were traveling. The simple method of asking other passengers seemed somehow much too embarrassing (“Hi, we’re total rubes, can you tell us where we are and where we’re going? And, if you have a minute, couldja you also help us tie our shoes?”) So instead, we tried to stop the rapidly moving conductors, as they raced through the train cars engaged in apparently high-urgency, high-speed mystery tasks, to ask them how we might transfer onto one of the PATH trains. We received a number of confusing and complex answers, (something along the lines of, “GetoffatheLexingtonstopandwalkto46thStreetandthengo leftatQSt, you’llseethe68, getonthereandthentransfertotheIRT-- lissen,Igottago”) --none of which were particularly helpful or illuminating. We sank into deeper and deeper despair, as the scenery whipped by and our hopes for a quick and easy trip receded further into the future (and the thought bubbles over our heads read, “I KNEW we should have taken someone who can read a map with us, what the hell were we thinking?”) Eventually we thought to ask a conductor whether it would be possible, not to get a PATH train, but actually just to get to Manhattan. This rewarded us with a totally new and different answer, which was, “Sure, justget offatheManhattanstop.” Charlotte anxiously queried, “But how will I know which stop that is?”
The conductor looked appalled and said, “Lady, when EVERYBODY gets offa da train, an’ the LIGHTS go out. . . DAT’S when you get off!”
He continued his speed-walking up to the front of the train car, but then paused before exiting through the front doors, turned, grinned, and shouted back to us, “Remember, get off in MANHATTAN -- the place wit’ all da big buildin’s--ya can’t miss it!”
People in the front of the train actually turned around in their seats to see what kind of hapless idiots he was speaking to.
--------------------------------
In other news, Charlotte accidentally took her mother to see an orgy.
Charlotte had visited the wonderful, innovative Woolly Mammoth Theater in downtown D.C. for another show earlier in the year, and meant to go back with her mother. The listing of new shows coming to that theater later that season included “Measure for Pleasure,” a “hilarious, bawdy romp from the 1600’s.” This sounded like a fun night out for the family (especially after we enjoyed seeing “Canterbury Tales” at the Kennedy Center together, which had some R-rated parts), so after ascertaining that her mother was interested, Charlotte obtained tickets well in advance for one of the performances. Well in advance of. . . any reviews or other information about the play.
Reading the Washington Post several weeks later, Charlotte happened came across an article praising the innovative costuming of the upcoming production. The writer noted “the costumes for the third-act orgy scene must be seen to be believed, including the accoutrements that cannot be described in a family newspaper.” She called her mother and asked if she still wanted to go, and got a positive response. Which was something of a relief, considering that Charlotte already had $150 (for three tickets) invested. The article also disclosed that the play was not, in fact, a historical relic from the 1600’s, but was instead a modern play “in the style” of the 1600’s, “updated for modern sexual variations”. Well, that would have been useful to know. So, what Charlotte had envisioned as a Shakespearean-type-thing was actually turning out to be more of an X-rated, college-theater-type-of-thing.
Well, the day of theater attendance finally arrived. Heroically, A. did offer to sit next to his mother-in-law, to save Charlotte the embarrassment of sitting next to her mother while sexual material was being presented, but Charlotte felt this was ridiculously far above and beyond his spousal duties. Greater love hath no man, but Charlotte felt it was only fair, as the feeble-brained conceiver of this entire outing, that she be the one to sit next to her mother.
Since Charlotte had purchased tickets so early, she had gotten front row seats. When we were seated and the curtain went up, the very first scene portrayed a transvestite prostitute, performing oral sex on a customer. And, we had such a wonderful view of the entire. . . operation. . .from the front row. Then it got even better: a character onstage, portraying a portly, lecherous old man, who was chronically sexually dissatisfied and always looking for new young women, began to interact with the audience. Specifically.. . . he noticed a young(ish) blonde(ish) woman in the front row,. . . who was, unfortunately, Charlotte. Falling to the floor in mock agony, crawling to the edge of the stage on his belly, he exclaimed “I NEEEEEED young, firm flesh. . .I NEEEED. . . fresh. . fragrant. . . young thighs. . . To sniff! To part! To lick!” Fixing his gaze on Charlotte’s horrified eyes, he delivered this impassioned soliloquy nearly face-to-face, from about 12 to 24 inches away.
The show went on from there, and yes, there was an orgy scene, lots of prosthetics, and umm. . . well, not much more that I really want to get into here without having to put an XXX rating on the outside of my holiday cards. I have to be conscious that I send this newsletter out to some of you who have families. I’ve said plenty already. You know, by the way, you can always cancel your subscription to this newsletter, all you need to do is write, call, or drop me a line saying “QUIT SENDING ME THE FILTH”
ANYWAY, needless to say, the show felt endless from the perspective of the mortified daughter in the middle seat. When the lights FINALLY went up and the curtain fell, Charlotte turned to her mother and inquired nervously, “So! What did you think of all that?” To which her mother replied, hands folded in lap, every bit as politely in response, “I’m so glad you didn’t think I was too old to see that.” Which I have to say, must have been the most elegant and gracious way of getting me off the hook that anyone could ever have conceived.
In fact in retrospect her mother still insists “I had a lovely time! Let’s go to the theater again soon!” when asked about that evening.
-----
Well, on that note, happy holidays to you and yours, and may you have a truly memorable 2009.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS 2008!
Once again we send out this newsletter, tardy as always, to let all our friends and family know we are thinking of you. Late, of course, but we think of you! And we wish you happy holidays, or as per usual, Happy Valentine’s Day, by the time you get this. Anyway, we wanted to send you the usual updates about what kinds of trouble we’ve gotten into this year.
ROBOTS COME TO OUR HOUSEHOLD
We finally made a long-wished-for dream come true and added a robot to the household. No, it doesn’t do everything we’d like it to (where IS that much-wished-for toilet-cleaning robot?) So far it only vacuums the floor, but so far, so good. It’s small, cute and very efficient. When we first got it, we were so enthralled with it that we were spending more time watching it clean the floor than it would have taken us to just vacuum the floor ourselves. (Well, actually, since both of us would stand there and watch it at the same time, I guess we could actually have cleaned the floor twice . . .) However, since then, we’ve managed to tear ourselves away. Now it vacuums three times a week while we’re at work, meaning that it is no longer humiliating to have people unexpectedly stop by (no more massive tumbleweeds of food detritus and dust blowing by as we stand in the living room. . .yes, we are that lazy!). The best part is that via the Internet you can even buy little costumes for these robots, since apparently we’re not the only persons who
feel somewhat attached to our robot. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you now: we should get a pet already!) You can dress your robot up in a little animal costume, or you can sort of sexualize your robot in a kind-of French maid costume, (see at right) which is something we just don’t want to know any more about, thanks.--------
ASSE SOCIETY
Charlotte has made a small sideline of going around giving lectures about topics related to her job. Anyway, this sideline takes Charlotte into many conference hotels. On one of these trips, she
was happy to spot a gem of a conference, the ASSE conference. Needless to say this sign (see photo, thanks to cell phone camera) stopped her dead in her tracks and despite her busy schedule she took the time to investigate. This conference turned out to be the American Society of Safety Engineers. Better yet, they even had a seminar as part of their conference, called something like: Being Taken More Seriously Within Your Organization. I dunno, but I am suspecting part of the tips for being taken more seriously might be the suggestion that perhaps you should not display your ASSE CERTIFICATION on your office wall. Nor should you tell your coworkers that you’re working on becoming an ASSE . . . Just sayin’.A. NEWS: (written by A. himself)
When we last left A. in the winter of 2007, he was anxiously waiting for news about the future of his job. For those that hadn't heard, his old company was acquired by a huge and amazingly disorganized Japanese corporation.
Just before Christmas 2007, employees at A.’s job got the confirmation that a merger was in the works. Once January 2008 arrived, his old company officially became a “wholly owned subsidiary.” A. continued to wait patiently throughout the spring to hear whether his job would continue to exist, or whether it would become a victim of “corporate synergy” (This really was the term that they used. . . . Apparently, some HR person decided this term sounded better than “layoffs”).
By mid-winter, all the projects he had been managing had been cancelled. A. became a one-man, work-free IT department, fielding occasional calls from his co-workers in Minneapolis, who were complaining about what a horrible job the new company’s IT folks were doing merging the two organizations. A. spent most of his days relaxing, surfing the web, and polishing his resume. Many people would think this was a fine thing to get paid to do. And so did A.… for a few days. But for three months . . . . not so much.
A.’s favorite quote from this period is “I don’t mind going to work. It’s the 8 hour wait to go home again that bugs me.” Then, all of a sudden, someone realized that things weren’t going too well with the technology-related aspects of the merger of the two companies, and that maybe they needed a project manager. A. was asked if he’d take on this Herculean task that was hopelessly mired in turf battles and ego conflicts. ‘GREAT’, thought A., ‘this is just the kind of stuff I’m good at’. Believe it or not, this really is what he thought, since this is exactly what Project Managers get trained to do. So A. jumped in, trying to get up to speed as rapidly as possible. He was feeling excited, and thinking that they would see what great job he’s going to do, and that he might not have to find a new job after all. This continued for a week, during which A. was asked to travel up to NJ to the new company’s mother-ship/HQ facility. Great!! A. was feeling really important; the Borg wants to absorb him after all! A. arrived back from his big trip feeling excited. But literally, before he even got to unpack and fire up his laptop upon returning back to Baltimore, A. was called into a meeting with the big cheese-CIO guy, who had traveled down to Baltimore just to tell A. that his job was going to be eliminated by the end of the year. Oh, and if A. worked really hard during that time, and stayed all the way up to the end, (which turned out to be the day before Christmas) he might get a severance package. This was all very confusing.
A. called his boss– “What should I do? This job is huge. I could work over 60 hours a week and there’d still be more to do. Is this their idea of ‘motivation’?” His boss’ response? This is almost an exact quote: “You know, I’d suggest you just put in the level of effort that you feel comfortable with. After all, they’ve already fired you.”
Well, A. did work hard… kinda. And he finally found a new job, just as the economy was tanking, so he’s pretty relieved and grateful.
What else is going on with A.? Nothing new. Anything from a past newsletter could easily be inserted here. (He continues to mentor a kid through Big Brother/Little Brother, he birdwatches, cooks, grooms his TiVo obsessively, plans to become a cyborg as soon as that surgery is available, etc., etc.)
CHARLOTTE NEWS:
What’s new this year? Well, after ten years, Charlotte finally published her dissertation. This story was even picked up briefly by Reuters, then noted in a small health-related column in the Washington Post (and no, the headline was not, “World’s Biggest Procrastinator Finally Finishes Project, Several University Faculty Die From Shock”).
In other news, Charlotte got Lyme disease this year (in September), which was no fun. The worst part was when there was very mild facial paralysis/drooping on one side for a few days, which was certainly, ummmmm, disturbing. (Thought to self: I really hope THIS goes away because this looks like some kind of discount Botox thing gone terribly, terribly wrong) Fortunately, however, she was alerted by a big, classic rash on her leg, the size of a basketball, which helped in getting the problem caught and treated early. And, the interesting thing was that when she recovered, she felt better than ever, almost like an improved version of herself. Maybe it was trying acupuncture, or giving up sugary desserts in the evening? (Both were attempts to feel better, because the antibiotics, while effective, were slow to provide relief of the aches and pains. And these new health habits seem to have had surprising staying power--thumbs up to both!) Or who knows what? But the post-Lyme period has been a time of renewed energy and vitality. So, Charlotte does NOT recommend Lyme disease (Really: do not go out and muck about in bushes with nekkid ankles, it’s really not worth it) but getting over Lyme disease: actually some kind of improvement.
---------
Charlotte celebrated her recovery from Lyme disease with a spontaneous weekend getaway to see a Banksy art installation in NYC with her friend J. However, the big drawback of Charlotte and J. going anywhere is that neither of them are gifted with ANY directional sense or NYC know-how. Here Charlotte is switching to the first person to narrate this tale of woe:
“My new theory is that Baltimore is a suburb of New York. So, our idea was to drive up to N.J., park there, and take the commuter train in from Newark. This is a big money-saver, and I was also hoping it would be a stress reducer, versus driving in Manhattan traffic. However, little did I realize the difficulty of finding the correct train platform inside the Newark train station.”
The Newark train station turned out to be enormous, as it is home to massive numbers of Greyhound buses, NJRR, and PATH trains, as well as innumerable homeless teenagers, hipsters, grey-faced commuters, and Sopranos extras. Two Marylanders with excessive luggage stuck out like sore thumbs and managed to hold up the train ticket line for over twenty minutes as we struggled with an automated machine which seemed determined to sell us forty one-way tickets. Fortunately a passerby took pity on us, as we were actually considering making this extremely ill-advised purchase, and punched the correct coordinates into the machine to make it do our bidding.
With our tickets, we scrambled onto the train, which (once the train departed) we subsequently realized was NOT the PATH train to Manhattan. However, we were unable to discover exactly what train we WERE on, or even in which direction we were traveling. The simple method of asking other passengers seemed somehow much too embarrassing (“Hi, we’re total rubes, can you tell us where we are and where we’re going? And, if you have a minute, couldja you also help us tie our shoes?”) So instead, we tried to stop the rapidly moving conductors, as they raced through the train cars engaged in apparently high-urgency, high-speed mystery tasks, to ask them how we might transfer onto one of the PATH trains. We received a number of confusing and complex answers, (something along the lines of, “GetoffatheLexingtonstopandwalkto46thStreetandthengo leftatQSt, you’llseethe68, getonthereandthentransfertotheIRT-- lissen,Igottago”) --none of which were particularly helpful or illuminating. We sank into deeper and deeper despair, as the scenery whipped by and our hopes for a quick and easy trip receded further into the future (and the thought bubbles over our heads read, “I KNEW we should have taken someone who can read a map with us, what the hell were we thinking?”) Eventually we thought to ask a conductor whether it would be possible, not to get a PATH train, but actually just to get to Manhattan. This rewarded us with a totally new and different answer, which was, “Sure, justget offatheManhattanstop.” Charlotte anxiously queried, “But how will I know which stop that is?”
The conductor looked appalled and said, “Lady, when EVERYBODY gets offa da train, an’ the LIGHTS go out. . . DAT’S when you get off!”
He continued his speed-walking up to the front of the train car, but then paused before exiting through the front doors, turned, grinned, and shouted back to us, “Remember, get off in MANHATTAN -- the place wit’ all da big buildin’s--ya can’t miss it!”
People in the front of the train actually turned around in their seats to see what kind of hapless idiots he was speaking to.
--------------------------------
In other news, Charlotte accidentally took her mother to see an orgy.
Charlotte had visited the wonderful, innovative Woolly Mammoth Theater in downtown D.C. for another show earlier in the year, and meant to go back with her mother. The listing of new shows coming to that theater later that season included “Measure for Pleasure,” a “hilarious, bawdy romp from the 1600’s.” This sounded like a fun night out for the family (especially after we enjoyed seeing “Canterbury Tales” at the Kennedy Center together, which had some R-rated parts), so after ascertaining that her mother was interested, Charlotte obtained tickets well in advance for one of the performances. Well in advance of. . . any reviews or other information about the play.
Reading the Washington Post several weeks later, Charlotte happened came across an article praising the innovative costuming of the upcoming production. The writer noted “the costumes for the third-act orgy scene must be seen to be believed, including the accoutrements that cannot be described in a family newspaper.” She called her mother and asked if she still wanted to go, and got a positive response. Which was something of a relief, considering that Charlotte already had $150 (for three tickets) invested. The article also disclosed that the play was not, in fact, a historical relic from the 1600’s, but was instead a modern play “in the style” of the 1600’s, “updated for modern sexual variations”. Well, that would have been useful to know. So, what Charlotte had envisioned as a Shakespearean-type-thing was actually turning out to be more of an X-rated, college-theater-type-of-thing.
Well, the day of theater attendance finally arrived. Heroically, A. did offer to sit next to his mother-in-law, to save Charlotte the embarrassment of sitting next to her mother while sexual material was being presented, but Charlotte felt this was ridiculously far above and beyond his spousal duties. Greater love hath no man, but Charlotte felt it was only fair, as the feeble-brained conceiver of this entire outing, that she be the one to sit next to her mother.
Since Charlotte had purchased tickets so early, she had gotten front row seats. When we were seated and the curtain went up, the very first scene portrayed a transvestite prostitute, performing oral sex on a customer. And, we had such a wonderful view of the entire. . . operation. . .from the front row. Then it got even better: a character onstage, portraying a portly, lecherous old man, who was chronically sexually dissatisfied and always looking for new young women, began to interact with the audience. Specifically.. . . he noticed a young(ish) blonde(ish) woman in the front row,. . . who was, unfortunately, Charlotte. Falling to the floor in mock agony, crawling to the edge of the stage on his belly, he exclaimed “I NEEEEEED young, firm flesh. . .I NEEEED. . . fresh. . fragrant. . . young thighs. . . To sniff! To part! To lick!” Fixing his gaze on Charlotte’s horrified eyes, he delivered this impassioned soliloquy nearly face-to-face, from about 12 to 24 inches away.
The show went on from there, and yes, there was an orgy scene, lots of prosthetics, and umm. . . well, not much more that I really want to get into here without having to put an XXX rating on the outside of my holiday cards. I have to be conscious that I send this newsletter out to some of you who have families. I’ve said plenty already. You know, by the way, you can always cancel your subscription to this newsletter, all you need to do is write, call, or drop me a line saying “QUIT SENDING ME THE FILTH”
ANYWAY, needless to say, the show felt endless from the perspective of the mortified daughter in the middle seat. When the lights FINALLY went up and the curtain fell, Charlotte turned to her mother and inquired nervously, “So! What did you think of all that?” To which her mother replied, hands folded in lap, every bit as politely in response, “I’m so glad you didn’t think I was too old to see that.” Which I have to say, must have been the most elegant and gracious way of getting me off the hook that anyone could ever have conceived.
In fact in retrospect her mother still insists “I had a lovely time! Let’s go to the theater again soon!” when asked about that evening.
-----
Well, on that note, happy holidays to you and yours, and may you have a truly memorable 2009.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
GLAMOUR HOSPITAL
So what’s new and different about visiting a relative in a glitzy, high-priced DC-area hospital, a.k.a. Fairfax Hospital?
1. Wheelchair-accessible Healing Gardens inside the hospital. (See attached photo. Despite my dark state of mind, I snorted rudely when I saw the sign on the door saying "Please refrain from smoking in healing garden. . ." It made me imagine the meeting of hospital administrators where they hammered out the need for, and wording of, that sign. Rather than just the standard "NO SMOKING", there was something about that polite verb, "please refraiiiiiiin" that made me think of them gritting their teeth to avoid saying what they really wanted to say on that sign, which is, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING WITH THE SMOKING, DUMBASS, THIS IS A HOSPITAL)
Great landscaping around the whole hospital, kind of a Japanese theme in places.
2. Sushi in the cafeteria. (Although I didn’t try it. . . . I mean, “hospital cafeteria” as a modifer for “sushi” just still didn’t have quite the right ring to it, where I was certain that that was gonna be a winner)
3. Pagers (lighted , buzzing, drink coasters, like you get in restaurants, only not quite so fun) while your relative is in surgery, so that you can go get a sandwich without worrying you’ll miss getting to talk to the surgeon. What a great idea.
4. Free wireless internet all over the hospital! Woo hoo! OK maybe that doesn’t rate a “woo hoo” (wouldn’t it be more fun to be at home on the Internet?) but it was still really nice. This way you can sit by your relative’s bedside and watch them sleep, and dial into your work network on your laptop, and be working online, while still being there with your relative. Or, I guess you could quietly relax with some Internet porn instead if you’re that kind of person. Whatever.
5. "Care managers" who stop by each day and ask both the patient and their relatives if they are satisfied with the quality of their care, or is there anything that needs to be fixed. They leave a business card so you know how to get in touch with them if something comes up later.
Overall I was impressed that hospitals keep getting better. . . now if only airports could be less horrible. . .?
Overall I was impressed that hospitals keep getting better. . . now if only airports could be less horrible. . .?
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
"Sleep number bed" is a loser
Described by my brother, after several years of ownership, as "two troughs separated by a log down the middle." Each party sleeps in their own individual trough, and never the twain shall meet, unless one party makes a considerable effort to fling their body up and over the high log and then risk crushing the other party beneath the sudden onslaught of their full body weight.
If you pump up the sleep number (the firmness is controlled by adjustable air-filled chambers) to higher numbers, you can get the level of the troughs closer to the height of the log, but the outer edges of the bed are still for some reason lower than the height of the log in the middle, so at this setting, you unfortunately replicate a Mt. Vesuvius, mountain-type effect, with the center of the mattress as the peak of the mountain, leading to an unfortunate effect in which each party is prone to slowly rolling out of bed and landing on the floor beside the bed during the night.
And best of all, this is an expensive mattress.
If you pump up the sleep number (the firmness is controlled by adjustable air-filled chambers) to higher numbers, you can get the level of the troughs closer to the height of the log, but the outer edges of the bed are still for some reason lower than the height of the log in the middle, so at this setting, you unfortunately replicate a Mt. Vesuvius, mountain-type effect, with the center of the mattress as the peak of the mountain, leading to an unfortunate effect in which each party is prone to slowly rolling out of bed and landing on the floor beside the bed during the night.
And best of all, this is an expensive mattress.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Something I learned: reasons NOT to go into the ministry
From an interesting discussion with, um, an actual insider, a list of reasons why being a minister ain't easy:
1. You don’t have an actual boss per se, instead your boss is a constantly-changing group of volunteers who may or may not have any familiarity with how a business works, how to motivate and supervise people, what health care plans should cost, etc..
2. Everyone you work with feels free to criticize your personal life--are you a model of rectitude at all times? Are you always cheerful, patient, pleasant, kind, moral, thoughtful? Do you buy local, not waste gas, hold open doors for the elderly, observe the speed limit, keep your yard mowed and sidewalks shoveled, refrain from foul language? Do you do so 24/7/365? If not, prepare to receive feedback about that.
3. Everyone who works under you is a volunteer, and they may or may not show up to do stuff that needs to get done. But if it doesn't get done, it's your responsibility and your problem.
4. Your company has no actual budget, so you have no idea how much money is coming in every year. Yet you must somehow make plans to pay yourself a salary, heat the building, buy office supplies, etc.
5. Don’t forget, your company’s mission statement includes a vow of poverty!
6. And on top of all this, you’re required to give a highly motivated motivational speech in front of a crowd, every week.
1. You don’t have an actual boss per se, instead your boss is a constantly-changing group of volunteers who may or may not have any familiarity with how a business works, how to motivate and supervise people, what health care plans should cost, etc..
2. Everyone you work with feels free to criticize your personal life--are you a model of rectitude at all times? Are you always cheerful, patient, pleasant, kind, moral, thoughtful? Do you buy local, not waste gas, hold open doors for the elderly, observe the speed limit, keep your yard mowed and sidewalks shoveled, refrain from foul language? Do you do so 24/7/365? If not, prepare to receive feedback about that.
3. Everyone who works under you is a volunteer, and they may or may not show up to do stuff that needs to get done. But if it doesn't get done, it's your responsibility and your problem.
4. Your company has no actual budget, so you have no idea how much money is coming in every year. Yet you must somehow make plans to pay yourself a salary, heat the building, buy office supplies, etc.
5. Don’t forget, your company’s mission statement includes a vow of poverty!
6. And on top of all this, you’re required to give a highly motivated motivational speech in front of a crowd, every week.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Germans give great word
"Vergangenheitsbewaltigung": coming to terms with the past, or to master the past.
I'm still looking for the German word (I had it somewhere, then I lost it) which means "sadness at the onset of spring"
I'm still looking for the German word (I had it somewhere, then I lost it) which means "sadness at the onset of spring"
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