Spring Is In the Water

Today is rainy but last Wednesday wasn't so I ventured out into the world for a walk. I was headed to the farm to have lunch with the hub. Don't be impressed, its only a mile and he gives me a ride home. On the way there, I passed the little neighborhood lake. Never mind that its still winter - at the lake it was spring. Those little English daisies that my dog mistakes for bread crumbs are in full bloom. My dog has not always been so easily fooled but she's 15 now and I think she has dogzheimer's. She always forgets that I just gave her a treat and she barks for more. Which I give her. Maybe she's getting smarter...

Anyway, I saw lots of springy stuff - especially birds. There were a bunch of different kinds, and thanks to the hub, I have learned how to identify some of them. For instance, I have figured out how to tell the difference between Snowy and Great Egrets. Besides the fact that Snowy Egrets are a lot littler than Great ones. Also, Snowys have yellow feet. I remember it as in don't eat yellow snow. The hub taught me about the yellow feet, but the snow thing is all mine...

One bird I know on sight is the coot. Coots, also known as mudhens, are the butt ugliest birds God ever put on the face of the earth. I think birds are beautiful creatures as a family of animals, but coots are just awful looking. I don't think God made a mistake in their design - just that we have different taste.

Coots are a kind of dingy grey/black with nauseating green feet that look like wormy little pontoons. They float around the lake in little bunches and when they get out of the water, they group poop all over the lawn. Their beaks are white and look like exclamation points without the dot. They make squawky noises and they eat bugs. They uglify up the landscape. Still, they undoubtedly perform a valuable function in nature.

I'm not sure what it is but there are huge numbers of coots so it must be really important. Maybe its to keep big groups of picnickers off the lawn. Large groups are hard on turf. Even large groups of coots. Of course, people don't (usually) poop all over the lawn so its sort of six of one, half a dozen of the other who is harder on the grass.

There are other bird families, too. Most of the lbb variety (little brown bird). Hey, the hub's a good teacher, but he's no Annie Sullivan. I can identify robins and larger. Usually. Anyway, there are many signs of impending spring. Coots are just the ugliest and most obvious at this point.

Long Ago and Far Away...

I decided to take a break from my Olympic coverage because, frankly, I'm even beginning to bore myself. Plus it was raining and I went to the mall. While on my way, I realized I didn't have my headlights on. I usually don't have to turn them on because I have a Toyota (the pre-deathtrap kind) and they have headlights that automatically turn on when its dark. So I turned them on, but then I worried I'd forget to turn them off. Yes, it was only a few miles away, but I'm 54 and things fall out of my brain faster than an out of control Toyota speeds down the highway.

My mind hearkened back to fifth grade where I had two teachers - one for math, science and art(?) and one for English, history and everything else. My English teacher was the sainted Mrs. Stevenson who was perfect. My math/science teacher was Mrs Paine who was a royal one. Oddly, though, most practical things I learned in school came out of her class. She always said if she was afraid she'd forget something, she'd rotate her ring around her finger and say the thing she wanted to remember. Then when it felt uncomfortable she would remember what she wanted to remember.

I envision my mind like a Pong game with thoughts bouncing around and ricocheting off the sides. My little mental Pong paddle captured my fifth grade memory while I was driving and I rotated my ring so I'd remember to turn off my lights. You know, its no wonder I can't remember where I parked my car - I've got things from 1965 floating around in my brain. I did remember to douse the lights, though, so the ring thing worked.

I also remembered to get dog treats, a haircut and the laundry done. That ring idea totally rocks (unintended but acceptable pun)! Mrs. Paine was a pain in my ten year old ass but she has saved me lots of time over the years. Plus, she kept my dogs spoiled and my clothes clean! Lousy teacher but I'm a lot better organized for having been in her class.

Ewwwwwwww!

Once again, glued to the Olympics. I just saw something really gross, though. No, it wasn't Dick Button in a leotard - but almost as bad. They were showing two-man bobsled and the American sled number one was getting ready to go. They show a lot of the prep from a low mounted camera which I have named the ass cam. It tends to show a particularly unflattering angle of the bobsledders.

Now, bobsledding is a sport where its important to be aerodynamic so they naturally wear tight racing suits. But bobsledders aren't shaped like traditional athletes. Say,for example, your Shani Davis, or your Apolo Ohno. You know, slim and muscular. Sledders might have muscles, but its hard to see them under the flab.

The pilot of the American 1 sled backed up to the ass cam and, though it was horrifying, I couldn't look away. His butt filled the whole frame and was astonishingly well defined in his stretchy suit.I threw up a little bit in my mouth. They raced pretty well (lots of ballast), then this enormous fellow hoisted himself out of his sled and I saw something I never want to see again. His suit was pulled so tight around his gut that you could see through it. I actually could discern his belly button and tummy hairs. Ew.

I was tempted, but I didn't look farther south. Didn't want to burn my corneas. Here's the deal - I know the suits have to be tight, but they should have to fit, too. Dude was so crammed into that thing it looked more like a casing than a racing suit. Maybe he misunderstood the instructions.

The women have problems with tight suits, too. I saw a video of a woman training and they were using the ass cam. This poor lady was getting ready to start her run and the back seam of her suit gave out. The ass cam captured the whole debacle. Fortunately the woman is in great shape and has a really nice ass, but she was only wearing a thong and the audience got a little too up close and personal. I think they use that super glue on the seams instead of sewing them just like those swimsuits that failed so spectacularly in the summer Olympic trials.

On second thought, they must use more than glue or that American pilot guy would have been stark raving nekkid by the end of the race. He was probably sewn, glued, roped, stapled and twist tied into that thing. Its a good thing, too, NBC would have lost advertising revenue if the ass cam had captured him in all his glory. Or a thong. Ewwww.

OK. I'm Shallow But I'm Right About This

What is it with people from Australia? They are all ridiculously good looking. I'm watching the women's snowboarding and the Australian girl won the gold. Sure, Olympic athletes are at their physical peak, but that doesn't change their facial features. Lots of those ladies were pretty, but that Aussie looked like she was the product of Disney's imagineers!

I've known several Australians in my life and they've all been intimidatingly gorgeous. My first Aussie friend was in eighth grade. It was when the model Twiggy was hot and my friend is the only person besides the Twigster who was able to pull off the penciled in eyelashes that looked so cool on magazine covers. I tried to replicate them and found out what a scratched cornea feels like.

I spent the night with her one night and developed an accent that was truly obnoxious and mercifully short lived. This has nothing to do with the relative hotness of the Australian people but it reminded me of my old friend and I was free associating. They picked an Australian actress to play the Virgin Mary, for Pete's sake...Mel Gibson was a total biscuit before he got all skeevy and started impregnating Russians. Nicole Kidman and her equally Australian hubby produced a child who will probably grow up surrounded by unicorns and glitter (She'll be gorgeous)

Speaking of Russians, there are many stunning ones, but then out pops a Yevgeny Pleschenko. He may be a good ice skater, but he is not an attractive man. Yes he has the body of a god, but the face of, well, if my dog looked like that... you know the rest. I've just never seen a homely Aussie. It doesn't matter, of course, in the grand scheme what country produces the best looking people. I just find it fascinating that Australia spawns only pretty ones.

Do they toss all the ugmos to the sharks? Is it some kind of bizarre genetic engineering? I don't think so since genetic engineering is a recent development and Aussies have been handsome for a long time. Aussies started out as wretched refuse just like we Americans did. Maybe the country is so far off the beaten path that ugly people never made it there. On the ship, the less attractive were put ashore so people wouldn't have to look at them or they opted to go ashore so they could stop wearing bags on their heads.

Maybe that's where beauty-challenged everywhere else people come from. On the way to Australia, their ancestors were dumped in France, Italy. Russia, the US, and all the other places in the world. They were the wretched refuse of the wretched refuse. But beauty is truly only skin deep and my idea of drop dead gorgeous might be somebody else's notion of Quasimodo.

It could have something to do with the laid back attitude they have down under there. No stress makes for fewer wrinkles. So does Botox but that's cheating. I'm just going to forget trying to see the why of it and just enjoy the fact that it is. I'd like to go visit the country some day and see if my observation holds up. I'm not sure about me, bit the hub would fit in nicely there. He's a bit of a biscuit, too!

Olympic Irony

Another night, another three hours glued to my TV watching highly trained athletes at the peak of their physical prowess performing unbelievable feats of strength and agility. The irony is that those of us watching couldn't be more sedentary. Unless we were dead. Today, the hub and I rode our bikes to Safeway and then, because that's a whole mile, we rode over to Subway for lunch. Then we rode all the way home.

And that was our exercise for today. Now, sitting in the recliner and watching these specimens of physical perfection, it seems a tad paltry, although the oldest of those whippersnappers out there are not much older than our own kids. I just wish I didn't make all those old people noises when I stand up.

The pairs are skating now. Most of them look pretty well matched but it doesn't seem right to pair those tiny, little waif-like girls with guys that look like bull moose. Then the boy picks up the teeny girl and throws her for all he's worth. Its like when my son used to steal his sister's Barbie dolls and chuck them across the backyard. Those little suckers could fly!

Those guys have to be strong, but the girls are fearless; at any moment, they are in real danger of doing a face plant on hard, cold ice. Plus, and this seems to be a real problem for a lot of the girls, they get wedgies. Not those little bitty girls, but the ones who look well nourished (No - that's not a euphemism for fat -they look healthy.) tend to have their leotards climb up their yahoos and they can't do anything about it til they're off the ice.

I don't know about you, but I can't even walk across a room if my undies decide to go spelunking. How hard must it be to twirl around all over the ice with your behind hanging out and everybody in the world (well, me and my ilk) wondering how she's going to get that out of there? I think these women are the bravest people on earth.

Pretty soon it'll be time to hoist my old bones out of this recliner and hit the sheets. I'll hear the Olympic Fanfare in my head as I head down the hall. The shower will be my podium and I will sing the National Anthem under the water Dick Button will announce me into my bed. I love his name...

They're Flying!!!

I just don't get ski jumping. I like watching it but its weird. I mean, most of the winter snow sports can be traced back to useful skills. People needed to get around in snowy weather so skiing is a natural. They needed to hunt - so biathlon. The Dutch (my ancestors!) ice skated around on frozen canals. I know, speed skating is not technically a snow sport, but it makes sense.

What makes NO sense whatsoever is ski jumping. What the heck would anybody use it for? Escaping from evil spies a la James Bond? Sure, you'd have to jump over stuff if you were out hunting or traveling across the tundra, but its hard to believe you'd have to fly a hundred meters down a hill and perform a Telemark landing. Who was that Telemark dude anyway? Why was landing his claim to fame? Was he a crappy taker offer?

Anyway, the object of ski jumping seems to be to hurl your body down an icy ramp and, when you get to the end of the ramp, thrust yourself into the air. Raise your tips and flash a quick ad for Fischer skis. Then, forming a large sail with your chest and skis, fly as far down the hill as you can without landing on the flat part a few feet past the hill.

I was watching the ski jumpers today, and the commentators would say things like " He raised his chest", "He went through his hips" (?)or " He got a rough start off the ramp". OK, these guys know whereof they speak, but to the untrained eyeball (mine) they all looked the same. I'm talking identical here. I really think that unless one of the skiers does an "agony of defeat" crotch slide down the side of the ramp it would be nearly impossible for the average viewer to tell who won and who lost.

Timed races are easy to judge and even subjectively judged sports like figure skating are judgable from my butt on my sofa. " Well, Dick, she's on her ass at center ice and he's bleeding from a gash on his shin. I think its safe to say they're not going to be on the podium tonight." But ski jumping doesn't add up. Plus there are style points in addition to distance so its even more confusing.

That said, its fun to watch. I like when they put a camera on the helmet or ski tip of somebody and send them down the ramp. If I ever tried that, they'd have to dub out the sound of me shrieking in terror all the way down the hill. Then I'd need a defibrillator to restart my heart and some device or other to stuff my lungs back down into my chest. It wouldn't be pretty.

Balls of Steel

There are lots of words for it. Chutzpah, brass, nerve, gall (my mom's favorite -said forcefully while exhaling cigarette smoke), stones, audacity, but my favorite is "balls". As in "he's got balls the size of basketballs." It means that someone dosen't feel ridiculous for doing something that would make most people cringe in shame. They're shameless. And the less shame they feel, the bigger the balls.

Women can have balls. And not just Madonna. They're not real physical testicles, of course, but there will be examples of blatant shamelessness which are nevertheless ball-like. Sarah Palin has balls. She went around telling the world that the President wanted to establish death panels when she had to know it was a huge lie.

Although I cringe at the mere mention of his name, Rush Limbaugh has balls. He used the word "retard" over and over when the aforementioned Alaskan Airhead was railing about its use. That guy is such a piece of work that he probably needs a hand truck to cart his balls around. Now, having balls is not the sole purview of Republicans (although they are into teabagging) nor are they always a negative thing. President Obama has balls, the rest of the Dems, not so much. Spines either.

But I digress. Today, I was talking to my Afghan friend and she told me a story about her ex husband. I thought about it later and I realized that "Geez - that guy has some huge ones -another hand truck user..." Apparently, this jerkoff called her eldest son (his kid, too) to sing my friend's praises as a mother. "That's funny,"I said, "I thought you were a whore." She said "I know, I was a bitch, too, but now I'm a great mother. And I'm smart, too." " Cool," I said "What did he want?"

"Well," she said (and here's where the balls come in )" He's married another woman in Afghanistan and she has a two year old boy (his kid, too) and he thinks she's too stupid to raise him well." So he wants my friend to come to Afghanistan where he will sign the paper so she can adopt him and raise him well, like she raised her three other kids. He said after all, if her kids had babies she'd help with them, so why not?

I stood there listening with my mouth open and my eyes blinking over and over. I said "He's shameless!" She agreed. Then we started laughing. Well, we took about thirty seconds to feel sorry for the baby, and then we started laughing again and I told her to tell her son to say that he asked but she hasn't stopped laughing long enough to answer him.

She said" I'm going to tell him Sure, I'll do it - as soon as he deposits five million dollars into my bank account - I'll come and get the baby." This is the guy who used to beat the crap out of her on a regular basis, My friend's ex may need a hand truck to wheel his balls around, but Lord,she needs a freakin' moving van!

Every Movie Tells a Story (Kind of)

OK, I'm really pissed off. The hub had today off so, since eating was out of the question, we decided to go to a movie. Now, since most of the movies that are out easily transition to the small screen, we decided to take in "Avatar" since it seems kind of big screen worthy. I've been a little reluctant to see this film because I saw a trailer for it some months ago and divined the whole plot from that three minute snippet.

Then I read about the vast amounts of money the movie was raking in and all the award nominations it was receiving. "Well," I thought, "given all the hoopla about this movie, maybe its better than I thought. Maybe they had a good, deep script and made a great movie - it was just a weak trailer." (cue harsh sound of "wrong" buzzer).

The first time I saw part of this plot line, it was in "Star Wars - Return of the Jedi." Where the primitive Ewoks beat the technologically advanced Empire with their wits, arrows and superior numbers. The next time I saw another major part of this plot line was in "Dances With Wolves"
wherein the studly outsider is seduced by the purity of the indigenous culture and the smokin' babe who is part of the group.

Yes, there are small differences and plot points, but I couldn't escape feeling that I'd seen this story before. A lot of times. I'll give the movie all kinds of points for special effects. I mean, that's the son unit's field after all, but with all the money they obviously spent on effects, couldn't they have invested just a teeny bit more on a script? One with a plot twist or two? The characters may as well have been wearing signs around their necks saying "bad guy", "good guy" "hot babe"etc.

I realize that "Avatar" is the prototypical nerd movie and arguing its merits, or lack of same, makes me a nerd, too. Almost as much as the Star Trek uniform (original series) I have hanging in my closet. But come on, the whole world is in danger of becoming a dumbed down planet - what with reality TV, teabagging (and I mean that in the political sense...) and threats of filibustering causing normally sane people to assume the fetal position and shiver.

We need stories that make people think, not stories that whack you over the head with the message. Yeah, this story had a message and right before I fell asleep, I remember thinking that this was a pretty (obvious) movie and its no wonder its grossing so much since it cost $30 for the two of us to sit through a matinee of it. Yes, that included 3D glasses but it still pisses me off...

Show Me the Way to the Vomitorium

So I know bulimia is a bad thing, but right now it sounds like a viable option. I promised myself I could eat whatever I want today and I discovered something about myself. I'm a freakin' pig! The sister unit brought shrimp balls which wasn't entirely her idea. See, she brought them last year and I might have insinuated that I wouldn't let her in the house unless she brought them again.

She brought them. I might have implied (OK - I insisted) that she should bring lots of them. She did - two dozen! When you imagine shrimp balls, you might think of something tiny. You'd be wrong because these suckers are HUGE. Like the size of elephant balls. I guess - I've never actually seen an elephant's balls - but I bet they're big...

Anyway, I got so excited when I saw them, uh, her, that I grabbed the box, snatched out one of the orbs of shrimpy deliciousness and took a big bite. I didn't process what she was saying until I realized that my mouth was on fire. What she was saying was "Careful, they might be hot." Yep. They were hot. There's skin sloughing off the inside of my mouth as I type. But they were good!

So good that I ate a whole bunch more. I was in Heaven. And Hell - what with the blisters in my mouth and all. I ate a bunch of therapeutic potato chips because I figured that the salt would be healing. I'm not sure what all the M&Ms were supposed to accomplish but I ate a bunch of them, too. Plus, I frosted the brownies which were yummy!

The chili con queso was delicious, too. I don't understand the chemistry of the whole thing, but when you melt 2 pounds of Velveeta with 2 cans of chili con carne (no beans) it becomes an entity in and of itself. Add Frito scoops, which act like little crunchy bowls. I've heard there's a similar chemical reaction when you fry Twinkies. I've never had those. Maybe next Super Bowl Sunday...

We cleaned up after the party which is smart since everything is still moist and rinse-off-able and you don't have to use a chisel to clean your dishes. Everything that people left behind we tossed in the trash. The leftover M&Ms and brownies are going to the hub's work on Tuesday where they will be gobbled down like chickens eat snails.

I heard where over 10 billion calories are ingested every Super Bowl Sunday in America. I believe it. We put away about 5 billion in our house alone. I also understand that there was a football game on, too. I think the Saints won which is cool for New Orleans. Not good for my tum tum, though. I'm trying to wait up until I don't feel full otherwise I have bad dreams. At this point, I might go to sleep sometime next week - or dream about giant snails eating me in a chicken suit...

Cheddar Bay

So the hub and I were watching the tube and an ad came on about a restaurant that serves "Cheddar Bay" biscuits. We were intrigued. "Cheddar Bay?" We want to go there - to the Cheese Islands... We want to swim in Cheddar Bay and catch fish crackers and eat them. In our world, Cheddar Bay is part of the Fondue Sea which washes the base of the Fromage Mountains.

The little town of Gruyere nestles hard by Cheddar Bay. In Gruyere, the sun shines year round in the bleu sky. The people of Gruyere, most named some form of Jack, spend their days fishing or working in the curd and whey factory. A cottage industry, the C&W Factory provides a comfortable living for the people of Gruyere.

After you leave Gruyere, follow the Rennet River upstream to the town of Parmesean, where the population, though aged and nutty, remains salty and a bit tart. In fact, their wit is such that they've been known to shred a visitor sharply enough to curdle their hair.

Travel the Emmenthaler Highway through the herb forest and over the Havarti Hills until you reach the lovely town of Camembert. Its population is soft and pale. A result of spending large amounts of time in the local mold spa, where the powdery, white fungus grows on them, the residents of Camembert are a slow moving lot and they enjoy wine.

On your way home, stop in the town of Marscapone where the people are all rich but sweet. You'll enjoy a trip to the Tiramisu Mall where you can get a ladyfinger massage and a cup of coffee. Then back to your cheese wagon and over Gorgonzola Gorge to catch the ferry back to the mainland.

Wave goodbye to the happy Gruyerians! Yes, they are a homogenophilic lot, but all in all your trip will be sharp and you'll never forget the smell! On the way home you'll pass the far flung island of Velveeta. The Velveetans claim to be members of the Cheese Islands. This is an ongoing dispute, an one that seems not to be able to be settled by Super Bowl Sunday, which better get here soon because the hub and I are going batty - and the jokes just get cheesier...

Food Porn

I am getting waaaay too excited about Sunday. We always have a bunch of neighbors over and we eat like people who have been starving. We don't look like them, but we eat like - have you ever seen a really hungry dog go after a bowl of food? We eat like that. The "food" (and I use the term loosely) we eat is almost totally devoid of nutritional value. Unless you count fat, salt and rodent hairs as nutrients.


The deliciousness factor is something else again, though. This stuff is yummy to the tenth power. We will be having cream cheese and jalapeno poppers. There's going to be a cheese and sausage plate with little toothpicks to pick stuff up! Also, buffalo chicken nuggets with bleu cheese sauce. I'm cooking up mini corn dogs for my surrogate grandson 'cause he's a mini guy and I'd fry up crack patties for him if he wanted me to.

What I'm really looking forward to is the shrimp balls which, despite their name, are actually about the size of ping pong balls and so good you have to eat about twelve of them to convince yourself you're not dreaming. They come from a place called King Egg Roll. They make egg rolls, too, but their shrimp balls are primo. I guess they call themselves King Egg Roll because King Shrimp Ball would be weird.

For those making a stab at health (wimps), I'm making yogurt cheese with garlic and herbs,and there will be vegetables and Triscuits to spread it on. Triscuits are supposed to be the one of least unhealthy of the crackers. Plus I love them.

There will be brownies, because what food orgy is complete without brownies? I might even frost them if I'm in the mood. We've already got a giant bag of peanut M&M's. They're our favorite.

This goes against everything we've learned at Fat Camp, but they said if you know you're going to have a heavy meal you need to plan ahead. I've been planning for three weeks. I've been a paragon of good eating habits and healthful behavior. Walking, riding my bike, going to the gym. I've been amazing. And I can't stop thinking about shrimp balls.

Of course there will be lots of beer, wine and soda. Chips and dip, too. Oh yeah, my neighbor's bringing seven layer dip. And the hub wants to make chili which I want to use to dip Fritos in.
After I melt Velveeta into it. Love me some chili con queso. I can't wait! Oh, yeah, there's a football game on, too...

The Duh-Ho Factor

I was outside today helping the hub with yard work. Some people call it "gardening" but I know the truth. Its a yucky albeit necessary part of being a home owner. Plus it reminds me of my niece. Not that there's anything yucky about her but when she was little, just learning how to talk, she came up with the greatest word for something disgusting I've ever heard.

She must have been around two when she first uttered it. She looked at something my sister gave her to eat and she said "duh-ho". It didn't come out as baby babble - it was clear as a bell - "duh-ho". Another time the sister unit brought home some dresses for her and had her try them on. The first one met with her approval and the niece smiled in the mirror. My sis put the next dress on her. The smile disappeared and she dropped a "Du-ho." From then on "duh-ho" was the default family word for anything gross.

As I was doing yard work today, I gloved up and bent down to pick up a pile of decomposing leaves and pine needles. It was stinky and gross and I looked at it and reflexively thought "Duh-ho". Much house and yard work has a major duh-ho factor. Dog poop has to be cleaned up (and though I am a fervent feminist - I consider this man's work)

Dirty laundry has to be cleaned. And when you think about what makes laundry dirty, its really duh-ho. Dishes need washing. And in our house, we have a compost bin by the sink which gets really gross and drippy when you dump it in the big compost pile outside. Disgusting doesn't come close to describing it. Ew.

There is much about life that is duh-ho. Most of it is physical; goo, slime, doody, snot and decomposing vegetable matter. There's also mental and emotional duh-ho. This is mostly caused when people are too involved on their own stuff to think about others. This occurred to me when I was watching the President's speech last week.

Some of the people watching were so wrapped up in their own messes that they were unwilling to admit that they were in the presence of brilliance. Anyway, one side of that place was rife with duh-ho. When I saw those people sitting there, looking like sphinxes while the place was erupting in standing ovations, it was like a flood of duh-ho coming through my TV screen.

Anyway, I imagine that to the president looking out into that crowd was like looking at a pile of half decomposed leaves and pine needles, a yard full of dog poop, or some drippy compost juice. Duh-ho. Major duh-ho.