Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Hamchuck coming yo

I mean, look at him. He's clearly a killer.
Last night, my puggle Ozzie, greeted me a little too enthusiastically when I came in and slashed my face with his razor-sharp little nails. He'd done it earlier to my leg and actually drew blood. He's not a vicious guy; it wasn't done with any malice or intent to hurt. He just got SO DAMN EXCITED that we were home that he tried to tear me in two. That's all.

So now I have this lovely red slash down my face (across my forehead too even though my bangs cover the marks- he got all the way up to my hairline) and my face is puffy and sore.

It could've been worse- when it happened, it hurt so much I was afraid he'd gouged my eye out. And I was really surprised I wasn't bleeding.

But I have walked around feeling like a James Bond villain all day.

   Hamchuck coming yo.  
I even changed my profile picture on Facebook to Omar from the Wire because his scar is similarly placed.

The worst part of it is having people look at you funny and wanting to explain to them what happened. You almost want to wear a sign that says, "My dog did this. For real. No, really. Really. I'm fine." It reminded me of when a black cat gave me two black eyes.

I used to be the fundraising director for our local animal shelter. One day I had a donor lunch, so I was dressed up a little more than usual. I went out to the front lobby before we opened to get our newspaper (to check the obits, one of those glamorous daily duties of a fundraiser they don't tell you about) and one of the cats who was roaming the lobby while their cages were cleaned darted through the open door down the hall. I went after him because this was the hall on the dog wing side, and although they were safely behind the glass walls of their "apartments," the dogs were already going apeshit over this little black cat strutting by them. I followed him under the stairs that led up to the offices. It was too dark to see, cluttered with stuff people had donated that we didn't have an immediate use for, and the cat wanted nothing to do with me. I finally gave up and decided to go get a kennel attendant to help me. So I stood up. And drove my forehead into the underside of the concrete staircase.

I hit it with such force that it threw me backward. I landed solidly on my ass and crushed a plastic hamster tunnel-thing that was being stored back there. It split the skin on the bridge of my nose and made me see stars. Feeling incredibly stupid, I went to the vet's office to find an ice pack and cleaned the blood up off my face. I was already starting to look like Frankenstein. But I had a donor coming to lunch and I was determined to soldier on.

But after our director watched me unpack the lunches from the delivery bag and meticulously put the apples in the fridge, then remove them, then put them in the cupboards, then take them out, then put them back in the bag, then take them out and put them in the fridge again, he said it was probably best if I went home and let him handle the lunch.

I drove myself home, which was maybe not such a great idea. I probably should've gotten checked out at urgent care or something. My pupils didn't look odd to me but the more I looked at them, the weirder they
seemed to me. I don't know if I was mildly concussed or just a little out of it. I called my husband and asked him to come check on me- I think I felt I needed a second opinion about getting medical attention. He was about to go into a staff meeting, he said, but he'd come by when it got out. Seeing how he didn't seem too concerned, I settled myself on the couch, plopped a bag of frozen corn niblets on my face and turned on the tv.

Yeah, well.  Dammit..
The only thing I knew about concussions was that you weren't supposed to fall asleep if you had one, or you wouldn't wake up. (This has been proven to be incorrect.) So I found a documentary on the History Channel to keep me awake until Brett got home to assess me. (I know- that's exactly the kind of thing that would put most people to sleep. But I'm not most people. So there.)

Unfortunately, about half an hour into the show (whose subject I sadly do not remember) a message appeared on the tv screen warning me that the channel was about to change to a program that had been scheduled to record. Crap, I thought. I hope it's something good. I knew it wasn't anything I'd done- I very rarely set anything to record. At the announced time, the channel changed.... to AMC, which was showing the film version of the Who's Tommy.

I didn't think I could change the channel, because I thought Brett had to record this for work. At the time, he was the marketing manager for a local theatre company and I knew they were selecting the shows for their upcoming season. I though they were considering doing Tommy and he needed to watch it to be able to share his opinion. So I sat there watching Tommy, in all of its mind-spinning, surreal, Ann-Margret-rolling-around-in-baked-beans-on-a-white-carpet effed-up-edness. While I might have been mildly concussed.

When Brett finally got home, he saw me with the beginnings of two brutal black eyes, the ridge of my nose bloodied and swollen until my face was a flat plain, with a bag of frozen corn resting on my cheekbones watching Ann-Margret flip out and perform interpretative go-go dance on tv. He looked aghast.

I looked so bad that I had to keep to home mostly. People who saw me thought I'd been in a car accident or beaten up. We went out for drinks one night just to get out of the house and the bartender, a friend of ours, openly gasped and stepped back when he saw me.  (The bruises got worse as they healed). It severely limited my casual wardrobe choices. It was NOT the time to wear my "This is What a Feminist Looks Like" t-shirt.

But everything healed, and life went back to normal. (Although I have a little dent in the bone on the bridge of my nose now.) And my face scratch too will eventually heal and go away.

At least this time I've been able to avoid being forced to watch anything with Ann-Margret. A viewing of Viva Las Vegas might just put me over the edge.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Presented without comment

Overheard at work today:

"That's no emergency! Boy stuck in a drainpipe- that's an emergency! This is no Baby Jessica!"




Wednesday, February 18, 2015

A Uniquely Portable Magic


“Books are a uniquely portable magic.”
Stephen King

My friend Sheri invited me to hear Judy Blume speak down in PA where she lives with her husband and her sinfully adorable beagle, Olivia, who looks like a cross between my Minchy and Frances. It's not till June but I am so unspeakably excited.

Judy Blume was one of my favorite authors growing up and she holds a special, very dear place in my heart. The kids in her
books were so real- warts and all- and she wrote so honestly about them. It's easy to forget how revolutionary that was when she was first published.

Coming just before this was the news of Harper Lee publishing her second novel 50+ years after To Kill A Mockingbird. I must admit, I was worried that this was some cobbled-
together half-hearted sequel, a revisitation of characters who lived best in memory. I was quite pleased to learn that Go Set A Watchman, the new novel, is not such a thing at all. It's Lee's first version of To Kill A Mockingbird, written as an adult Scout returns home to Maycombe and Atticus. Her editor suggested she focus more on the past and on Scout as a child, and To Kill A Mockingbird was born. Go Set A Watchman was lost in a drawer somewhere until recently- Lee herself admits she thought the manuscript was lost forever. Doing some writing myself and seeing how my own story has changed and twisted and turned as I've gone along, I'm thinking this will be at least a fascinating look into how her story evolved. Like my friend Eric said, even if it's crap, it'll be better than most of what's out there now anyway.

I have a very special fondness for "Nelle." (Did you know she was named after a favorite aunt? Nelle, apparently, is for Ellen, but spelled backward.) I can't really think of Harper Lee as anyone but Nelle after seeing a wonderful documentary called "Hey Boo" celebrating the book's fiftieth anniversary. The documentary featured lots of interviews with Lee's sister Alice, who only refers to her as Nelle. (And has one of the most startling voices you'll ever hear.) Alice, bless her, was a
Alice on the left, Nelle Harper on the right
lawyer who still worked for the firm where their father had practiced until she was in her 100s. She also guarded her sister- and her sister's work- fiercely and some folks have been wondering if Alice's death last year is the reason we're seeing this new work.

I've always loved how independent Nelle is- how she's refused to fit in or be assimilated or be conventional. A friend of mine once criticized how reclusive she is- who says no to attention? Everybody wants attention, right? Why, she could be out making millions, getting guest spots on TV! I very much disagreed. I think Nelle is the example of how to do it right: give the world one absolutely perfect piece of art, then keep the rest of your life for yourself. I admire that way of thinking so much and I hope I get the chance to emulate it someday.

I also love the story of how Lee came to finally write what became To Kill A Mockingbird. She worked as a ticket agent for an airline in New York. For seven years, she wrote fiction whenever she could, mostly nights and weekends, but didn't publish anything. In 1956, she received the best Christmas gift ever. Her friends, Michael and Joy Brown, gave her a check for the amount of her salary for one year with a note that said, "You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please. Merry Christmas." She made good on that opportunity. (Click the link above to read Lee's essay about the gift. It's wonderful.)

So it's a pretty awesome time for readers. Which makes me very happy. Reading is one of my most favorite things to do, and my oldest pasttime.  I learned to read when I was about two and a half. It wasn't taught; for me it was as natural as learning to walk. My mother says I just picked up the TV Guide one night and started reading the listings to her. When she and my dad told my dad's beloved grandmother, Mimi, she was
skeptical. They gave me one of my books and I read it out loud to her. She wasn't falling for it. Little kids memorize their favorite books and then recite them, pretending they're reading, she said. My dad shrugged and handed me a newspaper. She was a believer when I started reading headlines about Nixon to her.

I have never been able to imagine a world without reading. I found it mind-boggling that it was something others had to learn, and that some had great difficulty with. It came so quickly and automatically to me, that it never occurred to me that a process might be involved. One of the reasons I love Scout in To Kill A Mockingbird so much is that she shares that singular experience: “Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.” I went to graduate school to study literacy primarily out of curiosity- I wanted to know how people learned how to read when it wasn't second-nature. (I wound up with masters' degrees in elementary education and reading education instead, but that's beside the point.) I still find the arguments over which methodology is best to teach reading quite pointless. Reading is such an individual thing- it seems fairly ridiculous to think there is only one prescribed way to acquire it.

I'm just about due for a library binge and I'm excited to think about the armfuls of books I'll toddle out
carrying. There is no better way to get through these dismal, gray, bitterly cold days than with a good thick book and a dog curled up on your lap. After all, like Groucho Marx said, "Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."



Thursday, February 12, 2015

Batman Jose & Polar Bear Ninjas

The Nike Training Club app I use to work out has this feature that allows you to use your own playlist and music during your workouts.  This is great because one of the biggest problems I've ever had with workout

videos was the terrible music that accompanied them. The NTC workouts are hard enough without having to deal with Katy Perry or Ariana Grande or that Bruno Mars fella who, as much as I can tell, just wants to be Michael Jackson. If I'm going to struggle through wood chops and push ups and planks, it has to be some angry punk or high-octane Bruce Springsteen. Iggy Pop, not Iggy Azalea.

I know. "Squat Party" makes me giggle too.

But I also like some 60s music.
? and the Mysterians' 96 Tears, the Kinks' All Day and All of the Night, Eddie Floyd's Knock on Wood, even some Jerry Lee Lewis works for me.

The other day I was struggling (and swearing, I freely admit) through a medieval torture device called 'plank walks' when Jay & the Americans' Come a Little Bit Closer started playing. I misheard the lyric I always get wrong and started laughing, collapsing on the floor. (I waited for the Nike lady who periodically shouts out encouragement or directions to scold me.) It's one of my favorite mondegreens.

A mondegreen is a misheard lyric in a song. The term comes from an old song which contains the lyric "They slew the Earl of Moray and laid him on the green." It was commonly misheard as "They slew the Earl of Moray and Lady Mondegreen."

The correct lyric in the song I was listening to is "She belonged to that man, Jose."
What I hear is, "She belonged to Batman Jose."

It's silly; mondegreens often make no sense, but that's what's fun about them, I think.

One of the most famous mondegreens is "S'cuse me while I kiss this guy" instead of Jimi Hendrix's intended "S'cuse me while I kiss the sky." It shares its name with a website collecting submitted mondegreens and a book as well.

Here are some of my favorites:

 "I want a piece of date bread."

(The Ramones- I Wanna Be Sedated)

 "You make the rice. I'll make the gravy. But it just may be some tuna fish you're looking for."

(Billy Joel- You May Be Right)


 "See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen."

(ABBA- Dancing Queen)




 "Steak and a knife. Steak and a knife."

(Bee Gees- Stayin' Alive)


 "Let's pee in the corner, Let's pee in the spotlight."

(R.E.M.- Losing My Religion)


 "This is the dawning of the Age of Asparagus"

(Fifth Dimension- Age of Aquarius)

"Cheese corn."


(Hall & Oates- She's Gone)


 "There's a bathroom on the right."

(Creedence Clearwater Revival- Bad Moon Rising)


"I've got shoes, they're made of plywood."

(Grease soundtrack, You're the One That I Want)


I think the best part of mondegreens is imagining someone singing them- their head thrown back, totally getting into the song, then singing lines like "Hit me with your pet shark!" (Hit Me With Your Best Shot.)

In the book I'm writing, one of my main characters is always mishearing things, lyrics especially, and I've really enjoyed writing the scenes where she's caught singing the most wrong, absurd lyrics possible.

Do you have a misheard lyric that confounded you? Share it in the comments if you like.

Mine for years was Bobby Brown's Every Little Step, a song I didn't even like, but I was totally befuddled by the line I heard as "No matter what your french fries tell ya, we were made to fall in love." I had this image of an obviously mentally imbalanced girl who took dating advice from food.

Kind of like Lane Meyer in Better Off Dead when he's left to his own devices in the kitchen.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Olive You A Latte

I love love love Valentine's Day, for reasons I've written about at length here before.
I love the candy, I love seeing red and pink everywhere, I love the flowers, but I especially love the cards.
I still have the card from my first valentine's flowers (from my daddy) and one of my most prized possessions is the Valentine's Day card my parents gave me after our house fire when I was ten.

But there's nothing like a good pun to really make a Valentine's Day card awesome.
Punny cards have been around forever, but some plays on words haven't held up to the test of time. Or in some cases, our culture has changed enough to alter the meanings and make what was intended as an innocent sentiment considerably darker and inappropriate. Or just plain offensive. I came across some truly horrifying cards when I was trolling for vintage valentines; I only included one here, and it's a milder one. No need to taint the holiday with that kind of garbage.

And if you're looking for some cool valentines cards for your "significant otter," check out benkling.com/valentines. He has an awesome line of valentines cards with famous dictators ("Leon Trotsky Thinks You're Hotsky") along with historical & literary figures, like the Harriet Tubman and Vladimir Nabokov ones seen here.


But first have a laugh (and maybe grow a little uncomfortable) with these odd and inappropriate vintage valentines.

 

 

Don't you need somebody to shove


Fifty shades of valentines?

Wow. Threats. How romantic.

That's hardly the artwork I would expect to go with that sentiment.

Current events in the news make this one wince-worthy.

 

 

You're acting like a brat

Is this some kind of meat-on-meat violence depicted here?
This hot dog is not going to give up easily.
By the expression on its "face," you can tell that wiener is motivated to interrogate.
Not sure what the jar of pickles is about to do here. I'm hoping it's just going to slather the hot dog with that mustard-coated knife. But they both look way too weirdly excited for it to be that innocent.
I hope he's sharing those "weenies" with his little bird friend.
Because he sort of looks like the kind of kid who might add a little "poultry" to his barbecue.

 

 

 

Pleased to meat you

Anyone else hear the echoes of Ralphie's family from A Christmas Story scream-laughing over their Christmas Goose at the Chinese restaurant when you saw this one?
Hello, Valentine. Goodbye, right thumb.
I'd keep a close eye on that wee farmer whose heart you're tromping on, Bessie.

 
I fear the wurst for this valentine.

 

 Come out of your shell, valentine


 

 

Kale me maybe


 

 

Just plain weird and/or creepy

It meant something different back then. I hope.

How long before this dummy loses patience with this kid? I think he's 3/4 there already.
Cute sentiment. Terrifying execution.
NOOOOOOOOOO
Wow. Did people really give insults to one another on Valentine's Day?
Story of my life.
Uhhh.....

 

 

And presented without comment: