BobtheCorgi

2001-11-13T15:39:00.000-05:00

SURPRISE!

I've moved!

Please reset your browsers to point to my new location:

http://bobthecorgi.surreally.com/index1.php?

And for your own sake, please be sure that you are sitting down before you go there.

2001-11-13T10:03:00.000-05:00

TAKE PITY ON ME

This is no joke - Kitten and Corgi in Crisis!

She seemed nice enough, that Kitten, if you could ignore the uzi part. Before this, we had only a glancing aquatainance and were bonded only by our common love for grape leaves.

Now we are joined by tragic circumstances. Held hostage for comments by the brilliant, but somewhat deranged Bulletproofpunk.

I implore you: go make a comment and save the corgi! And the cat, too, I guess.

2001-11-13T09:41:00.000-05:00

SAY HELLO TO AN OLD FRIEND

Meet Keith Foster.

He is the the go-to guy for information on all things concerning droopy dogs. In fact, he is a top contender for World's Formost Authority on them. Read and find out why.

Mental Emissions.

"a change of scenery, a change of attitude, life just keeps getting better..."
and droopy dogs, too.

2001-11-11T22:27:00.000-05:00

READ ALL ABOUT IT

THE RUTABAGA

Weekly World-Wide Wews ... er, News

2001-11-11T19:56:00.000-05:00

HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES
Countdown To Thanksgiving: 11 Days

Most everyone has traditions they have developed over the years for their holiday celebrations.

My old friend Dave makes his now-famous Thanksgiving Geese.

This bird suffered from too long a cocktail hour.

"One of the finest traditions in our family are the Thanksgiving Geese made from yellow squash and carrots that grace our table every year. The kids love to help starting with the shopping ... Our tradition concludes the day after Thanksgiving when we line the little geese up in a steamer and "boil them alive". "

Go here for the complete story, including instuctions on how to make your own.

2001-11-11T13:20:00.000-05:00

PLOG WATCH

The latest addition to the parade of soups is Spicy Lentil and Pumpkin Soup from a recipe found at podular.net

Mr. Sami tried very hard not to like it, but in the end, he had to admit how good it was . I consider that a major success.

2001-11-11T09:49:00.000-05:00

SON OF BOB

In appearance, he is the mirror image of his father, except for his little fingers, which are mine. In personality, he is me, except that he is more confident and socially out-going. Which makes him a handsome devil.

He has a brilliant mind and a quick wit. He is an honor student at NJIT and is carrying a double major: Applied Mathmatics and Bio-Medical Engineering, and is the BME representative on the student senate. He is there on a full merit scholarship, which his poor parents appreciate very much.

He is the most devoted member of the Theta Chi fraternity and lives in the world's coolest frat house and he won't reveal the secret signal to even me, his own mother. Everything he cooks has garlic and curry powder in it.

He is not afraid of hard work and has been at is since age 14. Jobs he has had: dishwasher in a bakery, stockboy in a large Collectables and Gift Shop ( please don't mention "Snowbabies" around him ), Taco Bell employee, bank teller, inspector at an civil engineering company. He comes in very handy for carrying things around for me, and will do any chore that needs doing, from cleaning bathrooms to walking on the roof to clean gutters.

He plays the saxaphone, the piano, the bagpipes and the tabla. He learned to waltz when he was 10 and he still makes sure that every old lady sitting alone at weddings gets at least one dance. He always did make a big impression on people he meets. His first word was two syllables: "tic toc", which he taught himself from listening to the regulator clock that hung on the wall.

Now he is 20. He is 5'11 tall and has a beard like a billy goat. A bear hug from him is an unforgettable experience. Even though he plays annoying music much too loudly, stomps up and down the steps and never closes a door, he is just exactly like you would want your son to turn out.

Son of Sami. Son of Bob. A special person.

2001-11-10T10:32:00.000-05:00

A DOMESTIC SURPRISE FOR THE NEXT GENERATION
Countdown To Thanksgiving: 12 Days

I spoke to my mother on the phone this morning and she said she has one apron finished and the other one well underway.

Here is a delightful piece of information:

There was enough material left over from each piece of fabric to make a little half apron. For our daughters. We are talking about Mother / Daughter aprons. Can you imagine the expressions on their dear little faces as we present them with matching versions of their mothers' aprons? - right before it's time to do the dishes.

2001-11-09T07:18:00.000-05:00

A GOOD HOSTESS GIFT
Countdown to Thanksgiving: 13 days

Are you one of the poor, unfortunate souls who is planning to go to a restaurant for Thanksgiving? Take my advice and don't do that - it is one step down from pathetic, and everyone knows it, too. Society in general will politely go along with your line about "...and no dishes to clean up" but pities you for having no left-overs.

Are you staying home and cooking this year? If so, then you are enjoying your own little countdown, aren't you? The third option for this grand holiday is to be guest at someone else's dinner table. In that case, a hostess gift is mandatory. Mandatory. Even if you are bringing along a dish you have made, you still must provide a token of acknowledgement for the effort your hostess has made.

Don't bring a pumpkin pie - they already have one. Don't send flowers - the table is already over crowded. On second thought: send flowers. It's always good to send flowers. But here is a great little idea, courtesy of DebSmouse ( a gal after my own heart, a one man band of multiple web sites ... we need an entirely seperate post to even get into it.)

Via her recipe collection, The Purple Turnip, we have the gift that keeps on giving: Food Gifts to Give. She even gives accessorizing suggestions: "...if you sew, make an attractive sack out of matching linen ." Ya gotta love it. Someone very closely linked to me may be getting a small basket full of Bouquet Garni bundles.

This is just the sort of thing that appeals to me. It has the double benefit of covering your gift-giving obligation, and people will be jealous of your creativity. Yes, they will admire the thing, and think "I could do that for Christmas gifts when I go visiting!" But they won't - they will be recovering from Thanksgiving and will be too tired to do it. Then they will admire you all the more, and wish they were as organized and forward-thinking as you.

It's a good thing. (I made that up and Martha copied from me.)

2001-11-09T06:56:00.000-05:00

IT'S BAD ENOUGH THAT I AM A NURSE

... but at least I had the good sense not to become a Home Economist.

2001-11-07T06:12:00.000-05:00

TIME PASSAGES

The Guestblogger had a birthday this week.

In an unbelievable display of food chocies, she picked the Australian Outback Restaurant as the scene of the birthday dinner. While her father and I were sceptical that they would have either mozzarella sticks or tuna sandwiches on the menu (her only two choices in restaurants for all her life), we forged ahead.

She ordered a blooming onion and then a barbecued chicken and ribs platter. AND THEN SHE ATE IT! Wonder of wonders! Miracle of miracles!

Maturity arrives at last. She has always been such a picky eater the up until that night, her father and I were sure that there would only be peanut butter sandwiches at her wedding dinner (no jelly). Now there is a faint glimmer of hope for a sophisticated palate someday.

Today: the driving test.

UPDATE: She passed the test. Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies. She's on the road.

2001-11-06T07:14:00.000-05:00

THE FINAL VERDICT
Countdown to Thanksgiving: 16 Days

The dessert selection for our Thanksgiving celebration has been finalized.*

Cranberry Cake
Pumpkin Pie
Raisin Pie with Vanilla Ice Cream
Poppy Seed Roll
Nut Roll
Rice Pudding
Pineapple Dream Bars
Chocolate Cheerios Treats
Rice Krispy Treats
Chocolate Cake

Now chocolate things hold no fascination for me, but that last one was the special request of Tina's husband, the original Mr. Joe. So I had to find a way to inspire me to look forward to making it. And here it is:

The Wilton Wonder Mold Kit

What are you looking at? It is a Doll Cake. The skirt is made out of two boxes of cake mix and it is iced up and decorated to high Heaven until it looks like Cinderella's ball gown. It is a real show stopper.

Imagine this in a chocolate icing skirt. At first, I had the idea to decorate it like a pilgrim woman, complete with paper hat and collar, but then I realized I would be spending a lot of time applying icing not only to the bodice of the doll, but to the arms as well. So I ditched the pilgrim idea. I think a chocolate ball gown, decorated with ruffles and bows made of yellow or orange icing and a few tastefully placed icing leaves in autumn colors.

I'll put it on a cake plate with a pedestal so that it stands above the other desserts and people can ooh and ahh over it. And they will.

It never fails.

* We briefly toyed with the idea of Coffee Jello, but in the end, we realized this was not the crowd for it. We'll save that one for another time.

2001-11-05T22:12:00.000-05:00

HANG ONTO YOUR HATS

He's back. And it won't be pretty.

ENEMY OF THE STATE

2001-11-05T07:13:00.000-05:00

THE GOLDEN GLOW OF OTHER PEOPLE'S WINDOWS

I was not looking forward to making a long drive in the dark.

I try my best to have the major portion of my weekend trips happen in daylight. It is nerve-wracking enough to mix in with those big trucks on the interstate, not to mention the hepped-up fans with Monster Trucks aspirations from Pocono Downs racetrack, or the increasing amount of outlet mall shoppers who have stayed out till their last cent is gone, and are now tired and distracted on the trip home with their loot. And, of course, the Joad families - loaded up with pillows and paper bags and things strapped onto their car roofs. It is a wonder to me how they can squeeze three generations into the car as well. But now that standard time has returned, I knew it was inevitable that a good deal of the travel time would take place in the dark, increasing the anxiety factor with reduced visibility and headlight glare.

It turned out to be a pleasant and soothing ride. Thanks in large part to my history of extensive interstate bus travel, I was comforted by the golden glow of other people's windows.

For many years, I rode interstate buses from northeastern Pennsylvania to NYC then a local back to northern New Jersey. Every Friday and Sunday for three years. Depending on time, traffic and weather, the trips were 3 1/2 to 5 hours long. At first, I felt trapped and could barely tolerate the slow movement of time. I marked the time by watching for landmarks and familiar sights.

I saw the same houses and storefronts again and again. They became familiar to me in the true sense of the word. I watched for certain homes to pass by - I knew the lamps and the curtains. Mostly, I saw empty rooms but sometimes you could see a person reading next to the light, or occasionally you would catch the flicker of a TV. The light were on outside, waiting to welcome family members or visitors, or as families filled the rooms. They were on as lone figures sat safe and warm in their favorite chairs and they were on in every window of some of the houses.

The next phase of my life took me to New York city. The lights from the windows of the highrises was harsher...white light, not golden.What was the difference? The apartments of the upper East side of Manhattan seemed impermanent. They held singles, couples, professionals, yuppies... yes, there were occasional babies and small children, but they soon moved away and lit up suburban windows.

Home fires. That's what I find so comforting. Like cavemen huddled around the central fire, like pioneer families in front of the hearth, like cowboys at the campfire in vast open places - true homes cast a golden glow. Don't you feel it when you are approaching a building in the dark and you know someone is waiting for you inside?

So last night, on the road in the dark, I passed by many homes, most of them were lit. I couldn't peer into them because I thought it might be more prudent to keep my eyes on the road, especially in the face of the increased deer traffic around. But I found it comforting to think of the people inside those lighted rooms.

Am I spying? Am I peeping at people? No, I am looking into lives, writing my own scripts for what goes on in the golden light.

2001-11-05T05:44:00.000-05:00

ROADKILL REPORT

The amount of squashed animals on the highway this weekend was astonishing.

In addition to the usual skunks, possums, cats and the occasional dog, I saw a coyote (well, half a coyote) in a very developed part of NJ. Where I usually only see one or two deer laying twisted on the side of the road, this week I passed no less than 8 on the way to Pennsylvania, and I counted 12 on the return trip.

What could this mean? Were there more deer on the road for the weekend? Were more headed east than west? Are they slowing down in the cold weather and cannot dodge the oncoming traffic? Where are the bucks? All the victims were without antlers. Are the bucks sending the dopey young out onto the roads as expendable scouts: "Hey, kid - go see if it's safe for me to cross the road."

Now most of these dead deer were along roads in the Poconos in Pa. where the highway goes through heavily wooded areas. In NJ, the roads are edged with what are known as beautification strips - trees and shrubs thickly planted to create the illusion of traveling through undeveloped areas. But these plantings are only about 30 feet deep - you can see houses, malls and other highways peeking through.

But what about that coyote? Hmm?

2001-11-03T10:19:00.000-05:00

OOPS!
Countdown Until Mr. Sami Finds Out I Spilled Nailpolish On The Keyboard

testing: mmm ,,, kkk llll

It seems to be ok, and it doesn't look too bad, etiher. Ballerina Pink. Luckily, I was already finished posting on Surreally today.

Time to put on The Innocent Face and beat it out of here.

2001-11-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

DOING THE CAFFEINE DANCE OF HAPPINESS!

The staff of Atlantic Artificial Kidney Center is pinching themselves.

Through what must surely be a mix-up meant for another business in this industrial complex, a corporate coffee service rolled in today and installed a Bunn coffeemaker. And they left behind boxes full of ground coffee - columbian coffee! - with Sweet'nLow and sugar packets and the most adorable little creamers called Mini-Moos.

There is dancing in the streets! And that is not all - Monday brings the arrival of the bottled water dispenser! With a hot water spout, too! Cocoa, tea, washcloths, cup of soup, Ramen noodles, fer cryin' out loud! - anything is possible. We are delerious with happiness.

In one of those great cosmic coincidences, I have recently come into possession of two Fire King Jadeite mugs and was wondering how I could work them into the collective consciousness at work.

Jadeite Mug by Fire King

Martha Stewart collects this stuff, you know. You can see cupboards full of it behind her head on her TV show. Me and Martha - You would think that we have similar taste. But she copies from me.

2001-11-02T13:31:00.000-05:00

PLOG WATCH
Countdown to Thanksgiving: 20 days

A new soup recipe has been added to the plog at The Joy of Soup: Cranberry Soup.

It sounds like just the thing to start off the Thanksgiving meal, but I think we'd better not have a soup course this year. We have so much food on the agenda that we may have to hire a private EMS service to standby in the driveway in the event of food-induced stupor. Which is always the mark of a successful holiday meal.

Tina and I wil be finalizing the menu when we get together this weekend. My contributions (besides the dessert):

Sweet potato casserole with apples and walnuts
Stuffed grape leaves
Cranberry Orange Relish

Tina will be providing, at the very least, the turkey, the ham and the all important keilbasi, which no respectable Lithuanian American holiday celebration would be without. And she did mention her special garlic mashed potatoes.

We really must get organized and make a plan to fill in the gaps.

2001-11-01T19:45:00.000-05:00

AND ...

In the interest of fair and balanced reporting, I feel it only fair to inform you, now that you know about my fondess for Perry Como and Bobby Darin, that I also have a little thang for Snoop Dogg.

2001-11-01T19:27:00.000-05:00

WHEN WHAT TO MY WONDERING EYES SHOULD APPEAR?

... but a Box 'O Joe!

What an invention! Along the same lines as wine in a box comes hot coffee in a box from Dunkin' Donuts.

There it was when I walked into the staff lounge today. Coffee just as it should be: hot, black and portable. God's honest coffee, too - not that hazelnut frappacino stuff that is useful only when you need to gag a maggot.

And it didn't hurt that it was sitting next to two dozen donuts and a lemon birthday cake.

Life is good.

2001-11-01T03:32:00.000-05:00

I SAW MICHAEL JACKSON

But I wish I didn't.

I fell asleep in front of the TV and when I woke up, there was Michael Jackson, stuck in a time warp. I think it was a new video, but it was cobbled together from concepts from his old ones. He was standing at the head of a bunch of dancers lined up like bowling pins (Thriller), dancing on a floor patterned with squares (Billie Jean), had that tense,defiant barley-contained-anger thing going on (Bad) the wind machine was blowing his baggy white shirt (whatever - something about a girl) and the vocals were mostly stretched -out "HO"s (Bad). There was even some gold glitter sprinkling from his fingers like in that one video that had Eddie Murphy and Magic Johnson as Egyptians in it.

The choreography was old - crotch grabbing, head jerking, crossed ankle spinning around. The only new stuff was that the dancers were covered with knotted string and they were stomping up dust from the floor. Then the dancers walked up the walls and danced on the ceiling.

A crowd of dopey white people stood around, slack-jawed and amazed, as if they had never seen that Fred Astaire movie from 50 years ago.

I can only conclude that Michael is out of original ideas. At one point the dancers were clomping back and forth like that multitude that Prince always has on stage with him. I wonder if they are looking at the back of his head, thinking to themselves, "Oh, brother. What a dumb cluck."

Now that he is reduced to repeating himself or copying others, I wonder if he will give up his trademark HOs and WHOOOOs and resurrect the buh-buh-buhs of Bing Crosby.

2001-10-31T07:39:00.000-05:00

AN OPEN LETTER TO ANY EVILDOER OF EVIL WHO IS HEADED MY WAY WITH THE INTENTION OF PLUNDER, PILLAGE, RAPE OR MURDER

I guess I could best describe myself as passive rather than pacific.

It is something that I have always accepted about myself. I just don't have it in me to search for fresh water or canned goods during a nuclear winter. (My one concession to survivalism is that I have always insisted on having a hand-cranked can opener rather than an electric one. That way, after a world-wide disaster that knocks out electricity, I would be able to open the canned goods that I have. But after they ran out, that's it - I'm not about to go scuffling around looking for more.)

If the bomb dropped, I wanted it to drop right on top of me so that I could be incinerated instead of lingering around beset with radiation sickness. I am thankful that my children are at the point now where they can use their wits to survive on their own. I used to feel bad for them that they had a mother who would just sit down and die.

But no more. I can't do much about a bomb or a chemical cloud, but in a personal encounter, look out.

I am not physically fit so hand to hand combat is out for me, and I guess I wouldn't be too good against a scimitar in a knife fight. So I want a gun. And not one of those little ladies' guns, either. I need one of those big boo-ya ones.

If you think you will gain points in your afterlife for taking me out, I can guarantee that you will be facing your 70 virgins without a pubic area.

2001-10-31T04:08:00.000-05:00

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

There's a little costume event at work today.

I am going as The Soup Lady.

2001-10-30T16:28:00.000-05:00

IF YOU FAIL TO HAVE A (SEATING) PLAN,
THEN YOU PLAN TO FAIL
Countdown to Thanksgiving: 23 Days

It's going to be a big group.

Two groups, actually. So in order for things to go well, we need to have a stategy for the seating. If we leave it to chance, it could have comdeic, but aggravating, consequences. Tina put it so well when she said: "The guests must be placed strategically. The hard of hearing men must be alternated with the hearing---otherwise the conversation starts to play out like the game truth-----where each person whispers to the next and by the time it gets to the last the original thought has long been lost."

The women, although they can hear, keep forgetting what they were talking about. So they are a perfect fit - the men won't realize they are listening to "...uh...uh..." and the women won't feel rushed to come up with the end of the sentence. The burden of socialization will fall on the oppressed teenagers. They will shoulder the responsibility for filling in the missing words and answering the crabby "What are they saying?"

But the best reason, and our ulterior motive for using place cards is this: maybe they will get the hint that they should be sitting down at the dining room table, not jamming up the kitchen. Tina discovered a long time ago that that taking the chairs away from the kitchen table helps in this situation, so we'll do that , too.

Whatever it takes.

2001-10-29T13:50:00.000-05:00

THE LINE FORMS TO THE RIGHT, BABE

I apologize to Bobby Darin.

I was wrong about him. He was one swingin' cat. Really, a masterful song stylist.

He was promoted as a rock 'n roll heart throb during the 50s, but his true mastery lay in the sweeping big band arrangements and improvised interpretations of Las Vegas venues. He was closer to a Sammy Davis, Jr. than a Fabian.

This bears more investigation.

note to self: must find more Bobby Darin recordings.

2001-10-29T06:10:00.000-05:00

A. WORD. A. DAY.

Oh no. Debridement.

I had a half-baked plan to start working the Word of the Day into my posts. I thought it would expand my vocabulary and sharpen my storytelling ability by forcing me to utilize words that I wouldn't normally come up with by myself.

Todays' word is debridement - just my luck. This is a word that I come across all too frequently and sometimes have to use in my writing, but in other places, not here. If the day comes that I start using that wordset over here, I'm closing down shop.

... ... ...

To continue the previous thought about coffee: I forced myself to venture downstairs to make a pot of coffee, and what did I find when I got there? A certain someone ( hint: dit ... dit ...dit ) polluted the coffeemaker with Hazelnut. Now I'm all for recreational use of flavored coffees, say in the evening or at the end of an afternoon of heavyduty shopping, but in the morning I need the business end of the coffee family. Nescafe. Coffee longo. Just plain coffee.

I only drink one cup a day of coffee. And yes, it is my 24 oz. Dunkin' Donuts Insulated Travel Mug that I am calling one cup. But I it has to be just so - 4 parts coffee : 1 part milk (1%), no sweetner, otherwise my whole day is thrown off.

Make a note.

2001-10-29T06:01:00.000-05:00

JUST LIKE A BIG OLE STICK OF WRIGLEY'S

Bah. Monday morning.

I really must change the timer on the thermostat. The heat hasn't come on to the daytime setting yet and it's a pretty chilly deal to leave the warm bed and head towards that cold, cold bathrroom.

But once I got there, I shut myself in and turned on the hot water, and took a long steamy shower with my new Minty Fresh soap. This stuff is so good that between the shower and the computer, I may not even make it downstairs today.

What a shame the coffeepot is down there.

2001-10-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

FROM ATLANTIC TO PACIFIC, THE TRAFFIC IS TERRIFIC
Countdown to Thanksgiving: 24 days

I went to Kohl's department store yesterday to take advantage of their One-Day-Only Super Sale, which turned out to be their Every-Week-Usual-Sale.

If you exclude the picture frames and the novelty hairbands, there is not much to get excited about in that store. It is the type of store that always has piles of "their own" seasonal merchandise in stategic locations near the checkouts. They have already started with the books, ornaments and CDs for Christmas. While I was killing time waiting for the inevitable price checks, I picked up a Songs of the Season CD and scanned the playlist. It was a compliation of well-known artists doing B-list holiday songs.

Out of 12 tracks, 10 were Christmas songs. One was Bobby Darin singing "More". What holiday is that for? And it's the end-of-the-line Darin, too. Definately in the terminal cardiac patient years - I'm pretty sure he was propped up in the recording studio.

But the 12th track was the ultimate Thanksgiving song: "There's No Place Like Home For the Holidays" by Perry Como.

Now I have always been partial to this song. Maybe it's because I first heard it as a small child and got thrilled at the mention of my home state:

"I met a man who lived in Tennesee
and he was headed for
Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie."

That is the Thanksgiving part, right there: pumpkin pie. Now you could sing this song as you are driving home for Christmas or Hanukkah, too, but the pumpkin pie part gives it away as a Thanksgiving song. I remembered this song as slow and wistful, but it only starts out that way. After the first verse, a skiffling drum starts up, some Andrew Sisters types start doo-wah doo-wahing in the background, and the arrangement could be right at home in a Vegas Lounge act.

All of this behind a cornball sentimentality of the highest degree:

"Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays.
Oh, no matter how far away you roam.
If you want to be happy in a million ways,
for the holidays you can't beat home sweet home."

2001-10-28T08:22:00.000-05:00

AN ANNOUNCEMENT

I'm changing my name from bobthecorgi to BobtheCorgi.

React accordingly.

2001-10-27T09:48:00.000-04:00

DO YOU THINK THIS IS NICE?

Today, in a very reasonable manner, I was communicating with Mr. Sami about the list of chores to be done today. It turns out we have different priorites for the order of the tasks to be done. As I was restating my case, he squinted his eyes and said this:

"Dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit."

I do believe he was imitating me.

So I added an extra job to his list.

2001-10-27T09:28:00.000-04:00

BREAKING NEWS BULLETIN
Countdown To Thanksgiving: 25 days

It has just been revealed that The Other Cheek's mother - a woman who is not afraid to picket a used car dealership dressed as a lemon; she who has been engaged in life-long skirmishes with the Pennsylvania Railroad; the originator of the phrase "I'll kill you till you're dead!" - will be contributing her most excellent Poppy Seed Roll and Nut Roll to the dessert buffet.

In this age of political correctness and sensitivity to diversity, one must never make sweeping generalizations based on ethnicity. But I am telling you this right now: the Russians are born with a talent for dough.

It cannot be denied. Any woman (maybe any man as well - so far there is no evidence) who has even one ounce of Russian blood can roll out the most perfect breads, patries, noodles - for anything that involves dough, they have the golden touch. The Other Cheek has been blessed with this ability as well, for she is queen of Christmas Cookie Land. Unlike this pitiable writer, who valiently produces a good-looking Easter Bread every year, but it is unrisen and has the same mass density as a concrete block. Kind of a mixed message for Easter.

And so I eagerly anticipate the pleasure of baked goods from the hands of a woman with Russian blood.

2001-10-26T14:18:00.000-04:00

PLOG WATCH

I added a new feature to The Joy of Soup called From The Mailbag. Here is where I will be adding correspondence from readers who want to share their recipes and stories about soup.

The first Soup Guest is none other than my old friend Dave. His grandmother's recipe for Sauerkraut Soup is now posted.
Warning: Contains the phrase Sauerkraut Jello!

Say, that gives me an idea! Maybe I could start a special section devoted to Unusual Jello Recipes. Let's see, first there was Beef Jello, and now this ... hmmmmm, this could work.

2001-10-26T06:38:00.000-04:00

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
Countdown To Thanksgiving: 26 days

In order to get into the proper frame of mind for the upcoming holiday, I strongly recommend that you watch a movie called Home For The Holidays.

The storyline: it's comedy about adult children of a dysfunctional who return to the family home for a strained Thanksgiving reunion.You can read an on-line review for a more detailed synopsis of the plot. But I would like to point out three great moments of pure truth that make it worthwile to see this film repeatedly.

Great Moment # 1: The eccentric aunt (Geraldine Chaplin, looking quite fetching in a necklace made of Fruit Loops cereal) sponaneously bursts into a reedy-voiced rendition of "We Gather Together" in the middle of a conversation at the dinner table. The family suspends their conversation, gives each other agonized looks, but it is clear they accept and make allowances for this odd family member.

Great Moment # 2: The aunt is recounting a memory from 40 years earlier, when the boyfriend (now husband) of her sister kissed her, unbeknownst all these years to the wife (Anne Bancroft), who cranes her neck and looks daggers at the husband (Charles Durning), who dismisses the importance of the event with an eager-to-get-past-the moment shrug and gesture. Watch that moment - it is perfection.

Great Moment # 3: The uptight and repressed younger sibling in the family leaves enraged after the ruination of the special Nutri-bird she has brought to the dinner. The older sibling (Holly Hunter) follows her home to make peace. She finds her sister (Cynthis Stevenson) on the Stairmaster, determindly working up a sweat and unable to stop exercising to discuss the incident. The look of steeled determination as she acknowledges and does her best to conquer her extreme disappointment in life is honestly revealing and frightening in its intensity.

After you see this film, you will then be in a the proper mind set for your own holiday gathering.

No family is perfect.

2001-10-26T05:49:00.000-04:00

AN ETHICAL QUESTION

How many free ink pens should you take from a pile set out by a vendor of pharmaceuticals when you visit his display?

One.

How many free ink pens should you take from a pile set out by a vendor of pharmaceuticals when no one is looking?

Seven.

2001-10-25T17:43:00.000-04:00

IN WHICH I GO TO THE WELL OF KNOWLEDGE
BUT DECLINE TO DRINK

Today was not a regular work day for me today.

Instead of going to my outpatient clinic, I attended a seminar on organ transplantation hosted by one of the major transplant centers in this state. It is a full day of scheduled speakers and their Power Point presentations, one after the other, from 8:00 am to 4:30 pm. These are the experts and it is a great opportunity to get the latest and most official information about a topic that is always under discussion in my neck of the woods

I stayed with it for most of the morning, but right around the time the topic turned to Coagulopathy: Issues & Answers, I started to drift away. I jotted down notes for the next installment of the Countdown To Thanksgiving, dreamed about a new design for this blog*, and scrutinized the crowd.

After close examination of the 200 people in attendance, I can report that I was the only one carrying a Vera Bradley handbag. People are so slow to catch on. After they are all the rage nationwide, please remember that you heard it here first: these bags are the Next Big Thing. I carried this one today:

It made for a truly dramatic display as I held it against my dark orchid sweater set. Oddly, no one commented on it. I must assume they were mute with envy.

In a delightful surprise, the luncheon meal ended with a dessert that was not chocolate! Saints be praised!

* The new design - I am wishing for something that will call to mind a sort of Retro / 50s / Atomic Style Boomerang / Big Top Circus effect. In pink.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

STOP THE PRESSES !!! Forget what I just said about the Vera bags. I was just over reading It's A Scandal, and Jill has gone me one better me with these bags! Ack!

2001-10-24T12:27:00.000-04:00

FOOD = LOVE
Countdown To Thanksgiving: 28 Days

I am in charge of the deserts this year.

It's time to make a firm plan for which ones I will be serving. The invasion of the beach at Normandy took less planning than it takes for two bossy women (and their two mothers and one mother-in-law ) to orchestrate and deliver a traditional Thanksgiving meal, so planning ahead is essential. Here's what I've got so far:

Chocolate Cake ( a request from the host)
Pumpkin Pie ( a request from the hostess)
Rice Pudding ( another request from the hostess)
Cranberry Cake- a buttery bundt cake with a cranberry glaze.

Now I need one or two more things. These are the items under consideration:

Raisin Pie - this is a Martha Stewart recipe and my favorite. Made with both brown and golden raisins and covered with a puffy pastry crust. I serve it with a rich vanilla ice cream.
Sweet Potato Pie - might be too similar to the pumpkin pie, but I make a special crust for it that has ground pecans in it.
Pecan Pie - if I make this one, it would definately exclude the pie with the pecan crust.
Cranberry Apple Pie- too much cranberries? We have the cake and cranberry relish, too.
Lemon Meringue Pie- Ok, this one is really my favorite. I was just kidding before. This one is a Martha recipe, too. The real name of it is "Mile High Lemon Pie". Don't you just want it right now?
Pineapple Dream Bars- this was a very popular desert in my hometown when I was growing up. No one has seen it in years. It would kind of fit our vintage theme. It is a tart filled with a creamy pineapple mixture and it has a lattice top crust, and in every opening is a maracino cherry half.
Rice Krispy Treats- I'm not kidding. Everybody mocks them, but there are never any left. They are especially festive if you replace some of the plain rice krispys with Fruit Loops or Fuity Pebbles. I also can make a similar thing out of melted chocolate and Cheerios. Looks nice if they are both on a platter together, piled in a pyramid.
Jello- You know what they say: there's always room for Jello. Especially if it is orange jello with with mandarin oranges molded into it and topped with whipped cream. Mr. Sami used to love this, now he objects to it. It may be a case of too much of a good thing.

So those are the choices. I think I need to choose two things from this list to add to the desert selection.

Do you think it is excessive to have this many deserts? The answer is no. Don't forget, there will be about 20 people for dinner and afterwards there are likely to be drop-ins. We'll have the 30 cup party pot going for the coffee, and after the dinner settles, people can keep coming back to the desert buffet.

What do you think?

2001-10-24T06:10:00.000-04:00

LA SOCIETE HONORAIRE DE FRANCAIS

There was excitement in the house last night as the Guestblogger was inducted into the French Honor Society.

A lovely ceremony was held at her school for the language honors program and the three language clubs - French, Spanish and Latin. We were treated to a solemn and dignified induction followed by cultural perfomances. There were songs in Spanish, poems in French and a violin solo of something with a Latin name.

Because of the big deal nature of the thing, we all primped up a bit for it, and the Guestblogger paid special attention to her hair. She has been blessed with a head of luxurient, thick, puffy hair. And she hates it.

Her hair has always dazzled people. From the time she was a baby (with springy Shirley Temple curls) to grade school ponytails (so thick she could have doubled for a Cabbage patch Kid) to this very day when her chestnut-colored hair hangs thick and wavy and her face is framed by charming ringlets.

When she was 13, she heard of a program called Locks of Love. One of the local hair salons was participating in a program to provide wigs for children who had cancer and lost ther own hair due to the chemotherapy or other medical conditions. The deal was that you would get a free cut and styling if you donated the clipped off pony tail, which had to be a minumum of 12" long. Her hair was so thick that it could not be restrained in one ruber band. She was able to donate 6 14" long tails and walked out of there with a funky cropped 'do that instantly changed her look from little girl to teenager.

She is plagued by her hair and wishes for straight hair with less volume, and she puts a lot of effort into getting that look. Gel, spray, fixative, pins, hairbands, special combs and brushes - she works it over until she gets the flat, panked-down results that satisfy her. Last night, she acheived maximum flatness and I know that pleased her. Ironic, isn't it?

. . . . . . .

Side note: This is not the first time that French honors have come to our house. When the Frat Boy went to that same high school, he was an actual gagnant. Oh, yes he was. His French composition about how to be a good houseguest garnered him second place in a competition sponsored by The French Alliance, a social/cultural club of French speaking socialites. Prior to this event, there was no indication that he knew anything at all about good manners, so it was very gratifying to me to see that years of nagging repetition and frequent references to Goofus vs. Gallant did him some good.

Life is full of nice surprises.

2001-10-23T13:45:00.000-04:00

I ALMOST GAVE HER THE BIRD
Countdown to Thanksgiving: 29 days

The menu for the celebration this year will be extensive and multi-ethnic.

It will be suitable and pleasing for Lithuanian, Polish, Egyptian, Lebanese, Russian and Pilgrim backgrounds. The centerpiece, of course, is the bird. Since her home borders on Pennsylvania state game land and is overrun with all types of wildlife, including wild turkeys, The Other Cheek got the idea that her husband should shoot one for the table.

This set off an absolute chorus of complaining husbands. I made the mistake of telling Mr. Sami that we might be having a wild turkey for Thanksgiving, which activated his Complaint-O-Matic: " Wild turkey?... Why would I want to eat a wild turkey?... It's bad enough I have to eat a regular turkey, why does it have to be a wild one?... Name one other person who is having a wild turkey? ... Is it safe to eat a wild turkey?" and so on.

I was almost able to save the price of one bullet, though, for on my drive through the Poconos last weekend, during the last ten-mile stretch, a giant wild turkey flapped up from the roadside right next to me. In a scene reminiscent of this summer's deliberate animal suicides, the thing barely cleared my windsheild. If I had tried just a little, I could have whacked it and strapped it onto the roof rack and delivered it. Maybe the feathers would have blown off it, too.

However, Mr. TOC spent his time carrying on about how tough and stringy wild birds are. And on and on. So it seems as though we are back to Square One with a normal Butterball.

That seems so drab and ordinary now, doesn't it?

2001-10-22T23:34:00.000-04:00

COAL MINER'S DAUGHTERS

We spent a lovely morning in the Russian Cemetery.

Armed with fresh charcoal and unmarked tablets, we were ready for a day of rubbing tombstones. We chose the Russian Cemetery because of the number of relatives buried there and because we thought we might find some stones craved in Cyrillic lettering. It is deep in the country and we didn't expect to see many others there.

The weather was magnificent - it turned out to be one of the ten best days of the year (apersonal rating). We entered under an arch bearing a golden onion dome and the inscription: "Happy Are They Who Live In The Lord." We were surrounded by peak leaf color, the sun was shining the entire time and there was a most pleasant breeze. We pretty much had the place to ourselves, except when we were surprised by Cujo the Killer Dog, who raced up from out of nowhere. She screamed; I screamed. He turned out to be a big a galoot that just wanted to play.

(I am comforted to find out that I can scream. Whenever I imagined that I might find myself in danger and I would have to scream, it seemed such an embarrassing thing to do and I always felt with some degree of certainty that I would meet my end mute. I was glad that I was able to produce a scream. It was more of a whoop than a scream, and it sounded like this: Wah-ah!. A small offering, but, still, it was something.)

Grave rubbing turns out to be much more difficult than it sounds. My first attempted resulted in a heavy-handed smear and a handfull of black dust. After repeated attempts, and after I had run out of inanimate things to blame for my sorry self, it finally dawned on me that there was some finesse required beyond taping the paper up and having at it with the charcoal. After several false starts, and migration from stone to stone, I was able to produce a memento of the first day out:

It is quite facinating to see how it develops. What you see is the fourth attempt, and I could so it yet again to get the degree of shading and blending that I imagine it could have. The stones that you think would make a good impression may be unremarkable on paper, and other carvings that hardly catch your eye can deliver stunning results. Surfaces that are gleaming and smooth reveal delightful swirls and ridges when they are rubbed. this one might look like a messy blob to you, but it is highly evolved from the way things started out.

We rewarded ourselves with a nice brunch afterwards. However, after three hours up close and personal with a boxfull of charcoal, we look like we spent those three hours in the mines. My white thermal shirt was blackened at the arms and front, her jeans had black fingerprints all over, both our hands, knuckles and nails are still black in a way that lets you know "hey, we tried to get it off - it was just too much." Half a box of WetWipes and a trip to the restroom for a scrub hardly made a difference in the situation.

All in all, it was a successful first outing.

2001-10-22T15:44:00.000-04:00

FUN IN THE KITCHEN
Countdown To Thanksgiving: 30 days

Well, I see by the old calendar on the wall that it is one month until Thanksgiving.

It's going to be a bash this year. We are combining family celebrations and my gang will be joining my best friend's family for the event. The final census is unclear at this point, but the crowd will be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two people. Ages range from 17 to 82 and we have the entire spectrum of medical ailments covered. All of the men are hard of hearing, and all of the women have the word they are looking for right on the tip of their tongues.

The day by day countdown will be chronicled here and at The Other Cheek. To begin, we discuss the wardrobe: aprons.

I am of the firm belief that large family affairs always run so much more smoothly if you are dressed like Harriet Nelson. To that end, my mother is sewing aprons for us from this pattern:

I found a lovely fabric covered with coffee cups for one, still searching for something right for the other one. One-of-a-kind aprons for a Thanksgiving to remember.

Stay tuned.

2001-10-21T21:34:00.000-04:00

IT WAS ONLY KITCHEN SPICY

If you are a fan of hand-made soap, you will understand my excitement when my order from Custom Creations Co. was delivered over the weekend. It was waiting on the kitchen table for me when i returned from my weekend trip.

The Guestblogger and I spotted it at the same time. Like kids at Christmas (or maybe like apes with a new puzzle), we turned it over and checked every angle. Then we sniffed it.

We pried up one corner, and a lovely smell drifted out. So we took turns sticking our noses into the opening and inhaling. "Uh-oh." We said it at the same time. "Anthrax!" - beat - beat - beat - Then we shrugged simultaneously, and sniffed again. The lure of scented soap was stronger than our common sense.

But, oh! - the soap! Hippie days, smelling of lavendar and patchouli. Ocean Song Shampoo/Shaving bar, with a lather that is thick, silky and super creamy ( it has special ingredients. Special! Ooh! ) And the best so far - Kitchen Spicy: lemon, lime, orange, grapefruit, cinnamon, clove and bay. It is very strongly scented and I can think of more than one lucky Friend of Bob who will find this in their stockings this Christmas.

The scent of Hippie Days is drifting up from the keyboard as I type this, and the guestblogger has made off with Kitchen Spicy and has no intention of returning it.

Anthrax, be damned!

2001-10-21T19:50:00.000-04:00

THE MOTHERS

My Mother
My mother: Our church had a special Spanish Mass last week.
Her ladyfriend: I saw that, but I didn't know what it was.
My mother: I was curious, so I went to it.
Her ladyfriend: How was it?
My mother: I don't know. It was all in Spanish.

Her Mother:
Me: Your hands are so soft and smooth.
Her mother: Everybody says that to me. I tell them it's because I stick 'em in the toilet.

2001-10-20T09:34:00.000-04:00

PLEASURE

It's getting chilly here now.

The nighttime temperatures are dropping to the near freezing mark and there is a crispness in the air. The heat is on, but low at night. It's time to get out the flannel sheets and the down comforter.

Take it from me - there is nothing finer than clean flannel sheets and a goose down comforter to make a warm and cozy bed.

You can quote me.

2001-10-19T07:14:00.000-04:00

IN OTHER NEWS ...

There is much terrible poison ivy-related itching going on and a tiny thorn left over from last week-end's garden adventures is now making itself known in an unpleasant way.

Maybe I'll cash out a week's pay instead of using the time off so that I can have the money for the major events that are about to drain me: the guestblogger's birthday 11/6, Thanksgiving 11/??, my mother's birthday 12/8, the frat boy's birthday 12/15, mr sami's birthday 12/20, and christmas 12/25.

I have 7 wedding rings. Wait ... maybe I'll make that a seperate entry. 7 Rings.

Yesterday, I saw a reference to pinhole photography done with a Pringle's chip can. That is something that interests me. I'm pretty sure the directions start out with : "Eat one can of Pringle's potato chips".

I also saw a resource for poutine information. This is something that I am struggling to understand, but it seems to thrill the daylights out of those that are fans of cheese curds.

2001-10-19T07:02:00.000-04:00

WHITE-THROATED SPARROW AT TEN O'CLOCK

Someone gave me a birdsong clock.

It it the sort of thing that has a picture of a bird as each hour marker, and when the hour hand gets to the top, the bird sings. It is most cheerful. The sounds must be acutal recordings of birds chirping - it sounds pretty realistic. It's not too loud, and it has a light sensor so that there is no chirpfest while you are sleeping.

I got this last year and put it up in the kitchen. It didn't take long until some wiseguy took out the battery that drives the birdsong. I thought it was nice, but the others had nothing but scorn and derision for it. I hope they leave it alone here in my inner sanctum.

Yesterday, I brought it upstairs to the room where the computer is. It's dark green rim and giant face with bird pictures stick out like a sore thumb - it's not nice to look at (except for the fact that I am at the point where I appreciate a large dial and clearly marked hours on a white background), but it is a lovely asset here.

The american robin at 1:00 is surprisingly lyrical. The tufted titmouse at 5:00 and the northern oriole at 6:00 have sweet, melodic trills. My favorite is the black-capped chickadee at 9:00, but I could do without the spooky mourning dove at 7:00. Maybe they ran out of good birds.

So as the days pass, it is becoming more bunker-like around here. This room used to be just a spare bedroom - smallish and peach colored, it has a TV, a bed, a bookcase and a sewing machine. Now it is known only as the computer room. Yes, there is a little homework that goes on, and a smaller amount of business communication, but mostly it is a recreational thing that takes up a lot of my time.

I'm going for coffee now so I don't have to listen to the mourning dove.

2001-10-18T08:53:00.000-04:00

I MET A MAN WHO HAS A COLOPHON

col·o·phon Function: noun
Etymology: Latin, from Greek kolophOn summit, finishing touch; perhaps akin to Latin culmen top
Date: 1774
1 : an inscription placed at the end of a book or manuscript usually with facts relative to its production
2 : an identifying device used by a printer or a publisher

He has it prominently displayed on his page. When I asked him what it was, he defined it and then stated plainly:

"I mean it as an honor to the designer."

Because I had nothing of worth to contribute to the discussion, I fell back on teasing and making juvenile puns. He was untouched by my lame humor, and treated the discussion with the gravity he intended all along. He offers it as an honor to the designer. No further explanation needed. It is quietly displayed for your consideration. He doesn't try to convince you or to argue you into agreement with him. It is a pure declaration of something he believes in. And in very short order, you do come to appreciate the design and the pride of work behind it.

He went on to explain his decisions for creating stark layout design and colors, and his preference for vintage fonts. His content speaks for itself, and that is the focus of the web site. The colophon is in the right upper corner, the same location that newspapers devote to the most important news story of the day.

For everyone who joined the conversation, he reiterated the meaning and the purpose.

"I meant it as an honor to the designer."

You've got to admire the purity of that.

Blank Headspace.

2001-10-18T07:30:00.000-04:00

ODE TO THE CORNFIELD

Recent discussion regarding television preferrences over at The Back Porch has prompted me to remember with fondess one of the all-time great TV shows.

The longest running syndicated show in the history of television. An evolving cast that included some of the biggest stars of their genre, new and old alike. A formula for success that did not change over a quarter of a century. Devoted fans from all demographic catagories.

Hee Haw.

I didn't appreciate it when the broadcasts were airing for the first time, but looking back on it, I realize that the sketches and characters have stayed with me as beacons of whacky and original icons of humor.

The incomparable Junior Samples, painfully bumbling through the cue cards until he got to his famous tag-line: BR-549. The radio station KORN , broadcasting the local country news infront of a backdrop of egg-cartons used for muffling. Hey, Grampa - what's for dinner? It was one of the last remaining places, besides Halloween costumes and porno films, to see a nurse in uniform, although Gunilla Hutton was a pretty good combination of Daisy Mae and a playboy bunny. The worst "corny "jokes ever, straight from the cornfield. And the master story-teller, John Henry Faulk, whom you may know from the annual NPR broadcast of his Christmas Story.

And my all time favorite, buned into memeory as true comedy genius:
Archie Campbell and Gordie Tapp singing "Where, Oh Where Are You Tonight?" which ended with the famous "Pththththtttt! You was gone!".

If asked, and even if not, I would tell you that I despise country music, but this show had the top notch pickers and grinners ever. Buck Owens and the Buckaroos. Roy Clark, and the creme de la creme of country artists. Maybe I am more ruralized than I would like to admit: I confess a fondness for Green Acres, too.

Coming tomorrow: a tribute to County Agricutlure Agent Hank Kimball. Well, not a tribute. Though you could say he is a beaut. And not tomorrow, either. Even though tomorrow is coming.

and so on and so on until you give up and give yourself over to the humor of it all ...

2001-10-17T06:39:00.000-04:00

A DAY IN THE LIFE

Things I did on a glorious autumn day:

... drove a shiny dark green car though orange and gold leaves.

... wore a handknit Aran sweater that I got from QVC.

... stopped at a family-owned farm and bought Winesap apples straight off the tree.

... inspected and rejected the Hallmark "Son" and "Daughter" Christmas ornaments for this year.

... found the grave of Philip Freneau, Revolutionary War poet.

... posted entries on 5 blogs in one day. Entries, not comments.

... ordered four kinds of hand-made soap from a site I found on the internet.

The perfection of this day was marred only by the fact that I am covered with poison ivy and have a honking big cold sore.

I hear my nerve endings singing.

2001-10-16T08:16:00.000-04:00

OH, BABY!

I am a traditionalist when it comes to naming babies.

I much prefer plain old-fashioned names like John or Sarah, but I confess to a grudging admirtion for people who can combine the parents names and come up with something unique.

Raymond + Arlene = Raylene
Harold + Alice = Halice (prounounced hal-EESE)
Joseph + Ellen = Joselle
Bea + Jay = BJ (Hunnicut. From M*A*S*H)
Jim + Nudey = Nim (why they didn't go with Judey, I don't know)

Name add-ons can also tell a story. I am from the time when it was commanded that Catholic children have saint's names. The more inventive parent would tack on part-two of a name they desired to make it acceptable.

ex: Chantele = NO / Chantelle Marie = YES

Or names that indicate inclusion : Africa - the last name taken by members of MOVE, a radical anarchistic group that was heavily armed and bunkered down in Philadelphia in the 80's. They were considered a threat of such magnitude that the city govenment saw fit to burn down an entire city block to defeat them ( I think Tupac Shakur's mother was part of this group.)

the Cheeses - Swingcheese, SpaceCheese, Drugcheese, Smokecheese. Origin and affiliation unclear.

The Purple People - a colony of artists, ecologists and squatters who resided in lower Manhattan in the 80s. Led by Adam Purple; at least some of the women and children took Purple as their last name.

Another fine source of names is our own Madison Avenue. There are entire teams of people whose only job is to sit around and select names. They consider the image implied by the name, develop variations, and test it with focus groups. Some of these names are quite lyrical and are in almost endless supply. Using these thouroughly pondered names would really broaden the selection available to parents - it is much preferrable to a second grade classroom overrun with Heathers and Samanthas.

While any product will do ( Ultresse. Exxon. Corelle. Zima.), vehicle names are especialy good for this purpose. Alantra. Harley. Fiesta. Cimmaron. Dart. Chevelle. Metro. Leganza. Caprice. Corolla.

Try it:
Celica Smith
Geo Johnson
Windstar Wilson
Blazer Brown.
Caprice Kelley.

signed, camrythecorgi

2001-10-15T07:56:00.000-04:00

FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF I'D REALLY RATHER NOT KNOW:

Emotional Inteligence: Why It Can Matter More Then IQ ForCharacter, Health and Lifelong Acheivement by Daniel Goldman*

" ... men with the traits that mark emotional intelligence are poised and outgoing, committed to people and causes, sympathetic and caring, with a rich but appropriate emotional life -- they're comfortable with themselves, others, and the social universe they live in. "

The E-IQ Test

Best score: 200
Average Score: 100
My score: 60

Shut up.

I know you are, but what am I?

Shut up.

* Best part of the book review done by the Philadelphia Inquirer:
"My amygdala says, 'Buy it, read it, absorb it, love it--the man speaks the truth.' My neocortex remains skeptical ..."

2001-10-14T15:36:00.000-04:00

PLOG WATCH

The long awaited Cabbage Soup, now showcased at The Joy of Soup.

2001-10-14T07:34:00.000-04:00

WEAPONS OF WAR

I used to be a volunteer for Mobile Meals.

It was our county's version of Meals On Wheels. Once a week, I would deliver hot meals to the homes of people who could not manage shopping or cooking for themselves. The meals were supposed to meet one third of their daily nutritional requirements, but it was often the olny food they had all day. There were locations throughout the network that prepared the meals, and the source for my route was a state-run nursing home.

So I would put the kids in the station wagon, pick up my 77-year-old-partner, and go get the food. My intention was to impress upon my children the value of doing good deeds. Volunteerism. No reward except the satisfaction of knowing that you were helping people. But it backfired.

There were two containers: the cold one held milk, juice, fruit and bread; the other had hot entrees. And they stunk to high heaven. They always had some kind of gravy or sauce and were not spiced or seasoned in any way. Something was always spilled and the contaienrs themselves took on an aroma of their own. The kids begged to be left behind every week, and since that never happened, they complained the entire time and held their noses or fake-gagged in a most theatrical manner. So much for them absorbing the lesson - they could only focus on the smell.

We did it for two years. Some time later , when the Gulf War broke out, the children stood transfixed in front of the television listening to the reports. You could see the distress written on their faces. They were to young to understand or to care about the issues, but they knew it was a terrible thing that were were bombing the enemy with mobile missles.

Because they misheard it and thought we were sending Mobile Meals. They imagined the horror of yankee pot roast with gravy coming out of the sky and pork chops with white sauce everywhere you looked. And the smell - the awful smell! They had great sympathy for the Iraqis - they could imagine no torture more horrible than the delivery of mobile meals.

We explained it to them as best we could, and we laughed about it when they were out of earshot. "Oh, those kids! Imagine bombing with food."

Now these many years later, when America is dropping boxed meals throughout Afghanistan, I have to wonder if those who plan our military strategy had accompanied their own mothers on the Mobile Meals trail? Maybe it is a form of psychological warfare to impose peanut butter and jelly on innocent civilians. Picture the scene as they open the boxes and face a packet of plastic cutlery and condiments.

What must they be thinking?

2001-10-12T14:12:00.000-04:00

I DON'T LIKE IT, BUT EVERYONE IS JEALOUS OF IT,
SO I THINK I'LL KEEP IT ANYWAY

When I got my new computer at work, part of the package was a dark grey mouse pad whose only adornment was the words "www.dell.com" across the bottom. Utilitarian.

Last week, I got a some advertising junk from one of the drug companies that sells medication to increase red blood cell production. They gave me a very fancy mouse pad. It is filled with fluid, and the back wall is various shades of red with blood cells pictured in all stages of their development. Inside the fluid are 8 freely moving plastic corpuscles.

When you move the mouse, the corpuscles are set into motion and they scurry about inside the fluid. Sometimes they coagulate, and you have to squash down on them to get them to shoot out from under the mouse.

It is very disturbing.

2001-10-11T10:11:00.000-04:00

MONUMENTS

It's a new interest of mine.

I'm not even sure what to call it. Cemetary crawling. Grave rubbing. But I've developed an appreciation for cemetary monuments, thanks to the vacationing Sheila, who lit the spark but still doesn't know the fire she has started. It started with just casual admiration of the photos she has posted from her cemetery observations, and then moved onto a discussion about engraving and making tracings of them.

So last week, when I was again in Pennsylvania, I called my best friend and said, "Pick me up at 8:00am. we're going to look around some cemeteries." Her initial reaction was "uh ...ok." and I know she went thinking if she got it over with, then we'd have the rest of the day to inspect the entire Martha Stewart collection at Kmart. But within an hour, she was totally into it, flinging herself on the ground in order to get a better angle for photos.

Monument to Small Child, 1877-1883

There is so much beauty and artistry to be found. We spent hours walking from one section to another, pondering about the loved ones beneath the stones. For that is what they are - the dear departed. We did our best to be respectful and we avoided people who were visitng their family plots. We touched the carvings, considered different angles for photos, and peered between the barred doors of masoleums to see the stained glass windows.

Thanks to Sheila for giving me the idea, thanks to John for pointing me in the right direction, and thanks to the other cheek's husband , who does not yet know that he is making walking sticks for us to use in the frost and light snow.

Additional photos can be found at Under The Same Moon.

2001-10-11T08:49:00.000-04:00

A MONTH AGO TODAY

A moment of silence.

8:48 am

2001-10-10T20:09:00.000-04:00

BIKER DOG

Bob the corgi's pleather biker jacket has found a nice home with Magnus, dog of the other cheek.

2001-10-10T11:05:00.000-04:00

THE BIG DEAL OF THE DAY

I don't watch a lot of television, but when I do, I prefer reality based television.

I don't mean Survivor or Big Brother - I am proud of the fact that I have never seen a single moment of either one. I mean real reality - COPS and Judge Judy.

I like COPS because the criminals have messier bedrooms than I do, and it makes me feel good about myself. And I like Judge Judy because I think I am wiser than the dolts who give their credit cards to boyfriends of only two weeks duration or the simpletons who buy cars for $600.00 (pink slip not included) and then complain that they have discovered mechanical problems. They make me feel good about myself , too.

Do you see a pattern emerging here?

Recently, I was reminded by Jill Matrix about my #1 all time favorite show, now in syndicated reruns on The Game Show Network - Let's Make a Deal. No one was better at whipping up a frenzy than America's Big Dealer, Monty Hall. No one could present a bottle of Scott's Liquid Gold and make it sound as desirable as the Big Deal of the day the way Jay Stewart could. Only Carol Merrill could look so elegant standing next to a goat as the ZONK theme music announced the bad news:
wah wah wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

My favortie part was at the end - the quick deals. Monty would quickly dart from one contestant to another saying things like, "I'll give you $1.00 for every rubber band you have." or "Show me an unpaid bill and I'll pay it for you." "$5.00 for every safety pin." People would dig in their bags and grin as they held up baggies full of whatever it was. They loaded up their purses before they left home, just in case Monty would offer them cash for these odd little items. Maybe it was this scenario that was the model of my personal pocketbook management style of today. If Monty Hall ever shows up in New Jersey and asks for crumpled up receipts from the dollar store, I will be able to retire in comfort.

I'm usually pretty good at guessing the price of commonly found items within 10 or 25 cents (makes me feel good about myself), but in a world where a Pontiac GTO complete with title, tax and liscence costs less than $5,000.00, I am at a loss to estimate the cost of a purse-sized container of Jungle Gardenia by Tuvache, nevermind a year's supply of Turtle Wax with the hard-shell shine.

2001-10-10T08:56:00.000-04:00

THICKER FULLER HAIR

Ethel no more. Fine-haired people of the world rejoice!

I have found a wonderful line of hair care products that really lives up to it's name: Thicker Fuller Hair. I started using the Super Volumizing Shampoo and the Ultra-Volume Hair Gel, both of which contain "oat starch". That must be what makes all the difference. Today I was able to acheive a big swooping Conan O'Brien thing going on top of my head. It's great.And I am quite confident that I can create great expanded styles unlike any I have been able to accomplish before.

These products are about $7.00 to $9.00 dollars each - not my usual $.99 bargain brands. But, believe you me, it is worth every penny. Maybe I'll even spring for some of that $12.00 hairspray my sister uses.

Goodbye Ethel Mertz. Hello Patti LaBelle.

2001-10-09T23:42:00.000-04:00

3MB

Another in the continuing series, The Three Minute blog, here is today's entry:

THE THREE MINUTE DOG
Well, it turns out that my excessive facination with the Westminster Kennel club dog show is shared by my best friend. We have made plans to be at Madison Square Garden this February when the show rolls around again.

I have a connection who works at ABC and another one who workd for CBS news, as a sound man for Dan Rather- that fat bastard.( he is not looking too healty these days - have you noticed?)

Anyhoo, i wonder if they can get free tickets for me? i would hate to pay if one of them can get me in for free. Is that wrong? no. \and i would probalby have more extensive access backstage

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Have you tried one yet? Read about it here and use the cool 3MB timer.

2001-10-08T17:07:00.000-04:00

THE DIAMETER OF THE BOMB

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters
and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters,
with four dead and eleven wounded.
And around these, in a larger circle
of pain and time, two hospitals are scattered
and one graveyard. But the young woman
who was buried in the city she came from,
at a distance of more than a hundred kilometers,
enlarges the circle considerably,
and the solitary man mourning her death
at the distant shores of a country far across the sea
includes the entire world in the circle.
And I won t even mention the howl of orphans
that reaches up to the throne of God and
beyond, making
a circle with no end and no God.
--Yehuda Amichai

I read this poem weeks ago at So Blue It's Black, and it's been with me ever since. For this, and for many other thought-provoking entries, I thank Moira.

2001-10-07T18:59:00.000-04:00

SOMEBODY STOP ME!

I think there is sufficient evidence to suggest that I am quite in the manic phase now.

Here is a quick compilation of my internet presence:

... solo blogs:
bobthecorgi
the joy of soup

... collaborations:
surreally dot com
the dream log
The Back Porch
Under The Same Moon

... guest blogging
upcoming stint at Pristine's Ledge

... chat
surreally bad samaritan chatroom

Is it too much? Have I gone too far?

I don't think so.

2001-10-06T09:16:00.000-04:00

WOKE UP, IT WAS A TUESDAY MORNING
AND THE FIRST THING THAT I KNEW ...
...I Bought a Bunch of Stuff That I Really Didn't Need, But I Really, Really Wanted.

One of the frequent stops on my usual circuit of flea markets, secondhand shops and factory outlets is a great place called Tuesday Morning.

It is an outlet for close-out merchandise and discount stuff. You can find left-over, discontinued, and seasonal things at great prices. It is where I got all of my Mr. Potato Head greeting cards, a miniature tea set in the shape of Babar, King of the Elephants, and two serving dishes with the look and feel of a real cantaloupe. It is like a big indoor flea market of new merchandise that is too outlandish for the big department stores. It is the very place to go if you ever need a majolica casserole dish in the shape of a fish or a rooster. You never know what you will find when you go in there - the merchandise is quickly turned over and never to be found again.

When PETS.com closed up, Tuesday Morning got their left over inventory, and one day, there it was - the perfect dog outfit! It was the biker Dog model ... black pleather with studs and chains. The PETS.com price was 34.99 and the asking price that day was $3.99. True, it was size L, and Bob is only an M, but for four dollars - how could you go wrong?

So I took it home and put it on the dog. ( I do love the look of a dog in clothes - especially a poodle in a skirt. A corgi in a biker jacket is appealing to me beyond words.) It was too big. First he licked it, then he stepped out of it, then he licked it some more. That was the only time he had it on.

So it hangs on a peg next to his leash. It is too good to get rid of ...but he will never be able to wear it.

Anybody out there have a size large dog?

2001-10-05T09:38:00.000-04:00

HUH?

I was walking around this morning getting ready for work and I had the radio on in the background.

Talk radio. Really, you must give it a whirl - it is so facinating. Except in the morning. The state of talk radio is the major metropolitain area around NYC is deplorable. So I am forced to listen to the nationally syndicated/linked with MSNBC Imus In The Morning.

The commercial breaks are clumped together and easily avioded or ignored. But this morning, I was sitting next to the clock radio tying my shoes and this came on the air:

*Snappy peppy music* *girl background singers going "ooh ooh"*
and these are the lyrics:

Dr. Alexander Saylor
will remove unwanted hair from you.
In a simple painless procedure
that will make you look and feel brand new.

It was a catchy tune and the singers were so happy, but what a message!

2001-10-05T07:43:00.000-04:00

WHAT ARE THE VARIABLES?

The professor in the statistics class that I am taking is Indian. His English is very heavily accented with the lilting rhythms of his native language.

Many of my classmates have said to me that they are having a hard time understanding him because of this. But really, it is the most charming thing. It's possible that I think that after so many years of decoding Mr. Sami's accent. I learned that if you just ride on top of the sounds for a while, you can fall into the patterns and it all clicks into place. It must be like that for people who are bilingual - if you think in French, but encounter someone who is speaking German, you switch your brain to expect German - it is only a problem if you try to squeeze German words into a French pattern. I'm just guessing.

Anyhoo, the man must have gotten some complaints in the past, because he says things over and over in an effort to impart these difficult (for me) math concepts.

... "What are the variables?"
... "The variables are these: (whatever whatever whatever)... "
... "And so, these are our variables"

Then he writes it on the board and says : "Variables", but he says it like this: VAH- ree- ables. A long streched out VAH, a long E, and a hurried ables. It is hard to get it across in these dull letters, but the result is very musical, and I find myself saying over and over in my head.

The variables - what are the variables?

I don't have any trouble at all understanding his English. It is when he starts saying stuff like this that he loses me:

s = E (x-x) 2 - (Ex2)
_______________
n (n- 1)

Or something like that. This at least has recognizeable numbers and letters. The real formula had Greek things in it and a square root sign. It is terrifying to me.

But I plod on, against the odds. Tomorrow is another four hour session, two hours of which will be dedicated to an exam. He won't be doing much talking. Too bad - when I get overwhelmed with the material, I escape by repeating the patterns of his pronounciation and the frightening terms, if repeated often enough, become like a song.

Which is the only reason I am still going there.

2001-10-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

FLAG ETIQUETTE, Part II
An Update

I am not surprised to find out that others are having the same reaction to improperly displayed American flags.

A similar essay to my own was written by Veronica Lynne, although in a much more cogent manner. Read through the piece and discover the author of the poem "Ragged Old Flag" - it came as a surprise to me. She also links to an excellent article in TNR Online.

As long as I can remember, I have been in settings where the flag was honored and revered. In high school, I was a majorette for four years. We marched in every parade right behind the color guard. In our small town, you could see the effect that had on the crowds that lined the streets.

The cub scouts/boy scouts place a great deal of emphasis on the flag and the rules and regulations around it. All those meetings, camp-outs and ceremonies prominently featured the flag. The bagpipe band that both of my children belonged to for years also marched in the type of parades that featured military groups, veterans and service groups. They also played many VFW, POW, police and Marine Corps events. In all these settings, there was an unspkoen code of behavior regarding respect for the flag. Unspoken because everyone of us knew the standards - the proper flag etiquette.

Please continue displaying the flag and display it correctly.

2001-10-03T07:46:00.000-04:00

REALLY? MY, HOW FLATTERING!

Excitement in the e mailbox today.

It seems that bobthecorgi has been selected as a potential candidate for a free listing in the 2001 Edition of the International Executive Guild Registry. Apparently, it is a coveted honor.

The International Executive Guild thinks that bobthecorgi may make an interesting biographical subject. I wonder if they mean bobthecorgi, or Bob - the corgi?

Hmm... let's see now ...

Bob - the pembroke welsh corgi: Bob came from a corgi rescue operation. Bob the Unwanted. A family who was primarily interested in their horses gave him up when he was two. Although he was cared for in a material way, the focus was on the horses, and at least they cared enough to try and find a good home for him.

When the rescue called and said they had a dog for us, they described him this way: He is a red-headed tri-color. His head is red, his back is black and his belly is white. We envisioned Woddy Woodpecker. Mr. Sami came along on the pick-up because he didn't want me to come home with "an ugly fat bastard with no legs." He was handsome, but fat from lack of exercise. He looked like a furry beachball with toes.

Now he is trim and active and loved by all who see him. He is the focus of every teen-age sleep over party, although he prefers to hang with the frat brothers. He has been invited to live in the dog-friendly frathouse, but he would never make all those steps. He is still haunted by ghosts of his former life - he goes berserk if he hears horse hooves clopping on TV, or if he hears a doorbell there (we don't have one).

bobthecorgi: an unfocused ramble that does not yet know what it wants to be.

I think they meant the dog.

2001-10-02T22:50:00.000-04:00

FLAG ETIQUETTE

Many people are moved by recent events to display the American flag, many for the first time. While the motives behind this are varied and personal, I would like to point out that there exists such a thing as flag etiquette.

Etiquette - et.i.quette Pronunciation: 'e-ti-k&t, -"ket Function: noun
Definition: the conduct or procedure required or prescribed by authority to be observed in social or official life.

There is a specific standard for display and use of the flag. It's not necessary to memorize all the rules and regulations, but please observe the basic elements of respect for the national symbol:

... the flag should be displayed from sunrise to sunset, unless it is properly illuminated ... not put outside of your house and left there for days and weeks.

... the flag should not be displayed on days when the weather is inclement... in the rain.

... the flag should not be draped over the hood, top, sides, or back of a vehicle ... or stuck in a rolled-up window, plastered wet against your rear window, or strapped to the antenna to be pulled to tatters by the wind.

... the flag should never touch anything beneath it, such as the ground, the floor, water or merchandise ... stuck in the flower bed and resting on the dirt.

... the flag should never be festooned, drawn back or up in folds ... or gathered with black ribbons, or bunched for artistic effect.

... the flag should never be used for advertising ... like using the 911 disaster and an image of the flag as a lead in for your on-line promo.

... when the flag is in such condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, should be destroyed in a dignified way ... a condition such as soiled, torn or ragged at the edges.

The sight of the flag produces strong emotion. Not everyone has the same motivation or is sending the same message by displaying the flag. But no matter the reason behind it, the flag should be treated with respect. It is the symbol of the pride we have in our nation, a reminder of the sacrifices made for our freedom, an emblem of liberty.

Thirteen stripes, fifty stars - the red stands for hardiness and valor, the white for honor and the blue signifies vigilance, perseverance & justice.

It is the symbol of our nation's history and of it's future.

Flag Education and Etiquette: the flag code
The Flag of the United States

2001-10-01T17:33:00.000-04:00

PLOG WATCH

Attention, soup fans! ... Baked Potato Soup now being served at The Joy of Soup.

Sit down and have a nice bowl of soup.

2001-10-01T07:53:00.000-04:00

A SPECIAL PERSON

I've been a slacker when it comes to the AORTAL project ... no excuses. To point to this journal as an aortal site would be to lump it in with all others, and it deserves to stand on it's own.

In Search of a Soul ...

Read her words and her poetry. See her photos and her artwork. Start with The Cast page and you'll be hooked. She's a reader and a thinker. She's got her own dream log. She's got a fuzzy navel and one beautiful eye.

She's special.

Happy birthday, Sheila.

2001-10-01T06:57:00.000-04:00

OK, NOW WE'RE TALKING!

A Stunning Idea from Jimformation.

2001-10-01T05:09:00.000-04:00

IT'S A RICH AND FACINATING LIFE

Highlights of a weekend that went by too quickly:

...went to a nursing home to visit an old friend.

... watched the original version of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and spotted a Stangl Country Life platter on the counter in Becky's kitchen.

... picked up a new Vera Bradly handbag, courtesy of theothercheek.

... toured a cemetary and saw the graves of 57 nuns in a cluster.

... cooked three things from one head of cabbage.

... got a refill of my 34oz. coffee mug for $.79 at Turkey Hill.

... found a real good deal on Funny Bones cup cakes.

... admired a large medal of St. Jude, patron saint of impossible causes. Considered the potential for statistics class.

2001-09-30T19:25:00.000-04:00

AS PROMISED ...

Here is an image of bobthecorgi:

LOOK! ... it's Bob, the corgi!

2001-09-28T07:22:00.000-04:00

PLEASE STAND BY ...

I am experiencing technical difficulties.

The scanner that has been used as a convenient place to pile things on top of is now taking it's revenge by being uncooperative.

I am waiting for Mr. Fix-It to make it work again, but so far, only Mr. Take-It-Apart is here.

2001-09-27T14:54:00.000-04:00

A NEW VOCABULARY

Here is a partial list of things I don't say in real life, but have come to depend on for internet communication:

1. Ack! - indicates sudden onset of mild dismay.

2. Anyhoo - childish and affected, but so amusing. Used to shift the focus of the conversation back onto yourself in a passive / aggressive kind of way.

3. LOL - I don't like this, but it is so convenient to denote anything from mirth to merriment. See how unrefined it is? The alternative is to type out " Ha Ha Ha" or " I am seeking your approval so I smile and nod at your modest attempt at humor."

4. I do kind of like the pictue that is painted by ROFLMAO. That is something I would like to see in real life.

2001-09-27T07:40:00.000-04:00

OH, HAPPY DAY!

I just posted my first image over at The Joy of Soup.

Three things you should know about me:
1 - I am attracted by vintage items. Not antiques, just old stuff. Dishes, furniture, textiles, books, items that have a limited function in modern life: ashtrays, fish forks, darning eggs.
2 - I am obsessed with dishes. My main preoccupation is Stangl Dinnerware.
3 - I have an overboard type of personality.

Put it all together, and the end result is a collection of vintage American pottery/dinnerware. When I say "collection", I mean a house full. And a basement full. And some in the back of my car. And hung on the walls as part of the decor. And scattered about in artful arrangements.

No one else in my family likes it but me - Quel surprise! - but they have surrendered under the sheer volume of the stuff around here. Special occaisions, holiday feasts, cake and coffee parties - all opportunities to use the Stangl dinnerware. The diffferent patterns and colors were planned in compatible groups, according to the trendy decorating colors of the year they were produced. Althought the dinnerware was made from the 30s to the 60s, most of mine is from the 50s. When the table is set, it is a riot of color and interesting designs.

Produced in Trenton, NJ, made from the local clay dug right from the surrounding area, it was meant for everyday use. It's not fancy or elegant, but it has a primitive sort of appeal to it. Mr. Sami complains about the heft of the dishes when they are empty, and when they are loaded with cranberry sauce and turkey, we are treated to his opinion that cave dwellers had more refined dinnerware than we do. The kids, while trying to go along with the whole ' i hate this stuff' shell they are trying to cultivate, go around the table and consider where they will sit. Sooner or later, one of them will say "This is the plate I had last time" and I know they are into it, at least for the moment.

I'll try not to carry on too much about my dishes at this site, but if you have any curiosity in you at all, you will rush over to The Joy of Soup to see the delightful Golden Blossom pattern.

And now that I know how to get an image onto these pages, later on today, you will be treated to a picture of bobthecorgi.

2001-09-26T07:10:00.000-04:00

THE TIME IS RIGHT

It's the Three Minute Blog, courtesy of Bad Samaritan.

"What is a Three-Minute Blog? Well, it is a post that takes exactly three minutes to write. No more. No less.

You start writing about anything that might pop into your head, and when the three-minute time limit is up you have to stop. Even if you haven t finished your sentence, or if you get caught in the middle of a really funny joke without a punch line, you are done. Then you post it up, warts (spelling, grammatical, and factual errors) and all, for the world to see."

I do seem to spend a lot of time here writing, editing and correcting. I think I'll give this a whirl. Here goes:
... ... ...

Last night, Mr. Sami and I went to the Outback Steakhouse for dinner. When the bill came, he went off in search of the restrooms but returned in quicler that ususal time. He leaned close and whispered to me "they have one door marked "BLOKES" and one door marked "SHEILAS", but I don't think they have a Ladies Room. I was deep into calculating a tip that would be real good but not overly generous, so that remark just barely registered.

On the drive home, I brought it up and asked him to repeat that. and he started rambling on about how this was the first place he had ever been to that had a rest-room for gays. I turned

... ... ...

Ok, there it is. I didn't feel quite the free-flow that I thought I would - I was mentally pre-editing to shorten things up to fit into three minutes. Maybe it takes a little practice.

Try one and see for yourself.

2001-09-24T20:21:00.000-04:00

EANY MEANY ... CHILI BEANY ... THE SPIRITS ARE ABOUT TO SPEAK

It is my great pleasure to present to you the world's first plog.

Soup log.

Have you seen the new addition to the links list in the sidebar called The Joy of Soup? Here you can find the thrilling real-life adventures of a soup maker. I will be posting the recipes to soups I have made, served, eaten or considered.

As an additional feature, I will also produce a parade of dinnerware for your viewing pleasure. Mr. Sami cannot understand why I have so many different types of dishes - and he has only seen the tip of the iceberg. Unbeknownst to him, I have many, many more dishes squirreled away here and there throughout the house. And some at my mother's house, too. Dishes from the from wedding and shower presents, dishes from the flea market, dishes from eBAy, dishes from theothercheek, dishes given away with the price of a movie ticket, dishes from birthday and Christmas gifts, dishes from The Resident Junkologist, a tag-sale organizer, dishes from department stores.

Mr. Sami gets agitated if he sees more dishes coming into the house, but if they are here for a while he can't tell the difference between the new ones and the old ones. Timing is everything.

All recipes at the plog are genuine soup experiences, and they will appear as they are made in the bobthecorgi test kitchens. No ringers will be introduced or copied from cookbooks without actually having been produced and sampled. No fake padding of the list with soup I have not had personal experience with. That is my guarantee.

Sit down and have a nice bowl of soup.

Bonus Points: Extra credit will awarded to those of you who can identify the source of today's title.

2001-09-23T08:22:00.000-04:00

THERE SHE IS, OUR IDEAL

The Miss America Pageant is not what it used to be.

Gone are the days when the broadcast of the pageant was something we looked forward to and made social plans around. In my childhood, those days of three TV channels only, we were serious about watching it, and hoped that we could hang on until midnight to see the crowning. We admired the beauty of the contestants and their special gowns, and even though we never expected too much in the talent department, and we felt so sorry for the beautiful women who would blink their lovely eyes as they tried to buy time to think of a decent answer to questions like: "What is your plan for worldwide peace?" It was entertaining and inspirational and suspenseful

My children were raised in a more cynical time. When The Guestblogger was about 9 or 10, we would organize a snackfest and sleepover for that night: 8 little girls, popcorn, Chex Party Mix, and a punchbowl filled with Juicy Juice. Our first Miss America parties were mostly critiques of the clothing - even at a young age, these fashion mavens had already had several years of up-close glamor experience, thanks to Barbie and her endless wardrobe, and they had fully-formed ideas about fashion dos and don'ts. In general, though, the girls would be complimentary about the contestants and claim their favorites and predict who would win.

As time each year brought another pageant, on their own the girls began to see through more critical eyes what the pageant was about. And they mocked it.

The opening parade of contestants in their one moment of introduction before the close-up camera would produce squeals of disbelief -"Look at that nose!" or "One word, Barbie - braces!" And they started to hoot and boo the talent portion and give their own comedic answers to the questions that were put to the contestants.

Now their overnight bags contained shiny leftovers from the days when they used to play dress-up games. They created capes out of their sleeping bags and wore paper crowns from the party store, and held their own promenade - "Hi, mah name is BettyJoBobbyLouJean and Ah luv Amurica!" When the swimsuit competiton came on, they would strut around the TV room in exaggerated parody, and popcorn would fly during the question and answer part. It was like a combination Rocky Horror Show and Superbowl Party.

Those days are gone now, and Miss America is not what she used to be. The turning point, I think, is when the pageant officials banned professional hairdressers backstage, and the contestants were forced to do their own hair and make-up. No more big hair, no Liza Minelli lashes - even the sequins and shoulderpads disappeared.

Now they seem to have off-the-rack prom dresses and their hair is flat. I liked it better when they looked like they were extras on the set of Dynasty. And who thought it would be a good idea to have a punch-drunk boxer as host? The only good thing about Tony Danza was his giant drawn-on eyebrows that went way past where God intended them to be.

I saw uniformed guards next to the runway during the victory walk while Tony tried to croak out the theme song for the smooth-haired girl who won, and another security guard seemd to be quickstepping her away while the losers stood around smiling and hugging each other.

It's just not what it used to be.

2001-09-22T14:26:00.000-04:00

SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN TO ME

Good study habits pay good dividends.

That's what I heard, anyway. Here is the study plan that I implemented last week to prepare for my first exam in statistics:

Saturday - drive to Pennsylvania right after a four hour class. Take books along to read things over while they are fresh in my mind.
Saturday night - hey, four hours is enough in one day. I don't think I have to put out any more effort than that in a single day.
Sunday - a day of rest. How could I possibly even consider the hard work it is going to take to get involved with this stuff again. And I think the Blue Laws are still in effect in Pennsylvania, anyway.
Monday - the beginning of the week. What's the rush? Four more evenings to do what I have to do.
Tuesday - well, if I have a well-thought out plan, that's half the battle, isn't it? I'll do the homework assignments on Wednesday, the lab project on Thursday, and a quick review of material on Friday to prepare for Saturdays' exam. There! - all nicely laid out. Now that I'm organized, I don't feel the need to start today.
Wednesday - now look, if I work twice as long on Thursday, it really should not be too far off from the plan that i laid out. OK - talked myself into it.
Thursday - vague feeling of uneasiness. Take bookbag out of car where it has been since class last Saturday and take it upstairs to the extra bedroom where we keep the computer. The computer? Hey, maybe I should check my mail. And my stats. And check in on a few blogs. And see if anyone is still awake in the U.K. for a little instant messaging.
Friday - sickening dread. On the verge of nausea. Depression. Must take nap.
... 8 pm - get all set up on kitchen table. I can still pull it out if I get serious. Take out pencil and open book just as husband walks into room. Screech at husband for breaking concentration and demand Dove Bars as restitution. Husband sizes things up and beats it out of there. Take book and flounce upstairs (to computer room ) in a huff. Check stats and comments.
... 8:30 pm - sleep the sleep of the damned. Book crashes to floor and yellow highlighter makes a big stain on white terry robe.
...time unknown - open eyes as husband stands over sleeping form saying "Aren't you supposed to be studying?" Take a swipe at husband.
... 10:00 pm - turn on Judge Judy. No Judge Judy, but there is Neil Young singing "Imagine". Sigh for all we have lost, figure that would be the high point for the telethon anyway, and begin surfing the web.
... 11:30 - 12:00 midnight - make yellow marks in text book. Go to surreally dot com and enter Surreally Chat. KD and Krazy Karma are there ... Hey guys! Hi! It's me - bobthecorgi! Hi! Hi!
... 1:15 am - last one at the chat party. Briefly consider changing chat rooms and making friends with nawtyd0g and Apollo. They seem nice.
... 1:30 am - set alarm for 3:30 am. one cycle of good REM sleep, and then I'll blitz it.
... 3:30 am - Art Bell is on talk radio expounding on the connection between germ warfare, aliens and psychics. Can't face that -drift off til 4:30.
... 4:30am - OK, this is it. Take shower, make coffee, throw in a load of laundry and get serious.
... 8:30 am - exam starts.
... 9:00 am - exam finishes. 3 1/2 more hours of class to go.

Send all emails to bobthecorgi@hotmail.com and remind me not to do that again.

2001-09-21T05:54:00.000-04:00

I WAS KIDNAPPED BY VIRGIN LESBIANS

A strange thing happened to me last night.

I was trying to use a search engine. I entered the word, hit GO and suddenly, my monitor screen was taken over by a full-sized ad for Miss Cleo. I closed it out and it was immediately replaced by a screen about Hot Teen Cupcakes. Then came Looking For Government Grants? followed by See Virgin Lesbians!

One after another, they kept covering up my original page ... Psychic Visions ... Pink Parts ... Win At Lotto ... Amateur Honeys ... Need A Loan? ... Naughty Young Girls ... I couldn't get back to my original page.

So I signed off the internet and started all over. I tried the search again, and there was Miss Cleo and the Virgin Lesbians. Three times this happened.

What was I searching for? White Bean Soup.

Is that some kind of code? Or what?

2001-09-20T19:34:00.000-04:00

SOUP, GLORIOUS SOUP!

What a crummy day it is here. The sky is dark grey and there is a cold dampness all around. It has been raining all day, just enough to make you think you can get to your car without an umbrella, but you can't.

It is a good day for soup. In fact, I had soup for lunch. A pint of pasta e fagiloi with crusty bread and a simple green salad. I am in the mood for more soup.

Here are some appropriate soup receipies for a day like this:

Lentil Soup. Make it with beef broth and be sure to roast the carrots, celery and onions first to bring out the sweetness. Add them to the soup during the last fifteen minutes. When the soup is in the bowl, float about two tablespoons of red wine vinegar on top.

Pea Soup. Heavy with bits of ham and fragrant with thyme. Only homemade herbed croutons should be served with this. Cut them into 1" cubes and serve them straight out of the oven.

Sauerkraut Soup. A cream-based soup with chunks of smoked sausage and seasoned with dill and caroway seeds. Served with dark, dark bread.

White Bean Soup with Rosemary. I saw this once on TV. I thought it would add a little class to the list. I doubt if I will ever make it. Soup for sissies.

Campbell's Tomato Soup with dill and oyster crackers. Simple perfection.

But no! It was only a dream. As i was driving home thinking of the perfect soup, Mr. Sami was at the stove already making his favorite old stand-by - spaghetti with meat sauce. I smell it before I see it, and when I see it, it is dripping off on the range hood and back down onto the stove. Mr. Sami, so proud of his effort, has cranked up the burner to maximum, and when he lifts the lid to show me, there is a great volcano of red sauce.

What to do?

We turn our backs on it, ignoring it while we eat. We'll clean it up later.

2001-09-20T17:32:00.000-04:00

UNTITLED ENTRY

The power of love ...
the power of prayer ...
the power of cheese ...
the power of positive thinking ...

have nothing compared to the power of this. Read the entry for September 17th.

No further comment.

2001-09-19T12:27:00.000-04:00

OUR COLLECTIVE NATIONAL CONCIOUSNESS

While we are all practicing the national anthem so that we can sing it without straining, and trying to remember anything beyond the first verse of America the Beautiful ( I bet even Dan Rather had to look it up before he sang it on the David Letterman show), there are some tunes that are burned into our memories forever, waiting to leap out at just the start of the first line.

I'm talking about TV theme songs. Everyone of us can go right through the Flintstones or the Brady Bunch themes without hesitation, but even the ones that are slightly less obvious can be summoned up if you just put a little effort into it.

Don't believe me?

Let's try a bit of the theme song from F Troop:

The end of the civil war was near
When quite accidentally
A hero who __________(a)
Abruptly seized defeat
and returned it to __________(b).

Where cavalry fights are colorful sights
And nobody __________(c).
Where paleface and redskin both __________(d).

answers: (a) - sneezed
(b) - victory
(c) - takes a lickin'
(d) - turn chicken

See? Now you sing something from a tv show you like.

This is not a meme. Repeat: This is not a meme.

2001-09-19T08:37:00.000-04:00

SNATCHED OUT OF THE JAWS OF ACTUALLY LEARNING SOMETHING

Oh, happy day!

My pester campaign directed at the Dean of Nursing has finally paid off. I got word yesterday that I will not be required to take another year of Chemistry, complete with lab.

That means that for this semester, I must only pass Statistics, complete three self-study courses, write three term papers, and take three challenge exams. By December 22. I can do that. Plenty of time for that!

Check back with me on or about December 10th as I commence crying and feeling sorry for myself that I wasted all of my time on the internet instead of doing the required course work.

2001-09-18T07:57:00.000-04:00

MR. SAMI, THE HUNTER-GATHERER

He objects if we share this with people, but it is true: Mr. Sami picks through garbage.

We have refuse collection twice a week, and on those nights, he goes on the prowl for "good stuff". Not to resell the metal for cash, not to stock a booth at a flea market like some enterprising people do, but only so that he can possess "good stuff", which is an entirely subjective interpretation.

This is mostly a bad thing. For a while he limited himself to lawnmowers, gas grills and electric fans. He would collect these things for the parts and assemble Frankenstien-like creations. Right now, I am in a room with a fan that has blue blades, a beige stand, and a grey switchbox that was put back on upside down. Press "OFF" and it blasts onto high speed.

This year, he has widened his scope. I see there is a stair master, red boat cushions, and a glider rocker complete with colonial blue pads. Sometimes, it works to my advantage. I wanted a round metal mesh table for a grove at the end of our yard. Buy it from the store? Mais non! Within three garbage days, there was the exact table in my backyard, ready for sanding and painting. I must admit, it looks pretty good.

The boy needs furniture for the frat house? No prob. A sofa, a dresser, a vacuum cleaner, a mirror ... our wishes are his commands. Sometimes a series of stuff appears - a good serving cart for the patio shows up, only to be replaced next week by a better one. Then an even better one is found. Mr. Sami is under orders to get rid of the one he has replaced, but I seriously doubt if he is doing that.

When he was in the gas grill phase, I looked out at the collection of sad, rusted barbeques he had and couldn't take it anymore. I commanded that they be gone, and banned any new additions. How many valves does one person need? I lived in a fool's paradise that whole summer, deluded into thinking I had influenced Mr. Sami to resist his accumulator's urge.

When autumn came and the leaves started dropping from the trees and bushes at the wild edge of the backyard, there they were: a long rusty line of gas grills, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the elephant's graveyard of barbeques, hidden by the shrubbery but ready to offer up their tanks and knobs for their master.

Now the leaves are starting to turn. He has been spending an unusual amount of time at the end of the yard, putting his stuff on the move before I can see what he's got back there. He is rooting around in his collection of 5 gallon buckets and cast-off beach chairs.

I wonder what else he has back there?

2001-09-18T00:20:00.000-04:00

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP NOW?

OK, it's starting to wear on me.

The images on TV and in the papers, the stories of those last cell phone messages that I am trying to avoid, the growing talk of germ warfare...

Now I am seeing David Letterman ramble on in a shaky voice, and Dan Rather is sitting in the Late Show guest chair crying. God knows what will happen when Regis Philbin comes out.

...

OK, things are back to normal. Regis is out, and he's still a dope.

2001-09-17T08:42:00.000-04:00

A SMALL MERCY

I am grateful beyond words that, so far at least, Barbra Streisand and Alec Baldwin have managed to keep their yaps shut.

2001-09-16T20:45:00.000-04:00

BAD OPENING LINES

Scenes from a life going down-hill. And these are just since Friday:

"Do you mind if I suggest some changes on your resume?" ... from a professional colleague to whom I had just submitted the resume.

"Daddy's smoking again." ... from my daughter.

" I used to be the mother taking care of you, now you are the mother taking care of me." ... from my teary-eyed mother.

"Help yourself. Take anything you want. Oh, by the way, did I tell you that you're helping me sponge paint the living room and dining room?" ... from my best friend.

" I need you to take all of your stuff out of your car." ... from Mr. Sami, as he begins to cram in a large dresser that he found in a garbage pile, now destined for the frat house.

I cannot contemplate the implications of any of these statements. I'm already in overload.

An alternate hell: I didn't think about the terrorist attack on America for the entire 4 1/2 hours that I was sitting in statistics class.

2001-09-15T03:56:00.000-04:00

SOMETHING I JUST REMEMBERED

In 1980, the Shah of Iran was forced out of power and sought asylum. Other countries were reluctant to offer shelter to him for fear of reprisal from his enemies. Only a short time had passed until he was diagnosed with cancer, and the U.S. admitted him to go to a New York City hospital for treatment.

Mr. Sami and I were married in April of that year and in lieu of a big wedding, we planned a big honeymoon trip. Six weeks in Egypt - touring the famous locations, soaking in the museums, floating on a bridal barge down the Nile, studying the technological wonder that is the Aswan dam ( That part wasn't my idea - Mr. Sami is an engineer. I thought up the bridal barge thing. ).

So we flew out of New York, missed a connecting flight in Greece, lost our luggage and landed in Cairo after a total travel time of 28 hours. When we got off the plane, the tarmac and the corridor were lined with soldiers in battle fatigues. They were holding their rifles across their chests and the bayonettes were fixed onto the ends.

My stomach sunk when I saw this and started to speculate about what major news event we had missed while we were traveling.I was sure it had something to do with the shah and his enemies. It came out as a sputtered, "Soldiers! Rifles! Bayonettes!" Mr.Sami was looking at me with something odd on his face as I elaborated.

Finally, he said to me, "You American. Do you think that everyone has the freedom that you have? " That country was a military dictatorship, and soldiers were always there. They were everywhere, at the ready.

It was the end of my personal provincialism. That moment gave me a small amount of insight that I thought I would always remember.

But I forgot it until this week.

2001-09-14T10:58:00.000-04:00

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

From the archives of The New Yorker magazine:

"This piece, written in 1972, looks at the construction of the World Trade Center's twin towers, at a time when they were a symbol of possibility."

2001-09-14T07:36:00.000-04:00

WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL

What was your goal?

Were you looking to destroy the symbols of America? You only destroyed the buildings. You didn't destroy the spirit of a nation that those symbols represented. Are you seeing our flag waving from homes, from cars, from public buildings, from the rubble? Our flag is also a symbol, and those who are displaying it now are not diplaying colored cloth. They are displaying a clear message for you.

Were you trying to shake the complacency of a country that thought itself too far removed to be invaded or attacked? You did that, but that complacency is a thing of the past, and now there is firm resolve to replace it.

Were you trying to sow panic? There is no panic, except for the sickening, growing panic of families who have not yet heard from the missing. Instead there is a growing need to address your actions.

Were you trying to hurt us? You did hurt us. You wounded us. You injured us. You brought us together. You brought out the best in us.You showed us what we know is precious to us.

Were you trying to divide us? No, were are indivisible. Those rescuers who rushed to the scene, those volunteers who are lining up, ready to replace the tired ones, those who stand and watch - do you think they are making distinctions between race, gender, political affiliation, even nationality? No, they are united in our common mission.

People are reacting according to their individual nature, but the motivation for all is the same. Our most dearly held tenents have been threatened and attacked, but not diminished:

Liberty. Some have made the grave error of directing their overwrought and misplaced emotion against some foreigners here. These are the people who value most the liberty and freedom of America. They came here for just that reason. They understand what is is to live without it, in fear and uncertainty. They harbor a passion that is as strong as anyone else's to preserve that.

Justice. Justice for all.

For all of us and for all of you.

2001-09-13T15:38:00.000-04:00

CHANGED

We are changed. For better or worse, we are changed.

2001-09-12T07:03:00.000-04:00

THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF OUR LIVES

1:00 am - Mr. Sami and I lay in our bed and listen to the rumble of planes flying low over our house. The airports are still closed so that must mean that these are military planes. What are they doing?

The stream of injured patients to city and outlying hospitals seems to be a much slower trickle instead of the massive influx everyone was prepared for yesterday. The hospitals and personnel are busy, but relative to the number of people who were in harm's way yesterday, it would appear that there are countless victims, but they are not in the hospitals.

...

...it became readily apparent at that moment in time that there were more dead than alive and our services would not be needed.

...

At 9:30 p.m., the state Department of Health and Senior Services announced that hospitals in the state will not receive any more busloads of patients from New York.

2001-09-11T17:40:00.000-04:00

NOTHING LEFT
update

The Governor of New Jersey has just declared a state of emergency. This is a legal maneuver that allows state offiicals to move quickly to give New York any help that it needs. If there are already so many victims are making such an impact on NJ, how many must there be?

2001-09-11T15:26:00.000-04:00

NOTHING LEFT
update

The guestblogger sat next to a girl in school as they watched televised news accounts that reported the crash of the plane near pittsburg. The girl's father was on the plane. The ambulance drivers who transport out patients here have been called to wait at the local small airports to receive NYC victims and transport them to our medical centers.

2001-09-11T13:53:00.000-04:00

NOTHING LEFT
update

My son just called to say that his university in Newark, NJ has closed and he and his fraternity brothers are on the way over to UMDNJ (The University of Medicine and Dentistry in New Jersey) to donate blood. I am looking out of my window at the clear blue sky and I can see black clouds of smoke spreading towards me from 40 miles away.

NOTHING LEFT

That is the caption of a Washington Post photo that shows the Statue of Liberty standing in the harbor directly in front of clouds of smoke billowing from the place where the World Trade Center used to be. Riverview Medical Center in Red Bank, NJ and Monmouth Medical Center in Long Branch, NJ. are both near the shore and within minutes of where I sit now. Both institutions have declared Code Black which is the signal for Extreme External Disaster. Surviviors of the bombings have started to arrive by ferry boat from across the harbor. My doctors have closed their offices and gone to the medical centers to be part of the emergency treatment teams.

2001-09-10T22:33:00.000-04:00

2001-09-10T16:49:00.000-04:00

I BASK IN THE GLOW OF REFLECTED GLORY

One of my greatest assets is my ability to be next to the A person in a group and receive the fallout of their popularity.

In elementary school, I was the favored friend of the most popular girl in the class. In high school, all of my excitement came from my association with a best friend who could only be described as a live wire. In nursing school, I was admitted into the most desireable clique. At my first job as a nurse, I was befriended by the World's Most Perfect Person. During the story time/cub scout/brownies stay at home years, I was always where the action was, thanks to my friendship with the main mover and shaker in the playgroup. At the job I have now, I quickly became part of the creme de la creme and was swept up into the inner circle known as The White House.

It seems to be my destiny, and I accept it. I'll never be the one who is at the top. But I am glad to be the one next to the one who is. I am a perpetual bridesmaid. I am the second banana personified. I am Rhoda Morgenstern.

The trend continues. How has the universe conspired to continue this, even across contintents, without having ever met in person? It is amazing to me, but yet it is true. My friend Miguel has begun his assent to world wide wunderkind when his blog, Feral Living,was selected as one of the Blogs of Note on Blogger.

Go there now.

2001-09-09T12:10:00.000-04:00

EITHER / OR

Here are my symptoms:

I woke up with a pounding headache.

... By 8:20 , I was feeling veak and dizzy.

... By 9:00, my right eye was twitching.

... By 9:25, I was feverish and had an uncontrollable thirst.

... By 10:10, I was crumpled into a heap.

... By 10:45, blood was seeping out of my eyes and ears.

... By 11:00, I couldn't see or hear or speak out loud.

... By 11:15, all of my circulating body fluids had turned to gel.

... By 11:30, I knew I was dead.

Question: What could it be?

(a) I have the ebola virus.
(b) I'm sitting in a Statistics class.

Answer: (b) Statistics class.

I'm sure it will all be worth it, though. Just think: if I continue to torture myself like this for another 2 or 3 years, I will earn $.50 an hour more.

$.50

The usually supportive and sympathetic Mr. Sami says, "I'll think of you next time I order a cup of coffee from Burger King."

2001-09-07T19:00:00.000-04:00

OYku

1.
Oy! I should have done
it over summer instead
of wasting time here.

2.
What was I thinking?
Oy! I'm too old and lazy
And I work full time.

3.
Five courses at once
A burden that will crush me.
Oy! Am i sorry!