I am 40

My birthday was April 26th. I had a big party. There were 100 people. I am very tired.

I got a lot of presents. Among other things, I received:

--a fish wall hanging

--a bottle of Dom Perignon

--two mounted African beetles

--a gift certificate of $450 to my tattoo shop

I'm still recovering. More to come.

Shocking

I just saw on the local news that someone has been tying long strings of plastic across a road at neck height, so they're putting up warning signs to bicycle and motorcycle riders. Oh my god. Who does something like this??? Why can't we just all get along?

Masochistic PT!

My PT Shellie is moving, and so my last day with her was last week. She filled in my night appointments with Peter, who is the owner of the PT place. I thought Shellie was tough. Compared to Peter, Shellie looks like a PANSY.

Oh my god. Peter did what I originally thought PT was, with me lying down, and him stretching me. He should have announced before he started, however, "I will now bring you to the brink of hell..." He had me put my left leg on the floor, with my body lying on the table (can you picture this?). He then proceeded to push my right leg up, while saying, "See? See how tight this is?

Yes, Peter, I see...rather, feel how tight that is. Jeez. He told me the good news and the bad news. The good news is that my "problem" can be fixed. The bad news is that it will take 6 months of diligent stretching. I will work in my stretching with Steve at the gym.

I'm going back to see Peter tonight. Seems I have a touch of the masochism bug.

PT Continued

So I've been going to PT for a few weeks now, with mixed results. I know the routine now, 3 sets of 10 of lots of different exercises, some of which I even like. There's this one where you put what looks like a giant rubber band around your ankles and move across the floor slowly, step by step. The rubber band won't let you go but a step at a time. I call it the "chain gang".

At the very end of the session, I get what's called a "stim". They put these sticky pads on my knee, and the pads have wires running to a machine. Then they put a huge bag of ice on my knee, and turn on the machine. I'm supposed to say when it's too much. I asked when "too much" was, and was told "when it hurts". Well, I have a high tolerance for pain (see tattoos), so I'm never sure when too much is. Anyway, the machine makes a tingling sensation, and it's supposed to stimulate something, though I'm not exactly sure what. When I first got hooked up, I felt like I was part of some secret science experiment. I'm used to it now.

After the first few PT sessions, my knee hurt more than ever, but now it seems to be getting better. I'm going to schedule an MRI for both my hip and my knee to see exactly what's going on. The MRI machine will be a whole blog entry unto itself, I'm sure.

English is Stupid, Part 47

Random thoughts on English (and a little bit of math)

I think the word "commence" should mean the ending of something, rather than the beginning. It sounds better that way.

Ex. When the games commence, we'll have dinner.

It really bothers me when someone says "less" when they mean "fewer".

Ex. There will be less people at the party than expected.
It reminds me of an English teacher who gave a visual of half a person. I imagine that every time I hear someone say "less people".

I think that quotation marks should be inside the period, rather than at the end.
"You're making too much noise." should be, "You're making too much noise". The sentence should be contained within the quotation marks, like a neat little package.

It really bothers me when people say "that" when they mean "who".

Ex. The person that came late got locked out.
Good for him he got locked out. He should use better English.

I hate the expression, "All things are not created equal". Shouldn't it be, "Not all things are created equal"?

When I was a kid and we were learning how to make tally marks, I got all my answers wrong. I thought that you made 5 little lines, and then put one line across to hold them all together that didn't count. Instead of writing groups of 5, I kept writing groups of 6.

I still think you should make 5 lines and one line to hold them all together.

And that's my grumble about English and Math for the day. Lesson commenced.

Quote of the Day

On Friday I was sitting with a bunch of kids, reading a nature magazine. We turned to a page with a picture of a male seahore giving birth. I said, "In the seahorse family, it's the daddy who has the babies!"

Nadja, 3, whose mother is about to give birth, gave me a sideways look of shock and dismay, and then said with a smile, "Shit! I don't like that!"

High Hells

I'm trying to break in my heels so I can wear them to my birthday party next week. They go well with flannel rocket ship pajamas, don't you think?

I think that high heels have got to be the stupidest invention known to humankind. Put one on your foot and feel your toes squish together in a most unnatural way. Then stand up, and feel all of your weight shift to the ball of your feet. Next, try to walk. Kind of hard, isn't it? They are so ridiculous, and yet...attractive to the eye. I like to look at heels, not wear them. When I was posting this photo and I named it, I accidentally pressed the "l" twice, so it came out "hells." That name is far more appropriate.

I've had these shoes on for approximately 12 minutes, and I can tell you right now, I will last about a half an hour at my party. I'm bringing my slip-on Mary Janes to change into.

Gotta go; I feel a corn coming on.

Smells Like Burnt Popcorn

Yesterday I popped a bag of microwave popcorn for the first time since I've had the microwave. I wanted to do a test run, because tomorrow I'm having some kids over to watch a movie, and I wanted to have popcorn. Makes sense, right?

On the bag there were no directions; it said to look at the microwave for the automatic setting; it would be between 2 and 5 minutes. Mine didn't have an automatic setting. I knew that my microwave was pretty powerful, but I went with experience, which told me that you take the bag out when only a few kernels are popping.

Apparently, 3 minutes was too long. When I opened the door, the bag was smoking, and it smelled really bad. I had to take the bag out and put it on the porch. Meanwhile, the smell permeated the whole place.

I lit some candles and put the air purifier on, to no avail. I went out to do some errands, and when I came back, it still stunk, so I sprayed the place with perfume. My cat Shelby started meowing in a funny way, so I picked her up to comfort her. She was so close to the stench of the perfume, (which cats don't like) she winced, jumped down, and started licking herself furiously. Poor thing; I made it worse.

I went to bed, and when I woke up...you guessed it, still smelly. I've just concocted a brew of orange spice tea, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. It smells good in the kitchen, anyway.

Tomorrow the kids are getting bagged popcorn.

Again, I'm crazy busy, so until I can write a longer post, here's a pic. It's the paw of a Bassett Hound I met in California last Thanksgiving. I just love Bassett Hounds.

Hot Air

I hate balloons.* There are many reasons, among them:

1. I hate the way they smell.

2. They're unpredictable. You never know when they might pop.

3. When they do pop, they make a terrible loud noise.

4. They're bad for the environment. When people release balloons into the air and they pop, birds eat them, and choke to death.

5. They're dangerous. Balloons can't be heimlich-ed out if a child chokes on one.

6. I hate the sound they make when you touch them--that awful squeaky sound, that could lead to popping, that makes another terrible sound (see #3)

Despite all my reasons for hating balloons, I chose to buy some today to spruce up my porch for an art event in which I want people to come to my house and buy my photographs. Let's face it, they're attractive to look at, and they draw people in. I have to have them in my house until tomorrow night. When the event is finished, I'll leave them in my house to deflate on their own, and then I will get rid of them, safely, away from small children and my cat.

I only hope my cat doesn't chew on the curling ribbons that are attached to the balloons. Those ribbons can get wound up in a cat's intestines. The whole package of balloons is a menace to society.

*water balloons and mylar balloons are fine.

What This Robin is Singing

"All we need is just a...nother brick in the wall..."

Physical Therapy--Friend, or Foe?

So I finally started physical therapy last week. The first time I went, I was a little disappointed. My PT, Shellie, did all these tests on me and assessments. She told me what they were, but she did it really fast and I couldn't remember it all. Basically, the problem goes back to my left hip. For some reason, we don't know why, it was giving me pain. I started to unconsciously favor it, and so my right knee went out of whack. The PT is for my knee.

Shellie seemed really tough and no nonsense, and I realized later that what I want is a little bit of therapist in every person I see--personal trainer, masseuse, dentist, doctor, PT. I like to talk about what they're doing, why they're doing it, how it affects me, who they like on American Idol, etc. Shellie, at first, was all business.

And she gave me homework! I was sent home with a sheet of paper that had six exercises on it. I was supposed to do these exercises, some twice a day! I did a few, and thought I was going to get in trouble for not doing all my homework. Even worse, the knee pain that had subsided a bit came back all the way the day after I saw Shellie. This is how PT is supposed to work??

My friend Amy and I talked about our different images of PT. I thought you went to PT, lay on a table, and the therapist stretched you while you just lay there. I guess the only images I had of PT were on the news when someone had been in a terrible accident and couldn't use their limbs anymore. Amy's image of PT was taking baby steps with the two parallel poles you hang on to, with the PT standing next to you, guiding you to the end of the room.

I went back again today and had a much better time. To be continued...

I'm a Phoney

Yesterday I was in a rush and I couldn't find my cell phone, so I called my cell phone from my land line to find it (of course it was sitting 3 feet away from me, out in the open).

It made me want to travel back in time, around the 1890's. I'd love to tell Alexander Graham Bell and his cohorts that in the future people would not only have more than one phone, but would use one phone to find another. I'd tell him that people panic and feel lost if they don't have their phone with them at all times.

Absolutely ridiculous, but also absolutely true. Sigh...

Eat with them! Make a weapon!

One of my Japanese kids, a boy of 11, made a gun out of chopsticks. He and his dad did it together. It shoots rubber bands. It's pretty ingenious, I think, with a trigger and everything! I still don't get the whole "male fascination with guns" thing, though. I asked him, "Why do boys like guns so much?" and he said, "So we can kill people." And then he shrugged his shoulders, like he didn't know why he wanted to kill someone.

Male readers, can you explain this phenomenon? I realize that not all men like guns, and that some women do like them, but for the sake of this argument, I'm going to go with the dreaded stereotype. If you don't respond, I'll hunt you down.

Ab Fab, Alex Style

Here's a peek at a couple of my birthday accessories.
Shoes by none other than Jessica Simpson. The color of the lipstick? Fire Down Below. 'Nuff said.

Turkey Spotting

Saw another turkey the other day. It was raining. Just as I was starting my wildlife filming, an SUV came by and purposely went through a huge puddle, soaking my jeans. I have a better video of the turkey, but this one is funnier.

You Say Tomato...

I have a friend named Diana, and it's pronounced Dee-anna.

I have a friend named Deanna, and it's pronounced Dee-na.

I have a friend named Dana, and it's pronounced Dan-na.

Right now I don't know anyone who pronounces their names Day-na or Die-anna, though I have in the past. Don't get me started on how to say Tamara...

Hey, everyone has their quirks.

So you know how I have this TV crush on Keith Morrison? Well, the last time he was on Dateline, I recorded his voice on my voicemail so I could make my friends listen to it and see how great he was. Thing is, I haven't really gotten around to the part where I make my friends listen. Sometimes, when I'm checking messages, I listen to the sample I took. It's a perfect sample of Keith's voice. He says,

"______ and her brother were under strict orders to ride the bus from school, walk the 200 yards from the bus stop straight to their country home, here at the edge of the woods.

Lock the door, do homework, until parents come home from work. Madeline always called home to make sure all was well. Which was why, when her son answered the phone, she felt that strange dread creep down her veins."

I love that I have a recording of Keith Morrison's voice (that will, alas, be automatically erased in four more days), but is it weird that I have it? And that I listen to it? And that I tell everyone about it?