Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wood You?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Shelby's Big Adventure
Today at 10:10 AM some Bible thumpers came to my door. I was standing there, being polite, talking to the guy. He said something about times are hard, and people are having a hard time keeping a positive attitude. I said that I had a positive attitude, and he asked why. I said, "Because Barack Obama is President." He was surprised that I said that, and laughed. I told him that I had faith, and he said, "Do you have faith in the Bible?"
And right then, Shelby decided that she didn't have faith in the bible, but she had faith in the outdoors. She went out the door, on the porch, and down onto the lawn. She'd never gotten that far. I told the BTs that I needed to go, and they stood around for awhile. Shelby went to the right, and then disappeared. I walked around the block a couple of times, to no avail.
I called my friend and around the corner neighbor, Carin. She walked with me because I really needed the company. After awhile, I told her she could go, and I came home, posted an announcement on Facebook, and made a few signs. My computer ran out of ink, so I only got 4 made. I told a couple of people that I saw to be on the lookout, and I emailed my immediate neighbors.
Now, Shelby isn't the most adventurous of felines; I didn't think she'd be too far, but she wasn't crying when I called her. I looked behind every bush, under every car, and circled the block numerous times.
Two hours later, I went out with a small container full of dry cat food. I shook it and called her name. When I got about three yards away from the house, where a driveway is, I shook the container, called her name, and there she was. She poked her naughty little head out from under our community grill, that has a cover on it that goes all the way to the ground. I had looked under the car that was right next to it about three times.
I cooed to her, then grabbed her and brought her in the house. When we got close, she started squirming. I knew she wanted to get inside, and she would have gone that way, but I didn't want to take any chances. I grabbed her tighter, and she started wheezing. What a drama queen! I put her down in the entry way, and she started panting and breathing fast like she was gonna pass out from the adventure. Oh, please! I laid down with her and gave her a gentle talking to, and then let her in the apartment and fed her. Poor thing, of course she went right to her default mode: sleep. I think that's the last time she'll be so adventurous. And the last time I'll give any of my time to those who are holding The Good Book. I have faith in myself, my cat, Barack Obama, and my own version of God; I don't need to read a book to have faith. Listening to George Michael circa 1987, maybe.
And right then, Shelby decided that she didn't have faith in the bible, but she had faith in the outdoors. She went out the door, on the porch, and down onto the lawn. She'd never gotten that far. I told the BTs that I needed to go, and they stood around for awhile. Shelby went to the right, and then disappeared. I walked around the block a couple of times, to no avail.
I called my friend and around the corner neighbor, Carin. She walked with me because I really needed the company. After awhile, I told her she could go, and I came home, posted an announcement on Facebook, and made a few signs. My computer ran out of ink, so I only got 4 made. I told a couple of people that I saw to be on the lookout, and I emailed my immediate neighbors.
Now, Shelby isn't the most adventurous of felines; I didn't think she'd be too far, but she wasn't crying when I called her. I looked behind every bush, under every car, and circled the block numerous times.
Two hours later, I went out with a small container full of dry cat food. I shook it and called her name. When I got about three yards away from the house, where a driveway is, I shook the container, called her name, and there she was. She poked her naughty little head out from under our community grill, that has a cover on it that goes all the way to the ground. I had looked under the car that was right next to it about three times.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Self-Portraits for a Year
I had this great idea. I'm going to take a self-portrait once a month for a year, and post it here, and then maybe make it into a book. Maybe I'll do that every five years or something. What's today, the 12th? I took a bunch today, but I can't post them right now because I'm not at home. Posting starts tomorrow. I think everyone should do this. Do we all look different in a year?
New York State of Mind
I'm in NYC, arrived here yesterday, on 9/11, coincidentally.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I love the people here. On the subway platform yesterday I witnessed a street musician, a black man, helping an old white lady with directions. He had been setting up for his performance; he had a mike stand, and a plastic laundry basket lined with a blanket that had seen better days. He was in the middle of setting him self up, and this older woman, well dressed, was standing at the subway map, trying to figure out where to go.
I don't know if she asked him for help or if he volunteered, but when I looked at them again, he had his hand over hers, guiding her finger along the map to show her how the subway traveled. She asked a couple of questions, he answered, and she was on her way. You just don't see that anywhere else. Races mix here, and old, and young, and black, and white, rich and poor. It's not like that where I live now. I miss it every time I come here.
I also miss people being real. I passed another scene while walking down the street. Two people, a man and a woman, came out of a store. They had been arguing, and continued the argument outside--they didn't know each other. The woman was cursing the man out, gesturing with her hands, and the man dismissed her with a wave of his, like she was some pesky fly. People tell it like it is in NYC, and if you don't like it, too bad. I love that. I miss it. I'm really glad I grew up here.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I love the people here. On the subway platform yesterday I witnessed a street musician, a black man, helping an old white lady with directions. He had been setting up for his performance; he had a mike stand, and a plastic laundry basket lined with a blanket that had seen better days. He was in the middle of setting him self up, and this older woman, well dressed, was standing at the subway map, trying to figure out where to go.
I don't know if she asked him for help or if he volunteered, but when I looked at them again, he had his hand over hers, guiding her finger along the map to show her how the subway traveled. She asked a couple of questions, he answered, and she was on her way. You just don't see that anywhere else. Races mix here, and old, and young, and black, and white, rich and poor. It's not like that where I live now. I miss it every time I come here.
I also miss people being real. I passed another scene while walking down the street. Two people, a man and a woman, came out of a store. They had been arguing, and continued the argument outside--they didn't know each other. The woman was cursing the man out, gesturing with her hands, and the man dismissed her with a wave of his, like she was some pesky fly. People tell it like it is in NYC, and if you don't like it, too bad. I love that. I miss it. I'm really glad I grew up here.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Birds on a Wire
I love listening to birds. Here's a video I came across recently:
http://vimeo.com/6428069
LOVE it. Wish I could get it on iTunes.
And here's my own birds on a wire photo.
http://vimeo.com/6428069
LOVE it. Wish I could get it on iTunes.
Blob in the Dark
I carefully leaned over the mass to turn on the light, and then saw...my leopard socks. WHEW!!!! I had a good laugh, and Shelby sat there looking at me like I had lost my marbles. Once again.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Mini Challah
The other day I went to Japonaise, a Japanese bakery. It is soooo good! I bought a mini challah loaf. It was as big as my sunglasses.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Bathtub Blunder
I taught my cat Shelby how to drink from the tub faucet. She jumps in the tub and waits for me to turn on the faucet, and when she's done, she jumps out. The whole process takes about five minutes.
Shelby had a little "accident" outside of her litter box today, so I had to clean the plastic litter mat that is right outside of her box. It's a plastic grid tray, and to clean it, I have to fill up the tub with a little water and soak it.
Well, I left it to soak, and forgot about it. Poor Shelby jumped in the tub as she usually does. I heard a noise, and then I saw a shaken Shelby, limping with very wet feet. Oh, the poor thing! I have never seen a cat look embarrassed, but I swear that is how she looked. I wiped her feet off and apologized profusely, and she did what she usually does in great times of stress: she fell asleep.
I cleaned out the tub, and in a few minutes I'll show her that it's okay. I hope she's not too traumatized.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Success!
Guess what? The dishwashing liquid totally worked! Remember that next time you have a grease stain. Or Lestoil. Or Pine Sol.
Voiceover--Do-over!
I just saw a preview of a piece that was coming up on my daily morning new show. They announced, "What to do with leftover frozen embryos, coming up." The unfortunate thing was that during the voiceover, they showed a family cooking in the kitchen. Ewww.
False Advertising
"Does your shirt stink? Wanna make something of it? Come to this dry cleaner, and get it cleaned!"
This picture is supposed to advertise a clean shirt, but to me it looks like a stinky shirt. P.U.!
Grease Monkey
Yesterday I walked past a bicycle, just as the wind knocked it down. Trying to be helpful, I picked it up and righted it, and went on my way. When I got home, I noticed that I had bicycle grease on my pants, grrrr! I looked up "removing bicycle grease" on Google, and soaked my pants with dishwashing soap overnight. I'll wash them today to see if the grease came out. They were old pants anyway.
Strawberry Tooth
The other day I got a strawberry that looked like a tooth. I think it needs a filling.
Visit from Venezuela
About 11 years ago we had a family at my school from Venezuela. They were here for one year; Vicky, the little girl, was four years old at the end of the year when they moved back.
A few months ago, we got an email from Vicky, saying that she didn't know if we remembered her, but she was 15 now and was coming to visit Boston and wanted to see us (my boss Rosie and me). Of course we remembered her! She was a quiet girl with a big smile, and her mom made us a cassette tape of Venezuelan songs when they left.
The other day Rosie and I met Vicky and her family at our school. They had had two more kids since we had seen them, so we got to meet Julio, 10, and Beatriz, 8. When Vicky hugged me, it was a real hug, tight, and not quick and perfunctory. The younger kids got hugs too, and I wasn't sure if it was their Latin culture or the culture of our school that made it so natural. It didn't matter.
Whenever we get visitors from long ago, it seems as though time stands still. Suddenly, we were back in 1998. I went over to our music cabinet and in about 3 seconds put my hands on the Venezuelan tape and passed it around. We got out the photo album and found Vicky right away. She and her mom sang bits of some songs they remembered, and we all sat down for a pizza lunch.
The conversation turned to their hometown of Caracas, and they mentioned how dangerous it was. They told me that you couldn't ever take the subway or walk down the street, because you might get shot or kidnapped. Vicky's mom told me about something called "Express kidnapping", and Vicky explained what it was. She said that someone would get kidnapped in the morning, the kidnappers would demand ransom from the family, the family would get them the money in a few hours, and by nighttime, the kidnapped person would be returned. Express kidnapping. I remarked about how sad it was that a 15 year old girl was telling me this, that she knew things like this happened. The younger kids nodded, because they knew it too.
It seems that Boston, while a dreamland compared to Caracas, wasn't the safest place either, at the end of their stay. Vicky's dad told a story about how they were trying to sell their car before they moved. They had a sign in the window advertising $500 for the sale of their clunker.
One day the dad got lost driving in a sketchy neighborhood and was stopped in the middle of the street by a man with a gun. He demanded the car, but said that he would pay for it. The dad was, of course, shocked and scared, and told the guy if he had the money, he could have the car. The guy gave him the money, and the transaction was complete. Rosie asked, "How did you get home?" and he replied, "Crying."
Despite sad stories of violence, we had a great lunch and a wonderful visit with Vicky and her family. We learned that the trip was a present for Vicky's 15th birthday that she requested, with our school listed as an important stop among their travels. I told a friend about the visit, and he remarked, "Your school is like a friend factory." It is. And a family factory too. We are a family, and visits like these only reinforce the feeling. I work at a very special place.
A few months ago, we got an email from Vicky, saying that she didn't know if we remembered her, but she was 15 now and was coming to visit Boston and wanted to see us (my boss Rosie and me). Of course we remembered her! She was a quiet girl with a big smile, and her mom made us a cassette tape of Venezuelan songs when they left.
The other day Rosie and I met Vicky and her family at our school. They had had two more kids since we had seen them, so we got to meet Julio, 10, and Beatriz, 8. When Vicky hugged me, it was a real hug, tight, and not quick and perfunctory. The younger kids got hugs too, and I wasn't sure if it was their Latin culture or the culture of our school that made it so natural. It didn't matter.
Whenever we get visitors from long ago, it seems as though time stands still. Suddenly, we were back in 1998. I went over to our music cabinet and in about 3 seconds put my hands on the Venezuelan tape and passed it around. We got out the photo album and found Vicky right away. She and her mom sang bits of some songs they remembered, and we all sat down for a pizza lunch.
The conversation turned to their hometown of Caracas, and they mentioned how dangerous it was. They told me that you couldn't ever take the subway or walk down the street, because you might get shot or kidnapped. Vicky's mom told me about something called "Express kidnapping", and Vicky explained what it was. She said that someone would get kidnapped in the morning, the kidnappers would demand ransom from the family, the family would get them the money in a few hours, and by nighttime, the kidnapped person would be returned. Express kidnapping. I remarked about how sad it was that a 15 year old girl was telling me this, that she knew things like this happened. The younger kids nodded, because they knew it too.
It seems that Boston, while a dreamland compared to Caracas, wasn't the safest place either, at the end of their stay. Vicky's dad told a story about how they were trying to sell their car before they moved. They had a sign in the window advertising $500 for the sale of their clunker.
One day the dad got lost driving in a sketchy neighborhood and was stopped in the middle of the street by a man with a gun. He demanded the car, but said that he would pay for it. The dad was, of course, shocked and scared, and told the guy if he had the money, he could have the car. The guy gave him the money, and the transaction was complete. Rosie asked, "How did you get home?" and he replied, "Crying."
Despite sad stories of violence, we had a great lunch and a wonderful visit with Vicky and her family. We learned that the trip was a present for Vicky's 15th birthday that she requested, with our school listed as an important stop among their travels. I told a friend about the visit, and he remarked, "Your school is like a friend factory." It is. And a family factory too. We are a family, and visits like these only reinforce the feeling. I work at a very special place.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Half My Paycheck
I just came back from a weekend away, and I went up the block to CVS to get some milk. Saw some yogurt while I was there, and figured that might be a good thing to have in the morning.
At the register, the yogurt didn't scan, so the cashier asked me to go over to the scan machine and tell me what price it gave. I scanned the yogurt, and came up with $999.99. I told the young pimply faced man behind the counter, "It says nine hundred ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. Man, that's expensive yogurt!" He didn't really laugh, just smiled, and looked frustrated. He asked me how much yogurt usually cost, so I took a guess and paid $1.39. Was I close?
At the register, the yogurt didn't scan, so the cashier asked me to go over to the scan machine and tell me what price it gave. I scanned the yogurt, and came up with $999.99. I told the young pimply faced man behind the counter, "It says nine hundred ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. Man, that's expensive yogurt!" He didn't really laugh, just smiled, and looked frustrated. He asked me how much yogurt usually cost, so I took a guess and paid $1.39. Was I close?
Friday, August 14, 2009
Smells Like Trouble
Yesterday I saw a guy come out of the ATM. He had his money fanned out in front of his face for all to see, and he smelled it as he was walking by me. He made sure I saw and heard. He had a sort of menacing look on his face. Ewww, creepy.
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