Monday, February 26, 2007
Due to the never-ending-can-you-get-on-with-it Academy Awards, I had a bit of time to contemplate many things (items of importance like I wonder how many shades of orange you can get from a mango and a little ketchup and maybe some marshmellow creme and a splash of lemon zest).
One of those wonderances (not a word I know) was How Big Is Al Gore's House? I'm going to go out on a limb here and make some assumptions. I am going to ASS-U-ME that his house is somewhere around 7623 square feet LARGER than is necessary (that would leave him with roughly 8210 to entertain and live). If any of you would care to do a little research to find the exact square footage of Mr Gore's house (and I'm speaking of his primary residence - not his other homes), I'm sure I could find room for you on the Board of Directors of my empire.
My house has exactly 1 toilet per 1166.66 square feet. I'm going to dig up the ol' standard deviation and conclude that the Gore residence has 13.57 toilets (this number being the mean - with a standard deviation of 2, the number could be anywhere from 11.57 to 15.57) . Think of all of the extra gasses floating around in that monster!
I've yet to form an opinion on the whole global warming thing, I'm still gathering data. The first and foremost answer on my data gathering quest is who made Al Gore a scientist?
Thursday, February 22, 2007
This isn’t a joke… you know the kind with a punch-line. I really want to know the difference. I’m going to present the life-sketch version of why I’m 34 years old and still do not know the difference between the two.
At the bright age of maybe 6 or 7, I learned that one was a donkey and the other was an elephant. I didn’t understand why and I still can’t keep track of which is which. Democrats are donkeys because they are asses or like to kiss asses? Or is it republicans are donkeys because they’re loud and boisterous or is it because they like hay?
In the fall of 1980, some guy by the name of Ronald Reagan ran for president. This was a big deal in my grade school - such a big deal that the Principal Maag held his own little presidential election. We all felt so grown up… as if were contributing to this historical election. The ballot consisted of Ronald Reagan and the defending Jimmy Carter. Ronny won the school by a land-slide. So now republicans are actors and democrats are peanut farmers.
Later that year, I faked like I was sick so I could stay home and watch cartoons. And wouldn’t you know it, that same Ronald Reagan was shot! No cartoons. But I did learn something valuable about republicans. Whilst Ronny was being wheeled in for the bullet removing operation (see we can joke about this now cause we know that it all comes out fine except for Alzheimer’s ) – whilst Ronny was being wheeled in for the operation he asked those doing the wheeling “I hope you guys are all republicans.” So now republicans are doctors and nurses and maybe democrats do the homeopathic thing? I don’t know!
When I was 10ish, I asked Chuck Lane (the father of my little buddy Jennifer Lane) about democrats and republicans. You know what he said? “One saves and the other spends.” Once again, I’ve been unable to tell which is which. They both spend money like a teenage girl unleashed at the gap with her first credit card.
Oh good hell. WHO decided that In A Gadda Da Vida and it’s 2 minute solos with 13 different instruments would be interesting? Sorry, listening to a One-Hit-Wonder CD that Vera gave me. I prefer the radio edit of this one. The extended remix does have a dashing finale… but maybe that’s because you’re pretty excited that it’s over?
Anyway… after that I made the decision that democrats and republicans would be blue or red. Any other definition would just make me looney (or loonier depending on who you talk to).
Fifteen years later, I met Spouse. He had a mouthful (what do I mean HAD) of political propaganda. Name a senator, congressman and most likely he can tell you where he/she stands on THE ISSUES. He has some alternate names for most of them too and they are mighty entertaining. During our courtship, I would pretend to listen and act like I was somewhat interested and that I actually CARED (sorry honey, yet another area in which you were mislead – but YOU Blinded Me With Science – one hit wonder again. But realistically, he doesn’t read my blog. He works hard at ignoring my audible ramblings at home … why would he purposely READ this crap?) Okay back to the courtship. Spouse (before he was Spouse) was a mean programmer, was TD&H, had luscious green eyes, ran a 2:37 marathon AND had a boat. What more could I want? Little did I know that Election Day would become an All-Night-TV-and-Popcorn Extravaganza. In spite of all of his political knowledge, he cannot give me a clear answer to the republican vs democrat question. I mean, up until about a year ago, he wasn’t registered as anything and usually voted for the guy who would obviously be getting the least number of votes. We make a difference at our house.
To say it simply, we are involved but clueless. I could bore you with a cut-n-paste web site definition of each party’s platform (oooh, platforms? I could use some new shoes!) But why, it’s just talk anyway, right? I get knocked down, but I get up again, ya never gonna keep me down (that is unless it’s knocked down and kept down for more than 30 seconds) – once again we have the one-hit-wonder intermission to the blog… but hopefully it’s not in the middle of the blog cause I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up!
In regards to my political orientation, I’ve joined the Pervertarian Party (founded by Running Brother Bruce). Their platform is gender specific. It’s designed to accentuate certain body parts when the politician is standing on said platform. Our color: Green. Our mascot: the blow-up doll.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Today’s blog entry is established with the help of my dear friend, Vera. She sent an e-mail last Friday with the subject “A worthy blog subject,” which is Vera-Speak for “Let’s see how your twisted demented mind interprets this.” Here’s what she sent (please note that the spelling errors come from the source, not me – that’s for you Ma!):
"Young women in Australia and Sweden have a new cause: They want men to sit down while urinating. This demand comes partly from hygene concerns – avoiding the spalsh factor-but as reported in The Spectator magazine, “more crucially because a man standing up to urinate is deemed to be triumphing in his masculinity, and by extension, degrading women”."We are hoping this will draw the attention of the world’s media to this ongoing fascist symbol of subjugation. This will be the last generation of males who will employ such tactics of oppression as the urinal. “
Stockholm University is about to ban urinals on campus, and one Swedish elementary school has already removed them.
Once more we have proof that man-kind (or woman-kind, forgive me for being sexist) is no longer worried about their survival. We are no longer foraging for boysenberries and carving arrowheads for killin’ (the killin’ is semi-automated these days). We have a lot of time for contemplation (obviously – I had time to write this nonsense and you have time to read it). No wonder some have grown concerned about the manner in which we urinate in the privacy of wherever!
Folks, this is not about degrading women. This is about control. From the horror of potty training, I’ve learned something valuable. We have absolute control of only two things: 1) what goes in and 2) when and how and where it comes out.
If woman can get men to pee how they want them too, they’ve managed to control men and subsequently the universe. Don’t let it happen. Our hormones are not conducive to Universe Controlling.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
February 6, 2007
I created this blog as an effort to channel my frustrations or thoughts into something light and frothy (like lemon meringue pie - yum!). The heavy stuff has been reserved for the Petulant Ninny at (http://www.petulantninny.blogspot.com/).
I just can't take it any longer. I must grumble. And do I have a list today! It's so large it will require bullets (the outline style not the other kind).
- I'm being blamed for the IRS's short commings (or shall I say their premature short comings.)
- I've been trying to take a day off for a week. (A day off from the job in which I receive a minute amount of money, the other MOM job provides an even minuter amount of money, but OH the blessings, the joys; you can't put a dollar sign on those!)
- Did the taxes the other night. Haven't recovered. Is it possible that it costs THAT much for ONE family to live in the US? (Yeah, tax the rich. I’m so rich I can’t even afford to go on vacation to Scipio (pronounced skip-e-oh). Do they have a hotel there or is it camping? The lake might not be too bad though - I better wait a couple months.)
- Sinus Headache
- I’ve heard AIR-IC NO! 400 times more than I can tolerate.
- The itunes shuffle is picking Stevie Ray Vaughn too much (might be time for him to go on vacation but not a permanent one like the one he’s on now - he might just have to be sent back to CD land through my magic portal).
- Which reminds me that I wish Randy Rhodes was alive.
- No one teaches Guitar Hero lessons.
- It cost me $11,000 to work last year – and that doesn’t include babysitting (I just can't shake the tax thing).
- My back’s in good shape, but there’s NO SNOW!
- It hurts my feelings when people talk to me in all caps. Don't yell at me! Or shall I say DON'T YELL AT ME! Do you see the difference? That keyboard button with the up arrow changes everything. Maybe I should start referring to uperrcase as "upping your letters."
- My dad doesn't visit anymore (and this is my passive aggressive attempt to get him over here. I can nonchalantly mail him the ol' blog url).
- I must go upstairs and sort socks.
But on the brighter side... the Halls cough drop bag is full of dark chocolate M&Ms. Shhhhh. Don't tell anyone.