It is a human inevitability that change happens. In our avant-garde society, where change is no longer measured by year or season or even month but is instead spinning past us in an ever escalating whirlpool of state-of-the-art technology, stability has become a rare commodity. We are continually presented with new and better ways to "stay in touch", to "be connected", and "improve our lives", but with all this, has human nature really changed to fit the modern role?
When faced with adversity, do members of this more advanced civilization really cope any differently? Do we not still find ourselves reaching out to our close friends, our chosen family, in the hope of emotional support and understanding? Do we not still follow the same grieving process that our forebearers experienced in the hundreds of years before modern medicine? Of course we do.
In a time where five minutes is all that seperates the state-of-the-art from the outdated, the indistinguishability of our needs and our ancestors needs provides a solid touchstone that links our past to our future. So while the world continues to update itself, the essence of our humanity will continue to be steadfast. There is much comfort in that.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The End
A touch, a tear, a jeweled emotion
Shrouded in ages of mystery
Is it now? Is it past?
Desperation wars with privacy
A battle rages, rages, rages
it sings of deception, old and new
Brutal winds blow misery and doubt
She writes of her life long past
of the coldness that is to come.
Does life, her life, mean anything?
Does she matter?
The cold winds answer No
Shrouded in ages of mystery
Is it now? Is it past?
Desperation wars with privacy
A battle rages, rages, rages
it sings of deception, old and new
Brutal winds blow misery and doubt
She writes of her life long past
of the coldness that is to come.
Does life, her life, mean anything?
Does she matter?
The cold winds answer No
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A Brave New Age
In this digital age, we have many forms of communication open to us. From the omnipresent cell phone to email to the text message, all pathways to freely express one's self to one's peers are unobstructed. It has often been argued that such relatively impersonal forms of communication lead to an isolated and socially inept individual, and in some instances this does appear to be the case. However, there are several distinct advantages to utilizing such forms of contact.
One of the most significant is the fact that such non-direct exchanges can allow individuals to discuss emotionally charged or otherwise difficult conversations in a way that lets both parties have enough space to remain objective enough to continue a rational discussion. In such situations, an individual who is particularly averse to the minefield of emotional peril would be able to step back and navigate such a treacherous course with a minimum of discomfort. There is much to be said of the ability to spare one's self the pain of an ill planned word.
Another advantage more specific to the text genre of interval contact is its accessibility in places where other means of communication would be impossible. For example, many find it easier to text while "on the clock" than it could ever be to incessantly talk on the phone or even email on the company monitored computer. Vigilant employees may even be able to mask such constant use of their personal devices for long periods of time.*
Overall, I must say that despite some of the drawbacks of these newfangled contraptions, the advantages tip the scales in their favor. However did we manage before the advent of our modern day security blankets?
*Something I myself have no familiarity with I'm sure.
One of the most significant is the fact that such non-direct exchanges can allow individuals to discuss emotionally charged or otherwise difficult conversations in a way that lets both parties have enough space to remain objective enough to continue a rational discussion. In such situations, an individual who is particularly averse to the minefield of emotional peril would be able to step back and navigate such a treacherous course with a minimum of discomfort. There is much to be said of the ability to spare one's self the pain of an ill planned word.
Another advantage more specific to the text genre of interval contact is its accessibility in places where other means of communication would be impossible. For example, many find it easier to text while "on the clock" than it could ever be to incessantly talk on the phone or even email on the company monitored computer. Vigilant employees may even be able to mask such constant use of their personal devices for long periods of time.*
Overall, I must say that despite some of the drawbacks of these newfangled contraptions, the advantages tip the scales in their favor. However did we manage before the advent of our modern day security blankets?
*Something I myself have no familiarity with I'm sure.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Chair
This chair is the absolute most comfortable chair in the entire world. I first came into possession of it in March of 2004. It has moved with my every year for the last four years. It is the only piece of furniture that has come with me in all my travels, and I absolutely love it.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Athletes
The dictionary defines 'athlete' as
ath·lete
A while ago, I was the unfortunate victim and the very picture of a captive audience to someone who enjoys NASCAR. As they were involved in watching cars drive around in a circle really fast, I was left to find what entertainment I could in the mundane, droning commentary. I was completely astounded to hear announcer refer to the drivers of the vehicles as "athletes". Are you kidding me? These are men (and one woman) who routinely sit for hours steering a vehicle in a circle!
After watching the Olympics, I have wondered at the inclusion of some of the events (e.g. table tennis, also know as ping pong and badminton) but these do require some sort of athletic ability and stamina, no matter how minor. Calling the driver of a car an athlete is just an insult to the hard work and abilities of true athletes like gymnasts, swimmers, and marathon runners.
ath·lete
n.
A person possessing the natural or acquired traits, such as strength, agility, and endurance, that are necessary for physical exercise or sports, especially those performed in competitive contexts.
A while ago, I was the unfortunate victim and the very picture of a captive audience to someone who enjoys NASCAR. As they were involved in watching cars drive around in a circle really fast, I was left to find what entertainment I could in the mundane, droning commentary. I was completely astounded to hear announcer refer to the drivers of the vehicles as "athletes". Are you kidding me? These are men (and one woman) who routinely sit for hours steering a vehicle in a circle!
After watching the Olympics, I have wondered at the inclusion of some of the events (e.g. table tennis, also know as ping pong and badminton) but these do require some sort of athletic ability and stamina, no matter how minor. Calling the driver of a car an athlete is just an insult to the hard work and abilities of true athletes like gymnasts, swimmers, and marathon runners.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Clouds In My Coffee
I was listening to the Carly Simon classic "You're So Vain" today and one of the lyrics struck me a bit odd. The last part of the second verse says 'I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee...', which is great because it flows nicely with the song and it is a fantastic visual image. That is until you really think about it.
I was singing along (loudly, as I was in my car and no one was close enough to hear me murder the tune) and trying to visualize my coffee being corrupted by clouds and then I realized that my coffee actually is corrupted by 'clouds' every time I put cream in it. I love putting cream in my coffee! It looks like a tiny nuclear explosion, complete with mushroom cloud and faux nuclear winter.
I can only conclude that Carly Simon prefers her coffee black, uncorrupted by billowing trails of milky goodness. (And on a more metaphorical note, that apparently in this song, she saw her dreams as clouding her reality; which, is sad really as I think my dreams enhance and color my reality in a most delicious way.)
I was singing along (loudly, as I was in my car and no one was close enough to hear me murder the tune) and trying to visualize my coffee being corrupted by clouds and then I realized that my coffee actually is corrupted by 'clouds' every time I put cream in it. I love putting cream in my coffee! It looks like a tiny nuclear explosion, complete with mushroom cloud and faux nuclear winter.
I can only conclude that Carly Simon prefers her coffee black, uncorrupted by billowing trails of milky goodness. (And on a more metaphorical note, that apparently in this song, she saw her dreams as clouding her reality; which, is sad really as I think my dreams enhance and color my reality in a most delicious way.)
Yes Ma'am!
Tonight a woman who was arguably sixty years older than me called me "ma'am". I find this disturbing on several levels. Not the least of which is, how old does this woman think I am??? I mean, seriously I know I'm not a teenager anymore, but I definitely am not on par with this woman, so what could possibly possess her to call me "ma'am"?
I might actually be a little forgivable if I'd been wearing a ring of some sort anywhere near my third digit but no, I left all my rings at home tonight. As I was extremely polite and helpful to her, my only guess is that she is either very hard of seeing or unconscious of her actual age. Either of which would inspire empathy in me had she not wounded me with her draconian use of such a vile and uncouth appellation.
(Just in case you were wondering, I prefer "Miss". I personally only use "Ma'am" on people who annoy me or in a joking manner with people I know well.)
I might actually be a little forgivable if I'd been wearing a ring of some sort anywhere near my third digit but no, I left all my rings at home tonight. As I was extremely polite and helpful to her, my only guess is that she is either very hard of seeing or unconscious of her actual age. Either of which would inspire empathy in me had she not wounded me with her draconian use of such a vile and uncouth appellation.
(Just in case you were wondering, I prefer "Miss". I personally only use "Ma'am" on people who annoy me or in a joking manner with people I know well.)
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Olympic Commentators
Like much of the world, I watched part of the Olympics and it struck me how ridiculous some of the commentators of the slower sports are. I realize that they do have to "fill time" during the less action packed sequences but really I find it beyond absurd that two such commentators called a rather slow boat race "a barn burner". Seriously people.
I would really enjoy it if just once the commentators would say something like "Well, Joan, there's really not much happening right now" or "Wow, Mark, this is the most boring thing we've seen all year". That would be my kind of commentating.
I would really enjoy it if just once the commentators would say something like "Well, Joan, there's really not much happening right now" or "Wow, Mark, this is the most boring thing we've seen all year". That would be my kind of commentating.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Bloodsuckers!!!!
Foul softheaded mooncalfs! Deadbeat insensate blackguards! Yes, that's right! Tonight my store was plagued by the malicious toad-eating parasites otherwise known as shoplifters. I would gladly vituperate and eviserate all such black-hearted miscreants.
I was astounded, truly appalled, at the audacity of one such malefactor well known for her misdeeds. She accosted me demanding to know if I was watching her, and then proceeded to rail at me about how "there are shoplifters and I am not one of them." All this because I felt the need to hang up clothes within her eyesight (and thus making it impossible for her to shoplift). How I longed to call her on her blatantly obvious nefarious activities, but I held my tongue (a feat which those of you who know me may very well call miraculous).
It is because of such flagitious villains that I believe the ancient punishment for stealing be reinstated, namely having one's hand cut off for "sticky fingers". It is a punishment that truly discourages the offense; and in today's high tech society, cases of mistaken conviction would be virtually impossible, thus making this the ideal penalty. Once again stores would be safe havens for legitimate shoppers. Hurray for honesty!
I was astounded, truly appalled, at the audacity of one such malefactor well known for her misdeeds. She accosted me demanding to know if I was watching her, and then proceeded to rail at me about how "there are shoplifters and I am not one of them." All this because I felt the need to hang up clothes within her eyesight (and thus making it impossible for her to shoplift). How I longed to call her on her blatantly obvious nefarious activities, but I held my tongue (a feat which those of you who know me may very well call miraculous).
It is because of such flagitious villains that I believe the ancient punishment for stealing be reinstated, namely having one's hand cut off for "sticky fingers". It is a punishment that truly discourages the offense; and in today's high tech society, cases of mistaken conviction would be virtually impossible, thus making this the ideal penalty. Once again stores would be safe havens for legitimate shoppers. Hurray for honesty!
Noisome
I was just doing a little reading and I came across the word 'noisome'. As is my wont when coming across unusual words, I looked it up. Now many of you may know that the word 'noisome' has absolutely nothing to do with noise. The dictionary defines it:
adj.
1. Offensive to the point of arousing disgust; foul: a noisome odor.
2. Harmful or dangerous: noisome fumes.
I find it extremely irritating that this word exists as a description of a noxious odor. It goes against my principles to use this word, so I ask all of you to join me in boycotting the word 'noisome'.
Do Poets Dream?
Do poets dream of far away places
of fairies and spirits and magic divine
of mystical dancers with gleaming faces?
Do writers wish for enchanted forests
with masses of fairy-tale creatures
who all sing in chorus?
Or do they dream of quiet scenes
of music and light and symphony
dancing serene on arctic greens?
And their fingers shape destiny
of fairies and spirits and magic divine
of mystical dancers with gleaming faces?
Do writers wish for enchanted forests
with masses of fairy-tale creatures
who all sing in chorus?
Or do they dream of quiet scenes
of music and light and symphony
dancing serene on arctic greens?
And their fingers shape destiny
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Button Lady
When you work in retail you and your co-workers tend to develop a kind of code for customers whose presence you dread. At my place of employ, one of these customers is know in the Apparel department as "Button Lady". Merely mentioning this code name produces a scattering of employees equal to, if not surpassing, yelling "Fire" or "Nuclear weapon in the house".
Let me describe for you the horrors Button Lady has inflicted upon the hapless apparel hirelings. This woman (and I use the term somewhat loosely) is not exactly a small person and she shops the plus size clothes regularly. She then proceeds to try on the selected garments but instead of fastening whatever buttons, snaps or zips that close the tops she yells "I need some help in here. Could someone help me? Does anyone work here? Hello! Hello!" repeatedly. She does this in sometimes fruitful attempts to force the unfortunate girl who answers the call to button the button or zip the zipper of the chosen piece of clothing, and once, even to tighten the straps of her bra (and yes, she still occupied the bra while straps were being tightened). Needless to say, this is not a pleasant task.
Consequently, whichever ill-fated colleague lets Button Lady into the fitting room walks away quickly and informs all other employees that our nemesis is about to make her nightly racket. Everyone then vacates the area until Button Lady stops yelling or the yelling has gone on for long enough that other customers begin to notice. As Button Lady tends to shop after 10 p.m. the disturbance to other shoppers is generally minimal and we can sometimes escape her nefarious calling (however unable we may be to escape the subsequent mess she makes with the undesirable garments).
When at last she leaves, the entire department heaves a sigh at relief that this monstrous shopper has vacated the premises. We then set about repairing the damage done and consoling anyone luckless enough to be caught in her claws.
This woman, while not typical, is one of the reasons why retail employees are desperately underpaid and under appreciated. In future posts I hope to further acquaint you with other demons of the retail world, who bear names like Bird Lady, Mart Kart Lady, Humming Man, and Lipstick. You have much to look forward to!
Let me describe for you the horrors Button Lady has inflicted upon the hapless apparel hirelings. This woman (and I use the term somewhat loosely) is not exactly a small person and she shops the plus size clothes regularly. She then proceeds to try on the selected garments but instead of fastening whatever buttons, snaps or zips that close the tops she yells "I need some help in here. Could someone help me? Does anyone work here? Hello! Hello!" repeatedly. She does this in sometimes fruitful attempts to force the unfortunate girl who answers the call to button the button or zip the zipper of the chosen piece of clothing, and once, even to tighten the straps of her bra (and yes, she still occupied the bra while straps were being tightened). Needless to say, this is not a pleasant task.
Consequently, whichever ill-fated colleague lets Button Lady into the fitting room walks away quickly and informs all other employees that our nemesis is about to make her nightly racket. Everyone then vacates the area until Button Lady stops yelling or the yelling has gone on for long enough that other customers begin to notice. As Button Lady tends to shop after 10 p.m. the disturbance to other shoppers is generally minimal and we can sometimes escape her nefarious calling (however unable we may be to escape the subsequent mess she makes with the undesirable garments).
When at last she leaves, the entire department heaves a sigh at relief that this monstrous shopper has vacated the premises. We then set about repairing the damage done and consoling anyone luckless enough to be caught in her claws.
This woman, while not typical, is one of the reasons why retail employees are desperately underpaid and under appreciated. In future posts I hope to further acquaint you with other demons of the retail world, who bear names like Bird Lady, Mart Kart Lady, Humming Man, and Lipstick. You have much to look forward to!
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Ubiquitous Loose End
It never ceases to amaze me the amount loose ends that one can accumulate in the course of a day. These can range from unfinished sentences, incomplete tasks, and of course the dangling participle. That begs the question of where do all the loose ends go?
I have a theory that at the end of every day, all the loose ends come together and form themselves into something large and woven, and when connected together the result is something approximating the fabric that is one's life. The half-finished puzzles, the unread portions of books, the thoughts whose hazy shape lies fallow in over burdened minds, they all form a cohesive picture of life filled with everyday heartbreaks, heights of exquisite joy and the overwhelming peace of hearth and home. The beautiful moments that form a lifetime's memories come from all the loose ends and concluded beginnings that follow each journey through life.
I have a theory that at the end of every day, all the loose ends come together and form themselves into something large and woven, and when connected together the result is something approximating the fabric that is one's life. The half-finished puzzles, the unread portions of books, the thoughts whose hazy shape lies fallow in over burdened minds, they all form a cohesive picture of life filled with everyday heartbreaks, heights of exquisite joy and the overwhelming peace of hearth and home. The beautiful moments that form a lifetime's memories come from all the loose ends and concluded beginnings that follow each journey through life.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
And The Miles In Between
Today at work I met a family from France. They were just visiting this area to take in the sites (Zions, Yellowstone, and the like) and they expressed amazement at how large our country is. Granted that in truth, they had only seen a relatively minuscule portion of this land, to them it was a far grander scale then it probably seems to those of us raised here.
The father shared that if you were to drive in France the distances that seem normal to us (like the 200+ miles to Boise or Salt Lake or even the 100+ miles to Twin Falls), you would more than likely be visting an adjoining country. He seemed to astounded by the fact that many of us drive such distances with little or no contemplation on the awesomeness of the journey.
I gave his words much thought and I finally I came to the conclusion that it is all about perspective. Out here we have much space, much freedom and because of it we have grown accustomed to the long, isolated journeys to visit loved ones, attend plays and concerts, or even just to shop. We value privacy and individuality in a way that many who come from more crowded environments can only imagine. And I must say that I for one prefer the open spaces to the clustered towns of long inhabited Europe.
The father shared that if you were to drive in France the distances that seem normal to us (like the 200+ miles to Boise or Salt Lake or even the 100+ miles to Twin Falls), you would more than likely be visting an adjoining country. He seemed to astounded by the fact that many of us drive such distances with little or no contemplation on the awesomeness of the journey.
I gave his words much thought and I finally I came to the conclusion that it is all about perspective. Out here we have much space, much freedom and because of it we have grown accustomed to the long, isolated journeys to visit loved ones, attend plays and concerts, or even just to shop. We value privacy and individuality in a way that many who come from more crowded environments can only imagine. And I must say that I for one prefer the open spaces to the clustered towns of long inhabited Europe.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
The Perfect Day
I have recently been thinking what my perfect day would be. I can only imagine that I would wake up in a large bed in a large room with many windows that are generously shaded by large flowering trees whose subtle smell gently wafts into the room. All this after a healthy nights sleep. It would be early morning and I would lie still enjoying the ambiance, then I would rise for a stroll in the nearby orchard.
When I return to the house I would enjoy my favorite breakfast (that I also would not have to clean up), and then read a truly involving book on the front porch. Around noon, friends would come over and we would gather foodstuffs appropriate for a picnic and head out on horse back in search of a cool, shaded mountain stream by which to consume our midday meal.
After an lingering lunch, we would all follow a rugged mountain trail that would deposit on a clear empty beach just in time to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Sadly, I have yet to hear of any domicile set in an orchard that is close enough to both mountain, sea, and reality to ever have my perfect day.
When I return to the house I would enjoy my favorite breakfast (that I also would not have to clean up), and then read a truly involving book on the front porch. Around noon, friends would come over and we would gather foodstuffs appropriate for a picnic and head out on horse back in search of a cool, shaded mountain stream by which to consume our midday meal.
After an lingering lunch, we would all follow a rugged mountain trail that would deposit on a clear empty beach just in time to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Sadly, I have yet to hear of any domicile set in an orchard that is close enough to both mountain, sea, and reality to ever have my perfect day.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Music Worth Listening To
1. Joni Mitchell - Blue
2. Pepper - Faceplant
3. Charlotte Sometimes- How I Could Just Kill A Man
4. The Cribs - Men's Needs
5. The Maine - Girls Do What They Want
6. Kerli - Walking On Air
7. Diego - Losing Me
8. The Postal Service - Clark Gable
9. Rancid - Time Bomb
10. Socratic - Boy In A Magazine
2. Pepper - Faceplant
3. Charlotte Sometimes- How I Could Just Kill A Man
4. The Cribs - Men's Needs
5. The Maine - Girls Do What They Want
6. Kerli - Walking On Air
7. Diego - Losing Me
8. The Postal Service - Clark Gable
9. Rancid - Time Bomb
10. Socratic - Boy In A Magazine
Jam Hands
Recently I have been in the presence of a toddler for extended periods of time and I have made some rather startling discoveries. The most intriguing one of these is what I like to call The Jam Hands Paradox.
It seems that the time of day, the food being eaten, the food previously eaten, nor the cleanliness of the child has any effect on decreasing the jamminess of the child's hands. His hands ALWAYS feel like he has been consuming copious amounts of jam, jelly or marmalade without the use of any sort of eating utensil. It seems that such comestibles as fruit snacks, milk, water, crackers, bread and all other child foods increase the Jam Factor.
Now this wouldn't necessarily be a huge problem except for the Touch Factor, in that a child of toddler years MUST TOUCH EVERYTHING. This includes blankets, pillows, chairs, couches, TVs, pets, curtains and anything else within reach. Unfortunately this leads to plenititudinous loads of laundry. A hassle I'm sure all can relate to.
That being said, I propose that scientists form a special research project devoted to curing Jam Hands. Perhaps in the form of a covering for tiny hands that allows freedom of movement or some sort of spray that dissolves the jammy substance without harming delicate fabrics or machinery (especially the TV and cell phone). Millions of mother everywhere would undoubtedly be grateful and the friends of parents would quite possibly leave annuities to The Jam Hands Research and Cure Center.
It seems that the time of day, the food being eaten, the food previously eaten, nor the cleanliness of the child has any effect on decreasing the jamminess of the child's hands. His hands ALWAYS feel like he has been consuming copious amounts of jam, jelly or marmalade without the use of any sort of eating utensil. It seems that such comestibles as fruit snacks, milk, water, crackers, bread and all other child foods increase the Jam Factor.
Now this wouldn't necessarily be a huge problem except for the Touch Factor, in that a child of toddler years MUST TOUCH EVERYTHING. This includes blankets, pillows, chairs, couches, TVs, pets, curtains and anything else within reach. Unfortunately this leads to plenititudinous loads of laundry. A hassle I'm sure all can relate to.
That being said, I propose that scientists form a special research project devoted to curing Jam Hands. Perhaps in the form of a covering for tiny hands that allows freedom of movement or some sort of spray that dissolves the jammy substance without harming delicate fabrics or machinery (especially the TV and cell phone). Millions of mother everywhere would undoubtedly be grateful and the friends of parents would quite possibly leave annuities to The Jam Hands Research and Cure Center.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Love, True Love
It has recently come to my attention that a significant number of people believe unequivocally in the existence of "soul mates". While I believe that everyone has the right to believe any phenomenon they so choose, this one particularly fills me with an undeniable sense of the ridiculous.
As I understand it, the theory goes something like this: Boy and girl meet; boy and girl fall madly in love; boy and girl discover that they are completely perfect in every way and no one else in the entire world will ever be as wonderful; the peasants rejoice. Lets start for a minute with the supposition that there is indeed one man for one woman and vice versa. In a world with over 7 BILLION people, the odds of finding the one meant for you are astronomical. It would be like searching a 7 mile long beach for one particular GRAIN OF SAND!
Now factor in the fact that millions of people die every day before they reach the age of 25. So, provided the "soul mate" theory were true, you would be charged with finding that "one special person" before something egregious happens to them and you are stranded in perpetual solitude.
If you do happen to be one of the lucky few who finds their "soul mate", you are now faced with several other potential problems, e.g. they are already married, you are already married, you are both senile and wouldn't know a "soul mate" from a snail, and the list goes on. And on. And on.
"Soul mates" is more than a myth. It is a blatant deception perpetuated in movies, music, books, fairy tales, and all other forms of "feel good" media for reasons that I can only imagine. I say Resist The Lie!
As I understand it, the theory goes something like this: Boy and girl meet; boy and girl fall madly in love; boy and girl discover that they are completely perfect in every way and no one else in the entire world will ever be as wonderful; the peasants rejoice. Lets start for a minute with the supposition that there is indeed one man for one woman and vice versa. In a world with over 7 BILLION people, the odds of finding the one meant for you are astronomical. It would be like searching a 7 mile long beach for one particular GRAIN OF SAND!
Now factor in the fact that millions of people die every day before they reach the age of 25. So, provided the "soul mate" theory were true, you would be charged with finding that "one special person" before something egregious happens to them and you are stranded in perpetual solitude.
If you do happen to be one of the lucky few who finds their "soul mate", you are now faced with several other potential problems, e.g. they are already married, you are already married, you are both senile and wouldn't know a "soul mate" from a snail, and the list goes on. And on. And on.
"Soul mates" is more than a myth. It is a blatant deception perpetuated in movies, music, books, fairy tales, and all other forms of "feel good" media for reasons that I can only imagine. I say Resist The Lie!
Monday, August 4, 2008
10 Things I Hate, Vol. 1
10. Pop music
9. Cockatrices
8. When people pronounce it 'supposeably'
7. The cellophane wrappers on CDs.
6. When people don't return messages
5. Time lines
4. Tramp stamps
3. Over-educated people who can't add
2. Green peppers
1. Country music
9. Cockatrices
8. When people pronounce it 'supposeably'
7. The cellophane wrappers on CDs.
6. When people don't return messages
5. Time lines
4. Tramp stamps
3. Over-educated people who can't add
2. Green peppers
1. Country music
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Temporary Insanity
Imagine you pull in to a moderately busy parking lot. You turn off your ignition, gather your purse or wallet, keys, and perhaps a list of necessary items and prepare to enter the looming vista before you more commonly known as "The Store". You walk through two set of double doors and in a feat worthy of The Twilight Zone promptly lose all thinking and reasoning abilities.
No, friends, this is not fiction. Rather, it describes what happens to otherwise normal, and often intelligent people the moment they enter the retail store. With questions like "If this is half off and its $40, how much would it be?" and "If this is buy one, get one free, will it be the same if I just get one?", the average retail clerk (who has managed to retain sanity by being an employee and not a customer) quickly becomes exasperated with nonsensical questions and struggles to complete a shift without pulling one's hair out.
Add to this the always delightful experience of being exposed to various body parts that exhibitionist customers feel the need to expose while in the Fitting Rooms. You have the older women who want you to "check and see if this bra fits right", the men who "need you to see if these pants/shorts/underwear are the right size", and the always popular naked children whose mothers think its fine to try clothes on them in the aisles because "they don't know the difference".
The horrors one must confront when one is a retail clerk!
No, friends, this is not fiction. Rather, it describes what happens to otherwise normal, and often intelligent people the moment they enter the retail store. With questions like "If this is half off and its $40, how much would it be?" and "If this is buy one, get one free, will it be the same if I just get one?", the average retail clerk (who has managed to retain sanity by being an employee and not a customer) quickly becomes exasperated with nonsensical questions and struggles to complete a shift without pulling one's hair out.
Add to this the always delightful experience of being exposed to various body parts that exhibitionist customers feel the need to expose while in the Fitting Rooms. You have the older women who want you to "check and see if this bra fits right", the men who "need you to see if these pants/shorts/underwear are the right size", and the always popular naked children whose mothers think its fine to try clothes on them in the aisles because "they don't know the difference".
The horrors one must confront when one is a retail clerk!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
The Gin and Tonic
For those unfamiliar with the Gin and Tonic, let me give you a brief overview. Gin is a liquor made from neutral grain spirits and flavored with oil of juniper. It originated in the Netherlands around 1650 and was originally intended to be a medicine for kidney disorders. The hearty Brits soon adopted it where it became a national drink of sorts for those too financially strapped to imbibe the costlier beers and ales.
Enter Tonic water. Designed as both a preventative and cure for the deadly Malaria for British troops stationed in lands where Malaria lurks around every insect bite, the bacchanalian Brits refused drink such a vile substance without something to mitigate the harsh flavor. And so a compromise was enacted by combining the equally hard Gin.
What this brief summary does not tell you is that Gin by itself is plain disgusting; having a flavor more akin to a mouth full of pine needles than your average imbiber is likely to care for. And Tonic water is not much better. Nevertheless, when combined with a hot summer night and a glass full of ice, a G&T really hits the spot.
Enter Tonic water. Designed as both a preventative and cure for the deadly Malaria for British troops stationed in lands where Malaria lurks around every insect bite, the bacchanalian Brits refused drink such a vile substance without something to mitigate the harsh flavor. And so a compromise was enacted by combining the equally hard Gin.
What this brief summary does not tell you is that Gin by itself is plain disgusting; having a flavor more akin to a mouth full of pine needles than your average imbiber is likely to care for. And Tonic water is not much better. Nevertheless, when combined with a hot summer night and a glass full of ice, a G&T really hits the spot.
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