My cousin sent me an email with a bunch of advertisements and articles scanned from newspapers. Actual newspapers, as they say. I'm going to share them with you because this is better than anything I can make up.
In 1999, a "star reporter" from Colorado Springs wrote that "Statistics show that teen pregnancy drops off significantly after age 25". Huh, I would have thought the decrease occured at a much earlier age, or not at all.
Phil Haywroth wrote "Fish need water, Feds say". Yep, you can always count on your government to get right to the heart of a problem.
The Register Guard reported that Lane County would "pay $250,000 to advertise lack of funds". Another example of government hard at work spending "their" tax dollars.
The Utah Poison Control Center warned everyone "not to take poison". What would we do without these helpful reminders?
A World staff writer reported "Federal Agents Raid Gun Shop, Find Weapons". I think they were looking for drugs, but was anybody really surprised when they found weapons at a gun shop?
One article was titled "Alton attorney accidently sues himself." Wonder who won?
A police report from Hagerstown, MO, said "Police: Crack found in man's buttocks". Do you suppose the police or the reporter thought that one up? According to the report, they found 15 bags of crack cocaine "in his buttocks" while they were searching his home. Yeah, I know. It's not a pretty picture.
Someone offered for sale "A collection of old people". There was no asking price in the ad, but I would think a collection like that would be priceless.
Another add carefully described a car with a price of $4,500, but the last sentence in the ad was "Not for sale". I bet there's a story there. I don't know it, so I'll make one up. Wife says "You have to sell that car now! Put an ad in the paper today!" and husband says "OK! But if we don't get any takers, you can just stop nagging me. Deal?"
Debra Jackson reported she liked shopping at the Dollar Palace because it was convenient and casual. "I don't have to get all dressed up like I'm going to Wal-Mart or something".
Monday, October 05, 2009
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Some of my ancestors were Irish
Lately I have been watching epicodes of Ballykissangel, an Irish television series, and the little voices inside my head are now speaking with an Irish accent and talking to people with names that I can't pronounce and can't spell. (The voices don't care. They aren't talking to me right now.)
As I've mentioned before, I find British, and now Irish, television to be frequently unsettling as they have no problem killing off regulars. In America, for the most part (and not counting daytime soap operas that kill off anybody any time and later bring them back as their own twin sisters even if they were brothers before their demise), the main characters of a series leave intact and of their own volition. Sometimes you get shot and we think you're dead, but in a season or two when you couldn't get decent work anyplace else, they bring you back and explain it was all just a dream.
Not the British. Not the Irish. They just kill you off and be done with it.
So far in Ballykissangel, the agnostic owner of the local pub died of electrocution. As this was a month or two after she was married and an hour or two after she and the local priest declared their love for each other, some in the village were thinking it was only just punishment. But to make it worse, Father Clifford, in his grief, left Ballykissangel and the series. I wasn't upset at their departures. Disappointed, yes, because I liked both Father Clifford and Asumpta and hated to see them replaced, but I didn't shed any tears.
On the other hand, last night they killed off Ambrose, the local Garda (policeman to you). I've seen the series before so I knew it was coming. His fickle little wife, Niamh, had decided she loved somebody else and was going to leave him, not because he was a poor husband, far from it, but just because she had 'the grass is always greener on the other side' disease. Ambrose's heart was breaking because he knew they were growing farther apart and he didn't know why and he didn't know how to stop it, so he turned off his police radio and took a walk along the craggy Irish sea side. The whole time he's walking and thinking, Niamh is off betraying him with her new boyfriend and I'm crying buckets of tears because I know Ambrose, with his breaking heart, isn't coming back from that walk. He dies while saving a couple of tourists that are stranded on a rock with the tide coming in. Even in the next episode, when his Mummy came to visit for her grandson's birthday, she teared up and I teared up. But I never cried when Niamh cried. My heart was hardened against her.
That's BallyK for you. The people aren't plastic surgery pretty, their teeth aren't artifically white and straight, the priests stray, the girls have freckles, people you like die, and life goes on.
Remind you of any place you've been lately?
As I've mentioned before, I find British, and now Irish, television to be frequently unsettling as they have no problem killing off regulars. In America, for the most part (and not counting daytime soap operas that kill off anybody any time and later bring them back as their own twin sisters even if they were brothers before their demise), the main characters of a series leave intact and of their own volition. Sometimes you get shot and we think you're dead, but in a season or two when you couldn't get decent work anyplace else, they bring you back and explain it was all just a dream.
Not the British. Not the Irish. They just kill you off and be done with it.
So far in Ballykissangel, the agnostic owner of the local pub died of electrocution. As this was a month or two after she was married and an hour or two after she and the local priest declared their love for each other, some in the village were thinking it was only just punishment. But to make it worse, Father Clifford, in his grief, left Ballykissangel and the series. I wasn't upset at their departures. Disappointed, yes, because I liked both Father Clifford and Asumpta and hated to see them replaced, but I didn't shed any tears.
On the other hand, last night they killed off Ambrose, the local Garda (policeman to you). I've seen the series before so I knew it was coming. His fickle little wife, Niamh, had decided she loved somebody else and was going to leave him, not because he was a poor husband, far from it, but just because she had 'the grass is always greener on the other side' disease. Ambrose's heart was breaking because he knew they were growing farther apart and he didn't know why and he didn't know how to stop it, so he turned off his police radio and took a walk along the craggy Irish sea side. The whole time he's walking and thinking, Niamh is off betraying him with her new boyfriend and I'm crying buckets of tears because I know Ambrose, with his breaking heart, isn't coming back from that walk. He dies while saving a couple of tourists that are stranded on a rock with the tide coming in. Even in the next episode, when his Mummy came to visit for her grandson's birthday, she teared up and I teared up. But I never cried when Niamh cried. My heart was hardened against her.
That's BallyK for you. The people aren't plastic surgery pretty, their teeth aren't artifically white and straight, the priests stray, the girls have freckles, people you like die, and life goes on.
Remind you of any place you've been lately?
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Let's chat
Happy birthday to my bother who's getting to be really, really old as opposed to me who's only medium old.
For my birthday (which is a week after his), I took a week off, as usual, starting today. As usual, those of you in my home state can expect rains, possibly late tornadoes, and/or snow this week. I don't care. I'm staying inside and rejoicing that I don't have to go the Dumbass company for over a week! Woo-hoo!
I already bought myself a birthday present. A course in Gaming for Teenagers - meaning how to program games on your computer, not how to game your parents out of a bigger allowance. I don't know what possessed me to buy it (except it was a "bargain"). I'll probably be so frustrated by the end of the first chapter, I'll throw it at the first teenager I see.
My co-worker is also on vacation this week. Remember the cranky pregnant lady I worked with? That's her, but she's no longer pregnant. She's going with her parents, her new baby, and 2 dogs to the next state over. Her dad has to go to a medical clinic there, and while they're in the area they will be visiting family. Wait, it gets worse. Her dad drives, the dogs sit in the passenger seat because one of them gets carsick, her mom and the baby ride in the middle row, and she gets to sit in the back. (I guess we know who's at the bottom of the pecking order in that family.)
Do you remember when I testified at a trial last February? I told you I took a trip, but I probably didn't tell you I testified while the trial was on-going, but that's what I did. Me and several other people that I used to work with testified for the prosectution. A few weeks ago the defendent was sentenced to 9 years in jail. Not only was he greedy, he was stupid. It's nice to know that sometimes stupid people eventually get what they deserve.
I finally rented a storage locker. It's small and overpriced and I haven't had a chance to move anything in yet. So earlier this week, I asked my landlord (again) if there was a garage available. The garages here are half the price of the storage locker and twice as big and I've been trying for 3 years to get one. Yesterday, I got a note to call about a garage so it looks like I might get one. Finally. After I rented a locker elsewhere.
OK, I'm done chatting. It's your turn now.
For my birthday (which is a week after his), I took a week off, as usual, starting today. As usual, those of you in my home state can expect rains, possibly late tornadoes, and/or snow this week. I don't care. I'm staying inside and rejoicing that I don't have to go the Dumbass company for over a week! Woo-hoo!
I already bought myself a birthday present. A course in Gaming for Teenagers - meaning how to program games on your computer, not how to game your parents out of a bigger allowance. I don't know what possessed me to buy it (except it was a "bargain"). I'll probably be so frustrated by the end of the first chapter, I'll throw it at the first teenager I see.
My co-worker is also on vacation this week. Remember the cranky pregnant lady I worked with? That's her, but she's no longer pregnant. She's going with her parents, her new baby, and 2 dogs to the next state over. Her dad has to go to a medical clinic there, and while they're in the area they will be visiting family. Wait, it gets worse. Her dad drives, the dogs sit in the passenger seat because one of them gets carsick, her mom and the baby ride in the middle row, and she gets to sit in the back. (I guess we know who's at the bottom of the pecking order in that family.)
Do you remember when I testified at a trial last February? I told you I took a trip, but I probably didn't tell you I testified while the trial was on-going, but that's what I did. Me and several other people that I used to work with testified for the prosectution. A few weeks ago the defendent was sentenced to 9 years in jail. Not only was he greedy, he was stupid. It's nice to know that sometimes stupid people eventually get what they deserve.
I finally rented a storage locker. It's small and overpriced and I haven't had a chance to move anything in yet. So earlier this week, I asked my landlord (again) if there was a garage available. The garages here are half the price of the storage locker and twice as big and I've been trying for 3 years to get one. Yesterday, I got a note to call about a garage so it looks like I might get one. Finally. After I rented a locker elsewhere.
OK, I'm done chatting. It's your turn now.
Friday, October 02, 2009
It's lunch time
I frequently take my lunch to work. Why?, you may well ask. Well, there are 3 main reasons: (1) It's cheaper (2) It's cheaper (3) It's cheaper.
For two years I've been on a search for the perfect lunch bag. Not too big, not too small, keeps cold foods cold, has space for a fork and napkins away from the ice packs but not on the outside, holds a drink as well as the food, etc, etc. I finally found it.
Actually, I found two. A big one and a littler one. The big one has a mesh pocket on the outside for my refillable water bottle and is big enough to hold a TV dinner (one of the steamer kind with the cut off corners). The littler one holds a sandwich and fruit on the inside and has an outer zipped pocket for utensils and chips. It also has a pocket on the outside for a drink. And it doubles as a back pack - if you're 6 years old, which I am not.
And the total cost was less than $20 for the both of them.
I bring this up because I just viewed some "fashionable" lunch bags on Oprah's web site. They didn't look that practical to me (unless you just need something to pack a carrot stick or celery rib) and they cost well over $20 each.
The most expensive was $85 for a lunch box set which has multiple compartments of various sizes that snap together, one on top of the other, to hold wet food, dry food, cold food, and hot food separately. Doesn't that seem like a bother? You need instructions to put it together and take it apart. You've got four containers spread around your lunch area while you're eating. And who's going to wash all that stuff every day?
If you think that sounds fancy, you should have seen her idea of quick and easy meals to pack. The Pan Bagnet sandwich used half a fennel bulb on a baugette with capers and black olives. A fennal bulb sandwich? Yech! (I say Yech, but I don't even know what fennel is.)
Just give me bologna, some mustard, and a couple of slices of bread. To be fancy, I'll eat it with my pinkie in the air.
For two years I've been on a search for the perfect lunch bag. Not too big, not too small, keeps cold foods cold, has space for a fork and napkins away from the ice packs but not on the outside, holds a drink as well as the food, etc, etc. I finally found it.
Actually, I found two. A big one and a littler one. The big one has a mesh pocket on the outside for my refillable water bottle and is big enough to hold a TV dinner (one of the steamer kind with the cut off corners). The littler one holds a sandwich and fruit on the inside and has an outer zipped pocket for utensils and chips. It also has a pocket on the outside for a drink. And it doubles as a back pack - if you're 6 years old, which I am not.
And the total cost was less than $20 for the both of them.
I bring this up because I just viewed some "fashionable" lunch bags on Oprah's web site. They didn't look that practical to me (unless you just need something to pack a carrot stick or celery rib) and they cost well over $20 each.
The most expensive was $85 for a lunch box set which has multiple compartments of various sizes that snap together, one on top of the other, to hold wet food, dry food, cold food, and hot food separately. Doesn't that seem like a bother? You need instructions to put it together and take it apart. You've got four containers spread around your lunch area while you're eating. And who's going to wash all that stuff every day?
If you think that sounds fancy, you should have seen her idea of quick and easy meals to pack. The Pan Bagnet sandwich used half a fennel bulb on a baugette with capers and black olives. A fennal bulb sandwich? Yech! (I say Yech, but I don't even know what fennel is.)
Just give me bologna, some mustard, and a couple of slices of bread. To be fancy, I'll eat it with my pinkie in the air.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Mrytle
Did I tell you that the women's restroom on the 9th floor is haunted?
At my age, I'm lucky I can remember my name so if I've already told you this, just go away.
I call the haunt Myrtle. The poor thing comes out when you're in the restroom alone trying to do your business. She moans and grunts like she's constipated (hint: which means if it's you making those noises, you can always blame it on Myrtle) and she rattles the doors and dividers like she can't find a comfortable seat. The fancy faucets are suppose to turn on when you place your hands under them, but Mytle turns on the faucet over the left sink when you think you're alone, then she prevents the faucet on the right from coming on at all while you're standing there waving your soapy hands frantically under the tap.
We had a "new girl", Linda, start in the office today and when we visited the litte girls' room, as they say, somebody asked about the faucet turning on by itself and I explained that it was just Myrtle. Later in the afternoon, Linda came to me and whispered that she had just been to the restroom by herself - except for Myrtle and she wasn't going back in there.
At my age, I'm lucky I can remember my name so if I've already told you this, just go away.
I call the haunt Myrtle. The poor thing comes out when you're in the restroom alone trying to do your business. She moans and grunts like she's constipated (hint: which means if it's you making those noises, you can always blame it on Myrtle) and she rattles the doors and dividers like she can't find a comfortable seat. The fancy faucets are suppose to turn on when you place your hands under them, but Mytle turns on the faucet over the left sink when you think you're alone, then she prevents the faucet on the right from coming on at all while you're standing there waving your soapy hands frantically under the tap.
We had a "new girl", Linda, start in the office today and when we visited the litte girls' room, as they say, somebody asked about the faucet turning on by itself and I explained that it was just Myrtle. Later in the afternoon, Linda came to me and whispered that she had just been to the restroom by herself - except for Myrtle and she wasn't going back in there.
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