Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Robert Preston

Our PBS station showed "The Music Man" over the weekend.

Best musical ever, due largely to Robert Preston who played Prof. Harold Hill and Meredith Wilson, who wrote the songs.

Robert Preston: adorable. Matthew Broderick? No. I did not see one impish grin out of him. In fact, not a single person I saw in that role ever had RP's roguish quality. Granted, I saw it once in high school and once at Missouri Baptist College, where I tell you they changed Zanita Shin's line of "Ye Gods" to "Egad." Because "Ye Gods" might suggest a Baptist production was promoting polytheism. I am not kidding.

So, Gary and I have seen it three times straight through since Friday night. "That man is adorable," I kept thinking."Why haven't I seen him in other things?"

A little more investigation showed me why. It took me a long time to forget the other famous Robert Preston / Meredith Wilson collaboration.

"Chicken Fat."

Wikipedia: "Chicken Fat ... was distributed to schools across the nation and played for students in calisthenics every morning. The song later became a surprise novelty hit and a part of many baby-boomers' childhood memories."

Because there is nothing sweeter than being a fat kid and feeling your fat jiggle as you run while some man sings about Chicken Fat. I want to punch someone after hearing this song again.

Boomers: do not play this song if you disliked gym class. I am on the tail end of the Boomer generation (born in '62) and they were still inflicting this on children.

Peculiar Bits of Information

Farmer's Almanac

Last month, a friend told me it had been predicted that there would be snow by Halloween this year.

"Oh, who says?" I sneered.

"Farmer's Almanac."

I thought it was odd she had gone to Princeton and yet believed in the Farmer's Almanac. I remember seeing the Old Farmer's Almanac at my grandparent's farm. I asked Granceil what it was and was told it was a pile of horseshit. This, from people who read the National Enquirer.

Evidently, despite what my grandmother said, the Farmer's Almanac can somehow predict (magic!) overall weather forecasts. No idea how. However, Wikipedia suggests why.

The Year Without a Summer

The Almanac was founded two years after what seems to have been a summer of (blissfully) frigid temperatures in 1816. Snow (heaven) in June. Temperatures went for 95 (boo) to freezing (hurrah) in hours. And yes, well, death and famine, but just think. So constantly overcast you could look at the sun and see the sunspots.

Weirdness From The Less Recent Past

One of those weird old coded manuscripts has been decoded by a computer. I've never heard of the Copiale Cipherbefore now, but as ot turns out it was the initiation rites for a freaky eye worship club. Read the almost-complete translation here. (Try not to think of the Knights who say "nee!" while you read it.)

This is exciting. We need to set the computer upon other codes. There is a local man who died in '99 who left notes in his own special code. There is the weirdness of the Voynich manuscript with its naked women bathing in the margins. And why on earth they aren't decoding the Beale Ciphers  to get at the $63 million of buried treasure I can't imagine.

I watch a lot of Discovery TV.

This Just In: After Oakland, Denver

[SPOILER: This post isn't going to go the way you think it is. ] 

CNN is now reporting the police are shooting pepper spray and mace at the Occupy Denver protest, precipitated when protestors wanted to "get inside the capitol."  This is on top of the Oakland incident when police fired tear gas canisters at protestors. One of the people injured was an Iraq war vet.

Here, you can watch a video of the vet's roomate describing what he understands of the situation.

Here is the most amazing part. The roommate says, "They were on a peaceful march and the police officers started randomly pulling protesters out of the march and arresting them when the protesters started throwing water and paint at the police officers."

"Randomly." Sir, I do not not think that word means what you think it means. You sound as if you are unfamiliar with cause and effect.

Let me see if I've got this right. Protesters throw things at police. Police arrest protesters. I would instead have said, "Police start started deliberately pulling protesters out of the march." Not "Randomly."

Civil disobedience is usually met by the police by civil arrest. Then you sing spirituals in the pokey wagon, or, if you are a celebrity, call your publicist. This is the course of events. Civil violence, on the other hand, is met by violence.

Here's what I don't get. I was in a riot once. Not for any good reason like Occupy Indiana University, but because IU won the college basketball championship. There were too many people, and they were very drunk, and my boyfriend used me as body armor as he ran through the crowd so he could stand in front of every camera he saw.

After an hour, the police arrived. Fine. It made me feel safer, really. They got out of their patrol cars. Great! Then people began rocking the patrol cars in an attempt to flip them over.

"Bye!" I said to my boyfriend.

"Cool! Look at those idiots trying to flip that police car! - Wait, what?"

He stayed and was excited to report later that the police in the riot gear arrived soon after. And I'm a little sad the police didn't try to mace him. Because when fellow rioters attack the police, you leave. Nothing to do with rights of assembly and civil disobedience. Stand up. Leave. Bye. Iraq war vet, maybe go up to the people throwing stuff and tell them to cut it out. Then, don't let a tear gas canister hit you on the way out.

Now we have Denver, and the protesters went from assembly (our right) to civil disobedience (trespassing on the official building, for which a person should be nobly and passively arrested) to whatever fill-in-the-blank violence provoked the mace bombs.

See, I told you it wasn't going to take my usual liberal turn. Fight the Power! Fight the Man! Lay off the police, though!

I Am As Tired As If I Had Played Ball Myself

During one of the World Series in the 1980s, Mom said it was peculiar that "nowadays" the World Series always seemed to take seven games, whereas it never had before. In fact, she seemed to think it was deliberate. The fix was in, maximized for entertainment value and advertising dollars.

I thought of that in the 2004 Series when the Cardinals lost to the Red Sox in four straight games. Of course that was a loss to the Sox, who had been denied a Series forever, and what would be more dramatic than the sweep?

And, after Game 6 of the series can you blame me? In the film The Natural they got down to the ninth inning, the last strike, and then Robert Redford's home run hits the lights and they explode and it's all dramatic. But was he playing for his hometown team? And was it actually the second time he'd come up at bat when it was down to the final strike and WAS THERE A MAGIC RALLY SQUIRREL INVOLVED and no, there was not. Because THAT would have been RIDICULOUS.

And so now of course they have won and I have the same reaction as always: if it was a fake win, I don't care, because it was very enjoyable.

Steve Jobs, Soul Sibling

I got a grudging email from Gary this morning.

"Steve Jobs soaked his feet in the office toilet. :  )   I guess you are in good company, although in his bio this wasn't reported as being one of his better ideas."

As you are aware, I have been know to use the toilet as a footbath. Like Mr. Steve Jobs I am a divergent thinker.

Well, Mr. Gary High-and-Mighty Toilet Spray Dare Not Moisten My Behind, I did some further research. 

The Guardian reports "He was perpetually shedding his shoes, and sometimes, to relieve stress, soaked his feet in the toilet." So not only did he put his feet in the toilet, he did it for fun.

Other sources divulge that he particularly liked flushing while he soaked.

Toilet? Or foot-fountain of genius? History will decide.

TiVo Hoarding

I'm one of those people who never has more than ten messages in my main work inbox. They get filed or deleted. I usually have no more than four things sitting on my TiVo.

Right now I have two screens worth of stuff on my TiVo and it is causing more guilt than a stack of books on the bedside table.

The Colbert Report (4 episodes) - even if I only watch the parts I like, that's still an hour of my life.
30 Rock (26) - I missed the first three seasons entirely, so I have to catch up.
Boardwalk Empire - Every week it's like a little hour long movie. This has led to:
Prohibition (3) - the PBS documentary, which I would watch if it had Steve Buscemi in it.
Penn & Teller Tell a Lie - Not loving this show. Bad production values? Half hour too long?
Breaking Bad (46, or every episode ever made) - I promised my brother I would watch this show, because it is set in his town, Albuquerque. Someday I will be laid up for a week and a can have a huge marathon. Until then, I have no interest.
Inside Job - Felt I need to see it for work.
Too Big to Fail - Felt I need to see it for work, tried, but the subtitles they use to identify everyone are in fine print.
You Don't Know Jack - I know this is going to bring up Mom deathbed memories, so it's out there for a day I feel like sobbing.
Stagecoach - I saw enough of this to know it's good, but not enough to watch it all.

What I should do is just delete it all. If it's in the basement and you haven't touched it for a year, donate it or pitch it. If it's in your emailbox, delete it or do it. It's time for Fall Cleaning, more purgative than Spring Cleaning.

It is also time to replace the fence, powerwash the house, get a Damn Mammogram, see if I have a bladder infection, plus this World Series is sucking up my life. No time to sit around and watch TV.

So, please let me know what I can purge from the TiVo, or what I should watch.

Fridays fortune cookie I swear to God

Bullets like Fastballs

 How can I not have time to blog on a weekend?

• Both days I slept till 2. I thought cutting down on the pills would fix this. I also thought it would fix my sex drive, and short of giving me a week of astonishingly perverted dreams it did not. (People / animal three-ways. With two animals. That's all I'm saying.)
• Yesterday I did laundry, and bespite my strong commitment to maintaining my new underwear I once again did not sort my whites and colors. My underwear drawer will continue to look like an Ansel Adams photo, in that there are seven shades of gray.
• I also cut down a twenty-six year old forsythia in preparation for a new fence. Days outside knock me out much like summer days, it seems.
• This World Series has been taking up a lot of my time. I watched it from six till whenever it ended last night. Eleven? I used to say pitching duels were boring, now I see the appeal. Ninety minutes, in and out.
• To get in the World Series spirit, I ate one of my hot dogs from the (mostly) grain-crazed shopping trip. I thought, "when did hot dog buns turn this color? And taste like dirt?" I HAD BOUGHT WHOLE WHEAT HOT DOG BUNS BY ACCIDENT. I didn't realize my grain-lust had seeped into my subconscious. I was TRYING to buy bad food and my hand turned on me.
• After eating a hot dog, I am off hot dogs for a while. I don't think I need to go into detail.

The Prettiest Plate of Food I Have Ever Seen

It is the mango asparagus chicken at House of Wong. Oh and they had a Peking duck special that restored my faith in the ducks of Peking. And my fortune cookie told me to eat more fruits and VEGETABLES. Freaky.

Revealing Lunch

At lunch, I mentioned I had read on Cracked.com that many people suffer from auditory hallucinations. (If you go to the link, it's a few paragraphs in to the #1 Horrific Way Your Brain Can Turn On You Without Warning.)

I've always assumed this happens to everyone. However, the article says "the most common [is] the sound of voices (often your name, spoken aloud) right as you're falling asleep."

They are dead on when they say the most common auditory hallucination is of someone saying your name.

The Most Common Things I Hear When I Hear Things That Aren't There

1. Mom saying my name. I can hear her saying it, flat, no affect. "Ellen."

2. Gary saying something. Gary talks to himself all the time anyway, so I ignore. I think I've talked about this with Gary. If so, I'm sure he answered "Oh, that happens to everyone."

3. Unknown voice saying my name.

4. Unknown voice saying "Help." Again, just casually, not screaming or anything.

5. Unknown voice saying "Hey."

6. And most recently, an unknown voice saying flatly, "Whatever you want." This was this last weekend when I was still in bed, but awake.

Rest assured, this isn't the delusional superego on steroids that blames me for being alive and requires me to take medication. That thing won't shut up when it gets going. This is just, you know, a random word. Not a conversation, not upsetting. Just like a flash of light in your eye, it's a flash of words in your ear.

However, it doen't happen to me when I'm falling asleep. Evidently, Wikipedia says it happens more often when one drinks coffee.

Happily, of the four people at the lunch table, one said it she knew what I was talking about. Now I'm curious. Does anyone else know what I'm talking about?

Do Not Visit the Grocery Store Under the Influence of Barium

You may remember last Friday I swallowed some barium, and immediately felt a mad urge for steak.

Today the last of the barium seeped out. (It has been a long weekend.) And now that it is gone I find I have another strange urge.

I went to the grocery to buy foods I could cook up and make into soup, and perhaps salad. I didn't get through the first aisle before I bought these things:

Grains! Grains! Grains! Organic Bowls! Whole Grain Fruit and Nut Salad, then Fried Rice, then Tomato Orzo Pasta.

I gave up on my soup and salad plan in favor of pre-made mushroom soup and bean soup.

Then these cheeses caught my fancy.

I headed for the vegetables, then remembered I had a freezer full.

I stood in the cereal aisle and thought, "Captain Crunch? Quisp? Apple Jacks?" when I spied another cereal from my childhood.

...and I put it in the cart. When I voluntarily added the tortilla chips made from Flax and quinoa, I said, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?" and took inventory.

"More grains than normal, yes, Crazy fiber in the cereal." (I ate it as a snack as a teen. It's candied coconut fiber.) "Is there protein? There's .... cheese ...and ... hey, am I vegetarian or something now?"

Weird! With the exception of the scraps of steak in the organic steak bowl, there was no meat in my cart, and it was heavy on the whole grains.

I got this because I didn't want to shock my system, but it doesn't appeal to me. I know it will later.

But, isn't that odd?  I swill barium, and I crave a face full of steak, then the barium leaves my system and meat no longer speaks to me at the grocery. I wonder if barium bonds to iron or something.

Zombie Attack

I took down my lush red honeysuckle, down to the ground, to better kill the poison ivy behind it. And kill it I did. I sprayed it till it was nothing but hairy dessicated vines. Then I cut those vines away from the roots and sprayed an extra dose on the roots. Then I let it sit there and be dead for a month.

Leaflets three? Leaflets zero!

So I grabbed it by my bare hands and wrestled it to the ground.

Who knew? Who knew it was of The Undead? And who didn't listen to Mom-in-her-head and "wear gloves EVERY time you garden, Ellen, that way you NEVER get poison ivy."

People at work saw I had been infected by the Undead Poison Ivy and backed away. I explained, "it's an allergic reaction. I'm not contagious," and then I fought off the urge to rub my face up against them. (And eat their brains.)

I don't know why I can't learn this lesson.

Gary Fan Club

Forgive me, I've been willing the Cardinals into the World Series all weekend. Right now it's 9 to 4, our favor, so I'm taking some time for myself.

I also spent a little time on yard work, alternatively known here as Catching Poison Ivy.

And - damn! The Brewers scored. I'll get back with you.

==========================

Between ball games and Gary's heavy work schedule, together-time has been scarce. We did manage to go out shopping today, just for birdseed.

Hundreds of dollars later, Gary had a fan club wandering behind him at the Wild Bird Store. Of course, the saleswoman loved him, they always do, but this time he actually had a random woman follow him through the store. She apologized, but she said she just found him "fascinating." Initially, he was picking out items similar to what she wanted, but then she became enrapt watching him make decisions.

For example, Gary said:

"Get me that squirrel baffle, it looks like something off a submarine." (This after he fought for easy squirrel access to the feeder.)
"That dragonfly wind ornament keeps bumping in to me. I'll buy it."
"No suet. Suet is sticky." (Saleswoman explains they sell non-sticky suet.) "Okay, get me six things of suet."
"And I need that birdbath heater." (Saleswoman explains he just bought a heated birdbath.) "Oh. Oh .... Okay then. ... Give me that squirrel feeder instead."

The Gary Fan Club was hypnotized. She thanked us for entertaining her when we left.

Perhaps I could rent Gary out.

And the Burp Bone's Connected to the Pee Bone

So, the barium swallow revealed these things:

1. I do not particularly like barium, even though it is on the periodic table (56, Be). It tastes like dirt.
2. The body can only take so much barium before it burps it back up.
3. Barium really makes you crave steak. That (plus the luxurious valet parking at Missouri Baptist) sent me to Bristol's, where I ate a fillet all by myself. (Dirt and Turf.  Burp and Turf? Barium and Carrion.)

Later, the doctor’s office called and said I looked fine except for a small hiatal hernia. I thought, why would a hiatal hernia make me urinate on myself? If anything it would give me acid reflux. I dismissed it.

But a quick search on “hiatal hernia choke urinate” brought me to a forum of lost souls all with the same symptoms. They’d be a) sleeping or b) in a very public place, when they would suddenly explode in a burst of phlegm, mucus, and vomit, and from the older women, urine. A lot of "It's like something's gone down the wrong pipe" and “It feels like I can’t breathe!!!!!!!” As plentiful as the exclamation points were the admissions they almost all had hiatal hernias.

So this is the Rube Goldberg explanation I have for myself: My stomach slides either above or below my diaphragm, my diaphragm reacts, my lungs expand, I breathe in what’s in my mouth, and then the rest of me reacts by pushing out all fluids and then eventually  a woman sticks her finger up my vagina.

The Still Small Voice of Gary

A confession: I have plastic bricks in my landscaping. The plastic bricks have a cunning interlocking connection system that real bricks do not have. Real bricks have mortar, but I do not have a hot mortar gun to connect them.

Well, after our hot summer the fake bricks have stayed straight, but have given up on being level. I have one set buried under a groundhog mound and other jutting toward heaven. So the plastic bricks were dug out of the mud and brought back into the garage. To be fixed. Eventually. (Baby steps. See below.)

I intended to wash them, connect them, then bolster them with some scrap straight siding trim glued on the bottom and dug into the dirt.

Step 1: Wash them.  I washed a few faux bricks off with the hose, then I got hot and tired, then threw everything into a box and stuck it in the garage again.

Step 2: Bring the box of dirty "bricks" in to the house.

Step 3: Consider washing the bricks in the sink, but I can hear Gary's voice like a conscience, if a conscience could bellow, "DIRT! DIRT IN THE SINK! UNSANITARY!"

Step 4: Consider washing the bricks in the tub, but that would mean washing the tub after.

Step 5: Genius! Wash the bricks in the dishwasher. I rushed them through a cycle so they'd get done before Gary came home and found I had brought dirt close to the sink.

Step 6: BECOME FILLED WITH OVERWHELMING GARY-GUILT. Cannot keep secrets from Gary.

Step 7: Wash a load of bricks in the clothes washer. Do not put them in the dryer.

So, now the dishwasher bricks are sitting next to the washing machine bricks, and even though I did not use the heat dry cycle, the dishwasher bricks are considerably brighter. I assume this is from the Jet Dry goo on the dish detergent gel tab.

Still, Gary wouldn't like it, so the remaining dirty bricks are headed for the washing machine. No fabric softener needed.

Fetal steps

...like baby steps, only smaller.

There are these jeans neither Gary and I can wear, so they are bound for the giveaway bag in the foyer closet.

Two days ago I moved them from the bed room to the hall outside the bedroom.

Last night they went from the hall to a chair outside the foyer.

It's a fairly small house, 1400 square feet. Not like I'm accomplishing a lot. Still, it makes me feel good. Better even than putting the jeans away in one step.

Next I'll be breaking it down into a to do list and scratching things off. Maybe I should call them blastocyst steps.

Three Pressing Questions

If you know (or have a guess at) the answers to these pressing questions, leave it in the comments.

1. Who chooses the music you hear before a concert?

Somehow, I've always assumed the music was chosen by the band. I heard an entire new Fountains of Wayne CD before a BNL concert once. Gary contends the bartender for the venue chooses it, otherwise, it's chosen by the venue management.

2. How do you correctly order one large shotglass with two shots of Baileys, no ice?

Two fingers Bailey's, neat? That sounds very James Bond. But, I doubt it is right.

3. Gary complained last week that the yellow leaves the Ash tree dropped make it look like someone had spilled cornflakes all over our lawn. So, I raked and blew and filled 9 leaf bags, 2 totes, and 1 large trash bin with leaves and stuck them in the garage. That was yesterday. Today I came home, opened the garage door, and I was hit with the smell of ______ (fill in the blank). It's very distinctive, it smells just like something else, and I don't know what it is. (Not cornflakes.) The first thing I thought was, "Spontaneous combustion" (the non-human kind). When Gary walked in he said "It smells like the garage is on fire." I said, no, that ash trees just smell like fires, that's why they call them ash trees, but that was total b.s. just to calm him down so we wouldn't sleep in a hotel.

 Does anyone else have an ash tree? What IS that smell?

I Love Hiro on the Delmar Loop

Before the Bangles show, I didn't want to eat at a chain place or Thai or somewhere I'd been too many times, such as the Chinese place across from the Pageant, or our President's beloved Pi Pizza.

It couldn't be too far away from the Pageant because Gary didn't want to speed-walk from dinner to the concert. We found Hiro two blocks down. (Speaking of The Bangles, if I had not loved Hiro I could have titled this "Hiro Takes a Fall," and you would be reading a more critical post. I almost wish I hadn't loved it so.)

A sign outside described it as a sushi / tapas / small plates izakaya. I just looked up izakaya, and evidently it's a Japanese drinks bar where you eat light food. I had plum wine that kept hitting me harder and harder through the evening. I almost said, "It's like time-release wine!" before I realized it was the wine plus the time-release Mucinex that was hitting me. I feel like I've hit on some advanced alcoholic trick for keeping your buzz for 12 hours.

We split a salmon rangoon and a California roll and a "fuji" sushi roll. The menu led me in with the description of "salmon, apple, crab salad, soy paper" and it lost me with "spicy jalepeno mayo." I got mine sans mayo and I tell you, apples and raw fish are a genius combination. I'd just had an apple with separate applications of peanut butter and sliced cheddar cheese the other night. And guess what! Apples with raw salmon would have worked too.

So now I've looked over the menu, and research some items on wikipedia, and here are some more of the choices I want to try:

Donkatsu: rice with crispy pork (belly?), cabbage, and sauce
Hiro Signature: tempura shrimp, avocado, beef carpaccio (yes, I know that's raw beef), sea salt, truffle oil, sans the wasabi ranch sauce
Crunchy Pig: Pork belly, crispy bacon shredded pork, sweet BBQ plum, hold the cilantro
Lucky bamboo:carrot, mango, asparagus, pickled daikon (radish), vermicelli, soy paper, truffle oil, still no thanks to the wasabi ranch sauce
Flaming Desire:California roll topped with baked scallops, Hiro sauce, chives, and masago (capelin roe)

Under sashimi, which is not for me (that stuff is just raw fish!) they mention flying fish roe, which screams for a taste test with the capelin roe and the salmon roe. And maybe some wasabi tobikko  just to look at.

And finally, next to "Smelt fish egg" (more roe!) for $2.50 it lists "omelet" for $1.75. I have to go back just to see how they make an omelet out of fish eggs. I assume they crack them into an omelet pan.

Bangles! Eeee!

They have played two of the three songs I know and two others and have just now said hello.

Good Day

Becs has a nest.

Going to walk like an Egyptian with The Bangles tomorrow at the Pageant.

Cards win! Squirrel decoy is passed aorund clubhouse and doused in champagne. Rally Squirrel has a Wikipedia page (look soon; haters threaten to delete it).

It has not been hot for the entire month of September.

Gary was able to make it home this evening at a reasonable time.

No physical therapy next week. Wouldn't you know, the week nothing goes up my vagina I find I am asked to swallow. (barium). (And yes, I said "WOKKA WOKKA" when I told Gary.) This may show what twist or spasm makes me choke on fluid. And as I remember the barium swallow I did in '95, it lets you know how long the Fantastic Voyage takes to travel from the way in to the way out. Definitively.

Rally Squirrel: A History

9 / 4 / 2007
Cardinals vs Phillies
Squirrel on field!
Cards win

Rally Squirrel enjoys a moment of fame. He strafes the Phillies dugout. His image is shown on the scoreboard. Buttons and shirts are made in his honor.

10 / 4 / 2011
Cardinals vs Phillies
Squirrel on field!
Cards lose ... Rally squirrel has lost his magic?

Rally Squirrel goes on Twitter (name is @BuschSquirrel - he knows better than to make promises).

10 / 5 / 2011
Cardinals vs Phillies
Squirrel on field!
Squirrel has the tiny balls to run across home plate directly in front of the batter.
Cards win pivotal post-season game.

Rally Squirrel may redeem all squirrels in my eyes if he shows up in Game 5 and we end up in the playoffs.

Geography to Blow Your Mind

1. Denmark.

Gary works by a lovely cafe called Pastries of Denmark. They do not sell danish. However, almost everything there IS a Danish pastry.

2. Maine.

One place I've always wanted to visit is the rocky coast of Maine.

Look at Maine there, up in the upper right. Compare it to Florida.

 

It's only about half the size of Florida, but look at all the coastline. There's the East Coast of Maine, and the North Coast (very cold), and the West Coast. Of course the West Coast doesn't have the Atlantic bursting against its shores. Just the Gulf of Canada, which is very peaceful. The Canadian Gulf feeds Lake Ontario.

I live in the Midwest, so imagine my shock when I looked at a North American map and found that there is a Canadian growth almost surrounding Maine!

 

Look! Look at the beige French-speaking Quebec touching America! And look, New Brunswick, where they make the bowling shoes.

I can't be the only adult who didn't know there was only one coast.

Music Over the Horizon

I only ventured into the heat for one band this summer, but now that it is fall and the 2011 debt is almost cleared up, Ticketmaster is my musical madam. "You like Guster, would you perhaps be interested in a little ... Gin Blossoms?" She strokes a fan of Gin Blossoms tickets. I turn and point coyly at the Bangles. The Bangles are coming to town Saturday.

I was shamed by Mr. Hot Mom for not knowing the name of any of the Bangles. All I know is "Walk Like an Egyptian" since it was such enjoyable Garyoke song.

Speaking of the Garyoke, Gary just complained this weekend that the PC with the original Garyoke music has gone the way of all good PCs, and now we have no Garyoke outlet. I argued that there are Rock Band and Amercian Idol for the Wii and probably even the Kinect now. He reminded me that he has not seen "Wii Frank Sinatra" or "Wii Doris Day," and it is a pity, because those are the best sing-along songs.

Singing was not a high priority until he got his Dean Martin undereye bags.

Deano! At the Keil Opera House! In Saint Louis! I will bet money my Dad went to this show.

What Passes for Polite Dinner Conversation

I made this mistake after the Cowboy Mouth concert: I complained about a science fiction author I heard on NPR. Samuel R Delaney. The man's name is Samuel R Delaney.

I know the name now, but on Saturday I didn't, so for ten minutes the conversation stopped dead while everyone but me sunk into their iPhones. Except for Gary, who sunk into his Blackberry.

"It doesn't matter what his name is," I said, but they didn't care.

So I took a photo.

 

I should have just made up a name. I wish I'd realized that at the time. I also didn't realize Libby is flipping me off, AND biting her lips so she won't smile.

La la la.

So Wednesday, after I got back from the urologist, I called Gary to give him the update.

"I've got both kinds of incontinence, the urge incontinence and the stress incontinence."

(Silence.)

He asked, "What does that mean?"

"Well, it means I can't get the surgery, for one thing, but I didn't really want the surgery anyway. He said I could take drugs for the urge incontinence, and that it's really typical in people with MS."

"Oh, noooo. So that mean you're having MS symptoms now."

"Well ... no. I don't even notice the urge incontinence. Besides, better get used to me having MS symptoms."

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"He didn't tell me anything else."

He got really frustrated. "Why didn't you ask him questions? Does this signify a decline in your MS?"

"No, he said a lot of people without MS have this - what is wrong with you?"

"I gotta go." And he hung up. And I told the phone he was being a tool.

Later that evening at home, I sat on the bed and asked,"What was that all about, on the phone? Why did you get so annoyed?"

I expected, "You called at a bad time," but instead he exploded, "You were just saying 'La la la.'"

"La la la?"

"I hate that! You do that! I ask you about something and instead of answering you just say 'La la la." All flat. When I need you to say 'WOKKA! WOKKA WOKKA!'" He hopped around waving his arms when he shouted 'WOKKA!"

This made me laugh. "Wokka?"

Turns out I don't give him the context. First, and less important, I jumped right into the conversation with, "I've got both kinds of incontinence," instead of, "I had that appointment today. With the urologist. He told me ... " and so on. People at work complain that I do this. However, I would think the man who is supposed to be able to finish my sentences wouldn't need the extra exposition.

Second, I didn't give him the emotional context, the "WOKKA WOKKA WOKKA!" (I felt I did, because I gave him a cheery "Better get used to it!") He was looking for some emotional distress he could argue with, or as he put it, "How else will I know how to feel about it?"

So, in the future I know to lead with the "WOKKA!" If there is no "WOKKA!" I should probably work some up so I am not accused of the "La la la."

Cowboy mouth concert surprisingly ill-attended at 7:00

This is What I Love About Gary Today

Look at that. Not just an eye bag, but a wrinkled eye bag.

(This means I can let my eyes go now. Love it.)