Positive and Negatives!

So, today I figured I'd give you a positive and some negatives. Let's start with the positive! This weekend, I am positive I saw a coyote! Unfortunately, I was creeping up on it quietly and I didn't get a great photo--it's a few degrees clearer than the images of Bigfoot, but more blurry than the Loch Ness documentation.
A few thoughts about coyotes:
1) I like 'em except when they eat people's kittens and puppies. Or babies--babies ain't good either.
2) My sister's favorite quote about coyotes was from a woman who was on the radio being interviewed and said, "The coyotes are everywheah...theah creepin' up ovah the seawall, and they mean business." Kinda menacing and funny at the same time.
3) No roadrunner was in sight, nor were any Acme coyote-destruction devices.

And now, for the negatives. Am I the only freak who likes to play around with the "black and white," "antique," and "negative" effects of her photo editor software? No, no. Don't tell me. I don't want to feel alone. Anyway, let's have ourselves a festival of negativity! You ready? Great! Here goes!
This one is a favorite. A little fish-weighing shack at a fishing lodge.

Tickets to a circus. I am the one who takes every free leaflet and bit of ephemera that is handed to her. And, uh, not to be overly negative but this looked like the most depressing little circus ever. Poor elephants.

A booklet by "Famous Author and Sportsman" Joseph D. Bates, Jr. How do I know that he is so famous? Because he tells me on almost every page of this booklet. Many of his tips involve: "Sterno" ("nothing is handier"), "Baggies," ("Since Baggies are transparent it's easy to see what's inside!"), "Wash 'n Dri's" ("a newsworthy product"). If you wish to correspond with Joseph, you can reach him at P.O. Box 2294, Grand Central Station, New York City, NY 10017. When I summon the courage, I plan to write him and ask him to explain what a "dingle stick" is. Anyway, he does include a nifty little idea for a food-grilling device (in case you're bored of your barbeque grill):

Last, but not least, here we have the Kite Flyer's Code for Safe Flying:
This weekend, I actually read this warning label on my kite, and once again I found out that I've been doing something all wrong. First, I shouldn't have tried to fly my kite using wire instead of string. This explains something that happened, and I'd explain what that something was if I hadn't lost my short-term memory in a recent accident. Second, I am supposed to avoid flying over spectators or within 5 miles of an airport. Third, I am supposed to wear "gloves or a similar device" to protect my hands from possible string burns. JEEZ! I go now to play outside in traffic. It is clearly a much safer form of entertainment.

Sabre Tooths and Artifacts

After saying that I used to have a crush on 1970s American television actor Randolph Mantooth, I am now feeling dinosaur-old. Indeed, I am feeling like T'pau--the chick who called Spock "Spook" on the first Star Trek series (which I saw in re-runs, mind you) and then Spock opened a can of whoop-ass on Kirk (after semi-groping Nurse Chapel and generally losing his Vulcan cool).
I've posted a clip of this episode. I have always loved the music that accompanied Spock and Kirk's battle. You can hum it any time life gets crazy-intense...online in the 12-items-or-less aisle when people have 28 items, moshing into the crowds and Christmas shopping for a Nintendo wii, you name it.

I don't think I'm a LOT like T'pau--nobody carries me around in a sedan chair (damn it), I lack the ceremonial warthog atop my head, and my eyebrows are less stylized. Yet, I'm feeling real ancient and T'paulike today. So, let me show you some of my ancient artifacts!

This is a photo of what my first car looked like--it was a 1967 Dodge Coronet and it was almost officially an antique when I got it in the mid-1980s. I have to go into the big scary chest of photos to find a picture of my ACTUAL first car; I can't do that because I always bang my head on the ceiling of the crawlspace and end up with a concussion. So, trust me (at least until I go into the crawlspace); it was exactly like this except in worse shape. I loved the triangular shaped windows and overall mammothness of the vehicle. Due to its behemoth proportions, I never parallel-parked (that was the part of the driver's test I was most worried about failing). I would just drive around and around until I found a parking space I could glide straight into. The chambermaids that I used to work with all heartily approved of the car because it was so big and better to drive in the snow. "You drive somethin' like my Toyota," one noted, "and you'll end up ham and eggs in a ditch. I wish I still had my Chrysler Newport. My boyfriend made me sell it 'cause he didn't want to be seen in it."
When I was growing up, we had a hi-fi from my mother's swinging days living as a young married woman on a Naval Air Base with a houseboy from the Phillipines and a cook named Ruby (I never witnessed these days, they live on only in legend and in my sister's dim memories of the time when she had a playhouse with little windowboxes, non-stop root beer whenever she asked for it, and no hairy monkeybaby--me--to share it all with). It was from Germany and it was called a Telefunken. It had a turntable, a radio, and a shortwave radio that would make a noise like "Verrrrrbuzzzzzzkuhschmurrrrrrr" whenever I tried to tune something exotic in. I have the hunch that it would be worth a lot these days if I still had it, so I'm not even gonna look it up. Here it is (note--an actual photo of me with the real Telefunken is available, but you would laugh at my hair and pious expression so I cannot post it):
This is the hairdryer we used to have when I was growing up. To my mind, it fried some parts of your hair while leaving other parts quite damp. It is a good thing that the state of the art has advanced past this:
Last but not least, here we have Randolph Mantooth. I think I was attracted to him because he is one-half Seminole (or at least I believed that to be the case at the time) and I was proud of being part Native American (although this is iffy at the moment and not at all substantiated enough for me to claim a share of casino profits--my Cousin Dude now is claiming that we are "descended from Spanish Royalty" and I'd get to the bottom of his theory except each time he starts to talk about genealogy my eyes glaze and I start auto-nodding).

MANTOOTH THENMANTOOTH NOW
After looking up photos online, I have come to the happy conclusion that Randolph Mantooth (or at least his Webmaster) likely has a sense of humor. I was going to copy in some text from his Web site that says he took a course in "how to laugh on stage" but when I tried to right-click on said text to copy it a little dialogue box popped up that said, "Sorry! No can do! No copy for you! You wouldn't want Randy to be mad at you for stealing his stuff, would you?" To which I say: Nooooooo! I just want Randy to resuscitate me. Still, after all these years, bedad! (Although his Web site's music threw me off, I must admit. Speakers up for a delightfully cheesy experience!)

I Knew Jed Clampett. Jed Clampett Was A Friend of Mine. You, Governor, Are No Jed Clampett.

So, I'm catchin' up on my readin' as part of work avoidance, and I stumble (stubbed my dang toe) on this: "'The report that I only hunted twice is incorrect,' Romney said. 'I've hunted small game numerous times, as a young man and as an adult. I'm by no means a big game hunter. I'm more Jed Clampett than Teddy Roosevelt.' He does not own a firearm, despite claiming to earlier this year."

You know, Mitt, it takes a lot to get my dander up, but you had to go and do it. Why, Mitt, why? I just wanted to relax here on the porch, sipping lemonade, my democratic cankles elegantly crossed as I watch the hummingbirds at the feeder. But, no. You have likened yourself to Jed Clampett and now, sir, you must pay the price. Who cares? Well, I care! And, you know what? It has prompted me to ask you a few, hard-hitting questions.

1) Lately, you only have your "hot campaign wife" with you. Where are your other wives? The "dishwashing wife," the "laundry wife," and the "raising children wife"? Why do they never get to go outside? Are you ashamed of them? If Jed Clampett had as many wives as you do, he'd make sure that they all got out to ride around in the truck and get some fresh air. He had a sense of fairness.
2) Will Donny Osmond get a cabinet post? If so, will he bring Marie with him to share the post? Will Marie make decisions that are viewed as "a little bit country," even as Donny makes decisions that are clearly a "little bit rock 'n roll"? How will you bring them to an accord? Let's face it: Jed Clampett could do it better than you. He could talk Jethro down.
3) Have you seen the same show about the Mormons on PBS that I just saw? How about that zany Joseph Smith guy finding God's grocery list engraved on golden plates in his backyard? WOW! And this was even before metal detectors. No, no, no. Everybody's gotta believe in something. Don't get all defensive on me. I, myself, worship a small statue of Joey Bishop. Joey: The glue that held the Rat Pack together. I think Jed Clampett worshipped Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs.
4) You think you have the best, sleekly groomed hair of any candidate, don't you? Well, maybe so. But, do you know who has better hair than you, Mr. Mittens? Jed frickin' Clampett. Exhibit A:
5) Look, Bwana, if you're going to be a Great White Hunter, glory in it--stride around wearing deer antlers on your head with a manly corset of dead marmosets clasped about your waist. Don't slink about being a poacher and then go all coy about it and name-drop Jed Clampett. You leave Jed Clampett alone. He was a man of great dignity, fabulous hair, and significant dancing ability who owned up to his poaching. And Granny cooked the varmints in a fine, upright away, unlike your "cooking wife" who must crouch in the basement, braising varmints under cover of darkness.
6) Do you own a gun or do you not own a gun? You can't be Charles Bronson and Nicey Non-Shooty Boy at the same time. Choose one. Stick with it. Thank you. BTW: Jed Clampett had a real nice gun that he carried around unless Granny stole it.
7) You have a lot of money. Will you please buy me a pony? Jed Clampett would have.

National Punctuation Day...

My blog writing lately is like what happens when an ellipsis is used at the end of a sentence (aka "a trailing off into silence...")... Traiiiiiliiiiing offfffff intooooo sileeeeence... That's me... What can I say... The ellipsis is one of my absolutely favorite punctuation marks...

I think I'll try to make an ellipsis cake in honor of National Punctuation Day tomorrow... Aw, heck... Maybe I'll just go buy three cupcakes and line 'em up on a plate instead...

Here's some stuff you need to know...

This is the National Punctuation Day Meatloaf, which might resemble meatloaf, a question mark, or an intestine--I'm not sure which one it is, but I do like the idea of a Punctuation Day meatloaf and the woman looks very nice.Here's some advice if you have an addiction to using the ellipsis (not like me or anything...)...

And, here's a very neatly edited letter...

The Party Pooper

You will notice several things about "The Party Pooper."
1) I end this story in an unusual way. I still end all documents in this way, and I pretend that it is correct.
2) I had a very hard time drawing lines. I am not sure why we couldn't use lined paper, but we couldn't.
3) I was an ambitious writer vocabulary-wise, and if I was not sure how to spell a word I made it up. FYI: This is a good way to go. If you spell a word incorrectly, simply insist that you are correct. Because you say so.
4) I think you will find that this story has it all: intrigue...drama...seething rage, and, of course, Heather Dumbbell.

Adventures in Plumbing: Part II

The Background: Aunt's water heater died. Messily.

Act 1: The Plumber Won't Fix the Floor
Sparkle: "So, I think we should get a few estimates 'cause you didn't like that last plumber. Can you hang in there for that?"
Aunt: "Oh, sure. But, a plumber won't fix the floor, right?"
Sparkle: "No, I don't think many plumbers also fix the floor. We'll figure that out. Just get 'em to come by, I'll pay you back for the estimates, and let's find out what their prices are so we can compare them. Maybe they have someone they can recommend for the floor, but my friend says all we might have to do is put some plywood under there."
Aunt: "Oh, sure."

Later
Aunt: "Well, I called that plumber you gave me the number for. He said he won't fix the floor!"
Sparkle: "No, I don't think many plumbers will. How much will he charge for the water heater?"
Aunt: "I didn't ask him. He won't fix the floor!"
Sparkle: "No, most plumbers won't fix the floor."
Aunt: "He said that he won't fix the floor!"
Sparkle: "No, not the floor. You're worried about the floor, I know."
Aunt: "Yes! He won't fix the..."
Sparkle: "The floor."
Aunt: "The floor."
Sparkle: "The floor."
Aunt: "Floor."
Sparkle: "Floor. Not gonna fix it."
Aunt: "Right."
Note: I am NOT making fun of my aunt. She's a very smart cookie. This is just a situation that few of us cope well with--myself included--and the floor was a big mess.

Act 2: The Plumberman
Sparkle: "GREAT! So, the Plumberman guy came by and gave you the estimate?"
Aunt: "He's here right now."
Sparkle: "Oh! Okay. So what does Plumberman have to say for himself?"
Aunt: "He'll charge XX for this, XX for that, XX for the other, XX for YY, $200 for this, and he'll fix the floor for $105.57, but we'll have to buy the plywood."
Sparkle: "The floor."
Aunt: "Right, the floor."
Sparkle: "Will he put a drip pan in?"
Aunt (asks Pman, comes back): "He will put a drip pan in for $350 extra."
Sparkle: "Okaaay. So far he's charging us too much for some things, I'm surprised he didn't mention the drip pan right away and I think that's too high, and, $105.57 does not seem right."
Aunt (to Pman): "It will really cost $105.57 for the floor and $350 for the drip pan? Oh, it will?"
Sparkle: "Thank him for his time and say you'll be back in touch."
Aunt (to Pman): "Well, I guess I'll be back in touch with you--Oh."
Sparkle: "What?"
Aunt: "He's saying if I sign the contract, he could do it right now, but we'd have to give him a downpayment right now. And he might not have any other time this week or next week."
Sparkle: "Thank him for his time and send him on his way."
Aunt (to Pman): "What's that? Oh. "
Sparkle: "What?"
Aunt: "He's saying he'll throw in the floor and the drip pan for free, but some other costs might come up along the way."
Sparkle: "All of a sudden, the drip pan and the floor are free but some other costs might come up along they way? And the drip pan and the floor cost $455.57 two seconds ago?"
Aunt (in dry, skeptical tone): "Mm-hmm."
Sparkle: "Get that guy OUT of there."
Aunt: "Mm-hmm."

Act 3: The Plumberman Clan
Aunt: "You'll never guess who I just heard from!"
Sparkle: "Wow, who?"
Aunt: "Well, I'm not positive. When I first answered the phone, he said he was the Plumberman's father. But when I asked him who he was again, he said he was 'like a father' to the Plumberman."
Sparkle: "WHAT? What did he want?"
Aunt: "Well, he said the Plumberman told him about the work I need to have done and he said he'd do it for $500 less, including the floor and the drip pan."
Sparkle: "What?"
Aunt: "He talked almost as fast as the Plumberman, so they really might be related."
Sparkle: "Who does he work for?"
Aunt: "I'm not sure. He said 'Clear Answers to Water something something' the first time and 'Waterclear Answers something something' the second time. I wrote it down."
Sparkle: "This smells like bad fish."
Aunt: "Yes, doesn't it? He said he'd fix the floor for free."
Sparkle: "I don't have a good feeling about this one."
Aunt: "No. Me, too. I told him I'd give him a call back after the other guy comes. I don't think I will."
Sparkle: "No. I wouldn't."
Aunt: "I guess he said he'd fix the floor, 'though."
Sparkle: "Yep."

To sum up: There's a lot of gators in the plumbing business--as if you didn't know that already--and she now has hot water again. And the floor? It didn't need to be fixed.

Gas Man! Gas Man! Gaaaaas Man!

Dear FerrellGasTM,

I know that I have an especially juvenile mind. Granted. But, do you know that having a superhero who looks like he is cutting the cheese (Gas Man) as your corporate mascot is just dang funny?

No? It's just me? Okay. I accept that. But, let others judge for themselves.

Have a Super Great Gassy Day!

Love,
Sparkle

Adventures in Plumbing...and Research: Part 1

Right now, I'm doing a lot of research for my aunt and my friend. The research for my aunt involves water heaters and plumbers--I will be the out-of-state investor in her new water heater. The research for my friend involves doctors.

Yesterday, I spoke with my aunt 250 times by phone and my friend 75 times. That was cool, I love my aunt and my friend. But, I did find that I was getting confused. Occasionally, I found myself typing up notes that looked like this:

"30 gallons ONLY they'll be ripping you off if they try to sell you residency at University of California Davis, ranked 14th in nation."

I believe I have some rich blogging material in my plumbing conversations with my aunt. We'll see whether that's true when I write it up as Part 2 of this post.

I won't be bloogingTM(Bacon Ace) about the specifics of the doctor conversations, but I must say I know more about these docs than their mothers do. And, I'm kinda drawn to ranking them in odd and rather useless ways:

1) "I do not trust this surgeon's eyes. He looks like a Vegas blackjack dealer. Not a nice one who likes to talk."
2) "This guy seems awesome! He and his wife have the cutest Web site about having their baby boy! Weird! The Web site address is the same as the nickname we used to use all the time!"
3) "Okay, this guy is younger than the others. But, maybe that's good? His hands might be steadier. He won't be as bitter. Also, he might not have that yucky god-dy attitude. In fact, he might be like that young doctor I saw last spring! The one who had mellow jazz playing as I entered the room and who sent me a thank you note after he examined me--which would have been creepy if it was something gynecological but it wasn't so it was nice instead!"
4) "I have a good feeling about this one for no particularly good reason."

Well, sure. In addition to these "intangibles" I've compiled info re: educational attainments, residencies, and middle school science projects. I know who was voted the best by his peers and who's involved in a workman's comp lawsuit. But, I think something even more comprehensive would help--like IMDB profiles for doctors that give their best jokes and quips, summarize their best moments in surgeries, and tell you about upcoming projects.

Anyhoo, please enjoy this gallery of plumbing imagery as a Coming Attraction. And, as a sidenote, let me tell you that in a Google image search of "plumber's crack" the picture below was really the only slightly funny picture I could find. Here's the thing: Accidental plumber's crack is funny. Intentional plumber's crack, "hot" plumber's crack (this becomes possible when the plumber is female or a chiseled male), and "baby" plumber's crack just ain't funny.

Endoscopy Scoopy

I accompanied a friend on her Adventure with Endoscopy today. As always, you can count on me to give you the scoopy.

1) Anything called a "procedure" is not fun.
2) If you find yourself waiting in a recovery ward, sitting on a chair, you will find that it is impossible not to invade people's privacy:
Sit. Sit. Wait for friend to wake up. What's that noise? NAW. Don't look over at that lady there, let's give her some privacy. No, let's look over here. CRAP. No. Abort mission. Let's NOT look at THAT guy. Eyes on floor. Eyes on floor. Gooood, goooood. Whoa...whoa...gurney about to roll over feet. Look up--augh! Same guy! Now on gurney! Evasive maneuvers! Evasive maneuvers! And, here we go...invading lady's privacy again. Okay. "Soiled Linen Closet." Let's just sit here and stare at the door of the "Soiled Linen Closet." Neutral. Non-invasive. And...
3) The term "Soiled Linen Closet" conjures very disturbing mental images. Just keep your eyes closed.
4) It is easier to find your way through hospitals when you are on drugs.
5) Sure--you can call the hospital cafeteria a "bistro." Yet, that does not make it any less of a hospital cafeteria. Let's just call the whole damn hospital a "Procedure Bistro."
6) Dear Hospital Supervisors: Why do you always pick the person who has the most trouble pronouncing names to go and collect people from a waiting room? Do you sit in your special VIP area of the "bistro" and watch the hilarity ensue?
7) Signs that say I can't eat, drink, or talk on the phone make me want to eat, drink, talk on the phone, and smoke--even though I don't smoke.
8) When you have to go to a special phone and push a special button to "confirm your information" and answer endless questions posed by a disembodied voice of authority, it kind of makes it perfect when the button you have to push is covered in red tape. Reeeed taaaaape.
9) Having Martha Stewart cooking holiday pies on the television in the middle of a roomful of people who have been denied food and water is kinda cruel.

Oh, Man. My Stomach Still Hurts.

Tonight, I decided to take Lily for a bonus walk--just a little leg stretch and sniff around before we were in for the night. We scooted along happily down the street, and then we turned around and started to scoot back up the street towards home. And then, we saw them. We were right across the street from them at the same minute we saw them. Two very large American pit bull terriers--they were big and muscly...they might have been a mix, I guess--crouched down next to the garbage cans and recycling bins at the end of a driveway with a very large and very dark house. Watching us. Kinda crouched down, and swaying back and forth a little, and watching us.

Oh, shit. In the back of my mind I thought, "Oh god, I hope there's an invisible fence that I never noticed there." See? The flaws in my panicked thinking are evident now--I would be unlikely to notice an invisible fence. But, I had never even seen DOGS anywhere around that house before, so I was kinda stunned. Period.

And then the two very large American pit bull terriers started trotting across the street towards us because we were keepin' on truckin', if you know what I mean.

Double oh, shit.

See, there were two of them. One of them off a leash would not have filled me with joy. But, there were two of them off leashes with no humans zero humans except me in sight at the time and a big dark house behind them. And: I knew I was NOT supposed to be scared because dogs smell fear. And I also thought, "Geez, these dogs are probably nice friendly dogs with people, but I'm not sure how they're gonna be with another dog and particularly with Lily."

And, here's the little problem: Lily is not immediately overjoyed to meet another dog. She WANTS to meet other dogs, she YEARNS to meet other dogs, once she has met another dog for the first time, it's cool. But, something--probably getting beaten up and almost killed by other dogs when she roamed the streets of Mexico--gets in the way of her being immediately friendly on a first meeting with another dog. Lots of stuff helps--if the other dog is with a friendly human, the dog is immediately okay with Lily because she immediately loves all humans. If the dog is on its own, she can act kind of pathetically aggressive in a "small man syndrome" kind of way. And, she acts kind of aggressive while kind of hiding behind my skirts. I like to give her a pep talk with a lot of "Here's a friend" when she meets another dog. And, I like to stay calm. And I was finding it hard to use either strategy tonight.

Shit. I was scared. And, I hated myself for being scared and for not immediately knowing what to do. There are no houses on the side of the street where I was. There were no houses with lights on close by. Stuff started happening really fast.

The two dogs ran over and Lily made a small growling noise that was kind of like, "Urrr, you're a little close." And one of them whipped its head around. And, I found my deepest, loudest voice and I said, "NO. Go on home now. GO HOME. That's right. GO HOME." And, one of them walked 10 steps away and was heading across the street. And one of them started to circle behind me. And Lily sat down with her tail between her legs and her head down, pushing really hard behind my knees and trying to hide which would have made me horribly sad if I'd had time to look at her much. And then the other dog started to come back.

Headlights started coming towards us all--it was dusk, almost dark. And both of the big dogs walked into the middle of the street and stood there, staring at the oncoming car. And, I picked up Lily and I walked into the road because I didn't want the dogs to get hit and I held up my hand and pointed at the dogs in the road. And, the driver slowed to a crawl and crept past the dogs, waving gratefully at me. And suddenly I thought, "What the EFF am I doing saving the dogs? I mean, that's good, but WE need saving." By that time, the car was down the road and the dogs were coming back to us.

A truck started to come and this time, I was just effin' lucky. I was gonna stop it and ask for help (no matter how feeble that made me feel), but it stopped. It stopped, the guy got out, one dog ran away, one dog stayed in the road, and the guy said, "Holy shit. It's the dog. It's okay. It's okay. Oh, god. How did he get out?" And I think I said,"Peep." And he said, "Okay, you guys just go on home, and I'll take care of Blood-Letter" (not dog's real name...it was probably Cuddles...memory is dim and blurred). And I said, "There are two." And he said, "Oh. Izzy's out, too?" And I said, "Glarp." So, he said, "Just walk on home and I'll take care of these guys."

I started walking home, carrying Lily, and Blood-Letter (Cuddles) started following me. And, the guy called out to Blood-Letter, "Yo! Blood-Letter! Come here!" and Blood-Letter kept following me. So, the guy said, "Yo! Why don't you carry your dog toward the truck? I think Blood-Letter will follow you." So, kinda like a robot I turned around and walked back to the truck carrying Lily. And, Blood-Letter followed me. And the guy said, "Get in Blood-Letter!" And Blood-Letter did not get in the truck. So the guy said, "Why don't you and your dog get in the truck and I'll drive you home?" And I said, "Thanks" and I vaulted up into the truck, still carrying Lily.

And he said: "They don't live here. They're visiting. I don't know how they got out. This sucks. I don't have my cell phone or anything."

And I said: "Uh-huh. I live right here."

And he said: "My name is X and my girlfriend's name is X we live back there."

And I said: "Thanks for the ride. Nice to meet you. I hope the dogs are okay." And Lily seemed to be kind of glued to the seat and not thrilled about exiting the vehicle, so I leaned over and carefully scooped her up.

I feel kind of ratty that I got scared. I don't think they were evil killer dogs--if they were evil killer dogs, I wouldn't be writing this post. I'd be in the emergency room. Lily would be at the vets. But they were big, and they were together, and they were loose. And...there are dominance issues with loose dogs without their humans around. And...there was the moment that Lily went "Urrr..." and the moment that one of them snapped his head around, and the moment that Lily crushed up against the back of my legs, and the moment that one started going away and the other started circling back behind me.

I'll be over this soon. I'm kind of hoping I'll be better prepared next time, 'though. Any suggestions if this exact situation repeats itself?

To sum up: Sometimes I wish I was bigger.