Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Sacks of Coal

 December 24 2011


They say, if you mis-behave, you will get coal in your stocking.  What have we done this year?  

Here is a preview of what the Republicants are getting tomorrow.

  





 Here's a picture of Krampus, the Northern European companion of St. Nicholas, who deals out the punishments that St. Nicholas is too kind and gentle to inflict.  Think of it as the Obama Administration and the British Petroleum managers.  
 Still missing the ecosystems down here in Louisiana, whatever they say.

Merry Christmas to all the really sweet OS writers!  I've had a wonderful time this year getting to know you.





JANUARY 8, 2011 7:50AM

Turning 39--Again

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I don't know when I decided to stay 39 forever.  I think it was in this century.  
Jack Benny and Smothers Brothers TV stars with ties on
 Childhood memory:  My mother was SO MAD when I looked at her driver's license and tried to add up the years.  I was bad at math, so I was about 10 years off.
 I used to ask my mother about life in the Civil War.  Now my kids ask me.  Used to.  I hope that the gypsies are treating them well.
 Everytime I say it's too hot in here, someone looks at me like I'm Menopausal Mary.  But really, sometimes it IS too hot.
50th birthday cake Over the Hill Phil
 As I was saying,  oh, yeah, what was I saying????   What was I doing????  What was it needed to buy at the store???  Who was I supposed to call today????  My brain exists on my work Outlook calendar, task list, and my memory consists entirely of saved e-mails.
It's still 1997 isn't it?  And I really don't need to know what an RSS feed is, or wear jeggings.  I can keep my phone that isn't as smart as I am.  
And reading glasses are really really cool!    
OVer the Hill 40th ?!!!Why I stopped at 39


 5.  A secretary to mastermind your heroic efforts. 

 Cameron Diaz, who is described as “hot” in one minute and castigated for being ancient in the next.  Our hero is  stunned to learn that she is 36.  Of course, she can operate a flash-drive, which is more than the superhero can do. 
Where do you get a sushi-shaped flash drive?  This ever so literal plot device is tossed by a fireman after finding it IN THE MOUTH OF THE DEAD VILLAIN!  
Because in this movie, you can't GET A CLUE!






 6.  A sidekick, I almost forgot!

A scientific genius/mechanical genius/medical genius/martial arts master who was working for the old man as his mechanic.  “He really liked the work I did on that car,” he says.  And apparently was willing to pay for a foundry, a chemical plant, weapons research, and a custom tire manufacturing plant in the garage.  Like I said, it makes Bruce Wayne’s garage look ill.  And his bat-cave, too. 
After all, Kato can design a gun that delivers a blast of sleeping gas in a pellet in a few days.  Or make three weaponized 1960s luxury cars in a week and a half.  Or design the most over-powered espresso machine on the planet.  
Kato's own martial arts skills are based on 1) a tough childhood as an orphan in Shanghai, 2) watching Bruce Lee movies (one drawing of Bruce in his notebook), 3) practice on a few pieces of leftover kung-fu movie props.  But this makes sense, because when eKato is  excited, he can see in infra-red and move in ultra-violet to soundlessly kick, chop, and toss bad guys who then . . .  disappear.   
Kato's  skills are so awesome that his boss can pick them up by association.  He doesn’t need to get into shape, or practice, or even watch a Bruce Lee movie.  When Kato is about to be de-capitated, this sidekick can rely on him to attack about ten bad guys who are nowhere near where the Big Bad Guy (cause he’s Russian) is about to chop Kato's head off while he's trapped under a heavy piece of debris.  
And Kato can come up with superhero costumes.  A chauffeur’s suit for himself.  Which was an image from the 1920s that just lives on in what popular culture on what planet?   But Kato's boss finds that a green tie and a fedora works for him.  

7.   Conflict. 

Not with the super villain, who has taken over all crime in Los Angeles but needs charisma, but with your side-kick.  
When Green Hornet and Kato finally start fighting, it's over the girl that they both have agreed is smarter than they are, even though she majored in journalism and didn’t have a job, while Kato has mastered physics, chemistry, metallurgy, weaponry, black-smithing, computer-aided design, mechanics, martial arts, and engineering.  Then we get to see the out-of-shape Green Hornet knock Kato over a few times with his own expensive stuff.  And Kato manages to kick, chop, and toss the Green Hornet without giving him a black eye, bruise, or a nose-bleed.  How cool is that??

 8.  Good old-fashioned bigotry. 

The  Green Hornet can say whatever racist, sexist, piggy, stupid, ignorant thing he wants to—because there is someone onscreen to make a face.  Oh, eventually they say something, but they are so charmed by his __________, that they first join forces with him.  Then they tell him off. 
 Christ, please spare us any more of these morally ambiguous superheroes.
I hope that Jay Chou, who played Kato, goes on to a long, prosperous career in Hollywood.  He’s got the chops for a musical martial arts hero and the looks for any romantic lead.  He even might have been able to handle some jokes if the screenwriters had bothered to give him any traces of irony.
If you want a movie about a morally ambiguous superhero, try Hancock with Will Smith.
I’m busy trying to scrub the green out of my eyes.









This movie makes no sense at all.  I guess that if you drink a lot, sleep around, destroy property, and piss off your really really rich dad, one day you too, can turn into a super-hero.  All it takes is:

1.  Coffee. 

Yes.   Even superheroes need to wake up and a cappuccino with a leaf shape in the frothy milk is essential.   Drink it out of gold encrusted bone china, because that’s good.
 If I were Starbucks, I’d be soooo pissed at not getting a product placement.


2.  A newspaper. 

Yes, most of us would settle for a popular blog, but if you can have a huge printing press to wreck, that’s good.  Also, if you have a newspaper, you can publicize your deeds, like those bad ones you do to get people to leave you free to commit your good deeds or oh, somehow this made sense . . . . no it didn't.

 3.  A statue of your father. 

Yep, while some families are content to order a headstone with the deceased mother’s name on it ready for the father’s information to come, these people erect a 25% bigger than life-size bronze statue for the grave.  And unveil it at the funeral.  Because a superhero kid doesn’t need to plan his dad’s funeral and the “people” who ordered the statue don’t want to put it in a public place or in front of the newspaper building or anywhere but the gravesite.
 Can you get a large bronze statue done in a weekend?

 4.  A mansion. 

It’s important that you sleep in the pool house of the mansion because then you don’t seem to be the spoiled son.  Just the only son.  Also, you can fire all the staff, but one maid who apparently stays on out of affection.  No security. You have that gate out front.  And everyone knows that rich people’s stuff dusts itself.
 In the beginning, we understand that the kid is rich and Dad, mean old Dad, owns a newspaper.  Then we start seeing the house.  Since most newspapers have cut back or folded completely in the last ten years, how does Dad make the newspaper support the mansion of a third-world dictator?  The Olympic size pool, the 3,000 square foot garage with at least ten classic sports cars.  It made Bruce Wayne’s garage look small 
Of course the rose garden looked pretty tiny compared to the house, but all it took was one bee-sting to knock off Dad. 






A case of Blogger's Block



Yes, I’m back and it was not a flounce.  Are you all still here?  I am, barely.               
 What can I blame the silence on?   Work.  Oh, yeah, lots of work.  Lots and lots of work.  I over-filled my e-mail box and was receiving daily warnings:  Your mailbox is too full.  Delivered by e-mail.  How exactly was that supposed to help the too-full thing???              
  I fixed my house.  For a few years, I had a hole in my house.  Not a door or a window, but a hole in a wall.  Clean your gutters!   By failing to clean my gutters, they filled up (the closest tree is 100 yards away).  Then the joins rusted.  Then the water started hitting the wall of my house (in 1994).   Somehow, stupidly, I grew attached to the first hole.  I covered it with paper and my son, with great disgust, called it “the most ghetto thing I have ever seen in my life.”                 


Well, give me a challenge!               
 The second hole was over the window and it was scarier.  We have these little storms down here, called hurricanes.  Luckily we haven’t had one for a few years, but this year, we might.  A hurricane 1 is not too bad for most people here—awful if you like your trees or live near power lines or have a lightweight house.  I was worried that having a hole in my house would invite more rain than usual into the house during a hurricane.               
 I finally fixed it.  The construction crew was impressed by the dead tree in my front yard that is feeding a large colony of . . . termites.  The pier that holds up the west wall of the house had been eaten by termites.  But that was long ago.  Strangely, when I bought the house and had it tented and had termite people coming to inspect, no one noticed that damage . . . So I had that pier replaced and while they were working on that, they met the live termites eating my house in another spot.               
 That’s when I found out that my husband had failed to keep our termite contract up . . .                
 After being married all these years, we tend to not argue about stuff like that.  Because he could bring up the tax letters I ignored for a while. . .                 Live and let live.                
The termites will die.  I promise you that.               
 In between all this and that, my poor mother died.  She has been in a home in a locked ward for a few years because her alzheimers/senility/dementia had gotten worse and she had entered the paranoid stage.  She believed that all the bad guys she had seen on tv were coming to get her.  And that she was witnessing terrible things.  With a heavy dose of anti-psychotics, she could remain calm.                
At one point, the dosage was reduced and my sister, who was visiting her and taking care of the practical side of life for her, could have a conversation with her again.  But my mother began to be agitated and violent again, so her medication was restored to calm her.  For my sister, that was losing her again.               
 My father was living alone in their house and feeding himself.  As my mother had gradually lost her daily routine, he had developed a number of theories about food and nutrition and was feeding himself according to them.  The cans of spinach the man has downed in the last five years is awesome.  Popeye must be running low.               
 My mother died of a bad cold or the flu.  She was having trouble breathing and nothing was making her better, only more comfortable.  The doctors told my sister to call the hospice workers.  My sister called me.  Eventually, she resorted to sending me an e-mail at work.  Like I said, I had lots of work.               
 I spent a day arranging things like airfare and had a call that night from my sister.  My mother was sinking fast and I could talk to her on the phone.  My sister would hold the phone by her ear.  We don’t know how much she heard or understood.  My sister asked me if she should call me whenever Mom went, and we decided that I needed to sleep before the trip.  I was barely able to pack as it was.                
Around nine o’clock I felt like someone had come in the room.  It was no one.  In the morning, my sister called and we had both felt something, someone.                
Bye, Mom.  At the funeral, my father stood up to say to the assembled crowd, "How do you stay married for 64 years?"  He answered, "Live and let live."             
 It’s been several weeks.  I keep busy.  There is always work.  

He's not a Myth, He's my Father

JUNE 18, 2011 8:04PM

He's not a myth, he's my father

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1)       When he was a baby, his mother called him Rastus.
2)       He was interested in hydroponics in the 1940s and grew pair of cottonwoods that started in water.
3)       According to my mother, he didn’t do very well in the Army.  Something about Chain of Command.
4)      He fell in love with my mother when he first saw her.
5)      He thought of her as a “phantom of delight.”
     6 )  He played piano.  He just didn’t’ play for a long, long time.  And then he stopped again.

7)      He is fascinated by i-pads.  
8)      He eats a lot of spinach out of the can.
9)      He spent years doing family history in the early 1970s.  We’re related to a lot of people.
10)   He was the leader on a locally famous Boy Scout camp-out, which featured camping in the snow.
11)   When he was small, his teacher got fed up with him—she kicked him into a higher grade.
12)   He made my mother furious at least three times a week for 64 years.
13)   When he was in college, he studied while eating chocolate covered peanuts and drinking coffee.
14)    People adore him.
15)   Women spoil him rotten with candy and cake.
16)   He was a Phi Beta Kappa.  
17)   My mother  told me  that she heard him curse only  once—when they were driving on the highway and an ambulance passed them and honked at him (for not stopping?).  
18)   He taught  Sunday  School—well, he and the kids debated God’s character on Sunday mornings.  
19)   He hates hearing aids.
20)   When he and my mother went to the Montreal World’s Fair, he was able to speak French.
21)   He cannot sing.
22)   When he turned 45, he finally got the glasses that he had been avoiding for nearly 20 years.
23)   He was happy to pay for my sister’s house to be painted, but won’t pay for the crumpled fender  on her car that he made with his car or the broken lens on his own car.
24)   He occasionally watches tv.
25)   He is just as happy to watch tv with the sound off.
26)   He loves chocolate pie.
27)   Vitalis.
28)   He is generous—with money—with time—with patience.

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Too old for Apple?

 eve tree


I'm sympathetic.  Apparently the garden of eden had wifi.
Apple has been around most of my life.  Not all of my life.
The odd little boxes were beginning to be used by schools and the odd teacher when I was in college. 
"What can it do?" I would ask, politely.
"Not much, but it's wonderful," would be the answer.
Last month,  I replaced my Razr with an i-phone.  
To date:
I have placed several calls on it.
I made a favorites list.  Verizon transfers the contacts from phone to phone for me, which is why I have phone numbers for people I don't remember knowing.
I watched several Youtube videos of pandas sneezing.
I attempted to log in as an i-Tunes person, but was defeated byy apparent inability to type my user ID and password correctly.
I used the compass to find my way around my office.
I took a photo of my office.
I asked the Audubon Zoo program staff to come down to the Children's Room to see my "Bead Gator" which is how I collect Mardi Gras beads to re-cycle.  I had forgotten to do this the last time they came, and had regretted it sincerely for a year.  
They brought down the live baby gator and put it in the gator's mouth and the only camera we had handy was my I-phone.  I did not take the pictures.  I cannot figure out how to share the pictures, but I enjoy showing them to people on my i-phone.
I took a photo of my black long-haired cat, Gloomy Midnight, on the phone and made it my wallpaper.
I listened to some voice-mail.
I have re-charged it twice.  
I set my ringtone. 
My father, a generous man, recently gave me money to buy an I-pad.  
Yesterday I bought the i-pad.   Does this thing make phone calls?
"What does it do?" my teenage son asked.
"Not much," I answered.  

There's some old cliche about the poor workman blames his tools. . .