Not Winter

As I stepped out of the air-conditioned restaurant yesterday, into the heat and humidity, my sunglasses fogged up.  It must have happened to me when I lived in the Noog, or especially back during my sentence in Alabama, but I don't recall.  I was tickled to have it happen -- and very glad that it wasn't the way my glasses usually fog up, in the winter!

Life is Not a Bed of Roses

I don't care for roses anyway.  They stink, and they have thorns.  My flowerpot Impatiens, though, are doing quite well, thank you.  (Actually, the white in the middle is a Begonia.  All the colors are Impatiens.)  Here's a top view of just one of my pots.

Like a New Jacket

It turns out that our buildings aren't being repainted.  A company is coming in and installing new siding right on top of the old.  They're starting with the gable ends of the buildings (see picture), which will go quickly.  When it comes to the long sides, with all the windows and corners and mailboxes, I expect to hear sawing and hammering for months to come.  Still, I won't have to look at that crimson building for much longer.

Is One Twin a "Geminus"?

We all know that the plural of "index" is "indices".  (We all know it, but not all of us says it.)  I walked through a section of my neighborhood this morning, instead of passing by, as usual.  It's a cul-de-sac street made up of double houses.  If the singular is "duplex", should the plural be "duplices"?  If you live in one, are you being duplicitous?

Of course, I am not the first person to play with English-language words.  I must bow my head to Pete Seeger and George Carlin, among others.






It's not all fun and games, though.  I take exception to this sentence from Steeped in Evil by Laura Childs.  "There was, quite literally, a sea of well-dressed women who, by some mysterious circumstance, all seemed to know one another."  Nowadays, if someone says "literally", they're almost certainly using it wrong.  Are the women all wet?  Are they melting?  Are they (literally) "sloshed"?  Both the author and the editor should be slapped for that one.

What exactly would be a "sea" of women:  Charleston harbor during the first part of an all-female triathlon?

...And -- Gosh Darn It! -- People Like Me.

One of my employees retired today.  I've known him barely over a year.  Still, he pulled me aside last week to say goodbye, and he choked up as tears came to his eyes.  It happened again today, after his reception at work.  I am honored yet humbled that someone I barely know respects me and feels that strongly for me.  It's time for me to minimize the s*it that other people think or say about me.  I'm doing well, doing right, and doing good.

Free Sugar, not Sugar-Free

When I finish a meal at most casual restaurants I have visited here in Tulsa, the waiter/waitress asks if I would like a soda refill to go.  I've not encountered this before.  Is it limited to this city, or do restaurants elsewhere offer them?

ABBA Spelled Backwards Is ABBA.

One of the problems with being me is that I laugh at things no one else finds amusing.  A case in point is a news report I heard on the radio today.  The reporter in Iraq was offered some mango juice by the interview subject.  I guffawed.  "Why?" you ask.  Ah, can you have forgotten this classic?

Kon Ducki 1-2 by blue-peregrine


The next part has a couple of follow-ups, which turn it into a running gag.

Kon Ducki 2-2 by blue-peregrine


"Kon Ducki" also is the source of one of my oft-repeated quotes (I have used it several times at work, just in the year since I moved to Tulsa), "Nothing easy is ever simple."  Hmm, I wonder if they have the Baby Plucky episodes, too...

It's a "flower bed", of course!

My boss ordered twice as many annuals as we needed.  Now the flowers are riding around the city in the back of my pickup truck, until I find places that can take the excess off my hands.

The Humble Abode

That sounds like a good title for a book, right?  Now I just need to think of something to write which fits it.

My apartment recently started replacing rotten woodwork around the complex.  They intend to paint all the buildings after that.  I might live in one of the less expensive complexes in Tulsa, but it's certainly not the cheapest.  The care which the owner and managers give our homes is a fantastic deal for us residents.  Here's a picture of the outside of my patio.

Alas, I have no input on the paint color.  I like the gray.  I planned my flower scheme around the gray.  The new color (of all the buildings) will be "wicker".  Beige is so blah (says the guy who likes gray) -- but at least I won't have to see a crimson building outside my windows any more.

Wrap up Your Love

On my walk back from the library this morning, I saw a small, flattened box along the curb.  It had originally held a "glass encased rose".

It couldn't have been much of a symbol of love.  It was less than six inches long.  You do know how to measure six inches without a ruler, don't you?  You simply put your hand into your pants and pull out... a dollar bill.

That might not be suitable for everyone, though.  Many people use debit cards instead of cash.  I'm sure there are women all over America who say, "I prefer plastic."

It's not the Humidity; It's the Heat.

My front door sticks and is tough to open in the summertime.  It definitely doesn't happen in the winter.  (I think it happens only above 70 degrees F.)  If the weather is rainy and cool, it doesn't stick.  If the weather is hot and dry, it does.  I can't just ask the handyman to plane the edge of the door.  I learned after trying to drive a screw into the door last year that it is a metal door, not a wooden one.  I'll just keep shoving the door to open it from the outside.  (It's a little tougher from the inside.  I feel as if I'm going to yank off the doorknob.)

Abandon Ship!

A new business has opened between my apartment and the library.  It is called "First Mate Financial Advisor".

Is that "mate" as in "spouse"?  Is that "first mate" like, "I'm going to take you for everything you own," as in "ex-wife"?  :)

A Tough Act to Follow

Today is Father's Day.  Big whoop.  I won't rant, though, because, as I recently told a friend, I've lost the bitterness since my dad died, and I now can wish others, "Happy Father's Day," without spitting.

He left big (metaphorical) shoes to fill, but, no, the act I'll have trouble keeping up with is my own.  I recently thanked an employee who stayed late to finish a little extra work.  He replied, "You know that I will do it only for you because you respect me!"

How the heck am I supposed to live up to that?

Don't Kill the Messenger

Very rarely do I come across a pun so painfully groanworthy that I can't help but share it.  This one is from "Rumpole and the Family Pride" in Rumpole on Trial by John Mortimer.

I didn't get any more from my client, and he drove me back to the castle, promising a treat for the afternoon:  a dog show, bowling for a pig, a tombola, and other delights in the castle grounds.  It sounded like a fete worse than death, a comment I kept to myself.

You May Already Be a Loser!

I receive (nearly daily) e-mails from a well-known sweepstakes organization.  (I'm not telling you the name because I don't want your competition.)  They are very careful about not saying that one has won anything, but they inflate their language to make entrants more enthusiastic about their miniscule chances.

Here's an example from a recent e-mail.  They proudly announced that "over $388,263.09" was awarded to "over 1,055 people" in Oklahoma.  In other words, $388,263.10 and 1,056.  I was curious, so I did the math.  If every one of those people were given the same amount, they would have received $367.67 each (including rounding).

Big, fat, hairy deal.

Hey, Revolving Doors *Are* Tricky!

I just finished a novel set in the 1920's (almost exactly 90 years ago), and one of the characters lamented "modern" technology.  It brought to mind how I feel like an old curmudgeon, and how apt it is for me to feel that way on my 43rd birthday.  Then it brought to mind one of the books I bought yesterday:  The Portable Curmudgeon.  After I read it, I'm going to give it to a friend who, during a recent visit, told me that people have been calling him an old curmudgeon lately, and he's a year younger than I am.  (Maybe there's something going around.  Oh, yeah.  It's called "age".)

Among his weaknesses, he always had trouble with mechanical things.  They were somehow out to get him, he had decided after many bad experiences.  Even the simplest of devices -- a footlocker, an egg timer, a revolving door -- gave him fits on a daily basis.  But more complicated mechanical contraptions -- a typewriter, a radio, an elevator, the crank starter of an automobile -- were positively seeking his destruction.  (from You Might as Well Die by J. J. Murphy)

But What I Really Need Is an Egg Slicer

Today is the day before my birthday.  I've already started using my e-coupons for free meals.  My entrees at breakfast and lunch today were comped, and I'll do the same tomorrow.

I did a little shopping today.  It wasn't for birthday gifts for myself, but it turned out that way.  I meant to buy six polo shirts to wear at work (one to replace a "dead" one and five to make another week).  I achieved that goal at my first stop (the Animal Aid Thrift Store), and I had plenty of cash in my pocket, so I allowed myself to look around at other items.  I resisted the lighthouses, lighthouse picture, and sailboat pictures because I have no more room to display any of them in my bathroom.  I found just two owl items (a figurine and a faded candle).  Then I looked at the books.  (Oops.)  I bought one gardening book and six mysteries.  I also found a set of six, simple, stainless steel napkin rings.  (At least the most expensive item was just three bucks.)

The friend who accompanied me loves thrift stores, garage sales, estate sales, and flea markets.  (He was quite put out that the weekly flea market at the fairgrounds wasn't open today.)  He directed me to a church rummage sale (nothing of interest) and one at the Cooperative Extension Service office.  (Jackpot!)  I walked out of there with six books (in my defense, three of them will be passed along to other readers, and the other three will remain on my shelves as reference books) and five, music CD's.  (At just a quarter apiece, I probably should've bought the entire box.)

All in all, I spent about 42 dollars, a startlingly appropriate amount for the last day I am 42 years old.  Plus, I contributed to two worthwhile causes:  the local, animal shelter and local Master Gardener program.  Birthday gifts for everybody!

Oh, yeah:  Yes, I will wash the shirts before wearing them.  At the very least, it'll remove all the hairs shed by the three, resident cats in the store.

Thanks, I Think.

I received a corporate birthday card in the mail.  The return address sticker is from Portland, OR.  Do I know anyone in Portland?  The card was signed by Ted and by Lisa F.  Do I know anyone named Ted or Lisa?

I wonder how many cards Ted and Lisa sign each month.  I wonder if they know even a quarter of the recipients.  Why not save the company postage and just send me a robo-generated e-card next year?

My Latest Experiment

A few weeks ago, I realized something.  I had determined that I prefer granola with raisins rather than plain granola (even though I don't like raisins), but the raisin granolas available in Tulsa groceries also contain a disturbing amount of cinnamon.  (Raisin-free granolas don't contain cinnamon.)  What I finally thought of was buying plain granola and a package of raisins then mixing them together, much as I do with making my own raspberry yogurt.  Then, I saw a bag of dried cranberries in the store, so I bought them instead of raisins.  Wouldn't you know that they didn't have granola in stock?  Well, after several weeks, I finally got granola and mixed in the dried cranberries.  The result:  nummy (and better than raisins)!