55 Fiction Friday! August 31, 2007

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday!
Quick explanation: 55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here..

If you'd like to play along, I tell you how at the end of this post.

Katia contributes a 55:
Untitled
Crawling out from the darkness, she suddenly saw clearly. Her throat, raw from the intense smoke, her head ringing from the wail of the sirens. Finally, her senses were strong enough to reach for something to knock down the source of the wailing that rang unmercifully. Her toast ruined, she sought a slice of cheese.


MrWurdi writes:
Traveling Blues

My wife hates rodents. Well, really any small animal of questionable origin.

If it doesn't go woof, meow, or moo she gets all skeeved.

I feel horrible; every time we turn around her hands go up and she's screaming. They are everywhere - no way I can protect her here.

But the kids really love Disney!


Here's my 55 for this week:
Rescue!
“Keep digging! We have to dig deeper!”

The urgency and concern were evident in the voices of the workers. They’d been working hard but time was running out.

“Please, hurry! I know we can save them.”

No one was sure exactly what it would take but the team was determined. They must save the boobies*.



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Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
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*This year will be my third year participating in this race. In the next few days, I'm going to be blogging about the most wonderful group of people and what's being done to find a cure for breast cancer.

Gifts From the Internet

I really am sincere about posting every day this week. Today was more difficult and I apologize if you've come here and been greeted with stale content.

There are so many gifts we get from the internet, internets, interweb, whatever: Google searches, SPAM, new blog friends, odd news stories, cool sites, etc.

I'd like to share with you a few of the Gifts from the Internet that I've received lately. First, a standard among bloggers - Google searches that lead to my blog:

GMILF - Dude. That's kind of sick. While I am a grandmother and I'm not exactly chopped liver the whole idea of a GMILF is kind of skeevy. Ew. I know, I know, I shouldn't be judgmental. After all, MrWurdi is a granddad and I'm not skeeved about him (STOP READING NOW, MrsStevens). In fact, I think MrWurdi is pretty damned hot. Really hot. He's way sexy.(YOU CAN READ AGAIN NOW, MrsStevens)

May You Have An Interesting Life - I did a blog post on that in January. Mostly, I was whining but I thought it had a good ending. Apparently, many people read something that made them Google that phrase. Hi, Interesting Life Seekers! Shit happens! It's okay. Good stuff happens, too. Don't dwell on the bad stuff.

Snuggle and Pain in the Ass Bitch Yeah? What? I can't be snuggly and bitchy? This one cracked me up. Apparently, the Google searcher was a complete and total masochist.


SPAM - Who the fuck is James Foster and why are people trying to send him email at my accounts?


Finally, one of my favorite gifts from the internet is finding people who inspire me and entertain me. I want to share these people with you. Eventually, I'll get around to updating my blog roll but, for now, let me just tell you about them.

Lindystars aka Danielle the Hor Blogger - You've heard me bitch about typos, words spelled incorrectly and horrific grammar. Lindy/Danielle, I don't care. I love your blog.

SGTRedline - I love your eclectic posting style. I never know what I'm going to see on your site and I absolutely love that. You play along with my 55 Fiction Friday and always inspire me to impress you. However, I must admit. I am an attention whore. The fact that you blogrolled me and called me "Linguistically Gifted" has garnered my undying blog devotion.

Finally, SanityOptional - I don't remember how I found you. Heck, you're not even here in the U.S. but I love your blog and I love the way you think. I hate that you have webdrama that makes you moderate your comments and I hope you get that job. Please, please, keep writing. You rock.

Final Episode: Bitching Until I'm Red, White and Blue in the Face (at least for now)

PART THREE – PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN

A few months ago, I read a Washington Post article from 1998 on “The Myth of the Melting Pot.” The author of part one, “One Nation, Indivisible?” William Booth, wrote:

…a Jew from England named Israel Zangwill penned a play whose story line has long been forgotten, but whose central theme has not. His production was entitled "The Melting Pot" and its message still holds a tremendous power on the national imagination – the promise that all immigrants can be transformed into Americans, a new alloy forged in a crucible of democracy, freedom and civic responsibility.

Is it possible? Can we, the legal citizens of the United States of America embrace being Americans? Can we stop identifying ourselves by the countries and loyalties of our ancestors? I want for us all to say, proudly, “I am an American! Period.”

In William Booth’s six part article, one of the things he wrote really disturbed me. He said:

Many immigrant parents say that while they want their children to advance economically in their new country, they do not want them to become "too American."

Am I the only person who sees a problem with this?

Booth went on to write:

One study of the children of immigrants, conducted six years ago among young Haitians, Cubans, West Indians, Mexican and Vietnamese in South Florida and Southern California, suggests the parents are not alone in their concerns.

Asked by researchers Alejandro Portes and Ruben Rumbauthow how they identified themselves, most chose categories of hyphenated Americans. Few choose ‘American’ as their identity.
Then there was this – asked if they believe the United States in the best country in the world, most of the youngsters answered: no.

William Branigan, who wrote part three, “Immigrants Shunning Idea of Assimilation,” in the “The Myth of the Melting Pot” series interviewed Maria Jacinto, who lives in Omaha with her husband and their five children. She speaks only Spanish and says, "When my skin turns white and my hair turns blonde, then I'll be an American."

Mrs. Jacinto, hair and skin color don’t make an American. Why did you become a citizen if you don’t want to be American? Are you simply entitled to live here and benefit from what other Americans have fought and died for all these years?

I’ve been very curious but not had the opportunity to ask: How do legal immigrants feel about illegal immigrants? Is it wonderful to welcome people who enjoy the same ancestry, food and music as their forefathers? Or are they disconcerted? Do they worry that the influx of illegal immigrants causes people to look at them with the suspicion that they, too, are illegal? Are illegal immigrants encouraged to seek legal citizenship?

I don’t have the answer to the question, “What is an American?” I don’t think there is an easy answer; however, I think the answer starts with citizenship. If you’re going to apply for and are granted citizenship, then you are an American. If you’re not interested in becoming an American or in being here legally (married to an American or in possession of a green card or as a visitor), please allow me to show you the door.

Our national motto is still E Pluribus Unum meaning, “From Many, One.”

This is the United States of America. Let’s unite in our pride in being American. We may not like everything about this country. There may be political strife and discord. We may want a revolution to start now, muthaf*****! (love you, Mags) The thing is, we’re in a country where we can fix it. We can talk about it. We can, if we like, vote.

How about it? Shall we all jump into Zangwill’s melting pot and become “a new alloy forged in a crucible of democracy, freedom and civic responsibility?”

I’m in.

More Bitching Until I'm Red, White, and Blue in the Face

PART TWO - WHAT DID YOU SAY?

In my last post, I suggested language as a way to maintain national identity in a society celebrating diversity. I’ve recently posted my disdain for SMS and other lazy language trends. Words and language matter. I love words, hence, my blog name. Until we learn to harness any potential psychic communication, language is the main way we interact with others.

The argument has been made that there’s not an official language of the United States. True. However, I think there should be an official language and it should be English.

Let me share a few random incidents with you.

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I have a friend, an attorney, who went to work for the prosecutor’s office in Houston. She was “strongly encouraged” to learn Spanish so she could do her job. In Houston. Houston, Texas. Houston, TX, USA.

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I read a story about how a group of people waiting to have their day in traffic court had waited almost all day for that moment. After lunch, the bailiff requested that all non-English speaking defendants come to the front to be processed first because the translator would be leaving early.

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Both of my children have worked at AutoZone. They were told that if they learned to speak Spanish, they’d earn an extra $2.00 an hour.

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Even South Park has weighed in on the language/immigrant debate with their episode titled, “Goobacks.” Episode 806 addresses how an influx of immigrants changes the town. I’ll link to a synopsis of the story later.

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In the mood for cheesesteak? At Geno’s Steaks in Philadelphia, the owner has posted a sign stating, "This Is AMERICA: WHEN ORDERING `SPEAK ENGLISH."'

The Fox News version of the story (from summer 2006) is here.
The MSNBC version is here.

Lawsuits have been threatened. Vento, the owner, has been accused of being a racist who doesn’t want “brown” people frequenting his place of business. Please, keep in mind that Vento’s grandparents struggled to learn English after arriving from Sicily in the 1920s. He understands discrimination and claims that’s not what he’s doing. He further said no customer had ever been turned away because of the policy and his employees are instructed to help those who don’t speak English learn to order their sandwich.

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As a final anecdote, let me tell you about Palmira. Palmira was born in Nicaragua. She was proud of her heritage and retained her Nicaraguan citizenship even after marrying a United States Marine and moving to the United States with him. She had children here, children who by right of birth were U.S. citizens yet Palmira remained Nicaraguan. For over twenty years, she reared her children to appreciate and live with American values while still appreciating the heritage that came from both of their parents. My friend, Katia (who blogs at My Nerdy Thoughts but not nearly enough), is Palmira’s daughter. Katia followed in her father’s footsteps and became a U.S. Marine much to the understandable pride of both her parents. Still, Palmira retained her Nicaraguan citizenship.

More than twenty years after Palmira came to the United States, the political climate in Nicaragua changed. Palmira was ready to embrace being an American and applied for citizenship. When the day came that Palmira would officially become an American and share citizenship with her neighbors and children and husband, her family accompanied her at the courthouse. Not allowed to witness the ceremony, they waited outside the door. Afterwards, Palmira exited to join her family. She was crying. Her family, knowing how important this was to her, at first assumed the tears were of joy at what she’d done. They were wrong. Palmira’s tears were not of joy. She was upset.

The officials had offered to let her give the oath in Spanish.



I don’t have a problem with people earning more money because they’re bi- or multi-lingual. That’s awesome and I would love to be fluent in more than one language. I don’t think it should ever be required that someone in the U.S. be required to learn another language just to do their job unless, of course, that job is as a translator.

The language thing really chaps my ass. When is it going to stop? Sure, language evolves and I love that it does. I like the fact that Spanish and Greek and Italian and Asian and words from so many other languages have become a part of the English language. I don’t want to see signs in the courthouse written in a variety of languages. I don’t want to drive down the road and not be able to tell by the street signs if I’m in Juarez or Kansas. I don’t want to press one to speak English. I don’t want tech support to get pissed if I ask them to repeat themselves (slowly, please) because I had trouble understanding they hadn’t quite mastered the accent or language. If someone is going to take the naturalization oath and become a U.S. citizen, they should do it in English.

Since the argument “there’s no official language” is still out there, here’s my rebuttal:

If you want to live in America and become a citizen and benefit from the rights and privileges granted by the United States Constitution and Bill of Rights, then learn to speak the language in which they were written.


If you can’t be bothered to learn to speak the language, perhaps you don’t wish to be an American after all. More on that tomorrow…


On a lighter note, I thought the following cartoon was funny.

Bitching Until I'm Red, White, and Blue in the Face

Back in January, I wrote a little piece called ¿Dónde está Miami? ~or~ Where is Miami?

I ranted about an American family who had to learn to speak Spanish to function in their new hometown of Miami. Since that time, I’ve realized a few things. I wasn’t clear enough about what I felt. By omitting some of my thoughts, I’ve potentially offended some people I didn’t mean to offend. Side note: Sometimes I do mean to offend. That wasn’t one of those times. Another possible problem with that incomplete blog post is that I may have given the impression that I condone racism. I don’t. I regret not making clear that I love people of all ethnic backgrounds. Over time, I regretted having not expounded upon my feelings about the whole situation. In the next few days, I’m going to attempt to remedy that.

PART ONE – MULTICULTURAL MELTDOWN

When I was a kid, I remember hearing America described as a melting pot. At the time, that sounded like a really cool thing. New arguments make me question what I once thought made the most sense. The old phrases are being jettisoned and new ones becoming darlings of the media. Multiculturalism and assimilation are the new buzzwords. There’s been a call to rename what we’re doing here a tossed salad with everyone retaining their original culture. Those who favor assimilation are accused of promoting a completely homogenous society with a loss of individualism. Those in favor of immigrants retaining their original cultural identity are criticized by others who say failing to integrate leads to separatism.

The tossed salad description doesn’t work for me. The carrot retains its unique carroteristics. Yes, I made up that word. The carrot doesn’t become a salad. The same goes for the cucumbers, croutons, and all the rest of the ingredients in the salad bowl. They don’t become salad, they remain separate. The problem with the salad analogy and multiculturalism as they’re being promoted is that they doesn’t simply celebrate diversity, but rather, they encourage it to the point of abandoning what it means to be part of a greater something. I’m going to get completely lost in the salad analogy if I’m not careful so I’m abandoning it. Plus, there’s that whole Urban Dictionary definition of tossed salad and I’m not going there.

I digress.

Are you an American or not?

If you were born here or you chose to become a citizen, then you’re an American. It seems rather simple to me. Unless you have dual citizenship, then you’re not a Korean-American, Mexican-American, African-American, or Whatever-American. One exception I can live with is First-Generation-American. If a person isn’t born here but chooses to legally come here from another country, I’m completely fine with that person having “first generation” status and receiving government funding for help in getting started here.

Am I suggesting that family history and culture be abandoned in favor of a homogenized society? Not at all. We need to show not just a tolerance for other cultures and histories but an embracing of them. Our tolerance needs to not be such that we lose our Americanism in the face of being tolerant. Why can’t our tolerance be that we welcome the different accents of people whose families haven’t been here for generations? For that matter, why can’t we be more tolerant of those people whose accents identify them as being from a different part of the U.S.?

I mentioned earlier that I’d worried about the possibility that I’d offended with my earlier post. Let me tell you a little story.

I have a very dear friend who watched intolerance firsthand. Her father came here legally, attended school, and earned a Master’s Degree. Even though his vocabulary and understanding of grammar were so much better than many people he encountered, his Spanish accent remained quite prominent. He was frequently and rudely told that he “needed to learn to speak English.” That makes me angry. I say celebrate the accents! Celebrate the food, the dress, the music.

Sit down to the new All-American dinner of Egg Foo Carne with Hush Matzos on the side. How about a nice Haggis* Schnitzel and Kotopoulo Scallopine? Top it all off with a big slice of apple pie. Put your iPod on International Shuffle and enjoy the sounds of the music of the world.

Our diversity is part of what makes this country so amazing. Celebrate that diversity! However, don’t stop celebrating being an American. How do we do that? How about national pride? How about language?

More on that next…



*Confession: the thought of haggis makes me more than a little gaggy but I was trying to make a point.

Haiked Up Recipe - Pear Clafoutis

A dear friend of mine challenged me to post a recipe – written in haiku form. Obviously, the recipe would have to be done in several parts. This is a recipe I’ve made several times and I’ve used different fruits in it. The photo and the recipe come from Jennifer Hamilton at The Domestic Goddess and are based on a May 1994 Bon Appetit recipe. I love her latest suggestion to do a brulee top and will probably try that next.





Pear Clafoutis
Nine inch pie plate sprayed
Oven at three-twenty-five
This starts clafoutis.

Four eggs will be joined
By a half cup of sugar
Eighth-teaspoon of salt.

After they’re blended
Whisk in one-third cup of flour
Isn’t this great fun?

Whisk a cup of milk,
Quarter-cup melted butter
Then, add the spices

Starting with extracts –
One teaspoon of vanilla
Half-teaspoon maple.

Cinnamon is next
Measure half of a teaspoon
Whisk all until smooth.

Peel and core three pears
Use large ones and slice thinly
Arrange in the plate.

Pour in the custard
Bake for fifty-five minutes
Or until it’s set

Powdered sugar tops
Maple syrup on the side
Tasty warm or cold


I admit – I thought about cheating on this one.
Gourmet Dinner
Haiku recipe?
That’s hard. I pick up the phone.
“Take your order, please?”

55 Fiction Friday! August 24, 2007

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday!
Quick explanation: 55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here..

If you'd like to play along, I tell you how at the end of this post.

Coming next week! A new post every day! No more stale content when you come visit. It might be crap but it will be fresh crap.


MrWurdi contributes his 55:

Freezing
The day was not bad, but as the sun goes down, the shivering begins.

She remembers warmth and safety, but that was before him. So many signs, how could she not see!

Teeth chattering, what torture awaits? So many came before this...

Shh! Here he comes....

"Honey, like a blanket?"... Living together, so many adjustments.


Here's my 55 for this week:

Windfall
Finally! Her financial difficulties were over. There would be no more worrying about mortgage payments and utility bills. Amelia couldn’t believe her good fortune. Those people who had laughed at her inability to finish college and her lack of common sense would be eating their words.

It was all thanks to that nice Nigerian lawyer.


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Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.

55 Fiction Friday! August 17, 2007

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday!
Quick explanation: 55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here.

Some great examples are here..

If you'd like to play along, I tell you how at the end of this post.


Normally, I'd do my regular attention-hooring and put mine up first. Today's not normal. First, I have a rare day off. The rare day off follows an absolutely insane week of work and play that left me no blogging time. Don't worry, I'm a retired/recovering Catholic; I'm doing penance my way. Since I seldom have the opportunity, I slept in and that means I'm getting the 55 Fiction Friday post up late.

So, what does that have to do with how I'd normally post the fiction? I've been scolded. I've been scolded in the most delightful way. A comment was left just this morning on last week's 55 Fiction Friday post. (Penance = public scolding.) I'm fairly certain penance isn't supposed to make you giggle but I didn't read that in the retired/recovering Catholic by-laws so I'm going to call it a loophole.

SGT writes:
Bored while waiting for a program to run this morning, I perused my favorite blogs. Sadly I could not find a link to Wurdy's blog.

I searched high and low. Finally I had found it via Lindy's post.

Sadly, she still had not updated with new content.

Shrugging, I posted appropriately to the stale content.



Here's my 55 for this week:

Untitled, please help
Red droplets fell from the knife. Marie’s hands, too, dripped crimson.
Memory flashed: firm flesh, blade slashing, again and again.

She’d started deliberately, each cut precisely placed.
By the time she finished, she’d become sloppy.
The knife work became reckless, hurried; hands aching from grasping the knife’s handle.

This would be the perfect cherry pie.



MrWurdi contributes his 55:

Morning Bliss
Pre-dawn, the morning after your brisk hike.
Now you’re snuggling in the soft grass of a mountain meadow.
Sunrise, quiet, every nerve’s alive.
Wind in the trees and a simple breeze on your body.
One finger lightly caressing that which sends her screaming into the day.

It has to be perfect.

One shot.

One kill.




Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.

55 Fiction Friday! August 10, 2007

It's time! It's time for 55 Fiction Friday!

Last week, I mentioned the 55 Fiction Friday I'd seen out there on the interwebs. Recap: The quick explanation is that a work of 55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here.

Some great examples are here..

If you'd like to play along, I tell you how at the end of this post.


Here's my 55 for this week:

Stranger and Stranger
Caitlin approached the register. The cashier rang up the items, completing the sale. Mistrusting her ears and thinking this place had odd customs, Caitlin repeated the cashier’s question.

“Do I wanna beg for these?”

Prepared to plead for her purchases, Caitlin didn’t realize the Wisconsin-born employee had actually asked, “Do you wanna bag for these?”



MrWurdi contributes his 55:

French Love
"Oui, run your hands across her back, eh? Feel ze delicate strength in... how
you say? Spine?"

"Caress ze curves and textures with ze finger tips. And ze... how you say? Mound? Eez puffy like silk, no?"

"Touch! Eez okay, no one sees."

"Come."

"Come, eez for you, yes?"

I decided to buy the loveseat.




Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.

I Have a Confession To Make

I have a completely raging blog-on for a certain fellow. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m quite happy with MrWurdi and the object of my blog desire appears to be very happily married to a wonderful woman. It’s not like that. It’s just that my creative bone gets more than a little firm when I read his posts.

His name is Johnny Virgil and he posts at 15 Minute Lunch.


What does he post about, you ask? Why, everything! He posts about neighbors, coworkers, friends, random drivers, and his brothers, The Snitch and Houdini. He posts about travel and food and almost killing people. It’s okay, the almost killing people stuff happened before he could be charged as an adult. I feel a little awkward telling you this (since I’m such a delicate and innocent gal) but he posts a lot about testicles. Retraction and removal of them seem to be hot topics but he certainly doesn’t limit himself.

I’ve, with permission, brought a little bit of Johnny to my blog. The following are snippets of his posts over time:

JV on Fellow Airline Passengers:
The BO hits me in the face like a Stinky Iron Fist. This was not just ordinary BO. This was, I am pretty sure, an actual sentient creature, separate from him, but in some sort of symbiotic relationship with his armpits. I base my sentience theory on the speed and accuracy with which it moved. The second he took off his coat, it immediately jumped off him, quickly surrounded my olfactory senses, and beat them into submission with an efficiency and purpose I’ve never seen in lower animals.

JV on Random People in the Office Bathroom:
He was diligently checking out his bare ass in the mirror, of course. What else would someone be doing in a bathroom at 6:45 in the morning?

JV on Dogs:
Me: Yeah, this was a husky/shepherd mix. cute little puppy. We named him Veal because he was in the cage all the time.

JV on Guppies:
"MOM! MOM! Come here! HURRY! THE MOTHER GUPPY IS HAVING BABIES! THERE'S HUNDREDS OF THEM! MOM! HURRY! OH CRIPES! OH, CRIPES THE FATHER GUPPY IS EATING THEM! THE FATHER GUPPY IS EATING THEM! NOW THE OTHER FISH ARE EATING THEM TOO! GET THE NET! OH JEEZ, NOW THE MOTHER IS EATING SOME! MAKE THEM STOP! MAKE THEM STOP! "

JV on Guppies + Electricity:
Every single one of my guppies instantly flipped over and floated to the top like cheerios in a bowl full of milk.

JV on Sky Diving:
Right at 5,000 feet, I grab the ripcord and yank it. About two seconds later, the chute pops, and my crotch goes from 120mph to 10mph in the space of a second. My shoulders get yanked backwards, and there’s something in my throat that I think I used to piss with.

JV on Fast Food:
"Yes, I would like the seizure with chicken fangers please. And a bottled water." Okay, I didn't ask specifically about lifting a picture from his blog but I wanted you to see how he provides visuals to enhance his stories.


See what I mean? The fellow is hysterical. Treat yourself to the archives. As the king in Alice in Wonderland said, `Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'
A few words of warning: Go pee before you start reading. Seriously. I’ll explain about the Peequation* later.

After you’ve read all there is to read (and maybe even before then) go vote for Johnny at Blog Interviewer. He might win something!




*Idea shamelessly stolen from Johnny Virgil and to be modified to fit me at a later date.

IMHO, TLAs R a PITA.

The shorthand can’t be missed. It’s everywhere. Text messaging, instant messages, emails, and message boards are where the most frequent sightings occur. Even if you’re not into the whole texting thing, you see it in commercials and magazine ads. Recently, I read about a 13-year-old Scottish girl who turned in an essay written entirely in SMS shorthand. SMS has a few definitions but let’s go with Short Message Service for simplicity.

Not familiar with it? Keep in mind that I’m not a teenager or an expert in this method of communication. Still, I’ll attempt to provide an example - followed by a translation.

SMS:
IMHO, SMS does not make me LOL or ROTF. PPL use TLAs & think they’re GR8. 2 me, they’re a PITA. I M sure fans would like 2 tell me, “STFU, MYOB, QYB, and GOYHH.” Grammar is FUBAR, 2. OMG, & WTF s^ w/EWI & PWI? Apparently, I need 2 RTFM, bcuz I dont get it. I may B SOL. FFS, SSEWBA. YMMV. THX 4 listening. CUL8R & TTFN.

TRANSLATION:
In my humble opinion, short message service does not make me laugh out loud or roll on the floor (laughing). People use three letter acronyms and think they’re great. To me, they’re a pain in the ass. I am sure fans would like to tell me, “Shut the fuck up, mind your own business, quit your bitching and get off your high horse.” Grammar is fucked up beyond all recognition, too. Oh, my, God, and what the fuck is up with emailing while intoxicated and posting while intoxicated. Apparently, I need to read the fucking manual because I don’t get it. I may be shit out of luck. For fuck’s sake, someday soon everything will be an acronym. Your mileage may vary. Thanks for listening. See you later and tah-tah for now.

I admit, it’s a poorly written paragraph but it’s just an example.

I’m not an acronym hater. I work in a field where acronyms are everywhere. I don’t have a problem with using a little bit of the shorthand for casual writing. The same thing goes for lazy grammar and punctuation - in some cases.

Here’s where I have a problem. I don’t want to have to decrypt my text messages. I’m an adult, FFS. I don’t think it’s cool. I mean, really, does it take that much longer to type/tap out a few extra letters and use a little bit of punctuation?

When it comes to message boards, blogs and the like, you’re conversing with other people through the written word. Your typed words are the only impression of you that the other people get. It doesn’t have to be formal, MLA-approved writing but when you use incorrect grammar, misspelled words, and inappropriate punctuation, you’re giving the impression that you’re uneducated or that you just don’t care. Of course, if that’s the impression you want to give, fine. Do that. Have fun.

The informal use of the SMS and lousy writing bothers me more than it should but that is my problem. I’m working on keeping my eyes from rolling as much as I can. What really, really bugs the shit out of me is when people take this casual approach to written communication and bring it into the workplace. I have a customer who can’t spell to save his life and who uses the teenage-like shorthand in official business. Um, dude? Spell check is your friend and, while you’re at it, is it really that much harder to type out message than msg? Cancelled, instead of canx?

I’m turning into a curmudgeon.

I’d like to go to a nice restaurant and not see people wearing shorts or hear them shouting. I’d like to fly somewhere and not see people decked out in their most worn-out sweatpants. I’d like to see people be polite and ask to be excused when they bump into you. I’d like for those damned kids to stay off my lawn.

I’d like for people to know the difference between your and you’re. I’d like for them to know the difference between to, too, and two. Is subject/verb agreement that hard?

Am I perfect? Nope. I don’t expect to be, either. I just see us all sliding down that slippery slope. It’s the accepted dumbing down of America where the intellectual folks are ridiculed and not caring is considered cool. It makes me sad.

TTFN,
Ima

55 Fiction Friday!

In my travels over the internet, I read about nanofiction or 55 Fiction. There are several places to read about it but I'd recommend starting at The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction. After that, check out some good (i.e., much better than mine) examples at 55 Fiction. There, Michael Lawrie has posted a bunch of his tiny pieces of fiction. The quick explanation is that a work of 55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

Some bloggers have started doing 55 Fiction Friday and it seemed like a cool, little exercise in controlled fiction writing. If you'd like to play along, feel free to leave your fiction in the comments section - or, if you have a blog and want to put your story there, let me know and I'll edit this post to link to you. This is my first attempt and while I don't think it's horrible, I do hope to get much better. Here's my 55:



That Girl Has Balls!
Meredith didn’t think she had the balls for it, this ambitious undertaking; fame on the line.
She bent over again and again, looking.
Her balls just weren’t there.
She’d heard it was easier for men.
Maybe they had more ball experience but Meredith was determined, bending over one more time.
Success! A break and run!










Get your mind out of the gutter, okay?













UPDATE!


MrWurdi has given the 55 Fiction a try and I love the result. Here's MrWurdi's 55:

Afternoon Delight
So many sensations; she's perplexed. Staring deeply into the abyss, her head wobbling back and forth. All the noises of the others fade away, her mind screaming at her. She wants it all, has to have it all; but, there is always a price to pay.

Looking deeply into her companion's eyes, she declares, "I'll have the fish."

BREAKING NEWS

I'm here today to report some Breaking News to you.






Here it is.





You're not going to believe it.





Seriously.




People Have Sex Because It Feels Good.





I

am

stunned.




Please forgive my labeling frenzy. I couldn't help myself.

I Paid For That

There's a new post at I Paid For That?

If you'd like the non-rhyming account of my morning, that's the place to read it. I'm in a poem-y kind of mood this week so I've written a short poem about my Target experience.



I took myself to Target
While on my morning break.
I needed medication
To soothe a sinus ache.

The druggist hours were posted
For all the world to see.
Yet the door was locked down
On the Target pharmacy.

The employees weren't helpful
They didn't seem to care.
When I do more shopping
It surely won't be there.

Redneck Haikus

I live in Alabama. While not a native, I have been here for many years. So, even though I'm not a redneck, I can speak the language. I've taken my understanding of the culture and combined it with my love of haikus for your enjoyment and/or ridicule.







Rolling fields of green.
The beauty is unending.
Oh, no! It's KUDZU!


Southern Driving Rules:
(Standard laws do not apply)
My truck is bigger!


Culture, style and class?
Did you get lost or somethin'?
You ain't from 'round here.


Redneck wedding day
Barefoot and pregnant - they wed.
He did get 'er done.


Thought she had freckles.
Daddy spits out the window.
Poor thing... Bless her heart!

I'm a Bad Daughter

Years ago, when I was single and dating, I decided to check out the online dating thing. This was long before Match.com and similar sites were even in existence. I think I used some kind of personals ad at Yahoo or AOL.

I was cautious. I emailed with the potential date for a while before giving my phone number. Even then, I only gave my cell number so the potential date (or serial killer) couldn’t do a reverse look-up and find out where I lived. When I first went out with the person, it was a lunch date. Lunch dates are perfect. You’re in broad daylight; you drive yourself to a public place; you meet. If the chemistry is not there or they give you the creeps, you have the excuse of getting back to work.

It was fun. I met some interesting people. I didn’t think it was all that daring. One day, I was driving to meet a fellow I’d met online. My mother called. She asked what I was doing.

“Oh, I’m going to meet a guy for lunch.”

“That sounds nice! Where did you meet him?” my mother asked. She asked because she’s my mother and mothers want to know these kinds of things.

“Online,” I replied.

“(gasping noises) What?!? Where?! How do you know he’s not a murderer? That’s not safe!” she calmly replied. Okay, it wasn’t calm. I was just seeing if you were paying attention. She replied like that because she’s my mother and mothers respond to things this way.

I explained the safety precautions I’d taken. I did my best to reassure her that I was going to be just fine. It didn’t work. Mom insisted that I call her the very minute I got back out to my car after lunch. If I recall correctly, she wrote down his name or something, too.

I am a bad daughter.

I did call my mother as soon as I got back in my car after lunch. Did I mention that I am a very bad daughter? You see, I called her but I muffled my voice and pretended I was terrified when she picked up the phone.

“Mom? I’m in the trunk of a car and I think we’re headed east.”

She did forgive me. She forgave me because she’s my mother and mothers do that kind of thing.

Hey! I Resent That!

I read an article recently in a magazine that will remain nameless because it makes me feel old to have it in my house. No, it’s not AARP or Modern Maturity or Arthritis Today but it’s a magazine aimed at women of a certain age. I’m tangenting; forgive me. I’m not yet old but my body and mind are starting to exhibit some of the ravages of time.

Why did I come in here? Oh, yeah, the article.

Connie Schultz wrote a piece in the Magazine-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named that has nothing to do, really, with my topic. However, there was this one little part of one little paragraph that jumped out at me. She wrote that a friend once defined resentment as you drinking the poison and expecting the other person to feel the pain. (note: my aging brain isn’t sure if that’s a direct quote or close to what she said or what I got out of it so I’ll check the magazine when I can and edit, if necessary). Miriam-Webster Online defines resentment as “a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury.” I like Connie’s friend’s definition better.

Why do we feel resentment? Someone else’s action or inaction has made our own personal existence less pleasant. Combine that with a lack of resolution about the unpleasantness and you get resentment.

It can be something relatively minor: The person in front of you at Starbucks is quizzing the barista about the growing conditions of the soybeans for the faux-milk in the grande half caff double soy double shot no foam hazelnut latte and asking if the coffee is fair-trade, shade-grown, and organic. Okay, seriously? Someone who cared about all of that wouldn’t be getting their coffee at Starbucks but I’m trying to make a point here. You resent the Soy Latte Lingerer because, damn it, you want your cinnamon chip scone and you want it NOW. That kind of resentment goes away rather quickly.

Then, there are the moderate resentments. These are somewhat serious and have the potential for doing damage but don’t permeate your entire life. I’m talking about things like: the boss who, in trying to do what’s best for the whole division, does not do the right thing and your career gets sidelined for a while; the “friend” who does something so completely unfriendlike that you wonder if they ever were a friend; the co-worker who frequently dorks up something so badly that you end up working late to fix their mistakes; the ex-husband who lied about you to the kids; and the [insert political party] leaders and members who do/don’t support [insert political agenda item].

Of course, all of these resentments don’t measure nearly as high on the Resent-O-Meter as those resentments about people who are part of our daily lives. Resentment focused at family members and significant others eats away at you. It makes your home – that place where you’re supposed to be able to go to get away from everything else – another place that adds to your stress-level. Many times, there’s not anything at all that you can do about the situation (serenity prayer, serenity prayer, serenity prayer…). Other times, a resentment causing situation continues because you don’t know how to fix it. And still other times, you allow it because the alternative is worse.

To me, here’s what’s key about the drinking poison analogy. If you don’t tell the person they’ve angered you or just let go of the resentment and anger, it poisons you. It poisons your mood and the spillover from that poisoned mood affects everything else in your life. It saps the enjoyment from things you normally enjoy because the offender’s offense is relived constantly in your mind. Worse, the resentee doesn’t even realize they’ve done something resent-worthy so they’re just be-bopping along while you sit and stew. They end up blindsided when you finally snap and read them the riot act.

Understanding that, it would make sense that I would learn to just let go of resentments or attack them head-on. I try. I’m even successful some of the time. I need to try harder.

Ow! Ow! Ow! A Top 5 List!

The Top Five Things to do when you have two torn disks in your lower back and done something you can't pronounce to your upper back/neck and it's causing shooting pains, burning, and numbness in your arms and hands.

5. Whine (this should be done in conjunction with all the other items on the list).
4. Stand up. Sitting is bad. Sitting hurts.
3. Go to bed, curled up on your side and hope it stops hurting.
2. Get pissed off at the surgeon with the God complex.
1. Take darvocet.


I've done all that and some other stuff including chiropractor, ice, rest, TENS, acupuncture, steroids, anti-inflammatories, eating whatever the hell I want because...well, because... okay, there's not a really good reason for that so I'm back on track today. I also went for my first physical therapy session. I feel like the traveling gnome when he uses the American appliance in the European outlet. You know, the one where he's thrown across the room and as he's flat on his back, whimpers, "Am I going to die?"

I hope and plan to blog more regularly as I heal.

...Try, Try Again

I suck.

I failed to maintain my quit. I have a new quit date, a new prescription for Zyban (that I've been taking for about 3 weeks), and a new attitude.

I could list all the reasons why my quit didn't stick but then I'd have to deal with that whole philosophical argument in my head about whether they're reasons or excuses. I'm not in the mood for Do-It-Yourself Psychoanalysis so I won't make a list.

Here's the plan:
Take Zyban - check
Keep taking Zyban - check
Pick a quit date, July 4th - check
Figure out how to keep from gaining weight while/after quitting - check back and see if this plan works

I really do want to quit smoking. I really would love it if smoking wasn't unhealthy, stinky, expensive, and completely abhorrent to MrWurdi. I have smoking issues. I'm dealing with them.

Part of my plan involves not gaining weight when I quit. I realize that's nearly impossible but I've recommitted to my Weight Watcher plan and I've started exercising. Yes, me. Even though I've always hate-hate-hated exercise. I've decided to do the Couch to 5K running plan. I completed the 2nd workout of week one this morning and I've learned something about myself.

I still hate exercise.

I dread it. I don't like it when I'm doing it. I feel so good when I'm done but I don't just feel good that it's over. I feel proud of myself and what I'm doing for my health. I also feel good that I'm providing amusement for anyone who happens to witness me as I huff and puff my way through the workout.

I'm a giver like that.

I was waiting for it to feel good. I have been looking forward to that "runner's high" you hear about from some runners. Unfortunately, I'm afraid my running experience will be more like that of a dear friend of mine who said, "The only way I'd get runner's high is if I were, well, high."

Paddle Faster, I Hear Banjo Music!*

UPDATED!!
MrWurdi and I spent Memorial Day weekend in the mountains of northern Georgia with some friends. We stayed at a fantastic cabin named Wild Blue Yonder and I want to go back and live there. Despite a forest fire that made the view a little hazy, the scenery was gorgeous! A bike ride to Helen, GA provided some wonderful opportunities for oohing and ahhing at the sites as well as a bit of photography. I'll be updating this post later with some photos from the trip and a few more details about them.

At I Paid For That, I'll be posting about our service experiences on our mini-vacation. Who would have thought you'd find gourmet foods and nice wines in the heart of redneck country? Not me. I was pleasantly surprised.

More later!

*The title of this post comes from a t-shirt I saw that made me laugh so hard I nearly wet myself.

The Meals
As I mentioned in I Paid For That, I did all the cooking for our weekend in the mountains. For the folks who'd be arriving after 5 hours on their bikes, I put out a variety of store bought snacks from the amazingly well-stocked local grocery store and gourmet meat shop but did make one snack myself. It was a complete experiment but it ended up being pretty damned tasty. I took mini pitas, split them in half and put a mixture of blue cheese, chopped dates, and prosciutto on them, then tossed them in a 350 degree oven for about 15 minutes. The Windmill Old Vine Zinfandelwas great with this. Just to recognize the wine, here's a picture of a windmill we saw on our bike ride to Helen, GA.




It turned out that one of the folks didn't care for blue cheese so I ended up doing a quick revision to the dinner plan. Since I had two pork loins, I stuffed one with blue cheese and chopped dates; the other, I seasoned with rosemary and garlic. I also made garlic and rosemary red potatoes, broccoli, asparagus and baked artichoke hearts with parmesan cheese. Crusty bread with herbed olive oil and a baby greens salad with blue cheese (for those who wanted it), toasted pine nuts, and a red wine viniagrette were served with the meal. The wine was Yalumba Shiraz Viognier. Nice. For dessert, I'd made two cobblers: blackberry and cherry/apple. These cobblers are remarkably easy to make and not high in points for those doing Weight Watchers. I'll post the recipes later.

I wanted breakfast to be easy so I decided to do two "make the night before" kinds of breakfast bakes. The savory one was a combination of turkey sausage, egg, and cheese. The sweet one was a baked french toast. The fruit had already been cut up so it was super easy to just get up the next morning, turn on the oven, make coffee and chill on the deck and enjoy the view.



Lunch was in Helen, GA at the Old Bavaria and I blogged about that at I Paid For That.

We went back to the gourmet meat shop for steaks to grill for dinner. I seasoned them and the guys did the grilling. Everyone loved the salad and potatoes from the night before so we had more of those and more crusty bread to finish out the meal. Dessert was this absolutely drool-worthy cheesy-pastry kind of dealio that one of the other gals made. It was my one request for someone else cooking something that weekend.

The Views
I'm a huge fan of the beach. I love the sand and the water and the carefree beach spirit. I've discovered that the mountains have a different spirit and it's one that encourages me to explore my own. I'm sure there'll be more on that later. One thing I noticed is that I wanted to capture the beauty of everything around me. I took a few pictures and want to share them.

The mountains were so flippin' beautiful. Unfortunately, there was a forest fire that afternoon and by afternoon, the view was kind of hazy.










Here's a little pond we saw as we blazed down the rural highway.







These flowers were blooming on the side of the mountain. I have no idea what they are. If you know, leave me a comment and tell me. Please?













At the base of the mountain where our cabin was, there was this lovely little pond with a mini waterfall and some gorgeous flowers.
















CACTUS FLOWERS




I have hostas in my front yard. Until this trip, I never realized how pretty the flowers were.