Holiday Inn, which like all hotels no doubt responds in a timely and sensitive manner to customer complaints and wishes regarding better service, increased cleanliness, more butter on their pancakes, etc., has chosen to tackle a most pressing problem: that of guests having to climb into a frigid bed. The hotel chain is trying out a new, innovative solution to this problem in certain hotels in England, involving a willing human -- the hotel stresses that this is a voluntary position -- who will dress in an "all-in-one fleece sleeper suit" and warm up a grateful guest's bed in preparation for the guest's sleep. Apparently the guest is not also occupying the bed during the warm-up period, although the hotel does not say exactly where the guest will be.
According to a representative, this is "a bit like having a hot water bottle in your bed." Or a bit like having the Easter Bunny in your bed.
A few concerns come to mind, particularly in light of the hotel's inability to confirm that the bed-warmer will have showered before entering your bed. This thought alone may negate any good that might have come from having a toasty warm bed prepared for you.
And what if the bed becomes so cozy and warm that the bed-warmer falls asleep? What if the bed-warmer decides he or she likes YOUR bed better than his or her own bed? Will you have to call security to oust the Easter Bunny from your room?
Will there be any charge for this service? What if a guest wants his or her picture taken with the fuzzy bed-warmer? Will this go directly on the guest's tab?
Although the idea may sound new and innovative, it actually has its roots in ancient Greece, where (this is true) men of prominence would, like many men today, visit their local pub for some manly interaction and friendly political debate, but instead of holding their debates over manly beer, they would hold them while seated on marble toilets. All lined up in a row, without the benefit of stalls -- people were much more accepting of their own and others' bodies back then -- right there out in the open for anyone to see, unless you were a woman, in which case you stayed sanely at home and pretended your beloved was not in a roomful of men all in a compromising condition.
But there was one problem. The marble was cold, and the men did not want to sit their bare heinies down on the cold marble -- these were important men -- so they brought in slaves (this is also true) to warm up their seats for them. The slaves, naturally, did not have access to modern Holiday Inn all-in-one fleece suits, and most likely had to resort to warming the seats by more natural, God-given means. So at least with the fleece suits we are making some progress in this area of warming things up for other people.
For my part, the hotel can just give me a brand-new, squeaky clean fleece sleeper suit in MY size, and we'll be all set.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Reading this will bring you good luck
If you are not the type of person to be superstitious, you are really missing out. There are plenty of great superstitions out there; you are very likely to find at least a few that the average superstitious person has never thought of. Here are a few of our personal favorites:
1. Seeing an ambulance is unlucky, unless you pinch your nose or hold your breath until you a) see a black or brown dog. Or b) pass out. Our advice, if you are unlucky enough to have a medical emergency and it becomes necessary for you to compound your unluckiness by riding in an ambulance, is to keep your eyes tightly shut at all times so as not to see the ambulance. Perhaps you could also have an Emergency Medical Transport Procedural that says that in the event that you are unable to perform these duties yourself, the paramedics have to keep your nose pinched for you and/or make sure you don't breathe.
2. If you get a chill or sudden goosebumps, it means someone is walking over your grave. The keen reader will observe that if he or she gets sudden goosebumps while in the grave, he or she has bigger problems.
3. A picture of an elephant brings good luck, but only if it faces a door. It is unclear whether the PICTURE or the ELEPHANT should be facing a door, but just to be sure, it seems prudent to have ALL the pictures and ALL the elephants in your house facing a door. (And if you have more than one elephant, you should probably have more than one door.)
4. If an eyelash falls out, put it on the back of your hand, make a wish, and throw it over your shoulder. If the eyelash flies off your hand, your wish will be granted. WARNING: USE ONLY EYELASHES. DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS WITH CONTACT LENSES. At least not any you want to keep.
5. A cricket in the house brings good luck. But only if this superstition is followed by another: A frog brings good luck in the house it enters.
6. If you use the same pencil to take a test that you used for studying for the test, the pencil will remember the answers. The Gallant Hero looks forward to trying this out for us on his next math test. Just as soon as we find the pencil.
7. If three people are photographed together, the one in the middle will die first. This explains why people are always trying to rope you into being in their photograph.
8. Three seagulls flying together directly overhead are a warning of death soon to come. To the one in the middle.
9. If a young girl catches a ladybug and then lets it go, the direction in which it flies away will be the direction from which her future husband will come. But remember, It is bad luck to kill a ladybug. Especially before you see which direction it WAS going to fly away in.
10. Having 10 superstitions is unlucky, so we will stop here.
1. Seeing an ambulance is unlucky, unless you pinch your nose or hold your breath until you a) see a black or brown dog. Or b) pass out. Our advice, if you are unlucky enough to have a medical emergency and it becomes necessary for you to compound your unluckiness by riding in an ambulance, is to keep your eyes tightly shut at all times so as not to see the ambulance. Perhaps you could also have an Emergency Medical Transport Procedural that says that in the event that you are unable to perform these duties yourself, the paramedics have to keep your nose pinched for you and/or make sure you don't breathe.
2. If you get a chill or sudden goosebumps, it means someone is walking over your grave. The keen reader will observe that if he or she gets sudden goosebumps while in the grave, he or she has bigger problems.
3. A picture of an elephant brings good luck, but only if it faces a door. It is unclear whether the PICTURE or the ELEPHANT should be facing a door, but just to be sure, it seems prudent to have ALL the pictures and ALL the elephants in your house facing a door. (And if you have more than one elephant, you should probably have more than one door.)
4. If an eyelash falls out, put it on the back of your hand, make a wish, and throw it over your shoulder. If the eyelash flies off your hand, your wish will be granted. WARNING: USE ONLY EYELASHES. DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS WITH CONTACT LENSES. At least not any you want to keep.
5. A cricket in the house brings good luck. But only if this superstition is followed by another: A frog brings good luck in the house it enters.
6. If you use the same pencil to take a test that you used for studying for the test, the pencil will remember the answers. The Gallant Hero looks forward to trying this out for us on his next math test. Just as soon as we find the pencil.
7. If three people are photographed together, the one in the middle will die first. This explains why people are always trying to rope you into being in their photograph.
8. Three seagulls flying together directly overhead are a warning of death soon to come. To the one in the middle.
9. If a young girl catches a ladybug and then lets it go, the direction in which it flies away will be the direction from which her future husband will come. But remember, It is bad luck to kill a ladybug. Especially before you see which direction it WAS going to fly away in.
10. Having 10 superstitions is unlucky, so we will stop here.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Goldilocks and the Three Chairs
Today we have a remake of a beloved children's classic, updated for the computer age and for adult concerns. You will notice some liberties taken in this remake -- why remake something if not to take liberties with it? -- but the theme remains pretty much the same, which is the ever-consuming search for personal comfort. In this story Goldilocks's gender has changed, and she is called Joe.
Once upon a time Goldilocks, whose real name was Joe, was not happy with his computer chair at home. "This chair is too low," he said. So he scoured the house to find a chair that was higher, and brought all the likely candidates into the study so he could try them out at his desk. One by one he scooted them up to his desk, wiggled around, and pretended to type at his keyboard. He frowned.
"Hmmm," he thought. "None of these are just right."
So Joe went off to a store to find a chair that was just right. He came home with a fancy antique office chair, which he knew would please his wife -- who, he felt, was much more interested in how a thing looks than in how it feels -- and tried it out.
"Ahhh," he said. "This chair is just right."
But some time later later Joe began to feel that the chair was not so comfortable. "The arms are in my way," he said. "I need another chair."
So he looked around the house again and found a small antique rocker he had bought to go next to the new fireplace. "Ahhh," he said. "I will try this chair."
Joe thought he might like the rocker as his desk chair, but he kept the office chair nearby just in case. The office chair occupied the middle of the small room, getting in everyone's way, swiveling every time someone passed and set up a small breeze. Joe's wife did not like the chair in the middle of the room, and Joe promised that he would move it to a more convenient location, but no convenient location presented itself in a timely manner, and he gradually forgot about the chair being in the middle of the room. Soon the chair disappeared under a heap of papers and CDs and Kleenex boxes and backpacks and everything else that did not have a proper home.
As more time went on, Joe began to dislike the rocker. "It's making my hands hurt when I type," he said. So he shoved the rocker into the middle of the room, next to the office chair, and fetched an extra kitchen chair from its forgotten place in the basement.
"Ahhh," he said. "This chair doesn't make my hand hurt. It's just right."
There were now two chairs in the middle of the room, which Joe's wife severely frowned upon, because they tripped her every time she walked by. Joe assured her that he would move the chairs, although privately he thought she was just clumsy, and wished that he could keep the two chairs there for a while, just in case he might want to try one of them at his desk again.
But presently his wife did more than just frown about the two chairs, and Joe was compelled to clean off the heap of papers and CDs and Kleenex boxes and backpacks and everything else that had accumulated on the chairs, and take them down into the basement.
He returned to his desk and sat down in the extra kitchen chair, satisfied. Then he looked at his keyboard. "Hmmm," he thought. "This keyboard is not very comfortable anymore..."
Once upon a time Goldilocks, whose real name was Joe, was not happy with his computer chair at home. "This chair is too low," he said. So he scoured the house to find a chair that was higher, and brought all the likely candidates into the study so he could try them out at his desk. One by one he scooted them up to his desk, wiggled around, and pretended to type at his keyboard. He frowned.
"Hmmm," he thought. "None of these are just right."
So Joe went off to a store to find a chair that was just right. He came home with a fancy antique office chair, which he knew would please his wife -- who, he felt, was much more interested in how a thing looks than in how it feels -- and tried it out.
"Ahhh," he said. "This chair is just right."
But some time later later Joe began to feel that the chair was not so comfortable. "The arms are in my way," he said. "I need another chair."
So he looked around the house again and found a small antique rocker he had bought to go next to the new fireplace. "Ahhh," he said. "I will try this chair."
Joe thought he might like the rocker as his desk chair, but he kept the office chair nearby just in case. The office chair occupied the middle of the small room, getting in everyone's way, swiveling every time someone passed and set up a small breeze. Joe's wife did not like the chair in the middle of the room, and Joe promised that he would move it to a more convenient location, but no convenient location presented itself in a timely manner, and he gradually forgot about the chair being in the middle of the room. Soon the chair disappeared under a heap of papers and CDs and Kleenex boxes and backpacks and everything else that did not have a proper home.
As more time went on, Joe began to dislike the rocker. "It's making my hands hurt when I type," he said. So he shoved the rocker into the middle of the room, next to the office chair, and fetched an extra kitchen chair from its forgotten place in the basement.
"Ahhh," he said. "This chair doesn't make my hand hurt. It's just right."
There were now two chairs in the middle of the room, which Joe's wife severely frowned upon, because they tripped her every time she walked by. Joe assured her that he would move the chairs, although privately he thought she was just clumsy, and wished that he could keep the two chairs there for a while, just in case he might want to try one of them at his desk again.
But presently his wife did more than just frown about the two chairs, and Joe was compelled to clean off the heap of papers and CDs and Kleenex boxes and backpacks and everything else that had accumulated on the chairs, and take them down into the basement.
He returned to his desk and sat down in the extra kitchen chair, satisfied. Then he looked at his keyboard. "Hmmm," he thought. "This keyboard is not very comfortable anymore..."
Friday, January 22, 2010
A time-honored remedy for distress
Employees in every industry are feeling the stress of these difficult times. Our department is no exception, except that it is all female, which means that although we may not necessarily feel more stress than males, we do feel the complete freedom to express it, mainly in ways that involve consuming large amounts of carbohydrates and sugar. This is best done, of course, as a group, and preferably at an establishment offsite, where we can better process our stressful feelings.
We were frantic with worry one day over our manager's failure to show up at work, and after a period of trying to locate her -- through other employees, her friends, missing persons bureau, the FBI, Army Rangers, etc. -- we finally decided that the only practical solution was to all go to lunch and talk through our worry over pasta and garlic bread. When we came back from lunch we had an e-mail from her, indicating that she had been safely ensconced in her living room all this time and had merely neglected to tell us she would not be in. Our relief was so great we almost went out to Starbucks for celebratory beverages.
Once again we find ourselves in the midst of a great crisis. That same manager, over whom we agonized while ingesting hundreds of yummy Italian calories, has left our department, left our company, left us alone with our grief. At first we could not comprehend how we would carry on after this great void, and then we remembered our favorite Asian restaurant, with its sweet and sour chicken, spring rolls, Malaysian Chicken Chow Fun, and Chef Liu's Vegetables in Soothing Lettuce Wrap. Though we know that the way back to happiness and normalcy will be difficult, gradually we will climb out of the abyss, noodle by Double Pan Fried Noodle.
We were frantic with worry one day over our manager's failure to show up at work, and after a period of trying to locate her -- through other employees, her friends, missing persons bureau, the FBI, Army Rangers, etc. -- we finally decided that the only practical solution was to all go to lunch and talk through our worry over pasta and garlic bread. When we came back from lunch we had an e-mail from her, indicating that she had been safely ensconced in her living room all this time and had merely neglected to tell us she would not be in. Our relief was so great we almost went out to Starbucks for celebratory beverages.
Once again we find ourselves in the midst of a great crisis. That same manager, over whom we agonized while ingesting hundreds of yummy Italian calories, has left our department, left our company, left us alone with our grief. At first we could not comprehend how we would carry on after this great void, and then we remembered our favorite Asian restaurant, with its sweet and sour chicken, spring rolls, Malaysian Chicken Chow Fun, and Chef Liu's Vegetables in Soothing Lettuce Wrap. Though we know that the way back to happiness and normalcy will be difficult, gradually we will climb out of the abyss, noodle by Double Pan Fried Noodle.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Facial tissue, continued
In the last post we saw the potential of facial tissue -- that most seemingly innocent of household items -- to tempt otherwise law-abiding citizens to a life of crime, by inciting them to use it "in a manner inconsistent with its labeling." There is another troubling aspect to certain facial tissues that are labeled "anti-viral," which according to one box have "three soft layers, including a moisture-activated middle layer that kills 99.9% of cold and flu viruses in the tissue within 15 minutes." The box lists the particular viruses the product is effective against, and none of them are ever the one you have, and in fact the viruses listed have not been detected in any human being since the days of Enoch, who walked with God and then was seen no more because God took him, although he did leave behind his favorite box of facial tissue.
But the troubling aspect of these anti-viral tissues is that part about the moisture-activated middle layer, with its promise of annihilating viruses in 15 minutes. Might not the assurance of death to viruses encourage some risky behavior on the part of individuals who like to engage in risky behavior, such as sharing facial tissues? Picture two individuals, of questionable repute, in a dimly lit alley:
First risky individual (in low, guttural tones): Hey, man, have my facial tissue.
Second risky individual (glancing around furtively): Uh, you sure it's safe?
First risky individual: Of course. It's got a moisture-activated middle layer that kills the viruses. They're history, dude.
Second risky individual (nervously): Well, okay.
But of course these individuals will not read the list of affected viruses -- none of which they will have anyway -- and thus will begin the lightning-quick spread of some dread supervirus, unchecked and unaffected by all the anti-viral facial tissues we can throw at it, and after the supervirus has spread through the risky-behavior community it will go on to infect the ranks of those whose only risky behavior is to use facial tissue occasionally to clean their glasses, leading ultimately to the conquering of the human race by killer viruses and smudgy eyeglasses.
Lest we fall into despair at this grim prospect, we leave you with a cheerful little jingle, taken directly from a certain box of facial tissues and which I had nothing to do with writing, although if I had, it is quite probable that I would not admit it.
"Don't be bashful. Don't be shy. It's time to unabashedly _____ (here we have a phrase that is trademarked, and thus I will not reproduce it. Suffice to say that it means the opposite of "hold it in").
"So be messy. Be imperfect. Be liberated and free. Be what you are. Be human (Are they suggesting this is different from "Be what you are?"). Blow it loud and blow it proud!"
Just make sure you are blowing an approved virus.
But the troubling aspect of these anti-viral tissues is that part about the moisture-activated middle layer, with its promise of annihilating viruses in 15 minutes. Might not the assurance of death to viruses encourage some risky behavior on the part of individuals who like to engage in risky behavior, such as sharing facial tissues? Picture two individuals, of questionable repute, in a dimly lit alley:
First risky individual (in low, guttural tones): Hey, man, have my facial tissue.
Second risky individual (glancing around furtively): Uh, you sure it's safe?
First risky individual: Of course. It's got a moisture-activated middle layer that kills the viruses. They're history, dude.
Second risky individual (nervously): Well, okay.
But of course these individuals will not read the list of affected viruses -- none of which they will have anyway -- and thus will begin the lightning-quick spread of some dread supervirus, unchecked and unaffected by all the anti-viral facial tissues we can throw at it, and after the supervirus has spread through the risky-behavior community it will go on to infect the ranks of those whose only risky behavior is to use facial tissue occasionally to clean their glasses, leading ultimately to the conquering of the human race by killer viruses and smudgy eyeglasses.
Lest we fall into despair at this grim prospect, we leave you with a cheerful little jingle, taken directly from a certain box of facial tissues and which I had nothing to do with writing, although if I had, it is quite probable that I would not admit it.
"Don't be bashful. Don't be shy. It's time to unabashedly _____ (here we have a phrase that is trademarked, and thus I will not reproduce it. Suffice to say that it means the opposite of "hold it in").
"So be messy. Be imperfect. Be liberated and free. Be what you are. Be human (Are they suggesting this is different from "Be what you are?"). Blow it loud and blow it proud!"
Just make sure you are blowing an approved virus.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The little-known crime
While we like to believe that acts of terror and criminality are committed in faraway places, it has come to my attention that possible serious crimes are being committed much closer to home. In fact, IN our homes. Could YOU be a criminal without even being aware of it? Take this simple quiz to find out.
For what purposes do you use facial tissue? (Check all that apply.)
(a) as a, um, facial tissue
(b) as an eyeglass cleaner
(c) as a dust cloth
(d) as emergency toilet paper
If you answered anything other than (a), you have sadly crossed over into that element of criminality from which there may be no return. Because according to a certain box of facial tissues I have here in my possession, "it is a violation of federal law to use this product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling. Use only as a facial tissue." (emphasis added)
Given the proliferation of facial tissues, particularly at the present cold and flu season, clearly this potential violation of their use is a serious matter. Who knows how many millions of ordinary citizens are engaging in criminal acts using facial tissues? How is the government regulating the use of these tissues? Will we face a critical shortage of tissues because people are using them for unlawful purposes? And why aren't the feds pursuing these dangerous criminals? They're off chasing terrorists -- who no doubt know better than to use a facial tissue to clean their glasses -- while in our own neighborhoods, our schools, our own homes, facial tissues are being used illegally. Perhaps we need to form Neighborhood Watch programs to catch people in the act. Clearly, we need answers from our congresspeople. We urge you to contact your congressperson today and demand to know what is being done about the unlawful use of facial tissues!
Maybe we would think twice about engaging in criminal acts while in possession of a facial tissue if the product clearly stated the potential consequences of doing so: If anyone is found using these tissues in a manner inconsistent with their labeling, he or she will be sentenced to 5 years hard labor dusting and redusting the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court chambers with 2-ply Moisture Lock Anti-Bacterial tissues in Pink Dots.
If, after honest, careful analysis of your personal use of facial tissue, you realize that you are guilty of violating their usage intent, there is only one thing to do: renounce your unlawful ways and determine to never, never use facial tissue other than as a facial tissue. And join your Neighborhood Watch program.
For what purposes do you use facial tissue? (Check all that apply.)
(a) as a, um, facial tissue
(b) as an eyeglass cleaner
(c) as a dust cloth
(d) as emergency toilet paper
If you answered anything other than (a), you have sadly crossed over into that element of criminality from which there may be no return. Because according to a certain box of facial tissues I have here in my possession, "it is a violation of federal law to use this product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling. Use only as a facial tissue." (emphasis added)
Given the proliferation of facial tissues, particularly at the present cold and flu season, clearly this potential violation of their use is a serious matter. Who knows how many millions of ordinary citizens are engaging in criminal acts using facial tissues? How is the government regulating the use of these tissues? Will we face a critical shortage of tissues because people are using them for unlawful purposes? And why aren't the feds pursuing these dangerous criminals? They're off chasing terrorists -- who no doubt know better than to use a facial tissue to clean their glasses -- while in our own neighborhoods, our schools, our own homes, facial tissues are being used illegally. Perhaps we need to form Neighborhood Watch programs to catch people in the act. Clearly, we need answers from our congresspeople. We urge you to contact your congressperson today and demand to know what is being done about the unlawful use of facial tissues!
Maybe we would think twice about engaging in criminal acts while in possession of a facial tissue if the product clearly stated the potential consequences of doing so: If anyone is found using these tissues in a manner inconsistent with their labeling, he or she will be sentenced to 5 years hard labor dusting and redusting the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court chambers with 2-ply Moisture Lock Anti-Bacterial tissues in Pink Dots.
If, after honest, careful analysis of your personal use of facial tissue, you realize that you are guilty of violating their usage intent, there is only one thing to do: renounce your unlawful ways and determine to never, never use facial tissue other than as a facial tissue. And join your Neighborhood Watch program.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Chestnuts -- and employees -- roasting
I imagine our tax man furrowing his brow over some of my work expenses when we bring in all our receipts.
"Let's see," he will say. "Fingerless gloves, $10. Fleece zip-up vest, $20. Plush scarf, $30. These are for work?"
"It's cold there," I'll say.
"Hmmm...and the Ultra Supreme Polar Microfleece, Microplush Blanket, in Chocolate Brown?"
"It's really cold," I will say.
"You're sure the blanket's not for naps?" he might probe, in an accusing manner.
"Of course not!" I will say indignantly. Because -- although I will not mention this -- napping at the office works pretty well with or without a blanket.
And then he will come to the cost for the portable heater, my latest attempt to ward off the persistent cold in our office. This is the second one I've tried. The first heater took itself very seriously, imagining that it was responsible for heating the entire building instead of just my little cubicle. It came with a thermostat, and it would cycle on and off to keep the area at just the right level of heat. Unfortunately, the lights in my cubicle and the one next to me would also cycle on and off, neatly coinciding with the heater's action. The heater was unceremoniously dumped back into the box, along with all of its illusions of importance, and hastily returned to Walmart.
The new heater thoughtfully comes with 3 speeds, so in the chill of the morning you can start out with the heat on High, and then when the chill starts to wear off -- say, around 4:55 -- you can turn it down to Low.
But even on Low, this heater is a little zealous when it comes to output. The experience is sort of like hanging out at a campfire, roasting marshmallows, where the front of you -- which is facing the fire -- is burning up, but your back feels like it's sliding down an icy bobsled run. And you have to turn yourself occasionally to balance things out, like the marshmallow, so you don't burst into flames.
Since sitting at a computer does not afford much opportunity to turn yourself around, the heater must be strategically placed for maximum effect. For me this necessitated crawling around on the floor under my desk. If you're wondering whether the area under your desk at work gets cleaned regularly, the answer is no. Whatever falls there, or dies there, pretty much stays there. Kinda like Vegas.
I have not yet found a spot for the heater where I am not simultaneously both freezing and ready to shed some clothing. The instructions for the heater strictly forbid users not to place the item within 3 feet of any object, wall, ceiling, floor, building, body of water, etc. It does not say that the user should not turn a recycling bin upside down and place the heater on top, so that is what I intend to try next.
And hopefully the tax man will not question the marshmallow receipt.
"Let's see," he will say. "Fingerless gloves, $10. Fleece zip-up vest, $20. Plush scarf, $30. These are for work?"
"It's cold there," I'll say.
"Hmmm...and the Ultra Supreme Polar Microfleece, Microplush Blanket, in Chocolate Brown?"
"It's really cold," I will say.
"You're sure the blanket's not for naps?" he might probe, in an accusing manner.
"Of course not!" I will say indignantly. Because -- although I will not mention this -- napping at the office works pretty well with or without a blanket.
And then he will come to the cost for the portable heater, my latest attempt to ward off the persistent cold in our office. This is the second one I've tried. The first heater took itself very seriously, imagining that it was responsible for heating the entire building instead of just my little cubicle. It came with a thermostat, and it would cycle on and off to keep the area at just the right level of heat. Unfortunately, the lights in my cubicle and the one next to me would also cycle on and off, neatly coinciding with the heater's action. The heater was unceremoniously dumped back into the box, along with all of its illusions of importance, and hastily returned to Walmart.
The new heater thoughtfully comes with 3 speeds, so in the chill of the morning you can start out with the heat on High, and then when the chill starts to wear off -- say, around 4:55 -- you can turn it down to Low.
But even on Low, this heater is a little zealous when it comes to output. The experience is sort of like hanging out at a campfire, roasting marshmallows, where the front of you -- which is facing the fire -- is burning up, but your back feels like it's sliding down an icy bobsled run. And you have to turn yourself occasionally to balance things out, like the marshmallow, so you don't burst into flames.
Since sitting at a computer does not afford much opportunity to turn yourself around, the heater must be strategically placed for maximum effect. For me this necessitated crawling around on the floor under my desk. If you're wondering whether the area under your desk at work gets cleaned regularly, the answer is no. Whatever falls there, or dies there, pretty much stays there. Kinda like Vegas.
I have not yet found a spot for the heater where I am not simultaneously both freezing and ready to shed some clothing. The instructions for the heater strictly forbid users not to place the item within 3 feet of any object, wall, ceiling, floor, building, body of water, etc. It does not say that the user should not turn a recycling bin upside down and place the heater on top, so that is what I intend to try next.
And hopefully the tax man will not question the marshmallow receipt.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Looking for a new house?
While in Michigan we visited the Henry Ford Museum, which is a place where you can look at all sorts of inventions from the past and laugh at them, because even though at the time they were invented they were cool, this only lasted about 8 nanoseconds until the next cool thing was invented. But the objects on display invite contemplation about things that have preceded us, mainly "What IS this thing??"
Luckily there are all sorts of little plaques and signs explaining what things are and why they are significant, much to the dismay of people like Joe, whose spouses spend their entire visit to the museum reading every word of these plaques, and sometimes forgetting to look at the object the plaque is describing:
Plaque reader: "Hey, did you know this is the actual bus Rosa Parks was riding when she was arrested?"
Visitor who actually looks at the exhibits: "Yeah, isn't it cool inside?"
Plaque reader: (pause) "There's an inside?"
One of the more unique inventions at the Henry Ford -- besides the Wienermobile, which is the coolest -- is the Dymaxion House. It is a geodesic dome built in 1946 and made from aluminum, resembling a squashed silo, only people were expected to live in it. It was built to withstand a Kansas tornado, although to someone who doesn't live in Kansas it looks more like something that blew in on a tornado.
The house has many interesting features, including the fact that you have to walk through every room to get to every other room, which is a better layout than you think, because if you forget what you're searching for, eventually after walking in circles you are going to find it.
The bathroom was originally designed to have a waterless toilet, in which plastic shrinkwrap would neatly and hygienically wrap up any deposits, leaving them available to be composted later, or made into unique museum exhibits.
In past years at the museum the house was fully furnished, and a bunch of visitors would crowd in -- I'll give the house this much, you could have a lot of guests in it at one time, as long as no one wanted to move around -- and the house would rotate as the museum guide explained the house and how things worked and answered questions, such as "Where do you go to the bathroom?" (Answer: If you know what's good for you, at your neighbor's.)
I noticed this time the house didn't go around, and the furnishings have mostly been removed, probably because some kid with a queasy stomach threw up as it was going around, and the ventilation system took it and spread it around the entire house, completely destroying all the contents.
But the best museum exhibits make you think, and this one is no exception. After you come out of the house, there is a large, thought-provoking sign that says WHY DON'T WE LIVE IN DYMAXION HOUSES? There is a lengthy video explaining the answer, which can pretty much be summed up in these words: It is ugly.
Oh, there are lots of other, official reasons, including that the inventor wasn't satisfied with the design and kept tinkering with it, investors pulled out when they found out there was no plastic that would neatly wrap up people's deposits in the bathroom, etc. But pretty much it boils down to the fact that no one would want to live in this metal dome, except possibly Joe, whose dream is to someday live in a yurt, which is pretty much the same as the Dymaxion except it is covered with animal skins and has no bathroom. Details ARE rather annoying to people with a vision.
Especially if those details are on a plaque.
Luckily there are all sorts of little plaques and signs explaining what things are and why they are significant, much to the dismay of people like Joe, whose spouses spend their entire visit to the museum reading every word of these plaques, and sometimes forgetting to look at the object the plaque is describing:
Plaque reader: "Hey, did you know this is the actual bus Rosa Parks was riding when she was arrested?"
Visitor who actually looks at the exhibits: "Yeah, isn't it cool inside?"
Plaque reader: (pause) "There's an inside?"
One of the more unique inventions at the Henry Ford -- besides the Wienermobile, which is the coolest -- is the Dymaxion House. It is a geodesic dome built in 1946 and made from aluminum, resembling a squashed silo, only people were expected to live in it. It was built to withstand a Kansas tornado, although to someone who doesn't live in Kansas it looks more like something that blew in on a tornado.
The house has many interesting features, including the fact that you have to walk through every room to get to every other room, which is a better layout than you think, because if you forget what you're searching for, eventually after walking in circles you are going to find it.
The bathroom was originally designed to have a waterless toilet, in which plastic shrinkwrap would neatly and hygienically wrap up any deposits, leaving them available to be composted later, or made into unique museum exhibits.
In past years at the museum the house was fully furnished, and a bunch of visitors would crowd in -- I'll give the house this much, you could have a lot of guests in it at one time, as long as no one wanted to move around -- and the house would rotate as the museum guide explained the house and how things worked and answered questions, such as "Where do you go to the bathroom?" (Answer: If you know what's good for you, at your neighbor's.)
I noticed this time the house didn't go around, and the furnishings have mostly been removed, probably because some kid with a queasy stomach threw up as it was going around, and the ventilation system took it and spread it around the entire house, completely destroying all the contents.
But the best museum exhibits make you think, and this one is no exception. After you come out of the house, there is a large, thought-provoking sign that says WHY DON'T WE LIVE IN DYMAXION HOUSES? There is a lengthy video explaining the answer, which can pretty much be summed up in these words: It is ugly.
Oh, there are lots of other, official reasons, including that the inventor wasn't satisfied with the design and kept tinkering with it, investors pulled out when they found out there was no plastic that would neatly wrap up people's deposits in the bathroom, etc. But pretty much it boils down to the fact that no one would want to live in this metal dome, except possibly Joe, whose dream is to someday live in a yurt, which is pretty much the same as the Dymaxion except it is covered with animal skins and has no bathroom. Details ARE rather annoying to people with a vision.
Especially if those details are on a plaque.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Global cooling
According to news sources, it has been so cold in Florida recently that the normal balance of things in nature has been greatly upset. Crops, such as orange juice, are in danger. The normally crowded beaches are virtually empty of men in Speedos. Okay, so maybe this cold snap is not such a bad thing.
Wildlife has been particularly hard hit. Manatees, used to frolicking about (as much as a 1200-lb. animal can frolic) in balmy waters, have been forced by the cold to seek warmer areas, their first choice being Hawaii, but since the distance was too great for the little ones, they have huddled in the waters near power plants.
Iguanas, losing their grip from the cold, are slipping into comas and dropping from trees, which carries all sorts of social ramifications. (Dear Mrs. Snyder, Please excuse Matthew's absence from school yesterday. An iguana fell and hit him on the head on the way to school and gave him a concussion. But don't worry, he remembers everything you've taught him this year, including the native dance you showed the students). Sincerely, Mrs. Thompson. P.S. Is it true that you used to perform the dance while skimpily dressed?) (Dear Mrs. Thompson, I am sending Matthew back home today. School has been canceled so we can use it as a shelter for turtles being rescued from the cold. Sincerely, Mrs. Snyder. P.S. I think you should have Matthew's head checked again.)
At least one wildlife official is of the opinion that iguanas dying in large numbers is not such a bad thing. They are not native to Florida, she explains, and therefore don't belong there. Of course the same thing could be said about 99.3 percent of Florida's human population. So far this official has not made any announcements about what should be done with them.
The plight of the iguanas has ignited compassion in the general public, who, unsuspecting of their exotic origins, have been acting as Good Samaritans and escorting the comatose iguanas to sunny spots where they can recover and scamper off into the bushes and continue mating and adding even more exotic animals to the area.
Unfortunately the cold does not seem to affect pythons, which thrive in large numbers in the swamps and can survive cooler temperatures. But the same wildlife official notes that the pythons do tend to come out into the open sunny areas to get warmed up, and this is good for hunters. Hopefully she will never be placed in charge of the state's Commission on Aging.
The cold has affected other life forms, too. Though far from Florida, certain editors in Maryland, unable to generate heat through normal sources, have huddled around the only reliable source of heat in their office: the office printer. Like the iguanas, below a certain temperature the editors are less able to move around, and finally they become immobile from lack of blood flow. Eventually, they are unable to typ
Wildlife has been particularly hard hit. Manatees, used to frolicking about (as much as a 1200-lb. animal can frolic) in balmy waters, have been forced by the cold to seek warmer areas, their first choice being Hawaii, but since the distance was too great for the little ones, they have huddled in the waters near power plants.
Iguanas, losing their grip from the cold, are slipping into comas and dropping from trees, which carries all sorts of social ramifications. (Dear Mrs. Snyder, Please excuse Matthew's absence from school yesterday. An iguana fell and hit him on the head on the way to school and gave him a concussion. But don't worry, he remembers everything you've taught him this year, including the native dance you showed the students). Sincerely, Mrs. Thompson. P.S. Is it true that you used to perform the dance while skimpily dressed?) (Dear Mrs. Thompson, I am sending Matthew back home today. School has been canceled so we can use it as a shelter for turtles being rescued from the cold. Sincerely, Mrs. Snyder. P.S. I think you should have Matthew's head checked again.)
At least one wildlife official is of the opinion that iguanas dying in large numbers is not such a bad thing. They are not native to Florida, she explains, and therefore don't belong there. Of course the same thing could be said about 99.3 percent of Florida's human population. So far this official has not made any announcements about what should be done with them.
The plight of the iguanas has ignited compassion in the general public, who, unsuspecting of their exotic origins, have been acting as Good Samaritans and escorting the comatose iguanas to sunny spots where they can recover and scamper off into the bushes and continue mating and adding even more exotic animals to the area.
Unfortunately the cold does not seem to affect pythons, which thrive in large numbers in the swamps and can survive cooler temperatures. But the same wildlife official notes that the pythons do tend to come out into the open sunny areas to get warmed up, and this is good for hunters. Hopefully she will never be placed in charge of the state's Commission on Aging.
The cold has affected other life forms, too. Though far from Florida, certain editors in Maryland, unable to generate heat through normal sources, have huddled around the only reliable source of heat in their office: the office printer. Like the iguanas, below a certain temperature the editors are less able to move around, and finally they become immobile from lack of blood flow. Eventually, they are unable to typ
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Scared passenger on board
Joe and I always try to sit next to each other when we fly, mainly so I can keep the SkyMall magazine away from him. But on our trip over Christmas we had to be rebooked a few times, so we were at the mercy of the airline personnel as far as seating arrangements, and let's just say they were not full of good cheer and merriment. We got used to asking random strangers on the plane if they minded switching seats with us so we could sit together, although we employed somewhat different methods when doing so:
My method: Excuse me, would you be interested in moving to this lovely window seat in 23F so my husband and I can sit together? (Passenger smiles and moves to 23F)...Thank you so much.
Joe's method: Uh, you might want to switch seats with me...my wife is afraid to fly and you really don't want to sit next to her. I mean, it's not like she gets sick and throws up in the barf bag or anything. But she'll grab your arm at every little sound she hears. You won't have any skin left on your arm by the end of the flight. Heck, you might not even have any arms left at all. I remember this one time when I sat next to her... (Passenger hastily moves out of the seat, eying me and whispering frantically to the flight attendant to be seated as far away from me as possible. Other nearby passengers give me concerned looks.)
But it is worth the humiliation to be able to sit next to Joe. Because at least when I am squeezing the life out of his arm, he can't look at the SkyMall magazine.
My method: Excuse me, would you be interested in moving to this lovely window seat in 23F so my husband and I can sit together? (Passenger smiles and moves to 23F)...Thank you so much.
Joe's method: Uh, you might want to switch seats with me...my wife is afraid to fly and you really don't want to sit next to her. I mean, it's not like she gets sick and throws up in the barf bag or anything. But she'll grab your arm at every little sound she hears. You won't have any skin left on your arm by the end of the flight. Heck, you might not even have any arms left at all. I remember this one time when I sat next to her... (Passenger hastily moves out of the seat, eying me and whispering frantically to the flight attendant to be seated as far away from me as possible. Other nearby passengers give me concerned looks.)
But it is worth the humiliation to be able to sit next to Joe. Because at least when I am squeezing the life out of his arm, he can't look at the SkyMall magazine.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Christmas cat
Ah, Christmas morning. That loveliest of days, ushered in by gentle snowfall, children banging pots and pans in an effort to rouse their parents, and cats in heat.
At least that's how OUR Christmas morning was ushered in this year. We were awakened at 3 a.m,, and again at 5, by my brother's new female cat, who apparently believed that behind the closed door of our bedroom waited a handsome male cat with whom, shall we say, she wanted to get a game of ball going.
Her crying had started soon after we arrived, and we all thought something was wrong with her, until she made some decidedly suggestive moves on the resident male cat.
"Ah," my brother said. "She needs a man."
Unfortunately for her, the male had been neutered for quite some time and was out of practice playing ball. He was confused by her crying and her advances, although he appeared to remember that there was something significant about this. He just did not know what. "Well, she's a girl," he probably thought, and left it at that.
She roamed the house for hours, restless and noisy. My brother thoughtfully left the window shade next to the door open several inches so she could look outside, in case any eligible male cats happened to stroll past.
Everyone who came to the house expressed concern over her state, thinking she was sick, or hurt, or lonely. We could have put a sign on her: Thank you for your concern, but unless you are a handsome male cat, 10-17 pounds, preferably muscular, (prior experience playing ball preferred), you cannot help me.
My sister-in-law was somewhat dismayed to discover the two cats, the ardent female and the clueless male, attempting to get up a game between them. My brother told her not to worry.
"He only knows how to get to first base," he said. "After that, he lost the playbook."
Eventually the cats seemed to come to a mutual agreement that this ball game was going nowhere, and they parted amicably. A few days later the female went off in a crate to yield, forever, her urge to play ball, and -- we hoped -- her urge to keep us all up at night with her insistent crying. When she returned she sat in a corner, shunning us, holding us responsible for how lousy she felt.
And so it came to pass that this cat would bear no more kittens and wrap them in swaddling bands. But, oh, what a silent night we finally had.
At least that's how OUR Christmas morning was ushered in this year. We were awakened at 3 a.m,, and again at 5, by my brother's new female cat, who apparently believed that behind the closed door of our bedroom waited a handsome male cat with whom, shall we say, she wanted to get a game of ball going.
Her crying had started soon after we arrived, and we all thought something was wrong with her, until she made some decidedly suggestive moves on the resident male cat.
"Ah," my brother said. "She needs a man."
Unfortunately for her, the male had been neutered for quite some time and was out of practice playing ball. He was confused by her crying and her advances, although he appeared to remember that there was something significant about this. He just did not know what. "Well, she's a girl," he probably thought, and left it at that.
She roamed the house for hours, restless and noisy. My brother thoughtfully left the window shade next to the door open several inches so she could look outside, in case any eligible male cats happened to stroll past.
Everyone who came to the house expressed concern over her state, thinking she was sick, or hurt, or lonely. We could have put a sign on her: Thank you for your concern, but unless you are a handsome male cat, 10-17 pounds, preferably muscular, (prior experience playing ball preferred), you cannot help me.
My sister-in-law was somewhat dismayed to discover the two cats, the ardent female and the clueless male, attempting to get up a game between them. My brother told her not to worry.
"He only knows how to get to first base," he said. "After that, he lost the playbook."
Eventually the cats seemed to come to a mutual agreement that this ball game was going nowhere, and they parted amicably. A few days later the female went off in a crate to yield, forever, her urge to play ball, and -- we hoped -- her urge to keep us all up at night with her insistent crying. When she returned she sat in a corner, shunning us, holding us responsible for how lousy she felt.
And so it came to pass that this cat would bear no more kittens and wrap them in swaddling bands. But, oh, what a silent night we finally had.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Where is the Princess?
The Princess apologizes profusely for the dearth of posts lately. She has been seized by fits of coughing, which has been diagnosed by the Royal Physician as bronchitis, and has been lying low. The Hero is being very helpful during her illness, for instance by reminding her that she is not supposed to be coughing, to which she responds that she is not trying to cough. Her health has been boosted by the Royal Drug Regimen and chicken soup, and we anticipate the Princess's return very shortly.
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