What strange things strangers say

Today's post is rather short, but we felt compelled to repeat part of a conversation overheard on the train. The conversation was between two people who appeared to be acquainted, but did not know each other well. After the conversation, only a small fraction of which is repeated here, everyone in the train knew these two passengers quite as well as they wanted to.

Passenger 1: We've had several pets over the years. We just lost our dear beagle, Bella, the love of our life.

Passenger 2 (sympathetically): I know. We currently have four pets in the house. None of them are living.

Here, I imagine, surrounding passengers paused to consider this, as did I. But Passenger 1 did not miss a beat.

Passenger 1: You do wonder what to do with them after they pass, don't you? And what about when you pass? I mean, I could will Bella's ashes to my brother and sister-in-law, but what if they pass away before we do?

The obvious solution, which Passenger 2 declined to suggest, would be to keep the brother, sister-in-law, AND Bella all in the house after their respective deceasements.*

The conversation continued in various similar veins, including an in-depth discussion of burial practices on an island in the Mediterranean whose name I did not catch. Because of the makeup of the soil, Passenger 1 explained, about every 50 years a buried body has completely decomposed, and, due to limited space -- this is an island, after all -- the space is used to bury another body. No marker is retained from the first individual. Passenger 1 evidently had traveled to the island to view her great-grandparents' graves, only to find the graves inhabited by someone whose decease was much more recent. This would seem to only strengthen my earlier assertion that keeping the deceased in one's home might be the prudent option.

*This is one of those words that is not an actual word, but probably should be.

Form vs. function

Each spring we look forward to cleaning off our patio and the patio furniture so we can enjoy nature. Another little spring ritual we have is some variation on the following conversation, which generally occurs while we are enjoying nature on our patio:

Hero: There are flower pots surrounding our chairs.

Me: Yes! There are!

Hero: And on the porch steps.

Me: Mmm hmmm.

Hero: And hanging above our heads.

Me (helpfully): And in the windows.

Hero: Everywhere I go there's a flower pot! 

Me: You noticed!

Hero: I'm going back inside.

This signals that the flower pots have reached critical mass on the patio, at which point the Hero believes the furniture is no longer useful, and is even in danger of combusting. 

A similar complaint has been lodged against an excess of pillows on both the couch and the bed. The Hero maintains that a ratio of one pillow per item of furniture -- two at the most, if they are very small -- allows for the most mathematically pleasing proportion. Most important, it allows one to easily take a nap when one wishes to. 

A male friend concurs that pillows should remain a strictly functional item, and decorative ones -- if they must be used -- should not number more than one on any given piece of furniture, lest they be encouraged to multiply.

"Can't even sit on my own couch with all the pillows on it," he says. "Can't even FIND the couch with all the pillows on it."

Maybe not, but it sure looks pretty.

Laundry 101

The conversations relayed in today's post may sound somewhat familiar to some readers, but they do not have refer to anyone known by any readers of this blog. Nope. None. Okay, maybe five or six.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man -- whether single or married -- is much in want of someone to do the laundry.

At least, this was universally acknowledged among the three wives at a recent gathering of couples. None of the husbands, it was learned, is allowed to wash clothes, although the Hero, after extensive instruction rivaling the military's Basic Training, does wash towels.

"Why can't I do anything besides towels?" he grumbled once. "I want to be in charge of something more complex."

But as the conversation among the couples continued, it became clear just how complex this task is.

"You have your darks, and your whites, of course," said one of the wives. "But then there are subcategories. Gentle darks..."

"And aggressive darks," her husband quipped.

"And different weights of clothes," the wife continued. She described how once, before banning her husband from the laundry room, she had opened the washer after its cycle to find that he had washed towels, a pillow case, jeans, and a scarf together, mixing weights AND colors. She shuddered.

The Hero, with his talent for higher mathematics, should relish figuring out all these laundry permutations. A large matrix, with color, weight, water temperature, amount of time in dryer, line dry or lay flat, type of material, weave, stretchability, wrinklability, country of origin, politics of country of origin, etc., would seem to pique his interest. But it does not. He would sooner own all the same color clothes so they could all be washed together. 

And then there is the dryer. This appliance, the husbands figure, is meant to dry clothes. Therefore one should put all the clothes in it and let it do its job, no?

Of course not.

Items such as jeans go in for a short time, lest they shrink, but not TOO long, lest they wrinkle. And some things must not go in at all. According to the Hero, my entire wardrobe fits into this latter category.

Another husband described how, when his wife very ill -- "she lay on the couch for a month," he said -- he had finally begged her to let him wash some clothes. "I'm beginning to smell," he said.

We envisioned her hoisting herself off the couch, deathly ill, crawling to the washer to do the clothes herself lest disaster ensue if she let him do it.

Such is the dedication of many women to the state of their family's clothing and linens. I'm sure in the days before washing machines were invented, mothers passed down their laundry laws to their daughters as they worked side by side: "No, not THAT rock. The whites are pounded with THIS rock..."

20-20

It is important that employees, from time to time, be provided with upgraded office equipment, such as computer programs, so that the employees can realize that the way they have been carrying out their daily duties for the past few years is completely passé. Also so they can realize that with all the money being spent to upgrade the computers, there is less and less chance of any money being spent to get better coffee. But I digress.

At my particular workplace, big changes are occurring computer-wise. We are in the process of switching from a PC system to a shared PC and Mac system, in preparation for our eventual change to an all-Mac system, at which point we will forget about wanting better coffee and start lobbying for a company-sponsored aspirin-dispensing machine.

There are many features of our new computer system, the biggest being that now that we each have essentially two computers, something going wrong is not only possible, but a guarantee. But the new system is undeniably faster. For example, in just one day of operation, my new computer has lost connection with the printer AND all the network files. With the old system, it would have taken at LEAST two weeks to accomplish this.

There is also a comprehensive system for personalizing the look of the computer screen. For example, there is a whole process that enables you to tweak the clarity of the font to your liking. This is not unlike a vision exam at the eye doctor's. You are presented with two sentences of dummy type, and the following ensues:

Computer: Which is clearer, 1 or 2?

Me: [Straining to see any difference whatsoever, after an exhaustive scrutiny of both texts I make my selection by playing eeny meeny miny moe.]

Computer [showing a new screen]: Which is clearer, 1, 2, 3, or 4?

Me [promptly]: Eeny meeny miny moe -- 1.

Computer [showing another new screen]: Which is better 1, or 2, or 347?

Me: Aaaggghhh!

Computer: Ha ha! They're all the same anyway. 

Personally I would like to have a computer system that includes a little donut dispenser. This would GREATLY improve my productivity, and my mood, which are highly interdependent. I'm sure that if someone were to begin now on designing such a system, it could be ready just in time for my next computer upgrade.

We regret that the blog was silent last week...a very dear loved one who occasionally made an appearance in these posts, the Queen, has passed on to a much bigger mansion. She will be missed immensely.

The chick inn

It can be tough finding a responsible party to look after your urban chickens when you want to get away for an occasional weekend or so. You might be lucky enough to find a chicken-sitting service, consisting of an individual who comes to your place to feed the chickens, make sure they're comfortable, keep an eye out for any neighbors who might be hungry, etc.


Or, you might be able to take advantage of a new solution: 

Comfortable suite available nightly in convenient urban location, plus meals, for two dollars. Deluxe accommodations -- including organic meals and turndown service -- for dollar extra. Will only consider patrons who:

-- Are about a foot tall

-- Get around mostly by waddling/strutting

-- Communicate largely through clucks

Yes. The chick inn.

A slight catch is that not too many chicken hotels exist in the US as of yet. Like: 1. But the idea is bound to catch on, and each establishment is likely to offer its own personalized services. There might be, say, a Basic Level (clean food and water, a comfortable roost), a Deluxe Level (thick, luxurious towels; privacy curtains), a Deluxe Deluxe Level (a fluffy pillow with a small chocolate on top), and a Queen Super-Deluxe Almost-Human Level (with penthouse suite, food pellets provided on a silver tray, dance lessons, etc.).

Here are a few suggestions for those who might be considering opening such an establishment:

-- Have some toys on hand in case the chickens need a little entertainment. If you are wondering what sorts of toys might interest chickens, basically it comes down to, according to one source, "food and shiny things." 

-- Some hens may experience a bit of anxiety over going to sleep in an unfamiliar place. You might play a soothing selection of lullabies to help patrons nod off to sleep. 

-- In severe cases of homesickness, owners should be encouraged to provide pictures of themselves that can be shown to the hens to help them feel more at ease. Maybe a special blanket, even.

As with any establishment that serves the public, a few rules will help keep things running smoothly:

-- No visitors of the opposite sex.

-- No lights, food, or shiny things past 9:00.

-- No scary movies before bedtime (anything having to do with Thanksgiving is strictly forbidden).


This post has been approved by the the Federation of Urban Fowl (FUF). Pending approval by the Campaign for Licensed, Unvexed Chicken Kare (CLUCK).

Where is the Princess?

The Princess has been under the weather this week, and busy attempting to find out which of the gazillions of scary diseases so graphically explained and illustrated on various websites she might have. Once she has exhausted these possibilities, or the doctor bans her from web surfing, the blog will return.