The Hero took steps this weekend to rectify what he considers to be an alarming trend: his feminization, as a result of picking up some of the Princess's habits and neglecting his more manly side. These telltale signs consist of items such as the following:
--Certain facial expressions and utterances, such as "bye-bye" and "yay!"
--Other things that the Hero would rather not have made public, lest they tarnish his image
He announced one afternoon that this trend would be halted by watching scary man-movies, which he felt he had neglected recently.*
"Perfect," I said. "Things blowing up is just what you need to get some man-ness back."
But judging by the sounds emanating from the TV room, the story line of the first movie centered not so much on explosions as on wild animals, or humans grunting like wild animals. This must be the post-apocalyptic movie he mentioned, in which almost every human has succumbed to some sort of virus that turns them into animals, except of course for the good guy. The good guy is very tall and rugged and manly. HE is not feminized! HE will save the few surviving normal humans with his manliness and medical knowledge!
Which he does, but then promptly dies.
"He doesn't die," the Hero corrected me. "He sacrifices himself to save the other survivors."
That was short-sighted, I mused. Just how long will those few stragglers last against the human-animals without Mr. Tall, Rugged, and Manly? Hopefully the producers will leave that to our imagination rather than give us a sequel ("Mr. Tall, Rugged, and Manly Returns: The Good Zombie").
There were also various alien movies in the lineup, which brings up the question: Are any movies ever made about good aliens? Ones who, I don't know, maybe come up with a cure for cancer, help us solve the Earth's many problems, or give us some new ideas for decorating?
Oh, wait, there I go feminizing things again. Maybe I'll go around snarling, human-animal-like, for a few days, until the Hero lines up Pride and Prejudice on the TV for me.
"Here," he'll say, directing me to the couch. "You need some feminizing."
_______
* Just so there is no misunderstanding about what the Princess has been "making" the Hero watch, her favorite show of late is Bones, which is not exactly for the dainty or faint of heart.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
February 2, second take
Ahh, spring has finally arrived, assuring us that the long, cold, bleak winter we have just passed through is but a dim memory that can no longer hold sway over us.
SOMEWHERE in the world this is true. Just not here. Not yet. Winter has been, and continues to be, a Long, Cold, and Bleak tyrant that will not easily give up power. And we know who's to blame...
March 26, 2014 Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. In the early hours Monday, Punxsutawney Phil was awakened from sleep by a group of East Coast residents weary of the long, harsh winter.
"Psst! Phil! Come up here!"
"Go away," said a high-pitched voice from below the ground. "He's sleeping."
"We need him!" the residents urged.
A sleepy Phil finally emerged to face the crowd, blinking against the glare of flashlights. "What can I do for you?" he said.
"On Groundhog Day you said there'd be six more weeks of winter!" someone cried. "Dude, it's been, like, six MONTHS!"
A soft wailing could be heard among the group.
Phil sighed. "If you'll look at my record, ladies and gentlemen, you'll see that my observations are not accurate very often. I never signed up for this gig, you know. And it's only supposed to be for one day. So what do you want me to do about it now?"
"We want a redo, Phil," one man said.
"Told you you shoulda kept sleeping," his wife whispered from below.
Phil tried to be patient. "Look, it doesn't work like that. I can't CHANGE the weather, only predict it."
"And not even THAT very well," someone muttered.
Phil looked reproachful.
"Please, Phil, we're all so sick of winter. The constant shoveling. The cold. Our kids are gonna be in school all the way 'til they have to back in August. Just do a quick prognostication right now. Please? Look around. Do you see your shadow?"
"It's still dark," Phil pointed out. "I can't TELL if there are any shadows or not."
"Well, THAT must mean something!" someone said.
"Yeah, technically Phil didn't see his shadow!" another said. "Hurray! Winter's on its way out!"
Shouts of jubilation went up among the crowd, and they turned to leave. "Thanks, Phil!" a few said. "Happy spring! See you next year!"
Someday, Phil mused, the record would be set straight. On this day, March 26, 2014, he had seen neither the presence nor the absence of his shadow. With all those flashlights in his face, he wasn't sure he'd ever see ANYTHING again. But maybe it didn't really matter, this prognostication business.
"Denise," he said to his wife as he descended back into his warm hole, "where are those brochures you've been collecting on Florida...?"
SOMEWHERE in the world this is true. Just not here. Not yet. Winter has been, and continues to be, a Long, Cold, and Bleak tyrant that will not easily give up power. And we know who's to blame...
March 26, 2014 Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. In the early hours Monday, Punxsutawney Phil was awakened from sleep by a group of East Coast residents weary of the long, harsh winter.
"Psst! Phil! Come up here!"
"Go away," said a high-pitched voice from below the ground. "He's sleeping."
"We need him!" the residents urged.
A sleepy Phil finally emerged to face the crowd, blinking against the glare of flashlights. "What can I do for you?" he said.
"On Groundhog Day you said there'd be six more weeks of winter!" someone cried. "Dude, it's been, like, six MONTHS!"
A soft wailing could be heard among the group.
Phil sighed. "If you'll look at my record, ladies and gentlemen, you'll see that my observations are not accurate very often. I never signed up for this gig, you know. And it's only supposed to be for one day. So what do you want me to do about it now?"
"We want a redo, Phil," one man said.
"Told you you shoulda kept sleeping," his wife whispered from below.
Phil tried to be patient. "Look, it doesn't work like that. I can't CHANGE the weather, only predict it."
"And not even THAT very well," someone muttered.
Phil looked reproachful.
"Please, Phil, we're all so sick of winter. The constant shoveling. The cold. Our kids are gonna be in school all the way 'til they have to back in August. Just do a quick prognostication right now. Please? Look around. Do you see your shadow?"
"It's still dark," Phil pointed out. "I can't TELL if there are any shadows or not."
"Well, THAT must mean something!" someone said.
"Yeah, technically Phil didn't see his shadow!" another said. "Hurray! Winter's on its way out!"
Shouts of jubilation went up among the crowd, and they turned to leave. "Thanks, Phil!" a few said. "Happy spring! See you next year!"
Someday, Phil mused, the record would be set straight. On this day, March 26, 2014, he had seen neither the presence nor the absence of his shadow. With all those flashlights in his face, he wasn't sure he'd ever see ANYTHING again. But maybe it didn't really matter, this prognostication business.
"Denise," he said to his wife as he descended back into his warm hole, "where are those brochures you've been collecting on Florida...?"
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Trapped!
It is every homeowner's nightmare: to be surrounded and trapped in their home by beings with malicious intent. Wild animals. Street gangs. And -- giant tumbleweeds.
Some homeowners in a Colorado neighborhood find themselves in this situation, their doors and windows and streets clogged by, in some cases, 10-foot high piles of dry, brambly tumbleweeds.* They have come from surrounding empty fields and lots, hastened by strong winds, and leave residents trapped.
Residents say they are getting no help from their homeowner's association, probably because tumbleweeds are not covered in the HOA bylaws. They may even be expressly excluded: "Section XX407.29J3, Strange and Unusual Life Forms -- In the event of a tumbleweed invasion, this HOA will in no wise assist homeowners in exiting and entering their domiciles nor make any effort toward removing such obstacles; it may, at the express discretion of the HOA, levy a fine on any homeowner who repeatedly continues to submit complaints and requests for HOA officials to render assistance."
So if the HOA won't help, it may be time for residents to call in some experts who will only be too glad to mount an attack against the intruders: Boy Scouts. Think about it. There's nature. There's danger. People in need of rescuing. Tools to be used, and maybe even invented. If the boys could get a badge out if it, so much the better. The "I Fought Against Nature and Won Badge."
On the positive side, the situation offers an opportunity for the community to come together. Years in the future, residents can talk about how they met their "good friends, Judy and Greg, during the Great Tumbleweed Siege of 2014."
_________
*I can relate, although our threat comes not so much from outside our house as inside. Giant dust bunnies.
Some homeowners in a Colorado neighborhood find themselves in this situation, their doors and windows and streets clogged by, in some cases, 10-foot high piles of dry, brambly tumbleweeds.* They have come from surrounding empty fields and lots, hastened by strong winds, and leave residents trapped.
Residents say they are getting no help from their homeowner's association, probably because tumbleweeds are not covered in the HOA bylaws. They may even be expressly excluded: "Section XX407.29J3, Strange and Unusual Life Forms -- In the event of a tumbleweed invasion, this HOA will in no wise assist homeowners in exiting and entering their domiciles nor make any effort toward removing such obstacles; it may, at the express discretion of the HOA, levy a fine on any homeowner who repeatedly continues to submit complaints and requests for HOA officials to render assistance."
So if the HOA won't help, it may be time for residents to call in some experts who will only be too glad to mount an attack against the intruders: Boy Scouts. Think about it. There's nature. There's danger. People in need of rescuing. Tools to be used, and maybe even invented. If the boys could get a badge out if it, so much the better. The "I Fought Against Nature and Won Badge."
On the positive side, the situation offers an opportunity for the community to come together. Years in the future, residents can talk about how they met their "good friends, Judy and Greg, during the Great Tumbleweed Siege of 2014."
_________
*I can relate, although our threat comes not so much from outside our house as inside. Giant dust bunnies.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
I'll have .135 of an ice cream sundae, please
We celebrated St. Patrick's Day by looking at our fitness report from the Y and were immediately sorry that we had done so. But not as sorry as we were that we'd consumed hot fudge sundaes the night before.
The sundaes had seemed like a good idea at the time, further proving -- as if we needed any more proof -- that any idea that originates in the stomach will turn out to be a bad idea.
The fitness report summarizes our cardio activity and weight-lifting achievements in plain, easy-to-understand units of measurement: elephants and ice cream sundaes. The amount of weight lifted is reported in fractions of elephants*, along with an explanatory statement such as "You have lifted the equivalent of half an elephant hair from its small right toe. Possibly a quarter of such a hair."
Cardio activity is reported in terms of how many ice cream sundaes you have earned based on your energy output. Possibly there are individuals who output enough energy to earn ice cream sundaes by the dozens. If there are, I intensely dislike these individuals.
Oblivious to the information coming in our reports -- indeed, conveniently forgetting for a time that we even had Y memberships -- the Hero and I thoroughly enjoyed heaping scoops of ice cream smothered in hot fudge over the weekend. And then we opened our emailed reports.
"Oh, no," I moaned. "We already had our sundaes. I only earned .135 to begin with. Now we have negative hot fudge sundaes!"
We took a walk, but our effort was more suited to lifting frisbees than elephants, and did nothing to get us back in the positive field of ice cream sundaes.
As we trudged home, we resolved to get back on track with our workouts. Just as soon as we finish off that ice cream and hot fudge.
______________
*At least OUR reports are given in fractional elephants. Probably there are other people, slightly more dedicated to their weight-lifting efforts, who have their lifted weight reported in multiples of elephants rather than fractions.
The sundaes had seemed like a good idea at the time, further proving -- as if we needed any more proof -- that any idea that originates in the stomach will turn out to be a bad idea.
The fitness report summarizes our cardio activity and weight-lifting achievements in plain, easy-to-understand units of measurement: elephants and ice cream sundaes. The amount of weight lifted is reported in fractions of elephants*, along with an explanatory statement such as "You have lifted the equivalent of half an elephant hair from its small right toe. Possibly a quarter of such a hair."
Cardio activity is reported in terms of how many ice cream sundaes you have earned based on your energy output. Possibly there are individuals who output enough energy to earn ice cream sundaes by the dozens. If there are, I intensely dislike these individuals.
Oblivious to the information coming in our reports -- indeed, conveniently forgetting for a time that we even had Y memberships -- the Hero and I thoroughly enjoyed heaping scoops of ice cream smothered in hot fudge over the weekend. And then we opened our emailed reports.
"Oh, no," I moaned. "We already had our sundaes. I only earned .135 to begin with. Now we have negative hot fudge sundaes!"
We took a walk, but our effort was more suited to lifting frisbees than elephants, and did nothing to get us back in the positive field of ice cream sundaes.
As we trudged home, we resolved to get back on track with our workouts. Just as soon as we finish off that ice cream and hot fudge.
______________
*At least OUR reports are given in fractional elephants. Probably there are other people, slightly more dedicated to their weight-lifting efforts, who have their lifted weight reported in multiples of elephants rather than fractions.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Have food, will share (and share, and share, and...)
We are disappointed to report that we completely missed National Cereal Day, which was March 7. According to one survey, each morning 49% of Americans "wake up and eat cereal." The other 51%, apparently, prefer to eat their cereal first and THEN wake up. And why not? This is how millions drink their morning coffee.
I realize that many parts of the world experience food shortages, and today's post is in no wise intended to make light of that fact. Indeed, if there were a way I could ship off the entire contents of our refrigerator right now to some needy persons, I would. I wouldn't even open the fridge and take the items out; I would just send the whole thing along intact.
This is because we CAN'T open the fridge. To do so would set off an avalanche of vegetables, dairy, fruit, cheese, and leftovers, under which we would be buried alive. (True, we could probably STAY alive under there for quite some time, given the provisions and assuming we survived the initial assault.)
This situation is not really our fault. Our CSA has run amok, stuffing enough food into our weekly baskets to feed all those terra cotta soldiers standing guard in Qin Shi Huangdi's tomb in China should they suddenly feel a need to consume broccoli, beets and beet greens, Belgian endive, curly endive, straight endive, spinach, cabbages that weigh nearly 8 pounds each, butternut squash*, grapefruit, oranges, apples, pears, eggs, big turnips, little turnips, in-between turnips -- the list goes on.
"Maybe we should get a dog," I say to the a Hero, looking helplessly at all the food in the fridge and on the counter. "We could use some help."
Trekking through the grocery store for the few items we do not get from the CSA but that are necessary**, I spy an entire cart full of cabbages. SMALL cabbages. Cute cabbages, even. Cabbages meant for two people. I look at them with envy. I want to hug them.
"THESE are the cabbages we should be getting," I declare to the Hero. "But no, WE get mega-cabbages."
"We'd better eat our cabbage up," the Hero reminds me. "We might get another one next week."
"Nooooooo," I wail pitifully.
And spring isn't even here yet. We shudder at the thought of what our future baskets might contain. If we're lucky, one of them will include a second refrigerator.
____________
*We had taken to affectionately naming all our butternut squash "Bert," and now find ourselves having to sub-name them: Bert 1, Bert 2, Bert 634, etc.
**muffins
I realize that many parts of the world experience food shortages, and today's post is in no wise intended to make light of that fact. Indeed, if there were a way I could ship off the entire contents of our refrigerator right now to some needy persons, I would. I wouldn't even open the fridge and take the items out; I would just send the whole thing along intact.
This is because we CAN'T open the fridge. To do so would set off an avalanche of vegetables, dairy, fruit, cheese, and leftovers, under which we would be buried alive. (True, we could probably STAY alive under there for quite some time, given the provisions and assuming we survived the initial assault.)
This situation is not really our fault. Our CSA has run amok, stuffing enough food into our weekly baskets to feed all those terra cotta soldiers standing guard in Qin Shi Huangdi's tomb in China should they suddenly feel a need to consume broccoli, beets and beet greens, Belgian endive, curly endive, straight endive, spinach, cabbages that weigh nearly 8 pounds each, butternut squash*, grapefruit, oranges, apples, pears, eggs, big turnips, little turnips, in-between turnips -- the list goes on.
"Maybe we should get a dog," I say to the a Hero, looking helplessly at all the food in the fridge and on the counter. "We could use some help."
Trekking through the grocery store for the few items we do not get from the CSA but that are necessary**, I spy an entire cart full of cabbages. SMALL cabbages. Cute cabbages, even. Cabbages meant for two people. I look at them with envy. I want to hug them.
"THESE are the cabbages we should be getting," I declare to the Hero. "But no, WE get mega-cabbages."
"We'd better eat our cabbage up," the Hero reminds me. "We might get another one next week."
"Nooooooo," I wail pitifully.
And spring isn't even here yet. We shudder at the thought of what our future baskets might contain. If we're lucky, one of them will include a second refrigerator.
____________
*We had taken to affectionately naming all our butternut squash "Bert," and now find ourselves having to sub-name them: Bert 1, Bert 2, Bert 634, etc.
**muffins
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Living the Barbie dream
Okay, so maybe there is something to the idea that Barbie is harmful to girls' self-image. It's even possible, if you are a certain Ukrainian model, to believe you ARE Barbie.
A couple of years ago this model, 23, had surgery to become Barbie. The thin waist. The rather substantial, um, other parts. Waxy skin. Cartoon-like facial features. A house that that resembles the plastic packaging that manufactured Barbies come in.
Okay, probably not that last one. But the others, yes. And now this human Barbie seems to be taking a last step toward actually living out the dream: becoming brainless.
While Barbie is not dieting or starving herself -- not in the usual sense of the word, anyway -- she is renouncing food. All of it. And drink too. Because she intends to live completely on "air and light." (Hey, it's worked for the doll Barbie for 50 years.)
At least one part of human Barbie's body seems to have already been completely taken over by air -- her head. Perhaps that plastic surgery a couple of years ago included a little extra procedure, north of her neck.
Amazingly, this idea did not originate with Barbie. There are other people who believe this too. They are called breatharians. They exist on "cosmic micro-food," which I'm guessing is not even remotely related to chocolate. So sad.
So, parents, you might want to keep an eye out for kids who are maybe taking certain playthings a little too seriously. If your son suddenly becomes intensely interested in, say, Spider-Man, seek help immediately. Especially if your son is 23.
A couple of years ago this model, 23, had surgery to become Barbie. The thin waist. The rather substantial, um, other parts. Waxy skin. Cartoon-like facial features. A house that that resembles the plastic packaging that manufactured Barbies come in.
Okay, probably not that last one. But the others, yes. And now this human Barbie seems to be taking a last step toward actually living out the dream: becoming brainless.
While Barbie is not dieting or starving herself -- not in the usual sense of the word, anyway -- she is renouncing food. All of it. And drink too. Because she intends to live completely on "air and light." (Hey, it's worked for the doll Barbie for 50 years.)
At least one part of human Barbie's body seems to have already been completely taken over by air -- her head. Perhaps that plastic surgery a couple of years ago included a little extra procedure, north of her neck.
Amazingly, this idea did not originate with Barbie. There are other people who believe this too. They are called breatharians. They exist on "cosmic micro-food," which I'm guessing is not even remotely related to chocolate. So sad.
So, parents, you might want to keep an eye out for kids who are maybe taking certain playthings a little too seriously. If your son suddenly becomes intensely interested in, say, Spider-Man, seek help immediately. Especially if your son is 23.
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