Lawn chair driving

Only in Saskatchewan would someone use a lawn chair in place of a driver's seat in a car.  Now I could understand wanting a handy beach chair in a person's car, especially if one lived near a beach and the weather was warm and sunny at almost all times.  But where I come from the normal thing to do is take out the beach chair in the spring - usually around the time the snow starts to melt, and put it away when the snow arrives again - usually in November.  However, there are always exceptions to every rule.  Take Dairy Queen for example.  People will line up at an outside the DQ booth in minus twenty celcius weather for a DQ treat and think nothing of it.  Mind you, when your brain is almost as frozen as the dairy treat it really doesn't make much difference.  So, keeping that in mind, I can see - sort of - the logic behind the man with the lawn chair.  What is a little - odd - shall we say, is using it as a car seat so that he can drive.  Lawn chairs are notoriously tippy.  Not to be confused with tipsy, which apparently this particular person was.  What we don't know is why.  Did he have a sudden urge to go ice fishing and required a chair?  Was his car seat on the driver's side seatnapped?  Did his wife remove the seat so that he wouldn't drive drunk?  Is this an ongoing saga and will we ever know how it all ends?  Do we really care?  I know I don't, but until I can have DQ in minus twenty weather again and think nothing of it, I'll let the whole thing go.  Until next time when I have some icecream.

Medvedev, Simon Cowel and other entertainers

A good friend of mine posted on facebook that he saw a picture of Medvedev and thought it was Simon Cowell, then couldn't understand what Mr. Cowel had to do with NATO.  I do that kind of thing often.  Confuse people, literally and figuratively.  I still have trouble telling some of the actresses apart.  Take for example Melanie Griffith and Meg Ryan.  While I know they are not alike, I have always managed to confuse them with each other (not confuse as in we are having a conversation and they don't understand what I'm talking about).  Same thing with Susan Sarandon and Sigourney Weaver (see last sentence).  Again they look nothing alike, but in my mind they are interchangable.  Kind of like one size fits all pantihose, or any non-gender specific clothing, or any one of the new cadre of actors/actresses and musicians.  Perhaps it's the way my brain works.  I do, after all, tend to confuse headlines coming up with something much more interesting than what was there, but still confusing. But lets get back to the issue of Mr. Cowel and Mr. Medvedev.  I can certainly see how my friend could get confused.  Both men are in the entertainment business, though many might not think so.  Think about it for a minute.  Ok.  Feeling better?  Oh good.  Me too.  It's hard on a person when they have to think about all the similarities between Mr. Cowel and what he does and Mr. Medvedev and what he does.  So lets just talk about a couple of them.  Hmmm.  Which ones shall we choose?  Both are from Europe, both have interesting jobs and both need attitude adjustments.  So what we need is to put both men in a room together and see what happens.  Does Mr. Medvedev use all his diplomatic skills to persuade Mr. Cowel to not be so sarcastic and teach him the fine art of stick handling in a diplomatic situation (think comments on American Idol when Cowel was there), or does Mr. Cowel teach Mr. Medvedev how to shoot from the lip and forget the whole diplomacy thing?  Who would win this competition and who really would care?  Not me.  I'm going back to sleep until next time when something almost interesting happens.

More from Science

Don't you just love it when scientists make a big announcement that they have proven some thing or other is really beneficial?  Take, for example, chicken soup.  For absolutely ever scientist said there was no empirical, scientific proof that chicken soup really did make you better.  It was all an "old wives tale" they said, poohpoohing all the wise old women who knew better.  Only after some bright bulbs decided to actually test chicken soup and found that it really did have healing properties did science take things seriously.  In the mean time I think I heard millions of "Old Wives" laughing up their collective sleaves.  Now, it appears, that scientists have once more proven what anyone with a brain already knew.  Chocolate, especially dark chocolate, is really good for you.  It has, so they say, an effect on the body that helps lower blood pressure.  So not only does chocolate taste good, it is now scientifically proven it is good for you. So does this mean now that when someone tells me to boil onions and add honey to the liquid that I need to find some scientific journal, or for that matter, scientist to give me the go ahead?  What about genetically modified onions?  Do they count?  Will it keep away the mutant mosquitoes?  How about regular ones?  Vampires? - oh wait - that's garlic.  Personally I can't see why I'd want to drink onion juice, honey or not, but many of the women here swear by it as a cold remedy.  True, it would certainly put off anyone who didn't have a cold from hanging around, but where's the data?  Where are all the nice tables of numbers and graphs and charts?  Where is the double blind test to prove this?  I have no idea, but if the Old Wives around here swear it works, I think I might take their word over some scientist, even if that scientist did test the theory (see chicken soup).  Until next time, I'm taking something less potent for my cold and eating a big bar of chocolate.

Mutant mosquitos

Maybe it's just me, but somehow having mutant mosquitos flying around just seems wrong.  It's bad enough with regular mosquitos - you know - those irritating insects that buzz in your ears and bite and leave you itchy and uncomfortable at best.  Hmmm sounds a lot like my students but without the biting part (they are, after all, teenagers and unless they happen to be vampires, don't usually bite).  Now scientist have done something that could be incredibly stupid or incredibly smart, but only time will tell.  They've genetically modified male mosquitos.  I'm sure their intentions were good, but then so was Dr. Frankenstein, and we all know how that turned out.  Besides, mother nature already did the whole mutant insect thing, and look what  happened.  In my opinion, scientists should have left the whole blood sucking thing to vampires and left mosquitos out of the equation.  They do a good enough job as it is (vampires and mosquitos, not scientists).  The question then is, what happens when the mutant mosquitos mutate?  We all know they have a very short life span, but how many generations of mutant male mosquitos will it take before we have man size mosquitos buzzing around looking for lunch and giving us their multifaceted eye as the next snack?  Personally, I would prefer my mosquitos, as irritating as they are, less than human size.  Maybe a little bigger so they are easier to see and kill, but not much.  One of my coworkers has bats in her roof (as opposed to bats in her belfrey) and they do a fine job of controlling mosquitos.  Does this mean that if things get out of hand, scientists will mutate bats?  What about other mosquito eating insects like dragon flies?  Will they get bigger too?  Shades of Jurrasic Park!!  Until next time, I'll be watching out for giant mosquitoes.

Behind the 8 ball and other stuff

It never fails.  Just when I think I'm on a roll and things are going smoothly, I find myself playing catch-up (not to be confused with the Katchup we use on or in food).  This year I'm trying to sort both myself and my students out so that we can have a semi-productive year.  I say semi-productive because it takes the first year at a new school to learn both the written and unwritten rules of a school.  What do I mean by unwritten rules?  Well, you know, everything that's not covered in the student or teacher manual that you are supposed to know because you learned to read minds in university - well ok, maybe not read minds exactly but certainly guess accurately.  It's all part of the fun of being a new teacher.  That combined with learning a new language (or in this case new dialect of a vaguely familiar language), dealing with students whose reluctance to do anything remotely related to work (they make the most stubborn mule seem obedient and placid) and parents who firmly believe that either a)  their darlings are absolute angels or b) all the problems in class are the teachers fault because, you guessed it, their darlings are absolute angels.  So between that and dealing with a combination of cold and allergies (I still haven't figured out if my cold is allergic to something, or I'm allergic to colds) life has been grand.  Could be worse, could be better, but definitely worth a comment or two.  Now that I'm mostly sorted out life should be getting back to normal.  Which reminds me - what exactly IS normal anyway?  Until next time, coffee is calling me.

Which stars are green?

I don't know.  Why would stars be green?  Aren't they supposed to be white?  Or was the headline talking about movie and TV stars?  If that's the case then the original question I posed stands.  Why would stars be green?  Are they eating too many veggies?  Perhaps they're green with envy.  If that's the case, who are they envious of and why?  Do they dye their hair to match their faces?  Are they all trying out for the part of Elispeth in "Wicked'?  Do they come by their green-ness naturally or is it another form of body alteration, and why green?  Why not crimson or violet, fuschia or magenta?  How about teal?  That would certainly make an interesting contrast.  Even good old orange might be a nice change.  Which then begs the question, can these stars change their colour depending on their mood, or do they have to stay green?  What if they don't look good in green (hair, make-up, clothes, etc.)?  Are they social outcasts because they don't look like everyone else?  Why would anyone who is a star want to?  Oh.  Wait.  The article was really talking about stars who are practicing environmentally good things, not their colour or the way they feel about someone else (though given how some of them look, it could go either way).  Until next time, when I think vaguely about colouring my hair - not green.

Wriggling and Giggling

So here I am in Colombia, teaching middle school English, which might not be so bad.  Except for one thing.  I've forgotten how wriggly and giggly twelve and thirteen going on fourteen children really are.  To sit still for more than ten minutes is a challenge, to actually work for 50 minutes even more so. Add to this the penchant for children to spend most of their time socializing, interfacing on thier cell phones and the need to check for text messages ever five minutes or less, even when they shouldn't, makes for a very - dynamic - classroom.  Way too much energy, not enough places to use it up, which is why I generally like to stay away from this age group - as far away as I can.  Unfortunately my job is to teach these darlings.  Really need to check my sanity pills to up the strength for this one.  What will happen this year?  Well, let's see ... the thirteen-going-on-fourteens will continue to wage the battle between wanting to be little kids and raging hormones that say otherwise, which makes them, as my mother would say - snorty.  The twelve-going-on-thirteens will suddenly hit the hormone wall, which will turn them from children into - well even more wriggly and giggly teens.  Then, they have to relearn to work in English which is not their first language (even though they've been taking English as a subject for the last seven years it's like they haven't had any before - see hormones above).  So who will survive the year?  That's up for grabs - and it's only September.  Until next time I have enough brainpower to write this blog.

Hi honey I'm home

I'm back.  Finally.  It's funny how a person misses things he/she didn't realize he/she was missing until the thing he/she was missing isn't there.  Awkward, I know, but grammatically correct.  This she missed having a washing machine, coffee pot and toaster.  Not major applicances (well except the washing machine), but definitely things that make life a little easier.  Being on the road, I find there are all kinds of things I miss, mostly things of convenience, like a good cup of coffee first thing in the morning, or being able to drop a load of laundry into the washing machine any time I feel the need, or urge, or lack of clean clothes.  It makes me wonder how women in the past managed, but then I'm sure there were "modern conveniences" that were available that they also missed when they got to travel, which wasn't often.  I've missed blogging, not because I couldn't but because life, as always, seems to get in the way of things I want to do. It does that, you know.  Get in the way of things that are interesting and/or fun. The last few weeks have been hectic.  Getting a visa, travelling, settling into a new place, new language (my dab of Spanish is semiuseful here) and new school routine.  It takes up more time and energy than a person realizes at first.  Eventually I'll be so settled it will feel like I've been here forever.  Which of course is one of those time folding things and before I know it the year will be over and I'll feel like I've just started.  In the mean time, I'll get back into the routine of doing the things I enjoy, and will be here much more often.  Until next time.

Excuses, excuses

It's been a very long time since I last posted a blog.  Not because I couldn't (well, ok, it was difficult to get online in N Ireland for some bizarre reason), but mostly because intertia took over.  It's very hard to overcome the need to do nothing - or at least to convince yourself to do something when doing nothing is much easier.  I can list tons of excuses for not writing - that's easy.  What I can't do is give good, solid reasons for not doing my blogging.  Kind of like my students when they have tons of excuses for not doing their homework, but no real reasons.  As such, I would appologize for my laziness, but in truth can't because sometimes being lazy and enjoying doing as little as possible is often exactly what we need to do.  I was far too busy visiting family and friends to bother, and that was important.  I got to check up and check in with my sister, my mother and my sons (though the one in Canada missed out on a one to one because of circumstances, but next year we'll do better).  I was also able to spend quality time with my lifelong friend and her family - something I haven't really done for a very long time.  Which brings me to visits.  Some visits you can't wait to be over and others you wish would last for much longer. Case in point - my lifelong friend's hubby has relatives up the hoop, and this summer was the summer of the dreaded "drop in on short notice and visit".  This made for a lot of congestion and a lot of tongue biting on my friend's part, but she survived and will probably not have to do this again for another two or three years.  The second was indeed the case this year.  I enjoyed my month of visiting, but it is time to move on, so I head off into the great blue yonder to my next adventure in living.  I'll be out of circulation for a little while longer until I get internet connected at my new home in Colombia, so consistent commentaries will have to wait - again.  They will come, just not for a bit.  Until next time, I'm dashing off to the airport.

Electronic vs Manual

Call me old fashioned (ok I'm old fashioned), but there are times when incredibly old technology has a distinct advantage over new.  One of our secretaries was in tears yesterday, because modern technology failed her.  She is responsible for printing off and collating all the reports for the senior classes.  Technology, which is supposed to make her life so much easier, failed to do its job.  The program that was supposed to generate the reports screwed things up so badly it reduced this incredibly strong (and I'm not talking physical though she may be that as well) woman to tears.  I know the feeling well.  There have been a number of times I've felt like grabbing the computer tower, or laptop, and tossing it out the window, off the balcony, or the roof, of whatever building I happen to be in.  Actually, I find that threatening to do so will often correct the problem (unless there is a nasty virus, then not even the strongest of meds poured down its virtual throat will help).  However, back to electronic vs manual, which is where all this began.  In the olden days, you know back in the days of the dinosaurs, there used to be manual typewriters.  Yes, you actually had to not use electricity, press firmly (and I do mean firmly) on the keys, replace the ribbon once in a while (depending on how many times you'd used the cloth ribbon) and what was there was there.  Unless you made a mistake, then liquid paper (or a similar thing on strips of paper) was used.  Wayyyy before liquid paper, if one made a mistake, one had to take the sheet of paper out and retype everything.  Accuracy more than speed was the key, though being able to type 50 (yes 50) words per minute error free was the ultimate goal.  I never did reach that.  I think the highest I ever got was around 37 (kind of like my bowling scores).  No matter.  It was very tempting to suggest someone find her an old, manual typewriter to use - just for this occasion, or to take both the computer and the programmer up to the roof of the school and huck both of them off, just to make herself feel better.  Well ok, maybe not the programmer, that would cause all sorts of other problems, but the computer for sure. Until next time I feel like tossing the computer (is there a competition for how far a person can throw a computer, or how fast it will drop off the top of the roof, and where do I sign up?) I'll leave modern technology alone and go sit on my balcony where the birds are using even more ancient technology to soar through the air.

Toilet paper, potholes and recovery

At first, when I saw the headline about toilet paper and recovery, I thought I'd imagined it.  We all know I have a penchant for misreading things and was sure I'd read the headline wrong.  When I went back to re-read it, it was gone, so I simple assumed I'd been imagining it.  I do have a good imagination, but that would have been a little on the odd side.  However, given that I was probably subconsciously reminding myself to buy more toilet paper, I simply shrugged my shoulders and carried on, only to have the headline reappear, and no, I wasn't imagining it.  This leads to soooo many questions.  Why toilet paper?  What is it recovering from?  Who would know? Was it suffering from a hangover, or the flu, both of which can lay pretty much anything or anyone low?  Did the writer mean that someone recovered the toilet paper, perhaps in satin or crepe?  Why would whoever they are that is doing this do that?  Do they have a thing about naked toilet paper, unlike airline security who have a thing about clothing?  Perhaps the persons who feel that toilet paper needs to be recovered are actually talking about recycling.  How does one recover used toilet paper to recycle (cue up the eeewwww factor here)?  Can you, or anyone else for that matter, see your/him/herself listing that as a job skill?  Which brings us to the other headline about potholes and recovery.  Are the potholes in need of recovering (probably given how they spring up regularly on the roads, much like pimples only in reverse)?  What are they recovering from?  or should cities use the recovered toilet paper to fill the potholes, thus solving two problems in one go?  How much recovered toilet paper would it take to fill a pothole and how often would this task have to be performed?  How long would it last and what would be the economic benefit of such a move?  Why would anyone care about either of these (other than potholes which are an ongoing problem for pretty much everywhere)?   Ohhhh.  Never mind.  This has to all do with economic recovery - why, I have no idea, and this inquiring mind isn't going to spend the time finding out. Speculation is much more fun. Until next time.

Coffee

I'm sitting at the computer, sipping on my morning coffee.  No, not instant - that's not real coffee.  Not sure what it is, but it isn't real.  Actually the term "instant" coffee is a bit of a misnomer, considering that you have to wait for water to boil to have that cup of sludge, thus rendering the "instant" wrong.  Unless the manufacturers are referring to the "brewing" time, in which case, since there is no brewing, it is indeed instant.  Not that instant coffee doesn't have its place - like on a camping trip where electric outlets are probably non-existant anywhere remotely close to where the tent/camper/van is (and you're not hauling one of those handy dandy Canadian Tire generators).  I'm also not talking about chain coffee either.  You know, coffee blended specifically for some coffee chain or other.  It too has a less than authentic ring to it, though it is a vast improvement over the instant variety.  It is real coffee - don't get me wrong, but it somehow loses something in translation when it becomes "specially blended".
In my travels, I have, for the most part, lived in countries that grow coffee.  In the middle east it was Arabic coffee which has a distinct full flavour that definitely cannot be confused with the softer, rich flavour of Hawaiian coffee.  India's coffee has a very different flavour, incredibly mellow, someplace between Hawaiian and Arabic.  Mexican coffee has a very robust flavour that, when cinamon is added, gives it a very upbeat snap.  My next stop is Colombia, in the heart of coffee bean country, where I'm quite sure their coffee will have yet another wonderful flavour all its own.  Can't wait.  I'll be able to sip my morning coffee on the balcony and watch the world go by, savouring both the coffee and the sights and sounds of my next new home.  Until next time.

Is the euro zone fixable?

I don't know.  What part of it's broken?  Can it still be driven?  Has its blades gone rusty and they just need sharpening?  Is it a wiring  problem?  Who is actually qualified to fix a euro zone and where does one go to take a course on this, or can anyone do it?  Does it need parts replaced or a total rewiring?  How would one know?  Does warranty cover this or is it warranty free?  Does the euro zone break down frequently, and shouldn't there be a consumer advocacy group out there demanding it be recalled or something?  How long has the euro zone been on the market and will stores be pulling it from the shelves if this is an on-going issue?  Which reminds me - what exactly IS a euro zone?  Is it a car, an appliance, a toy, and who exactly would buy this item?  Is it a limited edition and therefore extremely expensive or can a person go to their nearest dollar store and get one?  Does it come with some kind of return policy attached or is it an all sales final item?  Is there a return policy and how long is it for?  If you keep the receipt, will the store, outlet or manufacturer honour your claim?  Why or why not?  Oh.  Wait.  It's not a thing (though it could be).  It's actually all of the countries who thought having the same everything would be a good plan.  You know, a one size fits all economy.  Problem is, unlike pantihose, if you get a run in this item you can't simply slap a little nail polish on it to keep it from getting bigger.  I'm sure there is a euro zone mechanic (so to speak) that can fix this, instead of one or more persons who doesn't know what he/she is doing messing around with it (like the do it yourself home Mr. Fix It - makes the problem worse than it was to start with).  Until next time, before I have to completely rewire my apartment.

Grass

Apparently Canada's major contribution to the World Cup (for those who follow soccer - sorry football) is grass.  The question is: What kind of grass are we talking about?  Is it the kind you smoke?  The kind you walk on that is often, but not always, green and growing in your front and back yards?  Is it edible by humans, as in wheat grass, or by ruminants (you know cows, goats, sheep) only as in the grass that grows wild in pastures?  Why would they put down perfectly good grass - assuming it's the lawn kind - on a sports field only to have it trashed by umpteen feet trampling it when they could put down real immitation faux grass (isn't that a form of pate?)?  Come to think of it, maybe it's better that the grass gets trampled rather than people (as has happened recently).  What happens if they don't water it?  Grass gets brown, crunchy and then quite grotty, especially when it sticks to sweaty bodies, making said bodies not only sweaty, but also dirty with bits of dead brown grass sticking to it.  If, on the other hand, it's in a pasture, then nobody will care if it's green or brown, certainly not the critters that chew on it - and we're not talking footballers - well, ok, maybe if they land on the grass face down often enough they could. They would, of course have to also dodge natural fertilizer left behind by said ruminants, but that's a minor detail. This whole faceplant thing would work for them only if it turned out to be wheat grass.  Which reminds me.  Isn't that a bit repetitive given that wheat already is a grass?  Oh wait. That's only to distinguish it from, say, lemon grass, or even - dare we say it, oh why not - pot.  At least I think it is.  Then again maybe not. So how does one get grass from lemons, just as a side question? If, as it turns out, Canada's contribution is the smoking kind (as in pot, weed, whatever the current term is for it now), then how come people in Canada can't have it.  Will it become a new exportable product?  Aren't there enough people in that particular import/export business that Canada doesn't have to?  Do we really want to know this?  Do we really care?  This inquiring mind certainly doesn't.  Until next time.

Boulder shoulders

Oh.   Wait.  The headline actually said bolder shoulders.  Why would shoulders be bolder?  Are they asserting themselves in light of other body parts being upsized, downsized or oversized?  Do they feel left out because they aren't getting the attention they feel they deserve?  After all, we all shoulder responsibility, or shrug off problems that might cause us to actually have to deal with them.  And what about the support they provide holding up our - whatever they are holding up?  Don't they deserve a little extra recognition?  Which brings me to boulder shoulders.  While our shoulders may feel they require more than they are getting, there was a time when adding shoulder pads to jackets, dresses and blouses was the in thing.  We all (ok the women all) ran around looking like we were trying out for a North American style football team (not to be confused with soccer teams, which in most parts of the world are called football teams, except in North America).  I think we should have stuck with looking like we were trying out for a soccer - sorry football - team and used the padding someplace else.  Where then could we have shifted (yes as in moved) the padding to?  Well, now we have an answer.  Tops and bottoms.  Yes my dears, we could have added all that extra padding to our fronts and rears and would have started a whole new trend that could have saved women around the world thousands on plastic surgery.  Just think of it, extra large butts and breasts for next to nothing.  Uhhh.  Ohhh.  Wait.  That's already been done - with the bustle and the corset.  Dang.  Here I thought I was on to something.  Never mind.  Until next time.

It's a guy thing

I have noticed, throughout my travels that there is a distinctly guy thing that knows no race, culture, country or religion.  It has to be a definite guy thing as it happens everywhere around the world.  It has to do with the general penchant of guys to "supervise" things.  I've seen it before, but only realized just how gender specific it was when I was sitting on my balcony watching the world go by.  The junk man came by, and there was a good bit of cardboard (old packing crates, etc.) that had been left out.  After much negotiation, the junk man agreed to take the cardboard boxes.  Then the phenomena of supervision kicked in.  While the junk man folded the cardboard into smaller, much more managable sizes, there were six (I counted them so I know that was the exact number) of men standing around watching - or supervising if you prefer - the junk man do his thing.  Men seem to love to do this particular activity, especially if someone else is doing the work.  City workers have this activity down pat.  Ever noticed how one, maybe two, men are actually working and the remainder are standing around, leaning on shovels, metal fencing or whatever is handy, supervising the work.  Yes, it is a cliche, but a very real one, and not one that is going to go away in a hurry.  I'm currently living in India, but have seen this same event in Kuwait, Bahrain and Mexico, not to mention Canada, the U.S. and the U.K.  I'm sure I'll see it in my next port of call, the next country I holiday in and - well let's face it, pretty much everywhere in the world.  Not only do men love standing around supervising, they also like to comment, or if you prefer a more sophisticated term, advise on the whole procedure.  It doesn't seem to matter, either, what the event is, how educated the guys are or what economic status they have, from cars to pot holes, the action is still the same.  Definitely a guy thing.  Until next time the junk man or someone comes so that guys can "supervise", I think I'll have a nap.

Bigger butts

It must be a case of wanting what you don't have.  Why else would Kardashian (no idea which one as there are apparently two of them) want a bigger butt?  Who's big butt does she want?  Why?  Will it make her more popular?  Maybe big butts are now the new sex symbol.  In that case, all of us who suffer from big buttitis will now no longer feel bad, but will be able to flash - so to speak - our slightly oversized butts around with pride.  The next question, of course, is how big is too big.  How much extra butt does this Kardashian person want?  I'm quite sure a number of us would be more than willing to give her our extra buttage if it would make her happy. Or we could share our belly bulge and she could add that on to her butt. Will it be offset by larger breasts as well?  After all, one should have balance in order to keep from tilting one way or the other.  If, on the other hand, she has added to her breastage and has been feeling unbalanced, or top heavy if you prefer, maybe this is her way of balancing out her body so that she doesn't end up face down because of the extra weight at the top.  Maybe that other person who wants to be something she isn't - Montag I believe is her name - could share some of her extra large whatever with Ms Kardashian so that they will both look more like real people.  Then again, if big butts are the latest craze in Hollywood, that speaks well for those of us who have acquired ours naturally.  I believe that little things such as children, food and general lack of time to exercise the excess off has contributed to the "rounding off" of our bodies (at least as far as females are concerned - don't know what the guy's excuses are). Either way, she really should look at a more natural way of acquiring said additional buttage rather than surgical additions.  After all, no matter what she does, mother nature will have her say eventually and all those lovely foreign additions will look positively odd when things do eventually sag and bag.  Until next time, I think I'll take my buttage to someplace other than my chair.

Loading stuff

Don't you just love the new language that's developed over the last few years when it comes to loading stuff?  I mean, really.  Now you can upload or download stuff (depending, I guess, if it's your stuff or someone else's) off the internet, top load or front load your washing machine (depending on what kind you have), overload your suitcases, packing crates and anything else that has limited space and you just MUST take whatever's too much with you because it might be important.  Directly related to loading stuff is sizing it.  You can down size, undersize, and over size.  I suppose you can even up size depending on how thirsty or hungry you are.  Mind you, if you are upsizing too often, your personal size will go up in direct proportion - or maybe even more than you expected.  So why would all of this wonderful new way to describe something be important?  Well, my darlings, I shall tell you,depending of course on whether you really want the answer or not - and even if you don't.  Such is the power of a blog.  Depending on how the phrase in question is used, it can become an adjective, adverb or, yes, even a verb if used creatively.  For example, if a boss says to his/her employee, "Did you upload and send off that document that needed to go?" and the employee says, "No, but I downloaded this really cool music off the net." you can count on the employee being downsized to the point of being unemployed.  Both sentences would be grammatically correct, though I'm not sure why the boss wouldn't just upload and send the document him/herself (actually the boss probably would and wouldn't need the employee any more anyway - such is life in a downsized high tech world).  How is all of this relevant to recent events in my life  Simple.  I'm packing to move, and so I must now downsize and load my four suitcases, plastic container and trunk with all the stuff I've accumulated over the last two to three years.  Nothing like moving to keep a person from accumulating all sorts of "stuff" that may or may not be necessary.  I'm offloading (another good word) some of my "stuff" and the rest I'm packing.  When I put my "stuff" into nice neat containers, there isn't really a whole lot.  It's not like moving an entire household with all the furniture, but still, it has to be moved.  Up to now I've been able to keep things to a minimum (well for someone who is located in the same place for at least two years), and most of what I'm hauling has direct relationship to my work, but it's still probably more than I really need.  I have found, though, that as soon as I eliminate some of the "non-essentials", those are the very things I then have to go out and buy at some point at my new location.  So, in order to stop rebuying the same things everywhere I go, I now haul it with me - whatever IT might be.  On that note, I think I'd better get on with up/down/over/off loading more stuff.  Until next time.

Moving

"On the road again ..." (thanks Willy Nelson for those immortal words - or maybe that should be irrelevant, or unrelated, or repetative - Which ever works best for you).  I'm not much of a country music fan, but everytime I move countries his song pops into my head - whether I want it to or not.  Yes, I am shifting (as they say here) again.  This time back across the Atlantic to South America.  New continent, new country, new school, new students (well for me anyway).  It never ceases to amaze me the kind of reactions I get from people when I tell them where I'm off to next.  First it was Kuwait, then Mexico, then it was on to Bahrain (where is that anyway?) and then India.  The reactions generally fall into one of two categories - the "isn't that a dangerous place?" or the "that's so cool!"  I guess to many who don't generally leave their home continents my choice of places to live may seem a little - bizarre.   But hey, who said we should live a "safe" life?  Where's the adventure?  Where's the challenge in staying put, like the vase great aunt Fluffy gave you for a wedding present and you've buried in the back of a cupboard someplace?  Maybe that weird vase will work with your decore now.  However, this time I truly will be challenged.  I'll be teaching grade 7 and 8.  Talk about towering infernos of raging hormones!  If that's not exciting enough I don't know what is.  I really must talk to my former army  buddies and get one of those flack jackets for the outbursts.  Actually what I really need is a large bucket and mop to swab up all the tears that will be shed over teen angst (and those are the teachers tears )- never mind the ones from the students, not to mention the tempertantrums and high levels of emotional ups and downs (I did say this was the teachers - didn't I?).  It will indeed be a new adventure, and one I'm ready - ok - bracing for.  I'll  be fine.  Can't guarantee the survival of my students, but I'll be fine.  Until the next time.

Naked airport scanners

I know, I know.  It's been too long.  My only excuse is that it continues to be incredibly hot and my brain is total mush.  It's slowly getting better, and by next week things should be almost normal, including my thinking.  Speaking of brains not thinking, this brings me to the topic of the day.  Naked airport scanners.  The question is, which scanners are naked - the machines or the people?  If it's the machines, what on earth were the airports thinking putting clothing on them in the first place?  What kind of clothing was it?  Was it a proper uniform or just casual jeans and t-shirts and where did they find clothing big enough to cover the machines?  If it was the people, then that's a whole different story.  Why are the scanners naked?  Can airports no longer afford uniforms?  Were the scanners complaining that the uniforms were uncomfortable or unfashionable (both a definite faux pas)?  Could this be a whole new trend and will the rest of us be offended by these naked people (unless they happen to be Heidi Montag clones and then that's just offensive - period - clothing or not)?  If the scanners are naked does that mean the rest of us have to be as well so that we don't offend them?  How will that go over with countries where women still have to be covered from head to toe?  If we go in dressed and have to come out undressed, where do our clothes go?  Do we get them back or are they put in a recycle bin and we get lovely black plastic garbage bags in exchange - much like what Lady Gaga wore the other day?  Is this something we really want to think about?  I'm sure there are many of us who would cringe at the thought of being naked in public, not to mention how it would make others feel. Who came up with the decision that airport scanners had to be naked and what were they thinking?  Just another wonderful day in the world of wierdness we live in.  Until next time, when my brain is functioning more normally.

Neurological Bakshish

Normally I try to keep things as light as possible on this blog, but something has been confusing me lately (not unusual as I am occasionally confused - unlike my coworker who is chronically confused).  The word neurology has to do with the study of the brain, and neurologists are those who deal with injuries to said body part.  No where, that I can find, does it say anything about veins, arteries or anything related to those aquaducts of the body.  True, we usually associate the liquid transported through these aquaducts as important to the proper functioning of the brain, so that the "little grey cells" (as one of my favourite mystery character calls them) will work the way we need them to work so that our body can do its thing.  However, it has come to my attention that neurologists are now telling people that they can't have a treatment that opens blocked veins which may lead to bodies functioning the way they should, instead of the way far too many of them are - poorly.  In this case I am talking about the Liberation Treatment, which is using the same technique as angioplasty, only this time unblocking veins, particularly those in the neck.  Why am I confused about this and what does it have to do with bakshish?  Well, it's the neurologists that are blocking this treatment, that they wouldn't deal with in the first place, and have convinced governments in Canada, the U.S. and probably Britain, to deny treatment to many MS sufferers for whom this treatment is intended.  So where does bakshish come into it.  Bakshish is, as all of you know, a nice word for kickbacks.  You pay an official "unofficial" money to get something done you want.  Works well in many countries of the world where red tape is so thick you could choke on it.  So why am I using this word in connection with neurologists?  Because it seems to me, and I'm no expert, that the very people who are throwing up barriers (not to be confused with throwing up your lunch, though the idea that kickbacks are changing hands is enough to make anyone want to rowlf their cookies) are the same people who are hustling the drugs pharmacutical companies are pushing.  (Talk about drug dealing!  And it's legal! Shouldn't the police be cracking down on this?)  These meds are not always useful, often have side effects and don't solve the problem in far too many cases.  So the question then is, my dears:  What kind of bakshish are the drug companies paying the neurologists to shut the Liberation Treatment out?  and who in government is getting their cut of the money to make sure that people who are literally dying a slow and often painful death are not getting the treatment they deserve?  I'd suggest a Parliamentary inquiry into this - but wait - those are the same people who are screwing the very people they are supposedly going to help.  Like I said, I'm very confused about this.  Anyone out there have any answers?  Well, Doctors?

It's Gecko time

Not to be confused with Miller time, or time travel, or for that matter time warps.  It's the time of year when gecko's of all sizes appear on my walls, ceilings and occasionally on the floor, racing to find the next "safe" place.  Watching them race around my apartment is quite fun, but can occationally be a little unnerving, especially if one is hiding under cushions, or flies off the door when you least expect it, and it's really yucky trying to peel one off the floor if you've accidently stepped on it (think sticker on the back of the door peel off).  Gecko racing, however, should never be confused with other kinds of racing.  Like bus racing for instance.  Why would buses race on a crowded street?  No idea, but the sign on the back of one here read "Your kind attention: If driver doing race driving please call (and then the number).  Given that people drive as if the overcrowded roads here are in fact the Indianapolis race track - on a moderate day - bus racing would be nothing unusual.  Then again, perhaps the company is trying to avoid any connection with the funeral home that had the sign "J.K. Funerals and Social Centre". Which left all of us riding home from work one day wondering what kind of events they have at the Social Centre and which part of the funeral home would it be held in.  Are the events mainly for the elderly who may or may not need the funeral part of the centre after a particular rousing game of parcheesie?  Do they hold weddings there as well (which given the cost of weddings might well give a parent a heart attack when all is said and done)?  Do they bet on bus racing?  How about organized gecko racing competitions?  Bring your favourite gecko to see which one can disappear the fastest (the geckos, not the people).  Do the buses race to see which one will get to the funeral home and social centre the fastest?  These are all things this inquiring mind really is not all that interested in, but there it is.  Just more of the wonderful strangeness of living in a different country.  Until next time, when I semi-promise to be more frequent with my postings.

Why you're still single

also known as the sex lives of birds.  Why you'd want to know about the sex life of a bird is beyond me.  Unless, of course, you raise birds, and then it might be important.  Of course this has nothing to do with finding the sexiest places to go, or the most wonderful hotels you absolutely must visit (for a very large sum of money for both).  Why am I rambling on about this?  I don't know, but someone must think these things are important for us to know, otherwise why are they posted on the internet.  Mind you, given that we are all now internet adicts who will spend tons of money on going to very expensive hotels in exotic locations, I'm not surprised.  After all, sexy countries want you to spend as much time as possible in their first class hotel rooms and what better way to do that than have you glued to the computer.  Wait a minute.  We can do that at home - be glued to the internet, not spend time in an expensive hotel, for free.  Whether your city is sexy or not, is up for grabs, but I'm sure someone would think it was.  Which of course brings us back to the sex life of birds.  Birds love hotels. The buildings are great for perching on, building nests, attracting a mate, and in the end no longer being single - and they get to stay for free. So the question then is:  If birds have such a great sex life, why are you still single - if you are single?  No idea, but there it is.  It must be important.  Why else would there be all kinds of articles on it all?  Until next time.

Killer tomatoes

No folks.  Tomatoes are not on a rampage, harassing little old ladies and wiping out the competition (carrots and beans are cowering in corners at the thought), it's just me misreading the headlines - again.  The actual headline was about the killer tornados that have ripped across the U.S. recently, and while that has left a lot of destruction and death behind, I prefer my headline.  Think about it.  Tomatoes on the rampage.  Red, sloppy messes left behind as they hurl themselves at buildings and cars - wait a minute - doesn't that happen at Halloween by teens with a limited imagination and too much time on their hands one night of the year?  Where was I - oh yes.  The killer tomatoes.  Interesting phrase.  It could be taken in a number of ways, such as tomatoes that are actually in gangs dealing death and destruction to veggie homes and lives, intimidating the peas into doing their bidding (see terrorist peas), doing their best to overcome the onion and green pepper gangs, meeting heavy resistance, and generally running (or should that be rolling?) rampant through the garden.  On the other hand, if it's one of those tomatoes that is exceptionally large and ripe and adds all kinds of zest to a dish, then the phrase takes on a completely different meaning based on context.  After all, if they are exceptionally flavourful tomatoes, one could say they add killer flavour to a dish.  No matter which way a person slices it - so to speak - killer tomatoes are definitely something to watch out for.  Until next time.

Inedible celeb sandwiches

Maybe it's just me, but why ever would a person want to put a celeb in a sandwich in the first place?  I mean really, think about it.  Why would anyone want to waste perfectly good bread on a celeb (unless of course the bread used isn't really bread at all, but the latest red carpet craze)?  I can think of so many other, much more flavourful fillings for a sandwich than some overpaid person who may or may not contribute to the improvement of the world, never mind a sandwich.   However, if that's to your taste - so to speak, the next question is, where would one buy such a sandwich?  Can they be had at Tim Horton's, or Starbuck's for those who live in so many parts of the world?  What would they taste like?  Would the filling be thick or barely there (think any of the heavy celebs and way too many of the thin celebs)?  What would they cost and who could afford to buy such sandwiches?  Would you get your money's worth or would you regret paying for it?  Are they a one of or simply an immitation of the celeb in question?  Does this then mean the celeb sandwiches are really faux sandwiches and the money you pay is not for the actual celeb, but meerly an immitation?  What kind of sandwiches are we talking about?  Is it one of those thin, tea sandwiches that fit between two fingers and are barely there?  Are they a nice thick, filling, maybe too much, submarine type?  Can you mix and match like a BLT?  You know, different layers that when they are together you wonder why.  This, of course, leads to the fact that these combinations are inedible and therefore not sandwich material at all.  Wait.  Sorry.  The headline isn't about celebs in a sandwich.  It's about inedible sandwiches that celebs eat.  Once again it's the headline that's got me confused.  I do wish that reporters could at least write headlines that say what they really mean and not use sentence fragments or misplaced modifiers.  On the other hand, these grammatical inaccuracies do make for good teaching tools, so I guess there is a positive in all of this.  However, I will be passing on the next celeb sandwich I encounter, edible or not.  Until next time.headline that's got me confused. 

Recycled Bra doubles as shopping bag

Here's the thing.  I can confuse things quite enough when it comes to headlines (see pack your panties), but this is not one of my mistakes.  It was a headline I read (correctly because I'm more or less wide awake) and thought it would make a nice bookend - so to speak - to my panty packing blog.  Which brings us to the question:  What size bra was used?  Was it a tripple A (which would go well with Vicky Beckhams undies) or a quadruple D (which would go well with the extra large panties) or possibly, if your using panties and a bra for your groceries, a combination of sizes.  Can you buy the combo pack as a set - you know, bra and panty bags for heavy loads.  Somehow using an old bra to carry shopping in seems a little - what shall we say - odd.  True, packing your panties with groceries isn't much better, but that was an honest reading  mistake.  So the next question is, what kind of bra was it?  Was it underwire or extra support?  Did it have padding or not?  What about a maternity bra - they'd make unpacking your groceries much easier, all you need to do is unfasten the cup from the strap and there you go.  What about lace?  If it's a lace bra, or satin, or for that matter silk, is this being used not only for shopping but also as a handy purse?  How many groceries can a person pack into a bra and why would they want to?  Is this recycled bra used for a quick trip to the mini mart, or for a more extensive trip to the supermarket?  How many bras are shoppers allowed to bring to the store and which stores can they be used in?  I'm all for recycling so lets see if this catches on with or without the panties.  Until next time.

Melting

Contrary to possible popular opinion, and unlike the apparent rapidity of melting of the Wicked Witch of the West (got to love the alliteration there) in "The Wizard of Oz", and the musical "Wicked", melting does not happen at a rapid pace.  It's the hot season here, where temperatures hover in the mid to upper 30s most days, and the humidex places the temp in the lower 40s (celcius not farenheit) for two or three months.  Even though the temperature comes down modestly at night (we're talking upper 20s), this results in a person feeling like a slightly melted bar of chocolate or a half baked cookie, neither of which is particulary inspirational, especially when it comes to thinking or doing anything.  When it is cool enough to make a person feel human, it is also prime mosquito time, which means sleeping out on the balcony is out of the question unless you've got incredibly strong mosquito repellent and good, thick mosquito netting drapped over you.  Did the wicked witch of the west have to deal with all of this pre-Dorothy?  Did Dorothy have to deal with this, or does this kind of thing not happen in Oz (not to be confused with the slang term for Australians who I KNOW have mosquitoes and I'm pretty sure have areas where melting takes place though not in as heavy a dose as here)? What about the munchkins?  Did they suffer or were they heat/water proof?  Did high humidity generally contribute to the tin man's rusting issue?  Did the scarecrow have a problem with mold or was he able to control it with fresh straw (kind of  desoderant for scarecrows - so to speak)?  What about the cowardly lion?  Did he find he had an issue with mange and mosquitoes or was he bug free?  Are these questions we should be asking and why or why not?  I don't know.  All I do know is this season is very uncomfortable, especially if there is no Air Con in the apartment, or only in one room.  In the mean time, I'll continue to feel as if I'm melting until the monsoon season arrives and then there will be a whole lot of other issues.  Until next time.

Are you a veggie garden

I don't know.  I don't think so, but you never know.  I just might be and this whole human gig is really just my over active imagination.  Then again, it could be the other way around.  I do know that there are days when I feel like a vegetable, but I'm not sure I feel like a whole garden.  On the other hand, I do believe that veggies have their own personalities.  Take peas, for instance.  I swear they are the terrorists of the vegetable world.  Why you ask?  Have you ever watched them in action.  There they are, on your plate looking quite green and inviting, but the minute you try to scoop them up with your fork, they roll away, escaping off the plate, across the table and on to the floor where they go into hiding, waiting for just the right moment.  Then when you least expect it they strike.  You have forgotten the peas on the floor, and in your socks, or  barefoot, you step on said pea, so that it squashes and leave a really gross feeling, as well as a mess, on your foot.  Not fair.  Not nice.  Then again, there is the carrot.  It has a  completely different personality.  It's very skateboard/snowboard dude.  Think about it.  The long green top that flops every which way, much like long hair on a boarder, sometimes lean, sometimes chunky, but has a real grip on its world - literally.  It spreads out its roots and goes for it.  I can almost hear them talking and the conversation might go something like, "Hey dude.  Like watch the hair man.  It took a long time to grow it like that, and now you grab it and yank.  Not cool, man."  Which brings us to the tomato.  Once upon a time, a really good looking woman would have been callled a hot tomato.  Which is why, to this mind, they always seem so Valley girl, you know.  Shop til you drop and it's all about looks.  The whole, "So I said to my bff on the next plant, you know, its just too bad the way some of the plants look.  I mean take the radish.  Just so ... you know."  Peppers on the other hand are very latin in attitude.  The whole, "So like am I hot enough for you?" come on is hard to resist by anyone, and adds real zip to your life.   There you have it.  Not all the veggies in the garden, just some of them.  I'm sure you can, with your own vivid imaginations, come up with personalities for other veggies, but for now, I think I'll go eat a carrot, or something.  Until nex time.

The Groove

It's hard to believe it's been almost an entire week since I've posted.  It was back to work this week and so, as a result, I've been trying to get back into the groove.  You know, the thing that, after too many days and too long a time becomes a rut, and then slowly evolves into a trench, and before you know it, it's deeper than the Grand Canyon - until the next break.  If it's hard for adults to get back into the groove, it has to be even harder for children, especially those who have become aliens - you know - teenagers.  These creatures evolve slowly (much like the groove to trench).  They go from being (usually) delightful, excited, eager beings to something that has arrived from another planet and isn't happy about it, and delights in letting the entire world know it.  Don't get me wrong.  They do have their moments, and I do mean moments.  Mostly, however, they act like the creature from the black lagoon.  So how does one inspire said aliens to do their work and be almost enthusiastic about it?  Good question and one that adults have been asking for generations throughout history.  We've all passed through this phase, though like giving birth it's quickly forgotten, and still those who have managed to morph into semi-sentient adults still have a hard time understanding.  Every generation says the same thing "You just don't get it" - or words to that effect depending on the time period.  Actually we do, we'd just as soon forget it, suck up the whole alien vibe thingie and carry on in the hopes that these creatures will morph quickly and turn back into human beings without too much trauma.  Which brings me back to the groove.  Maybe being an alien wasn't such a bad thing.  The groove is now starting to look a lot like a trench - already, and we still have one more term to go before we can all crawl out of the Grand Canyon.  Until next time.

Seven alternatives to landmines

Ok.  So the headline really said seven alternatives to landlines, but somehow I think this is better.  Actually I can think of way more than seven, but what do I know.  The question is what kind of landmine and where is it located?  Is it a real one that causes way to many deaths and injuries, or is it more the metaphorical kind, that while can cause problems, is definitely not deadly - usually.  Personally, I think we'd all be better off if everyone just stuck to the metaphorical kind.  So let's examine the metaphorical landmine.  I mean really, how many ways can you put your foot in your mouth and set off all kinds of problems for both you and others.  For example:  men are always saying that they get into trouble with women when a woman asks a "no win" question (and ladies we all know what those kinds of questions are).  Of course you men never have the right answer because (and here's a little secret for you) there are no right answers.  Like the real landmines, the answer is hidden and you never know when stepping in the wrong place - metaphorically speaking - will trigger an explosion.  You know the questions.  "Does this outfit/dress/pair of pants make me look too fat?"  "Am I wearing too much make-up?"  "What do you think of my hair?" or the other much broader question, "So what do you think?" and you just know, guys, that you really have no idea what she's referring to and you know that no matter what you say, it's going to be wrong.  So, if you're smart, and I know you all are, you say something as non-commital as possible like, "Nice" or "no" with a quick glance up to indicate you heard the question but not long enough to have to elaborate.  This accomplishes two things.  We women are content in knowing that you kind of paid attention, and saves you men from setting off an explosion that can lead to all kinds of other issues that you really don't want to get into because you know it's not going to end well.  What does all this have to do with landlines?  Absolutely nothing.  Until next time.

Ways to have fun at the gym

Ok.  Maybe it's just me, but I have never found working out at the gym to be "fun".  A lot of sweat and hard work and most probably sore muscles, but never fun.  Unless you think sore muscles are fun, and then I'm not sure you and I would be hanging out together.  How does one have fun on a treadmill?  I've always had a distinct impression I was immitating a hamster - you know round and round and round we go and get absolutely nowhere.  Or let's take the stationary bike.  I've never really got that one.  What is the point of being on a bike if it doesn't go anywhere and it doesn't matter how hard you pedal, you're still in the same place you were before.  Kind of like when Alice and the White Queen ran like crazy and found themselves in exactly the same place as they were when they started to run.  The idea of going no where fast is not new.  I might get the whole stationary bike thing if there was a gigantic screen that changed scenery as a person rode, so at least a person isn't stuck just watching the rest of the gym attendees getting hot and sweaty and grunting and groaning.  After all, wouldn't it inspire you more to ride (stationary or otherwise) down a lovely country lane or next to an open field with grain waving in the breeze and the sounds of birds and cattle and tractors doing whatever it is they are doing?  I might not be encouraged to show up at the gym more, but it would be much more enjoyable if it were interesting.  Which of course brings me to the smell.  Gyms are not full of fresh air.  There is nothing sexy or inspiring about a room full of sweaty, smelly bodies, and stinky gym shoes.  Sorry, but it just doesn't do it for me.  It's that high school locker smell that tells a person that the owner of that locker hasn't bothered to take his/her sweat encrusted socks home to wash for a long time - probably a whole semester or more.  And let's not forget the shower room.  There may or may not be a curtain between you and everyone else there while you shower, but there definitely won't be one when you are at the locker trying to get dressed.  If you have any sense of pride or modesty, it's flushed right down the toilet when you are in the locker room with who knows how many other people that you probably wouldn't spend time with, and there you are, getting dressed in front of them.  Lumps, bumps, celulite and all hanging out for the whole world (ok the people next to you and anyone passing by where your locker is) to see.  If that doesn't put a person off, nothing will.  I think I'll stick to being fully clad while going up and down the multiple sets of stairs at work every day, and skip the gym - fun or not.  Until next time.

Snowboarder conquors Alaska

The headline reads that a snowboarder conquored Alaska.  I'd love to know how he/she did that.  I know snowboarders are considered,  by some, to be outrageous rebels bent on sliding down the side of mountains, across streets and over handrails on stairs, but to take on an entire state - and conquor it?  Wow.  So the question is, how did he/she do this?  Did he/she (and I really should read more than the headline to find out which gender this person is shouldn't I?) teach moose to snowboard, thus turning them into tanks on stilts?  Did he/she teach mountain goats how to snowboard down the mountains to deliver well placed head buts to politicians who probably deserved one in the - well we won't go there?  What about the bears?  I can definitely see a grizzly doing a double twisted half-pike down the main street of Fairbanks, wowing the citizens with its prowess and daring, and in the meantime delivering a shattering cuff up the side of the nearest military jeep, setting it on its side, can't you?  What about the brown bear.  Did it get into the whole snowboarding event and go for broke, or was it a little more conservative in its approach to snowboarding and use a much less daring approach to doing a whole gainer off the nearest handrail, thus losing the snowboard and sending it flying like a well placed mortar round?  Not to be left out, I'm sure the seals (and I'm not talking human Navy, though maybe they could learn a lesson or two from all of this) all had a hand in it.  Stealth and their natural ability to slide would definitely be an advantage in taming wild Alaskan humans into surrendering the land to them.  Does this now mean that Alaska will have a new name and what would it be?  Maybe snowboardination, how about skaboard, or even alasnow or alaboardation?  I'm sure you can come up with even better names.  Maybe the snowboarder who conquored this state should hold a contest to rename Alaska in honour of conquoring it, kind of like renaming a very large mountain when it was first climbed.  Which brings us to flags.  What will the state flag look like now and who will design it?  Will it be done in consultation with all those creatures that had a hand - so to speak - in the conquoring?  Will anyone even care and what will the snowboarder in question set out to conquor next?  If it's the Canadian prairies, I'm afraid he/she will have a tough go of it.  We may have a few hills, but certainly nothing to snowboard across, and if there isn't enough snow to cover the stubble, his/her snowboard won't be going very far (I know, I've tried cross-country skiing on such fields and it really doesn't work well).  Just a little something for us to all think about.  Until next time.

Man builds worlds largest jeep

Why?  Was he bored?  Unemployed? and if that's the case how was he able to afford the metal and parts required?  Was it the challenge, like climbing Everest or landing a lead part in an award winning show?  Or just because.  That's always a handy reason.  I did it just because (fill in the rest to your hearts content).  So if it's the world's largest jeep, what purpose will it serve in the grand scheme of things?  What about the engine (it doesn't have one yet), and if he also builds the engine and it all actually runs, who will buy it?  Will the giants in a previous blog want one to take them to their next hide-away?  What will it use for fuel and who will be able to afford a small oil field to keep this thing running?  Perhaps some billionaire in one of the many oil rich countries in the world wants it so that he (and it will be a he) can give it to his oldest off-spring as a reward for actually passing high school all by himself/herself, even though said offspring will probably never actually drive the vehicle and will have someone drive it for him/her.  Which reminds me, speaking of vehicles, what's with the paparazzi that decided to  block traffic in front of Sandra Bullock's home the other day?  Maybe she should get said giant jeep and her driver could simply drive over everything (assuming the paparazzi have enough brains to move out of the way of a giant moving vehicle) in its way - like cars blocking the driveway for instance.  Never mind.  It wouldn't work because the streets would be much too narrow for said  vehicle and the last thing a person wants to do is alienate ones neighbours because that person accidently drove over pretty much everything in pretty much everyone's yard, not to mention that it would probably destroy all the roads as well from the weight of said vehicle.  Guess this falls under the "it seemed like a good idea" category.  As a result I for one will pass on considering the ordering and/or purchase of said vehicle (not that I could afford it in the first place) until next time. 

Expressions of interest

Don't you just love it when people express an interest in you?  It can be at a casual social gathering, on a blind date, or applying for a job, and people always say the same thing:  "I/We are very interested in you."  Only problem is, far too many times those expressions of interest go no where.  For example:  let's say your friend sets you up on a blind date.  The date shows up and you and he/she hit it off.  You think things are going well, you part company and he/she expresses an interest in seeing you again (you know where this is going).  Yup.  Nothing.  You sit and wonder what went wrong.  Did you say something he/she didn't like?  Did your deoderant give out at an important moment, or did you blink at the wrong time?  Maybe you had something stuck between your teeth and didn't know it.  Who can really say what it is that puts the other person off, but put off he/she is.  The same goes at a casual social affair (and I don't mean the kind you might think I mean, though that is also a possibility), you are having a pleasant conversation at the newest exhibition at a gallery, or meet up with friends at a concert where they kind of introduce you to an acquaintance of a friend and you and that person have a pleasant conversation (at least you think it's pleasant - though you aren't quite sure what he/she is really talking about because that person is using some obscure reference point on art/music/whatever that makes no sense to you whatsoever), then he/she expresses an interest in having coffee sometime so the two of you can continue the conversation.  Of course nothing happens.  IF you should happen to meet these individuals again they will either act like they meant to get in touch but lost your (fill in the blank here) and couldn't, or act as if they have no recollection of ever expressing an interest in the first place.  The corporate world is not immune to this either.  I've had a number of organizations express an interest in me and my resume, and then nothing.  It's actually getting to be quite boring and a person starts to wish the companies in question wouldn't bother contacting you so you can move on to the next organization on your list, hoping that you will actually get an interview out of the "expression of interest".  Having said that, there is no guarantee that the interview will actually produce a job, but that's another topic for another time.  Until next time.

Eavesdropping

Question for all of you.  Why do they call it eavesdropping when you listen in on other people's conversations?  An eave, after all, is the overhang of a roof.  So literally speaking, you are dropping the hanging over bit of a roof, not listening in.  How eaves are connected to someone's ears is truly a mystery to me.  Unless it has to do with the overhang bit (not to be confused with a hang over which is a totally different ball of wax) - you know, overhang, overhear, over there, over and out - you get the drift.  Why would anyone want to drop their eaves in the first place?  Do they not like that hanging over bit?  Why or why not?  What happens if it's not there.  Where does one put one's eavestrophs then?  Are they attached directly to the roof so that water doesn't run down the side of the house and into the basement or whatever part of the house meets the ground?  When eaves hit the ground do they make a sound or are they quiet, like flowers and leaves from trees?  How do we know this?  Is this a "tree falls in the forest does anyone hear" kind of question?  Personally, I've never dropped an eave so I have no idea if it makes a noise when it hits the ground or not.  I DO, however, tend to listen in on other people's conversations.  Not usually on purpose, but just because there are times that no matter how hard I might try (and I emphasize the word might) I just can't avoid it.  Take my neighbour (please) for example.  She has the unfortunate curse of having a high pitched, whiny voice much like a mosquito.  It's very hard not to listen in on her conversations since it is at a pitch high enough to make anyone's ears perk up or be pierced (and I already have pierced ears so don't need any more thankyouverymuch). It seems that the conversations I hear the most are the ones where one person has a voice that carries, making it hard to ignore. While I don't often hear her conversations, sometimes it's unavoidable, and not very interesting.  There are more interesting conversations to overhear when riding on the bus, the tube in London (though most people on the tube are generally in a state of sonambulism so not much conversation there), the airport or train station, and my all time favourite, the coffee shop.  This works really well when I'm writing and stuck for things my characters might say.  So I guess you could say my listening in serves a purpose (though how useful is another matter).  And I promise I won't drop any eaves on anyone anytime soon.  Until next time.

It's official

I am actually, finally, officially on spring break.  No joke, no April Fool here, just a chance to unwind and generally do whatever my little heart desires.  A person doesn't really value time out the way he/she should.  Let's face it.  We rush everywhere to get no where fast, frantically plan and execute our escape and then speed through the holiday as if it was the autobaun only to return to work even more tired than when we left.  Then, of course there is the whole guilt trip thingie.  Did we pack too much, not enough, or even the right thing?  How will we know? Did we turn off and unplug all the utilities that could do something nasty to our residence when we're gone?  Did we make proper arrangements for the cat/dog/parakeet/rodent/fish for their care?  Did we leave anyone behind accidentally?  If it's been +25-35 for two weeks straight do we have a guarantee it will stay nice and balmy by the time we get to wherever we are going, or will it turn grey and wet as has happened too many time to too many people who expected to hang out on the beach, not slog through ankle to knee deep puddles.  Mind you, a bathing suit works well either way in such conditions.  You'd get wet in the water so why not wear it in the rain?  True, a bathing suit isn't overly warm when the very cold wind comes blowing across the lake, sea, ocean, but at least if you are getting wet anyway, who cares?   Well, ok.  The people who went to the beach to sunbathe (though given the warnings about needing to plaster sunblock on so thick you might as well bath in it) would be disappointed, but hey, nobody said life was fair, and they didn't really need to look like burnt toast on a bad hair day anyway.  As for me, I have a heavy date with my couch and DVD collection.  I might, occasionally, get out of my jammies and go for a walk to see what's going on in the world, but that's the extent of my holiday excitement.  After March madness, that's all the energy I can muster at the moment.  Might change after a day or two, but not right now.  Until next time, when I'm off the couch and ready to do something vaguely, semi-interesting.

Tweeting too slow

According to a headline I tripped over recently, some poor man was arrested for tweeting too slowly.  How does one tweet too slowly.  Do the tweet police monitor how many letters a person types over the course of an hour or so?  How slow is too slow and who are these tweet police (twit police? bird cops?)  Which birds do the tweet police represent and why would birds care if a human is typing too slowly.  Is that different from driving too slowly (which could be a problem as that creates a completely different set of hazards on the road) or the same?  Whose lives are put in danger of one tweeting too slowly and does that give birds the right to crap on that person's computer the same way they crap on our cars - kind of road rage for birds?  I'm not sure why anyone would care if a person tweets too slowly, but obviously someone did, otherwise why would this man be arrested.  Will typists all over the world now have to worry if their typing speed isn't up to snuff, and who decides what the speed should be?  I can see it now.  Typist trying to learn the rules of speeding, or not, much like in driving.  Will there be signs with speed limits on them in offices everywhere?  What about the private person who is typing at home.  Will someone be monitoring their typing speed as well?  Wouldn't that fall under invasion of privacy?  A much bigger question is - WHY did the police feel this person needed to be arrested in the first place?  What evidence did they have that he tweeted too slowly and was he given a warning and this was a subsequent offence, or was in an instant arrestable offence that no one else seems to know about?  I'm sure I don't know, but I'll certainly be vaguely thinking about finding out whether or not my typing speed is up to the requirements of this unknown issue.  I'd hate to be the next one the police arrest for tweeting, or typing, too slowly.  Until next time.

Afternoon naps

According to reports, afternoon naps are a really good thing.  Apparently they help increase our brain power and metacognitive skills.  Don't you just love those big words? Metacognitive.  Just saying the word makes a person sound smarter.  Actually I can think of a lot of words that make a person sound smarter, but nap isn't one of them.  It sounds more like it really is - resting, sleeping, pretending to be a cat (as in catnap, as in short but often refreshing snoozes).  I intend to do a lot of napping on my break.  Might not be as interesting as trekking around the country side, or hanging out on the Riviera, but it will certainly do a lot for me.  What I really wish is that I could have an afternoon nap at work.  Just think of it.  Like in Kindergarten when we used to have a nap with our blankets and pillows, and then woke up to a snack of milk and cookies.  I can still do the milk and cookies part, but I think my boss would frown on the blanket and pillow bit.  Mostly because he'd probably want to have his own blanet and pillow at work as well, and since he can't, we can't.  Life is just not fair sometimes.  The only time I don't really enjoy napping is when I wake up from one feeling dopey and far worse than I did before I had the nap.  Then all I can do is wonder why I bothered in the first place.  Which brings me to why I need a nap.  Might have something to do with a baby crying on a regular basis across the street.  I'm not sure if it's the same baby or yet another one, but there it is, protesting whatever it's protesting at full volume.  Then of course there are my neighbours who let their dogs out at one or two in the morning.  I don't object to dogs going out to do whatever it is they need to do.  What I do object to is that these particular dogs seem to think that barking as they are running down the stairs is a good thing to do.  Then their owner yells at them to be quiet, which just adds to the noise.  No wonder I need a nap.  Speaking of which, I think I'll go and have one now, or maybe I'll just go to bed - no wait.  The baby is crying again, so guess I'd better wait another hour so that I can have at least a few quiet hours of uninterupted sleep - until the dogs are out - again.  Until next time....zzzzzz.

March madness

Why is it that March is as mad as the character from Alice in Wonderland.  You know, the Mad Hatter and his tea party with the March hare and the doormouse.  I haven't been here for a few days because March madness struck yet again.  Everything that had to be done had to be done last week.  Leftovers are this week and then we all get to sigh a huge collective sigh of relief, collapse on our sofas and vegitate for a couple of days - unless we were crazy enough to book a trip, then it's getting organized for that as well.  I know I'm not alone and it's not only the teaching profession that suffers from the insanity, but somehow that's not a whole lot of comfort when everyone that needs this, that and the other done all at the same time come knocking on my door in the middle of class to tell me I have to have this, that and the other done by yesterday (remember the paperwork thingie - it's alive and kicking down my classroom door!).  Just to make sure we aren't completely lulled into a false sense of done-ness (kind of like dinner), this year the powers that be have decided to cut our spring break down by three days so that we can jam our only Professional Development into those three days in order to tick off all the boxes.   Why you ask?  Good question my darlings and I shall try to answer it given my limited knowledge.  In the past, we have had one half-day a month to do this kind of thing, but because of that nasty creature H1N1, we have lost teaching time, and so must sacrifice those half days.  This, of course, means we have to now sacrifice three days of our much needed and deeply craved for holidays in order to be professionally developed.  So the question is, are these three days a crash course in how to be professional, or are they a crash course in being developed (kind of like the old film used in a camera - you do remember cameras that actually used film don't you?)?  Either way, no matter how short or long the holiday will be, I for one will be thrilled to have the time out.  Then I can actually do things that aren't related to paperwork, like mark student made documentaries.  Wait a minute.  That's still paperwork.  Oh well, at least it will be amusing work to do over the break. Until next time (which hopefully will be much sooner than this time).

Runaway cars

Hmmm.  How does a car run away and why?  Does said car, some dark night when there is no one to see it, slip into reverse, back itself out of the driveway and then shift into drive and slip away aka Herbie?  Did the much larger cars tease it so that it felt hurt and needed to escape?  Did the adult cars refuse to get it some swankie add-on freature and it's feeling hard done by?  Did it suffer from some kind of trama and no one offered to help it?  A near miss or an accident could do that, and can send a car into total withdrawl.  How old is the car when it runs away and are car years like dog or cat years?  You know, one year for a car is the equivalent of 5 or 6 years of a human.  If so that would make a little sense.  After all, children sometimes threaten to run away when they feel hurt.  Teens will definitely run away if they don't feel that the family cares (real or not).  So why will the car run away?  Is it not being well looked after and believes it will be cared for better someplace else?  Does it have an addiction problem (you know - it got the wrong fuel - high octane verses regular) and now can't live without it?  Are it's tires not being rotated often enough, or is it in need of new ones and no one is dealing with the issue?  Is it an oil issue and why did the owners not deal with it sooner?  The big question is, how will an owner of such a car know how it is feeling and get the appropriate intervention in a timely manner and did the car send out any signals that it wasn't happy only to be ignored?  I don't own a car so these issues are not part of my life, but I do know many people who own cars.  Maybe we should all pay much more attention to them in order to prevent our cars from running away.  Or, we could not anthropomorphize an inanimate object and get on with our lives.  I know I will.  Until next time.

Daylight savings time

It is apparently that time of year again when people move their clocks backwards, or is it forwards.  Actually it's the hands of the clock that are moved, though if you are rearranging your furniture then you maybe are moving your clocks backwards, or forwards, or possibly even to the side.  How about trying the clock in a completely different room?  Would that make a difference?  Come to think of it, it's really only the time that is being moved, reset, changed ... well you know.  Which brings me back the incredible shifting time thingie - again.  I have never really understood the concept of daylight savings time.  As far as I know, no matter how early or late we start our day, it is still only 24 hours.  We can't add on extra hours, or take them off, but some bright button somewhere along the way thought this was a good idea.  Had to be a government employee who chronically late for work.  I never did get the whole "change the time" thing when I was growing up and had a lot more little grey cells to help with understanding this idea.  Still don't.  So now, if it's noon here, my son in western Canada is now twelve hour(s) behind me, but the rest of my family in Canada stay the same time, and my son in Europe is now less? more? behind me than before.  Are we adding or subtracting in the Spring?  What about in the fall (autumn to many who don't understand that fall and autumn are the same thing - synonyms if you wish)?  Am I adding an extra hour of darkness or subtracting it?  Can we do multiplication or division instead?  That's much easier than adding and subtracting and will make life so much more interesting, don't you think?  Which brings me, of course, to the msn advertisement to add birthdays to your contacts.  I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure my contacts don't need any more birthdays than they already have.  After all, how many times can you actually be born?  And wouldn't that add even more years to a person - in theory?  If you can add birthdays, can you also subtract them?  How about dividing them and handing them out like pieces of chocolate cake.  You know, share the goodies because if you eat the whole thing yourself, one of two things will happen - you'll either get incredibly sick from so much cake, or your waistline will expand in ways you really didn't want it to.  On the other hand, it might be a handy thing for getting even more gifts than you normally get.  Is this a case of the Mad Hatter's Tea Party where we can celebrate un-birthdays?  Is that what MSN meant?  I have no idea, but there it is.  Until next time.

Why we cook the books

What an interesting idea.  Cooking your books.  Not to be confused with cookbooks, but actually cooking books.  The question is, of course, how are the books cooked and which ones?  Are they marinated first, then dipped in a batter and deep fried?  What about poached?  Sauted with onions, garlic and spices?  Are the books roasted and what kind of vegetables are served with them?  What size of book is used?  Is this a family event, in which case a large encyclopedia would do, or is this a snack, and a paperback romance consumed?  Do these books microwave well if a person is in a hurry or do they just get really chewy and lose their flavour?  Can you barbeque your favourite books and how would you know if they are done?  Does the cover get all nice and crispy or just tender and juicy.  If a person is cooking a cookbook, what kind of cookbook is it?  Are we talking French, in which a very large variety of sauces are available, or Mexican with all those snappy spices.  What about if it's Indian cooking.  Does it lose something in the translation if the right spices aren't used, and if you aren't used to cooking with cardamom, chili and tumeric, how would you know if you used too much - or too little.  What if it's a Russian or Chinese cook book and you live in a completely different part of the world.  Could you get all the same ingredients to cook your books with?  The next question is how do you know if you are even serving the right book to your guests.  What if they are vegitarian?  Do you offer meat free books with tofu and soy?  What about jackets and covers?  Can you bake a book in it's jacket and does it come out all soft and steamy just waiting for that butter or sour cream?  What if it has no flavour, no matter how many spices or sauces or veggies you've added?  Then what would you do?  I have no idea.  I don't even know why a person would want to cook a book in the first place, but I suspect it's got a very shady side to it all.  Until next time.

Ding Ding

Today/yesterday (past-present thingie again) is/was international women's day.  One day a year where women are "celebrated" for doing things great and small.  Funny how that works.  Yesterday (for me) my great thing for women's day was to have round four of THE ROOT CANAL done.  This time the dentist did the final filling of my tooth.  I think she (yes she) said she was filling it with rubber - but I could be wrong.  I'm never quite sure if what I think I hear and what she actually says mean the same thing.  It's that whole language thing again.  Misinterpretation can lead to either a lot of laughter or some major misunderstandings between people - even when they are supposed to be speaking the same language.  At least, I think we are speaking the same language...  Yes, I definitely recognized a number of the words that person said, so it must be english.  I have encountered people in places that are supposedly english speaking and I have absolutely no clue what it is they have said.  I find myself asking them two or three times to repeat what they've said in order to understand or at least get the gist of what the conversation/question is supposed to be about.  Now I know, you will say that I'm just getting old and my hearing is going - which is, I suppose, a possibility.  We do all lose things as we age.  You know.  You lose your keys, your wallet, your cell phone, your hearing, your mind - but not necessarily in that order.  I know of one woman who lost four cell phone in less than a month, and she's half my age, so not certain the age thing is a valid argument, but there it is.  A handy excuse, and I'll use it more and more often just because I can.  As for international women's day, I celebrated it with some fairly good, mixed company - laughs, discussions, comparison of travel experiences and just a really good way to relax after a trip to the dentist.  Happy women's day, ladies. Until next time.

Support

My sister sent me an email that got me thinking about support.  Support can take a variety of forms.  You can support your local team or organization, support your friends in time of need, and support a shelf with extra nails or brackets.  There are support hose that supposedly keep your legs and feet from swelling, or getting varicous veins.  There are bras that promise support, but in  the end let you down, because let's face it, no matter how much elastic, cotton, or underwiring there is, gravity will have its way every time.  The same goes for those plastic casings women used to be expected to wear called girdles.  I don't know about you, but I am eternally grateful to the person who created pantihose so we no longer had to wear all that spandex and lycra to hold in and "smooth out" our body contours.  That man could invent such torture for women and expect them to be thrilled about it is really pretty bizarre, but then the fashion industry has always been that way.  Just look at the bustle and the very tight bustiers of days gone past.  There are, of course, other types of support.  Braces on men's pants to keep them up, as well as belts (very handy those).  Personally I think a good belt is a handy thing for both men and women. It holds your pants up, can be a fashion statement, and can (if it's wide enough) cover some fashion faux pas.  If only my male students could bring themselves to wear one on their shorts or pants, then we wouldn't have to keep reminding them to pull up their pants because their underwear is showing.  Which of course brings me to guys and their lack of fashion sense.  I told one of my students to get a belt because if his pants fell any lower they'd end up around his ankles and this wouldn't be so great, especially if there was an emergency and he had to make a run for it.  He'd either trip and fall or end up leaving his pants behind.  Not sure the girls would be thrilled about seeing some guy running around in his undies, but there you go.  Things change all the time.  Speaking of change, I guess I should get ready for the day.  Until next time.

Olympian's wild magazine shoot

So here's the question:  Why would an Olympian shoot a wild magazine?  What kind of magazine did he/she hunt down?  Does he/she have all the wild magazines he/she has ever shot mounted on his/her wall at home as trophies of a successful shoot?  What did he/she shoot the magazine with?  Are we talking camera or rifle?  Is this olympian a biathlete?  Given that it was the winter olympics, one can only suppose it was someone handy with a rifle, unless it was a camera, then the question should be what kind of camera did he/she use?  Where did the shoot take place?  Was it the interior of B.C. where wild things are known to live (not to be confused with the children's book "Where the Wild Things Are" - though even that might be possible) or exterior B.C. (after all if there is an interior there must also be an exterior).  Was the magazine big game like Time or Fortune 500 or a smaller magazine, much harder to hunt, but a much more valuable trophy?  Why go after a wild magazine when he/she could have shot a tame one.  After all, it's known in hunting circles that to shoot a "tame" animal is easier than to hunt down and shoot a wild one.  Was it the adrenaline rush of the hunt?  Was it the off chance that he/she would come away empty handed that promted this shoot?  How many paparazzi were attached to this wild magazine and were any of them shot at the same time (yes I'm sure there are many celebs out there who wish this would actually happen, and many paparazzi who hope it never does)?  Did he/she brag about his/her wild magazine shoot and where?  Is it on facebook?  My Space?  Maybe he/she twittered about it (sorry I keep thinking about birds when I write about the social space - just me, not to worry).  The question then is, who cares and why is it important enough for a headline?  No idea.  Until next time.

Wear clothes

Before I left work for the day I was talking with our librarian.  She's quite a lot of fun and we laugh a lot, which is a good thing.  This is book week and all week long she has set up events for students and staff to participate in.  Tomorrow is a "dress as your favourite character in a book" day.  I think she meant to say wear a costume, but that's not how it came out. Instead she said to wear clothes.  I told her that wearing clothes would be a really good idea and that it would be a pretty frightening thing if I came to work without any on.  It's interesting how language can have so many implications.  Her simple statement "wear clothes" has all sorts of things tied to it.  Like, do I not usually wear clothes?  I think I do.  Yes.  I'm certain I do.  Well, ok.  Not in the shower, but generally speaking pretty much all the time.  It could be a command - wear clothes, with the implication that I will sometimes, or often wear something that isn't quite clothing, like a bathrobe, or a bathing suit, or a gunny sack maybe. Maybe she meant instead of a black plastic garbage bag (not that I've ever worn either a gunny sack or a black plastic bag - but you get the picture).  I'll never really know.  We did have a really good laugh, though. One of my students asked the other day where all the words from English come from (I was insisting they do vocabulary, thus the question) and I told him English is a language of borrowing.  We borrowed a little Anglo Saxon, added some French, tossed in little German, some Spanish, and spiced it up with a little Arabic, Chinese and Hindi, stirred it all together and voila!  English.  It's handy.  This way we have lots of words to describe things.  Take flag for instance.  It could mean a marker planted in the ground to indicate a place of importance (like a buried power line that you really don't want to accidentally dig up), or a piece of cloth on the end of a tall pole, usually belonging to a country, state/province or territory.  It can also mean to run out of steam.  Given the way many governments in many countries go, maybe the idea of things flagging isn't so far from the actual flag.  You know, droopy, lacking colour after so many encounters with hot air, cold reality, and the inability to stir on too many occasions.  Words are such fun, but do wear cothes.  Until next time.