Fauxmance

What exactly is a fauxmance?  Is it a new animal?  A different kind of fur coat?  Is it like faux pearls - not really pearls, but kind of?  An immitation of whatever a mance is?  To me a mance is the place where a minister and his family live, so does this make it a fake house?  No.  Not really.  It's just jouralist's newest craze, mushing words together because they can't be bothered to write things out in full.  Apparently, a fauxmance is a fake romance.  Huh?  Say what?  I can hear it now, "You're dumping me because this was really a fauxmance?!"  There should be some kind of rules around about fake romances.  You know, like faux pearls, you know it's not real but it sure looks like it.  Which brings me back to mushing words together.  The classic is of course mushing names of two people together.  We've all heard about Bennifer and Brangelina so let's see what else we can come up with.  What if we mushed together President Obama's name with his wife's.  You'd have Barachelle.  Hmmm.  Not bad.  Maybe if we "merged" more things we'd have a whole new language.  For example, when a student hands in an essay that isn't their's you could call it a fauxssay.  Then of course we'd have to create classes in school to help students and others understand what people are saying.  Not to mention that texting would be just that much faster and simpler, especially for old folks like me who spend time spelling out words on our SMS's because we can't bring ourselves to "textspeak".  This of course leads to the concept of textspeak, which might be fine on a cell phone, but not so great when a person is actually talking to someone, or actually has to write a report for something.  I somehow can't imagine CEO's of major corporations impressing their investors with a year end report that is made up entirely of textspeak or mushwords.  Then again, maybe they already do that and I'm just really behind the times. Didn't Huxley already write about this? Speaking of time, the month is finally almost over.  Last day of February.  Hmmm.  Labruary ....  Never mind.  Until next time.

George Clooney's Villa

is apparently not for sale.  Dang!  Here I thought I'd have enough money saved that I could actually afford to own - one of the paving stones.  Blew it again.  Ah well.  I'm sure Mr. Clooney needs the villa far more than I need the paving stone.  Besides, it would only add to the weight I have to haul to wherever I go to next.  So I guess I'll leave the stone where it is.  Though it might be an interesting topic of conversation with Customs.  I can hear it now.  Custom officer:  Do you have anything to declare?  Me:  Yes.  I'm importing a paving stone from George Clooney's Villa.  Custom officer:  Is it one of the banned plant or animal materials?  Me:  No.  Custome Officer:  Is it sharp?  Me:  No, it's rock.  Custom Officer:  Is it a liquid?  Me:  No.  It's a stone.  A very heavy stone.  Custom Officer:  What is the purpose of this stone?  Me:  Uhhh.  To help pave a driveway maybe?  Custom Officer:  I see - .  At this point in time he or she would either confiscate the said stone, or pass me on through figuring it would take way too much time and energy to investigate further.  The next question is, of course,  what could I DO with the stone?  It is only one, can't use it to pave anything.  Won't work as a garden decoration (after all who would actually SEE the stone in the dirt or grass? or under a very large pile of snow?).  It might make an interesting coffeetable decoration and discussion focal point, but then I wouldn't have had to import it.  I could just go to any old construction site and get a paving stone from there.  It would have the same impact.  But then it wouldn't be George's stone.  On the plus side it would be better than trying to move the entire villa.  Wait.  What am I saying?  George's villa is in Italy.  Why on earth would I want to move a villa from Italy to some other part of the world, when I could be in Italy?  Perhaps it's best if Mr. Clooney keeps his villa after all.  I'm not sure I could handle the responsibility.  Until next time.

Actor doesn't expect Oscar

The headline read Canadian actor doesn't expect Oscar.  To do what?  Who is Oscar?  What is he supposed to do or not do and why doesn't this person expect him?  Was it an invitation gone bad?  You know, I phoned you, you called me and our answering machines got together to do lunch.  Or maybe Oscar was supposed to deliver something to the the actor, like a really good script for a change, and it didn't happen.  Or possibly Oscar was supposed to show up for a grand opening at some event and didn't, or the actor in question doesn't expect he will.  Or maybe the actor and Oscar had a date and it was way past the time Oscar was supposed to show up, and so now the actor has been stood up and is simply stating a fact.  I don't know.  I just wish whoever Oscar is, that he will apologize to the actor for not being there, and I hope the actor really didn't expect this flaky person, Oscar, to do what he said he would.  Otherwise this actor will be continuously disappointed in Oscar. 
Ohhhhhh.  Never mind.  I figured it out.  Oscar isn't a person.  It's that silly gold coloured door stop that actors hope they'll win, but rarely do - kind of like a lottery for the film community.  You know.  All the fanfair and foofarah, spinning the big wheel and the winner is ... not you.  Or you.  Or even you.  Dang!  I knew I should have bought that other ticket.  Sigh.  Oh well.  There's always next year.  (Now I REALLY wish people wouldn't use sentence fragments for their headlines.  It just confuses me.)

Canadian Giant in hot water with U.S.

I don't know about you, but this conjures up sooo many images in my mind that I have to stop and go someplace else to do something else.  Just imagine it.  A giant canadian in the Paul Bunyionish mode.  Is this giant male or female?  Where does it live?  What does it eat?  Does it have giant lumberjack clothes?  Just imagine the groceries it could buy with it's giant underpants (see fill your panties if you're not sure about this).  So why would this giant be in hot water with the U.S.?  Who invited who?  Where is this hot water?  How hot is hot?  Is it in a tub or a jaccusie?  Are they sitting around having many cups of bush tea and discussing the weather or debating climate change and what it will mean to their lives?  How about what they are wearing in the hot water.  Are they wearing the latest in swimsuit fashion, or sticking with their old, more than slightly worn, models?  What colour are the swimsuits they are in?  Are they wearing basic black that goes with everything?  You know, like the little black dress, you can wear it plain or you can put a string of pearls on and go out to a high end restaurant.  Or are they in something much more daring like plaid or stripes and is the pattern figure flattering or just plane tackie?  How would we know?  Will the paparazzi take many pictures of this or will security fend them off so this pair can have some quality time alone?  This inquiring mind  isn't sure it wants to know, but hey, somebody might.  Until next time.

Round 2

ding, ding.  Had my second appointment for my root canal.  This time it was to do the last digging out of root bits, then packing the tooth with something (I THINK the dentist said cotton - it would have to be a very small bit, but don't quote me on that), and finally a coating of cement.  Yes.  Cement.  You know.  The stuff they use on buildings and sidewalks.  I go back next week for the final installment.  Removal of cement and packing and a final, more permanent filling of cement topped off with a crown.  Da Daadaaa Da!  King tooth!  Oh wait.  Not that kind of crown.  More like a cap (hat? touque?) that will cover my tooth and keep it safe for ever.  Even after I die, and then for probably a few hundred years after that - whichever comes first.  While I was waiting for my turn on the couch - I mean turn in the dental chair, a coworker came out of the office, having undergone some dental procedure and asked me how I was.  My response was how good can a person be facing a second round for a root canal.  I mean really.  This place is not party central no matter how good a spin a person might put on it.  This was, of course, the capping off (or should that be crowning) of a really bad day at work, so why stop there?  No.  Wait.  I don't get crowned until next week, but that's ok.  I get a four day holiday starting Friday and ending Tuesday morning next week, so until next time, I'll enjoy another short week of work.

Fill your panties with groceries

OOOps.  Did it again.  I thought at first the ad said fill your panties with groceries.  Sigh.  Turns out it's your pantry you are supposed to fill.  Though filling your panties with groceries is an interesting thought, so let's explore it for a bit.  Those who have much larger panties, would of course get to take home more groceries, whereas those of us who have smaller panties, would naturally get to take less home. Might actually be a good thing for those of us who feel the need to diet. I don't think a turkey would fit into my undies, but hey, you never know.  Wouldn't be much room for anything else.  Which leads me to ask, would we be restricted to only one pair, or could we take two or more?  And what about poor Vicky Beckham.  You know Vicky.  That ultra thin thing married to David.  How many grocieries could she fit into her panties.  I can hear the conversation at the dinner table now.  "Sorry Dave.  We only have a couple of stalks of celery and an onion for supper.  You'll have to dine out."  Mind you, she could afford to hire someone with MUCH larger panties to do her shopping for her.  Which makes me wonder if Mr. Vicky would have any better luck in his wide fronts (if in deed he wears such underwear).  Back to the amount of food, dieting and such.  I can see the shelves filling up with books at the local bookstore.  "Self-help for the small pantied buyer."  "The psychology of small panty shopping."  What about:  "Don't get your knickers in a Knot: How to shop with less" for those who think a g-string or thong qualify as panties.  Yes, I can see it now.  A true revolution in shopping, dieting and underwear wearing.  Until next time.

Own the Podium

Interesting phrase that.  How does one own a podium?  Do they go out and buy it?  Do they build it themselves and set it up in their back yards?  Aparently the Canadian Olympic hooha's decided that was a good phrase to use to help 'encourage' the Canadian Olympic team to bring home all kinds of medals.  Problem was, the commitee didn't really specify which podium the team should own.  Or how much it might cost.  Or where it was to begin with.  The implication is, of course, it will be the gold medal podium, but it doesn't really say that.  As an English teacher I would point out that words have power and specific meanings when used in context.  To say we should own something implies that we actually can achieve it - or pay mega bucks for, which it would seem Canadians already have done given the cost of hosting this "illustrious" event.  So technically we already own the podium - and the stadiums, the ice, the snow (or in the case of B.C. this year, lack of), and the rather interesting and artfully arranged giant sticks for the Olympic flame.  Maybe that's what the organizers meant.  Not that we'd actually have a ton of gold medals, but that we would have all the stuff that comes with the event, including the podium.  Maybe.  Which brings me to another point.  There are now a number of non-snow countries competing in the winter olympics.  Personally I think they should all get a medal just for having the guts to show up to compete, given that the closest thing many of these countries have to snow is thousands of miles away from their actual location.  Take India for example.  The closest thing to cold in winter is 20 degrees. Plus. Celcius.  Not exactly a temperature to incite one to dig out one's winter jacket.  The closest place for snow is the Himalayas at the north end of the country, and I'm not sure that there is a lot of downhill skiing or luging going on there, but I could be wrong.  Same goes for the Cayman Island team, Jamaica's bobsledders and any other country where cold comes from a close encounter with a freezer.  Like I said, they should get a medal just for participating.  And maybe that's what the winter olympics should really be about.  Not the hot shot winners, but the teams with the courage to get out there and defy the odds.  Just my humble opinion.  Which reminds me.  What ever happened to the boxing Kangaroo team?  Other than the flag controversy, things have been a little quiet for them as well.  Guess it has to do with that whole lack of snow thing agan.  Until next time.

Fruitcake and wingnuts

What do these two have in common, besides sometimes being used as derogatory terms for people?  Well, I shall tell you (I know you have an inquiring mind).  On the surface they don't appear to have anything in common.  After all, a fruit cake is made up of fruit, sometimes booze, and flour, all mixed together and left for a very long time to "age".  One of two things can happen to a fruitcake.  It can either be too moist and thus become quite heavy to eat, or too dry and difficult to eat.  If it's too moist, you can at least swallow it in politeness to your host/ess.  If it's too dry it makes faking your way through one piece hard enough, only to have said host/ess press you to have more (s/he doesn't want it so she/he will foist it on you).  You can always play the polite guest game and either take a second piece (that you'd really rather not because it's like eating sawdust and has the same consistency as a McDonald's burger) or you can beg off saying something along the lines of how you just ate dinner and are much too full to be able to eat any more, or you are on your way to lunch/dinner/supper and don't want to spoil your appitite.  Either way you need a way to get out of the situation.  Which leads us to wingnuts.  You know the kind that are supposed to be easy to put on a screw in order to hold something together.  That works fine, if the wingnut in questions works well with the screw, but of course it doesn't always.  Instead the wingnut either won't screw on properly because the screw is too big (even if it does come as part of a kit), or you get the said nut on the screw only to find that not only does it go on easily, it mostly spins in one place and doesn't hold anything together.  Are you following this so far?  Good.  Now we come to the connection.  The dry cake is much like the wingnut you can't get to screw on.  No matter how much you try, it just isn't working for you.  The moist cake is much like the wingnut that spins in place but goes no where.  There is just no way to make it work, and it usually falls apart before you can get it to do anything you really want it to, thus leaving you less than satisified, and often with a mess on your hands that can't be patched up no matter how hard you try to put a good spin on it - so to speak.  Why should you care about all of this?  I have no idea.  It was just one of those random thoughts that meandered through my mind when I was doing something completely unrelated.  As usual.  Until next time.

Newly engaged radicals

No, it's not a science project (or are radicals math?  I can never tell the difference).  It's just me reading headlines on the internet at four in the morning and still not getting it right (really must quit doing that).  What can I say.  Trying to read anything correctly at four in the morning is a waste of time, but there it is.  I'd blame it on the very bizarre pants of the Norwegian curling team, but I haven't been following the Olympics, so that's not the reason.  I think it has more to do with not sleeping until the alarm goes off (and even then it's not really a good reason for misreading things).  So what does all of this have to do with newly engaged people?  Not sure.  The headline was really about couples not posting too much info on facebook about their upcoming wedding.  Why a person would want to post everything about their wedding is beyond me.  I have a hard enough time posting.  Period.  Do these people not have a life?  Personally (and this is only my opinion) given how much time and energy (not to mention money) is put into weddings, plus work, and maintaining sanity (yours and everyone else's), sitting down to yak on facebook about how dottie aunt Fluffy has driven your mother to distraction because she insists on giving you a wedding present that no one in any century would touch with  ten foot pole, is a good way to irritate all the people you know, including dottie aunt Fluffy.  But hey, times change and maybe the slightly crazed aunt would get off on having someone write about them for the whole world to see.  Can't think why, but there it is.  No matter.  I'm just glad I'm not the crazy aunt - at least I don't think I am - but then again ...  Until next time.

Dog's dos and don'ts

The general consesus of opinion (mine) says that either I need new glasses or I've been teaching too long and lost any skills I have for reading and writing.  Today the headline read "Dos and Don'ts for some romance thingie.  On the same page there was a thing about cats and dogs and how cute they are.  Of course, I merged the two headlines and came up with dog's dos and don'ts for some romantic thingie.  So what are the dos and don'ts for a dog?  Shall we begin with some of the don'ts?  First, do not bark while running down stairs to announce to the world that you are finally Outside.  I'm sure the world will find out soon enough and the humans in the neighbourhood could really care less.  Yes I know, you are telling all your friends and neighbours (including the ones you'd just as soon either tree or chew to shreds - cats take note) that you have arrived, but please wait until you are within seeing distance, not half a mile away behind a large fence.  Secondly, do not pee on everything in sight.  While the trees and ground might not object (actually they really don't have a say in the matter), humans aren't so thrilled with this activity, and would prefer you not kill the plants.  I know, first you have to verbally tell the world, then you have to leave everyone who didn't hear you a more - noticeable - message.  After all, someone might miss hearing you and want to know you are around, and this is your turf.  Thirdly, Do not chew on someone's shoes, especially if that person happens to also be wearing said shoes.  Not a good thing and does not show good neighbourly behaviour.  Your humans might not mind it if you trash their old shoes (or even their new ones), but others do object. 
What about the dos?  Well there are a few.  First, continue to slavishly show your love and deep devotion to your human - he/she needs all the love he/she can get, especially after a particularly bad day at work.  Secondly, do spend quality time sleeping on the couch or chair when family is not home.  You need to have lots of energy for that very important walk with your human.  After all, he/she needs to get out in the fresh air and get some quality walk time in to work off some of that comfort food (see hard day at work).  Thirdly, no matter how angry or frustrated or sad your human may be, the shouting is nothing personal.  He/she just doesn't have any other way of expressing him/her self except for the walk.  Continue to shower him/her with all your devotion.  You are doing good in the world, even if it doesn't always seem that way.  Just don't get carried away with the don'ts and you'll be fine.

Root Canals

We often hear people say such and such was about as much fun as a root canal.  A trip to the dentist's office is not one of my favourite past times.  Come to think of it, I don't know too many people who enjoy a visit with the dentist, unless of course that dentist happens to be a family member or a very dear friend, then of course it's social, not work related.  No offence to any dentist who might stumble onto this blog, but I can think of all sorts of things I'd rather do that visit one.  Unfortunately, I had no choice today.  I have a tooth that has become exceptionally painful.  A toothache isn't fun.  A toothache with infection even less so.  And so, to the dentist I went.  They (there are two of them and they work as a team) poked and prodded (not a wise move when I'm already in pain, and it took both of them to peel me off the ceiling) and decided to take an x-ray of the tooth to see what was really going on (could have done that without the poking and prodding, but there it is).  Here they do things differently.  The dentists 'office' was part of the family apartment, there was one dental chair, an x-ray machine and all the dental torture tools.  Unlike home, taking the x-ray was totally different.  I held the "film" in place with my thumb (not sure how they could tell the difference between my thumb and the tooth, but I guess they can).  Then we chatted about the whole issue.
There are two possiblilities.  One: the tooth has a small fracture in it which will mean it will have to have a crown, or two: the roots are badly infected by a filling that has broken down and "bled" into the roots thus causing infection - thus the root canal this started out with.  The dentist said that people have problems with root canals because the canals aren't planned out.  Is this like planning a wedding?  Or maybe an assault on a canal filled with alligators?  What about a dinner party, does that count?  No matter.  I'm on a fist full of antibiotics and painkillers until Monday night when I'll have this delightful procedure (whichever way it goes).  In the meantime, I'll "enjoy" the thought of having a root canal and wondering what might be as much "fun" as it is.  Until next time (hopefully not).

Stereotypes and knowitalls

It's strange how some people fit stereotypes to a T.  I know that the idea of stereotyping people is considered wrong, but consider this.  The stereotype wouldn't exist if there weren't actually people who look, act or sound like the stereotype they are compared to.  Take my neighbours for example.  They are three of the dumbest dogs I have ever met.  Truly thick, don't understand no and seem to think that making a lot of noise is a good idea.  Your typical party animal.  One is a gossip that can't keep her mouth shut (you know the type - always has something to say whether it's important or not), always yapping away.  Then there is the dumb blonde who is a total space cadet.  He can't think his way out of a paper bag, but there he is, slobbering on everyone, chasing anything in a fur coat and just generally being a nuisance.  Finally there is mister "I'm so tough", who bullies others, issues threats and bares his teeth when he feels threatened by anything he can't control.  Total animals, absolute dogs - really.  They are.  Dogs.  Unfortunately there are far too many counterparts in the human world.  I work with (or have worked with) people who act this way.  The "dumb blonde" coworker who is either a total space cadet or a paranoid freak, but either way can't think his/her way out of a paper bag and is generally a nuisance.  The gossip who knows everything there is to know about everything (and if she/he doesn't know it he/she makes it up) and absolutely must share, even if you don't want to hear it.  Finally, there are the bullies, and we've all encountered them at some point.  Makes me wish I carried a rolled up newspaper so I could give them all a good whack on the nose for bad behavior.  Hmmm.  That might be an interesting idea.  Just think of it.  Everytime someone thinks they should do one of the above things, you whip out your rolled up newspaper and whack them on the nose.  It wouldn't hurt - much - and they might get the point.  Then again, they might have a newspaper to whack you on the nose because you've fit their ideas of a stereotype.  Doesn't say much for the newspaper either.  Which one would you use?  The local rag or an international one?  Do you use the sports page or the social page?  What about the business section.  Might work great for business types.  Certainly couldn't hurt (well ok, it might hurt a little, but not as much as the financial mess we have been in lately).  As for the newspapers, well rolling them up is often all some of them are good for.  That and wrapping up peels and coffeegrounds for the garbage (does anyone do that any more?).  Until next time.

Wrinkles

I have a few of them.  Not as many as I will have in the future, way more than I had in the past, but I have them.  Kind of like a bedsheet that somehow gets extra creases in it when you aren't looking.  It starts out all nice and smooth and flat, not a wrinkle to be seen.  Crisp.  But then somehow (and it's one of those mysteries in life like dirt between your toes in the middle of winter when you've been wearing socks and shoes and everything outside is covered with the white stuff) there are wrinkles in the sheets.  Sometimes those wrinkles aren't very comfortable when you sleep on them and leave crease marks on your skin.  Sometimes, like at the bottom of the bed, you don't even notice them.  They are just there.  My wrinkles are kind of like that.  Some of them come from time (like the ones on the sheet), some have come from something hard in life, and some are in places like my bottom, you can't see them, but I know they're there.  I love it when people try to put a good spin on things.  The wrinkles around your eyes aren't wrinkles, their laugh lines (I must have been laughing really hard for a long time to get those ones) or the saggy wrinkles on your gut - they aren't wrinkles, their honour marks from having children (so what's a guy's excuse?).  When everything starts to sag and bag no matter how hard you try to make it do otherwise, what's a few wrinkles between friends?  Besides, since time can wrinkle (remember the incredible shrinking and expanding time theory), why can't a person do the same.  At least that's my story for my wrinkles (too bad time doesn't travel backwards as well, then maybe I'd be back to my fresh sheet form) and I'm sticking to it.

Idiots and the Stupor Bowl

Ok.  So I misread the headlines.  One was supposedly about the "Idol tradition" (since when did having someone from the American Idol become a tradition?) and the other was about the Super Bowl.  Hmmmm.  Maybe misreading the headlines wasn't so bad after all.  Since there is so much hoopla over the American football phenomena (phenomenom?) called the Super Bowl (is that the same as an ultragigantic cereal bowl full of froot loops?) there are probably going to be quite a few idiots there idling around, hoping something truly incredible might actually happen.  Yeah.  Right.  Watching American Football is much like watching clothes in a dryer or paint drying on a wall.  Enough to put a person in a stupor.  The worst part is, that if a person lives in or anywhere near the U.S., or has access to any one of the American stations on satelite or cable, one can't escape it.  It's usually on pretty much every channel there is - anywhere.  Which is why I avoid TV, especially on superbowl day.  Then again, I have no idea who the teams are, who the players are or why I should care.  Canadian football I at least know the teams, though I'd be hard pressed to give you any names of any current players, nor do I really care.  I could probably recognize more cricket players from South Africa or Australia or New Zealand for that matter, and a fair number of Soccer - er, football - players from most teams anywhere.  Why would I want to?  I don't.  However, many of my students do, so I at least try to be able to recognize names.  As for American Idol, I quit watching that after the first year or two.  Same old, same old.  Just like the football game.  HoHum.  Until next time when something vaguely interesting or exciting crops up, like how many medals some countries did or didn't get at the winter olympics.

Painted Cats

My sister sent me an email of photos of painted cats.  No, not paintings of  cats, or photos of cats painting (and I've seen some of both), but cats who have literally been "painted".  Kind of like an artistic dye job for kitties.  Some of the "art" work was quite interesting - like the plaid cat, and some of it was down right bizarre (one poor kittie had Charlie Chaplin painted on it's bum), but what really got to me was the price.  Each time the poor kittie had to be painted - or repainted - it cost $15,000, and of course it would have to be done repeatedly every three months because fur, like hair grows out.  That comes out to the equivalent of $60000. 
Now I don't know about you, but I can think of hundreds of ways to spend that same amount of money and none of the ways have anything to do with painting a kitty - mine or anyone elses.  For that same 60000 I could retire quite nicely and do little for two full years, or I could pay a large chunk of money on a house someplace warm, or I could give a chunk of change to my sons to help them in whatever they wanted to do career wise, or I could make a very large donation to any one of a number of very worthy health related charities, or I could sponsor a shelter for animals and provide food for a couple of years, since we are talking about furbabies.  Then again, I could sponsor a child that has little and getting less every hour of every day in one of so many countries in the world.
All I can say is that there are so many more ways of spending that money that would benefit others, that I can't understand why anyone would want to paint their kitties in such weird and almost creepy ways.  Besides - I wonder if any of them actually asked their cats if they wanted a dye job or not, and what did they do to the poor things to get them to stay still long enough to have it all done.  No self respecting cat I've ever met would willingly go along with this.  It just wouldn't happen.  They must love their humans very much to be willing to indulge those same humans in this activity.  It's the only logical solution I can come up with.  Until next time.

Dreams

Dreams are funny things (funny as in odd, not haha).  It's hard to know where they come from or why we dream about particular things.  Sometimes they are down right scary - you know, nightmares that wake you up because they are so real and so freaky.  Those kinds are far worse than any horror show Hollywood could dream up - no pun intended.  Then there are the kinds that make you go "Say what?!" when you wake up.  No connection to anything and so out there that you're not sure what planet they came from or what you were on when you went to bed, but it was definitely strange.  We all dream, and every once in a while, we have one that makes us laugh out loud.  I've had one or two of those, and when I wake up I'm still chuckling.  When I go to retell it, it somehow sounds even more bizarre and funny (haha) than it did when I was actually having it.  I once dreamt that aliens had come to earth and two of them were looking for their space craft in one of many hay stacks in a farmer's field.  Not a needle in a haystack, a space ship.  Why this was so funny, I'm not sure.  It may have been because the aliens looked like a cross between a pig and an octopus and were having an arguement over which haystack the ship was in.  No matter.  It struck me as funny, which is not usually a common occurance.  My youngest son asked me what I was laughing at, and how could I be laughing when I was asleep, until I explained - then he just looked at me like I was an alien.
I wasn't laughing the other day over a dream though.  I was, for some reason only my subconscious knows, dreaming about a lion, and the only one it would behave for (as in not eating) was me.  Why this was so, I have no idea, and I'm sure there is some psych major out there who would have a field day analyzing that dream, but there it was.  A very large, male lion, and I was scratching it behind the ears as if it was a small, domestic cat.  Can anyone say "here kitty, kitty, kitty"? 

Licorice

Things a person misses from home come as a surprise to those of us living overseas.  It's not always the big ticket items either.  For example, I was talking to a fellow expat at a hotel in London, and her cousin asked her to bring Kraft Dinner (Macaroni and Cheese dinner for all those Americans reading this) because he couldn't get it in London (actually a friend of mine found a store that sells stuff from Canada, the U.S. and Australia so there may be Kraft Dinner there afterall).  The irony is that I can get it in India for some bizarre reason.  Go figure.  Anyway, in conversations I have with others it's funny things like KD that get to us.  Licorice is another.  Not all countries have the same kind of licorice, or what passes for licorice in that place.  Back home Twizzlers - red and black - are the kind of licorice I'm used to and will go a little nuts over when I'm home.  That and Dairy Queen anything.  Nor is junk food like KFC or McDonald's the same everywhere.  Here, they like lots of hot spices well integrated into their chicken at KFC, so when you think you are getting a regular KFC, you'll find out not all chicken is created equal.  Nor is McDonald's.  The McD's in England is not the same as the McD's in the Middle East, or India, or Asia, or even Central and South America, though one would expect it to be pretty consistent.  The only thing consistent is that it still all tastes like cardboard - good cardboard if you have any cravings at all, but cardboard none the less.  Beef burgers might be on one countries menu, but not on another and you can be pretty sure that in countries where pigs are considered a major no-no that there will be no ham and eggers of any kind.  Candy is another item that isn't the same everywhere and much of the candy served in many parts of the world (or what that place considers to be candy) is not anywhere close to what I consider candy (not that it's bad, just that I have preconceived notions of what constitutes candy).  True, some companies have their products everywhere and those are pretty consistent if they are imported.  Toblerone, Cadbury's and Neilson's chocolates are the same no matter where you buy them, but other candies aren't so fortunate.  It becomes a bit of a guessing game and definitely an adventure for jaded tastebuds - not always pleasant, but certainly a challenge.  Sigh.  Back to food again.  Until next time.

Froof

Don't you just love that word?  It covers so much and yet says so little.  I occasionally check out the fashion hits and misses on msn, just to see what kind of get-ups so many of the "stars" have on.  Some are quite nice and often quite tasteful (though on me they'd probably look ... let's not go there).  Some are ok, but have way too much froofiness.  You know, too many ruffles, too much fluff and feathers, too many bows and thingies that we're not really sure what they are but they're there, in bunches.  I don't know how or why some people think this is fashionable, or even remotely tasteful.  Personally, I think that if it can't be worn shopping for groceries, or running into a drugstore for - pantihose, then it shouldn't be worn in public, unless of course you are going to a grad and it's the latest style in grad dresses, though I can't somehow see any teen queen I know wear any of the outfits.  Some of the outfits are so way over the top they'd be too much even for something as auspicious as halloween. 
I was listening to my students discuss the recent Grammy's and some of the "styles".  Most of them agreed that there were too many wearing truly bizarre outfits and they really didn't get what the point was.  Not even for the singers they liked.  Music taste may vary (some like country, some don't, some like rock, some don't), but when it comes to fashion and style, boys and girls alike agreed that some outfits just should not be worn - by anybody.  Until next time.

February

Dang!  Missed the last day of January in what felt like the longest month ever.  It's that time warp thingie again.  Now it's February, the shortest month of the year and it will probably either feel even longer than January or go by so fast it will feel like it didn't exist.  Kind of makes a person feel really sorry for those born in a leap year.  Not only do you not get to have a birthday party three out of every four years, but when it does happen the month has gone by so quickly they don't really get to savour the day.  The irony is that if you only have a birthday every fourth year, you miss out on all those cool gifts all your friends and family get every year.  Kind of like being born on a major religious holiday like Christmas.  You only get one gift, so it's either a christmas present or a birthday present, but not both. 
Which brings us to February, the month of llllllooooovvvveee - or something.  I have always thought it was odd that we only seem to celebrate the idea of love once a year on an arbitrary date set by someone someplace a long time ago.  Why not celebrate it all year long?  I can take chocolates, flowers and any other tokens of love anytime, not just on one day of one month.  It doesn't even have to be a gift, just a night off from whatever is going on, unless it falls on a day off, then I'd take a whole day's worth of togetherness time and play hookie from whatever chores that have to be done to spend time with those I love.  Sometimes, a person doesn't really have to do much to show their love.  Small gestures of kindness, like doing the dishes for a change or taking out the garbage without having to nag at the individual in question works just as well.
I have friends who have been married for nearly forty years, and they have a wonderful relationship.  Very loving, but not in the mushy hearts and flowers kind of love.  Loving in the, "I'll do for you and you do for me and we do for each other" kind of love that makes it all worthwhile.  My hat is off to those who have made that deep kind of commitment and show their love in so many small ways.
On the other hand.  I'll take a nice box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers.  Even a card would be nice, but not necessary.  Or flowers either.  Just a nice, large box of decadent chocolates will do.  Until next time.